#the slightest hint of encouragement will make me want to Create More of the Thing what can I say I love positive attention

[herbertwest]

I got a really nice comment on Barbie's Gate and now I need to write more Barbie's Gate.

[reverieblondie]

Be Sweet to Me

Chapter 1

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Fem!reader

Warnings: None for this chapter, but eventual smut, Pining, and teasing. For now- Fluff and Miguel struggles with grumpiness and realizing his touched starved, but he's just over worked. Alternating POVs

Summary: People say many things about you're co-worker, and sure he's not the most social but you won't give up being friends with him! Little do you know Miguel is juggling so much in his life, and getting used to you is proving to be more difficult than he thought.

A/N: I am so excited to be finally be making this series! The Alternating pov's is different than what I normal do, but I think it works best for this story! This is heavily influenced by the song Be Sweet by Japanese Breakfast. If you would like to be tagged please comment to let me know!

Chapter: 2, Series Masterlist, ATSV Masterlist

“I need you to organize the samples and make sure that all the documents are in order before the meeting.” 

Giving a slight huff you stop your work to turn on your heels to face your coworker.

“Okay, but what's the magic word?” you playfully tease with the slightest hint of condensation. 

Turning his head you see the unenthused glare in his eyes despite them being shaded behind the round tinted glass. You're still not fully convinced he needs those things inside, some kind of light sensitivity he's explained once but you suspect he might just like the cool guy aesthetic it gives him. Though you wouldn’t blame him if that was truly the case, he does look kinda cool. 

Face scrunched in that way you have gotten used to seeing over these past few months since working at Alchemax. Chiseled jaw clenched shut, his full lips pressed in that iconic frown, thick brown hair styled back to try and tame the unruly waves, and tall bulky figure that you used to be intimidated by, (okay, sometimes you still are) but you have slowly adjusted to your grumpy co-worker: Miguel O’Hara. 

He stared at you for a beat before turning back to his work without another word, his oh-so-subtle way of telling you to shut it and do as you're told. “Alright alright, I’ll get it done. Don’t have to tell me twice.” 

One thing you have learned about working with Miguel is he may not always speak with words so if you want to create an effective work area with him you have got to be good at reading his expressions. Working with a guy like Miguel had its challenges, for one his mood: he's not exactly the easiest to get along with, and people call him cold or cocky depending on the day.  

Then there was how busy he kept himself, always working on something, typing on screens, working with experiments, or tapping away at that clunky watch of his. Even on the days he’s not around due to him ‘working from home’ you can tell just by his face that he hadn’t given himself time to rest. What on earth could keep a man so busy? Well, you have an idea or two… 

Despite his grumpy demeanor you were determined to become friends with Miguel. It didn’t matter what others would tell you about him or how much he distanced himself, you saw the subtle glances, the repressing of smiles, the slight cracks in the shell, You two would become buddies you were sure of it. Maybe he just needed someone to show him the effort, to be sweet to him, then maybe he could lighten up and bring his walls down.  

Pulling out all the stops nothing was going to stop your attempts, you were always nice (even on days where that was particularly hard) Helping with things he didn’t ask of you, organizing and cleaning up behind him. Coffee was always a winner, you knew exactly how he liked it too, you kept making different attempts then stopped on the one where he wasn’t making a face while he took his first sip. -Success! 

Then there was the friendly encouragement, pats on the shoulder, and high fives. Sure he seemed hesitant to them at first but he slowly became used to them, baby steps. 

Every passing day was closer and closer to your friendship blossoming!

Magic word?…was she serious? Why should he say please? It's her job to listen to what he tells her and do what he says considering he’s worked here longer. Miguel keeps typing away at his computer, lamenting in his mind how his co-worker was quite the character. 

Miguel couldn’t deny that having a co-worker who was tasked to help him in all his research did help him out more than he would ever admit. Having to juggle the secret identity of Spider-Man, being the leader of the spider society protecting the multiverse, and having to keep his role as head geneticist in Alchemax. Everything could get taxing very quickly on him. Layla was a great AI assistant but she was limited, so having an actual person tagging along to help him with work was bearable, though…you were a bit exuberant and that was taking some getting used to. 

The jokes, the odd habits, your clumsiness, the smart remarks you mumbled under your breath, your overwhelming friendliness. All this he could begrudgingly handle, but the thing that was still overwhelming him was the touching! Sometimes it wasn’t even touching at all you would just be so close.

First noticing it when you would stand so close that he would accidentally bump into you, if he was looking at a sample you were leaning over him to watch. You had no spatial awareness, running into him, running into things! The first month of you working here you broke so much lab equipment by running into them he thought they would run out of beakers.

Then the friendly gestures started happening. Miguel was used to people keeping their distance, meeting his gruffness, but you?…oh no…you must have seen it as some kind of challenge! The encouraging words, patting of his shoulder, spontaneous high fives, squeezing past him in tight areas, adjusting his coat for him, dusting off crumbs from his chest! Your friendly proximity made him tense, it was…new and different, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

Though it could be worse, you could be a completely useless idiot. To Miguel’s surprise you did have a brain in that head of yours, so the trade-off for actual decent help was some playfulness from you he would just deal. It’s not like he wasn’t used to playful coworkers, the spider society made sure of that. Still, you were different…and that blossoming tingling your touch would leave on him…it was…annoying.  

Miguel's eyes move over to you as he watches you begin the task of organizing the samples and getting everything prepared for the meeting. Begrudgingly he was tasked with having to explain the recent studies and developments the two of you had made. The meeting was honestly bullshit, he hated having to report to the chairman, but they liked to keep a thumb on Miguel, making sure he was still their best brain. In fact, you had offered to take over and run the presentation for Miguel but they denied that, had to be him, bastards 

For a moment you turn your head and look towards Miguel meeting his eyes, you shoot him a thumbs up and a smile, that friendliness still shining through. With an annoyed huff, he turns away getting back to his work.

The two of you worked diligently for a couple of hours, in silence of course, there was no time to get distracted with chatting when so much needed to be done. Rubbing his hands over his face he could feel a wave of exhaustion taking over him. Sleep was something he wasn’t getting regularly, there was just never enough time in the day so sacrifices must be made. 

Eyes growing heavy and vision slightly blurring he feels himself slipping, but he can’t, he won't. Then a shrill alarm begins to blare from Miguel's wrist snapping him back awake. Miguel is quick to place his hand over his watch and sneak out of the lab unnoticed, lucky for him you were too concentrated on your work to notice his absence. Checking the message on his watch, it is a local emergency, something he can handle in fifteen minutes tops. With a quick few cracks of his neck, he's leaving to save the city again. 

Stretching, your feeling accomplished in yourself for getting everything prepped single-handedly. Roaming your eyes around the lab you note the lack of bulk in the room. Huh, no Miguel? He must have done one of his disappearing acts again, probably just going to lunch without you. Invite yourself to lunch with him one time and now he doesn't even tell you when he's going. Manners on that guy, oh well, you might as well go get something before the meeting anyway. Coming to a stopping point you gather your things for a nice quick bite in the cafeteria. 

“I can’t see how you can work with him.” Ah, so much for a nice quick bite…

Sitting there trying to enjoy your lunch it’s the usual suspects who come to sit next to you, talking more at you and around you rather than to you. You can’t help but think that this annoying tinge you feel is what Miguel felt when he was ambushed by you. Though you couldn’t have been as annoying as these people. Complainy and gossipy types are not the best combos with your meal. 

Their subjects range from many topics like complaining about work, to failed experiments, personal problems, idol gossip, then it lands to the one directly aimed at you…Miguel. As soon as the question is asked you're looking up from your food to see all eyes on you. Chewing quickly and swallowing to ask your question. 

“I’m sorry what?” 

Sophia groans, “O’Hara, how can you work with him?” 

“Uh, well he does his thing, I do mine?” 

Julius chimes in “Isn’t he a total dick to you though?”

Cassidy is now giving her input to the topic, “Oh I can only imagine what you go through on the daily.” 

“Well ac-” trying to interject, you can’t even get a word in till you're being cut off by one of them.

“Yeah! Like I bet he is always bossing you around.”

“And probably insulting you in some way,” 

“One time he called my team brainless idiots because we messed up one small thing” -it was not a small thing, that took you and him an all-nighter to fix…

“That was-” you try again only to be cut off once more.

“Oh, and he is always being rude!” 

“God, how can you work with that monster!” 

With that last comment you had it, the noise wasn’t meant to be as forceful as it came out but they kept cutting you off and then bad-talking your research partner, you were fed up. Slamming your hands on the table with a harsh slap, effectively silencing them, you rise from your seat grabbing your tray in the process. 

“If you have issues with him you should speak to him like he’s a person. He’s not some monster. Sure, he is not exactly social, but if this is how people talk about him behind his back it makes sense why he keeps his distance... I've lost my appetite, excuse me…” 

With that, your lunch break was over. 

“Spider-Man!” 

“You saved us!” 

“He’s a hero!”

“But…he’s kinda a jerk…”

“Didn’t he punch an old lady before?”

“I thought she punched him?” 

Uhhgg…would anyone ever get that story right? Miguel is prying the last bus hostage off him as they cling tightly to him. The vulture from his dimension was up to his usual antics but he made quick work of him and was now cleaning up the shocking mess. Having to save the people from the bus was no big deal, it was the pushy reporters, camera lights flickering in his face and the clingy person keeping themselves pressed to him that was the pain to deal with. Taking deep breaths he’s trying to keep his cool, but he can feel himself threatening to boil over. 

How come he can’t just ever save people and leave? Why was there always this extra crap to deal with? Finally getting the person off and seeing that all of what he could do was done he's trying to get out of there, but people can be so pushy…

Questions, Comments, Flashing lights, Praise, Criticism…he couldn’t help but snap. 

“Get out of my way! Leave me alone! And for shock's sake, try to learn to protect yourselves!”  

The crowd was shocked by his sudden outburst, but this should have come as no surprise from the grouchy hero. Spider-Mans in other dimensions were always known for being friendly, witty, funny, and nice to all they saved, Miguel didn’t exactly follow this blueprint. Miguel didn’t exactly mean to sound rude, just being a hero gets exhausting and patience was something he needed to work on. 

Miguel hears the gasp and murmurs amongst themselves about how he’s a dick, a jerk, arrogant, blah, blah…

Rolling his eyes, hidden underneath his mask he couldn't help but think of how irrational these people could be, say one thing the public wasn’t fond of and they are at your throat. It’s all of a sudden no longer how he just saved a busload of people, or saved the city by defeating a villain; No, now it’s about how rude he was. 

“Jerk!” 

“Boo!” 

“I hate you Spider-man!” -great…this just makes everything so much better with this thankless job. 

Swing off before the police come to further irritate him. Hes swinging back to Alchemax, he’s wrapped up in his thoughts. This hero thing was not easy…everything he did wasn’t right, not what people wanted…he was always messing up in some way…nothing was ever good enough, he had to stretch himself thinner and thinner, keeping everything together. The pressure is immense…

Getting back to Alchemax, he changes and tries to resume back to his work, the fight had successfully woken him up but now he’s starving. Eating, like sleep has also become a thing he has had to cut for the sake of time, but something quick should be fine before he gets back to work. Sneaking through a window Miguel is quick to strip the super suit and go back to his lab attire he hid away.

Stopping by the cafeteria Miguel immediately spots you sat by Sophia, Julius, and Cassidy, not good company for you to keep. Well honestly anyone, they might catch their stupid...

Making sure to be as unnoticed as possible last thing he needs is you trying to wave him over to your table. Coffee with a bagel is all he needs to grab so he can make his escape back to the lab. Grabbing a coffee that thankfully wasn't made by you, his sensitive ears can’t help but catch what's being said at your table. No surprise it’s about him. 

Listening in he is catching fragments of the conversation sipping his coffee trying his best to ignore the meaningless conversation, till a remark of him makes him pause at the threshold of the exit. 

 “How can you work with that monster!”

Monster…huh…is that how people see him? Mutated, sure, grouchy, and tempestuous maybe, But a monster. A ping in his chest makes his hands tighten around the cup. Talons threatens to poke through but he resists. If they want to see him as a monster then so be it…he doesn't care…

Suddenly, a slam, followed by your familiar voice catches him by surprise,

“He’s not some monster. Sure, he is not exactly social, but if this is how people talk about him behind his back it makes sense why he keeps his distance”

“Not some monster…” Your words can’t be helped from echoing through his head. You sound so angry, you never sound angry. Looking over he sees your face furrowed in a glare. He didn’t think your face knew how to do that. Watching as you walk away in a haste away from the table he's leaving to his usual eating spot hidden away from others. 

Taking his shades off in the empty break room he dims the lights down as he sinks into one of the chairs. Finally getting even a moment of a break, even taking time to peacefully relax he finds he is unable to. Even sitting leaning back he still feels teased, irritated, stressed. Trying to shut his mind for even a moment, a second of a break he finds it to be an impossible task. But as he sits, his usual stresses fade to be replaced by your words. Miguel could have cared less about what those idiots had to say about him. The surprising thing was that you were defending him…not that he needed it… but it was…kind of you…

Taking a bite out of the bland bagel he groans to himself, annoyed. 

It's almost time for the meeting and you're pacing outside the doors with everything ready to go, except you haven’t seen Miguel anywhere. Running behind is a thing you are not used to from him, he’s usually so timely but you haven’t seen him at all since he left for what you thought was lunch. Did he get caught up doing something else?

 Minutes tick by and you're growing more anxious by the second. Would he just not show up? It’s a possibility, but he would be putting both your asses on the line, though he didn’t have to worry much about that, they wouldn’t fire their best brain, but…you're a bit more expendable.

Before you can continue thinking about your ass being on the chopping block Miguel is rounding the corner adjusting his coat and walking in a casual strut. Looking at him as he approaches you notice his appearance looks a bit, different? That shirt does seem a bit wrinkled and his tie is completely messed up from earlier. What has he been doing? Mid-day workout? Did he have an accident in the lab and have to go change? But the clothes are the same, just wrinkled.

Or was he doing something else… Thinking for a moment over what he could be doing that would cause messed up clothes an image of a sweaty grunting Miguel pops into your brain. His skin shinning in sheen of sweat, his hands squeezing hard of plush thighs as they are moved to be over his massive shoulders... then his dark eyes glaring down before licking his full lips....

Pushing down the horny thoughts with an internal slap to yourself you decide to greet him as friendly as possible. 

“You're running behind Miguel” -okay you can’t help but tease him a bit. Friends rass each other all the time. 

“Yeah, got…caught up in something…” he speaks hesitantly, suspicious…

Miguel gets ready to go inside but you quickly grab him by the shoulder to get his attention “Hold on there, you can’t go in there looking like that” 

Turning to face you, he looks at you confused then looks down at himself, “What? I look fine.” 

Scoffing, you roll your eyes and point to his chest where his tie is haphazardly knotted together in a rushed fashion.

“Your tie” Before he can protest your hands are already getting to work losing his tie gently, “Let me help you” 

With the silk tie undone hanging down his chest, you're moving your hands to raise his collar. As you concentrate on the task your eyes are fixed on his neck you observe that as your fingers slightly brush over his warm skin his body teases slightly. Straightening his neck, you know he’s about to say something.  

“Why are you nice to me? I know what others say about me, so how come? Are you trying to pity me?” His voice is stern and this isn’t what you were expecting out of him right now. Did he hear you earlier? 

The slight laugh that escapes you couldn’t be helped. Moving your hands you cross the two ends to tie in a classic Windsor knot. “Leave it to you to think someone being nice to you is just a ruse to pity you. I just want to be nice to you.” 

Remaining silent you continue to loop and twist the tie, your knuckles blushing over him, you swear you see his skin pickle up for a moment with a slight shiver. Finishing up, you tighten it to his neck and carefully fold his collar back down, keeping your eyes on your work at hand, you watch as his adams apple slightly bobs as you adjust it properly. 

Sliding your hands to the silk tie you brush your fingers down the soft fabric straightening it while laying down flat against his chest. The feeling of his chest tightness under your fingertips and his breath seems to be slightly slow, you don’t know if he is hating this or being relaxed by it. 

Meeting his eyes, they are unshaded for you to observe their burgundy hue. His face is still stern looking but you know this one has that slight softness in his eyes, meaning his listening, he is waiting for you to speak again. 

“I want us to be friends, simple” 

Miguel's lips slightly part as if he was about to speak, but before he could the conference room doors opened with them calling Miguel in. Turning to you there is a look on his face you're not completely used to, but that will have to wait for now. Giving a quick pat to his chest you smile up at him. 

“You got this Miguel, good luck.” 

[snippychicke]

I have a question!

You can answer this if you want if you don't than that fines but! I really really wanna know

.....how would balam be like when he's jealous?

Maybe specifically if he was jealous cause of reader smelt different than usual(before they were courting)

And other demons assume that they were courting another demon?!

When in reality reader has picked up making perfumes from plants after reading about it. (Surprisingly smelling like a powerful demon and having a resting bitch face when annoyed can make netherworld plants very obedient)

Please i would very much like your thoughts on this idea if you can't again thats fine. I am a really big fan of for the sake of a smile you are doing an amazing job on it. Please drink water, sleep well and always have a balanced meal.

Thank you and good night/day

Heya Anon! Thank you so much for your prompt! And for your flattery! As you know it will get you anywhere. 

Or at least a little side drabble. I'm not a hundred percent sure it was what you were aiming for, but it's what came out of my head. So enjoy!

Opera's words had rang in your ear from Walter park, and despite Balam's assurance that you didn't smell bad,  the thought of having a scent so powerful it could be detected across the sprawling amusement park did not sit well with you. 

So, during the next semester while everyone else was focused on the Harvest festival and then the Music Festival, and your mana was worn from trying out Runes, you researched something different. 

Perfume. 

Unlike Runes, there was a plethora of texts on perfumes and scent-based magic. A lot had to deal with seduction, but it was more the deception aspect that had your interest. 

After all, you wanted to deceive the whole Netherworld into believing you were a demon, and not a delicious human. 

The endeavor had you visiting Raim between her classes.

"You want to smell different?" The demon asked, looking rather perplexed before smiling. "Oh, I see. Trying to catch a certain Gargoyle's attention, are we?"

"No," You grounded out. "I… I don't know how to explain it other than I don't want to be so noticeable." 

Her fingertips caressed your cheek before settling beneath your chin, encouraging you to look at her eyes. "Darling, who ever told you being noticed was a bad thing? It is a natural power that we hold over those who feel even the slightest hint of attraction. What you want is that they are so awed by your beauty they fail to see the knife you wield." 

Which might work for seductive demons, but was definitely not what you were looking for. But she did point you in the right direction. 

And also towards Suzy. 

"Interesting combination," The small demon hummed as you followed her into the greenhouse.  "And you said you wanted to make a perfume?"

"Yeah. It's, uh, a long story." 

Suzy chuckled. "Believe me dear, I've heard it all. But to be the most potent for your scent, you'll want to harvest these yourself. If I harvest them for you, my mana would taint whatever magical properties you intend for it to have."

Every time you thought you understood the Netherworld, it revealed yet another layer. Perfume here wasn't just something that smelled pretty. It could be laced with magical properties, pheromones, and whatever else. A person's scent was as identifying as their appearance and sometimes more.  

It was a gamble, you realized - but one you were willing to take. Especially after facing down a flower that was a monstrous version of a dandelion and a man eating venus flytrap with nothing but a harsh glare and a set of pruning shears. 

--+--

You were fairly certain you messed up. You had decided to create your perfume in the Library's office, which felt more like brewing a potion. To you it smelt light, pleasant, and far different then Sullivan's cologne. 

But the looks you were getting made you wonder if you were missing something. Some looked rather surprised, others were giving you knowing grins and thumbs up. 

But it was Balam's reaction that made you doubt the most. As soon as he saw you in the hall, his dark eyes widened, his muscles tensing so much you could easily notice. He crossed the distance between you in a near instant, and you braced yourself, expecting him to pick you up into a hug as usual.

Except he paused just a few feet from you, looking very uncomfortable and confused. 

"Uh, is everything… okay?" You asked softly as he continued to stand there, studying you as if you had grown a second head or something. 

"Fine," He answered, sounding as if things were not fine. "Are you… is everything okay with you? Anything… new?" 

"N-not really?" You answered, anxiety bubbling in your gut. Why was he acting so odd? Surely it wasn't just because you switched scents. 

His eyes narrowed, and before you could probe to find out what was bothering him, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to a nearby empty classroom, making sure you were alone. "Balam…"

"Do you know how dangerous this could be?" He interrupted as he knelt before you. "I mean, what-what if they discover you're human? What if they hurt you? Or Iruma? I mean, caring for children from other relationships isn't typical for demons. How did this even happen? Did-did they force you? I promise, I can protect you. Both you and Iruma. Or… Or if you don't want me, Lord Sullivan…" 

You cupped his cheeks, unable to press your finger to his lips to silence him considering his mask. Still, the gesture achieved silence as he froze, his cheeks slowly turning pink. 

"Balam. I have no idea what you are talking about," You said slowly and clearly, hoping it would help him calm down from the panic he had worked himself into. 

"Your scent," He explained after a moment, his cheeks turning an even darker shade "It-it smells like you mated with another demon." 

It was your turn to blush, "W-what?! That-that is not at all what I wanted!" Oh god. All those looks in the hall. It was a walk of shame and you could never show your face again. 

You groaned as you covered your face. "No no no! I double checked the ingredients! To ward off interest, to hide another scent, it was supposed to be a replacement for Sullivan's cologne!" 

"It's… it's fake?" There was a hint of relief in his voice. He pulled you into his arms, and you found yourself nestled in his lap as he sat on the floor. His mask was pressed to join between your neck and shoulder, the cold metal contrasting with the hot breath escaping through the vents. The knot in your stomach shifted into something else as his hands wrapped around your waist, holding you still. You unconsciously held your breath, well aware of how red your face had to be from how hot you felt.

Your hands rested on his chest to support your balance, though it felt risqué in your position. Though, it meant you could feel him relax after a moment. But if you thought he would pull away, you were sorely mistaken. If anything, he pulled you closer until your chest was flush with his arms wrapping around you as he pressed his face against the crook of your neck. 

"Balam?" You whispered and received no response after a moment of silence. "...Shichiro?" 

It was the first time you said his given name, which felt taboo. Yes, you were friends, but not that close… right? 

He continued to be silent, but squeezed you a little tighter. As if… as if he was afraid you'd run away, or disappear. You sighed softly at the realization, and started to run your fingers down the back of his neck and shoulders in a hopefully soothing manner. You were still confused as to why he was acting like this, but no matter what the cause was, you felt compelled to comfort him. 

"It's okay," You soothed, allowing yourself to rest against him. "I'm sorry, it's just Opera's words from Walter park just… kinda stuck in my head. Humans have a thing against being… stinky. I just wanted to smell… nicer. I mean, I did my research and everything, so I don't understand…"

"You said humans can't smell pheromones, right?" He mumbled against you, his breath causing shivers to run down your spine and heat to bloom in your loins. All you could do was nod, untrusting of your voice at the moment. "Whatever you used mimicked the pheromones of a demon who had a… a mate."

"I get that," You confirmed, embarrassment threatening to overwhelm you. "I just…" Why was he so bothered?  

"I was worried someone took advantage of you," He answered after a moment. "That, for whatever reason, you… you…"

Oh

Oh.

You laughed through your nerves. "Oh Devi, no! I know having an…intimate relationship with anyone is off the table. I resigned myself to that fact a while ago." Not that thoughts still didn't haunt you, dreams full of desire and passion. 

Starring a certain demon in particular

There was another long moment of silence, his hands slowly rubbing your back and sides in the way he was prone to do. Despite knowing he didn't mean anything by it, the action didn't help the situation any as you resisted the urge to arch into him. Your gutter mind was happy to imagine those large hands grazing bare skin. His warm breath was replaced by soft lips and grazing fangs, making you clench your jaw.

Damn overactive imagination.

"If… if you need anything, please," He finally spoke. "I'd be happy to assist you." 

You tried to beat your gutter mind back, insisting that he didn't mean it like that. He meant making a new perfume, likely. Or just a blanket statement. It was not at all related to your previous discussion. 

"You're the sweetest," You whispered before pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I couldn't ask for a better friend."

[calpalirwin]

Let The Walls Break Down

Summary: Calum gets over his skepticism

Word Count: 2.7k

And away, and away we go!

__

“It’s almost impossible. Love sucks. Don’t try it. It’s a scam.”

That had been Calum’s general thoughts on relationships since the two of you called it quits. The “almost” bit was in admittance that 1.) your relationship had been amicable from start to finish, in fact the two of you were still close with each other, and 2.) he knew love worked for some people, however he didn’t view himself as one of those some.

Being close to Calum post breakup meant you had a front row seat to the man’s brief stints at romance, which was a nice way of saying “endless stream of one night stands.” The flip side was he had a front row seat to your own count of nameless men. While in the beginning, the others in your friend group joked in hushed tones that it was an act on both your parts to stir up jealousy, the longer it went on without any animosity building up between you and Calum, the more the whispers died down until they disappeared all together. Because the simple truth was that the one night stands were just about sex. After all, you and Calum had learned together that the two of you were too busy for anything more than casual sex. A lesson both of you considered well-learned until Michael got engaged and flipped everything into a new perspective.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in love,” you said after Crystal recounted all the details and you stopped squealing in excitement for her. “I mean, anyone who sees you and Michael has to believe it’s real.”

“Aw, Y/N,” Crystal blushed shyly.

You laughed, “I’m serious. You and Michael. Luke and Sierra. Ashton and Kaykay. I’m surrounded with reasons to believe love exists. The real ‘can’t imagine my life without you’ kind of love. But for me?” You waved a hand dismissively. “Pfft, nah.”

“Because you don’t believe he’s out there for you, or because you already had him and the timing was wrong?” she pressed suggestively.

You rolled your eyes. Right person, wrong time was the excuse you had given when asked when you and Calum split, because to you, it was the closest thing to the truth. “Okay…” you started slowly. “Of course I loved Cal. And I still love him now. But when we were together… We were kids who were focused on our careers. And we’re still those career-driven kids. Understanding the balance between professional life and personal life without feeling like we’re sacrificing a piece of it for another was something Cal and I will never master. We tried. I thought if I could find that balance with anyone, it would be with him. But it wasn’t. And that’s okay. I’m fulfilled in other ways.”

“But…” Crystal kept trying to press.

“But nothing,” you laughed. “I’m happy with my life the way it is, Crys. And beyond happy for you and Michael. You’re getting married!”

~~~

Across town in a celebration of their own, Calum was under similar fire. “Happy for ya, mate,” Calum said, clapping Michael on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Cal,” Michael beamed. “I think I’m still in shock from all of it.”

“I think that’s probably a natural feeling,” Ashton told him, playing the voice of reason. “It’s an exciting change that pulls things into sharper focus.”

“Yeah, like all I wanna do now is tell Sierra how much I love her,” Luke put in.

“Oh, you fuckin’ sap,” Calum laughed.

“Just because you’ve never been in love…”

“I have too!” Calum defended.

“Oh, really? Who?”

“Y/N, idiot…” Ashton told Luke with a roll of his eyes.

Luke nodded in a “Oh, yeah!” fashion, before going on, “Is she the only girl you ever loved?”

“Yep.”

“So why aren’t you still with her?”

Calum shrugged. “Timing was off. And we haven’t changed. So why would the timing have suddenly changed?” The question was rhetorical, without the slightest hint of hurt. A simple fact of life, nothing less, nothing more. A fact Calum had made peace with long before.

“So what? You’re fine with the greatest love of your life being over 2 years ago?” they questioned anyway.

He shrugged again. “Have been for a while, in case ya haven’t noticed. And no,” he raised a hand, cutting off any protest, “this isn’t a bitter, ‘oh convince me otherwise��� deal. Y/N and I are both more than happy with the lives we’re living.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I talk with her, and I trust she’s telling me the truth…”

“Alright, alright,” Ashton was willing to let the conversation rest, but he had one last question. “Is there any part of you that would want to try again with Y/N?”

A third and final shrug. “I mean, she was the only one I ever saw a future with aside from the band.”

“That has to mean something, Cal. C’mon. If there was ever a time to give love a chance, it’s now.”

~~~

While Calum’s head raced with his friends' words of encouragement, if he could call it that, yours raced with thoughts of feeling like you somehow failed in life. Sure, your career was everything you wanted it to be and more. You wouldn’t trade a single moment of your life for anything else. But now that your friends were clearly doing more than simple dating, the doubt started to trickle in. Would it be nice to share a life with someone? Absolutely. But not at the risk of your own independence. And the only person who had ever proven that you could maybe have the best of both worlds was Calum. And even that hadn’t worked. But maybe there was something to Crystal’s words about it being a case of bad timing. Maybe it was worth another try.

So that’s where you found yourself, sitting on the edge of your bed, sharing at Calum’s contact, finger hovering over the call icon, trying to figure out where and how to start again with the man. And then your phone was buzzing in your hand, and you gasped. Had you accidentally hit the call button?! No. Calum was calling you. Confused, you hit accept. “Hey, Cal. What’s up?”

“Not much. Just had a quick question for ya.”

“Well I might have a quick answer for ya.”

You heard his soft chuckle and then a brief pause as he cleared his throat, and you knew he was pushing a hand through his hair, stemming whatever nerves this “question” was creating. “You got any dinner plans for Friday?”

“No. Why?”

“There’s this new place I’ve been wanting a try, and you know how I am about eating out alone. And it’s been a minute since just the two of us hung out. So I’ll pick you up at 7?”

You gave a small laugh at the rushed excuse, wondering what he was really up to. “Sure thing, Cal.”

“Cool. Oh, and uh, dress in something nice-ish? The restaurant’s kinda uppity.”

Another small laugh. “Alright, Cal. See you Friday then.”

~~~

“It’s just dinner. It’s just Cal,” you told your reflection as you finished getting ready. “Nothing you haven’t done a million times before,” you kept trying to calm the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. While you had a pretty good idea on what this dinner really was, you didn’t want to get your hopes up that Calum was having the same change of heart that you’d been having. The man really did hate eating alone at restaurants, and if the place was as upscale as he had told you, then it made sense that he’d rather bring you along than Ashton. And he had been right about it being a good while since it was just the two of you spending time together rather than a larger group outing.

But when Calum knocked on your door rather than texting that he was in your driveway, you couldn’t stop the blush coloring your cheeks. And when you opened the door to reveal the man on the other side, dressed sharply with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand, you felt your heart skip a beat. “Oh, Cal,” you breathed. “You didn’t have to do that,” you told him, taking the flowers and moving to put them in a vase of water.

“It’s how you deserve to be treated,” he said simply with a shrug as he leaned against your doorway.

“You’re too sweet to me, Hood,” you teased lightly. “Ready?”

“After you.”

When he went as far as to get the car door for you, you had to laugh. “Okay, Hood. What gives?”

“I told you. I’m treating you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“Nah, there’s more. I can tell. C’mon. Spill it,” you pressed when he got in the driver’s seat. “Flowers. Getting the door. Dinner at a place that requires me to dress like this. You’re up to something.”

“You look stunning, by the way,” he said, reaching over to give your thigh a squeeze.

“Calum Thomas Hood.”

He sighed. “We were good, right? Like when we were together? It’s not my memory playing tricks on me?”

“You were the best boyfriend I ever had,” you answered honestly.

He nodded. “Okay. You’re not allowed to make fun of me. But since Mike got engaged, it’s gotten to me a bit. Almost like I’m missing out on something, but it’s weird because my life is already everything I want it to be. So what could I possibly be missing out on, you know?”

“Why would I make fun of you for that?”

“Because it’s a stupid ass reason to take you on a date.”

“Oh, is that what this is? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ha-ha,” he deadpanned. “Look, I guess what I’m saying is, recent events made me reevaluate things in my life. And I think I’m in a better position than I was a few years ago to be a real partner to someone. And even when I wasn’t that person, you were the only one I could see myself becoming that person for. So… if you’re up for it, I’d really like for us to try again.”

Underneath the streetlight casting him in a soft reddish hue, he turned his head slightly to look over at you, brown eyes hopeful and solemn. When the light turned green, he turned his attention back to the road, but kept stealing glances over at you, still waiting for your response.

“I guess it’s only fair to let you know that I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

The corner of his mouth curved up in a smile. “Really?”

“Really,” you said with a soft smile and a small nod of your head. “I was actually hoping this was more on the date side than the friends grabbing a bite to eat side.”

“Good, because this is definitely a date.”

“Good,” you nodded again before leaning across the center console to press a kiss to his cheek, grinning as warmth spread across his face.

~3 Years Later~

You startled awake at a phone ringing nearby, a tangled mess of limbs and bedsheets. “Mmm?” Calum rasped, voice heavy with sleep as he answered the phone, followed by a quick, “Whoa, mate, stop yelling. You did what now?” There was a small pause as whoever was on the other end of the conversation spoke in a rapid flurry that you couldn’t decipher. “You did?!” Calum clarified whatever the news was, sitting up straight in bed, your head falling from his chest to his lap.

“Ow…” you giggled, shifting to sit up against the headboard like Calum was.

“Sorry,” Calum mouthed, listening intently to whoever he was still talking to, raising a finger for you to give him a minute when you raised an eyebrow in silent question. “That’s fuckin’ great, Luke! Congrats to the both of you. Lemme know what the plans are for celebrating and give Sierra a hug from me in the meantime, yeah? Alright. Talk to ya later, mate. Bye.”

“Well?” you demanded.

“Luke and Sierra are getting married. Or he proposed anyway, and she said yes.”

“Oh, that’s great!”

“Yeah, I’m really happy for them. Wow… first Mike, now Luke. We really aren’t the same kids we used to be, are we?”

“I think in some respect you guys still are. You still cling to those roots of who you used to be, the things that shaped you into the people you are now. But you guys are also growing up, too. It happens, Cal.”

“Yeah, no, I just… Wow. It’s not something I really pay much attention to, us growing up, until something like this happens.”

“The last time one of your band members got engaged, you got a case of feeling like you weren’t measuring up somehow. You’re not feeling that way now, are you?”

“No. Not at all. In fact… Luke said something when Mike told us he got engaged. That he wanted to go tell Sierra how much he loved her.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, and at the time I made fun of him for it. But… I dunno… I get it. This type of shit really shifts things into perspective.”

“I mean, yeah. Last time it resulted in both of us thinking we should try being an ‘us’ again. What’s the perspective shifting to this time? You’re not gonna go out, and buy a ring, are you?”

“No, I already have one in my sock drawer.”

You choked. “What?”

He climbed out of bed with a laugh, making his way to the dresser and rummaging around in one of the top drawers. Then, something small was soaring through the air as he tossed whatever it was onto the bed towards you. “Told ya,” he said simply, as you grabbed the small box, popping the lid to find a ring inside.

“How long have you had this?” you asked, your voice a small whisper.

“Uh… 2016 I think,” he said as he rejoined you in bed.

“So, since the first time we dated?”

“Yep.”

“Calum!”

“What?” he laughed. “I told you our entire relationship, both then and now, that you’re the only person I see a future with. Did you think I was lying?”

“No! I- I just didn’t know you went so far as to get a ring, and keep it for 5 bloody years.”

“Well, it would have been a little weird if you had it all these years, considering… ya know.”

You laughed in a mix of disbelief and shock. “You are absolutely crazy.”

“I’m not actually proposing, you know that, yeah? I mean, yes, the ring is yours. But only if you want it to be. I love the life we have together, more so than I thought I could love any other version of my life. I never feel like I’m stuck in place, or missing something when I’m with you. I’ll be just as happy if you never wear that ring, as I would if you wore it every day for the rest of your life. You, me, Duke, and music is all I’m ever gonna need in life. I’ve known it since the first time I said I love you. Even in those years we thought chasing our careers was more important, you were still the only person I’ve ever been in love with.”

“Calum…” you breathed, your lip trembling.

“Shh, if you want the whole deal of the proposal and the picture perfect wedding, I’ll give that to you gladly. That’s what the ring’s for. But if you’re content with what we have now, this will always be enough for me, and that’s a promise.”

“I don’t want a proposal only because Luke and Sierra made you extra sentimental. I don’t want to take their moment away from them either.”

“That ring has been yours far longer than any extra sentiment our friends getting engaged could stir up, but I get what you’re saying. If/when you want it, say the word.”

“Ask me again in a year,” you decided. “And I mean really ask me. The whole deal.”

“I can’t fuckin’ wait,” he murmured as his lips crashed into yours, his hands cupping your face. “I’m so in love with you. Always have been. Always will be.”

__

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[yesimwriting]

playing vices

“A/n a blurb bc ive been working on my novel and ive missed writing for Kirigan :))

--

I am a fool that has played into her vices enough to make them addictions. That must have been Kirigan's plan. He knows that I don't agree with his methods. He is also much too aware of the fact that I am beyond attached to him. He plays into that fact often, lulling me to him whenever he feels that my conscious is in danger of driving a wedge between us.

Which is why I have become accustomed to falling asleep while running my fingers along his skin as he whispers things much sweeter than anything he would say while fully awake.

But now it's late and he's not here. I sit up, kicking the comforter off of me slightly. It seems Aleksander has been more and more absent these days. When he's not with me, the odds that he's doing something that hurts people are high. His absence is also starting to make me feel like he's losing interest in me. It would make sense considering the fact that he looked twice at me in any capacity has never seemed logical.

Maybe that's why we've never indicated commitment to each other. I don't know what commitment would be with him. He seems to grand to be considered a 'boyfriend', but there's something more than friendly about how he holds onto me. I've never cared for labels until I started feeling displaced.

"You're still awake."

I press my lips together, trying to seem a little calmer. "Couldn't sleep."

"Troubling thoughts?" The question is more weighted than it should be. Everything with him is. 

“Has anyone ever called you dramatic?” 

His lips quirk upwards, hinting at a smile. Warmth pools in my stomach, the way it always does when he lets me see the slight glimmer of light that’s still in him. Sometimes I think he only shows me this softness when he feels that I may pull away. It may be rooted in manipulative intent, but I know that it’s real. 

“Only you would have the gall,” he says, voice low yet not dark. 

Kirigan’s easiness coaxes a smile from my lips. A small one, but I can feel the way the crack in my tension feeds his confidence. He takes pride in slipping past the walls I only try to create when cautious or irritated. Today I’m both but I need to pretend like I’m neither. The more resistance he senses, the more forward and effective his advances become. 

I keep my expression neutral. I’m sure Alina could get away with calling him that. I wish she was more unlikable. It would be easier to hide my irritation if I could blame that displaced feeling in my chest on two people. But of course Alina is wonderful, beautiful, and his equal.

Whatever. It’s not like we’re really anything. Every time I see him I wait for his betrayal. There’s nothing worth using me for, and somehow that makes me feel worse. He should have never looked at me twice let alone encourage whatever strange relationship we’ve created. 

My silence seems to displease him because he approaches my bedside easily in quick yet patient strides. Now that he’s close enough to touch I feel some of the ice I managed to solidify melt. 

Kirigan lifts a hand and places it on my knee easily. I stiffen instinctually, he runs his thumb over my skin to fight my resistance. “Who’s upset you?” 

I breathe, forcing myself to ease. “No one has.” I don’t have to meet his gaze to know he doesn’t believe me. That’s the core source of our attachment, we can read each other with less than a look. “I’m just getting a headache,” not a full lie, “I’ll feel better after some sleep.” He squeezes my knee slightly, a soft way of asking me for more. “I don’t think I’ll be good company tonight.” 

His hand leaves my knee, fingertips barely grazing my thigh as he moves his hand to hold beneath my chin. I still as he turns my head so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to be good company when what I want is your presence.” 

I press my lips together to avoid melting into the promising pools of warmth that make up his irises. He spent all day with Alina, took Zoya’s side in an argument I had with her earlier this week, and now he comes to me late at night. He seems to only want to acknowledge me when we’re alone, and it’s not like I want more than that. I just don’t know how long my heart will be able to teeter the line between nothing and something. I’m a fool for having let it go on this long. 

The only problem is that his steady stare is chasing away all of my rationality. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone more in the mood to offer their presence.” 

My curtness leaves something behind his expression dull, the hint of a smile that was growing on him has now vanished. I am met with a stoic disposition I have never had directed at me. 

“They’re not you,” he counters, voice edged by something I don’t understand. 

That’s the point. They’re not me--I’m average. I can’t offer power and my relationship experience is basic at best. I don’t want to have this argument, not when I’m basically fighting for him to let me go when that’s not what I want. 

I’m making it easier. If it hurts this much when I was only on the cusp of something, imagine the pain I’l feel if I let it continue. I turn my head away so that he’s no longer holding my chin. “Not a bad thing.” 

“To me it is.” He doesn’t hesitate, my chest swells. His thumb brushes against my cheek, soft and comforting. “I’m tired,” he says this like it’s a confession. His admission hangs in the air for a long moment, as heavy and weighted as my heart. “If you’re angry, wait until morning.” 

Something in my heart cracks. “I’m not angry.” My gaze drops, my thoughts struggling to come together. “I’ll be nicer to deal with in the morning.” 

“Y/n,” his tone twists from distant to warning, “the last time you asked me to leave was when you discovered something you didn’t like.” 

I almost wince at the way he’s worded it. When I found out what his real plans were, I told myself I had to leave. He skirted past all of my reservations and walls, twisting my doubt away through coddling whispers and shy brushes of fingers.

“This isn’t like that.” Not a lie. 

He exhales slowly, the sound dangerously sharp. “Then what is it?” 

“Why did you come here so late?” The question leaves me too sharply. I’m exposing too much but I can’t help it. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.” My voice is flat. “I’m sure Alina will be happy to fill me in.” I can’t bring myself to take in his reaction. “And if she can’t, I’m sure Zoya will be able to.” 

He’s silent for a long second. “Unwarranted jealousy doesn’t suit you.” 

His confidence sparks something angry within me.  “I am not jealous.” The most blatant lie of the night, but I don’t care. I turn my head to glare at him, “and don’t just tact on ‘unwarranted’ before something that’s true just because it’s easier for it not to be.” 

I watch his expression cautiously until the slightest tilt of his lips adds to my anger. He’s enjoying this or he did this intentionally or both. “Darling,” he hums, voice soft, “you are the only person that makes me feel peace.” 

My stomach flutters, the sensation threatening to break my weak resolve. “I am not particularly powerful,” I breathe, voice stiff, “or particularly...” How do I explain this all to him? “Anything.” He’s everything, and I am nothing but average. “I’m average at best, there’s no reason for you to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine--but don’t lie and pretend that that’s not true.” 

The sentence is barely out fo my mouth before I feel myself pulled towards him by the collar of my nightgown. His lips are on mine before I can question where this is going. I kiss him back too quickly, but any effort I expend is returned fervently.

He pushes me back slightly as quickly as he yanked me forward. He doesn’t explain. I don’t ask him to. I should demand an answer and shove him away from me or pull him back towards me. But I do nothing. I just stare at him as he stares at me. 

When the weight of the silence threatens to break something in me, I force myself to speak, “Kirigan--”

“Aleksander.” The name is soft and so fragile I worry it will shatter in the air before it can fully reach me. “You know there’s much I’m not ready to say, but that,” he exhales, the sound so sad I want to reach for him, “that is the one name I have not given to myself and I want you to have it.” Something conflicted crosses his features. “I would never give that to someone average.” 

Emotion swells in my chest, heavy yet not painful. “Aleksander.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to call to him or if I’m just trying to feel his name--his true name--on my lips. 

His eyes widen, something unbearable behind them. He moves the hand holding the collar of my nightgown to my cheek. I lean into the contact like a fool as his eyes flutter shut. “Say it again.” 

I don’t hesitate, “Aleksander.” I lift my hand, fingers hesitant to find their place on his cheek. “Aleksander.”

He sighs into both the contact and the name. “You’re the first thing I’ve allowed myself to want,” his eyes open, but I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze, “I should make you feel like it.”

Something about the way he says that is sad. “I think that if it’s fair to say you were a little distant, it’s just as fair to say that I was a little jealous.” 

Aleksander smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m tired,” he admits, “I’ll enjoy my victory in the morning.” 

I roll my eyes, but scoot over to give him a place by my side regardless. “I’m not sure you won, I think it was more of a draw.” 

He takes the space I offer quickly, never letting the contact between us disappear as he settles himself against my pillow. I let him pull me towards him. “This feels like a victory.” 

I try to ignore the warmth in my chest. “You’re lucky I’m tired enough to find that endearing.” 

I relax as his fingers trace shapes I’ll never know about onto my back. “I agree.” 

[everythingthemoontouches]

Hiii Jahn!🌙 I’m just a new follower. I discovered you while searching for D9 asks. I was amazed by your in-depth explanation on each placements. 🤍 I’d like to send in my D1 & D9 charts also for future spouse reading to understand more about it.Thank you so much!!🤍 Please take your time. I’ll patiently wait. 💕 Hoping you’ll have a lovely day/night! 🌹

Hello there

This, my love has been a longtime coming. First off I'm gonna introduce you to an intuitive read and then present it in a more formal, bulleted manner. You seem to ha e chosen quite a challenging path in this lifetime. Props to you for bravery. And a hug + some tea to help you brave it 💕 your life could be a beautiful movie on love, healing, growth, spirituality and personal power.

Future BAE seems to be stable, practical reliable with service being his love language. He is down to grow together, and help you walk in your power.

Taurus rising.

Scorpio 7th house. + Pluto + moon.

Wow. Lots of shadow work involved when it comes to close personal relationships. You need to turn that critical eye inwards.

Untill you work at managing or integrating your inner child issues, any partners you end up with will continue to trigger you. At its best, this is someone who helps you work through your feelings. Breakdown. Confront reality. Breakdown and rebuild yourself stringer than ever. A hades and persephone kind of love. Lots of sexual allure. Strength, protectiveness, passion, push and pull, makeup sex? Specially since the ruler of the 7th house (Mars) is in the 5th house. You're not the kinda person who'd be happy to marry just for stability. Passion and mutual attraction, love is a must.

Mars and rahu. Service. Over exerting for those you love. Days spent in bed. Service kink. Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets.

You're definitely attracted to people who help you better your place in the world. They have to have a little bit of ' I wanna do good / change the world in them'. A friendly leader kinda figure. Disciplined.

Your darakarka Mars is retrograde. Controlling. Dominant. Future BAE is definitely gonna overthink themselves into a worry when it comes to dating and wooing. Or they could think that only their way is the right / best way to do soemthing. Poor lil baby( I say baby, but as a Virgo Mars they're probably the person who takes charge, plans, overanalyzes things has a set way of doing things.) this could be someone who is an advocate for universal free education, teaches children for free or some such. Could second guess themselves when it comes to taking action.

Mars Rahu conjunction: sub kink. They'd want a lot of adulation. Could be from a different culture from you or have studied in a very different environment.

I think your fs gets better at dealing with overthinking after you guys tie the knot. They learn to be more at peace with themself, letting their intuition guide them instead of focusing too hard on trying to do the logical thing. Okay with being messy. May like to act and arrange things behind the scenes. Imagine coming home tired to find that they've already called the restaurant, arranged for your favorite food to be dropped off, warmed, alid out on the table. Gives me the vibes of a puppeteer(katputli - a rajasthani folk dance)pulling the strings. You can't see them, but the show goes on.

From being ficusssed on accumulating wealth your focus goes towards doing things that boost your sense of Self confidence. You could also grow more tactful as you learnt to seek out harmony. You probably become more direct and assertive as a result the peopep you attract are more easy going / Libra like.

I'm seeing a house for a wedding present? Or moving into your spouse's ancestral home. They could also come from a matrilineal lineage.

Your household could be supported by one or both of you working in tax, insurance, financial industries. There could also be soemthing related to life insurance.

Pluto and Saturn in the 7th is a tad concerning. There's a very heavy sense of some kind of karmic duty. Saturn is exalted in Libra.

Way too controlling. Narcissism. Moon Mars mother. Karmic ties. Moon 8th house.

U must learn to stand up for yourself.

If you're meant to have any babies in this lifetime, they'd probably visit you in a dream or a psychic trance before they come down to earth. Call it mothers intuition. This is just a gut feeling wrt your moon in 8th house in Scorpio in the D9. I say this because the moon rules the 4th house of home, and children are an important part of the house if you're a mom. The 4th house is also the home/ heartland what you'd protect.

You suppress your emotions. Emerges as a volcano. But a cold one. U turn to ice and grow aloof.

Out of body experiences

You need to learn to be more dominant and combative. I'd suggest watching the teal Swans video on creating a zero sum game in relationships. Strengthened by Aries ascendant in d 9. This life u gotta learn to fight for yourself, and not sit quietly because people attacked u or kept u under their thumb when u were younger by a strict dad.

OK, now let's look at the placements and aspects

D1 lagna (ascendant) VS D9 lagna

You go from comfort stability minded to taking more risks and initiative. Self Confidence increases. Assert your needs better.

Vargottama Moon

The moon is quite dominant as it does not change signs between d1 and D9. You're super cooperative and hate to disappoint people. I'd suggest reading up more on Anuradha Nakshatra.

Moon - Pluto - 7th house

Could indicate karmic ties or past life connections to FS. You work through a lot of your own inner insecurities, self doubt, lack mindset related issues in close romantic relationships. There could be some mother wound related issues. You can only love as deeply as you allow yourself to love yourself. In order to attract people who inspire positive growth in you, you must first sit with your shadow, examine why people trigger you, and make peace with yourself or, perhaps your mom?

Mars Rahu - sextile moon

Mars and Rahu are both impulsive action oriented Planets. Them sextile your Pluto and moon could lead you to feel quite triggered and attacked by the slightest hint of advice or suggestion from someone else. Sex with the wrong people can really mess with you. In a better manifestation good sex has you feeling liek you can change the world and also that you're super safe and secure.

Venus combust - 10th house

You need to feel appreciated for your uniqueness. Ego battles could arise and get in the way of finding, expressing love.

Saturn- Ketu Pisces

The ruler of your 7th Nakshatra this is someone who loses themself to community service, could do too much for the wrong cause. Money could come in from fish farming. Seduments or other aquatic culture.

Anuradha 7th house

This is a Nakshatra that focuses on achieving success by working with a group. Your fs is collaborative and good at managing people. Someone who shares success. And is hence likely to go far ahead in life. Major success may come later in life.

Mars 7th house

Expect healthy amount of frank, direct communication. Some arguments with FS. But there's also protectiveness, concern, and the will to do the best by someone. Mars and moon aspects indicate a healthy sex life. They're probably enamored by you. You in turn would find them super sexy.

7th Nakshatra lord and Ketu

Your fs and relation with FS is a highly spiritual one. You could both be looking for a soulful connection. There is love, there us duty there is a need to help each other value time, focus on the future. They could have been a strict disciplinarian figure Ina past life. You both probably have a knack to look down at your phone just in time tos ee an email / message alert from them? Perhaps you two run or help/volunteer at an institution for the mentally challenged.

7th house relation to pieces

OK, so this is where we have a lot going on. Mars opposes saturn. And is placed with Rahu. Mars here feels restrained. Your fs could feel blocked in their creative gifts. In the sense that all they want to do is focus on it, create, post, gain fame but saturn and Ketu try to restrict their creative time. They could be perfectionists. Having to redo things. Since Rahu is also in virgo there's a focus on creating things with the hands and fine tuning every single detail. Directed towards you, this is someone who is always encouraging you while trying to micromanage a lot of details because they think they're being helpful. This is sosmrhtinf you two could have in common so

Mars Darakarka: they teach u to fight for you. Opinionated. Honest. Perfectionist. Service before self. Hardworking. Have integrity. Very active mind.

Mars conjunct Rahu-venus D9 creativity

The 5th house rules creativity and with your venus in the 9th house in D9 your fs is someone who encourages u to be more creative and follow or take up a course to be better at your hobbies. It's like full creative freedom to be you and do you.

D9 Exalted Saturn

Justice. Duty. Not very affectionate but they make sure you have everything you need. Balanced approach. Someone thoughtful. They're fair in a fight.

Libra, venus ruled 7th house

Beauty, peace and harmony in thr relationship. You're not gonna feel like you're being taken for grated. They will treat you to nice things and probably have a schedule for dates and other such romantic leisure activities.

Jupiter rules 9th, in 2nd house

Philosophy. Art. Culture. Museums. Travel coudk be a key focus in your married life. This is something you two bond over. Could also strike God fortune when u do travel or go on pilgrimages. Luck and money via foreign sources.

Rahu in aquarius

Social media influence or you get better at making friends just make sure that they're not provoking you into taking uncalcukated risks or actions that are wya too bizarre. Could denote some kind of breakthrough with technology, a love for a high end gadget driven spaces. An interest in Photography. Any couples pictures posts would be well received. Like you're the couple that looks exotic in their photos. Radiant. Aloof, intellectual, stimulating and even more appealing together.

Jupiter Taurus in 2nd house of D9

Debilitated Jupiter 9th house- religious issues - venus 9th house - conversion?

You may have struggled with religious ideologies being forced on you, or the one you were born into didn't quite feel right. Your fs may follow a different religion or show you that being religious does not mean you feel bad about some of your lifestyle choices.

Pisces Mars d9: he is either tactful and charming or a bit manipulative. You may feel like you prefer to act behind the scenes. It may be a little hard to be recognized for the things you do untill you get really really angry.

D9 Cancer 4th house: the home is a serious source of pride. Beautiful interiors and you'd be quite guarded about who you invite over. The best meals. Soothing interiors.

Pilgrimage within the 1st year of becoming a mom ( Jupiter's aspect on the 9th house)

Venus in Sagittarius D9: future BAE is gonna love his freedom. He could be a workaholic.

Alrighty, that's all I've got today. I hope this helps. I wish you the best on your healing and integration journey

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Witch”

Happy Saturday, everyone! Well, it's perhaps happier provided you didn't watch today’s episode lol. Getting through these 18 minutes felt like watching an extended version of a CinemaSins vid. I heard a little 'ding!' every time something nonsensical, contradictory, or just downright stupid happened. My mind became a pinball machine. 

Which, in the interest of being fair as opposed to just snarky, only matters if you're looking for something resembling emotional depth in this show. RWBY, for all its faults, is enjoyable as a mindless spectacle. It's when you expect — or simply hope — for anything more that this very fragile house of cards comes tumbling down.

If it’s not clear already, today’s recap contains copious amounts of salt. Fair warning. 

With that disclaimer out of the way, let’s dive in. Episode nine is titled "Witch," which is fitting since many members of our group go toe-to-toe against Salem herself. The narrative issues inherent in having your heroes fighting their final boss years before the series is meant to end might have been avoided if it weren't for Oscar's ridiculous, sacrificial attack... but we'll get to that.

We open with a sweeping shot of the Atlas battle, as hundreds of dead soldiers segue into endless grimm. Hold onto that image for a bit. At the end of this carnage is, of course, the mouth of the whale. We cut to Jaune, Ren, and Yang already safely inside.

"Well," says Yang, "that was harrowing."

I'm on the fence about this choice. On the one hand, yes, it's good that RWBY knows it can skip over extraneous scenes. We have NINE characters to keep track of and develop, fourteen if you count Ozpin, Maria, Winter, Ironwood, and now Whitley. Plus villains. There simply isn't time to show every insignificant moment... but was this insignificant? Obviously finding Oscar and escaping Salem's clutches is the true hurdle of this mission, but that doesn't mean getting through an entire army of grimm is in any way a cake walk. I'd be more willing to ignore this time skip if it weren't likewise presented as such a challenge for Winter's team. They have to "clear a path" to the whale, but our trio got there unscathed and unnoticed? The obvious implication here is that Ren just masked them the whole way — supported by his aura breaking later in the episode — but it still feels like we missed an important chunk of this task.

I'm nit-picking though. As said, I’m straddling the fence on this one and, given that, I'm inclined to settle on a, "Good job, RWBY. You're keeping the writing tight," if only because I don't have much else to praise about this episode. Throw the poor, struggling show a bone lol.

Now that they're inside, they realize they haven't the slightest idea how they'll find Oscar. “Like finding a needle in a giant…whale… why did we think this was a good idea?!” Because you and your friends are idiots who no longer bother to think about a situation before throwing yourself straight into it? This isn't me being mean to Yang, she literally says as much later on. Our heroes no longer get by on intellect, strategy, and skill, but rather plot armor and a staggering number of coincidences. For example, Ren.

Yang: Wow, it sure is lucky for us that on our way to this incredibly dangerous mission Ren inexplicably developed a new part of his semblance. Now he can not only mask peoples' emotions, see the true emotions that someone is feeling, pull thoughts out of their head about what they believe about a situation, but can also track someone across long distances through their emotions alone. Even that doesn't actually help us find Oscar, we just got lucky again when, in this maze of a whale, he ran right into us!

Me: So what were you going to do if this meta-world stopped giving you the most contrived solutions in Remnant history?

Yang: Die gloriously, I guess.

What Yang actually says is, "Okay. That's new!" and they enter the literal belly of the beast wielding a shield of convenience.

Jaune is also being awkward again because remember, RWBY doesn't know when to incorporate humor and when to treat a situation seriously. He reminds Ren not to "drain [himself]," he'll help him, and it's clear the scene is hinting at their earlier fight. There's a lot to unpack there, but I want to save it for the second conversation.

For now, we cut to Oscar, curled up in his cell, repeating stories to comfort himself. Yeah that's fine. I could use a broken heart right before Valentine's Day.

“She brushed off her bumps and bruises, for nothing hurt worse than the loneliness in her chest." It's a line from The Girl Who Fell Through the World, which Ozpin recognizes given that he's "lived through" a fair number of fairy tales. He immediately asks how Oscar is holding up — because he's a caring person! — and Oscar admits that he never understood why the girl of the tale was sad upon reaching home again. Now he does: she wasn't the same person anymore. I don't think the fact that Oscar has had both a metaphorical fall — leaving his farm to 'fall' into this war — and a literal one — falling through Atlas to unlock his magic — is lost on anyone. This is a nice allusion to our themes. Yang's speech to Salem later on? That’s something else entirely. 

Storytelling done, Ozpin says he thinks "this plan to divide might have run its course” and it's time to try and find a way to leave. I'm sorry, I love my farm boy, but what plan? He didn't do anything. At least nothing that could remotely be termed an intellectual plot. Oscar convinced Ozpin to try and turn Hazel by telling him the world would end under Salem's rule and the only reason that worked is because the story decided to chuck out Hazel's entire character. You know, the one that hates Ozpin above all others, wants the world remade into a non-Academy horror show, can't understand that people make their own choices, is terrified of Salem, and has no reason to trust a prisoner he's currently torturing. Oscar's "plan" hinged on his writers erasing a great deal of work to build a new story that fits said “plan.” He didn't even get Emerald involved, she just — again, conveniently — eavesdropped outside their door at just the right moment.

To be clear, I'm not against a story being written to work in the hero's favor. Of course things are going to be convenient in a happy-ending tale. Someone manages to hold out just as long as they need to, a sword is lying just within reach, you, yes, happen to run into the one person you're desperate to find. This kind of stuff is reassuring, telling its audiences that sometimes things do work out for the best. It's enjoyable... but only provided the hero's entire success doesn't hinge on fate being shockingly kind to them. That's what RWBY has become. A world where Salem doesn't attack Mantle, Amity Tower is suddenly finished, the group can charge into any deadly situation they want to and bank on destiny twisting around itself to ensure they come out of it safely. A hero finding a convenient weapon nearby to defeat their enemy with is only reassuring after we've seen them implement a brilliant attack, struggle, nearly win, but then suddenly be faced with failure, necessitating that little push from coincidence. They earned it. The hero doesn't get to run in blindly and find a Defeat Bad Guy plot point gift wrapped for them at the first sign of trouble. They just die.

RWBY used to be a better written show because that's precisely Pyrrha's story. She charged a Maiden unprepared, without a single plan or hope for success, and she died. That's what happens in a dangerous, internally consistent world, but RWBY has since lost the second half of that formula.

I'm harping on this because this entire episode is built on that foundation of coincidence, something that shouldn't be happening at all, but especially not when you're pitting the heroes against Salem herself.

So yeah, it just gets worse from here.

Back to Oscar. Without the cane magic is the only weapon they have at their disposal, but he's reluctant to use it because every time he does, they merge more quickly. 

They... do? 

Okay, there are three major problems with this announcement:

I'm pretty sure we've only seen Oscar use magic once: creating that barrier to survive the fall through Atlas. That was the point of his near death experience, to unlock something that had previously been unavailable to him. Yet if he's only used it once, why is he so sure that it hurries the merge along? What's this "every time" business? This confusion could have easily been avoided if the show had just let Oscar use his magic this volume, tackling some other questions and gaps in the process. Let him use it to fight off the grimm in Mantle, giving him the opportunity to admit to at least Jaune, Ren, and Yang that Ozpin is back. He could have used some magic against the Hound with Ozpin's encouragement, answering the question of why he was entirely silent while the two of them got their ass beat. Give us a moment where Oscar uses his magic against Hazel, nearly escaping in the process, but is captured again at the last moment. Basically, his line makes it sound like magic has been this ongoing resource with an established downside when... it hasn’t.

Coinciding with all of the above, how is it that Oscar can suddenly use magic at will? Yeah, yeah, he unlocked it during the fall, but really? You open up the magic gates and from then on out it's as natural as breathing? This is the same issue with Ruby's silver eyes. The story gives these characters incredible powers, but never has them talking about how they work, let alone training them. They just exist, perfect in execution, as soon as the plot needs them. (See: the final shot of this episode.) At least Weiss had to practice her summoning for multiple volumes.

Finally, the question of how Oscar instinctively knows how to use magic could easily be answered with, "Well, he's kind of Ozpin now," but that would require the story to actually explain what the merge is. "We merge faster," Oscar says, but what does that mean? The Ozpin and Oscar we see in this scene are fundamentally indistinguishable from the Ozpin and Oscar who existed at his aunt's house, four whole years ago. They're still separate people, with one controlling the body and the other existing as a consciousness he can talk to. Nothing has changed. The show keeps insisting that Oscar is going through this deep and painful arc of losing himself to Ozpin... despite the fact that he has yet to lose a single bit of Oscar-ness. Has he changed? Well of course, but anyone going through these experiences is going to change. Remove the "merge" aspect and Oscar's confidence or power up is likewise indistinguishable from any of the other characters' developments. Nora is becoming more of an individual this volume. Ren is becoming more powerful in his semblance. Neither have an Ozpin to force that change, it just happens on its own. So what separates Oscar from every other character going through a formative experience? When is “I’m not the same person anymore” due to unnatural magic vs. just growing up? 

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy our boy is getting more screen time — and that the cast is actually being kind to him now — but overall his arc is objectively terrible. He bought some clothes, told Ironwood he was as bad as Salem, told Hazel how to access the Relic, and then asked him not to be a villain anymore. Somehow these things are presented as significant moments of growth while the real questions surrounding his merge go unanswered.

“Honestly, I think you’re doing just fine on your own," Ozpin tells him, but he's not. God knows our boy is trying, but this is a moment where Ozpin's self-hatred (and the story's insistence that the younger generation is intrinsically better than the older) is blinding him to the situation. Oscar has made terrible decisions lately, in as much as he's been able to decide anything at all, and now he's rejecting escaping captivity because he's terrified of a concept he doesn't even understand yet. None of that is fine. Reassurance is one thing, but painting this situation as Oscar making better choices than he would with Ozpin's input is insane. He literally just decided to keep them in Salem's clutches indefinitely because something something magic is scary, I guess. Oscar doesn't need a, 'You're better than me' speech, he needs a reality check so they don't both die. Remember back in Volume 5 when Oscar, a brave but idiotic 14 year old, insisted on fighting someone entirely out of his league and Ozpin was like,

then saved him from getting his head crushed in like a cantaloupe? We need more of that. Our teenage heroes need guidance, but because RWBY keeps insisting that every adult they encounter is corrupt or incompetent, that hasn't happened in three volumes. They're just aloud to decide things like, “Let's tell our captor the Relic's password because UwU ~trust~” and then the story bends over backwards to make that work. Instead we could, you know, let characters learn that they can be wrong. 

The snow scene was the beginning, but RWBY really went off the rails the day it let Qrow warn the group against stealing from and attacking an allied city, only for them to call him an idiot for doubting them. Now, Ozpin doesn't even get to warn Oscar about stupid decisions, he just agrees with them, reassuring and passive. Never mind the complication of whether Ozpin is even emotionally capable of providing guidance after they labeled him the worst thing to ever happen to them. 

Why does RWBY keep ruining my faves 😔

Anyway, we’ve got to stay on track. Oscar has decided to just lie there but, luckily for him, Hazel's redemption — I use that term so loosely — has begun. He drags Oscar out of his cell before we cut to Winter. 

She's leading a portion of Ironwood's army, trying to get things ready for when the bomb arrives. Neon and Flynt are a part of her team, sharing scared glances and trying to remain optimistic. It's a legitimately hard-hitting moment, striking that balance between horror and hope. Funny though, I wonder that RWBYJNOR would think of their friends fighting for evil Ironwood...

Marrow, continuing the tradition of insisting that our heroes be both adults and kids simultaneously, looks sadly at the soldiers heading into battle and goes, "But... they're just kids." I would like to remind everyone reading that Ruby is younger than them. Anyone who thinks that these teenagers shouldn't be fighting grimm — the thing they have been training to do as their professional career, during an unprecedented attack on their home — should not simultaneously be looking to the girl who is two years younger as his savior. (Something that, while not overt yet, is very much where Marrow is heading as he continually doubts the Ace Ops and looks to RWBY's group as his new, moral leaders.) I'm glad that, for once, this perspective is firmly called out. Elm arrives to tell him point blank that he needs to figure out his personal ethics later. It doesn't matter because there's an army of grimm out there and monsters aren't going to spare anyone, adult or child. Quit philosophizing and kill some already.

Back to Hazel where we get the doorway shot from our trailer. He's taken Oscar to the Relic, because of course he has. Do I really need to list how convenient this is too? Apparently, "the moment we move that thing, this place goes on high alert," but there’s no alarm for when Oscar is taken from his cell, they enter the Relic's room, or when they use it. What does a movement alert matter if someone can just waltz in and waste the last question themselves? Put some of those endless grimm in the room to guard it, Salem!

Just assume that I am, at any given point in this episode, letting out the longest sigh my lungs are physically capable of.

Emerald shows up, demonstrating both the convenience of everyone arriving when they need to, and the very real danger that Salem herself could come in and discover what they're up to. Hazel has Oscar summon Jinn, only to immediately say that “Actually, I think all my questions are answered now.”

I'm sorry, how does this answer any of Hazel's questions? His driving question was not, "Is the Relic actually a magical object capable of doing magical things?" but rather "Are you telling me the truth about Salem's plans to summon the Gods and destroy all of Remnant in her quest to finally die, thereby changing who I'm going to support in this war?" Seeing a naked, blue djinn does not answer that question. 

Hazel's "redemption" is non-existent. He — we — learned about Salem's death wish despite how that contradicts previous lore, then he trusted Ozpin despite that contradicting his entire character, now he joins the heroes because, literally, he sees Jinn floating there. It’s bad enough that Hazel goes from clear villain to sacrificial hero in a matter of in-world hours, but we don’t even get a reason for why that change occurred. 

Oh, there's also this:

So Jinn doesn't come out of her lamp unless someone intends to ask a question, but does it for Ruby because she's special, yet still reiterates that this won't happen again. Then Oscar summons her without intending to ask a question, she comes out anyway, confirms that none of them seek knowledge from her, and happily pops back inside her lamp because eh, it’s whatever.

If RWBY had any courage the three of them would be cursed now for toying with a powerful, magical object. Remember the days when Jinn was a little terrifying because it felt like she was warping her answers and we had no idea what she might do to someone who used her carelessly? When she felt like a djinn? Good times.

Or better times, at least. 

So Good Guy Hazel and Good Gal Emerald promise to get Oscar out. Never mind all the horror they caused, the people they killed, and that for Hazel, at least, this defection is coming out of nowhere. 

Anyone remember that Emerald orchestrated Penny's death? No? Just me?

As they leave it turns out Neo was camouflaged against the wall, because she was also precisely where she needed to be. Does everyone just periodically pop into the Relic room to see what’s going on? At least this time it's not working in the heroes' favor. Remember when I said it's beyond idiotic for Oscar to just hand out the Relic information to known enemies currently holding him captive and torturing him?

Yeeeeaah.

So Neo's got the Lamp. Funny how all of this could have been avoided if Ruby had just put it in the vault like she came to Atlas to do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

We return to our trio where Jaune and Ren need to rest because their aura is giving out. Good! These guys fought a battle, fought Neo, fought more grimm, fought the Hound, traipsed through the tundra, presumably fought through more grimm to get to the whale, and have been using both their semblances to look for Oscar. It's about time their reserves started to falter.

Jaune decides to scout ahead a bit, leaving Yang and Ren to talk about nothing of importance. I mean that seriously. Remember a few days ago when I spoke about how, if the snow conversation does come back up, Ren's points would be entirely ignored for a nonsensical “I’m glad we’re friends” speech? Remember how I also spoke about how every emotional beat now is entirely generic and you could replace any character with another and not a single thing would change? Yeah. This is both those arguments in one. Nothing is said about the points Ren made. His problems with how the group has been acting lately and the very real, very deadly consequences it has had are flat out ignored. We went from

"But these aren't the kinds of decisions we should be making because we have no idea what we're doing!"

to

"Forward, no matter what!"

in a matter of hours, with precisely zero insight into how Ren went from one perspective to the exact opposite. Kind of like Hazel. Because see, RWBY doesn't write arcs, it just writes one thing until it decides to switch it up for something else, with the opposite idea presented as a “resolution” or a “twist.” Our creators writes scenes they know the fandom is begging for without considering how to get a character to that place, let alone how to get them out of it. That's all Ren's speech was, the equivalent of moral fan service. Here's a glimpse of actual character depth and a morally gray situation... now forget it ever happened because we're back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Instead of working through the laundry list of issues Ren raised, Ren instead accepts Jaune's aura help — something they've been doing since Argus — and tells Yang it's okay to be scared. These moments are meaningless and, as said, could have been between anyone in our cast. Ren could have told Nora she doesn't have to use jokes to cover up that she's scared. Jaune could have reminded Ruby that she can depend on him. Yang could have tried to keep Blake and Weiss' hopes up. This scenes ignores the individuality of the characters, like the fact that they just fought over very different world views, to instead favor any dime-a-dozen moment of support. The number of times this volume has rejected the conflict and resolution the group needs for bland, generic reassurances staggering.

Also, apparently Jaune isn't scared at all? I don't think that's as good a thing as Ren seems to think... 

Then Jaune immediately rounds the corner, terrified lol.

One of the seer grimm is on its way and he tells Ren to mask them. Apparently he had been masking them before — one of the reasons he's so tired now, trying to do two things at once — but it's only here that they go black and white again. Ren manages to keep it up for a little while, but his aura breaks before the seer passes and they're spotted.

Hark! A consequence!

That was well done. It makes sense and it adds to the stakes. We've seen the insane amount of fighting the group has done since Volume 7, we just established that they're at their breaking point, and then Ren's aura fails him right when he needs it the most. Add this to the miniscule pile of things that were well done this episode. 

Salem runs into Emerald and Hazel, the former of which is acting very suspicious when asked if he's made any headway with Oscar. The seer's alarm interrupts them though and... okay. Was I the only one who cackled during this moment? Between Salem's voice acting and the fact that she just yeets herself down the hallway, it came across as really funny to me. 

Either way, it is a bad situation. Our trio is trying to figure out what to do, to which Yang responds, "Do what we do best… charge blindly into danger!!”

Ren's aura is broken. Jaune barely has any left and it’s unlikely he could heal right now even if Ren had any aura to amplify. If Ren takes a single hit anywhere important he is dead.

Me, on my knees, surrounded by the ashes of the Hound, the last bit of serious storytelling we had: "For the love of God, the kingdom is on fire and simultaneously dying of cold. There's a grimm army decimating hundreds outside. Half their group is missing and they're wandering lost inside a devil whale, about to have the most powerful being Remnant has ever known personally try to kill them — can we please have their attitudes reflect that?"

The answer, in case you were wondering, is no.

Back to the bomb. Whatever scientists were given this task have completed it and Marrow watches as it's flown out towards the whale. "Come on, Juan" he whispers and I'm all, "Juan?" Apparently it's a callback to last volume when Marrow couldn't remember Jaune's actual name, but it took me hopping onto the RWBY wiki to remember that. 

As death via explosion inches closer, the trio runs into Hazel and Emerald. Turns out though that Hazel is really Oscar, disguised through Emerald's semblance. Nice trick! Jaune immediately drops both weapons to hug Oscar and, while that's nice and all, it's also the stupidest thing he could possible do in enemy territory. Also, Oscar has been beaten up by the Hound, tortured with magic, and likewise beaten bloody by Hazel. I was hoping for a tender hug like the one Nora gave him, not a giant squeeze for more comedy purposes. It just feels like RWBY has no idea how to manage the tone of this volume, let alone the torture of a child...

There's the obligatory, "Why should we trust you?" from Yang regarding Emerald joining the team, to which Ren responds, "Because she's scared, just like us."

That doesn't prove anything. Literally everyone is scared right now. There is a war going on. I really cannot emphasize enough how RWBY throws out Deep™ sounding lines that are, upon inspection, absolutely nonsensical. Nora reminding Penny that there are different parts to her personhood, Hazel saying that all his questions have been answered, Ren announcing that Emerald is scared... it's all worthless chatter that has no bearing on their problems: How do I keep from being hacked? How do I know you're telling the truth? How do we know you're trustworthy after you spent years trying to kill us? But of course, because it's RWBY, Ren's announcement is treated as some sort of secret truth that everyone accepts. Emerald joins up.

As they head for an exit we return to Marrow who, frankly, is getting on my last nerve. I know the fandom loves him because he's clearly leaning towards Team RWBY, but does anyone actually listen to what he says? He starts yelling at Winter for sending in the bomb because the trio might still be alive in there, despite:

Seeing for himself the hundreds of soldiers that have fallen trying to keep Atlas safe

Knowing and hearing again from Winter that the only way to stop this carnage is to take out the whale. Given more time, the whole city falls

Sadly announcing to the world that children shouldn't have to fight in a battle, rather than just joining the fray and helping to keep those kids safe

How does Marrow think those kids are going to be able to stop fighting? How does he think he'll get a city to return to? It's no wonder that he's drawn to Ruby because both characters stand around twiddling their thumbs, mourning that things are bad, and blaming others for imperfect solutions rather than doing something to make the situation better. Marrow's disgust at Winter over the bomb is precisely the same as Ruby's disgust at Ironwood over Mantle: how dare you not have a plan that results in both victory for us and zero sacrifices? They want perfection which, yes, is an admirable trait, but their problem is they refuse to do anything until that perfection appears. They’re paralyzed, a trait that’s particularly dangerous when your story insists that perfection will never appear: it’s not a fairy tale. So they just continue to get mad at others for the fact that they live in an unfair world. You want that perfect solution? Think it up yourself. Otherwise, stand aside and let those coming up with something do what they can to make things better. 

Marrow goes so far as to drag Weiss into things, trying to guilt Winter with the knowledge that she'll have to relate the death of her sister's friends back to her. Winter, because she's a badass who isn't in denial over the situation, tells him that yes, she will shoulder that responsibility. To Marrow's credit he backs off then, but man. RWBY has legitimate moral questions here — when is holding out for a few worth risking the many? — but they go about exploring it in the most frustrating way possible. I personally have no respect for the guy who wants to announce that Children In War Is Bad instead of, you know, using the power he currently has to protect those kids already neck deep in a battle. 

Because John Mulaney remains relevant:

"There shouldn't be a horse in the hospital :( "

"We're WELL PAST THAT."

Marrow is the one going, "There shouldn't be kids in a war :( We shouldn't have to kill a few to save the whole kingdom :( " and everyone around him is like, "No shit, dude! But this is the hand we were dealt! You going to help us, or what?"

Literally all of these characters could have been so much more than what they currently are.

Except Winter. She's doing great.

Now for the final scene. Our group nearly manages to escape the whale, but is incapacitated by some sort of screechy power that Salem employs. 

She contorts her body, stretching out her arms to snag Emerald, and the others have a brief, but intense skirmish. Jaune manages to block a blast of magic aimed at Ren with his shield — nice — and Yang dots Salem's face with a bunch of bombs before blowing her sky-high — double nice. Oscar shoots out some magic of his own because, yeah, I guess he can just do that now? It really feels like it came out of nowhere after eight episodes of being the punching bag. 

Of course, Salem immediately reforms. She traps the group with grimm arms that come out of the whale, interrogating Ozpin about why he bothers to keep coming back. There's a very sad answer there of, "I don't," referring to his lack of choice in reincarnating to fight her.

Yang interrupts their little tet-a-tet to throw the question back in Salem's face, calling her out on her choices. A great idea but, as always, execution: "because something bad happened to you once upon a time? No one gets a fairy tale ending."

I’m sorry, but that dialogue had me cringing. Like I said before, way too on the nose. There's keeping with the fairy tale theme, and then there's shoving the viewer's face in it. More of Oscar's musings on how he relates to the protagonists of fairy tales, blurring the lines between storytelling and reality, which in turn encourages the viewer to consider how they see themselves in the RWBY cast. Less... whatever this is.

Yang goes on to talk about how many people Salem has taken from her, which upon reflection makes a certain amount of sense if you toss in all the people who are here, but changed somehow due to Salem's influence, as well as acquaintances who died as a result of her meddling: Raven is scared off, Tai suffers as a result, Pyrrha dies, Penny dies, Yang loses her arm and her school. I think the dialogue could have been revised to reflect that better though because what Yang implies is that Salem has killed countless of her loved ones, yet what she says is, "Summer Rose. My mom." Honestly, for the few seconds this exchange was happening my thoughts weren't even on Summer. Yang calls Salem out for killing loved ones and my brain went, "Pyrrha??"

That's how little they've done with Yang and Summer. I know in the past I've argued that RWBY has a "better late than never" situation going on, that I would praise them for making the right writing choices even if they arrive years too late... but now that we're here, I find that it's a hard problem to overlook. Summer is Yang's mom? When's the last time we heard that? Volume 2? Whenever the conversation with Blake was. Since then Yang has called Raven "Mom," focused on that emotional connection (or lack thereof), was excluded from the conversation with Qrow, comforted Ruby after she was blindsided by Salem's taunt, and otherwise hasn't mentioned Summer at all. There is no foundation for this accusation except a few lines about getting cookies as a child and the fact that we're tossing references in now makes me worried that we'll indeed get a grimm!Summer reveal. Better remind the audience that she exists before the twist arrives! Honestly, as much as a part of me wants to praise RWBY for trying to get things back on track, moments like this just ring hollow now. They waited years and now it’s too late. It doesn't help that this is the episode where we shrug off Ren's speech. What will Yang's cutting admission amount to based on this trend? Probably nothing. Summer will become Yang’s mom again in another six seasons. 

Salem, obviously, doesn't care. The real Hazel arrives and she orders him to take Oscar back to his cell. Instead, he gives him his cane with a whispered, "No more Gretchens, boy."

Behold, another meaningless line. Hazel hates Ozpin for "forcing" Gretchen on a mission and "getting" her killed. The whole point of his villainy is that he doesn't understand the concept of choice and that bad things can happen to good people with no one able to prevent it. Not every loss has a responsible party attached (outside of, you know, Salem/the grimm). So what is he even demanding here? No more huntsmen schools? That's what you wanted Salem for. No more "forcing" people to fight for you? Ozpin never did that in the first place. Or is it just a strange promise that no one else will die here? RWBY seems to be under the impression that they can just name drop dead family members — Summer, Gretchen — and that's that. Emotional depth created, never mind a lack of buildup or clarity. 

Then Hazel punches Salem across the room and she releases every single hero from their bonds. See the theme of this episode: convenience. Hazel shoves a whole bunch of dust crystals into his shoulders and yells that he's doing what Gretchen would have wanted, clearly sacrificing himself so that the others can escape. The battle between him and Salem is pretty decent. I enjoyed the dust vs. magic creativity and the sheer damage Salem can take before reforming. This fight really showcases how not human she is.

It does, however, bring into question Hazel's reveal about her needing an hour to heal at the longest. I mentioned how unlikely it would be that our heroes would get the chance to "kill" her multiple times, yet here we are, just a few episodes later. They got that opportunity and... does it matter? Salem's reforming doesn't appear to slow down at all, despite her head getting obliterated at least three times, so at what point does she need longer than a few seconds to heal? If this was meant to be a potential weakness the group would eventually exploit, we needed to see it here, both for that setup and to keep it consistent with Hazel's story.

Regardless, they fight and at first it looks like a pretty straight-forward sacrifice on Hazel's part, giving the group their chance to escape. Except... Oscar.

"She'll just come after us," he tells Jaune, turning away from him to fight.

I need a list for this: 

Of course she's going to come after you. This is not some shocking revelation. At no point has anyone thought that escaping the whale is the answer to all their problems, it just creates one less problem to deal with. Namely, the problem of "Our ally is captured, being tortured, and may give up important intel to the enemy. Oh, also he's about to be blown up with a bomb." Salem coming after them doesn’t matter. What matters is making her plans as difficult as possible as you work to come up with more solutions of your own. This is just a smaller version of the Ironwood conflict: “Well, Salem will just follow Atlas into the sky so it’s useless to attempt escape, or to buy ourselves time.” It’s really not. I know I’ve used this ridiculous comparison before, but if you’re ever chased by a horror movie serial killer hell-bent on your destruction and your reaction to this problem is, “Why run? He’ll just chase us. The only possible choice is to fight him with a 99% chance of our death,” then I beg you to re-evaluate things. 

What was the point of coming to rescue Oscar if he was just going to stay behind? The whale is about to be blown up by a bomb and the trio risked their lives ten times over to get to him. If I were them I would be pissed. We went through all that to get you out and now you’re refusing to leave when we have a chance? Thanks for that. 

Same with Hazel. Not that I care about the guy, but if I was sacrificing myself for others to escape I'd be pretty annoyed at them randomly deciding not to do that.

What does Oscar even think he's going to do? Kill the immortal witch? The entire point of our series is that they can’t do that (yet). 

However, if he is able to do something significant via Ozpin's magic, why didn't Ozpin do that generations ago? Somehow I don't think a younger Ozma closer to the height of his power was in a worse position to attack Salem than a tortured, aura-less kid who unlocked his magic yesterday. The more RWBY reveals about Salem, the more I go, “Okay, but why didn’t his happen [insert any number of years] ago?” 

Did Jaune actually leave? I assume he's just grabbing an airship or something before coming back to drag Oscar away, but seriously where did he go?

There's no way I can approach this scene without throwing up my hands and going, "What? WHY?" Which is a real shame because we finally get to see a bit of what the cane does and it’s... precisely what Ozpin's magic has always done? I mean, we saw that green shield five years ago and now there's a giant white beam. Okay.

If the beam just hits Salem with Generic Magic Power then there was never anything secret about the cane, it’s just, you know, Ozpin’s weapon. If the cane does something significant to hurt her we're left with the question of why it took literal generations to use it. Nothing is making sense to me and the only way I can think to salvage this scene is if Jaune runs back in, snags Oscar like a sack of potatoes, and runs out yelling about how he's clearly suffering from a concussion because what are you trying to accomplish here?

It doesn't help that this moment feels... final. Hazel has managed to hold Salem in place. Oscar has unlocked his cane and lands some mega hit right before Hazel passes out and looses his hold. Not only does this feel like a scene that should be at the end of the volume (we've still got five episodes), but also the end of the series. RWBY is building Salem into an unbeatable enemy by giving her more and more powers, and simultaneously eliminating the stakes by having our currently weakest character (in terms of exhaustion/injuries/aura/training) landing a shot like that. Why would you nerf Salem's threat level like that in the middle of a volume? Especially with a tool our group has had available from the start? If the cane does damage, maybe lead with that in the, “Here’s why we should stay and fight” office conversation. 

I assume that Oscar's hit will obliterate Salem to the point where both he and Hazel have time to escape, or he obliterates both of them (“Do it”) and that's somehow presented as a better choice than just running while Salem is captured, or the bomb will interrupt things somehow... but it's just so shoddily done. At the very least, if they were going to have Oscar refuse to let someone fight alone, have it be an actual friend he's staying to assist. Having Oscar refuse his own rescue to help Hazel has more than one problem attached to it. We can say what we want about RWBY's themes of forgiveness, but this guy was torturing him just a few hours ago while serving Remnant's version of the devil. Just let him sacrifice himself and move on.

And that's where we end. Oscar powering up, the cane getting all magic-y, and him shooting a crazy big blast that engulfs both Salem and Hazel. I can't believe how not excited I am about my farm boy doing something badass, but here we are.

Overall I think this episode was way worse than last week's. We absolutely had problems in "Dark," particularly when it came to the Hound and the group's blind devotion to Ruby, but at least those moments were cushioned by an otherwise decent episode. "Witch" felt like I was watching something closer to a parody of RWBY, one deliberately poking fun at the fandom's desires: erase all conflict for awkward silly times, your favorite villains are instantly good now, the heroes go toe-to-toe with the main antagonist because why not, throw a bunch of magic in there for good measure, and wrap it all up in some over the top "this isn't a fairy tale" lines. I can see the pieces of a much better episode here — Emerald sneaking Oscar out with her semblance, Neo snagging the relic, Flint and Neon, Hazel attacking Salem — but it simply didn't come together.

I know I said this last time, but I have no idea what we're going to do for another five episodes. Salem slowly reforming from bomb damage as the group tries to keep Penny from opening the vault? The grimm attack halted with the whale gone so Qrow can go after Ironwood? The longer this volume runs, the more I think it was a mistake for them to introduce Salem as a fightable antagonist now. RWBY doesn't know what to do with her besides have her inevitably fall in the final season, so until then she's left being stupid (Relic), passive (Mantle), or, likely, written out of the story temporarily so the heroes can turn their attention towards smaller conflicts and weaker foes. They literally can’t beat Salem yet, but they can’t focus on other problems when she’s around without coming across as negligent, so if you have to find ways to erase her to make room for that... what was the point of bringing her here in the first place? We could have established that Salem is bound to her realm and had her send the Hound and whale to attack Atlas. There, all the fun parts of the volume without her complicated presence. 

Well, the next five weeks will certainly be interesting, at the very least... 

Until next time 💜

[Ko-Fi]

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived - Chapter 19: Unwelcome Thoughts

This is chapter 19 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur

Word count: 3603

Cw: blood, treating wounds, lots of pain, detailed intrusive thoughts about hurting others, tensions between characters, manipulation, spiralling, crying

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Tending to his own wounds was once a routine. It was something that he had to do frequently during the wars, and it hadn’t taken too long for him back then to grow desensitized to the feeling. As repetitive as loading a crossbow, which could cause someone else to go through the same repetitive action.

Though as Wilbur tried to recall the steps, his memory seemed to fail him. He hadn’t had treatable injuries in limbo after all. The ones he had since he was revived, other people had treated for him. Now he was out of practice. Great.

He ripped the fabric off the wound to free it. As bleeding started to come out from his wound, he remembered that the arrow ideally should be removed after the first bit of the immediate treatment.

Ah, shit.

With a piece of cloth he’d picked up, he applied as much pressure as he could to the wound. It stung, but it was better than nothing. “Now I’m going to rinse it,” Wilbur narrated. 

Ghostbur’s whimpers became clearer every time the wound was touched, and Wilbur was starting to grow tired of it. Every single time he heard it, he was momentarily brought back into the pain. It was pathetic to let himself be affected by it.

He took a water bucket and slowly poured some on the wound. Suddenly he heard Ghostbur scream.

“What’s going on, what’s going on, what’s going on?” Ghostbur pleaded.

“Huh?” Wilbur said confusedly, “I’m rinsing the wound, I just told you.”

The words were unclear through the quick breaths. “With- with what?”

“Uhh, water?” Wilbur said, confused at the question.

“O-oh-” Ghostbur said, “It- Water burns me. I’m sorry I just didn’t expect it this time.”

“Water burns you?” Wilbur asked. Abruptly, he remembered the tears steaming on the figure’s face. As if they were burning him. 

They were burning him.

“That didn’t happen last time,” he said, remembering when his wound had been rinsed way back then.

“It does now,” Ghostbur said quickly, and if it had been anyone else, Wilbur would almost have assumed it was with slight annoyance.

Wilbur hummed with acknowledgement as he picked his brain to remember if anything was different. He remembered how Ghostbur had been able to taste the consistency of the steak. The touch on the hand. The fur on the sheep. “I guess you feel things more clearly now.”

“O-okay. Please-” Ghostbur cut himself off.

“Please what?”

“W-warn me next time?” It was asked like a question. Uncertainty dripping off every syllable. It was familiar in a sense.

“Sure,” Wilbur said with a nod. “I’m supposed to be rinsing it for a couple of minutes though. To avoid infection.”

“Your time or my time?”

“My time.” Wilbur said, and the words tasted bitterly in his mouth.

“Okay,” Ghostbur whispered, his voice so hushed, that Wilbur could’ve easily missed it.

Wilbur continued to rinse the wound with water, Ghostbur’s whimpers coming through every once in a while, though they turned quieter and quieter. He thought of the way the tears had burned the ghost. He thought of the sobs, the pleas and the cries.

For how long had Ghostbur been crying?

Wilbur pushed the thought away as fast as he could, because he didn’t need it right now. It attempted to drag him towards the ground, and he was so so close to taking off. He was so close to letting his mind wander into the comforting freedom that came with the control he’d gained. He disinfected the wound, inhaling sharply at the feeling.

“I’m done rinsing it,” he said after a little while, and the ghost stopped whimpering. He took the bandages off the surface of the chest next to him, and wrapped them around his leg. He took a big sip from the potion of regeneration, the pinkish purple mixture making it into his veins. It felt a lot more comfortable than an instant health one. It settled, as if everything was being stitched together with a grip as gentle as water. 

Or well, perhaps not water in everyone’s case. 

There was silence from Ghostbur, and Wilbur hummed, satisfied with his work. “See? I’ve taken care of the wound, just like you wanted.” He chuckled lightly, “How do you feel?”

The ghost swallowed something in his throat. “Better,” he said, though the words sounded choked.

Wilbur remembered the buttons underneath his fingers, and the satisfaction that came with breaking something in his hands. He thought of George, backed up into a corner. “Hmm? Are you happy now?” he said, and somehow it didn’t feel like he was the one saying it. It was, of course. It was something he would say.

Ghostbur sounded like he was about to sob again, though it was hindered. After a few moments of silence, he spoke, “...thank you.”

Wilbur felt his shoulders fall into a relaxed position, as he looked straight ahead onto the books on the shelves. “You’re welcome,” he said. It came out quieter than he intended.

Once the potion had done some more work, he could go have a look at the books. Figure out his next course of action. But there was no rush. Not really. That was another pro to working alone. He decided when he was working, without the weight of expectations keeping him down.

Ghostbur sobbed, before cutting himself off again. “Wilby, ‘m sorry.” he said. It didn’t mix in with the rest of the pleas. It was intended for Wilbur properly this time.

“For what?” Wilbur asked, a bit of confusion slipping in with the nonchalance. 

Ghostbur’s breathing wavered. “Sorry for it hurting too much.”

It took Wilbur a moment to comprehend the words, and when he did he wasn’t sure whether to frown or to laugh. An apology. The ghost was apologizing to Wilbur for feeling pain. It was just like the other times, and it truly dawned upon Wilbur just how apologetic the ghost was. How the ghost would go silent just for feeling unwanted.

How easy it was, to make the ghost go silent.

The thoughts came to Wilbur like little gusts of wind. Like the button underneath his fingertips. Ghostbur couldn’t do anything, and Wilbur held every ounce of power to do whatever he wanted. The pure water didn’t harm Wilbur in the slightest. He imagined letting the water stream down himself, hearing the ghost’s pleas and faint apologies. He would beg Wilbur to stop, and Wilbur could touch his old wounds, and jump in a tank until he was entirely covered in water. The ghost’s apologies would fill his mind, and Wilbur would encourage them fully. He would take them at face value. He could have Ghostbur never talk again. He could finally be alone. Because breathing at the surface of the ocean was hardly necessary when you were brilliant enough to breathe underneath it.

As the thoughts appeared, he had a difficult time pushing them out. They lingered there, temptingly.  They shouldn’t, Wilbur realized. That didn’t make sense at all. He shook his head quickly.

Wilbur spent so long feeling like nothing. Feeling pathetic. Prime, how he yearned for the freedom. Wanted to be everything he knew he had the potential to be. Wanted to ride that high, that led him to the button that destroyed everything he’d created.

And yet, a faint hint of the ground he was standing on before, tried to drag him back. Tried to push the familiar high away. 

What the hell was he thinking? What did all of those thoughts mean?

He needed control. He really really needed control.

It was strange to have a ghost in his mind that lacked control whatsoever. Any knowledge was given by Wilbur, and even then, the poor thing still needed an explanation at times. The ghost spoke in the back of his mind, “I heard from Phil that when you get an injury you should use rice. Not the food though, he told me not to use actual rice.” Ghostbur chuckled somberly, “It’s an acronym. Tells you that you should rest, ice, compression, and elevate something when it hurts. I- I know that we don’t have ice, but can you- if it’s not a bother- elevate it?” Ghostbur quickly added, “Just a bit please.”

How far could he push the kind soul? How much would he take before nodding along to what Wilbur said. “It is a bother,” he said dully, the words seeming automatic. They tasted wrong as he continued to speak, “You’re lucky I’m kind enough to take care of you.” He grabbed the chair near him and laid his leg onto it, shifting it slightly so it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Thank you,” the words were strained, almost a whisper that slightly shook.

You’re welcome, stayed on his tongue. It tasted more and more bitter the more he considered it. Silence lingered between them. He barely had the words to say what he wanted to say.

A small part of him said to apologize. Perhaps that part was infected by Ghostbur as the rest of him was so boldly different. The thoughts reoccurred, louder this time, swarming him with all the ways he could make Ghostbur silent. “Shut up,” he muttered to nothing in particular. 

A muffled whimper filled his ears. He couldn’t tell if it was his mind or Ghostbur as the ghost’s screams echoed in his mind. He moved the chair under him slightly, making it so he could reach the bookshelf in Tubbo’s bunker. Perhaps light reading would take his mind off of things.

He skimmed the titles with his eyes. Most of them were about L’Manberg and Schlatt2020, but a few stood out. He thought carefully before picking the book that read, “Pandora��s Box”. The name felt familiar. Someone must’ve told him about it, but he couldn’t remember a name. 

He leaned over, barely grabbed the book as it was near the end, and put it onto the table in front of him. He opened it, skimmed through the index, and flipped to the first page.

“Pandora’s Box, is a massive prison, commissioned by Dream on the 6th of December 2020. It was primarily built by Awesamdude, with the help of BadBoyHalo, Antfrost, and Dream. The prison is said to be entirely inescapable.”

Wilbur nodded along with the words, and flipped to a page that detailed the captives. 

“Current prisoners: Dream, imprisoned on February 7th 2021”

Wilbur chuckled to himself. Oh the irony. Trapped in one's own prison. Truly the fate for someone considered a villain.

Wilbur’s mind was silent. There were barely any whimpers. Wilbur hated how his heart seemed to jump to his throat for a moment at the realization. He turned the page back to the part detailing the entry protocol.

“To gain access to the prison, the guest must summon the warden by clicking the button at the entrance hall and travel through the portal grid controlled by the warden.”

Silence. Wilbur felt his heart rate increasing.

“Upon entering, the warden at the desk has the visitor sign waivers waiving the prison's responsibility and gives the prisoner the responsibility for all risks.”

Wilbur tried to absorb the information, as he became increasingly aware of his own breathing.  “In addition, the guest is vetted through interrogation with questions regarding the visitor's visit history, relationship with the prisoner, and the location of residence.”

Wilbur remembered the faint apologies. Sorry for it hurting too much. Yet there was barely a sound in his head, and all he could hear was his heart, and his breathing, and he had one foot on the ground, and the other elevated. He was no longer about to fly. His mind wanted to, but it couldn’t seem to find a place to take off. The click of buttons seemed foreign to him. He wanted to throw the book away to make sense of his mind, and all the desires blasting through it at miles a second. The desires he didn’t want to have, the desires he was supposed to have, the doubts he thought he shook off long ago. 

Pathetic. Pathetic shell with nothing to offer for his time. A legacy, a crater in the ground. He wasn’t going to be pathetic anymore. He knew he could do so much more. He could affect miles worth of land. Could fill so many pages in history directly and indirectly. Wilbur was a genius! A work of art, and no one else knew. No one else understood. No one else could truly see the big picture the way he could.

Control. He really really needed control.

Wilbur shut the book abruptly. “Ghostbur, do you want me to read something out loud to you?” The words came out so quickly, that he barely realized he was the one who’d said them.

“Huh?” a moment of hesitation followed, “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I- I don’t know.”

“There are quite a few books here,” Wilbur said, his voice softening.

“I…” A few confused silent breaths came out, “What- what am I supposed to answer?”

“Hm?” 

“I’m sorry, this is hard, I don’t… I don’t know. What do you want me to respond? You said I shouldn’t-” There were some quiet unintelligible mumbles.

Wilbur’s hand shook on the cover of the book, his back suddenly straightened. It had worked. Just a few words, slipping out as a small test, and the ghost was right there, trying to please Wilbur’s every whim. The ghost was in his head, and the ghost was desperate. The ghost feared him, and Wilbur wasn’t even sure if the ghost knew how much more Wilbur was capable of or not. Just how little Wilbur had to do, for the pleas to never cease, or for the silence to extend forever. 

And perhaps, there was a little bit of influence lingering elsewhere, because the thought made Wilbur feel sick. Dizzy from the power, yet lacking any sort of grasp or control when it came to his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur said out loud, the words echoing the ghost’s own muffled apologies.

“Huh?” Ghostbur said.

“There is no right answer,” Wilbur said. “Just uh… Pick what you want.”

“Would it… Would either bother you?” Ghostbur asked, his voice choked.

Wilbur shook his head, though the ghost couldn’t see it. “No. Reading brings me information regardless and reading some out loud would just… Help me memorize it.”

Yes. Wilbur didn’t care either way. What did Wilbur care about anyway?

“Oh.” Ghostbur said, taking a deep breath, “R-reading is calming. If it isn’t any trouble I wouldn’t mind listening for a bit. Sorry.”

Wilbur flinched slightly at the apology. “No reason to be sorry,” Wilbur said. “What do you wanna hear about?” He asked, looking at the shelves, “Oooh, how about all this Egg stuff? I don’t know much about that.”

Ghostbur made a small hum of agreement, “Whatever you’d like.”

Wilbur insisted on Ghostbur’s opinions to be heard, the persisting guilt pressing onto him painfully, “Do you not have a preference or do you secretly want a certain book?”

Ghostbur’s voice wavered, “I- I’m sorry. Just um- whatever you want.”

Wilbur hated that he could tell Ghostbur had a preferred book. Yet, he knew the ghost was distressed enough as it was and decided to force himself to not dwell on it too long. Of course it lingered in the back of his mind, but he pulled a book titled “The Egg” off of the bookshelf. He took a shaky breath as he opened the book. 

He didn’t bother looking at the table of contents as he cleared his voice, “The Crimson, also known as The Egg, is a strange large red egg that was discovered by BadBoyHalo while mining out his statue room before December 6, 2020.”

The silence was present, but it wasn’t as loud as before. It slightly irritated him as it taunted him in the back of his mind.

“Since then, it has grown much larger and exhibits a strange phenomenon of weeping vines and tendrils that have been found across different locations. The Egg appears to be sentient, talking to the infected in a strange language.”

Wilbur awkwardly laughed, “That’s sorta cool.”

He hoped for a passive agreement that was tinged with melancholy, but instead, silence greeted him. No- it wasn’t a greeting. It was a harsh intrusion that played on repeat.

“The vines, also ca- called Blood Vines appear to be slowly growing across populated areas. The v- vines reek of iron, and taste like metal.” 

Wilbur’s hands shook the book as he looked up at the ceiling. He almost expected the stone surface to morph into Ghostbur himself, and proceed to tell him how horrible of a person he was. It was welcomed more than the silence. He knew he didn’t deserve Ghostbur’s voice, but he wanted to hear him laugh again. He just needed the reassurance he would be okay.

The thought made him look back at the book. He shouldn’t be so soft. The ghost had done nothing for him. He only knew him for a few days. He shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t. 

Ghostbur probably didn't care either. He probably pretended to, for a way out of limbo. Yet, part of him knew Ghostbur wouldn’t be silent if that was his goal. He would ask questions about Dream or the train, instead of leaving him alone in his own mind.

“Ghostbur, please just-” Wilbur didn’t even acknowledge what he was saying. He screwed his eyes shut as he put his head down on the table. He felt his eyes water despite being closed. He wasn’t crying if he didn’t let the tears fall, was he?

He didn’t even know what he wanted Ghostbur to say, but it certainly wasn’t what the ghost said. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.”

A sob reached out of Wilbur’s throat. He constantly ruined everything. It wasn’t any wonder why everyone preferred Ghostbur over him. Apart from the occasional person that preferred Dream over him. The one written down to be the villain that everyone regarded out of malice. He couldn’t have a moment without someone wishing he was gone and it killed him.

Not literally, even if he wished so. He didn’t stop his cries from tumbling out. He went to cover his mouth with a hand, but he couldn’t see a point anymore. The worst that could happen was the villain finally reaching the end of his story. A story that finished months ago, but now the creators of life were releasing the sequel that nobody asked for. 

“Wilbur? Is there something I can help you with?” Ghostbur’s voice was so small and hesitant compared to all the thoughts in his head. He got up from his seat, just to curl himself up under the table, moving his leg slightly. He winced from the pain, but he kept it stretched straight to make it hurt a little less.

“G- Ghostie?” Wilbur stuttered through sobs.

Ghostbur’s voice had a fondness that shined through it slightly. A pang of guilt roughly hit him at the gentleness he didn’t deserve. “I’m here.”

Wilbur’s mind ran as he blurted, “Ghostie, please don’t stop talking. I- I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the train station anymore. I need someone else. Please.” Wilbur’s voice cracked on itself as he grabbed part of his hair. He hated the fucking train station, the silence that constantly rang in his ears. The gray walls and ceiling taunted him as if freedom was on the other side. If he ran far enough, he would find the end of the tunnel. If he ran quick enough, no one would even notice he was gone.

It took him a while to hear the thoughts in the back of his mind, “-t was a silly idea! B- but Tommy insisted. So we took a bag with us with some potions in it. They weren’t for me but just Tommy. We ran out into the snow, it was so much fun!”

Wilbur put his head between his knees as he felt the wall against his back. Tommy. Snow. Potions. Ghostbur. No train station. He was out. He tried to count his breathing, but it only worked so well as his breath kept on hitching.

“He was wearing three layers and I was wearing… I guess one? Phil said he needed more layers to feel warm, but I always felt warm since I was a ghost and stuff. So I just wore my normal outfit.”

Wilbur nodded as his voice shook, “Mhm. P- Phil is really nice.”

“Yeah. Phil is part bird, I think? Or angel maybe, some people have said. He has wings and he makes little chirping noises when he’s happy. Sometimes he makes higher ones if he’s worried.” Wilbur already knew all of it, but he felt familiarity with the information that comforted him.

Ghostbur continued to talk and Wilbur was appreciative of it. He’d add small comments occasionally. It took longer than it should have for Wilbur to stop crying, but at the end, in a smaller voice than he wanted, he muttered a quick, “Thank you.”

Ghostbur sighed peacefully, “You’re welcome.”

“Tired,” Wilbur’s eyes desperately wanted to close but he made sure to keep them open. He didn’t want to leave Ghostbur. Not right now.

“Go to sleep, Wil. I’ll be here in the morning.” Wilbur could barely hear the rest, nonetheless debate that he didn’t want to leave Ghostur alone, as he passed out under the table without another word.

[lastluvbug]

Your Trick Me Once and Trick Me Twice was amazing! My poor heart ached as I read it. May I request for a situation where Kalim was depressed after the events of Chapter 4;Jamil says something along the lines of "If only you hadn't exist" and Kalim decides to take drastic actions like attempting suicide? You can choose if his attempt is a success or a fail but I do want to see Jamil's reaction to the attempt though. Of course this is only if you are willing to write this. Thank you very much! :)

Toxins

Haha, you guys sure are enjoying the angsty Kalim fics! Oh well, truth be told, I am too! So let’s continue the sadness train!

Warnings: Extreme suicidal tendencies, toxic behavior, and language.

Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics.

Vermillion skies bled to dark midnight as a little twinkle on the horizon grew into a thousand stars that created shapes and pictures Kalim loved to trace with his fingers.

Twilight, the death of the day, and the birth of the night. A long time ago, it was the part he dreaded with a passion unmatched by any other. After all, when the sun set, that meant today was over, and all those precious times he’d savored were now nothing more than lightly remembered memories soon to be rewritten, or forgotten. But now... well, now that he had no one to fall back on, no one to reach out to, twilight was now the sweetest kiss he could await for, the kiss that he’d wished to feel, but for now could only see.

Caressed by the wisps of wind that held the slightest hint of spice, he leaned back onto his hands, swathed in the moonlight that seemed to spotlight only on him, on the tears that freely dripped down his cheeks like crystals, a sad smile tugging at his lips. Feet dangling over the edge of the too tall balcony, he drank the taste of night, the bittersweet flavor of the dry desert air.

Sleep had long since been a hazy concept, often coming in sporadic periods that sometimes stretched for hours, and sometimes lasted no longer than five minutes. No longer did he carefreely fall into blissful dreamland, no longer did he find comfort in the silk finery of his sheets, or the clothing that had once fit so snuggly over his already lithe body.

Stomach shrunken, fingers bony, cheeks ever so slightly caved in, Kalim had gone from so heathily full, to a frail petal on the edge of falling from its flower of life. He didn’t need to show anyone the way his ribs had replaced the muscle that used to line the bones, didn’t need to explain why he’d suddenly found nitpicking every food that was placed before him as a new hobby. Probably the worst of all, he refused to allow anyone to see the secrets he was hiding, masked with a terrifying expertise he surely shouldn’t be capable of creating.

Riddled with jagged lines that cut over his shoulders, his hips, his thighs, Kalim hid those so well, walking without a single limp, waving without a flinch, acting as if he didn’t feel the sting of reopening wounds whenever he stretched his limbs a little too far, or the dripping of crimson as sparkly as gems down tanned skin. Laughing soundlessly at the tranquil sky, he sniffled, betraying his actions as the glittery sea of bottled sadness spilled from his eyes.

What was perhaps the scariest feeling of all, was that he simply felt... nothing.

All those smiles to his friends, all those sympathetic hugs he offered to classmates in need, he didn’t feel anything through it. It was as if a switch had been turned off; the dark smothered his light, shutting out the emotions that had so clearly made Kalim, Kalim. He could laugh and cry as much as he wished, but that didn’t cover the fact that it was all... fake? Forced? Imitated?

He knew why. He wrote about it every night, in the journal he kept beneath his pillow. He dreamt about it, whenever he could manage even a glimpse of an image past the realm of sleep. He remembered it, he remembered him. His words. The ones that stabbed him in the back, in the heart he thought he could so foolishly bear to someone who’d once been so trusted.

He knew this was all because of Jamil. But he rejected any thought that came within a hundred feet of blaming him. How could he? How could he even begin to blame Jamil, after everything he’d done?

“Hey, Mr. Oblivious. Won’t you pull your head out of your ass for one goddamn second and pay attention?”

Kalim should’ve been listening better, then Jamil wouldn’t have had to tutor him on basic classes.

“Why won’t you just get out of my life? I’ve told you a million times, and I’m done repeating myself. I’m not your friend. I never have been and never will be. Now leave me alone.”

Was he being too pushy? Maybe... maybe he just needed some space.

“Kalim, get the hell out! Good for nothing leech, just get away from me!”

...How much longer can he do this?

Slow, encumbered, Kalim turned his head to the door of his room, waiting, hoping, praying that the handle would turn, and welcome in the one person he wanted to love again, despite the late, late hour. Staring at the wood, he felt numb, expecting something he knew would never happen.

Falling rather ungracefully from the balcony ledge, he dropped onto his wide bed, onto the plush mattress that was deceivingly firm underneath his back, cradling all the wrong places as his covers practically strangled him in the heat. The tears that came this time weren’t born of fear, or anger, but grief and guilt.

Maybe if he’d been more perceptive, maybe if he’d loved just a little harder, things would be different. But... didn’t it amount to anything that he’d tried? That once, Jamil had been treasured like a brother? Didn’t he care at all that Kalim was suffering?

Cuddling into the overwhelming confusion between suppressing heat and empty cold made Kalim’s head spin, and cradled by the hand of the night that so desperately urged its dimming sunshine into sleep, he felt his eyes slip shut, sinking into a slumber that was neither welcoming, nor satisfying.

<————>

Heavy and cold, shivering in warmth, dimmed in light.

Kalim curled in on himself, sleep clothing askew as he gritted his teeth, chest sinking with a fractured stabbing as he hugged his knees to his chest. Just as the nights before, sleep had brought nothing but a dreamless black that he wished he could stay trapped inside, only to awake yet again in a body that only ever seemed to work against him.

Sitting up, he grunted as his wounds burned, flames traveling through his veins as if salt had been rubbed into his cuts. Tears speckled across his eyelashes as he bit back his cry, every breath he took watering the knot that grew in his throat.

He knew then, with the sensation of cracking glass prodding at his chest, with the cloud that dampened his head, with the glaze that formed over his eyes consisting of dammed tears and bottled fear, he couldn’t do it today. He couldn’t go out and act as if everything was alright. He couldn’t smile and laugh like he’d taught himself to. Because every time, it would come out too broken, it would show the feelings he’d worked so hard to conceal.

He needed to make a trip.

Dressing himself was an especially difficult task, as any small movement made his arms scream in protest, his hips cry in red as mended injuries were pried open, his thighs burn like boiling water had been splashed over them. But, biting his cheek and gritting through it, Kalim disregarded his bodily urges to stop, pulling on his school uniform and sloppily tying his turban, slipping on his pointed shoes to complete the look.

He didn’t even note the time as he headed out, feeling unbearably heavy as he glued his gaze to the floor, wandering through the halls of Scarabia. Along the way, he caught the eye of a few students, who waved energetically. He didn’t have the strength to summon even a hint of a smile back, trudging past them as he blinked, shoving down the water that longed to rush down and cool his warm face.

Pinned with the helplessness of being alone, Kalim hesitantly made his way to the mirror portal that led back to Night Raven’s main building, freezing as he noticed who stood against the wall, cleaning the dirt from his nails. Jamil barely acknowledged Kalim until he was within reaching distance, scowling as he met the crimson eyes of the other.

Though he was tugging dangerously hard on a taut string, Kalim inhaled as he brought forth a shimmering smile, betraying the unspoken words in his eyes. “G-G—“ Kalim cleared his throat, swallowing the knot, “Good morning, Jamil! Are you on your way out? I could come with you, if you’d—“

“You’re a damn idiot if you think I want to spend even a second with you. Not that it’s any of your business, but I was waiting for someone.” Jamil clipped, crossing his arms.

“A... Ah, of course! Well, I could still stay with you as you wait for—“

“No. It’s clear they’re not coming. I should get out of here, before I waste anymore brain cells on a useless, incompetent child like you.” Jamil didn’t make eye contact as be pushed off the wall, pushing by Kalim without another word and wandering off into the labyrinth known as Scarabia.

Fists clenched tightly at his sides, Kalim stared blankly into the mirror, watching it swirl and sparkle with ethereal light as he resisted the urge to break down right then and there. He could feel as his legs quivered, on the edge of giving out as his breathing hitched, shallow and shaking.

Still, he followed the path set aside in his mind, almost missing a step as he practically fell into the portal, whisking away to the Mirror Hall.

Emerging on the otherside, he almost breathed a sigh of relief when no one was there to greet him but the dead silence of morning. Instead of bouncing off to class like he would’ve had he the stability to paint on a pretty smile like any other day, he made a sharp detour to a certain portal he never saw himself going into.

Stepping into it, he squared his shoulders, prepping himself with failing encouragements for the conversation that needed to succeed.

<————>

“Dorm head Vil. Pardon the intrusion, but you have a visitor.”

The blonde looked up from his vanity, pausing mid stroke and setting his mascara down. “Oh? Let them in, I’m not busy.” He shrugged, standing to his full height, enhanced by his heeled shoes.

“Of course,” the underclassman nodded, stepping out of the room to allow in said visitor.

Kalim felt weirdly out of place in the proper Pomefiore, despite having been raised in sumptuous royalty since birth, and setting foot into Vil’s positively sparkling room made him wince inaudibly with guilt. His bone slim fingers twitched with anxiety, a dark shade over his eyes as he stepped before the taller boy, only scarcely making visionary contact. “Good day to you, Vil,” he blandly greeted, grinding his teeth together in a smile that looked more like a grimace.

“...And to you, as well Kalim. Is there something you needed?” The white haired dorm leader shuddered, offering no explanation before pouring out the dialogue he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head.

“Well, you see... I’d like to ask you if you could make me a poison. Something fast acting, and easily hidden, that doesn’t smell too horrible.”

Vil flinched, pupils dilated and mouth agape as the request spilled from Kalim’s lips. He... wanted a what? For who? Why? “E-Excuse me? Kalim, what are you thinking?” Vil near yelled, balling his fists at his sides.

“O-Oh uh...” Kalim scratched the back of his head, feigning an awkward look as he chuckled. “It’s for educational purposes. I’ve been cooking for myself lately, and knowing me, I’m likely to accidentally poison myself!” He laughed boisterously, perceived differently by both listeners. “So I figured you’d be the one to go to, right? Unless... maybe I should’ve tried doing it on my own...” His voice trailed off, Vil’s hand on his chin, debating within himself.

Kalim popped a sad smile that didn’t appear so outwardly as Vil returned the act, a smirk falling to his painted lips as he extended a hand towards the prince. “Very well. Of course, coming to me is obviously the smartest idea someone like you could’ve come up with, but sit down first. You look absolutely atrocious.” Vil scoffed, gesturing to the seat before his vanity.

Reluctantly taking a seat, Kalim felt the insult dig deeper beneath his skin than it should’ve, crushing his hands under his thighs as he obediently followed Vil’s instructions, lips pulled into a thin line.

With momentary strokes and too gentle touches, Kalim couldn’t help but think of Jamil, seeing his gold speckled coal black hair and stony grey eyes instead of Vil’s blonde and amethyst. He used to do this too, every morning, dragging a brush dipped in black over Kalim’s thick lashes, dabbing red onto the corners of his eyes, thumb and first finger gripping his chin and tilting his head when need be.

A cold stab to his heart snapped Kalim from his short lived memories, reminding him of his purpose for coming to Pomefiore. “All done. Now that you look presentable, please, follow me.” Vil clapped, stepping away from the fellow leader and clicking off. Scrambling after him, Kalim gripped the fabric of his sweater tightly, biting his lip.

They didn’t travel too far, Kalim following closely behind Vil as he unlocked his bathroom door. Arriving in the room, Kalim toed the polished white tile, the lights fixed into the ceiling seeming to spotlight him as opposed to the beauty guru who swooped low to open the cabinets under the sink.

Inside were a number of brightly colored liquids, some transparent as water, others dotted with plant shavings or objects Kalim didn’t want to recognize. “Fast acting... sweet smelling, easily hideable, is that correct?” Vil quizzed, the twinkling of glass clacking against glass filling Kalim’s ears.

“Exactly,” he nodded into the mirror, averting his gaze quickly.

Vil didn’t reply, merely smiling devilishly before bringing out a small cauldron and three different bottles. Apprehension pulled Kalim taut as he watched the taller begin to explain his process, acetic irony making him soundlessly sneer. From poisoned to poisoner.

“On most occasions, a poison of this sort wouldn’t be possible to make, seeing as you want it to be not only quick to show results, but also pleasant-smelling. But, since you are working with the best, I believe we can make it work.” Vil boasted, uncapping and pouring the first vial into the cauldron. “This one is for the rapid dissemination,” the second, “this one for scent,” the third, “and this one for dilution, to water down the color, though still deadly.”

Kalim watched in wonder as Vil stirred the liquid, eyes wide and trained on the poison. Though at the beginning, an arrant black that made him scrunch his nose in disgust, the more Vil continued to churn, the color began bubbling with splashes of transparency. By the end, it was water-clear, and almost overpoweringly reeked of florals.

“Ah, there we are,” Vil smiled, laying a delicate hand on his cheek. Once again swooping low, he retrieved an empty bottle, ever so carefully filling it with the solution and capping it. “I haven’t made any antidote for this particular poison, so it may be in your best interest for me to hold onto it presently.” Vil cautioned, placing the ewer just out of reach while Kalim’s eyes shadowed.

“A-Are you sure? You can trust me, I’ll be careful with it!” Kalim argued, smiling wide to prove his point.

“Hm, I’m not a fool. I feel it would be for your safety if it was in my care until I create an antidote.” Vil refuted, sternly said, toying with the intricately designed cap.

Kalim chewed his tongue, clenching and unclenching his fists as he formulated a plan. Beaming a smile to Vil that seemed so outwardly innocent, he bowed slightly, showing his appreciation. “I see. Thank you for your time anyways, Vil.” He lied through his teeth, rising from his bow and bouncing off.

He didn’t risk a glance behind him as he stepped out of the senior’s room, shutting the door gingerly behind him. Scanning the gorgeously decorated hallway, he identified objects that could be used to his advantage, closing his eyes as he snapped the steps of his newly formed plan together.

Tiptoeing over to a vase that rose slightly above his head on a marble pedestal, he yanked the flowers that sprouted from the top out, tossing them on the floor as regret rooted itself into his heart. He internally apologized for what he was about to do, knowing full well that no one would hear him.

Winding his arms around the pot, his knees buckled as he dropped the weight of it in his arms, the arms that could barely lift his body mass. The water inside sloshed around, jumping onto his face as he regained his footing, tilting the porcelain prize and leading a trail of water around the corner of the hall. Repositioning himself in the indigo drapery of the curtain closest to Vil’s room, he swallowed a deep breath, hurling the expensive decoration as far as he could, cringing as the sound of shattering filled the hallway.

He hid himself in the curtain just in time, as Vil’s door burst open, slamming against the wall as he stormed out, empty handed. “What in the— Rook! Rook, go chase down Epel! That little scamp destroyed another vase, and made some pretty little prank out of it too.” Vil barked, Kalim cowering behind the curtain as the older stomped off.

“Sorry, Epel-kun,” he whispered, before creeping out from the curtain and darting back into Vil’s room.

Snatching the vial from Vil’s bathroom countertop was surprisingly easy, Kalim tucking it into his pocket as he scampered out once again, heartbeat amuck. Sneaking along the walls, he beelined away from the mess he’d created, turning a blind eye to it as he pushed open a random door in the hope that it was some sort of exit.

Instead, he welcomed himself to the Pomefiore lounge, where a handful of boys were lined up before Vil and Rook, Epel amongst them, who all twisted to stare at the invader. “Kalim? What are you still doing here?” Vil badgered, arms crossed.

“U-Uh... you see...” Kalim ducked his head in fabricated humiliation. “...I got lost... I couldn’t find the exit.” He whined, a few of the students laughing as Vil sighed.

“Rook, please escort Kalim out. I need to have a word with you lot.” The leader threateningly smiled, the laughter immediately ceasing.

“Of course, Roi de Poison! Come now, Kalim, we shall leave these heathens to their due punishments!” Rook singsonged, spinning over to the white door where he stood.

Kalim looked over to Epel, who had his face scrunched in confusion and fear, an apology spelled in his gaze that the purple haired boy only caught at the last minute, Kalim vanishing behind the door as Rook pulled it shut.

“Oh, what a tragedy! The rowdy boys of our dorm destroyed a simply magnifique vase crafted of the finest quality! On top of that, they made a mess of the hall too...” Vil’s overly extra vice leader boohooed, the flowy feather of his hat bouncing in an imaginary wind.

“Really...? Why would they do that?” Kalim asked, as if he didn’t already know they answer.

“I wish I could say. I often wonder what goes on in those spoiled little brains of theirs.” Rook replied, falling into a solemn silence Kalim relished.

The early blue sky hadn’t before been such a treat to the Scarabia dorm head, the boy thanking Rook briefly for the guidance. “Of course! Do come again!” He laughed, waving briskly and waltzing back inside the rather stuffy building.

Sneaking a victoriously pitiful smile, Kalim pulled out the stolen toxin, only holding it to the sun as he stood before the mirror portal.

It wasn’t supposed to be so easy.

A tiny part of him had wished it hadn’t been.

<————>

The school day came and went in a blur of colors, voices, and assignments that flew right past Kalim’s head.

He wasn’t fully there when he agreed to walk with Azul, the Leech twins joining not to long after. Happy conversation tied between the threads of three complementary personalities weaved around Kalim, who remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the exchange. He was too busy twirling the stolen poison in his pocket, and had been for the whole day, debating his very existence instead of interacting with his peers as he normally would.

The quiet wasn’t overlooked by the three, though Floyd was the one to finally put voice to the thought the Octavinelle trio shared. “Hey, Sea Otter~ is something wrong? What’s with the face?” He cooed, downturned eyes for once actually bearing a dollop of sadness.

“Hm...? Oh, um—“ Kalim shook his head, pulling a smile to his face that looked more dismal than welcoming, “—of course! I’m a little tired, is all! Y’know, Trein’s lessons can put anyone to sleep, even me!” Kalim laughed, mutual discomfort shared between the Leeches as Azul fixed his glasses.

“Kalim, would you like to accompany us back to Mostro Lounge?” Azul offered, having picked up on Kalim’s abnormal behavior. “We could always use someone like you to brighten up the atmosphere.”

“Yes, Azul is right. You know how to play the drums, correct? Why don’t you pair up with Floyd? You’ll put on a show that’ll attract dozens to the Lounge.” Jade smiled, eyes shut out of joy.

For a moment, Kalim thought about it, giving them the false hope that maybe, he’d agree. He felt remorse sink its claws into his brain, making him shake his head as the three strolled by the open courtyard, a flash of red, gold, and black making Kalim freeze as he identified the person behind the Scarabian shades. “A-Actually, I had plans already,” he fibbed, stepping back to put distance between himself and the trio, “I was going to meet Jamil in the courtyard. Sorry guys.” He bowed, shoving his hand back into his pocket to fiddle with the bottle.

Azul perked an eyebrow. “Jamil wanted to meet up? With you?”

“Uh, yep! Told me this morning!” Kalim smiled, trying to wave off the suspicion that the fellow second years exuded.

“Oh? I thought that you and Sea Snake had—“ Floyd began, but Kalim was already dancing away before he could continue.

“Sorry, don’t want to keep him waiting!” He shouted, coughing after he stepped outside. It wasn’t often he had the voice to be so loud anymore.

“Should we pursue this, Azul?” Jade asked calmly, Floyd’d signature careless grin upside down in a glower.

“...No. It’s Kalim, he’ll figure it out himself. It’s about time he learned how to do so.” He coldly decided, pushing his glasses up. “Come, we have business elsewhere.”

“Of course,” both Leeches replied, though Floyd couldn’t hide the somewhat concerned look he sent over his shoulder, before disappearing with his fellow Octavinelle members.

In the courtyard, Kalim looked around confused, having been so sure that he saw Jamil walking around from the hallway. “Surely, he didn’t leave... wouldn’t I have seen it if he did?” He puzzled, approaching the stone well located in the middle of the wide yard space. He briefly caught a glimpse of his striated reflection in the impossibly dark water at the bottom, hastily breaking the contact to look up.

Through the strings attached to the wood bucket, Kalim’s maroon irises set themselves beneath the apple tree, to the person who sat so daintily upon the black-rimmed bench. With his hair brushed over his shoulder, Jamil crossed his legs, immersed in a thick book that Kalim couldn’t quite make out thanks to the gap. Sprinkled in the choppy afternoon sunlight, he looked more like an ethereal angel than the traitorous student he was to Kalim, so deceivingly beautiful.

Exhilaration, and dare he say, a spark of hope, flared in him, a genuine smile splitting his face as he sashayed closer. Believing that he had the courage to mend the bridge that had been severed from both directions, he stopped a meter from the bench, attracting Jamil’s attention, who shot him a dirty look, tearing himself from his readings.

“What is it you want now, Kalim?” He spat, holding the book up.

“I... I saw you from the hallway and I...” It was as if he’d forgotten how to speak, words working against him.

“Congratulations for using your eyes, dimwit. If you’ve come to be nothing but a stuttering fool, see to it that you leave me alone.”

Kalim squeezed his lips shut, heeding Jamil’s advice as he awkwardly looked up, to the apples that grew plentifully from the strong tree overhead.

Courage slowly being whittled down to an embarrassing pit, Kalim forced himself to smile once more, pulling his hand from his pocket. Taking a seat beside Jamil, he gripped the edge of the bench, leaning over the side to peer at the cover, and, riskily enough, Jamil’s tranquil features.

They didn’t stay tranquil for long, as grey orbs met Kalim’s enchanted red ones, scowling as he noisily slammed his book shut. “What?” He seethed.

“Nothing, I just—“ he cut himself off, unwilling to live the lie any longer, “I miss you, alright? I miss—“

“No, don’t start. Screw this, I’m leaving.” Jamil growled, tucking his book under his arm and stomping away.

“Jamil! Jamil, wait...!” Kalim called. Panicked as the vice refused to listen, he hopped up, rushing over to him and pulling on his arm, book falling to ground in a flurry of aged pages. A thunderous boom exploded in the courtyard as it collided with the ground, Jamil whipping around, arm still locked in Kalim’s grip.

“Jamil, please! I’ve tried so hard to take care of myself, but I need you!” He confessed, tears brimming. “I need your—“

“Shut up!” Jamil yelled, making Kalim flinch as he tore his arm away. Turning the tables, he spun, shoving a finger into Kalim’s chest as he grew red from anger. “What you need is to grow up! Do you understand how much you’ve hindered my life, because you just “need me so much”?” He kept shoving his first finger into Kalim’s chest, making him stumble backwards. “I wasn’t able to have a normal childhood because of you! I had to hide who I was, because of you! And now you need me? You must be a goddamn idiot, even after all this time!” Jamil accused, Kalim staggering as he tripped over himself trying to back away.

He refused to let his tears fall, Jamil continuing with his rant as his back hit the apple tree, both of them speckled in the magical light, despite the argument. “It would’ve been better if no one came to save you whenever you were kidnapped!” Kalim choked a sob, meeting Jamil’s murky eyes as the taller seized the collar of his shirt, slamming him back into the trunk of the tree.

Kalim gasped as his head thwacked against the wood, Jamil so close he could feel his uneven breathing. “If only you’d never existed.” He whispered, shoving a hatred dipped dagger into Kalim’s heart as he dropped the boy, Kalim’s legs giving out as he fell to the ground, eyes glazed and distant.

Stomping away, Jamil grabbed his book and left the courtyard, steam practically pouring from his ears as red hot anger guided his feet as far from Kalim as possible.

Dropped unceremoniously on the grass, the silvery haired dorm leader slumped over, bleak and broken as he stared to nowhere at all, shoved over the dam that had both blocked his sugary tears, and kept him from drowning in the ocean of self hatred and doubt that now had full access to Kalim’s entirety.

Numbly, Kalim picked himself up, ambling towards the school corridors once more as his eyes dried, hand reaching back into his pocket and this time, pulling out the vial within.

The clear liquid swished around, seeming so harmless in its elegant bottle.

Kalim hoped with everything he had left in him that it would be quick.

<————>

The beat of his heart had never been so loud before.

Erratic and off timed, electric volts shot throughout his hands, every pulse of blood throbbing in the tips of his toes, the center of his chest, the thin muscles of his legs. A formless noose of cold anticipation wound itself tighter around his throat, strangling the words that longed to be said from a voice that wouldn’t again speak. Tears pooled in his deep red eyes, though Kalim couldn’t fathom why, since he waited all this time just for the moment of peace that wouldn’t remain so peaceful.

Lying with his back against the end of his bed, Kalim rested his head on the firm wood, clenching the small bottle of poison Vil had specially created that morning in one fist, his journal in the other. Tilting his head to look at the moon, always a perfect circle, and always smiling down at him despite the action he was so close to making. He was tempted to smile back, but uncapping the bottle and smelling the rosy scent that wafted from it, he was reminded why it was he couldn’t.

Dropping the book inked with the thoughts he’d neither shared nor broke free from, he watched as it fell, slamming on the floor loudly and torn between pale light and shadows. Inside, a letter was tucked in the smudged pages, the last note that would be written in his swirly handwriting. He prayed that Jamil would take the time to read it, but he didn’t want to hold his breath.

Lifting the graceful vial to his lips, he felt his tears drip down his supple cheeks, for what seemed like the first time, fear dripped into his soul.

He was scared. What would be waiting for him after...? Would this really fix his wrongs? Would it... make up for what he did to Jamil?

“No,” he thought gently, pressing the glass to the plush flesh of his lips, “it’s not for you. It’s for everyone else.”

Hungry for a distraction, he looked to his door, locked for safe measures, keeping any prying intruders away. He didn’t want anyone to stop him. He needed to this, needed to make up for the years of pain he’d brought to those around him. Though, he did regret not getting a second chance to apologize to Jamil, the scuffle from before helping him realize that Jamil truly didn’t want anything to do with him. He deserved this. He earned it.

Finally, setting his dulled gaze on the moon once more, he leaned the glass up, pouring the liquid into his mouth and swallowing it in a single gulp.

It was excruciatingly bitter, burning trails down his throat as he gagged, dropping the vial as his hands squeezed his neck. The feeling didn’t stop no matter how tightly he wound his fingers around the skin, the bubbly fire spreading throughout his chest and dripping into his stomach, iron-tasting blood seeping out through his parted lips.

His vision swam with black, his body betraying him as he lost the fight in him, leaning back on the end of his bed, sitting with his legs stretched out on the floor and hands numbly dropped into his lap. It no longer felt painful as he struggled to keep his eyes open, the midnight-dark blood dribbling over his chin to settle on his clothes.

He had time for only one last thought, jumbled and lost to the winds of his mind, never to be voiced.

“I... I’m sorry... for every breath I took. I’m envious Jamil, that you had the strength to carry on for so long... Me? I couldn’t last half a year in your shoes... I’m not a fighter... I’m not even strong enough to look you in the eye. I hope—I hope this did something for you... I hope this... brings an end to your suffering.”

For a moment, he saw his life flash before his eyes. The games he used the play when he was little, the laughter he used to share with his siblings, the friends he made, the fight that cost him his best friend... they all seemed to burn away as he stared at the moon, ever the lively spirit.

But, just like a candle whose fire was blown out, he snapped, going limp in the paleness of his room.

Sat on the floor, leaning against his bed, Kalim Al-Asim took his last breath, light finally snuffed out for good.

<————>

Clomping down the corridors of Scarabia, Jamil pulled his hood over his silky braided hair, something indescribable cracking in his chest.

He hadn’t seen Kalim at dinner that evening, off putting Jamil’s behavior as he pondered over the reason behind the change. Ever since Kalim announced them as “equals,” Jamil had been rather lax with his servant duties, cooking only for himself instead of for the prince, refusing to wake him in the morning, and so on. But tonight... tonight was the first night he noticed Kalim’s absence in the mess hall.

Asking around had revealed that the white haired dorm leader had been skipping the meal for quite some time, furthering Jamil’s confusion as he followed his planned track to Kalim’s room. How long hadn’t he been eating? Was he really that afraid to ask someone else for help? The idiot.

Jamil gritted his teeth. The absence hadn’t been the only reason he was so adamant on checking Kalim.

He wanted to—and damn him for saying it— he wanted to apologize. Ever since that afternoon, when he laid hands on Kalim, he felt strange, almost guilty. Maybe it was true that Kalim was overly clingly and immature, but it wasn’t his place to hurt him the way he did. Not only that, but...

Jamil furrowed his eyebrows, glaring at nothing in particular as he tried to assemble a puzzle that was missing far too many pieces. The gnawing in his stomach continued as he trudged down the hall, bringing a fist to his cheek as he nibbled on his lower lip.

Kalim had been so... thin. Like all the muscle on his body had just melted off, leaving skin and bones as replacement. Before the overblot, Kalim had been almost neck-and-neck with Jamil when it came to physique, always healthily svelte, while the dark haired servant became more toned thanks to the dirty work he often found himself in. But now—now Jamil could only describe Kalim as frail, dangerously near skeletal.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jamil tried and failed to remember how easy it had been to slam Kalim into the wall, to pin him using barely an ounce of his strength. The usually cheery boy’s helpless face flashed in the darkness, stained with tear tracks and shock as Jamil walked off, not even a glance over his shoulder to accompany him.

How long had it been since Kalim properly took care of himself?

“Doesn’t matter,” Jamil clucked quietly, reopening his eyes to see that the end of the hall, and the door leading to the grand bedroom, was closely approaching, “I’ll just get him to tell me. He’ll be back to the old Kalim in no time. Idiots never change, after all.” He quipped, though the tremor in his voice sounded more like a timid reassurance than a witty remark.

Stopping a few inches from the door, Jamil bit his tongue, debating what he was trying to say as he pulled his hood down. Cautiously bringing his hand to the door, he faltered for a split second, as if in fear the wood would reach out and bite him. Three quick short knocks bounced off the hall walls, magnified in Jamil’s ears as he was met with silence. “Kalim, it’s Jamil. Can I—I come in?” He stuttured, surprising himself.

When, yet again, late night quiet was his response, he felt the need to double over, uneasiness eating his gut. Knocking again, Jamil placed his ear on the door, listening for the rustle of clothing, or the scuff of shoes on stone. “Kalim?” He tried, hand slithering down to the brass knob. “Kalim, answer me or I’m coming in.”

Still nothing.

Dread coiling in his core, his arms stiffened as he turned the handle, finding it firmly held in place. Frantically jiggling it, he used a shoulder to push at the wood, feeling it give way ever so slightly. “Last warning, or I’m busting in, Kalim. Open the door.” He deadpanned, taking a step back.

The third round of the silent treatment sent Jamil over the edge, the vice shaking out his hands before balling them, running shoulder first into the door. It swelled, before dropping back in the same place, Jamil repeating the process over and over until his shoulder was decorated in a blossoming bruise and there was a hole just big enough for him to weasel his hands through.

Wincing at the sting in his skin, Jamil pushed his hand through the cracked wooden hole, maneuvering his arm so that he could reach the lock from the handle. Twisting it, a satisfying click rendered the door openable, Jamil yanking his scratched arm from the door panel.

“Alright, Kalim, was that necessary? I understand that I—!” Jamil froze as he swung the door open, letting a swath of light from the hall slip into the dorm leader’s exquisite room.

His heart skipped a beat as his blood chilled, eyes stretching impossibly wide while the air fueling his lungs seemed to be syphoned out of him.

There, just barely discernible from the dark, Kalim sat motionlessly. His eyes were sealed with his thick lashes, mouth parted as blood dribbled down to the neck of his clothes. He lie still, propped up by the bedside, a transparent purple vial close by, glinting in the light.

One moment... two moments... three, until Jamil shrieked out Kalim’s name, throwing the door completely open and rushing inside.

Sliding and dropping to his knees before the body, Jamil softly lifting him into his embrace as he called for anyone to come help, to come save what had clearly been lost.

“Kalim... Kalim, wake up...! I know you’re stronger than this! Get up, move, do something! Please, please wake up...!” Jamil cried, brushing the hair away from his forehead. “I-I’m sorry I pushed you earlier... I’m sorry I l-left you alone for so long. I... I didn’t mean what I said, you know I didn’t! I’m sorry, I’m sorry but please, just open your eyes... laugh one more time. Smile...? Anything... just... wake up...”

Nothing. Kalim was cold, and not a single breath heaved from his bony chest.

“Somebody help me!” The plea was cracked, echoeing about as Jamil suppressed tears, tears that shouldn’t even exist.

He asked for this. Every damn night, he asked for this. He wished with every part of what he was for Kalim to be kidnapped, for him to shunned, for him to rot in a ditch. He hated Kalim—no, he despised him.

So why the hell did it hurt so much?

Why did every look at his pale face stab his heart in a way watching an abused puppy limp did? Why did he care that Kalim was feather light, that it felt as if he was holding a pile of bones rather than a person? Why were there tears dripping from his hatred powered eyes?

Trembling with the force of fear, disbelief, and stigma, Jamil’s ears didn’t recognize the orchestra of shouts and gasps that rang out behind him as Scarabia students acted upon his words, calling for teachers and help alike. He didn’t realize just how many tears slid from his face to Kalim’s bloodied clothes, soaking the fabric. He could only stare numbly at Kalim’s once so buoyant features, at the eyes that would never again light up with joy whenever Jamil entered the room. At the cheeks that would never again heat up in a blush that was the product of his profuse smiling. At the lips that would never, ever utter a single syllable, or pull into a grin that made even the sun look like a busted light bulb.

Moreso than that... Jamil heaved breathy sobs at the discoveries he made hidden all over Kalim’s body. His arms, mutilated with self inflicted wounds that never properly healed. His torso, tenuous and more bone than skin. He wouldn’t let himself go any further, already shaken to the core by the sick scavenger hunt.

The tears felt hollow and empty, painfully slow in their race to his jaw, grip crushing on Kalim’s shoulders.

He fought with a vigor that put three boys in the infirmary when help finally arrived, Kalim being wrestled away from his protective grasp and off to who knows where. He didn’t settle down until Kalim was carried off somewhere, far outside of Jamil’s view, and was left with the worthless consolation from people he didn’t care to see.

The only thing that ran through his head was the fact that he’d been the cause of this. That he was the one who pushed Kalim too far. That it should’ve been him to die instead.

Hours later, Jamil slept in Kalim’s now unoccupied room, stumbling upon a certain bound journal that just begged to be explored.

<————>

Why was it that the saddest moments always happened on sunny days? Was it the sun laughing at the earth’s struggles? Was it nature’s way of trying to ease the pain?

Jamil had no response for his questions, dressed in his formal wear as he stared somberly down at the glass casket, the temporary bed for Kalim’s lifeless body. Today would be the last day he ever saw him, as in less than an hour, Kalim’s family would be arriving to take their brother, their cousin, their son, home.

“Hey Kalim...” Jamil muttered, kneeling before the casket. “I, uh... I wanted to say goodbye, one last time. You’ll be with your family now, they’re taking you back to the Land of Hot Sands, where you’ll get a proper burial.” He said, studying Kalim’s blissfully expressionless face.

It was so strange, seeing him so calm. It looked like he was sleeping, like he could wake at any moment and pull Jamil into a hug that he would reciprocate with all of his strength, had he the opportunity.

“It’s not fair...” He whispered as a ray of light painted over Kalim, making his white tuxedo almost blinding. “Even in the afterlife, everything about you is so... so happy. Not a cloud in the sky, the sun shining on the horizon, it seems fitting. You were always... the sun to my moon.” Jamil admitted, a realization striking him like a lightning bolt.

“Oh, I um... I read this last night,” Jamil held up the black journal he’d found in Kalim’s room, “Kalim, why did you keep yourself hidden like that? You didn’t have to—you know you didn’t have to! You shouldn’t have done this to yourself, because of me. You should’ve... should’ve...”

Should’ve what? It wasn’t Kalim’s fault he felt that way... it was his. Jamil knew that.

“I know it’s a little—no, very, very late, but I... I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Those words don’t mean anything now that you can’t even hear me, but I need to say them. I need you to know that I’m sorry...!” He felt his eyes damped, and using the back of his hand, he wiped away the water that hadn’t even spilled yet. “Kalim, you were right, okay?! You were right! You may have needed me, but I needed you more! You gave me my freedom, even after I threw you to your death! I had so much pent up anger, I didn’t... didn’t know what to do with it!”

The dawning of the truth set Jamil’s waterworks into action, a pretty blush darkening his cheeks as his shattered weeping rose into the air. This was it. Kalim would never smile, laugh, speak again. Never. He wouldn’t ride a magic carpet, or sit on the balcony of the lounge, or even take another breath.

He was gone.

Undeniably, irrevocably, gone.

Sniffling, Jamil placed the journal in Kalim’s hands, having written his own letter inside. “I figured, your family deserved to see your last words. And my apology. There’s not much left for me to say... but thank you. You were never in the wrong, it was me. Thank you, for being so forgiving, even in my darkest hours. Thank you, for staying by my side. Thank you, Kalim, for being the brother I didn’t realize I needed.”

Standing, Jamil leaned over Kalim, the one he took for granted. Sliding his hand over his eyelids, he bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, the way he did when they were little. “Goodbye.” He breathed, before parting ways, beads of saltwater still trickling down as he trekked off, fists balled tightly at his sides.

<————>

Dear Kalim,

I’ve had little time to ponder over your passing. Over the very certitude that you’re not here anymore. But in that little time, I’ve arrived at a single conclusion, that can’t begin to express my emotions.

I said I hated you. I said I wished you’d never existed. I said I wanted you out of my life. And, I used to mean those words. I used to believe that if you one day disappeared, everything wrong with me would suddenly right itself, that you were the source of my suffering.

But... only now, when you’ve really departed, do I see that I was so incurably mistaken.

I was the cause of your pain, as once upon a time, I thought you to be mine. I’m the fool, for having ignored you for so long. I’m the fool, for pushing you beyond your limits. I’m the fool, for pretending to hate you, even as I myself, was at the mercy of your charms.

When we were young, I treasured you like family. We fought like siblings do, we laughed as brothers, we grew as a pair. It’s impossible to set a specific date, but somewhere along the way, something changed. Suddenly, you were no longer my brother. Suddenly, you were my rival, my enemy that I could never escape.

I know the penmanship of my woes could never bring you back, I am painfully aware of that. I am beside myself that it took your death for me to grasp that the reason I never left your side was because I didn’t hate you.

I never left you, because I was afraid.

I was afraid that you’d lose the need for me. I was afraid that you’d leave me behind. Moreover, I was terrified of losing you, like I have now.

That smile of yours, the one that never ends, and never fails to bring laughter to even the coldest of hearts, that was what I wanted to preserve. That was what I wanted you to keep, if nothing else.

I’m truly sorry, sorry beyond what words can say.

I pray that one day, you’ll smile again. It’s far too late for me now, but I want you to know that you were my best friend, Kalim Al-Asim.

You were what I strived to be.

I just wished I had the gall to admit it sooner.

Written truthfully,

Jamil Viper

Yet another request finished! Thank you @etervenislucifen for the ask!

I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!

Stay lovely!!

[moonlight-breeze-44]

Em’s Year in Review

Hey, guys! It’s been a long time since my last personal post on here, but as it’s officially 2021 (thank God), I wanted to do the cheesy Year in Review thing and give thanks to the friends I’ve made, the communities I’ve joined, and the things that have changed me beyond words this year that I want to share with you all. 

To start, perhaps the biggest and best change of the year was when I joined the Shadowhunters fandom. Not to mention the friends I’ve made along the way and the support I’ve received and the amazing community I found my home in, Shadowhunters managed to rejuvenate my love for this site and fandom in general. Shadowhunters transformed this blog from an occasional place that I would visit to kill time into a means of expression that I am extremely proud of. Shadowhunters transformed my AO3 from a practically extinct account with three fics posted to an up-and-running, 80-fics-and-still-going-strong profile that is, truly, one of my biggest accomplishments. 

Shadowhunters also led to several friendships that I know I will cherish for the rest of my life. I would like to take this time to give thanks to some of them, and I apologise deeply if you deserve to be on this list and you aren’t; I know there are probably some people that I’m forgetting. You’re all important to me, and you’re all a part of the reason I am writing this right now. 

To start off, @arialerendeair has been an incredible source of support, friendship, and love for me throughout my journey into the Shadowhunters fandom, and she means more to me than words can say. She is a forever friend, a wonderful person, the best kind of enthusiastic and encouraging, and she is one of the most amazing people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. 

Before I joined the @malecdiscordserver and met a myriad of people that I gladly call my friends, I existed in the Shadowhunters fandom solely on Tumblr, and I would like to give thanks to my very first Shadowhunters fandom friend, @lightwormsiblings, for making me feel at home here and generally being an amazing person. 

@sugarandspace is a wonderful author and an even better person, and my friendship with her has led to many amazing fics, conversations, and sweet words. Her mental health fics and her response to mine are what inspired me to really start writing for this fandom, and as I’m sure you can imagine, that is something that I am very grateful for. <3

I would also like to give a shout-out to my fluffy counterpart, @bidnezz, who created the Fluff vs. Angst Battle 2020 with me, an AO3 collection that has made me smile countless times. Likewise, @aceon-ice deserves a shout-out, as well, for being an amazing person and supporting me despite my angsty tendencies. 

I have @eternallysilvermagnusandalec and @emma-arthur to thank for my love of Autistic Alec, and I want to give them the biggest of virtual hugs for screaming with me, bouncing headcanons with me, and generally being my biggest Autistic Alec supporters. They are wonderful friends, and I’m so lucky to have them both in my life. 

As for friends that aren’t actively on Tumblr, I would like to give thanks to Val, one of my favourite sprinting buddies and an amazing friend, Hannah, my favourite dinosaur-obsessed Among Us murderer and the source of endless support, and Evi, my recently-found friend, writing support extraordinaire, and fellow Team Angst comrade. 

I am extremely grateful for every single friend I’ve made in the Shadowhunters fandom, and every person who helped me feel at home in this community and showed me that this is a place where I can belong. You are all amazing, and I wish I had the words to express my gratitude for you. 

Another thing that the Shadowhunters fandom brought me was a means of self-expression, through a character like no other I’ve ever encountered before. Alec Lightwood and his place in Shadowhunters has brought me endless joy, validation, and hope for the future. Alec Lightwood is a character that I love dearly and relate to strongly, and his happy-ever-after as a gay man in love with a bisexual warlock truly lifted me up when I needed it. His character helped me to start writing things that I love, things that I enjoy, and things that benefit me to put on paper. For that, I am forever grateful. 

This year has brought a lot of changes to my life, but I can say without a shadow of a doubt that Shadowhunters & the friends it’s made me are by far my favourites. 

Other than Shadowhunters, there are a few other things that have shaped my year in large ways that I would like to give mention to. 

To start things off, as most of you know, I’ve been a fan of Supernatural since before I even knew fandom was a thing - hell, before fandom really was a thing. Supernatural and the SPN family and the AKF campaign got me through some of my toughest times, and I will always be grateful to that show for giving me everything that it did. 

Despite the discourse and despite everything that took over Tumblr with the finale and Cas’s confession, I am so happy that I made it to see that finale. It gives me a lot of joy to know that I’ve been here for fifteen seasons of a show that changed my life, and everything that comes in between. I love Sam and Dean and Castiel and all of the other characters that captured my heart in Supernatural, and I’m so grateful that I got to be a part of a family like this one. My experience in and with the Supernatural fandom will always be important and special to me, and I want to thank my first ever fandom friend (you know who you are), who encouraged me to post my first ever fanfiction back when I was younger and taught me what it means to be a part of a fandom community. She is the reason I’m fandom-ing it up today, and I’ll forever be grateful to her for that.

I’ve already mentioned them once before, but I want to give another shout-out to @eternallysilvermagnusandalec, @emma-arthur, and @arialerendeair for being truly amazing, wonderful people when it comes to a certain aspect of my identity that I’ve just started becoming okay with. 

For any of you who may not know: I am autistic. ...damn, that felt good to say. At this time last year, I was still very much “in the closet” about having autism and I was masking so much that I panicked at the slightest hint that I was “different”. I did not like who I was, and I had been conditioned to believe that I had to hide my differences if I wanted to have any chance of being accepted by others. 

These three made me see that that isn’t the case. 

Constantly being told “Quiet hands!” and to just look at somebody when I was talking to them and that it was irrational & dumb to be too overwhelmed to speak took its toll, but the Shadowhunters fandom and Silver, Emma, and Aria helped me realise that my hands can be as loud as they need to be, it’s okay if I stare at the wall while I talk to someone, and sometimes not being able to speak is just the way the cookie crumbles. Their acceptance of me and their incredible support has helped me become so much more comfortable with myself, to the point where I’m unmasking when I’m alone and letting myself stim without fear of repercussions or the feeling that I’m doing something wrong. They are the best kind of people, wonderful friends, and truly incredible. 

It is largely thanks to them that I am even fighting this ongoing battle against my own internalized ableism, and it’s important to me that all three of them know that. <3

For more information on autistic masking and what it looks like and why some of us do it, I recommend checking out this video, made by an autistic creator! 

If you’d like to know the true, harsh meaning of “Quiet Hands”, I recommend checking out this post, which explains the phrase & its connotations better than I ever could. 

Thank you to everyone who has read this far, and I hope you all have a wonderful 2021! This year was hard, but we survived. There have been times when I wanted to give up, and there have been times when you wanted to give up, I’m sure. But we are both still here, and that counts for something. That counts for a lot, actually. It’s everything. I did it. You did it. We did it. That’s something to be proud of.

Going into 2021, I hope that everyone will be kind, do their best to be understanding of other people’s differences, and treat others with the amount of respect they deserve. 

I love you all, and thank you for making this year, despite all of its challenges, one that I will remember and cherish for the rest of my life. 

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.21

Two Confused Men, Two and Half Culprits

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)  x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 3780

Summary: Jarvis is the half culprit. I wonder who the two confused men could be…. Hint: for once, it’s not Sam and Dean.

Warnings: swearing, brief angst, nightmare (about drowning), brief mention of blood, guilt trip, attempt at humour

Story masterlist ༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺ 

You woke up, suffocating weight preventing your chest from expanding. You remembered dreaming about water, the light at the surface gradually receding from your grasp. All you could see now was darkness, the pressure against your lungs and the burn in them remaining.

Your throat closed up in panic as you fought to suck some oxygen into your airways.

Vainly.

You trashed around, elbowing the warm mass behind you that seemed to be pulling you under – only for the grip on you to grow stronger, your ribcage feeling like collapsing any minute.

You struck harder and the vice-like grip on you loosened with a huffed protest. You instantly rolled away—how were you rolling away in the water? What was that sound?

You blinked away the tears that prickled in the corners of your eyes with your previous effort and chased each inhale, your heart hammering in your chest wildly.

Your vision clearing, eyes adjusting to the dark, you came face to face with a perplexed and very much half-asleep Steve.

Oh thank god, you were okay. No water. No drowning. Just Steve’s strength and nightmares combining and resulting in the least pleasant outcome.

His pupils were dilated in horror and he shot up into a sitting position, blinking away his own daze. With a hand still on your chest, you closed your eyes and forced yourself to dial down your fight-or-flight instincts.

You were safe. Steve was safe, with you, definitely not a danger to you. You still flinched when he rasped out the apologetic words, heavy with guilt and concern.

“Oh my god-- are you okay? Doll? Can you breathe?! Does it hurt? I’m sorry. Oh god, I am so, so sorry-”

You raised your hand in his general direction, gesturing for him to give you a sec.

Rationally, you knew you were fine and you needed to chill the fuck out, but it was a bit harder to actually do so.

Steve let you take your time, ominous silence falling on the bedroom. You forced more air to your lungs, the burn slowly dissolving. You focused on the pleasant soreness instead, the result of your first night together after a long time-- what time it was now anyway?

You snapped your eyes open, finding Steve’s motionless form in the shadows, still sitting on the bed. Only this time, his face was buried in his palms, his fingers tangled in his loose golden strands in a brutal manner, and when you looked at him – truly looked – you detected the slightest tremble of his body.

Any pain caused by his crushing embrace vaporized at instant, the urge to comfort him taking over; big time.  

You carefully reached out to him, your fingers curling around his wrist and gently pulling it away – or attempting to. He didn’t move an inch.

“Steve?” you called out softly, surprised by how hoarse your voice sounded and flinched. Steve did as well and you cleared your throat – uselessly, because the problem was somewhere lower. “Steve, are you alright?”

His hands twitched on his face, but he didn’t withdraw them.

“Steve, are you back with me?” you whispered urgently and the only answer you got was a frustrated muffled groan. Your lips curled up in a tight smile, sympathetic. “I’m okay. Are you?”

“Please stop asking me that,” he breathed out, his palms uncovering his mouth only for the words being comprehensible.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stop,” you promised and wiggled your way closer to him. “Can I touch you further though?”

His ribcage expanded generously with his sharp inhale, but he didn’t respond.

“…please?” you added, pressing further.

“Doll…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking simultaneously with your heart swelling in your chest.

“I know.“ At that, he finally allowed you to lower his hand, the other following its suit. Wet eyelashes created a tiny tornado with their furious blinking when his eyes found your face and saw an encouraging soft smile. “Can I hug you now?”

He opened his mouth slowly only for it to fall shut with no sound coming out. He gave a cautious nod and that was all you needed to wrap your smaller form around the big sad bundle of a supersoldier. You basically climbed into his lap, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, planting a kiss on the top of his head before laying your cheek on it.

Huh, that was nice. No wonder he did the same to you as often as he did.

“It’s okay, Steve. We’re okay,” you whispered to his hair, kissing it again. “I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“…that’s not what a girl wants to hear when she confesses her love to a guy,” you joked hesitantly, but you could feel his lips curling up in a smile as he breathed in against your skin deeply.

“I love you too,” he cooed, his arms finally sneaking around you and cautiously holding you as close as possible.

“Uh-uh.”

“Exactly what a guy wants to hear when he confesses his love to a girl,” he threw back at you in a hushed voice.

You chuckled breathlessly, swallowing the whine of pain at motion of your chest, and caressed his shoulders without even a thought of letting go.

“Will you be able to fall asleep again?”

“Will you? How are your ribs? Is your breathing okay? I’m really, really sorry, sweetheart. I’ll just lie on the couch-“

“Don’t you dare-“

“Don’t argue with me. I literally just tried to crush your lungs,” he growled, regret radiating off him in waves the size of a tsunami.

“Not intentionally!” you spat back, somehow maintaining gentle tone at the same time. “…right?”

“Of course not! It wasn’t- I would never-- but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen again,” he bargained in the end, sorrowful pools of blue and green shining even in the shadows of your room.

What he said was undoubtedly true. But the picture of having him lying several feet from your reach now (with his mind full of awful scenarios keeping him awake for sure), was unimaginable. Just terrible. Heartless. Not to mention you just got him back!

The solution seemed easy enough, though it was less comfortable; still better than the other option he had offered.

“Then put on your big boy pants and be the little spoon,” you challenged, earning a bewildered look with his eyebrows near his hairline.

“…for real?”

“Yep.”

He observed you for several moments that felt like eternity, while he considered his options. Then he sighed and you knew you won.

“…okay.”

“That’s what I thought,” you smiled at him a lop-sided smile, pulling him down to the mattress again; and he let you.

It was a little ridiculous and definitely strange to switch positions resulting in your arm enwrapping Steve’s thin muscular waist and being glued to his back – not to mention your other arm, where the hell did he usually put the other arm when spooning you? –, but in a way, you enjoyed it, more so when after a moment, his hand covered yours, careful not to apply too much pressure.

It was still the first night after you regained your memories; there was no way you even considered anything that involved Steve not being pressed to you without an inch remaining between your bodies an option.

You scooted even closer to him; you fell back into a more peaceful sleep in no time.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Steve was very mature about the whole thing – so much that he decided (just like you did) – that you wouldn’t address the matter again. You spent the better part of waking up process making out like your life depended on it and then you might have winced the tiniest bit when Steve brushed your tender ribs, which ended up with him leaving to take a shower.

But not in the ‘oh god, I’m sorry, let me drown in a bathtub’ kind of leave, more like ‘maybe we could at least wait for the evening before we jump each other’s bones again’ kind of leave and it overall felt… rather alright.

With Steve occupied, you moved onto the funnier matters – like going through his closet to find a suitable outfit for your morning shenanigans, while Jarvis kindly replayed a conversation that felt like an ancient history to you.

You found yourself humming under your breath, wondering how good of an opening Tony could give you, when your eyes fell on something that took your breath away; just enough of it to leave some to yell for your soulmate.

“Steve! Steve, come here please!”

There was a crash in the bathroom, rapid pats of his wet feet and he flung out of the door in impressive speed with only a towel around his waist.

“What?! What is it?” he blurted out while he rapidly scanned the room for any danger and you almost felt bad for making him panic.

Almost. Because boy, this was awesome. You held out the t-shirt of your choice to him, amazed nearly beyond words.

“How did I not know you had this?”

Steve blinked furiously, his stance easing when he realized it was a false alarm.

“Christ, doll,” he huffed a relieved breath and sheepishly scratched he back of his neck upon seeing the famous shield on the clothing. “Eh… pretty sure it was a gag gift from Clint…”

“That’s so friggin’ perfect. Can I borrow it?”

His lips spread in a content smile as he walked to you, one hand landing on your shoulder, his lips incidentally catching your temple. “It’s all yours, doll.”

You debated washing your hair when Steve let you use the shower afterwards, but a little devil on your shoulder told you that ruffled hair and overall sleepy lookTM would work much better for you. You smiled at the reflexion with satisfaction, re-entering Steve’s bedroom, giddy.

“So, what do you think?” you asked him cheerily, spreading your arms and turning a full circle to show off your outfit in all its glory.

Steve looked up from where he was making the bed and froze. For a second, his skin paled to a very dangerous shade of white, his gaze glued to the brand on your torso. It gave you a pause; an amused grin you expected, a heated glare caused by you wearing his insignia maybe, but not the look of utter horror.

As fast as he turned to a statue, he recovered, plastering a smile on his face again – but it didn’t reach his eyes, a shadow of something that twisted your gut uncomfortably remaining.

“Looks good on you,” he stated approvingly and averted your gaze to pat at the mattress pointedly. “Honestly, it kinda makes me want to pull you right back to bed and have my way with you in it only.”

“Hold that thought, Captain, and maybe next time leave a different kind of your brand,” you suggested and added a wink, which seemed to finally erase whatever ugly thought had attacked him earlier from his head. “We have a billionaire to mess with.”

“Every time…” he echoed his words form last night, chasing blood to your cheeks and causing a giggle to spill from your lips.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Steve fell into his role as easily as you did; he led you to the kitchen, your shuffling feet giving an impression of you being only half-awake and hesitant about walking the right direction.

Much to your luck, all the occupants of the Tower were already in the kitchen as Jarvis had informed you prior to entering the room. You smiled at each of them sheepishly, letting Steve gingerly seat you on one of the bar stools – not before you had enough time to show off your supposed pyjama.

Your plan was working perfectly as upon your bashful ‘Good morning, everyone,’ each of the poor Avengers got caught in a different intensity of staring. Natasha was tactful enough to revert her gaze shortly after noticing your choice of clothing, only smirking a bit, while Bruce took a little longer. Clint had been in the middle of stirring his cereal with milk, now paused mid-motion, recovering after about ten seconds. Tony was blatantly gawking at you, the pot of coffee in his hand dangerously atilt.

As if you couldn’t see their reaction, you smiled at Steve shyly. “I don’t want to impose, Steve. I can make my own breakfast…”

He only replied with a sweet smile. “You wanted to try eggs and bacon, right?”

“If it’s not too much trouble… but I really-“

“Nat. Let me take care of you,” he pleaded lowly and wow, the gentle but conflicted look he gave you was an Oscar-nominee-worthy thing.

“Thank you, Steven. You’re very kind to me,” you thanked him genuinely, meaning every word. It earned you a wince from five different people (including Steve, who hadn’t seen that one coming) as you used his full name and it took a lot of your strength not to burst out laughing.

Natasha cleared her throat. “So… how are you holding up? Did you sleep well?”

“Very much. Thank you, Ms. Romanoff… uh, you?”

“Natasha is fine, Nat. And yeah.”

Wow. Not even the great spy was onto you apparently – or she was, seeing right through your little stunt and deciding not to ruin your fun, being that much of a good actress.

Not certain about how exactly to proceed from now on, your gaze travelled around the bar, eyes landing on Tony.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but Clint, as if sensing the nature of his prepared exclaim, shut him up with a glare. You, on the other hand, were an incarnation of innocence on the outside, dying of laughter on the inside already.

“What is it, Mr. Stark? I can see you want to say something,” you nudged him gently and fiddled with your fingers nervously as Steve cracked the eggs in a bowl and started stirring.

“Nope. Not really,” the billionaire cleared his throat awkwardly, something so uncharacteristic of him. “And I told you. It’s Tony.”

“Right. Tony. Sorry.” You would swear Steve’s shoulders shook a little as he put the pan on the stove. You worried your teeth over your lower lip, eyeing your outfit. “It’s the clothes, isn’t it? You want to say I look right at home in it, don’t you? And I am branded on top of that…. It’s okay. I can see you’re barely holding the comment back.”

Tony finally put away the pot, his hands seeming rather frantic as he reached for sugar. “Well, I mean,… eh-“

“It’s a sign of a… successful night, right?”

“I didn’t mean to imply, uhm…“ he started, quickly lowering the cup so he could raise his hands defensively, but you interrupted him, mentally biting your cheek as you charmed your best innocent puppy eyes at him.

“-that last night I got thoroughly fucked?”

Exactly four people choked on their own spit; Steve had been expecting it, though the tips of his ears still turned a pretty shade of red and he stopped cooking, removing the pan before he could burn something. Still, at least he could tell which pipe was for breathing unlike the rest of the Avengers.

Natasha was the first to recover, soon followed by Bruce – they both had somewhat knowing glint in their eye now, figuring out what was this about, or at least partly. Smiles were tugging at their lips.

Tony’s face was definitely the most hilarious one. His eyes were bulged, wheels in his hear whirling rapidly, his mouth opened ajar even though he eventually stopped coughing.

Natasha was kind enough to hit Clint’s back, because he was still unable to breathe in.

You smiled sweetly at both the billionaire and the archer who was now taking a sip of water to sooth his sore throat. It was the perfect moment to casually drop the other bomb on them.

“…’cause I was, just FYI.”

The water sprouted out via Clint’s nose and Tony stumbled towards the counter and he gripped to steady himself; he seemed ready to pass out, gaping like a fish out of water, a perplexed crinkle between his eyebrows.

He looked so comical that you broke down. You burst out laughing, clutching the bar so you wouldn’t crash on the floor to roll in laughter.

You could see precisely when he got the light bulb moment, an accusing finger pointing at you, then at the very red but chuckling Steve, who was making his way to you, and then back at you.

“You-! You-… did you-?! When- what—you!”

His stutter sent you into another fit of roaring laughter. Steve’s arms appeared, sneaking around your waist, pulling you to his shaking chest as he stood behind your stool. In attempt to stop laughing, you turned your head to him to catch his lips in a kiss.

“Thanks, Stevie,” you murmured against his mouth, giggling and kissing him again. His embrace tightened.

“When did you get your memories back?” Bruce queried, a wide smile, rather rare for him, on his face.

Steve’s chin rested on your shoulder as you replied.

“Yesterday.”

“Was it the woman?”

“Yes, we believe so,” Steve confirmed, nuzzling your neck as if the others weren’t truly in the room. Was he afraid them might want to steal now when they knew as well? Please. It wasn’t like you were that popular.

“It just took some time to clear that out with Steve and with myself,” you explained, this time a bit ashamed for real. Steve’s fingers caressed your stomach soothingly over the material of the infamous t-shirt.

Natasha was definitely beaming though. “Understandable. I’m happy for you. Especially for making fun of those two, extra points, you guys.”

“Thanks. It felt amazing. Oh Tony, if you could see your face,” you chuckled again, melting into Steve’s frame when Tony glared at you. “I hope Jarvis caught it.”

“I did. Would you like to see it again now?” the AI offered readily.

“That was mean!” Tony accused you. “And seriously, Jarvis, we will have a conversation about your loyalty.”

“It was funny,” you opposed him, hoping he wasn’t truly offended. He wouldn’t, right?

“Yeah, alright, it was funny. Welcome back, sass queen.”

“Thank you. It’s good to be back.”

“So… do we get a hug or is it like Cap’s hands only?” Clint asked with a teasing smile tugging at his lips, apparently not having any hard feelings despite you causing him to nearly choke to death.

Touched, you hopped off your stool and Steve hesitantly released you.

“I’d love to hug you,“ you admitted honestly, not quite expecting the offer. The more surprising it was, the more it warmed your heart. Who would have thought?

Clearly, accepting the invitation was a mistake.

As Steve let you go, they all went for it at once, starting with Tony and Clint, Natasha joining about two seconds before the most reluctant Bruce did. It was lungs-squeezing, bone-crushing and absolutely delightful.

“Dammit, guys,” you sobbed, indescribably moved by the force they embraced you with. Tears gathered in your eyes, threatening to spill soon. You would never imagine such a warm welcome from Steve’s friends.

“Hulk happy,” a roar by your ear made you jump and you caught a glimpse of green on Bruce’s neck; it was enough for the levee to break. You started crying like a little girl.

“Oh, девушка…” Natasha’s soft voice reached your ears and you sobbed again, vainly trying to keep more tears at bay.

“Stop making her cry…” Steve muttered, but didn’t sound irritated at all. If anything, he had a fond smile on his face when you got a glimpse of it between the bundle of bodies. ‘I love you and they do too,’ he mouthed at you then, his eyes glistening with tears as well.

You squeezed your eyes shut and attempted to tighten your grip on four people at once. You weren’t sure about the result, but no one complained.

“Yeah, let’s not shed more tears than necessary. Actually, I think this calls for a party,” Clint exclaimed as he patted your back and released you.

Others reluctantly followed his suit – they had to, because letting out only one person from the bundle of limbs and bodies would be difficult. The moment you were left cold again, Steve snatched you back to his arms at instant, which earned him an amused grin from Natasha.

“Barton. I didn’t believe that the day would come, but you actually became wise,” Tony pronounced dramatically. “Big party?”

“Nah, just family,” the archer opposed jovially and you sunk into Steve’s embrace in hopes not to release fresh tears at being considered family. You would have to somehow deal with your family by blood eventually too, but you selfishly didn’t want to think about it just yet. One step at time.

“I’d say I take it back, but surprisingly enough, I agree.”

“Oh, the end of the world is here…” Bruce lamented since the two clowns agreed on something and you chuckled, enjoying their banter probably more than you should.

“Alright. We might want to ring Drapes from Asgard. He does love his revels,” Tony pointed out and exactly five people agreed.

“No shit.”

You, as the sixth, wavered. Not because you wouldn’t want to see the God of Thunder again; it was just that you didn’t think he owned a cell phone. Oh, and he was also off to another planet, you assumed.

“…how exactly do you call Thor? Is there service on Asgard? That would be crazy, right?”

“I heard crazier,” Clint scoffed, pointing at you and not bothering with being subtle.

“That’s fair.”

“Thor told us to call out for Heimdall if we needed him,” Steve explained to you and while you had no idea who Heimdall was, you shrugged it off. You didn’t want to deal with that right now.

You were back, you had your soulmate, you had friends that, unknowingly to you until now, considered you a family and you wanted to just be and be happy.

“I’ll do that…” Tony’s hand shot up as if he was a first-grader offering to clean the blackboard and you sent a silent wish for Thor to survive whatever Stark planned on doing.

“Good luck. Now… I believed I promised you breakfast, doll,” Steve whispered to your ear, nuzzling in your neck again.

It was very hard not to melt at spot. “I meant it, Steve. I can make my own breakfast.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly wine and dine you before we had our… successful night, so if you let me do this at least…” he teased on the lowest volume possible and you slapped his bicep before he released you to make good on his promise,  the radiant smile on his face lighting up the whole room.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 22

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

So... I had a lot of fun writing that. I hope you had fun reading :-*

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Fifty-Three

Words: 4.5K

Warning(s): explicit language, sexual situations, mentions of drug abuse

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I wake up to the smell of coffee drifting in under the bedroom door, and I stretch, seeing Nikki on his side of the bed, snoring softly.

Pulling the covers off of myself, I get up and throw on my robe to cover my naked body and step into the kitchen to see Karen at the counter.

Karen was Doc's best solution he could muster up to try to keep Nikki straight off drugs.

After calling Doc and Bob Timmons that night Nikki shot out our ceiling, Doc asked Karen, who worked at the Mötley office, to move in.

Hats off to her because she didn't argue, and Nikki did calm down a little when she was there because he was convinced she was a spy for Doc and was telling him what Nikki was doing at all times.

Nikki didnt want to hear shit from Doc, so he tried to hide his drug use from Karen when she was home.

"Good morning." She greets me, patiently waiting for the coffee to get done. "Sorry if I woke you up."

"No, no, it's fine, I needed to get up anyway, uh...what time is it?" I ask her, rubbing my eyes.

"About 9:00." She replies.

"Okay, I'm gonna wake him up and get ready and that reporter should be here around--"

I'm cut off by the doorbell and I look at her.

"You go wake him up, get him showered, I'll stall." She assures me, shooing me with her hand as she steps to open the door."

I rush to our bedroom and shut and lock the door, walking over to wake Nikki up.

"Babe, c'mon."  I nudge at him several times until he's groaning a little. "Nikki, wake up."

"Just climb on and get off when you're finished. I'm sure it'll still get up without me being awake." He mumbles tiredly, about to drift back off before I'm hitting his arm sternly.

"Nikki, you need to wake up. That reporter came early. We need to get dressed."

"Jesus." He lets out, frustrated, and I rub my lips together. His hazel eyes open to look at me and he smirks. "You're actually talking to me today?"

I've been ignoring him for nearly a week now ever since he broke our ceiling and embarrassed me in front of our friends.

"I'm getting into character so he doesn't write that I'm not talking to you in the article. Doc said to be as lovey as possible." I add. "So hurry up."

I walk to our bathroom and start the shower, quickly discarding my clothes and climbing in as he trudges into the bathroom.

By the time I'm rinsing shampoo from my hair, he's getting in, his eyes wandering up and down my naked body that currently has soapy water running down it.

"Don't get any ideas, Sixx, I'm still mad at you."

"What kind of man do you think I am?" He puts a hand over his heart as if he's hurt and I roll my eyes, finishing rinsing my hair.

"Move." I say so I can put conditioner in my hair and he grins, about to switch places with me, and his hands hold at my body as we trade spots and I glare at him.

"What? I was helping you move." He innocently states, the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips, and I cut my eyes at him.

He just wets his hair as I get the tangles out of mine with conditioner and we change once more.

By the time he's rinsing his hair again and I'm lathering up in body wash, I feel his finger trace down my spine.

"Nikki." I say in warning and I hear his faint chuckling.

"Sorry." He mumbles, taking his fingers off of me.

When I'm done, about to tell him I need to get under the water, his hands are sliding up my sides and he's getting closer to me, pulling me against him, taking my ear between his teeth in a nip.

"Nikki, we don't have time for this." I let out in a soft giggle.

"So?" He asks, pressing a kiss to my neck, his hands moving up to hold at my chest, rolling his thumbs over my nipples, causing me to take a sharp breath and push my ass against him.

He lets out a soft moan, and I turn to face him, our lips, teeth and tongues meeting in a rough, passionate, kiss, as my body is pulled against his.

"Are you still mad at me?" He says, running his thumb across my bottom lip, looking like he's confident that I'm not still upset with him.

"Get finished, we have stuff to do." I tell him, giving him one last kiss before sliding past him to rinse off.

"Change it to cold water before you leave." He grumbles and I smile to myself, changing the temperature of the water before getting out of the shower.

Once I get my hair towel dried and finish getting ready, I'm cautiously stepping into the hallway, walking where I hear Karen and the reporter talking at the dinner table. 

"Yeah, they..." Karen trails off, seeing me. "...Oh, here she is." She states.

He turns around to face me and I rub my lips together, extending my hand to him.

"Len Donoghue." He tells me, shaking my hand.

"Vivian Sixx." I reply, politely. "Um, Nikki's getting some clothes on now, he'll be here in a minute."

"Oh, starting Valentine's Day off right, huh?" He chuckles and I feel my face go red with embarrassment as Karen attempts to curve the conversation.

"You were saying earlier you attend night classes? What degree are you pursuing?" She asks him and I take the opportunity to step to the kitchen and grab a cup of coffee.

Nikki's already there, seeming to be stalling as he takes his time examining the array of coffee cups in our cupboard.

"You don't drink coffee, baby." I remind him and he glances at me before handing me a cup.

"I was supposed to wake up this morning to a blow job. Not a fucking hotshot know-it-all scribe jotting down every last syllable of shit I say only to fabricate and cut it up before printing it in a way that makes me look bad." He mumbles and I give him a soft smile, my fingers running through the ends of his hair.

"It will be okay, Nikki. Just smile and it'll be over before you know it." I encourage him.

He sighs out, kissing me briefly before I pour my coffee and we step to the dinner table, where Len is lighting up at the site of Nikki.

"Hey, man, Nikki." Nikki introduces himself, shaking Len's hand.

"Len Donoghue, it's a pleasure." He smiles enthusiastically at him and Nikki nods before motioning to the kitchen.

"I'm gonna cook some breakfast if you wanna start your interrogation in the kitchen." Nikki says in a joking tone, but in know he means "interrogation" literally.

"Sure." Len nods, the three of us stepping to the kitchen as Karen gets up and heads to her bedroom to hangout until we're done.

I hoist myself onto the counter, watching as Nikki pulls the eggs from the fridge and I tense up as I multiple paper bags on the shelves before he closes the fridge.

I hope Len didn't notice.

"You've even got that particular detailing in here." Len comments, looking up at the mirrored ceiling.

"Yeah, I read somewhere mirror creates the illusion of a more open room." Nikki tells him, grabbing a bowl to crack the eggs into.

"That's why the place is covered in mirror?"

"Yeah, why else would it be?" He pretends to play dumb, and Len glances at me before shaking his head a little. "No reason."

"When did you move into this place?" He asks us and Nikki starts cracking the eggs.

"Uhh...like..." He looks at me. "...Over a year ago? Year and a half?"

I just nod and he confirms it.

"Yeah, over a year ago."

"Who's idea was it to live out here?" He asks next and Nikki nods towards me.

"She liked the house and I got it once we had the money." He explains.

"That makes me sound like a gold digger." I say.

"Okay, we drove by one day and she said it was a nice house and I went behind her back and got it and surprised her with it once I had the money." He corrects and Len smiles.

"Is he always nice like that?" He asks me.

"Despite how he seems publicly, he's a nice guy." I tell him and Nikki shushes me as if I can't tell his secret, making me chuckle as he grins, pouring the eggs into the heated pan.

"There's a lot of mystery around you two, is that something that's good to you or backfires sometimes?"

"It's good." Nikki states. "It's really nobody's business unless we do stuff like this," he motions to Len, "And let people in on it."

"We don't necessarily understand what the big deal is about, honestly. There's plenty of people dating or married to someone who isn't quite like them. The fact we're in the public eye doesn't make it any more interesting, honestly." I add.

"Yeah, people would be disappointed if they saw how our relationship works just like everyone else's." Nikki puts in next.

"I think you two being together really invokes certain conversations because one of you is a by the book Christian, and the other has been accused of Satanism in the past." Len suggests with a small chuckle. "So you're pretty opposite of each other in that sense but you still manage to get along well enough to feel the need to marry one another."

"We're opposite of each other in every sense, almost." Nikki tells him, finishing on the eggs.

"Really?"

"She's more reserved, conservative, quiet, innocent, sober, religious, organized..." Nikki names off a few things. "...and there's me."

"I wanna touch on that, really, because 'sober' is not something associated with rockstars or really this industry much at all, really, with so much money and access to excess and so on, have you really never had a drink of alcohol or was that an exaggeration? I mean, really, your friends, husband, piers are doing God knows what and you've never at least been curious enough to try something out?" He asks me and I shake my head.

"No. And that's not something I ride through the streets and shout out or project at a party or use to talk down on other people with. I choose not to do that because it doesn't interest me, it interests some people, some people enjoy it, but I've never really been drawn to any of it. And especially the really hard stuff, I've never felt the need or allure to that because I've seen what it does to people. But I don't turn my nose up at people who want a beer after work or have some cocktails with their girl friends on a night out. I don't even think I'm any better than the addicts that claw their eyes out while they're on dope. That's their business." I tell him, and Nikki clears his throat, putting the eggs into a bowl to be scooped out by who ever that wants them as he pulls the package of bacon from the fridge next.

"So you're the trusted D.D. when it's a night out?" Len asks me and I nod.

"Oh, yeah." I nod.

"Back to the 'opposites' topic, how did someone like you, get together with someone like her?" He questions Nikki again and Nikki let's out a breath, smirking.

"The clean version." I warn Nikki and he laughs.

"Oh, c'mon, Viv." He nudges me and I raise my brows. "Okay, fine, we met at a club on the strip, Tommy introduced us, and he had told me she was coming down there to see us and that she was a dancer and her mom was super strict, and just telling me and Mick some things about her because he and Vince had grown up with her, but we'd never met her. So she comes down there, and she's dressed like a fucking--I don't even know, nothing like what I was use to seeing on the Strip. And we just couldn't stand each other, honestly. We would aggravate the piss outta each other, I'd harrass her and purposely do and say stuff that I knew would gross her out and she would pick at me and deliberately say shit to get under my skin and piss me off. I called her 'Saint Viv' and 'Virgin Viv' and she'd call me 'Devil Spawn' and we just really got on each other's nerves, man."

"What changed that?" He asks and I wait to see how Nikki's going to say "I screwed her into my ratty mattress" in a PG way.

"There was this one night, I don't even know what happened, but I just realized I was really, really into her, and I guess she realized the same because we've been together ever since." He tells him.

"So, it's worth all the criticism about you not being the real deal because you've 'settled down'?"

"I'm not an idiot, I know people dont talk shit because I've 'settled down', they talk shit about who I've 'settled down' with. And if being with someone who's got my back, and strives to push me be the best in can be, and supports me and helps me up when I need it, then I will loud and proud shout from the hills that I've 'settled down.' I write music based off what inspires me, some of Mötley's best songs have been inspired by the very girl I'm criticized for being with because they either think she's boring or isn't bad enough for me or whatever bullshit they drum up. But I don't need someone who's bad through and through, that would be a disaster. She's bad wear it counts." He informs him and I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Nikki!" I scold.

"I'm just saying." He shrugs. "And I'd hate being with someone who's exactly like me because then I wouldn't be learning new things, or having engaging conversation that challenges my views, or see a different perspective, and she wouldn't have that, either. So I think all the street rock posers downing on me for being with a 'goody goody' and the holier-than-thou Tipper Gore carbon copies that give Viv shit for being with a 'satan worshiper' can all kiss our asses and fuck off."

Len nods, looking impressed but not shocked with Nikki's words.

"Wanna add anything to that?" He asks me.

"Ditto." I reply and Nikki smiles at me for a moment.

After Nikki's finished cooking, we're sitting at the table, and get on the topic of music.

"Is there any idea when the new music will be coming out?" He asks Nikki and Nikki nods, taking a sip of his orange juice.

"Sometime this year." He says.

"Is it gonna have a 'Theater of Pain' feel to it or is it gonna hold the same change that, that album did compared to 'Shout at the Devil'?"

"Well, we change our sound because we grow. I don't think it's too far off, I think it's all still rock 'n roll, but the sound differs a little bit with each album because we evolve." He replies.

"Any album in particular that you've made so far that's a favorite or is the best yet to come?"

Nikki gets a happy, proud grin on his face.

"The best is yet to come." He states. "Some really cool stuff is in the works."

"I'm glad to hear that because I actually am a fan of you guys' so that's a good word from you." He tells him.

"Great." Nikki says, his bare foot kicking at mine under the table.

I kick back as Len is oblivious and continues asking questions.

"Are you into their music, too, or are you just along for the ride because you kind of have to be?" He nods to me as Nikki and I are now in a kicking war, despite acting like nothing's happening.

"Yeah, I like their music."

He looks a little taken back by my answer.

"You listen to Mötley Crüe without obligation?"

"Well, yeah." I tell him.

"She looks like a frilly flower girl so you don't expect that, right?" Nikki asks, and I kick him under the table and he kicks me back, again.

"What else do you listen to?" Len asks me.

"A little bit of everything. If it's catchy or has a good groove to it, it doesn't matter the artist, I'll buy it. I listen to ABBA, Chaka Khan, Hank William's Jr, Deep Purple, BeeGees..."

"And everything in between?"

"And everything in between." I chuckle. "I also have Bon Jovi but Nikki's always trying to steal it and get rid of it."

"You don't like Bon Jovi?" Len asks, seemingly insulted and Nikki looks at me with cut eyes and a devious smirk, like he's gonna get even with me, later.

"I like Jon, I've hung out with him several times, he's a cool guy. Vocally, he nails it every time. Lyrically, musically, I can't fucking stand it. It's like being stuck on the tea cups at Disney. You wanna get off before you throw up."

"So, you don't mind ABBA, but Bon Jovi's a no-go?"

"...Basically..." He rubs his eye. "But, I mean, I might tolerate some of it if she put it on and started doing a little strip tease or something. I'd consider it, then."

I glare at him and Len laughs, as Nikki smiles innocently at me.

Once we're done eating, we offer a tour of the house, which Len eagerly accepts.

"Obviously, living room." Nikki motions.

"What happened to the ceiling?" He asks, noticing the empty ceiling space.

"Nikki thought it would be smart to throw a baseball in the house. The whole ceiling suffered." I lie and Len raises his brows.

"I bet that was fun to clean up."

"We wouldn't know, we paid someone to come out here and do it for us." Nikki mumbles. "Alright, awards and achievements." He says next, motioning to his freshly reframed gold and platinum disc awards, and my ballet trophies I've racked up from childhood to the beginning of senior year, that Nikki practically made me put on display when we moved in because he thinks it's something I should be proud of enough to showcase to people.

"Guest bedrooms, and bathroom down here." Nikki motions down the hall. "Garage, here." We walk down a couple of steps to the garage door and open it up, switching on the light.

His bike, his Corvette and mine, greet us and Len nods.

"Nothing too extravagant." He voices to us.

"I'm looking at a blacked out Mercedes right now, I might end up getting it soon." Nikki tells him.

"Oh, really?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"I was gonna tell you about it later, babe." He assures me.

"Right, like you told me about the Jeep and the Harley?"

"Ha. Ha." He let's out sarcastically. "We have a pool." He quickly discards our disagreement, leading Len back up the steps and into the house to take him to the pool.

By the time the interview is at a closing, it's almost 1:00pm, and I hope he has enough material to make a decent article.

"Thanks for letting me come by, I really do appreciate it." Len thanks us, shaking my hand before shaking Nikki's hand one last time. "It was really an honor get to talk to you, man, good luck with the album. Can't wait to hear it."

"Thanks." Nikki replies.

"Alright, you two take care, have a good evening." He tells us, turning to walk to his car.

"You, too." Nikki says before shutting the door.

When it's shut, he's turning to look down at me.

"What is it?" I ask him.

"I'm probably gonna go get some stuff from town." He states and I nod.

"Okay, I'm probably about to hangout by the pool with Karen for a few minutes." I tell him, heading to our bedroom to put my swimsuit on.

I hear the fridge open and shut--he's grabbing some of his heroin--before he's telling me he'll be back in a few minutes.

Once the garage door shuts, I'm stepping out to find Karen in her bedroom.

"Hey," I start and she looks up from where she's laying on her bed, reading. "I was gonna go lay out for a few minutes, do you wanna come?"

"Yeah, I'll be out there in a second. Let me get changed."

The phone starts ringing and I head to answer it, hoping it's not someone calling to tell me Nikki's been in an accident.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Steven's voice happily declares on the other end of the line.

"Happy Valentine's Day." I reply, stepping to the kitchen to grab a Pepsi from the fridge.

"I-Is Sixx around?"

"Not right now, he's running errands in town." I explain to him.

"Oh...well when he gets back can you get him to call me back?"

"Yeah. Is everything alright?"

"It's perfect. Love you. Gotta go." He abruptly hangs up and I furrow my brows a little, hanging the phone back up.

A few minutes into sunbathing, I'm laying on my stomach with my bikini string untied as Karen chats away while I drift in and out of sleep.

"I'm gonna go use the bathroom." Karen tells me, getting up off her pool chair, heading into the house.

I give her a wave of my hand without opening my eyes, letting out a relaxed breath.

My body tenses for a moment at the feeling of Nikki's lips pressing the center of my spine, working their way up to my hair.

"Hi." I say, sitting up, tying my top back into place as he sits on my chair beside me. "Steven called and wanted you to call him back."

"He called again just when I got in so I already talked to him." He tells me and I nod. "I was out getting stuff for tonight." He wiggles his brows for a second and I try not to laugh.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Some more wine for me, the fizzy grape juice for you, and some more candles."

"You don't like just screwing around with a candle on because you can't see everything." I point out and he smirks.

"I didn't buy them for light." He says and I raise my brows, a lusty feeling washing through me at the thought.

"Race you to the bedroom!" I shout, about to take off but he grabs at my hips and pulls me down to his lap, laughing at my eagerness. "Nikki, we don't have time to waste. I have carbonated grape juice to sip on and hot candle wax to be dripped in, and that's not even including the sleazy stuff that follows, so c'mon." I struggle to pull his arms from around my waist so I can get free.

"Viv, we'll get to that later tonight, you gotta get ready for your surprise." He tells me.

"I have a surprise?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"A surprise."

"Nikki."

"Viv."

"...Fine." I huff and he let's me out of his lap, handing me the roses he got me. "Where is this surprise?"

"Can't tell you. Just get changed, dress up a little bit if you want to." He tells me.

I guess he thought since he had died the year before, he should put his all into making up for it the following year.

I have to give it to him, he outdid himself that Valentine's Day...but he had some help.

"Okay, no peeking." Nikki says to me after securing the blindfold around my eyes and I grin, my hand in his as he helps me out of his Corvette.

I'm taken off guard by him suddenly picking me up, shutting the passenger side door with his foot.

"What are you doing?" I chuckle out.

"I don't want you to walk and hear your steps because it'll spoil the surprise."

"I feel you struggling to keep me up." I say to him, poking fun.

"I'm not struggling."

"Okay but if you drop me, I'm kicking your ass." I add.

"I'll kick your ass right back." He scoffs.

"Okay, then put me down and let's go, Sixx. Best two out of three."

"You're like a baby bird: all mouth." He taunts me.

"You're a baby bird: all whining."

"Virgin Vivian."

"Devil Spawn."

"Are you ready to see your surprise or are you gonna keep running your mouth?" He asks and I roll my eyes behind the blindfold and exhale.

"Fine."

He sets me down, and my heels click against the sound of wood.

"Alright, ready?"

"Yes."

The blindfold comes off, and Steven's firing off one of those tiny confetti poppers as he, Nikki and Duff all saying, "Tada!" at the same time.

We're standing inside of Mandy's old rehearsal space, except it's not shitty looking anymore.

The holes in the ceiling are patched up, it's got new lights, the floors are fresh and the once scratched up and worn down mirror is replaced, completely brand new.

I can't even form words, my eyes watering, my hand grasping Nikki's tightly.

"What do ya think?" Duff asks me.

"I-I..." I try to talk, but can't.

"Do you like it?" Nikki asks next and I'm turning to face him, wrapping my arms around his waist, hugging him tightly, nearly knocking him off balance. "Woah." He laughs, his hand rubbing up and down my back.

I'm wiping my tears when I pull away, catching his lips with mine when he leans down to kiss me for a second.

Knowing Duff was the one who bought the place from Mandy to begin with, I hug him to me next.

"Thank you." I sniffle out to him, giving him a tight squeeze before pulling away.

"It wasn't a problem, Viv." He assures me as Steven clears his throat.

"I wiped the finger prints off the mirror." He tells me and I smile, hugging him, too.

"Thank you." I say, ruffling his fluffy blonde hair.

Duff's grasping my hand, turning it over so my palm is facing upward before he's putting a key in it, closing my fingers around it.

I give him a genuine, grateful, closed-lip smile, and he returns it, his kind eyes seeming to have a spark of extra liveliness from being in his element of doing good things to make people happy.

I swear I can see Nikki scowling at us from the corner of my eye, but the look is gone from his face as soon as it arrives.

[buckysdolls]

Chapter 2

6 months ago

Five minutes had passed since Felicity had her ecstatic outburst. She found herself standing in front of a long length mirror in the bathroom, in a black low cut crop top and grey jogging bottoms and fluffy socks to keep her toes warm. Felicity began to play with her hair, would she wear it up in a messy bun? Or leave if flowing down, ending just under where her bra strap would sit? Deciding on leaving it down, her brown hair like the colour of autumn leaves framed her face and gave her pale skin warmth. The freckles that settled on her skin across her cheeks and nose also provided Felicity with warmth. Freckles that had once been an insecurity thanks to the endless amount of teasing in her early years, were now one of her favourite things about herself. Felicity wondered if she looked too comfy even though Natasha had said to get comfortable, taking her away from her own mind Felicity felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, insinuating she had received a text message. Reading the message from her ex-boyfriend, asking how her day went and asking to see her, Felicity debated whether to reply, her fingertips hovering over the keypad. Sighing in annoyance that she was giving this man the time of day she decided to ignore it placing her phone back in her pocket. She was determined to enjoy this experience and be professional, she vowed in that moment no to let her personal life enter this space.

Bucky observed the girl he’d seen earlier as she entered the kitchen, immediately being snatched up by Natasha. The girl never had a chance to notice Bucky and Natasha took her to the fridge to make her a drink. She looked human… not special. Not special as in powerful. Yet some part of him felt connected to her and that made her not only special but powerful. She’d not said two words to him, only gave him the most enticing smile and yet he’d never felt so much warmth and curiosity before. Bucky observed the way she laughed with Natasha, her laugh a shy soft giggle that made her cheeks produce dimples. Her body wasn’t traditionally skinny, which Bucky liked. She was curvy, her hips symbolised an hourglass, something he could hold onto. Allowing his thoughts to have gone deep enough, Bucky continued to listen to Steve and Sam who hadn’t noticed the girl and continued their conversation on current affairs. Nat beckoned for everyone’s attention meaning all eyes would be on her and this new girl. As the room fell silent ready to listen to Nat, Sam nudged his elbow into Bucky’s side and muttered the words ‘hello’ with a seductive tone and quietly chuckling obviously referring to the new girl that stood before them both. Bucky looked down at his side with a scowl where Sam nudged him then moved his sight to Sam’s face who sat with the widest grin he’d ever seen that man produce. Even after winning countless battles he’d never seen Sam wear a smile like this. He must have looked like a creep to this girl.

“This is Felicity. She is our new therapist on site.”

Felicity? Bucky thought it was the most beautiful name and fitted this girl so well. Felicity beamed a friendly smile that instantly drew smiles and waves from everybody else. Bucky watched as Felicity scanned the room, her gaze slowly settling on him for a few seconds then landing on Sam to which she furrowed her eyebrows and rolled her eyes, letting a small chuckle escape making Bucky snigger as he realised Felicity’s uninterest in Sam’s overly welcoming presence.

“Now, Fel doesn’t start till next week!” Nat spoke with a strict tone insinuating to leave Felicity alone with anything work related.

“It’s okay I’m happy to listen to anyone whenever” Felicity added as she jumped up on the kitchen counter taking a seat. Natasha responded by shaking her head insisting that there is no work talk until she officially started.

“Fel will be living here as she works with us so please… the men of this compound… please be courteous and respectful.”

“Hey we’re not wild, ravenous animals Nat!” Sam yelled out still staring at Felicity like a piece of meat.

“Really? Cause you look like one right now” Felicity replied sarcastically, Sam clenched his chest dramatically, opened his mouth to express shock and flopped back, sliding down his chair.

“I like you” Natasha laughed, patting Felicity on the back before walking away.

Loki approached Felicity to introduce himself.

“Good luck listening to this lot… you’re going to need it”

Felicity titled her head as she watched Loki pass by intrigued by his presence. She seemed to be intrigued by the aura of almost everyone she met, instantly wanting to get to work to get to know everyone.

“I’m happy to listen to you too you know” She replied as Loki had his back to her and waved his hand at her before leaving the kitchen. Felicity rolled her lips inwards at widened her eyes at Loki’s response.

From the kitchen the living room was adjacent where Bucky, Sam and Steve had been sitting.

“I like this one, she’s got sass” Sam said with enthusiasm, emphasising and adding inflection on the ‘sass.’

Bucky for some reason developed a hint of jealousy listening to Sam talk about Felicity this way so much so it encouraged him to leave the situation and approach Felicity who was still sitting on the kitchen counter. Bucky took a glass from the cupboard opposite her and began to fill it with water from the sink placed next to where Felicity sat. Felicity watched closely as Bucky’s metal arm took a glass and filled it with water besides her. As he lifted his head to take a sip of water, Felicity watched his lips touch the glass and drink, she gulped finding herself immersed in Bucky’s aura, their eyes once again never leaving each other’s. Bucky set the glass down on the other side on Felicity, stretching over her to settle it down. Felicity watched his every moment breaking the eye contact, she watched his hand and the glass move across the top of her thighs, goosebumps appeared, giving her this unshakeable feeling of lust. The glass broke the silence filled between the two of them as it was placed down on the marble countertop. Felicity quickly glanced back to Bucky who was now smirking as he moved his hand off the glass. Felicity began to admire the chiselled features of Bucky. An intense jawline, high cheekbones and muscles that looked incredible though admiring her view Felicity had enough of the silence.

“Didn’t your mother tell you it was rude to stare?” Felicity questioned, tilting her head producing a small smile with raised eyebrows. Bucky scoffed with a chuckle, his head nodding ever so slightly and slowly, Bucky was impressed with her wit and charming likeability. A sudden wave of worry loomed over Bucky, only a few interactions with this girl and he felt like he wanted to protect her at all costs. He never wanted her to experience pain or sadness. Something which he had a ton of and as quick as that worry had come it was gone as he looked back into her eyes.

“It’s hard not to stare at something so beautiful.” Bucky whispered, his tone of voice low and rough. Felicity instantly charmed by Bucky began running the idea through her head of her and Bucky undressing each other, him slamming her against the wall, her hands running through his hair as he planted plentiful kisses along her neck and lowering to her collarbone. The thoughts were interrupted as a buzzing produced from Felicity’s pocket. Letting out an obvious loud sigh Felicity took the phone from her pocket and read the text message that she’d received.

“Boyfriend?” Bucky questioned, he backed away instantly from Felicity realising he may be crowding her. Noticing the distance Bucky had just created between the two of them she sighed realising the life she had out of this compound.

“Ex-boyfriend actually. He’s kind of a dick.” Felicity replied ignoring another message. Bucky internally sighed with relief, within moments an extremely loud bang and crash from above had shook the compound. The sound everyone knew to be of Thor arriving yet this instantly rattled and triggered Bucky’s PTSD. Loud noised were a significant trigger point to Bucky’s PTSD from his time as being the uncontrollable Winter Solider. Bucky smashed his metal fist into the countertop as a surge of fear shocked his whole body. The violence of the punch connecting with the marble countertop alarmed Felicity the vicious and strong motion reminded her of the trauma she too had experienced. Watching Bucky crumble pained her, and that pain was worse than the pain of her trauma. She jumped of the countertop and knelt beside Bucky who had his head slumped in his hands. Felicity lightly lifted Bucky’s head from his hands, gently brushing his hair out of his face. He looked cold and fearful. Bucky had never experienced what he just felt as Felicity touched him. Though his emotions were heightened he felt the slightest hint of calmness from her touch. Not wanting her to see him this was Bucky gestured Steve over.

“Steve, get her out of here” Bucky managed to shout out trying to control his impulses. Having watched Bucky and Felicity from the side, Steve knew Bucky had instantly connected to her and knew he would never want to hurt her. Steve rapidly took Felicity’s arm leading her away. As she was led away Felicity turned back to make eye contact with Bucky who was watching her being taken away, thankful she wasn’t hurt.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Ivy.” Steve said escorting her out the room.

“Please call me Fel” The tremble in her voice was obvious as she spoke.

“It’s not the real him” Steve mentioned as he led Felicity into her room.

“I look forward to talking more soon” Steve, bowed his head before quickly leaving Felicity alone in her room to attend to his best friend. Felicity took the rest of the evening to ponder her thoughts, how one man made her feel so much at once. Adventure, excitement, lust, laughter, and fear.

[tsipasce]

Same Difference, Ch.11

A/N: Couple easter eggs in this one. Definitely one of my favorites since.. things are happening~ Also, TW: for some graphic violence per usual. Let me know what y'all think and thanks for reading as always <3

Chapters: 01  |  02 |  03 |  04 | 05  | 06 | 07 | 08 |  09 |  10

AO3 | Fanfic

With the first round of sampling completed, they were able to establish a few facts to be true, “One,” Nanami began as she stood at the whiteboard, “Though we’re aging, our health isn’t declining. It seems like our growth patterns are relatively normal, but overhaul seems to be preemptively fixing any of the normal degradation that comes with aging.”  

“Sounds too fantastical. It almost implies the quirk makes us immortal.”

“Well, considering the world we live in, nothing seems too fantastical anymore, really. I mean, I personally know a guy with a dog head.”

“Point taken. However, this type of ‘immortality’ is better described as ‘quasi-mortality’.”

“Is that even a thing?”

“You and I exist so I’d say it is now. Our aging may be drastically slowed if not halted, but it would be a stretch to say we’ll never die.”

She shrugged in acceptance as she wrote the new term on the board. “Two, our blood had some odd property to it that I haven’t seen before. Like there’s some extra protein-coated cells/structures just floating around—I have no idea what they do. We’ll have to compare more in the next round of control samples from people with high-level quirks, but I didn’t see it in the last batch of control samples, so I’m betting this is unique to us.”

“’Protein-coated structures’? Sounds like a vi…”

“Don’t…” She raised a hand, bringing it to rub the bridge of her nose, “Don’t say it.”

“You’re right, the data speaks for itself. Continue, doctor.” He replied smugly, Nanami letting out an exasperated sigh. If she heard the v-word one more time out of him today, she was sure she’d lose it.

“ANYWAY, onto three: there are no anomalies or strange reactions between us.”

“False. In fact, it’s time you held up your end of the bargain.” interjected Overhaul.

Feigning innocence, Nanami continued writing on the board, “What ever do you mean?”

“Don’t play games. Teach me how you negate overhaul.”

She still wasn’t very excited to teach someone who was already dangerous how to become even stronger, but a deal was a deal. “Fine, I’ll bequeath you some of my vast knowledge,” she said as he rolled his eyes at her, “and immediately after, you’re going to teach me a new move.”

“…Fine.”  He relented.

“Perfect. Roll up your sleeves and let’s head to the arena.” She strutted over to the coat rack, hanging up her garment, wearing a sleeveless blouse underneath.

Once in the room he raised his brows expectantly, “Well, start bequeathing.”

“So, I was equally confused when it first happened but after trying to replicate my reaction while monitoring my vitals, I noticed a blip but couldn’t explain it at first. Then I heard something interesting while they were rerunning one of those old hero documentaries: ‘Whole-Hog’.” He listened intently, beginning to piece together where she was going with the explanation. “It sounds a bit silly, but what it really means in this context is a full body application of your quirk. In essence, when you... attacked me,” at this she could see the slightest bit of regret in his features as he shifted his weight, glancing away when her voice became small, remembering the incident. “when you attacked me, my fight or flight response was triggered, and so was my quirk.”

“But nothing happe… Oh.” He said as he caught her drift.

“Exactly! They cancelled each other out. You can’t disassemble something that’s already disassembling and reassembling itself.”

“Hm. I see.” He said, nodding, his interest now very piqued. “…You know what my next question is.”

Taking a deep breath, Nanami composed herself, “Well I didn’t wear this shirt for nothing. Let’s do this.” She said, holding her arms out, palms facing upwards. The Nanami from a couple of months ago would have doubled over at the irony of willingly offering her arms up for his experimentation, but even she had to acknowledge things had changed. She could defend herself, and though his motives were still a up for debate, she was certain that they were equal allies in this. Though his word was reason enough, he was logical above all else and to be frank, hurting her had become… counterproductive. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them taking off his gloves. He paused, inspecting her arms, “and yes I sanitized them thoroughly before this.” She responded to the question he hadn’t voiced yet.

Waiting for a final nod from her to ensure she was ready, he grabbed both of her forearms, “On three, activate it. One… Two… Three.”

She felt him grip slightly tighter at three, yet nothing happened just like before. She looked up at him triumphantly, now confident it was a tried-and-true method. “Now, it’s your turn—If you don’t mind me touching, that is,” she quickly corrected. He had allowed her to touch him before, but it felt wrong to take it as precedence. What if he’s changed his mind and finds it unbearably repulsive? She would be the first to admit she didn’t understand the mysophobia, but knew if she had it she would want people to at least try and be respectful, Hardened criminal or not, trauma’s still trauma~.

A look of gratitude flashed across his features before he could suppress it, his face returning expressionless as he offered his forearms to her, mirroring her gesture. He was seldom surprised, but she managed, frequently. Very few people had willingly shown him consideration. To be given it without inciting fear or threats—it was foreign, but far from unappreciated. It was a respect borne from a place he’d never been to. Realizing she was still waiting for a response, he shook off the moment, responding simply, “Do what you must, I shower immediately after all of our sessions anyway.”

“Great, I’ll give you a countdown, ok?” She said, trying not to take his comment personally.  “One… Two… Three…” She said as he winced ever-so-slightly. If they weren’t so close, she might not have noticed. “Hey, nerve fibres, remember? It doesn’t have to hurt.” She encouraged. He studied her for a minute before giving a subtle nod. “Let’s try again. One… Two… Three.” This time, it worked, neither of them feeling a thing. She looked up and caught a glint in his eyes Is he smiling under there? She found herself wishing she could see it fully, committing the features she could see to memory. His messy brown hair, the squareness of his jaw, the subtle wrinkle between his brows from frowning so regularly, his piercing gaze as he was looking right back at he—omg how long have I been staring she realized, now a bit embarrassed. She quickly looked away, letting go of his forearms, resisting the urge to maintain contact.

He studied her for a beat longer before slowly lowering his arms and clearing his throat, neither aware that the urge had been mutual. “Now, for my part. Go stand in the corner.”

“NOBODY PUTS BABY IN THE CORN—”

“I swear if you do another pop culture reference, I will lock you in here until Monday.” He said sternly, though the threat was meant to be playful.

She flinched ever-so-slightly at thought of being confined, a genuine look of terror in her eyes for a split second before she could remember to respond normally, It was just a joke. Calm down. No one is ever going to do that to us again… We’re safe now. She thought, shaking off the memory his joke had triggered, “Ok, Negative Nancy.” She said rolling her eyes as she walked to the other side of the room.

He silently took note of her reaction, now curious. Deciding it was best not to pry, he began, “This is useful for both evasion and combat. It’s relatively simple, but the scale is large so be mindful of your stamina when using it. Watch and study the structures carefully.” He walked back to the opposite side of the room, turning to face her as he neatly pulled up his pant legs to kneel. Inhaling deeply, he pressed his hands to the ground and dozens of very large spikes erupted from the floor and across the room, stopping a safe distance from her. She walked up the one of the structures, studying it with her hands to gauge its dimensions. They looked simple enough, but she could tell they were modeled after wave breakers; one intertwining to reinforce the other. She walked back to her spot, and he deconstructed his work and waited.

Focusing, she mimicked his movements, quickly realizing he hadn’t been exaggerating the stamina requirement. After creating the first 5 or 6 she began to feel the fatigue.

“Take your time. You can pick up speed once you’ve mastered the first dozen.” He coached.

Wait, was that… encouragement? She commented inwardly. The thought that he might be manipulating her crossed her mind as it always did, but this interaction felt different. Enjoying this side of him and not wanting to risk him clamming up again, she accepted the encouragement in stride. She nodded thoughtfully, practicing again and again and again. She figured he’d be too impatient to wait for her to get it right since it only took him two tries to learn her technique, but instead he regarded her quietly, giving hints and critique when needed.

After an hour of this, she was finally able to fully replicate his example. He gave the structures an appraising look before nodding in approval. Nanami deconstructed them, reverting the room to its original state. Breathing heavily, she knew she was exhausted enough to pass out then and there, but still wanted to press on and return to the lab to work.

Exhaling, she began to walk back to the lab as he followed behind. Once in the main room, she went to the large sink at one of the lab benches to scrub her hands, realizing she’d been rubbing her hands on the floor for the past hour. He came beside her, doing the same, but of course more vigorously. As he stood beside her, she wondered why he decided to be so close. He’d seemingly tolerated the proximity before, but never sought it out. As they continued to scrub in silence, she accidently brushed up against his hand with her own. “Oh, I’m so sorr—”

“It’s fine.” He said cutting her off, though it didn’t feel rude.

“Oh. Ok.”

Clearing her throat, she continued washing, biting her lip as she tried to think of something to say. Usually the silence wasn’t a big deal, but today, there was a tension in the air. She felt hyperaware of him and that they were alone as she could feel him stealing glances in her direction. She went to grab a paper towel to dry off, deciding to try and fill the air, “I know it was a trade, but thanks for being so patient with—” she stopped short realizing they’d turned towards each other at the same time, making them much too close, her nose almost brushing against his chest. Against her better judgment, she craned her neck to look up. His eyes boring into hers as he remained silent. She felt her heart racing as they stayed seemingly frozen in place, close enough to feel the other’s body heat. There was a shift in the air, his expression unreadable, but far from blank. Nothing was happening at present, but she felt whatever situation they were in was coming to a head and the thought of the outcome had her heartbeat creeping up her throat.

“I should go home and get some rest.” She blurted out.

“Yes, you should go.” He responded, but it wasn’t as convincing as it should have been.

What the hell is going on here… she thought incredulously though they were both equal participants in the tense exchange, whatever it was. Composing herself, she gathered the strength to look away, hurrying over to dry her hands and create distance between them. She hurriedly gathered her bag and notes, rambling as she went about various lab work and their schedule for next week. She began briskly walking towards the door, continuing to fill the air with words, his eyes never leaving her.

“… and then we can move to the next set of samples for testing and—”

“Watanabe.” She immediately got quiet upon hearing him say her name without the usual formality and in a tone she wasn’t used to.

“…Yes?” She cautioned a glance to see him struggling to respond, his usually calm expression now conflicted.

“… Never mind. It’s not important. I’ll see you on Monday.” He said, seemingly trying to convince himself. Of what, she wasn’t sure.

“Oh, alright. See you then.” She managed to get out. Why do I feel…disappointed? Whatever…This is just one of those awkward moments. I just need a nap. She reassured herself before promptly leaving intent on ignoring the warmth coming to her cheeks.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Rushing to her car, Nanami tried her best to take her mind off of whatever the hell that was back there… she thought, shaking her head. Turning up the music in her car, she began making a weekend checklist of all her errands. She was planning on eating in more so she’d have more control over her diet, wanting to maintain the great shape she’d gotten in since training with Rappa. After their second life or death battle, he’d come to respect her and they became like workout buddies. Workout buddies who almost killed each other a couple times, but hey, at least he’s upfront and a great spotter.

Considering what she’d been through, Nanami thought she would have gone mad already, but found herself adapting instead. Maybe it was because her career exposed her to a lot of brutality on a regular basis. Being a doctor in a world with quirks meant the injuries and illnesses grew more inventive and vicious with each generation. Or maybe it was simply normal human adaptation, and consistency informed her new “normal”. Either way, she promised herself not to let it change her for the worst. She’d been through too much to give in now, or ever. She confirmed to herself.

Lost in thought, she had arrived home in a flash. Walking up to her door, she felt something was off and immediately went on guard, glancing around for any signs of disturbance before she opened the door. Thinking it was best not to be in the open if her feeling was correct, she hastily grabbed her keys. As soon as she turned the lock, someone large came up from behind, covering her mouth and forcing her inside, the door slamming closed after them. She was dragged in, thrashing about as the hand on her mouth continued to stifle her.

“This her?” asked the man restraining her.

Another man had followed them inside. He scanned her up and down before pulling out his phone, looking between her and a picture he had of her on his phone. “Yup, definitely her… Clip her wings. She’ll travel easier that way.” He said, a smile creeping across his face.

“I’d love to. Those Shie Hassakai bastards are gonna  regret underestimating us,” the man from behind her began before whispering in her ear, “I dunno what your quirk is, but the boss wants you something fierce. Be a good girl and cooperate and it won’t hurt…too much” he chuckled. “Now hold her arms out.” He asked the other man as he approached.

Nanami knew if she let panic set in, it would be over. So instead, she chose rage. It’s just like biting a tough carrot…In the next moment, she opened her mouth wide behind the assailant’s hand, clamping down like a vice. Blood gushed into her mouth and as the other man lunged forward, she did her best llama impression, spitting the thick, coppery substance into his eyes. She ducked as the men toppled over each other. She saw them both clearly now and was able to size them up. They both wore black jumpsuits and black knit caps. She didn’t recognize them, but they certainly had an idea of who she was.

“You bitch…”  one seethed as he was rubbing the blood from his eyes, the other still writhing on the floor. He went to grab her and she dodged, quickly grabbing and transforming her kettle, landing a blow under his ribs, hearing them crack under the pressure... Someone her size usually wouldn’t be able to cause so much damage, but she’d made metal gauntlets on the fly to mimic Rappa’s, adding another layer of force. They weren’t nearly as fast as her workout buddy and she landed another to his gut, causing him to double over. Just as she was about to strike again, the other man began to charge at her having given up the search for his fingers for the time being. He was twice her size and his quirk gave him the look of a rhino with a large horn and stocky built; she knew taking him head on was out of the question. As he charged, she redirected his momentum, moving aside as he landed harshly on the couch, breaking it in half under his weight. Both men arose, now very angry with her. She was trying to strategize as they stalked closer backing her into a corner by the entrance. Panic was beginning to set in until the door blew off the hinges and into the assailants, knocking them across the room and into the kicthen. Hyperventilating she didn’t know who would be at the door, but a sense of relief like she’d never felt before came over her as she saw her least favorite lab partner. Overhaul glanced over at her, and she tried to steady herself against the wall to rise and continue fighting. Giving her a grave look, he commanded” Stay right there.”

The men groaned, trying to shake off what had to be severe concussions from the impact. A look of recognition, then fear came across their features as he stalked towards them, removing his other glove. As he reached out to touch them, Nanami found her voice, “Wait! Don’t kill them. Please.”

“This is not the time for weakness.”

“Not wanting to kill people is not weak, j-just stop and think for a second.” She pleaded trying to figure out how to best reason with him,” you can’t interrogate dead guys!”

He paused. “Which one spoke the most to you?”

Trying to answer the question quickly she stammered,” I—I—The rhino-looking one?”

“Be certain.”

Clearing her throat, she was beginning to calm down,” I’m sure. It was that one.”

“Good. Now look away.”

“But I—“

He turned and gave her a look that said negotiations were over. She hesitantly turned away before hearing the other man “No, no, n—” then a splatter and silence.

She heard Overhaul exhale before discarding his gloves and pulling out a new pair. He speed-dialed someone, calmly explaining he needed some “garbage picked up”. In the next couple minutes, a van arrived driven by some familiar faces she’d seen around the hideout as they nodded to her, dragging out the other man who was now gagged and very traumatized. After they left, he turned to her, walking over calmly. From behind him she could see the corner completely covered in blood. She was grateful not to have seen it happen.

“What are you doi—why did you come here?” was the first thing that came to mind. She knew he knew where she lived, but never imagined he’d make a casual house call.

He went back by the door, bending down to pick up a mass of white fabric, “You practically ran out of the lab today leaving your jacket. I was going to ignore it, but then your phone started ringing. Your carelessness saved you.”  

“Pfft..haha.. hahaahahahahahah. Oh my gosh…bahahaa”

“… What’s so amusing?”

Catching her breath, Nanami tried to stop laughing. It was probably partly exhaustion, but the whole situation was just so bad she had to laugh. “It’s just… I almost got kidnapped by a couple dudes who wanted to ‘clip my wings’, my lab partner is a yakuza head, and my apartment is trashed. It’s not particularly ‘amusing’ per se, but I just had a brawl in my living room and I gotta clean some dude off my wall now. And it’s just… it’s just a lot and I—I don’t know how to react. I’m not like you, I’m not used to this” She ended, swallowing heavily.

He studied her for a beat, “Where is your bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing can be done about the other things you mentioned, but your apartment is filthy. Let’s start by fixing that.” He replied plainly.

Sniffling, she agreed, “Under the sink, to the left.”

For the next hour Nanami fixed her furniture, the sound of scrubbing and the presence of another person the only things keeping her together. Looking around, the place was good—well better than new. Examining the wall, she couldn’t find a trace of evidence that a man had been splattered across it earlier.

“Wow you’re really good at this, how’d you know how to get out blood stai—Ah. Forget I asked"

He gave a quick huff, and she made a B-line to her bag, grabbing her planner and a pen. He narrowed his eyes at her in disapproval. “Is now really an appropriate time for that? I didn’t even laugh.”

“One, that may not count as a laugh for a normal person, but it certainly does for you. And two, I feel like just for tonight, we can set aside the pretense of ‘appropriateness’.” She hummed, marking down another tally mark. Suddenly realizing it could be taken another way she corrected, “I mean as far as joking and stuff, not like…”

“Like what?” He asked innocently enough but she remembered their weird moment earlier that evening and suddenly the room felt much smaller.

“N-Nothing. Nevermind. I dunno what I’m saying.”

“Hm.”

Suddenly a car honked from outside and Nanami flinched like she’d been hit. She was taking it well, but she’d be lying if she said tonight hadn’t been jarring. Regaining her composure, she took deep breaths, trying to hide how shaken she’d been from the attack. Being alone sounded terrifying at the moment, but she knew she couldn’t ask him to stay. Accepting reality, she decided to rip off the band-aid.

“Hey… Thank you. You know you don’t have to –“

He ignored her, surveying the place, “I’m going to check for bugs and any tracking equipment. They seemed to have been watching you for a while to have timed this so well.” He glanced, giving her a once over, “In the meantime, you should take a bath. You’re filthy.”

Looking at the bloodstains on her clothes and general dishevelment, she wasn’t in a position to disagree, “Sounds logical to me,” she responded quietly as she made her way to the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway “And when I get out…”

“I’ll be here.” He said simply though his gaze was softer than she was used to.

She nodded, giving him a small smile, grateful to have a partner.

[joseph-mazzellos]

THE OCEAN OF YOUR EYES | PART ONE

Happy birthday, Ana! I love you!

Word count: 2.1k

Character: Arthur Barone x Original Character (Inspired by a friend)

The sun was high in the sky, making this one of the hottest days of the year. There should have been a rule against playing baseball when the temperatures could have melted the rainbow sprinkles off the ice cream faster than the time it took the D-Backs to grab it in their hands to start their pre-game ritual, but there was something between those boys and baseball that not even a scorcher like that day could have broken. Ty was already pacing back and forth in the dugout, worried that half of his players hadn’t yet shown up, whilst the other team was already stretching out in the field. They had never been the most professional team in the league, but somehow - with a little luck and a lot of help from Maz’s impeccable record, they had managed to make it to the semi-finals this year as well. Ana had never cared much for baseball, it was never a very popular sport back home, but ever since she had met Emily she had slowly learnt how to appreciate the game - or at least, how fun it was to watch a bunch of guys hit very small balls and shout a bunch of words she didn’t fully comprehend. Since Emily was engaged to one of the guys on the team, and she was the sister of not one, but two of the players, she really didn’t have much of choice of where to spend her Saturday afternoons, but it had started being slightly more bearable ever since Ana had agreed to join her and keep her company on the bleachers. They were definitely not the Yankees, so there were rarely more than a handful of people sitting there with them, but Emily always made sure she brought a little banner to encourage her fiancée Vinnie, who wasn’t exactly the best player in the team.

“Oh good, looks like my brother is already losing his mind”

Emily said, waiving in the direction of the dugout when she caught Ty’s eyes, but he was too distracted by something to wave back.

“We better hope and pray that they don’t get to the finals, then. The stress alone might kill him.”

Ana smiled at her friend, gaining a small laugh as she distractedly looked for Vinnie behind the metal fence.

“Losing is just not something I do, baby girl”

Ana didn’t even have to turn around to know who was talking to her, and she made sure she turned to face him before rolling her eyes, not wanting to let him think for one second that he had an effect on her.

“If only you could hit as well as you can bullshit your way into conversations, Barone, you’d be the first team in the league”

Ever since the first day he met her, Barone had been intrigued by Ana. It wasn’t only the fact that she was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. Her dark chocolate coloured hair fell perfectly on her back, long enough to fall right above another feature that he hadn’t failed to notice from the first day. Her eyes were a shade of brown lighter than her hair, and he had thought he had never seen eyes as bright as hers. When he first introduced himself to her, he had broken up with his girlfriend only a few days before. That felt like the perfect opportunity to meet someone knew, and he had never seen a rebound like her before. She had the potential to become one of those few things he was passionate about. Little did he know, though, that she wasn’t going to make it easy on him at all. When she straight up rejected him, giving the D-Backs something to laugh about for a whole week, he had found himself even more intrigued by the incredibly beautiful girl going to every one of his games, but not giving him the time of day. They had started this game, where he would say something to annoy her just to see her eyes roll and a proud smile form on her lips at her usually witty retorts.

“I could always show you other things I am very good at”

He moved his face closer to the fence were she was standing and she promptly pushed his face away from her, her tiny hand barely covering half of his face. She felt a shiver at the contact of her hand against his stubble, pulling back quickly as she brushed off the sensation as annoyance.

“Why don’t you go stretch, playboy. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt... By someone other than me.”

She gave him her best fake smile, and he took it in and metaphorically put it in his pocket to revisit later when he was alone. He still needed to work hard if he ever wanted to be on the receiving end of one of her real, brighten-up-the-whole-room smiles, but for now this was all he could hope for. He just responded with a smirk, as he started walking backwards towards the dug our where Ty was about to pop a vein in his neck as he tried to call him.

“He sure is persistent.”

Emily said, with a small smirk, looking at her best friend.

“He needs to take a hint.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like you enjoy your little exchanges more than you let on. They make the games way more exciting.”

Ana roller her eyes again, it felt like everything she was capable of doing when the subject of the conversation was Barone.

“I think these games are exciting enough with all those lunatics.”

She teasingly said, desperate to change the subject as she started thinking that maybe her friend knew her better than she cared to admit. She had been hanging out with a few guys in her class at uni, and they all seemed pretty interested in her, but she never got the little spark of excitement when talking to them that she did when Barone was around. It didn’t help that he was undeniably, objectively gorgeous. She needed to focus on the grass at her feet whenever she was trying to prove to him she was unbothered by his advances, cause whenever she caught a glimpse of those blue eyes she understood a little better what all those girls throwing themselves at him were talking about. The truth was, she hated only knowing the first layer of a person. It was the reason why she had only a few really good friends that she would do anything for, and not a lot of acquaintances. She needed to know someone deeply, create a connection with them, be able to understand them. It really bothered her to know that she only knew that side of him that he wanted everyone to see. She shook herself from the train of thoughts she had boarded, and she came back to reality just in time to hear the whistle of the referee mark the start of the first inning.

-

Ana’s ears were still ringing from all the shouting she and Emily had been doing during the game - good shouting when the D-Backs got a hit, or they managed to run back to base, bad shouting full of profanities when the other team scored or the referee made a bad call against the boys in red. Everyone had started dispersing and Ana was looking at her phone distractedly as she waited for Emily to reappear with Vinnie, who was meant to drive them home. She was hoping to go home and take a really long shower to wash away all the dirt from the clouds of sand that the wind and the players had sent their way during the game before they met at Pat’s house to celebrate their victory. Ana had never been one for parties, but she was learning to feel comfortable around the boys and the few friends she had made through them. Plus, Em had basically begged her to go.

“You sure sounded like a little sailor during the game.”

How could she have hoped to have missed him leave? It was almost as if he had waited for her to be alone. He rested his arms on the fence, resuming the same position they were in just a couple hours earlier, as if he was trying to imply they needed to pick up the conversation where they had left it off. She ran a hand through her hair and pushed them back, casually noticing his eyes follow the movement as if he was trying to memorise it.

“Let me guess, you only like girls who say pretty please and wash your uniform for your next game.”

She tried to push his button, not knowing enough about him to be able to really comment on what he liked. So far he only seemed to really like her body and to annoy her.

“Quite the opposite, darling. I do like girls with a mouth on them. Sure, most of the time they don’t use it to insult me...”

Ana caught a glimpse of his blue eyes and felt the need to grab ahold of the fence with both hands, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of showing even the slightest sign of attraction to him, but he took that as an invitation to move even closer, so he moved his hands on the fence, each hand laying right next to hers. She could feel the warmth of his fingers against hers even if they weren’t properly touching. She needed to say something, or run away. She decided to go with the one that did not make her look like a crazy person.

“I think you might have gathered I am not one of your little cheerleaders.”

“Oh. Believe me. You’re very different.”

His tone made it sound as if it was a very good thing, but she was sure that he had nothing against his little groupies, he sure made sure they were well taken care of when they were there. Not that she had noticed how he would flirt with every single one of them every game, anyways, she had better things to think about.

“But you still root for me, though.”

“I root for the whole team, you could be sitting on the bench the whole game and I wouldn’t even notice you’re gone.”

He laughed, bringing one hand up to his face and stroking his stubble with one hand before setting it back down right next to hers.

“Interesting. I always notice when you’re gone.”

Ana started to wonder whether it was something he said to everyone or if he really meant it. She doubted he sat in the dug out noticing if she was sitting on the bleachers or not. She ruled it as bullshit in her mind and decided to reply with one of her signature eye-rolls, leaving him with something familiar. She spotted Em with the corner of her eye, and she thanked God the conversation was about to be cut short.

“See you around, Barone.”

She said, turning away from him before she could stare into his eyes again and picked up the pace to join Vinnie and Emily.

“Are you coming tonight, Barone?”

Vinnie shouted back.

“What’s tonight?”

“Drinks at Pat’s. You never come. Ana will be there.”

Ana hit Vinnie right in the chest, and he brought his hands to the spot she had hit very dramatically.

“Sure. It’s a date.”

Barone shouted in Ana’s direction, making her flip her middle finger upwards in his direction and making him smile widely.

“There’s my classy lady again.”

He just said, grabbing his bag and walking in the other direction, excited to be able to see her again, for the first time without a metal fence acting as a shield.

“I would kill you if she didn’t love you so much.”

Ana scoffed as she walked to the backseat of Vinnie’s car, thinking of how she was now very confused about her feelings regarding that night. Was she nervous to see him outside of his D-Back uniform? In a setting that wasn’t so familiar to both of them? Maybe the sand was really starting to cloud her brain.

“I thought you guys needed a little push. Em says you might be good for him.”

Em proceeded to hit him in the same exact spot Ana had just hit him previously, and he let out another dramatic groan, while Emily turned to look at her best friend with a small smile.

“Ignore him. Tonight’s going to be fun.”

[thesethingsofours]

Parents are the Worst.

I recently began listening to Nice White Parents, a new podcast hosted by self-confessed nice white parent, Channa Joffe-Walt. It’s produced by the people in and around Serial, This American Life, S-Town and The New York Times. If you are familiar with those titles, you’ll know what to expect – in-depth, considered analysis of a heretofore, under-exposed social issue, executed with an East Coast progressive liberal stride; a pleasingly audible, irreverent gait and the swagger of emotional intelligence and self-aware humility. Through research, interviews and attaching herself to the Brooklyn School of International Studies for several years, Joffe-Walt tells the story of the New York Public school system and its apparent failure to meaningfully integrate itself since Brown v Board of Education made racial segregation illegal over 65 years ago.

In episode 2, Joffe-Walt tracks down and interviews some nice white parents from around the time the school opened in 1963. These people had written letters encouraging the school board to erect the school building closer to their own neighbourhood (and consequently further away from the darker-skinned families it was more likely to serve). They expressively emphasised their wishes to send their kids there and virtuously aid the process of integration, which they believed to be morally imperative.

But apparently, none of these letter writers subsequently sent their kids to that school. It remained, as anticipated, a predominantly non-white school. Laid alongside the tense machinations of the contemporary school’s invasion by a large new cohort of white parents and their issue, Joffe-Walt’s hypothesis is that white parents have always held liberal aims, and the clout to impose them, but do so with little consideration for their non-white counterparts or any real commitment to seeing through the incumbent practicalities. From the outset, this natural conclusion is persistently hinted at, not least from the podcast’s deliberately provocative title. Perhaps, on an individual level, this hypothesis contains some truth.

However, as the story extends, the blame gains weight and the theory mutates into a generalised accusation. Responsibility for the mediocre state of New York’s (and by implication, America’s) public schools is explicitly laid at the pale feet of white parents. It's an exposition of what is often described as “White Guilt” and its corresponding effort at contrition (i.e. the guilt felt from the inherited sin of one’s ancestors’ oppression of non-white people, primarily through slavery). While White Guilt might have its conceptual uses for a few people to come to terms with idea of race (although even there I am sceptical), its value as a wider social narrative is deeply unconvincing, and potentially damaging. Nice White Parents does a good job showing why.

In the podcast, anecdotal evidence is drastically extrapolated to justify White Guilt. Unless backed up by unequivocal data, it is inherently flawed to base so much on interviews with a handful of people in their 80s about a letter they wrote in the 60s, and (in episode 3) a now middle-aged woman about her perception of school when she was 13. Equally so is to use the example of a single New York school to imply that nice white parents are universally responsible for all the failings of American public schooling. A quick empirical comparison with countries unburdened by America’s racial psychosis would almost certainly reveal this argument to be fundamentally false. I hazard to suggest that Joffe-Walt set out, either consciously or subconsciously, to prove the theory of Nice White Parents, and has therefore fallen into the trap of verification bias.  

Of course, the truth is likely to be far simpler – green, cheddar, dead presidents and moolah (which middle-aged white people in American disproportionately possess). Better schools arrive from broad, deep and perpetual community investment – from good, affordable housing and well-paying jobs to well-paid teachers and decent facilities. That means higher taxes on the wealthy and better provincial management. If a completely non-white school district received $50 billion to invest in their community with educational improvement as its ultimate goal (that or the abolition of private schools), I suspect the idea of nice white parents would quickly evaporate.

It is plainly a damaging distraction to focus on the role of supposed-predisposed-racism of well-meaning, middle-class people, who simply want the best possible education for their children. Instead, the message for the “hereby accused” should be to use their numerical majority and voting power to advocate for systems that would reduce inequality, regardless of race. In this respect, it strikes me that wealth is a sacrosanct subject in America, something that one can never apologise for having too much of. Quite the opposite – the culture is built on celebrating those who hoard capital. Is it possible that Americans are taught never to apologise for having money, so those who see something wrong develop other issues, such as race, for which they can atone?

More deeply, the podcast reveals how the White Guilt narrative is in ideological conflict with the very wrong it is supposedly trying to right. Taken to its conclusion, it inevitably reinforces the idea that white people are innately superior, and race is the primary determining factor for success in American life. In the context of the podcast, it is applied to suggest that New York public schools are destined to fail their students unless white kids and their parents get involved. It is gloriously ironic that condemning the influence of white parents on public schools serves to reinforce the supposed inferiority of non-white participants in the education system… because of their lack of whiteness. At the end of episode 3, Jaffe-Walt lays this out:

Nice white parents shape public schools even in our absence, because public schools are maniacally loyal to white families even when that loyalty is rarely returned back to the public schools. Just the very idea of us, the threat of our displeasure, warps the whole system. So “separate” is still not equal because the power sits with white parents no matter where we are in the system. I think the only way you equalise schools is by recognising this fact and trying wherever possible to suppress the power of white parents. Since no one is forcing us to give up power we white parents are going to have to do it voluntarily, which, yeah how's that going to happen? That's next time on Nice White Parents…

(Consider replacing every mention of “white” in this excerpt with “affluent”. Would that not feel infinitely more true?)

In fairness, the honourable, “anti-racist” intention is clear – in order to defeat “white supremacy” white people need to accept their inherited and systemic superiority and eliminate it. Sadly, any idea centred around race – whether malicious or well-intentioned – is bound to collapse under even the slightest pressure. To be truly anti-racist is to recognise that race itself doesn’t exist (other than as an abstract concept that, having infected people’s perceptions after four centuries of concerted, localised propaganda, must be eradicated). Race has no basis in science or nature; it cannot be quantified in any reasonable, measurable way. Simply, it is a lie; invented to excuse the exploitation of others for the purposes of wealth-generation. To base one’s actions on it in any way is to take a leap of faith into a void with no landing. Race is a malignant, empty God; belief in which is destined to lead to malignant, empty behaviour. “Racism” and “Anti-Racism” (as it is currently understood) are therefore both empty, malignant religions, practiced in service of a non-existent deity.

Notably, there are still two episodes to go (released August 13th and 20th). Either might serve to recover some balance. But by episode 3, the stage is not only set for this conclusion to be drawn, but the 1st Grade nativity is in its final scene and the wise men are long since gone.

All that said, if you let the incessant racialization of all things drift past you rather than choking on it, as plain entertainment – storytelling rather than journalism – it’s still an engaging listen; well-constructed and convincingly told. Furthermore, on a non-racial level (if you can somehow listen beyond it), the podcast does have some value, since it reminds me of something I have long half-joked about – that parents (of all stripes) are the worst.

Aside from the obvious, complex Freudian reasons, on a socio-political level, when a choice arises between a laudable, achievable change and putting one’s own children at a perceived disadvantage in order to effect it, a parent will choose its child’s advantage almost every time. No matter their colour, few parents will sacrifice their own child’s prospects – even minutely – to advance the hypothetical children of someone else, or society more widely. Parents are company directors whose primary obligation is to their miniature, genetically-derivative shareholders – they’ll only vote for large-scale change if it is net-profitable or government-imposed.

And of course, parents should pay their kids the maximum dividend. Who else will? A parent is legally and morally obliged to do the best for the young life they are charged with defending. And therein lies the joke. Parents are the worst only because they are ubiquitous. They created you, me and everyone else. We all had them, and most people end up being one. It is therefore less of a criticism than an inevitable, evolutionary truth – just one we should probably be more honest and upfront about. Unknowingly, underneath (and in some ways, because of) its misguided, exhausting racial handwringing, Nice White Parents just about makes this point.

Listen to Nice White Parents here or wherever you get your podcasts.