#was over all night and they lost track of time and now it's daylight and it's not like he can go outside to get home

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

-

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 

And then it lingers. 

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else. 

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

[illbegottenfaith]

only getting married

the news of your engagement is a surprising and off-putting thing. good thing theo recognises it as the cry for help that it is. (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

a/n - I had well and truly moved on from this series but after watching the season 6 finale of House I got the idea for this fic which sets up perfectly for a part 4 of the reader's wedding so!!! and even tho theres no happily ever after (yet) it'll be coming soon in part 4 :))) also thank you sooo much for 600 followers ahh (one of these days I'll do a follower celebration...eventually......)

tropes/warnings - smug theo, mildly dickish theo, slight angst

word count - 2.3k

taglist - @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @ebriton @gemininormouzz @isabeebee

Theo had promised Mattheo he wouldn’t come here.

After Mattheo had let the news of your engagement slip over drinks, Theo had barely reacted—at least, not in any way that suggested he cared. He’d made some offhand remark about how he hadn’t even known you were seeing anyone, then smoothly led the conversation elsewhere, as if the information was nothing more than a passing detail.

But the thought had stuck.

You weren’t the type to settle. You weren’t the type to rush into things, least of all something as final as marriage. And yet, suddenly, you were engaged? Something wasn't adding up.

It didn’t sit right with him.

The next morning, he found himself here - standing outside your door, fingers flexing around the dry parchment of a bouquet of flowers he couldn't remember bringing. His head throbbed from the one drink too many from the previous night, and the dull daylight of the cloudy day was still a little too bright for his eyes.

What was he even doing here? What was he going to say to you? Make small talk? Congratulate you? Euch, that sounded horrid. No, he was better off staying far, far away from you.

The door swung open before he could turn back.

You blink up at him, still in your socks, hair tousled, dressed like you’d spent the morning puttering around your flat with no real plans for the day. You look comfortable in your well-worn sweatshirt, one that seems somewhat familiar. At the sight of him, you raise your eyebrows, lips parting in surprise.

“…Teddy?”

Theo paused. Something flickered across his face. He knew that sweatshirt. Why, he'd know that sweatshirt anywhere. It was his, after all. Well, sort of. It was a sweatshirt he’d lent you ages ago and had long since assumed was lost or discarded. But here you were, standing in front of him, wrapped up in it.

It's an achingly familiar sight. He remembers you wearing it, back when you were still dating. He remembers what it was like, peeling it off of you. It feels like no time has passed at all. It feels like you're still sending him off with a kiss every morning, still yelling at him for tracking mud into your spotless apartment. Still his number-one supporter.

It feels like you still love him.

Meanwhile, you're too busy being distracted by the flowers. You look back up at him, brow arched.

“Someone die?”

Theo lets out a short breath. Not yet.

“No,” he says instead, voice even.

You frown, eyeing the bouquet again.

“Then what’s with the flowers?”

His jaw flexes.

“Congratulations.”

You stare at him blankly, still just as clueless.

"Whatever for?"

He groans internally. He can't believe you're making him say it.

"Your engagement," he forces out, with some difficulty.

It’s out now. There’s no taking it back. He wonders if the words sound just as foreign to your ears as they do to his.

You hesitate, just for a second. It's long enough to catch his attention. Theo tilts his head curiously.

You give him a tight smile. “News travels fast.”

“Mattheo,” Theo confirms.

You sigh. “Of course. That gossip.”

Theo proffers the bouquet, which you awkwardly accept. The two of you stand there for a beat longer, drinking in the sight of each other, neither of you wanting to be the first to bid farewell. You stick your head out above the flowers.

"Tea?"

Your flat is familiar in some ways. Warm, lived-in. There’s a blanket draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch, an magazine facedown on the coffee table, the scent of coffee still lingering in the air. It’s littered with fragments of you, through and through.

But there are things he doesn’t recognize. A set of shoes by the door that aren’t yours. A jacket slung over the back of a chair, too big to belong to you. A framed photo on the bookshelf, half-obscured by the angle, but clear enough for him to pick out an unfamiliar figure standing beside you. Little details of a life that he has no part in.

His stomach knots.

“Nice place,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets. His voice is even, casual. Just two old friends catching up.

He cast his eyes around restlessly. That's when he sees it.

A book. One he left behind years ago, sitting among a small stack on the coffee table. He couldn't have paid you to read it while you were together, but it looked as though you had more than made up for that in the time since. The pages were slightly dog-eared, the spine creased in ways that tell him it’s been picked up and read more than once.

It’s almost enough to soothe the dull irritation creeping up his spine. Almost.

You move through the space with easy familiarity, reaching for cups without needing to look before you fill up the kettle at the sink.

His gaze flickers downward briefly. Still no ring. He bites back a smirk.

“So...when’s the big day?”

Again, you hesitate. It’s barely noticeable, just the smallest hitch before you say, “Spring. Though you shouldn't feel obliged to attend.”

That hesitation - it lingers. It settles somewhere deep in his chest, promising to not give him a moment's peace until he gets to the bottom of it. He scoffs lightheartedly.

"And miss the happiest day of your life? Hard pass."

He feels rather than sees you roll your eyes.

“Spring," he echoes thoughtfully. "That's not far off. You sure that gives you enough time?” Why are you rushing into this? is what he wants to ask instead.

Even from behind, Theo can see your shoulders stiffen fractionally. You sweep some of your hair out of your eyes.

“We’ll make it work.”

He studies you, taking in the way your fingers fidget slightly at your sides, how you won’t quite meet his eyes. Theo files it away. He shouldn’t push. Shouldn’t let himself slip. But the words are already there, pressing against his teeth.

“Right,” he murmurs. “Well, I hope he knows how fucking lucky he is.”

Your brow furrows slightly.

“He does.”

You switch the stove on. A quiet murmur fills the silent apartment as the water heats up. You take a seat at your kitchen island, nervously watching Theo peruse your trinkets.

"So what brings you here? Decided to check up on me?"

He smiles briefly. He puts down the snow globe he had been particularly interested in. “Something like that,” he says easily. His gaze shifts, taking in the space. “Figured I should see how you’ve been. Considering.”

You glance at him, skeptical. “Considering what?”

He meets your gaze. “Everything.”

There’s a pause—just long enough to make you uneasy.

You shake your head, turning back to the tea. “I’m fine, Theo.”

He hums, noncommittal.

You don’t believe for a second that this is a casual visit. Theo never just stops by. But he hasn’t laid down anything solid for you to push back on - just vague, careful words brimming with hidden meaning.

Still, something in your chest tightens. He’s watching you too closely, listening too intently, examining your apartment too carefully. But why did that make you so uneasy? You weren't hiding anything. There was nothing to give away.

You watched him for a moment, not entirely hating the feeling of him being in your apartment once again.

Was there?

“So,” he says after a moment, “how’d he manage it?”

You frown. “What?”

“Your fiancé.” The word rolls off his tongue too easily. “The proposal. How’d he do it?”

You put your mug down.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Just curious.”

Your grip tightens around your mug. You’re not sure what it is - the casual way he says it, or the fact that he’s never 'just curious' - but something about the question feels pointed.

Still, you answer, after a measured sip of tea.

“It was… simple,” you say. “Just the two of us. At home.”

There's an unscrupulous gleam to his eye. “Romantic,” he says with a subtle distaste, as if he thinks it's anything but.

You bristle under his tone, narrowing your eyes.

“It was romantic.”

He nods, slow, like he's humouring you. “Right. Of course.”

You inhale sharply, setting down your mug a little harder than necessary. “What exactly are you trying to say, Theo?”

He feigns innocence. “Did I say something?”

Your jaw clenches. Because, of course, he hadn’t. Not directly. He hadn’t actually said anything critical, hadn’t questioned you outright. Yet.

But he didn’t need to. You’ve known Theo long enough to understand what he’s doing. The carefully placed words. The deliberate pauses. The way he phrases things just so, like he’s laying a foundation for you to unravel the rest on your own.

You hate that it’s working.

“Theodore, whatever you came here to say, just spit it out.”

He raises his brows, all innocence. “I’m just making conversation.”

Your lips press together in a look that tells him you're dangerously close to getting very, very pissed. Your little patience thins.

“What is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” he insists, something sharper in his voice now. He sees the glimmer of irritation in your expression, the tension in your shoulders as you pour yourself more tea, not bothering to offer him any. But he keeps his voice casual.

“I was just thinking it’s… interesting.”

You place the kettle back on the stove noisily.

“What’s interesting?” you challenge.

He gives a small, nonchalant shrug.

“Just..you know."

"No, I don't know, actually."

His lips thin into that irritating smile of his, like he knows something you don't, but he likes watching you try to figure it out.

"You. Getting married. Playing house.”

He leans against the counter, gaze drifting around the kitchen.

“I mean, you never struck me as the type,” he muses in an artificially nonchalant tone. “You always liked your independence. Liked keeping things on your own terms.” He glances at you, expression unreadable. “It’s just… a bit sudden, don’t you think?”

Your breath catches, but you don’t let it show. You knew this wasn’t just a social visit.

“Not really,” you say, tone clipped. “But I suppose it’s sudden to people who haven’t been paying attention.”

Theo tilts his head slightly. “I pay attention.”

Something shifts in your expression. Your eyes darken. "Do you, now?" you mutter scathingly. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

"It means this isn't something that will make you happy."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows he's fucked up. Your eyes glint dangerously.

"This might be a foreign concept to you, Theodore, but my world doesn't revolve around you. I'm happy with my relationship. I'm happy with my decision to marry my fiance. "

Outside, he keeps his expression neutral. Inside, something dark and restless stirs. You’re lying. All the while, you rave with years worth of pent-up frustration.

"I can't believe I was considering inviting you to the wedding," you were saying to no one in particular. "I can't believe I ever thought you could actually be mature about this."

You spun around and glared at him.

"Is this what you think of me, Nott? That I'm just sitting around all day, sighing, waiting for you to come around and give me a reason to break things off with my fiance? To free myself from the shackles of my wretched existence? Honestly, Theo. Do you think I'm hopelessly unhappy without you?"

For a moment, Theo forgets why he's here in the first place. He forgets that you're engaged. All that he's aware of is that he's standing on chilly, linoleum flooring he thought he'd never see again, watching you demand to know what you thought of him, and that he wants to answer you. Yes, he wants to say. He did imagine you as hopelessly unhappy without him.

It was the only way he could rationalise how hopelessly unhappy he had been without you.

Your expression tightens. “You’re being a dick.”

His jaw clenches. "All I'm saying is the Y/N I knew - ”

“Don’t.”

He ignores you.

“ - would never let someone like him be the best she could do.”

Your pulse spikes, white-hot anger flooding through you.

“You don’t know him - ”

“I know you,” Theo says, voice sharpening. “And I know you don’t love him.”

Your fingers twitch. Theo sees the way your throat bobs as you swallow, the way your lips part like you’re about to deny it - like you want to deny it - but nothing comes out.

He presses on, voice lower, quieter. “If you did, you wouldn’t be...inviting me in. Looking at me like that. Waiting for me to give you a reason to walk away.”

Your stomach twists violently. Your temper snaps.

“You cannot be serious,” you say, voice rising.

It’s a lie, you repeat in your head, over and over again. It has to be a lie.

You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “You are so unbelievably arrogant - no. No way. You don't get to do this, Theo. Not anymore. I'm done letting you do this.”

He arches a brow. “Do what?”

“This,” you snap, gesturing between you. “You find every excuse to keep me from moving on. You can’t stand the thought of me settling down, because that would mean you’d have to let me go. It's why you're at every corner I turn. It's why our names are still strung together after all these years. It's why you came running to me when you needed a date to Mattheo's wedding.”

Silence. Thick, suffocating silence. You wish Theo would say something.

When he doesn't, you say, hollowly, “There's no conspiracy here, Nott. It’s not weird. Not a mystery. I’m only getting married.”

Theo swallows, breath uneven. It's a miserable thing, hearing it straight from you. This whole visit, it’s the first time he’s heard you say it. The first time he’s let himself truly hear it.

You’re getting married.

And it’s not to him.

He nods. Once. Curt.

He turns, walking to the door.

You don’t stop him.

[just-writing-a-bit]

Who says I don't care?

Natasha Romanoff x female reader

Summary: Y/n is part of the Avengers for a while, but no one really paid attention to her. She feels like she's alone in all of her training and with her thoughts. One night, she goes out on a run, getting lost and returning home later than planned and injured. Natasha noticed her staying away for too long and takes care of her, despite Y/n trying to brush it off at first. Word count: 3.047

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Pov y/n

Natasha has never paid much attention to me. So, I'm surprised when she looks up now as I walk past the kitchen. There is no one else around, the others somewhere scattered around the compound.

"Going for a nightly run, huh?" Nat asks, her eyes darting over my workout clothes, settling on the headlamp I wear. "Or trying to rob someone?"

I don't know what it is about her, why she doesn't care at all. I don't expect to become besties with her but I thought she might be nice and happy to have another woman on the team. But apparently, she couldn't care less. I've tried to be nice and become her friend but her constant remarks and sarcastic comments eventually made me give up. I simply roll my eyes at her. She chuckles amused at my reaction, not taking me very serious. So much about making friends when joining the Avengers.

When I joined them half a year ago, I thought it would be nice, we'd be a team and save the world together. Instead, Natasha hates me and Steve drags me to training every morning. His training plan is hard and leaves me exhausted on the regular. On days where we don't train together, he gave me the homework to go running to keep my stamina up. I skipped that once and the next time had to listen to him lecturing me, so I won't be risking that again.

Today has been really busy though and I've been sitting at my desk most of the time, writing reports, sorting files and digitalizing other files. This part of being an Avenger truly doesn't make me feel like a hero, more like someone at an office job. I hoped for this to be cool but it's a bit of a let down so far. Nonetheless, I hope to help people one day and give them hope when they see me, so I keep pushing myself.

Natasha glances toward the window in the kitchen, darkness mirroring her face back at her. It may be late and I am a bit tired but I will pull through and go to bed right after. Whatever Natasha thinks, she keeps it to herself and I keep walking, heading out of the compound. Going running in the dark isn't my favorite but running track in the gym drives me insane. The same circle over and over again. Makes me feel like a hamster in a wheel.

The air is cold as I step out, but I know it won't bother me once I start running and warm up. I already did my stretching, so I'm ready to go. My steps are soft against the gravel path leading me away from the compound, my headlight the only source of light despite the moon and a few starts. The air smells fresh, the rain from earlier today still hanging in the air. The smell is nice, calming.

I run for quite a while, getting lost in my thoughts and when I slow to a stop to orientate myself, I find myself lost. My breath is still fast from running as I spin around, trying to figure out where I am. There are trees lining the path to my right and an open field to my left. Definitely no place I feel very safe.

I keep moving, even if it's just slow steps, my eyes darting around along with the ball of light coming from my headlamp. The longer I look around, the more panic unfurls inside me. Shit! I really got too lost in my thoughts to keep track of the path. That only happened once before but it was in daylight, so I could easily make my way back but now I can't look far enough to see anything familiar.

I take deep breaths, trying to stay calm but the nerves in my body are raging, every possible bad scenario playing out in my mind. Even a shake of my head doesn't help and I ball my hands into fists.

How could I be so mindless?

The smartest thing to do is probably turn around and take the way back. It has been straight for a while now, so I can't get lost that way. I turn around, my eyes still darting around, trying to assess my surroundings. My heart beats fast but more from fear than exercising. Being lost in the dark is one of my few fears. So much could be happening without my knowledge and I can only react to the things right in front of me. Like a branch reaching onto the path. I bend it away with one hand, glancing around.

The sudden crack in the tree line to my left makes my heart jump, startling me. I jump into action, getting into the stance Steve reminds me of each training session. The branch snaps back into its original position striking me sharply across the face and I wince at the sudden pain. I'm really not in my best condition today. But jumping into the stance was an instinct, one that made me forget about the branch.

I wince again, my face heating as pain pulses through my face. I bite my lip to keep myself from making further noise, not wanting to sound like prey. Instead, I sidestep the branch and keep running again. My mind is overwhelmed with so much happening at once, so many feelings. But I can't break down now. Not here.

For what feels like eternity, I wander around, trying to figure out where to go while keeping my emotions at bay. My face stings and hurts, it still feels like the branch is pushing against my face, even if it's not. Goosebumps have erupted on my arms, but not from the cold. Not just, at least. I hate myself for not taking my phone with me. Usually, it bothers me and I don't listen to music anyway. I want to hear the steady sound of my steps and nature and running is the best moment to clear my head and think. Now, I would be grateful for a phone though. 

Eventually, I spot the compound again, letting out a relieved breath and speeding up, wanting to be inside and safe again. By now, my face is throbbing and I am not sure I want to see what the branch did. It certainly isn't pretty.

Exhausted physically and mentally, I enter the compound and head for the living quarters. Once I'm in my room, I can rest and cry.

I pass by the living room area, noticing the light on. Out of curiosity, I slow my step and glance inside. When I see red hair, I roll my eyes, no one helpful. Not that the others are necessarily warm towards me but at least they acknowledge me.

Natasha turns in the armchair. "That was a long run," she comments as she turns around, her eyes fixing on mine. For a second and probably the first time since I met her, her face drops with some kind of emotion. Something else than distance and smugness.

"What happened?" She asks instead of making a comment like I expected. I wave it of, too exhausted to explain and not in the mood for her sarcasm. I turn on my heal, walking down the hallway, yearning for my bed.

"That looks bad. Did someone attack you?" Natasha asks, her voice softer than I'm used too. Just hearing her talk again is a surprise but together with this slight hint of worry, it's weird.

"No," I answer shortly, not in the mood to relive the moment. Steps follow me and I wonder why she is so persistent all of the sudden. It's not like she cares. "What happened then?" she continues asking. I'm not sure if I'm annoyed by it or feel a little touched.

But then, she never really paid attention to me before, so this feels like a game. I simply shrug, dismissing her question while fighting my own uprising feelings. A soft hand around my wrist holds me back and Nat steps into my vision again. Her expression is surprisingly soft, something I've never seen before.

"Hey, what happened? That looks bad," she eyes my face, her fingers still curled around my wrist. They are warm and almost comforting. Her touch confuses my already messy mind. For a second I consider giving into the comfort, accepting it. But then I remember she probably doesn't really care and pull my hand out of hers.

"Happened during my run," is all I tell her, heading further to my room, fighting the uprising tears. All of this is too much. The fear of being alone in the dark, the feeling of being lost, the throbbing of my face and the exhaustion in my body.

"One doesn't get a red stripe like that on a normal run," Natasha points out, her steps following me. Why is she so persistent? I ignore her, not sure if my voice will stay steady if I talk.

"And you usually don't run for that long. Something must have happened." My irritation at her constant words snap and I spin around, tears pricking in my eyes.

"Why do you care, Romanoff? You don't care about me at all! Why now?" For a second she looks taken aback but then her features soften and she takes a step closer to me.

"Who says I don't care?" She asks and I huff, allowing the first tear to fall. It stings when reaching the spot where I was hit by the branch but I ignore that.

"You show it in the way you act. Message received. Now, just go..." My voice gets weaker as my emotions get stronger, threatening to spill over with force.

Natasha keeps watching me, worry showing on her face. I can't look at her any longer, so I turn away, hiding my tears.

"I do care," she almost whispers. I shake my head, at the verge of a breakdown. She doesn't, she never has and never will.

"I do," she insists and a warm hand is placed on my back.

As if that was all it takes, my composure breaks and I start crying, every emotion pulsing through me in strong waves. All the fear, the pain, the loneliness, the confusion, the exhaustion.

Natasha is very quick to wrap her arms around me, holding me as my knees give up. Her embrace is warm but I barely register that and for a moment I don't care who she is and just bury my face in her shoulder, shaking while I cry.

Her hand soothingly rubs up and down my back while the other cradles the back of my head. I cry into her shirt, feeling the stinging of the stripe on my face increasing, adding to everything.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here," she whispers as if this was normal for us. As if she hasn't ignored me for the most part of half a year. My legs grow weak but she catches me without a problem. "Shhh, it's okay, you're okay. We'll get you to your room and take care of that injury, okay?"

All I manage is to nod and then follow her slow steps, guiding me backwards through the hallway. I continue crying, my emotions flowing out of me, her arms strong and securely around me. They bring a comfort I didn't expect at all. We reach my room and Natasha carefully settles me on my bed. My tears have stopped and I only feel exhausted and vulnerable now.

"Let's get you cleaned up, so nothing gets infected." She smiles softly at me, a sight I never saw before. All I can do is nod though, too exhausted to do anything else or to protest. For a moment, she disappears into my attached bathroom and comes back with a wet cloth.

"It may sting at first but I promise, it'll be better soon," she says gently, sitting down next to me.

With her free hand, she gently takes my chin, tilting my head into her direction. Our eyes meet. Hers are soft, almost warm. I've never seen them like this and that's confusing me a lot. I want to know what she thinks, why she is helping me. But I don't have the mental or emotional capacity to have that kind of talk now. With the cloth, she begins to dab at my wound. I bite my lip, the slight stinging not pleasant.

"How did this happen? One doesn't get a stripe like this just from being outside." She pulls the cloth away to look at me, concern on her face and a dab of blood on the cloth.

"I was running and got lost..." I trail off, shivering at the memory. "There was a low hanging branch and it snapped into my face when I didn't pay attention." Natasha hums, pressing the cooling cloth back on my face. I'm surprised she doesn't laugh because that's not very hero like and sounds so stupid.

"The blood should dry soon and with a bit of cooling, the swelling will go back too," she tells me, her fingers still holding my chin, the small bit of comfort I get from it soothing my emotions a little. Even if I can't comprehend this whole situation, I allow myself to feel this way because if I don't, I might just break down again.

Comfort is all I've been seeking for since I started this program. It's hard and I fell in bed with an aching body for almost the entirety of the first month. There was so much frustration as well and small injuries. All I wanted was to be hugged by someone, to just get the smallest hint of comfort.

But that doesn't seem like something the Avengers do. Steve always told me to brush it off and Tony merely rolled his eyes when I was complaining. Empathy isn't their strong suit really. Natasha never showed any emotion either and I started to feel alone. The goal of helping people still in my mind, so I bit through it. Finally getting a sense of comfort is what my body has been craving and I don't care about who it's from anymore. Even if it's just for tonight and a one-time-thing, it's still better than nothing at all.

"You shouldn't run alone in the dark anymore," she says softly, so very different from the lectures I usually get from Steve. I'm not used to soft and gentle anymore, but it feels really good. I look into her eyes that assess my face as she continues cooling it. "But I have to keep exercising."

Natasha just hums and locks eyes with me. "Okay. The next time you go out for a run in the dark, you let me know and I'll join you."

The protectiveness in her voice catches me off-guard. "What?"

"I don't like you getting hurt or the thought of you getting lost in the dark. It's not a peaceful place out there. So, the next time you go on a run at night, you let me know and I come with you, making sure you return home safely." Warmth spreads in my chest at her words, the sense of comfort growing. Running with her could be nice, if she stays like this. If she goes back to her cold and distant demeanor, I am not so sure about it. But not having to worry about getting lost sounds nice and for the first time in half a year, I don't feel alone anymore.

"I will," I reply silently. She nods with a soft expression and pulls the cloth again, studying my face.

"The swelling isn't quite gone but is better now. With some rest, you will feel better tomorrow. Besides, you look exhausted." She reaches out and gently tugs a strain of hair behind my ear, the action so surprisingly gently, that I don't know how to react. Natasha gets up and brings the cloth into the bathroom before returning.

"If you need me, you know where my room is. Right?" I hesitate. Of course, I know where her room is. All our rooms have our names on the door. But just the thought of lying in the dark by myself sends cold shivers down my spine. Being alone in the darkness is the last thing I want. I'm aware that I am in no position to make this request but now seems the best moment.

"Stay with me?" I ask silently, feeling incredibly vulnerable. Natasha takes a moment to reply and I expect her to deny and leave but then she nods. "Okay, I can stay with you if that'll make you feel better?"

I nod, relieved I don't have to be alone for the night. I get off the bed and gesture for her to get comfortable before quickly changing in my bathroom. When I get back out, Natasha is in my bed, watching me. It's strange to see the big bed not empty. But also nice, knowing I don't have to be alone with my emotions for once. I slip in on my side and snuggle into the blanket, the comfort of her sheer presence soothing my earlier worry.

"Thank you," I say, looking at her. She gives me another one of her soft and rare smiles.

"You're welcome. Now rest, you deserve it and I will handle Steve tomorrow morning. After tonight, you deserve the training pushed back." My heart feels soft at her words, her looking out for me like no one else did so far.

The protectiveness in her voice isn't lost on me either and I wonder what that's about. But I don't ask, not wanting to ruin the moment. Instead, I smile at her before closing my eyes. She shuffles in bed next to me, switches off the light and then gets comfortable. I feel something against my knee, something of her but I can't tell what. It brings me comfort nonetheless though and I slip into sleep, feeling a lot better than I did when returning to the compound.

A/n: This is my first post here, so hi? I hope you liked this one shot, it seemed like a good one to start with :D

[littlejuicebox]

Astarion talks in his sleep.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader/Tav (Shadowheart is our lovely supporting role though.) Summary/Setting: 6 months post BG3, "good/spawn" Astarion ending, all fluff Rating/Warnings: PG / Very mild if any game spoilers but nothing related to major content or scenes Word Count: 900+ Notes: Inspired by this post here!

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Astarion talks in his sleep. It’s something you’ve never mentioned to him, because it’s mostly when he’s having a nightmare about Cazador or some other horrid trauma from his past. You'd quickly determined it not worth bringing up, for fear of embarrassing him. Plus, if you were being honest, part of you found it rather endearing... especially the lighter drabble that would escape his lips. Delighted giggles, little purrs... it could be overwhelmingly adorable, on occasion.

In fact, the first time you ever heard him say he loved you was in his sleep. Then you'd waited weeks… anxiously, impatiently, unbearably for the revelation to come out while he was awake, under his own terms.

But tonight, the talking and tossing isn't cute. The vampire writhing in bed disturbs you, and your eyes flutter open, catching the smallest glimpse of daylight between the thick, tightly drawn curtains and shuttered windows of your bedchamber. You'd just fallen asleep, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit annoyed.

You idly try to figure out the date. Adjusting your schedule to the night life was… difficult; you often lost track of dates nowadays. But somehow you manage to remember that it's been nearly six months since you all saved Baldur's Gate; six months since Astarion had been returned to a creature of the shadows. Six months you've been in the house provided by the city as you two adjust to whatever normalcy you are able to conjure up and figure out your next steps. You were a strong proponent for the Underdark; Astarion was not quite sold.

At first you think the silver-haired elf's tossing and turning is a night terror… it’s been nearly two weeks since the last one. He’s overdue. You ready yourself to pop out of bed and grab your calming herbs to steep a quick sleeping draught. But then you hear him, soft and garbled, laced with thick strings of sleep.

“Will you marry me?”

You turn to stare stupidly at the elf, eyes piercing through the blackness of your room; his face is obscured, you cannot tell if he’s awake. “…what did you say?”

Silence. A long, unbearable stretch of silence where your heart is pounding into your throat, practically rattling around your chest cavity at the sudden shock. And then he’s snoring again, and you’re left with your brow furrowed and robe half pulled onto your shoulder. Well, so much for your sleep.

You meander down the hall to the kitchen, where Shadowheart has several jars and plants strewn across the table. She’s practically taken over the kitchen since Gale left, not that you particularly mind, since she’s also taken over the cooking.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep right now?” She asks, spotting you out of the corner of her eye, not lifting her focus from the mortar and pestle in her hand.

“You won’t believe what Astarion just said in his sleep.” You murmur in dazed response, walking over to the cabinets and rummaging through the contents. You grab an old kettle and fill it with water, turning to look at the cleric.

“Gods, what was it? I’m quite thankful to be out of the camp... his night terrors woke all of us up at one point or another. It's no wonder you’re struggling with the schedule adjustment.”

“He said, ‘Will you marry me?’” You respond, almost giggling at how silly that sounds in retrospect, as you place the kettle on the stove.

Shadowheart pauses. One, two, three beats of silence. “Shit… well, I guess the cat is out of the bag now.” She murmurs with a shrug, before returning to grinding her herbs.

“Wh-what?!”

“Oh, come off, don’t be daft! You had to expect it would be coming sooner or later. Gods, your love is almost sickening… it was sickening, having to hear it all the time... once again, so thankful for the separation of these walls.”

You are frozen, your hand still holding onto the kettle as you appraise your friend. Shadowheart is right. You knew a proposal would come sooner or later… you just figured it would be much later. Astarion was still struggling; more often than not you woke to him in tears or in the throes of a sleeping fit. Countless calming elixirs and teas had been drawn up by you and Shadowheart in the last six months. Truly, you hadn’t thought he was thinking that deeply about it... you hadn't been, if at all. Gods, you two still didn't even know where you were headed after leaving this city-supplied house... the lease was up in a few weeks' time.

“I guess… well, I suppose I didn’t think he was ready.” You sigh, lighting the stove and sitting across the table, watching the cleric as she works.

“Oh, trust me, he’s ready. And he's certain. Perhaps not about anything else... but definitely about this. He's been writing to Gale for weeks trying to source a particular ring." Shadowheart responds, now pouring the contents of her grinder into pouches. "Just promise you'll act like it's a surprise when the time comes... he's been talking about it for a while. He's put a lot of thought into things."

"When will it be?"

Shadowheart laughs, the edges of her eyes crinkling as she flicks her gaze toward the ceiling. She’s now cinching the sachets and sorting them all into a nearby basket. "Now that I'm not telling you. I've already given away too much."

You try for a few more minutes to pry the information from your friend, but she remains tight-lipped. You even threaten her with detect thoughts, though you both know you'd never go through with it. Finally, a whistle from the kettle beckons you back to the stovetop, and the conversation is halted as you ready your tea and aim to go back to bed. You might not know when your love is going to pop the question, but you do know that when the time comes, your answer will be a resounding yes.

Click here for Part 2

[hey-august]

I have an idea...

I came up with something like modern au But mixed with superheroes au, where buggy is the villain and anon the heroine, Buggy knows Anon's secret identity and initially befriends her to plan revenge. But over time everything changes and they become good friends, One day things get heated (NSFW) and in the middle of the action Buggy says something that makes Anon recognize him as her arch enemy.

Oh, oh yes. I'm here for this. (Not me imagining Buggy as Bomb Voyage from The Incredibles now lmao)

WC: ~850 Warnings: a touch of nsfw, buggy x gn!anon, brief profanity, light mention of violence, mention of an erection

The way this guy fails upwards in the most unexpected ways. Buggy stumbled across Anon's identity, literally. How he managed to show up just as they were switching between private life and hero life was unlikely. It definitely did not happen because he was going to use that same spot to also change disguises.

And, of course, Anon can't deny who they are. Between tell-tale injuries and the stupid hi-tech gear they were using in bright daylight, there isn't much to say besides, "please forget you saw this."

Thinking on his feet, Buggy offers a different option. "How about no."

"What do you mean "no"?! What the hell are you doing here anyways? Just turn around and- and pretend this didn't happen."

Anon is panicking. And…in pain. Buggy is familiar with that frantic need to get rid of witnesses, all to maintain the image of being strong.

Buggy manages to convince Anon to grab a warm drink and get patched up. He's nosy and wants to know who managed to get them like this. (It was a one-off nobody, some black cat burglar.)

He listens, judges (silently and out loud), and makes plans to embed himself in Anon's personal life.

Anon lets it happen. It's nice to have someone who knows and listens. To have someone to call for a distraction, when everything is too much. A few texts after a tiring fight, a quick lunch, an afternoon matinee, a middle-of-the-night chat full of tears and sniffles, dinner cooked together.

Buggy remembers when the change happen. It was a classic brawl between the fated villain and hero. In the chaos, the beloved protagonist must have lost track of all the dangers and was in the direct line of getting skewered. If that happened, then the fight would be over. Forever. And, well, Buggy wasn't ready for it to end like that.

A few choice movements and taunts were enough to bring Anon out of harms way. Well, mostly - the sharp projectile did get a taste of flesh and blood, but not of life.

Buggy made sure to keep himself available after the fight. Just in case his "friend" needed him. (It helped offset the guilt that he was ignoring.)

After that, Buggy often found himself making sure Anon was not in mortal peril. Both from his own hands, and from others. It was dirty. He ended up making bad deals and alliances with scumbags, but it was all for safety. All to keep Anon safe.

Buggy tried to tell himself that this was all so he could come out on top. He could win exactly how he planned. But the night he fell asleep on Anon's couch with empty takeout containers on the coffee table, and their head in his lap, Buggy stopped lying to himself.

The lines were blurred. It was getting harder and harder for Buggy to keep his own identities separate. And that was his downfall.

It was a small thing. So little.

Once again, Buggy found himself on Anon's couch. But this time, they were on top of him, straddling his lap and grinding against the erection they teased him about barely 5 minutes ago. It felt so good.

He wrapped his arms around their body. One arm was looped low across their back. Their other brought his hand to rest on the back of their neck - that was it.

The feel of Buggy's hand on the back of their neck. The way he shifted his fingertips slightly before squeezing. Shit, there were in practically the same spot as when…as when…

A rough memory came forward - one with restraints and a long villainous monologue from their indulgent nemesis. As he prattled on and on, his large hands kneaded Anon's neck. Anon remembered those details clearly. It was the closest they came to losing.

And it happened just before this shithead showed up in their life. Probably for revenge. To finish things.

But why didn't he? Why was he sitting on their couch with strained pants? Why was his face in the crook of their neck? Why was he begging for more?

Was this a trick? Humiliation and demise would not be out of the question.

The questions and answers didn't seem right, though. Not for this situation. There were all those times Buggy helped clean a wound, or change bandages, while apologizing. Maybe those weren't generic platitudes, but honest admissions of guilt.

Now that felt more like an answer. And Anon had the question already - what would cause a villain to do the things they do? To pull their punches? To swap more banter than fists?

Hearing Buggy whine against their pulse, "please, I need you so bad," was the answer they accepted.

And it was an answer they kept for themself too. They needed Buggy, as well.

They also needed to mess with him. Not now, but during their next hero-villain fight. Buggy couldn't be the only one having fun with secret knowledge.

Just think about how he'd react when the goody-two-shoes starts flirting with the ne'er-do-well…

[leafofkudzu]

Slightly delayed post compared to usual, but hi hello and happy Spring, everyone! I hope the past month has treated you well, because the first Saturday of a new month is coming up real fast, meaning it's time for another art party hosted by my guild, [VS] Verdant Shield!

For those who aren’t familiar with art parties, they’re a concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - in-game get-togethers for artists/writers/creatives of all types to hang out, chat, and create together! Get your favorite character/look together, head to the location, find someone that catches your eye, and create! Afterwards, everyone posts their creations in a shared tag (ours is #VSArtParty) so others can see, interact, and share! Tl;dr: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

Time and /squadjoin information is under the cut, but will also be posted again via reblogs as the squads go up on the day of the party!

Location Information:

While scouting out more Ascalon-aligned locations to even out the spread, I remembered this little corner of Fields of Ruin. It houses a grave of one of the characters from the Ghosts of Ascalon novel - and for trivia purposes, everyone who's done Icebrood Saga has met another character from that novel: Ember Doomforge! But this isn't about Ember, it's about Killeen, and her lovely little resting place protected from the Brand. It's very easily accessible just by scooting up the marked path from Tenaebron Waypoint, which is in itself up in the Northwest corner of Fields of Ruin!

Time & Squad Details:

As we always do, we’ll be having two parties - one on EU servers and one on NA ones - with an hour break in between. People tend to arrive early and/or jump between accounts as soon as the break comes up, so don’t be surprised to see tags and announcements going up ahead of schedule!

The first party will be on EU servers and begin at 9pm Central European Summer Time (aka 3pm Eastern Daylight Time or 5 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting on my EU alt account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Ashelin Falstaff for an invite.

The second party will be on NA servers and begin at 7pm Eastern Daylight Time (aka 1am Central European Summer Time or an hour before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting this one on my main account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Beldahvia for an invite.

Closing Words:

My apologies yet again for a) being delayed in posting this, but also b) posting this in the dead of (NA) night - I've been a bit sick the past week and lost track of time, but we're here now! I do feel like a broke record every time I say this, but thank you to everyone who turns out to these events - you guys are what make everything so memorable and fun! Have a good rest of your week, and I hope to see you all there on Saturday! ♥

[voxofthevoid]

I like to try and get lost during my daily walks for fun (prevents boredom and provides enrichment) and profit (a better idea of the fucking labyrinth that's my city), but I've been at it long enough that I'm largely familiar with all the areas I can cover during my usual walking time (1 to 1.5 hours). Still got a few routes left to explore, but some of those are better walked at night, while others need some daylight, so those are a matter of my walk's hour and the hour of the day matching up.

Anyway, point is, I don't get lost as much anymore, so the universe seems to be trying to compensate for the lack of "adventure." Mostly, I just get caught in the rain and have to take shelter; so far, I've rushed into the porch of buildings under construction, awnings of street-side stores, and some random apartment complex's stairs, all usually at night.

But what takes the cake is the pretty boy on a bike who pulled up beside me the other day. It was around midnight, and I was some 10 minutes away from home. He asked if I'm a local—phrased in a way that could be interpreted as both "do you live in this region?" and "do you speak [my mother tongue]?"

Now, I'm not unused to being stopped on the road randomly, usually by people looking for directions. Once, someone hailed me from across the street to ask where I got my tattoos. So I figured this guy also wanted directions or something.

No, he wanted to "just chat, bro ❤"—between the cheesy smile and tone, I could, in fact, hear the heart in his voice.

I asked him if he was crazy and shooed him off. Literally. Shooed him with my hands. And he did fuck off, but not before wiggling his bike around like it was his ass and testing his luck some more.

Can't tell if he was drunk/high or cruising for sex. My gut feeling says it was the latter, and given the rather abysmal state of gay dating/hook-up spots in my city, it tracks. I've heard of more audacious attempts.

The funny part is that this dude saw me from behind and pulled up, and listen, folks, I have no ass—pancakes are packing more in the peach department than I am. So if this guy was looking for sex, all he had to go on was a pair of firm, hairy calves.

Which, fair enough, I suppose. A little desperate, but I'd take it over attempted drug peddling, which would be my second guess.

[itsfheang]

IRON & EMBER - Chapter 2

[ CH. 1 ][ PLAYLIST ] [ AO3 Link ]

RATING : Mature (Eventually) TAGS : Jayce x Viktor / Post Arcane / Fantasy AU / Mage!Viktor / Knight!Jayce / 7k words / Part 2 of ??

CHAPTER DESCRIPTION : Jayce fills Viktor in on the people they knew in their reality, and what they are up to in this one. They go on a shopping trip to get some clothes made for Viktor by local seamstress, Gwen, then tour the city before a realization hits Viktor like a ton of bricks. 

AUTHOR NOTES : While I do know a good deal of League of Legends lore, I do not claim to be an expert and for the sake of the story I am taking some creative liberties with characters that were not present in arcane. (additional author note at the end)

CHARACTERS : Jayce x Viktor (Arcane), Gwen (League of Legends), Mentions of other Arcane cast.

CHAPTER 2

Viktor awoke to the soft glow of morning filtering through the window. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he sits up and finds Jayce’s blanket carefully draped over him. A small note on the nightstand catches his eye.

Scribbled in an all too familiar script, Gone to check in with the captain, back soon. Help yourself to anything you want. - J

A small smile tugs at Viktor’s lips as he sets the note aside. Rising to his feet, he stretches slightly before heading out to Jayce’s kitchen. His fingers absently trail along the wooden countertops as he checks the cupboards, finding the expected—plates, cups, and utensils. Opening another cabinet, he finds an assortment of neatly labeled jars filled with tea leaves. His lips quirk in approval as he continues to rummage for the rest of what he needs.

The fire in the hearth has begun to die down, but he spots a small stack of spare logs nearby. Kneeling, he carefully arranges a couple into the embers, prodding the fire back to life. Satisfied with his work, he sets the kettle on the hook above the flames, waiting for the water to boil.

As he waits, Viktor takes the opportunity to examine Jayce’s home in the daylight. It is a cozy abode, humbly decorated yet inviting. Plush rugs soften the wooden floors, and an array of plants are tucked into corners and along the windowsills. It seemed this world’s Jayce had an appreciation for greenery, and his Jayce had come to love it as well. 

Curiosity nudges him to explore further. He wanders down the hallway, noting the layout. Besides the guest room he had occupied, there is a spacious storage closet and a modest washroom. Another door leads to a double set of stairs, likely to an attic and basement. The last door is Jayce’s bedroom. He hesitates for a moment, tempted, but ultimately decides against intruding without permission.

A sudden whistle from the kettle draws him back to the kitchen. He swiftly moves to remove it from the fire, carefully pouring the steaming water over the infuser of tea leaves. The fragrant aroma fills the air as he retrieves the book he had been reading the night before. Wrapping Jayce’s blanket around his shoulders once more, he settles into the couch with his cup of tea, immersing himself in the pages while waiting for Jayce to return.

Viktor has lost track of time and how many cups of tea he's downed by the time he hears the door open and looks up to see Jayce enter. A boyish grin spreads across Jayce's face as he takes in the sight of Viktor, seemingly more relaxed today than he was the night prior.

"Ah, good, you're up! I got stuff for breakfast, and the Captain gave me the week to help you get...uh...readjusted, as I worded it to him."

"You didn’t need to do that, Jayce. Isn't that your income?" Viktor asks, frowning slightly.

Jayce waves away his concern. "Don't even worry about that. I could take a lot more time off than a week and be fine. Plus, you're more important right now." 

Viktor softens at his words, not used to being considered important, but not disliking the idea if it’s Jayce who thinks he is.

He heads to the kitchen with the sack of goods he purchased on his way home. Viktor watches as Jayce pulls out fresh eggs, thick slices of bacon, fruits, and fresh-baked bread, immediately setting to work preparing breakfast. He moves with an easy familiarity, appearing as comfortable in the kitchen as he was in the lab.

"Did you learn to cook here?" Viktor asks curiously, watching him work.

"No," Jayce chuckles. "It may surprise you to know that my mother taught me to cook when I was young. If you ever left the lab, maybe I could have cooked for you now and again," he adds teasingly as he effortlessly prepares the meal.

Viktor continues watching, a smile crossing his face. Seeing this more domestic side of Jayce gives him butterflies. He snaps out of it as Jayce slides a delicious-looking plate of food in front of him.

"Th-thank you," he says, feeling a blush creep up his neck. Hopefully, Jayce hadn’t caught him staring.

They fall back into casual conversation.

"So," Jayce asks, "I'm sure you have a ton of questions. Where do you want to start?"

Viktor wasn’t prepared. Jayce was right—he had so many questions. Start simple. Start simple, he tells himself, calming his sudden nerves.

"Well, you told me about what happened to you. What about those we knew? Mel, Heimerdinger..." He hesitates, remembering the terror he saw in her eyes as she turned to dust before him. "Sky?"

Jayce looks at him with regret. "I’m so sorry about Sky, V. We should have listened to Heimerdinger. But you’ll be pleased to know she is alive here, and doing quite well. She’s an alchemist at the Academy—one of their top healers, in fact."

Viktor’s eyes light up. At least in this world, he hopes she will lead the full and amazing life she deserves. "That does bring me some comfort."

"Most of the people we knew are here in some form. Cait is Knight General—basically in charge of the whole garrison. Vi is a fellow knight too. Powder never became Jinx. She and Vi are quite close. Powder and Ekko are exceedingly bright students at the Academy, from what I could dig up of their records." Jayce chuckles. "Though even in this world, she still has a knack for blowing things up. If anyone is going to push this Piltover forward, it will be those two. Zaun and Piltover have a much better relationship here, it’s not perfect, but those from Zaun have far more opportunities to do great things."

Viktor always knew Jinx—er, Powder—had the potential to do so much more. "And Mel? Heimerdinger?" he asks, wondering why Jayce hadn’t mentioned them first.

Jayce leans back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mel… well, she’s here too, but she’s not exactly the same as we remember. Since magic is not as prominent here, she never was touched by the arcane. And Heimerdinger—he’s still at the Academy, of course. The old yordle’s a legend in every world, I suppose.” He chuckles, though there’s something contemplative in his expression.

Viktor watches him closely. “What else do you mean by Mel is not the same?”

Jayce sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. “She comes from a different background here. She’s still powerful, still influential, but since she never became an empath her mother had a much easier time molding her, she’s part of Piltover’s council but she is not the same woman we knew.”

“There is still a council in this world?” Viktor asks in surprise.

Jayce nods, leaning back in his chair. “Same council we knew long ago. Heimer, Mel, Salo, Cassandra... the gang’s all here, still running things.” A wry smirk tugs at his lips. “No Jinx to ruin their parade.”

Viktor considers the implications of this. The council had once wielded unchecked power, their decisions shaping the rise and fall of industries, lives. Their influence had been both a guiding force and a dangerous weapon. Would it be different in this world?

“Thankfully,” Jayce continues, “without things like airships and Hextech to capitalize on, they’re far less ruthless than the versions we knew.” He pauses before adding with a chuckle, “Well… besides Mel. She wants to turn Piltover into Noxus 2.0.”

Viktor raises a brow. “That does not sound pleasing.”

Jayce lets out a tired sigh. “Yeah. She's as ambitious as ever. The only difference is that now she supports Noxus' ambitions instead of Piltover’s.”

Viktor hums in thought, drumming his fingers against the rim of his cup. “And the rest of the council?”

Rubbing his jaw. “The dynamic hasn’t changed much. Heimerdinger still tries to be the moral compass, but he’s outnumbered. Cassandra plays politics, Salo and Torman are still opportunists. Shoola and Iridius are generally level headed if not overly cautious” He exhales slowly.

Viktor watches him closely. “And you? Where do you stand in all of this?”

He watches as Jayce rolls his shoulders, forcing an easy grin. “I keep my head down and do my job as a knight. No desire for a role on the council again.”

Viktor narrows his eyes. “That does not sound like the Jayce I knew.”

Jayce lets out a short laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Yeah, well… things changed. Priorities changed.” He reaches across the table, his fingers resting lightly on Viktor’s arm. “My focus became finding you. Piltover could burn if it meant I’d find my way to you again.”

Viktor feels warmth creeping up his neck again at Jayce’s touch and the confession. It’s not the first time since waking that Jayce has made it clear Viktor is his priority, and yet, Viktor finds he may never quite adjust to hearing it. He swallows, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Well, now that you found me, what is the priority now?”

Jayce hums in thought, his thumb absently brushing against Viktor’s arm. He still hasn’t moved his hand. Viktor pretends not to notice how much he likes the gentle gesture. “Well, we do need to stop at my tailor, and I’d like to give you a proper tour. But I guess, most importantly, making sure you’re okay.”

Viktor is caught off guard. “Wh-what do you mean? I’m alive. I’m okay, aren’t I?”

Jayce gives him a pointed look, one brow raised in skepticism. “Viktor. You thought you were dead. You woke up in a world that is almost your own but isn’t. The only person here who really knows you is the man who—" Jayce hesitates, but only briefly, "—who tried to kill you. And then thought he died with you after you turned into an arcane primal force that nearly tore the world apart.” He exhales slowly. “I’d say that’s a lot to cope with.”

Viktor looks down at his mug, unable to argue with any of that. His fingers tighten around the ceramic as he studies his own hands—the faint, shifting hues of purple and gold still lingering beneath his skin. Everything had changed so suddenly, so drastically. But what unsettled him most was what he hadn’t been able to put into words, the thing that had been gnawing at him from the moment he woke.

The arcane had not abandoned him.

It was weaker, fainter, but not gone. And it felt different—more untamed, unshaped by human hands. Something primal and raw.

He lifts his gaze back to Jayce, taking in the concern knitted between his brows. The trust in his eyes. The quiet devotion Viktor still wasn’t sure he deserved. Jayce had never needed a hammer to break him down—he was doing it now, brick by brick, just by being here.

“I—” Viktor hesitates, but then he feels the faintest squeeze on his arm, calming him.

“I still feel it,” he finally admits. “The arcane. It’s weaker, but… different. Not like what we created with the Hexcore. This feels…” He searches for the right word, rolling it over in his mind before settling on, “…ancient.”

Jayce's fingers twitch slightly against Viktor’s arm before he finally pulls his hand away, running it through his hair instead. He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening for a moment as if holding back whatever immediate thought crossed his mind.

“Ancient?” he repeats, voice measured but laced with concern. His brows knit together as he leans back slightly, studying Viktor like he’s trying to see beneath his skin, past the surface, to whatever it is Viktor feels. “How do you mean?”

Viktor flexes his fingers, “It is not the same as before. Not the refined energy we channeled into the Hex gemstones, nor the volatile force of the Hexcore.” He hesitates, weighing his words carefully. “This feels…as though it has been waiting.”

Jayce’s frown deepens. “Waiting for what?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I do not know.”

For a long moment, Jayce says nothing. He just watches Viktor, his fingers drumming absently against the table. Viktor knows that look—it’s the same one Jayce always got when working through a problem, when he was connecting dots that others hadn’t yet seen.

Then Jayce shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. “Does it hurt?”

The question catches Viktor off guard. His first instinct is to say no. But he stops himself before the lie can take shape. It does not hurt in the way the Hexcore once had—it is not a clawing, consuming force, not a hunger gnawing at his insides. But there is something else, something just beneath the surface.

“It… pulls,” he admits slowly. “Like a current in the ocean, always there, waiting for me to follow.”

Jayce looks troubled by that. His fingers drum once more against the wooden table before he abruptly pushes himself up from his chair. He paces a short path across the kitchen, running a hand over his jaw.

“That’s—” he stops, lets out a short breath, then turns back to Viktor. “That’s a lot. A lot for you, a lot for me to process.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Hell, V, you’ve been awake for barely a day and we’re already talking about ancient, primal magic?”

Viktor tilts his head. “Would you prefer we discuss the weather instead?”

Jayce huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “No. I just—” He exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this means for you. Or what it means for Piltover.”

Viktor watches him closely. “You are afraid.”

Jayce sighs. “Not of you,” he says, firm and immediate. “Never of you.”

He leans forward again, bracing his hands on the table, close enough that Viktor can see the worry etched in his features. “But I am afraid of what they’ll do if they find out.”

Viktor doesn’t need to ask who he means. The Council. The same people who in their world had feared magic, feared the idea of Hextech, who tried to control it the moment they understood its power. If they learned that Viktor was connected to something older, something raw and untamed…

“They will want to study it,” Viktor murmurs.

Jayce nods grimly. “Or worse.”

The room falls into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken possibilities pressing between them.

Then, softer, Jayce adds, “I’m glad I took the week off. It’s no longer just to help you adjust, Viktor. I need time to figure out how to keep you safe.”

Viktor looks at him, truly looks at him. Jayce, who had spent years trying to fix what was broken, who had lost nearly everything in his search for answers. And yet, his first instinct was still to protect.

The warmth from earlier creeps back into Viktor’s chest, unsettling in its own way. He looks away, back down at his hands. “I see.”

Jayce studies him for a moment longer, then claps his hands together with forced enthusiasm. “Right. Well, heavy conversations during breakfast can’t be good for digestion. Eat up. We have a city to explore, and you need new clothes before people start thinking I kidnapped you.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. The conversation isn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, he allows the shift, lets the tension ease.

There would be time to unravel the implications of his connection to the arcane and what he was possibly capable of. For now, he would let Jayce distract him. Just for a little while.

They finish their meal in content quiet. It turns out Jayce is actually a fantastic cook, and Viktor finds himself looking forward to more of his meals. He had never placed much thought into food before—so often, it had been an afterthought, something consumed in hurried bites between long hours in the lab. But here, with Jayce, it feels different. Something to savor.

When they finish, Viktor insists on helping clean up, despite Jayce’s protests that he’s a guest. They move easily around each other in the kitchen, Jayce washing the dishes while Viktor dries them, stacking them neatly back into the cupboards. It’s a simple, domestic routine, but Viktor finds a quiet satisfaction in it, it’s something tangible amidst the overwhelming strangeness of his new reality.

Afterward, Jayce sets about trying to find Viktor something more suitable to wear. The process is… less than smooth.

Jayce tosses him a sweater first, thick and warm, but the moment Viktor pulls it over his head, it nearly swallows him whole. The sleeves hang well past his hands, and the hem drapes nearly to his knees. He flaps his arms, the extra fabric flopping comically.

Jayce snorts, leaning against his dresser. “Okay, that might be a little big.”

“A little?” Viktor deadpans, staring at his own sleeve-covered hands. “Jayce, I look like a child wearing his father’s clothing.”

Jayce hums in thought. “You know, it’s kind of cute.”

Viktor pulls the sweater off with an exasperated sigh and throws it at Jayce’s face. “Find something else before I freeze to death.”

Jayce laughs as he peels the sweater off his head, tossing it aside before digging into the dresser again. He pulls out another shirt—this one a simple button-up. Viktor slides it on, relieved that at least the fit isn’t as disastrous. The sleeves are still too long, but rolling them up to his elbows fixes that well enough.

Jayce, ever the menace, nods in approval. “Okay, now you just look like you walked out of one of those novels you read.”

Viktor huffs, adjusting the cuffs. “Better than an orphaned waif, I suppose.”

Jayce grins. “I don’t know, the ‘tragic, windswept genius’ look works for you.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“Can you blame me? It’s not every day I get to play dress-up with you.”

Viktor ignores that comment entirely and sets about wrapping the excess fabric into a sash Jayce provides, at least making the fit more manageable. 

Jayce steps back, crossing his arms as he surveys the finished look. “Not bad. You could almost pass as a respectable citizen.”

Viktor raises a skeptical brow. “Almost?”

Jayce smirks. “I mean, you still look like you’re about to deliver some ominous monologue about the dangers of unchecked ambition.”

Viktor places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “How dare you. My monologues are never ominous.”

Jayce just gives him a look.

Viktor sighs, finishing the last of his adjustments. “Are we done?”

“Just need shoes.” Jayce kneels, digging around until he finds something suitable. He holds up a pair of boots first, then eyes Viktor’s slim frame and shakes his head before swapping them out for a pair of slip-ons. “Try these.”

Viktor steps into them, relieved to find they fit well enough. Jayce stays crouched, resting his arms on his knees as he studies him again, something softer in his expression now.

“You look good,” he says, quieter this time.

Viktor feels warmth creep up his neck, suddenly very aware of how closely they’re standing. He clears his throat, brushing his hands over his sleeves. “Yes, well, considering the alternatives, I will take what I can get.”

Jayce grins but doesn’t argue. “Alright, let’s get going. We’ve got a whole city to explore.”

As they step out of the house, Viktor glances once more at the cozy space Jayce calls home. He hadn’t expected to feel comfortable anywhere in this world. And yet, somehow, he does.

Maybe it isn’t the place at all. Maybe it’s the person in it.

The streets of Piltover bustle with morning activity as Jayce and Viktor make their way through the city. It’s both familiar and unfamiliar—buildings in the same places but constructed differently, people dressed in styles reminiscent of what Viktor remembers but with subtle, unfamiliar details. The air is crisp, laced with the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery and the faint metallic tang of worked steel from the smithy down the street.

Jayce walks beside him with an easy confidence, offering a reassuring presence as Viktor navigates this strange-yet-familiar world. He catches a few people offering them polite nods or greetings, some even calling Jayce by name. It seems, much like before, Jayce is well-known here.

“You’re quite the local celebrity,” Viktor muses as they weave through the crowd.

Jayce chuckles. “Not really. I just do a lot of work around town. Engineering, repairs, that sort of thing. Helps getting to know people.”

“Mm. And here I thought you were simply charming your way through life.”

Jayce shoots him a grin. “That too.”

They arrive at the tailor’s shop, a quaint yet refined boutique tucked between a bookshop and an apothecary. The sign above the door reads Hallowed & Co. Fine Tailoring. The moment they step inside, the scent of linen, wool, and polished wood surrounds them. Bolts of rich fabric line the walls, neatly organized by color and material, and mannequins display expertly crafted coats and waistcoats.

A young woman emerges from behind a curtain, adjusting the lace cuffs of her blouse. She’s dressed in layers of ruffled fabric, her ensemble meticulously coordinated in deep blues and blacks, accented with delicate silver embroidery. Her long azure-blue hair is tied back with black ribbons, and when she sees them, her face lights up with a delighted smile.

“Jayce Talis! You’re in need of my services again?” she teases, resting a hand on her hip. “Did you already manage to get grease on the last outfit you ordered?”

Jayce lets out a good-natured laugh. “Not this time, Gwen. It’s actually Viktor who needs your help. We need to get him a full wardrobe.”

Gwen’s sharp eyes flick to Viktor, scanning him with an appraising gaze before clasping her hands together. “Oh, what a wonderful canvas to work with!” she exclaims. “And you’ve got the perfect frame for something refined. Tell me, Viktor, do you have a preference, or shall I simply dress you as I see fit?”

Viktor, mildly taken aback by her enthusiasm, clears his throat. “I prefer a structured, practical style? I think? I don’t really know fashion all that well.” 

Gwen beams. “Oh, that’s not a problem. We will figure out what works for you together.” She gestures toward a fitting area. “Come, let’s get your measurements.”

Jayce claps Viktor on the shoulder. “Have fun with that. I’ll be over here looking at fabrics.”

Viktor shoots him a flat look but steps forward as Gwen retrieves her measuring tape. She works quickly and efficiently, jotting down notes in a little leather book while occasionally humming to herself.

“You carry yourself like a man who prefers deep, understated tones,” she muses, glancing up at him. “Charcoal, navy, emerald, perhaps a rich aubergine?”

Viktor nods in approval. “I favor subtlety.”

Jayce, from across the shop, holds up a bright ruby fabric. “What about this? You’d look good in red.”

Viktor eyes it for a moment before shaking his head. “Too bold.”

Jayce snorts, muttering, “Still allergic to standing out, huh?”

Gwen grins. “A more classic palette it is.” She turns, sifting through a collection of swatches before pulling a few options. “This midnight blue with silver threading would make for a stunning waistcoat. Or, if you want something a little warmer, this forest green wool is both stylish and practical.”

Viktor considers them before selecting the navy. “This.”

Gwen nods approvingly. “Excellent choice.”

Jayce, meanwhile, has found his way to the sleepwear selection. He picks up a luxurious-looking robe, deep maroon with gold embroidery along the sleeves, and holds it up. “What about this? You could look regal while sipping your evening tea.”

Viktor barely spares it a glance. “I am not a prince, Jayce.”

Jayce smirks. “You could be.”

Gwen giggles.

Viktor huffs, but there’s a faint hint of amusement in his expression.

They move on to selecting casual wear—linen shirts with subtle detailing, lighter vests for layering, and well-fitted trousers that wouldn’t restrict movement. Gwen sketches quickly, making notes of embroidery details and fabric textures.

Finally, they reach the topic of shoes. Viktor selects a few pairs of finely crafted leather boots—one set for everyday wear, another more formal, and a simple pair for lounging at home.

By the time they are finished, Jayce is leaning lazily against the counter, arms crossed, watching with an easy grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“I suppose not,” Viktor concedes. 

Jayce glances at Gwen, who is finalizing the order. “How long will the work take?”

“Given the urgency, I can have the essentials ready within three days. The more intricate pieces may take a week. But given your current predicament,” she gestures to his current attire. I have some premade outfits that should fit you better that I can send you with now if you’d like.”

Jayce nods. “Perfect. Just send the bill to me.”

Viktor frowns. “Jayce—”

“No arguments,” Jayce interrupts, giving Viktor a steady look. “Consider it a gift. You deserve to be comfortable here.”

Viktor exhales deeply, a mix of resignation and gratitude mingling in his chest. He realizes, with a sinking certainty, that he has no way to pay for the clothing himself. Instead, he watches as Jayce leans in to speak with Gwen, who is busily finalizing the details of the order.

Gwen nods curtly and disappears into the back of the shop. Minutes later, she reemerges carrying two carefully folded outfits. The stack is neat and precise—an ensemble that hints at Viktor’s refined taste—with a pair of leather boots. Gwen’s eyes sparkle with pride as she holds out the neatly stacked bundle. 

“There’s a changing room over there if you’d like to try them on, I can make any minor adjustments you might need.” She gestures to a door to their left. “These should hold you over until I can have the basics made to fit you perfectly,” she announces, her tone warm and confident.

Viktor runs his fingers lightly over the fabric as he accepts the clothing, feeling the texture promise both comfort and a touch of elegance he hadn’t appreciated before. The gesture, so unburdened by transaction or obligation, speaks volumes about Jayce’s care—and perhaps about the new life Viktor is slowly beginning to accept.

Jayce catches Viktor’s eye, his own smile softening. “You’ll look sharp, V. I don’t want you to feel out of place.”

Viktor manages a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the gift—and of Jayce’s unwavering support. 

Viktor thanks Gwen with a nod and slips into the changing room, the door closing softly behind him. In the quiet space, he unfolds the neatly stacked bundle on a small table and examines the garments with a measured eye. One outfit, in particular, catches his attention. He runs his fingers over the fabric: a deep, elegant navy blue corset-style vest that promises a structured, dignified silhouette; beneath it, a deep maroon button-up shirt exudes warmth and subtle flair; paired with high waisted black trousers, the ensemble speaks of understated sophistication.

The maroon shirt slips on effortlessly, and as he pulls the trousers up, he is pleasantly surprised—they fit him perfectly without a need for adjustments. He carefully dons the vest, noticing immediately how it hugs his frame in all the right places. In the mirror, the reflection that meets him is both striking and refined—a man reborn in style, his features set with determination and a hint of vulnerability.

After a few moments of quiet self-reflection, Viktor steps out of the changing room. In the soft light of the boutique, he stands before Gwen and Jayce, who are waiting expectantly. Gwen offers an excited smile and a satisfied nod, her eyes gleaming with professional pride.

But it is Jayce's reaction that stops Viktor in his tracks. Jayce, usually so composed and confident, appears utterly entranced. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Viktor in the elegant attire. A blush tints Jayce’s cheeks, and he fumbles for a moment as if caught off guard by a revelation he hadn’t anticipated. For a heartbeat, the world seems to still, and Viktor senses an unfamiliar vulnerability in Jayce—a quiet bashfulness that softens the hard edges of his usual demeanor.

“You… you look remarkable,” Jayce stammers, his voice lower and more hesitant than usual. He avoids Viktor’s gaze for a moment before managing a small, sincere smile. “I—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so…elegant.”

Viktor arches an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he studies Jayce’s reaction. “Thank you,” Viktor replies quietly, his voice carrying both gratitude and a touch of irony. “I suppose change isn’t so bad after all.”

Jayce’s bashful smile lingers as he steps closer, his hand resting on Viktor’s shoulder in an all too familiar manner. “No, not at all,” he murmurs. “In fact, I’m rather… excited…about the idea of change.”

Gwen breaks their momentary trance with a polite cough, drawing both Viktor and Jayce back to the present. Jayce flushes, quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry,” he says, glancing at Gwen with genuine gratitude. “Thank you again, Gwen.” He gathers the other outfit for Viktor, handing it over for her to wrap up.

Gwen smiles warmly as she safely packs the second outfit for Jayce. “Of course, Jayce. It was my pleasure.”

After saying farewell, Jayce and Viktor step back out onto the street. Jayce once again offers Viktor his arm. The gesture, while becoming as natural as breathing, causes Jayce to make a mental note to construct a new cane for Viktor—one that will perfectly match his new look. “Guess now I’m the one making you look bad,” he teases, his tone light as he grins.

Viktor raises an eyebrow in playful reproach. “I don’t think that could ever be possible,” he blurts before he realizes what he was saying, catching himself and looking away. Dressed in a form-fitted tunic and slacks, complemented by a dashing overcoat, the idea of Jayce making anyone look bad was unthinkable. 

Together, they meander through town at a leisurely pace. Jayce points out various places and sights—a bustling market square, a quiet garden tucked between cobbled streets, even a fountain whose waters catch the afternoon light just right.

Viktor can’t help but smile as he watches Jayce in this world. Here, in these streets filled with simple pleasures and genuine conversation, Jayce seems so undeniably happy—a stark contrast to the relentless urgency they once both carried. For a long time, they had been consumed by their efforts to harness magic, to reshape the world according to their ideals, and in the process, they’d clearly forgotten how magical the world already was.

They finally reach a beautiful park in the heart of the city—a lush oasis where a wide river meanders through the city, its gentle current sparkling under the afternoon sun. As they step onto the manicured lawns, Viktor’s eyes light up with a distant, bittersweet recognition. The park’s winding paths and the river’s steady flow remind him of his childhood: of afternoons spent near the water testing his mechanical boats, marveling at how the current danced around his creations.

For a moment, Viktor is lost in the reverie of those bygone days. Then, in a flash of sudden clarity, his eyes widen and he blurts out, “Rio!”

Jayce, startled by the unexpected outburst, jumps aside as Viktor whirls to face him. “Jayce, in the year that you were here, was there any trace of shimmer?”

Jayce furrows his brow in confusion. “Shimmer? N-no…actually, no. Shimmer never seems to have been invented here. Why?”

Viktor grins widely, a wild light in his eyes. Without thinking, he nearly leaps forward, throwing his arms around Jayce in a tight, exuberant embrace. “We need to go to Zaun. I need to find her—” He catches himself mid-hug, quickly disentangling his arms as he realizes the precariousness of his position.

Jayce, still visibly confused and now trying to steady his racing heart, “Zaun? I mean, that’s no problem, but who exactly are we looking for?”

Viktor’s grin grows even more determined as he steps back, his eyes shining with a child-like excitement and urgency. “Rio. A man named Singed used her in his creation of shimmer. If shimmer was never invented here, then she might still be alive, somewhere down in Zaun. I have to find her.”

For a long moment, the only sound is the gentle murmur of the river and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The weight of Viktor’s realization hangs between them, charged with memories and possibilities. Jayce studies Viktor’s fervent expression, caught between confusion and adoration. The sight of Viktor so expressively happy makes him feel as though his knees might buckle beneath him. He doesn’t know who—or what—Rio is, but if she can make Viktor this happy, then he would turn the entire city upside down to find her for him.

Jayce clears his throat softly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Viktor… you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” His eyes search Viktor’s face for any sign of doubt, finding none—only the unyielding determination of a man set on a course he must follow.

Viktor nods, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water. “Absolutely. Rio isn’t just a piece of my past. She’s a part of me, she brought me joy as a child but Singed used her. Distorted her. Turned a creature of beauty into something twisted for his own gains.” His voice trembles with a mix of hope and anger as his memories of his time with Singed flooded his mind.

Jayce steps closer, his arm instinctively slipping around Viktor’s shoulder as they turn their attention back to the river before them. “Then we’ll find her,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

For a moment, Viktor’s eyes glisten with unshed tears—an amalgamation of relief, gratitude, and a rekindled sense of purpose. He glances at Jayce, the unspoken feelings for him with every heartbeat. “Thank you, Jayce. I—I know this isn’t going to be easy, she’s a rare creature. But Singed had built his lab around her habitat, so it’s a place to start. I need to see her happy and free.”

Jayce’s smile is soft but resolute. “Tonight, we rest and gather what we need. Tomorrow we will start searching.” His words, though simple, resound with a sincere commitment that touches Viktor deeply.

As the river continues its quiet song and the park’s natural beauty wraps around them like a soothing embrace, Viktor and Jayce stand side by side. A journey into the depths of Zaun, into memories long buried. Shimmer had been the start of what had torn them apart and now, perhaps, finding Rio could be the start to bringing them fully back together.

In that moment, with the afternoon sun gilding the water and casting long shadows among the trees, Viktor glances down at his stained hands. He still feels the fear of the unknown, of not knowing what he is capable of, but with Jayce at his side again it doesn’t feel so all consuming. 

They continue their tour, Viktor buoyed by the newfound hope that Rio could be out there somewhere. His spirits are noticeably higher as the afternoon wanes. With the sun beginning its slow descent, Jayce suggests they head back to his home—but not before a detour to a quaint restaurant with a lovely outdoor patio.

The restaurant exudes a relaxed charm: warm, glowing lanterns, ivy creeping along the stone walls, and smaller lanterns casting a gentle glow over the tables. Seated under a pergola draped in flowering vines, they place their orders and settle into a comfortable conversation as they wait for dinner to arrive.

After a few moments of quiet conversation and the soft clink of cutlery in the background, Jayce turns to Viktor with genuine curiosity. “So, tell me more about Rio,” he says, his tone both inquisitive and supportive.

Viktor’s eyes light up as he begins to explain. “Rio is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered—she’s a rare mutation of a Waverider.” He leans in slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Waveriders are normally found around in the Guardian Sea, near Bilgewater. But somehow, Rio ended up in caves in the upper levels of Zaun, where the water from Piltover flows through.”

Jayce nods, listening intently as Viktor continues. “What makes her extraordinary is her regenerative abilities. She can heal herself at an astonishing rate. Singed saw that potential and exploited it in his relentless efforts to defy death. In his desperate bid to create something that would stave off death—he harnessed her regenerative power. That, in turn, gave birth to shimmer, and Rio’s unfortunate downfall.”

Jayce’s eyes widen in surprise, his mind racing with the implications of Viktor’s words. “So, shimmer…it’s tied to her, to this mutation?” he asks softly.

Viktor nods. “Exactly, and if shimmer never took hold here, that means Rio might still be out there, untouched by the ambitions of those who would misuse her gift.”

As their meals arrive, the rich aromas of freshly prepared food mingled with the evening air. Their conversation resumed as they broke into their second bottle of wine, the mellow notes of red filling the space between each sip. Between bites of their meals, Viktor leans forward, his eyes alight with determined speculation.

“Tracking her down,” he begins, “won’t be easy. Despite her large size, Rio’s a herbivore. I’m thinking if we can get the right fruits and vegetables—something irresistible—we might lure her out of hiding.” He gestures animatedly, nearly toppling his glass in his excitement.

Jayce nods thoughtfully, his gaze flickering between Viktor and his half-full glass. “So we’d set up a sort of… bait?” he asks. “Some kind of feeding station?”

“Exactly,” Viktor replies, warming to the idea. “It won’t be foolproof, but it might just work, if she managed to find her way into those caves in this world too, that is.”

As their conversation drifts between plans and theories, their laughter mingles with the soft murmur of the restaurant. Eventually, as the meal winds down, Jayce signals the waiter and settles the bill, thanking him with a courteous nod. Viktor, a bit more flushed from the wine than before, stands abruptly—and wobbles.

Jayce is quick to react, steadying Viktor with a firm hand on his lower back while chuckling. “Easy there, V. Don’t want you falling over.”

They leave the restaurant, both men it turns out are a bit unsteady on their feet, and they find themselves laughing at each other's missteps. When they finally reach Jayce’s home, the evening’s fatigue mingles with their lingering mirth. Jayce fumbles for the oil lamps, his fingers clumsy in the dim light, while Viktor struggles to haul fresh logs into the fireplace. After a few humorous stumbles and gentle teasing, Viktor manages to coax the fire back to life and finally collapses onto the couch with a contented sigh. A few moments later, Jayce joins him, stretching and releasing a long, weary sigh.

Now, with the sun nearly set and most of the illumination coming from the flickering oil lamps and the steady glow of the hearth, a chill begins to seep into the room. Even with the fire burning, Viktor shivers slightly. Jayce notices immediately, sliding his arm around Viktor and pulling him closer.

For a moment, Viktor tenses at the unexpected embrace, but then the warmth—both physical and emotional—slowly relaxes him. They settle into a comfortable silence together, watching as the sun sinks lower through the bay window. Outside, lamplighters begin their nightly rounds, and one by one, the street’s oil lamps flicker to life.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps Viktor was simply feeling brave, but as he leaned into Jayce he took a chance at resting his head softly on his shoulder. He allowed himself to dream. He wished this quiet, tender moment could be his life every day, even if he knew there was still so much to unravel. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the comfort of the present.

AUTHOR NOTE: I took a few creative liberties with Rio. In the show Singed claims to have “cultivated” her mutation, but in League Lore, Pixiemanders are a naturally occurring mutation of the Waverider species, so in this, Rio is a naturally mutated Pixiemander. I also interpreted the fact she was dying as something caused by Singed’s experiments, so no experiments, no dying Rio. I want a happy ending for our girl mkay? <3

[cyanophen]

Chapter 1: For the Greater Good

Purples and oranges painted the clouds and sky as the sun began to set behind the green horizon. Flocks of Corvisquire could be seen flying overhead as the city of the Wyndon began to glow with the lights of cars, lamps, and bright billboards all turned on to adjust to the fading of the daylight. 

High above the skyline of Wyndon, in Rose Tower, the region’s most well renown persons stood behind the glass down admiring it all. 

“Look out there, at our region. Don’t you have concerns towards the future?” The Chairman tilted his head to look at the Champion with curiosity. 

Leon only stood silently, staring down below at the breathless view, he rarely got to see Galar from this high. 

“All of Galar…” he muttered. 

“From the Wyndon Stadium to all the way to the Crowned Tundra and the Isle of Armor is within our reach.” 

The Chairman slowly extended his hand out towards the cold glass dome as his facial expression changed from admiration to contemption. 

“The impending energy crisis is something that has plagued me for many years as Chairman.”

Leon blinked as though coming out of deep thought and looked at Chairman Rose, noticing the worry on his face. 

“I know you’ve been trying to solve it for the longest time, but have you come up with a solution?” Leon questioned. 

“Ah but that’s where you come in!” Rose’s face suddenly lighting up. “Since you’re the strongest trainer in all of Galar, of course” 

Before he could continue the sound of familiar voices could be heard coming up the stairs from the elevator entrance to the dome. 

“Lee?” a berry haired boy called out. His eyes glanced over the white tiles of the large room until they came upon Leon and Chairman Rose. 

“There he is!” Hop exclaimed, turning back to Gloria as she climbed to the top of the stairs as well. 

“Hop? Gloria? What are you two doing here?” Leon turned to face the two of them as Rose’s expression dropped. 

“You said you’d be at dinner by now.” Hop answered 

“I did?” He pauses to think. “I did! I’m so sorry Hopscotch, guess I lost track of time while talking to the Chairman.” 

“You don’t mine that I step out do you? I already has this pla-“ 

“Yes yes, go on.” The chairman waved his hand towards the three of them. “We shall continue this discussion later, Leon.” 

•••

The sky was now dark only being illuminated with Hanmerlocke Tower’s Light and the streets only by lamps and bright shoppe windows.

Those who liked to dwell at night walked the streets with bags or their pokemon in tow, some noticing the Chairman and Champion standing outside the Dragon Gym’s entrance.  

“Why didn’t you want to meet back in Wyndon?” Leon turned towards Rose. 

“Because there’s something you need to see.” He replied and without hesitation, he began to walk through the large brick arcs. 

Leon watched Chairman Rose take a few steps onto the maroon floor before following in behind him, taking in the tall walls he’s seen so many times. 

The time of night meant no one except the employee at the front desk was in the lobby, though leaning on the Welcome desk was the Gym Leader; Raihan. 

Looking up from his Rotom Phone he saw his ‘rival’ being lead in by the Chairman of the Gym Challenge walking through the entrance. 

“What are you two doing here, it’s kinda past my hours.” Raihan chuckled, shoving his phone into his hoodie pocket. 

“Just checking on some maintenance things around the gyms- ” Rose said dismissively. 

“-and I invited Leon along as he’s expressed an interest in these things before.” he added seeing the confusion of Raihan’s face. 

Leon waved awkwardly to Raihan as his name came out of the Chairman’s mouth. 

“Keep those challengers in check!” he joked, turning back to catch up to Rose. 

Raihan nodded and went back on his phone, once again blocking out the world. 

Rose stepped back to reveal an elevator in the wall of the lobby, “After you.” he motioned. 

“I’ve never noticed this before…” Leon hesitated.

“Is this new?” 

Rose scoffed. “This has been here a while, actually.” He then pressed the Basement level button inside the elevator, closing the doors and leading them down. 

“Though we have started using it recently after our, experiments have become a success.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal a hallway made of the same bricks of the building they were under, only this walkway was colder, darker, and a faint hum could be heard coming from the room it lead to on the left wall. 

Rose looked back at Leon and motioned him to come out the elevator. He stepped out, shuddering, his head spinning as he tried to take it all in. 

How long has this been down here? Was it repurposed and I just never noticed the gym had a basement? 

Hundreds of thoughts buzzed through Leon’s mind as the two made their way down the hall, the faint hum getting louder with each strip. 

Why are the walls humming? Is it getting louder? How far under ground are we? Are- 

His stream of thoughts were interrupted by Rose clearing his throat as though to bring Leon back from his trance. 

“What’s in this room will change Galar for the greater good!” The Chairman announced. 

Before Leon could open his mouth to reply, he came to face what was in the humming room. 

Machines surrounded a large copper Sphere, all of them hooked up to it, taking readings on what was in it. Beeps and whirring echoed off the chamber walls as dozen if not hundreds of giant, energy coils filled the room behind it all. Everything had a faint magenta glow as if running and collecting the same energy. 

“Chairman…” Leon began, still breathless. “Where did- How is…?” 

“Ah yes, the most important part of this whole operation!” Rose clapped his hands together. 

“As I’m sure you know, the beast that caused the Darkest Day one thousand years ago has the energy, the power to cause pokemon to Dynamax uncontrollably!” 

“You see” He continued, “If i could harness that power, control it, turn it into something I could use. I could help Galar!” He then turned to Leon with a smile, his arms open as if to show off his energy plant. 

“The beast….darkest day…wait you don’t mean-?” The champion stepped back in shock. 

“Yes!” Rose exclaimed. “Eternatus, the bringer of the darkest day will power Galar for centuries to come!” 

Leon looked at the giant copper sphere in the middle of the room, a giant glow come from the gaps between the metal, pulsing like a heart beat. 

“You can’t be serious! Eternatus?! It’ll-“ 

“I understand your concern as Champion, Leon.” Rose interrupted.

“But i already have everything planned, everything in place. This is my way of taking care of galar.” he turned to Leon with a look at worry as he placed a hand on his caped shoulder. 

“You do want to see Galar flourish right?” 

Tearing his golden eyes from the sphere he looked at Rose with concern and fear. 

“Then this is the way it has to be, to ignore this kind of power, to refuse to use this energy for the benefit of Galar would be to refuse the citizens here a worry-less future.”

Leon looked back at the glowing copper sphere, slowly stepping towards it. He could feel the energy eminating from it, as he got closer he could feel the presence of Eternatus. It pulled him in, needed to know how it felt.

The champion felt his arm reach up towards the sphere, the closer he got the more he felt Eternatus’ strength. 

He then placed his palm on the bottom of the sphere, barely being able to reach it, but thirsting for the presence he felt coming from it. 

The strongest in the land  

A voiced echoed in Leon’s mind. 

I’ve been waiting for someone like you. 

He pulled his hand away in surprising as he felt the energy surge through his body. 

That…

Wasn’t painful…?

Leon shook his head and place his palm against the sphere once again 

Help me break out of here

What?

And I can help you defeat any of your foes

Especially that little girl that has hopes of claiming your title

How did you know- 

I can see it, I can see it all in your head. the potential you see in that challenger is NOTHING I see compared to you. 

I don’t need help, it’s all in friendly- 

Ah but I can feel you’re worried, worried that she has grown stronger with every battle

I know you’re next to come against her

And it frightens you….

No! You’re wrong, I’m excited! I want to see what she can do! I want a real challenge to go up against I- 

But yet, a part of yourself is doubting your own abilities

…

Just help me fight back, and I can help you 

I don’t know how

You will see, I too know it’s like to be locked away, but you don’t have to hold back…

As the voice faded from Leon’s mind as he pulled his palm away once again. Staring at his hand, his eyes traveled to the dynamax band on his wrist. 

It was fully charged, almost vibrating with an overflow of energy.  

•••

Later into the night Leon laid in bed, thought the light of the Wyndon skyline coming in from the open curtains was not the only think keeping him awake. 

It was the voice he heard earlier, talking to him like he had doubts about himself. He’d never doubted his abilities before… 

And this warm feeling in his chest, it hadn’t gone away since he was walking to the voice…? Eternatus? 

Next part coming May 29th

[midnightjewel]

Taylor Swift Songs For Your Relationship With The BNHA Boys <3

(Part 2) Part 1 Part 3

Characters Include: Midoryia, Mirio, Todoroki, Shinsou

Midoryia

Mine (Speak Now TV)

Do you remember we were sitting there by the water you saw me start to believe for the first time

Everything has Changed (Red TV)

Is something I know now, know something now I didn’t before.

And all I’ve seen since 18 hours ago is green eyes and freckles and your smile

New Years Day (Reputation)

But I stay when it’s hard or it’s wrong or we’re making mistakes

Cornelia Street (Lover)

Windows flung right open, autumn air, jacket round my shoulders is yours. We bless the rains on Cornelia Street, memorize the creaks in the floors

Daylight (Lover)

And I can still see it all in my mind, all for you all for me intertwined

Sweet Nothing (Midnights)

They say the end is coming, everyone’s up to something I found myself running home to your sweet nothings

Mastermind (Midnights)

What if I told you none of it was accidental…

Angst

Champagne Problems (Evermore)

“She would’ve made such a lovely bride, what a shame she’s fucked in the head” they said

Peace (Folklore)

Your integrity makes me seem small, you paint dreamscapes on the wall, I talk shit with my friends… it’s like I’m wasting your honor!

Come Back…Be Here (Red TV)

This is when the feeling sinks in, I don’t wanna miss you like this…

Back to December (Speak Now TV)

I’d go back in time and change it, but I can’t. So if the chain is on your door, I understand.

White Horse (Fearless TV)

Cause I’m not your princess, this ain’t our fairytale, I’m gonna find someone someday who might actually treat me well…

Should’ve Said No (Taylor Swift)

I can’t resist, before you go tell me this, was it worth it? Was she worth it..?

The Prophecy (TTPD)

Please, I’ve been on my knees, change the prophecy

Mirio

So High School (TTPD)

Get my car door, isn’t that sweet then pull me to the back seat. No one’s ever had me, not like you…

But Daddy I Love Him (TTPD)

And I’m running with my dress unbuttoned. Screaming “but daddy I love him!” I’m having his baby… no I’m not, but you should see your faces!

Ours (Speak Now TV)

Don’t you worry your pretty little mind, people throw rocks at things that shine but they can’t take what’s ours

State of Grace (Red TV)

And I never (never) saw you coming! And I’ll never be the same…

Begin Again (Red TV)

And we walked down the block to my car and I almost brought him up but you start to talk about the movies that your family watches ever single Christmas and now I wanna talk about that…

And for the first time, what’s past is past

I Know Places (1989 TV)

They are the hunters, we are the foxes and we run. Just grab my hand and don’t ever drop it, my love.

Baby, I know places we won’t be found and they’ll be chasing their tails trying to track us down…

False God (Lover)

We might just get away with it. Religions in your lips. Even if it’s a false god, we’d still worship. We might just get away with it the alter is my hips even if it’s a false god…

Angst

So Long, London (TTPD)

I didn’t opt in to be your odd man out, I founded the club she’s heard great things about

The Great War (Midnights)

It turned into something bigger, somewhere in the haze got a sense I’ve been betrayed

Looked up at me with honor and truth, broken and blue, so I called off the truce. That was the night I nearly lost you…

Blank Space (1989 TV)

Screaming, Crying, Perfect Storms

Oh my god, who is she?! I get drunk on jealousy

I Wish You Would (1989 TV)

You always knew how to push my buttons, you gave me everything and nothing…

Is It Over Now? (1989 TV)

Think I didn’t see there were flashing lights? At least I had the decency to keep my nights out of sight, only rumors about my hips and thighs and my whispered sighs, oh lord

Death By A Thousand Cuts (Lover)

I dress to kill my time, I take the long way home, I ask the traffic lights if it’ll be alright they say “I don’t know…”

imgonnagetyouback (TTPD)

(My personal favorite)

I can feel it coming humming in the way you move, push the reset button we’re becoming something new. Say you’ve got somebody I’ll say I’ve got someone too. Even if it’s handcuffed I’m leaving here with you.

Todoroki

Love Story (Fearless TV)

Romeo save me I’ve been feeling so along I keep waiting for you but you never come, is this in my head I don’t know what to think he knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring

Timeless (Speak Now TV)

Even if we’d met on a crowded street in 1944 and you were heading off to fight in the war, you still would’ve been mine we would’ve been timeless

Holy Ground (Red TV)

Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress, We had this big wide city all to ourselves. We blocked out the noise with the sound of “I need you”

Delicate (Reputation)

Sometimes I wonder when you sleep, are you ever dreaming of me?

Dancing with our hands tied (Reputation)

I’d kiss you as the lights went out, swaying as the room burned down. I’d hold you as the water rushes in if I could dance with you again

All of the girls you’ve loved before (Lover)

All of the girls you’ve loved before…

Made you the one I’ve fallen for

The Tortured Poets Department (TTPD)

Sometimes I wonder if you’re gonna screw things up with me. But you told Lucy you’d kill yourself if I ever leave…

Angst

Cold As You (Taylor Swift)

And you come away with a great little story, of a mess of dreamer with the nerve to adore you

Mr. Perfectly Fine (Fearless TV)

So dignified in your well pressed suit, so strategized all the eyes on you, sashay your way to your seat, it’s the best seat in the best room

All Too Well (10 Minute Version) (Red TV)

You kept me like a secret… but I kept you like an oath…

I Bet You Think About Me (Red TV)

At your cool indie music concerts every week, I bet you think about me in your house with your organic shoes and your million dollar couch

Wildest Dreams (1989 TV)

Someday when you leave me I’ll bet the memories follow you around…

You’re Losing Me (Midnights)

And I wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser, who only wanted you to see her

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived (TTPD)

We’re you sent by someone who wanted me dead?

Shinsou

I Can See You (Speak Now TV)

I could see you in your suit and your neck tie, pass me a note saying “meet me tonight” then we kiss and you know I won’t ever tell yeah….

You Are In Love (1989 TV)

You can hear it in the silence…

You can feel it on the way home

Don’t Blame Me (Reputation)

And baby for you I would cross the line, I would waste my time, I would lose my mind…

Afterglow (Lover)

Hey, it’s all me… just don’t go, meet me in the afterglow

Willow (Evermore)

The more that you say, the less I know. Wherever you stray I follow, I’m begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans

Labyrinth (Midnights)

Lost in the labyrinth of my mind…

Mastermind (Midnights)

And the first night that you saw me I knew I wanted your body…

I laid the groundwork and then, just like clockwork, the dominoes cascaded in a line. What if I told you I’m a mastermind?

Angst

Haunted (Speak Now TV)

You and I walk a fragile line… I have known it all this time

Clean (1989 TV)

The rain came pouring down, when I was drowning that’s when I could finally breathe

Now That We Don’t Talk (1989 TV)

I don’t have to pretend I like acid rock, or that I’d like to be on a mega yacht with important men who think important thoughts, guess maybe I am better off

exile (Folklore)

“So I’m leaving out the side door”

“So step right out!”

Right Where You Left Me (Evermore)

When I felt the moment stop, glass shattered on the white cloth…

loml (TTPD)

Your arsons match your somber eyes…

[xoxmatilda]

chapter eleven

word count: 3.9k

author's warning: mentions of drugs, alcohol, sex and death in this chapter. please read at your own risk.

"What's a cairn?" I ask Oliver as I gather different sized rocks with him like he instructed me to.

"A cairn, is a structure made out of rocks of different shapes and sizes used as a memorial or a landmark. Most of the time they're used on hiking trails so people can find their way back," He explains plainly.

"Ok... this isn't a hiking trail so are we memorializing something?" I ask still not understanding what brought about this weird behavior from him.

"Yes. We, Tilly, are memorializing the family we used to have."

I stopped in my tracks and just stared at him blankly. He turns when he notices I'm no longer following him. He explains, "It didn't always used to be like this, Til. Mom and dad were happy. We were happy. You went on shopping trips with Mom, and Dad used to support everything you did. Somehow over the years they just lost their love and dad drifted away."

"Where do we go from here? Dad hates me. Mom can't stand to come out of her room. No matter what things I donate in the house, everything reminds her of him. She's so broken and I don't know how to fix her."

"Some people can't be fixed, Tilly. I know it's in your nature to help everyone and to help wherever you can, even if it's out of your level of experience. It's in mine too, but one of the hardest lessons I've learned after moving away, is that not everyone can be saved, and not everyone wants to be saved. It's just the hard reality of life."

"Are you telling me mom can't be saved?" I put the rocks down, suddenly feeling the strain in my arms from the weight of holding them.

"I'm trying to say she can be saved, but she has to want it as well. She's been using for months now, Til. This isn't just some phase she'll magically wake up from and realize she's no longer broken hearted and no longer needs anything to numb the pain. She's in far too deep. She has to want it for herself before she lets anyone in to help. The best thing you can do is provide as much stability as you can. A routine, if she'll let you. Maybe, hopefully, with that she can come to terms with her problems on her own and accept the help she needs. I'm sorry this is all falling on you, but I'll continue to visit when I can and help out with her when I do," He looks up at the sky and takes note of the diminishing daylight we have left, "C'mon, it's going to be dark soon. Bring whatever rocks you have over here to me."

I set the rocks down on the ground next to where Oliver motioned near our small fire pit he threw together. He tells me to come stand near him, and when I do he starts stacking the rocks all the way up to my head. He places the last rock on top and he has me step away. He then stands a few steps away from the first and has me stack them up to his height.

Then, we made two more with more distance between the others.

"When you feel like there's nothing left and you have nothing left to offer. When you feel like the world is trying to shut you down and you don't feel loved. I want you to remember these cairns. One for each of us. You, me, Mom, and Dad. When you look at them, I want you to remember the times they would play with us in the backyard. The movie and pizza nights we had on the weekends, and the few vacations we took to Los Angeles together as a family. Let this be a reminder that we had a loving family at one point. And it's ok now that it's just the two of us. That's why they're separated. Because now, it's just you and me."

"Why are Mom's and Dad's so far from ours?" I ask him holding down the lump in my throat with all my effort. 

"Because, in the end it's really only ever the two of us, Tils. And I want it to serve as a reminder that no matter what, I'll always be here." He says with a smile on his face, his hands shoved in his skinny jeans pockets. 

Tears well up in my eyes at the thoughtfulness he was exhibiting in this gesture. I run and give him a hug. He hugs me back, placing his cheek on the top of my head, rubbing circles on my upper back as I lightly sob into his chest.

"Healthy love does exist, Tils. Remember that."

||

Breathe in, breathe out. Peacefulness Breathe in, breathe out. Nervousness Breathe in, breathe out. Longing Breathe in, breathe out.

After I came to, I started to run through the grounding exercise over and over again reminding myself of all the feelings I've experienced just within the last twelve hours. By the time the car pulled up to the campsite, I managed to stop hyperventilating. I wasn't quick enough to stop a flashback, and tears were streaming down my face. At least this one was a gentle one.

Of course, the reason we were there, building the cairns wasn't so gentle, my brother's comfort and steady words were. They were something I found myself craving in moments like this. Coming off an attack and being completely alone. The driver I'm sure thought I was crazy but luckily didn't say anything to me as he parked the car. 

"Thank you," is all I managed to get out as I grabbed everything I brought and got out of the car, walking towards my assigned tent. Unzipping it, I step inside and shimmy my belongings onto the floor. I grab clothes and go to take a shower. The warm water was just what I needed. Just to feel the water on my skin, was better than any emotional grounding exercise.

Wrapping my hair up in a towel, I got dressed and rubbed my arms to try to warm myself up. There was a pile of wood on the patio. I retrieve some and go to the wood stove, suddenly realizing I don't have any knowledge of how to work it. I try to open the top multiple times but it was jammed shut. With each try, I grew more and more frustrated until, eventually, I was pulling with all of my might. I collapsed back onto the ground of the tent in defeat with a loud groan of annoyance that nothing in my life could seem to go right for me, tears threatening to run down my cheeks. 

"Tilly?"

My head flicks to the entrance of the tent that I stupidly left open when I went to get wood. He's standing in the open doorway holding two mugs with steaming liquid inside.

How the hell did he get here so fast?

"Need some help?" Harry asks, and I just nod my head.

He takes that as his invitation and steps into the tent coming over to me. I stand myself up and sit at the foot of the bed, one of the wooden logs of the footboard being used as my foot rest. He hands me a mug full of hot chocolate. I sip it as I watch him get the door to the stove open with ease, and I feel like even more of an idiot. He fills the stove with fire wood and ignites it. He sits in one of the chairs a few feet diagonally from me, but I stay in my spot, closest to the heater. 

He doesn't say anything, just sits with his ankle crossed over his knee, sipping his drink. I don't know if I should be grateful or if I should take it as a condescending, arrogant action. Does he just expect that I'll eventually tell him all my secrets with time and that's why he's waiting me out? I grow annoyed with every passing silent moment. I'd rather go to bed for the night than sit here and be kept awake by someone just sitting in my room.

"Is this all we're going to do?" I ask him, trying to hide the annoyance in my voice. He catches a little of it though and his face changes. I immediately want to take back my tone.

"We can do whatever you want. If you want to sit here in silence, we'll sit here in silence. If you want to talk, we'll talk."

"What if I don't know what I want?"

"Then we sit here until you do." He says still looking at the ground in front of him.

I don't want him here. I want to be left alone. I'm exhausted, I hurt all over and I just want to lay down and try to sleep. "What if I want to go to bed?"

He nods his head taking sip of his hot chocolate and quickly swallowing it down to answer, "Then we go to bed, but I'm not leaving you alone if that's what you're trying to get out of me."

"Why?"

"Because I want to make sure you're okay. This is the second one in a row, both times have been brought up by something I've done. I feel a sense of responsibility to at least make sure you're okay. You're not going to stop me."

"This is my tent," my irritation begins to grow. I feel suffocated again, but this time not from anxiety. This time it's from him and I don't know how to escape him.

"We can go to mine if it would make you more comfortable," He says.

I roll my eyes. He meant it to make me laugh, and maybe in other circumstances, I would have.

He takes my silence as my answer and he looks me over, studying me with a cautious look, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Why not," He challenges.

I don't know what's gotten into him. This demanding demeanor he has is not like anything I've seen from him. I furrow my eyebrows at him trying to read what could be going through his head. What he could be trying to gain from this conversation. He was so comforting last night, but tonight he immediately put distance between us by sitting in the chair across the room.

"Because my problems, are just that. My problems. Like I said this morning, I don't want to blemish the image you have of me with stories of my past." 

"And I told you this morning, that isn't possible. Why don't you believe me?"

"Because I've heard it before and it still happened." I say flatly, setting my now empty mug on the bed next to me and pulling my legs up to my chest almost as if I was shielding myself.

Harry runs his hand through his hair and exhales a sigh.

"You're pulling away from me..." He says to himself, "I'm sorry if I came in here hostile, I just wanted some answers."

"I don't have them for you," I say.

"Tilly," My name comes off his lips almost as if he's pleading with me, his voice trying to be delicate to hide his irritation. Tears well up in my eyes and I look away so he doesn't see, "I want to help you. I can't do that if I don't know what's going on."

"Harry, sometimes people don't want help. Sometimes, people just need to deal with their demons alone."

"Fine," he throws his hands up in defense as my words come out in the shape of daggers. Except he leans back in his chair and folds his hands together in his lap instead of getting up from his chair, "I'll stop talking, but I'm not leaving you by yourself."

"Harry," now I'm the one pleading, "Give it a rest, please."

"Just talk to me and tell me what's going on. It doesn't have to be all of it. It doesn't have to be every last detail, but at least give me something. I've been so open about my past with the band, and what I told you doesn't even scratch the surface," He tries to make me feel better.

"Everything you told me, could have been searched on Wikipedia. You weren't as open as you think," I spat, "You really don't have any right expecting anything from me when all you've told me are things about the band that your entire fandom knows about."

He puts his hand up to his mouth and sits in silence, letting my words dance circles around him.

I squeeze my eyes shut wanting to take back everything I had said. I look up at him, "I'm sorry, I--"

He holds his hand up, "No, no. You're right. I deserved it. Nothing about what you said was untruthful. It just took me by surprise."

The silence left between us is heavy, almost stifling. He doesn't know what to say, but I can tell by the look on his face that his thoughts are moving one hundred miles an hour. I don't like this tension between us. I don't like the attitudes we both have. I just want to rewind time to earlier in the day when we were both in a better head space. 

I wait for him to say something, but he doesn't, appearing to be in his own head. I hate myself for doing that to him. 

"Harry?" His head snaps in my direction, almost startling me at the speed. My voice comes out strained and softer than I meant it to revealing my nerves, "A few days ago, at your house... I mentioned I lost someone..."

He shakes his head about to tell me I didn't have to go down that road, but I stop him before he can, "It was my brother. I lost him in August."

He looks at me with a blank expression trying to process what I said. My heart feels like it's about to jump out of my throat and run off into the desert. I don't say anything else, not wanting to reveal too much so I wait for him to respond. I watch his eyes slowly fall from mine to the floor in realization.

He's quiet for what feels like an eternity. I can see thoughts running through his head as he processes the information he's been given, "Y-your anxiety attacks, they're from... grief?"

I look up at him, "They're from more than just grief, but yes. I haven't been back in Arizona since I moved out to LA."

"I-I don't know what to say, other than that I'm sorry, which I've already said when you first mentioned you lost someone. I just didn't realize how close they were to you. It's been a lot for you being back here, hasn't it? It's been hard?" He says, forming his thoughts and realizations into words.

All I can do is nod my head.

He leans in with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. His head stooped low so I can't see his eyes from where I'm sitting on the bed. He raises his face ever so slightly to make eye contact with me, his voice delicate, "What do you need from me to make it easier?"

I think for a moment. "I need time. I process things better when I'm alone."

He looks down at his feet, nodding his head simultaneously. I watch as he stands half expecting him to protest. He adds more wood to the stove for me then grabs both of our mugs, "If you need anything tonight, you know where to find me. Please don't hesitate."

He has a somber look on his face but he doesn't say anything further. I nod in acknowledgement and he walks out of the tent, zipping it up behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

That's the worst part about being out here in the middle of no where. Although it was supposed to be a bonding trip, it's turned into more of a self-reflection trip. Not having any internet access except for my phone, I couldn't edit pictures, watch TV or respond to emails without draining my phone battery. 

I stand up from the bed and grab the blanket I had taken with me to the canyon. Wrapping it around myself as tight as I could, I lay back down on the bed. I go to look up at the ceiling but am greeted by the cloudy night sky. With nothing left to do, and not wanting to be alone with my thoughts and emotions, I let myself drift off to sleep.

||

There's a loud bang at the front door and the stumbling of some footsteps, a male and a female's giggle that follows. Willow's head raises from my bed and she lets out a low growl from the sound of the door being swung open with such force. I quickly pet her head to quiet her down before my mom, who I'm assuming just got home with another one of her 'friends,' has something else to complain about.

The giggling and the commotion continues. A glass breaks in the kitchen followed by some laughs, my mom quieting her company with a 'shh,' before they start toward my mother's bedroom. I get up from my bed and open my door, catching my mom before she goes into her room. "Keep it down will you? I'm trying to write my application essay for college."

She looks me up and down and scoffs, "Baby, you're not getting into college. Even if you did, there's no money to pay for it." She throws her head back in laughter before entering her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

I slam mine back, infuriated with her reaction. Seven months since the divorce. She had finally started to pick herself up from her heartbreak. Or so I thought. She was at least getting out of bed everyday, but that was accompanied with her disappearing for days at a time, only to come back with a new friend who would stay one night and leave after I woke up the next morning. Most of the time they're people she meets at bars. Maybe they cut her a good deal on her drug of choice, or she sleeps with them to attempt at getting them for free.

Nights like these were pretty predictable. They'd loudly disappear into her room, they'd be loud for less than an hour, then they'd pop some pills or shoot up and be silent until the next afternoon. At least I knew it wouldn't last for long. I collapse on my bed, Willow immediately coming over to lick my face and get closer to me. 

If there was one thing I was grateful for, it was her. Ever since I convinced my mom to let me adopt her years ago, she has been the one constant in my life. What started out as just wanting one as a companion, turned into me arguing my case that we needed protection in the neighborhood we lived in. The day I picked her out at the kennel, I did go into it knowing I needed a big dog that was at least social and could put up a front. But the second I saw her behind the gate, cowering in the corner of her kennel trembling from fear, I knew I had to have her.

My mom threatened to make me take her back after seeing her. 'What good is it if it won't even hurt a mouse?' But I argued back that I adopted her with my own money I saved up. She was mine and no one else's.

I pick up my phone from my side and check it for the millionth time in the last hour. Oliver was supposed to FaceTime me at five before he headed to the studio. It was now ten and I was growing impatient. He had gotten more forgetful since moving to LA, but that was to be expected since his schedule was more demanding now. He made time when he could, but he would shoot me a text to let me know if something had changed at the very least. 

I threw my phone down on the bed when I register that there is nothing from my brother at the same time that I heard a sound coming from outside my room. I brushed it off as being my mom and tried to get back to my paper. The sound happened again a moment later. And then again.

"For god sakes, Matilda! Get the damn door!" My mom screams from her bedroom down the hall. I jump off my bed and run to the front of the house. I grab the bat that's sitting next to the door, then unlock the locks and bolts; swinging the door open expecting it to be another homeless person asking for food.

Boy was I wrong. Two rangers were perched on my doorstep, their faces barely in view due to the dim porch light outside. They were dressed in tan uniforms with their matching hats on their heads.

"Alice Florence?"

I shook my head, "Matilda, Alice is my mother."

There was loud thumping coming from the hallway momentarily, then stops. The officer looks between me and the hallway behind me, "Is Alice home? We need to speak with her."

I half look over my shoulder, then look back ahead of me, "No... I'm her daughter. What's this regarding?"

"May we come inside?" I slowly stepped to the side for them to come in, causing Willow to retreat to my bedroom at the sight of the strangers.

I take a seat on the couch after shutting the door and they sit in the worn down chairs across from me. "Are you related to an Oliver Florence?"

I slowly nod, looking between the two men, searching for what they were here for as if I could read them like a newspaper. I nodded my head.

"My brother," was all I could think to say.

Both of them removed their hats from their heads and rested them on their laps. The one that had knocked on the door gave me a look full of pity and he opened his mouth to speak. The words the proceeded were jumbled together. It felt like my eardrums were hallow, only picking up certain words. Accident. Canyon. Helicopter. Crash.

I furrowed my eyebrows together and looked at the two strange men in my living room. "No," is all I said over and over again, unsure of what I was feeling nor how to process it as it came over me. Denial, shock, sadness, despair, to name a few.

"No, no. No. That's impossible. No. NO! NO!"

||

"No!" I jolt awake, my body dripping in sweat, my heart racing behind my ribs. I feel two hands rest on my shoulders. As soon as I look up to see who it is, I jump back, not expecting anyone to be with me.

"Shhh, shh. It's okay, Tilly. It's me. It's Harry."

masterlist chapter twelve

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day five

@ailesswhumptober 5 — overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.” ↳ the world circulation yard, circa 1899 word count; 1.8k

cw; vomiting, physical abuse, vague mentions of suicide attempts/substance abuse/visual hallucinations

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Morris' head hurts. The distribution yard is so goddamn loud.

He isn't good with noise. He never has been. He doesn't know why. It's something that doesn't seem to bother most people, but it always bothers him. Anything from a slight, distant tapping to the cacophanous noise of all of the newsies crowded in the yard, it gets under his skin immediately in a way he can't explain, no matter how many times Oscar asks — has asked — what the fuck is wrong with him.

The noise is just. Too much. Especially today, especially right now. The daylight is too much. The yard smells like dirt and the newsies smell like sweat and the seams of his undershirt are pressing against his skin, he'd had to put his jacket on too quickly so it isn't sitting right, his shirt sleeves are all pushed up underneath, and there's so much noise.

His head hurts. It's hurt since last night, and Oscar had told him it would be better in the morning, but it's worse today, and there's lights dancing in his vision. Oscar had only given him a strange look when he'd tried to explain them, that note of concern in his face like he thinks Morris is having an episode again, so Morris had dropped it. But they're there. They're making it near impossible to see.

"Morris!" Wiesel barks, and whacks him across the back of the head.

Morris gets back to work.

It's first thing in the morning. Distribution has hardly started yet, though the newsies are in a chaotic crowd on the other side of the window, all shouting and jeering and laughing like it isn't barely dawn. Morris is moving stacks of papers, his usual job first thing. They're heavy and every movement is making the lights in his vision dance, his head throb like a fresh hit from the end of a cane, but he knows he'll get whacked harder if he stops again, so he forces himself to keep going — until, finally, Oscar nudges him. He flinches, eyes sort of feeling like they're falling back in his skull for a moment as his eyelids flutter, before he rights himself.

"You lost track?" he asks quietly, not unkindly. Oscar had been helping at the counter with Wiesel, but he isn't good with the counting. The money and the papes. Oscar shakes his head.

"Jus'. Look like you're about to keel over."

Morris feels like he might. Oscar squeezes his shoulder and steps around him in a manner Morris knows means the're swapping jobs. It feels like a blessing.

Until he actually gets up to the desk, at least. Only a few of the boys have been seen to out of a line that seems endless, and Wiesel is getting irritated again as he fights to keep serving them on his own.

"One a' you!" he snaps at his nephews behind him in the cramped little office. "Get the fuck here."

Morris takes his station beside him.

The light hits him again as he stands right up at the window. The sky is covered horizon to horizon in pale clouds, and it isn't even fully daylight yet, but it feels agonisingly bright. A wave of brutal white that makes Morris' skull throb, makes his eyes ache like bruises.

"Fifty," Wiesel tells him. Morris counts out the papers as fast as he can with shaking hands, numb fingers. Then the next batch, then the next, and the next, getting sloppier each time. The newsies are all talking above him, an ebbing and flowing of a hundred different conversations all happening at once, overtop of each other, and he jumps when he suddenly picks out a, "Morris!" from the noise. For a moment, he thinks it's Wiesel, thinks he's in trouble again, another hit incoming, but when it's repeated — again and again, incessant — he recognises it as one of the newsies.

"Rough night?" the boy is grinning, picking up his stack of papes from the countertop. Morris can't remember his name, can hardly recognise his face — can hardly see it beyond the glowing and shifting colours in his vision. "Christ. Been at the bars like your brother?"

"Or his daddy!" one of the others shouts, and then they're all laughing. Morris' hearing crackles. His stomach is churning, head buzzing. He wants to speak up, tell them to fuck off, tell them he'll come out there and break their goddamn jaws — but the words feel a million miles away. Speech feels impossible. His tongue is numb.

"Move it along!" Wiesel hollers, and the boy goes, moving aside in a way that makes Morris' head spin. He thinks he might be sick.

He swears there aren't usually this many newsies. There can't be. It feels like there's a million of them. Where did they all come from? He's trying so hard to keep up. His fingers aren't working properly, his hands don't feel connected to him, but he's trying. Overhears another newsie crow as he moves off that Morris is as stupid as his brother, gave him fifty-three instead of fifty, and he can't even bring himself to care — not until Wiesel's cane whacks him across his stooped shoulders and a noise of pathetic pain is wrenched from him.

It's all too much.

"Mo," Oscar says, concerned as Morris stumbles away from the desk, and Morris shoves past him.

"Can't take this anymore," he croaks to his brother, and lets himself out of the back door of the office. Closes it behind him and manages to clumsily shove the bolt across to lock it, keep his brother or his uncle from following him.

And then he doubles over to throw up onto the cobblestone.

He thinks he might be dying, maybe. He's come close before, and this is close to what it had felt like. Wave after wave of this awful feeling over every inch of his skin, his head throbbing — whether from trauma or blood loss or whatever he'd taken too much of then, or whatever's happening to him now — and his stomach rolling and his eyes unable to focus. The lights are flashing and dancing, blinding streamers that blur across his vision even when he squeezes his eyes closed, and it reminds him of the few times he's been drunk in the theatre district. Stumbling and laughing with Oscar, sneaking in to whichever shows take their fancy, surrounded by lights and glamour for once in their lives.

This certainly feels more suited to him, Morris thinks, as his knees buckle and he collapses down to the damp ground.

He's throwing up again when footsteps approach him. He might be crying. Someone says something, but it isn't Oscar, so he ignores it — until it comes again, and again, rattling through his bones each time.

"Stop," he finally manages to plead, voice a feeble croak—

And David stops, stomach dropping with the familiar sting of rejection, but he forces himself to swallow it down. There are places he'd much rather be than the dank alleyway behind the distribution centre, smelling the acrid scent of vomit amongst a hundred other unsavoury scents — and being essentially begged to shut up by Morris, but. Well. As he'd struggled to explain to Jack over his shoulder, he just…understands. That look that had been on Morris' face, the way he'd fled with shaking hands over his ears. David knows.

He gets like it too. Admittedly lacking the more severe symptoms Morris seems to be exhibiting, but perhaps those are unrelated — maybe he's sick too. Or maybe he's only like this because he's sick — but, no, David's seen him be like this before. He always notices. Pays attention to how Morris flinches at noises and covers his ears and climbs and sways and chews and. A million other things that David had previously never seen in anyone other than himself.

"Sorry," he whispers, daring to get closer. "I'm sorry. I just. Are you okay?"

He winces. It's a stupid question.

Morris doesn't respond anyway. He's got his eyes closed, forehead leaning against the brick beside him, trembling all over. He certainly looks sick, pale as anything. And he's rocking, David realises. A subtle back and forth motion where he's collapsed with his legs tucked under him. An attempt at self-soothing.

"I, um. Your brother's coming," David tells him. He can't think of anything else that could make Morris feel better. "I told him to get you some water."

Giving orders to Oscar Delancey seems like an immensely stupid thing to do now, but Oscar had listened. David supposes it's true what Jack always says, about the brothers being each others' weak spots. So weak, in fact, that Oscar and Jack aren't even arguing when they round the office a minute later — Oscar is paying no attention to Jack at all. He's holding a dented little metal tumbler and bearing an expression that reminds David immediately of his father when Les had come home from the rally, with blood all over and a broken collarbone.

"Mo," he says, and shoves past David without hesitation. David opens his mouth instinctively to say something, the sort of thing that would usually get him shoved again or punched if Oscar's in the mood or got the time — but then he…closes it again. He watches as Oscar crouches down and leans in close to his brother. He seems to ask a question, voice so low it's indistinguishable, and then holds the water out and tilts it so Morris can take a tentative sip.

David thinks about what Jack had said once, about how Oscar had cared for Morris in the Refuge. A parental figure more than a brother. And he thinks about his mother this time, her gentle care offering what limited comforts she can whenever David has been sick. Watered down soups and cool water and a gentle hand.

"Dave," Jack says from behind him, a little tight. "C'mon. We gotta get goin'. Gotta. Sell."

He's restless, clearly. David imagines it must be an awkward experience to watch an exchange like this between the two brothers you were raised beside. Lost your own brother beside. So David goes — for a few steps, at least, until he can't resist the urge anymore to cast a glance over his shoulder at the two boys as Jack keeps on going.

"I. Um. I hope he feels better soon," he says. Oscar looks at him. "Quiet should help. And, um. Water. Don't—don't touch him too much—"

"Jacobs," Oscar says, and David freezes. "I fuckin' raised him. I know how to look after him."

"Okay. Okay."

David watches him for a moment longer. A scarred hand pushing Morris' sweat-damp curls back from his forehead, Oscar's brow furrowed, his lips moving in more words David can't make out.

He goes and catches up with Jack.

[yuseirra]

hello there! i've been lurking on ur blog for a while now, and i absolutely love your art and analyses of hikaai!! you made me realize how good of a ship they are together and how tragic it is, and i think you made me love them as much as i do now. the analyses you write about them have really changed my viewpoint of oshi no ko entirely, and i really enjoy how well written they are. thank you so much for all of it!!

i wanted to ask you if you know some songs that seem very hikaai to you? i want to make a playlist for hikaai because i can't find any on spotify, but right now there's not many songs, so i turn to you for help. i've put mephisto and fatal in there because of your posts with those songs :33

thank you once more !! keep being great !!

Hello!// Wow, it's such an honor! I say this a lot lately but I really mean it.. Really? I am so glad! Ah, this makes me so happy. I've been writing about them in a rather frantic manner, I wish I could be more graceful and calm... I'm suddenly feeling a bit shy hehe but I have to be really stern about wrong things, aren't I!! I can't be so calm when I talk about beings like Ryosuke, there are just some things that I feel really strongly about and can't condone... this manga tackles really dark subjects sometimes, and they always get a reaction out of me.

It may take a few chapters for the current situation in the piece to be fully resolved (idk if they'll drag the idea of Kamiki being the "true villain" for so long.. that's going to be so tiring if they do), but I feel like I am on the right track after having thought over just what exactly this piece is trying to convey. ONK has a theme that's been very clear and consistent, and I believe in the writers to send out a message powerful and meaningful. It's made me think about what people go through, and I appreciate it.

Again, wow, really?/// I had that effect on you? Whew, this is so relieving and fulfilling, you're so kind! Thanks for letting me know! They are quite a lovely and powerful ship, aren't they? People will come to see what they are by the series comes to its closure. I know it will happen! There aren't a lot of pieces dedicated to them yet... but when everyone realizes it's THE Fatal and Mephisto ship, they'll see. Hope my works don't get buried when that happens~ ;v;)/

I would love to help you on this, but I was never really good at making playlists.. will you link me yours when you make yours? :)

I'm really sure I know a lot of songs that have their vibe, but I can't finger them right off the bat:

However, I felt the new songs from P3R really suits them in terms of some of its lyrics because it deals with the loss of someone dear and unknowing what to do without them. I've been listening to those a lot along with onk songs, and it's REALLY fitting!

+OH WAIT NEVER MIND. I found a whole BUNCH of songs.

I hope they suit your taste 'v')/

It feels like my heart is suffocating

How do you make amends when you're gone from me?

Even though with a win how come I feel so lost?

Nothing makes sense to me

I'm so numb, so lost without you

Spending days and nights of silence

'cause no words can explain how I feel In my mind and heart

Oh, I don't know what I am but I miss myself 'cause she's not here anymore

How can I move on? Please tell me

Already lost my keys

To the door wide shut

Only have one wish

Now it's never gonna come true

Trapped in time

Forever in remorse

How could I ever be

In peace when nothing else matters to me?

Phantasmagoria is a interesting song, there are lyric in the description.. its story involves encountering a ghost of a loved one and dancing together before daylight strikes, wishing to return to the old days when they were alive. It's worth a listen!

Hydra from MYTH & ROID is such a powerful song.

ACTUALLY, this is the one song I think would be REALLY fitting, it's SO similar to Fatal in terms of what it's saying!

The lyrics for this go:

Even if I lose everything

I still have something to offer

Be it my future or my life itself

My burned-out emotions, my unanswered prayers

My miserable begging, my foolish giving

My strained voice, my dirtied hands

Even my ripped open heart

I have been wishing for nothing but your happiness

Over and over

Even if everything I hold in these hands is lost

As long as there is still time

I will keep trying over and over again

I don't care if it's meaningless and futile

Even if the days I've spent would end in misery

If my wishes change to curses

Even if it was all in vain, I don't mind

Only you remain in my eyes

At the end of this dark road

It seems as though any light would eventually die out

If that is what is decided by fate

Rather than living by holding onto hope

I sacrifice my all for the now

My burned-out emotions, my unanswered prayers

My miserable begging, my foolish giving

Whatever happens, I don't care

I will give my all for you

Nothing would make me happier than

If I could be with you forever

This song is very interesting too! It has lyrics like:

Please, I’ll do anything, just once, let me turn back time.

I’ll even offer up one, no, two of my fingers.

I can’t bring myself to laugh, ever.

Because even the most natural of my emotions vanished along with you.

Yes, that’s right.

No matter how many years pass, I still live as if I’m dead.

Now, God, break me, break me, please.

I have no idea what happened.

This bone-dry heart of mine, come on

touch it, touch it, please.

Even if a thousand years pass, they won’t heal.

I’ll carry these wounds to the end.

Hey, God, kill me, come on, kill me, please.

It’s all my fault, you see.

Things can never be put back to the way they were,

in the end, just laugh, laugh at me again.

These are some depressing songs, but I feel like those were the type of feelings Hikaru would have felt all along. And the songs involve about wishes to bring someone or to turn back time, so I feel it's very fitting to the situation! If he could do it, he'd definitely bring Ai back. And from what I see, he's disregarding his life a whole lot...

How about "Mugen Nostalgia?" I'm just adding this on because this cover sounds so good! But now that I examine the lyrics, it works!!

Until when will I walk by myself?

It spins round and round, then it slips past by.

Until where will you let me feel lonely?

Are you giggling? Where are you?

I want to see you again.

Is it too rushed to go now? But it's always like this, isn't it?

"Can I see you again?"

Don’t laugh at me with such a blank face, like a scarecrow at the sunset.

I’m still chasing what I've been looking for.

So I will never stop my footsteps until I finally find that. 

There’s no need for such thing as promises.

I'll come for you, so don't worry, it's my classic memory.

Saying “since you’re so lovely I can’t stand it,”

I held tightly to laziness’ hand, feeling completely tamed while it looked my way and laughed laughed so many times, saying, “that’s how it is”while looking at me with distant, pitying eyes

Grieving these horrible times—yes, over and over I’ve suffered

Since salvation without an aim can never reach

There’s nothing left, no, nothing left now

Let’s put an end to it with words

“Ah, I’m satisfied with this” I chanted that over and over

A utopia which slips through my fingers and vanishes

It’s surely, yes, surely a bit too late to return to that time, it seems

I can't get my mind off you

I'm such an idiot

Same as usual

You made me feel so better

It brings back memories

It's things about you

My hands can't take back that the time I passed with you

Some doubts broke me down, broke me down

If you are still alive, I wanted to say it's not your fault

But it's too late for us

Maybe I'm afraid I'm not as tender guy as you think

Looking your eyes, and I say "love you" with fake smile

I don't know what to do

Please tell me what should I do

Just feel so sad inside, but I kiss you

Kiss you...

To end this on a positive note, Lamp from Cö shu Nie seems really fitting to how Ai would feel towards Hikaru, I've been there when TPN was reaching its closure and I'm having so many flashbacks about them seeing how things are playing out in ONK. Emma really wanted to save Norman who was keeping up a strong front and chose to take a path of death for everyone's sake and she was able to bring him back in the end with.. a really huge cost... This song reflects how much she cares for him. She brought him back into the light, and I feel like this is what Ai is going to do for Hikaru too.. it's such a warm song.

It's been confirmed by the creator that it is about how Emma felt about Norman.

Quasi love, quasi love, quasi love. I want to be connected

What you thought was a waste and you removed(your life)

Is irreplaceable to me

Don't stay quiet with such a sad face

Kick it up

Get so dirty that you look pathetic

Do we still have some time left?

You can go beyond

It's warm because we are together

Stand up again and again

I want to protect you forever

Repaint this little world

Keep shining, this road I chose

If you are afraid, it's gonna be okay.

The QUASI-LOVE though. That gets me because. Ai. was so unsure about love even while what she had was so genuine.

hope you enjoy these songs~ I wish I could bring some songs from mainstream pop culture too, o<-< but I think there are some things that anime...ish songs can fill. I mean, I feel they're REALLY fitting.. don't you think? and they're all good songs!! I promise they're all worth giving a listen to!

I'm so glad you found love towards this ship the way I do! ;v;)/ Thanks for reaching out to me to tell me how you feel!! See you around, I look forward to sharing more things with you, and everyone!

[deadmomjokes]

For anyone interested, following up on that preschool dance time incident, I have finally put together a playlist of my child's (current) favorite songs.

I have, over past few months of building this list and in the past few days of pruning it of old tracks she's not into anymore, asked her the name of each song, the artist, and what she thinks about it. These are her responses.

Time of your life by the band singer called Greeeeeeen Day SHHH NO DON'T TALK THAT'S MY SONG I WANNA HEAR IT!!! *sings along with shocking accuracy*

Middle by Jimmy in the World I think maybe it's about a roller coaster, and you have to be patient too. 'Cause see, it says "It just takes some time," so now you have to wait, and be patient.

PAIN by 'Magine Dragons I'm a freight train named PAIN! So this is my song. ^_^

Gimme that Fire OOOOOOEEEOOOO by.... um... i don't know this guy You know, you should not touch fire, it's HOT. Also, don't say gimme, you can say please, that's more polite.

Polaroid by 'Magine Dragons *too busy singing along to offer commentary*

Here Comes the Sun doo-doo-doo-doo by I don't know, that's a singer but probably I don't know their name I think that's about how it's okay, so don't worry. See? 'It's alright.' So it's alright!

It's the Hotdog Song! by It's Green Day too! This one is really called Polly Anna, but its picture is a hotdog on the music website on the computer, so it makes me think of hotdogs. I think this one is for being optimistic! *thumbs up* YEAH!

Record Player by Um.... It's the guys that sing it, and a girl sings it too What is a record player? Why did she dyed her hair green? 🤔 Oh, he says he's in the elevator, I like to go on elevators too. 😊

Be Careful by I don't know who sings that, I just like it because it says "be careful," and it's good to be careful. It's a dramatic song, so you have to do a dramatic dance. Like BALLET. *the most dramatic ballet dancing you've ever seen*

BONES by That's 'Magine Dragons, too. I think I like 'Magine Dragons a LOT. Magic isn't real, but this is a being determined song. *muscle arms*

I don't know what this one's called, but I think the band is Green Day, because it sounds like that. This one's got the big drums that are really loud, and that's why it's a rock song. I like rock songs, they're DETERMINED.

Am A Mess by A. J. R? He maybe needs a bath if he is messy... [see also] I like that funny whistle sound.

Astronaut in the Ocean (that's a rap song) by *shrug* That's really silly, because astronauts go to space, not the ocean. I think he needs a spaceship instead. Maybe he's lost and that's why he's in the ocean instead of space.

The Stick Song by Um... Mama? Who does sing this one? Stick is not a season-- the seasons are like winter and summer-- but it is a fun song. *proceeds to do a tappy kicky dance* [see also] You should probably not drink alcohol-- some people like to drink it, but it can make you real sick in your brain and your tummy-- so I think he needs juice instead. Maybe his friends will bring some for Christmas.

Shotgun by That guy also sings the other song we heard in the car, and he has a deep voice that is ~calm~ It must be hot where he's going, because he says 'hot sun' a lot. But what does "feelin like a someone" means...? 🤔

Daylight by The Guy Who Sings It It says 'running from the daylight,' but the daylight is just the sun, and you can't run away from the sun because it's all over, so maybe he just likes to stay inside until it is night. Yeah, that's what that means.

Paint the Town Red by Lady Rap Singer There is a part with a rap- a girl rap singer, because most rap singers are boys but she's a girl- and she says UGH like something is yucky. I like that part. But why does she say UGH?

SUNYOOF by ???? It is called SunROOF, but it sounds like he says sunYOOF, so I call it sunyoof. And we have a sunroof in our car, so I like this song in the car the most.

Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift I don't know how the summer is crool, but that's just what it says. [see also] WHAT? Blue is not a shape! *thinks* My body is shaped like arms and legs, not blue....

Liddle Bit of Sunshine by One-Re-Public, that's also who sings the song Counting Stars Mama, when it says SUNSHINE you gotta open the sunroof because it says 'throwing up the shade for a little bit of sunshine," so you gotta let in the sunshine, okay?

Young by Miley Cyrus *also too busy singing along with shocking clarity to make comments*

Antee Heeeero by Taylor Swift I don't know why she says she's a monster on a hill, because she's just a girl.

The one with the deedle-ee-deedle-ee-dee-dee guitar thing by *still busy playing air banjo* I think this one is about being patient, because he says he's gonna wait, and that takes a LONG time. And it has a good harmonies, that's the part where it's like a duet, only lots of guys sing so it goes "ooooooo" together, and then the guitar thingy goes like *kicking and flailing* like that!

I think she's got a future in writing music reviews, js

[ureyesonly]

(⸝⸝ᴗ﹏ᴗ⸝⸝) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁.ᐟ  –>  

٩(ˊ〇ˋ*) .ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ

Getting Back On My Grind After Weeks of Rotting: Pressing play on paused habits.

The holidays were not good to me. JK, they were great– I got to see my dad for xmas, eat good food, and come home to vegas to party for new years. But…… I’ve been rotting ever since. 

It felt so good at first. I was finished with the fall semester, didn’t have to commute to school every week via AIRPLANE, and could finally relax at home and enjoy not being on the go for a few weeks until the spring semester starts up. 

I’ve been on my weight loss journey since October of 2024, and have since lost 10 lbs with consistent exercise and mindful eating (fun fact: S & I share the same personal trainer). But, of course, the holidays came and I said to myself “I’m just going to enjoy this time and not worry about working out or logging my food intake”. Luckily I didn’t gain any weight from eating like an absolute maniac for like 3 weeks straight, but now its time to pick up my habits and get back on the grind so I can continue my goal of losing 30 lbs before my birthday in July (44 if I really don't slack, but I have to be realistic here…. I’m gonna slack at some point….)

‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᝰ.ᐟ⩇⩇:⩇⩇જ⁀➴

Doing my scheduled workouts 6 times a week ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

For my personally tailored fitness plan, I have 6 workouts a week. Sounds like a lot but its not bad. The first three days are just a quick 20-30 minute at-home bodyweight workout that doesn't require any equipment + a 40 minute walk outside or on the treadmill. Pretty low effort and easy to do. The following three days are gym days with strength training and no cardio (minus one day, only 20 minutes on the elliptical, super easy). 

I get soooo lazy to do my workouts, specifically the at-home ones for some reason. I kind of hate those. But, I try to do them nonetheless. It's been two days since my first day back on the grind, and it has honestly felt really good to put good food in my body and get some movement. Plus, reminding myself that the results I want are just around the corner and all I need to do is keep going gets me really excited to finally meet my goals.

Fixing my HORRID sleep schedule ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ )

Ever since I was younger, and especially in recent years, I have been so awful at sleeping like a normal person. I go to sleep anywhere between 4 am and 9 am. Yeah, not fun and cool. Waking up with only an hour to enjoy daylight makes me feel terrible and in turn makes me unproductive because in my head, productivity is meant for the day time. I can't be productive if I'm not awake during the day LOL. I’ve created a goal to sleep no later than 1:30 AM and wake up no later than 9:30-10 AM. I’ve been trying to fix this habit for years, but i’ve never had the drive to do so. Now that I've shown myself that it is possible for me to actually stick to something (fitness journey), I have more hope and determination and discipline to finally conquer this horrible habit. 

Keeping a habit tracker ＿〆(。。)

I recently filled out a habit tracker my dad got me months ago that I never used. I have realistic things I can do and enjoy doing– like getting ready for the day, journaling, tidying up my house before winding down for the night, etc. Like I said, i’m finally building up self discipline– having a physical list to check off and visually keep track of my habits is a good thing for me. 

Not letting a slip turn into a slide ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

Almost 2 years ago, I read Jennette McCurdy’s book “I'm Glad My Mom Died”. In the book she speaks on getting over her bulimia, and the role model in her life told her “don't let a slip turn into a slide”. This really stuck with me, and I remind myself of it often when I catch myself slipping up. It means that a mistake doesn't have to snowball if you don't want it to. For example, if i accidentally ripped the corner of an important paper, I wouldn't saying "screw it" and rip the whole thing to shreds.

I slipped up a few times since my fitness journey started in October, but all I had to do was accept that what was done was done, and tomorrow is a new day that I can get back on track. Even when I didn’t workout for two weeks straight (which could be considered a slide to some, but not to me), I thought to myself “just because I slipped up for two weeks doesn't mean I should give up forever”. In the years prior, I would have given up. It was all or nothing to me back then. Now, I’ve learned that something, even the tiniest of things, is better than nothing. 

I realized being mean to myself and using tough love just doesn’t work at all: I work better when I have positive, encouraging thoughts and gentle reminders that I'm not perfect and I never will be. Progress takes time and beating myself up is counterproductive. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Like ★star, I don’t quite believe in new year's resolutions. I used to, but there was so much pressure to fix every bad habit I’ve ever had on the first of each year, and it never ever worked. To me, new year’s resolutions are just an extension of the all or nothing mentality: most people think “well, I fell out of my good new year’s habits, better luck next year”– completely forgetting the fact that they still have quite literally 10 whole months to keep trying. I’m so excited to get back on track and continue my journey, and I’m even more excited to become the person I always wanted to be.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶,

Xx.malice.xX

[eadanga]

The Press Secretary Part 17

Summary: Chris the mayor of town is married to his wife Becca. When he hires a new press secretary who happens to be his lost love old feelings resurface and Chris finds it hard to resist the desire he once had for her

Parings: ChrisxMC

Chris sighs as he looks at his phone Hope Emily’s ok out there I don’t want anything to happen to her His eyes light up when he sees her come through the door He jumps up and sweeps her into a hug “Emily I was worried about you”

“I’m fine Chris Becca won’t be stupid enough to try to attack me in broad daylight besides I can take care of myself”

“I know you can you’re strong so what have you been up to?”

“Looking for anything to help you out with Becca’s blackmail if she wants to have dirt on us we can have dirt on her I’ve got Tyler helping me too”

“Hope there’s something that can free me from her and her father forever I just want a clean race and my life back on track”

“And you will babe I’m gonna make sure of that”

Chris smiles “Thanks Em” He kisses her cheek then smirks as he pulls her closer “How about we take a break from this?”

“What do you have in mind?”

Chris takes her hand “Why don’t you follow me and find out”

Emily smiles as he leads her to the bathroom and she grins when she sees the bathtub filled with bubbles and candles on the side with two glasses of champagne

“Chris this is beautiful”

“I’m glad you love it” He pulls her closer “Shall I help you get out of this?”

“If you do the water will be cold by the time you finish”

Chris chuckles “Ok you get undressed”

Emily removes her clothes as Chris watches. He takes her hand and leads her into the bath. He wraps his arms around her as the sit together in the bathtub.

“This is nice Chris”

“Wanted us to have a relaxing evening you and me” He trails kisses down her as she sighs “Now what can I do to make you feel even more relaxed a massage?”

“I love that” Chris begins kneading her shoulders as she moans “That’s amazing Chris”

“I knew you’ll love it”

She turns in his arms and wraps her arms around his next “I love you Chris”

“I love you too so much” He kisses her deeply

****

Chris wakes up the next day he looks and sees Emily not in bed with him he lifts his head a bit I wonder where she went The door opens and Emily comes in with a tray of food

“Morning sleepyhead”

Chris smiles “What’s this?”

“Just a little thank you for last night”

Chris grins as he sits up “Is this all for me?”

“No I’m eating with you” She places the food on his lap then climbs into bed 

Chris kisses her softly “Thank you this is wonderful you’re amazing”

“No you are now let’s have breakfast” Emily takes a fork of food and hold it up to him

Chris smiles and takes a bite “This is so good Emily”

“I’m glad you love it” She smirks as she touches his cheek with some syrup “Oopsy” She giggles

Chris pulls her closer “You want to make a mess we will”

Chris tickles her as she roars with laughter “Chris stop it!”

They’re interrupted with the sound of Emily’s phone ringing Chris playfully pouts “Boo”

Emily laughs as she goes to answer it “It’s Tyler let’s see what he’s got hey Tyler what do you have?”

“I’ve got something big I can send it over to you right now”

Emily’s phone buzzes and her eyes go wide

“What is it?”

She turns to him grinning “It’s what can save you Chris”

Tags: @indiacater @choicesgodfanatic @mfackenthal @jared2612 @darley1101