#well not actually silly but i must pretend to keep sane

[whosjunglejim4322]

Bramosia | J.Seo (m)

Genre: pwp, knight!au, smut, fluff, he is, and I can't stress this enough, madly in love with you

Warnings: loss of virginity, pussy eating, mutual pining and longing, it's forbidden but who's gonna stop u??? Exactly. Inaccurate descriptions of the time period probably, inappropriate use of the word princess, he fucks you to tears, this is so self indulgent I gotta blast

The moons unearthly luminescence bleeds through the windows that sit directly above your wing of the old castles corridor, a reminder of why he bears the heavy sword that hangs off of his hip, of why he's here in the first place.

He rolls his aching neck, blinking his dry eyes a few times in an attempt to dampen them. He's usually not so worn by now.

Perhaps the two of you had gotten too carried away last night, it's too easy when you're with eachother. Effortless, like that of a flowers perianth traveling wistfully through a summers breeze. It's easy to forget.

He's here to protect you, nothing more, as he is was a proffesional in all that he does. He is a knight, after all. One of the best. Your father wouldn't have requested him from a province so far away if he weren't damn good.

Six months ago, it seems like a lifetime away and yet the memory of seeing you for the very first time is so vivid behind his eyelids, tangible as if he could reach out and hover his palms over the warmth the halo around you seemed to emit.

He smiles to himself, the image keeping him sane and distracting him from the ache in the soles of his feet. He knows you're probably not sleeping, he wishes you wouldn't worry about him. He's doing it to himself, really.

He is a warrior but he is only so strong, so resilient. He has never been stricken by such a force as to have his bones feel as weak as they do when he looks into your eyes, when you cup his face in your hands like he is the most delicate thing you have ever seen. 

Sure, he hadn't been the most nonchalant. His eyes barely left you even during the brief moments in which his life is not sworn over to do so, and you being you, caught him almost every time. You'd smile, fleeting enough for only him to notice.

You never get the credit you deserve, he had come to find out over the past several months. Being a princess, as fawned over the title may be, it wasn't meant for you.

You'd scowl at the name of every prince your father mentioned might come visit, which he'd take pride in secretly. You wouldn't even scold him whenever he'd been clearly protective in a manner than suggested that it was more than just the job that inclined him to act that way.

Perceptive, and clever you are. And to think, you might feel even a fraction of what he feels, it causes his heart to thunder loudly behind his sturdy ribcage, momentarily reducing his fatigue.

You are the only one in all of his twenty five years of life that has threatened to shake his very foundation, like you've found a way to wind yourself through every ridge of his skeleton like vines of Wisteria.

Sundays are always the hardest, you're still so fresh in his mind, on his skin. It's like every inch of him has been permanently marked, he can still feel the weight of your body against his and the warm puff of air from your lips against his earlobe as you sing his name.

His sigh is quiet in the vast, empty space around him. He shouldn't be thinking of you so late, when he's so tired. It makes him ache for you all the more, make him wish life was anything but what it is now. That he could be with you unabashedly.

That he could be your protector, and not just in a way that could be be permanently devastated if anyone were to find out about the two of you.

He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes, not until he has to peel them open and search for the source of the soft voice he's just heard whisper his name into the dark.

He furrows his brows as a stream of warm candlelight spills through the crack in your door from your room, your form coming into a few just a moment later, as if beckoned from his dreams.

"You're really going to stay out there, John?" He foresees your incredulity, smiling at the hand thats propped up on your hip.

"Those are my orders, princess." He has a hard time not staring at you, even in such poor lighting you are still the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed.

He's always stubborn about breaking the made up rules you two have put in place, like only meeting in private on Saturdays. Despite his inability to resist you he still needs to keep you safe.

"My father is a whole wing away, don't you know," you emphasize your point by stepping out past your doorframe, tiptoeing at an almost imperceptible pace towards him. "and if danger were to arise, how much more convenient need it be, than for you to be right there with me?"

You're standing right in front of him now, weaking his resolve eith each syllable that passes those pretty lips of yours. It's strange, how he still wonders if your feelings for him are resolute as his are for you, when you're the one always asking for trouble. Eager to have your way.

When you reach out to grab his waist, he breaks.

"Princess, if someone were to see that I'm not outside of your room guarding as I'm supposed to,"

You interrupt him, pressing yourself closer until he can feel your chest against his, the barrier of his clothing suddenly a burden far heavier than before.

"Who? Who might see? Everyone is asleep, you should be."

You stare up at him and he can't seem to resist the pull, meeting your eyes and unclapsing his hands from behind his back to stroke the apple of your cheek with his knuckles.

You heel into his touch, beaming as you realise you've already gotten your way, evident in the way he sighs your name as if the word fills him with oxytocin.

"You really are trouble," he cups your face, calloused fingertips swiping a fallen lash from underneath your eye. "trying to lure me in, like a siren. I'd be willing to go, anyways."

You lift yourself to the tips of your toes, pressing a brief, featherlight, kiss to the surface of his lips. Just enough to bring forth warmth to his cheeks.

"You're silly, I'd be too selfish a siren to do any damage. I'd have to keep you all to myself."

His arms are strong and steady as the encapsulate you, the fears and worries of outside intruders fading with each second spent in eachothers presence. It's like nothing else exists.

"Please, Princess. It's hard enough already, to be away from you," he's on the verge of losing any bit of hope for his sanity, but as anticipated, you won't have it.

"And you don't think it's hard for me? You think that I enjoy knowing that it is prohibited for me to be like this with you? I am many things but I am not selfish, so if you don't want to come with me then I won't force you."

He has to bite back a laugh, or maybe a scream of frustration and agony all at the same time. Here you are, so close he's sure you can hear how his pulse pounds beneath his skin at your presence, actually accusing him of not wanting you. It's preposterous.

You glare up at him when his arms don't loosen their grasp.

"You must be mistaken, sorely mistaken. If you think that any moment spent without you is even the least bit pleasant for me, you're wrong. So wrong it's a bit humorous," he kisses your cheek, and then the other. Your skin tingles where his lips grace.

"You may not be selfish but I am. So selfish that I'd give into my own desires even if it meant that one slip up could ruin it all. Don't you see that?" You sigh blissfully, in spite of his words, when he kisses your nose.

"Well I think that's stupid, I'd never let such a thing happen. I've lived here my whole life, I'd be able to predict the likelihood of someone coming up here during such a late hour."

He doesn't miss the pitch of sadness that comes with talk of the castle, he knows that there is so much you still have yet to experience. So much you'd like to do, so far away from here.

Still, he can't deny the truth in which you speak. You're right, and he knows that you're as careful of these things as he is. He trusts you, as you trust him. And what is he going to do, say no? He'd never have the willpower.

His broad shoulders relax, his hands suddenly engulfing yours.

"Alright, you don't have to pout anymore. You know I'll end up kissing it from that pretty face of yours anyways."

You suppress a giggle of elation, squeezing your fingers around his as you turn to quietly pull him into your room, peering into the the hallway once more to make sure the coast is clear, before you ease your door shut.

And then at once, he is what you taste on your tongue.

His lips always leave you breathless. The way he kisses you, it's as of you are his only source of oxygen and his lungs burn with the need for air. He is fierce, but so very concise. You almost forget that he so ruefully pretended to put up a fight.

Your arms mold around his neck as he slouches the slightest bit in order to make the reach easier for you, knowing how you like to bury your hands in his hair and tug at the strands whenever he does something that you'd like more of.

Your eagerness is a bit more exuberant tonight, normally you'd still be a bit bashful, giggling between pecks and having to turn your face away before kissing him again.

But you haven't pulled away from him yet, not even for a breath and suddenly his skin is sweltering towards what feels like a hundred degrees. He's pretty sure you've just whispered his name.

He's already gone, helplessly lost in the way you're clinging onto him with all your strength.

"John." Just his name falling from your lips in the form of a sweet sigh has his knees buckling.

He's careful, hesitant even, when he cups the back of your knees and allows you to fall atop your bed, the sight almost too much to bear. He can never catch a break.

But he has to look at you, has to see the look in your eyes, the gleam that shines in your blown out pupils as your fingers tug at the clothing hanging loosely on his body. He fights back a groan.

Of course things have gotten intense between the two of you, but nothing more than over the clothes petting. And, even then, that drove him to the brink of insanity. He didn't think he could ever be putty in someone's hands until he met you.

It feels like everything is happening so fast yet not slow enough, it seems as if you're blooming like a lotus before his eyes and he wants to capture every little detail. Just incase one day his memories are all he has of you.

You pull him back down to your mouth, legs suddenly looping around his trim waist, knees locked on either side. You practically purr as his hands, large and tender, grace your thighs only to be met with bare skin where your nightgown has risen up.

He's breathing heavily when your mouths depart momentarily, his doe eyes an onyx pit of desire and emotion as he stares down at you, lips ruby red.

You nod, as if reading his mind and answering the dozens of unanswered questions that sit unmoving at the tip of his tongue. Still, his eyebrows are pulled together in concentration, in tentative restraint.

"You can touch me. Please, touch me."

Your skin is heavenly underneath his trembling touch, from the soft hair atop your thighs to the way you so perfectly mold around his fingers. You're a gift of the most ethereal kind, here in front of him.

You coo at him with a voice of an angel, pulling at his face in an attempt to have him kiss you again. He's been too busy ogling, and repays you with the press of his mouth against the crook of your neck.

You lift your chin to allow him more access, eyes fluttering closed and thighs tightening around his middle when you feel the warmth of his open mouth against your throat.

"You're so sweet, so pretty." He mumbles, practically floating.

He nips at your collarbone, and you can't stop your hips from bucking up against him, your clothed center meeting his hardened length through the material of his bottoms.

The air is thick with tension now, you can feel it buzzing through the both of you like ths thrum of a thunderstorm. He sucks in a breath, lips ghosting over yours.

"I want to make you feel good, If you'd allow me." He tries to control the shake in his voice but he's not sure he's succeeded. What a mess you've made of him.

You kiss him for what seems like the hundredth time but feels like the first, still sending jolts of electricity through your body and causing heat to swirl in your loins. You can barely speak.

"Y-Yes, yes I'll allow you."

Your voice is foreign to your own ears, clouded with desire and a desperation that is as overwhelming as it is strange and new.

But having him here, knowing he's the one whose hands are touching you, it's comforting in a way that leaves no room for doubt that he is nothing but kind. Nothing but adoring.

It's hard to tell with just the luminosity of a single candle on your bedside table, but you're almost certain you can feel him shuffle. At least, his weight seems to have shifted, his arms suddenly caged around your waist, upperhalf between your legs.

And then you feel it, the plushness of his lips just above your knee as he lifts your legs by your calves, placing them over his shoulders. You're not sure you can focus on anything else now, breathing suddenly heavy.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" His voice is so close, yet far away in an unfamiliar way. It has butterflies swarming your belly.

"I'm so lucky, so so lucky..." He trails off between kisses, shifting from one thigh to the other, slowly but surely making his way towards your center.

It's only now in your bird brain that you're beginning to realize what exactly he's about to do, and it's like some switch inside of you has been flicked on, toes suddenly curling in anticipation, wetness soaking into the fabric of your underwear.

The desire isn't just in your belly now, its everywhere. All consuming, when he pushes your nightgown up and bunches it around your hips, the air cool against your skin. You shiver, and his cheek brushes against the crease of your thigh.

"Have you ever been touched like this, princess?" He's curious but not pushy, just wants to know. When you shake your head, he swallows.

He's slow and steady, pulling your underwear off your hips and down your legs, allowing the garment to fall to the floor. You don't clamp your legs shut, despite the instinct to shield yourself. You've never hidden yourself from him, and you know there's no reason to.

Esepcially not when he's looking at you like he is right now, like a man starved whose just been presented with a meal of his favorite kind. He glances up at you, with eyes that shine with gratitude, and awe alike. You reach out to stroke his hair.

And then, suddenly, his face is gone from your view. You feel it, first, before you register that it's happening. A gasp leaves your lips the moment your back arches ever so slightly off of your mattress, his hands keeping your thighs apart as his tongue licks another flat stripe through your folds.

You feel exposed in a way that only feels as intoxicating as it does, because he's the one with his mouth on your cunt, suckling your bud between his lips and swiveling his head side to side. You tug at his hair.

A guttural groan resonates in his throat and the vibration serves as direct stimulation, a mewl leaving your mouth as you buck you hips up against his skilled tongue.

"Shhh baby, stay quiet for me," you furrow your eyebrows, looking down at him with stars in your eyes. "I know, I know sweetheart." He reads the pleading in your eyes, soothingly rubbing your hips as he delves back in.

It's not easy to stay quiet. Not at all.

If you'd thought him rubbing your clit through your clothes was something to be noisy over, nothing prepared you for this.

He's so good at it, so generous with every lap of his tongue. The sounds are lewd and loud in the shared space, and his tongues pace only increases when you reach down to find his hands. He intertwines your fingers before you give him the hint.

You try to keep your volume low, your whimpers almost inaudible but loud enough to spurr him on, to have his hips rutting against the bed while he kisses your cunt with passion only a lover could have.

Bliss overcomes you faster than you expect, and swallows you whole like a vicious, unmerciful hurricane.

Your thighs tremble against his strength as he keeps them parted when they threaten to close, your fingers twisted in the comforter as tears well in your eyes.

You're not sure if you're making any noise, the light too bright behind your eyes, bones suddenly weightless as his tongue licks you clean. You twitch, aware that you've let out a whine. The feeling is agonizingly pleasant.

You're still throbbing when his hands suddenly grasp your jaw, head lolling in his direction as he presses his lips to yours. He's serene, slipping his tongue into your mouth, humming.

You're certain, now. Certain that you need to have him in every way there is to have someone, for your heart may forever be unsettled if it doesn't get to taste what it's like to love him wholly, completely.

"I want to-" you've got his rapt attention, as you always do, and he stares down at you with a lovesick expression as you struggle to find the strength to say it out loud.

He's grown accustomed to reading your countenance, only time allowing him to grasp the meaning behind every crease and line that forms on your face, he's certain you could give him one look and he'd instantly know what it is that you're trying to say.

One perk to having a secret rendezvous, though he still needs to hear you say it. He'd only take your word for it regarding something like this, something that he's dreamt about more times that he'd like to admit.

He can't hide his surprise, thumbs stroking your face.

"You want me to..." he quirks an inquisitive brow, nearly becoming distracted when your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. "you want me to be your first?"

Even the words have you latching onto him tighter, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

"Yes, I want that very much...do you...also want that?"

He grins, widely and for a moment you forget he was born to be made of steel, that he's fought all of his life and has bruised his skin for the sake of his kingdom. You want to kiss away every bad memory in his head.

"How could you even think you have to ask? I want nothing more, just you. You're all I'll ever want."

The veracity in his voice, suddenly hoarse, makes your skin feel like it's being tickled by a million, tiny feathers. You never knew anything could feel like this.

A heartbeat later, your hands are slipping underneath his top to make an attempt at pulling it off, your excitment not a good match for your lack of coordination. Of course, he doesn't mind helping.

He slips his sword from his hip while you stare up at him with wide eyes of reverence and desire, so much of him being exposed at once causing a swelter of heat to boil underneath your skin.

Your hands are hesitant, hovering around his lithe hips as he sits back on his haunches, chest rapidly rising and falling as the atmosphere begins to soak into his pores. He can't believe he gets to make love to you.

"You can touch me, princess," he's the one reassuring you now, knowing that beyond your headstrong personality when you're with him, you're still so timid; trembling like a leaf in autumn.

His dexterous fingers gently grasp your wrists, placing your palms over his abdomen, keeping your gaze all the while, head nodding in encouragement.

He's soft, soft on the surface at least. The soft down that covers his honey colored skin is like silk underneath your fingers, a juxtaposition to the rigid muscle underneath that flexes as your fingertips move upwards towards the broad planes of his chest.

You hook your fingers around his shoulders, and pull him down to your mouth, determined as your heart bellows inside of your body.

It's wilder this time, the wet sounds loud in your ears, his tongue waltzing with yours. You rake your nails down his sides, and he damn near growls.

It's a blur, the way he slips the straps of your gown from off of your shoulders, before removing the garment completely and throwing it behind him. Somewhere in between he pulls the covers out from underneath you, sensing the chill that runs through you like a tremor from the exposure.

It's during that brief moment when you're too drunk on adrenaline, that your fingers begin pulling at the buckle of his bottoms, too eager again and not being able to unfasten it correctly. Always the gentlemen, he does it for you, again.

He's careful now, not completely planting himself against you yet when he kisses your neck and takes your breasts in his massive palms, squeezing indulgently.

You pull him up by the ridge of his jaw, wrapping your legs around his middle as you had previously, letting out a small gasp as his hard length suddenly comes to lie heavy between your legs when you beckon him closer by your heels on his back.

"You're sure you want me?" He slips his hand that's not cupping your cheek, down in between your bodies to rub your clit with his middle finger, actually expecting you to be able to speak coherently. He supresses his gasp upon feeling the abundance of your essence.

It's hard to focus, when he's looking down at you like that, when you can feel every ridge and curve of his naked body against yours. Perhaps it's being able to to tell that he's feeling the same way just by the way he speaks, that makes it so intoxicating.

"You're all I'll ever want." You echo his earlier words, and his laughter fills your ears like a lullably. You reach out to push his dark hair out from in front of his eyes, his lips catching your palm and placing a kiss to the center.

"It'll hurt, I'll go as slow as you need me to." You see the worry creased between his brow, and you soothe it away by clenching your thighs around his waist, silently beckoning him.

"Please, please fuck me."

It takes him by surprise, cock twitching against your sex. You sound so sweet, so angelic even when you're requesting something so filthy.

He lifts himself on his forearms, reaching down to grasp his shaft. Your hands are in his hair a the while, fingers tracing shapes across the nape of his neck. You suck in a breath when he rubs the tip against your clit, arousal leaking from your slit.

He rubs his cock against you like this, through your silken folds and back up to your sensitive nub, until your head is thrown back against the pillows, face turned to the side and canorous mewls slipping past your lips.

Your eyes flutter open when he kisses you, finally prodding your entrance, readying you. Your teeth gently sink into the plush surface of his bottom lip, as if urging him to continue.

Your mouth falls open when he begins to push himself inside of you. You have to brace yourself by clinging onto his biceps, reminding yourself to breathe.

If you weren't as wet for him as you are, you're sure it would be more painful. It still stings, even more so as he begins to bottom out, using every bit of self control he has as to make sure he doesn't accidentally rut into you with too much force.

He meets your eyes when he's fully sheathed inside of you, your fingernails leaving crescent moons in his skin. He doesn't mind it one bit.

"Are you alright?" The tenderness in his voice is accompanied by his lips across your cheeks, down your jaw, over your eyelids.

"Mhm. J-Just stay like this, for a second, please." Your walls flutter around him and his eyes fall heavy. He stays as still as he can for the moment, fingers massaging your soft hip.

"I never thought...never dreamed we'd get to do this." He speaks in an irrevocable way, swelling your heart over two times its size with how he talks about you. Like you're truly something magical.

You wiggle your hips, his gaze searching for yours and lighting up with newfound determination when you give him conformation to move. He slowly drags himself out, before pushing himself back in.

"If you only knew...how much I truly think of you." You speak steadily despite the wave of pleasure that ripples through your body, from the pit of your stomach outwards, touching every nerve.

He's big, bigger than you expected, but curved in a way that has you fighting a cry. Your lungs ache with the need to make noise, to express how it feels to have him inside of you like this. You squeeze around him, and he smashes his lips against yours.

You never thought it would feel like this, you'd heard mixed reviews but clearly none of them had ever experienced what it's like to have someone like him demonstrating their skill.

He's precise, a little shaky but only because he's concentrating on not literally cumming after two minutes. You're everything he's ever wanted and more, you're soaked and warm around him, chest pressed flush against his. Your hardened nipples threaten to distract him.

His hair tickles your forehead as he begins to create a steady pace. He's got one hand behind your right thigh, cupping it and hiking it up just the slightest bit while he fucks into you, curling his hips.

He swallows your moans, tasting the sense of surrealness on your tongue. He feels it too, groaning when you tug a tuft of his hair.

"You're mine, all mine, fuck." His voice is hoarse, hips stuttering as he begins to rock into you, not completely pulling himself out of you before nudging your cervix again. His mouth catches the edge of your jaw, then your earlobe.

He buries his face in your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his hair as you keep yourself quiet. He can still feel the way you're shivering, the whispers of cries that are audible when you breathe.

"I'm yours, I'm yours." You're not sure you could ever feel this way about someone else, and not just because he is all that every single one of your senses seemed to be attuned to.

He's deep inside of you, reaching places you never would be able to by yourself, and still holds you like you're the entire world. Despite the need that consumes you both, he takes his time.

You feel him everywhere. On your neck, your throat, down to your clavicle where his hot tongue soothes over the mark he's just made.

You can almost feel him in your belly, the tip of his cock nudging the sweet spot of nerves deep within you causing your body to jerk in his hold. He takes note and is determined to drive you over the edge, knowing he's not going to last much longer.

He's yearned for it too long, and nothing his mind could have conjured up would ever compare again.

He lets go of your leg only to bring his hand to where your bodies are connected as one, your face contorted into a mask of pleasure as he begins to rub at your clit, in circular motions, with the same rythym as his thrusts.

"John, ohhh, you f-feel so good." You're slurring your words, high off of his affection. Your belly feels hot, a pressure just behind your navel leaving you writhing, trying to match his pace.

"Yeah? Feels good to have me inside of you?" He's being cruel now, already knowing the answer by the way tears are swelling in your eyes for the second time tonight, irisises shining back at him.

Your hands roam his sides, settling on his hips as you turn your face to hide it against his bicep. He kisses any expanse of skin that he can reach, till the wet spots leave a trail of chills along your body.

You're close, and he knows it. You're already leaking onto the bed, dripping down his shaft.

"J-John...p-please." You're blubbering now, and his fingers circle your clit faster, just enough to have you breathless and unable to speak as his strokes become inconsistent, cock throbbing.

"Shh, I got you baby, gonna make you cum okay? Want you to let go."

Looking up into his eyes, it's hard to resist. Suddenly it's the first time you've met and you're awestruck by his beauty all over again, by the sharp planes of his face that you'd come to realize are soft underneath your touch.

You're kissing him again for the first time, and his lips are as plush and pillowy as they look, his hands big and wsrm as they hold your face steady against his mouth.

You realize you're in love with him for the first time again, staring into honey colored irises and listening to his velvet voice, aware that when he's gone it feels like a piece of you has been taken along with him.

Your body suddenly stills, save for your back arching and his body, sturdy and whole, there to anchor you while you forget you breathe. Your orgasm is all the more powerful this time, with him inside of you, and it's like once youre unraveling it doesn't stop.

He holds the back of your head and allows you to muffle your cries against his chest, fingers latching onto any part of him you reach first, as if you might fall of the face of the earth. He's still rubbing your clit, whispering sweet encouragements in your ear.

You don't pick up all of it, only vaguely aware of the tremor in his tone as he says your name.

And then he's locked against you, every muscle in his body rigid and hard as a strained, muffled whimper resonates from beside your head. He's biting into a pillow, as warmth fills you to the brim and he sloppily fucks it into you.

You're still reeling, when he kisses you like someone who hasn't seen their lover in years and is finally getting the chance to touch them again, to wordlessly express how enamored they are. Wholeheartedly, and irreversibly.

He says it first, which surprises you, considering in your dreams you're always the one professing it to him, stroking his skin or petting his hair and whispering it in between kisses.

But you're sure this is real, you can feel ache in your bones, the throb of your centers where they're still connected.

"I love you." His voice is even more beautiful when he's speaking in such a simple, yet profound way. There's a quiver, but not because he's not being honest. He'd swear on his life, for his conviction.

"I love you too." You reply, looping your fingers round the nape of his neck, toying with the soft hair there.

Maybe he shouldn't be so shocked, but he is. His face can't hide it, the quirk of his full lips, the furrow of disbelief in his brow. You want to kiss his stupid face a thousand time over.

"I love you." He repeats it, as if the words bring forth sunshine on a day shrouded by the darkness of rain clouds.

He repeats it again, when he's hovering over your lips, breath warm against your skin. He repeats it again when he's placing kisses to your forehead, when you giggle and stroke his cheek.

"And I love you, silly silly man." You remind him, willing him by the longing in your voice, to believe it as you believe him.

He repeats it again, when a tear cascades down your cheek like a diamond shaped declaration of your honesty, and he kisses it away, claiming it for himself.

You love him, and he loves you.

And maybe, no matter what happens, that'll be enough.

[autumnslance]

Being in fandoms for so long yourself, do you have any tips on how to approach fandom in general? It can be so overwhelming sometimes!

Honestly avoid fandom as much as possible. 'Tis a silly place.

On a more serious note, I DO have a draft on staying sane on social media I’ve been slowly making. The main points are about knowing how your social media sites work in regards to tags, searches, cuts, filters, blocks, and mutes, and being liberal with using them for whatever reason you need. In general for this post: limit following counts and be picky about who you follow and why--don't just “follow back” because. Don’t sit in Discords that make you uncomfortable and keep utility servers to those channels needed and mute/hide the rest. I should get around to the rest eventually.

I maintain that sticking to what you love and with friends is better than trying to interact with “the fandom” at large. Especially as a property gets well known and a larger following, the vocal negative 1% seems to get louder and tiresome quickly. Protect yourself and your pals and enjoy what you wish, minimizing stress and drama and hurting real people over what’s supposed to be a shared interest of pretend characters and stories. More specifics of that below.

Limiting myself to some friends and branching off their recommendations, getting to know folks before hopping into servers or groups, helps a lot. I don’t have to engage with the entire fandom. I tend to hear about random dramas in passing, like a shadow underwater, because I interact with chill folks more interested in simply enjoying an interest, not in making it their entire life and identity and so having to be right or chase clout or whatever over a pretend world and make-believe characters, even if resonates with us.

Don't give too much of yourself away. Don't tell people all the ways to trigger you, or your vulnerabilities. Don't give away locations. Use basic internet safety and anonymity to keep folks at arms’ length as much as needed. You're not obligated to answer every DM, right away or ever. You can make some dear friends through fandom, but a single shared interest is not a guaranteed safe and healthy basis of relationships.

Focus on what you love, ignore what you don't. Yes, you want a healthy level of objectivity and criticism and sometimes you need to vent but overall, fandom experience is much better if you're actually enjoying the things you engage with. Don't force yourself to put up with things you don’t have fun with, but also let others have their fun (even if you don’t think that it is fun, if it isn’t harming other real people and dragging them down it’s fine even if you don’t get it). This can include leaving that fandom when the base material is no longer fun for you, leading to...

Remember that you don't own the characters and story; it's someone else's world, we just play in it. The creators are going to make choices and changes, some good and some bad; learn to accept that and keep fanon separate from canon. Interactions with creators via social media are also usually very surface level and parasocial; just because they make part of themselves visible and accessible, doesn't mean you know them, are friends, or are owed anything by their social presence.

Other fans have other takes; you may not like them, but they're valid. Sometimes those other ideas too can make you rethink or add to your own, make you realize some things you hadn’t considered due to a blindspot in your own experiences, and add to your understanding of characters and story arcs. So be open to others’ ideas. Find those of a like mind more or less and stick with ‘em.

Don’t let fandom ruin a thing for you. If you find yourself surrounded by a lot of negative opinions, especially about something you enjoy, you can speak up if comfortable, but if not, simply stop following/interacting. I cull my following lists regularly, and a lot of times remove people who tend to be negative about things too often for my taste. Their blog/timeline/whatever but I don’t have to interact with it. If I find my enjoyment of a thing souring, I ask myself if it’s due to the actual story/characters/how the creators act, or if it’s due to the corner of fandom I’m in and if I have to clean up and then see how I feel about the thing.

Don't assume the worst of people. I often make myself stop and reread what someone said, slowly and even out loud if I must, to make sure I understood. Go back some posts/threads/pages for context if needed. Some people are just bad at communicating. They may be ignorant of even the most basic of modern social manners, internet etiquette, and so on. English may not be their first language. I tend to assume unintentional oopses until someone makes it crystal clear they mean harm--it's generally easy to tell. Let things roll off your back; they don't know you, really, just the persona you present online. You don't know them and their issues, either, just what little you see. It's usually not worth the hassle and heartache to do more than eye-roll and move on with life.

Others won’t censor/remove everything you personally find a squick or trigger, but do advocate for proper tags, warnings, and hiding the content. Learn to skip past the crap you dislike to find the things you do; you do not have to read or view or comment or like everything. There's only so many hours in a day, and not everything is your taste.

My personal annoyance usually come from how people who engage with questionable content react to other fans being upset, especially when they didn’t take the proper precautions to warn/hide their content based on the site. Anyone who then revels in their “problematic” status and starts making their dark content “to spite antis” has lost sight of why they wanted to make that content to begin with and are acting like brats, IMO. Especially a waste when it can be well written/drawn, even if out of my own comfort area. Don’t do things for spite if you can help it; sometimes it leads to interesting things, but a lot of times, it ends up hollow and a regret down the road.

There’s likely more to this, but these are some general rules I’ve been trying to follow as I get older and realize a lot of time and emotional labor over fiction isn’t worth stress and negativity, but should be relaxing and fun, as the real world is difficult enough. Have fun and make things fun and positive for others when possible, don’t tear others down for the sake of it. Fandom is meant to be a shared interest and love of a thing, after all.

[98prilla]

Falling Apart: Part 1

Part 5 of the Dark Side Logan series. 

Roman goes for a walk in the imagination to try and clear his head. Things do not go well. 

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Ao3

He's in the imagination. Where else would he be, after all?

 Not his room, where his thoughts spiral out into fantasies and daydreams, not the commons, waiting for a splash of blue that's never coming, not even his own side of the imagination, where everything is too bright and cheery.

 No. It's darkness and quiet and solitude he needs, so he's crossed the boundary lines into Remus's territory.

 The trees’ spindly limbs stretch up and up, tangling together in the canopy. Dark eyes seem to glow, staring from hollows and underbrush, soft cackles and rustles echoing from nowhere in particular. An owl hoots ominously, and he shakes his head with a fond smile.

 If the others think he is one for clichés and exaggerations, then they don’t know Remus. He prides himself on his work, maybe more than he himself does, every detail must be perfect down to a T. He wonders how long was spent writing his song, how many times did he rehearse it, perform it, force Deceit to listen to it, until he was sure it was ready?

 Oh, Remus may be darker than him, sure, and much more impulsive, with much more dangerous ideas, but he is still Creativity, still takes pride in every being and mote of dust he conjures, still thrives on other's approval.

 Something he was guilty of denying him far too many times. How long has it been, since Remus barged into his room, face aglow, hands gesturing wildly as he spouted off his newest genius idea, because he just had to share it, right that instant? When did he stop smiling fondly, asking questions, instead of being cold and dismissive? And why? Why did he change in the first place?

 Just another crime to add to his list, he supposes, wincing.

 It's his own ego, or rather, lack of one, he supposes. All flaunt and flounce, no actual substance. Always afraid, of being disliked, of being unneeded, of being unwanted, of not being good enough. His own insecurities making him lash out at Remus, for fear of being replaced.

 Lash out at Logan. For fear of being found irrelevant.

 He winces again, replaying every snide remark, every mocking nickname, every time he shut Logan down or pushed him out, or pushed him away.

 They had moments, sure, good memories, among the bad, discussing poetry, the rap battle, their shared appreciation of literature. But even he wasn’t fool enough to think the good outweighed the bad.

 And that’s the crux of it all, isn’t it?

 He knows the dark sides aren’t bad, or evil. He knows this intimately, because of Remus. Because Remus isn’t bad, and Remus had told him how Deceit takes care of him when he’s overwhelmed, how he used to soothe Virgil, kept the emo sane at all, when he was new and barely in control. And he knows Ambition is so far from evil, is so far in the right that he could never be bad.

 If anyone is bad, it is him. He's been a bad brother, a bad friend, a bad family member. A bad person.

His shoulders drop even more at that thought, because it's true, and he deserves to be left behind, left alone, with his grief. It should be Remus's turn in the spotlight, he can imagine how his twin would thrive and glow off being center stage. It's not like Remus would be able to fuck up any harder than he already had.

 He hears a hiss, and he freezes. He hasn’t been watching where he was going, merely wandering absently. Usually, creatures in the imagination left him alone unless he was actively questing. But this wasn’t his side, and it was the outskirts of Remus's. Any creatures here would be impossible for him to control, and nearly as hard for Remus to influence.

 He steels himself and slowly reaches for his sword, pretending to be looking at his shoe. In one fluid motion, he draws his sword, holding it before him in a ready stance, eyes flashing with his blade as he looks up, assessing his foe.

 And that is his first and only mistake he needs to make for his foe to hold all the cards.

 Instantly, he is frozen in paralysis, ruby glimmering eyes all he can see, filling his entire world. His grip on his sword tightens, his knuckles going white with the effort of keeping it raised, keeping his stance, it takes all his will not to break under those eyes.

 It is a Cockatrice. A feathered serpent. It trails poison in its wake, in its breath, in its being. Its eyes are hypnotizing, deadly, in some cases. This one appears to have a pointed stinger on its tail, venom dripping from its talons, its bright plumage screaming of danger, as it snaps its beak at him, hissing and stretching its wings.

 They are a mesmerizing rainbow of color. They shimmer, flowing from fiery reds to deep ocean blues, enchanting and enticing, somehow promising everything he's ever wanted. He can see himself being lauded, being loved, Thomas being a star, and it brings tears to his eyes, how much it aches, stings, hurts, inside.

 His sword has fallen from his hand, thumping softly into the underbrush. Distantly, he knows this is a mistake, he knows he should be fighting, but this warmth, this… hope is something he hasn’t felt in so, so, long.

 Faster than his groggy mind can decipher, the wings flare shut. He stumbles, tries to dodge, but the beast is faster as the tail nicks his cheek.

 He rolls, grabbing his sword, eyes averted as he swings, but is balance is wrong, his grip sweaty, and the beast screeches, making him clap his hands over his ears, it is deafening, echoing in his skull, staggering. Then there are talons pinning him to the ground, puncturing through his body, and he hisses, wriggles, but they just push him harder into the ground.

 He gasps, vision flaring white, spasming as fire flares through his veins, burning him alive, from the inside out. He reaches up, scratching the talons, tearing at the feathers, at anything he can reach, feeling his own hands tearing into his skin, trying anything, everything, to get away, to get out, to make it stop, stop, STOP!

 How funny, how silly, how utterly perfect, that he can’t do anything right, including saving himself from dying now. Maybe it’s better off this way, maybe they’ll all be better off this way. He can’t breathe, can’t even flail anymore, as he feels the cockatrice bite into his shoulder. His vision goes black and he screams, writhing and fighting and choking on bile before his throat closes up and everything stops.

 …

 Remus nearly screams, crumpling in two, hands clutching at his hair, the wash of agony is like nothing he’s ever felt, and it doesn’t take him even a second to know where it’s coming from. It vanishes as quick as it came, leaving nothing but a phantom ache behind.

 “Remus.” Deceit is supporting him, keeping him from face planting on the ground as he regains his balance. He lurches to his feet, barely aware of Deceit asking him what’s wrong, of Cygnus placing a hand on his shoulder, having come in from the living room at the commotion he’d made nearly falling.

 Instead he shoves past the two of them, sprinting to his room. He throws the door open hard enough it must dent the wall behind it, add a new crack to the wood, and he doesn’t even blink as he runs through the mirror that leads to his side of the imagination.

 It’s stronger here, and he nearly keels over again, it staggers him, and he can barely breathe for a moment, before his vision clears. His mirror leads to his bedroom in his castle, and he runs, throwing open the balcony door. He’s not surprised to see her waiting.

 “Hyacinth.” He gasps out, looking into the eyes of one of his closest friends, Roman’s favorite sparring partner, the Dragon Witch. Her eyes glitter like emeralds, two sets of leathery wings sprouting from her back, wearing a dark dress of glittering scales, knee high black boots.

 “You feel it, too.” She states, and he nods, panic welling in his throat, any second he is going to scream, it is going to overwhelm him, it is going to crush him, because Roman is in trouble, Roman is hurt, Roman is hurt very badly and he cannot, will not, lose him.

 “Find him. Please, we need to find him, I need to find him, I need to, have to…” He trails off, words becoming choked, vision becoming blurry, tears stinging his eyes.

 “I know. All my dragons are out searching. Both your kingdom and his. As soon as they find anything-“ Her words are cut off by a distant roar. Her head snaps up, and she grabs his hand, vaulting over the balcony with him, onto the back of a dragon. He doesn’t protest, just holds tight to the spine spikes of the silver beast, almost numb, at this point, with fear.

 They touch down what could be minutes or hours later, time has lost all meaning. He’s focusing too hard on his bond to Roman, which he can feel slowly growing weaker, which is bad, bad, bad. He’s begging him, pleading with him, bargaining with him, to hold on, keep holding on, please.

 He’s across the space in moments, freezing as his heart leaps to his throat.

 In the clearing is an orange ombre dragon, curled protectively around something on the ground. A bloodied, feathery mess is flung across, into the trees, barely recognizable as a cockatrice and his heart sinks to his feet.

 “roman.” He gasps out, lurching into motion once again, the dragon uncurling slightly, allowing him entry, and he falls to his knees as he pulls Roman onto his lap, eyes roving over every inch of his twin, there’s blood, so much blood, too much blood, to be coming from Roman.

 He can see where the beast pierced its talons deep into his flesh, can see the deep gashes across his chest where the creature must have raked him, there’s a chunk of flesh taken out of his shoulder, and saliva is foaming at his mouth, his face is drawn and pale, cheeks flushed, beads of sweat on his brow. His breathing is labored and shallow, he can hear him wheezing in, his chest barely moving up and down.

 Oh, this is bad, bad, bad.

 …

It’s cold.

 That’s all he knows.

 It is dark. It is cold. He is alone.

 He deserves it.

 That’s all he knows.

 “roman.” Something. It jolts something in him, he knows that voice, but he isn’t used to it sounding so desperate, so afraid. He’s used to it being loud and proud and boisterous. Used to it laughing and cackling and spewing whatever words it can to make him blush like a tomato.

 He feels something. Wind? Wind. Flying. Ah.

 Hyacinth.

 Remus? Remus.

 It burns. Everything burns. Acid, eating him from the inside out, his blood corroding him, the air choking him, fire tracing itself across his skin, and he is shaking again, a choked sound escaping from his lips, as he coughs violently. He feels someone cradle him into a sitting position, feels something warm dripping down his chin.

 “Roman. Roman, please. Please, please, please. Roman.” Remus. Something twinges in him at that, and he forces his eyes open, forces himself to look up, barely able to make out green eyes and white streaked hair.

 “R… re…” He struggles out, choking on more blood, breathing feels unbearably impossible.

 “heal yourself, Ro, come on, use your stupid Disney kids power, no blood allowed, right? No guts and fluids and… and death, right, Ro? You know I can’t heal, you know I would if I could but I can’t, so just snap those fingers and poof, back to normal!” His voice is frantic, bubbling with anxiety.

 “C-an’t. N-not s-strong en-ough.” He forces out, eyes slipping closed. Everything is pain, every moment is pure anguish, and just wants it to end. “S-o-orry.” He gasps, barely feeling Remus’s arms hold him tighter.

 “NO! You don’t have anything to be sorry for, don’t be sorry, don’t give up on me, and you don’t have to be sorry.”

 His awareness slips away.

[antique-teacups]

sunshine in L.A.

A/N: kind of an original character piece but also not entirely.  i just was having a great time writing! hope you folks enjoy!

word count: 3k

There was something about her twenties that never felt quite right, worn like a sweater a size to large. She watched as her friends floated from relationships and friendships seamlessly, while she felt caught. In what exactly, she wasn’t sure. Part of her hoped with time that feeling would fade, become background static instead of pumping along with her heartbeat. Going with the current, she did exactly what was expected of her. Attended college, albeit a community college, but college none the less. Part time work covered what financial aid wouldn’t, even scraping enough together to buy a beater car.

Time drifted on and the feeling stayed, haunting and hollow. Avoiding the problem didn’t lessen its size but it never grew. In the back of her mind constantly. Social media was the worst part, watching her friends flourish and flower, while it took everything in her to remain sane and present. Two years flew by in the blink of an eye and she were left with a tiny degree she was not sure she really wanted. When the opportunity did present itself, she knew it was one she could not possibly pass up.

She knew that even in L.A these demons could surface but maybe the constant sun could choke them out. Packing her meager belongings into the back of her car, she pointed it in the direction of L.A. Whether she actually ended up in the sunshine state wasn’t the point, but rather, it was to get out. Stop the cycle before it became the only focal point of her life. It took longer than it should’ve, she passed the days slowly. Each spent behind the wheel simply heading west.

L.A. was a zoo. She worked your way through the city with fascination and hopefulness. She was certain of one thing and uncertain of many. She hoped to write but was willing to do just about anything to make money. Well, just about anything, she still harbored some self-respect.

L.A. had of a way of worming its way into your heart, no matter how shitty people made it seem. Each self-respecting L.A citizen hated the city as much as they loved it. She found a decent studio apartment, managed to get a job as a barista quickly, and spent the first month slinging caffeine in the daytime and writing into the wee hours of the morning. Cash was always tight, considering she did live in one of the most expensive cities, but there was semblance of happiness. It was clawing it’s way in on the edges of her life.

The customers were not particularly strange, at least not always. There were a couple of memorable moments, but most days passed by in monotony. She knew customers by their orders, not names. These small moments between the register and picking up their coffee offered she a small window into their world. These hints they dropped left her wondering about their lives outside their order and these four walls. Who were these people who flocked to the shop like cattle to slaughter?

She certainly played favorites, every barista did, with both customers and coworkers. There were those who made the days a little brighter. The first was her coworker James. Somewhere in his twenties like her but an old soul. He came to work in sweaters, cooper rimmed circular glasses, and disheveled hair on the daily. He was welcoming and warm and chased away some of the darkness.

The two of them became instant friends. He would wait after work to hang out, get drinks on the weekend, and spend Sunday brunch complaining about his hangover. At first, she was confronted with the concern that maybe he was worming into her life in hopes of it ending in a relationship, but as soon as she met his boyfriend Scott, that fear was put to rest. In a way, she chose the two of them as family. She spent countless hours with them, at ease with the way things were.

In James, she confided most of her fears and a lot of her guilt. The backstory of her life surprising him but explaining the front she put up. Tragedy often bores the strongest soldiers. In the year she had been in L.A, James helped her pick up the pieces and put herself together, an unrepayable favor. Thanksgiving was right around the corner and she were destined to spend it with James and Scott.

“James, I’m running to the grocery store after work and if you play your cards right there might just be a bottle of Prosecco with your name on it.” she joked over the espresso machine, a sly smile on her lips. James and her always bantered at work, often to the amusement of the customers and other coworkers.

James matches her smile, “Oh honey, you act like I would actually need to play my cards to get it, I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.” He chuckles and turns back to the drawer. The day was getting late, closing time just mere hours away. She was practically counting down the hours till she could curl up on his couch and binge “New Girl”, the new obsession for the two of them.

“I like to pretend it’s the other way around, but I would admit you are right, James. But besides that, anything else?” she asked, hardly looking at him. There was unspoken communication between you two most days, a glance could tell a story. “I was thinking pizza this fine Wednesday night. But I’m certainly open to suggestions.”

“And break the Wednesday night pizza tradition, how absurd!” James feigns hurt, a hand over his heart and concerned expression painting his face. “The table is already set, we can’t go making changes now, silly girl.”

“Then pizza and prosecco it is. Perfect.” She giggled and sent a curt nod in his direction. The entire conversation was an open invitation for him to change the plans, but he never did. Wednesday night was always reserved for the two of them. They devoured pizza and whatever show they were working on. It was sacred to them both.

The rest of the day passed quickly, the sun just barely setting when she and James locked the shop doors. A brief hug and a quick exchange of words and the two of them were off in opposite directions. A pit stop at the grocery store and then to James’ place. He would order the pizza in, as per tradition. Tasked with grabbing the drinks and whatever bits she needed, she would be to his place shortly.

Her car sat tucked in the back lot, warm from sitting in the sun. Cranking the window open once she had climbed inside, turning on the radio, she set off to the grocery store. It was smaller than most that scattered around L.A, which is why it was her favorite. She did not have to fight the yoga obsessed mothers to get through the aisles or hope the hipsters didn’t pick through the all the good stuff before she got a chance to be there. The old man, who she assumed owned it, knew her by name. Often, he would gift products just a day out of date to her. He did save your ass more than once.

“Charles, what’s the good word for today?” She asked, swinging the door open and nabbing a basket.

Smiling, he gushed, “I beat the finalist in Jeopardy today, but I’m here and he’s there,” shrugging he went on, “I put some of those cookies you like in the back, they went out of date yesterday, Dandelion.” Charles had been using the nickname since she had started coming here. She was totally convinced he had to be her guardian angel. When she asked him where it came from, his response surprised her. “Like the weed, you always come back. You are full of fire and strong. I can see it.” She felt partial to this grocery store. She ended up here for a reason.

“Great, I was craving something sweet all day. Remind me, I have got something for you in my bag before I go. Don’t worry, nothing poisonous.” Jokingly she added.

Charles had a love for Jim Harrison. Often when she was browsing at old bookstores or garage sale’s she would stumble across one for him. He probably owned nearly every single book published by Harrison, but always acted thankful and surprised when she presented him with another. She wanted to make sure he knew how much she appreciated him in a way of more than just saying thank you.

She scanned the aisles looking for the familiar packaging of her favorites. She hardly noticed the boy till she had practically run into his back.

“Another one in Charles good graces, a rare species.” He teased.

Chuckling, “That must mean there are people on Charles bad side, which I highly doubt.” He was home strung, as far as she could tell. Clean cut and not looking for a lot of attention, judging by his all black attire. “I’m assuming you’re one of the lucky ones, too.” She implored.

“Thankfully, I have managed to make my way into one of his chosen few. Even without it, I would still come here. This is the only grocery store where I don’t have to cross my fingers and hope all the good stuff isn’t picked over. Charles seems to have a force field to keep this place hidden. Certainly, the best kept secret of L.A.,” he pauses, searching your face, “you work at the coffee shop on Sunset, Eight-Fold Coffee, right?”

“Guiltily is charged, Mr. iced latte with almond milk,” tapping your temple, “steel trap. I only know people’s drinks, not their names, sorry. I was wondering if you looked familiar or if it was just the lighting.”

Extending a hand, cheekily responding, “David. The name’s David Dobrik, or iced latte if you please.”  His smile was easy and charming, you couldn’t help but stare. His entire posture oozed ease, you couldn’t quite decide if he was trying to flirt or simply be friendly. Of course, that wonderful friend called self-doubt started to crawl its way into your chest, so it was time to go.

Flashing him what you hoped was a friendly parting smile, “Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. It was nice finally meeting in more than just an ‘iced latte with almond milk’ kind of way. I’ll see you around. I have promised the roommate a night in and if I don’t come through, the world might stop turning.” Turning on her heel, tossing David a small wave, she headed for the register. All the things she needed forgotten.

She set the single bottle on the counter and wait for Charles to ring it up. Silence elapses, you lost entirely in your own thoughts.

“Dandelion?”

“Huh, what?” she missed what he asked, cheeks flushing at him catching her in dreamland.

“Lots on your mind today?” Charles inquired, a knowing look on his face.

Smiling and rolling her eyes, “I respect the fishing for a morsel of mind but maybe when inquiring minds aren’t near.” she winks. Digging in your bag, she pulls the book for him, Returning to Earth, out. “I found it at a garage sale this weekend and thought you could add to your collection. But this one, is to expand your horizons.” She pulls The Pleasures of the Damned by Charles Bukowski out. “I’ll need it back but keep it as long as you need, I know where to find you. See you around Charles.” She pays and get ready to go, sneaking one last glance in David’s direction. Grabbing onto her bag with the prosecco and cookies tucked in, she heads for the doors. One last look to the aisles and she can see David still tucked amongst them, scouring for something in the sea. A shake of her head and she is out the doors.

Tossing the bag in the passenger seat, she meanders down the streets towards James. A stampede of thoughts about David comes and goes. It was just mutual acknowledgement that the two of them did in fact kind of know each other. Yet, she found herself wondering if she should tell James about him, see if he had any insight on the guy. The thought felt foolish considering it was just a run in at the grocery store, nothing more.

Charles knew more about her then he let on. He knew her heart was kind but had been through a lot, he knew you were loyal and strong, but he knew also knew when her heart would tell you who to let in. David did not need much from that grocery store, mostly some alone time. His inquiring mind also wanted some more information on the barista who stole his breath away. As he left that day, Charles told him something he would carry with him for a while. “People like her, they guard their hearts, but hers is golden. It won’t always be shut.”

Opening the door to James and Scott’s apartment, she could smell the pizza. Her mouth was already watering. James rounded the corner into view between the small kitchen and living.

“I was beginning to wonder if you bailed.” He poked.

“On you, never.” Rolling her eyes.

“I am almost flattered.” He made for the bag in her hand, noticing the cookies right away. “Charles treats you like your one of his own grand kids. One of the people placed on that golden list.”

“About Charles coveted list, I ran into a guy from the coffee shop. David? Iced latte with almond milk, dresses like an unemployed ninja. Do you know anything about him?” She asked trying to keep the hopeful tone from her voice.

James searches her face before continuing. “A sudden interest in a customer, more like prominent interest. I’ve noticed the favorites you play with him.” He flashes you a joking grin. “I don’t know much about him honestly. I’ve heard whisperings from the other baristas that he has some youtube channel, not much else. He seems nice.” Bumping his shoulder with hers, “It wouldn’t hurt if you tried to be friends with him. It’s not a crime to branch out. I would not be insulted if you did. I worry that maybe you don’t because I take up a lot of your time.”

“Certainly not, you take up a perfect amount of my time. I just, remember how hard it is for me to be friends with people, I guess. I am a lifelong hermit. Plus, if he’s doing that whole ‘social media career’, he might not be the kind of friend I want.” Socializing was never her strong suit and if David’s preferred choice was blasting his life across the platforms, maybe she would take a pass.

The two of you vegged out on the couch way past what was a reasonable time, both scheduled to open tomorrow. He was on her mind all night, the little she knew about him had her mind doing circles. He seemed innocent enough, a good guy if Charles liked him.

 The sun shown through the windows all morning, bringing a warming light to the coffee shop. All day you hoped he would pop in, yet, it went unanswered. Clocking out, she nabbed her notebook and a mug of coffee, making her way to the bank of windows along the window. She tried to keep her mind from wandering, yet it seemed impossible. Perhaps she scared him off.

“I figured you were a writer. Nobody suggests poetry books, Bukowski especially, unless they are a writer. Or terribly sad, but judging by the notebook, I’d say the first.” David said, standing next to you bathed in the afternoon sun. He looked as though he just woke up but in a delicious way. His hair was messy and his eyes warm. She could not help but bath in the light emanating from him.

A small smile spread on her lips, “You’re a fan?”

“I saw it on Charles counter on my out yesterday. A simple Google Search did the trick. Guy seems kind of dark for you.” A blush plays on David’s cheeks. “I was hoping to run into you today. Listen, me and my friends are going to this party tonight, would you be interested?”

“Uh,” glancing behind the counter you see James shaking his yes vigorous, “sure, why not?” It seemed in David’s presence, the hole in her chest seemed to lessen some.

[lunarianborn]

☾  @roseofbaron​ :  For the ask anything meme: Please tell me more about Cecil’s stuffed rabbit! :3 Who did he get it from? What did he name it? What happened to it when he grew older? Did he have it long enough to pass it on to Ceodore (if he would even want to)? It’s the most adorable tiny fact and I can’t stop thinking about it lol   ☽  CURIOUS ASKS  :  always accepting

Cecil’s little bunny toy !  What a nice ask, I shall indulge in these headcanons a lot now that I have the chance to explore them eheh !  For anyone who isn’t aware, the DS release of FFIV came with new official art - in a very cute style too. One of them has a young looking Cecil  ( I say young because his hair is shorter, and he even sports two little braids )  sitting on his bed, in the West Tower, looking with sad eyes at the helmet of the Dark Knight in his hands. On his pillow, there’s a little stuffed rabbit toy - here is a link.

There is no further mention or picture of said bunny, both in the game or in the novels. So it’s all an headcanon of mine -- but I’ve always imagined it being a memento from his childhood. Cecil first came to Baron owning nothing - and the circumstances of his finding are quite traumatic and sad themselves, so I don’t think it belonged to his brother, or parents even. It was a gift, given to him when he obviously couldn’t notice, nor remember it.

So, Baron had most likely been ruled by the current King Odin for a while now. He knew of Cecilia, who must have died at around 30 years of age  ( or so I imagine, considering the age difference between Cecil and Theodor is of about 9 or 10 years and that she still looks pretty young at the time of her demise ) - which makes the King himself close to her same age. We can imagine him being the next in line of succession, rising to power when still quite young. Still, the King never had a queen, and back when Cecil was found, he had no legitimate heirs; common folks in Baron do chat about it even in game - rightly so, lamenting of how the King never married nor sired children in order to, one day, name a rightful heir to the throne. No matter how silly it may sound, it surely did translate therefore in a lack of children living the castle -- till Cecil came around, of course. Kain is just a year older than Cecil, and it can be argued that his father, as Captain of the Dragoons, did maybe reside into the castle of Baron and not in the city proper -- his baby and wife with him. But Kain had, at least at first, a family, wealth and the prestige coming from the important name of the Highwind’s  ( not to mention a dragon his father would ride in battle, how cool is that ? ) , and it’s still not certain whether he actually lived inside the castle or not. Cecil didn’t have any of that, and all that’s certain is the fact Kain did hang around the castle as a child.

Anyway, as a result, the odd-looking baby found in the far-away woods and taken to Baron, under the King’s wing and patronage, did gave rise to waves upon waves of curiosity among the servants of the castle. Welcomed as the youngest ward of His Majesty, he was attended and cared for by numerous women, men, servants and mage -- who knows, perhaps the royal nurses did finally rejoice in the presence a newborn inside the castle, haha. He was given, most certainly, all that might have suited a little prince indeed --  attention, care, plenty of food and toys. A brighter future, no doubts. A young chambermaid charged with keeping a close eye on the infant at night, did crochet Cecil that very stuffed bunny. It is nothing fancy: it is stuffed in straw and wool, with two small buttons serving as its dark eyes and felt soft to the touch. She absentmindedly placed inside his cradle and there it remained till he was old enough to grasp things to play with.

He never named it, but it became a huge comfort once a toddler, and accompanied him on his nightly way to slumber as a child, too. While Cecil did prefer to play with other toys, small airships Cid would gift to him and wooden swords, he never thought of giving or storing the bunny away either. At times, a young Kain would reach him in his room to play and snatch away the rabbit from its rightful place and owner to mess with him in a playful, childish way -- which did bother Cecil a bit, at first. The rabbit could have become a poor damsel in distress to rescue, or the white-scaled dragon to slay in Kain’s and Rosa’s company, in their games of play-pretend; but Cecil would have made always sure, by the end of their games, that the toy was perfectly sane and undamaged. It was a senseless attachment, for something so meaninglessly simple, but it persisted for a while - despite being told it held no significance to the circumstances of his finding as a newborn  ( and we know for certain Cecil knew from a very young age that he was a foundling ).

When the age fit to play with toys and stuffed rabbits was long gone, unfortunately, and Cecil began attending school and the military academy inside the castle, the toy simply became a silent presence in his room. While he wouldn’t sleep with it anymore, the maidservants in charge of the tower and of his bedchamber always made sure to keep the rabbit on top of his pillow, on fresh and clean sheets for him to sleep upon. There were nights when, too tired to do anything else but fall asleep at the very first touch of the pillow against his head, Cecil wouldn’t even moved away the rabbit from the spot, to just doze off immediately. At the age of 15, shortly after being appointed a Dark Knight, he saw fit of storing all his toys and props inside a chest by the bed -- thus, in a way, finally partying from his childhood days and appealing to the meagre and ‘dark’ lifestyle of such knights. And the bunny remained in said chest for the following, almost forgotten, for the following five of six years...

Considering he became a father rather early  ( although, in Final Fantasy standards and more generally, in a medieval setting, it is not that early ) , I like to think he recalled of his old stuffed bunny and ‘passed it down’ to Ceodore - or perhaps it was fished out of the chest by Rosa, it’d be cute to think about it. Although old, it might have been with his son for a while, when still very young -- but given Ceodore’s temperament being quite more playful and adorably lively than what Cecil used to be as a baby, the bunny held his interest for a very brief lapse of time, overall.

Naturally, on symbolism, the bunny gets a deeper meaning. In Asian culture, the myth of the bunny on the moon is a well-known one. An otter, a monkey, a fox and a rabbit decided to help poor people, and once met a old traveler dying of hunger; wanting to save him, they all thought of a way to bring him food: the otter could fish easily, the fox could steal and the monkey was smart enough to bring him fruits -- but the bunny had no particular skills, and all it could fetch him was some grass. Sad and deluded, the bunny then jumped into a fire to donate himself to the hungry man; the traveler felt pity at the selfless sacrifice and revealed himself to be a god, saving the rabbit whose silhouette now stains the moon forevermore. The legend treats themes of self sacrifice, long-life and charity -- which aren’t stranger themes to Cecil. Plus, on a lighter note, Japan celebrates the moon on a specific day each year mid-fall, with stories of the moon rabbit pounding mochi and bunny-shaped sweets. Namingway and his brothers do live on the moon, in-game, and they do resemble white bunnies -- a wink of the eye to that legend and folklore. 

It is a clear reference to the fact Cecil descends from a Lunarian man, his destiny laid bare before him from the very start, when he still had no clue of his origins or of people living on the second moon. Bahamut resides on the moon too, and I did read somewhere that it did imply either a form of worship for the Eidolon, or a descendance too -- so the Father of the Dragons could also serve as a symbol; but we have to admit bunnies are just cuter eheh !

[bipbeep]

Thank you

I think all of that changed around grade school. I moved up a grade higher than my old classmates, so I finished kinder earlier. Now, I was in a class with people I barely knew. What’s worse, the teachers would embarrass me in front of my new classmates and they’d make fun of me for it. What’s more, my old friends from the old class don’t consider me a friend anymore because I ‘left them’.

I was always a bit of a crybaby. Sure in kinder and early grade school, I’d cry, but even after that, I cry A LOT. I would cry at things that happened, good or bad, and sometimes I’d cry for no clear reason. I had no idea why I was like that at first, but nevertheless, I was made fun of because of that, even by the teachers.

I still remember clearly how I cried at something silly, a teacher took me outside and pointed at a butterfly. And I still remember what she said “Stop crying, you’re being ungrateful for being human. Look at that butterfly: so fragile, so easy to hurt. Why don’t you become a butterfly instead?” I was 10. I stopped crying, but the pain doubled, maybe even tripled.

And I can’t believed I was fooled to think I was actually liked by everyone in grade school. The boys would just downright make fun of me, but the girls would be nice in front of me and talk about me behind my back.

Nonetheless, I pretended everything was okay for me. That’s how I dealt with everything: pretend that I was okay. It wasn’t long enough for me to realize I developed depression and anxiety.

Then high school rolled around. I thought I’d have a new start, but one of my old classmates was in the same class as me and started spreading a trigger word of mine (I won’t say it for obvious reasons). So some would use it on me. I hated every last bit of it.

But there is some light at the end of the tunnel. Around the end of my first year, I made two new friends. Both were girls, and one of them I had a crush on. And that’s how I found out about my sexuality.

Next year was even better, since I met someone who ultimately changed my life: my best guy friend. He was sweet, caring, and listened to whatever BS was on my mind. And somewhere along the line, I fell for him.

When I first found out about my feelings, I tried to keep them in. I didn’t want what we had going to be ruined by my romantic feelings. But eventually, I told my friends about it. And eventually, after enough support from my friends, I told him.

He told me that he wasn’t sure about his feelings, and we were too young for a relationship anyway (we were like, 13 at the time) and I agreed.

It was at that year where I found my true friends. But, all good things must come to an end. And the reason for this downfall, was me.

Now, technically I didn’t start it. It started when these two people (boy and girl) in the squad started fighting. After a few months, it was revealed that they both liked the same guy. And that guy was my best guy friend.

I got tangled up in that mess soon enough. The girl I had a crush on earlier talked to me online and asked if I knew about what happened with the boy and my guy best friend. I’m then told the boy had been sending flirty messages even though my guy friend is clearly uncomfortable.

My guy best friend told me he was fine, but eventually told me he lied and is actually worried for the boy. Because for one thing, my friend’s straight.

Thankfully, that all ended this year. But a few other things happened as well.

For starters, I came out as bi to my friends. Thankfully, they loved me for who I was. On a sadder note, me and guy friend got put in separate classes this year because the teachers thought we were dating. I remember vividly how sad I was.

Because, I don’t know if you know this, but he’s basically the one person in class keeping me sane. And wouldn’t you know it, I’ve had more mental breakdowns this year that my other years of high school combined.

Eventually, I’ve had enough of my school and work. I didn’t want to deal with life anymore. So earlier this year, I tried to choke myself in the bathroom with the ID lace I had. Thankfully, I just fainted. But it took them 3-4 hours to notice I wasn’t even in class, despite me being in class earlier this morning.

No one knew exactly what happened. All they knew was that they found me unconscious in a bathroom.

The next day, I went to my guy friend and another friend who I trusted. I told them what happened that day.

My other friend cried so much she could barely speak and my guy friend tried to keep his cool, but I could feel his sadness. They told me that, if I had any problems, they were there for me.

I’d like to thank them for helping me make it this far.

I’d also like to take this chance to thank each and every one of you. I love hearing your stories, your ideas, and seeing your art. You are all special, and I know some of you must be dealing with worse stuff than I’m going through. I want you all to know that you guys are the freaking best. So thank you all, really. One way or another, you’ve helped me express myself.

So here’s to 15 years. I wouldn’t call it happy, but there were times where there was a little bit of light that shone.

[freethemages]

I am more than happy to answer questions from the perspective of my OC Tristan Trevelyan!

Here are a collection of questions he has been asked in a wonderful server that I am a part of. It is extensive, so I am placing it under the cut. 

Is there anything you’d like to know from his point of view? Get to know him a little better! 

Here is a link to an introduction post, and you can find more info, and asks pertaining to him under #tristan trevelyan on my blog.

Okay here goes! I hope you enjoy!

Q: How did you and Cullen fall in love?

It was very slow. [chuckles] Cullen wasn’t exactly aware of his... taste for men, at the time. I think the first time either of us realised there might be something, however begrudging, between us, was Satinalia of 9:41 Dragon.

Q: How did you celebrate your first Satinalia together?

Well, we weren’t ‘together’ really, but I think the Satinalia of 9:41 Dragon counts as the first time we celebrated it ‘with’ each other and everyone else in the Inquisition. We got each other gifts, as is customary. He got me some Crystal Grace bulbs. They are my favourite flower, though I don’t think he knew it at the time! I nearly kissed him that night. I was but a terrified baby nug, and so I lost my nerve.

Q: What is your favourite thing about Cullen?

That’s a tough question. I love every part of him. Even the bits others find tough. 

Most of all though, it’s the devotion I see in his eyes, and the passion that burns behind them in everything he does. Especially when his smile reaches his eyes. That didn’t happen a lot when we first met. It took him time to learn how to be a person and not just the Commander of the Inquisition.  When he looks at me with those honey eyes... I swear in those moments I would do, and be anything for him. Anything.

Q: Have you been with any other members of the Inquisition, in a romantic or sexual way?

I... rode the bull, so to speak. Strictly physical, you understand. 

There was also a dalliance with Dorian. We decided we worked best as friends, which was ideal as it was around that time that Cullen and I began to be a little more aware of our feelings for each other.

Q: How would you feel if a secret admirer often left gifts for you?

Truth be told, I have absolutely no idea. It’s a rather strange concept for me to have a secret admirer. 

Though Cullen does leave me little gifts on occasion, and I find that very sweet. 

I’ve had myriad proposals of sex, courtship, and even marriage since taking up the position of Inquisitor. One lady, who I am sure is totally sane, expressed her desire, nay, her need, to bear the child of the Herald of Andraste. I believe the precise words in her letter were “you simply must allow me the greatest honour of accepting your holy seed into my ready loins, the Maker himself wishes it!” It was... flattering, I suppose? Orlesians, right? [nervous chuckle] ahem. Anyway, that’s my experience with admirers, though none were secret so much as just complete strangers. Thankfully these things have become less common now that people know I am not ‘on the market’, and that people have had time to get over the spectacle of Corypheus’ defeat.

Q:  Had you ever been in love before you joined the Inquisition, or at least what you perceived as love? 

No, I had not. As much as a hopeless romantic as I am, I never had the pleasure of a romantic partner before Cullen. That’s not to say I didn’t dally. I dallied a lot, in fact. 

The closest I got to romance was my crush on a templar in the Ostwick Circle, I suppose. You can imagine how well that would have gone, indeed!

Q: How do you feel about paperwork and things relating to it? There's obviously a lot you have to do as the Inquisitor. 

Oh, I absolutely loathe paperwork! Indeed there is much of it to be done. I try to get out of it as much as I can, though as I am sure you suspect, I cannot get out of much at all. Luckily I only have to deal with reports of my own activities and correspondence made directly to me. The bulk is handled by my advisers. 

You wouldn’t believe the sheer size of the piles of papers scattered about my quarters since Cullen moved in. He doesn’t seem to mind too much though, he’s rather swift and organised, though it may look like a mess to me. He assures me there is method in the madness, and he’s given me no reason to disbelieve thus far. [chuckles] I will say though that no work is allowed during our down time (my rule), so it is not so overabundant.

Q: Do you have a secret talent or passion?

It’s not really a secret, though I don’t advertise it all that much either. I am rather skilled at knife throwing. The dummy in Cullen’s office has seen an uptake in attacks since we started having competitions. The winner gets to decide what happens that night, of course. Now I like to think I’m rather skilled in that department too, but you would have to ask the dear Commander. [chuckles] no, I’m joking, please don’t ask him that, maker’s breath!

Q: Are you religious? Do you have any superstitions or rituals that you practice?

I am not religious per se, though I’m rather agnostic on the whole Maker’s existence thing. I certainly don’t subscribe to the beliefs of the Andrastian Chantry. [he scoffs] Mother would have my head for saying that...They twist faith and use it to control the masses.

What I do believe, is that Andraste was an Avvar mage, and that she was possessed by a spirit -perhaps of faith- and that it was this which led her to begin her crusade. 

Make no mistake, the chant of light was written by mere men, and that we treat such words as irreproachable is the true hubris of man. 

I think what lies beyond the fade is a great deal more complicated than any absent father figure. I do not pretend to know what it is, or if anything is there at all, but I do not believe it is the Maker as we have come to revere him. 

I have found peace in relying upon my own intellectual study of magic and the fade. Spirits are real, and must be respected and acknowledged, for they can inflict a great deal of harm, or happiness. I cannot say the same for the Maker, so I feel no loss in the potential of his non-existence. 

I admit, I really must study Elven and Avvar beliefs in much greater depth before making comment on them.

Q: Do you have any disputes with Cullen? And if yes, how do you two handle the situation?

Oh yes, we definitely have disputes! [chuckles] my darling is a... straight forward man when it comes to addressing situations. I prefer a more nuanced method. And being a mage, that usually involves magic. Cullen has come a long way but he is still... a little wary of such casual use of magic. We argue far less about that than we used to, though. 

Truly, if he always had his way, I would be out of the fray and safe in Skyhold at all times. He knows I’m capable and trusts me of course, but I cannot blame him for his protectiveness. Truth be told I feel the same on the occasions he heads out, though I know he is perfectly capable of handling things.

We are both grown men, and are able to move past things rather quickly. I don’t think either of us could tolerate going any period of time staying angry at each other, or maker forbid, not talking. We trust each other implicitly, and so this works for us. Sometimes the more emotionally charged arguments are settled because passion overtakes us. I have to say, Cullen is always a very skilled lover, but those times... are something else entirely.

Q: What is your biggest weakness?

It’s hard to say. Like most people, I am full of flaws. It’s a part of being I suppose. 

I strive to see the good in all people, which has led me to trust the wrong ones. That’s probably a contender. 

Some have said I am too soft, that the complete absence of executions rent from my judgement displays a lack of strength and will to lead. I disagree. Perhaps that is a weakness, but it is not one I will apologise for. 

They may call me the Herald of Andraste, but I am just a man. Anybody could have been in my place. I do not intend to lose myself under such a hefty title, so full of expectations. I can’t. 

Oh, and I’m dreadful with a longsword. Cullen has tried many times to help me improve. [chuckles] I am just not a close combat warrior, like my dear Lion.

Q: Have you ever thought about having kids with Cullen?

I’d love to raise a child with my love one day. Though sadly we do not have the correct equipment to create a life ourselves. 

I intend to do some research on the uses of magic and conception. Perhaps we will yet have children that possess Cullen’s beautiful blond curls. That is the sweetest sight I could ever dream of.

Q: What did the nightmare demon say to you in the fade?

He told me that the weight of Thedas would crush me. That I, an insignificant human, could never hope to carry the anchor and live. 

He also told me that the Commander would always see my magic and sneer. That he could never really love me while I was the very thing he spent most of his life fighting. But our love is strong. Ex-Templar he may be, but he is also a smart, loving, and honest man. I trust him to the black city and beyond. 

The nightmare could have wielded nothing that would have made me falter, for these are all things I have told myself and yet carried on.

Q: How was your first kiss with Cullen?

Our first kiss? It was... interesting. We were having an argument, actually. He is very obstinate. He was having a particularly bad time with his lyrium withdrawals and was on the verge of giving in. I argued that he was strong enough to keep going, he argued that he was not, the silly man. 

Anyway, it got very heated. I was yelling about how much I looked up to him and how much he meant to me and... bam. His face was on my face. Passion unrivalled. He was scarlet in the face afterwards and apologised profusely. I simply pulled him back to me and kissed him again. 

Later on he confided that he had never kissed a man before. He had no idea he even liked men that way. I was only happy to show him just how much one man can love another. That’s also the same day I learned just how soft those blond curls are, when I stroked them as he fell asleep with his head in my lap.

Q: Describe a childhood memory?

Childhood memory? Hmm, let’s see... 

ooh okay, I have one. So I was about thirteen, and my friend Artemis and I were playing dares, because what else are you going to do in a cushy prison? Knowing I had recently been making good progress on my fire spells, he dared me to... ensure that the skirts of a certain prickly templar ‘caught alight’. 

Well I did it. Only the guy’s beard also caught fire. He’d been growing this beard for longer than I had been there, and boy was he furious. 

Artemis was a good friend and took the rap. He had not been there as long as I and they were more likely to believe he did it by mistake.  That templar never stood guard on the apprentice dorms while we were still in them, though! That got a cheer.

Q: Who teases the two of you (with love of course) about your relationship?

Oh maker, absolutely everybody. Even the recruits! They always find it amusing that the Commander has a soft side. Of course, it doesn’t bother me a jot. Cullen has less tolerance for it but he’s usually alright. 

Dorian, Sera, and Bull are some of the main culprits, which I’m sure surprises nobody. Leliana and Josephine are formidable teases in the war room, too. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. Watching him blush and stammer is always a joy. And I always make sure to... soothe his blood flow when needed, of course. 

I’m certain Varric has written a romantic tale that is only half true, but I would also be willing to bet the Skyhold vault that whatever he writes, the truth is infinitely more fantastic.

Q: What is the best/most ideal way to spend time with Cullen?

I get on at him a lot to get his bloody roof fixed [chuckles] but actually some of my favourite little moments with him are lying in his chamber, looking up at the stars over the Frostbacks, in each other’s arms, with nothing between our souls but our skin. We can just be together, two men deeply in love. Not the Inquisitor and the Commander. 

We spend most nights in my chambers now, but sometimes we still like to ascend those ladders, when the weather is not too cold. I used to miss home terribly, even the damned Ostwick Circle. But now, home is wherever he is.

Q: The anchor threatening your own existence... How does it affect your relationship with Cullen? Do you believe it to be a long lasting one?

Maker, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I... admit I’m guilty of hiding the true extent of my pain from him. He has enough of his own worries and I know this would take a huge toll on him. The anchor grows more painful every day. It’s like an acid coming from my own veins. The pain has thus far reached my shoulders. I fear that I won’t be around for very much longer, and the idea of leaving him is too much to think about; it is not an option. I simply must fight it with all I have. I will not let my own fucking arm take him away from me. Wherever Solas is, I hope he returns with some answers. He... seems to know more about this magic than he let on.

Q: If you would wear a flower crown, which flowers would it be and why?

Crystal grace. Without a doubt. Perhaps with royal elfroot wrapped around the stem parts. 

It’s my favourite flower. I know someone who would also appreciate it... I wonder if I could get him to wear a matching one... hmm. We could even have them made here at Skyhold. An excellent wedding headpiece idea, actually…

[Cullen in the background: Absolutely not.]

... Spoil sport.

Q: How do you feel about blood magic?

I suppose the official answer my advisers would want me to give is that I condemn, abhor, and despise blood magic, blah blah blah. But that is not the case. Blood magic is just magic. Can it be used for ill? Of course! So can any other magic, and any other weapon for that matter. 

Like a great many things in life, within blood magic, consent matters. I am not so quick to condemn an entire school of magic based upon the actions of a terrible few. 

Honestly, the excuses for the prohibition of blood magic are just another case of stuff and nonsense fed to us by the Chantry to keep us under their thumb.

I do not personally use it, but I have no qualms about it beyond the fact that I developed my fighting style to conserve my health. 

Oh Maker, here comes Mother Giselle... I wasn’t here! [He hides behind the tall backed chair he was sitting on]

Q: How do you feel about being at sea?

I am.... less than enthused by the idea of being at sea. The journey over the Waking Sea was not a pleasant one. It was my first time, since I had spent most of my life in the Circle, and my family trips before my magic manifested were mostly in the Marches, and twice, Orlais, which was reachable by land. 

There is always the looming threat of being consumed by the untameable ocean, but mostly I just got really, really sea sick.

Q: Describe yourself in three words?

Hmm... magic, romantic, idealistic. 

What do you think, love?

[Cullen: chuckles I was going to suggest smart, strong, and very sexy... though that is four words. Hmm.]

[Tristan shakes his head with a fond smile, and a gentle laugh]

Q: What was your first impression of Cullen? 

Well, I must admit, when he approached us after I had closed the first breach, I was a little dazed. I couldn’t tell you whether it was from exhaustion or his visage. I did notice he was handsome. And briefly wondered where he got his lip scar. There wasn’t much time to dwell, however. 

When I spoke to him later after settling into Haven, that was when I was able to drink him in as it were. Much like myself, he gets flustered quite easily depending on certain subjects, which I found endearing. I tried very hard to not fall down that hole but... well, you can see I failed. And glad I am of it.

Q: What nickname did Varric give you? 

He calls me Twirly. Apparently I tend to add ‘unnecessary flourishes’ when casting with my staff. I do not know what he means, however. The flourishes are essential to looking good when casting, you see.

Q: how would you react to fanfiction or fan art of yourself? What about smutty fanfics/art?

Oh, there have been such things, believe me. [laughs] I find it entertaining, personally. Bonus points if it makes me blush. 

The Commander, on the other hand, gets very embarrassed about it, even when he is not involved. 

I suppose it comes with being painted as a ‘hero’. It’s interesting to see how far people’s imaginations can go. 

If I come across it, I will read it, be warned, prospective fanfic writers and artists! [he winks]

Q: If you and your LI could spend two weeks anywhere in Thedas on vacation, where would you go?

Hmm. There are a few possibilities. A break in Southreach might be nice, to visit Cullen’s family. Though two weeks with Branson’s child may be less than relaxing, I grant you! [chuckles] There is also Antiva City. I should love to go during the Satinalia season, but again, I doubt there would be much quiet relaxation going on, and my Lion does prefer places with a tad more… serenity. And privacy. I can get behind that, of course. So my final answer would probably be a nice secluded log cabin in the Frostbacks. Granted it is not far from where we are now, but for a lovely break all I would need is my love, a roaring fire, a nice book, and plenty of cozy blankets. Sighs It would be wonderful to just be Tristan again, and not Inquisitor Trevelyan, just for a while.

Q: Do you and Cullen have any pets? 

We don’t as of yet, but I hope we do have some in the near future. The cats that roam Skyhold are lovely, but I would love to have an animal that was just ours. Preferably a Mabari. I may not hail from Ferelden, but I consider it my home now. I like Fereldan culture. 

Q: Did you dance with Cullen at the Winter Palace? If so, how was it?

I did! Maker, the glares we got from all of his admirers. If we had danced in the main hall I dare say there would have been a riot! They all seemed to want my handsome man, and I cannot say I blame them.

I loved dancing with him. It was such a peaceful and happy moment after a long and tedious day. He is better at it that he gives himself credit for, too! I am barely any better than him, and I was raised attending balls and other such nonsense until the age of 11.

Q: What are your favourite foods? Least favourite foods?

Three words: Frilly. Little. Cakes. 

I love them. I also love a good traditional Fereldan stew. Many Marchers will claim that their food is superior, but don’t listen. Nothing is heartier than what I’ve had since being here. I think I might have been adopted over from Ferelden as a boy, haha!

Least favourite foods… hmm… I was once cajoled into tasting Anders ham as a boy, and believe me, they are not exaggerating when they say it tastes of despair. 

Q: How did you feel when you learned how the anchor worked?

When Solas held my hand up to that first rift, I was more than a little bit disturbed. It felt odd. As if the rift was pulling from my hand and feeding from my own mana. And just like that, I could bend it to my will. It was… strange. I am used to it now, but I definitely had nightmares in the beginning. I’ve never felt so intrinsically linked to something so dangerous. Learning to wield the anchor was no small task, either, believe me.

Q:Who are you closest to, other than Cullen?

I would say I am closest to Dorian and Josephine. 

Dorian and I had a bit of a fling, but we found we worked best as friends, if flirtatious ones. I trust him with my life and I hope he can say the same of me. He’s a good man. I admire him. 

Josephine is just a very lovely lady, and surprisingly fun when she lets her hair down. I also trust her with my life. She is an excellent source of gossip as well, so it is nice to sit down with a cup of tea in her office for a couple of hours and just chat. In the war room, she joins me in teasing Cullen too, which is always fun; especially when I get to make it up to him later.

[bakingthedetectives]

Chocolate Doughnuts For Lockwood And Co

'George had returned, carrying the tray on which he'd assembled a tea service I'd never before set eyes on. It was all fine-bone china and little pink flowers, the kind of mincing cups that are so delicate and brittle you expect them to shatter when you put them to your lips. This classy effect was slightly undermined by a teetering pile of fat jam doughnuts on a plate beside them'.

When I was young I had horrifying dreams on an almost nightly basis. When I look back they were all silly things, like the moon coming down from the sky to lurk outside my window. It seems ridiculous now but when you're 5 the moon being able to move really unsettles you. (Actually, I don't think we should just confine the fear of the moon moving towards us to when we're young, it really shouldn't be moving in that way at all, whatever age you are). Eventually I was taken to a doctor who said I was making it up, so we went to another doctor, and he told me to stop watching scary television shows, films, or reading scary books. I was 8 at this point...where was I getting access to scary films!? I wasn't, I wasn't involved in any frightening activity at all, apart from going to school but that isn't marketed as a scary activity. It is though. 

So anyway, the nightmare continued. I avoided all horror, shut myself away and suffered with insomnia for all of my early teens. Would you believe I accidentally watched The Wicker Man? Well, I did. I was at a sleepover at it happened to be on (by which I mean a small select group decided to wait until everyone else was asleep to gather round the tv. I wasn't one of those, but I was pretending to be asleep and watching it on my side). I loved it. I was obsessed with it. The psychology of it. The tragedy of it. And just like that the nightmares stopped. As it turns out...well, to quote Sherlock 'Your mind, it's so placid. Straightforward. Barely used.' Because I wasn't stimulating my imagination enough my brain decided to take over and all the little horrors came out at night. I wouldn't say I was the world's biggest horror fan, but a small dose of it now and again is enough to keep me sane! And this is the brilliant thing about the Lockwood and Co series. It is genuinely scary. The series falls into the 'young adult' category, but everyone would enjoy this. The difficult themes are dealt with honesty and wit. Children want honest stories, real people, and all of the characters are crafted so well you can really believe you're following a ghost-hunting agency in an alternative London. Lucy is clever and brave, George is a mother hen, and Lockwood is indeed dashing and scatty (it says so in the back of the book, but it's very true).

Finding a book that hands me everything I'm looking for on a plate brings me the greatest joy. 15 pages in comes the first mention of tea, soon after we've blossomed onto tea and biscuits. There's eggs and bacon and toast and cornflakes. There's jam sandwiches and ginger ale. And then there's the doughnuts.If you're going to be out battling ghosts all night I'd say doughnuts were the right amount of fortification needed the following morning. I was initially going to make blackberry and custard doughnuts, but as I was reading George decided to throw me off by talking about chocolate doughnuts. It's so rare that I make something specifically mentioned by the characters I felt I really must make more of an effort here. I went through chocolate dough, chocolate brownie mix, chocolate coatings, and then settled on an easy chocolate custard to go inside for a pure chocolate hit. They're thick and stodgy and I'm sure Lucy would say that rather describes George too. At the back of the book there's descriptions of all the different ghost entities. I think if I could be any I'd be a Gibbering Mist, they sound hilarious! What would you be? The only bread I am any good at baking is brioche. Anything with mounds of butter is a winner for me, so I've adapted my brioche loaf recipe to make doughnuts. I'm as surprised as you are that it worked! For the doughnuts: 375g strong white bread flour, or '00' grade flour 140ml warm water 45g caster sugar 7g dried yeast 3 large eggs 1/2 tsp vanilla extract pinch of sea salt 100g butter, softened Some caster sugar for rolling the doughnuts in cacao nibs (optional) for rolling the doughnuts in about 2l sunflower oil For the chocolate custard filling: 375ml milk 1 tsp vanilla extract/pure vanilla bean paste 110g mix of milk and dark chocolate1 tbsp cocoa powder 4 large egg yolks 200g caster sugar 60g plain flour ​1 tbsp cocoa powder 75ml double cream You will need a food thermometer, a heavy based saucepan and a piping bag. Put the warm water into a mixing bowl with all of the doughnut ingredients except for the butter. Mix for around 10 minutes in a mixer with a paddle beater (you can do this by hand but it'll take some welly). The dough will start to come away from the sides and look almost creamy smooth. Let the dough rest while you tear up pieces of butter. The butter should be soft enough for you to tear pieces off with your hands, but not so soft that it's melting and greasy. Start the mixer again on a medium speed and slowly add pieces of the butter and keep mixing until it's all been added. Mix on a high speed for around 5 minutes just to give the dough a good talking to. It should now be smooth and glossy. Cover the bowl with clingfilm and leave it to prove until it has doubled in size. Don't put it somewhere warm, just leave it where it is. It may take a while, mine actually never rises but I carry on regardless and it always works. Once it has proved, prod it a bit to knock it back, then put it in the fridge to chill overnight.   The next day, take out the dough and roll it into even sized pieces. I usually get around 16 at 45g each. Put them on floured baking trays, leaving plenty of space between them. Cover loosely with cling film and leave for around 4 hours to prove, or until doubled in size. Heat the oil in a fryer or heavy based saucepan, it should come to about halfway up the sides. Heat it to 180C. When the oil is heated and steady at that temperature, carefully slide in the dough balls, a few at a time. Fry for around 2 minutes on each side. Remove from the fryer and place them onto kitchen paper to drain. Carefully repeat the process until all of the dough has been used, then toss the doughnuts in sugar. Leave them to cool fully. Chop the chocolate into small pieces. In a large saucepan, heat the milk, vanilla, and milk powder on a medium-low heat. When it is steaming remove from the heat and add the chocolate. Leave it for a while to melt then use a whisk to stir it around. Put it back on the heat to warm through and thicken up, about 5 minutes. Leave to cool fully and thicken. To make the custard, heat the milk and vanilla in a saucepan on a medium heat until it comes to a gentle boil. Remove from the heat. Lightly whisk the egg yolks and sugar together, then sift in the flour and cocoa and mix well. Whisk some of the hot milk into the egg mixture and mix it all in, then slowly add more and more while whisking until it all comes together. Add the chocolate and stir together to melt it a bit. Put this all back on the heat and whisk until thick, about 5 minutes. If you feel the need you can pass it through a sieve to ensure there's no lumps but I've never bothered. Put it into a bowl or onto a lined tray and press the top with clingfilm to stop a skin forming and leave to cool fully. Whip the cream it to soft peaks and fold this through the custard and chill again to set it. When ready, fill a piping bag with the custard and pipe into the doughnuts by putting a small hole into the the pale ring round the centre. Pipe until the doughnuts feel full and provide resistance against the bag. Repeat with the remaining doughnuts and serve. These are best eaten on the day they are made, although if you wanted to keep them put the custard  in the fridge and keep the doughnuts in an airtight container, then fill them as you want to eat them.

Next time on Baking The Detectives...

'I've never done gardening. I don't know, what is gardening?' Braving some herring for Knut Angstrom. Use the social sharing buttons below to send this to the Detectives in your life.

[mybeautifuldecay]

Private Tutor. Chapter Five: Birds Out Of A Cage.

This one definitely broke my 500-1000 word chapter limit but it was needed.

As well as dedicating this fic, as always, to @gotham-ruaidh I have to say a very special thanks to @suhailauniverse who really got my head out of the sand with this chapter. I doubt it would be finished without her assistance. You’re a gem Suh and I love you lots. 

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. 

Winter had passed them by in a whirlwind. Claire had been away over the Christmas break, Frank had taken her back to Oxford to spend the holiday with his family and when she had returned in early January, Jamie had noticed a dip in her mood. But now, well into April, Claire had finally perked up again.

“I think we should go somewhere new today. What do ye say?”

Brushing her new fringe out of her eyes, Claire looked over at Jamie and nodded. “That sounds really nice, especially on such a lovely day,” she said, a small glance over to the window confirming that the sun was indeed still shining outside. “Where were you thinking?”

“Would ye consider a wander down the Clyde? We could find a nice pub and have some lunch outside and then come back to study some more?”

“I like that idea a lot.” She replied, already packing her belongings back into her bag before she’d even finished speaking. “But only if you let me get us lunch. After all, you’re paying tuition fees and then giving me all of this knowledge for free, which is incredibly kind of you.”

“Ach, ye dinna need to thank me. I like our afternoons together, they keep me sane and up to date on everything I need to remember as well. I’m not a completely selfless creature.”

“I highly doubt that.” Claire returned, glancing across at him as she pulled her cardigan on and stood.

They walked the short journey to the river in a companionable silence, their hands knocking against one another as they walked. A nice breeze drifted alongside them as they passed beside the casino and down towards the Hydro and the science museum. Being late afternoon midweek there weren’t many other people milling about which made the trip even more enjoyable.

“Have ye ever been around the science museum?” Jamie asked to break the silence.

“Once. For a gala.” She replied, immediately ending his line of questioning.

It was clear she meant she’d been here with her husband and Jamie had done a very good job of distracting her from his existence. Their library time was free time. There, Claire wasn’t married to Frank and he was free to create, in his own imagination, a life outside of The MItchell where she wasn’t tied to an arsehole.

As the mast of the distinct ship moored near to the Hydro appeared to their left, Claire swallowed and tapped her fingers nervously against her leather bag.

“I wanted to explain why I was so quiet after I came back from Oxford,” she said quietly, “but I never found the right time really.”

Jamie remained silent, his head turning so that he could catch a glimpse of the side of Claire’s face as they walked onwards. He sensed this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation but he didn’t want to say anything that might stop her from talking to him.

“The subject of children came up again, with Frank and I.” She said finally, her heart racing as she spoke. “It’s his parents. They always have to stick their noses in, it’s a pain in the arse. We’ve tried before and nothing. I asked him to get tested, but he refuses. So I did it myself one week when he was away on a field trip like he is at the moment.”

“Ach, so that’s why yer about so much these days.” Jamie replied with a smile in his tone. “What does he do, yer husband?”

“He’s a professor. I didn’t tell you because I thought you might have encountered him up at the university and I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what you might have to say.” Claire sighed.

Eddies gusted around them as they walked in the direction of the nearest pub. A sorrowful silence fell over them as Jamie waited for Claire to continue.

“He’s away this week. Some sort of residential for final year BSc students he said. I can’t  recall where he went the last time, but I couldn’t deal with the not knowing anymore and I took myself to the doctor to get tested. It isn’t me, I’m alright...in that department, but Frank’s too bloody proud to have the test done himself. So we endure the ridiculous dance with his parents over when we’re going to give them grandchildren.”

“So you spent Christmas pretending everything was alright when it clearly wasn't?” Jamie surmised efficiently.

“Something like that yes.” Claire replied her mind replaying the nights she and Frank had spent in his childhood bedroom. The perfunctory sex that she hadn’t wanted but he had. To keep up the pretense that they were still trying to get pregnant when they weren’t. Here in Glasgow, Frank barely touched her, she had her own room and he would only share her bed on certain nights. That’s how she liked it. Their marriage was no longer one of love but of convenience.

“He didn’t hurt ye did he, Claire?” Jamie asked when the lull in conversation between them became heavy.

“Oh, no…” Claire answered quickly, “I’m sorry,” she backtracked, instantly feeling guilty for Jamie’s assumptions, “I shouldn’t be putting all of this nonsense onto you like this.”

“Dinna be so daft, Claire. I’m yer friend, aren’t I? That’s what I’m here for - for you to offload onto - anytime.”

Sitting on a bench outside in the beer garden, Claire smiled shyly as Jamie passed her the drinks and food menu.

“Thank you, Jamie, truly. I don’t think I’ve ever really had a proper friend. It’s difficult to know what I should talk about, and what I should keep to myself.”

“Aye, I ken that well, lass. Yer like a bird set free of her gilded cage, aye? It’s easy to be brave and offload yer troubles when you’ve always had the luxury of doing so wi’out fear. But I’m glad ye consider me your confidant. You don’t ever have to tell me anything ye dinna want to, you know. But I willna break yer trust. Whatever you tell me I’ll keep to myself.” He said, thinking about Claire’s earlier comment about Frank’s whereabouts this week. He was glad that she had some time by herself but he knew a couple of third year history majors and he was fairly confident that there was no field trip. Interested piqued by the fact, Jamie stored that little tidbit away to think about later.

"And what about you?" She asked suddenly, pulling him out of his reverie. He'd wanted nothing more in that moment than to erase that look of faux bravado on her face. To reach across the divide between them and take her hand in his.

"Och, I havena much happening as ye," he said sheepishly. But if a moment was what she needed, a moment of honesty, then a moment is what he'd give her. “No’ so much now I’m settled. But I ken what it feels like to be trapped by yer duties.” He continued, thinking of Lallybroch, his home, for the first time in a long while.

Claire saw the shadow of something altogether not pleasant pass across Jamie’s face before he returned the easy smile he seemed to wear consistently. He seemed adept at keeping his feelings and emotions well hidden, as opposed to her. Frank always told her she had a glass face, one easily readable by those around her, and it had always irked her.

“I had an older brother, Claire. His name was Willie. He was my idol. He was the one who was supposed to take over our family business. He was all ready to do it, too. But he was diagnosed with leukemia just before his eighteenth birthday. I was thirteen at the time. Jenny, my elder sister was fifteen and Rabbie only five. We sat with him through the chemotherapy - that’s where I got my first taste of hospital life,” he went on to say, the interest alive even though the sorrow of the reason for him finding himself amidst the doctors and nurses was plain to see, “I dinna think I’ve cried so much before or since. Watching him battle on like that for months on end.”

“Christ, Jamie, that must have been horrific.”

“Aye, it was,” he said sadly, “three years of his life where he should have been learning the business, living as a young man and going out wi’ lassies and such. But instead he was chained to a hospital bed being pumped full of poison.”

“I can’t imagine that.” Claire replied. Having no siblings herself, she had no prior knowledge of what it might be like to have a close relative battle with such an unstoppable illness.

“I watched him die. I’ve never felt so distraught in all my life. I was sixteen when he finally lost his battle with cancer. We’d all just celebrated his twenty-first birthday but his body couldn’t take it anymore.”

“And then it was just a given that you’d take on the business?” Claire asked as she wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eyes.

“Aye, well, no’ straight away but when I got to eighteen, my da sat me down and told me it’s what he had planned. He and mam had settled it in the will that Lallybroch and the farm should come to me and for a time I tried to be that person. I wanted to make Willie proud of me, ye ken?”

She nodded, the ache to reach out and touch him, hug him, overwhelming her - but she kept her hands to herself for the moment.

“Suffice to say it didna last long.”

“How did you break the news to your family?” Claire questioned, her woes about her own situation dissipating as she focused solely on Jamie and his history.

“I just sat them all down together one night. I’d fashed about it for months. Waking up at silly times to milk the cows and move all of the animals around wi’ this horrible weight on my shoulders, bearing down on me until I just couldna take it anymore. Mam cried. Jenny - weel if ye ever meet her ye’ll ken the make up of the lass - didna say much at all. My da, he understood, but it took him a while to actually accept my choice. I’d been in Glasgow for two months studying when he came to see me. He broke down. I think he thought it was his fault as he’d pushed the farm on me wi’out really asking whether it was something I truly wanted.”

“It sounds like you have a lovely family, Jamie, even if they’re a little presumptuous at times. It makes me miss my parents.”

“What happened to them?” Jamie asked quietly.

“Maybe another day, yes? It’s still hard for me to talk about...but I want to tell you.”

“Dinna fash,” Jamie said his pinkie finger tapping gently against Claire's, “I’m here for ye anytime, Claire. Yes?”

“Yes.” She returned, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth as her cheeks pinked and she smiled softly. “And the same applies to you. Friends?” Claire said holding out her hand as she winked cheekily.

“Friends.” Jamie accepted, taking her hand and squeezing it softly.

[kitkat1003]

Your hair must be fall, it’s changing like the leaves.

@alcordraws @snarkyowl @egoiplier-shenanigans

So this is basically an after the whole BMC plot ends and follows Jack(Rich) in the aftermath of everything

Sean basks in the light of the sun and the fresh air, breathing in and leaving the noxious scents of hair products and sweat behind as the door to the hair salon swing shut. He feels…lighter, if anything, reborn into something that feels right.  He doesn’t know if he should feel this way; after all, it’s only hair.

Well, it’s more than that.

Green has colored his life for nearly two years.  Green and black, back to back.  Fear grips him when the colors appear too close, too sudden, and he knows it’s silly but he can’t help how the two hues send panic shooting up his arms, just like he can’t help listening for another voice or checking behind him for a flickering program that is no longer there.

Well, again, that’s not entirely true.

Freshman year had been…hard. Moving from one country to another as high school’s open maw grabbed you in isn’t an easy adjustment.  People mocked him for his accent, his loudness, his everything, so he shut himself down, didn’t speak, and became invisible. Even then, it wasn’t enough. Whilst the losers like Mark and Tyler and Ethan hung out and rolled with the punches, Sean was left alone to handle the bullies who tripped and belittled him.  They all wondered when his burgeoning alcohol addiction would spring in, when he’d grow orange hair, when he’d show them his gold.  The jeers and physical abuse left him defenseless, and the voices, the people in his head he’d created didn’t help.

‘A change was just what ze doctor ordered’

‘It’s like before!  Presto!  Like magic!’

‘Heroics come in small forms, like making changes in yourself’

‘You look good, dude!’

They whisper now; what used to be loud, almost mean-spirited suggestions tumbling over each other are now quiet, uplifting comments.  Robbie and JJ don’t talk, but Robbie groans in approval, a near humming sound, and he can hear JJ clapping excitedly.  The original four all learned from before, when Jackie told him that his indecipherable accent wasn’t becoming of a hero, when Marvin told him that disappearing was the best act, when Schneep told him that he perhaps could use medical assistance to fix himself, when Chase told him that he had to be cooler.

They were listening to his thoughts and trying to help as best they could, but they weren’t sure exactly how, and the eventuality was that their comments hurt more than they helped. They know now, from the events that transpired with the SQUIP, what they could’ve done.

‘Jack, what on earth are you doing?’

‘You told me to change, and I did!  What more do you want from me?!’  

‘Yez, but ze things zat you have been doing with Anti, it-‘

‘What, it makes me cool?  He makes me popular!  People like me now!’

‘But, bro, he’s-‘

‘Anti’s done more for me than you four have!  Y’know what, I’m done!  I’m done listening to any of you!  Come back when you’ve decided to care about me!’

Robbie and JJ came later. They are quiet, reflective of the moments when Sean needs to settle.  There is Jack and there is Sean and Sean cannot be everything Jack is sometimes, but that’s okay.  No one minds. No one who matters, anyway.  Sean has learned to distinguish those whose opinions matter, and those whose opinions don’t.  Bullies don’t matter.  People he doesn’t know don’t matter.  His friends matter(and he has them now; friends!).

Anti is silent on the change.

Sean had been dreading the appointment because of said murderous glitch.  Even if the SQUIP program had been deleted from his body, even if Anti no longer had the power to control him, Sean still feared the screaming, the demands to change it back.  Yet, there are none.  Anti has no complaints, and the corner reserved for Anti in Sean’s head is still.

Somehow, that’s even more foreboding than the expected.  What if Anti’s waiting for Sean to let his guard down, before taking him over and forcing him to watch as the glitch uses Sean’s body to change the color back? What if Anti actually gets angry enough to kill him?  What if-

‘We’ll protect you.’

Shaking him out of the spiraling train of thought are four resolute voices in unison.  They all spread warm comfort through him, and he nods in reply, taking in a deep breath to calm himself.

It wasn’t the actual loss of control that had made Sean so terrified, because Anti, well, SQUIP Anti anyway, had never expressed taking complete control of Sean.  No, it was the slippery loss of a line separating Sean from Anti that scared him.  It was him waking up late, freaking out, and suddenly finding himself at school on time. The memories would filter in the moment he questioned the lack of memory; of course he rushed to make breakfast and then caught a ride with one of the popular girls to school, how could he be so silly to forget?

And yet, he could never place himself in those memories, like he wasn’t the person in them.  That was the terrifying thing, how the moments where he was Sean and the moments where he was Jack and the moments where he was Anti were no longer differing to a noticeable point.  The loss of who he was, until he didn’t know if the green hair was something he liked or if it was because Anti wanted it.

He remembers the flames licking the soles of his shoes, mind so loud with the laughter of Anti that I became a buzzing quiet, screams of teenagers around him petering out as they left the burning building.  He remembers sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting, so, so terrified but numbly excited, the excitement not him but Anti and the code splitting the glitch apart as they collided.

He remembers the sounds of fighting, four voices screeching over the laughter to stop, before Jackie had taken his limbs, his body, and forced him up and out of the second story window into the bushes, using his voice to shout so the firefighters and paramedics would find him.

He remembers sobbing in the hospital room when his parents finally left, and the chorus of voices whispering apologies in his head as he breathed through a mask and had bandages on his back for the burns.

What he remembers now, continuing to walk to towards where he and Signe had agreed to meet, is Signe coming to his hospital bed, tears in her eyes, and asking the question everyone else had.

Why?

And he had told her everything.  She was the only one, but he told her every single thing, until he couldn’t speak over the tears and she had hugged him.

They’re together now, and he’s so, so happy.  The girls he bounced around with he cared for but never loved the way he should have, what with the SQUIP Anti pushing him to do this and that, until he couldn’t find the emotion to care about anything, much less the people.  Signe loves him, loves Sean and not the person he pretended to be, and that’s more than he can say for a lot of people.  He loves her too, and the others in his head seem to approve.

Slowly, Sean is rising to be himself.  Slowly, his accent is coming back.  It didn’t leave completely, but it was hidden for a long, long time.  Now Signe points it out with a smile, or Mark will laugh not unkindly at the way he says car, or he’ll get excited enough to run into Mark’s game room and shout “TOP OF THE MORNIN TO YA LADDIES” just to hear Mark and his friends burst into hysterics.

He’d apologized to Mark, when it was over.  Apologized for th bullying and for recommending the SQUIP, but Mark had shrugged it off.  

“If yours did anything to you like mine did to me, I get it,” Was the response.  They’re friends now.

Sean finds himself surrounded by friends now.  It’s amazing. Robin, Ethan, Bob, Wade, Felix, Mark; they’re all there for him now, a group to hang with at lunch and to play games with over online, picking on Wade as the running joke and playing with each other’s accents and laughing like there’s no tomorrow.  

“If you ever need to talk about.” Mark had gestured to his head.  “I’m here.”

Mark has a near million people in his head to talk to, and Sean wonders how the man isn’t insane at this point, much less sane enough to offer help, but he’d nodded at the time, and they’d been on their way.

Signe had been the one to coax him to finally get his hair back to brown.  He’d let it fade to a lighter green, now that he no longer was forced to re-dye it every two weeks to keep the dark, dark green SQUIP Anti favored, but to fully go out of his way to change it back to brown, to go in complete defiance of SQUIP Anti’s wishes, was a daunting task.

“You don’t have to if you really can’t,” She’d said, a hand grasping his gently, “But if you can, I think you should.  It’ll help.”

He’d found the courage and the money somehow, and got it done.  

When he’d looked in the mirror after, he’d seen his freshman year self staring back.

His head is quiet save for the hum of his thoughts when he reaches Signe.  She’d proposed that she go shopping whilst he got his hair done, and she is surrounded by bags and…plants?

When she sees him, Signe jumps up, grabbing a little potted plant to show him.

“I got some cacti for my room!  Aren’t they cute?” Then, seeing his hair she gasps.  “It looks great!”

He smiles, and she hands him some bags and a cactus she picked out for him- it is adorable, with teeny purple flowers sprouting from it along with the needles-and conversation picks up, discussions of the daily as Signe suggests a place for them to eat lunch.  Sean feels bright, happier than he has been in two long years.

As they walk, a burst of static erupts in Sean’s ear, almost swallowed by the rising hackles accompanying the four very defensive people in his head.  After a moment, they lean back, and the static hums softly with a whisper.

"̰̜I̤͍t̲̯͉͓͟ s͏̪͉̥u͓̠̤̤̹̼i̯͇t̤̣̩͝ş̮͕̗͈͇͖ ̬y̠̰͎̤̜͝o̤̞̖u̺͟."̬̳̺

Sean never expected an apology, but this is a start.

[megaphonemonday]

Please please please. Bawson prompt where Mike and Ginny have time off and decide to attend Comic Con. Lawson being a huge Star Wars nerd and perhaps Ginny dressing up as Princess Leia to surprise Mike. Eternally grateful.

i’ve never been to a con and only watched the original Star Wars trilogy after I saw ep 7, so i’m uniquely unqualified to write this? but when has that ever stopped me before?

a new hope | ao3

“You’re not gonna make me wear the bikini, are you?”

Mike adamantly did not choke on his tongue, but Jesus did he want to. Bad enough that they had to sit through this meeting at all, now Mike had to do it while pretending an image of Ginny in that iconic costume wasn’t occupying all his focus? 

What the hell had he done to make the universe hate him so goddamn much?

“No, no. Nothing like that,” Oscar assured her without batting an eye. He leaned his elbows on his desk and stared down the three Padres seated across from him. Blip, Ginny, and Mike stared back, largely unimpressed. 

Before their GM got a chance to press his case, though, Blip decided it was his turn to crack a joke. 

“Well, I’m not wearing it,” he drawled, wicked grin lighting up his face.

Mike allowed himself to react to that, leaping on the chance to fight back the wild tangent—Ginny and gold and miles and miles of smooth skin—his imagination so eagerly provided. This was not the time for that, no matter what his mind (and something a bit further south than his brain) might tell him. 

He snorted. Ginny did, too, though she tried to play it off as a cough. 

Oscar finally grimaced, looking vaguely pained. 

Well, if fucking with the front office was on the table, Mike could definitely get behind that. He shook his head (and with it the idea of Ginny in any kind of swimwear) before rubbing a contemplative hand against his chin and offering, “I’ll see about getting mine back from the dry cleaner.”

Ginny’s lips flickered in a quick smile, there and gone in a flash. Blip, though, didn’t bother reining in his amusement. He guffawed from her other side, reaching around the pitcher to offer Mike a fist bump. 

Oscar just heaved a sigh, entirely too put upon. 

“Are you done?” Their GM looked nowhere close to entertained. Not that it bothered the three ballplayers. 

Still, they all traded glances and, after a silent conference, nodded their agreement. 

Rather than risk them changing their minds, Oscar plowed forward. “The Publicity Office hasn’t settled on the final details, but I can assure you there will be no swim suits involved. Can we count you three in?”

Mike shot a glance first to Blip. The center fielder shrugged. It was no skin off his back to dance to the front office’s tune this time, as long as he also got his pot shots in. They were in agreement there, so both men turned to focus on the woman sitting between them.

Ginny gnawed on her lip uncertainly as she weighed her options. No one, aside from maybe Amelia, would blame her for sitting this one out. But even Amelia could probably agree that having her client’s face plastered across every Padres ad spot, every bit of promotional material, since she’d been called up last season was exposure enough. Nonetheless, it only took a moment for Ginny’s eyes to slide to Blip and then Mike, checking to see they were all in agreement. 

Mike did his best to show her, when she turned those luminous brown eyes on him, that he’d follow her call, no matter what. Thankfully, whatever she saw, it was enough to get Ginny to give him a shallow but decisive nod. 

That settled, her thoughtful frown faded and was replaced by her deep dimples, flanking the grin spreading across her face. Mike only got a quick glimpse of it before she turned back to the desk and the anxious GM sitting behind it.

“I’m in,” she declared, to Oscar’s clear relief. 

Mike personally thought that was a little premature given the mischievous spark kindling in Ginny’s eyes. Blip was clearly in agreement, settling back into his chair and folding his arms over his chest, delighted anticipation lighting up his face. 

And Ginny Baker did her best not to disappoint. 

Still grinning, and flanked by her two teammates, she laid her lone stipulation on a long-suffering Oscar: 

“But only if I get to hold the lightsaber.”

Mike wouldn’t say that his love of Star Wars is anything even approaching a secret. Sure, it wasn’t the coolest thing about him—hello, he was a major league ballplayer—but it wasn’t like he’s lied about liking it during his time in the majors.

Exhibit 1: Every season the graphics team made him re-answer the same Fun Fact! questionnaire for the Jumbotron and every season his favorite movie was Empire Strikes Back. It was probably on his Wikipedia page by now—it’d be one of the few true things on there. 

Exhibit 2: He’d actually bought the theme song and set it as his ringtone. Back when people actually had ringtones, at least. 

Exhibit 3: He’d named his dog Jedi for god’s sake, and proceeded to talk about that poor, dumb dog a lot, oftentimes to reporters who were far more interested in his OPS and the tweaks he was making to his batting stance. It was a matter of public record.

Nonetheless, Mike also wouldn’t say it was something that a lot of people actively knew about him. And that suited him just fine. After all, he had a reputation in his clubhouse to preserve. He couldn’t very well maintain order and lay down the law if his entire team thought he was no better than the geeks so many of them had spent their high school careers pantsing and shoving in lockers. 

But this might be the year when that hard-earned reputation as a hard ass went up in smoke. 

Because this year, Mike Lawson was going to Comic Con.

Okay, he was going to stand outside the San Diego Convention Center wearing a silly costume to film the ad spot for Petco Park’s annual Star Wars Night, but who cared? 

He was going to fucking Comic Con. 

He wasn’t sure who in the front office this bright idea belonged to, but he was seriously considering sending them a gift basket of some kind. At the very least, a thank you card.

In all the years Mike had played San Diego baseball, he’d never actually had a chance to attend. When he first started playing, it wasn’t nearly the three ring circus that it would one day become. Before his very eyes, he’d gotten to witness it evolve from a niche convention to the star-studded event of the summer. 

Well. Sort of. 

Mostly, he’d gotten to marvel over the proceedings and pandemonium from across the street for a few minutes each year before getting back to business. 

What sacrifices he made to live the dream, right? 

So now that Mike was finally getting a shot at coming within spitting distance of the convention hall, he wasn’t going to stop there. Despite having no passes to speak of, he was determined to get inside and see Hall H for himself. He did, after all, have a secret weapon on his side. 

Well, she would be once he’d convinced her.

“C’mon, Baker,” he urged, leaning against her door and flashing what he hoped was a winning grin. He was going to charm her into this, damn it. Not wheedle and whine. Still, his next words weren’t quite the pinnacle of persuasive power he’d hoped for. “It’ll be fun.” 

“I doubt that,” Ginny huffed, swiveling side to side in her rolling chair. She eyed him suspiciously. “This is the third time you’ve brought it up, though, so you really must think so.”

He shrugged, trying to play it off. 

The funny little smile on her face told him he wasn’t particularly successful. Rather than tease him, she drew a knee up to her chest and began unlacing her cleat. “Okay, say I were to concede that it could be fun,”—Mike perked up at this softening of her earlier blunt refusal, though of course that wasn’t the end of it—“I don’t see how I’m supposed to get us in. Don’t you need tickets or something?”

“Well, yeah, but you’re Ginny Baker.”

She started working on the other shoe, though how she managed when her eyes were rolling hard enough to fall out of her face was a mystery. She’d accused him last summer of doing it too much, but the way Mike saw it, Ginny was just the pot (Or was it the kettle? Something like that.) in this situation. 

“Yeah, ‘cause there’s a lot of overlap between the geeks at Comic Con and the clinically Ginn-sane.”

“You’ve got crossover appeal,” he tried, though it sounded weak to his ears for all the truth of it. God, he was off his game. “And who says geeks can’t have layers?”

“You talkin’ from experience there, Lawson?”

If Ginny’d just been teasing him the way she’d done all season—like relentless humor would erase any number of charged moments they couldn’t seem to keep from stumbling into—Mike could’ve replied the way he had all season, with a gruff reminder of who was captain here. 

(Which, honestly, was far more effective in reminding Mike why those moments should be avoided like the plague. He was her captain for Chrissake. Of course there couldn’t be any more than fleeting, godawful tempting, moments between them. No matter how appealing she looked, grinning up at him after landing a solid dig, or how much he wanted to know how long it would take for him to kiss that grin away.)

He would’ve done just that, except his mental facilities were otherwise occupied. 

Because Ginny had chosen that moment to stand up and start unbuttoning her jersey, casual as anything. Like it didn’t matter that he was standing right there as she shrugged it off and was left in just the clingy spandex of her undershirt. 

It probably didn’t matter. Mike had seen her dressed exactly like this at least a hundred times before. He’d almost gotten used to the fact that he could usually make out the outline of her sports bra—and sometimes, when the A/C was cranked all the way up, even more than that. 

Except, Mike had never been confronted with the direct prospect of Ginny Baker getting undressed before. 

(Not even at that goddamn photo shoot last season when he’d caught sight of her in that robe, fiddling with the tie before she looked up and saw him. 

And Mike’s had dreams about that day. Dreams where Ginny didn’t march over and twitch the curtains closed and where no one else was within even shouting distance of the studio. Which was a good thing because those dreams were not always quiet.)

Like she had no idea what was going through his mind—or, worse, did—Ginny’s hands fell to her belt buckle just as she looked up at him, an eyebrow arched in question. 

Mike’s brain shorted out. 

He muttered something, though God only knew what, and got the hell out of there. 

It was the only option. After all, there was no way he could focus on getting Ginny on his side of this Comic Con thing if half his brain—and some certain other body parts, if he was being honest—was more concerned with getting her somewhere else entirely.

In the end, Mike never broached the subject with Ginny again. It was probably better for all involved if he didn’t try and nudge her into doing something she was skeptical about. 

(Mike tried to tell himself he only meant Comic Con. 

He was at least partially successful.)

Instead, he tried to focus on the positives. He’d get to hang out near Comic Con for a few hours, and on Star Wars Day no less, which was better than he’d managed so far in his life. He’d get to see all the people in their costumes and chat with some fans and maybe even see about sweet talking his way inside for just a peek around.

It would be fun.

Thank God it actually was. 

He, Blip, and Ginny had a blast filming their bits for the promo. Mike couldn’t remember laughing so hard or so helplessly in a long time. Ginny got to hold the only lightsaber, as promised, and was like a kid in a candy store with it. The shoot director had her swing it like a baseball bat while Blip and Mike pitched plushy little Stormtrooper heads at her. More of them ended up hitting her than not, but she didn’t seem to mind much. Blip and Ginny got into a wookiee roar-off, though neither of them, in Mike’s unwanted opinion, were all that good at it. No one had to wear the gold bikini, though plenty of con attendees had made their own. Mike gamely put on the Leia wig and frowned forbiddingly at the camera for a few moments even though he just knew it’d end up in the final cut. 

It was worth it for the way Ginny’s cheeks pinked up as she howled with laughter, leaning heavily against Blip to keep her balance. 

All told, the whole process only took a few hours, most of which were spent goofing off and looking like incredible dorks. 

He’d certainly had worse days.

Still, Mike couldn’t help but look wistfully up at the massive edifice of the Convention Center when the ad director called a wrap. He shook it off quickly enough, shaking hands with the various crew and clapping Ginny and Blip on the back before heading towards the Park to pick up his car and go home. 

Maybe yelling at Attack of the Clones would cheer him up. 

“Lawson, where are you going?”

He turned around and came face to face with a puzzled Ginny Baker. Her brows were drawn together in confusion, a light sheen of sweat glimmering there, dark curls blown wild by the sea breeze. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. In a Padres blue shirt with the words “San Diego” stretched across her chest in the Star Wars font—a shirt which happened to match his—and one of her endless pairs of leggings, Ginny didn’t look all that different from usual.

Which, Mike supposed, was exactly the point.

“Home, Baker,” he said, well used to repressing any and all thoughts about Ginny. They were all dangerous at this point. “To have a beer and take advantage of the off day.”

“Oh, I thought—” Her lips pursed uncertainly before she swung her backpack to one shoulder so she could rifle through it. After a moment, she drew out two lanyards, each hung with a plastic card sporting a familiar logo. Mike stared at them for a beat before refocusing on Ginny’s face. She grinned a little, but it was fading fast. “I thought you wanted to go—”

“I did. I do,” he corrected fast, almost tripping over the words. “Definitely. I just didn’t think—”

Ginny relaxed almost immediately, her forehead smoothing out. “Well, who am I to deny the Padres’ number one Star Wars fan?”

Mike couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Where’d you hear that one?”

“Sonny,” she replied promptly, bright grin returning. “Then Butch, Blip, and Bessner. Tommy texted me about it. Even Al said he hoped you’d get a kick out of seeing all the Star Trek stuff.” 

He ignored his skipper’s flub; Al refused to watch anything that wasn’t on A&E or the History Channel. Instead, Mike picked up one of the lanyards still dangling from Ginny’s fingers, examining the pass for a moment before letting it fall back to join the other. 

Gruff, but just so he wouldn’t tip his hand, he said, “Just because our teammates have big mouths doesn’t mean you had to do this.”

She shrugged, clearly a little uncomfortable. Mike raised a brow and she busied herself with righting her backpack, ducking her head so she wouldn’t have to look at him. Jesus, did he want to reach out and tip her chin up, give him a better view of those wide, brown eyes. Thankfully, for everyone involved, he kept his hands to himself and just waited her out. 

When she was done and it was clear Mike wasn’t going anywhere without an explanation, Ginny blew out a huff of slightly disgruntled air. 

“I know I didn’t. Just—” Here she paused, tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth as she weighed her words. Not that it seemed to do her much good since she let them all out in a rush, “I felt bad for calling you a geek.”

Mike rocked back a little on his heels. Was that what she thought happened? Well, he should probably be grateful she hadn’t assumed he couldn’t keep his perving under control, but, Christ. How fragile did she think he was?

“Baker, you told me to get my fat ass back behind the plate just last week. Geek’s where you think you crossed the line?”

Ginny at least seemed to see ridiculousness of the situation, a grin curling over her full lips. She flapped her hand at him anyway, saying, “It’s different on the field. Plus, you stopped asking about it when you’d really seemed so excited. It wasn’t that hard to get these.” Her fingers waggled at him and the plastic passes clacked together lightly.

Yeah, sure. Mike knew for a fact that Comic Con Badges sold out in the blink of an eye. 

Still, he couldn’t help but glance back to the Convention Center.

Sensing that she had him on the ropes, (And why was he resisting at all? A full day with Ginny, schooling her on all the wrong opinions she’d spouted during the commercial shoot, sounded like the fucking dream. Or one of them, anyway. Which, then again, was exactly why Mike should go straight home and forget all about this encounter.) Ginny pressed her case. 

“C’mon, Mike,” she cajoled, waving the lanyard in his face. “It’ll be fun.”

Hearing his own words echoed back at him, Mike folded like a house of cards. In one swift move, he liberated a pass from Ginny’s grip and had it hanging from his neck. “All right,” he agreed. “But I’m not gonna play body guard for you when everyone on the floor realizes exactly who’s in their midst.”

She laughed, shaking her head, but Mike didn’t care that she didn’t agree with him. Ginny Baker was smiling at him, a fond spark brightening her already twinkling eyes. As far as he was concerned, Ginny could call him a moron and a geek and an old man and whatever else she wanted just as long as she kept smiling at him like that.

But then it was gone as she turned on her heel and marched off towards the entrance. “I really think you’re overestimating how popular I am,” she tossed over her shoulder with a little smirk, leaving Mike to catch up. 

Well. What else was new?

In a way, they were both right. 

Ginny certainly got recognized and was stopped every so often for a selfie or an autograph. To be fair, Mike was, too, but Ginny bore the brunt of the attention. Given the relaxed set of her shoulders and the genuine grins she gave everyone who approached, Mike could tell this was hardly the worst she’d ever dealt with. 

Mostly, though, people’s eyes seemed to pass right over them. 

Ginny insisted that meant she was right: there wasn’t a big enough overlap between sports fans and con dwellers. Mike figured it had more to do with what they were wearing. Well, what they weren’t wearing. After all, it was easy to overlook two more people in street clothes when there were so many amazing, and frankly baffling, costumes on display. 

Even when one of those people was arguably the most famous woman in America. Certainly in San Diego every other weekend of the year. 

Mike, personally, couldn’t figure it out. He couldn’t conceive of any situation in which Ginny Baker simply faded into the crowd. No matter what, no matter the size of the room or the number of people, she’d always be the first and best thing he noticed.

Apparently, though, Mike’s feelings were not universal (and what a lucky son of a bitch he was for that small mercy). So, it was easy enough for them to slip through the crowd, largely unnoticed, and straight to the Star Wars booth. 

Booth was maybe—definitely—underselling what it really was. Even through the masses of people, it was impossible for Mike to miss, looming over the entire convention hall and making his poor, fanboy heart thunder in excitement. Once inside the huge pavilion, he couldn’t decide what needed to be inspected first. Well, he wasn’t about to waste time trying to figure it out, so he dove right in, only absently checking to make sure Ginny followed along. There was a model X-Wing taller than he was and just a little further on, that was a bank of costumes and props from the new movie. Dotted around the space was station upon station of merchandise, selling everything from replica lightsabers—far more realistic than the one Ginny’d swung around all afternoon—to licensed costumes to the tie in comic books and action figures. And plastered across every flat surface were giant Star Wars logos. Just in case anyone forgot exactly where they were. 

In short, it was a Star Wars fan’s Holy Grail. 

Mike could only marvel, and feel a little nostalgic, over what he’d been missing out on all these years. He would’ve killed to see something like this as a kid, though even if it’d been around, there was no way his mom could’ve taken him. 

Still, he got to see it now, and it really was amazing. Almost overwhelming, to be honest. But still ridiculously cool to finally experience. 

And it was all thanks to Ginny.

Now that the initial frenzy had faded enough that Mike could think clearly about something other than a galaxy far, far away, he sheepishly turned to make sure he hadn’t lost track of her. 

Well, he definitely had, but at least she’d kept an eye on him, making sure to stay in his orbit as he geeked out. He had vague recollections of letting his excitement spill over and gushing to her over every little detail that caught his interest. She’d always responded, suppressed amusement coating her words, not that Mike was really in the right frame of mind to appreciate how much she was indulging him.

He was now.

He chanced an embarrassed look at her, but she was already looking back, a fond smile on her face.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling the tips of his ears begin to burn, only about ten minutes too late. Jesus, this was not how to convince women he was worth their time and attention. Not that he was doing that with Ginny, but—

“For what?” she laughed, though it hardly stung. For all she was definitely laughing at him, it was too warm and sweet for him to mind. “I didn’t know there was room for anything other than batting stats and heat maps in that head of yours. It’s nice to know you’ve got range.”

He rolled his eyes, but still said, “For geeking out on you, I know you’re not—”

“I don’t know why you think I’m not into geeks, Lawson,” she interrupted, with some kind of significance in her tone. “If you haven’t noticed, they’re kind of my thing.” 

Thinking about it—which Mike really tried to avoid when it came to Ginny’s dating habits—he realized she wasn’t wrong. 

After her thing with video game guy fizzled in the off season, Ginny’d been out on more than a few well-publicized dates. Often with Bay Area tech guys. Mike had just figured she was getting as far away from ballplayer jock-types as she could. But maybe if a ballplayer jock-type also happened to—

“Your thing, huh?” was all he could bring himself to say.

Ginny rolled her eyes, and he couldn’t begin to figure out how she found it so annoying when he did it. On her, Mike couldn’t look away. “My type or whatever.”

“I see. So that means I should go give that guy your number?” He nodded to the beanpole of a kid who’d been staring not so subtly at Ginny’s ass for the last five minutes. If anyone fit the role of “geek,” it was that kid. 

(If Mike were interested in being fair, he’d acknowledge that the kid also happened to have excellent taste. Ginny’s ass in this—and every—pair of leggings was practically a work of art. 

Thank God Mike had no interest in being fair.)

Right on cue, she turned to look and the guy in question turned bright red and spun around to disappear into the crowd. 

Good.

“If you think your creaky knees can catch up with him, be my guest.”

That startled a laugh out of Mike. At this point, he wasn’t sure how she kept managing to surprise him, but Ginny Baker was never one to rest on her laurels. So, Mike laughed long and loud in the middle of the San Diego Convention Center, ignoring the confused looks being sent his way as he delighted in the woman standing before him. All that mattered was that Ginny was lit up with a proud, smug smirk, reveling in her latest accomplishment. And while that look would’ve rubbed Mike the wrong way on any other face, on her it was just another facet he was grateful to uncover. 

“God, I love you,” he sighed, his stomach aching from all the laughter. 

It was only when Ginny went still, eyes wide and lips parted in shock that Mike went back and catalogued his words. 

Shit. Oh, shit. 

His mouth worked without anything to show for it. He tried to form the words to reassure her that it wasn’t what she thought, that he didn’t mean it, that she should forget it— 

But he just couldn’t. 

Not when saying so would be a filthy fucking lie. 

Instead, Mike stared helplessly at Ginny, speechless for once in his life. His heart thudded against the his ribs, threatening to burst with each second of silence. It wasn’t helped by the sheer variety of emotions that flickered across Ginny’s face, surprise and worry and hope and far more, there and gone too quick for him to name.

Finally, though, after what felt like an eternity of silence, she took a tiny step towards him, her chest practically pressed against his. Her face tipped up towards his and her full lips stretched into a bright, blinding, brilliant grin.

They were surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people, but it didn’t even matter. Mike couldn’t look away from the one thing he’d walked in knowing like the back of his hand. 

And why should he? He’d never seen someone so beautiful. 

“I know,” Ginny said, simple and easy and just as devastating as it’d been the first time Mike heard Han Solo say it.

She didn’t pull it off with quite the same self-assurance as a young Harrison Ford, but what did Mike care about that? Ginny Baker, in any circumstance, was way better than Harrison Ford.

He couldn’t help but grin back, so close to ducking down to see how well their smiles lined up.

Like she could read his mind, Ginny tucked her chin down and Mike broke out of the daze exhilaration and her eyes had put him under. Immediately, he cleared his throat, trying to nudge his heart back into its rightful place in his chest. As he did, he was suddenly and unpleasantly all too aware of the swirl of people eddying around them. He glanced around, worried that they’d caught the attention of someone with a smart phone. 

Only when he felt warm, dry fingers twine through his did Mike abandon his search and turn back to Ginny. Looking up shyly through her lashes, she offered, “We’ll pick this up later, okay?”

She squeezed his hand and a flood of relief rushed through him. It was the easiest thing in the world to reply, “Whenever you’re ready, Ginny.”

Her smile this time was less blinding, but just as precious. Mike reveled in the way her eyes roamed over his face. His thumb stroked over the delicate skin of her wrist and Ginny’s dimples deepened in reply.

Mike would’ve been more than happy to live in that moment for the foreseeable future.

Eventually, though, the bubble had to burst. They couldn’t just go on ignoring the thousands of people milling around them, after all. 

So, Ginny gave him a decisive nod and something shifted in her body language. Her smile remained, but it wasn’t the private thing that’d been there a moment ago. It turned playful. Mischievous. 

Mike knew that look too well to expect anything good from it. 

“C’mon, Lawson. I see a guy in a Chewbacca costume and I wanna see if there’s more hair in it or your beard.”

“Ha fucking ha, Baker,” he groaned, even as he followed her willingly through the crowd.

Maybe, though, that was more to do with the fact that her hand remained firmly in his.

That, Mike thought even as he curled his fingers more securely around hers, was a pretty good consolation. He would take that. 

Well. 

He’d take it for now, at least.

[reifromrfa]

On The Line - Chapter 2

Day 1 of this story here.

A/N: This is supposed to be my entry for Day 1 of JuminxMC Week but I wasn’t too happy with it so I edited it some more before deciding to post it. It’s not finished yet because I suck at writing short stories it became longer than I expected it to be ^^; Hopefully I can finish this soon :)) I’ll post the chapters separately because it’s quite long ^^;

Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

Chapter 2

“She’s beautiful, just like you told me.”

Jumin watches as a woman with beautiful long hair strokes Elizabeth the 3rd’s fur. Her back is to him and her clothes are peculiar, but it didn’t matter.

Because she was beautiful.

He didn’t need to see her face to know. He just knew.

His heart reached out to her and he wanted nothing more but to have her in his arms, to feel her against him. To keep her safe.

But as he called out to her, she slowly disappeared. No matter how fast he ran or how hard he stretched his hand out to her, he couldn't get to her.

He screamed her name over and over.

But she was gone.

He kept staring at the phone, willing it to ring. Praying it wouldn’t. Taking it back and praying it would.

Jumin pushed the thoughts of the mysterious late night call and the weird dream out of his mind for most of the day, but now that he was back in his room, alone with that phone, everything came rushing back at him.

He glanced at the clock. 2:28am. Then he sighed.

This was ridiculous. What was he doing? He barely got enough sleep the night before, he should be sleeping now. He had a meeting in the morning with the owner of the vineyard and he wanted to make a good impression.

2:29.

He stood up from his seat and stared at the phone. It was impossible for her to call him again. If what she told him was true, that she didn’t call him, then it meant she didn’t know the number to his phone as well.

Why the hell was he hoping for the phone to ring? It didn’t make sense.

2:30.

Jumin blinked and waited.

2:31.

He let out the breath that he was holding. See? You’ve wasted enough time, Jumin. Go to sleep.

He couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment he felt though. Pulling back the blanket, he ran a hand through his face and shook his head, pushing his thoughts in the direction of work.

2.32.

This is a foolish idea.

Jumin didn’t want to admit it to himself because it wasn’t rational. But he wanted to hear her voice again.

Reaching for the phone, he grabbed the receiver and put it against his ear.

“…h-hello?” a tentative voice asked.

Relief flooded his body and he settled down on his bed, smiling. “Hello, MC.”

“Jumin…I’m so glad you’re here.” She sounded relieved as well. “I know we promised that we wouldn’t call each other anymore, but I’m so glad you called me.”

“What? I…I thought you called me?”

She giggles. “Of course not. It would be improper for a lady to call a man at this hour.”

“I didn’t call you either.”

For a moment, they were both silent, the two of them confused. A chill swept through Jumin’s body. He didn’t believe in the supernatural, just like he didn’t believe in silly things such as fate or destiny. But what was going on? How could they be communicating just by picking up the phone? Was this a special line that connected specifically to another phone somewhere nearby?

“Where are you right now?”

“Um…Jumin, I think you’re a nice guy but I don’t think it’s appropriate—“

“Don’t you find it weird that neither of us called the other and yet we both happen to pick up the phone and manage to speak to each other?”

“I do. But you have to promise me that you will never ever try to go to me. Please.”

“Why?”

“Jumin…I can’t tell you.”

“Well, alright then. I promise.”

She sighed and he heard her adjusting the phone. MC then told him her address and he gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles turning white.

“Is this a joke? If it is, it’s not funny.”

“What are you talking about? You asked me where I am, and I told you.”

“Do you work for one of C&R’s competitors? Is this your attempt to make a fool out of the son of the Chairman of C&R?”

Shit. There goes his identity.

“C&R? What are you talking about? Jumin, I don’t understand.”

“You told me you’re staying at a vineyard.”

“Yes.”

“I am too. The exact same address you gave me.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to make you laugh. I’ve been staying here for two days now and I’ve never seen you. So who are you really, MC?”

“You’ve been staying at my house for the past two days? That’s not even possible, we don’t accept guests here. Our workers sleep in the lower floors so my family and I sleep on the top floor. We can’t offer to rent out rooms we don’t have, Mr. Jumin, so please do not lie to me.”

She sounded serious and a little angry. But nothing made sense. Who was this woman? How come she's claiming to be in the same house as him but he's never seen her before?

"Where are now specifically? What part of the house?" Jumin asks, trying to stay calm despite all the questions in his head.

"I'm on the top floor, the room at the end of the hallway. I have a window that overlooks the whole vineyard."

Jumin's blood runs cold. He grasped at any explanation his mind his brain could come up with but came up blank.

"Jumin, who are you really?" Her voice grew softer and he could hear a hint of fear behind her words.

"I could ask you the same question, MC. For all I know, you could be a spy sent by our competitors --"

She sighs, clearly frustrated. "For the last time, I am not a spy nor am I a competitor of your company. I'm not a bad person. But if you don't tell me who you are right now, then let's put down the phone and pretend this never happened. I...I'm also not in the position to take risks right now."

Jumin wondered what she meant, but after a brief internal debate with himself, he decided that he had nothing to lose by telling her his identity. After all, it was no secret that Jumin Han is the wealthy heir to a multinational company.

"If you search my name or my company name on the Internet, you'll know who I am." Jumin replied. There are hundreds of articles about him online and even some videos of interviews he did. Once MC listens to those, she would be able to confirm his identity.

There was silence on the other line. He could imagine MC typing away on her phone, looking him up. He wondered what she would think of him now that she knew his identity, if anything would change in the way she spoke with him.

But her next words only confused him more.

"Jumin, I don't understand what you're saying. What is the Internet? Is it a library around town?"

MC was very confused. The young man she was speaking to on the phone was speaking gibberish. She's never heard of this "Internet" that he spoke of. And why was he insisting that he was a guest at their house? Surely he must be lying to her.

Suddenly, she froze. What if Jumin was the one spying on her? What if Jumin was sent by him?

That's not possible though. Knowing him, he wouldn't have let another man speak with her on the phone this late into the evening.

"Are you telling me you don't have Internet?" came Jumin's deep voice from the other end.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Jumin," she replied. "What's the Internet?"

"The internet connects computers and devices worldwide. It's what allows you to go online and access your social media accounts."

Seriously, all this guy was saying was nonsense.

"I'm afraid I don't understand. Computers? Social media accounts? What are you talking about? Are you from a different country? Perhaps your technology is better than ours here."

"How can you not know about this? Surely everyone in the world has heard of the Internet."

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, Jumin, but I have not."

"This is too weird. How can anybody living in the 21st century not know about the Internet?"

"20th."

"Excuse me?" Jumin asks, clearly having heard her wrong.

"You said 21st century. I think you mean 20th."

Jumin's lips went dry and fear threatened to overwhelm him but he pushed it down and maintained his calm. It's not possible. Perhaps this was some elaborate prank.

"What is the date today, MC?"

"September 27, 1950."

"This is not possible."

Jumin was clutching the phone so hard that he thought he might break it. But a million thoughts were running through his head and he had no answer for each one.

Was he...actually talking to a ghost?

"Hello? Are you there? Jumin?"

"Yes, I'm here. Are you...are you really there though? Are you a ghost?"

Suddenly, she burst out laughing. "Me? A ghost? I'm very much alive and well, thank you very much. What a silly question."

"MC," he said, his voice grave. "The reason why I asked you that is because today is September 27, 2017."

Silence. All he could hear was his heart pounding against his chest. His room felt colder than usual --or was it him that was cold?

"You're right. This isn't possible. Please stop now, this joke isn't funny."

"I'm not joking, MC."

"So you're telling me we're...communicating through time?"

"It...would seem so."

"And you're in my house right now? My house in the future?"

"Quite possibly, yes."

"I see. Who owns it now?"

Jumin told her the name of her father's friend and she said she doesn't know anyone by that name.

"I can't believe this is happening. I need proof."

"Proof?" Jumin asked, arching his brow. To be honest, he'd like some kind of proof as well. Something that would prove he was still sane.

“Yes. If I'm from the past...Then I need you to do something for me."

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Buy me a Mango Shake? (ง°ل͜°)ง

[scripturienss]

Café au miel

Disclaimer: Digimon does not belong to me.

Notes: Part one of #digiOTPweek2k17.

Title: Café au miel on FF.net Rating: G Genre: Friendship/Romance Prompt: Every fandom needs its coffee shop AU. Word Count: 2,000

Monday

On Monday mornings, Yamato doesn't even look up when the bell chimes. It is one of the busiest days of the week and half their customers are groggy, more asleep than awake while the other half is buzzing with excitement and energy and he isn't really sure which is worse. He focuses on keeping track of all orders and not making a mess of himself, which helps the day go by faster and keep Yamato sane.

This is also why he doesn't really care about being in charge of the orders while Sora takes over the register, too slow to handle hot items so early in the morning. Being in charge of taking orders can be a challenge, especially when clients often stutter or stare (popularity comes with a hefty price, alas).

"Latte with a little honey, please. Oh, can you add that before the milk? Otherwise the foam is too sweet and the coffee is bland..."

"Can you get that?" Sora asks and Yamato is already on it. He trickles two teaspoons of pure honey into the cup and adds the piping hot espresso, making sure to mix it well before pouring the milk and foam. He throws a smattering of cinnamon on top and slides the drink up to Sora.

"Ja ne, Yasuo-san. Sora-san."

He barely catches a hint of pink and rolls his eyes.

Probably an art student, or something.

Tuesday

Sora is great with customers, she remembers their names, draws cute things on their cups and often gives them just a little extra whipped cream on their orders. She has a kind smile, the sort that girls return happily and boys receive dumbly, which in turn makes Yamato roll his eyes to the far side of his head. But every once in a while a boy will come in and make of her a fumbling mess and these are moments he treasures dearly, because it's so rare to see her look so decidedly flustered.

Yamato is usually polite and has a very good memory, which is an advantage when it's a busy day and everyone's queuing to be responsible for his headaches. But he's also impatient and sometimes downright refuses to engage with anyone outside strict protocol. This makes him an unfortunate target for high school girls who come and sit for hours at a time, ogling and giggling and sometimes writing down their numbers on napkins he doesn't even pretend to read.

"Hi!"

The girl before him is very pretty and Yamato is for a moment, completely taken aback by this fact. She's not looking into his face, instead concentrating on the extensive menu behind him and he has to make a conscious effort not to sigh.

"Would you like a few more minutes to look at the menu?" he asks in his best, most neutral voice. The girl shakes her head and smiles widely at him.

"No, that's okay. I'll have some raspberry-mint iced water, please."

"Coming right up."

"Can you crush the mint leaves? And give it a good shake before adding the raspberries."

He turns around to deliver her order and ring her up. The girl takes it and with the briefest of glances at his name-tag, shakes a hand saying, "Thanks, Yamoriko-san!"

Sora sneaks a glance. "Yamo-riko?"

Yamato makes an irritated, tsk sound. It's only Tuesday and he's already about to give up.

"Don't even think about it."

Wednesday

On Wednesdays Yamato takes the late shift because he's got evening class and needs his mornings to both rest and advance on his assignments. These are usually good shifts, fairly busy because it's also the day he checks on storage levels and next week's schedule for part-timers. It's not really his job, but his boss, Nadeshiko-san, has figured the other employees are kind of afraid of him so she won't budge.

He's finishing up the schedule when she comes in and he only recognises her due to the unusual, dreamy pink of her hair. She's holding several books in her hands and looks tired and still very pretty and Yamato forces himself to smile back when she does, peripherally, before settling in a table for two right by the window. It doesn't take long for her to be joined by a tall young man with short, dark hair and clear glasses. The girl looks happy to see him but Yamato looks away, searching for Sora.

She's staring at the scene as surreptitiously as she can, but a fierce blush betrays her face.

Yamato smirks. "Do you want me to take it?"

"Don't be silly," she snaps, scowling. It's not a good look for her. "I don't care."

He dodges a slap on his arm as he chuckles low at her denial. He catches the girl's eye for an instant and she smiles vibrantly at him, so much it flusters him into moving to the back office until she's gone.

Thursday

She comes by again on Thursday, wearing a yellow dress and a cute straw hat. Her shades are shaped like hearts and Yamato is ready to bet good money on her asking for the pink and sparkly frapuccino on sale. He's about to suggest as much when she glances briefly at him, waving at Takuya in the back.

"Welcome, what can I do you for today?"

"Japaccino," she says brightly. "Extra whipped cream!"

"No problem, but we'll have to—"

"Don't worry, I know it's extra," she slides him her payment and winks as he hands over her order. "Thanks, Yamaguchi-san!"

Yamato's eyebrow twitches. She is the definition of 'extra', if he ever saw it.

"It's not—,"

But she's already waving with her back turned to him, leaving him amidst a shower of barely-contained giggles.

Friday

It's Friday afternoon and the café is packed with college and high school students and a few friendly neighbours. He wasn't supposed to come in today but Izumi called in sick and he had time (the extra pay doesn't hurt and it's always good to have Izumi in one's debt), so he's helping out behind the counter while the rest wait the tables. The girl with pink hair is back again and this immediately annoys Yamato. She's sitting pretty at the table near the window, directly within his range of view. The same guy from before accompanies her and Sora doesn't take long in bringing in their order (green tea and chocolate cake for him, café au miel and a slice of carrot cake, presumably for her).

"I think that's his girlfriend," Sora declares glumly. It's normal to develop crushes on some of the regular customers, especially for someone so friendly like Sora. Megane-kun (as Yamato often refers to him) seemed to be friendly, a little spacey, med-student and veritable Good Guy, also the sort of man someone like Sora would be unable to resist. Unfortunately for her, he also seemed to be very taken by the pretty girl sitting with him (Yamato doesn't care about this, no matter how bright her smile is).

Yamato shrugs. "Most likely."

"You're supposed to cheer me up!"

"When have I ever? Besides, if you really wanted, you could just ask him out."

Instead of flipping him off (he would've expected nothing less of anyone but her), Sora loads her tray and turns back to their clients while the rest of the team pours, mixes, shakes and garnishes beverages of various types and sizes. Yamato has just finished handing over six double frothy capuccinos to a group of teenagers and is startled by a shock of pink hair that accompanies a permeating floral scent. It mingles wonderfully with the coffee, something he notes and then dismisses with flustered alarm.

"Can I help you with something?" he asks, not unkindly.

The girl leans on his counter, chin in hand. She's looking over at her table, where Sora is nodding at the young man who continues to shake his head and hands—they both look very flustered. "He's hopeless when it comes to these things. Do you know we've been here every day this week, just to see Sora-san?" When Yamato doesn't answer (he's too shocked to do so), the girl grins wickedly. "If this doesn't work, then nothing will. I knocked over his tea."

His mouth opens and then his lip curls. "We—she thought you were his girlfriend."

"Yeah? I hope he has a mind to clear that up." she says, laughing. Her eyes crinkle at their corners and Yamato tries not to stare. "Well, I'll be having a honey coffee to go then, please. You can add that to his tab."

He glances at Sora, who's shuffling her feet awkwardly while Megane-kun fumbles with his glasses. His friend seems to be more amused than malicious and so, despite himself, he serves up her order and writes it down on his own tab.

"Much obliged, Yaku-san."

"I'm not—,"

"Let me know how it goes!"

Saturday

To his credit, he's actually prepared for her this time (or as prepared as he can be, considering), so when she strides purposely to his counter (it's no coincidence he's on the register today, too), Yamato greets her with a cool, knowing smile.

"Welcome, what will you be having today?"

She eyes Sora in the background, who gives her a tiny wave that makes her brush prettily and when she looks at Yamato, she's remarkedly less composed.

"Jyou said he didn't pay for my coffee," she cuts right to the chase and Yamato nods, impressed.

"A token of Sora's appreciation."

"Sora-san didn't pay for it, either," her eyes narrow. "I checked."

"Our hospitality, then."

"I didn't know you were so giving."

"We're a magnanimous business. It was nothing."

"Well, in that case ... thanks for nothing, Yakamochi-san."

This is what he's been waiting for and judging by the roll in his eyes and the amused glint in hers, so has she. "It's Yamato."

"What is?" her eyelashes are so long, they brush her cheeks when she blinks. He thinks it must be on purpose and no-one should have the right, really.

"My name. Not Yaku, not Yamaguchi, not—,"

"Yamoriko?"

"Especially not that."

"I see," she says, tossing caramel rose curls over a pale, thin shoulder. "Well, ja ne, Yamato-kun."

Their fingers (his, mostly his, but she doesn't recoil) linger and never has the warmth of a steaming cup of coffee seemed sweeter. "You won't tell me your name?"

She leans over the counter, tip-toeing to kiss the air around him, just close enough for him to see the smatter of freckles on her nose and cheeks, smell the sweetness of her lip gloss. Too far.

"Sunday. Ask me again, Yamato-kun," and she touches her ear twice, grinning as she leaves the coffee store and he swears the air around her shimmers.

Sunday

"Espresso, steamed milk, honey and a just the right amount of cinnamon."

"A fine drink, if I say so myself."

"My compliments to the chef," she nods, taking the warm paper cup from him.

"Barista. I don't cook, really."

"At all?"

Yamato shrugs as he slides into the chair opposite her table, a macchiato sitting between them and saving him from being too idle. "I'm not averse to it."

"Where's your apron, Mr. Perfect Cup?" she asks, eyeing him with interest. He's wearing a crisp white shirt and dark blue jeans, ankle suede boots that give his casual look just a touch of dressy-enough. She looks devastating in a short denim dress, a pink cardigan around her shoulders lending to the blush in her cheeks and bringing out the highlights of her hair.

"I'm not working today." He's hiding behind his cup, taking a small sip and pondering over the next course of action. "Would you like to take a walk with me?" And he pauses, his smile working its way into his clear blue eyes. He touches his ear, twice. "Mimi-san."

Mimi is all smiles, white teeth and red apples in her cheeks. The taste of honey is sweet on her tongue. "I'd love to."

[deanisprobablyonfire]

DUDE YOU DO POLYDINS?! CAN I HAVE SOME PURE HUNK/LANCE/PIDGE BEING ALL DOMESTIC AND SHIT? Like sleepin on each other or being supportive, or helpin with homework, or Hunk cookin some breakfast in bed for his lovies? I'm just starved for Hunk/Lance/Pidge polydins bro anything you do will make me scream

Heck yeah!  And sorry for taking three days to finish it.  I started the thing, got two paragraphs in and kinda fizzled out.  ANYWAY, I’m thinking this is an AU, definitely not canon-verse.  They probably met in high school and have been thick as thieves ever since.

"God, Lance, your arm is digging into my side.  Do you mind?" Pidge groaned, using her own elbow to hit who she thought was Lance in his side.  Unfortunately, she miscalculated, hitting Hunk instead, who was to the side of the both of them, sleeping soundly.  Or at least, he was until Pidge woke him up with a sharp elbow to his rib cage.

"Ow!  Okay, you two have got to stop doing this in bed.  I still have bruises from the last time!" Hunk cried out softly, rubbing at his wounded side and turning over.

Pidge and Lance couldn't help but giggle at Hunk's reaction, Lance scooted closer and tangled his legs between Hunk's, trying to pull him closer that way while Pidge wrapped an arm around the Samoan, trying her hardest to turn him over.  Together, they got Hunk to his back and were rewarded with another low groan.

“Why are you guys like this?” he asked, running a hand over his face.  Hunk opened his sleepy brown eyes, looking to his lovers.  “Both of you said you were tired and wanted cuddles, so I thought we could have a sweet bonding moment.  What happened?”

Lance snickered, climbing over Pidge to get to the larger male.  He laid comfortably on top of him, pressing a kiss to his lips.  “What happened is Pidge is salty.  What else is new?  We can’t control her.”

“Hey!  I resent that!  If you keep talking shit, you’ll find my entire tech collection shoved up your ass,” Pidge shot back, shoving Lance off of Hunk and onto the floor before taking her rightful place on the other.  She shot a snarky smile at Lance before resting her head on Hunk’s chest.  “You’re really warm, Hunk, you know that, right?”

“You’re trying to butter me up, I can just tell,” Hunk sighed with a roll of his eyes.  “Let me guess, you want food?”

“No.  Just a kiss,” she replied, puckering her lips slightly.  Her eyes glimmered in the dim light of the room, causing Hunk to practically melt.  He hated it (but also loved it) when Pidge pulled that kind of a stunt.  So, he leaned upward a bit, pressing his lips to Pidge’s in response.

Lance cleared his throat loudly.  “Yeah, that’s okay.  I’ll just be down here…  cold.  Suffering.  Nothing new,” he whined, this time making Hunk chuckle.

“Get up here.  You know both of us care about you,” he said, holding a hand out and helping Lance get onto the bed from the floor.  Once on the bed, he moved to Hunk’s side and curled up to him, his head resting on his chest, right next to Pidge’s.

“Yeah.  I may say shit to you sometimes, but I love having you around, Lance.  Both of us do,” Pidge said, nudging him with her elbow softly and kissing the tip of his nose.  “In fact, dare I say, we actually love you.  Isn’t that a wild concept?”

“I second Pidge’s statement!  We’ve known one another for years.  I definitely think it’s time to pull out the love card.  It’s true anyway, or at least, it has been for me for a long time,” Hunk said, his face growing red as a tomato the longer he continued speaking.  He hated blabbing, despite Pidge and Lance finding it endearing and, quite frankly, adorable.

Lance sighed, pretending to be blase about the confessions of love from his datemates.  In reality, though, his heart began thudding in his chest, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth.  He felt like he was absolutely glowing, needing the validation the two gave him.  However, he couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t fully let his defenses down around them.  There was no need to keep it up.  They wouldn’t judge him (well, Pidge would poke fun, but she never actually meant any of it).  He could be open with them- open and honest.

“I love you guys, too,” he said, growing sheepish with the confession.  It felt like a welcome weight off his shoulders, though, especially since he knew that they probably needed just as much validation as he.

Pidge pretended to be surprised, placing a hand on her chest, mouth falling open and eyes widening.  “What?  Did the Lance just say he loved us common pleabs?  I must be dreaming!  Oh, take me now, Lance, my love!” she shouted, a hand falling on her forehead, palm out while rolling into Lance’s arms.  He caught her with a chuckle, running his slender fingers through her thick, light brown hair instead of responding.

Pidge cuddled between her favorite guys in the world, sighing in content.  “All silly comments aside, I don’t know where I’d be today without you two.  You keep me sane.”

“I second that!” Hunk piped in, turning to his side and nuzzling Pidge’s cheek.

Lance smiled down at the two lying before him, wondering how he ever got so lucky.  All the signs in the world couldn’t have pointed to that moment, the moment where he found himself taking off his mask and showing his vulnerable side.  But, he was content, and so were they.

“And I third it,” he said, scooting closer to Pidge and taking Hunk’s hand.

Together, the three of them fell asleep- happy, content, and in love.

[rafecameron]

Visiting Winterfell (Robb Stark)

Number Prompt: For anonymous - #8 “You’re smile is not as bright as it used to be.” #21 “No one has a heart of stone.” #30 “I’m fine.”

Word Count: 2007

You hadn’t visited Winterfell with your family since you were a child around the age of nine. Now at the age of seventeen your parents decided it was time for your family to visit the Starks once again. You weren’t sure why, and you didn’t particularly want to go, but you didn’t get a choice in the matter. So you found yourself taking the three day trip all the way to Winterfell, the only company that actually kept you sane was that of your horse, because it couldn’t talk therefore didn’t annoy you. You rode as far away from everyone as you could. You used to be close to your family, but not so much lately.

Your father had become bitter and only had time for your brother, and your mother didn’t bother with you anymore. She mostly sat in her bedchambers reading and sewing and keeping as far away from her children as she could. You hated your home, and your family, you dreamt of running away most nights and finding somewhere new and exciting to live. But you weren’t a silly little child and you knew that was merely a fantasy.

You didn’t expect to feel at home in Winterfell as you had used to when you were a child. You and the Starks had always gotten on well, but so many years had passed you doubted you’d even recognise them, nor them you. On the road you learnt the true reason for your travelling to Winterfell. Your brother was to be betrothed to the eldest Stark girl, this made you even more annoyed. If your brother was to be betrothed then why on Earth were you needed there as well? It was nothing to do with you, it wasn’t like you was even close to your brother.

After what felt like the longest ride of your life time the turrets of Winterfell finally came into view and you felt even more uneasy the closer you got. At least at home you were somewhere you knew and could be comfortable finding a corner somewhere on your own, but here you were to be surrounded by strangers with no chance of sneaking off to be completely alone. You hoped your brother would be wed quickly and that you could go home.

You were welcomed kindly by the Starks in the courtyard, you were right, other than their parents none of the Starks looked how you’d remembered, there was even a new addition who you learnt was Rickon. Bran, who had just been a baby when you had last visited was now standing tall and looking extremely grown up.

After a quick greeting both your parents and the Starks excused themselves to talk in private and you were left in the company of your brother and the Stark children. You looked around, chewing your lower lip lightly, you recognised the place but not enough to remember your way round.

“It’s been a long time.” A voice finally speaks and you look round to find Robb looking at you, “We were surprised when our parents said you were to visit again.”

“Yes well, hopefully we wont be in your way for too long.” You reply, pulling your shawl closer around your shoulders. Your home was cold, but it felt like nothing compared to Winterfell.

“You’re not in the way,” Robb states, “You look cold My Lady, perhaps we should go inside?”

“I’m fine where I am.” You state as stubborn as always.

“Then perhaps a walk? You can’t stand in the courtyard all day.” Robb smiles at you.

“I can if I want to.” You mumble, but allow him to take your arm and direct you towards the woods.

“How have you been? I feel like we must have lots to catch up on.” Robb was definitely the Stark you were closest to when you were younger, but that didn’t mean anything now.

“I have nothing worth sharing.” You reply, looking forward as you walked and avoided his stare, “Lets not pretend to still know each other. We’re strangers now Robb, you don’t need to fake kindness.”

“Strangers are sometimes easiest to be kind to.” Robb tells with a smile, “We don’t have to be strangers anymore. We were friends once I’m sure we can be again.”

“No, we can’t. It’s not like we will have to see each other again so there’s no point in making you sad when I leave.” You shrug.

“Making me sad?” Robb laughs, “What about you? Would you not be sad to leave if we were friends?”

You shake your head, offering him a small smile, “No. I don’t feel for people. It wouldn’t affect me.”

Robb chuckles and shakes his head, “That can’t be true, no one has a heart of stone, there must be someone you care for.”

“No. No ones ever done anything for me to make them worth caring for.” You state simply.

Robb shakes his head slowly, “Not your family? No friends back home? Not even a pet?”

“My mother wont allow animals inside the castle, she says they’re dirty and disgusting.” You reply simply, “There’s no one worth talking to back home.”

Robb stops walking and turns to look at you, studying your face slowly, “You’re not the same as I remember. Your smile isn’t as bright as it used to be and your eyes hold such sadness. What’s happened to you?”

You huff and turn away from him, “We were kids back then Robb, things change as you get older, we can’t be children forever.”

“No we can’t, but growing up doesn’t mean you can’t be happy. Not everything is all doom and gloom (Y/N).” He smiles lightly.

You laugh bitterly, “Is it not? You should try living where I do.” You shake your head with a small smile, “Seriously. It’s so dark and damp, it’s like living in a dungeon.”

“Well, maybe you should come and live here then. You can swap places with Sansa when she moves with your brother.” He laughs starting to walk once again.

“Poor girl. I couldn’t wish that on anyone.” You shake your head.

“What? Living at your home or marrying your brother?” Robb chuckles as he leads you towards the large weirwood tree.

“Both.” You laugh and sit down on a near by tree trunk.

You and Robb sit and talk for most of the day. It was quite nice to just sit and talk to someone about anything and everything, you never got the chance back home and you didn’t realised how much you missed decent conversation. Robb was sweet and you were starting to remember why you were so close to him when you were younger.

~~~~

You had been in Winterfell for almost a full week now and it wasn’t half as bad as you had expected it to be. You had actually started to enjoy being in the company of the Starks, but you wouldn’t admit that to your parents. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of getting the chance to say I told you so.

“So do you like it here (Y/N)?” Jon asks as you walk down the hallway arm in arm with him, you’d found yourself spending a lot of time with Jon. Robb was usually busy with his father and as much as you liked the other Starks you definitely got on best with Jon, and seeing as he wasn’t ‘important’ enough for the Starks, he was usually free to sit and talk with you.

“It’s quite nice,” You say quietly as you look across the courtyard though the holes in the wall, “Better than I thought it would be.” You conclude with a nod. “But do you like it here?” You ask and turn to face him.

Jon gives you a small smile and shrugs his shoulders, “It could be worse.” He chuckles, “The Starks have been good to me, probably better than I deserve. I can’t complain.”

“Well, you’re nicer than I am then.” You laugh softly, “Will you miss Sansa if she leaves with my brother?”

“I suppose.” Jon muses with a small smile, “She doesn’t like me much. Can’t say were too close, but it will be strange to not have her around all the time.”

“I don’t think she’ll like it where I’m from.” You mumble, “And I don’t think she’ll like my brother. Their pairing doesn’t make sense.”

Jon opens his mouth to speak but it’s not his voice you hear, instead it’s Robbs, calling to you from where you’ve just walked from. Both you and Jon turn to face him, watching him as he walks quickly along the corridor towards you both.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He says as he gets closer, “(Y/N). Our fathers would like to speak with us.” He adds when he comes to a stop in front of you.

“To us?” You ask, “What would they want to speak with us about?” You wonder, letting go of Jon’s arm and telling him you will catch up with him later.

“I couldn’t say,” Robb shrugs his shoulders, “They just sent me to find them, they’re in the dining hall, hopefully it wont take long.”

“Why? Somewhere you need to be?” You ask looking up at him as you walk back along the corridor to the dining hall.

“No, but today is supposed to be my day away from all this learning to be a Lord stuff. I was looking forward to some time to myself, or maybe seeing my brothers.” He mentions, “Can’t see why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

Robb pushes open the door to the dining hall and leads you inside, both your father and his were sat talking and drinking on the long table at the end of the room. The both stopped what they were doing and watching you walk towards them which made you uncomfortable. You were happy when you finally reached the table.

“This shouldn’t take long.” Lord Stark speaks as he sets down his cup. “Of course you both know the reason for the (Y/L/N)’s visiting. Sansa is to marry, though we’ve been watching both her and the young Lord (Y/L/N) and we started to think that maybe they are not the best match after all.”

Robb frowns slightly, “So…They’re not to be wed?” He asks and looks down at you with a slightly confused expression, “I’m sorry father, but I don’t understand why you’re telling us this.”

Lord Stark shares a look with your father and then turns back to you both, “Because, we thought the two of you made a better match.”

You furrow your brows, thinking perhaps you had heard him wrong, but from the look on Robbs face you had definitely heard them correctly.

“We’re going to be married?” He asks pointing from himself to you, “Instead?”

Lord Stark nods his head, “Yes. You got on well when you were children and seem to still, we thought it would make a good match.”

Robb nods his head, “Very well…May we be excused now?”

Lord Stark looks between the two of you for a moment before nodding his head and waving you both off. Robb takes your arm and quickly leads you from the room. Once you were well away from the dining hall he stopped walking and turned to face you.

“I’m sorry,” He says. “I know you don’t like it here. I hadn’t expected them to say that. Are you okay?”

You shrug your shoulders, “I’m fine.” You say quietly, “I’m sure it’s something I will get used to. Besides, it’s better here than it is back home. Maybe it wont be so bad.”

Robb gives you a small smile, “We learnt to be friends again, I’m sure we can learn to be husband and wife.”

You laugh softly and nod, “Okay, as long as I get to be the wife.” You tease, taking his arm and starting to walk, you wanted to tell Jon the news.

Robb lets out a groan, “I wanted to be the wife!” He jokes with a laugh and allows you to lead him away.

Secretly you were quite happy about this marriage. Sure you didn’t like Robb like that, but he was good looking and you knew he could make you happy, and if it meant you didn’t have to go home, then that definitely made it all worth it.

[themanicdepressivelesbian]

I just want to connect with something. I've lost touch with myself, with everything around me. I have no idea how to go back now. I don't know how to bring happiness back into my life. I don't remember what it even feels like. I have no sense of accomplishment. Like I'm continuously climbing up an escalator that just goes down. Each step forward, I take two steps back. Every step I take that leads me up, pulls me further down. Endlessly I walk, it just never stops. When I finally hit the bottom, I try again, but I get no further than my last attempt, nor the attempt prior to that. What am I doing? Where am I going? Am I just where I belong already? No, that can't be right.. can it? This can't possibly be what I'm destined to do or become. Or is it? Repeating the same things over and over again expecting a different outcome. That means insanity, doesn't it? So is that what I am? Just insane? I keep trying and trying. Pushing and pulling, but I make no progress. It's the same outcome every time. I don't even know what's real anymore. My memories are so diluted with things my brain remembers, but no one else seems to remember it the same. Maybe I'm not even myself at this point. Maybe my anxiety and my depression have taken such a strong hold onto who I am, what I am.. that I just can't tell the difference from fantasy, reality, and pure fear. I'd love to pretend even for a moment that I knew if there was truth in that. Maybe there is, but I'll never know. Maybe none of this is really even real. Maybe one of those times I took a whole bottle of ibuprofen really did end it. Maybe I'm in some weird dream comq/purgatory state. Angie could be the nurse that tends to my body everyday in the hospital, checking my vitals but drifting further every day because after all this time even she lost faith that I'll ever recover from what I've done. Maybe those memories I have are my semi conscious body dealing with the visits from the people who check on me, ie my mother. I'm not remembering that she was never there. She's just become so spare and distant when she comes and talks to my half dead, half alive body as it lays on that hospital bed. Drifting further away from her reality because of what her little girl did to her. They say that when your brain shuts down, it essentially give a a brief playback of all the memories you've acquired over your life. Like a movie. I know I read that somewhere. So maybe all of these things I'm remembering about being so alone, forgotten and ignored are really because my brain is shutting down and playing through all of those memories but no one is at my hospital bed as they play. So this is what I remember now. I'm alone in these moments. No one caresses my body anymore because they all know it'll come down to pulling the plug.

Let's return to the purgatory idea. I'm dead already. The bad memories and things that make me lash out are really Satan and his followers convincing me to believe, accept, and yearn for the misery, hate, vengeance anger and fear that hell brings. Angie is my guardian angel trying to lead me back to the light, to heaven. But still giving me freedom to follow my own desires.

This is all genuinely bull shit, isn't it? Just me trying to make excuses as to why things are the way they are. Or maybe this message is really my brain giving my epitaph, speaking for myself at my soon to be funeral. Death. That's all that comes in the end, isn't it. For all of us too, no one can escape it. It doesn't matter how you live, what you did while you lived. It doesn't matter who you were, where you went. It comes for all of us. That's the funny thing about death you know, honestly. As humans we think we are all so different. But it all ends in the same thing. No one truly lives forever. No matter whose theory of what happens after death is true. Whether or not we are reincarnated, go to heaven or hell, or even just rot in the ground for all eternity. We all have a beginning. Just like a story. That's all we are. Stories. Some are good, some are bad. Some change half way through, some have a huge turning point in them. But they all end.

It really makes you wonder honestly, what makes living so important, if no matter how we live, it all ends the same way. When life has no purpose, you're dead already. Right? Or at least you wish you were, as is my case. But the only thing, as sad as it is mind you, that keeps me going is thinking about how hard and unfair it would be to have to put someone else through explaining why I'm not here, or where I went. It chokes me up when I think of my niece asking my mother "where's Sammi?" And wishfully thinking shed choke up with tears trying to explain to someone so young why their aunt is no longer with us. What do you tell someone that young when they ask? I've always had such a great understanding of love and loss, compassion, empathy. I don't remember a time when I didn't know what it meant if someone killed themselves. But maybe that's part of my problem. I grew up in a time where death was so casual. I grew up with religion, but enough freedom to have my own thoughts and opinions on the matter as well. Constantly raised on the idea of "it could be worse" and not the idea of "it should be better". Not just for me, but for everyone. I almost see someone sitting across from me just discussing this with me. Like I'm having a real conversation right now. But I'm not. Not even in the slightest. I'll admit the idea definitely makes me feel less lonely though.

One thing a lot of people don't realize about me is that I love to talk. I may not be too good at it, but I really do love to just talk. To connect. No one likes to talk about the things I like to talk about though. Not on this level I guess. But then, that's why I have this. This Tumblr thing. It's silly really. I just come here to have one sided conversations with myself, but it gives me a bit of hope that someone else who just needs to read or chat might stumble across this and maybe find a bit of peace in what I type. Might realize that they aren't so alone in this world, you know? So if you are reading this, you're not alone. Trust me.

Now let's see. There's so much I want to type. I just keep rambling off topic here though.

Ah, let's go back to Angie here. I love her. I do. She's everything to me. But it's all so different now. When we started dating, we had so much to talk about. Everything was so new and exciting. It sounds really wrong when I say it out loud. True love is never easy though, is it? I wouldn't know honestly, unless this is true love. Then I guess I do know. It is hard. It's hard as fuck to love someone so much and always question if they actually love you in return. After all, we have nothing in common. No common interests. She's an extrovert, an adventurer. She's brave, and strong. And here I am. A crumbling, lonely introvert who can't connect with a single human being anymore. The problem is me, I know that. But the bigger problem is I have no idea how to change myself.

How do I become more suited to her needs, to become a better person for her? I tried talking to her again in bed tonight and all she could say was we aren't doing this now, but I need to know. I don't know what to do at this point. I can't do this anymore. I've just.. lost touch. With everything. Everyone. I keep trying to reconnect with my best friend. The one person who has never left me through all of the hell I've been through, and I've always done the same to her. But now she's on the other side of the country. We barely speak. She was the only person I opened up to. The only person I could be completely honest with and know she wouldn't judge me for it. But maybe her being this far away from me finally opened her eyes up to the fact that I'm not worth the headache that I am. She's moved on, I get it. I guess I would have too, if I was her. She left me and I shut everyone out. When I realized she could move on from the friendship we had, I guess I gave up on friendships in general. Relationships in general. If she could "move on" from me that easily when given the opportunity, everyone else would leave me too. Right? So I did the only sane thing my brain saw. I pushed everyone else out before they could do it to me. It's all my fault. I know it is. And that's what makes it so hard. I wish I could blame all of this on someone or something else. But I can't. I did it to myself. It's no ones fault but my own that I am where I am. Who I am, how I am. I shaped it all. Whether it was me without my anxiety, my depression, whatever "inner" factor it was. It's still me. My anxiety, my depression and anger, they are all parts of me. They've all shaped me. They've made me, well, me. I'm going to get hell for this. Or maybe someone might actually try to think of this from my point of view here.. probably not though.

Let's go back to insanity here for a moment. You can judge me as harshly as you wish for this, but I see things. Creepy things, scary things. Things that make me want to cry in an instant. They paralyze me in a moment of fear. Things I wouldn't want anyone else to see. It's surreal honestly. And terrifying. I hear voices. Internally mostly, but some I swear are external too. So maybe that is all that this is in the end. I'm just bat shit fucking crazy. The dark terrifies me because of this though. Silence terrifies me because of it. It started a long, long time ago if we're being honest. With night terrors. The same man appeared in my dreams every night. I didn't even want to sleep because of it. But my parents always just assumed I was being a kid. There's days I wouldn't go to school, I'd say I was sick (guess I wasn't technically wrong there, butbthe wrong kind of sick) and it was really just The fact that I couldn't stand the thought of seeing those things, unable and unaware of how to control it or ignore it at such a young age. I've gotten a lot better at it though. I must be crazy, right? Fucking probably at this point.

I just want answers at this point. Something, anything. I wish I had the power to change all of these things wrong with me. I wish I had the strength to think about a future, instead of constantly wishing for a bullet. I just want of this to end. Do any of you out there feel this way? Who the hell am i even kidding at this point. Very few of you made it this far, but that's okay too. This was for me. Not for you. I just needed to get this shit off my chest. I feel the walls closing in on me. I just wish o was better at actually talking about these things

Or maybe that I can actually afford the help I needed again. Or maybe this is just the end of the line, just a matter of time before the last grain of sand passes through the hour glass of my lifetime. I don't know what to do, honestly. How do you get better at actually talking about these .. Things? Everyone is iust so quick to judge when I talk about this stuff. They try to twist and turn and mangle my words. Most people turn the so to speak attention to themselves. Most people just don't understand. I guess that's another reason I type all of these things, maybe someone might finally understand. I wouldn't expect anyone too, and I'd never ask of someone to take a step in my shoes for a minute and never for a mile. No one deserves to feel the way I feel in my head, yet so many of us do. This, this is my weakness. My heart on my sleeve. I can not talk face to face, so I open up like this instead. Hoping it helps the people around me, the ones who care, to actually understand me. I love you all, even if I have a hard time expressing it.

I'm going to stop now, I've typed enough for one Damned night. My brain is exhausted.