#unexpectedly extremely upset after writing this usually I feel better for getting it out but sometimes getting it out makes it worse

[a3i3a]

I feel like I wasted my entire undergrad being severely depressed and an alcoholic and my entire masters severely depressed and doing projects other people wanted me to do and now everyone is my age w publications and editorial positions and I have basically nothing. Like a loser. But it's hard bc I didn't know what I wanted out of life and my career until very recently. 24 isn't that late to decide on a field of study but apparently now it is bc everyone else was publishing on the same topic in their undergrad and I can literally never catch up.

[aqua-murphys-law]

i can feel it falling (timber)

Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: A look at what inspired Milo not to give up on the possibility of Zack becoming his friend, the day they first met.

A/N: When I fell back into the Dwampyverse fandom, I foolishly said that I didn’t know if I was gonna write anything for MML. I really should’ve known better. So here’s a little something inspired by @wiz-witch‘s post here!

I wish I’d had it done in time for MML’s 4th anniversary but such is life. Reblogs/comments would be greatly appreciated, and a good response will let me know whether I should write the other one-shot ideas I’ve got. Hope you enjoy! - Aqua

(Click here to read on A03 for extensive tags!)

~*~

Milo approaches the bus stop with a bounce in his step.

It’s been a relatively light morning so far. There was just one bird nesting in his hair when he woke up, and it relocated to the backyard without much fuss. He got through both of his showers without slipping, getting soap in his eyes, or breaking the water system (the second shower was because the garbage disposal spewed breakfast scraps back up at him, but still, that could’ve been worse).

He even gets to the bus stop before Melissa, only a few boys from school present. It takes a couple seconds before he hears shoes scuffling away from him, which isn’t surprising. It’s very rare for him to actually end up on the bus, but when he does, it makes for an… eventful ride. He can’t fault them for being cautious, since it’s looking more and more like it might actually be one of those days-

“What’s that all about?”

That’s an unfamiliar voice.

Milo turns to the speaker. It’s a boy around his age, dark-skinned with frizzy black hair. He’s dressed simply in a yellow shirt and jeans, a red backpack at his sneakers. He’s looking at Milo with confusion, and something akin to concern.

“Oh, you’re new here,” Milo realizes. It’s strange for someone to transfer schools after the start of the semester, but stranger things have happened. He sighs good-naturedly, going on to explain, “I’ve got a bit of a reputation.”

The boy blinks before amusement tugs at his mouth, and he quirks a brow. “So what are you, a tough guy?”

That might be teasing, Milo’s not sure. “Oh, I don’t think anyone’s ever called me tough,” he says. And this is really pressing his luck, but he can’t help being polite and offers his hand. “I’m Milo.”

The boy actually takes Milo’s hand, and smiles when he does it. “I’m Zack.”

Of course, the other boys at the stop immediately urge Zack against it, but Milo isn’t fully paying attention. He instantly commits Zack’s name to memory because if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that knowing his classmates’ names helps soften the blow when he accidentally lands them in the hospital for the first time.

Despite the warning, Zack doesn’t let go right away. His hand is warm, and a little bigger than Milo’s. Mostly softer than Milo’s too, but unexpectedly calloused in telltale places, like he plays a guitar of some sort. That’s interesting.

“So what exactly is this reputation?” Zack asks, seeming more curious than concerned now.

Milo tilts his head. “Well, people have used the J-word, but you know what they say. Sticks and stones can damage your vital organs, so always wear body armor.”

The original meaning of the phrase is still implied. As a Murphy, harsh words are extremely low on his list of things to worry about. At least, that’s how he tries to keep it. It’s not that words don’t affect him at all, he just has steps he takes to prepare himself for them, like he would for any other unpleasant event. Just as he wears body armor to protect against physical harm, he protects his feelings under his carefully crafted demeanor.

Lots of people think his cheeriness is default, but in reality, it’s a conscious choice. It’s his emotional armor. Words hurt him less if he chooses to be upbeat and optimistic, rather than let himself despair. That just creates a negative feedback loop, which doesn’t help anything.

Before Zack can inquire further, Melissa shows up to the stop. Milo gets preoccupied by their conversation and forgets that Zack’s still waiting on an explanation until he interjects. But right as Milo is about to elaborate, Murphy’s Law kicks in.

Milo has just enough time to slap his spare helmet onto Zack’s head before they turn and run. And it is both of them; Zack’s taken off without any prompting- he didn’t freeze like so many people do for their first disaster, that’s good. He’s screaming quite a bit, but that’s to be expected. And more surprising is that Zack’s keeping pace with Milo. Not many people can match his speed when he’s going full-tilt like this.

“-wait, why aren’t you screaming?!” Zack demands suddenly.

Milo’s intrigued. Most people who get caught up in his Murphy’s Law don’t have the presence of mind to question why he’s calm while being chased down the street by some devastatingly heavy object.

“I find it doesn’t help,” he answers simply. “Just hurts the larynx.” While he runs and talks, part of him is absentmindedly planning his next move, and he adds, “hand me that bungee, and you’d better hold onto my backpack.”

Milo winds up his throw. Even as Zack exclaims, “Wait, what?” he feels the other boy grab on as instructed, and then they’re up in the air.

Zack maintains his hold while they flip, and when the bungee snaps and drops them on top of the drainage pipe. He’s strong, Milo notes with pleasant surprise. More impressively, Zack doesn’t go careening off of the spinning cylinder- he manages to stay upright beside Milo. That’s a rare skill, for sure. Maybe he’s taken log-rolling classes, for whatever reason. Or, he’s just exceptionally quick on his feet. An athlete, maybe.

“That bungee was definitely defective,” Milo comments, if only to fill the space.

Zack offers no reply, even as Milo sends Diogee home. The pipe takes them through a road barrier, down a rocky incline, through a wooden fence, off of a thankfully low cliff, and into a shallow pit of mud. They barely have time to blink the mud from their eyes before the pipe falls down after them, and Milo tells Zack to scooch over- which he does with little hesitation.

They fit neatly through the center of the pipe, and a wave of mud sends them up to the top.

Zack glances over at Milo, his sudden stillness probably due to shock. “… the J-word wouldn’t happen to be jinx, would it?” he ventures.

Even though he knows it wasn’t used maliciously, Milo can’t stop himself from flinching. He brushes it off with a laugh, though it comes out slightly apologetic. “Yeah, that’s the one.” He pulls himself up onto the rim of the pipe, offering Zack his hand.

Miraculously, Zack accepts his help, and they climb over the edge and drop into the mud below.

Milo wipes his face off with a towel from his backpack. “I have EHML,” he explains. “Extreme hereditary Murphy’s Law. You know, ‘anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.’ Around me.” He studies Zack with a hint of apprehension, the other boy doubled over to catch his breath. He doesn’t look angry or upset or scared, but Milo can’t always tell.

“Well,” is all Zack says. “Alright, then. How are we gonna catch the bus?”

Milo blinks, handing Zack the towel. “Whenever stuff like this happens, the driver usually gives me a few minutes to make it back in case it’s something light. If we hurry, we should be able to get there in time.”

Zack cleans his face and gives the towel back to Milo, brows raised. “Lead the way, I guess.”

Well, indeed. Milo leads the way, and Zack follows.

~*~

Naturally, they miss the bus.

Zack’s definitely in some kind of shock now. He doesn’t even scream when the oil spill in the rock quarry goes up in flames. Milo gently suggests that they go through the woods instead. And then the shock seems to wear off when they’re beset by a pack of hungry wolves.

Shock and panic can interchange remarkably quickly, in some people.

While Milo knows from experience that wolves do, in fact, love peanut butter, Murphy’s Law isn’t yielding anything today. One of the wolves lunges at the same time he tosses the sandwich, and it gets thrown right back, sticking to Zack’s shirt. That elicits a shrill scream from him, and Milo has to fight the urge to cringe. This is not a great first impression, even by Murphy’s Law standards.

At this point, Milo’s pretty sure that the presence of the sandwich has no bearing on the wolves’ desire to attack them, but he grabs a stick and peels it off anyways, if only to try and save Zack’s shirt from being stained too badly.

They escape by scrambling up a tree, but the situation is complicated by the presence of an irate beehive.

A wolf with a beehive stuck on its face is a new one. Luckily, Zack continues to demonstrate remarkable survival instincts, such as ‘dodging when a wolf with a beehive stuck on its face lunges at you’ and ‘running when a wolf with a beehive stuck on its face gives chase.’ He’s keeping up well enough, though he might be starting to fatigue because he lags slightly behind Milo. And he’s still screaming a little, but Milo isn’t holding that against him.

In the end, they don’t escape the wolf so much as they accidentally plunge through an open manhole. But it’s not a high fall, and Milo’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or, to look a sewer in the open manhole.

Milo lands on his feet in the middle channel, which is fortunately shallow. Zack crashes in right behind him.

“Here,” Milo hands Zack a headlamp from his backpack, “these will help us navigate in the dark.”

Zack’s voice follows him after a moment. “Dude… if and when we get out of here, I’m gonna have to go my own way. No offense, I just can’t handle all of… this.”

Milo’s heart trips inside his chest. He wants to protest that Zack has, in actuality, handled everything just fine. Truly, even Melissa would be impressed, and he’s sure she will be when he regales her with the story later today. But he knows that isn’t the crux of the matter.

“A- all of what?” he asks quietly, his voice wavering slightly despite his best efforts.

The answer is painfully obvious as a raccoon leaps out at him from a pipe, sailing over his ducked head and disappearing into murky sewer water. Milo grips his backpack tighter and keeps walking.

“This cyclone of calamity that follows you everywhere you go!” Zack exclaims in disbelief, his voice echoing in the tunnels. “How do you live like this?!”

Milo supposes this was inevitable. It’s not often that someone gives him a chance- usually it’s something like this, a new kid who doesn’t know any better- but it always ends the same way. He accepted long ago that Melissa would be his only school friend, and he’s okay with that.

Right now, they’ve reached the point where Milo will say he understands and apologize for putting Zack in danger. He’ll get him out of the sewer and part ways, only seeing Zack as much as school demands. Or less than that, if Zack decides to switch schools and get a restraining order. That’s happened before. But really, this is where Milo should ‘cut Zack loose,’ if he’s speaking metaphorically.

Except.

Except Milo doesn’t want to.

It’s a bizarre sensation. He’s never put up a fight before, whenever someone decided he wasn’t worth all the danger associated with Murphy’s Law. He almost lost Melissa that way, and was incredibly fortunate she decided to choose him. Typically, it’s easier for everyone if he just accepts it without complaint, and he doesn’t like making a scene. But this time, every part of him is rebelling against the idea.

He really, really doesn’t want to lose Zack. Zack, who’s fast and strong and quick on his feet. Zack, who has good instincts and knows how to trust them. Zack, who willingly followed Milo all this way despite knowing about his EHML. He doesn’t come across people like Zack every day.

Right now, it’s just him and Zack in a dark tunnel. There’s no one else around to worry about, no judgmental looks or scolding words. No one to tell Zack that he shouldn’t be around Milo. So maybe, this time, Zack can really decide for himself. Maybe, deep down beneath the knee-jerk fear reaction, he feels what Milo does, and knows that leaving would be the wrong choice.

Maybe Milo can fight for this.

So instead, Milo asks, “How do you live like that?”

Zack’s voice is hesitant. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Milo turns around, frustration nipping at him because it’s always so hard to put these things into words, “you wanna live like those other kids? They took a bus to school today. A bus! Does that seem like more fun to you?”

That really doesn’t say everything he means. It doesn’t say ‘I think you’re amazing and destined for so much more than an ordinary life’ or ‘I feel better with you by my side so please don’t go.’ But none of that comes easily to Milo, so it’ll have to do.

Zack stops and thinks about it. Really thinks about it. Milo holds his breath.

“Hm. Alright,” Zack says simply. He hops over the middle channel, landing next to Milo on the other side. Closer than most people are willing to get if they don’t have to. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at Milo expectantly. “Where to next?”

Milo is almost stunned by the sheer relief that washes over him, but he pushes through it. “Well, there’s a loose grate up over here to the left,” he says, turning around to resume walking. “I’ve been here before.”

“Of course you have,” Zack says, and it actually sounds fond.

Milo’s heart is running now, though he’s not sure why.

~*~

As they scramble their way through the construction site, Milo can’t help but think that they make a good team.

He knows he’s letting himself get too attached, too quickly. At the end of this, Zack could very well change his mind. Or maybe tomorrow, or after a week. Maybe his tolerance of Murphy’s Law has a limit. He wouldn’t be the first.

But they’re incredibly in-sync, for having just met not even a half-hour ago. They don’t even speak as they navigate the various hazards together. Zack seems to be relying on his instincts and cues from Milo, and they escape unscathed, floating down the river on the detached bed of a dump truck.

After they avoid the wolf (again) and Milo sends Diogee home (again), Zack climbs over to sit next to him, leaning back on his arms. His hand is close to Milo’s knee, close enough that their hands would be touching if Milo put his down. And the way Zack’s looking at him right now… his heart’s acting up again. Maybe he should get checked for arrhythmia.

“You know,” Zack starts, “I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline talking, but I’m starting to feel like we can handle anything that comes our way.”

If that’s how adrenaline makes Zack talk, Milo certainly doesn’t mind it. It’s not often that someone else is doing the reassuring, unless it’s Melissa or his family. And the confidence Zack says it with is an incredible thing. Even if it is just adrenaline.

Of course, now that Zack’s gone and said something like that, Murphy’s Law can’t resist the opportunity, and a massive tidal wave appears out of nowhere to carry them out of the river and straight off the edge of a cliff.

This time, Zack doesn’t scream. They plummet silently for a couple seconds before he turns his head towards Milo, almost casually, and says, “Well, maybe not anything…”

Milo would laugh at that, but then they faceplant onto the dome of an alien spacecraft and suddenly have other things to worry about.

~*~

Somehow, they end up at school on time and unscathed.

Zack thinks he might not have fully processed everything yet, because he feels… surprisingly okay. Considering what happened. But really, it seems silly to freak out and make a huge deal out of it when they’re both perfectly fine.

Aside from missing lunches, that is, but the redhead sitting in front of him- who he recalls as Melissa- has that covered. They don’t have time for formal introductions before the teacher comes in and begins class, but context clues tell Zack that she’s Milo’s only friend. And from what he can piece together, she orchestrated a betting pool to ensure they’d have something for lunch in the event theirs were destroyed.

So she’s either psychic, or stuff like this happens often.

That gets filed under ‘things to think about later,’ next to everything else that just happened. Right now, he has to focus on getting oriented to his new school. Which is… actually pretty boring, compared to this morning. Meeting his teachers, figuring out his schedule, finding his locker… it’s crazy to think he was stressing about this stuff just last night.

He gets strange looks here and there, and catches a few murmurs of, “Someone better warn the new kid” and “Wonder how long that’s gonna last” that make him… oddly indignant. He doesn’t like the feeling that his new classmates are judging his choice to stick by Milo.

He also doesn’t like the attention he’s attracted from Melissa. She’s nice enough, but he catches her staring at him sometimes, this intense look in her eyes, like she’s trying to puzzle something out, and it gives him the creeps.

Someone remind him not to get on her bad side…

If something’s up, Milo’s oblivious to it. He’s happy to help Zack around to their classes, and never falters under the stares or whispers or occasional small mishaps that occur. And they are small; nothing else that happens that day can compare to their crazy morning.

Which is perfectly fine by Zack. No complaining here.

The relative calm gives him a chance to actually get a good look at Milo- something that was neglected in all the terror. He’s deceptively average at a glance; pale, brown hair, brown eyes. An ever-present smile on his face. His outfit’s a little odd; shorts, sweater vest, loafers. And Zack quickly finds out that Milo’s backpack isn’t just a regular school backpack that happens to contain a random assortment of items.

Milo wears it nonstop throughout the day, never stashing it under his desk or in his locker. Not even during lunch. That also gets filed under ‘things to think about later.’

Along with the fact that Milo has a lot of scars. Like, a lot.

Zack remembers the conversation at the bus stop, but in the light of day it’d been easy to overlook. Milo’s so pale, the faint marks don’t show up that much until they’re under more contrasting light. And again, they aren’t running for their lives, so Zack can take the time to notice the dozens of scars on Milo’s arms, knees, and face.

Some are small pockmarks, some are lines of varying thickness, some are patchy blotches. Some of them look surgical in nature, while others Zack can’t even begin to speculate about. After their morning together, it’s not hard to imagine why Milo’s acquired so many scars in his short life, but it’s… sobering, to say the least.

Today wasn’t the rule. Milo gets hurt a lot. Like, a lot.

And so Zack’s starting to think this morning was actually really lucky, all things considered. Part of him wants to reconsider his decision. Not so much out of fear that he’ll get hurt, but because he’s not sure he can handle seeing Milo get hurt.

But then Milo catches him staring once. Their eyes meet briefly before Milo’s cheeks flush and Zack looks away, his stomach flipping like it did when they were freefalling together, and he already knows he’s in for the long haul.

~*~

Melissa doesn’t get a chance to speak to Milo alone until lunch, when Zack excuses himself to the bathroom and their little three-person table becomes its usual two-person table.

Milo, who had been excitedly recounting the morning’s events for her, suddenly falls silent as soon as Zack’s out of earshot. He looks up at her apprehensively, fidgeting with his hands, and Melissa already knows what’s on his mind before he says anything.

“So, uh, what- what do you think of him?” he asks quietly.

Melissa tilts her head, considering. She hadn’t thought much of the guy at the bus stop, simply recognizing that he was a new kid and thus didn’t know not to stand that close to Milo. She’d been surprised to see Zack stuck with Milo through all that happened, and seemed none the worse for wear.

“It sounds like he handled himself well,” she concedes.

Milo nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, he really did. I was very impressed.”

“I can tell,” Melissa says, amused.

Milo laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Is that a blush? “I just, I know we haven’t really hung out with other people in… forever. I didn’t mean to have this whole adventure with him, without you, it just happened.” His expression sobers. “And- and I like him, and I think he’d be a good fit for us, but if you don’t, then just say the word. I’ll understand.”

Then he gives her that little smile of his, the one that’s sad at the edges like he’s already expecting a certain answer and has resigned himself to it. The one he uses whenever he’s apologizing for some Murphy’s Law related incident. The one that makes her want to shake him and say, “It’s not your fault, you deserve better.”

Over the years, some people have tried to stick around Milo just for the spectacle of it. A chance to see what the deal with the ‘disaster kid’ was (particularly back when Diogee was allowed to accompany Milo to school as his service dog). They didn’t care about Milo as a person.

And worse, Milo never caught on. He really thought someone was giving his friendship a chance, and was crushed when they inevitably decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

It only happened a handful of times before Melissa established herself as “someone you do not want to cross” and people were too scared to try it anymore, but it took a toll on both of them. Milo’s convinced that he’s destined to go through life alone, with no one but Melissa at an arm’s length away.

And Melissa’s instantly suspicious of anyone who shows an interest in Milo. Admittedly, she might’ve jumped the gun a few times, and chased off potential friends who could’ve actually had good intentions. After all, some people genuinely did try to be his friend, and just couldn’t handle Murphy’s Law. Mostly new kids like Zack. But whenever someone who already knew them started getting closer, Melissa’s defensiveness quickly deterred any further advances, before she even knew whether they were sincere or not.

Those are acceptable loss margins in her opinion, if it meant Milo didn’t have to suffer another heartbreak.

But she knows he’s lonely. More than others would think, and probably more than he’s willing to admit to himself. The two of them are close, but one person can’t be someone’s whole world. He’s always wary of putting too much on her, so she knows there are holes she isn’t filling.

If she’s being honest, it might be nice to have someone else around to help handle the Murphy mayhem. From what she’s heard, Zack is plenty capable- and that’s without any prior experience. She could do worse for someone to take under her wing. Plus, she hasn’t gotten strange vibes from him yet, regarding Milo. He seems genuine.

And Milo really seems to like Zack. Probably more than he’s willing to admit to himself.

So much so, in fact, it speaks volumes that he’d break this budding friendship if she asked him to. It scares her, sometimes, how much of Milo’s heart she seems to hold. They’ve won each other’s trust and loyalty a thousand times over since they first became friends, but all she really did in the beginning was show him some basic kindness. That’s all it took for him to decide he was devoted.

The wrong person could really abuse that.

… Zack better not be the wrong person.

“He’s in,” Melissa decides.

The way Milo’s face lights up almost makes all her worries go away.

Almost.

Zack will have to watch himself around her. If she gets a single whiff of any funny business from him, he’s done, and she’ll make him regret ever switching schools.

But even Melissa has to admit, the soft way Zack looks at Milo when he returns to the lunchroom and Milo happily waves him over makes her think she probably doesn’t have anything to worry about.

Probably.

~*~

[punkpoemprose]

December 6th- Fuck 2020

Universe: Modern AU Rating: M (Mature, a little explicit, this is porn without plot for the most part) Length: 4383 Words A/N: The title says it all. This fic is about Kristoff and Anna having sex on New Years Eve. TW: Mentions of COVID-19, quarantine, and generally the shittyness of this year. This is the last of my decades AUs. Hopefully someday someone will write something more flattering for the 2020′s.

Anna closed her laptop and collapsed back onto the couch. She was exhausted mentally and emotionally, but her body wasn’t tired enough to let her sleep. It had been what she’d been suffering with all year, or at least since March when the world had gone from its usual level of chaos to being utter and total bedlam. She still remembered the day she’d learned that her kids wouldn’t be coming back to the classroom, and the only slightly more terrifying day where she learned that they would, in fact be coming back.

Her head was still awash with words she’d never thought she’d need to say to a room full of five-year-olds. We have to keep our masks on. Remember, six feet apart guys, that’s like two big dogs in a line. No, I’m sorry, I can’t give you a hug. She’d had to separate desks, and clean and not wipe away little tears like she normally would when a child was having a bad day.

The kids, she thought, had held up better than she had. They’d listened as well as they could, they’d followed the rules as much as they were able, and they were kind about the policies in a way that even grown adults were not. But even with all the work they’d done, even with all the kids doing their best, the second wave had hit, and now they wouldn’t be returning to school until after the middle of January, and then when it finally came about, it would be online. There was talk of vaccines in the news, and while it gave her some small spark of hope, all the changes have meant turning her holiday break into lots of online classroom prep.

It still wasn’t the worst though, she’d rather be tired than sick, and she couldn’t help but relax a bit and listen to the shower running in the next room over.

Kristoff had been given the afternoon shift for New Year’s Eve, and as per their new normal, he’d stripped down at the door after returning to their apartment, tossed all his things into the wash, and was currently showering. In the beginning, before they’d known just how bad things were, before PPE was supplied to every EMT in the county, he’d caught it.

Anna had remembered the pain of having to see him so ill, watching him suffer through what was determined to be a “mild” case of the virus while he was sequestered to their bedroom and she spent the week sleeping on the couch and barely seeing him at all except to occasionally bring him something to eat when he’d felt particularly weak. There was something particularly terrifying in watching the strongest person Anna knew, her rock, her one and only, barely able to take care of himself. He’d insisted the whole time, vehemently, that she leave to stay with her sister on the other side of town, be she’d been unable to bring herself to do it. She couldn’t and wouldn’t leave him alone when he was so sick she wasn’t sure if he’d make it through.

But, of course, he had. His voice had been strange and unlike him for weeks after he was cleared, and Anna had spent many nights in a cold sweat thinking about just how close he’d been to being in much worse shape. They’d started their procedure then, come in the door, take off your clothes, wash anything that went into work with you, and then shower. She’d done it too, but to less of an extreme because while she’d been around kids who had potentially been sick, he spent every day with Sven facing the positively ill together and trying their best to keep them well enough to get to the hospital.

The mental strain it was putting on them, Anna having to worry everyday about him getting sick again, or one of her students or even herself catching it was a lot. But Kristoff, kind and wonderful man that he was, kept checking in at the hospital to learn whether the transports he and Sven had brought in had made it. She saw the darkness in his eye, behind his attempts at levity, on the days where they lost someone.

The water shut off, and Anna let herself imagine him behind the door, stepping out of the shower, putting his towel on, walking over to the mirror to shave and comb his wet hair. He’d started keeping it shorter than usual as a precaution, and while he always looked handsome, Anna missed the days where she’d been able to put short braids into his hair and then comb them out with her fingers. She missed the days where he’d come home, flop onto the couch and that would be the end of things until one of them made dinner.

“Hey,” he said, as she heard the bathroom door open and shut, “Are you asleep or?”

She opened her eyes and tipped her head, looking at him from across the room. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, nothing fancy because of course, despite it being New Year’s Eve, they weren’t going out anywhere. She was dressed similarly, but overtop her plain shirt, she’d thrown on her nicest cardigan, creating the illusion for the videos she’d pre-recorded, that she wasn’t on her couch in her pajamas, but instead was dressed in full teacher gear and was to be listen to closely.

“I don’t think I can do an early bedtime tonight,” she said, “Or even a nap. I have to be awake to see this year end.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t so much the sort of laugh he did when he thought she was being funny. It was much more of a chuckle, as if he were going to follow it with an expression of agreement. They both were rather done with the year, just like everyone else they knew. No one wanted to be living through a pandemic.

“Just imagine,” he said, “Maybe next year we’ll actually be able to go on a date or something.”

“Or,” Anna replied sadly, “Actually be able to reschedule our wedding.”

They’d planned a June wedding the year before. It was going to be a small affair. Just his family, Elsa, and some friends from work. They were going to have it at a ski-lodge in the mountains that also doubled as a summertime spa and nature retreat so that it would be like a vacation for everyone who attended. She could still imagine the way that they’d wanted to decorate the place, all sunflowers and mason jars and white ribbons. She had bought a dress and everything, and it was still stored in her sister’s bedroom closet.

They’d pushed it to August, but had given up on it past that, knowing as soon as September hit and she returned to school with in person students, that nothing would be changing anytime soon. Even her hope for the next year was a tentative thing, like a butterfly with a broken wing trying its damnedest to fly.

“Fuck 2020,” she said quietly, noticing the way he frowned at the mention of their cancelled wedding. He’d been looking forward to it as well, and she knew that this year had been just as upsetting for him as it had been for her. She tried not to swear very often, particularly because she was worried about being able to censor herself around the kids, but ultimately, the year deserved a middle finger and some very strong language.

He crossed the space and took her laptop from where it rested on her stomach, placing it carefully on the coffee table before he scooped her too, up and off the couch. He never had much trouble lifting her, but each time he did so unexpectedly, she was half afraid of falling. She flailed for a half a second in his arms, gasping at the change in height as it occurred.

“I’d like that,” he said with a grin, “The wedding. I know it’s just a formality, and that we’ve agreed not to do it at a courthouse or anything, but I’m so ready to call you Mrs. Bjorgman.”

“And have my students confused?” she teased, “Maybe you should be Mr. Arendelle.”

He laughed at that, but the shrugged and started walking in the direction of their bedroom, holding her bridal style as if it were already all over and done with.

“Why are we heading to bed?” she asked, only allowing herself a little hopefulness beyond her confusion. She knew why she’d like to be heading to bed, but maybe, she reasoned, he was just tired and wanted some company for a nap.

“You said, ‘fuck 2020’.”

She could see the cheeky smile on his face as he glanced down at her, still heading toward the bedroom, like a man on a mission.

“It sounded like a good idea to me.”

***

“So,” Anna said from her place below him on their bed, “In this analogy am I 2020 or?”

Kristoff laughed, and she was treated with a kiss on her knuckles as she obediently raised her arms up for him to remove her shirt. His laugh was one of the things that got her through the day, knowing that he could find humor in any situation, that she could make him laugh, was a blessing. It made things feel normal, and it was a joy for them both that they sorely needed.

“No. It’s more like we fuck each other, and we get a little extra enjoyment out of the year ending. Honestly, I didn’t think it through very much, I just wanted you and it seemed like a good excuse.”

That made her laugh, and she nodded appreciatively at the sentiment. She didn’t think that they needed to really contemplate it much as she was just happy with the opportunity to enjoy her fiancé for a little while.

“It’s a good way to pass the time until midnight,” she offered once she was free of her shirt, “I’m sure we’ll manage to keep each other awake.”

Her hands went up his shirt in return, letting her fingers travel over his the soft but muscled planes of his torso until he too removed his shirt, giving her better access to touch him as she leaned up to allow him to undo her bra’s clasps.

“It’s what? Seven?” He asked, tossing her bra in a rapidly growing pile of their clothes, “I can’t promise five hours straight, but I’ll do my best.”

His hands went up her sides, his thumbs rubbing appreciatively at the dips of her waist and across her ribs until they came up to he breasts. He cupped them gently first, and her hands moved to tracing up and down in spine in return as they found a comfortable position where she was somewhat seated in his lap, facing him. He pinched a nipple and she treated him to an appreciative moan and dragged her nails, lightly down his back.

They hadn’t had much time for intimacy as of late. Between what they both experienced at work and the stress of the holidays, even from a socially distanced standpoint, they’d mostly been using their bed for sleeping. It felt good for it to be put to better use.

“Of course, we’ll need to take a break for dinner. Maybe you’ll need a second shower with some company. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

The appreciative almost growl he made as he ducked his head down to her neck went straight through her spine and made her want to peel the rest of their clothes off and get down to business immediately. Shared shower or not, she already knew that she’d need to change her panties. If, of course, he was planning on letting her put any on before the next morning.

He squeezed and kneaded her breasts while his lips kissed down her neck and she allowed herself to surrender to his touch. Everything around her was Kristoff, his hands and mouth on her, the smell of his shampoo all she could smell as she tilted her neck to give him better access and shifted a hand up to his still wet hair. Despite him being fresh from the shower and in the cooler air of their bedroom, he was hot to the touch, exactly what she wanted as her hair stood on end from the temperature and his touch.

He moved lower then, his head ducking down to lave attention on her nipples as one arm wrapped around her back to support her leaning away and the other moved down, down, across her lower stomach and to the place where her waistband still sat.

“Off?” she asked, the word all she could form as she gave herself over to the sensation of his mouth sucking and nipping at her.

“Not yet,” he replied, barely moving his mouth from her as he answered and switched sides, leaving her wet nipple to pebble against the cold.

His fingers slid a bit lower still, under the waistband of her pants, but not into her underwear as he dipped her even lower.

His arm was strong at her back, keeping her aloft and exactly where he wanted her, even as she squirmed and bucked her hips against the hand that was moving closer and closer to her clit. She knew exactly what he was doing, but it didn’t keep her from jumping when his fingers grazed her through the fabric. He knew that she was sensitive, that he needed to work her up to his direct touch, let alone anything more. They’d had their fair share of quickies of course, but when he wanted things to last, when he wanted to see her come again and again, he worked her up first.

Anna moaned, and arched in his arms, not so much from the sensation, but from the promise it offered. He really was going to try to make this last all night long.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“I ask myself the same question.”

She gasped as he slowly stroked his fingers up and down her, no doubt feeling how wet she was through her panties but not commenting on it. Instead, using his mouth to once again kiss down her body, moving from the valley between her breasts lower and lower, tipping her back onto the bed as he went.

Not to be outdone, Anna reached up to him as she was leaned back, letting her hands travel down and over his back, reaching for his rear and giving it a squeeze. He laughed against her skin, and she felt rather satisfied by the sound as he picked up the pace on her clit and kissed her navel. Her hands slipped forward then, moving across the waistline of his sweatpants, and dipping her fingers below them as he had.

It was a bit of an awkward angle, but she did her best to wrap her hand around him. It was a challenge, but it was worthwhile to hear his breathing quicken when she managed to slide her hand up and down over his already hard cock through the fabric of his boxers. She recalled the first time they had done this, what felt like many years before, but was just a little over a year and a half ago. She remembered touching him for the first time and being scared that she wouldn’t be able to take him. The thought would have made her laugh now, if it weren’t for the fact that his attention on her clit was making her gasp instead.

When his lips had kissed as low as possible in their current position, he sat up a bit and slipped his hand from her pants. He offered her a questioning look, as he always did, and Anna stroked him again in response, sliding her hand up and down his length and rotating her wrist a bit as she did so, knowing that it was what he liked.

“Off?”

“Off,” she replied, finalizing the unspoken agreement in words before adding, “You too.”

He nodded and she rubbed her thumb against his head before she too extracted her hand, giving him a small taste of what was to come. She fully intended to take him into her mouth if he would let her. It had been too long since she’d seen him fall apart like that, staring down at her with dark eyes and strong muscles trembling under the weight of his climax.

Maybe, she thought, she might even do it while he was laying down, so she could feel him under her and enjoy the building of tension in his body that always came before the release that left him panting and melting beneath her. She loved that he let her give him pleasure. There was so much he did everyday for her, all the care to not get her ill, the many nights he cooked dinner after a long shift, how he always listened to her stresses before offering up his own, and she liked to return his kindnesses in the bedroom.

He pushed himself up and off of her, pulling his pants down with one hand, using the other in a delightful display of his strength to hold himself aloft. He kicked them off a bit creatively, one leg at a time as if he were doing some kind of strange yoga, but never removing his eyes from her as he watched her buck her hips up and slide her own bottoms off.

He tossed them both somewhere to join their pile, and they were left, staring into each other’s eyes wearing nothing but their underwear.

She shivered a bit, both from the intensity if his gaze and the cool air around her. He noticed, his gaze softening as he lowered himself to her a bit and pressed a kiss to her lips. She responded by tipping her head up a bit, deepening the kiss as her arms raised up to wrap around his back and pull him down onto her.

“I’ll have to see if I can warm you up,” he said, their temperature differences more evident as his chest pressed into hers.

He was making a valiant effort, despite her pulling him down, to not crush her under his weight. There had been occasions where he’d allowed his whole weight to press down onto her, and while she didn’t exactly consider him light by any instance of the word, he wasn’t ever going to crush her quite so much as he made an excellent weighted blanket when he wanted to be.

His tone was lascivious though. There was no doubt in Anna’s mind as his hips rocked gently into hers that his plan for warming her up included more of the touching he’d just been doing moments before. When he kissed her again and let his lips trail, once more down her body, lower and lower, she knew that there would be nothing so simple as a blanket in his plans to warm her.

When he reached the waistband of her panties he didn’t stop, instead mouthing at her through the fabric, causing her to call his name and tangle her fingers into his hair. She felt his breath on her, hot, the inhalations and exhalations adding to the sensation as his lips nipped carefully at her clit. He slid down after a few moments, pressing kisses to her labia and center through the fabric, nudging her bud with his nose.

He could be devious with his mouth, a fact that she took immense pleasure in. He could kiss her mouth and pussy with equal skill, and she knew it came from a combination of natural talent, and plenty of practice with her and only her. His mouth could bring her to heights she’d never been able to reach alone, and the anticipation of him doing so had her trembling.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, glancing up at her from between her legs, seeking permission as he always did.

“Yes. Always.”

It was all he needed, flashing her a smile as he hooked his thumb under her waistband and pulled.

She lifted her hips obediently and was rewarded with an appreciative squeeze on her rear as he tugged the fabric off her. When it got to her knees, he leaned back and she set her bottom back onto her bed, watching him whip the fabric off her legs and onto the floor.

She would not be looking for them, she decided ultimately, until laundry day.

He spread her legs a bit more and rearranged them both on the bed until she had two pillows under her rear, elevating her, and he was half kneeling before her.

Once the matter of fabric and positioning was settled, he set upon her like a man starved. Evidently the foreplay had been enough for him, and she already felt it was enough for her, when he kissed her clit again, and then set to running his tongue over her. He went from the bottom of her slit, tasting her and groaning in appreciation, up to her clit, his tongue teasing at her before flattening against her, moving down, and repeating the process.

Her hands, desperate to show him the same appreciation he was showering her with, reached out as far as they could to rub just her fingertips, less artfully, but no less effectively, against the bulge straining against his boxers. His groans only added to the sensation as he tasted her, the rumbling of it tangible as he licked and took her into his mouth. The sound mingled in the air with her own moans, and soon, she stopped being able to tell who was making which sounds.

His tongue darted between her folds and she rocked her hips into his mouth. He rocked just far enough back that she could no longer touch him, and as such, her hands held onto him in other ways, one hand wandering across his shoulders while the other tugged at his hair.

He added his fingers to the business after a short while, taking only a moment away from her to watch her face as he slipped his fingers along her entrance, coating them in her before he, with trained dexterity, slid them inside her and began the search for the place on her inner walls he knew set her closest to the edge.

He got a satisfied look on his face when her moans grew louder, when she pleaded with him and thanked him for the new sensation, and it was a grin that she saw last before his face descended, again, to mouth at her clit with new fervor.

It was only a matter of time before she fell back against the bed, pillows falling from under her rear as she went stiff, then limp, under the force of her orgasm.

She tasted herself on his lips when he kissed her.

***

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Anna had been somewhat surprised that they made it to midnight, both of them thoroughly spent with the amount of time and energy they’d put into their private celebration. She wasn’t counting down with the people on the television though, she couldn’t even see them as she knelt before the couch, feeling Kristoff’s tensed legs at either side of her. She couldn’t count anyway, she had her mouth full.

She’d wanted to manage to get him to come right at midnight, thinking about how funny and gratifying it would be to ensure that her fiancé, the man she loved most in the world, started the new year out right. She supposed though, as she bobbed her head up and down, her tongue running up and down his length as she breathed through her nose, that he wouldn’t mind if it was just a minute or so late.

“Anna,” he groaned, his hand on the back of her head, not pushing but encouraging her to maintain her speed, “Baby I think I’m going to…”

She hummed, keeping up her speed, flattening her tongue against him and doing her damnedest to give him the same pleasure he’d given her earlier in the day. They’d done plenty in the hours between, but this was the first time for the day, and now for the new year that she’d pleasured him with her mouth.

She hoped that the sounds she was making were encouraging as his hips rocked almost imperceptibly, his hand that rested on her shoulder tightening as the one in her hair pressed a little more than it had been.

When he came for her, she could feel the shuddering of his muscles, particularly his thighs which she was using for support, even under the fabric of his clothes. They’d only recently finally donned clothes again for the first time since dinner, and she had decidedly not let it stop her, particularly when it was easy enough to shift the fabric down enough to suit her needs.

“Anna,” he repeated, panting as she too came up for air, swallowing him.

She could feel herself flush, and saw the blush mirrored on his cheeks. He was frazzled, and when she leaned up, using his thighs for support, to get a better look at his expression, she was surprised by his dipping down to kiss her lips.

“Happy New Year Anna,” he whispered, hands already moving on her, pulling her closer as he showed her his appreciation.

She couldn’t help but laugh, accepting her New Year’s kiss as he sat before her with his pants still askew. If it was an omen for the year, she was glad for it. She’d rather the year be an amusing one than the way the previous one had been.

“Happy 2021 Kristoff,” she replied, kissing him again and letting herself enjoy the sensation of his touch before reaching down to tug on his waistband, helping him readjust before turning to shut the television off and drag him off to bed.

They’d had a long, but very enjoyable day. The perfect way, she thought, to usher in the New Year.  

[cartoonsaint]

Luka Gets a Tattoo

[Ao3]

thanks to the AFiT server for enabling me! zero thanks to those who were trying to get me to give him a tramp stamp -- you get nothing, good day sirs

Summary: the prince can have little a bodily autonomy. as a treat Characters: the Prince (pre-Snatcher) Rating: T for college parties, altered states, poor coping mechanisms, and reference to an unhealthy relationship. 

Just one night, then you’ll have the whole weekend to study for the final exam, they said.

Please, Your Majesty? Indulge your classmates just this once? they said.

It’ll be fun, they said.

And goodness gracious, Luka thinks as his hooting classmates tilt the tapped barrel of red wine so the last drops of it spill onto his tongue, were they right.

He pumps his fists straight up in the air and the room, already packed with raucous, sweaty, excitable (and very, very drunk) young adults, goes wild. Two — rather, four — no, six? Oh goodness he’s had a lot to drink — an at-present uncountable number of hands reach down and haul him off the floor to toss him, unexpectedly, into the air. Luka can’t help the yelp that escapes out of his mouth as his sloshing stomach flips, nor the laughter that comes after it when many hands catch him and set him back on solid ground, patting his back companionably all the while.

“ALL HAIL THE PARTY KING,” someone shouts, and the crowd takes up the chant. Luka’s used to having a lot of eyes on him, has been literally trained since he was a toddler to be in the public spotlight, but the energy of the crowd and the alcohol in his own system has him pressing his hands to his burning face to muffle his embarrassed laughter.

A madly grinning and particularly beefy young woman parts her fellow students like a ship cutting through the sea. Luka’s gaze is drawn to the item she holds reverently in her enormous hands — and he bursts into laughter again, shaking his head and attempting to back away. The circle of cheering party-goers around him clumsily link arms to prevent his escape. “I didn’t even drink the whole thing!” Luka protests, flapping his hands. “It was practically empty before I started!”

But the huge woman easily spans his slim shoulders (with one hand — goodness gracious) and hauls Luka in. She clears her throat with impressive projection — Luka’s background in performing arts nods in approval — and the clamor of the room dulls to near-bearable levels.

“Esteemed guests and revelers,” she pronounces with minimal slurring and maximal gravity, “I present to you: this evening’s Party King.” 

The room cheers as she places the cut-and-taped paper crown atop Luka’s head. His first, honest impulse is to pull it off and take a closer look as it seems to be made out of first-year sample contracts and, well, it’s been some time since he last reviewed those and who knows what will turn up on the final exam? But the exuberantly drunk woman seizes his hand and yanks it into the air like he’s just won a prize fight and someone thrusts a tiny glass of something that smells vile in his hand and he loses track of time for a bit.

When his head, the room, and the kaleidoscope of gleeful faces stop spinning, Luka finds himself squashed between the arm of a lumpy couch and the arm of the enormous muscled woman from earlier. She notices his gaze and offers him a shark-like grin that jogs his memory.

“You’re Natasha,” he blurts out, and then immediately claps a hand over his mouth because of course she is, you fool, she knows that and you ought to have known that, what kind of a person forgets the name of someone they’ve spent years sharing classes with —

But if anything, her grin widens. She turns to the duo sat across from them and says, “Ha! You see?”

“I’m so sorry,” Luka says, pressing a hand to his burning face. He doesn’t usually drink at all, and not just because it makes him extra stupid. He’d normally have spent the night studying or writing letters, but his classmates had been very convincing and tonight is his last chance to spend time with them before the final exam and graduation (and his tutor had threatened him if he didn’t go). “I promise I know who you are, I just didn’t recognize you at first without, ah,” he looks again at her rather… distracting arms, “sleeves.”

“Relax,” says one of her friends. She’s a dark-skinned woman with a ton of dark curls framing her face — Belle, Luka remembers — and she smiles kindly as she passes him a glass of water. He thanks her profusely and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly, leaning back and crossing her arms. She raises an eyebrow at her hulking blonde friend. “Tash does it on purpose — thinks it will make her more effective in the courtroom when she takes her jacket off. Besides, she forgot you were already royalty.”

Natasha grins unrepentantly. “Party King trumps any small-town monarch, Belle. Besides, you really expect me to remember details like that about someone I only ever see in class?”

Luka sinks into the couch, stammering apologies, but the woman laughs and claps a lung-clearing hand to his back — he wheezes, attempting to regain his breath. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. You can make it up to me by telling us what you’re like! We’ve been in the same course for years and we hardly know you. What mysterious responsibilities keep you so busy you can’t come out for a night, Mr. top-of-the-class?”

“W-well,” he says, immediately falling into his practiced lines, “of course, my studies here are very important to me as a future leader of—”

“We already know you’re a nerd,” the last figure of the group says matter-of-factly. Their name eludes him, but they’re button-nosed, with hair pulled back in a ponytail that looks much sleeker than Luka’s ever managed his own. “What else?”

“Haz,” Belle scolds, but when her friend raises a single, archly amused eyebrow at her she sends Luka an apologetic grin. “Sorry about them, they were raised by extremely rude wolves.”

Luka snorts, then covers his mouth in embarrassment, but no one seems to mind. “I… have a fiancée?” he shyly offers.

“What!!” Natasha swaps his water out for her scarily large flagon of beer. “Drink and dish!”

Luka sips obediently, aware his face is already red and only getting redder. “Her name is Vanessa.”

Natasha sighs dreamily, which makes Belle giggle. Luka grins, feeling a little dreamy himself — thinking about Vanessa always makes the rest of the world feel dull. She stands out to him like fine embroidery on plain linen. “I hate to be away from her — she misses me when I’m gone, and my life certainly isn’t as bright without her in it. I write her letters everyday,” he says, alcohol freeing him to talk about himself a little more than he could otherwise stand. “She gets upset if I don’t. I love her, of course, and there’s nothing more important to me than her happiness, but… well, between all the letter-writing, my studies, and princely duties, I suppose there’s not been much time for, ah. Much else.”

He trails off and takes a gulp of lukewarm beer. Belle and Natasha glance at each other, communicating something past Luka’s current ability to parse. Haz leans forward, their eyebrows drawn down.

“So you don’t get to do anything just because you like it? Just for yourself?”

“I like being a prince,” Luka protests immediately. “It’s my duty, and an honor to serve my people. And I love Vanessa.” Luka thinks, briefly, of how hurt she would be if she knew someone had suggested he didn’t, how her magic might react beyond her control. He shivers, even in the stuffiness of the crowded room. “Compared to those things, I’m just… well, not very important.”

The group exchanges looks that Luka hardly notices. Who would he even be, without his work and without her? “Not important” seems about right.

“Well, if you say it’s what you want, then I’m happy for you!” Natasha announces, sounding a little strained. Belle hums noncommittally and swaps his drink out again for another glass of water.

“So,” says Haz, and offers him a small, genuine smile that Luka finds himself quite touched by — must be the alcohol in his system making him even more emotional than usual. “Besides your duties and your fiancée… what else do you like?”

“Ah,” he says, and presses a hand again to his warm face. This evening, right now, is probably the first time in years that Luka’s had a chance to do anything for himself, and he had to be bullied into it. Surely there’s something he likes to do besides, er, read law reviews for fun? His mind is blank. He seizes, only a little frantically, on the view of the night sky out the window. “A-astronomy! You know, the stars?” He chuckles nervously and takes another huge sip of his drink. “You can, ah, actually see them much better at home than here in the city. I used to know all the constellations.”

“That’s great,” Belle says firmly and kindly. “I don’t know anything about the stars, but I always wanted to.”

“My ancestors used to navigate by them,” Natasha adds. “That’s very cool knowledge.”

“What else?” Haz prompts quietly.

“Um,” Luka says into his cup. “Well, ah. I suppose I always liked animals? Like, snakes, and things…”

“That’s great!” Natasha exclaims.

“Great,” Bella says again.

“Hm,” says Haz.

“JIM!!” someone hollers, breaking the tense air of the group. “And Jim’s friend!! SOMEONE GET THIS MAN A FLAGON!”

“Hoho, Jim and friend!!” Natasha exclaims, mood immediately forgotten. “I’ve been meaning to get some work done, bee-arr-bee.” She rises from the couch, claps Luka’s shoulder once again (though considerably more softly this time, thank goodness), and sails through the crowd, on towards the new arrivals.

“Wait, no—!” Belle shoves herself to her feet, then glances at Luka and hesitates. Then, brief and tight, she hugs him — he blinks, startled — but separates herself before he can process it and gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, gotta go stop her. Tash, wait!!” And off she goes after her tall friend.

Luka watches her go. Haz clears their throat. “Jim’s friend is magic. Does tattoos,” they say.

“Ah,” says Luka. He should probably head home — he’d planned to leave early in the morning so he could spend as much of the weekend with Vanessa as possible. She needs him, especially after the accident with her mother. He can spend the rest of his evening studying, like he should have done in the first place — it’s the responsible, prudent thing to do.

Haz nudges his knee with their own. He looks up to find them offering a mug of something that smells strongly of alcohol. “You’re allowed to do things just for yourself, you know,” they say, eyes soft.

In a spontaneous move that shocks even himself, Luka takes the mug and downs it in one go. The world gets a little blurrier, a little easier to deal with.

“You know, you’re absolutely right,” he says determinedly and pours himself another.

***

Luka wakes up just after sunrise with a pounding headache, a stinging thigh, and the deep dread of knowing he’s done something he shouldn’t have.

The first thing he does is stumble into the bathroom. His reflection has mussed hair, tired eyes, and is still wearing a crumpled paper crown on his head. He snatches it off, balling it up and tossing it on his desk before running the water and pressing his forehead to the cool mirror.

This isn’t exactly why he doesn’t drink, but it’s an excellent point against it. What he remembers of last night makes him wish he’d had enough to totally block out what he’d done to himself. Though he supposes that would be worse, to wake up and only then find out he’d drunkenly gotten a…

Luka dutifully goes through his morning routine. He doesn’t look at his stinging thigh, doesn’t even think about it until he’s toweled off and staring down at the clothes a cheerfully drunk version of himself had prepared the night before. That Luka had even packed him a travel bag so he could set off for Subcon and Vanessa more quickly.

That well-meaning fool had really thought he was doing a favor for sober Luka of the future. Ooo, hungover Luka of the present hates him.

He stands there for a moment longer, feeling frayed and stupid and sorry for himself. Finally, he sighs — there’s no use to just waiting here hoping — and drops the towel enough to check the damage.

On the side of his thigh, perfectly placed for his non-dominant hand to cover when hanging loosely by his side, is a tattoo of a snake so black the ink looks nearly purple. It wraps around a stylized crown decorated with a crescent moon and a few stars. It’s a kingsnake, he remembers — he’d been adamant about getting that one because they were constrictors, not venomous. “They just want to hug!” drunk Luka had explained, tearing up.

Luka now allows himself one long groan, burying his face in his hands. He’s blown it. He’s totally screwed himself. His parents and his people won’t care, but Vanessa is going to kill him.

He can just imagine her distress that he would do something like this without her knowledge or say-so. Maybe he could fix it if he proposed they get matching tattoos, but she has no fondness for snakes and he’s rather certain you’re supposed to get matching tattoos together. She’s going to find out, she’s going to be hurt, and it’s going to be all Luka’s fault.

Fool, he thinks miserably.

Fifteen minutes he spends experiencing every possible variation on denial, anger, and depression before he can no longer justify wasting time like this. Vanessa is waiting for him and if he wants the time to properly apologize to her then he had better leave sooner rather than later.

Luka gets dressed and scowlingly seizes up his travel bag. He makes his bed and shuts the door to his bathroom. He reorganizes the papers on his desk and is about to toss out the crumpled paper crown before he stops, shoulders tight.

He made a monumentally foolish mistake last night. But despite that… he thinks about the delighted support offered by Tash, Belle, and Haz when he had decided to stay longer at the party; about how freeing it’d been to not worry for a little while about how terribly Vanessa might be feeling without him; about how light and filled with possibility the world seemed without the weight of his kingdom on his mind.

It had been, truly, quite a nice night.

Luka sighs and flattens out the crumpled crown. He folds it neatly and files it away with the rest of his papers.

He’ll buy flowers for Vanessa on the way home. Maybe it will help.

[hatsukeii]

male matchup for haikyuu (karasuno) please? i'm a 5'2 female with long golden brown hair and light brown eyes. curvy figure. baby faced and long eyelashes. i'm quick witted and clever. i have a very sweet disposition, but when i'm irritated or upset, my bite is extremely sharp. typically patient and slow to anger. i'm a bit too realistic, and i don't sugarcoat anything. i need someone who can take my sass and give it back to me, someone who isn't too sensitive.(1/2)

Ahh okay this is gonna be fun.

Your matchup is:

🌙Tsukishima “Like Jurassic Park or die” Kei🌙

Damn I’m writing all these matchups and lowkey envying everyone because I’M NO ONE’S IDEAL TYPE LMAO (Maybe it’s because I’m such a disappointment to everyone)

Back to the matchup!

Tsukishima. This prick. This is literally how your first conversation went:

“Seriously? Another dumbass I have to deal with? Don’t I have enough of that already?”

“Maybe that’s why your hair’s losing colour.”

“You little bitch.”

“Thank you.” Never in a million years did he expect you to take his insult, turn it around, and bite him right back in the ass. Since then, he’s been relentlessly teasing you, just to try and get you irritated. That never works. All you do is sass him back with an equal amount of salt. Thank god he doesn’t take them to heart and neither do you. With time, sassing each other became the way you two flirted, and the others would just watch amusedly as you try to climb onto him while he tries to pry you off. Don’t think he didn’t ask you out in a salty way either. He even confessed in a salty way. Like how do you manage to be salty while confessing? What the hell?

You being into dark humour is honestly a huge blessing for him. Tsukishima is a pretty no bullshit dude, so he doesn’t really care for dumb puns and stuff like that. Dirty jokes and dark humour though? A HUGE turn on. Like you would crack an unexpectedly dark joke, and the entire volleyball team would just be confused, while Tsukishima laughs his ass off. He would then proceed to call everyone out for being dense and stupid for not understanding it. He has cards against humanity at home, as well as an account on azala just so he can play it with you. Every single time you guys play together he manages to get the darkest, dirtiest jokes off. “What never fails to liven up the party? An AR-15 rifle.” “Kei sweetie what the actual hell.” “Admit it, that was funny.”

When you’re straight spitting facts he won’t hesitate to cheer you on. He loves the fact that you don’t try to sugarcoat anything and just tell the blatant truth as it is. That means that you’re as honest with your thoughts and opinions as you can get. You don’t think twice about pointing out someone’s errors, no matter who they are. You once found a grammatical and pronunciation mistake in your English teacher’s example sentence, so you pointed it out politely. She got mega pissed at you. Like straight up yelling at you for being disrespectful, rude, and bratty. You continued to tell her off and explain your reasonings for telling her about it. She then forced you out of the classroom and continued to teach the class. Tsukishima, now very annoyed, grabbed his textbooks and pointed out every single mistake you explained to her, just a tiny bit sugarcoated so he wouldn’t get in trouble alongside with you. The teacher was clearly embarrassed, and let you back in almost right after. You were confused as to her sudden change in attitude, before you saw Tsukishima’s signature shit eating smirk. “Hell yes Kei.” “Back at you, you didn’t take any of her  whiny bullshit.”

I feel like Tsukishima is the type of person to just mind his own business when you’re over, but still consider it as spending time with each other. Something about your presence just makes him feel more at ease than usual. It’s like when you have someone over for a sleepover, and you two are on your phones minding your own business, compared to just going on your phone by yourself. It just hits different lmao.

Tsukishima in general is a pretty chill dude. He doesn’t mind going to astronomy museums with you once in a while so you could wind down and relax for a bit. What he does mind, is when you want to go storm chasing. He deems it as “way too dangerous and risky,” but eventually gave in to your convincing and went with you once. Now he won’t stop wishing for the next lightning storm or the next tornado. He more so enjoys watching you storm chase rather than doing it himself. He dislikes getting soaked and messy, water being splattered onto his face like some weird dinosaur roaring next to him. However, he loves seeing you so excited over seeing mere lightning strikes, or hearing thunderclaps, or even seeing riptides. Nothing warms him up more than your idiotic smile whenever you get a nice photo of a storm.

Catchphrases:

“I don’t even know why I put up with you.”

“HOW WAS HER JOKE NOT FUNNY? THAT WAS HILARIOUS! YOU GUYS ARE ALL IDIOTS!”

“Wow, you bitch. I love you.”

“Yeah, you tell them. You go and tell them.”

Other possible matchups:

Oikawa “Ushiwaka you tell me I should’ve gone to Shiratorizawa one more time I will kashoot you” Tooru

Atsumu “You pigs better not disturb my serve” Miya

Konoha “Bokuto your boyfriend asked us to help cheer you up” Akinori

Semi “Shirabu may be better than me but I’m still a bit salty about it” Eita

I hope you liked your match<33

[angelofrainfrogs]

And They Were Flatmates...

Fandoms: The Bartimaeus Trilogy (Modern College AU)

Description: Kitty is studying for midterms at a café when a familiar face asks to sit at her table. The boy turns out to be her flatmate’s brother, and their chance meeting leads to some interesting revelations and the beginning of a new friendship. 

Rating: K+

Genre: General/Humor

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736820

This story was written for @avaenox during the 2020 Bartimaeus Fic Exchange. Check out the collection here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bartimaeus_Exchange_2020

“Oh my god, will you shut up?!” Kitty hissed at her phone, glaring as notification after notification popped up in quick succession.

“I haven’t said anything yet, but message received,” a soft voice responded. Kitty jumped, startled, and noticed a boy standing next to her table, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Kitty’s mouth fell open in shock.

“…Bartimaeus?” she asked slowly, utterly confused. This boy looked nearly identical to the flatmate who was currently blowing up her phone, if a tad younger.

The boy laughed, a bright sound, and Kitty couldn’t help but a smile a little in response.

“No, not Bartimaeus, but I certainly know him,” the boy said. He gestured to the open seat across from Kitty and she nodded, quickly gathering up the plethora of books she’d scattered across the tabletop. The boy sat down and shrugged off his backpack, then placed his coffee on the table and held out his other hand to Kitty. “My name is Ptolemy.”

“Kitty,” she responded, shaking his hand. The name struck a chord, though she couldn’t immediately place where it came from. She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her own coffee before asking, “I’m assuming you and Bartimaeus are related?”

“Yes, he’s my older brother,” Ptolemy replied, gesturing to himself with a laugh. “If it wasn’t obvious.”

“Oh!” Kitty exclaimed, slapping a palm to her forehead. “Oh my god, Ptolemy! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize the name, wow… Nice to finally meet you!”

“I take it Bartimaeus has mentioned me, then?” Ptolemy asked, and Kitty rolled her eyes exasperatedly, though there was no real malice in the action.

“Only all the time.”

Ptolemy grimaced, then took a big swig of coffee before responding. “Yes, that’s sort of why I wanted to get a different roommate this year… I do love him, but he definitely takes the overprotective big brother roll to the extreme.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Kitty said, and Ptolemy’s expression shifted to one of mild concern.

“I hope he’s not causing you too much trouble…”

“Oh no, no!” Kitty shook her head, needing to wipe that expression off Ptolemy’s face immediately. It looked wrong for him to be upset. “I mean, I’ll admit he can be a handful, but he’s alright 80% of the time.”

“Wow, that’s much better than I was expecting.” Ptolemy nodded somberly, then met Kitty’s gaze and they both broke out into a round of giggles.

“I’m sorry if I distracted you, by the way,” Ptolemy said once they’d settled down. He gestured to Kitty’s collection of textbooks and notes. “I had actually meant to talk to you, but only to ask if I could sit here and do my own work; this is the only available spot in the café.”

“No, it’s fine,” Kitty responded, waving away his apology. “I was losing focus anyway; I’ve been trying to write this paper for hours and I don’t know how much more my mind can handle today.”

“Ah, yes—midterms.” Ptolemy dug around in his backpack and brought out a humongous textbook. It was obviously quite heavy, because he barely got it over the table before it slipped from his grip and landed just shy of his coffee cup with a loud bang! In unison, all patrons in the shop turned towards their corner as Ptolemy’s eyes widened in embarrassment.

“Oops,” he murmured, then gestured to the offending book. “This ethics book has been the bane of my existence for the past two weeks.”

“I can imagine,” Kitty responded, grimacing at the plethora of colored tabs sticking out of the pages.

“Yes… although, I have to say I’m not nearly as stressed as my flatmate.” A haunted look flashed across Ptolemy’s face so quickly Kitty thought she imagined it. “He’s been absolutely losing his mind, poor thing… that’s why I figured I’d get out and try to do some work at the nearby café.”

“To escape for a bit?” Kitty took a sip of coffee, glancing at him knowingly over the rim of her cup, and Ptolemy tried to suppress another pained grimace.

“To give him some space,” he corrected. Then, after a pause, he added, “And yes, to give myself a few hours of sanity as well.”

“It’s that bad, huh?”

“Well, by this point I’m used to the way he acts when he gets overly stressed—which, unfortunately, is quite often.” Ptolemy paused, musing on some inner thoughts. “I do wish I could help him more, but I’ve realized the best solution when he gets this way is to let him work things out in his own time. An unfortunate downside is that he’s quite restless and tends to wander around the flat muttering to himself, not to mention his tendency to leave things scattered around at random, so… neither of us gets any peace and quiet during this stage.”

“I understand.” Kitty nodded knowingly. “I rarely get any time to myself with Bartimaeus—I mean he’s constantly trying to hang out, which is fine usually, but when midterms come up…” She shook her head exhaustedly. “And then, sometimes when he really wants attention—” Suddenly, Kitty realized that she’d been dangerously close to insulting the brother of the boy sitting across from her. She met Ptolemy’s gaze, ready to apologize, but found him chuckling and nodding his head.

“Trust me, no one understands your predicament better than myself,” he responded, and his grin showed no ill-will. “I’m sorry that you’re now the brunt of his focus.”

“No, no,” Kitty waved away the apology. “Like I said, most of the time it’s fine, but I suppose certain times are just more stressful for everyone.”

“And everyone shows their stress in different ways.”

Kitty nodded, and a companionable silence descended over the table. Soon, the pair had their respective textbooks open and were pouring over notes from the past semester of classes. They both became so wrapped up in their studying that a sharp ding! from Ptolemy’s backpack nearly made them jump out of their seats. He gave an apologetic grimace and fished around the backpack for his phone.

“Ah,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting as he read the message he’d just received. “It seems my flatmate has calmed down and wants to know if I’d like any company.”

“Well, feel free to go if you—wait.” Kitty pulled her phone out of her pocket, long since put on silent mode, and scrolled through the barrage of texts that had piled up during her short time with Ptolemy. She raised an eyebrow at said boy, who looked inquisitively back at her. “Has Bartimaeus met your flatmate yet?”

“No, we just recently moved in together; why?”

Kitty flashed a mischievous smile. “What do you say we give your brother a new friend to entertain?”

Ptolemy laughed, his entire face lighting up. “I’d say that’s a very good idea.”

***

“Hmm…not very intimidating, is he?” Bartimaeus asked, circling the pale boy as if he were a lion trying to decide if this particular prey was worth the effort. “Looks like a gust of wind might knock the poor sod over…”

“Excuse me,” the boy snapped, his unexpectedly stern voice overtaking Ptolemy’s groan of embarrassment. “I can hear everything you’re saying, in case you didn’t realize.”

“Oh no, I realized.” Bartimaeus flashed a grin and ruffled the boy’s hair, earning a snarl of annoyance. “Aw, don’t get so bent out of shape, Natty boy.”

“That is not my name!” Nathaniel hissed, swatting Bartimaeus’ hand away.

“…Well, this isn’t quite the way I expected things to go,” Kitty commented as the pair started bickering in earnest. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ptolemy running a stressed hand through his hair.

“It was one of the two ways I thought this would turn out, actually,” he admitted guiltily. “I figured my brother would either take Nathaniel under his wing, or they’d end up pretty much like this.”

Kitty pondered this in silence for a few seconds, before letting out a defeated sigh.

“Okay, yeah… Honestly, once you told me that Nathaniel Underwood was your roommate, my hopes of a smooth meeting went down the drain, too. That kid’s had a stick up his ass since Year 9.”

“You’ve known him that long?” Ptolemy asked, surprised.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Kitty smirked. “We didn’t interact that much at first, although I could tell he’s always had it out for me for some reason. One day after school he cornered me outside and started lecturing me on how rude I was for not paying attention during class… He was getting really aggressive about it, so I punched him in the face.”

“…Oh,” Ptolemy said, eyes shifting between Kitty and Nathaniel a few times before he nodded solemnly. “Yes, I can definitely see that happening.”

“What, him trying to boss people around, or me knocking a scrawny little kid upside the jaw?” Kitty raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Both,” Ptolemy responded, and the duo broke into a laugh.

“Hey!” Nathaniel exclaimed, his voice cutting through the amiable atmosphere like a knife.  “Ptolemy, can you please do something about this brother of yours? I don’t think I can stand another minute of him harassing me.”

“Listen, Nat, giving you fashion advice about your atrocious style isn’t ‘harassment,’ it’s helpful,” Bartimaeus said, to which Nathaniel shot him a deadly glare. Bartimaeus looked at Kitty imploringly. “Kitty, can you do something about your obnoxious childhood friend?”

“Oh, we’re not friends,” Kitty and Nathaniel said in unison, a bit too quickly. Ptolemy and Bartimaeus shared a disbelieving look.

“Ah, I see… old flames, then,” Bartimaeus said, nodding sagely.

“Oh god no!” Kitty exclaimed as Nathaniel sputtered unintelligibly.

“It’s okay, Nat, you can admit it.” Bartimaeus wrapped an amiable arm around Nathaniel’s shoulders, which the boy promptly shoved off.

“There’s nothing to admit!” he practically screeched, and just like that the pair were bickering even more heatedly than before.

“I’m glad we decided to host the meetup at my flat instead of the coffee shop,” Ptolemy murmured, pointedly ignoring the blush still covering Kitty’s face. “We’d have definitely been kicked out by now.”

“Oh, for sure,” she said with a laugh, grateful at the change of subject. She nodded her head to Bartimaeus and Nathaniel. “Think they’ll ever get along?”

“Only time will tell.” Ptolemy glanced sideways and met Kitty’s gaze, flashing a bright smile. “Well, at least we can hold a normal conversation—that’s got to count for something, right?”

“Definitely.” Kitty’s smile mirrored his and she held out a hand. “To new friendships?”

“To new friendships,” Ptolemy agreed, grasping her hand firmly. He let out a chuckle and gestured with his free hand to the still-warring pair across the room. “And to whatever that turns out to be.”

Kitty rolled her eyes in agreement, a smile still tugging at the edges of her lips. It seemed as though her life was about to get very interesting.

[emeto-omo]

I saw your post about McHanzo prompts, so I was wondering if you might be willing to write something where Hanzo takes Mcree out to eat. Mcree’s stomach feels a little funny, but he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to ruin anything, and food actually seems to help, so he winds up eating a lot, but then his stomach actually winds up extremely sick, and Hanzo has to rub it to help him burp and throw up and he’s just miserable the rest of the night because his stomach is so upset.

((Sorry it took so long, anon! I’ll also be adding this to my Ao3 too! https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmetoOmo/works ))Title: Dinner and a Tummy RubCharacters: Hanzo Shimada, Jesse McCreeSummary: It’s their anniversary, and Hanzo has made a reservation at a local hibachi restaurant. McCree, not feeling well, buries it all to enjoy a wonderful anniversary dinner with his boyfriend. 

----Hanzo Shimada was not one for anniversaries. Outside of his annual visit to his brother’s shrine, he really didn’t care much to observe any. Jesse McCree, however, lived for them and it was on that premise that Hanzo found himself downstairs watching the clock, waiting on McCree to get ready and praying they didn’t miss their reservation.

“Now I’m ready,” McCree said, coming down the stairs with a shit eating grin on his face. The cowboy looked…well…pretty much like he always looked. Maybe a bit cleaner, and not wearing his usual shoulder draping. Definitely a bit rough, however, for their formal dinner plans.

Hanzo stood in stark contrast to him in black slacks, a white pinstripe button up shirt, and a blue and dark grey vest. “You are wearing that?” Hanzo asked.

“What?” McCree asked, looking down at his clothes. “These are my lucky pants!”

“There are no less than three bullet holes in them. I would hardly call them lucky.” Hanzo sighed.

“I ain’t dead, am I?” McCree retorted, a winning grin on his lips.

Despite his usually stoic demeaner, Hanzo couldn’t help but to crack a half smirk. “Come then, before we are too late and they send us back home.”

“There’s always McDonalds…” McCree reminded him, following him out the door.

 ----

 The car ride over had unsettled McCree’s stomach, turning what had been a mild gnawing in the pit of his tummy all day had become more of a slow churn. Truth be told, he’d been so excited that Hanzo had made reservations, he’d avoided food just to be sure he would have room for dinner. Certainly some food would settle it some, right?

Hanzo wasn’t entirely into the Hibachi scene, a little too much show for his taste, but he knew that McCree got a big kick out of the theatrics. Though he had called it formal, it was truly Hanzo that was overdressed for the venue. A quiet table in the corner had been reserved for them…even after the manager had explain painstakingly that they didn’t do reservations for parties of two. It was nothing a little money couldn’t fix.

“Ya really went all out, Han,” McCree smirked, taking a seat and sitting his cowboy hat in the empty seat to the other side of him.

Hanzo sat and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. “That is what you keep telling me anniversaries are for.” He said, a bit of mirth in his tone.

McCree took in his lover’s appearance, the way a few women across the room kept shooting flirty glances in his direction, giggling to each other. McCree chuckled, making Hanzo look up at him, clueless he was being eyeballed. “What?”

“Rollin up yer sleeves like that, yer givin’ off serious Daddy vibes.” McCree joked, barely able to say it with a straight face. He knew exactly how ridiculous he sounded, and it was all worth it to see the look on Hanzo’s face.

“Daddy…vibes?” He asked confused, a slight cant to his head.

“Yeah, ya know? Daddy vibes. Them…uh…Kristen Grey feels from that Grey movie.” McCree said, watching Hanzo die inside as he butchered that.

“…Christian Grey?”

“Ah! So ya do watch those movies!” McCree said victorious. He had come down stairs one night a few months back and caught Hanzo on the couch watching 50 Shades of Grey, the archer insisting that he had simple had indigestion and was merely dozing where he sat up…McCree was fairly sure he’d been pretty intent in watching it.

“You can spend this anniversary alone, I can go back home,” Hanzo said, crossing his arms, pink creeping across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

McCree only smiled all the more. “Na, it’s alright, I won’t dog on yer terrible movie taste. Ya watch my spaghetti westerns without complainin’,” he chuckled, the fun mood making him forget about the turmoil in his tummy.

Hanzo settled into a comfortable, faux broody silence, thankful when the chef came to their table to start the show. There had been no expense spared, and before they knew it, they were given a veritable smorgasbord of food before them. Not just the fried seafood, veggies, and steak from the hibachi, but an array of sushi, some Udon, and some of the most potent sake bombs.

It was truly enough for six people, but once they got started, they would slowly work through it. McCree found himself feeling better yet the more he ate, glad it was likely just the hunger that had upset his stomach before. Three sake bombs later, he couldn’t remember that it had bothered him at all. Hanzo had only taken one, knowing he needed to drive, but was happy to get more for his lover while they enjoyed their anniversary.

“Wanna feed me?” McCree asked, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, a flirty smirk on his lips as he pushed the last plate toward Hanzo.

“I think you are likely full enough,” Hanzo found himself smiling, amused.

“I am,” McCree said, rubbing his tummy, feeling it gurgle lightly beneath his fingers. “Ain’t that what you like?”

That blush returned on the archer’s cheeks, and he looked around to see if anyone had overheard. “Here? In the restaurant?”

“Where else?”

Hanzo sucked in a breath between his teeth, readjusting how he sat as he felt himself flush with heat. He grabbed his chopsticks and began to feed the rest of it to McCree, being generous enough to let him stop to get some water to help wash it all down. McCree met Hanzo’s dark eyes as he took the shrimp, steak, veggies, whatever Hanzo would bring to his lips. “I’m so full.”

“Just a little more,” Hanzo whispered, a tenderness to his tone. “You know you have to make it home. There isn’t enough room in their restrooms here for—”

“I know, I can do it,” McCree smirked at him.

Hanzo smiled, handing him the remainder of his own Udon bowl, and instructed him to finish it off while he headed to pay the check. McCree took it in hand and began to finish it, chewing meticulously slow to make sure he could get it down.

While he waited for change, Hanzo glanced back at the table just in time to see McCree’s shoulders lurch some, a gag coming up unexpectedly as he quickly recovered. Hanzo’s heart fluttered in his chest, warm and tingling all over. He needed to get him home.

 ---

 “Han…” McCree whined as they pulled into the driveway, the car jerking some as it pulled in.

“You made it this far,” Hanzo said tenderly, already unbuckling both of their seatbelts once he put the car in park. McCree hiccupped softly, sucking in a quick breath of air as the pressure of the belt was released from his stomach, a weak belch coming up without warning.

The archer came around to his side to help him get his door open. McCree’s mouth was watering some, and for several moments, he sat with his head between his knees hanging just over the payment while he still remained in the seat, waiting and willing the vomit to come up. “Not yet.” Hanzo whispered in his ear.

McCree whined softly but took his lover’s hand letting him help him to his feet, and ultimately back within the house. He breathed swallowed thickly as they got across the threshold, his stomach audibly gurgling, painful in its bloating. “I feel so sick.”

“I am surprised. It was a lot, but not the most we’ve done,” Hanzo said softly, crouching to help McCree out of his boots.

“I was…feelin’ sick before we left,” McCree admitted, trying to force a burp, but aborting it once it put up too much of a resistance.

Hanzo looked up. “We could have stayed home.”

McCree gave him a true, albeit miserable smiled, reaching down to release Hanzo’s hair from the bun it was in. “And miss seein’ ya flush knowin’ how sick I feel now? Nah.”

Hanzo could only smile, and reached up to unbuckle McCree’s belt, helping him out of his pants there in the entryway still. As the cowboy stepped out of his pants, Hanzo reached up to run his hand over the swell of McCree’s stomach. Rrrrruuuuuuuuurrrrrhrrrggggllllll.. his stomach audibly whined, the bubbles streaming beneath the flesh under his touch.

“God…” McCree moaned miserably, putting his hat on the hook and moving to unbutton his shirt. He just wanted free of it all, the nausea causing anxiety to climb.

“Shhh, I am here,” Hanzo whispered, kissing his tummy lightly, and standing once more, moved to help McCree over onto the couch.

“Shouldn’t…we go to the bathroom?” McCree worried, not arguing however as Hanzo helped him setting down into the soft cushions.

“I will get the trash can. No reason for you to be more uncomfortable than need be.”

McCree settled back, closing his eyes with a groan. His poor tummy felt like it was a ship adrift on the open seas, roiling to the whims of a summer storm. Just the idea of rough waters made McCree’s mouth water again, and he pressed the back of his hand against his lips, trying to hold back the flood til Hanzo returned.

It was barely a minute when he returned with a small, plastic trash can lined with a plastic shopping sack from the last time they grabbed groceries. Immediately McCree pitched forward to spit the bitterness from his lips, shuddering and giving a weak gag at the stringiness of it.

Hanzo sat and rubbed his back. “Relax. You can let it up.” He said gently, grabbing the remote to turn on one of McCree’s westerns for background noise.

Several minutes passed, filled with groaning and whining from his stomach, the bloating so painful it was almost unbearable. He squirmed uncomfortably, liquid sloshing audibly with every move, but no matter how much he willed and spit, and tried to strain a belch…nothing came up. He had broken out in a cold sweat now, and Hanzo could only watch on with a frown.

“Do you want me to rub it?” He asked softly, still in that scion-esque formal outfit. His only concern was for McCree, not worried about putting wrinkles into his expensive clothes.

McCree nodded pitifully. “Please…” he begged.

Hanzo’s hand rested firm on his stomach, just adding to McCree’s discomfort, even as he began to rub in slow circles. Once he found the bubbles, he chased them, trying to rub them away only to force a loud, wet and gurgling belch from McCree’s lips. “Mm, god..” he groaned miserably.

“Better?” Hanzo asked.

“K-keep going.”

Hanzo pressed a little harder, eliciting another longer belch from McCree, ending with a definite wetness as he spat brown bile into the trash can. He could feel it in his throat, growing like a pressure geyser, and opened his mouth. He let the drool pool and spill from his lips in a long string, his eyes watering some as he felt it burn on the back of his tongue. God, why wouldn’t it just come out?

He let his hand fall wet upon Hanzo’s and pressed in and up hard, instantly making a choking sound as he pitched forward and expelling a small gush of vomit into the trash. “There you go, let it happen.” Hanzo said comfortingly, taking upon himself to press again, forcing up a large air pocket as a burp, only for it to end in a more forceful wave of puke.

McCree was shaking now as his body took the hint, barely giving him a moment for breath before he gagged hard enough it sprayed out of mouth and nose both, and forcing viscous chunks of udon noodles and veggies to spray over the lip of the trash can and onto his lap and the floor. His veins in his neck strained as he gurgled another bunch of tangled noodles up, causing him to choke mid gag, and expel them further onto the coffee table.

Hanzo didn’t make any comment on it, just rubbing McCree’s back with one hand while the other rubbed his stomach. “I’m so sick…” McCree whispered, getting a break finally to catch his breath.

“Not feeling any relief?” Hanzo asked him, kissing his temple. “You feel warm.”

“I feel worse…if…urk….hurrrrrrrrrkkkkk.” He dry heaved loudly, gripping the trash can again. Another painful dry heave tore through on the tail of that one, and he spat a little blood in the trash from the strain.

“Bathroom. Perhaps a better angle will help,” Hanzo whispered, getting up and helping him carry the trash can. They were in for a long night.

 -Fin

[highfivecalum]

Our Home Place {CH} 13

sorry this took so long like literally a month i had no motivation to write it at all but!!! here we are :))) 

NATALIE FOUND IT HARD TO get out of bed for a few days, but honestly, after losing her mother who could blame her? She didn’t want to get out of the comfort of her warm bed and face the reality of her mother being gone. Forever. Calum, Allie, and Michael helped her when they could, when she wanted them to, but she preferred to be alone, and they understood. Calum stayed with her at her house, having his mother, Mali, or Luke watch Lily, but he stayed out of her way, slept on the couch if she wanted to sleep alone. He was there for her, even if she didn’t want him to be, he didn’t want to leave her alone.

She made a phone call to her grandmother who she hadn’t seen in a a few months and a lot of tears were shed during the call, but when she hung up she was feeling a bit better, feeling as if a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. Her grandmother told her she would call the rest of the family and take care of everything for the funeral and Natalie was relieved- she really did not want to go through that by herself. And her grandmother thought it was her duty to plan the funeral, not make her grandaughter do it.

The funeral came quicker than Natalie expected it to and the morning of Calum let himself into her bedroom to make sure she was up and ready. She wasn’t. When Calum walked into her bedroom to see her curled in a ball under her duvet his heart broke a little more for her and he didn’t want to force her to get up, but he knew he had to. He knew that she had to face the day and get it over with no matter how much she didn’t want to.

Calum knew that the funeral would bring closure.

“Baby,” Calum mumbled and moved Natalie’s hair out of her face so he could see it. She was paler than usual and her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. “You have to get up. We’re going to be late.”

“Don’t wanna go,” Natalie muttered against her pillow.

“I know you don’t,” Calum sighed. “But you have to, Nat.”

Natalie reluctantly got out of bed after much convincing from Calum and showered and quickly got ready. She only put a tiny bit of eye makeup on since she knew she would end up crying it off anyway and dressed herself in a black dress with black tights and black heels. Switching from her large purse to a small black clutch and putting a light layer of lipgloss on, she was finally ready to go.

Natalie admired Calum in the black button down and black dress pants he had on, thinking that he looked extremely handsome, and even though the circumstances were bad, she couldn’t think of anything but jumping his bones right there. “You ready, love?” Calum held a hand out for her and she took it, lacing their fingers together.

Natalie locked the door behind her and followed Calum to his car. The drive was quiet, only the sound of sad music from the radio filling the car, and Natalie sighed heavily. Calum looked at her quickly and frowned at the empty look on her face. He took one hand off the wheel and took her hand in his to stop her from picking at her nail polish and nervously biting her nails.

“You nervous?”

“A little bit,” Natalie admitted. “I have to give a speech and I don’t think I’m ready for it.”

“You don’t have to, you know that, right? Don’t feel obligated to. Just because she’s your mother doesn’t mean that you have to.”

“I know, but I feel like I should.”

Calum nodded in understanding, knowing that it was hard for him himself to give a speech at his father’s funeral. He got choked up and could barely finish the first sentence and Mali had to take over for him. Calum knew that if Natalie got too choked up to do it, he would step in for her, even though he barely knew Michelle.

❋ ❋ ❋

Natalie’s grandmother was the first person to spot her and Calum when they arrived to the funeral home. Even though they were Catholic, they skipped the church bit and decided that just the funeral home would be best, and Natalie agreed with her grandmother on that, even if her aunts and uncles didn’t.

“Natalie, sweetie,” Natalie’s grandmother got her attention and the corner of Natalie’s lips lifted up into the smallest of smiles, and even though it was small, Calum still saw it. And he had some hope that she would be better after the funeral. “Hi dear.” Her grandmother hugged her tight “How are you doing?”

Natalie shrugged. “I’ve been better. How are you?”

“Devastated, of course.” Her grandmother frowned, trying not to cry, but then noticed Calum and Natalie’s hands intertwined and she changed the subject to him. “Who is this?”

“I’m Calum,” Calum shook her hand. “Natalie’s boyfriend.”

They hadn’t established a real relationship, Calum hadn’t officially asked Natalie to be his girlfriend, but he thought introducing himself as her boyfriend would answer all of the questions he knew were swarming around in Natalie’s brain. This would make the relationship talk nonexistent and one less thing that Natalie would have to worry about.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Calum. I’m Betty, Natalie’s grandmother.” Betty smiled fondly at Calum before returning her attention to Natalie who was staring off into space like she had done in the car. Betty took Natalie’s free hand in her own and squeezed it, bringing Natalie back to life. “Are you ready for your speech dear?”

“Not really,” Natalie exhaled a nervous laugh and shook her head. Calum gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, reminding her that she didn’t have to do it, but she wanted to, she felt that in order to get through her mother’s death, she needed to do this. She also knew her grandmother would be upset if she didn’t. “But I’m going to do it.”

“Fantastic,” Betty gave both Calum and Natalie a quick hug before approaching the priest, who was a good friend of the families, and informing him they would get people seated and start the speeches soon. Natalie looked around for Allie and Michael, but there was no signs of them yet, but she knew they would be coming soon. There was no way they would miss her mother’s funeral.

Right before it was Natalie’s turn to give her speech, she felt a light squeeze to her arm and she turned around, finally seeing her two best friends. She let go of Calum’s hands and gave both Allie and Michael much needed hugs. “I’m so sorry we’re late,” Allie whispered in ear, not wanting to be rude and interrupt Natalie’s cousins speech. “We got stuck in traffic.”

“It’s fine,” Natalie assured her.

“Have you done your speech yet?”

Natalie nervously shook her head. “Mines next.”

“Next, we have Michelle’s daughter, Natalie,” The priest spoke up and Natalie’s stomach was filled with more butterflies than she thought possible. She was not prepared for this. “Natalie, if you would come up here, please.”

Calum, Allie, and Michael all gave her words of encouragement before wishing her good luck and watching her take the stand. She wrung her fingers together nervously and cleared her throat. Looking at the couple dozens of people in front of her, she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Uh, thank you everybody for coming today,” Natalie’s voice was quiet, but she didn’t care. “It means a lot to me and my family and I’m sure it would have meant a lot to my mother.” She bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling, but that was a struggle for when she was speaking about her dead mother. She opened her mouth and closed it repeatedly like a fish out of water and nervously looked at Calum. “I, uh- I,” Natalie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

She quickly walked away, leaving the crowd of people to look around in confusion, and Calum quickly followed behind her. He followed the sound of Natalie’s heels clicking against the tile floor, making the empty hallway of the funeral home echo, and he didn’t care that she was going into the ladies bathroom, he continued to follow her.

Natalie dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and let the contents of her stomach, which wasn’t much, spill into the toilet. Calum gathered her hair in one hand and held it away from her face so no vomit would get in it and gently rubbed her back. She was retching and crying at the same time and couldn’t control the sobs leaving her body.

“You’re alright,” Calum pressed a light kiss to the back of her shoulder and helped her through it. Natalie coughed, hoping to get everything out of her throat and mouth, and finally flushed the toilet. Calum let her hair go as she let her body fall against the bathroom stall door.

“‘M sorry you had to witness that,” Natalie whispered. Her voice was weak due to the crying and the vomiting.

“Don’t be,” Calum wiped the tears off of her cheeks. “Do you feel any better?”

Natalie laughed sadly and shook her head. “No. I’m embarrassed that I just ran off like that.”

The ladies room door swung open and in walked a very panicked looking Allie. “Natalie!” Allie looked at her best friend with wide eyes and Natalie and Calum shared looks of confusion.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Y-You’re dad is here.”

Natalie’s throat dried at the mention of her absent father and Calum’s fists clenched. He had heard Natalie talk about her father before, about how he left her and her mother unexpectedly when she was just a teenager, and the thought of seeing him really set him off. He couldn’t imagine how Natalie was feeling.

“W-What? My dad? You’re sure it’s my dad?”

“Yeah, Nat, I could spot your dad out of a crowd and it’s him. I’m positive.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Calum blurted and Natalie shook her head.

“I-I don’t want to see him. Why is he here? How is he here?” Natalie spoke, not wanting answers for any of her questions, but needing to ask them. After all of these years, nearly ten, he just showed up? On the day of her mother’s funeral? How did he even know Michelle passed away? So many questions were floating through Natalie’s head she couldn’t think straight.

“Do you want me to tell him to leave?” Allie asked.

“No,” Calum stood up and straightened his jacket. “Stay here with her. I’ll tell him to leave.”

Calum was out of the bathroom before Natalie could stop him and Allie was sliding down on the floor next to her best friend. She rubbed her arms, trying to help calm her down and trying to convince her everything would be okay, but if her dad was involved nothing was okay.

❋ ❋ ❋

It didn’t take long for Calum to figure out which man was Kevin, Natalie’s dad. He was standing by the door by himself, in a pair of jeans a t-shirt, while everyone looked at him and whispered. Calum stalked over to him and Natalie’s dad looked at him in confusion.

“What are you doing here?”

“Who are you?” Natalie’s dad narrowed his eyes at Calum.

“Natalie’s boyfriend. What are you doing here?” Calum repeated himself. He wasn’t trying to mess around, he was trying to get the man who left his daughter the hell out of here before Natalie could see him or he could see Natalie. She didn’t need this drama on the day of her mother’s funeral.

“I came to see my daughter.”

Calum let out a bitter and humorless laugh. “Really? Came to see your daughter that you up and left ten years ago?” Calum challenged. “She doesn’t want to see you, so you should just go. It shouldn’t be hard for you to leave.”

“I never stopped loving her,” Kevin confessed, completely ignoring everything Calum had just said to him. “She’s my daughter and I know I left, I know I broke her and her mothers hearts, but I have thought about her everyday since,” Kevin shook his head frustratedly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’re not a father.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Calum corrected the man in front of him. “I am a father,” Calum showed Kevin his phone screen; a photo of Lily and Natalie together just a few days before Lily’s birthday. “That’s my five year old daughter with your daughter,” Calum smiled at the picture, but knew he couldn’t get caught up on the cute sight because he knew he had to give this man a piece of his mind. “And not once has a thought of leaving, leaving my daughter ever crossed my mind. She makes my world worth living. So you and I must have completely different definitions of what a father is.”

“You don’t-“

“I think you’ve said enough.” Calum cut him off. “Natalie’s been through enough, her heart is broken with the loss of Michelle and she sure as hell doesn’t need you here to try and mend it after all the years of being absent.” Calum wanted to punch the sad excuse of a father Natalie had, but it was a funeral, and he respected Natalie too much to do so without her permission, so he wasn’t going to. “Natalie doesn’t want you here, she doesn’t want to see you, so you need to leave.”

And Kevin did. He left without a word to his daughter that he abandon. Calum angrily walked away, catching Betty’s eyes and the thank you she mouthed to him. He made his way back into the bathroom to find Allie and Natalie sitting in the same spot he left them in. “Is he gone?” Natalie asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Calum nodded his head and helped both of the girls up. He wrapped his arms around Natalie’s waist and pulled her into his chest. “He’s gone.”

“Good,” Natalie exhaled a relieved sigh. She felt no pain about it. She wanted to be upset about her father being able to leave so easily, just as easy as he once did before, but the only pain she could feel was the loss of her mother and that overpowered the pain of her father trying to make his way back into her life.

❋ ❋ ❋

Taglist: @mariellelovescupcakes-blog @mermaid-merrick @cliffordcntrl @wrappedaroundcal @rexorangecouny @bbylonxcal @poppedpins @ashton-ma-bestfriend @calumsbabydolll @boytoynamedcalum @sisterawesome-blog @fangirlingovereverything @calistajs @checkeredcalum @thebodaciouscth @escap0-with-me @musicsavedme-00 @5saucewho @kaxseychill @crystalisinfinite @it-was-a-lie @littlemessage-tries @calistheloml @xx-cuddlemecalum-xx @calumismyzaddyyyy @forggetablle @mysteriouslycali @booklove-2 @bookssandbands @royalestrellas @calumismyprince @uncrowned-cal @pattys-got-cakes @hopelessxcynic @grinchluke @astroashtonio @holidayhood @catchinqcalum @mistletoemichael @hollyjollyhood @irwinkitten @irwinvalentines @hereforlukescruff @dannisos @trustmeimawhalebiologist @calpalbby @hood-af @ (sorry if i missed anybody if i did plz lmk)

[pastel-shadows]

system asks

i’m in the mood to chat about system stuff! lots of text under the cut

1. Describe your system. What kind of system, how big, anything you feel is a good introduction. we are an OSDD-1b system with 6 members that we’re aware of. we have known about our system for about 6-7 years, i think!

2. Who knows about your system? Who do you want to know? What do you feel like it’s like coming out as multiple? every single one of our friends knows about our system! i don’t think it would be possible for any of us to form relationships without telling people about it. a lot of us have our own friends that the rest of the system never speaks to, so it’s really important to be able to explain our random long absences!

3. What are your thoughts on integration? Do you wish to integrate? i think integration is totally cool for systems who want to do it, but i’m not really interested! my system and i have learned lots of coping skills and we function really well internally and externally at this point. we like who we are so i don’t see a reason to integrate

4. Are you or any of the others in a relationship in or out of the system? How does dating work for you if you do it? i’m single, but two of our members are in relationships! charlie is dating one person, and emery is dating someone else. when it comes to romantic relationships, we consider those very separate. just because one alter is dating someone, that doesn’t mean the rest of us are also dating them! we do try to collectively befriend and get along with partners for convenience, though.

5. How often do you switch? How often do you lose time? Talk a little about what dissociation is like for you. we tend to switch on a daily basis, sometimes every couple days. we have gotten pretty good at managing switches on a planned schedule, although sometimes things go wrong and someone ends up being here unexpectedly. none of us actually lose time, since we have OSDD instead of DID, but we do have a lot of fuzziness between system members. remembering things that happened to another alter feels like remembering something we watched on TV instead of something that actually happened to us. we also have trouble perceiving the passage of time correctly! if i leave front for a week and then come back, i feel like only a day has passed even though i can remember the events from that week. it’s weird!

6. How do you feel about talking about the trauma which created your system? Do you like to write about it privately or publicly? Why? i don’t feel the need to talk about the trauma since i don’t feel like it happened to me personally, but i don’t mind telling people if they ask. our trauma holder and protector like to talk about it sometimes when they’re having PTSD struggles.

7. How many alters do you know of in the system? How many know about each other? there are six of us, and we are all aware of each other! me: fictive, nonbinary girl, minimally traumatized, no known role charlie: trauma holder, nonbinary, was host until 2017 emery: protector, male, current host praxis: unstable identity, extremely dissociative, struggles to understand reality ripple and seafoam: a pair of weird ocean spirits, always co-conscious. seafoam is nonverbal and thinks in pictures, ripple speaks for them both

8. How did you first discover you were plural? Was it before, after, or during diagnosis? charlie figured it out several years before our formal diagnosis. they noticed odd intrusive thoughts and feelings, and when they tried to investigate those experiences ripple and seafoam distinctly took front and made themselves known. the rest of us were identified gradually over time!

9. What level of co-consciousness do you have? How do you feel your communication skills are within the system? How do you want to grow in those skills? we communicate okay. we have trouble getting clear thoughts across in headspace, so we prefer to leave written messages while fronting for anything important. we can pick up strong thoughts/feelings/ideas from others while we are in front, but that’s about it! ripple and seafoam are the only members who can be fully simultaneously conscious without having a dissociative meltdown.

10. Have you ever done a system map? How extensively have you mapped your system? i’m not totally sure what this is, but we have done a basic map of our usual headspace rooms. it’s pretty simple since we don’t have super active consciousness from the back seat

11. How much control do you have over switches? Do you know of any specific things which cause specific alters to front? we have gotten pretty good at controlling switches, but some of us are better at getting certain alters than others. charlie is best at getting ripple, seafoam, and praxis to front. pretty much anyone can get me, most of us can get emery. sometimes it just doesn’t work though! for fronting triggers, most of us will show up for our favorite stuff if we’re anywhere near front at the time. that includes stuff like favorite music, close friends, favorite animals, etc! charlie also shows up sometimes if their trauma triggers happen around us.

12. What’s the worst thing you’ve woken up to finding out your alter’s done? What’s the best? tbh ripple and seafoam used to destroy the body while they were out because they had no concept of how to pilot a human meat sack. they would do damaging stuff and over-exert themselves without noticing, and then whoever showed up after had to deal with the painful consequences. once they were swimming and forgot to breathe underwater, that one sucked a lot. the best is probably when emery does all the chores or other unpleasant tasks for us so no one else has to do it. thanks em

13. Has anyone ever noticed you were multiple before you told them? Do animals seem to know the difference in your switches? no one has actually assumed we were a system without us telling them, but we have gotten comments about weird personality shifts. people who know us well can usually tell who is fronting without asking, so that’s cool! the only animal that’s ever noticed was a really anxious cat we had who really disliked emery hehe

14. To whoever’s fronting; what’s your favorite item to have around when fronting? Is it yours or do you share with other alters in the system? i have makeup and clothes i’m really into! they are just mine, although charlie wears my shorts sometimes. i don’t mind sharing a bit as long as they make sure to wash my clothes before my next scheduled day. it’s really upsetting when they get my favorite stuff dirty and i have to wash it after

15. What song(s) do you relate to your DID? none!

16. Where, as a system, is the safest place for you? Why? home i guess? our found family is very supportive, we live in a household with 3 separate systems so it’s nice

17. Who’s an alter you’re interested in knowing more about or befriending? Which alter do you know best? we’re all very curious about prax since they’re still figuring out the world! they learned to talk recently so that’s been a huge improvement, but they’re still working things out. i get along really well with seafoam, they’re probably my favorite! emery is also nice, he acts as a big brother for me a lot which is nice. charlie and i used to get along kind of badly, but i’m trying to move past that

18. What’s your least favorite misconception or common misinformed fact spread abut Dissociative Identity Disorder? oh boy, there are tons. evil/murderous alters are a big one. the perception that we can never learn to function or live full, healthy lives is frustrating. it also really bugs me how obsessed people are with knowing who is the “original” person, or worse who is the “real” personality. we’re all alters here, no one is more real than anyone else...

19. Have you ever met another multiple offline? Tell us about it. yep! we live with two other systems and it’s great. it’s so cool to be friends with people who get where you’re coming from. i am pretty close with an alter who is in a very similar position to mine, and it’s a really nice connection to have!!

20. Do you have a favorite book or TV show about or including DID? i think the character i’m a fictive of (alluka from hunter x hunter) is actually a pretty accurate representation of DID if you ignore the fantasy aspects!

21. Tell us about your persecutor(s), protector(s), and gatekeeper(s). emery is our protector! he was really good at handling tasks the rest of us couldn’t manage in the past, and it helped so much. he also is really good in stressful situations! he can be overly judgmental and quick to form negative opinions, but he’s good

22. Tell us about your littles. we don’t have any full-time littles, but charlie does age slide at times! i don’t know what else to say about it though

23. Do you have an inner world? If so, who can access it? What’s it like? we have a really basic inner world! it has a small common room near front, a kitchen, and bedrooms for everyone except praxis. everyone except prax spends some time in the inner world. sometimes our headspace switches to something else for periods of time - recently it has been a movie theater, for example.

24. Have you ever dealt with denial? What helps you work through it? charlie was the public face of the system for a really long time, especially before we knew we had OSDD. the rest of us sometimes go through times where we feel like we aren’t real, or that we’re “just charlie.” it helps to focus on the most distinct differences between us at those times, and to ask other people around us for reassurance.

25. When did you first hear about Dissociative Identity Disorder? Was it before or after you discovered your plurality? In what context did you hear about it? we heard about it years before we knew we were a system, but it was mostly in really inaccurate ways. we saw the movie about sybil in 2008, which is the first exposure i can remember. a few years later we saw it again on tumblr, but it was a while before we got any genuine information on it.

26. What aspect of DID do you find most challenging in daily life? compromising between each other can be really really hard. most of us want to front as often as possible, but there’s only so many days in a week. i only officially get one day per week, and it’s really disorienting that so much time passes while i’m away. it’s also super inconvenient when someone fronts by accident at a time where we really needed someone else, or when we can’t get someone we need to front.

27. What do you think the biggest differences between living as a singlet and living as a person with DID are? time. living with DID means you never have enough time. you can go to bed one night and wake up months later, and all your friends have moved on or forgotten about you. it’s hard.

28. Share a memory of one of a different alter fronting which you’ve either been told about by them or by another friend. we didn’t used to know that praxis was nonverbal. prax showed up unplanned in the middle of a hospital trip, and at several points talked to the friend who was with us and to the nurse. that friend later told us that during the whole trip, prax was making “fax machine noises” instead of words (which explains why the nurse looked at us so weirdly.....)

29. How do your alters like to express themselves on a daily basis? charlie dresses in childish/silly stuff. they only like certain types of clothes (leggings, skinny jeans, sweaters, and sweatshirts) and pretty much refuse to wear anything else. i like to take care of myself - i always shower, brush my teeth, wash my face, put on nice clothes, and usually do my hair/makeup. i like presenting a lot more femme! emery presents really masc, praxis likes ugly 90′s aesthetic garbage, and ripple and seafoam will wear literally anything. many of us enjoy drawing in our own styles, playing games we like, watching our favorite shows/movies, and other stuff like that!

30. What’s one last thing you feel should be written about after answering all of that? Talk about whatever you want. i am a real person! i am not a 2-dimensional fragment of the host, i am a complete individual with my own thoughts and feelings, just like anyone else. negative stigma about DID is one of the worst things about living with the disorder, i just want to live my life and be happy!

[focusontheeasternlightning-blog]

Christian Testimony: The True Meaning of God’s Judgment

God’s words say: “In the last days, Christ uses a variety of truths to teach man, expose the essence of man, and dissect his words and deeds. 

These words comprise various truths, such as man’s duty, how man should obey God, how man should be loyal to God, how man ought to live out the normal humanity, as well as the wisdom and the disposition of God, and so on. These words are all directed at the essence of man and his corrupt disposition. In particular, those words that expose how man spurns God are spoken in regard to how man is an embodiment of Satan and an enemy force against God.”

Having accepted God’s work, through having meetings and communications of God’s words, I understood that in the last days God uses words to reveal and judge our corrupt dispositions in order to achieve the results of cleansing and saving humans. However, I didn’t know clearly how God judges and cleanses humans until I had practically experienced the environment that God set up for me.

Tasting the Work of the Holy Spirit and Feeling Pleasure Inside

When I started to participate in church life, I often attended meetings with brothers and sisters and read God’s words. I felt very happy and pleasure inside my heart, and also felt warm in God’s household. Therefore, in meetings I was very active to read God’s words and communicate, leaving a favorable impression on my brothers and sisters. Brother Xiaoyong and Sister Liu who looked after us new believers not only always praised me for my reading God’s words with fluency and good understanding of God’s words but also cared about me very much, always asking about my situation and difficulties. With the care and admiration of my brothers and sisters, I felt very joyful inside and enjoyed the meetings in which I was at the core of my brothers and sisters before two more sisters joined our meeting group.

Competing With Others and Falling Into Darkness

I remember that in the first meeting, the two sisters shared their experiences about how they returned to God. I really benefited greatly from them, especially from the experience of Sister Kemu. Others also regarded her experience as great and practical and Brother Xiaoyong said that her testimony of experience was very good and encouraged her to write it down to testify to God. Seeing everyone praise her, I thought: “Alas! Why don’t I have such experiences?” Because of this I felt very upset. After we had several meetings together, I found Sister Kemu could understand God’s words very well. In every meeting, with the encouragement and guidance of Brother Xiaoyong and Sister Liu, Sister Kemu could share the light she gained from God’s words. What’s more, she pursued the truth with perseverance and resolve. No matter how busy and tiring her work was, she could always keep a normal relationship with God and insist on reading God’s words and watching movies and videos. Seeing these, I thought: Although she is better than me now, as long as I make efforts to pursue the truth I also can catch up with her. In order to gain the approval and admiration of the brothers and sisters who looked after us new believers, I began to pursue the truth tooth and nail. At home, I seized every available opportunity to read God’s words and even sometimes when I was at work, I would wear my headphone to listen to the fellowship from the above and hymns. In the meeting, I became more active than usual. I scrambled to read God’s words and every time after reading God’s words I hurriedly communicated about my own understanding without pondering it. For I thought: I should say my understanding first, otherwise if what I think is said by others, I will be regarded as imitating others when I say it again. Besides, every time I was about to go to the meeting, I would review what we had communicated in the last meeting and read God’s words again to prepare to answer what the brothers and sisters who looked after us new believers would ask. However, they didn’t ask.

Once, I was being confused why Brother Xiaoyong didn’t ask what we had communicated in the last meeting when Sister Liu asked me to pray for others. At that time I was very muddled and didn’t know what to pray so what I prayed was very empty, dull and dry. And I just finished it with several sentences hastily. After prayer I felt very low-spirited. In the meeting, when I saw Brother Xiaoyong looking at Sister Kemu when she communicated, then feeling extremely frustrated, I hurriedly lowered my head and read the words of God, however, I couldn’t get any light and couldn’t memorize what they had said either, my mind being a complete blank. After the meeting, I went back to the dormitory, feeling weak throughout the body. Then I thought of the previous meetings, in which I always felt pleasure and had a lot to say. But now I was afraid of having meetings and didn’t know what to say. Especially when I thought of the look in their eyes when they looked at Sister Kemu, I thought now everyone didn’t like me anymore and I felt more and more uncomfortable, being passive in whatever I did. Those days, I was always absent-minded and always made mistakes during the work. I felt very distressed for this and my heart felt so heavy as if there was a big stone inside. So I came before God and prayed: “O God, recently I haven’t gotten any light when I communicated about Your words and my work didn’t go smoothly either. I don’t know why I meet with these things. O God, may You enlighten me and let me find new light and get some understanding when communicating about Your words in meetings.” At this time, Brother Xiaoyong sent a message to me to ask about my recent situation. Being afraid that he would look down upon me if I was open about my expression of corruption, I just replied to him with a sentence perfunctorily. Then I continued to read God’s words and learn hymns as usual. Also, I copied the words of praising God, summed them up together and memorized them. I thought: Last time I didn’t pray for others well, and I must do well next time.

Accepting the Judgment of God’s Words and Knowing My Own Corruption

A week later, it was time for the meeting again. I thought: If this time I’m asked to pray for others again, I’ll have something to say, using all the God’s words I have memorized. But unexpectedly, at the beginning of the meeting, Sister Kemu raised a question about how to pray. Then Brother Xiaoyong played a hymn “How to Enter Into True Player”: “Whilst praying, your heart must be at peace before God, and it must be sincere. You are truly communing and praying with God; you must not deceive God using nice-sounding words. … and bring your actual state and troubles before God to pray, and make resolution before God. Prayer is not the following of procedure, but the seeking of God using your true heart. Ask that God protect your heart, making it able to often be at peace before God, making you able to know yourself, and despise yourself, and forsake yourself in the environment that God has set for you, thus allowing you to have a normal relationship with God and making you someone who truly loves God.” Hearing this hymn, with tears pooling up in my eyes at that time, I felt guilty inside: God asks us to say our real situations, commune with God and establish a normal relationship with Him in prayer, does not asks us to say nice-sounding words or offer blind praise to deceive God. But these days my preparations were all for gaining my brothers and sisters’ approval and praise after their hearing my prayer, not for communing with God and sharing my innermost thoughts and real situation with Him. Isn’t my prayer a religious one? Knowing God’s will, I knew that I should say what I really thought inside to God, so then I prayed to God about these actions. After prayers, Sister Liu said to me: “Your desire for status is very strong.” At that time I couldn’t understand it. I thought: How come she say that?

In the evening, Sister Liu sent a video The Heart’s Deliverance to me. After watching the movie I cried, thinking that the protagonist was exactly the same as me. Especially when I saw God’s words: “As soon as it involves position, face, or reputation, everyone’s heart leaps in anticipation, and you always want to stand out, to be famous, to be glorified. You are unwilling to yield, always wanting to contend, although contending is embarrassing. However, you are not content not to contend. When you see someone stand out, you are jealous, feel hatred, complain, and feel it is unfair. ‘Why can’t I stand out? Why is it never me? Why is it always he who gets to stand out and it’s never my turn?’ There is some resentment. You try to repress the resentment, but you can’t, so you pray. After praying, you feel better for a little while, but later when you encounter the matter again you cannot overcome it. Is this not a case of immature stature? Is not a person’s falling into these conditions a trap? This is the bondage of a satanically corrupted nature.” Seeing the sister’s experience and God’s words, I realized that I cared too much about my face and status. Under the domination of the competitive nature, I always wanted to compete with others and get admiration and praise whatever I did. In order to be highly thought of by brothers and sisters, I racked my brain all day to memorize God’s words and listen to the fellowship. Even in the meeting I scrambled to communicate first. Weren’t these all for showing off myself? When I saw the sister’s strengths I didn’t learn from her humbly but pondered all the time how to show off myself. When my desire couldn’t be satisfied, I became negative and started to complain about everything. When faced with the fact I saw I was so corrupted by Satan that I was truly inhuman, arrogant and fragile. Thank God for letting me have a little knowledge of my corrupt dispositions. Meanwhile, from the sister’s experience, I found the path of practice—I should dissect and expose my corrupt dispositions and have a heart-to-heart fellowship with my brothers and sisters honestly. Then I came before God and prayed to God, resolving to practice the truth. Later I wrote my experience down and sent it to the messaging group and in the meeting I also opened up my heart to the brothers and sisters, saying all my own real thoughts and expression of corruptions. When I did like this, they didn’t look down on me, but instead, they shared their own experiences with me.

Finding the Path of Practice and Getting Released in My Heart

Later, the sister sent me another passage of God’s words to me: “Ponder this: What kind of changes must a person make if he wants to refrain from falling into these conditions and wants to be able to cast off these conditions and free himself of the vexations of these things? What must a person obtain before he can free himself of the vexations of these things, loosen the bonds of these things, and be able truly to be free and liberated? On one hand, a person must see through things: These fame and fortune and positions are tools and methods for Satan to corrupt people, to entrap them, to harm them, and to cause their degeneration. You must first see clearly this aspect in theory. … You must learn to give up and set aside these things, to yield, to recommend others, to allow them to stand out. Do not struggle furiously and rush to take advantage as soon as you encounter an opportunity to stand out or obtain honor. Learn to back off, but do not delay the performing of your duty. Be a person who performs his duty out of the public eye, and who does not show off before others. The more you give up and set aside, the more peaceful your heart will be and the more space will open up within it, and the more your condition will improve. The more you struggle and compete, the darker will be your condition; try it if you don’t believe it. If you want to turn around this kind of condition, if you want not to be controlled by these things, then you must first set them aside and give them up.”

The sister said to me in fellowship: “From God’s words we can see that it’s our common feature to pursue face and status as the corrupt mankind, and it is also one of the chronic diseases in our corrupt dispositions, which can’t be solved for a while. But as long as we read God’s words more, accept the judgment and chastisement of God’s words and see through the damage and results of pursuing face and status according to the exposure of God’s words, we won’t be bound by it anymore. For example, if we live by the thoughts and viewpoints ‘A wild goose leaves behind a voice; a man leaves behind a reputation’ and ‘A tree lives with its bark; a man lives with his face,’ then we will put our face, dignity and image above all else and we care too much about others’ opinions of us and our images in others’ hearts. We always hope that we can have position in others’ hearts and can be adored by others. In substance, we are competing for status against God.”

Through the sister’s fellowship I knew that Satan uses all kinds of thoughts and viewpoints to corrupt us, which makes us pursue face and status so that we distance ourselves from God and compete for status against God. I thought of God’s words: “I decide the destination of each person not on the basis of age, seniority, amount of suffering, and least of all, the degree to which they invite pity, but according to whether they possess the truth. There is no other choice but this. You must realize that all those who do not follow the will of God will be punished. This is an immutable fact.” Right, God decides our destination according to whether we have the truth. As believers, only through pursuing the truth and the changes of dispositions can we be in line with God’s will. It’s vain to pursue reputation, status and the admiration from others. Others’ admiration can’t mean the approval of God. Understanding God’s intention, I felt released in my heart.

Later I saw God’s words: “Do not do things before men; you should do them before God. By accepting God’s observation and inspection, your heart is set aright. If you are always concerned with acting for people to see, then your heart will never be set aright.” God’s words pointed out the path of practice for me. That is, we should conduct ourselves and do things before God and often accept God’s scrutiny. I should not always live for my own face and status or care about others’ opinions. Later I started to consciously practice God’s words. In the meeting, I prayed to God so that my heart could be at peace before God. Then my heart wasn’t so impetuous anymore, and I could calm down to contemplate God’s words and patiently listened to others’ fellowship. When I did like this, even if sometimes the light which I had gotten was said first by others, I would contemplate it again and then I found that I could get new light on the basis of others’ fellowship. Gradually, I felt closer to God and relied on God more and also I didn’t have so much desire to compete with others anymore. Now every meeting is enjoyable and I feel released in my heart.

Thank God for His guidance. Through the little experience during this period, I understood the inner meaning of God’s work of judgment. Just as God’s words say: “What the work of judgment brings about is man’s understanding of the true face of God and the truth about his own rebelliousness. The work of judgment allows man to gain much understanding of the will of God, of the purpose of God’s work, and of the mysteries that are incomprehensible to him. It also allows man to recognize and know his corrupt substance and the roots of his corruption, as well as to discover the ugliness of man. These effects are all brought about by the work of judgment, for the substance of this work is actually the work of opening up the truth, the way, and the life of God to all those who have faith in Him. This work is the work of judgment done by God.” In the last days God does the work of judgment and chastisement through setting up practical situations to prune and deal with us so that our corruption can be revealed. In these people, events and objects, God also uses His words to lead us to understand the truth and His will so that our corrupt dispositions can be cleansed. Recalling my recent experience, when I lived by the opinions “A wild goose leaves behind a voice; a man leaves behind a reputation” and “A tree lives with its bark; a man lives with his face” and pursued face and status, then God turned His face away from me and also used the people, matters and things around me to deal with me and aroused brothers and sisters to communicate the truth with me. In this way, I could know my corrupt dispositions and the substance of face and status and also know how to pursue is in line with God’s intentions. These were all the results of God’s work of judgment in the last days. During the judgment of God’s words, I have understood God’s righteous and holy substance and at the same time I felt the earnest intention of God’s salvation which is comprised in God’s judgment and chastisement. Thank God, all the glory be to Almighty God!

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Tel Aviv 2019: Straight outta Romania to Eurovision with an edgy plea for a return of special someone

To be honest, I wasn’t that on board with Selecția Națională 2019, like, at all. I get that scandals happened and three songs withdrew from the comp. at various stages due to various reasons, but Romania is just Romania to me somehow. Well there were a few overall gems (some of them out of the finals too), but I just couldn’t be bothered to waste my Sunday evenings on a single broadcast of it. Plus, I was never that swayed by the two big fanwanks from here anyway, so I’m glad they flopped lol.

But maaaan did I have a bone to pick with the people reacting to it. Especially towards the Wiwi jurors. Look, there’s such a thing called as “song growing on you” and “performance elevating the song”, as well as the one that goes “getting over it”. Surely these aren’t make belief concepts of life, hmm? I’m not one of those people who prefer a song more or less thanks to its performance, but there are some good ones that occasionally change my opinion on a song, especially a ‘boring’ one! And thanks to those terrible people, some of Wiwibloggs videos were unfairly attacked with dislikes, and mind you, not only on the Romanian NF interviews that don’t have the current Romanian subject of choice, no - both first-reaction-after-qualifying-to-A-Dal-2019-final interviews (that were of these two) too. And it’s not even the first time a televote winner doesn’t win the NF so you should have SHUT. THE FUCK. UP. (- Penn Jilette) Clear? (:

(lol this is all directed to the people from like three months ago, obviously now that the writeup is late the drama has cooled down A LOT, especially in the light of Ukraine’s events and the actual dust of this Euroseason where everyone made amends with everything, but I can’t help but keep what I thought of this initially because I just wanted to write something for Romania as I didn’t have anything else to say until I remembered the drama so)

So here’s that one controversial subject that unexpectedly slayed the poor man’s “Fuego” and that one homophobic teen by hitting it hard by an extremely unbalanced jury vote (and 24 points to it coming from that core Wiwibloggs duo, no less) and her on-stage couch possessing - the half-local half-Canadian little to no known artiste, Ester Peony, who conquered all in her homeland “On a Sunday”, as her songtitle says (haha bad puns whoop.) Is it any more mesmerizing over the two fanwank fanflops, or is it, just like Wiwi said at first, ‘boring’? Hmm...

It starts of bluesy, with the Western-movie-sounding-pop guitar twangs accompanying the sound, and Ester begins reminiscing her love that left her on a Sunday of September, later followed by snap percussion. And deep inside she wants that person to come back “to [her], to [her], to [he-eeee-eeee-er], eh, eh, eh, eh”. She begs and pleads for the return for her loved one, as I believe the absence deeply upsets her (smoke from the ashtray, everything’s so cold an gray, loving is a hard price to pay) and eats her up from the inside to a degree. I never had someone to leave me like that on a whatever the day was, but I feel for Ester’s song’s protagoniste.

Here are some interesting things I find in this song: its progressive intensity; the decision of putting a 3rd verse up in the place of the bridge; right after some additional “eh eh eh eh” after the chorus (bridges are usually of completely different vocal line ways); cool voice of the singer’s; the strings; the beat... and the fact that it’s described as “electro-pop”. Pop I might get, in fact it sometimes reminds me of those older Billboard chart topper songs from mid-00s por so, or that it could have been one of those kind of songs. You needed just to give it to a popstar relevant of the time and voilà - a hit! Electro... not quite sure on this one. Maybe the bass that occurs in the 2nd and 3rd verses indicates something on it but that’s all.

And man do I hate to say this but the song's attitude is something that makes me wanna scream sometimes. It occasionally happens when I stop feeling so happy clappy for a song a few listens later because I just don't feel like caring about it anymore and that it starts making me feel some sort of a soulache because I trusted it in the first place. Kinda like "Funny Girl", Latvia 2018: I actually didn't mind it at first but its desperation got on my nerves a whole lot that I got completely irritated. "On a Sunday" has enough elements that I like to keep the irritation feeling at bay, but I doubt that even they will not make me want to smash a chair everytime I hear that chorus again... you think you can suppress your smugness overtime, song? Think again about it later

Oh and there's a supposed revamp, I doubt I would be able to feel any better about that song that way, as long as my mind just automatically recognizes Ester's singing as "whining" for some reason. It probably will make me feel less worse if I see a stage show similar to the absurd mess one from the NF where shit happens and Ester's just chilling on a chair. Game of Loans? Student loans? It was random but I definitely appreciated the scarlet madness all surrounding it. I hope to maybe see something similar in Tel Aviv - edgy imagery, why not. Bring on the candles and the ravens.

To summarize, I don’t think it’s a bad song at all. It’s daring, it’s badass, it's kickass, it comes right at you, grabs you in and you adapt to it however you can be able to. However...

Approval factor: I still have mixed feelings about passing it off as something approvable, but objectively I would like to do so. Good for you to try something different, Romania.

Follow-up factor: Anything at least half-decent is a fine follow-up after The Humans’s mediocrisms (I’m helping the dictionary to have more words, one construction at a time!). I liked the Humans more though and Ester... sort of? But in general context, Ester’s a fantastic successor.

Qualification factor: Somehow this did not sound like a definite Eurovision qualifier to me, so at one point I thought it would be just missing out... but it’s a complete effing borderline of a song. At one point it sounds good enough for a filler qualifier, at another it’s just not qualifying somehow. We’ll see how she rehearses it up in two days, though.

NATIONAL FINAL BONUS

I think there’s nothing more I can say about Selecția Națională (refered to as SN from this point onwards) than I already said in the intro, so let’s get to the moments, shall we? ;)

• So what else do I have to say about the fanwank-esses that hasn’t been said? Well, on one hand you have an Amazon-jungle-tribal version of “Fuego”, “Army of Love”, performed by Bella Santiago (who had one of my favourite SN entries last year lmao), who went all out with body paint and wild choreo and a rap bridge in Tagalog (one of Bella’s native languages) to make it all sound slightly different than “Fuego”, but still, that pre-chorus just feels like a pitched-down “Fuego” from a B minor to a G flat minor, with the same acoustics and the beat, and the drop is some limp-ass Amazon flutery magic. On the other hand you have a 16 year old Laura Bretan with an poperatic ode to her “Dear Father” which was praised for her insanely good vocal skills (I forgot what’s that called... an alto? soprano? mezzo-soprano? sorry I know a lot about music but not a lot about those ranges) more than the song itself... there’s a big problem about Laura though as people found out that she does not believe and/or condone a marriage between same-sex people. For Eurofans that’s a major red flag as as of lately Eurovision is very LGBTQ+ friendly and having had Laura next to people like Bilal or Mahmood would have probably been concerning if she knew of them having had boyfriends... Like I said, neither of those are special. Imo people loved Bella’s song because of the “Fuego” vibe and people loved Laura’s song because of her voice combined with her age. I said what I said. (Oh and there was a missed opportunity for Il Volo and Laura to reunite this year in Eurovision had they only been chosen in their NFs.)

• Screw these gals, now here come on the real faves of mine - another rock band, obviously, and that’s Trooper. No but for real, could at least ANY country have sent a rock song this year? It could have even been San Marino for all I cared but this year is so MoR without a rock entry... Trooper’s “Destin” sounds like something coming out from an epic fable about legendary heroes fighting for their glory of the nation by slaying goblins with wearing medieval costumes (with a sleeveless top and metal armor for the chest), bearing their long hair and looking strong and hunky. Lai-lai-la-la-la-lai!

• Now what were the other competing entries I liked? There were quite a few like the folk bop titled “D A I N A” and sung by Letiția Moisescu and Sensibil Balkan, then Teodora Dinu’s captivating pop tune “Skyscraper” and a really catchy non-qualifier entry by a band Steam, named “The Way It Goes”... no really Romania, why’d you let that flop... and why did you also let 2 Gents flop... and moreso importantly WHY DID YOU LET THE FOUR FLOP??? That’s like the best football-anthem-esque song I’ve heard in a while... such a shame it didn’t appear on the national selection’s final. Oh well. Poor those 4 young souls.

• Now what were those 3 (actually 4) withdrawals? First one was concerning the first ever Romanian representative Dan Bittman and his own problems so he couldn’t return to a NF and be one of the potential returning artists to Eurovision. Then there was this Australian-Romanian chick named Xonia who withdrew for seemingly no reason, all last minute. There was one more withdrawal from a semi-regular SN participant Xandra too, as well citing unknown reasons. And then there’s Mihai (or as he likes calling himself nowadays, M I H A I) who once again wanted to return to Eurovision (no wonder his Eurovision 2006 song was called “Tornero” lol) with an entry, and this one is called “Baya”. And then he went on an epic quest of flopping - firstly by withdrawing his song last minute from SN claiming that it’s corrupted, then considering to return as a wildcard, then thinking on to latching on to Eurofest in Belarus, but gotten sick last minute and therefore perma-cancelled his NFs journey this year entirely by not appearing on the Eurofest auditions. <3 Not to mention he’s a bit of a creep by subjecting people to his nude pictures with just him in his underwear. dude you’re almost 40, stop doing that to the kids. you’re not even a “daddy”. just look how alien you look on your song’s thumbnail:

• Netta continues her guest appearances on various NFs, such as in UK and in Spain (in spirit, as it was just the Triunfitos singing “Toy” at the beginning of the ESC OT Gala). This one even had her singing her newest song “Bassa Sababa” alongside “Toy”. Oh and there also was one of the Festivali i Këngës 56 alums coming by, Inis Neziri, to perform something for Romania after having won a music competition in Romania, and here’s her performance. But did she even have anything interesting in her backdrop as this?

We know you did Netta sweetie but do you honestly need to reminds us? I did not see Eleni doing shit like this and I don’t want you to do the same. Well if anything I am glad Netta only gracefully performed “Toy” on EYD 2019 (which I missed in my “National Final bonus” section for the UK’s review (as well as them reminiscing Eurovision’s best moments) but frankly I don’t think you cared anymore about it when you learned I was gonna write so many long-ass paragraphs, so yeah)...

• So what was the exact thing again that made everyone such bitter Betties? Well, everyone foresaw Bella and Laura battling it out in this NF, having succesfully qualified together. They even did well in the televote. But then the jury vote happened, and it included the God-forbidden Wiwibloggs duo voting separately and usualy picking all the similar favourites based on performances. They were very pleased with Ester Peony’s on-stage chair prop and her dramatic mess so they gave her their 12s. INDIVIDUALLY. And that’s one of things that pushed Ester higher for the win, despite only having 3 points from the televote lol. But the worst part about it is their opinions: they have praised “Dear Father” so much for mostly the same reasons others praised it so much as well, and were stunned. A what they thought of Ester’s song? That it’s boring. And their mindset switched when voting on this NF, with 12ing Ester and only giving a few feeble points to Laura. That’s where the backlash ensued - not when Emmelie de Forest (yep she was in the jury too) did not give any points to Bella Santiago’s song - just for that notion alone. Maybe it was because of a REASON. Laura’s song in the end is just an uninteresting pop ballad with some additional vocal exercising (too flawless that you even tire from flawlessness), Ester at least brought something to liven up her song, and maybe Wiwis changed their opinion accordingly by not being enthused by Laura anymore! And what’s the problem with that, eh eh eh?.. oh right, y’all accusing Wiwibloggs having rated Laura down because she’s a homophobe. Real friggen’ obviously because of that, you guys. NOT. Grow a brain a bit, will ya. (and even a contestant named Linda Teodosiu was pissed about Wiwibloggs not giving her enough points lmao... her song was a typical ”rent a NF songwriter” spiel so she has no effin’ reason to be mad her ‘originality’ wasn’t awarded lol.)

Worth noting that one of the other reasons people were mad that the juryvote points overpowered the televote big time (like 7 juror votes against 1 set of televotes - inequal) and therefore did not even listen to what they had to say (again, Ester had 3 freaking televote points lol). It’s a thing y’all should get used to - juries overrating an act one way or the other, against the televote’s will. It’s a given nowadays, remember. I know y'all Romanians wanted to scream "ESTER IS NOT OUR WINNER WE HAVEN'T DECIDED HER WE WANT BELLA/LAURA!!!" but that's the truth with the juries.

And thankfully, that is, what I think, all you need to remember from the SN headache this year. Fortunately it’s much smaller than the last year’s headache that, aside from 60 songs in total for 5 semis (!!!), also had a very strictly eliminative system that had 3 qualifiers each from a semi decided by juries ONLY (geez not even A Dal does that!), only to soften things up by having everyone fall down on televote’s hands only during the final. And then the final had the drama on its own. But if I reminisced it all on here, we’d be taking more than just all day, so it’s best that I stop this here and now, for all of ya who are already tired of all this waffle.

Good luck to Ester! and may all of your fans see you performing on a Saturday :)

[septic-heart-and-mind]

“Loved” | “Imprisoned” (JSE Ego Fic) Chapter 13 [END]

I’ve finally done it, I’ve written the last chapter of my JSE ego fic!! Sorry it has taken so long and THANK YOU to everyone who has read it, and for the comments I’ve had - that means a lot to me! And thanks to @thesepticimprovisor23 for writing your JSE ego fic as this is what inspired me to start mine in the first place 💚

For anyone who hasn’t read it or wants to re-read: 

“Abused”, Chapter 1: (x) “Trouble”, Chapter 2: (x) “Friends”, Chapter 3: (x) “Magic”, Chapter 4: (x) “Two Stories”, Chapter 5: (x) “A Foolproof Plan”, Chapter 6: (x) “To The Rescue”, Chapter 7: (x) “Road to Recovery”, Chapter 8: (x) “Healing”. Chapter 9: (x) “Free”, Chapter 10: (x) “Brave”, Chapter 11: (x) “Life Sentence”, Chapter 12: (x) (or search #ImprisonedFic on my blog) 💚

Chase’s POV

I cried in my mother’s arms, wondering why my father never loved me and wishing I had one who did; Mum held me close and soothed me, staying with me for hours as I poured out my heart to her. I told her about the fact that I still kind of loved him despite my hatred for him, and she understood; she didn’t judge me or think it was strange, in fact she seemed to believe that it was completely normal and understandable. I questioned why he hurt Mum, but I told her that I didn’t blame him for what he did to me because I was a useless son who deserved it. I deserved to be hated. Mum wasn’t having any of it, though, and she reassured me that this was just what he wanted me to think. She told me that I was a lovely boy who deserved all the love in the world, and what he did to me was a reflection of his evil nature and nothing to do with me as a person. She reminded me of her love for me, my friends, and the fact that Stacy was head over heels for me. My heart warmed, realising just how I loved I really was, and I started to feel a bit better. Mum seemed to know just the right things to say to me when I was upset. It wasn’t long before I was calm and began to feel tired, so I got settled into bed and Mum lovingly said goodnight; she kissed my forehead, told me she loved me, and then she left. Now I was alone, I had to try and prevent my mind from racing again so that I could get to sleep. I found myself thinking about Stacy, imagining her warm voice in my ears and her sweet eyes looking at me as she smiled, and my breathing became slow and deep as my body relaxed. I smiled a little as I remembered her telling me that she liked me and the magical first kiss we had, and the beautiful memories lulled me to sleep. I soon fell into a dream, and I saw Dad - but I wasn’t afraid of him. He was just stood there, looking at me with unthreatening eyes, and he didn’t seem to tower over me like he did in real life - not because he was actually shorter, but I didn’t feel as small around him because I wasn’t intimidated. It was strange because everything around us was white, almost like heaven, but I knew neither of us were dead. The floor and walls were plain like snow, and all I could see was the door that Dad had walked through. No-one else was around, just me and him.

“Dad?” I said a little nervously.

“It’s okay, son,” he reassured me, a gentle smile on his face.

“Aren’t you going to hit me? Say something horrible?” I stammered, confused.

“Of course not,” he replied in a kind voice, “Why would I do that to you?”

“You hate me,” I trembled, almost in tears at those words.

“I don’t hate you,” he corrected me softly, his hand gently on my shoulder. “I love you.” My heart seemed to stop for a second. He actually said the words. He loved me. My dad loved me.

“You - love me?” I checked in pleasant disbelief, my voice a little shaky as I feared he was toying with me.

“Yes, son,” he confirmed with affection, “I love you.”

“Really?” I asked again, unable to take it in.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I love you, son.” I threw my arms around him and he held me close like he never wanted to let me go. I could feel the affection as he embraced me, and I knew that he really did genuinely love me. This wasn’t an act, he wasn’t just messing with me for a cruel joke - he actually loved me! I held him a little tighter, still struggling to believe it was true, and he placed a kiss upon my head. “I have to go now, son,” he sighed sadly.

“No, no, Dad, don’t go,” I pleaded, tears in my eyes. One rolled down my cheek.

“Don’t cry, my boy,” he said gently, caressing the tear away with his thumb.

“Please don’t leave me,” I begged him.

“You have to wake up,” he explained. He then turned round and headed towards a door, the only one I could see.

“No, don’t go!” I cried as I ran after him. He was only walking, yet I couldn’t catch up with him, and eventually he disappeared through the door. “No!” I wept, thumping the door with my fist. I then opened it, and all I could see ahead of me was what looked like a black void. “Dad!” I called, before stepping out. I immediately fell, descending through the abyss of darkness; it seemed to go on forever, but I sensed I was about to hit the ground - but that was when I woke up. I sat up and I called out for him, before quickly realising it was all a dream and my dad didn’t love me at all. I missed the version of him that did, and I burst into tears. Why couldn’t he be like that in real life? Why did I have to have an evil monster for a dad instead of the loving character I had just interacted with? Unexpectedly, as it was late, my phone started vibrating on my bedside table; it was an unknown number, but I decided to answer it out of curiosity. “Hello?” I stammered, apprehensive as I waited for the reply.

“Chase?” a familiar voice answered. Dad. He must’ve somehow snuck a mobile phone into his cell and remembered my number. Frightened, I wanted to end the call immediately - and he knew that. “Don’t hang up, son,” he pleaded. His tone was strange to me because it seemed too gentle, but it was definitely him speaking. I was extremely confused. “I need to see you,” he confessed.

“Really?” I stuttered, taken aback.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “Come see me as soon as you can. Please.”

“Why?” I asked, perplexed at his sudden interest in seeing me.

“I told you, I need to see you,” he repeated, although not getting angry like he usually would when I questioned him.

“It’s not like you miss me,” I stated sadly, but he stayed quiet rather than responding. “Unless… you do miss me?” I wondered as I wished it was true. He didn’t correct me, or say something horrible about me meaning nothing to him. “You do…” I gasped. I couldn’t believe it and I was so excited and elated. “I’ll put in a visiting order tomorrow,” I announced to him.

“Thanks, son,” he replied gratefully, before hanging up. I couldn’t quite take in what just happened, and I rubbed my eyes to check that it wasn’t just another dream again; I realised that I was fully in reality, yet I still couldn’t believe what had just occurred. It seemed so sudden. Had he really changed that quickly? Had he had so much time to think that he had actually come to his senses already? Did my father really miss me? Maybe he even loved me… I so desperately wanted it to be true, so I clung to it tightly with both hands.

As I had promised, I put in a visiting order the following morning. Although, I ended up regretting it later that day, when I saw a story on the news all about him. It made me have huge doubts about him, whether I would in fact be safe to go and see him. I was reminded of what he’d done (I use ‘reminded’ loosely, as it wasn’t that I’d forgotten - I never would), and I began to be unsure whether he’d changed or not. I heard the news reporters talking to people who knew him.

“How does it feel to know you were on the same street as this evil man?” they asked.

“Really strange, I never even knew he was like that,” a woman replied, “He always seemed so friendly, like a family man. He was nothing but kind to me, I can’t believe it was all just an act. It just shows you never really know who people are, do you?” The report cut to another place with different people.

“How did he seem to you?” the reporter questioned a man.

“He never seemed like an evil psychopath, that’s for sure,” he responded. “He was clearly hiding his true self from everyone, so that no-one would figure out what he was doing behind closed doors. He’s sick.” There was another cut, to another person he knew.

“What’s it like knowing that a friend of yours used to abuse his own wife and son?” the reporter asked.

“It’s crazy, he didn’t seem like the abusive type, he was so charming,” she answered, “Then again most psychopaths are like that. Good at fooling people to hide their wicked side. I feel sorry for them having to go through that and I wish I’d realised something so I could’ve made it stop.” The last cut followed.

“What did you think of this man, did you think he could do anything like this?” the reporter prompted.

“Well, something was always not right,” he confessed, “But I didn’t know it was anything like this. I noticed some odd things, like when I looked after Chase once and he seemed reluctant to go back home afterwards. I did wonder why…” He looked down and sighed. “I guess I know now.”

After hearing this news report and what everyone said about finding out the truth about my dad, seeds of doubt were planted in my mind about going to see him; I voiced these concerns to Mum, and her response watered the seeds, however she did advise me to do whatever felt right and not what she told me to do. Although I was questioning whether I would go or not, part of me was so desperate for my dad to love me that if there was even a tiny chance that he did, I needed to find out and hear it for myself. It did seem highly unlikely that he had suddenly had a change of heart, but I had no idea what it was like in prison - maybe if I knew that it would make more sense and would seem more possible. Regardless of that, it wasn’t impossible - and if he somehow had started to love me, I had to experience that. Yet, I still struggled with the decision and couldn’t be definitive about it yet; I couldn’t shake the fear I had, especially after hearing what all those people said about him. He had pretended before, so I knew I shouldn’t really trust him - and yet I still couldn’t help but feel like I needed to out of desperation to be loved by my dad.

A week passed and, despite all the doubting, I went to see him; Mum took me but I knew I had to visit him on my own this time. Whatever it was he wanted to say, it was clearly for me. I tried to imagine how it might go; I envisioned him telling me how wrong he was, and that he was actually sorry. Maybe he would tell me that he had been beaten in prison and that made him realise. I hoped that he would say the words I’d longed to hear from him all my life. I was still nervous when I saw him though, as the fear wouldn’t just magically go away after all he had put me through; it was impossible for me to just forget all that and feel safe like nothing ever happened. It was the strangest feeling in the world when the two of us saw each other. His eyes looked just like they had in the dream, unthreatening and gentle - and perhaps even caring. I squeezed my eyes and opened them again, just to make sure that I was awake and that this was really happening. It was, as I was still here in the visiting room with him approaching me. He was soon sat opposite me and, from what I could tell, he was actually glad to see me.

“What’s changed, Dad?” I asked confusedly. “Why am I here?”

“I’ve done a lot of thinking,” he announced. “And you’re here because… because there’s something I need to tell you.”

“I don’t understand,” I stated, puzzled, “I don’t get why you need to tell me anything. You hate my guts, you always have.”

“Like I said, I’ve been thinking. You get a lot of time for that here,” he explained.

“And what have you been thinking about?” I wondered.

“Everything I did,” he answered. “You see, I got a taste of my own medicine last night, and that kind of opened my eyes. I was wrong.”

“You mean that?” I checked.

“Yes,” he replied sincerely, “That’s why I brought you here. To tell you I’m sorry… That I miss you…” It didn’t sound like he was finished.

“And?” I prompted him.

“And…” he hesitated, “I love you.” My dream had come true. He said it, he actually said it. I looked deeply into his eyes, and what I saw seemed to confirm the words he had just uttered.

“You.. you love me?” I reacted in surprise, tears of joy pricking my eyes.

“I love you,” he reiterated, his hand gently placed on top of mine.

“You actually love me?” I repeated in disbelief. He nodded, and I burst into happy tears. I was about to say something, when he took his hand away from mine and sat back - laughing, the gentleness in his eyes gone and replaced by the darkness that usually dwelled there. My tears transformed to ones of fear and pain from his betrayal and deceit.

“You’re really more gullible and desperate than I thought,” he mocked me. “I didn’t think my plan would actually work!” He turned to look at two of his mates who were also visiting people, who were smirking back when they saw his evil triumph. “He fell for it,” he laughed to them, before turning back to me. “You really are a fucking idiot,” he taunted me. “You wanted it so bad that you actually believed it, didn’t ya?”

“You’re - so evil…” I wept, my lips quivering.

“I don’t fucking care,” he smirked.  “Just like I don’t care about you.” I sobbed then. “Oh, shut up, you’re pathetic. Get out of here, go away.”

“Why don’t you love me?” I asked in a tearful, shaking voice.

“Because you’re worthless, now get lost,” he answered nastily.

“Please love me, please,” I begged in desperation. “I’ll do anything.” He laughed at me again, but I continued to plead with him. “If I’m evil too will you love me then?” I questioned as tears streamed down my heartbroken face.

“I’ll never love you,” he stated darkly. My heart’s pieces shattered further.

“Please,” I sobbed.

“Get it through that thick skull of yours, I hate you,” he replied, clearly enjoying my emotional torment. He stood up to return to his cell, and I impulsively threw my arms around him like I did in my dream. I did it almost as though I could make him love me if I held him tightly enough.

“Please love me!” I wept loudly, “Please!” He aggressively pulled me away from him, before glaring into my eyes and getting a little too close to my face as he often did to intimidate me. It worked every time and I was filled with fear.

“I will never love you, you pathetic - worthless - freak,” he spat, making me whimper with terror, before shoving me to the floor. He was immediately taken away back to his cell, while I slowly and shakily had to pick myself up. Everyone was staring, and a lot of the inmates were laughing at me. I ran out of there, crying my eyes out; I was holding back somewhat, though, and I fully let it out once I got away from them and that horrible place. I sobbed so hard that I could barely stand, feeling like I was suffocating and choking on my tears as my entire body shook and I gasped for air. My legs were starting to give underneath my weight, but Mum managed to catch me just in time to keep me up.

“Come here, baby,” she said softly as she took me into her arms, and I sobbed heavily into her. She shushed me and soothed me like a little child who had just had a bad dream, slowly stroking my head as she embraced me lovingly.

“I’m such an idiot!” I sobbed loudly.

“Shhh, you’re not an idiot, my darling. You’re not, I promise,” she comforted me softly with affection.

“I’m a freak!” I wept heartbrokenly.

“No, don’t you say that about yourself,” Mum replied gently. “It’s not true, sweetie.”

“I’m worth nothing!” I lamented, “Nothing!”

“You listen to me,” Mum said caringly as she looked deep into my eyes, cupping my face, “You are not worthless. You matter - so much.” She then caressed my face as she spoke. “Do not believe that evil, twisted monster. He’s so wrong, sweetheart, so wrong.”

“He hates me…” I cried sorrowfully, “He’ll never love me…”

“He doesn’t know what love is, honey,” Mum sighed as she held me close again. “You don’t need him, darling, you’re better off leaving him here to rot and forgetting about him. He’s not worth your tears, baby. Not a single one.” Despite knowing she was right, I still couldn’t stop sobbing. “Shhh,” Mum continued to soothe me. “We need to get you home, darling. Away from here. Come on.” Mum helped me back to the car, still reassuring me, and she assisted me with getting in. She got in on her side of the car and settled into her seat, before looking at me and taking my hand. “It will be alright, my love,” she said with a gentle smile. “You don’t need him, you’ve got me. And I love you.”

“I love you too, Mum,” I sniffled, managing to slightly smile back at her. She caressed my cheek and kissed my forehead, before we made our way home. Dad’s words were still ringing in my ears, and my heart ached as I desperately wished that what he had told me wasn’t just some sick prank. I felt completely and utterly stupid for believing him. How did I trust him after all he’d done to me? Why did I trust him? He’d faked being nice to me before to stop strangers from becoming suspicious, so I should’ve known that it wouldn’t be hard for him to pretend to care about me as a twisted joke. I should have seen it for what it was right away but, as he said, I was so desperate for it to be true that I believed it. I was a fool, the idiot that he told me I was. I felt like I deserved the heartbreak I got for being stupid enough to fall for his deceit. How on Earth was I that gullible, especially knowing what he could be like? I texted Stacy about it when I was home, telling her about how idiotic I felt for believing him; she thought what he did was evil, but she didn’t agree that I was stupid. She said that he had just taken advantage of me because that’s the kind of person he is, and that it didn’t reflect my intelligence at all. I told her everything he said about me being worthless, a freak, and that he would never love me… Stacy reassured me that I wasn’t the things he called me, and that it didn’t even matter that a monster like him hated me because he wasn’t worth thinking about. She reminded me that it didn’t mean I was unloveable, and she mentioned all of the people that she knew cared about me (including herself). I was still upset about what happened, but she somehow lifted me so that things didn’t seem so bad.

She brought me some comfort by saying that he had no power over me anymore, because I was never going to see him ever again; he couldn’t bully and abuse me or my mother anymore, and he was having to pay the price for what he did. It was unlikely that he would get out and, if he ever did, he probably wouldn’t ever be able to find me. I went into my phone’s contacts and I deleted his number and all the old messages I had from him. I wanted to erase him from my life as much as possible, so that no longer had any ties to him. We didn’t have many photos together, but we did have some to keep up the façade when anyone was round the house; I got all of the ones with him in them and I ripped them to pieces, before putting all of the shreds into a fire so that they were gone forever. Mum cried over her wedding picture, wishing that she had never married such a monster, but she soon threw that into the fire too as she didn’t want to be tied to him anymore either. She planned to file for a divorce as soon as possible, so that all our connections to him were severed. Unfortunately for me, I would always be related to him whether I liked it or not - but I didn’t have to call him Dad anymore. I was sure that Mum would find someone else eventually, and whoever it was had to be better than him - and he would easily take the title off him. I would proudly call almost anyone Dad instead of my real one, because hardly anyone in the world is as evil. My dad had a hole where his compassion and love were supposed to be, and instead it was nothing but darkness and hatred. It didn’t matter anymore because I no longer had to have anything to do with him, although I couldn’t undo the damage he’d done. Maybe that would be there forever, a life sentence. Even if it wasn’t, he would still have power over me for years to come yet. What he did to me scarred me terribly, physically and mentally, and it would take quite some time to move past it all. I knew I would struggle to trust and get close to anyone, and I already flinched when people tried to touch me even in a kind way - not to mention all the nightmares and flashbacks I had. My mother and I definitely had a long road ahead of us, but at least we had one thing that my so-called dad would probably never have. Love.

Months Later…

Seán’s POV

We had all prepared for our charity event, and we were beginning to get both excited and nervous about what we were doing; knowing it was for a very good cause definitely helped with the feelings of apprehension, and it certainly made it impossible for any of us to back out. There was no going back, we were committed. Because of how shy and anxious JJ is, he kept something quiet when we were planning what to do for the charity - he didn’t mention his fear of heights. When he’d eventually told us, it turns out he was too scared to say anything and he didn’t want to seem impolite by rejecting our idea. Of course, we reassured him that we wouldn’t have thought that of him; now that we had no choice but to go ahead, though, we had to convince him to go up the mountain with us despite his fear. He was terrified, the poor guy, but he agreed for Chase. Every time he got really wound up, I reminded him of what we were doing it for and he would find the strength to carry on. He was inspirational, really, all of my friends were. JJ really symbolised what abuse is like, though; Chase had to carry on with his day-to-day life even with what went on behind closed doors, and he put on a brave face in front of everyone so that no-one knew his pain. JJ was doing the same, battling his way up the mountain despite terror and doing his best to hide just how much he was struggling. He would often say he was fine even though we could all see that he was petrified. I frequently saw his legs wobbling as we walked, which worsened as the height increased, and his breathing was more or less always shallow and shaky. Yet, he stayed strong and he never gave up; everyone was amazing, keeping each other going no matter what. We were all tired and in pain, and we weren’t particularly comfortable at that height (although not as bad as JJ), so it was an incredible task for all of us; we all kept that in mind and we supported each other with every step. I hated the height too, so JJ and I stuck together all the way as I understood how he felt the most out of everyone. I even held his hand towards the end, heading towards the highest point, and I didn’t care who saw me do it. There wasn’t exactly many people around anyway, but I wasn’t really bothered about what people thought. I was supporting my friend and there’s nothing wrong with that; even if it had meant something else beyond being platonic, there’s nothing wrong with that either. Eventually, after a long and hard battle, we reached the summit and  we were all overcome with emotion. Pride, happiness, relief and tiredness hit us like a ton of bricks, and we all shared hugs of elation as we told each other how proud we were of one another for completing it. We took pictures to prove that we made it, and just for our keepsake, before having a rest as we knew we would have to make our way back down. It wasn’t just to regain our physical energy, but to mentally recharge and prepare for the journey ahead. The hardest part was over, but we still had a long way to go yet before we were truly finished. We were still exhausted when it came to restarting our trek, but it was something that we knew had to be done; again, as we did during our ascent, we thought about Chase. Anti was in our minds, too, as he wasn’t doing the walk with us; he wasn’t able to train for it like we did, because of his trauma recovery. By the time he was doing well enough, he didn’t have sufficient time to prepare like us. He and Chase planned to do something of their own, though, but not until we were done because they didn’t want to try and outshine us. Our descent was another long haul in every regard, and we supported each other all the way down. In both directions, there was pain and struggling and tears - but even more intense emotion was yet to come as we defeated the monumental mountain. We’d done it. There was more crying and hugs, pride and joy pouring out of each and every one of us. We took and shared more photos, before giving out another embrace to each other. Chase was with Anti, so we decided to do a video call to catch up and show them how ecstatic we were. Both of them were immensely proud of us all, and there were tears from them as well when they realised just what we’d done for them, for charity. All of us as friends felt a vast love between us, and the tragedy of Chase’s abuse turned into one of the happiest days of our lives, which felt truly victorious.

Chase’s POV

It was after this charity event that I really and truly realised how loved I was, and I knew who my best friends were. They had all just done an amazing, awe-inspiring task, something that I never imagined I would be able to do, and all because of what I suffered. They did it for charity, but they also did it for me; they told me about how they thought of me when it got difficult, and I found that truly moving. I couldn’t help but cry on the phone to them as I was filled with love and pride. I felt more connected to them than ever, despite the physical distance, and it was the least lonely and isolated I had ever been in my life. It really felt like I had won over my father - we had won, good triumphing over evil and love over hate. It just shows how powerful love truly is, and what people will do for you when they love you. Even after all my father did to me, I was able to feel like I mattered and feel loved; I could be happy, laughing in the face of all his twisted acts towards me. He couldn’t make me feel small anymore, as love lifted me up to the height of the mountain that my friends ascended. Of course, I wasn’t over what he did to me and I still had scars, but that didn’t mean he had defeated me. I was still living life, and I was being loved more than he would ever be. The fact that I had love and knew how to give it was enough on its own to make me victorious over him; one of the most precious things in life was mine to keep and to share, while he was yet to discover it. After this event was the start of a new journey, as I felt more like I could start to move forward from my past - and I began to feel like I had a future away from everything that happened to me, a future that I controlled instead of fear. My friends raised a massive amount of money - £10,000 each! We threw a huge party to celebrate, and this was like the beginning of a new chapter. A clean slate, a blank page where I could continue to write my life - with me holding the pen instead of my father, its ink made of love and happiness. I didn’t have to reread the pages he wrote anymore, nor did I have to let them influence where my chapters were led. Now that I was the author of my life, I could decide the future of my story - and whenever I felt uninspired and demotivated, a proverbial writer’s block, I had the one thing I needed to reignite the spark in me and set my heart alight with positivity again. I had life’s most beautiful two-way gift, the greatest part of human existence, and I kind of felt sorry for my father for missing out on this. He would never know or understand love or kindness, friendship or family, compassion or empathy. He wasn’t truly like a human as he was without those things; to be without love in one’s heart is to exist without the essence of life. I was complete even without him, one of the people who made me, and my life had a deeper meaning because of the people I cared the most about. I didn’t need a father who despised me because hatred is unnecessary, so it was time to focus my attention on the people that mattered, the people that gave me the affection that everyone should receive and more. They were a reason to live, a reason to keep fighting back against the mental damage he caused, a reason to be happy despite all I’d endured. I was loved and that was all that mattered. It wasn’t easy for me to forget him, I couldn’t erase him from my mind completely - but I didn’t have to let him win anymore. Every time I was happy, every time I faced a fear, every time I loved - I was defeating him over and over again, dancing among the memories and lighting up the shadows of my mind.

[friendshipcampaign]

Session Recap 7/15/18: Cooperation and Cohabitation

Intrigued by what he’d heard of the Tome, Palava asked Ditto if he could try communicating with it -- hoping that perhaps between his religious knowledge and Mynskay’s knowledge of necromancy they could path together some way for Tsova to communicate. She handed the book over.

As the party waited to hear if Palava and Mynskay had any ideas, Voski tapped Amaranth on the shoulder, pulling her aside to discuss some of the ballads she’d discovered. As Amaranth looked them over, Voski asked for some clarifications about her story. She wanted to know about Amaranth’s comment that the Dirge’s crew didn’t like people interfering with their cargo.

Amaranth admitted that she and her crew had boarded a ship themselves, not knowing that it had already been overtaken by a group of slavers. They had then proceeded to free the proper crew from their grasp -- unaware that the slavers were in league with the Dirge, and those crew members were already considered cargo. Cargo that she and her crew had interfered with.

A singular devil, she said, had then showed up to speak with them and mentioned reporting back to the ship. But it was the only one they’d directly interacted with.

At this point in the conversation, Amaranth was looking fairly haggard. Voski glanced around the room to try to note the others’ positioning and if they might hear what she was about to say. She squared her shoulders to try to block them out, and proceeded to tell Amaranth she could tell she was upset -- and that she was going to share a piece of information with her and her only. After a deep breath the dragonborn admitted, “Voski… is my real name.”

She then proceeded to give the context -- for years now, she’d been going around under fake names, aliases, and disguises. “If you had met me at any point for the last while,” she said, “You wouldn’t know me by that name it all. It would have been Ina, or Kadri, or Mjosena--Tiffany, once. Dimira, the one I sold. But for some reason, when we got on that stupid boat, I decided to bring Voski out of retirement. And I don’t know why.”

She seemed to be getting stressed, explaining that she didn’t feel good about the fact that her real name was the one that the fae had, that the group was using, and that she kept giving to people. But she then turned it around on Amaranth, pointing out that she had been having extreme reactions to things related to her past coming up unexpectedly, and if they challenged the contract they might have to deal with much more of that. If a rumor in a ballad had been enough to shut Amaranth down the night before, a devil deliberately using her trauma against her could be disastrous. Voski’s point was that they both needed to handle their concerns, and that if Amaranth needed to share or disclose anything so as to not be caught off-guard later, this would be the time.

Amaranth admitted there was one detail that had been changed in the ballad. “Fury of the Sea” hadn’t been the name of the ship. It had been her name, as a captain. Which meant the song was highly unlikely to be simply rumor -- hence her strong reaction. And also that she and her crew had killed the devil that had come to negotiate with them, which caught Voski a bit off-guard.

Voski then urged Amaranth to recognize that while Hayel still had the face in her repertoire that had hurt her before, it was just a face. Amaranth told her that after what she’d seen recently, she didn’t think it could hurt her anymore. They then discussed that Amaranth was clearly trying her best to not simply rush in with swords -- but that it might be an option. Voski closed off the conversation by handing over the book of ballads and telling Amaranth that if there was anything in there that she’d like her to learn, she’d give it a go.

At that point, a kobold came running into the central area, holding what looked like a little moving piece of paper, saying it had gotten caught in one of their traps. Assuming that it was one of the living spellbook pages from Lakaphai’s tower, Erwyn reached out and grabbed it, at which point it stilled to become readable. The message on it read, “The shadows are dispersing. What have you done?”

Voski turned to Palava and asked how his research was going. The elf seemed fairly optimistic about one option, and asked the group an odd question -- “How do you feel about possession?”

He explained that it was likely possible for them to summon and bind Tsova, even as a dead creature, if they were contained within a living being, who would retain some of their senses but could switch between the god controlling them and the host still controlling themself.

Erwyn immediately volunteered to serve as a host for Tsova, but Kriv chimed in to say that he thought the elf’s knowledge and speaking abilities would be more valuable than his own in the impending court proceedings, and that he was also willing to be a vessel. When Erwyn protested, pointing out that of everyone in the group, he was most familiar with having a loose relationship with his own body, Voski pointed out that they didn’t know if there would be a physical toll of some kind on the host, but if there was, Kriv would be far better equipped to handle it than Erwyn, who was not only much smaller and scrawnier, but frequently exhibited signs of having a poor constitution. Eventually, he conceded, saying he’d rather be wherever the group thought he’d be more valuable -- though he seemed perhaps a little quietly upset that they didn’t think he could handle it -- and the group agreed to bind the forgotten god to their paladin.

Palava started to draw a magic circle on the floor, telling Kriv to step into the center once he’d completed it. The dragonborn gave him a thumbs-up, which the cleric returned. As the ritual went underway, the circle flashed with green and purple light. Soon, Kriv heard a nervous voice in his head asking, “What’s happening?” -- prompting him to explain to Tsova their plan, and that he’d agreed to this, so as long as the god was alright with it there was nothing to fear.

The light faded, leaving Kriv standing in the center of the circle looking no different than before. Cautiously, Palava asked if the ritual had actually worked. Kriv could feel Tsova sharing his mind and granted them control to try to respond. He started to make some strange noises as Tsova tried to figure out how to talk to the others, but eventually they were able to tell the others it had been successful. Ditto asked if Kriv was okay, and they confirmed he was communicating with them.

Erwyn then proceeded to write a message to Lakaphai on her spellbook page, saying the entity from the woods was on their side and was now horrified by the terms of the contract, which was probably reasonable grounds for a challenge. Once he re-folded it, it fluttered off towards the tunnel it had come down before, headed towards the surface.

With the party playing a waiting game again, Tsova proceeded to try walking in Kriv’s body, falling over immediately and commenting on the fact that he had “so few limbs.” When concerned party members asked if the duo was okay, Kriv reassured Tsova that he was fairly sturdy, and simply falling over while walking wasn’t enough to harm him. They passed this on. As they tried to practice taking more steps, Amaranth and Ditto nervously spotting (the latter remembering the first time she summoned Tiktik). Tsova asked if walking was this difficult for all of them, and Erwyn reassured them that “It took me years and years, so you’re doing alright.”

Kriv also realized, when Ditto Messaged Amaranth about the situation, that with a god sharing his head, he could hear their conversation in whispers. When Amaranth mentioned to Ditto she should be careful, he asked Tsova to tell Ditto to possibly steer clear for a bit, since she was small and could be in a little danger. Tsova looked at Ditto and said, “You are very small” -- to which Ditto enthusiastically responded, “I am!” until Tsova explained that they had meant they -- and Kriv -- didn’t want her getting hurt. Ditto offered to use Minor Conjuration to create a cane for them, which seemed to help.

After a bit of time, the spellbook page returned, followed by some excitable kobolds. Erwyn snatched it out of the air and read the message -- which, in ever shakier handwriting, read, “Come to the inn. We need to talk.” The party, while acknowledging this was probably a trap, decided this was probably their next step, and discussed the fact that Alembic and Palava should probably come with them this time. They all began to head towards the surface.

Alembic Messaged Ditto, asking if she was still intending to try the Sending spell she had been thinking about trying. She seemed reluctant, saying she thought they should wait if they were potentially headed to the Hells, since she had no way of knowing what would happen there. But he replied that was exactly why he was asking -- he thought she should try it before leaving, precisely because they didn’t know what would happen after this, and if this was important he wanted to get the word out to people. The implication that the party may not be able to get the word out after this negotiation was not lost.

Voski then messaged Alembic to demand if he and Palava had anything more than myths and rumors to suggest winning a trial in the Hells was even possible, since some of the party had accepted so quickly that this was inevitably where things were going. Alembic responded that he had seen a few verifiable accounts over the years--both of successes and of failures.

As the party approached the inn, Kriv reached out to update Volfred on the situation. The goat informed him (and Tsova by proxy), that both Hayel and Lakaphai were headed towards the building as well. Tsova passed this on to the others. Ditto interjected that she needed to prepare some spells, prompting Erwyn to ask about the fact that wizards usually did that in the morning, and Voski to say there probably wasn’t going to be time. She didn’t pursue the excuse further for the time being.

Entering through the kitchen, when the group walked into the main dining area they found Lakaphai sitting, fiddling with with her hands at the largest table, and Hayel lounging at another, already halfway through a bottle of alcohol. She looked up and greeted them, saying, “Well, hello. Someone’s been busy.”

As the group filed in, Alembic lurked in the back, telling Ditto when she Messaged him about it that he felt like maintaining a bit of an element of surprise. Hayel looked at those who were more obvious expectantly, asking them what they wanted to talk about. Erwyn said it was really something they ought to talk about with the town council, to see if they would like to challenge the contract. Hayel responded, “Well, why don’t we ask them?” and called out, “Alright, they’re here!”

Slowly, from the second floor and cellar, most of the population of the town emerged, brandishing assorted sharp implements and avoiding coming too close, but spreading out to cover all the doors to the room. Hayel smiled, saying, “It’s really great that you brought a friend along.” She told the townspeople, “This should be as many as you need,” and smugly informed the party that this was what happened when one tried to help people. “They just backstab you, and decide to sacrifice you to a devil.”

Erwyn angrily interjected, asking her if she’d even told them they didn’t have to. He took a deep breath and shakily tried to address the people of Folly’s End, telling them about what the party had learned. One of them immediately accused him of bluffing, but Ditto made eye contact with another and asked them if they wanted Hayel to be right. She asked if they were ready to be brave, and they said they already were.

Voski sighed, calling the townspeople “backwoods simpletons,” and grabbed something from the bar to pour herself a glass. She said that Erwyn was trying to tell them they had signed a contract under false pretenses, and asked if Tsova would just talk to them already. The god finally spoke up, explaining that they rejected the terms, having sought the shadows out of misunderstanding. Voski chimed in, saying, “That’s a god, by the way.” She took a big swig from her glass and shot a glance at Hayel. “You didn’t know?”

Erwyn deferred to Palava at this point, who mentioned the possibility of bringing this up in court on the behalf of the townspeople. Hayel laughed, saying they didn’t know enough to put forth a challenge to the courts in the Hells, saying it was pointless and they should give up. As she spoke, her gaze flickered between Kriv (or Tsova), and Erwyn, eventually settling on the former. Tsova instantly was overtaken with a feeling of despair, telling Kriv they didn’t think this was going to work, though he tried to reassured them.

Ditto and Amaranth both took their turn to address the townspeople, Ditto saying they wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t think it could help, and Amaranth asking if they were really going to give Hayel what she wanted. Eventually, Erwyn took the floor again, with an impassioned plea that the townspeople had entered this contract in the first place to try to protect people -- did they want it to end with sacrificing some strangers? It seemed like they were abandoning what had been good motivations. “I believe that the world is kinder than this,” he said. “It’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. I’d hoped it was why you were doing what you were doing. Is it not?”

There was a creak from behind, and Karvel rushed up from out of the cellar, a tiny lizard still resting on his shoulder. He ran out in front of the party and stated that the world was kinder, and that he didn’t believe the townspeople had forgotten -- he’d watched them be kind before.

Voski turned to Hayel and asked why she was hanging onto this contract so strongly -- it was clearly built on fairly shaky ground at this point, and didn’t offer a lot of reward. Hayel replied that she didn’t like to let things go. When Voski asked if there was an easier way to get through this without the full trial, perhaps a neutral third party, Hayel dismissively said there weren’t many options unless they had an Inevitable in their back pocket. When Voski commented that there was actually one fairly nearby that would probably be willing to head over, she responded with incredulity.

Lakaphai stood up and said she voted they should wait until the Inevitable could be brought to Folly’s End. The town smith lowered the hammer he’d been brandishing and seconded the vote. When Lakaphai called, “All those in favor,” there was a slow chorus of agreement -- including Lacha, who emerged from the cellar herself to chime in.

Once it was agreed that Ditto would cast Sending to contact the Inevitable (whom they’d last seen still vainly trying to solve a riddle outside Auntie Eyren Keep’s home), she headed outside for a bit to maintain her lie from earlier that she still needed to prepare her spells. Alembic followed, but she told him she wasn’t going to try her other spell now.

Back inside, Voski, sitting at the bar, tore into a piece of bread before gesturing at a seat for Hayel to take. The devil raised her eyebrow, and Voski made a “your loss” gesture. Across the room, Erwyn anxiously collapsed into a nearby chair and Amaranth ruffled his hair, saying, “You did good.”

It wasn’t long before Ditto came back in, saying she was ready, and asked what they wanted to say. She then Sent a message saying, “We have an important task for you. Come to Folly’s End for...law-related stuff.” The Inevitable replied with acceptance, which she reported back to the others. Given the travel time that it needed from the demiplane in the lake, they projected it would probably be there sometime in the early morning.

With nothing else to be done before then, Lacha told the rest of the townspeople that they could all head home if they didn’t intend to get anything. They did so, sheepishly. Hayel finished her bottle, grabbed two more, and said she’d wait in the tower. Lakaphai, however, asked if she could stay until the arbiter arrived. Ditto headed upstairs, Messaging Palava that she would be in the third room on the left.

Kriv had a quiet conversation with Tsova, asking them what they thought faith was. Tsova talked about their people believing in them in battle and times of peril for protection. Kriv said he always saw faith as having a ridiculous amount of trust in something. Tsova seemed to agree that was not a bad way of putting it. After a bit of this talk, he asked them if he could take over for a bit in order to get some food. They were perfectly happy to let him. When Karvel rushed up to him and asked if everything was going to be alright, Kriv said it would be, citing the fact that he had a god in his head and anything felt possible.

Alembic and Palava joined Ditto, and she told Tiktik to head downstairs -- saying that she really loved them, and didn’t want them to be in the room when the Sending happened. They extremely reluctantly agreed to this. She informed Alembic and Palava that she didn’t want the others knowing what was going on just yet, but if she ended up incapacitated she would like the two researchers to answer any questions the party asked them honestly, so they wouldn’t be left in the dark. Palava set about setting up some wards, since they didn’t know what kind of a response would be likely, and eventually Ditto sent out her message to the entity she wished to contact: “Can you hear me? I want to help.”

She woke up to Alembic and Palava leaning worriedly over her, and though she’d blacked out at the force of it, she recalled a loud reply in her head that had said “WHO ARE YOU?” She frantically babbled at the two of them, prompting Palava to offer a Calm Emotions that she rejected, repeating nothing but the phrase, “It heard me and it talked back.”

Ditto immediately wanted to try again, but Palava insisted on healing her first, clearing up a deep exhaustion and sharp pain in her head as he did so. Her second Sending said: “I’m the one who brought you here. I’m so sorry, but I want to help. Can I help you?” This time, the response didn’t cause her to black out, but it still felt like it somehow encompassed all of her senses at once, saying, “WHY DID YOU TAKE ME?”

She fell back on her back and immediately tried casting the spell again, only to discover that she’d tapped out of all her magical energy for the day. She babbled once more, repeating, “If I rest I can talk to it again, I can talk to it.” Palava cast Calm Emotions on her at her request now, causing her panic and relief to subside a bit in intensity. Alembic asked if she wanted to tell the party now, and she insisted not just yet -- soon, but not before they knew what the situation would be after that night. Now that communication with the creature was opened and there might be something that could be done about the situation, she felt more of an obligation to tell them.

Tiktik had curled up with Amaranth, but when Alembic came downstairs and they spotted him, they zoomed back up to rejoin Ditto. This immediately aroused Amaranth’s suspicion, as she’d noticed that Ditto seemed very nervous earlier, and she asked Alembic if everything was okay. He said that Ditto had tried to do something difficult, but was okay, and she would tell them about it in the morning. The rogue tried to force her way past him and failed, insisting that if Ditto needed her, she wanted to be there.

Alembic headed back up to ask Ditto if she wanted to see the others just yet, informing her about Amaranth. Somewhat wobbly, she headed about halfway down the stairs to where her friend met her, motioning for her to follow into the room where they’d done the Sending. She apologized for worrying her, but said she’d only want to give the full explanation when she could talk to everyone. Eventually, Amaranth was persuaded to head back downstairs.

With the party still waiting for the Inevitable to show up, Ditto was able to rest long enough to cast one more Sending, reaching out and saying, “It was a terrible accident. I’m so sorry. I want to help. Can you tell me what you need? I’ll talk again soon.” The voiced echoed through her head once more, saying “CAN YOU SEND ME BACK?” Ditto tried frantically to reply again, but nothing happened. It took some time, but Alembic and Palava managed to calm her down once more, and Palava draped a blanket across her once she’d been coaxed to lie down with Tiktik.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “No Names” Part 3

When The Joker told you he found somebody else, your world shattered to pieces. But what hurt the most was the fact that he didn’t even bother to come around and see his little girls; very hard to find excuses on why their father is missing, especially when the triplets adore him. And extremely hard to cope with the gloomy future after you found out some details that might explain his estrangement.

Part 1: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/164355559106/the-joker-x-reader-no-names-part-1

Part 2:http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/164854110621/the-joker-x-reader-no-names-part-2

“Mommy’s going to have another baby,” Evie whispers in Frost’s ear. He’s on the couch, waiting to drive all of you to the beach house.

“Really?” he pretends not to know, even if the triplets keep on repeating the old news every time they see him.

“Yes, it’s a girl,” Mia giggles, climbing in his lap. Emma abandons her toys and gets on the couch, starting to play with Jonny’s hair. “Daddy says he’ll have another pretty doll added to his collection,” she continues to stoke Frosts’ hair and the other two agree.

“U-hum, Daddy said she’ll be cute like us,” Mia’s eyes get big with anticipation. “I can’t wait to see her; I’ll take care of my little sister,” she decides.

“That’s great!” Jonny praises, helping Mia mount his other knee. “You will be an awesome babysitter.”

“No, I’ll take care of her!” Emma sulks while Evie whimpers, unhappy:

“No, I will!”

The inevitable bickering begins while Frost attempts to calm down the spirited little girls.

“I’m telling mommy,” Mia pushes Evie’s head.

“I’m telling daddy!” she fights back, trying to slap her sister.

“I’m telling both!” Emma pouts and you enter the living room, followed by The Joker.

“Hey, what’s going on? Why are you shouting?” you crinkle your nose and the siblings abandon their current preoccupation and run to both parents, explaining why they should take of the little one after she’s born.

“You can all take care of her, OK?” J replies, grumpy from the terrible headache he woke up with this morning. He took some pills to help out with that but no relief so far. Of course the migraine is a side effect due to all the medications he’s on; never ending issues: one thing leading to another.

There’s protesting, ponytails are being pulled, plus some more pushing around and eventually the turmoil fades once everybody steps in the elevator. The excitement of playing in the sand makes things better no matter what.

*************

The girls are having fun on the beach and you joined your boyfriend on the terrace, relaxing in the huge hammock under the canopy. His head is resting in your lap, waiting for the remedy to work: you had to give him an extra dose for the migraine since the pain didn’t go away with the usual fix.

“How come there’s only one Princess in here?” J grumbles, caressing your tummy; not too big for now since you are just 5 months pregnant.

“I don’t know, but it’s exciting, isn’t it?” you cheerfully ask, knowing he’s in a bad mood.

“Yeah, it is, but only one?! I think I’m losing my touch…” he sighs and it makes you laugh:

“I doubt that’s the reason.”

He’s still frowning so you want to distract him somehow.

“You know what J ?”

“What?”

“I wanted to ask you to marry me so many times,” you smile, confessing to the actual truth.

“Why didn’t you?” The Joker looks at you, suddenly interested at your revelation.

“Well, I figured that if you wanted to marry me, you would have asked.”

“True,” he admits and you punch his shoulder.

“Not the answer I was expecting, can’t you be sweet for once?!” “I’m always sweet; the sweetest guy ever!”

“No… you’re not,” you take a deep breath and he agrees:

“Yeah…I’m not…”

You watch the children playing for a little bit and he realizes you’re still upset.

“Pumpkin?”

“Yes?” you twirl the green strands of hair around your fingers, absent minded.

“After I die and I get to the gates of hell, you know what I’m gonna say?”

You immediately want to protest against his statement but J continues.

“I’ll tell them my woman did a lot of bad things, but she should go to a better place: she put up with me and had my children so she shouldn’t follow me there. Umm…why are you crying? It’s supposed to make you laugh,” The Joker bites on his lip, confused, oblivious at your emotions. “Is it the hormones?”

“N-no…” you sniffle, struggling to bend over to kiss his forehead. “This is probably the sweetest thing that ever came out of your mouth.”

“Told you I’m a sweet guy, “ J smirks, victorious. “Are you gonna miss me?” he kisses your wrist and it makes you sadder.

“Not even for a second,” the shaky voice announces.

“Good, you shouldn’t,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and enjoying the cool breeze on his face. “But at least you’ll be left behind with my heart. Umm…can you stop crying? I’m referring to the tattoo, Kitten, all right?” J slides up your body, getting comfortable by your side. “Why are you so hormonal?” he glances at the design he was referring to, pretending not to understand your feelings.

The Joker has playing cards symbols tattooed on his fingers: spades, diamonds and clubs, but he’s missing the heart—you are the one that has the missing symbol inked on your skin, right on top of where your heart is, with the writing under it: “Mister J’s.”

“You always misunderstand what I’m saying, Y/N,” he grumbles, kind of uneasy at your tears. “Cut it out…” but his threat doesn’t even sound harsh. “What am I going to do with you, hm?... “ he wonders and wipes your cheeks which prompts more tears coming out and you cuddling to his chest.

“If you leave me I’ll never talk to you again,” the rant starts without any warning.

“Oh my God, you promise?” and you giggle through tears while the top of your head is getting covered in soft kisses. “Hey,” he gets your attention, “I don’t want you to sleep with anybody else after I die; I really think you should consider becoming a nun.”

You elbow him, laughing and crying in the same time:

“You’re an idiot,” you kiss him and J has some words for you:

“Nobody calls me that, Pumpkin! Except Godzilla,” he’s fast to add, knowing how much you hate the nickname. “Not a single soul dares fucking with the big creature.”

“Such a horrible man,” you whimper, distracted by his antiques.

“Thank you, I was hoping you’ll notice,” and he’s so satisfied with himself that he finally realizes the headache is gone. “Wanna make out?” the proposition follows and it earns criticism.

“I thought we already kind of were…”

“I was working on it, you just keep on crying! But anyway, fair warning: I don’t think I can do more than that. To my eternal shame, I’m pretty drained from my meds and I doubt more will happen,” he snarls in your ear, self-conscious about the problem.

“I just want to kiss you and hold you, honey,”  you imitate his voice and J rolls his eyes and yanks at your almost inexistent waist. “Are you using my own line?! It’s mine, find your own! And I wouldn’t be so quick to mock: you fell for it every single time; that’s how we got the kids, “ J  snickers, reminding you about the truth. “Sooo easy to trick,” he keeps on going, excited he can tease.

“Are you going to talk all day ?!” you inquire because he won’t shut up.

“I can talk for weeks,” the cocky remark bluntly comes to an end when The Joker gulps, his fingers clinging to your dress. “Shit…muscle spasms,” he groans, the pain taking over.

“Hold on!” you jump off the hammock, running inside for the treatment.

“You’re pretty fast for a pregnant woman!” J yells, trying to contain the agonizing ache taking over every inch of his being. You get back to him in a flash, worried about his condition.

“Here, take the pills,” you hand him over 3 of them with a glass of water, hoping they will work soon. J pulls you back next to him; it makes him feel better. He shivers under the pressure of his muscles involuntary contracting and digs his fingers in your back. It hurts so badly because he doesn’t realize how strong his hold is but you don’t make a sound. You’ll probably end up with bruises again, yet The Joker doesn’t do it intentionally.

His shrieky breath worries you even if this happens often.

“Do you want to go inside? It’s getting dark out here. The kids played all day, time to eat and get them ready for bed. You think you can move?”

“No, not yet,” J admits, moaning from discomfort as soon as he attempts to lift his head up.

“That’s ok, we’ll wait for a little bit then,” and you peck his temple, wishing you could take the pain away.

“What are you still doing here?” he interrupts, struggling to speak.

“Well, I’m not going inside either until you can move.”

“No, why are you still here?”

You faked not understanding what he meant but now you can’t go around the answer.

“Where else I am supposed to be? I belong here.”

***************

The triplets whined until they were allowed to sleep in the master bedroom with you two. They all passed out in a matter of minutes, the small bodies curled up against yours. J is better because the meds worked, but he wasn’t able to eat anything and you hate it: he is skinnier as it is, doesn’t need to lose more weight.

“Read to me, Princess,” he stretches and repositions himself closer to you, this way he can play with your long hair.

“Let’s see what we have here,” you reach for the two books on the night stand. “We have Shelley and his love poems plus Poe and his morbid stuff,” you whisper since the girls are asleep.

“Morbid!” J is quick to choose.

“We’ll go with love,” you wink and he puffs, annoyed:

“Yuck!”

You ignore him and search for some of your favorites when he unexpectedly turns your face towards him. The Joker stares at you, debating on what he is about to utter.

“I have a list… a secret list in my mind with people I don’t hate…”

“You do?” you smile, shifting his way since it seems important; you can tell.

“Yes, and…umm… stop smiling! You and the girls didn’t make the cut!” J puckers his lips, irritated at his own disclosure.

“Oohh, that’s sad… Who’s on the list then?” you nuzzle in his neck, kissing it.

“Just Godzilla and some loud brats,” he spits out in a hurry and you giggle.

“Do they have names?” you curiously check.

“No, no names…”

“Lucky them,” you exhale, cupping his face. “Too bad me and our children are not on the list.”

J doesn’t reply and you let go, returning to your book and starting to read with such a soothing voice he relaxes right away. By the fourth poem he’s out cold and you spend another hour gazing at him, thinking how much you wish he could live forever.

***************

“Morning, baby,” you yawn and touch his shoulder. “The girls have been up for a while, I’ll make coffee and breakfast should arrive soon. OK?... … …Hey, did you hear me?” you ask, panicking when he doesn’t open his eyes after you shake him. “Baby, wake up!”

But he didn’t wake up, not even after you gave him the emergency adrenaline shot. His doctors arrived at your hideout in a hurry, confirming your worst fear: The Joker slipped into a coma and there is no way to know if/when he will come out of it. The news broke your heart and it was very difficult to explain to the triplets:

“Daddy…won’t wake up anymore,” and you try so hard not to cry. “But he might at one point and in the meantime we’ll pretend he’s awake and continue to speak to him, allright?”

The kids looked at each other, then at you, then at him, not comprehending the severity of what was announced to them.

“Is daddy very tired?” Evie asks, puzzled.

“Yes, honey, he is, that’s why he’s resting,” you sadly smile, checking his IV line. Since J can’t take oral medications anymore, everything was converted to liquids, including the nutrients he needs. You decided to stay at the beach because he loves the ocean and maybe hearing the waves crashing on the beach might help.

“What is this?” Emma walks in the front of the heart monitor that keeps on beeping, which prompts the other two siblings to do the same.

“That’s daddy’s heart,” you explain so they can understand.

“Waaahhh,” Mia is amazed and gets on her toes to see better. She kisses the screen, snickering, followed by her sisters.

Such innocence, you think, wiping a rebel tear.

“Who wants to give daddy a massage?” the offer gets their attention and they all jump on the bed, fighting. “Me!”

“No, me!”

“Your nurses will oblige your every whim,” you peck his forehead. “If they are too loud, you just have to wake up and say so… … …No? Well then, I guess you’ll have to deal with your daughters chewing your ears off. Enjoy!”

-- “Oh my God, she’s kicking so hard! I think she may have a party going on in here,” you keep his right hand on your bump since the other one is hooked to the IV pole. “I am pretty big now, almost there with the pregnancy. You’re missing on the fun…” you keep on yapping like you always do. Sometimes you even answer for him.

“Don’t you wanna ask me if I’m auditioning for Godzilla’s part in the next movie?...No…? It’s your opportunity to tease me again, I know you want to…Wow, that’s a first! How come you’re so mellow? Rawwrrr!” you roar, even if you know it’s no use. “Hey, that was pretty funny, you can at least laugh… Uhhhh…” you give up, glaring at the spinning fan on the ceiling. “You’ve been like this for almost 4 months, aren’t’ you bored? You get bored easily… … … Anyway, I’m gonna read you something now. Morbid or love?”

After no reaction from his side, you decide.

“We’ll go with morbid, your favorite. Stephen King or Poe?... … … Poe you say? Your wish is my command,” and you start reading to him, being so tired you can barely see the words.

-- “I think I’ll have to find me another boyfriend,” you huff, injecting his weekly shot in his arm. “I am not becoming a nun so I will have to sleep with somebody else. If you don’t agree, you just have to wake up and say so… … … No? I thought you cared. Oh, well, your loss,” and then the remorse takes over.

“I’m not going to find another boyfriend, ok? You’re lucky I like you…” and looking at his face makes you aware of how much you miss him. “If you want to let go…you can…” you bite your cheek, sniffling but you change your mind in an instant. “If you dare doing this to me and the girls, I’ll hate you forever! I’m not joking!!” 

-- You are so worn out you fell asleep at the dinner table. Your people brought over food and you took a few bites, then just dozed off. The girls didn’t notice but Frost did since he was there. He had to carry you in the bedroom and tucked you in. That’s when he decided he should speak up. The next day you heard about it:

“Y/N, you need help.”

“With what?”

“You’re exhausted: you’ll have your baby soon, you’re taking care of the girls and Mister J. There are so many of us, we can help you.”

“This is my family, my responsibility, got it?” you raise your voice, irked.

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,” Jonny pacifies your outburst. “But if you get sick, Mister J will kill us all.”

You bite on your nails and he has a suggestion:

“Would you prefer…just me to help with Mister J?”

You softly sigh, indirectly answering his question:

“It’s…it’s hard for me to turn him.” “I can do that,” he nods and you agree by not replying.

**************

“Here’s your new Princess,” you place the newborn on his chest, wrapping his arm around her and holding it in place since he can’t do it himself. “ She is absolutely adorable, don’t you want to see her?... … … Open your eyes and look at your daughter…No? Hm, that’s pretty heartless, even for you. Oh, wait, never mind, I have your heart, I forgot,” you look down the cleavage at your tattoo. “Still, this is no excuse…I decided on the name Amelia and we can go with Amy from there. If you don’t like the name, all you have to do is wake up and tell me so… … Going once, going twice….Amelia it is then,” you kiss the little head then his lips.

-- The triplets are mesmerized by the new addition to the family. They all want to hold her and be her favorite. They get in such fights and it drives you nuts, but in a good way.

“This is my sister!” Evie struggles to get in front of the line formed around the crib. (The crib is in the master bedroom because you want The Joker to hear his little girl.)

“No, she’s mine!” Mia slaps Evie’s hand, trying to climb inside.

“No-oooo, Amelia’s mine!” Emma takes over and the newborn fusses from the ruckus.

“Ssssttt, don’t wake her up!” you admonish the triplets and they listen, disappointed they can’t play with their new favorite toy.

-- When Amy cries at night, you gently kick J.

“It’s your turn, go!... … Don’t try to get out of it!... No?... You owe me big!” and you get out of bed, dragging your feet on the floor, wishing you could nap more than 2 hours at a time. “Your turn to be on diaper duty, Mister King of Gotham,” you point out, upset. “Don’t think I don’t know you are doing this on purpose to skip your turn! So rude…” you mutter, actually being upset because the new meds J is on don’t do too much so far and he’s still in a coma. Very frustrating. There is no cure for his disease, but at least you want him awake.

“You know what? I’m leaving you! I’m taking Amelia and the triplets and we’re out of here! See how you like to be alone!” you threaten, mad at everything, finishing up your task. You suddenly realize the heart monitor intensified its beeping and you freeze. You place her back in the crib and rush to his side. His chest is going up and down fast and you hold his hand, distressed.

“Did you hear me?... Baby, did you hear me?... We’re not leaving, I was just saying! Calm down, we’re not going anywhere…” you start kissing his face all over. It takes about 5 more minutes before the heartbeat goes back to normal.

The doctors couldn’t guarantee that his reaction was due to your ultimatum but they said it’s not impossible. That was the first feedback you ever got since the morning he didn’t wake up anymore.

-- You slide the wedding band on his ring finger, taking advantage of the state he’s in and you’re not even sorry.

“There, if you don’t want it, have the courage to say it to my face. If you don’t protest, I am thinking that you want it…Yes?... Well, then, you can keep it. Looks sexy on you, I must state the obvious here. … … Did you add Amelia to that list of yours? You should…unless she won’t make the cut either…I wish you would open your eyes to see how cute she is. Don’t you miss all of us? I assume you do but you are too stubborn to do something about it…” and you continue, briefing The Joker about the plans you’ve been working on for a while. “Tonight we raid “Excell” laboratories, they are experimenting on a medication I want for you… But the catalyst that it needs to be combined with it’s made in Japan; we’ll definitely get that one too as soon as possible. Don’t worry about a thing, I told you: you will live forever. Babysit the girls, ok? You’ll have help from our men, just in case…“

-- Your henchmen are scattered all over the building, scavenging everything they can get their hands on. You can’t be in there for too long; even if you took care of the alarm, you can’t risk lingering in the medical facility.

You broke into the lab alone and found what you needed; just stashed the vials in a suitcase when you realize you are being watched from the far corner of the room.

“Of course you would show up, you always know, don’t you?” you back out, pointing your gun at The Batman. He doesn’t say a word, but takes a few steps towards you.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” and that crazy grin on your face makes him halt. “We are getting out of here and I am taking this with me ! Don’t even dream about being a hero tonight!”

Suddenly, explosions are heard in the distance, and they are coming closer and closer until a big detonation shakes the building, making the windows crack.

“That was close,” you chuckle. “Across the street to be precise.”

Alarms start blaring in the background, turmoil and chaos fastly increasing on the streets.

“All the places were empty, consider it… a professional courtesy,” you growl, backing out more. “The next ones won’t be, I made sure of that. Do you want your precious Gotham citizens to die? If we don’t leave safe and unharmed, it all goes to shit!!!”

That mask hides any trace of emotion he might have but the distorted voice echoes in the lab.

“What you have it’s useless without the catalyst. Why bother?”

“I’ll get it somehow! Now stay there and don’t move or we blow up more!”

You exit the room, not turning your back on The Batman until he is out of sight.

**************

A week passed by and the medication from Japan that needs to be combined with what you stole from “Excell” laboratories is still not in your possession. You are running out of patience.

“Y/N, our courier from East Gotham dropped this box about an hour ago. It has your name on it; were you waiting for a shipment?”

“No,” you signal him to come on the porch. Amelia is in a small crib outside, sleeping, and the girls are having fun digging a big hole in the sand. “What is this?”

“Not sure, but he said he was given to him by our West Gotham courier.”

“Weird, I wonder what…” and your heart stops when you open the sealed box and see the small typed note on top of a metal container. “Consider it a professional courtesy.”

***************

J blinks a few times, wincing in pain, his mind cloudy and confused. He has no idea what’s going on and after being in a coma for months, he’s incapable of speaking or moving too much. He feels the weight on his chest and barely manages to look down, noticing his three month old daughter sleeping on him, sucking on her thumb. The Joker struggles to turn his head to his right to see you are sleeping also, still holding the book you read to him tonight, completely passed out with the triplets snuggled to your body.

His eyelids are so heavy that he gives in, having one single thought in mind before dozing off with the rest of his family:

I think I’m gonna live forever...

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[comebeforegod]

Christian Testimony: The True Meaning of God’s Judgment

God’s words say: “In the last days, Christ uses a variety of truths to teach man, expose the essence of man, and dissect his words and deeds. 

These words comprise various truths, such as man’s duty, how man should obey God, how man should be loyal to God, how man ought to live out the normal humanity, as well as the wisdom and the disposition of God, and so on. These words are all directed at the essence of man and his corrupt disposition. In particular, those words that expose how man spurns God are spoken in regard to how man is an embodiment of Satan and an enemy force against God.”

Having accepted God’s work, through having meetings and communications of God’s words, I understood that in the last days God uses words to reveal and judge our corrupt dispositions in order to achieve the results of cleansing and saving humans. However, I didn’t know clearly how God judges and cleanses humans until I had practically experienced the environment that God set up for me.

Tasting the Work of the Holy Spirit and Feeling Pleasure Inside

When I started to participate in church life, I often attended meetings with brothers and sisters and read God’s words. I felt very happy and pleasure inside my heart, and also felt warm in God’s household. Therefore, in meetings I was very active to read God’s words and communicate, leaving a favorable impression on my brothers and sisters. Brother Xiaoyong and Sister Liu who looked after us new believers not only always praised me for my reading God’s words with fluency and good understanding of God’s words but also cared about me very much, always asking about my situation and difficulties. With the care and admiration of my brothers and sisters, I felt very joyful inside and enjoyed the meetings in which I was at the core of my brothers and sisters before two more sisters joined our meeting group.

Competing With Others and Falling Into Darkness

I remember that in the first meeting, the two sisters shared their experiences about how they returned to God. I really benefited greatly from them, especially from the experience of Sister Kemu. Others also regarded her experience as great and practical and Brother Xiaoyong said that her testimony of experience was very good and encouraged her to write it down to testify to God. Seeing everyone praise her, I thought: “Alas! Why don’t I have such experiences?” Because of this I felt very upset. After we had several meetings together, I found Sister Kemu could understand God’s words very well. In every meeting, with the encouragement and guidance of Brother Xiaoyong and Sister Liu, Sister Kemu could share the light she gained from God’s words. What’s more, she pursued the truth with perseverance and resolve. No matter how busy and tiring her work was, she could always keep a normal relationship with God and insist on reading God’s words and watching movies and videos. Seeing these, I thought: Although she is better than me now, as long as I make efforts to pursue the truth I also can catch up with her. In order to gain the approval and admiration of the brothers and sisters who looked after us new believers, I began to pursue the truth tooth and nail. At home, I seized every available opportunity to read God’s words and even sometimes when I was at work, I would wear my headphone to listen to the fellowship from the above and hymns. In the meeting, I became more active than usual. I scrambled to read God’s words and every time after reading God’s words I hurriedly communicated about my own understanding without pondering it. For I thought: I should say my understanding first, otherwise if what I think is said by others, I will be regarded as imitating others when I say it again. Besides, every time I was about to go to the meeting, I would review what we had communicated in the last meeting and read God’s words again to prepare to answer what the brothers and sisters who looked after us new believers would ask. However, they didn’t ask.

Once, I was being confused why Brother Xiaoyong didn’t ask what we had communicated in the last meeting when Sister Liu asked me to pray for others. At that time I was very muddled and didn’t know what to pray so what I prayed was very empty, dull and dry. And I just finished it with several sentences hastily. After prayer I felt very low-spirited. In the meeting, when I saw Brother Xiaoyong looking at Sister Kemu when she communicated, then feeling extremely frustrated, I hurriedly lowered my head and read the words of God, however, I couldn’t get any light and couldn’t memorize what they had said either, my mind being a complete blank. After the meeting, I went back to the dormitory, feeling weak throughout the body. Then I thought of the previous meetings, in which I always felt pleasure and had a lot to say. But now I was afraid of having meetings and didn’t know what to say. Especially when I thought of the look in their eyes when they looked at Sister Kemu, I thought now everyone didn’t like me anymore and I felt more and more uncomfortable, being passive in whatever I did. Those days, I was always absent-minded and always made mistakes during the work. I felt very distressed for this and my heart felt so heavy as if there was a big stone inside. So I came before God and prayed: “O God, recently I haven’t gotten any light when I communicated about Your words and my work didn’t go smoothly either. I don’t know why I meet with these things. O God, may You enlighten me and let me find new light and get some understanding when communicating about Your words in meetings.” At this time, Brother Xiaoyong sent a message to me to ask about my recent situation. Being afraid that he would look down upon me if I was open about my expression of corruption, I just replied to him with a sentence perfunctorily. Then I continued to read God’s words and learn hymns as usual. Also, I copied the words of praising God, summed them up together and memorized them. I thought: Last time I didn’t pray for others well, and I must do well next time.

Accepting the Judgment of God’s Words and Knowing My Own Corruption

A week later, it was time for the meeting again. I thought: If this time I’m asked to pray for others again, I’ll have something to say, using all the God’s words I have memorized. But unexpectedly, at the beginning of the meeting, Sister Kemu raised a question about how to pray. Then Brother Xiaoyong played a hymn “How to Enter Into True Player”: “Whilst praying, your heart must be at peace before God, and it must be sincere. You are truly communing and praying with God; you must not deceive God using nice-sounding words. … and bring your actual state and troubles before God to pray, and make resolution before God. Prayer is not the following of procedure, but the seeking of God using your true heart. Ask that God protect your heart, making it able to often be at peace before God, making you able to know yourself, and despise yourself, and forsake yourself in the environment that God has set for you, thus allowing you to have a normal relationship with God and making you someone who truly loves God.” Hearing this hymn, with tears pooling up in my eyes at that time, I felt guilty inside: God asks us to say our real situations, commune with God and establish a normal relationship with Him in prayer, does not asks us to say nice-sounding words or offer blind praise to deceive God. But these days my preparations were all for gaining my brothers and sisters’ approval and praise after their hearing my prayer, not for communing with God and sharing my innermost thoughts and real situation with Him. Isn’t my prayer a religious one? Knowing God’s will, I knew that I should say what I really thought inside to God, so then I prayed to God about these actions. After prayers, Sister Liu said to me: “Your desire for status is very strong.” At that time I couldn’t understand it. I thought: How come she say that?

In the evening, Sister Liu sent a video The Heart’s Deliverance to me. After watching the movie I cried, thinking that the protagonist was exactly the same as me. Especially when I saw God’s words: “As soon as it involves position, face, or reputation, everyone’s heart leaps in anticipation, and you always want to stand out, to be famous, to be glorified. You are unwilling to yield, always wanting to contend, although contending is embarrassing. However, you are not content not to contend. When you see someone stand out, you are jealous, feel hatred, complain, and feel it is unfair. ‘Why can’t I stand out? Why is it never me? Why is it always he who gets to stand out and it’s never my turn?’ There is some resentment. You try to repress the resentment, but you can’t, so you pray. After praying, you feel better for a little while, but later when you encounter the matter again you cannot overcome it. Is this not a case of immature stature? Is not a person’s falling into these conditions a trap? This is the bondage of a satanically corrupted nature.” Seeing the sister’s experience and God’s words, I realized that I cared too much about my face and status. Under the domination of the competitive nature, I always wanted to compete with others and get admiration and praise whatever I did. In order to be highly thought of by brothers and sisters, I racked my brain all day to memorize God’s words and listen to the fellowship. Even in the meeting I scrambled to communicate first. Weren’t these all for showing off myself? When I saw the sister’s strengths I didn’t learn from her humbly but pondered all the time how to show off myself. When my desire couldn’t be satisfied, I became negative and started to complain about everything. When faced with the fact I saw I was so corrupted by Satan that I was truly inhuman, arrogant and fragile. Thank God for letting me have a little knowledge of my corrupt dispositions. Meanwhile, from the sister’s experience, I found the path of practice—I should dissect and expose my corrupt dispositions and have a heart-to-heart fellowship with my brothers and sisters honestly. Then I came before God and prayed to God, resolving to practice the truth. Later I wrote my experience down and sent it to the messaging group and in the meeting I also opened up my heart to the brothers and sisters, saying all my own real thoughts and expression of corruptions. When I did like this, they didn’t look down on me, but instead, they shared their own experiences with me.

Finding the Path of Practice and Getting Released in My Heart

Later, the sister sent me another passage of God’s words to me: “Ponder this: What kind of changes must a person make if he wants to refrain from falling into these conditions and wants to be able to cast off these conditions and free himself of the vexations of these things? What must a person obtain before he can free himself of the vexations of these things, loosen the bonds of these things, and be able truly to be free and liberated? On one hand, a person must see through things: These fame and fortune and positions are tools and methods for Satan to corrupt people, to entrap them, to harm them, and to cause their degeneration. You must first see clearly this aspect in theory. … You must learn to give up and set aside these things, to yield, to recommend others, to allow them to stand out. Do not struggle furiously and rush to take advantage as soon as you encounter an opportunity to stand out or obtain honor. Learn to back off, but do not delay the performing of your duty. Be a person who performs his duty out of the public eye, and who does not show off before others. The more you give up and set aside, the more peaceful your heart will be and the more space will open up within it, and the more your condition will improve. The more you struggle and compete, the darker will be your condition; try it if you don’t believe it. If you want to turn around this kind of condition, if you want not to be controlled by these things, then you must first set them aside and give them up.”

The sister said to me in fellowship: “From God’s words we can see that it’s our common feature to pursue face and status as the corrupt mankind, and it is also one of the chronic diseases in our corrupt dispositions, which can’t be solved for a while. But as long as we read God’s words more, accept the judgment and chastisement of God’s words and see through the damage and results of pursuing face and status according to the exposure of God’s words, we won’t be bound by it anymore. For example, if we live by the thoughts and viewpoints ‘A wild goose leaves behind a voice; a man leaves behind a reputation’ and ‘A tree lives with its bark; a man lives with his face,’ then we will put our face, dignity and image above all else and we care too much about others’ opinions of us and our images in others’ hearts. We always hope that we can have position in others’ hearts and can be adored by others. In substance, we are competing for status against God.”

Through the sister’s fellowship I knew that Satan uses all kinds of thoughts and viewpoints to corrupt us, which makes us pursue face and status so that we distance ourselves from God and compete for status against God. I thought of God’s words: “I decide the destination of each person not on the basis of age, seniority, amount of suffering, and least of all, the degree to which they invite pity, but according to whether they possess the truth. There is no other choice but this. You must realize that all those who do not follow the will of God will be punished. This is an immutable fact.” Right, God decides our destination according to whether we have the truth. As believers, only through pursuing the truth and the changes of dispositions can we be in line with God’s will. It’s vain to pursue reputation, status and the admiration from others. Others’ admiration can’t mean the approval of God. Understanding God’s intention, I felt released in my heart.

Later I saw God’s words: “Do not do things before men; you should do them before God. By accepting God’s observation and inspection, your heart is set aright. If you are always concerned with acting for people to see, then your heart will never be set aright.” God’s words pointed out the path of practice for me. That is, we should conduct ourselves and do things before God and often accept God’s scrutiny. I should not always live for my own face and status or care about others’ opinions. Later I started to consciously practice God’s words. In the meeting, I prayed to God so that my heart could be at peace before God. Then my heart wasn’t so impetuous anymore, and I could calm down to contemplate God’s words and patiently listened to others’ fellowship. When I did like this, even if sometimes the light which I had gotten was said first by others, I would contemplate it again and then I found that I could get new light on the basis of others’ fellowship. Gradually, I felt closer to God and relied on God more and also I didn’t have so much desire to compete with others anymore. Now every meeting is enjoyable and I feel released in my heart.

Thank God for His guidance. Through the little experience during this period, I understood the inner meaning of God’s work of judgment. Just as God’s words say: “What the work of judgment brings about is man’s understanding of the true face of God and the truth about his own rebelliousness. The work of judgment allows man to gain much understanding of the will of God, of the purpose of God’s work, and of the mysteries that are incomprehensible to him. It also allows man to recognize and know his corrupt substance and the roots of his corruption, as well as to discover the ugliness of man. These effects are all brought about by the work of judgment, for the substance of this work is actually the work of opening up the truth, the way, and the life of God to all those who have faith in Him. This work is the work of judgment done by God.” In the last days God does the work of judgment and chastisement through setting up practical situations to prune and deal with us so that our corruption can be revealed. In these people, events and objects, God also uses His words to lead us to understand the truth and His will so that our corrupt dispositions can be cleansed. Recalling my recent experience, when I lived by the opinions “A wild goose leaves behind a voice; a man leaves behind a reputation” and “A tree lives with its bark; a man lives with his face” and pursued face and status, then God turned His face away from me and also used the people, matters and things around me to deal with me and aroused brothers and sisters to communicate the truth with me. In this way, I could know my corrupt dispositions and the substance of face and status and also know how to pursue is in line with God’s intentions. These were all the results of God’s work of judgment in the last days. During the judgment of God’s words, I have understood God’s righteous and holy substance and at the same time I felt the earnest intention of God’s salvation which is comprised in God’s judgment and chastisement. Thank God, all the glory be to Almighty God!

[retroreaderr]

It’s Called a Riff. [Sherlock/Reader]

This is my first non-disney post on this blog woo boy but oh well. I felt like my homeboy Sherlock needed some love tbh. Also I listened to too much Nirvana while writing this. my kink is reader being musically talented so don’t be surprised when it comes up a lot in my fics ~🕷️💋

You tuned your guitar once more, then strummed the strings. Satisfied, you looked raised the volume of your headphones then attempted to play.

Let’s see…Open D, open D, first fret D, second fret D, open G, back to second D, open G, two second Ds - you paused to listen to the song - first fret D, open D, second G, and finish it off with two open Ds. That sounded about right. You paused the song and scribbled the notes down onto your notepad, which sat nearby. You then played the riff a few times more in a weak attempt to get your hands to memorize the muscle movements.

“Are you going to play anything else other than that insufferable amalgamation of notes you call a song?”

“It’s not a song, it’s a riff. If you’re going to insult my choice of music, at least get the terms right.”

“I don’t care that much to, honestly.”

“Well then don’t be an asshole.”

“Well then don’t assault my ears in my own flat and I won’t have to. Where’s John?”

You shot a glare at Sherlock before answering, “Don’t know.”

“If you’re going to be annoying as well as unpleasant, you may as well just leave now.”

You huffed, “You started it.”

There was a small moment of silence before Sherlock glanced towards you. Seeing your upset expression caused a twinge of regret somewhere deep in him, and his anger faltered.

“What riff is that, anyways?” he attempted to sound annoyed but you caught the slight remorse. It wasn’t unusual for Sherlock to attempt to make up for his actions in such a way, though he never actually said ‘sorry.’ It was alright, however - you’d accepted his over-egotistical ways years ago when you’d become his friend in the first place.

“It’s from one of the best songs in existence, of course,” you eagerly jumped off of the couch and, guitar still in hand, you entered the kitchen where he stood.

“Doesn’t ring a bell with me, so it can’t be all that great.”

You scoffed then turned and walked back into the den. You approached the table, which was littered already with piles of miscellaneous junk - mostly yours. You sifted through a box of vinyl records before pulling out a particular album and, in one swift motion, placed it on the nearby record player and turned it on, letting the needle slowly make its way down to a particular spot.

Though you lived downstairs in 221c, you often visited your neighbors after much begging from the landlady - “The boys need some company, you’d be perfect for that!” Her insistent ways payed off too, and over time you found yourself spending more time in 221b than you did at your own flat. As a result, some of your more mobile possessions had also moved their way upstairs.

The song started as the needle touched down, and the song you had been playing earlier rang out. You closed your eyes and bobbed to the music as you moved back to the couch and sat, mouthing the words as they were sang. It took only a few seconds before the music stopped, and you opened your eyes to see Sherlock holding the needle in the air in disgust, preventing the music from playing any longer.

“What is this garbage? Is this really the stuff you listen to?”

“Hey, the crap you play is no better,” your eyes flickered to the violin resting in the corner of the room.

“I play classical music, which I suppose is just too complex for your tiny mind,” he flicked the switch on the gramophone and turned away, practically sticking his nose into the air.

His overconfident expression was wiped off as the pillow connected with his face. He looked at you, surprised, and you raised your arm, another pillow already in hand as a warning.

“Well maybe my music is too emotionally​ charged for you. I forgot you don’t really get the whole concept of feelings,” you say condescendingly.

He seemed taken aback at how defensive you had gotten over something as small as a song. Your last sentence in particular made him think. Perhaps he was being insensitive. But it had never bothered him before, so why now?

He looked towards you again.

You had set the pillow down and had picked up your guitar. You played the riff once again, but Sherlock did not protest this time. Instead, he walked into the kitchen and picked up his unfinished mug of coffee. It was cold by now, but he didn’t care. He stared at the cluttered table, various types of microscopes and flasks were strewn about with the occasional paper with his own sloppy handwriting scrawled across it.

He thought of the many times he had come home from a case to find you organizing his things, and usually his response was rather harsh, now that he thought about it. He would snap at you, telling you he had his things organized in a particular way, and you had just ruined hours of work. In reality, he was just stubborn and hated that he relied on you to keep his own flat neat. Not to say he didn’t often enjoy when you were around, in fact many a time as he worked on his newest case you would chime in with a rather clever remark or two. He could always count on you to bring a new perspective to a case - he had book smarts, but you had the street smarts.

He focused back on your playing, which had become more confident.

“Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be -”

He stood closer to the doorway to hear your soft singing over the blaring music of your instrument.

“- As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy, take your time, hurry up, choice is yours…”

He quietly looked into the den, you sat looking down at your hands on the guitar as you played, slightly moving with the beat of the song.

You stopped and put your headphones in again and waited a few seconds before mimicking the next part of the music on your guitar, this time strumming chords for what he assumed the chorus would be. You struggled slightly, and a confused look made its way onto your face. He found it rather adorable, in all honesty, and a smile crept its way onto his face.

You wrote something down then played the chords again.

“Memoria. Mem - Augh,” your hands fumbled as you hit the wrong fret.

“Memoria, memoria, mem - shit.”

He let out a soft chuckle, but you didn’t seem to notice. You let out a frustrated sigh as you gave up, tearing out your headphones and tossing them to the side.

You sprawled out onto the couch, half laying, half sitting, one leg draped over the edge hanging, the other pulled up close to your chest, and your guitar comfortably in your lap. You absentmindedly strummed a few notes as you laid your head back and closed your eyes.

Sherlock took the opportunity to approach you, and sat next you you on the couch.

You opened your eyes at the feeling of his weight on the couch, but you didn’t look at him.

“Play something for me.”

“I thought my music was too empty-minded for you.”

“Well I changed my mind. Play something for me. Please?”

You raised your head to look at him suspiciously, did he just say please?

You strummed, and then tuned your guitar appropriately. You then started again, still extremely unsure of his motives. Soon enough, however you found yourself lost in the music.

“I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel…”

Sherlock found himself focused on how easily you moved from fret to fret, how simple you made playing look. It was mesmerizing in a way.

“And you could have it all, my empire of dirt, I will let you down, I will make you hurt,” you paused, “I wear this crown of thorns -”

At this point Sherlock had found himself leaning in towards you subconsciously.

“…my sweetest friend -”

He suddenly realized how close he was to you. He didn’t pull away.

“- I would keep myself, I would find a way.”

You finished and looked up. Sherlock’s face couldn’t be more than a few inches from yours. His arm was rested against the back cushion of the couch simply to stop himself from falling onto you.

“I…” you were at a loss for words. He seemed to be in some sort of trance, he seemed so fascinated with you.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, he closed the gap between the two of you, pressing a sweet and soft kiss to your lips. You were surprised, but not disappointed. He quickly pulled away from you and got up, however, making his way back to the kitchen. You could hear him fumble around with various glass objects.

As calm and collected as he may have seemed, the kiss had shaken him as much as it did you. You smiled at the thought.

You started another song, certainly he had heard it before - everyone had, right?

“I said one, two, three, take my hand and come with me ‘cause ya look so fine and I really wanna make you mine.”