#though the truth i think is somehow a blend of both.

[joelsrose]

Valentine’s Day

fluff!!

i think i might make a little mini-series of cute fluff one shots of reader travelling w/ Joel - same vibe as polaroids

The road stretched endlessly ahead, an unbroken ribbon of cracked asphalt and brittle grass edging the silence between you and Joel. Time had lost its edges, slipping by in indistinguishable layers—sunrise and sunset melting into a quiet, unending rhythm. You both found small ways to measure the days, counting by the frost thickening in the mornings or the way your breath lingered longer in the air.

He’d been quiet that morning, gaze fixed on the horizon, shoulders curled inward in a way you’d come to recognize—a silent signal of his retreat into himself. Only when he finally spoke, his voice roughened by the cold, did you catch a faint trace of what lay beneath.

“Mid-February,” he muttered, the words barely a whisper, his eyes distant, unfocused, as though he were seeing beyond the leafless trees and frost-bitten fields, someplace far beyond reach.

The realization settled quietly within you, a subtle truth he likely hadn’t even noticed you told yourself—that today wasn’t just any other day.

Valentine's Day.

Just another day, you told yourself. And yet, as you looked over at Joel, his face softened by the pale winter light, the weight of what once was—of love, of yearning, of lives that once had space for days like this—felt as tangible as the frost clinging to the earth.

Days like this should have been trivial, stripped of meaning in the world you were barely holding onto now. And yet, as the realization settled—Valentine’s Day, here, with Joel—an ember of something unspoken flickered in the thick silence between you.

It was ridiculous, pointless even, to care about a day that belonged to a life long gone. But somehow, it mattered.

Joel hadn’t missed the thought either—not that he’d ever let on. But something shifted, a fleeting spark in his gaze, a quick, sidelong glance that brushed over you before he retreated behind the rough, impenetrable armor he wore so well. You hadn’t known him in those days, back when he was a different man, softer around the edges, before the world had carved out the unyielding hardness he carried now.

Once, he’d been the type for quiet gestures, his version of romance wrapped in a humble simplicity—a bouquet picked up on the way home from work, a meal at a place that felt like a splurge, maybe even a soft tune played on his guitar, chords strummed slow and low, just for someone he loved.

That version of Joel was a memory now, a part of him buried under years of survival. But here, in that brief, unguarded look, you glimpsed a shadow of who he’d once been, a reminder of the life he’d lost but hadn’t entirely forgotten.

But that part of him was buried now, hidden beneath layers of loss in a world that left no room for tenderness.

Still, in the quiet moments between you, there was a glimmer—a barely-there echo of the man he might have been, of a Valentine’s Day he hadn’t entirely let go. It was a trace, a faint whisper of something unforgotten, lingering in the way his gaze softened just a fraction when it met yours, a warmth hidden in the spaces where words failed.

In those rare silences, you felt it—a fragile remnant of a man who, once upon a time, might have known how to love gently.

~~~

You were passing through another nameless place, its ghostly streets and faded signs blending into the countless towns you’d left behind. The road stretched ahead, winding into the dense sprawl of forest, the trees casting shadows that grew longer as the sun dipped low on the horizon.

You walked a few paces ahead of Joel, each step sending a dull ache through your feet, the exhaustion settling into your bones as the sky blazed in hues of deep orange and soft pink—a sunset bleeding into dusk. The silence between you was familiar now, a quiet rhythm you’d both learned to live in, broken only by the steady crunch of your boots on loose gravel and the faint, reassuring echo of Joel’s footsteps behind you.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, carrying a quiet certainty as he surveyed the encroaching darkness and the shadows stretching long beneath the trees. There was a practiced ease in the way he assessed the fading light, an instinct honed by years on the road, as if he could read the landscape’s secrets in a single glance.

“Okay,” you replied, nodding without hesitation. You trusted Joel’s instincts implicitly, each decision sharpened by years of survival and weighed with a quiet precision. There was a steady comfort in following his lead, in the silent assurance that, whatever lay ahead, he would be the one standing between you and the darkness.

It was more than trust—it was a fragile kind of faith, the certainty that he’d weather the night so you didn’t have to face it alone.

You’d set up camp, sinking down against a rough, weathered log, the bark pressing into your back as you released a tired sigh. Joel muttered something about gathering firewood, his voice a low murmur that blended with the evening quiet as he scanned the tree line.

You watched him disappear into the dimming light, his silhouette broad and unyielding against the last slivers of sunset. It was a rhythm you’d come to rely on—his quiet, unwavering sense of duty, always ensuring you had warmth and protection.

Joel wandered, his steps slower than usual, his thoughts snagging on the way your eyes had brightened when he’d offhandedly mentioned the date. He hadn’t intended for it to mean anything—just a passing remark—but there was something about the look you’d given him, unexpected and strangely soft, that lingered.

It unsettled him—a quiet reminder of feelings he’d thought long buried. And yet, here they were, surfacing more persistently since he’d met you, weaving through his thoughts like a memory he couldn’t quite shake.

He’d been gathering firewood, but his attention drifted, his gaze settling on a small patch of wildflowers nestled in the underbrush. Soft purple petals, delicate against the rugged landscape, caught his eye. Before he even realized what he was doing, he reached down, fingers brushing the blooms as he plucked a few. His hands moved on instinct, guided by something quiet and unguarded, a small gesture he hadn’t intended yet couldn’t resist.

With the flowers clutched in his hand, he froze.

What the hell was he doing?

Joel stood there, caught in the deepening shadows, his grip tightening around the fragile stems as he began to pace, second-guessing himself in a way that felt almost absurd. He wasn’t the kind of man who picked flowers—not anymore, not for a long time.

But somehow, being around you had pulled him into unfamiliar territory, unearthing pieces of himself he’d long thought buried. You brought out a quiet tenderness in him, nudging him toward gestures that went beyond mere survival—small acts he tried to brush off as routine but that hinted at a fondness he fought to suppress.

After absentmindedly picking flowers for you, it became glaringly obvious to Joel that he cared for you—deeper than an acquaintance, a friend, or even a fellow traveler on this harsh road. It showed in the way he’d insist on carrying your pack, ignoring the twinge in his back with a muttered, “Not a big deal,” brushing off your concern like it was nothing. He’d save you half of whatever he was eating, passing it over with a quiet, “Thought you’d want some.” He’d keep an extra eye out for little things he knew you’d like—an old book salvaged from a wrecked house, or a stray packet of coffee he’d hand you with a gruff, “Found it along the way.” And on those rare, bone-tired nights by the fire, he’d sit just a bit closer than he had to, his shoulder brushing yours, grounding you both in a warmth neither of you dared to name. All small gestures he hadn’t made for anyone in years.

~~~

Back at camp, a quiet worry began to take hold as your gaze lingered on the darkening treeline. He’d been gone longer than usual, and with each passing moment, the shadows grew, stretching across the ground as the forest settled into an uneasy silence, the last traces of daylight fading away. It was in moments like these that the weight of how much you relied on him settled over you—how your survival had come to depend on his presence, his strength. You tried not to let those thoughts creep in, but sometimes, they slipped past your defenses: how would you survive without Joel?

Just as you were on the verge of getting up to search for him, he appeared from the shadows, his figure solidifying against the dim glow of twilight. His gaze held a quiet intensity, a flicker of something unspoken as he drew closer, and you felt the tension in your chest unravel, replaced by a warmth you couldn’t quite name. A breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipped out as you rose to meet him, a silent relief settling over you at the simple fact of his return.

“Where were you?” you asked, the worry threading through your voice despite your attempt to keep it steady. That soft edge, the unmistakable concern in your tone, stirred something deep within him—something he had realized was still there, something that felt both foreign and achingly familiar, tugging at a part of himself he thought had long since withered away.

"Just… looking for firewood," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the rough bundle in his arms as he scratched the back of his neck, almost sheepishly. You nodded, though a faint trace of doubt lingered; something told you he hadn’t just been out collecting wood. But it didn’t matter now—he was here, and the sharp edge of your worry softened, melting into a quiet reassurance only his presence could bring. The weight that had settled in your chest eased, leaving you with a sense of calm that had become rare in times like these.

You stepped closer, reaching out to take some of the firewood from his arms, your fingers brushing his for a brief moment. “Next time, don’t take so long,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with a quiet intensity. “You scared me.”

He mumbled, “’M sorry,” his gaze flickering away, yet you caught a hint of something deeper in his expression—a question he wouldn’t voice, a wondering if this—whatever it was between you—meant as much to you as it was beginning to mean to him.

Unbeknownst to you, he’d slipped the flowers deep into his pocket, his fingers brushing over the delicate petals every so often, as though they were something precious and fragile he wasn’t quite ready to let go of. He kept them hidden, a quiet secret pressed against his palm, a small piece of softness he wasn’t yet ready to share.

~~~

Later, as you lay wrapped in your sleeping bag, the world around you wrapped in darkness and silence, you turned toward Joel. He lay on his back, eyes fixed on the night sky, his familiar steady presence somehow softened, quieter. There was something different about him tonight, a quietness that felt deeper, as if he were lost in thoughts he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—share.

“You okay?” you murmured, your voice barely breaking the stillness around you. He turned his head slightly, his gaze finding yours in the dim light, and for a moment, his usual guarded expression softened. There was a warmth there, something almost vulnerable flickering in his eyes, before he gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” he replied softly, though his voice wavered, something unreadable passing over his face. “It’s February… mid-February,” he added, as if stating a simple fact, his gaze distant.

You nodded, watching him carefully. “You mentioned that this morning,” you said, curiosity tugging at your tone as you tried to read his expression, wondering where he was going with this.

“I, uh… I found somethin you might like’.” His hand shifted, reaching into his pocket, and he pulled out a small, crumpled handful of purple wildflowers. They were a little wilted, their petals slightly crushed from being tucked away, but there was a tender, almost shy quality to the gesture that caught your breath. The sight of those fragile blooms, offered with a rough gentleness, made your heart stumble.

“Joel… what’s all this?” you murmured, sitting up onto your elbows, your eyes wide with surprise and a warmth you didn’t dare put a name to.

He looked away, a faint flush creeping onto his face as he mumbled, “Figured, since it’s around Valentine’s Day and all… I know it ain’t much. Couldn’t exactly get you fancy chocolates or flowers from a stord.” His voice softened, almost unsure, as he extended the fragile blooms toward you. “Sorry you gotta spend the day with me… not sure if you were ever into all this stuff,” he added, his gaze lingering on the ground, as if afraid to meet your eyes.

A quiet warmth bloomed in your chest as you looked down at the flowers resting in his calloused hand. In this harsh, broken world, they were the most beautiful thing you’d seen—not for what they were, but for everything they meant. It almost hurt to hear Joel think you’d rather be with someone else, as if he couldn’t see how much his presence alone meant to you.

He’d thought of you, gone out of his way to bring a touch of softness into a life that seldom allowed for it. “This is perfect.” You hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment before adding, “There’s no one else I’d rather spend it with.” Your words were quiet, but the smile that softened your features spoke volumes as you accepted the flowers from his hands. “Thank you, Joel.”

Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you leaned over and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek. It was a simple gesture, tender and brief, but it left him stunned, his breath catching. The cover of night shielded the warmth rising to his face, but in the quiet that followed, he found himself grateful for the darkness—grateful, too, for you.

He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. “It’s, uh… it’s nothin’,” he mumbled, voice rougher than usual, though it couldn’t quite mask the tremor underneath. “Just… don’t go gettin’ used to this kinda thing, alright?”

But despite the gruffness in his tone, his gaze softened as he looked at you, a warmth there that he couldn’t quite hide. You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you snuggled back into your sleeping bag. “Alright, grumpy pants,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Good night.”

He huffed, a sound of faint indignation, though you didn’t miss the flicker of a smirk just before he turned away, muttering, “Yeah, yeah. G’night.”

As you drifted off, the faint scent of wildflowers lingered in the cool night air, wrapping around you both in a gentle reminder of the moment you’d just shared. Neither of you spoke, but in that quiet exchange, something settled—a fragile, unspoken connection that made the night feel a little softer, a little less lonely.

It was a small thing, delicate and unassuming, but it was there, woven into the silence.

Maybe later, you’d press those wildflowers between the pages of one of the books Joel had scavenged for you, preserving them as a quiet promise that would last long after the petals had faded.

[eowynstwin]

More (perhaps controversial) takes about the 141, this time asking what kind of artists they’d be (because I have a BFA and dammit I insist upon using it):

Soap’s tried a LOT of disciplines but always came back to painting. He’s an abstract expressionist and puts his whole body into his work; throwing paint across a monumental canvas, or moving pigment around with huge wedges he’s got to hold in both hands. His works are overwhelming, explosions of color and movement, so much happening in one place all at the same time that looking at them feels like looking at a bomb going off. (He’ll indulge in some figure drawing but mainly for fun with his hookups.) Think: Jackson Pollock.

Gaz is a portraitist with an uncanny ability to reveal his subjects’ personalities. He works almost exclusively in oils, in a style that blends academic painting with Impressionism, and spends days with his subjects, getting to know them on a level nearly as intimately as a lover, drawing them out of themselves into a state of honesty that’s both fragile and cathartic. Somehow he can translate the truth of a person onto canvas in a way that can be either comforting or brutal. Every piece of his manages to make the viewer wonder how he could know so many people so well. Think: John Singer Sargent.

Price is a stonemason and bronze sculptor. He works at a 1:1 scale and most often depicts figures in some sort of dramatic motion; dancing, flying, reaching into the distance, or with wind-tossed clothes or hair. The best way to describe his work is romantic, in the classical sense; he reveals moments of powerful emotion, uninhibited by propriety, such that his work feels like it could sweep you away. Price is an artist in love with something he hasn’t found yet. Think: Luo Li Rong.

Ghost works almost exclusively with metal. He learned to weld and never wanted to do anything else afterwords. His sculptures are constructed of raw, sometimes dangerous-looking pieces of steel, scraps he scavenges from construction sites himself and puts together with no plan other than to stop when it looks finished. His work is not always intimidating, though; sometimes, his favorite things to put together are weird-looking benches that he will deposit in unfriendly parks with nowhere to sit. He’s gotten fined more often than he remembers for it. Think: Julio Gonzáles.

[heavenlytouches]

Erik Lehnsherr- my hero

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

GN reader

<3 (SFW)

TW-none

Erik saves you with his powers <3

I know his name is Max but I'm used to -Eric- TwT

Erik Lehnsherr

The midnight air was crisp and eerie, the streetlamps barely piercing the darkness that enveloped the small, empty town.

You strolled alongside Erik, the glow of distant stars reflecting in his eyes. Even in the hushed silence of the night, you could feel the warmth radiating from him, a blend of bravery and an aura that drew you in.

Erik was unique—self-conscious yet sarcastically funny, and somehow heroic without even trying. With every step, his casual jokes eased the tension of the deserted streets, making you laugh despite the chilling wind that bit at your cheeks.

An ordinary evening had turned into something enchanting, and part of you never wanted it to end.

Suddenly, a loud clang echoed down the street, shaking the stillness and causing your heart to race.

You both turned toward the source of the sound: a rusted metal sign teetering above a forgotten storefront. You barely had time to process the sinking realization when it came crashing down, aimed straight for you.

In an instinctual blur, Erik leaped forward. Time slowed as you watched him extend his hands out towards the sign, and with a flick of his wrists, the metal twisted mid-air, veering away from you and slamming harmlessly against the pavement a few feet away. Stunned, you stood frozen as he turned, breathless but steady.

“Did you just-”

You stammered, looking at the now-still sign with wide eyes.

“Eh, just a lucky catch.”

He replied with a dismissive wave, although the humor in his voice was tinged with relief. Yet, the way he brushed it off didn’t convince you.

Your heart raced not just from the near-miss but from the realization of how close you had come to disaster, your thoughts swirling as you attempted to comprehend what just happened.

“Lucky? Erik, that sign could have crushed me! You… you just moved it with your...with...”

He looked at you, an awkward smile creeping across his face.

“I don’t have a mind, just a really good reflexes.”

“Reflexes? Come on. That was amazing!”

You felt a tingling warmth spreading through you, not just from gratitude but an undeniable spark of connection.

“You saved me, Erik. You’re a hero.”

You said, a small but terrified grin on your face, your eyes widening.

“Hero?”

He chuckled, yet you saw a hint of pink creeping up in his cheeks.

“I just don’t want you to end up as a pancake. That’s not exactly my idea of a good night out.”

As the adrenaline faded, a comfortable silence replaced the previous rush. Stars twinkled overhead, and you both stood in the middle of the desolate street as if the world had paused.

“I want to know more about you...”

You finally said, words spilling out before you could think them through.

“About your powers… How do you do that?”

His gaze caught yours, and you could see a glimmer of reluctance mingled with curiosity.

“I’ll tell you everything. It might be a long story, though.”

“Perfect. I’ve got all night.”

You grinned, trying to lighten the mood, but deep down, you could feel the impending weight of his truth.

“Okay. How about this…”

Erik’s demeanor shifted, the care in his voice overriding his self-consciousness.

“Let’s make it a date—just the two of us. Tomorrow night, same time? You can ask all the questions you want then.”

You felt your heart flutter at the prospect.

“A date sounds fantastic—if you promise no more heroics.”

“I make no promises.”

He winked, and for a fleeting moment, the normality of it all felt surreal.

As you both continued your walk—slower now with a different kind of energy buzzing in the air—you felt a sense of gratitude wash over you. Not just for his powers saving you but for his courage to open up, to share his unique world with you.

The chilly night air no longer felt as empty as it once had. It was filled with possibilities, with a spark of something that was as intoxicating as it was scary.

You couldn’t help but wonder how many more hidden depths this man had—this hero who was so much more than just a power, and how he might change your world.

As you approached the edge of town, where streetlights flickered a bit brighter, Erik turned to you, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“So, do you always get nearly crushed by signs on your evening outings, or is it just an exclusive thing for us?”

You laughed, your heart racing at the thought of what more was to come.

“I hope it’s just a one-time thing.”

And in that moment, you knew this was only the beginning of something brilliant, a magnetic force pulling you together into an adventure neither could have predicted.

Well, well, Erik welcome in my Marvel universe! This was such a sweet one, idk why I love it so much TwT

I write for multy fandoms, just ask and remember, requests are always welcome!

I love you guys so much

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

[zzznnnq]

Garden Of Lies

pairing: jang wonyoung x fem!reader

genre: angst, strangers to friends(?)

————————————————————————————

The sky was painted in shades of gray as it was heavily raining. The clouds were dancing around each other like lovers avoiding the truth. The droplets kept falling, forming puddles on the pavement. I was sitting in a shelter, in this familiar garden.

Looking over my shoulder, my eyes fell on a girl. She was sitting alone around the corner, wearing sadness in her eyes. Her soul was as dark as the afternoon sky. I couldn’t tell if she was crying because her tears would have blended in with the rain. I’d met her a few times before; heck, I even remembered her name.

“If he missed you, he’d find a way to be by your side. And if he loves you, then why are you always so sad?” I slowly asked her, trying to break the silence that hung between us. My voice was steady and slow, but it still startled her. She looked up at me, her eyes red and puffy. She made oceans with her tears, hoping to sail far away from everyone who hurt her.

“We’ve broken up… I learned that holding on to the wrong person would only prevent me from finding the right person,” she replied, along with a soft sigh. Her voice was kind of shaky, but it was still soothing for me to hear. “I think I laughed then cried. There was both good and bad, but not good enough to make me want to stay with him,” she added with a small laugh. She wore loneliness in her smile, hiding the sadness with her laughter. But isn't she too young for love?

“That’s good. Stop making the wrong person feel special. No matter how hard you try, they’ll never be right for you, Wonyoung,” I exclaimed, looking at her a little longer. She had a smile on her face as the wind slowly blew her hair away. I couldn’t help but return her lovely smile. She looked better this time. She will learn from the moon to shine through the darkness.

“You know, Y/n… I think everything is weird in the world right now. I mean, I know your name but I don’t really know you, yet I feel like I know you deeply. Isn’t it weird?” she asked me with a confused tone. I let out a chuckle, which made her mutter a small "why." Her eyes were searching for mine as I looked anywhere but at her. Her beautiful brown eyes were too mesmerizing for me to stare at. I found myself nervous whenever we stole glances, but I did understand what she meant. “Some souls just recognize each other, even though they’re strangers to one another. I also feel the same about you,” I stated cockily as she let out a laugh. She was such a lovely girl, an angel walking on earth. Why would she let some man destroy her? She deserves so much better.

“I like it when you are here somehow. Things seem better when we’re together. And thank you for not judging me. It’s kind of embarrassing to let you know how stupid I am for a man.”

“I won’t judge you or criticize you for what you’ve done. I only wish you saw what I see when I look at you. I only wish you wished for more than what you’ve settled for,” I softly stated, turning my head away from her. I was standing here the whole time; why can’t she see me through?

The rain looked like it would stop anytime soon, and my time with her would be cut short too. There was never a right time to say goodbye. Not when she looked at me with all that misery in her eyes. But I couldn’t keep up with my own feelings; it’s better if I walked away before it was too late. I stood up and looked at her as a soft sigh left my mouth.

“I hope your flowers will bloom through the rain, Wonyoung,”

[themissingnumbers]

HOW IT FEELS TO DISAPPEAR: DESCENT

PART 10.5 - QUESTIONS.

FIRST || PREV | NEXT READ THE STORY IN ORDER ON AO3 ["But I'M the Champion-!"]

The figure's words baffle you- frankly, it almost hurts. Surely someone- even these ghouls, would recognize you without your hat? Recognize you period, even?! Leaf Aoyama, Kanto's newest, youngest, strongest Champion! You'd been so sure you had made a name for yourself, yet here you are... Face to face with a shadow who's implying the title belongs to someone else.

"But I-" you start to stammer, before strengthening your voice.

"But I'M the Champion-!"

... The look the figure gives you, though any expression is hard to discern, feels... confused. It lets the silence hang for a moment too long, before seeming to lower its head in pity.

"I... am afraid I do not understand, miss," it breathes, the melody under its voice softening with a gentle ritardando.

"But I think... what you know is not true anymore. I think... I believe that you are a long way from home."

You narrow your eyes at the being before you- you struggle to think of this as a ghost, with how different it is from the others- trying to read if it holds any malice behind those words. The tone of its voice, and the depressing tempo of the song that seems to cling to it, all scream in your face that... somehow, someway, this being truly is just sad. Sad for you, or sad for itself- you don't know, and can't bring yourself to assume one way or the other.

You wouldn't blame it for self-pity if there is a human still under there, though. With how its body distorts, rips, and bleeds, you shudder to imagine what pain it must be under.

"... I think I am, too," you finally manage to mutter in reply. "I- I barely know what's going on, I just..."

Your voice fails you and trails off, and you avert your gaze to the floor. You're not even sure of where the thought could have gone. You cling to the strap of your bag, suddenly remembering after all the frantic motivation your brother had given you, that you're just... Lost. Scared. Confused.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as the half-shapeless figure seems to step forward, kneeling in front of you. You look up, meeting what you believe are its empty red eyes, gazing at you with a soft expression.

"You must have so many questions," it whispers.

"... Truth be told, we have all known of your coming. Every person here you have met. You're... special, in that way. I can tell that you are a very, very special girl, and a one-of-a-kind Pokemon Master. And I... I am so sorry, that you've fallen to these depths."

It holds a hand out again, which you stare down at with hesitation. You... you're beginning to feel safe with this figure, though. Despite everything.

"I wanted to offer you a moment of companionship, before you face... H I M. I can't enter the Champion's Chamber, but it will take a long enough time for the dark ahead to subside."

Even through the ink and the mangling of its body... you see the shadow offer a warm smile, the bass around it gently shifting to a major key.

"So, if you'll have me... please, let me walk with you. Perhaps I can answer some questions on the way."

You feel your heart leap- finally, someone has offered answers-!

... And another moment of kindness.

Finally, you make your choice, reaching out and taking the figure's hand. It's warm, soft- surprisingly so, given the state it's in. You watch traces of the shadowy color bleed onto your skin, creeping halfway up your arm like a drop of ink bleeding into water, but not much further. Not wanting to let go, you just quietly hope that it's temporary...

It rises to its full height, turning to look towards the black doorway ahead.

"... Let's be on our way, then."

You ruffle your free hand through Eevee's mane, soothing it before readying yourself for the void up ahead.

"Yeah..." you breathe.

As you both step forward, you turn to smile up at the shadow, its colors blending into the dark as you enter.

"I have so many questions for you."

......

The SHADOWY GHOST is now available for questions.

Any asks submitted for this unusual ghost will, in-universe, be asked by Leaf. This will be a temporary event, as I will only answer asks sent for it before Monday, October 28 (giving about a week for asking!) Don't be afraid to submit multiple questions! But please note that it is entirely possible that I won't be able to answer every question, be it because the answer would spoil things, because Leaf would not reasonably know to ask it, or just because I'm trying to manage my own workload better... ^^" Don't let that dissuade you, though! I wanted to do something a little more interactive at some point in this part of the story, and this is the spot that I've found to put it! Have fun! PS the AO3 cross-upload for this part will come after the questions have ended, and the answers will all go in the same chapter as this :]

[the-three-pure-souls]

Do you have any headcanons for J.D/Vandal? If so, what are they?

Thank you so much for asking about him! :D He's one of my favorites! I have a bunch of little hcs for him so I had to pick which ones I wanted to put here ^^' Sorry it took me so long to actually write them ^^' I love this silly little guy and I, uh, made them much longer than the previous ones for Stumbler and Wulf, and accidently made them depressing and also mini shortish stories for some reason ;w; Maybe I'll turn the second one into an actual fanfic one shot! ^^ Tw for the second and third one, as the second one is related to Connor. The third one, albeit the shortest is about his trauma from his time in the Studiogrounds lab. ;w; I'm still figuring out the colors I'm gonna use for Vandal and Husk, but for now I think I'll use blue for both J.D and Stumbler and I'll use orange for Husk!

Feel free to ask about my other hcs too!!! :D I don't really have very many for characters like Husk atm but I do have quite a few for some of the other characters like Rex! ^^ Now onto the boy:

J.D/Vandal

J.D doesn't actually have a name for himself, simply going by whatever people start calling him next. People start calling him 'the Studiogrounds Vandal' when he starts writing stuff on the walls around Studiogrounds to try to get the truth out there? That's his name then. Sounds pretty ominous so he's sure they won't mind him just simply shortening it to 'Vandal'! He's on the loose and people start calling him 'John Doe'? Well, he might as well have some fun with this one! It probably stems from his strange relationship with his own identity, who he is. For all his life he's been dehumanized, treated like an object, an animal.  It felt so weird to him, the first time someone used both He and It to refer to him. It may have felt weird to it..but it also felt right somehow. This got him to start thinking about things.. For so long he was simply a scientific mishap..a mistake. Some thing Broadside used to experiment on before he and his twin, Husk, split. Something which still haunts him to this day.. Maybe, though..he can almost be..a..person? He might not be a human per say, but he can act like one! Right..?  This was how he discovered he enjoys painting. Art. Both that and recording videos, editing them! Despite this though, he still has a lot of issues involving around who he is. Maybe that can change one day.

He only showed up on the island some while ago, and when I mean show up, he just..appeared. No boat. Nothing for him to have come from the water. He also acted like the island was his home. To say this freaked out the wolves is an understatement. This random..creature just showed up one day who very much acted not similar at all to any being any of the wolves had ever seen before. He walks just like the characters from the various Broadside cartoons that they have in the theater. It was uncanny. Wulf and Stumbler who had learned of Layer 3 before this had their suspicions of what he was. Though, as long as he didn't harm anyone, the wolves were alright with him staying there. That being said, they didn't really warm up to him either. J.D should be used to this! It's been alone it's whole life! ..Well..no..no, that isn't true. There once was a time..he did have someone else..and before that he had Husk, his twin! But still..even despite the pain he already is in..why does it hurt so much that Chief Wulf in particular is avoiding him too..? Why did he remind it so much..of..him..? It hurts to think of back then. It hurts. It hurts. He doesn’t want that, it doesn’t want to hurt. Back then he finally had a friend..why did Husk..? What did Husk say to him that day..? He tries not to think. Think about the body on the ground. Think about him standing on the balcony. Think about how he didn't say goodbye.. The world is a blur now, everything a blend of colors..black tar going down his face. Ha..ha..he really is the worse half, isn’t he..? No matter how much he wants too..and no matter how much he meant to it..He couldn’t save Connor..

Medical and lab supplies along with closed dark spaces that aren't the Stitchcaves bring back memories he’d rather forget. If he’s trapped in a room he can’t get out of, suddenly the room feels too tight he suddenly can't breathe and the next thing knows, he's huddled in a corner whimpering uncontrollably. He isn’t able to stop shaking when that happens. In that place they felt so much desperation and helplessness, terror and pain. He doesn't want to go there again. He would rather die than go back to that hell again.

[loftylockjaw]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Xóchitl's home PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw), Mateo (@fearhims3lf), & Xóchitl (@vanishingreyes) SUMMARY: Wyatt and Mateo decide it's time to tell Xóchitl the truth about what they are. CONTENT WARNINGS: Child death (past mentions), vomiting (no detail)

—

He’d been unreachable for a few days again. His friends might as well start getting used to that, he thought—Wyatt just dropping off the radar for days at a time. It seemed like no matter what he did, it was always the wrong thing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep himself together. He was unraveling, bit by bit, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

There were only a few things that could make him feel better, and even those paled in comparison to the one thing he knew he wanted, but should not want. It didn’t stop him, though. Kieran had been a saving fucking grace through most of this, offering a peace of mind that didn’t require any legwork on Wyatt’s part. No difficult conversations, no ‘coming to terms’ with one’s predicament, no dealing with the aching sadness that was shackled around his ankles. With Kieran, or more specifically, Kieran’s special blend of magical influence, it was easy. As easy as breathing. When he needed to, he could just… forget for a while. Feel good for a while. Enjoy himself and ignore the cloud that followed him around and the shadow that kept trying to strangle him. 

But now he had Xóchitl and Mateo, didn’t he? What had started to develop with them was new and exciting, and even though it wasn’t quite so effortless as the situation he had with Kieran, he found himself wanting to try. Wanting to do better, to be better, maybe just to prove that he could. God, he just wanted someone to be proud of him, and if anyone was going to, he thought it might be them. But there was something standing in the way. Something big—something he and Mateo both needed to discuss with Xóchitl. At first, he’d been thinking about just telling her himself, but now that he knew Mateo’s truth, it didn’t feel right to open that can of worms without the mare at his side. Maybe together, they could make this easier for her. He hoped so.

As it seemed to have become their custom, Wyatt helped Mateo prepare some food for the three of them that evening with a stiffness in his spine that wasn’t normally there, but managed to persist all throughout dinner and the first round of drinks. They’d discussed how best to bring this up, how to explain it and how to make sure it didn’t freak her out, but Wyatt was nervous. He’d been rejected so many times in recent memory, he wasn’t sure if he could handle Xóchitl turning away from him, too. From either of them, or both of them. Fuck. He ran a hand through his hair, throwing a glance toward the couch where Xó was currently sitting alone, waiting for them to rejoin her with fresh beverages. 

The worry was clear in his expression, eyes betraying the lurking fear. “I dunno,” he said in a low whisper, careful to not be heard over the sound of the television. “Maybe tonight ain’t the night for it.”

—

There was a lot that could be said about the last few months of her life, and a lot of that which could be not so great, but some of it was really good. Xóchitl didn’t like to be overly excitable – after all, that usually ended in disappointment. But she had people who wanted her, and though that itself wasn’t necessarily new (she’d used people wanting her too much throughout her life to distract herself from any number of other trains of thought), it still felt different, somehow. Miraculously. She very much enjoyed the attention, and the addition of Wyatt into whatever was going on felt near-seamless. Like it was meant to be. What had started as casual remarks had turned out to be far more real, and she needed this. Needed the stability that both Mateo and Wyatt provided her. The safety and security. 

She wasn’t stupid enough to believe that this was all sunshine and rainbows. That version of her had died on that same April day that she lost her best friend, her other half, the sunlight to her shadow (that much had been thought of in a particularly angsty middle school mood). What was more accurate was probably that Mackenzie herself was a shadow. Xóchitl’s shadow, more specifically. Something she’d never be rid of, something that was a part of her, that she couldn’t carve off even if she wanted to.

Not that she wanted to, but sometimes she’d wondered what it would be like without the ghost (figurative, obviously) of her best friend over her shoulder her entire life. She had a good feeling that was a good portion of the reason why she was so certain she’d be an awful mother. She already had a child she was watching over (two, if you counted her inner child or whatever bullshit one of her therapists had come up with), and she was doing a pretty crummy job of that.

Mateo and Wyatt were both over tonight, and yeah, maybe Xóchitl had bought a new dress that she knew every part of her looked extra good in, and the two of them were off in the kitchen making something that she knew would be every bit of delightful, and she sat on the couch. Dinner had already been wonderful, and she couldn’t help but glance in the direction of the kitchen, wondering if she should go and offer to help, but ultimately deciding to fidget instead with her glass. She pulled out her phone and looked at the photo-of-a-photo of her and Mackenzie. Tongues sticking out, both bright blue, eyes squeezed as shut as they could make them, arms effortlessly wrapped around each other. “I’m gonna make things right for you, you know?” She whispered at the screen, and then, in Spanish, “I promise. On my life and on every single ice cream sundae you never got to have.”

—

Sticking around in one place wasn’t supposed to happen, let alone growing attached to people. Two, specifically. Doing that was dangerous, the amount of reasons a little overwhelming and mounting. The ones from Mateo’s job alone should’ve deterred him from doing such a thing. 

And yet…

He scrubbed at the dishes while Wyatt topped off the drinks, bobbing his head absentmindedly to the song quietly playing from the speakers on the counter, while something played just a little louder on the television. 

The drums, the bass, and the rhythm kept his brain occupied for the merest of moments, sending them back to the days he felt were so simple. Afternoons after a carne asada at his tías house, all his cousins and his brother congregated at the special club house they made. It was just a detached set of stairs from a thrown out mobile home, but it was theirs. They could sit on it and jump on it and play pretend while their parents talked into the night, playing lotería to top it all off. The memories were so vivid that the dishes in Mateo’s hands turned into playing cards, and the music was just Junior shouting for him to freeze during freeze tag, and the knife—it wasn’t supposed to be there. It wasn’t supposed to—His brother—

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself, skin on his thumb sliced. Glitter collected in the wound and the mare grumbled just before hearing Wyatt’s hesitancy. Quickly, Mateo pressed a clean rag against his wound in a fist while his other hand urged Wyatt’s chin to turn to him. His expression was as soft and calm as he could make it, reflecting gently on his voice. “If not tonight, then when? We’ll only keep putting it off.” Mateo leaned in slowly, meeting Wyatt’s lips in a soft kiss. Pulling away, he adjusted his red shades and tilted his head down to reveal his glowing eyes with a smirk. “Can’t keep looking like a douche with sunglasses inside, okay?” Checking his thumb, Mateo was happy to see that the bleeding was done, and he patted his hands against his pants before getting himself ready to head to the living room.

“Now get the orange peel garnish onto those drinks. They’ll take off the edge.”

—

The fingertips on his jaw as his head was turned to face Mateo drew a soft groan from him, one that was born both of anxiety and the ever-present need to be touched. His steely blue gaze dropped to the other’s hand, having registered the quiet exclamation and spotting the rag in the hand. “I know, but…” The thought went unfinished as he was offered a kiss instead, which did manage to help calm his nerves a little. But only a little. The following joke chipped away another nugget of fear, making Wyatt chuckle breathily. Mateo was right, of course. This wasn’t sustainable at all, for a lot of reasons. One of which included the injuries that Xóchitl would undoubtedly start noticing, now that he had fewer excuses to keep himself away from her while he healed after a fight. He was… he was going to tell her all of it. He had to. He couldn’t handle the pressure of keeping secrets from her anymore, and he didn’t want to have to. He just hoped that she’d be able to find it in herself to understand.

“Okay, okay,” he agreed, picking up an orange from the fruit bowl sitting on the counter, rummaging around in the drawers for a moment before finding the peeler and getting to work making the garnishes. Twisting them into spirals, making sure the vapors landed in the drinks, Wyatt plopped them where they belonged and picked up two glasses, leaving the third for Mateo to grab. “Your finger okay?” he asked as they began to walk into the living room again, hesitating on the threshold for only a moment before entering the space and handing Xóchitl her new drink once he was close enough. He sat on one side of her, Mateo taking up his post on the opposite side, and he could feel his heart racing. How did you even… start this conversation? He glanced apprehensively at Mateo again, clearing his throat and taking a sip of the cocktail before setting it aside and reaching for the remote to mute what they’d been watching. The music still played softly from the kitchen, and he was glad that it wasn’t dead silent. 

“Hey, so… there’s somethin’... we wanna, uh, talk to you about.” He stumbled through the sentence, smiling awkwardly for the briefest of moments to at least indicate to her that it wasn’t bad… at least not in any way that Xóchitl might have been anticipating. Wyatt paused, leaning forward to prop an elbow on his knee, pushing his fingers over his mouth in a thoughtful gesture. He sucked in a sharp breath, but nothing was coming to him. I’m not human. It was that simple, but it wasn’t fucking simple at all, actually. His gaze jumped from the random spot on the floor he’d been staring at to instead find Mateo’s gaze, begging silently for help.

—

She had to admit, all the attention was even better than she’d imagined. Xóchitl was also fairly pleased with herself and with the fact that she didn’t feel jealous about whatever Mateo and Wyatt got up to on their own. She’d wondered if she might, but that was the beauty of this, wasn’t it? They could pair off and do whatever they wanted to with each other, or they could do things all three of them. It left many options open, and she appreciated each one.

Xóchitl could practically feel herself brighten as the two of them entered the room. Taking the drink from him and an immediate sip, she looked between the two men, posture going tight when Wyatt muted the television and didn’t just turn it off. It probably meant nothing, but ever since coming back from Ireland, she had been more easily spooked, and unfortunately and apparently that even included by some of the people she trusted most. She loathed psychoanalyzing herself (she’d hated it enough when people had been paid to do it), and much preferred to just let herself be. Or not be, a lot of the time. Drinking helped with that. She didn’t know if this drink was strong enough, but she wasn’t going to complain. 

She often only complained if it brought her some sort of pleasure, and putting down Wyatt or Mateo wouldn’t do that. Besides, the drink was probably plenty strong. She just had a weirdly high tolerance for these things. If weirdly high was what they were calling it these days. Which, of course, they weren’t, but she wasn’t exactly about to go around naming exactly what it was. It was obvious enough, Xóchitl figured, and she was at least usually careful enough for it not to be any real worry.

Something they wanted to talk to her about. Xóchitl took a deep breath and another giant gulp of her drink, before she set it on the table. “If you two want to just be a duo, that’s… fine.” Xóchitl looked between the two of them, though her poker face wasn’t as well-kept as usual. She knew it said but what about me? And Xóchitl didn’t mean for it to, because she was usually a jealous person, but she liked to think that she was at least seventy percent of the reason why any of this had happened in the first place, and she wasn’t exactly keen to lose either of them. She looked between the two of them. Looked down at her hands. Rubbed her fingers against her eyes in some half-formed attempt to see better, or distract herself, or something. “What’s the matter?”

—

Ah, shit. 

The mare scrubbed at his stubble while the conversation quickly went the absolute wrong direction. “Okay.” Mateo said pointedly, clapping his hands together and seating himself next to Wyatt with a pat to his knee. He reached for one of the drinks and took a giant gulp before lightly slamming it back to the table. “That’s not where this is going, ma. Not at all. So, let’s jot that down real quick before spiraling.” He reassured as best he could with his usual humor and lax flair, but he wasn’t sure if that was the right call. Xóchitl usually appreciated it. 

Usually. 

“There’s a few things we’re trying to air out—like…like things that are important for you to know. Nothing about breaking up. No, uh, nothing like that. It’s just…” Mateo sighed deeply, frustrated with himself at being unable to just say the truth. He felt ridiculous, really. Confidence was something he never had to struggle with, but the truth? Well, Mateo ran from it, constantly. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was even honest with himself. He knew the answer, somewhere deep down, but that didn’t really matter right then. He needed to focus, and after a squeeze to Wyatt’s thigh, Mateo decided to rip off the bandaid. Or rather, his shades, revealing his glowing red eyes. 

“It’s this.” He gestured to his eyes, swiping his drink and downing the rest of it. “We’re different.”

—

Wyatt looked taken aback at her reaction, not having expected that. At worst, he’d thought maybe she figured he was going to tell her that this situationship wasn’t something he could do, or… any number of other things, but them walking away from her together? He didn’t know what to say, gaze darting over to Mateo when he (thank fuck) grabbed onto the reins to try and stop this runaway horse. (He was a mare. There was a joke in there somewhere, but the punchline got lost in Wyatt’s anxiety.) 

Okay, so maybe Mateo wasn’t having the easiest time with this, either. How did you just tell someone ‘hey, by the way, I’m not human!’ when they were, and they so clearly didn’t believe in that kind of thing? She was going to think they were crazy, or… or something, he didn’t know what, he just knew it wouldn’t be good. He knew it was going to upset this amazing thing they had, he just hoped it wouldn’t be forever. 

“Yeah, it’s not—definitely not that,” Wyatt agreed quickly, hoping that if he picked up where Mateo had left off, the words would come.

They did not. 

Mateo squeezed his leg and he gave him a worried glance, brows raising when he saw him just… take off his glasses. The lamia stared for a few seconds in a stunned silence, then figured… yeah. Showing was way easier than telling. “... yeah. Different,” he parroted the other, dragging his gaze back to face Xóchitl, blinking away his blue eyes to instead reveal his natural yellow ones, complete with vertical slits for pupils. “We just… thought that you should know. And we want to…” his gaze darted briefly over to Mateo, then back again, “...explain it. We’re still… us.” Fuck’s sake, he sounded like a dork. He needed to shut up and let her just have a moment to react.

—

She didn’t know what, exactly, she was expecting them to say.

“Okay.” It wasn’t about breaking up. Which she’d sort of figured out already. She didn’t like to think of herself as self centered, but Xóchitl also knew that except for once, she’d never been let go out of any sort of situation she’d found herself in. She’d made sure of that. Xóchtil wasn’t going to be the one left again. Not ever. It had happened once, and she was going to do everything in her power to be a leaver, rather than someone left. Ideally neither, but she was stupid or naive enough to think that nobody ever left anybody else.

She wasn’t a child. She didn’t know when she’d last really been one.

It wasn’t the time to think about that right now, not when it made her feel sick and she very much wanted to be as level-headed as possible.

Which was becoming hard when both of their eyes changed and Xóchitl couldn’t help but let out at least the start of a scream before biting down so hard on her tongue she was nearly positive it would bleed. “I – what?” She shot up from the couch, side-stepping both of them until she was around the coffee table. “I – what?” She repeated, then in Spanish, “what is happening? What the hell is going on? This doesn’t make any sense.” Back to English, “what – I’ve never seen eyes that do that. Has it been checked by a doctor? Are you – what?”

—

Okay, so she didn’t scream, not exactly. Which had to be good. She didn’t run when she stood, but the fact that she placed distance between them and herself, albeit small, still managed to sting. After months of being what he thought was at least a decent boyfriend, Mateo was still likely now a monster in her eyes. It shouldn’t have hurt because he had lied to her the entire time, but it did. 

Regardless of that though, Mateo stood up and made a ‘calm down’ motion with his hands. “It’s okay. It’s okay, cariña. Doctors can’t check them.” When Xóchitl switched her tongue, so did Mateo. “No one we don’t know or trust can check them or know that we’re different.” He kept his voice as calm as possible, extending a hand to Xóchitl, palm faced up. 

“That’s why you get to know though. We trust you and want to still be…” Gesturing to himself and the other two with his free hand, Mateo worried his lip, only continuing after a breath. “Us. If you wanna hear us explain, it would mean a lot. And-and we’ll answer any questions you have.” He swallowed thickly, exhaling shakily as his eyes met Xóchitl’s and spoke in their native tongue. A small gesture only she was allowed to hear, like a language between lovers. Because it was. “I love you. I know it’s scary, but I needed to show you the truth. Couldn’t hide it from someone I love anymore.”

—

Wyatt wasn’t sure why he’d hoped that she’d be surprised but okay. His anxiety over having this conversation came from a place of truer understanding that it wouldn’t be okay, but still he had foolishly hoped… but she was drawing away from them, fear in her eyes and a tremble in her voice. It was expected. It was, but… 

The lamia stayed put on the couch even after Mateo stood, running a hand through his hair. He kept his gaze focused down on the floor, trying to follow the parts of conversation that switched to Spanish, but his comprehension was pretty lacking. That damn Duo owl hadn’t exactly gone over the ins and outs of having a conversation about coming out as supernatural. He felt suddenly out of place in the room and had to fight the urge to get up and leave, bouncing his leg nervously where he sat and wringing his hands. Would she kick them out? Would she never speak to them again? It was her choice, of course, and it wasn’t one Wyatt could really fault her for, even if it would hurt like hell. 

Honestly? He worried more for Mateo than he did himself. Wyatt had grown used to the rejection over the last decade and a half, he had already resigned himself to being the worst option for anyone who showed an interest in him. And while that’d always been in the back of his mind even with these two, it had been a particularly blissful blanket of ignorance that he’d wrapped himself in every time they were all together. He knew that their future almost certainly had no room for him, but now he worried that it didn’t have room for Mateo, either. This had been a joint decision between the two men, but he still felt responsible, somehow. Like his mere presence had necessitated this conversation that was forming a rift. He didn’t want to do that to them. 

But… he also wasn’t going to abandon Mateo in this, so he stayed put, trying not to draw attention to himself. 

—

Her whole body was still tense. She didn’t like it. It was an uncomfortable feeling and not one that she was used to having around the two men who were sitting across the room from her. With either or both of them she usually felt safe, incredibly so. It was something she took for granted – that much she was well aware of – but she hadn’t figured the alternative was something like this. Xóchitl tugged on the ends of her hair in some falsified way of trying to ground herself. It was, at least, a better alternative than collapsing onto the couch.

Mateo was speaking to her in Spanish and that, at least, helped her focus, just a bit. She reached out, put her hand in his, her chest rising and falling with desperate, quick breaths. Mateo and Wyatt could usually calm her down easily. Wyatt had dealt with panic attacks that she’d had ten-odd years ago, in clubs or even when they went out for burgers and she saw a family with a little blonde girl. “But it’s — we’re – us?” She bit the edge of her tongue as hard as she could, forced herself to think at least a bit before she spoke.

She looked up, looked at the two people who she was completely in love with and she felt herself burst into tears, tearing her hand away from Mateo’s. “I – but what are you? What is…?” Xóchitl thought to her conversation with Emilio, to how much she still didn’t understand and still didn’t really believe. Except now was it anything other than willful ignorance? Emilio didn’t lie, Emilio knew about this stuff, and yet… her thoughts kept bouncing around, entirely out of control. “Not – I – you’re…” she shook her head. “Not – you’re not whats. Did you – do – Mackenzie – she –” This time, Xóchitl did collapse onto the floor. “She – I – she – ” she dug her nails into her thighs. “I – she was – something killed her. Not r-rocks. Not– something – something evil.”

—

It felt wrong. Everything about what was happening felt like the axis of Mateo's world had been skewed entirely too far. For the first time in a long time, the mare felt like he needed to breathe, dust rolling off his lungs as something disturbed the space and constricted uncomfortably tight in his chest. Mateo choked on air at how strange it was to not have the relief release him from his panic, and the world twisted as hard as his lungs did. 

“I…” Mateo fell back into the couch behind him, accidentally pulling Xóchitl along with him as he braced himself on Wyatt's thigh. He looked back at the man, and then back at Xóchitl, until he decided he preferred to look at the floor instead when he heard the name of a girl that never got to grow up. Killed by something evil, and Mateo didn't know how to feel about that fact now that he was airing out his truth. 

He killed all the time, and that was bad, but there was a difference to what he did. Right? There was a code to follow, morals to adhere to. Mateo would never hurt a child. Hell, he killed people that did. So there was a difference. That's what he told himself when he looked back at Xóchitl and squeezed Wyatt's thigh for reassurance. 

“I'm something called a mare-not like a horse. Like…nightmare.” His posture stiffened, “I make people have nightmares and take that energy. It's-it's why you're able to sleep through the night. I can make people sleep.” A trembled sigh stuttered past his lips, and Mateo squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars and focused. “Can be evil, but I'd never hurt a kid. I…I actually go after people who do, but, uh, yeah. I'll let Wyatt say his piece.”

—

Wyatt wasn't sure what to say. He couldn’t sit here and pretend like he adhered to a strict moral code. If Xóchitl was worried about them being evil like whatever had killed her friend… he wasn't the perfect antithesis to that. Mateo might be, under a certain lens, but Wyatt? 

He sucked in a long breath, frustrated to find that yet again, he could not be his true, authentic self. But that was okay. He was used to being a pretender. At least he'd spilled every last bean to Caleb. At least he had that. Whatever they were… they were honest. And he wanted to be honest with Xóchitl too, but… how could he? How could he, when she was so fucking scared? She had every right to be. Every reason. Things like Wyatt didn't deserve innocent girls like her. It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't right. He should walk away. 

But instead, true to his own selfish nature, he stayed. He put a hand over the top of the one on his thigh, fingers curling beneath Mateo’s palm to give it a quick return squeeze. 

“There's a lot of evil things out there, cher. The best way you can make sure you're safe from ‘em is to.. to know ‘em. Learn about ‘em. Accept what you never thought was possible as bein’ true.” He paused before continuing, his attention drifting somewhere into the middle distance. “I was born different. Hell, I weren't even born like either of you.” Saying out loud that he'd hatched from an egg felt like too much right now, so he just left it at that. “I'm a… shapeshifter.” The obvious example to make to help her understand was, of course, a werewolf, but he was nothing like a werewolf. “A lamia. I don't really got any cool abilities like Doctor Sleep over here, but… I'm scrappy. Hard to kill. And it's a bit on the nose what with the bayou redneck of it all, but… I look somethin’ like a big alligator.” He dropped his chin, thinking about how he'd been lying to her all these years. “That’s… who I really am. This is…” he looked down at his human form and shrugged, “Well, this helps me fit in. I'm sorry I never said nothin’ before. Didn't know how. Still don't.”

—

In all her panic, Xóchitl realized that she hadn’t entirely taken into account their reactions. Which was unlike her – she wanted people to be happy, especially those she loved, and she did love them both. Deeply. In ways that, on a clichéd level, she didn’t think possible. But she was always meant to lose those close to her, wasn’t she? It wasn’t death, but there was no way that she could handle this, could she? Even she wasn’t sure that she could, because this was all too much.

Xóchitl wasn’t even sure that she could process what the both of them were saying. Mare-not-horse and giant alligator. Which weren’t real, but Emilio had told her things about shape-shifters and stuff like that and Emilio wouldn’t lie and she didn’t really see a reason why either Mateo or Wyatt would, either.

She was going to be sick. That much she knew. So she shook her head, darted toward the bathroom and let herself be sick into the toilet, three times over. Then she washed her mouth out with mouthwash and made her way back into the living room. “I– sorry.” She didn’t know exactly why she was apologizing, but it was all she could manage to get out.

“You – you’ve always been that, then?” She looked directly at Wyatt. “Back in Boston, too? What’s – who – Doctor Sleep?” Her brow furrowed in deep confusion. “You made me sleep? But you’re – how is that possible? How are you,” she turned back to Wyatt, “an alligator? You look like – well, you know – you look like you. This you. Is it some sort of mirage?”

—

Wyatt was talking, but the mare didn't really hear anything while anxiety crept over him. Having to explain the nitty gritty details felt uncomfortable, which was strange to Mateo because he rarely felt that way. He liked who he was, he enjoyed his abilities and the possibilities that came with them. Not aging was pretty baller, but explaining it all came with a dread Mateo had been avoiding since he died. Regardless of how much he wanted to be a mare, he had to accept the horrors that came with that decision. What it meant to die terrified. 

His own brother killed him. 

His brother killed him, saw the deepest and darkest fears that he tucked away for no one to find, and killed him. And Mateo let him do it–begged him to because he wanted the life he was currently living. He could do without some parts, but those feelings were tucked away now too. Only this time, no one would be able to find them. Mateo hoped he wouldn't either. He didn't like looking within often, and it felt like hours before Xóchitl came back after getting sick. Sitting there with a grip he didn't realize was tightening while too in thought. Mateo let out a shaky breath and cleared his throat, removing his hand reluctantly to give Wyatt's thigh a break. 

Mateo blinked and stared through Xóchitl, pausing way too long after not realizing there was a question pointed to him. His mouth opened and closed several times before something finally cracked its way through. He swallowed, “Uh, yeah. I don't sleep so I just keep an eye on you and when you, uh…” Mateo nodded his head side to side, trying to broach the next part of what he was. “When you get restless and start to wake up, I just touch your arm and you usually calm down. I mean, I don't just watch you all night either. I get up and dick around for a while and slide back in before your alarm goes off.” His voice lowered, saying the final part with fear weighing his voice. “‘Cause undead don't sleep.”

—

“Yeah.” It was said quickly, Wyatt’s voice laden heavy with guilt. “Back in Boston, too.” He was quiet while Mateo explained his own part of this a little further, leaning back on the couch and running both hands up through his hair. This sucked. This sucked a lot. 

“I mean… this is me, I guess. It ain't a trick, just… not how I was born. Not how I grew up. I learned how to change my appearance, how to look human. But I ain't ever really been human.” Dropping his hands back to his sides, he finally forced himself to meet Xóchitl’s gaze. “I know… I know this changes a lot for you. I get that. It’s weird n’ scary, n’ I get that. We both do. But…” He glanced at Mateo, his expression pained. “But it don’t change anythin’ for us, you know? We still feel the same. And we… we wanted to tell you ‘cuz we felt you deserved to know.” Clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward to rest his forearms onto his knees, the shifter dropped his gaze to the floor again. “But if it’s too much, we understand. We were ready for that. Just didn’t feel right keepin’ it all a secret no more. If it’s too much, we can leave you be.”

—

“Undead. Right. Shapeshifter…” The more she repeated the words didn’t help to make them make any more sense. “Right.” If anything, it was like when she said or wrote a word so many times that it seemed to become totally fake. Except both of those were things that Emilio had brought up, and didn’t he kill the undead? Did that mean that Mateo was in danger? Was she supposed to panic about the two men in front of her being in danger, when they were bad – because all of that sort of thing was. Except they were people and the things – the leprechauns – that had killed Mackenzie weren’t. That didn’t mean that Xóchitl was any less uneasy.

“Okay.” Xóchitl moved to go sit on the edge of the couch. Not ready to go and sit in her usual spot, in between the two of them, somewhere where she had found such an intense sense of comfort she would’ve called magic (even though it wasn’t real) but now she felt shaky, and she felt like she was going to break, nearly. She’d made it her goal to not become close to people – because she could lose them – they could die, so easily, but somehow this almost felt worse than if they’d died – which wasn’t fair to say, considering her grief hadn’t truly gotten better in twenty-two years – and she wasn’t sure how she’d deal with directly watching other people she loved die.

Her head was spinning again.

“Why now?” She picked at her nails, not caring what sort of damage came to her cuticles. Or anything. Hardly even paying attention that she was causing any sort of damage. “This is – it’s so much.” Was it too much? Probably. 

—

The mare nodded absentmindedly while Wyatt spoke, and he took the opportunity to sit back on the couch. Every now and then, Mateo's gaze would drift to Xóchitl, and they would hover over every one of her features. He was memorizing the curve of her jaw, the rise and fall of her breath, how her nose led to her brow, and the way he missed her eyes the moment she blinked. 

It felt ridiculous to feel that way, but love wasn't exactly logical, was it? That's why he was taking the risk of telling Xóchitl everything. Logic had flown out the window, and Mateo put love first. That meant being honest, even if it was at a cost. “Because if we're going to be serious, and really do this, it wouldn't have been right to not say something.” He sighed blearily, scrubbing his face. “It was the right thing to do, and like Wyatt said, we knew the risk. We just felt like you were worth that, regardless of it.”

—

Where his counterpart was taking her in, memorizing her features in case he wouldn’t be allowed to see them anymore, Wyatt was pushing himself away from the crack in their foundation, being careful not to let himself be swallowed by it. It was a familiar struggle, one he’d been through several times already, even here, in this fucking town. He remembered that night at Caleb’s, and how he’d pushed back the moment he was met with resistance. With lack of understanding. It hadn’t been Caleb, but he didn’t know that at the time, and it was just a familiar role for him to fall into. He’d stepped back, he’d let the walls rise up again and cut them off from each other. He’d grown cold and angry. 

He didn’t want that now, but it was hard to stop himself from returning to old habits. He wasn’t mad, but frustrated and anxious, and he couldn’t sit still any longer. The shifter rose swiftly to his feet, moving away from the couch to instead pace at the other side of the room. His eyes scanned their surroundings, finding the front door and lingering there. Something screamed at him to bolt, but he bit down on his tongue and focused on putting one foot in front of the other, back and forth, back and forth.

This conversation was so much easier when the person he was coming clean to was also non-human. Like with Mateo — it’d been, what, five minutes of discussion? Some surprise, and that was it? This was miserable. He hated making Xó feel so conflicted. Wouldn’t it be kinder to just leave?

“You don’t gotta figure this out now,” he blurted, coming to a halt to face them again and crossing his arms over his chest. “You can — if you need time to figure out how you feel, that’s okay.”

—

She’d been so angry for so long.

She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t reacting with the anger she would’ve expected, the anger that was so tightly wound up inside of her that sometimes she wasn’t distinguishable from her sorrow.

Wyatt got up and her mouth opened to tell him to sit back down, but no words came out.

It wouldn’t have been right to not say something, Mateo said, and Xóchitl’s head spun. Maybe so, but it was also terrible to have said something. They’d decided not to lie to her any more, but she wasn’t sure if this was any better.

Her breath was unsteady and all she really wanted was for someone to hug her and squeeze her so tight that she didn’t have to think about anything else. Except she wasn’t sure she wanted either Wyatt or Mateo to touch her right now. She needed some sort of human contact – which, she supposed, they weren’t. She wanted them to be. She wanted everyone to be, and for that to make Mackenzie alive again.

“I – ” Xóchitl began. Slid off of the couch and onto the floor. “It’s so much.”

—

Wyatt rose unexpectedly, and Mateo flinched, for whatever reason. He could see the lamia eyeing the door, and for the first time in a long time, Mateo wanted to cry. There was a very real chance he'd end up alone again. It was probably for the best, if he were honest with himself. He always dragged down the people he loved, and who knows what would happen next if Mateo were to tell either of them about his even bigger secret? 

He decided to not dwell on it too much, keeping his mouth shut to not beg Wyatt to stay. To take him into consideration, despite rarely giving others a chance. Mateo knew he deserved to be alone, but god, he was also selfish. He always had been, his father made that clear. “Yeah,” He said deflatedly, moving his gaze back to the floor, “It's a lot. We don't have to stay here if you don't wanna. I wouldn't hate you for that.”

—

This wasn’t getting anywhere. They seemed to have all hit a wall, and it was making Wyatt’s anxiety spike higher and higher. 

There was a reason he was never able to maintain a romantic relationship. This was it. At the first sign of conflict, his gut reaction was to flee. Fight or flight, that was all he knew. There was little room for compromise, for bargaining, for patience and understanding. He needed people to understand him first, because he was incapable of rising above his base instincts and making time and room for someone else to decide whether or not they still liked him. Any time they showed doubt, he left. He wasn’t going to beg for love, for affection. As desperately as he wanted it, he wasn’t going to beg. 

And that’s where he always went wrong. Still, Wyatt managed to keep his feet rooted in place, but his heart was pounding in his chest and he felt lightheaded. He looked to Mateo, unable to observe Xó as her world fell apart around her any longer, unable to put his own selfish needs aside for one more second. So he focused on Mateo, and what he saw on the mare’s face didn’t make him feel any fucking better. He looked close to tears. 

He couldn’t take this anymore.

“What do you want?” he asked Xóchitl pointedly. There wasn’t malice in his voice, not exactly, but it was clear that he was stressed to hell and just wanted to get out of there if nothing of value was going to be said. “What do you want us to do?”

—

“Then leave.” She said, a whisper at first. 

“Leave!” The shouting came abruptly and too quickly in succession. “Get out.” Back to a nearly monotone voice.

Xóchitl had never had many friends, but that had always been by choice. She’d even been somewhat popular back in high school – and middle school too. She supposed being able to shop at Limited Too as much as she wanted and get one of those Coach wristlets everybody had wanted. Basic-as-fuck white girl shit, and it had somewhat been because Mackenzie had never had the chance to do that, but all the same. She’d been popular, but she’d never tried to hold on to friends.

But now she’d had people and she was going to be all alone again.

She’d had love, twice over, even, and now she was going to be alone.

“I –” Xóchitl did her best to steady her voice. “Don’t want to see either of you. I need you to get out. I – you can’t be this. I don’t…” there went her goal to keep her voice steady. “I don’t know how to puzzle this all together. I don’t know if I can, right now. So just go. Leave your keys.”

—

Mateo's world shattered with two simple words, and in his nature, he had to act out. Quietly or loudly, it didn't matter. He stood up quickly, forcing himself to not shed a tear as he finagled with his key ring to place the key to her place on the table. It slammed softly, and scraped against the wood as it slid across. Without another word, he left in a blink, disappearing without a trace. Back to where he belonged. Alone. 

—

Wyatt sighed. He wasn’t surprised, this was the end result he’d expected, but it hurt more watching Mateo flee like that. And flee he sure had. The anxiety that’d had him ready to bolt for the door leveled out pretty quickly once he had his answer, once there wasn’t any more fear of the unknown. She was done with them. He didn’t know if that meant Mateo was done with him too, but he’d figure that out later. 

With an unbothered nod, he tried not to let his anger seep through. She didn’t deserve anger, he just had too much of it inside of him, always springing at any opportunity to be let loose. His hands worked to free the key from its carabiner clip, fished from his pocket. He tossed it onto the table beside Mateo’s, then turned and left without another word, gathering his jacket near the front door and shrugging it on before stepping out into the cool night. 

Without much thought, as he started to walk out toward the road, he pulled out his phone and went to find Caleb’s name in his list of contacts. 

“... hey, you busy tonight?”

—

They both left, and it had been just what she’d asked them to do, and so then why did it feel so wrong and hollow once they were gone? It was another loss, and she’d directly brought this one on herself, but that didn’t mean that Xóchitl had to like it at all.

Their keys reflected her living room lights and she pushed them off, suddenly – off of the coffee table and onto the floor. She made her way over to the kitchen, to a fresh bottle of something – when she finally cared to look, the bottle said whiskey. She drank it all, holding onto it once again like a life preserver. Didn’t bother making it to her bed, spent a good amount of the night scrolling on her phone, wondering if maybe they would text her back. But they wouldn’t, she’d told them to leave her alone, and they were doing that.

It was better this way, wasn’t it? It had to be.

She sent an email to her work, saying she’d be out the next week, personal reasons. She had enough days banked.

[mareenavee]

The World on Our Shoulders | 29: Something Broken About This

10th of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202

Teldryn leaned his back against the wall in the kitchens as he watched Talvas and Varona argue over Neloth’s tea. Both of them looked about as exhausted as he felt. The days had begun to blend together, leaving the semblance of any kind of order in shambles. Not that anything around here made sense at a glance, but it had become comfortable, as it always did whenever he spent too long in these Godsforsaken towers. He could almost tell the time of day just by listening for Neloth’s shouting.

It was rare to see the old bastard set aside everything for one person — especially for someone who could, for all he cared, have been anyone, a nobody. Nyenna was powerful, though. Any mage could tell. Neloth had said something similar. The old wizard would respect that, even if he never directly acknowledged her skill or talent. And Teldryn knew her strength now, more than most, and likely would never be allowed to forget. He cleared his throat, disquiet settling over him before he had a chance to shove the thought away.

The Healing spell had been far too taxing. Each attempt they’d made to pull Nyenna out of her state drained everyone involved down to the dregs. Neloth had been at this game a long time — that he had struggled still sat sideways. What was it about the situation that pulled him out of his routine? Was it the challenge of fixing a problem he’d never encountered before? Teldryn wasn’t sure, and didn’t have the words to ask. Especially after the events of the past half hour. Everything ached worse than it had in the last two weeks.

He rubbed a sore spot just left of his sternum. A Stalhrim scar crossed there, raised and angry. He’d taken that, and would again, for her. To save her. But she wouldn’t have needed —

Focus, you s’wit, he thought. You can’t afford to dwell.

He shook his head with a sigh. She was already at the front his mind, and that wasn’t changing, no matter how he berated himself for it. She might have blamed herself for everything that happened, but the truth was he should have known better than to reach. He wasn’t thinking of anything at all during the fight. His mind had been a blank slate; the only goal was to get out of the situation in one piece. Her voice had pierced through the silence, somehow, as pervasive as all that had been. It was all he could hear. All he wanted to hear, if he was being honest. And it still was, regardless of his better judgment and wiser advice.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the mushroom wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Not that magic was useless, exactly, but he’d never been so aware of it before. After he put in the work to get a spell down, it became second nature. He knew a few good ones, and that had always been enough for him. And now — this. This fucking echo. He could feel where she was, like he was bits of rusted iron and she was a lodestone. She clearly did not expect or want this, but — where would he go, really, where he would not be drawn back to her side?

He let out a long sigh and unfolded from the wall. The arguments had ceased and Talvas had ended up pouring the tea. Varona had left, likely to steal more sleep before Neloth realized they’d not taken to his new schedule easily. Disarray brought out the worst in him once his focus became less all-consuming. Teldryn sighed and waved Talvas away. He needed the distraction of something menial to do, and he’d centuries more experience putting up with Neloth’s attitude, anyway.

“I’ve got this,” he said. “You’d be wise to take a few minutes to yourself while you still can. Nyenna and I are heading out as soon as we’re able.” -> Read the rest on AO3.

[acacia-may]

Hi Acacia! 14 and 24 for the writing game pls

Hello hello, friend! I'm always so excited to see you in my inbox, and I hope you are doing wonderfully! 😊

Thank you so much for your ask and for playing the writing excerpt ask game. I'd be happy to answer these for you and will be sure to choose excerpts from my OMORI stories since it's our shared fandom (and I'm really going to try very hard to get creative and not choose any Kelbrey excerpts for you too though there are several that fit both of these categories)! ^^

Everything is under the cut because of MAJOR OMORI spoilers! One snippet has its own set of additional warnings so please be mindful of that as well.

14. An excerpt of my writing that was out of my comfort zone

Do you mean any time I try to write romance ever? Because goodness that makes me so nervous and stressed out! I've been trying to practice a little by writing about ships I feel very passionately about and/or really, really like, but even then, it's a major struggle for me and I feel like it ends up leaning very ambiguous (i.e. it could be romantic or it could be platonic. The readers can choose their own adventure!) or blending into a background of several other plotlines going on. Sitting down to write a purely romance story is just not my thing, and I honestly don't think it's my strong suit. Therefore, for the sake of honesty, I feel compelled to give a major shoutout to "There Is Happiness" (which is about functional post-bad ending Kelbrey, sorry) because it was an entire story outside of my comfort zone but especially the dancing sequence. I still can't believe I wrote that (which I guess fits your other question too lol), but I won't subject you to an excerpt of that, friend! Instead here's some swoony HeroMari from my college, everyone lives AU one shot "Some Things Are Meant To Be":

Mari sighed. The truth was she was glad she had to stop at this point on the tour because she likely would have stopped anyway—too stunned by the swooning, swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach whenever a particular culinary arts student smiled. She had never spoken to him before—had never had the opportunity to properly introduce herself, but she supposed that might be for the best. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d even be able to muddle her way through a coherent introduction if they did have the chance to meet. After all, on the few occasions he had met her eyes through the glass, staring at her with such gentleness that she could have sworn her heart had skipped a beat, her mind had completely emptied and she couldn’t even think of the tour script her roommate often, somewhat playfully, accused her of reciting in her sleep. Knowing herself, she’d probably forget her own name if he so much as said “hello” to her, so they’d both likely graduate before they got to share anything more than a few somewhat shy waves at each other whenever she passed by his class on her tours. Halfway through her little speech about the state of the art kitchen equipment they had available to students, Mari reached the line she both adored and dreaded which prompted the tour group to look through the window to see the future chefs of the world cooking and baking. When Mari turned to glance into the classroom herself, she somehow always managed to find him immediately in the crowd. Today was no different. Just as he was taking what appeared to be a souffle out of the oven, he happened to turn at the exact moment she did. Their eyes met. Time stopped. Mari’s heart raced. He smiled, and her heart ached. All of her thoughts disappeared, except one: Oh… He was beautiful.   That was not in her tour script.

And also, just for you, I'll include this excerpt of Hero admitting he's ready to find love again a decade after the good-ending from the final chapter of "But I Always Thought That I'd See You Again" (which is Aubrey and Hero's platonic friendship centric even though it also includes some background Kelbrey). I'm including it because it was another story out of my comfort zone, especially this particular scene (and I did a ton of research for it) and because I purposely wrote the story in such a way that the identity of Hero's love interest could be anybody you wanted who fit the ambiguous descriptors (I'm really sharing because I hope it'll resolve that "I need Hero and Zoey to realize their feelings" sentiment you mentioned in your comment on "Under the Weather" or maybe just add more Hero/Brandi to the world. It's written in such a way he could be talking about either of them or neither...choose your own adventure!)

“I think you’re a much stronger person than me, Hero. If someone deserves to be broken up about it, it’s you, and you should take as much time as you need. No one would blame you if you just…never moved on.”  Hero took a long, shaky breath then pressed his lips together. “That’s…that’s the thing, Aubrey. I…” His voice was so quiet she could barely hear him. He stared intently at his hands—twisting them together, refusing to look at her. It was almost like he couldn’t. “I had actually been thinking…”—he swallowed hard—“That is I…I actually wondered if maybe…I might be…ready…to...um...”  Aubrey tried her best to stifle a gasp. Of all the things she could’ve expected…she would have never even entertained this as a possibility. Hero had never expressed any interest in pursuing a relationship with anyone after Mari. They all respected it and never pried, just quietly resigned themselves to the fact that Hero might never love again, so to hear that he was actually, seriously considering moving on... She just couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at her mouth as her eyes started to grow misty. “Really?” Hero blushed, and Aubrey’s breath caught in her throat. The expression on his face was so flustered but so warm, so affectionate—she never thought she’d ever see him make that face again. “Yeah…uh…I was actually…kind of thinking that I might ask someone out.” Aubrey’s jaw fell slack. Here she had been worried that Hero was listening to sad music and still pining after Mari when actually he was thinking about moving on. A flabbergasted but excited chuckle escaped her lips, and she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him—center console be damned. “Hero, that’s wonderful! I…you have no idea how excited everyone is going to be to hear that, especially Kel.” “Just…Just for coffee…” he stumbled quickly, awkwardly patting her on the back. “Nothing too big or dramatic or anything…” “This is big, Hero,” said Aubrey pulling away from him with a wide, bright smile. “You…you’ve met someone…” It wasn’t really a question.   His blush deepened. “I think it’s more like I finally saw someone who had been there for a long time.” “So it’s someone you know well?” Aubrey repeated wracking her brain trying to think of Hero’s closest friends and who this could possibly be. She supposed it was really none of her business, but she was curious. Hero nodded and hummed. “For a long time. We became close friends in college and we’re in this wedding together now so we’ve been seeing a lot of each other and…I guess I’ve just been thinking…realizing that…when I’m with her, I—I don’t know, Aubrey—I…feel things that I didn’t know I could feel anymore…” His voice trailed—quiet, distant as if he had forgotten himself, but his cheeks flushed a bright red. Aubrey’s eyes widened, but she could only blink at him in shock. Was Hero…? Was he really… in love? The question felt somewhat silly and juvenile, especially seeing as he had never even been on a date with this woman, but…Aubrey couldn’t help but wonder. There was something so incredibly gentle and sincere in his face—something so warm and wistful, almost pining in his dark eyes as he sighed with a certain love-struck helplessness that Aubrey honestly didn’t think she would ever see from him again. “Honestly,” he shyly admitted. “I…I think I’ve felt this way for a long time but…I just…wasn’t ready to see it.”

24. An excerpt of my writing that makes me go "huh...i wrote that?!"

In a good way or a bad way? 😅😂 If it's in a really good "I can't believe that I was capable of writing this" kind of way, then I think pretty much all of 2AM would fit in that category. I wrote that fic for a request, and it recounts how Hero, Kel, and Aubrey discovered and reacted to the aftermath of Sunny and Basil's fight on the night of One Day Left. It's another story that was completely out of my comfort zone because it was so heavy and dark (definitely not one I would have ever thought to write on my own), but I'm very proud of it so here's a snippet.

(Warnings for Injuries (Non-graphically depicted), Blood, Aftermath of Canon-Typical Violence (Non-graphically depicted). Fear. Emotional Hurt. Heavy and Dark Themes and Subject Matter. Heavy ANGST. MAJOR SPOILERS FOR OMORI)

“Hero, help Sunny!” He managed to catch Polly’s instructions amidst the chaos and dropped to his knees beside Sunny’s crumpled figure. With trembling fingers, he grabbed Sunny’s wrist—limp and clammy—desperately searching for a pulse. His chest ached as he found one—weak but still beating. Hero swallowed hard—watching the blood seep between his fingers as they held Sunny’s wrist. He searched for injuries. Where had Sunny been cut? His hands and arms seemed clear of wounds, so he must have used to them to try to stop the bleeding wherever he had been… Hero stopped abruptly. He finally saw it.  That gash across Sunny’s right eye. Frantically, he wracked his brain for his emergency first aid training. It was empty—useless in an actual crisis. His instructor’s words were garbled in his memories, almost as if she had been speaking underwater. Triage. Assess. Predict. Respond. And… Hero’s head whirled. He couldn’t remember and was too distracted by the sound of something clattering to the floor. Basil had finally dropped the weapon in his hands. He fell to his knees—caught by Polly and Kel. A pair of bloodied pruning sheers skid along the floor leaving streaks of red on the wood grain. Basil screamed again, but Hero’s vision blurred—blinded by the sudden burst of overhead light as Aubrey returned and flipped the switch. but she stopped, frozen in the doorway as she caught sight of Sunny on the ground. Hero blinked rapidly, but as his vision came into focus, bile burned the back of his throat. That slash across Sunny’s eye—deep and bloody in the light. Hero’s head ached. Jumbled memories playing in rapid succession. A diagram in an Anatomy and Physiology textbook. His professor holding up a model of the eye. The distant, garbled words: corneal laceration… Most serious of all eye injuries… High Risk…Permanent loss of vision… Hero’s stomach churned. As a streak of red trickled across Sunny’s cheek, he leaned forward with trembling hands, frantically searching for something to use as a compress to stop the bleeding. But he stopped himself. Hearing the warning as clear as day: Never, ever put pressure on a cut to the eye.

If it's in a "Why the hell did I write this?" kind of way literally anything from Safety Net (No, I'm not linking it. I didn't even put it on Tumblr because I have nothing to say for myself...) If it's more in a "I can't believe I wrote this, but I think it's okay(?)" kind of way, there is this incredibly mushy excerpt from my HeroMari fic "More Than Words":

Mari was his best friend, but even that title wasn’t enough for everything she meant to him. She was someone he could always rely on—someone he could talk to for hours until he completely lost track of the time. Someone he could share anything with—who he wanted to share everything with. She knew him better than anyone else—knew he wasn’t as perfect as everyone seemed to think and knew how hard he tried to be, but she still believed in him—saw something in him that he couldn’t even see in himself. She was the kindest person he had ever known and so beautiful that his soul ached whenever he looked at her. He cared for her more than he had the words in his young and inexperienced fifteen-year-old mind to express or really to even fully understand. All he knew was that he had never been happier than when she smiled at him—so bright and warm that he would have sworn the sun shined brighter. He couldn’t imagine a world without her in it, and he would give her the world in an instant if he could—would give anything to make her happy, to protect her, to care for her, and to in some small way repay her for being part of his life. But all she ever asked for was his friendship which he readily offered with as much loyalty and devotion as he could manage. Somehow even after all this time, she had never asked for his heart. Hero sometimes wondered if it was because they were still so young and she knew she had all the time in the world to ask for it. Perhaps she was waiting for the day he would be older and wouldn’t get so sheepish or tongue-tied whenever he tried to express his feelings. If Hero was being honest, he was looking forward to that day too…but he supposed it was more likely that Mari had never asked him for his heart because she knew she didn’t need to ask. It had always belonged to her. He knew Mari knew that. She had to know that. What he couldn’t say in words he practically screamed with offers to help with her chores or errands, with late night study sessions for the exams she stressed over or with hours spent cooking her favorite foods for her and carefully packing them into a basket for a picnic that, Hero was sorry to say, had just gotten rained out.

That was a lot of ramblings... Sorry about that. Thanks again for the ask. I hope you'll enjoy these snippets! Cheers! 💕

[chaoticgoodlawyerwrites]

I've held off due to the general strike but now here's the tumblr preview for the final chapter of HSY! (Yes, last chapter because I thought this concluded the story better than what I had originally planned.) This chapter is under 7k words, so the next update will be the full chapter.

---------

Don’t get him wrong; he was happy to be married and that Binghe was happy and in love with him and… he really wanted to sleep. 

He had rallied for their wedding night, anxious over his own appearance and wanting Binghe for himself in any case. But the night was certainly abbreviated by his own limitations. While Luo Binghe did his best to pamper and care for him, nothing he could have done would help Shen Qingqiu. 

And thus he did his best to hide it from him. 

While he missed his husbands, Shen Qingqiu slept like a rock the night before in Shang Qinghua’s preparation chambers, not even aware of Bingdi attempting to talk to him if he had tried. Somehow, the exhaustion was decreased but still there as Shen Qingqiu carefully painted Mobei-Jun’s huadian on Shang Qinghua’s forehead in wedding red, though he had charmed this particular blend to turn to blue with spiritual energy. 

“Bro, you good?” Shang Qinghua asked, tone subdued.

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re quiet. And you haven’t even attempted to insult me in like twenty-four hours. I’m kinda worried about you?”

Shen Qingqiu paused in his careful work and looked at his friend. Shang Qinghua was chewing at his lip (thankfully only the inner part because if he had stained his teeth red so help him…!!!) and wringing his hands. His friend really was concerned when Shen Qingqiu was the last thing Shang Qinghua should be thinking about.

He sighed and cut his eyes to the side of the room where an imperial guard was standing sentry. “I’ve had a tiring few days,” he said.

SQQ: bro I’m 2 months pregnant. I’m tired and trying not to act like it.

SQH: ooooohhhhh my bad

SQQ: don’t worry about it

“If you say so,” Shang Qinghua said aloud. “Do you think everything is well out there?”

“I do. I also think it doesn’t matter if there’s a hiccup because Mobei-Jun is marrying you no matter what today. You’ve both waited long enough.”

“Haha, yeah. I guess we have.” Shang Qinghua looked off to the side and that made Shen Qingqiu hesitate in returning to their preparations.

They were running out of time for this, but they would wait for the bride. Not sure how long, in Mobei-Jun’s case, but everyone else would sit tight.

“You okay?”

“Yes! I’m very happy! Just…” Shang Qinghua sighed. “You know, before? I never thought I would get married and now I’m. I’m lucky my King loves me so.”

“Are you worried he’s going to change his mind with the Original?” Shen Qingqiu asked in English, getting to the point.

“No, but I worry that he should, you know?” Shang Qinghua responded. “He’s been hurt, so hurt, but understanding. We’ve been talking as much as he can stand, really. I’m doing my best to reassure him, but the reality won’t ever not be the truth. I’m marrying another version of him and it’s not like my arm is being twisted, is it? I just think he deserves better, but he chooses me and I’m so grateful that he does.”

“I get it,” Shen Qingqiu reassured him, because fuck, how could he not. “But guilt is useless and you both made your choices. Don’t let your guilt get in the way of your happiness, especially not when it compromises his happiness as well.”

Shang Qinghua narrowed his eyes at him. “And where was this attitude, oh, a year ago?”

Shen Qingqiu sighed, “Mu-shidi works hard. Once I was able to be completely honest with him, that was pretty much the first thing he told me. I’m working on believing that myself, but just because it’s difficult doesn’t make it true.”

His friend stared for a minute then gave a long, low whistle. “I know he doesn’t get paid like elsewhere, but give that man a raise.”

“He does deserve a sabbatical.”

“Not like he’ll take it for like. A while.” Shang Qinghua flicked his eyes down to Shen Qingqiu’s stomach and back up. Shen Qingqiu had no response but to sigh and finish touching up the makeup. “Hey, do you think he takes couples?” 

“I think he would need to start prescribing himself if he did,” Shen Qingqiu said dryly and Shang Qinghua couldn’t help laughing. “Don’t move, dumbass.”

“Gods, can you imagine? He has his hands full with you. I think a peek into your husband’s mind would have the man running away screaming.”

“He’s not an actual psychologist, you know,” Shen Qingqiu said, not denying the idea. It was a miracle that either Luo Binghe was functional and relatively sane. “I was kinda taken on by necessity.”

“Necessity, he says. Bro, we’re remembering things differently.”

“Whatever. Stop deflecting and stay still so I can put this veil on you.”

[prouvaireafterdark]

armand leaving louis or vice versa is also a contradiction btwn the books though. iwtv says armand left but in tvl he goes to lestat saying that louis is the one who's leaving him, plus whether armand made lestat believe louis was dead vs in iwtv the scene does not read like lestat thought louis was dead this whole time. again, a lot of this stuff is going to have to be sorted out by the show cause i really think it would make for bad tv to give one version and then retcon it later. for the books its understandable cause AR just hadn't figured she was planning to write a big series yet.

I'm sure they'll give us something that allows both versions to coexist somehow/is a blend of them so neither version is 100% right but both contain important truths that Daniel can have fun untangling

[observeme]

3/17

The vibes have been increasingly hostile these days. The vibe is a crowded train and you feel a little tug at your bag. The vibe is a scratchy sweater that's made of wool blended in with sweat. The vibe is coming home wine drunk with Athena about to crack out of your skull. The vibe is your friend's smile at the end of the night and her makeup is running. I often forget that I am on an ascension, that I too need a respite from it all.

My mind is racing with vigorous intellect and creativity. I think it's a bit overwhelming and hard to keep up with sometimes, I shut down and stare at my phone the entire day. My creative outlet has been writing here lately, I'm trying to keep it constant. My house has been smelling like menthol cigarettes. The bathroom is the worst.

I'm fascinated by death. I wonder where and how our ancestors started to believe the journey past death, an odyssey, another life to reach paradise and descent. I often decode the ambiguity from literature, I can sense the pain and struggle and the words flowing out of it. I try to tie it back to life. I often wonder how I would deal with the feeling of loss around me, I've been spoiled and was shielded by my parents from the pain and struggle of death and love. I've never attended any funerals, I'm scared of whose will be my first. I'm mostly scared it'll be my dad's.

I won't say much about my parents, especially not my dad. I don't know him well enough, but I can read straight through him somehow, he is a sad person. He's a heavy smoker. He likes nature. He likes to hike and go on long walks. I like joining him sometimes, and we talk about things that don't matter in this world. We talked about how he grew up frugal and I can still see the sadness of a 5 year old boy who deserved so much more. I think that's why he tries to give so much. I dare not tell him I understand.

I want to believe that there is meaning to it all. I also want to thrash out and cry and scream from this obsessive search for a deeper connection. Maybe I've been looking at the wrong direction, though. You just know the night is over when you're alone with an old man in the train and you guys are both painfully drunk and sad, and you sit next to him. He falls asleep on your shoulder and you fall asleep too. I think there's some truths I can learn from that. You see your stop and you get up. You give him a sad smile of farewell and march into nothingness. I feel eyes burning a hole into me and I hear my heels too loud, my hands smell like berry cigarettes and I'm longing for a home. A crisp night and the jitters come back. A soft voice whispering for me to look forward. I listen.

[washingmachinegirly]

Love and War

All he ever wanted was to get the girl… and he got the girl alright. The boy slung her over his shoulder, carrying her in the field, to the big hole that he had dug up earlier. But it isn’t his fault, he swears! She was crazy, he had to. 

Alex had met Monica 3 months ago and fell deeply in love with her, love at first sight some may say. Monica was the new girl in town and she embodied the popular girl-next-door persona. She had long, strawberry blonde hair and a smile that could light up the room. Every guy fell for Monica, and Alex was not an exception. He’d watch her from afar, always a few steps behind her. He’d linger in the corner, watching her talk to her friends, studying in the library, and running laps in gym class. Watching Monica during gym class was always his favorite activity. 

But after a while, watching her was not enough. Alex wanted more. He NEEDED more. While Monica was in gym class, Alex would sneak into the girls’ locker room and find Monica’s school uniform. He’d lift the uniform up to his nose and sniff deeply. She smelled of sweet roses and peaches. After this, Alex couldn’t stop himself. He started following her to her house, memorizing the route she’d take home. Alex had always been sure to be careful. He thought of himself as fairly sneaky. He’d always stay a ways away from Monica and would always try to blend in with his surroundings. Despite all these precautions, Alex was still caught one day. 

Following Monica as always, Alex stayed a couple of feet behind her. She looked as gorgeous as always, and Alex longed to smell her sweet perfume. Daringly, he got closer to her, hoping for the wind to blow the aroma towards him. They were close to Monica’s house, and if he were caught, it’d be quite obvious he was following her. He was so entranced by her that he didn’t even notice the jagged edges of the sidewalk. Unknowingly, he took a step forward and fell flat on his face. Much too embarrassed to feel the pain, Alex looked up and saw Monica staring at him with curiosity. 

“...Hi.” Alex spoke with a cheeky, but nervous smile. Monica stared at him, raising an eyebrow before smiling.

“You’re cute,” She stated bluntly. “I think I’ve seen you in school before. Alex, right?”

Alex was dumbfounded. Was it not obvious he was following her? He stood up and brushed down his school uniform. Somehow unknowing, Monica continued their conversation, relating to Alex about how they’re both in the same anatomy class. 

Unintentionally, this meetup led to Monica and Alex dating 3 months later. Although the couple seemed unlikely, they seemed to be madly in love. They would walk to class together, eat lunch together, almost sitting on top of each other, and in general would never leave each other alone. Half their peers thought the couple was adorable, while others agreed their display of affection was disgusting and odd. The lovebird’s relationship was unalike behind closed doors. In the beginning, both Alex and Monica were head-over-heels for each other, but 6 months later, one of them did not feel the same. 

Alex wanted to fall in love with Monica, he really did. For a while, he thought he had. But he had mistaken his obsession as love. Months into the relationship, he had realized how much he didn’t like Monica. She was boring, basic, and needy. It was like her only personality trait was having a boyfriend. He was tired of always having her wrapped around his neck and knew he had to break this relationship up before she choked the truth out of him. 

He couldn’t just break the relationship up by telling the truth though. He definitely couldn’t do that. He hadn’t seen it before, but looking at Monica now, he could see the glimmer of obsession and crazy in her eyes. He’s never seen Monica act like that, but he definitely doesn’t risk it now. Alex has spent far too much time concocting a plan, and he couldn’t wait it out any longer. 

He had invited Monica over for another movie night at his house, which is very common for the couple. Before she had arrived, Alex had dug a hole in his backyard. Though odd, he swore there was logic to it. Expecting Monica to have an outburst, he wanted to have an area to dispose of anything she might break, so his parents would not be angry over broken matters. Monica had arrived half an hour ago and the couple had laid down on Alex’s bed, watching a movie from his TV. Alex swallowed his spit nervously as he rubbed his hands on pants. He had to do it now. He HAD to.

“…I think we should break up.” 

So much for being cautious.

“ …What? …What are you talking about?” Monica asked while looking at him as if he had burned her. 

“You can’t do that…! We’re perfect for each other!” 

“I know Monica, but I’m falling behind in school and I don’t want you to feel like I’ve prioritized you below school.” He lied, leaning away from Monica.

“But babe! We can study together and I can help you! Don’t you want to be with me?”

Alex and Monica continued to argue amongst themselves, with Alex continuously lying while making his way downstairs, hoping to get Monica outside before any major outbursts. Slowly, they made it to the kitchen, Monica becoming more erratic.

“Don’t you love more anymore? You said you loved me. YOU LOVE ME RIGHT?” She screamed.

“NO. I DON’T. AND I DON’T THINK I EVER DID.” 

The two teenagers stared at each other, both out of breath and wide-eyed. Alex looked at Monica and analyzed her. Her hair seemed rugged and her once sweet blue eyes seemed deranged. Her once sweet smile was turned into a small frown, before quickly twisting into a smile as her eyes looked off to the side. Before he could react, the girl grabbed a kitchen knife and pointed it towards him.

“You aren’t going to leave me Alex. You can’t. You’re mine Alex, and nobody else can have you. NO ONE.” She said as she slowly inched closer to him.

Okay. This was a little bit more than he had expected. Alex glanced around. There was no weapon to help him. He’d have to be strategic about this. 

“O-of course babe… I love you!” He spoke, slowly inching towards Monica. 

As he approached her, she slowly let her guard down, smiling at him. When he finally reached her, he held her hands, looked into her eyes, and pulled her into a hug. What Monica hadn’t noticed, was that he had taken the knife out of her hand and now had it held up to her back. Squeezing her tightly, he stabbed Monica in the back. She squirmed relentlessly, but he refused to let go until her body went limp. He let go of her and watched her body drop to the floor. He looked at the bloody knife in his hand, and his girlfriend’s lifeless body. Despite never liking Monica, Alex felt a certain bit of pride and arrogance wash over him as he thought, 

“You’ll always be mine, Monica. Forever.”

[alyjojo]

The Current Karmic ☣️ Connection In Your Life - June 2023 - Libra

Who are they: The Lovers & 9 Pentacles

Your relationship with them: 3 Pentacles

What you’re learning from them: Page of Pentacles

What they’re learning from you: 10 Swords & Temperance

Future potential: 9 Wands

Overall energy: Page of Swords

Either way, this is an ex. I just can’t tell if this was a main person, or a side person. Not everyone has a cheating story, but for those that do, you’re the one being blamed for that. Some are separated for other reasons, which you’re being blamed for, because whatever situation it was caused 10 Swords in this other person’s back, and they are extremely wary and defensive of you. They do talk to you, maybe you’ve stayed friends, Page of Swords is gossip, chatting, back and forth conversation where truth is expressed. You know how stressed out they are, because they’ve told you. 9 Swords is mental anguish, worrying, ruminating, over and over again in someone’s mind. In both areas describing them are painful swords with Temperance, showing they’ve been deeply hurt by you and do not want to resurrect this connection. Temperance is patience, blending two opposite things or people in a harmonious way, this has been severed between you and they do not think it’s able to be fixed…showing that’s something you may be trying for, because it stresses them out, they can’t.

The Lovers & 9 Pentacles shows you both feeling an intense romantic bond, you know you’re meant to be in each others lives and initially that was romantic, but you’re separate now due to either cheating or deceptive things that led to an intense heartbreak & betrayal. Uranus being the planet here may show this was something sudden and unexpected, but it ended this connection forever as far as they’re concerned. You are working together though, cooperating, you could literally work together. Maybe have kids together. Or you’re just talking, and trying to cooperate, but in doing so, you’re holding back the things you’re defensive about that irritate you, because they’re the ones with this deep betrayal and heartbreak, so it’s like their side is more painful and you have to swallow yours. That’s not fair either, you have a side.

What you’re learning from them…how to apologize instead of continuing a toxic cycle of holding back your feelings and just waiting for people to “get over it” or heal without you confronting the issue somehow. You’re learning that doesn’t work, you have to be accountable, honor their feelings whether you agree or not and apologize. What they’re learning is 10 Swords & Temperance, they’ve already learned their lesson with you, it was a very painful one where they felt stabbed in the back and they have no intention of reuniting with you romantically. Though they do talk to you, 3rd House is communication, Page of Swords shows back and forth friendly communication, especially if you work together or have friends in common. So they’re nice, and also done. If other people were involved, for that story, that’s why. Otherwise it’s whatever betrayal happened between you, there’s no mending it. The future potential of this is 9 Wands, feeling cautious and guarded, but persevering towards an end. If you’re married, 6 Pentacles with Justice can be dividing assets & divorce. Both of these cards are fair, balanced, and equal, so whatever happened will end that way. This doesn’t feel like someone that wants to screw you over, but they will do things in the most fair way for everyone. Still talking to you, maybe about arrangements, separation, finances, custody, or just reaffirming their boundaries on this being done, which isn’t easy for them either, but the thought of reconciling and giving this another chance is out of the question with 9 & 10 Swords.

Zodiac messages:

URANUS - LEO - 3RD HOUSE

- An unusual example of self-confidence of create your ideas

- A different way of looking at taking a chance on short-term thinking and trips

- An unexpected change resulting from the impressiveness of who and what is around you

Possible signs:

Gemini 💯 Libra, Scorpio, Capricorn, Leo, Sagittarius & Virgo

[nickgerlich]

Start Me Up

One of the most powerful forces in the world is music. It is something that shapes our lives, to the extent that Daniel Levitin wrote of it in 2006 in “This Is Your Brain On Music.” In it he explained how the music of our pubescent youth—you read that right—becomes the music that defines the rest of our years. It is my music, and when I hear those tunes from the magical music years of my life, I am instantly swept away to a different place.

It explains why restaurants and stores use music as part of their atmospherics. I swear that the Walmart near me plays music over the PA that best matches the demographics of those people likely to be shopping in certain time slots. I tend to visit there around 3pm most days, and I hear an upbeat blend of classic rock, from the Beatles to CCR. It gets people humming and singing along. And—here’s the best part—in the mood to spend.

Movies and TV shows are also guilty of licensing songs, the hooks that sink deeply into viewers and help them relate better to what is on the screen. Of course, it’s all about your target audience, because you probably don’t want to be spinning G-Eazy when your aging Boomer target craves some Journey.

And then there is the music that somehow manages to transcend time. The Rolling Stones are one of only a handful of artists whose music is still just as hot today as it was—wait for it—61 years ago. They have a lot in common with successful marketers, giving people exactly what they want.

I laughed out loud when I read of the new partnership between Keurig and the Stones for a limited edition iced coffee kit. The machine is emblazoned with the Stones’ familiar Hot Lips logo. Oh, and what music, you ask?

 “Start Me Up,” of course, their 1981 hit from the Tattoo You album.

But but but…didn’t the Stones also license that song to another marketer many years ago? You would be right if you said “Yes.” Back in 1995, when Microsoft was readying the launch of Windows 95, they licensed the same song. I suppose the Keurig people were thinking that if it could help sell an operating system, surely it could help sell an iced coffee maker.

The Stones were accused of being sell-outs, though. This was long before artists who have recently been selling their entire catalog of music and lyrics to publishing houses to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars. I guess we’ve just accepted the fact that these artists can do whatever they darn well please. And maybe they really are going to take it with them when they die.

As for the Stones, though, these guys are so old they’re not even Baby Boomers. Both Mick Jagger and Keith Richards will turn 80 this year. Here’s the crazy part: While we have witnessed that the life expectancy of a hard-rocking musician is somewhere between 65 and maybe 72, Mick and Keith are proving that means are just the calculated average of an array of numbers, some big and some small.

These guys are still crushing it, too, and Keurig was wise to partner with the Stones, just in time for Father’s Day. It is marketing gold meets marketing gold, Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig on the same team. Keurig redefined how we drink coffee at home, in the office, and in hotels. Never mind the inconvenient truth about all that K-Cup trash, it’s just a heck of a lot easier to make your coffee a cup at a time. And the Stones are just so good that, well, I think the Super Bowl better hire them one more time for a halt-time appearance while they still can.

If you’re looking for a gift for the old man, this might just be the ticket. It’s $140. Maybe I should send this blog to my daughters, and if you are a family man, feel free to do likewise. Because you sure don’t want to hear any of us old guys singing about how we can’t get no satisfaction.

Dr “I Try And I Try And I Try” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[piraticalwit]

Why is Killian so obsessed with Christmas jumpers?

you know what, if asked this question he'd say that christmas jumpers remind him of when he was a lad in Ireland. He slides one on, all scratchy cotton and horrendous pictures, and suddenly he's back on that threadbare couch, blue eyes alight with the multicolored bulbs that decorate their tree. Sometimes its real, prickly spines of green that leave sticky remnants of sap whenever he runs his fingers across from them, other times its a craft his mum puts together with different items she has around the house, averting her gaze when his father stumbles home, smelling of the local pub and docks, greeting hours of work with a snide comment and a roll of his eyes. Those pesky jumpers and that annoying hat that sits crooked on a head of brown hair bring forth a laugh for the first few years of his life that's genuine, the promise of magic and things to come enough to chase away the ghosts that lurk just outside. One day, it stops. No more trees, the ornaments Killian worked so hard on stay packed inside a closet until their corners peel and the paper fades with age and the smell of pine is replaced with dust and cobwebs that gather in the corners and his jumpers become too small for his growing frame until they stop fitting altogether, no matter how he tugs on the hems. When he finally leaves his childhood home behind, he's past the hope that tales of Christmas had offered, but he breathes life into his mother's traditions, hoping that somewhere she watches and smiles.

The truth? He hears people say things annoy them and he just legitimately cannot move past it. christmas jumpers seem to be a huge one. also he's kind of a nerd so he does have a good time collecting absolutely crazy fandom ones. the final stage in his getting James into a jumper plan is a genius one honestly. The setting: one of their regular pub visits. Nothing out of the oridnary. Christmas is approaching and Killian throws in a sigh every now and then, little crooked grins that speak of some buried emotional upheaval. James gets a slight bit concerned (interested?), yeah? Killian faced owing the russian mafia with far more enthusiasm and after a few drinks he spins the tale I said above and lets out a heavy sigh. It ends with something along the lines of "Sorry, mate. I just .. bloody hell. I guess I was just tired of feeling so alone. But that's on me, not on you. Forgive me?" and James fucking caves right there and they make plans to wear the jumpers to work on the same day and the day comes and Killian doesn't. Merry christmas, mate !!