#this one is by a softer sea originally! check them out too

[allsassnoclass]

HELL YEAH!!! can i get uhhhh #9, an I'm so proud of you kiss? pairing, fandom, etc is all up to you :) ill read it even if im not in the fandom go fkn crazy ily xoxo

hi @clumsyclifford!!! alrighty let's throw some fake college sports players in here.

jerejean: I'm so proud of you kiss

Jeremy goes to find Jean after a few minutes, weaving through the crowd of his teammates and the Foxes until he reaches the edge of their party's sphere, out in the sand where the light from the bonfire has no hope of reaching. He stumbles over Neil and Andrew, drawn hypnotically to the bright cherry of the cigarette they're sharing, but neither of them question where he's going or make any attempt at conversation. Neil simply tilts his head to the left with a knowing look, and Jeremy nods in thanks once he spots the shadowy figure sitting yards away in the darkness, looking out at the waves.

Jean doesn't look up as Jeremy approaches, chin resting on his knees as he looks distantly out at the ocean, where the horizon line blends too deep in the darkness to discern what is sea and what is sky anymore. Jeremy flops gracelessly down next to him, kicking up sand and checking to be sure Jean isn't shying away. He relaxes when he doesn't. Jean still doesn't do well with isolation, but he's an introvert at heart and needs his space. After the events of today, Jeremy isn't surprised that he retreated down the beach to be alone, but he also knows that it's the kind of alone that Jeremy is welcome to interrupt.

It makes his chest fill with warmth, being one of the people that Jean doesn't need energy to be around. It's a privilege that he doesn't take lightly, especially when so few people in Jean's life have been safe. For him to have found a group of people to love and be loved by in return is no small feat, and it's something that they've gradually cultivated together in the past year.

For a moment, Jeremy thinks about the first time he saw Jean in person outside of a court, watching the shell of a man cautiously approach him at LAX with only a few t-shirts, a tattoo, and years of abuse to his name. He would never have predicted that they'd be here now, only a few weeks shy of a year later. Jean has grown in ways too numerous to list, but Jeremy has changed, too. It's a mutual metamorphosis, made more important for the way that they've grown in harmony with each other, filling in each other's gaps while leaving room for the other person to stretch and flourish.

Of course, one other difference is that they're NCAA champions now. It isn't a new title for Jean, but Jeremy suspects that this one feels sweeter, more earned.

This is a win that Jean should feel proud of, one untainted by the shadow of black wings and bruises. A championship that has nothing to do with the number that used to be tattooed on his face and everything to do with the person he has decided to become.

"What are you thinking about?"

Jeremy tilts his head towards the quiet, lilting sound of Jean's words. His accent has lessened slightly over the year, either due to less necessity to use his French without Kevin around or being surrounded by people who never stop talking in loud California drawls, but it still colors his words like a swash of blue in a sunrise.

Jean never wants to return to France, but sometimes Jeremy wonders if he would enjoy visiting Canada or Haiti, somewhere that he could use a version of his native language without ghosts following him.

"Jeremy?"

Jeremy blinks, bringing himself back to the present rather than some unnamed future with the two of them wandering around Montreal.

"I was thinking about our win," he says when he can remember what Jean's original question was. Jean huffs, but the sound is fond. Jeremy can't see much in the darkness, but he can picture Jean's expression perfectly. He's not smiling, but he's softer, relaxed and open enough that Jeremy can read his intention.

"How does it feel to be a champion?" Jean asks.

"Amazing," Jeremy sighs, tipping his head back and remembering every hour of practice and hard-fought game that brought them here. Despite the backlash from his decision to cut down the line last year and all of the negative press surrounding Jean's transfer, they made it all the way to the championships and came out on top. It was a battle in more ways than one, but it was absolutely worth it for the look on Kevin Day's face when Cat stole the ball from him using a technique that Jean taught her, then slammed the ball down the court for Jeremy to catch and score.

The team as a whole has grown exponentially. Jeremy has never pushed himself harder, and it wasn't all sunshine and smiles on the court this year. Still, they held it together, and as turbulent throwing a former Raven into their midst was, Jeremy has never regretted the decision to bring Jean to them.

"It's sweeter because I could do it with you," Jeremy says.

He glances at Jean out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't duck his head bashfully, and he doesn't freeze awkwardly the way he used to when Jeremy would drop a sappy but sincere compliment months ago. He simply lets the sentiment wash over him, keeping his focus on Jeremy.

"I'm glad you are happy," he says. Jeremy reaches for his hand, fingertips dragging along his forearm and wrist until Jean turns to thread their fingers together.

"What about you?" Jeremy asks. "How does it feel to be a champion this time?"

Jean takes time to consider his answer. Jeremy listens to the distant sounds of their teammates and friends over by the fire and the gentle sounds of waves hitting the shore while he waits. A breeze gently shifts his hair, light and crisp enough that he nearly shivers.

"I didn't think it would mean this much to me," Jean says quietly. Jeremy squeezes his hand once, then relaxes, giving Jean the space he needs. "I knew that winning with the Trojans would feel different, but the Ravens won because we were expected to. You and I won because we deserved to this time. Because we fought harder and wanted it more."

"And you did it all without a red card, even though Neil was being annoying," Jeremy says.

"It felt good to beat him," Jean grins. "That was very satisfying."

No one felt like it would be a good idea to make Jean block Kevin, not with everything he's told them about scrimmages in the Nest. While he played with Neil at Evermore as well, it was never while Neil was playing striker, and Neil only features in a fraction of the traumatic memories that Jean has recounted. Jean has been doing great in his sessions with Betsy and has grown a lot in his recovery over the past year, but no one wanted to risk prompting a flashback during the championship game, when the eyes of the entire public and Ichirou Moriyama would be on him.

Jean seemed to enjoy playing against Neil, anyway. Jeremy still doesn't understand their relationship and probably never will, but it was one of Jean's best games. Neil ran him ragged, but both of them seemed satisfied with their individual performances, and Jeremy overheard Jean tell him to have a winning day while stealing the ball at one point.

It's taken a long time for Jean to be able to have fun on the court. Healing is slow and non-linear, Jeremy knows that better than most. The progress that is visible, though, is much more gratifying because of it.

Jeremy looks at Jean, tracing his outline in the blue shadows. He takes in the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the enticing tilt of his head, the self-satisfied smile that Jeremy can barely see gracing his lips in this light. He looks like he belongs on this beach, relishing in his win with dozens of people who love him only a few yards away, holding hands with someone who adores him.

It's amazing, what a difference one year can make. Jeremy's chest feels warm and full, ready to burst.

"Hey," he says, squeezing Jean's hand. Jean turns towards him with a questioning noise. Jeremy tugs on his t-shirt, coaxing him forward until he can lean up to press their lips together. Jean responds once he catches on to Jeremy's intention, relaxing against him and sliding his free hand around Jeremy's waist. Jeremy presses forward, trying to transfer as much of the feeling in his chest to Jean as he can. He curls his hand around Jean's shoulder, partially to draw him closer and partially for his own stability. Jean sighs against him, and Jeremy can't help but smile into the kiss.

When they part a few moments later, Jeremy watches the way that Jean's eyes take a moment to flutter open.

"What was that for?" Jean asks. Jeremy smiles and brushes his thumb against Jean's cheek, right over the small heart tattooed there.

"I'm really proud of you," he smiles. Jean ducks his head, leaning into Jeremy's palm. "You've come a long way."

Jean wraps his hand around Jeremy's, pressing it against his chest.

"I couldn't have done it without you, Jeremy."

Jeremy doesn't think he'll ever get used to the way his name sounds in Jean's mouth, his accent curving around it and voice soft as music.

"Still," Jeremy says. "I'm really proud of you, Jean-Yves."

Jean ducks his head again, but Jeremy can't have that. He reaches for Jean's jaw again. Jean knows him well enough to evade and kiss him instead, the perfect distraction. Jeremy is happy to let him get away with it, because that was his end goal anyway.

They stay on the beach together for a long time. When their friends eventually find them, Jeremy watches the way that Jean lights up as Cat tackles him in a hug and he playfully banters with Kevin, two things that would've been impossible a year ago. Jeremy keeps hold of his hand, both of them on top of the world with no plans on coming down.

[foundmywei]

Iwaoi Fanfic Recs

Here are my favorite iwaoi fics! I haven't read any in a while and I unfortunately didn't start making this list back in the old days when I read more but I do have plenty of them saved. (I know some of them are classics but I couldn't not include them) Enjoy!

Masterpost

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle by kittebasu (chanyeol)

(66,307 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 3/3)

post-anime-canon

Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

we shine like diamonds by whitemiists

(26,733 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

canon compliant

Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the wordfuckand then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.

"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is...gay."

Six-Month Lover by afuzzyowl

(89,000 words | Explicit | Chapters: 17/17)

post-anime-canon

Iwaizumi barks out a laugh. “I’m still trying to get over the fact that you made a PowerPoint presentation about why we should date.” Oikawa doesn’t tell him the file has existed for the last twelve years, constantly receives updates, and that the original copy contained almost a hundred slides before he forced himself to get a grip.

Moments in Oikawa’s journey to win over his best friend’s love: the sad, the happy, and everything in between.

Not Quite What You Planned by MellowWrites

(42,990 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 17/17)

kinda-soulmate AU

It seemed pretty simple and it made sense to those who bought it, but the actual science behind it was complicated and far too lengthy to comprehend. But the point of the TiMER was simple - a digital clock that would count down to the exact day you met your soulmate.

That was the ideal romantic future Tooru had grown up with.

you're looking like you fell in love tonight by anyadisee

(34,930 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

college AU, fake dating

“So, let me see if I understood this correctly,” Hajime says, slow and careful like he’s still waiting for some kind of punchline. “You want me to help Oikawa Tooru, a guy I barely know, because your boyfriend owes him a favor?”

“And you owe me a favor,” Hanamaki adds helpfully.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“Sure it does.” Hanamaki’s smile widens. “Issei and I are practically the same person by now, anyway, so whatever favor you owe me, you also owe him. And by repaying me, you are repaying him, and in turn he is repaying Oikawa. Think of it as, like, the transitive property of equality. A equals B equals C. A equals C.”

“I know what the transitive property of equality is,” Hajime snaps.

[in which iwaizumi pretends to be oikawa's boyfriend.]

darlin', your head's not right by aruariandance

(13,658 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

post-anime-canon

“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”

Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.

“I was thinking our Aoba johsai colors to go for more, you know, softer tones? Besides, I’ve always looked great in that sea foam green color. Oh, and I guess you look decent in it, too.” He grins, saccharine sweet, and Iwaizumi has never been so tempted to knock one of his perfect pearly white teeth right out of his stupid mouth."

or,

Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.

but you'd be so fun to date by fliick

(11,709 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

college AU, fake dating

“It’d just be for tomorrow,” Tooru explains rapidly, “You just have to, like, hold my hand for a while or something. Nothing big.” Iwa huffs with poorly measured aggravation, “I’m not gonna pretend to be your boyfriend, Oikawa. What the hell even happened for you to say something like that?”

closure by thelittlebirdthattoldyou

(21,999 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 4/4)

post-anime-canon

"Iwaizumi," Wakatoshi says. "You love him." Oikawa freezes. “Hm? Don't be stupid, Ushiwaka-chan.” “It is not my place to intrude into your personal relationships -“ “It really isn’t,” Oikawa agrees.

In his first year of university, Oikawa builds a new friendship and upgrades an old one.

Or: Ushijima is not a great wingman, but he tries his best.

Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad) by sunsmasher

(19,309 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

post-anime-canon

It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.

He has, however, sent Iwaizumi tickets for the 2024 Los Angeles Summer Games.

“So go,” says Matsukawa's voice. “It’s only a few weeks. You’ve got a whole city to hide in if it gets awkward, and if it doesn’t get awkward, well…” It’s like watching the future reconfigure, like being in high school again, watching team after team fall to Oikawa’s faultless planning and shameless charm. “I’ll get to watch a whole lot of volleyball,” Hajime says, and resigns himself to fate and/or Oikawa Tooru. “Hey, when you get there, can you bag a gymnast for me?” Hanamaki asks, and Matsukawa squawks.

Catalyst by Jya, ShatteredEpiphany

(11,175 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

canon compliant, set in high-school

To Oikawa, being injured is the worst possible fate imaginable. To Iwaizumi looking after his best friend is something he can't imagine his life without. They never expected it to act as a catalyst for what they want the most in this world, nor did they expect that their dreams reflected each other's.

// takes place before the Karasuno/Seijoh practice match

When You Wish Upon a Star by emerald1963

(31,975 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 8/8)

bodyswap AU

Hajime has no idea how this situation is even possible, but he’s one hundred percent certain that it’s all Oikawa’s fault.

Oikawa blames the aliens.

The Iwaoi body swap fic that this fandom needs, if not the one it deserves.

five minutes west of irvine by birdcat

(20,371 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 2/2)

canon-compliant-ish, 2021 olympics

Or maybe it’s just the Argentinian national team shirt. In the dim, the blue could be mistaken for Seijou teal. Or the cobalt of Kitagawa Daiichi. Maybe that’s Oikawa’s cosmic trajectory, Hajime thinks—forever graduating from one shade of blue into the next.

In which Oikawa returns to Tokyo for the Olympics. In which it's been a while. In which the reunion is clumsy.

Shiver by Yuu_chi

(16,703 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

canon-compliant/high school & post-anime-canon

Oikawa was always the brave one. Hajime just followed two paces behind.

10 ways iwaizumi hajime has said i love you by daisugass

(15,894 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

canon compliant, set in high-school

I love you's come in actions, not words.

static by blessings

(6,452 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

canon compliant, set in high-school

Sometimes Hajime wonders if Oikawa sees the same things he does when he looks out over their neighborhood (right now it’s two kids kicking up pebbles on their bikes, lugging backpacks filled with walkie-talkies and water bottles and alien scanners, not sure if they’re heading down to the forest or up to the river but positive that they’ll get there together). Back then he and Oikawa saw the same thing when they looked down the road – a straight shot to another adventure, if they just pedaled fast enough. Sometimes Hajime worries they stopped seeing the same thing a while ago and he never noticed.

Being snowed in with all of Seijou volleyball in his childhood home brings back a lot of memories for Iwaizumi, because it's kinda Oikawa's childhood home too.

make a bet, keep a promise by raewrites

(13,988 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

canon compliant, childhood to post-anime-canon

Sometimes, in still moments, Iwaizumi wonders why out of all the people on earth he ended up with Oikawa Tooru. Why it’s his face that lingers on his fading conscious in the last moments before he falls asleep, in the first blurry seconds upon waking up again. Why when he looks to his side, he expects Oikawa to be there in the same way he expects to see five fingers on both hands, a natural extension of himself, ever present.

Why he can’t imagine a future without Oikawa in it.

It begins with a bet made between the two boys in the mid-summer of their eighth year. It starts with volleyball, but like with most things involving Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, things are never quite that simple.

given by dialsoap

(15,705 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

canon compliant, time-skip, Argentina

Iwaizumi spends the spring break of his senior year of college visiting Oikawa in Argentina. It's the first time they've seen each other in person in ages. They sightsee, eat, sit around, bask in one other's company, talk about their futures...

They've known each other their whole lives and they've been away from home long enough that it's not quite clear where home is. This fic is about loving someone a world away and how that distance doesn't mean you love them any less. Maybe it makes the heart grow fonder, maybe it makes you grow up?

most people never even get a single high school rival by sulfate

(5,217 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

canon compliant, olympics

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” Santiago sounds out. Those damn telescope eyes. “Huh. I thought his name was Iwachan?” “Is it the wrong guy?” Mateo narrows his eyes. “No, that’s definitely him, that’s the dude from Tooru’s homescreen… is it?” “Only one way to find out!” Santiago says cheerfully.

Team Argentina gets to know Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer

Learning to Walk (So That We Can Run) by ricekrispyjoints

(27,639 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

post-anime-canon

"I'm not healing like I should be."

In his second year of university, physical therapy just isn't cutting it. Oikawa's knee is getting worse, and he can't hide it anymore.

Or: the light angst, project-your-own-life-experiences-on-Oikawa knee surgery fic you didn't know you wanted.

How to deal with an emotionally stunted best friend by Iwaizumi Hajime by flaminpumpkin

(14,778 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

post-anime-canon

Iwaizumi Hajime wasn't expecting his relationship with his bestfriend to change a lot when he left for an exchange program. After all they went through, what could a bunch of kilometers do?

Oh, how wrong was he to think that.

body language by solyn

(13,917 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

oikawa and atsumu bodyswap, +sakuatsu

Atsumu leans closer, strokes over the planes of his pretty boy face, does a 360 twirl in the mirror just to confirm. Yep, still Oikawa, although he can’t possibly imagine why.

Miya Atsumu and Oikawa Tooru swap bodies. There's one giant problem, though: they've never met.

Fernweh by oikawashoyo

(19,633 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 2/2)

canon universe, set after high school

Argentina is stretching out before him, an opportunity, a challenge. He is reminded of his losses, his insecurities, his disappointments; sees them form a tall, tall wall blocking his path to success. He takes a deep breath and knows he is going to shatter it.

In which Oikawa's whole life is spent longing for the horizon — in the form of a dream, a home, and a boy.

chasing gold by skiecas

(45,049 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

set during the 2021 olympics

It’s Tokyo 2021, backdrop for the XXXII Summer Olympiad Games. Oikawa Tooru returns to Japan after a triumphant, eight-year long run as pro setter in Argentina’s professional volleyball League. And it's been just as long since Hajime watched him disappear across the oceans, maybe never to return.

On reuniting with your best friend, standing atop the world stage, and trying to catch wisps of a golden boy. An Olympic tale, one lifetime in the making.

[tangents-within-tangents]

Alright finally finished my freakin finals (ahhhhhhh) so let's do this! No one asked for this but until Spotify adds an annotation feature I gotta get my overexplaining out somewhere lol

So some of these are here for the lyrics but some are just for titles and the vibes don’t always match up with the book/scene.

Very important aspects of the book, as we all know

This one was a surprise find while looking through Tsfh songs for relevant titles lol! Serendipitously the mood of the song really fits the rising suspense leading up to the arrival at castle Dracula. The spooky vibe paired with the silly title fits pretty well with Jonathan obliviously enjoying paprika hendl while all the villagers are freaking out around him

“Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!”

Obviously the title lends well as an introduction to the guy who can control wolves. I also like how this one starts softer and mimics the sound of howling in a very melodic way (fitting the sentiment of the aforementioned quote) and then gets more intense

“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave”

Yeah you get it

Ha ha I'm clever

“Close every door to me. Hide all the world from me. Bar all the windows, and shut out the light

Do what you want with me. Hate me and laugh at me. Darken my daytime, and torture my night”

Little specific and emo after that but regardless, poor trapped and terrorized Jonathan :( 

I found a better fitting wolf song for the later moment but I really love the vibe of this song and wanted to keep it in here. And there’s some significant wolf stuff going on around this time so. Some lyrics fit for Jonathan too “Falling from high places” “Now that we're lonely. Now that there's nowhere to go” “Now that we're so far from home” “I've lost my mind here, oh I've lost my patience with the Lord” “Red tongues and hands” 

Inspired completely by @marghen's animatic (link). For the most part it seems a good representation of Jonathan’s stay at the castle and his relationship with Dracula. Since the decision (“I can’t decide whether you should live or die”) is never made it also fits how Jonathan’s fate is left up in the air after his last entry 

“I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.”

May 9th, return of the queen! I think the soft instrumental fits the tone shift we get when we switch over to happy fun times with our girls. (Originally had Don McClean’s song but it’s more of a break up song so didn’t make sense here)

Can't believe a song this perfect for this part of the book exists? Yeah neither can I. It’s cutesy and fun and the lyrics actually line up surprisingly well. First suitor in the song is science-y like Seward, second is adventurous like Quincey and the third is just cute and romantic. And we’ve got “Choosing is a chore, now I’m caught in the middle of a jealousy storm, Limitations are a bore”  😉💀

Vibe does not fit in the slightest but the title was too funny so I did it anyway 

Rip Seward lol. I found it for the title but the lyrics happened to fit quite nicely for the poor guy wallowing in loneliness after his rejection 

“My dear Art,— We’ve told yarns by the camp-fire in the prairies; and dressed one another’s wounds after trying a landing at the Marquesas; and drunk healths on the shore of Titicaca. There are more yarns to be told, and other wounds to be healed, and another health to be drunk. Won’t you let this be at my camp-fire to-morrow night?”

I debated using “The Woods” by Hollow Coves for the lyric “We all sit around the fire. We feel so much better now” but this one from an album called ‘Cowboy Campfire Songs’ fit the vibe better

“I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was no letter for me. I hope there cannot be anything the matter with Jonathan.”

It’s impossible for me to make a playlist without Sleeping at Last showing up (like a lot), sorry I don’t make the rules. Lucked out with the title and tone of the song (instrumental) lining right up with Mina’s worry about not hearing from Jonathan

It’s Chapter 7 log of the ghost ship Demeter time! (Yeah more tsfh get used to it, they cool). I debated between a few songs with better fitting titles but I think the mood of this one best fit the horror the poor trapped crew faced. Also love the spooky bell tolls at the end

Lol but tone be damned bc I just had to. The captain literally says some version of “another one gone” so many times

Spooky/tense vibes for Lucy’s fateful jaunt into the churchyard

This one's for Renfield. Idk if the lyrics really fit, maybe "I want to feed the sparrow in your heart" but *shrug*

“Joy, joy, joy! At last, news of Jonathan.”

Again it’s basically cheating, title and tone fit all too well

Enter Abraham Van Helsing, M. D., D. Ph., D. Lit., etc., etc.

“I never liked garlic before, but to-night it is delightful! There is peace in its smell; I feel sleep coming already.”

Another good find that I think fits the mix of somber peace and tension. (Side note I think it’s cool that they only use garlic flowers in the book whereas we are so used to garlic bulbs in vampire media for some reason)

This one was first for Seward and the many nights of sleep he lost watching over and taking care of Lucy. But the lyrics also fit well, if not better, for Mina attending to Jonathan as he mentally recuperates. Both of which are happening kinda around the same time so that’s nice.

This is for the wolf that breaks through the window, essentially delivering the final blow. This one just fit the mood of this scene better, especially with “Mama there's wolves in the house” seeing as this is what kills Lucy’s mother. (I used a cover for the female voice)

“What’s the matter with me, anyhow?” The voice came from the sofa across the room, and its tones brought relief and joy to my heart, for they were those of Quincey Morris!”

Cowboy entrance™ is one of my favorite moments. Just thought we needed some more cowboy music in here for the legend himself

Sad times as Lucy is fading away and becoming less and less of herself. Also speaks to the tragedy of all the time she lost, she really was so young and had so many hopes for the future

Funeral song basically :(

This one is for Arthur as well as for Mina when she receives news of Lucy’s death. There’s a lot of deaths all at once here. Arthur’s father, Mr. Hawkins, Mrs. Westenra, and dearest Lucy. Add to that Jonathan’s relapse and you can see why Mina is so worried “We will grow old as friends” and “What the hell would I be without you” in particular stand out

Stuff is getting spooky with this “Bloofer Lady” about

Alright this one is specifically for Van Helsing’s rant to Seward at the end of Chapter 14 to get him to believe in the impossible. I’ve talked about it before but one of my favorite themes of the book is about how they can only defeat Dracula by using science, reason, religion, and superstition together. I think “We can all learn things from many avenues” and the whole jist of the song represents that pretty well

Yeah our boys are seeing vampire Lucy and stuff is getting intense again

Since there aren't spoilers anymore I figured I drop my great big chronological, overthought, sometimes deep, sometimes irreverent, oddly specific, book-accurate Dracula playlist

I’m actually surprised at a lot of the stuff I was able to find lol, though it definitely reflects my own taste and interpretations of the novel. Most of the songs are self explanatory but some are more vague so if anyone’s interested I’ll walk through my reasoning in reblogs

[asofterparty]

for this next part it might be for the best if you don’t look outside.

[angelkurenai]

Imagine dating Jensen and never having told him you knew who he was and what his job was, or that you had a crush on him. So when he finds out he gets mad and a fight ensues.

“Honey, can you please check to see if there are any empty boxes left on the-”

“None.” Jensen cut you off with a small smirk, leaning against the door frame and chuckling when he saw you startle and let out a small yelp when you realized he was there.

“Jens!” you exclaimed, hand over your heart “You scared me, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” he grinned, getting closer to you “Long enough to admire the view and maybe- certainly fall in love with you just a little bit more, unbelievably possible you see, and that adorable face you make when going through your...” he looked over your shoulder at the things in your hands “Childhood memories I see! Wow that's some real talent there, is that-” he tilted his head to the side, looking at your childhood drawing “Is that a... kitty or a shark?”

“Shut up.” you said with a small pout, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks from the embarrassment, but at the same time unable to hold a small laugh when Jensen ticked your sides before wrapping his arms around your middle and sitting down next to you on the bed “And to answer your question... I think it's supposed to be both. My favorite animals from land and sea, you see, because of how adorable and dangerous they can both be.”

“Dangerous and adorable, wow, that's a way to think about those two. Ok.” he pursed his lips for a second, nodding his head “Remind me to have a serious talk with you about your childhood memories and concepts of cute when we decide to have kids, yeah? I'm scared I will walk into a nursery painted a deep shade of black because you think it's a lovely color.”

“Alright first-” you raised a finger to stop him before he could say anything else “Black is a lovely color and if you have anything against it then we really need to have a serious discussion about that otherwise I am afraid I can't move in with you at all. Not to mention that I think that puts our relationship in danger on its own. So you either prepare yourself for the endless amount of black outfits I have or otherwise-”

“No! No, totally fine with black. Lovely color, totally.” he shook his head immediately and you chuckled, leaning on him more.

“And as for the second-” your voice took on a softer tone as you looked up to lock eyes with his and offer him a soft smile, almost reassuring when you saw the panic in his eyes no wonder because he had previous slipped and didn't expect you to catch it “I always loved the idea of a yellow or light green one, or maybe both. Doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl, or both.” you chuckled and a beautiful smile started spreading on his lips “Though don't look so cheerful, honey, because if it is twins I am going to be making your life a living hell until labor, mind my words!”

“I'll gladly take it all, sweetheart. All of it.” he leaned down to kiss your lips with a smile on “But I'm definitely on bedtime-story duty because I still don't trust you with it.”

You scoffed, giving him a playful shove “Some kind of boyfriend you are. If you must know sharks are a very important part of the ecosystem and they are endangered species. We must love and protect them and-”

“Alright, National geographic-” he said fondly “You can continue later with the info. In case you didn't notice, we've got a moving to make and you have a lot of things that need to go into boxes yet. Keep it up like this and you won't be moving into my house until next month.”

“And what a tragedy that would be.” you chuckled “I do have a lot of things to go through, though, some of which need throwing away, so it will take time. You said anything about the boxes?”

“Ah yes the boxes, there are none left in the house whatsoever, I ended up using a lot for the kitchen. Seems like we're gonna have to find some new ones. But that doesn't stop us from going through the things you need and the ones you plan on throwing away together yeah? Who knows what kind of interesting stuff I might find out.” he smirked and you scoffed a laugh.

“Underwear drawer is right up there honey, that's probably the only thing that can get as interesting as you expect. There's nothing much here, some stuff from my childhood, teenage years and probably some from 4 to 5 years ago.”

“Bummer.” he huffed, moving towards some other smaller shoe boxes that he expected to hold childhood stuff like the rest “Well, you look at the creepy childhood art then, while I go through this for once. If they're ok, we can move it as it already-”

“No wait, Jens that's not for-” you started, jumping on your feet to stop him, but it was already too late because the box was already open right in front of him in a matter of seconds.

“-is.” he added half a second after you, and as the frown on his face deepened he added “Wh-what- What is this?”

“Just- old stuff. Nothing worth noting.” you didn't keep your eyes on the posters, DVDs and rest of Supernatural merch that was in the box.

“Is this yours? (Y/n) is this yours?”

“I uh-” you cleared your throat, feeling your hands shake when you noticed that his jaw had clenched as well “Uh well... yes, it's in my house. Of course, b-but- It's old stuff I even had forgotten I had there. R-really not something you should concern yourself with. Let's- let's not waste time on them, yeah?” you asked tentatively, hating how your voice shook a bit but hoping he still wouldn't notice, as you tried to close the box as subtly as possible “It's just silly little things, and we have to go through so much already that-”

“And when did you get these?” he asked, cutting you off immediately; voice very deep and almost accusing and you really couldn't hold it against him when it was about something like this.

You had no secrets from him, never lied or tried to deceive him. It was a honest relationship from your side concerning both your feelings and actions, and same went for him too. From the moment you started going out officially, you didn't want anything between the two of you. It was how you had managed to make it last for so long, how to make it matter. But that didn't mean that there were no secrets between you at all, ones built up before it all became real between you two, before a relationship bloomed.

You had never told him you knew him when you met. Opting to pretend to not know about the show or who he was and what he did as a profession was an impulsive decision that at the time made things so much more simple but in the end you grew to regret. It had been easier to be around each other, to just be yourself – fangirl side, at least concerning Supernatural, set aside at least – and treat him like another human being defined by his personality and not job. And he had liked it, he admitted it months later when he told you about his job, more than he ever thought he would have. It was important to him to be treated like any other person, for you to see him as him and so you didn't have the heart to ruin it.

It was a white lie at first, simple as that, and you had meant to tell him the truth when one month turn into six turned into a year and you were together. But as the relationship got more serious and as you were more certain he needed to know, the more scared you were for him to know as well and each time you tried to tell him, you ended up backing away on it.

And now it wasn't simply just another white lie, it was a secret you had let stay between you and grow to proportions you couldn't control anymore. You feared it would make or break you if he ever found out, so much so that you wished he never had to. Sadly it seemed like you wouldn't be getting it.

“I think I might even get rid of it all, or give it away, it would be a little silly to hold onto these when-” you started speaking, hoping you could do your best at keeping your voice steady and avoiding having to answer. While you had showed your love for the show, you had never said out loud just when that love started.

“(Y/n)” his voice was rough as he cut you off, maybe more than you'd like but thankfully less than you had originally feared “When did you get these?”

“Well, I-” you fidgeted with your fingers, trying to master all your courage to look up to meet his eyes, not even having realized when you looked down “It's not really a big kind of de-”

“Answer me!” he was downright furious and once more you could never blame him for it because you knew you'd feel the exact same if you were in his place.

His voice raised, and while you didn't know what sounded more angry and scary this or him keeping a low voice, you couldn't help but flinching simply as a reflex. When you opened your eyes again you saw the regret instantly flash through his eyes and despite how mad he was for you to hide the truth, you could see that he didn't want to ever make you feel anything but comfortable around him. You would have told him that it was alright, that you would never be scared of him for real when you saw that he was ready to start apologizing profoundly, but instead you opted for something else entirely.

“A good few years.” you tried to look as determined as possible, but still holding a small smile; whether it was out of nervousness or the need to show him you were alright you didn't know yet “As in, a good few years even before I met you in person. I knew about the show a-and I knew about you, and that you were an actor before we met.”

“So when we met, you...” the frown on his face was deep as he looked down, his anger slowly but surely being replaced by sadness and disappointment and you actually wished for a second that he could stay mad at you instead of this; instead of the way his voice lowered “You lied to me? And you kept lying about it?”

“Jens-” you started, trying to swallow over the lump in your throat “I had no choice. I was a fan of the show for a good couple years, yes, and I don't think you'll be surprised at this point to know I might have also had a crush on you and Dean back then as well.” your breath came out shaky as you looked away “But then I met you... you were there, real, and it felt like I couldn't believe it. You took that as me not recognizing you and you- you relaxed right away and I-”

“You lied to me.” he emphasized, probably not even having heard your last sentence as he spoke over you, and again with very little anger and more pain “You lied, (Y/n), and then- and then you never told me the truth. We've been together for over a year now, we've known each other for over two years- Over two years you had every chance to tell me the truth, especially when we promised each other there would be no secrets between us and you- you kept the biggest and most important one from me! I can't believe this.” he shook his head, pacing in the room “You let me believe that lie for years, let out relationship be built on that. How could you? Why would you ever do something like this to me? Did you take pleasure in it at first or what? Was it some sort of game?”

“I-” you wrapped your arms around your middle and pressed your lips together, avoiding to let your eyes linger on him even for a couple extra seconds because of how much it hurt to see this kind of expression on his face; and you knew there were no excuses to undo it so you only said what you felt and had been feeling for so long.

“I only ever wanted you to be happy. I wanted you... us to feel like equals. You looked so relieved to see that I was so taken with you and not your job or your character that I didn't have the heart to ruin it to you. And I- I was selfish, yes, because I had never seen a man look at me like that, treat me so good, love me so much that I didn't want it to end. To feel real love for the first time in my life, I had to take that risk. And I'm sorry if I let you down when all I wanted was to give you my heart and soul. I guess I was right in my first thoughts during our first dates... I could never be good enough for you and here is the proof. I'm-” you looked down, fighting the tears “I'm sorry for everything, I'll just get all the boxes we've moved from your house the soonest possible. It's a good thing I haven't packed everyth-”

“What?” you could hear the gasp coming from his lips but didn't pay much attention to it mostly to not get your hopes up.

“Must've been a sign that there were no boxes huh? Well, I better start unpacking cause I've got-”

You started making your way to the door, you believed that there was no doubt that Jensen wouldn't even want to see you at the moment, but before you could even take another step out, you felt a hand on your arm pulling you back followed by a gruff “No”

“Jens” you whispered “I understand that this hurt you. There's not reason-”

“No reason for what?” his voice was more rough than before and you didn't dare look up at him yet “For you to move in with me? For us to be together? Is that what you want?”

“I don't want it. Of course not!” you shut your eyes tightly, just as his hand squeezed your arm “Gosh, I only want you but I- I ruined it all, Jens. And you can't forgive me, if I were you I wouldn't either. That kind of lie is- unforgivable, so you'd have every right to want to-”

“Don't-” he sounded like he almost choked on his tears and you couldn't help your eyes this time, they were drawn to him and it was then that you felt the gasp leave from your own lips; looking into his red-rimmed eyes and the heartbreak on his face was worse than when he realized the lie, something which was probably the least of his concerns at the moment and once you realized it you felt a hopeful skip in the beat in your heart “Don't you even dare say that. I-” he pursed his lips and groaned, closing his eyes for a second.

You reached out tentatively and cupped his cheek, unable to hold your smile when he melted in your touch and nuzzled his face in your palm; after only a second he leaned in and rested his forehead against yours “I'm angry. Gosh, I am so angry at both of us but it's only a mere fragment... it's nothing compared to the fear I feel of losing you. I should stay mad, hell, I am going to make you pay for that with lots of food and makeup sex but-” he managed a chuckle, an actual chuckle and you grinned “But I would be a hypocrite to stay mad at only you and, even worse, the world's biggest idiot if I were to let you go because of this. Lies be damned, the world be damned... I am not going to lose you. I never want to lose you. That scares the hell out of me, so... don't.”

“So that means... we're ok? Together I mean?” you asked slowly and hesitantly.

He took a deep breath in and looked you fully in the eyes “I would never dream of letting you go. Never over something like this.”

“And about... moving together?”

He nodded his head skeptically for a moment “Well that... that will depend.”

“On what?” you let a small smile form on your lips only because of the smirk he had on that you knew real well and yet made you wonder.

“Just how much smut have you read about me and my character and even more... how much have you written out of it?”

“Jensen!”

[tinyboxxtink]

"Not My Yacht" *Chapter 2*

Yes, for two days this is a semi short chapter, but I had another long today and have one more tomorrow and I wanted you to have SOMETHING. Weirdly though I had an entire different chapter written in my head, but when I started typing this came out instead. My original idea is still coming, this just added a fun little bonus getting there. I promise, tomorrow you will get a longer chapter.

Thank you loves for sticking by me through everything! I love you all.

Also, I'm finally using CHAPTER. I kept wanting to use it instead of PART but I just kept writing PART and was like WELP. But they're chapters, right?!

Ok I'll shut up.

Part 1 Here

Part 3

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

And @storiesofsvu for Rita check. lol.

----------------------------------------

When five o’clock rolled around, Rita came walking out of her office with a stack of papers and her briefcase, balancing her purse on her barely free arm.

“Y/N, Why are you still here? Did I not unlock your chains?” She laughed.

“Haha….no, ma’am” You nervously laughed. “I um, I think I’m waiting for someone,”

“You think?” She raised a curious eyebrow. “If you’re waiting on Barba, you’re going to waiting a long time, sweetie,”

“Wha-? How--? Why, exactly?” You asked her totally flabbergasted by the insinuation that not only had Rafael asked you out, but was bailing already.

“He tends to get a little...involved, in his cases. Poor man is a workaholic,” She feigned pity for him.

“Right,” You nodded to her comically overflowing briefcase and papers. “Something you know nothing about,”

“Touché,” She winked. “I’d give him a call, make sure he hasn’t forgotten about you, dear. Before the cleaning staff shows up,” She laughed and sauntered out of her office, leaving you alone in the dark.

You glanced down at your phone. He hadn’t really specified a time, just-- “Tonight”. What did that even mean? Tonight. Like early evening dinner, or a midnight snack after he was done with his cases? You should probably text him. Or call him. Or text him.

TO BARBA: Heyyy….

Wait. Was three y’s too many? Wasn’t that a rule? You show affection by how many y’s you use? Is that a thing kids do these days? Wait, no you’re not a kid. And he certainly was NOT a kid. No. Be a grown up about this.

TO BARBA: Hi I’m just...checking in.

Checking in? What did that even mean? And why the ellipsis? There doesn’t need to be a pause in a text. That’s why it’s a text. You pause in your mind before typing. Idiot.

TO BARBA: What’s up?

Ok. Short and simple. To the point. No pressure, no demanding. Just... ‘checking in’. You hated yourself. Alright fine, good enough send it. SEND IT. HIT SEND NOW.

MESSAGE SENT.

Your phone shook in your trembling hand as you waited for the ellipsis of him writing back. That was too much, no no just put it back in your pocket and he’ll text you when he--

BARBA CALLING

Oh god, a phone call? Who calls people anymore? Grown ups, that’s who. Answer the phone like an adult.

“H-Hello?” You answered it as if he had the wrong number.

“Hey, Cinderella,” His smooth voice came through your earpiece. “I’m so sorry, I should have been more specific about the time,”

“Oh, yeah no-- no big deal, I’m just here at work….alone, in the dark…” You muttered the last words to yourself as you looked around the dark office.

“Right. Well, I’m kind of wrapped up in this case right now--” He started, making your heart drop. Well, Rita called it. He’s just married to his job, no time for women, let alone you. Time to just--

“....Would you hate me if I asked you to come help me?”

“...I’m sorry, what?” You blinked in confusion at your phone. So, was he actually asking you out or trying to snake you as an assistant from Rita? Is that what he meant by ‘dinner’? “Hey come bring me food and help me file these cases, because I’m so sexy and cocky and--”

“You know what, I’m so sorry I just heard how that sounded. You’ve been doing this all day, the last thing you wanna do is come--”

“Sure!” You cut him off a little loudly. What were you doing?! You’re just going to lay down and let him use your services for free? Well, when you put it that way it sounded pretty skeezy about yourself.

“....Are you sure? Because we can just have dinner another night--”

“....Yeah I have a feeling that will never happen,” You cut him off with a laugh.

“Wha--no, it will! I just--”

“Your wife comes first, I get it,” You cut him off again.

“My wife?”

“Yeah you’re married to your work,” You smirked into the phone.

“Wow, quippy Cinderella. Guess you’re more confident on the phone without my gorgeous face tripping you up now, aren’t you?”

“Do you want my help or not, Casanova?” He was totally right; without those green emeralds staring into your soul you were actually a pretty funny and smart person. Maybe it would be better to just have this date on the phone.

"Yes, absolutely," He sighed with a smile.

“Did you want me to bring food, or am I just supposed to eat paperclips and vending machine leftovers??”

“I’ll order some pizza, do you like pizza?”

“....I live in New York Barba. Obviously I like pizza,” You teased.

“Right,” He chuckled. “Well I’ll be here--”

“I know where your office is,” You cut him off for the third time.

“Oh, do you?” He asked in a sneaky tone, as if he thought you’d been googling him or something.

“Um, yeah,” Your voice fell an octave softer. “Actually I’ve been there several times, dropping off stuff from Rita for you,” Of course he wouldn’t remember that. Why would he remember that? You weren’t anything special.

“Shit,” He muttered as if chastising himself. “Y/N I’m so sorry, I--”

“It’s fine,” You assured him as you headed down to the subway. “I’m uh, I’m getting on the train so I’ll see you soon,” You hung before he could reply.

--------------

It wasn’t that far to Rafael’s office from Rita’s, just a few stops away. You quickly hurried up the stairs back into the Manhattan air as you swiftly walked through the sea of people leaving corporate America to go home to Suburbia. Finally you reached the building, went for the door and-- it was locked.

Well of course it was locked, nobody else in their right mind would be here this late-- so clearly you and Rafael were out of your minds. Shit. Should you call him? Was there a buzzer? Before you could think of another solution a pizza delivery man was walking up to you. Maybe ‘man’ was too generous, he was probably around 16 or 17.

“Delivery for Mr. Barba,” He handed you the pizza. Did you look like a “Mr. Barba” to him?!

“I um,” You stammered as the hot pizza burned the sides of your arms you were holding it on. “I’m not Mr. Barba,”

“Are you taking it to him?” He asked you with a slight attitude.

“I um,” You thought a moment. Well you were going to see him, so yes theoretically you would be taking the pizza with you to him. “...Yes,”

“That’ll be 46.57.” He whipped out a credit card scanner on his phone.

“E-Excuse me?” You were taken aback. Now Barba had you buying him dinner? And what kind of pizza costs basically 50 bucks?!

“2 Large pizzas, an order of cheesy bread, a dessert pizza and delivery fee,” The kid read off the receipt from his phone. “I only accept credit or debit cards, and please tip generously,”

“Yeah right,” You muttered with a roll of your eyes as you pulled out your credit card and swiped it across his phone. The light turned green and a receipt printed off an attachment to his phone. He ripped it off and handed it to you, then nonchalantly walked back down the stairs to wherever he was parked.

“Awesome,” You sighed. You still didn’t know how to get inside, and now you were carrying all this hot food. All of this for a pair of green eyes?!

To make matters worse, your phone started going off in your purse. You groaned and tried to put all of the boxes down softly, but the night wind blew them onto the pavement, HARD.

“Shit!” You groaned louder as you tried to salvage the food while pulling your phone from your purse. Of COURSE.

BARBA CALLING

“I can’t get in,” You simply stated as a greeting on the phone.

“What?”

“I can’t get in the building, Barba,” You grumbled, now on a 8 on the annoyance scale.

“Oh! Oh God,” The line went dead. Awesome.

After a few minutes while you were trying to rebalance all of the boxes in your arms, one of the big glass doors swung open right into you. The boxes all pressed against you, their hot, saucy, cheesy and chocolatey goodness smearing all over your work outfit.

“SHIT!!!!!!” You screamed in horror.

“Oh my god, Oh god Y/N I am SO--” Rafael started to apologize profusely, but you noticed he was trying his best not to burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, do you think this is funny?!” You asked angrily while you peeled a pepperoni from your hair.

“No, not at all,” He shook his head vigorously, but kept giggling behind his eyes.

“You do!” You stomped your heel, causing marinara to roll down your legs. “You are absolutely laughing at me being covered in all of your stupid food that I had to pay for by the way--”

“Oh no, really?” He suddenly turned sincere.

“No, Rafael,” You scoffed as you tried pulling cheese from your skirt. “I just had sex with him in the parking lot and we called it square,”

“Really--?!”

“NO NOT REALLY!”

“Okay! Okay I’m sorry, really I am,” Rafael tried to show you sympathy, but you looked so damn cute covered in a tasty meal.

“Yeah I can see that, you’re grinning like a five year old,” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Y/N I really am,” He gave up trying to hide a laugh. “But you have to admit it’s pretty funny--”

“I DON’T THINK--” You started to scream at him again, but his smile made these cute little crinkles in his eyes, and his laugh was like an angel’s chorus. You might have been covered in food, but you would be covered in manure if it made him laugh like that.

“For what it’s worth, you look delicious,” He teased you, pulling an actual full piece of pizza from your chest and biting it.

“Oh my god, you’re so gross,” You did your best not to laugh, you were still supposed to be angry.

“Yum, Y/N flavor, my favorite,” He laughed for a moment just as you both realized what he had said. “Uh, I mean--” He looked away in embarrassment, and you swear you saw his face flush red.

“Um no counselor,” You bit your lip with a smile. “I’m pretty sure I taste better than a mix of pizza sauce and chocolate,”

“I’m sure you do,” Rafael bravely retorted, now that he knew you were in the playing mood.

“....But seriously, now I have to go home and get this shit off--”

“I have a shower in my office,” He blurted out.

“....Excuse me?” You blinked, not believing you heard him right.

“I...I have a shower in my office,”

“Oh my god, Rafael Barba are you that addicted to work that you live here?”

“No!” He rolled his eyes. “It’s for emergencies,”

“Emergencies? Like what?”

“Like a beautiful woman covered in pizza toppings and chocolate,” He smirked. “Now come on, I don’t want anyone around here thinking I’m dating a crazy person,” He opened the glass doors again and escorted you into the lobby of the building.

Your mind didn’t know what to focus on first; the fact that he had this mysterious office shower, that he had offered for you to use said shower, or the fact that he just referred to you as a ‘woman he was dating’. You just followed him silently into his office with a smitten grin on your face.

He wasn’t lying when he was in the ‘middle’ of something. Papers were strewn all about his desk, a white board with bullet points for arguments and cross examinations scribbled on it. You finally got a good look at him without the anger of having food all over your judgement. He looked tired, not the usual smooth and pristine Rafael Barba you were used to. But when he looked back at you to show you where his shower was, his green eyes sparkled gazing into yours.

“So, I have some spare suits in a closet here, would you mind hanging out in one of my dress shirts while I wash...these?” He gestured to your dirty clothes. Wait, wash?

You suddenly realized he had led you into a secret room to the side of his office, behind a bookcase.

“Wha…” You looked around the room. There was a shower, a wardrobe, a washer/dryer combo, and a suit steamer. “Jesus Barba, are you sure you don’t live here?”

“No I promise I don’t,” He shook his head with a laugh. “...But I may have on occasion fallen asleep here enough to invest in this,”

“And what happens when this office is passed on to a new ADA?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Then I’m sealing this place off like a mausoleum,” He stated very seriously, causing you to giggle. He loved your giggle, it was so small and soft, just like you.

“Anyway,” He shook off his momentary daze at your giggle hoping you didn’t notice. “Like I said-- Shower, dress shirt. Just put your dirty clothes in the washer and we’ll pop them in the dryer later,”

“Right,” You nodded, definitely having noticed his dreamy stare at your giggle. How had you gone from completely under his radar to making him giddy like a school boy in two days?

“Right,” He nodded back. “I’ll just be out here...ordering another pizza,” He smirked. “By the way, I’ll totally reimburse you for the one you’re wearing,” He stuck his tongue out at you with a huge grin.

“Oh you better,” You gave him the same face back. “Or I’ll cover you in it,” You lightly pressed a marinara sauce covered finger into his perfectly white dress shirt. He glanced down at it in horror.

“Oh that was so--” He started to tickle and attack you, but realized that would only make his outfit dirtier. “This isn’t over,” He wagged a finger at you as he pointed you to the shower. You gave him one last cheeky smile as he walked out and shut the door to his secret room.

What was happening? Why were you getting to him so easily, so fast? How could he have not even remembered that he had ‘met’ you several times? Well, one thing was for sure. He was never going to forget this night.

[tomsawyee]

Yeah I can go in a little bit, though I don't really wanna do too much because I've been active in the fandom most of the time I've been on the internet, so my thoughts are pretty played out--

Strictly criticizing it as an adaptation of the manga:

The opening episodes rush through inciting incidents that are delivered significantly better both in the manga and the earlier anime. The emotional gut-punches that are memetic to people who watch anime are only remembered as such because of how well they were delivered in their two earlier tellings (mostly the 2003 anime, though, because many more people watch anime than read manga). BH delivers a fast facsimile of these like it's checking off obligatory boxes and assuming we already know everything that's going to happen.

I don't like the art. Personal taste thing, but I think the character acting is bad, the early days of all-digital anime production don't benefit enough from their being digital to warrant the loss of the softer look achieved from a hybrid production, and good action doesn't make up for these shortcomings.

The manga ultimately misses the mark in its portrayal of what state-sanctioned imperialist/racist violence looks like, but an attempt was at least made by the author to ground itself in historical precedent for what war and war crimes look like. BH (and the manga, tho to a less egregious extent) isn't interested in the internal lives of characters who are oppressed by the state (name one Ishvalan character who isn't Scar. We have his dead brother, Miles The Amestrian Soldier, and that other soldier that Roy kills in his Doing A Race War Made Me Sad OVA. Two cops and a guy who had to learn how to Stop Being Mad About The Whole Genocide Thing). Its version of the Ishval war as a flat portrayal of two armies of similar strength and purpose, a sea of mindless drones of either red eyes or blue, is in extremely poor taste to what happens in actual war between a colonized nation and its industrialized, fascist neighbor. Edward's role as the ultimate moral compass of the narrative legitimizes his comments that boil down to All Lives Matter talking points, leading to a series that basically includes a genocide For The Flavor with absolutely nothing to say about what ingrained imperialist violence actually looks like.

FMAB introduces "Difficult" subjects, like state sanctioned racialized violence, but it does nothing more than present them as something horrific that happened In The Past. It's three kids in a trench coat trying to be taken seriously Because A Racist War Happened. I would rather watch a series that makes no attempt at discussing systemic violence and focuses on digging into whatever "easier" issues it actually has the capacity to explore.

To check my bias here: I love the old/original anime very much. It was very artistically formative for me, and its portrayal of imperialism is very mature for what is functionally a YA cartoon. Roy Mustang is not appointed Fuhrer in this telling-- The office is dissolved entirely, he cedes his rank, and government is returned to a parliament. This divergence, for me, represents the foundational difference in each canon's ethos. Both the manga and BH shirk the responsibility for Amestrian fascism onto Father and seek a return to the status quo without him. They claim that the military government that went on a genocidal campaign only a decade prior can be reformed by the very soldiers who "just followed the orders." The divergent earlier anime says that the system is rotten and must be destroyed.

All said, I don't think BH improves anything the manga falls short on, both in its themes and narrative structure (Edward Elric is still walking around in the snow doing nothing of interest for entirely too long), and simultaneously erodes the pieces of the work that are passable/strong.

it's 2023 and I still get jumpscared by the sheer volume of people who think fmab is like. A good adaptation. Or even a good show.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Trouble

Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out. 

Word Count: 7900

Quick Taglist: @alias290​ @chelsvans​ @coyboi300​ @dante-reblogs @dwbh888​ @glitchybina​ @faithfulcat111​ @felicianoromano​ @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries​ @jemthebookworm​ @killerfangirl3​ @mrbubbajones​  @musical-nerd18​ @nonasficcollection​ @stricken-with-clairvoyancy​ @the-sunshine-dims​ @themagicheartmailman​ @themultishipperchild @thenaiads​ @treasureofpriam​ @vianadraws​ @welovelogansanders​  

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Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.

Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.

Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.

Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.

The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.

All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.

“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”

Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.

He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.

“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”

“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.

Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”

“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”

“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”

Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.

Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.

“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.

The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.

“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”

“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”

Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.

“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.

“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”

“ Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .

They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.

Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.

Patton gets a five.

“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.

Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.

It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.

Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.

He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.

But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.

Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.

Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.

“Virgil?”

Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.

“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.

“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”

“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.

Oh. It was one of those days.

Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--

And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.

It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .

“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”

Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.

He cannot replace his best friend.

Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.

The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.

“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”

Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.

“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.

Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.

“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”

Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .

“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”

The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.

The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.

The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.

Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.

Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.

“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”

Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.

“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.

Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.

And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.

Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.

He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.

Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.

Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.

“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”

“Could what?”

Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.

Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.

“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”

Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”

“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”

“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”

Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”

Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”

“You don’t even remember, do you.”

“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”

“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.

“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”

“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”

Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.

“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”

Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.

“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”

Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.

“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”

Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.

“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”

“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”

Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”

Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.

Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.

Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.

I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.

“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”

Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.

Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.

Together. Us. We’ve got this.

“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.

He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.

He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.

That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.

Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.

***

Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.

The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.

He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.

He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”  

Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.

Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.

Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.

She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.

After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.

He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.

He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.

“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.

“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.

Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.

Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.

Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.

Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.

“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”

Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--

And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.

“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.

Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”

“You like Disney, though.”

“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.

Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.

Together. We got this.

“Your mom?” He asks.

Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.

“But… Logan…”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”

Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.

Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”

“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.

“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.

“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”

Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.

Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”

Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”

“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.

They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”

“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”

Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.

Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.

Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.

“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.

“I won’t win.”

“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”

Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”

Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.

“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”

Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.

“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”

Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight

He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.

“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”

So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.

It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.

And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?

“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.

Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”

“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”

Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”

“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”

“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””

“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”

It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.

“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”

“Language.”

“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”

Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.

So full of hope.

The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.

He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”

And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.

“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.

“Pat?” Virgil says.

“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.

And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.

But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.

[riisinaakka-draws]

part 2/6

2nd part of my old Black Sails scraps and doodles from 2016–2021. Not in any particular order.

This time the drawings are short comics that were abandoned for a reason or another, mostly because I lost the interest or felt like there was too much to redraw compared to the satisfaction of finishing something else more interesting. There’s also some talk about rigid mindset and how overthinking can lead to stagnation.

Contains early silverflint moments, specks of dust, rackham's glasses are found, jealous-Billy spying, desk-Flint gets caught, "squint-squint", a quiet moment and its bird dilemma etc.

And please do not steal and repost elsewhere. But if you do get inspired, feel free to make your own interpretations!

Long-ish post under the cut!

“What are you thinking about?”

“Specks of dust.”

“Liar.”

The idea was to show how much they and their relationship had changed. This was around 2016 when the season 3 began and I was still re-learning to draw with a tablet. Another art from the same time period (and idea) is this art: The Dynamic Duet. 

And for some reason I was really stuck up thinking that I’d have to first do the sketch, then the clean line art, then planes underneath, then shadows etc. and I have always struggled with that kind of approach! Mainly because I hate doing clean line work, lol. And I was a fool for trying to start with a white canvas! It’s so much harder to find values and plan things, or at least in my opinion..

“Rackham’s glasses are found”

To celebrate their new pirate alliance, they share the four lenses of Rackham’s sunglasses as they were also found at the time (because I wanted it to resurface and they could be made into jewellery you know...). This was right after the episode where Anne fights and hurts her hands (here wearing protecting mittens from Max even though she’s not trusted at the moment). Uh, this doesn’t spark joy interest me much and it’s quite stiff and would recuire a lot of redrawing faces, so - discarded!  

I somewhat like the idea still (them having something to share, although it’s on Jack’s detriment). I tried to find a stylished comical easier doodlier? way to draw them and draw clean lines etc, but it just wasn’t for me. Also here too, the background is blank and too bright. Later I started to think things as scenes and draw everything at the same time instead of adding the bg later or trying to show everything (and everyone) at the same time.

Here’s also Billy in the same story:

He’s spying on them and since it’s so bright he’s wearing his diy “sunglasses” and being envious to the others. *cough* uhhh...Idk? Also people were shipping Ben Gunn (and cheese) with Billy, so that bled into this too... Charles’ spirit is riding the “big white bird” that was mentioned in Teach’ story and in this case it’s a pelican.

As you can see, I also wasn’t using the brushes that I use nowadays. A hard (or soft) round brushes with no change in opacity just aren’t for me. For example, in traditional art, I struggle with markers and copics, but really enjoy charcoals and watercolours. I prefer ragged edges, layering and thus blending things into each other (and leaving the viewer to fill in the gaps) instead of having stark or definite things. I also struggle with vector drawings, although I have decided to finally start learning to use them...somedayyyy.

Also, I wasn’t paying attention to anatomy, like, at all LMAO. I was just so happy to be able to put something on the canvas.

This is one of my first ink drawings, but I cannot find the original anymore. Again, I like the idea, but not how things look art-wise. And I was so adamant, that I have to get everything right in the traditional drawing and not fix anything later on on photoshop because then it would be cheating. And thus, I was never able to move on or finish this properly the way I liked it (idiot).

BUT! It was a good practise to just draw and test things on paper and gain confidense on drawing things in overall (as I was still getting back into art). To get over the fear of blank paper you know, and try to find my style whatever it would start to form into.

Oh, yeah, Desk Flint.

Desk Flint was a thing for a while (still is, lol). Another drawing from that time is this Slingshot Pirate (2016). And Desk Flint keeps repeating in many later works too. The point is mainly “Flint sitting behind his desk and people interrupt him and I don’t have to draw him fully”

Well, anyway... moving on.

Here’s a plan that has been stuck for years. It’s name is “Squint-squint.” Left is the sketch (with another sketch underneath because the expressions were clearer in the old one). On the right is the continued piece with colour scheme but I cropped the eyes panel and faces out (it was so ugly for some reason) but if I ever continue/finish this, it will be redrawn there in the middle.)

Left. “On that moment their eyes were literally open(ed).”

Right. “After squinting on the shore for days, they had actually forgotten how pretty the other idiot’s eyes were.”

I still like it, quite a lot, but my perfectionist ass only sees too much “boring” things to draw and get right, so it hasn’t been a priority for a long time and other works have kept me occupied and more interested in them.

--------------------

“Quiet Moment.” 2018 (a wordless comic happening after the events of Charles Town)

I’m going to explain after these pictures, but see how big the difference is when you start to look at references and plan things together (the space, “camera” movement, background etc). I also started to colour with coarser brushes:

I drew this around early 2018. A lot of improvement! Still quite a lot of negative space (empty white backgrounds), but it fits this work. A few things tell where we are (the ship’s cabin and the balcony). Changing distances and how things are cropped/framed make things more moving and focused (and less to draw, lol). Colours and brush strokes are softer, more layered and so on.

But guess why it’s still a wip!

I couldn’t decide what bird is flying over there.

Yeap! At first it was an albatross (doesn’t go to Bahamas?). Then a seagull (but which seagull? there’s so many subspecies! Is the ship at sea or at the harbour? what birds are there on the open water/ close to the shore?? oh noo...) So, yeah, wayyyy too much over-thinking.

At some point I ended up with white-tailed-tropic-bird which was a plus! because it sounds like the bosun’s whistle, but at that point I was so tangled and frustrated and still had so much to finish with this that I left it be. Also Flint’s face looks different in every frame so I would’ve had to change some parts, lol. And then I forgot it for a couple of years! And then I had learned to draw a bit differently and again saw too much things to do, so it’s quite hard to take on this again, especially when there are so many other interesting wips waiting...

But I still really like the feeling of it! And the colour scheme. So I might just limit the things I’m allowed to fix and then post it as it own someday. I mean, it’s 90% finished, but the last reach just feels like miles.

And that’s what usually happens with my wips. They reach a certain point and it suddenly becomes really hard to finish or get back into.

But every time I learn things and then use the information in another work! :D

Final note for this post (altough this has been said hundreds of times): use references and look how things go and try to see the structure and form beneath things. And think where it is happening and how the light and surroundings affects the characters and/or spaces. And maybe think what you’re trying to convey with the art, what idea? what emotions? what purpose? or like, what are you trying to learn with the piece? and so on...

Thanks for checking this out, I hope you had fun <3

[shadowsfascination]

Shadamy swordland AU - part 4

The air was knocked out of Amy’s lungs by his statement and her skin paled, drawing long shadows over her usually cheerful face. Her head began to ache and she rubbed her forehead as if to rub to swirl of emotions inside her away. Shadow on the other hand crossed his arms and legs, a hint of sorrow playing his ruby eyes.

Amy hunched her back and leaned on her hands, eyed Shadow and drew a breath. She intended to speak, but found no words. Instead she watched the light of the flickering candle cast constantly changing shadows on him, the warm tones of its’ flame contrasting with the now chilly atmosphere between them.

Unaware of it Shadow gritted his teeth in distress. At a total loss for words or the slightest idea how to behave in this situation, he chewed his lip and mildly pinched his arms. He couldn’t talk anymore. It was somehow beyond his control and he despised powerless it made him feel. His body froze and the longer the silence lasted, the further the words drifted away from him. Meanwhile his mind became a cacophony of tangled, blurry thoughts.

I have to snap out of this!

Shadow took a deep breath and closed his eyes, tracing the source of the messed up chaos energy in his body and changing it into a state of tranquillity again.

“Amy.”

The sudden renewed confidence in him broke not only the silence, but the seal between them as well. She couldn’t somehow deny his gaze and locked eyes with him, her eyes full of questions and expectations. He took her hands to cover them in his own. They were warmer than she’d expected.

“I cannot explain any of this to you.”

Amy frowned at him in annoyance and backed off to escape his hold, her eyes starting to blaze. A series of angry growls escaped her lips and she clenched fists. Her knuckles made a cracking sound from it.   “Please, oh please tell me you’re joking!”

He blinked twice, innocence and incomprehension written all over his face.

“I’m not. It would be a poor jest.” “You can’t just drop this bomb on me, fall quiet and then not explain any of it!”

She was prepared for a whole lot of it, but this? – she thought to herself. As soon as the thought landed in the conscious part of her mind she labelled herself a fool, questioning what she did expect from him. She knew Shadow… Why did she keep getting so thrown off by his untactile behaviour?

Blood rushed through her veins at high speed, causing a rustle in her ears. There it was again: the unwanted announcement of her bad temper. He’d soon have to deal with it if he didn’t make haste with properly explaining this… mess! At this rate, she still had control over her temper, but that could change in the blink of an eye. “You’re not saying anything yourself either. Although, knowing you, I hardly believe you don’t have any questions. I’m not throwing that in your face, am I?” “Well, can you blame me?!” “A little, yeah. You carry your heart on your tongue. You always know what to say.” “I don’t right now!” “I don’t believe you. I think you’re trying to spare my feelings and I don’t care for it.”

“Oh no, Shadow. You’re NOT shifting YOUR responsibility to explain who you actually are to me.” “I’m not.” The pink female whirled around and caught his attention with her fierce turquoise orbs. The warm, yellowish tones of the dancing flame were fighting for precedence with the luminary aqua in her eyes. He could see her hands gesturing, signalling him her upset internal state in the blurry background of his view.

“Then talk.”

“I can’t.” “Blast, Shadow! I can’t believe how incredibly rude you are to me! I’m your girlfriend! You’re keeping so many important things from me…I wonder how you in 300 darn years still achieve to be totally oblivious about how to act polite and chivalrous around a woman!”

“You should know me better than to mistake me for a soft, gooey fool who drops every aspect of his personality when with a woman. I might be a knight, but surely I’m not going to be your imaginary heroic boyfriend. Or always treat you like a queen when you’re being a huge pain in the ass, Amy. If that’s what you want, than better rethink your choices…”

Another of her romantic bubbles burst by another blunt statement, one he made her aware of she had it in the first place. Amy shifted her headstrong gaze to the red, green and blue-checked woolen blankets on the bed. Ignoring him, she distracted herself to follow the lines from the wrinkles on them with her fingers. The raw texture of the wool prickled through her gloves. It was a unpleasant feeling and she wondered how he was able to sleep under them.

“… Besides: I’m sharing my deepest secrets with you! Do you think that’s easy for me? What more could you possibly want?” “I want you to explain who on Mobius you are!” she shouted. “I want you to explain how it’s even possible to be that old? I wanna know what you are. A ghost? Some divine creature? And what about your strange, dark powers and the stone?! Did you have kids in the past? What does this all make you?!” Both their ears fell back, the awkward silence became deafening on them. Amy’s eyes reddened from the upcoming tears and anger. She bit her lip and bravely fought against the waterworks. A few salty tears quietly dripped down her cheeks though. Amy battled the strong tendency to cry once more. She felt so hideous whenever she cried- and she did see herself cry before. She felt she looked awful and so she did her uttermost best to hide it- in comparison to when she was a young girl. “What’s it make us? Just tell me.. something! ANYTHING will do!”

Her loud, hoarse voice cracked and she sniffed. Shadow’s hand squeezed and crinkled the blanket with force. He cursed under his breath.

“I KNOW, OKAY?! I know ANY words will do, but there are no words! NONE! They’re stuck! I don’t mean to be rude or inconsiderate of your feelings. Plagues! If anything, that’s what’s making me freeze up. I have no idea at all how to handle this!”

An upcoming sense of guilt sent a series of shivers down her spine. Her stupid pride and temper pushed him too far. A lump in her throat now accompanied the already present stress-related stomach aches.

“I don’t either… It’s scaring me.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Shadow, I don’t want to be the reason you’re holding back. And don’t tell me I’m not, because I know I am. Sorry about that. Just spill. I’ll learn to deal with it.”

“It’s not just that. I can’t verbalize all this.”

He concentrated on the chaos energy in his body once more, shards of them whirling around like a hive of bees. They seemed impossible to catch. His focus shifted to his irregular, high paced breathing and he breathed out some of the stress in his body. The shards immediately lowered their impossible-to-follow rhythm and he was finally able to catch some of them.

I never lose my confidence.

With a certain determination Shadow grasped her gloved hands. They were tensely folded into fists. Their touch revealed the quivers they were both trying to control. Shadow suddenly scooped her onto his lap and then rose to carry her bridal style, all much to Amy’s confusion.

“However, I can show you.”

His signature self-sufficient smile now curved his lips.

“Come on, I’ll carry you. I know how much you love this romance-stuff and I am a knight after all.” He blew out the candle, letting the darkness swallow them entirely before calling out the ‘Chaos control’. With this single chant he overcame the barrier of space and time. The darkness around them swiftly faded into a serene surrounding, filled with flowy, intertwining ruby, royal blue, shiny silver and regal gold ribbons of light.

They weightlessly soared through the pacifying, outstretching void. A sea of glowing orbs laid ahead of them and with confidence. Shadow commanded some of them to come closer, each carrying a memory. He let some fragments play out before her eyes to see for herself what happened in his past, for he was unable to tell her.

It was all there, right before Amy’s eyes: the mystery of what he was, his unknown origin and lonesome existence by surviving everyone he’d ever cared for in the past. He had roamed around the planet for years and years in order to keep his immortality a secret.

There was also a set of painful memories in which he was fighting, on the run or hiding for the many different faces of danger. They were a tad blurry and she couldn’t quite capture the meaning of it. The memory of the unknown hero neared and she witnessed his amazing powers, bravery and strength. It replaced her unsettling state of being with much softer feelings, easing her temper away. Amy smiled when concluded to herself that neither his physics or personality had seemed to change. The Shadow she knew now was as stubborn, blunt, socially awkward, dedicated, loyal and brave as in his past. Without having to verbalize he answered everything she wanted to know and more. Amy’s sweet, caring nature calmed her temper and she empathized with Shadow. She felt for the challenges his long life had brought upon him and pulled him into a deep, consoling hug.

“Shadow, I’m sorry I pushed you. I misjudged and jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

The scenery of his bedroom slowly faded in again and Shadow gently put her down. He lit the candle again. A shameful blush coloured his cheeks and played his eyes. His ears drooped backwards. Shadow felt like he was stripped to the bone. “I know everyone thinks I excel in many things, but communicating my inner state isn’t one of them. It heaves me down whenever I… feel strongly about something. Actions speak louder than a thousand words to me.”

“Thank you for being honest with me, for showing me all this. I imagine it must’ve been hard on you. You seemed so lonesome all these years.”

Hiding his face in his hands, he stared without focal point in his gaze. Shadow broke down internally, forcefully biting the insides of his lips to prevent him from crying like an infant.

“You’ve seen it for yourself now. You’ve seen me fight…My past…It’s the most private thing that I carry with me.”

“You don’t have to carry this burden all by yourself.” “You’re the very first to learn about it.”

“I already assumed I was, given your struggle to share it with me. I’m glad you told me.”

Amy smiled, trying to lighten up the mood again. “It’s awful and humiliating to share. I even killed in the past. I can’t help but feel like a monster sometimes. It haunts me.”

“You’re a knight. There’s times where you’re left no other choice than to eliminate your enemies. If anything, you’re a hero, Shadow.”

“I’m not! You weren’t there! Y-you d-d-don’t…You don’t know…”

He whimpered almost inaudibly while his shaking body sank into her embrace. Amy petted his back and caressed his quills while he hid his face in her chest. She cupped his tear-stained muzzle and made him look her in the eye. When his red, bloodshot eyes met her aqua ones they showed the strong-minded, yet hopelessly emotional Amy Rose Shadow had fallen for.

“There’s still so much that I don’t understand, but my emotional compass tells me you’re reliable and trustworthy. I’d like to believe you must’ve had your reasons… Tell me whenever you’re ready.”

She let herself fall back on the bed and pulled Shadow onto her, snuggling up to him under the prickly woolen blankets. On any other night the knight would’ve protested and let his self-discipline never allow her to stay over, but they were exhausted. Shadow and Amy couldn’t battle their minds anymore and forgot about the possible consequences they’d have to deal with in the morning. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. None of it. Even though their minds were loaded with troubles, which usually would’ve kept them awake, it somehow did not tonight.

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< Previous chapter: read here

> Next chapter: ...

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I struggled with this chapter. I’ll try to make the next one more uplifting (: Sometimes it seems to me that neither of these two dorks know a single thing about relationships, yet they have so much love to give to one another. 

I’d appreciate if you share your thoughts and send me a message if you find any annoying typo’s or grammar mishaps. 

@shadamyheadcanons, here you go!

[tealin]

Castle Rock

As always, if the images aren't showing up on Tumblr, I invite you to visit the post at its original location on http://twirlynoodle.com/blog

There are a number of hiking and skiing trails around McMurdo Station.  Some, like the Arrival Heights track, one can do alone and without giving notice; others, like the Castle Rock Loop, go far enough from the station and through questionable enough terrain that one has to check out, travel with a partner, and take radios in case of emergency.

I have become a great fan of the country walk in the UK.  You dive into a beautiful morning on a promising footpath, refuel at a pub, keep walking all afternoon, maybe a quick half at another pub, then fall into bed all topped up on nature and exercise endorphins.  Having been shuttled nearly everywhere in Antarctica via a motor vehicle of some sort, I was desperate to stretch my legs and cover some of Antarctica myself.  I wanted to visit Castle Rock anyway, and the trip there and back was about the length of a leisurely country walk back home, so it was a natural thing to do once all my planned trips were over.  My coordinator's opposite number is an avid hiker so he and I set out one sunny morning to put some miles on our sturdy boots.

The track is scenic and adventurous without being too arduous, so the Castle Rock Loop is a popular hike for the locals, as you can tell by the well-trammelled path in the photo above.  Its full extent loops down to Scott Base and around back to McMurdo, but the shoreline down there didn't hold much interest and I'd done the route between Scott Base and McMurdo loads of times, so we just walked to Castle Rock and back.

It was a beautiful day.  Much like the day I went up to Arrival Heights, it was calm, sunny, and hovering around freezing, the sort of conditions I insisted on calling 'picnic weather' long after the joke wore off.  We also had an amazing low layer of thin cloud, which I unromantically call 'pond scum clouds' in my head, rather an unfair name as not only are they sometimes iridescent but they create wonderful light effects on the ground beneath them.  On this day they were penned against Ross Island and cast their dappled shadows over Windless Bight, thereby showing up the perspective and giving everything the suggestion of being underwater.

Away from Ross Island the sky was clear, and from up here on the spine of the peninsula you could see pretty much everything, including Williams Field, where I'd spent so much time recently:

There's nothing like a pure white background to show you how much pollution our internal combustion engines spew out – that smoke plume is, I believe, from a C-130 which was warming up to take off that day.  It's a lot better than coal, but we've got a long way to go yet.

Humans' rudimentary flying machines are not the only thing to have emitted noxious gases into the Antarctic atmosphere.  Mt Erebus still puffs away with the occasional mild eruption, but the Hut Point Peninsula is an artefact of a more active volcanic past.  Much of the rock is obviously igneous, black or grey and spongy with bubbles, and most of the hills that stand up from the body of the peninsula are old volcanic craters, which spewed that aerated rock in ages past.  Castle Rock is similar in origin, but gets its distinctive shape from having been an sub-glacial volcano, rather than a surface cinder cone.  It's not exactly a volcanic plug, like the Devil's Tower in Wyoming, where the central chamber of a volcano solidified into a tower of basalt and the softer layers on the outside eroded away.  Rather it is the volcano, having melted its way up through thick ice, which held its sides almost vertical while new layers of lava were deposited on top.  This stratification, as well as the way the igneous rock has weathered orange-brown, makes it look more like sandstone than basalt to the casual observer, especially one who's spent so much time in the parks of southern Utah.

It feels enormous when you're standing under it – the name 'Castle Rock' is well-deserved – but when compared to other sub-glacial volcanoes (for instance Tuya Butte) it is but a teeny tiny fairy volcano.

This southeast face is the most precipitous; the north side slopes more and there is a climbing trail up it, should one wish to scramble a bit.  It was just on the verge of opening for use when we visited, so we didn't climb.  We did take as many pictures as we could, staying on marked paths, but before long it was time to turn around and head back again.

We stopped at a small shelter we'd passed on the way up, which you can just see as a little red blob in the photo above.  It is officially known as an Apple , but some refer to it as a Tomato, which it more closely resembles if you ask me.  It's an emergency shelter, in case you happen to be doing the Castle Rock Loop when a blizzard blows up, and it is actually rather cosy inside.

Further along the trail, the familiar landmarks of McMurdo rose into view.

That's Observation Hill on the left, and Arrival Heights on the right, with the "Golf Ball" under Mt Discovery in the middle.

As you may be able to guess from the above photo, the slope dips more steeply as we approach the base, and because of this it catches the afternoon and evening sun, and gets very icy.  We both had good hiking boots but not crampons, so on the way up had tried to climb by the snowier sections. I was looking forward to sliding down on my coat on the return journey but alas it wasn't quite steep or slippery enough for that – the best I could manage was a slow bum-scoot, which was fun but not exactly efficient.  However, it got me close to some funny features I'd noticed on the way up.

My guide explained that they form when a rock gets blown onto the slope. Being dark, it absorbs a lot more heat from the sun than the surrounding ice does, and so melts its way down through the ice, and keeps going as long as it the sunlight can reach it.  When the ice refreezes to fill the hole, it reorganises its crystalline structure from the chaotic granules left over from when it was snow, to something that reflects the container in which it was formed.  You can sometimes see this radial pattern in your ice cube tray – this is exactly the same thing.

We had been walking on ice and snow all day, which made for a surprise when I stepped back onto the familiar gravel of McMurdo. I have walked on a lot of snow in my life but I suppose I always went from frozen water to frozen ground or pavement.  I have not, apparently, stepped from ice to fine gravel so dry that the pebbles haven't frozen together, and my first impression on doing so was that I had stepped onto cake.  It was a very strange sensation that took some minutes to shake, but I can remember it even now.

It had been a very good thing to stretch my legs, and getting out in the fresh(er) air with a walking partner who could make good conversation but also didn't mind silence did me some good, to process the whirlwind of trips I'd made in such a short time.  In that sense, my own walk to Castle Rock was much in keeping with those who made the hike when waiting for the sea ice to freeze over in 1911 – it was somewhere to go that was well away from the madding crowd in the Discovery Hut, where one could have a private conversation or just catch a bit of peace and quiet.  On its busier days, the route is well-enough travelled that one stands the risk of encountering as many people out there as anywhere else, but we got a quiet weekday when everyone else was working.  Being a bright day in midsummer,  my imagination will have to add the richer hues of the dying light of autumn, but I'm glad I got to stand there in person at least.

If you want more detailed, expert analysis of the geology of Castle Rock, this is the PDF for you.

[j-ojoxiii]

Run Away || Seonghwa (ATEEZ)

Pairing: Prince!Seonghwa x Princess!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Some mild sadness

Summary: The prince had always longed for freedom, but what was true freedom if there was no one to share it with?

Notes: (Y/N) = Your Name

**Not spell checked**

Total word count: 2,175

               Life had always been hard for the young prince. Despite what everyone outside the palace walls thought, life wasn’t always as perfect as it may have seemed.

             Seonghwa, the prince of the Northern Kingdom, was often pushed to make decisions he didn’t want anything to do with. As his father told him, it wasn’t about it him. He had to be selfless.

             But he couldn’t very well be selfless when all he wanted to do was be free.

~

             On his twentieth birthday, he was told that he was to be wed to the princess of the Southern Kingdom. This news made his stomach drop.

             That night, he had locked himself in his room. With papers sprawled out all over the floor, he planned his escape. He didn’t want marriage. The very idea made his stomach churn. This wasn’t what he wanted for his life.

~

             His first attempt at escape went horribly wrong. He had barely stepped foot into town before he was caught. Turns out, one of the servants had been passing by his room when they noticed his door was cracked open. When they poked their head in to check on him, they saw the window wide open with fabric hung out the window. Thinking the prince had been stolen away, they had screamed.

             Seonghwa had never seen his parent angrier than the night he was brought back. They had never been more disappointed in their son. They chose to increase security because of his first attempt.

             Being stuck was one of the worst punishments he had to face. He couldn’t wander the halls without someone keeping an eye on him, much less step outside without an escort. He could only blame himself for failing to get away.

~

             The day his bride came to the castle was chaotic. He had never met a young woman with such personality. She was polite to the King and Queen, but otherwise she was downright mischievous. She’d hide things from him; sometimes even herself. She would send the servants into panic when she decided to disappear, leaving him to be the one to have to find her. If he did, she would make a run for it. Maybe he had fun during these times.

             Life with (Y/N) was something. She was lively and hardly left him alone. She got just as bored as he did, if not more. Her favorite thing was to play with his hair while he read and to leave in knots that she called “braids”. She knew how to braid, but she chose to “forget” when she played with his hair just to hear him whine.

             “All done!” She said proudly as she lifted her hands away from her latest masterpiece.

             Seonghwa instinctively touched at his hair, only to find the usual knots she would weave into his hair. He huffed a sigh and leaned back so she’d have to bare his weight. He nearly knocked her off the stool.

             “Sit up! I’m going to fall!” She complained, using one hand to brace herself if she did fall and the other to shove at his shoulder.

             The prince gave a cattish grin and hummed a “nope”.

             But it was times like this that he wouldn’t trade for the world. The princess gave his life excitement and he would even dare to say that she gave it meaning, but he wouldn’t tell her. She would tease him to no end if she knew.

~

             As the day they would wed drew closer, the more he longed to get away. Once they were married, they would be crowned as the next King and Queen. After that, their future was sealed. He loved his kingdom, he really did, but he longed for a life of adventure. No one to tell him who to be or what to do— that would be the life.

~

             It came to a point where he confided in (Y/N) to tell this to. They had become close in their time shared together, so much that he trusted her with nearly anything. She would do the same for him, too.

             “You’re joking.” She said softly, her head whipping around to see if there was anyone listening in.

             They may have been in her room, but there was no telling. Secrets tended to spread amongst the servants like wildfire.

             “No. I’ve been wanting to leave for years.”

             “Then why haven’t you?”

             “I’ve tried.” He rolled his eyes.

             “I’m assuming you failed because you’re still here.” She grinned.

             Seonghwa groaned and fell back onto her bed, his eyes staring up at the painted ceilings. He felt so defeated. Maybe freedom was something he could never achieve.

             “Seongie?” He grunted at his nickname, one that she had given him early on. Did he mind it? Not too much. He had grown fond of it over time. Only she called him that.

             The princess laid beside him; her head turned his way. She looked like she was deep in thought. So much that she had a pout forming on her lips. He chuckled at the sight.

             “What is it?” He said, his voice even softer now.

             Gosh, she loved his voice when he spoke like that. It was sweet and as far as she knew, only for her. He often used that tone when she was worried or when there was a peaceful silence between them.

             “Why did you give up? You haven’t tried to leave since I’ve been here.”

             That was true. He hadn’t bothered to attempt another escape lately. He shrugged lightly and went back to staring up at the ceiling. Such response had her pestering him to tell her.

             “I didn’t want to leave you behind.” He said, finally caving in.

             (Y/N) ceased in her actions and froze almost entirely.

             “Why?” She asked.

             The prince turned on his side and rested his head on one of his hands. He puffed out his cheeks while he chose his words. After a moment, she turned on her side to face him as well.

             “Because you’d be trapped here. I’ve seen how sad you get when you look at the town. I’ve noticed that you’re happier when we can go…I don’t think I could bring myself to leave you here knowing you wouldn’t really be happy. I know why you cause trouble around the castle, too.”  

             He knew she stirred up trouble to make her day a bit more bearable and less boring. He knew she was scared to fall into a routine that would cause her to lose her smile. Perhaps they were more similar than originally thought.

             “Besides,” He started. When he didn’t finish, she looked to him and repeated that one word in a question. He smiled shyly and reached out to stroke his thumb along her cheek.

             “I think I would miss you too much.”

~

             They didn’t seem to speak much about the conversation for the next day or two. Maybe it was out of embarrassment that feelings were put out in the open or maybe it was because neither side knew what to say from there. They merely returned to how they were before knowing one would miss the other.

             On the second day, (Y/N) barged into Seonghwa’s room with tears streaming down her cheeks. He wasted no time in taking her into his arms to comfort her. He knew something was wrong and he hated to see her so upset. His heart ached for her.

             “What happened?” Her suddenly coming to him in the state she was in had him worried beyond belief.

             “Did you get hurt?”

             He cupped her face and pulled back so he could see her. He checked her over for any injuries. She could only shake her head between the tears. He pulled her back to him and held her until she had calmed down.

             “Seonghwa, let’s run away.” Was all she said.

             He stiffened at her request. She told him why she had been crying and he understood all to well. She felt like she wasn’t ready for the responsibility of the crown and her mother had gotten angry when she expressed her thoughts. It was enough for her to be all for the idea of disappearing.

             So, they made a plan together. They would leave in the middle of the night and catch a boat out to sea where they would start new lives together. They would be free.

~

             Once again, plans fell through, but never had he imagined his princess would be taken from him. Enraged, (Y/N)’s mother broke off the engagement. She claimed that Seonghwa was a horrible influence for her daughter and that was that.

             Seonghwa fought for her, though. He was shoving his way past the guards the day she was to leave, calling her name and trying to keep her. She tried to do the same, but neither could stop it. (Y/N) was taken and Seonghwa was left in a state of utter despair. He refused to leave his room for a solid two weeks and hardly said a word to anyone. His life was back to being dull and monochrome. He had no (Y/N) to make his life bright. He had no one to laugh with. It felt like there was a hole where his heart should have been.

             Concerned for her son, his mother took up the fight as well. She knew her son had been happier than he had ever been when he was with the princess. She knew, because she had been that way once when she was young. She understood what it meant to be in love— even if he never told her that love was the reason. She could tell, though.

             Months had passed, days filled of arguing and pleading, until he was relieved of having to take the throne. His father had seen the light in his son’s eyes go out and he knew that that being King would only make things worse on his son. Yeosang, a close friend of Seonghwa, was given the opportunity to be King instead. Not only was he trustworthy and responsible, he was like a second son to the current King.

             This newfound freedom was what Seonghwa had always wanted, but it wasn’t complete just yet. His mother made arrangements so he could get into the ball that was intended for (Y/N) and her new fiancé. He was more determined now. He would rescue her and give her the freedom she wanted too. They would be free together.

~

             The ball was crowded, and the smell of perfume was almost to strong. People from all over had come to celebrate the new engagement. He felt bitter. It should have been him standing with the princess. He betted the new man didn’t love her like he did. After what seemed to be an eternity of searching, he saw her.

        ��    His heart sank at how unhappy she looked. He knew he needed to fix that, but he had to get to her first. Seonghwa eventually managed to catch her eye and she looked shocked to see him. When his eyes flickered to the doors to outside, her eyes followed, and she caught on.

             He was outside before she was, but she saw him first. She crossed the path through the garden and threw herself into his awaiting arms. It had been too long since they had been together.

             “What are you doing here?” She asked, her smiling returning.

             “I’ve come to rescue you and take you with me.”

             “Where?” She was confused, but still interested nonetheless.

             “Far away.”

             Now confused, she stared at him. Far away? Their kingdoms were bordering one another. How far could they possibly go. Noting her confusion, he smiled widely and bounced on the balls of his feet.

             “I’m free, (Y/N). I gave up my status…I’m free.” His eyes brimmed with happy tears. It was like it was finally dawning on him that he would finally get to choose his own future.

             “Come with me.”

             It took (Y/N) all of two seconds to say yes and they were gone before anyone realized.

~

             Years had passed since the day they ran away together and neither of them had regretted it. They saw the world and fell in love all over again each and every day. Now, the two were happily wed and they were inseparable.

             “What are you thinking about?” Seonghwa inquired as he set a mug of coffee down for her as she stared out at the ocean from their small cottage.

             She leaned her head back and smiled warmly at her husband.

             “You. Me. Us. How thankful I am that you came back for me.”

             The man, now in his mid-thirties, sat beside her and leaned his head against hers.

             “(Y/N).”

             Said female hummed in response.

             “Run Away with me.”

             She laughed.

             “Again?”

             “Always.”

[motleymoose]

Homecoming Pt. 3: Bits & Pieces Ch. 1

Chapter 1 Ashes in a Vacuum

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars Characters: The Mandalorain (Din Djarin), Gender Neutral Reader, The Child Words: 2.5k+ Warnings: Injury, Angst, A whole lotta attitude

Summary:

I AM ALL SORTS OF ANGRY AT THAT FRAGGING BUCKETHEAD!!! He's leaving me with more questions than I have the ability to ask, and I don't like it one bit.

But dang, that little greenie is cute!

Notes:

Heya! Thank y'all for reading!!! I'm not sure how many chapters this part is gonna have, so??? We're coming up on the halfway point of the story. Maybe my editing skills will improve by then (ha).

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Homecoming Masterlist

The way everything hurt, I was sure I was dying.

Squinting at the dim, fuzzy gray light of my bunk, I ran an internal diagnostics check. With every little wiggle and flex of an appendage, I gradually realized that I was not, in fact, dying, but I wasn’t in prime fighting shape either. Slowly, gingerly, I scrubbed sleep from my burning eyes with the heels of my palms, my vision spotty and fuzzy in places. It felt good to let them linger, pressing heavily into the closed eyelids and relieving the pressure built up behind my eyeballs. As killer headaches went, the one I was experiencing in that moment wasn’t the worst I’d ever had, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like doshing kung.

Now that I was sorta awake, I took physical stock of my body. My eyes still wouldn’t clear, the large flecks of gray shadow swimming lazily in my periphery, so I used touch to see what was going on. Letting my hands do the work, I started with my head, running my fingers lightly down my neck to my shoulders and chest. Something felt off about the shape of my body as I continued to scan downwards to my hips. Foggy memories swirled inside my head, screaming and pain and choking smoke. A jumbled mess of noise and smells overpowered everything else, and the bits and pieces of the fight and flight from Bosph scattered nervously into the darker recesses of my brain.

Frustrated, I sat up, ignoring the sharp tug at the pit of my elbow and the violent, painful thumping rattling my brain. “Fragging buckethead,” I hissed through clenched teeth. He had got me in this mess. Sure, it was my fault for getting a bounty put on me, but if only he’d listened to me in the first place, we coulda avoided Bosph entirely. The anger, bitter and sparkling and pulsing red, numbed the headache and the bruises slightly. And as the ire rose, so too did the functionality of my brain.

I could focus now on what my hands had been trying to tell me: all of my possessions, from my boots to my jumpsuit and everything in between or tucked into pockets, was gone. A worn coarseweave tunic hung from my curved shoulders, the sleeves neatly rolled up around my biceps, and a newer looking pair of long johns, the baggy legs bunched around my knees, had replaced my utilitarian and well-loved apparel.

Oh Mother of Kwath! Had the Mandalorian undressed me?! I mean, I was an adult. He was an adult. And apparently I had been injured enough to warrant such an invasion of privacy. Still, I couldn’t fight the blush burning brightly across my chest and face.

So doshing uncomfortable.

Nope, nope, nope. Didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Pushing down all of the humiliation and trauma and apprehension until the feelings were little more than an annoying itch under my skin, I allowed the rage to take over a little more. It was easier to be angry than to feel anything else, the outrage a warming presence in my chilly body. It also gave me the little boost of courage for what I had to do next.

Screwing my eyes shut, incredibly unprepared for the worst possible outcome, I touched the place under my collarbone where my silver skull pendant rested, a solid, reassuring weight...

Nothing.

Instead of skin-warmed metal, I was met with warm, padded resistance. Peering into the neck of the tunic, I found a thick, dull-colored wrap encasing my midsection from under my armpits to my hip bones. It smelled of the sea on a warm summer’s day, and I wrinkled my nose automatically. Bacta. Whatever injury I had sustained must’ve been bad enough to call for the precious, oftentimes expensive goo. The wrap wasn’t so tight as to constrict breathing or some movements, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

The physical uncomfortableness brought me back to the question of why the bounty hunter was keeping me alive, but just like all the other feelings, I ignored it. I needed to find my clothes, my necklace. Get dressed. Leave this beautiful ship and her tyrant pilot behind and become a krill farmer out on the Outer Rim.

Well, probably not a farmer. A droid mech, perhaps.

The soft skin on the inside of my elbow twinged again, pulling me out of my daydreams as I reached for the blanket covering the lower half of my body. A thin, clear tube snaked from a needle inserted into a vein to a nearly-empty pouch hanging from a hook in the bunk wall. Fumbling, my fingernails worked their way underneath the sticky medical tape, peeling up an edge wide enough to pinch. I ripped the tape from my arm, gritting as it pulled hair and skin with it. Once the tape was gone, I slid the needle out of my arm with a hiss, tossing it aside to leak between the cot and the bunk wall. Whatever cocktail of drugs the bounty hunter had mixed into the IV, he’d probably added a good dose of sedative to keep me down for the count. That would’ve explained the fogginess.

And it made me so mad.

I let the full-blown, all-consuming fury in, jerking the coarseweave blanket off of me and freeing my legs. Exhaling forcefully, I tested my injured knee, poking at the matching bacta bandage. The original searing-white agony I had experienced on Bosph was muted now, less of a screaming torment and more of a dull throbbing. Healed enough to put weight on. Hopefully

Groaning and cursing at stiff muscles and bucketheaded hunters respectively, I wriggled on the bed until my bare feet skimmed the floor. The cold steel of the hull platform sent shivers through my flesh, feeding the annoyance and anger and frustration. I inhaled, steadying myself for the shooting pain sure to follow standing on both legs. Pleasantly astonished as I was that it didn’t hurt too horribly, I wasn’t prepared for the lightheadedness. The blood rushed from my face, my vision blackening around the edges.

“Oh frag,” I managed to croak before slumping to the floor in an unconscious heap. --------------- I awoke, some time later, inside my bunk. The coarseweave blanket was tucked firmly beneath my chin, the IV reinserted into my arm, and my red-hot rage completely dissipated. An imposing, blurry figure stood at the foot of the bunk, and I took my time adjusting myself from lying flat to reclining, eyes tightly shut to avoid the spinning shadows. Once I was comfortable, I cracked an eyelid. The Mandalorian’s blurred steely stare greeted me, a clear bag of liquid over one arm and a sling supporting the other.

“You’re awake,” he stated matter of factly.

“D-Didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of travelling in silence,” I replied dryly, voice husky with disuse. “By the way, where’s my jumpsuit?” I opened my eyes all the way, blinking rapidly to dispel the fog coating them. It didn’t work.

The bounty hunter harrumphed softly. “Incinerated. You had a fractured knee, two broken ribs and a blaster wound to the stomach. Plus severe retinal damage and dehydration. You’re lucky you even made it off-planet.” He angled his visor away from me to tap out something on his vembrace.

“Wait, what?”

He tilted his visor towards me and put it simply. “You almost died.”

I feebly waved the non-IVed hand in front of my face. “No, not that. Did you say you incinerated all of my stuff?!”

Ignoring me, per his style, he continued to tap on his vembrace’s control panel.

Devastated, depressed and not a little bit murderous, I glowered squintily at him. I was reeling inwardly, but on the outside I was colder than carbonite.

As he ignored me, I studied him as closely as my recovering vision would allow. I could tell there was something different in his appearance, but it took a moment for me to recognize what it was . A softer quality to his edges that I couldn’t quite understand, his body looking less defined, less bulky than normal. I blinked several times to refocus, and was rewarded with infinitesimally better vision.

“Where’s your armor, shabuir?” I sniped. I may have been more than a little miffed that all of my worldly possessions were now ash and lumps of twisted metal, and biting at a Mandalorian was a temporarily soothing balm to my aching heart.

The hunter reached over me and unhooked the empty bacta IV bag from a rod above my head, replacing it with the one he’d brought. Adjusting the solution valve, he tapped the drip chamber twice before turning his attention back to me. “There’s a spare jumpsuit in the ‘fresher. Keep the bacta wrap on for another hour, at least.” As an afterthought, he added, “We’ll be on Nevarro in a few days.” A frown tainted his voice. “Stay out of my way ‘til then.” Spinning on his heel, he marched to the ladder and disappeared onto the upper deck.

………

It took about twelve hours for me to feel well enough to rid myself of the IV and bacta wraps and get out of the bunk without having the ship buck underneath me like a wild bluurg. I took that time to cry myself to sleep, wake up and cry some more. The loss of my tools and kit was a huge blow to my self-worth, but the loss of the pendant, well. It was the only piece I had left of a life full of fear and hunger and love; it connected me to home. If I didn’t have that, where did I belong?

It took another three hours for me to get up the nerve to get cleaned and dressed. I prowled around the cargo hold, poking and prodding at the carbonite storage, the control panels and the refresher. There hadn’t been much of a chance on my earlier voyages to explore, so with the Mandalorian occupied guiding the ship through hyperspace, I felt emboldened to figure out more about him. Not that there was much to glean from my investigation; the hold contained only the basics of survival for deep space travel, and weapons. Lots of weapons.

Oh, and several beings in what looked to be forced-stasis, frozen in carbonite.

Shivering in sympathy for my hold companions, I turned and shuffled back to the bunk. What I really had hoped to find was the incinerator - most ships kept them below near the back for easy dispatch of trash - but I hadn’t found hide nor hair of one below deck. It could’ve been located above. Not exactly the safest or most pleasant location, yet with all the fire power and carbonite in the hold, it kinda made sense. No need to put three dangerous elements all in one place, if you had the room.

A little voice at the back of my head reminded me of something else: that fragging Mando had all but ordered me to stay put. If he thought for one second that I was going to listen to him, he had another thing coming. I held no ill-will against Mandalorians in general, but this one was getting on my bad side. First arresting me and then almost getting me killed and then destroying the only thing I had left of home reminded me that I only had myself to rely on, that everyone else was out to either disappoint me or kill me.

I’d be doshed if I was going to let that buckethead dictate what I could and couldn’t do, especially since he was the one who took me off that Maker-forsaken moon in the first place.

Especially since he handed me over to Mihcas without an apology.

And took my pendant and tools to boot.

Ascending the ladder turned out to be a formidable feat in my weakened condition, but I prevailed. It took more effort than it should have, and I collapsed onto the cool steel platform once I made it all the way up.

“What are you doing?” The modulated baritone came from my right. Swiveling my head, I watched as the bounty hunter stomped out of the captain’s quarters, a bundle of clothes clutched to his chest and fingers unsurprisingly reaching for his blaster. Whatever was in the bundle must have been precious, for he shifted it away from me to his injured arm. It obviously still hurt; he held the bundle in the crook of his elbow, awkwardly bent and trembling with effort.

Good.

Rage flared in my chest, licking its way up like flames and leaving a red mask pounding behind my eyes. Pushing the anger away, I clambered up to my feet. I was going to get answers, and I’d be fragged if I was going to show emotion in front of him.

“Where’s the incinerator?” I spat savagely. So much for not showing any emotion.

Obviously taken aback by my vehemence and bluntness, he cocked his helmet and pulled his hand from his blaster, resting it casually on his belt buckle. “Why?”

Simple enough question, simple enough answer. But I didn’t feel like answering him. Opening my mouth to respond, a cooing sound interrupted me. It sounded like it was coming from the bundle still shielded in his injured arm.

Snapping my jaw shut with a painfully audible click, I raised my eyebrows pointedly at him. “Trafficking something illegal there, chakaar?” Anxiety clenched my stomach in its viselike grip, and I had to force the bile from rising in my throat. I was still weak from Bosph, but if he was buying and selling living beings to make a living, he was no better than my ex-boss. No better than me. Which meant I was going to have to hurt him or die trying.

A sharp hiss of an inhale through the vocoder told me I’d hit on something. Something he didn’t want me knowing. A whispery stream of very impolite Mando’a floated in the space between us. The air was thick with tension, and both of us were patiently waiting for the other to make the next move.

The coo came again, slightly muffled, followed by a bubbly giggle, startling us out of our stare-down. The bundle wriggled, and the Mandalorian shifted his attention from me to it as the thing became too much to handle with one injured arm. Grunting either out of pain or frustration, the bounty hunter stepped backwards until he was in the doorway of the bunk. Squeaking and chittering indignantly, the lump in the clothes broke free with a victorious huff.

And it was the cutest fragging thing I’d ever laid my eyes on.

_____________________

Notes:

chakaar - corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse shabuir - extreme insult - *jerk*, but much stronger

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {24}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 23. Cordially Invited

24. Hark the Harpist’s Harmony

"Should I move to the harp, then?" Hans hummed, with a playful smile. Perhaps he recognized that there might be some resistance to the idea of moving away-- from both of them. "I can be here for as long as you'll have me, my time is meaningless." He assured, lightly. He had all the time in the world.

"Yes, please do, play the harp I mean," Elsa nodded as she awkwardly shifted a bit more to sit up in her seat. Technically she  could  stay as long as she wanted as well, but that didn't mean she  should . What she should and probably would do was get some more paperwork done before supper, after concluding their tea time.

Hans smiled just a little, and nodded. He got up to move over to the harp, sitting up straight and adjusting himself to sit exactly the way one should while playing. He checked to make sure it was in tune, then began to play. It wasn't his  first  instinct, to play something happy. Indeed, usually he would default to something melancholy. But, for Elsa's sake, he searched for something  not  gloomy. He found something that, while not gloomy, wasn't happy, either. It was more mysterious, an intrigue. A half-remembered song from a foreign land that he transferred from whatever original instrument to a harp. He focused on the strings while he played, as focused on that as anyone could be, lost in the strings as it were.

Elsa was completely enthralled, the harp was indeed a beautiful instrument and Hans played it exquisitely. The tune he chose a lovely piece that was quite captivating and she wasn't sure how to describe it other than melodically magical. Perhaps magical wasn't the correct word for her to use considering she was the Magical Ice Queen herself, but the sounds of the harp somehow seemed to give off that particular sensation. She really hoped she wouldn't distract him by deciding to move closer to get a better view. Elsa carefully and quietly made her way to piano, and gently took a seat on the bench facing Hans. She really wanted to experience his wonderful playing with as many senses as possible. To be able to do that she had to take in every detail and study everything from his posture and breathing, the form in which his fingers meticulously strummed the strings and of course the concentration on his face.

 He glanced at her curiously as she moved closer, but his lip quirked just slightly, and he returned his focus, continuing to play. When one song ended, he only paused a moment before playing another. This time he hummed along, as if it had lyrics, but only half-remembered. It was a different style of song, a little lighter, a little friendlier, softer. Something that was, perhaps, attached to a memory of his. He seemed very much to allow himself to sink into his playing. Focused on the strings, and the thoughts behind them as the music became as natural as breathing in and out again. It had been a while since he played, but some things could be very deeply ingrained.

Elsa now sat leaning forward with her elbows near her knees and her hands cupping her face. Certainly not the proper posture for a Queen, but she was completely mesmerized by the music. After closely observing Hans for some time, she decided to close her eyes and just let music envelop her. The addition of his hum made the experience even more delightful, she could almost hear him singing even with the absence of words. With her eyes shut and completely absorbed by the song she hadn't taken notice that it was happening again, the same strange phenomenon as last night, a light flurry of fluttering snowflakes began to fall.

Hans almost jumped at the first snowflake to land on his hand, but he managed, and continued on. When he glanced at Elsa, he couldn't help but smile at how absorbed she seemed to be. He was sort of glad that she didn't ask too many questions about that song. 

 The third song was smaller, softer, more melancholy. Nervously, uncertainly, he took a breath. 

  "Who needs a dream?

Who needs ambition?  

Who'd be the fool, in my position?  

Once I had dreams, Now they're obsessions.

Hopes became needs, lover's possessions."  

 He sang softly but with feeling. His singing was beautiful, it had passion even at a low volume and sung shyly. He was someone who felt music, perhaps as much as Elsa did. He may not have been trained in singing, but he had a voice, and he had the training for the harp. He sang through a whole song of passion and uncertainty and the unexpected nature of life. 

  "But what's the point,  

if I'm concealing  

not only love, all other feeling?"  

 He knew the words by rote, perhaps he wasn't thinking about them. He stayed focused on the strings, and though the song was sad, it was warming, in its way. Melancholy could be a positive feeling, too. He only hoped Elsa felt that, too.

Elsa was surprised to hear his voice, her smile grew and her eyes flung open at the sound. She finally took note of the snowflakes, but paid them no mind, closing her eyes once again to better focus on the lyrics he was softly singing. It was certainly more melancholic, yet it was also quite beautiful and passionate, especially the way Hans recited it with his melodious voice. Once Hans finished the song, Elsa opened her eyes, and sat back up a bit. 

 "That was lovely," she praised sweetly.

"You think so?" Hans was a little shy about it, but he smiled all the same. He suspected she would say the same if it wasn't lovely, but she wouldn't say it in the same way. She wouldn't say it with snow, either, unless it was true. He couldn't help but blush a little at the thought. "I do like a  bit  more than just sea shanties." He admitted with an amused tone, as if to make light of his singing. It wasn't something he practiced often, but some things were natural. It was clear he was shy of being heard, too. As he had said, he picked an instrument to blend into the background. Elsa had to be something special, to prompt him to take center stage.

"Of course," she answered with a warm smile. "Though I think sea shanties can be quite lovely too," she proposed. She remembered the first song he sang to her. Elsa took a quick glance over her shoulder at the piano behind her, before she decided to turn her body towards it. She got a spontaneous urge to prove it. Elsa had gotten quite rusty at playing the piano, but she thought she could manage to play the simple tune, that she'd memorized by humming it so long ago. She hummed as she played the tune, because she'd yet to learn the lyrics to their entirety, the only verse that she really knew by heart was the one that started in  'My heart is pierced by Cupid' .

Hans smiled at the memory, glad that Elsa believed him-- and perhaps a little sheepish that she remembered his singing so well. 

 "You have a beautiful singing voice, yourself." He remarked softly. "You might put the sirens to shame." The songs seemed to draw parallels in their lives, he noticed. Concealing feelings and hearts pierced by cupid. He couldn't help but have a feeling about that. A feeling he tucked away, back inside his rib cage where it belonged. He would hold his tongue, as he did at home, to keep him from making a fool of himself.

Hans' comment made Elsa's ear burn red, it was easier for her to hide her shyness when she was still facing away from him. This had been the second time he'd compared her to a Siren, she wondered if that was meant to be a good thing, since he'd been unaffected by them, so she wasn't quite certain, but she took it as a compliment. Elsa looked over her shoulder back at Hans. 

 "I'm sure the sirens are far better at remembering the lyrics," she commented. "I do wish to try to learn them all myself, though" she continued as she turned her whole body on the bench once more to face him again. "I would be grateful if you wrote them down for me sometime, it'd give me something to practice while I relearn to play the piano. I'm surprised I managed to remember how to play at all, it's been ages since I touched a piano."

"I'll write them down for you as soon as I return to my room, then." He assured, lightly. He hadn't been writing letters, but the material had been provided all the same, especially while Hans did paperwork for his actual job of training the Guard, or helping Elsa with her own paperwork. "Some things are difficult to unlearn, I find. It's been a while since I touched a harp, too. Though, I suspect longer for you. You have had the busier life." He wanted to step closer, but that seemed like the wrong thing to do.

"Thank you," she hummed, standing up from the bench. "I guess you never truly forget something like that, even if you  think  you did, a part of you still remembers the  feeling , you just need to touch it again to elicit it." Elsa had taken a few steps toward the harp in front of her, so as she spoke she gently glided her fingers along all the harp strings (like people usually do across all the keys of the piano) just to hear the sound of all the strings being strummed in sequence. She had the temptation to touch the harp herself especially after seeing Hans' fingers fondle the strings so gracefully to create melodic music for her, she wanted to experience the sensation of strumming the strings against her own fingers. Of course with not knowing how to play she believed that the sound she managed to make with her gentle glide was nowhere as lovely as the ones he'd produced while actually playing, yet there was still a bit of that magical essence she thought a harp emitted.

 Hans couldn't help but feel that there was something deeper to what she said, though he wasn't sure what exactly it was. 

 "I imagine your magic feels the same." He mused, without thinking about it. His eyes watched her hands, and he seemed less than attentive as he let his thoughts drift.

"Hm? Feels the same to what? Similar to something you never really forget until you elicit it? I guess you could say that. When I first let it go again, with nothing holding me back, my powers came almost naturally." Elsa wondered if that's what he meant. She followed his gaze. "Or did you mean something else entirely? Something more abstract? Like you imagine my magic feels similar to something like... music?" She slid her fingers along the strings again. "I think that description wouldn't be far off either. Even though it's a bit hard to condense my powers into something completely comprehensible, I think that something like the euphonious sound of music does induce a similar sensation to the one of when I use my magic-- the good kind of magic at least. It's not an exact match, but still music is a lot like magic, I don't know how else to explain it but it kind of makes sense." She shrugged a little, admittedly not knowing exactly where she was going with that.

"The former, but yes. I imagine it does feel a bit like making music. It's strange, but I feel like I have a vague idea what magic would feel like. I suppose in the same way some of us have dreams of flying without ever having flown, some deeper instinct tells us what it should feel like, even if we have no idea?" He couldn't be sure, not could he properly describe it. "Music is a bit like magic, I suppose. From nothing we create emotions and feelings, and all we need is a flexible string or several, or a stick and a hollow thing to make a drum. Gregory would adore this conversation, likening music to magic. He's the real musician of the family." He deeply wanted to rest his hand at the small of her back and hold her. What was getting into him, that he kept having these sudden strange urges to do something unusual and familiar? Nothing outrageous, just to hold her. He wouldn't, obviously. He had no business touching the Queen. Only as she saw fit. He hoped he kept his wits about himself, lest he do something foolish.

Elsa smiled a little at Hans seeming to understand what she meant. "Yes, it's like emanating a manifestation of emotion. Music conveys it through mellifluous sound while magic transforms it into something more tangible," She said with a sparkle in her eyes. Elsa proceeded to create something with her magic. One of her hands swirled over the open palm of the other. She conjured a miniature horse figure that resembled Sitron, she showed and offered it to Hans. Elsa had certainly engrossed herself in the magic talk.

Hans smiled and picked up the little horse, if gingerly. Partly because of the fragile nature of ice, partly because he now knew by experience that it was a bad idea to grip ice for a prolonged period, thanks to his ice sword.

  "I like your artistic side, it's cute." He remarked sweetly. "And I like seeing you get excited about your magic. It certainly is impressive."

That certainly flustered her, Anna was unquestionably the cute one, so being considered cute was new to her, easily making her blush a bit. The combination of all his compliments put her heart in a frenzy and was evidently reflected with the falling snow. 

 "Thank you," she answered with a shy smile. Awkwardly shifting back a bit. "I forget how nice they can be sometimes, since I don't often get the chance to play around with them just for the fun of it. Though I really should do it more often, to test the limits of my powers, I still don't know everything that I'm fully capable of doing with them yet."

"You ought to, you look happy when you're using them." Hans observed, setting the ice horse back down just to preserve his hands, though he still looked at it with fondness. He wore the ice sword at his side, as it was traditional for an Isles man, but he was careful to avoid being near Anna in the halls. 

 "If I had powers like yours, I think I would want to make a dragon. Or Gryphons, things that you'd never see in real life. When you have magic, why not use it to make the world a bit more magical?" He offered with a smile and a shrug. "Or, to start with, maybe a cat. Cats, horses, and dragons." He laughed a little at himself. He truly did like all of those things, as childish as perhaps it was.

Elsa laughed a little herself. She thought it was quite adorable. Not at all surprised that his adventurous heart would wish for things of legend like Dragons and Gryphons. Yet even with the mention of extraordinary magical creatures, for some strange reason that wasn't what had stuck out the most to her. 

 "Hm. I don't think I've ever created a cat before," she mused with her pointer finger on her lips. And without further pondering she promptly constructed a life size sleeping snow kitten cradled in her arms. There was no doubt she was quite fond of animals, though she rarely interacted with them. "The only problem would be where to put your ice creations. If I could decorate the castle entirely with ice I probably would -- have you seen my ice palace? -- but I'm sure everybody else wouldn't appreciate a frozen castle, especially when they aren't unbothered by the cold like I am," she playfully reasoned. What held her back from creating, other than time constraints, was probably her consideration for others, she was sure the eternal winter probably didn't help warm people up to the idea of a forever frozen fixtures.

"I have, if you recall." Hans couldn't help but look down and grimace a little at the memory. "The first time you saw me with a sword drawn, I think." He mused. "We had a stirring conversation, and I think we've had that same conversation a few times, in a few different ways." He didn't think it was a bad thing, but one he found important. Perhaps a little serious. "Sounds like you need your own little icy island. Maybe your ice dragon could take you to the ice palace and your creations could live there. It  was  beautiful. Still there, I imagine?" He hadn't seen it since he'd carried Elsa out of it-- and he thought it was better if he didn't think about that memory. It still hurt to think of all the betrayal he caused in those few days. He couldn't help but watch the kitten fondly. He did love cats. "Have you considered getting a live cat of your own?"

Of course she recalled, his words most of all, they were forever engraved in her memory, the last thing she remembered before it had all turned to black. She saw his grimace and didn't want to dwell on that again right now. 

 "An icy island, I kinda like the sound of that. I might have to venture out and find one," Elsa considered it for a moment. "Still set on trying to sell me on the idea of creating an ice dragon I see," she giggled. "I wouldn't say live, because I would likely only be creating  normal  ice sculptures. To be honest, I'm not comfortable with bringing my creations to life. I made Olaf sentient completely by accident. And the only creation I purposely brought to life was Marshmallow and you know...but even with him I still didn't really know what I was doing. It sort of just happened, willing him to life. Like I said before I don't know the full extent of my own powers," She sighed with a slight shrug, becoming serious and silent for a second. 

 "And yes the Ice Palace still stands, at least last I checked." She looked down at the snow kitten she created and smiled. "As for ever considering getting a real cat, yes, I've pondered about having a feline friend many times. Have I decided whether or not it's wise? No. I still have to weigh the consequences. There's just a lot of things to consider; let's start with the arguments in favor. First of all, cats are absolutely adorable, soft and self-sufficient. They sound like a pretty perfect pet.

"The arguments against them though are a lot less about the cons of a cat and more about whether not I'm worthy of enough to have a cat. Like could I give it enough attention? I wouldn't want to get a cat and never have time for it. Would it even take a liking to me? Especially with I not being the warmest person in the world, I'd be very disappointed if it wouldn't let me touch it. Lastly, should I even take on another responsibility? As much as I'd love to have a cat, is it something I want to take on? I don't know, there's just so many variables," She shrugged. It was very much a battle between the emotional vs rational impacts of owning a cat. Of course she  wanted  a cat, but her queenly side was seeping out asking if she could even handle it or even deserved one.

"You're a Queen, your responsibility to a cat is making sure the service staff likes it, it's not as if you'll be the one to take care of its litter." Hans pointed out dryly. "Truthfully, a cat will make sure you give it exactly as much attention as it wants. The real downsides to you are the hairs it leaves in your dress, and the claw marks it may leave in your clothes, furniture, and skin. I taught the ship's cat to jump up onto my shoulders, so my uniform looks almost as red as it does blue now, from the cat's fur. But it's worth it to me to have the big lug purring in my ear during downtime. I can't speak to the warmth, you may want to keep a hot water bottle on-hand to encourage a cat sitting on your lap. They go to warm places, but if you make friends with a cat, they are friends as long as the cat lives. Dogs stay because you feed them, cats stay because they like you." Hans wasn't much for dogs. He had little against them, but he just preferred cats. Hans was right she was Queen and other people would take care of the cat for her and maybe that was part of her problem with getting one the little involvement she most likely have with it. She'd feel responsible for bringing a cat to the castle than making other people deal with it most of the time, (not that she wanted to deal with its litter, but still) it just wouldn't really feel like  her  cat. It was a bit silly to see things that way. Elsa sighed, taking a seat back down on the bench, placing her snowcat creation on her lap. Looking down at it warmly imagining what it would feel like if it were real.

  "The purring does sound rather nice," she admitted. " But maybe I should get a dog instead. I don't think you're giving them enough credit. They have good qualities as well, like they are also really cute especially with their big eyes and wagging tails. Also they always seem so happy and I heard they are really loyal. Besides there's some dogs that don't mind the cold," she smiled a bit considering that option as well, but it quickly faded. "... or maybe just having an animal companion isn't for me."

"No, dogs certainly have their place. And if you  want  an animal companion, there's no reason you shouldn't have one." He assured, gently. "Some cats don't mind the cold-- but some dogs  adore  it. Some dogs also swim, that's what Newfoundland dogs are like. They even have webbed paws, which is a strange thing for a dog. I've heard they can be mistaken for bears from afar, but I've never met one in person." He shrugged. "If one is to have a dog, a big one seems like a good idea, in my book. But those are just my personal preferences, perhaps you prefer little rat-hunting dogs that pounce like foxes and chase after the voles, it's not mine to say." He shrugged. "They can certainly be cute. They still shed, though, and require regular baths. Cats at least will typically bathe themselves, for better or worse. But our castle never had pets either. We just kept royal stables and hunting hounds, no indoor 'pets'." No wonder he preferred a ship, he could keep a cat there.

She still disagreed about having one just because she wanted one, she couldn't easily ignore all the things she had to consider about having a pet in the first place.

  "I don't think wanting one is enough reason to have one. Maybe in the future," she shrugged "I don't think I'm going to actively be looking for the perfect pet either, but if I someday come across one that completely captures my heart, I might reconsider in a heartbeat." Thinking about and rejecting the idea of a hypothetical animal companion was a lot easier than when an actual adorable living creature is in front of you and you can't resist the enchantment it imprinted on your heart.

"The best animals are the ones that find you, I find." Hans mused. Then he chuckled and cleared his throat. "But maybe that's just the  stray  at your door speaking." He teased, referring to himself. He had been shooed away once, then came back yowling at her door for attention. Somehow, it seemed to have paid off. "You seem to have a soft spot for scraggly red tomcats, as history speaks." He suggested, entirely as a playful joke to get her to roll her eyes. He wasn't a self-described 'fool' for nothing.

 "Perhaps," She let out a snort of suppressed laughter. One hand leaning against her forehead as she gently wagged her head with a downward gaze that almost made her eyes seem shut and a subtle smile on her lips. Her shoulders raised slightly. "Even scraggly red tomcats can make good companions." Maybe she indeed had a soft spot for red tomcats, with piercing green eyes and a playful nature, though scraggly probably wouldn't be one of the words Elsa would use to describe him.

Hans looked away and stifled a giggle, maybe blushing a little. "Ah, damn. I had a funny thought but it would be  very  unprofessional for me to say it out loud." He admitted with a little sheepish shuffle. "I suppose I ought to keep that to myself."

Elsa lifted her gaze to look at him.

  "Oh, now you've made me curious," she hummed with a tilt of her head. "But you're welcome to keep it yourself if you wish." She wouldn't  force  him to be 'unprofessional'.

Hans grinned playfully. "I was going to say 'But I could purr for you too if you like'." He teased, giggling and cringing away like a kid expecting to be hit with a pillow-- or perhaps a snowball would have been more appropriate. It  was  terribly unprofessional. It was downright  flirty  , but he only meant it in a playful way. He was a fool, after all. "Perhaps it  is  professional-- for a Queen's fool to be foolish." He suggested with a grin.

Elsa giggled with another shake of her head. "A fool I can handle, I don't know if I could say the same if you started acting like a cat. Please don't latch onto the idea as your new title or you might end up a stray," she teased.

Hans laughed a little and shook his head. "No... though cats and I do both do well on ships. Actually, that was what my ship was called. The  Conch Cat.  A conch cat is a type of cat with an extra toe, they're supposed to be lucky. With me as the thirteenth prince, we needed all the luck we could get. Have I told you all that before?" He wondered if he wrote that, or if that writing had been something for himself, or one of his scrapped copies.

"Yes, you've told me about the meaning behind your ship's name before," she assured with a nod. "I think back when you were telling me a story about the pirates you faced. I think it was also when you first mentioned a big red cat that resembled you."

"Well, his fur color resembled me. He's probably a lot more surly, but loving when you're warm enough." He assured, with a fond smile. "I do miss having a cat about. Perhaps when I've settled somewhere I'll get one." It was a nice thought. He didn't fancy being alone, and he didn't think he would be living with another person.

Elsa would have loved to meet that curious ship cat Hans remembered so fondly. She smiled, but remained silent, looking back down at her lap, as she lost herself in thought. She was still a bit distraught about the idea of Hans settling somewhere outside the castle walls. Perhaps it was becoming about time for their tea time to conclude.

Hans sensed the rift in the room, and let the silence linger a moment. 

 "I'm in no hurry to move, of course." He assured softly, after a moment. Maybe it was wrong of him to suspect, but he thought for a moment that  that  might be the cause of the silence. "Ah, I shouldn't take up your whole day, I suppose. Much as I enjoy your company." It was so strange to be the one  leaving.  He felt like it was wrong, like he shouldn't be doing that. It seemed impolite. He waited to be excused all the same. He was a prince, and taught to follow the crown's lead. Still, he couldn't help but be a little anxious himself, that perhaps he was doing the wrong thing, still.

"Oh, right," she said as she snapped out of her daze. Disintegrating the snow kitten on her lap into a sparkling flurry as she stood up, rubbing her hands against her skirt of her dress as if to straighten it. "I have paperwork to get back to before dinner." 

 "Thank you once again for joining me for tea. Your harp playing was lovely, I appreciate you playing for me," she acknowledged. "Perhaps, we can do this again sometime."

Hans nodded politely. "Gladly, I enjoyed playing for you. And maybe if I finish writing those lyrics for you, I'll have the chance to hear you sing again?" He proposed with a little smile. He did like to hear her sing. Her voice was beautiful. He tucked his hands behind his back, shifting into the behavior of a servant rather than a prince. The Guardsman rather than the Fool or the Prisoner. 

 "Have a good evening, your Majesty." He took her thanks and invitation as a sign he should leave, so he gave a polite bow and retreated. It was hard to say where or why he had picked up service habits. Part of his mirroring, perhaps?

 A shy smile crossed Elsa's lips at his proposal. 

 "Only if you accompany me on the harp," she called out, before a softer farewell. "Good evening, Hans." Elsa began to leave as well, thinking that it had been a rather odd tea time, not that it was necessarily a bad thing, far more interesting than her solitary ones, just a bit of the typical awkwardness that was bound to happen when they were together.

[asofterparty]

The Astronaut, living as a stranger in a world so much softer than what she lost.

[headoverjojo]

I would like some headcanons about how Bruno, Mista, Prosciutto and Giacchio kiss, hug, court and have sex with their respective s / o (I do not ask for anything too extensive, do not worry XD)

Hello, dear! Oh, sure :3 Here we go, hope you’ll like it!

Kiss, court, hug and sex headcanons for Bruno Bucciarati, Guido Mista, Prosciutto and Ghiaccio 

SFW

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno’s kisses are intense. When he kisses, he does it with full lips, cupping his s/o’s face in his hands, gently stroking their cheeks and gently tilting their head to a side, to have easier access to his lover’s mouth. His lips are soft and plump, kissing him is like receiving a sweet soft cuddle! He puts love in every kiss he gives, from the quickest, when they’re just a peck before going to work, to the more intense when he comes home from a mission, to the passionate ones when he gently scoops them on his arms to carry them to bed. He loves to kiss them while hugging them tightly, as to protect them and never lose them; after the kiss, he usually gives them at least a couple more of sweet kisses on their cheeks, making them softly smile in joy.

Bruno’s a classic romantic, when he courts the person he likes. Flowers, chocolates, dinners… he’s a very attentive man, who always thinks about everything. Still, he doesn’t care about impressing his crush with the money he has; he just wants… to make them feel good. If he has time, he prefers to prepare himself dinner than to take them out; his house is by the sea, he loves to prepare the table in the porch, surrounded by the salty scent of sea and sand, watching with them the sun setting down in the water, while chatting… it’s his dream date. Something simple, but meaningful, that could make both feel at ease and good.

Bruno’s hugs are wonderful! His suits are soft and always smell goods, so it’s really nice to rub the face on them. He has the ability to make everyone feel safe, in his arms. His grip is firm, but not too much, as to leave his s/o the freedom to move and hug him as they prefer. He prefers to hug them while they’re standing up, gently rubbing their back; if they’re smaller than him, he’d put his cheek on their head, often also kissing their hair, welcoming their face in the crock of his neck -and kisses here would be the end of him. He loves so much kisses on the neck!-. In his arms, it’s like nothing could hurt them; his hugs feel like home.

Guido Mista

Mista’s kisses are full of enthusiasm! His lips are a bit chapped but still plump and soft, so kissing him is utterly nice. He’s one who takes his s/o in his arms and kiss them passionately, eyes closed, full lips, his arms around their waist or one of his hands on their nape, to keep them close. Sometimes, if it’s the right time for some spicy hours, he also gently nibbles his s/o’s lips, lightly sucking their bottom lip, smirking when they softly gasp. He also loves a lot pecks! Pecks everywhere, on the cheek, on the forehead, on the neck… wherever their lips can reach! He loves to give and to receive in same measure. Every occasion is perfect for a kiss! But morning kisses have a special taste. Being a utter romantic, he just loves to kiss the love of his life as first kiss in the morning!

Mista loves romance. To someone it may seem that Mista is in “love with the idea of love”, but it’s not so: Mista doesn’t idolize love to the point to be deluded by “real life love”, but he does think that the person he loves deserves to be courted in the best possible way. Flowers, chocolates, cute messages… his crush is going to feel so loved, when he courts them! He loves dates where they can walk around the city, something informal, something casual. An ice-cream and a lot of chats! He loves to hear them talking, he loves to know more about them, to laugh with them. Dates with him are fun and his crush would often blush in content pleasure, when Mista softly smiles at them, his eyes full of love as he watches them and his mouth full of sincere words of appreciation.

Mista gives bear hugs! The type of hugs that make you feel warm and protected, even if maybe a bit too much squeezed. When he doesn’t see his s/o for a bit, due to a long mission, the right instant he spots his s/o he runs towards them and hugs them with so much onrush to lift them from the ground and spin them around, laughing with them as he sinks his face in their hair. If his s/o is smaller than him, he also loves to hug them from behind, enveloping their shoulders with his arms and resting his cheek on their hair, with a happy sigh. Sometimes he slouches on them, chuckling when they protest, letting them even smacking his arms and chest, faking whines of pain that usually find their end in a kiss.

Prosciutto

Prosciutto’s kisses are passionate. He almost seems to start to kiss even before the real kiss has started, watching them with an intensity that makes their knees tremble. His lips are soft, not really plump but extremely nice to kiss; sometimes they carry with them the faint taste of liquor or mint -he hates having his mouth tasting of smoke, so, after a cigarette, he chews a chewing gum-. When he kisses, he goes for a full kiss: tongue and dominance are a must. Depending by the moment -being it a lazy kiss or a kiss before some quality time- the way he imposes his dominance can variate, but, anyway, his kisses never miss to make his s/o melt and sigh in pleasure. He also loves to kiss their eyelids, when they’re still sleeping, to wake them up in the sweetest way, and collarbone.

Despite his origins not in a rich family, Prosciutto was always taught the respect a partner deserves. And he never forgot this lesson: he utterly respects his partner and this shows also during the courting period. He’s extremely galant, showering them in attentions and small gifts. He also likes to make them some surprises, showing up at their workplace or house just to give them a bouquet and a kiss on the cheek, or just to check if they’re fine. When he has to stay out of the town for long time, due to a mission, he always tries to make up for this by spending as much time as he can with them. He never puts them in second place and is shows in how much he knows them: their smallest habits and quirks, what they like or don’t like… he remembers everything.

Prosciutto’s hugs are extremely protective. He completely envelopes his s/o in his arms, keeping them safely nestled against his chest. He doesn’t usually hugs them everywhere, but in private he does it very often. He also loves to keep them on his lap and holding them on their low back or hug them from behind and softly placing his hands on their hips and then belly, keeping their back on his chest. The best hugs he gives, however, are when he’s just awaken: those are tight, warm, they have that smell of sleep and blankets and his lazy and sleepy smile makes those hugs even more beautiful!

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio’s kisses are like him: impetuous. His kisses are all lips, teeth and tongue; he doesn’t know what a “soft kiss” is. His kisses are almost bruising! But no one can say that they lack of passion or intention. He doesn’t kiss in public, not even a peck on the cheek; he reserves all forms of affection for their private life. There’s not a great difference from his normal kisses to the “spicier” ones, as he’s always intense! The most noticeable difference between his kisses is between his usual kisses and the sleepy ones: in general, when Ghiaccio is sleepy or really, really tired, he becomes way more cuddly and this reflects also in his kisses. They are softer, slower, in this case he lets his s/o taking the control of the kiss. It’s a total new experience, but nonetheless beautiful!

Ghiaccio doesn’t know how to flirt or court a person he likes. It’s just… so awkward, for him! And he usually doesn’t even do it, if he doesn’t really like a person. In this case, he’d ask some advice around, whispering and with the solemn promise not to say his “secret” to anyone. Prosciutto is the best candidate to ask advice to, and the blonde advises him really well. Even if Ghiaccio is evidently stiff and awkward, he tries hard and his best and this shows. He tries to stay as calm as possible, even if he’s in a too loud place, he listens to them, he tries to talk and interact with them as much as possible… and, after the first awkward two or three dates, he starts to relax for real. And now he becomes really a pleasant company! Ghiaccio’s not bad, when he’s not angry. He knows a lot of things and, until no one touches topics that could trigger him, he’s a really pleasant person to talk with. And, for his s/o, he tries his best to be this person and not the angry version of himself.

Ghiaccio’s hugs are crushing! As for his kisses, he doesn’t give them in public and doesn’t control his strength when he gives them. Especially when he’s back from a mission, in particular a long -and dangerous- mission, he goes straight to hug his s/o, sinking his face in the crock of their neck, crushingly pressing them on his chest. He doesn’t let them go until he’s finally relaxed and the best way to do so -and so start to breath again- is to gently pet his hair and rub his scalp. In this way, he’d calm down faster, finally releasing them a bit, just enough to let them breathe properly. When he’s sleepy, his hugs are still crushing, but in this case he wants more to be hugged than to hug; he often just nestles on their chest, humming as they hug him and caress his hair, his eyes closed. He’s unbelievably tranquil and cute, in this case!

(Under the cut for the NSFW part!)

NSFW

Bruno Bucciarati

As for everything else with him, also sex with Bruno is intense and meaningful. He doesn’t like quickies, as he likes to take proper care of his s/o as they deserve. He loves to prepares them thoroughly, to the point that they beg for him to finally start the main event. He doesn’t mind if his s/o wants to top, as he can admire them moving on him, while squeezing their thighs and hips, helping them to follow the rhythm they want. Usually, however, he’s the one in charge and he’s more for positions where he can watch his s/o’s face; he loves to see it twisting in pleasure as they go on. He also usually loves to hold their hands, interweaving his fingers with theirs, and kiss all their face and neck, biting down when he reaches his peak. He doesn’t mind if his s/o does the same, smugly smiling at them, a gleam in his eyes that makes their knees tremble and their core pulsing even more.

Guido Mista

Mista’s first thought is always to put his s/o at ease. He starts slowly, with kisses, touches and caresses, to relax them, even if they’re together since long. He wants his s/o to always have a wonderful experience! He’s the king of oral, so his s/o hasn’t to beg for him to go down, as he goes without being asked to. When they’re in the main act, he loves to hug them, to keep them flushed to his chest, to feel their hands in his hair… he also likes when they tug his hair a bit! It always drives him crazy, to his s/o’s utter joy. He hasn’t a marked favourite position, but surely he prefers the ones where he can hug his s/o, it doesn’t matter if from behind or front. He also loves worship! Both to give and receive. It makes him feel utterly loved and he lives to make his s/o feel so, so long worshipping sessions are common between them, as also cuddly aftercares!

Prosciutto

Prosciutto is suave, in bed. His hands do their magic, as he whisper heated lovely words on his s/o’s ear, puffing soft hot breaths on it, making them shiver. He knows really well how to prepare them for the main act, making them jelly and needy way before they even touch the bed. He’s a more dominant person, so the occasions when he lets them take the lead are really rare, but this doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy when it happens. He loves positions that allow him to have control, where he can pin their body -and especially their hands- down and where he can watch with a smug smile how their face twists in pleasure and bliss; he loves to see that he’s doing a good job making them feel like this. He prefers receiving than giving, but when he goes down he makes them see stars in minutes. Aftercare is gentle and loving, as he loves to scoop them in his arms and rubbing their back, whispering how good they have been while kissing their forehead and face.

Ghiaccio

Even in bed, Ghiaccio almost seems not to be able to contain his strength and onrush. Vanilla? He doesn’t know what it is. With him, everything is rough, and sex is so too. He loves to kiss all his way on their collarbone, chest, abdomen and down, on their core and inner thighs. As he goes down, he usually leaves a trail of bites and purple splotch, as to mark them as his, especially on their chest, inner thighs and the base of their neck. He loves positions that allow him to be in total control and he’s not prone to give them the lead, not even when he’s tired. Leading the act makes him feel more confident and it allows him to show how much he loves them. He’s not satisfied if they don’t cum at least a couple of times before his own release and one last hard bite. Aftercare can be a bit cuddly, if he’s in a good mood, or simple clean up and then sleep, but, even in the second case, he always hugs his s/o tightly -denying it when he’s fully awaken-.