#which is why I heavily find so much comfort in being a stable comforting authority figure for them

[etoilelafleur]

Okay but Veneer having a similar relationship with his father akin to Morel and Clay Puppington

[iliveiloveiwrite]

I wonder what it’s like to be loved by you // Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: You’ve loved him for as long as you can remember. Is this the season where he finally realises?

A/N: I LOVE BENEDICT. I love him so much. What do I have to do to get a Benedict? Title is from Shawn Mendes - Wonder. I had so much fun writing this fic, I can’t wait to write more for the Bridgerton fandom! I truly hope you all like it, let me know what you think please?

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of food and drink, fluff, pining, mutual pining, dancing, balls, obliviousness, friends to lovers, she/her pronouns, a lot of history - I am a historian after all and this is the regency era.

Word count: 4.8k

Lady Danbury never spared any expense on the balls she held every season. She knew full well that many a match could be made that night so there was not only pressure from the ton, but also a responsibility that this ball must outdo all others thrown before – by herself and other matriarchs in society.

A feat she always managed to achieve, the elder thinks to herself as she watches your eyes widen upon entering the ornately decorated room. Looking you up and down, she approves of your outfit – a dark blue dress punctuated with silver jewellery, hair twisted into an updo with only a few strands hanging loose to frame your face. From her spot across the ballroom, Lady Danbury wonders how you hadn’t married yet.

As the band strikes up, Lady Danbury walks into the fray, greeting her guests with a smile. All the while, she keeps a trained eye on you, wondering who on earth had captured your heart but had not noticed.

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

No matter how hard he tried, the charcoal would not wash from his fingers. Having scrubbed and scrubbed at his hands, Benedict could only offer you a smile of apology as you not only noted his lateness but the state of his hands.

“It’s very fortunate that you are a talented artist,” You comment with a teasing smile.

Benedict reaches for your hand, dropping a kiss to the back of it before answering. “I class myself as very fortunate to have a friend like you who understands how easy it is to get lost in a sketch or a painting.”

You roll your eyes, careful not to let anyone else but Benedict see your act of impropriety. He smirks, unable to help himself.

“You’re a shameful flatterer, Benedict.”

“Some might even call me a ‘rake’,” He replies, his tone teasing.

“I shall save that for when you’ve really annoyed me.”

He laughs; a loud chuckle that draws the attention of those closest to you. Most notably, Benedict’s mother, Violet Bridgerton and Lady Danbury.

Benedict clears his throat; cheeks flushed not only from the attention but from the knowledge that his mother would soon be making her way over to him. He adored his mother; was grateful for her every day, but he could happily admit he could live without the meddling in his love life. He grabs your gloved hand once more; kissing the back of it in parting before asking, “Save me a dance on your card?”

“Always,” You answer, watching his back as he stalks away. Benedict narrowly avoids being collared by his mother, an act to which you find yourself smiling at.

With thoughts of Benedict in mind, you wander around the outskirts of the ballroom, your dark blue skirts swishing pleasantly under foot. You pause only to grab a lemonade from the table, sipping happily at the cold drink.

You catch sight of the brunette that had stolen your heart dancing with Penelope Featherington and though you know there is no romance there, your heart is unable to stop the hurt that lashes through it. Schooling your face into a mask of polite delight, you force yourself to turn away from the sight of the man you had so readily given your heart to dancing with someone else.

“How long have you been in love with my brother?” A raspy voice asks from behind you.

Your lemonade splashes slightly as you turn to face your interrogator. “Eloise!” You laugh, smiling too wide to be comfortable, “Whatever do you mean?”

Eloise’s shrewd blue eyes narrow slightly as she takes in your dismissal. She waves her hand in the general direction of Benedict though you knew exactly where he was – could feel his location thrumming in your veins.

“Don’t play coy, (Y/N). It doesn’t become you. Now, how long have you been in love with Benedict?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? How long had you loved Benedict? Thinking back on it, you’re sure that you’ve always loved him. Your family had been good friends with the Bridgerton family for as long as you could remember. Your mother was always having tea with Violet and you were always thrust upon the eight siblings without much worry. Your friendship with Benedict had started in earnest when you had complimented his art skills, bringing up how you liked to draw too. From there, a close friendship was forged.

By your twentieth year on this earth, you realised that your feelings for the second Bridgerton were no longer platonic… that you craved something more. Falling for Benedict Bridgerton felt inevitable almost; that your heart was destined to be his whether he knew it or not.

Sighing heavily, you see no point in lying to the second eldest Bridgerton girl. “For as long as I can remember,” You admit, rushing to add on, “But he doesn’t know so please don’t tell him!”

Eloise’s eyes widen at your confession, not only shocked that you readily admitted your feelings for her elder brother, but for how long you have harboured them. “Is that why you have not yet married?” She demands, “Because you loved him?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “It wouldn’t be fair to my husband. Their wife in love with another man – it doesn’t exactly set stable foundations for a long, prosperous marriage and…”

“And…” Eloise prompts, her innate curiosity getting the better of her. If her mother could hear her now, she would surely receive a scolding.

You ball your hands into fists before letting them drop to your sides; letting them hang there like the constant hope you have for Benedict.

“And I still hope he’ll notice I’m here. That I have been here all along,” You voice cracks on the admission causing a pang of upset to flash through Eloise. She’d reach out to comfort you, but it would only draw attention from the many mothers circling and no doubt, Lady Whistledown.

“(Y/N)…” Eloise begins but you hold a single hand up to stop her before she starts. With a strained smile, you reassure her. “It’s fine, Eloise. I accept it with every season that passes that it is unlikely he shall ever return my feelings.”

“Then he is a fool,” Eloise states plaining, sending a glare in the direction of her beloved brother. She had no qualms admitting that Benedict was indeed her favourite sibling, but he had his moments where he vexed her beyond belief.

“Who is a fool?” A voice questions to the right of you. Benedict.

Freezing in place, you cast a helpless look at Eloise, begging her silently to take control of this situation. Eloise smiles and nods imperceptibly. She turns towards her brother, hooking her arm through yours as she declares, “The men that have not offered their hand to (Y/N) yet. They’re all fools, aren’t they dear brother.”

Benedict casts his gaze towards you; his eyes scanning your face for what, he does not know. “Fools,” He agrees quietly though he is heard perfectly over the music. “Would you care to dance?” He asks, wanting you to himself for a little while. As much as he loved his younger sister, she was a keen observer, and he wasn’t ready for her to figure out his feelings just yet. Not when he hadn’t admitted them to you.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand, bidding goodbye to Eloise for now. The brunette shakes her head as the both of you walk away. Oblivious, she thinks to herself, completely oblivious.

As the music strikes up once more, it becomes obvious that the next dance is a waltz, requiring the closeness of your partner. It was only years ago that this dance had scandalised the ton for its closeness – now, it was required at every ball, many married couples savouring the intimacy.

Benedict’s hand settles on the small of your back as his other grips your hand. Your hand rests comfortably on his shoulder as he begins to lead you through the steps you have known since your youth.

Music around you fades as do the other couples. The only two people in the room are Benedict and yourself. The feel of his hand on your back and the look in his eyes; it’s enough to have you accept your fate then and there. It’s enough for you to admit that you have been ruined for any and all men; finding yourself in love with the man who holds you so tenderly and has always held you in high regard. Is this it? You ask yourself, is this what it feels like to be loved by him? To feel like the only one in the world. If it is, you’ll take it with open hands.

Your eyes do not leave his as Benedict leads you through the rises and falls of the dance. His hand remains a steady presence on your lower back; the feeling just enough to distract you from the crowd now watching you and instead, leading you to wonder what his hands would feel like elsewhere on your body.

As the music falls into another song; this one more upbeat, Benedict drops his hands, letting you free. He hadn’t wanted to; had wanted to pull you from the ballroom, to confess the feelings that have haunted him for years and to ask you to be his for better or for worse.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he bows and smiles, reaches for your hand to kiss it and then lets himself breathe as he turns and walks away.

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

Dear Reader,

Though there is much to report from Lady Danbury’s ball last night – the fashion, the food, the décor – This Author wants to focus on one moment in particular.

Now, Dear Reader, whilst you may wonder the importance of such a moment, remember that it is one’s job to observe all. That is why I want to bring attention to Mr. Benedict Bridgerton who found himself extremely popular last night, dancing with many eligible women and delighting them with his talents.

However, Dear Reader, this is not the moment I want to focus on.

No. Instead, I want to bring attention to the heart most likely suffering in silence as Mr. Bridgerton continues to charm the ton.

As you all know, I am not one to beat around the proverbial bush and hide identities, but for the sake of the woman who has found herself in love with the second eldest Bridgerton for as long she can remember, I shall endeavour to keep her name a secret.

Know, however, that This Author’s sympathies lie with you.

To love another unrequitedly is a dear shame.

----------

The gossip sheet is scrunched to a ball in your hands. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from falling down your face. As if you didn’t know your love was unrequited; as if you didn’t know you had all but doomed yourself to being a spinster as you wait for a man who did not know you loved him.

Lady Whistledown knew your secret, and your identity. As a result, the whole ton knew your secret but whatever morals the author possesses, she had not revealed your identity.

Summoning the carriage, you ask to be taken to Bridgerton House where you can speak to Eloise in confidence and ask for her advice on what she might do. Deep down, you had to know whether Benedict had read the paper too.

It doesn’t take long for Eloise to find you in the tea room; a cup of tea in your hands but readily ignored as you chew on the inside of your cheek. Her brown hair tied up in her usual bun, her eyes hold the pity you didn’t want to see or hear as of this moment.

“I didn’t know she was listening, I swear,” Eloise promises, sitting by your side and reaching for your hand.

“I know,” You comfort, “You would never tell a soul.”

“At least she didn’t reveal your identity,” Eloise chirps, trying to find a silver lining.

“Yet she has revealed my secret to the entirety of London society,” You sigh. Removing your hand from Eloise’s, you press your palm to your forehead, feeling overwhelmingly tired and desperate for the day to be over already. “Does he know?”

Eloise chews on her bottom lip, deciding whether to answer you. “He has read it,” She admits,  but rushes to add, “He doesn’t know it’s you! He doesn’t have a clue really. He’s angrier at himself for not noticing anything was amiss.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You whisper, feeling helpless.

“For now,” Eloise states, “We do nothing.”

---------

Your heels sink into the soft carpet as you wander down the stairs, pausing only to check you have everything. Your mind remains elsewhere as you check your bag out of habit, the conversation with Eloise, the latest gossip sheet, your feelings for Benedict. They circle around your mind, leaving you dizzy in their wake as you try to make sense of them all, try to find your next step in and amongst the mess.

“(Y/N),” Benedict greets, hurrying down the final few stairs, pleasantly surprised, “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“I came to drop in on Eloise. I wanted to thank her for last night; she was an ear when I needed someone to listen.”

“Is it anything I can help with?” He asks, voice taking on a concerned note as he reaches out for you.

You shake your head, squeezing his hand in return. “For now, everything is okay.”

Benedict clears his throat. “I’m glad to hear it, but please come to me next time. I want to help if I can.”

“I will,” You promise, your eyes now scanning over his fine clothes. “Where are you off to?”

“An art exhibition at Somerset House. They’re showing some Holbein’s from the Royal collection.”

“Holbein’s?” You ask, shocked at the name falling from Benedict’s mouth.

He nods, just as excited. It was a rare thing indeed to have Holbein’s on display; they were usually kept in whatever royal residence they found themselves in; hidden away from the public eye. Art was the very foundation of your friendship; having seen so many of his sketches as a young boy and watching them develop into surer lines and confident strokes. Benedict was an exceptionally talented artist – something he would say about yourself. Benedict was the only person to see such work; the watercolours in your sketchpad leaving him breathless as you bring life to the inanimate.

“Would you like to join me?” He asks before he can talk himself out of it. He had barely seen you all season; you had closed in yourself, as if accepting a fate that you did not want. Benedict would do what he could to ensure your happiness for a little bit longer.

“Unchaperoned?”

A faint blush rises on Benedict’s cheeks as he realises what he has asked of you. “I shall ask Eloise to accompany us,” He suggests, turning to face the direction in which you had just come, “Did she mention any plans to you?”

You shake your head to which Benedict leases a sigh of relief. “I’ll go ask her now. I’m sure she won’t mind… much.”

Laughing quietly, you wait patiently in the entryway of Bridgerton House. The house in London so often felt like a second home to you; spending so much of childhood summers here when your mother would take tea with the Bridgerton matriarch. As you grew into your teens, you would begin to visit the house with just your maid, calling on the family for social niceties. The friendship with Benedict and Eloise only solidified your standing in the close family unit.

Eloise’s voice brings you back to the present. She walks down the stairs, accompanied by her brother. Taking one look at you, waiting patiently for the both of them, Eloise gets a mischievous look in her eye. It isn’t a look that leaves you in comfort, but rather leaves you wondering just what she has planned for the art exhibition.  

“Eloise has so graciously accepted to join us,” Benedict announces, sounding rather pleased with himself.

Eloise smiles: a smile that sets Benedict’s nerves on edge. He would owe her for this, that much he knew. “I would be more than happy to accompany you, brother.”

Benedict resists the urge to groan; he’s in deep shit for this.

“Thank you, Eloise,” You murmur with a smile. Something in Eloise softens at your tone as if she would be unable to deny you this time with Benedict when it was their mother’s mission to see him married off this very season.

“Of course,” Eloise allows, glancing between you and Benedict – noting the longing in both sets of eyes. She shakes her head, gesturing to the door and where the carriages waits just beyond it. “Shall we?”

--------

“He wasn’t a handsome monarch, was he?” Eloise murmurs quietly, staring up at the grand portrait of the fearsome king who preferred executing his wives rather than loving them.

The walls of Somerset House have become dedicated to the eyes of the past. Past monarchs and relatives decorate the walls; their eyes following each attendant, as if curious to see how society is progressing less than three hundred years after the death of the artist.

Benedict chuckles; the very sound raising goosebumps across your skin. You barely repress the shiver the sound elicits. Trying your best to listen as the siblings argue about the reign of this particular monarch – the pros and the cons to what he did for the very country he ruled over for decades.

“Oh!” Eloise gasps, interrupting the argument and loosening her grip on your arm, she waves frantically at Penelope Featherington. “Would you mind terribly if I go say hello?”

“Not at all,” You laugh.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay with Benedict?”

The man in question scoffs, rolling his eyes at his little sister. “Off with you,” He dismisses, “I’ll escort (Y/N) – someone who actually appreciates the art.”

Eloise laughs as she turns away, but you do not miss the wink she sends in your direction. It hits you all at once; her mischievous look before you all left the house. She had concocted this plan in her head; accepting to accompany you as a rouse to get you and Benedict alone.

You didn’t know whether to appreciate her genius or hide her favourite book.

Jumping at the sound of someone clearing their throat, you focus your attention on Benedict. He watches you with an amused look, and it’s then that you realise that he has stood beside you waiting with his arm out for a minute or so whilst you glared after his younger sister. Taking his arm, you rid yourself of any thoughts of violence against Eloise. Instead, focusing on the man beside you.

“How are you?” You ask, hand resting gently on Benedict’s forearm.

“Do you mean in general or after today’s publication?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“In general, I am quite well. I have a wonderful lady on my arm, and I am in the presence of excellent art work. However, after today’s publication, I must admit I am rather angry.”

“Oh?” You sound, trying hard not to let his words affect you so much but they rattle around your mind on repeat, committing themselves where they will last for an eternity.

“I’ve never been the focus of the gossip paper and now after one ball, I am. I don’t think I like the attention.”

“I don’t believe that for one second, Benedict Bridgerton.”

He pauses, smiling widely down at you. His eyes light up with the smile and your heart begins to pound at the sight of it. “Alright, I do like the attention,” He concedes, “But what I don’t like are the looks I’m getting from all mothers.”

“Why?”

“They all look like I’m about to break their daughter’s heart.”

“I’m sure you’re just imagining things,” You reassure, tightening your grip on his arm.

“I don’t think I am,” He states, nodding politely at Lady Whitelaw who in turn glares at the younger man. He turns his gaze to you as if to say, see?

You turn your face away from him, trying your best to hide the smile and laugh that threatens to break free. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?” Benedict guesses, a smile in his own voice.

“I’m not,” You promise, schooling your face into a mask of indifference, focusing on the closest sketch to you. A graphite sketch of Anne Boleyn; marking her beauty only years before her death.

“You are,” Benedict argues, standing beside you, admiring the same sketch. Throwing him a knowing smile, you turn your attentions to rest of the exhibition, unable to hide your awe at just what is being shown to the public.

The art is incredible; your watercolours barely compare to what is being shown in Somerset House. He would disagree in a heartbeat, but Benedict could come close to producing something of this calibre. He had shown his portraits of his mother and brothers; Anthony making the perfect candidate for a painting.

You come to a natural stop in front of a portrait of a young women. A young queen, in fact. This particular queen had never got to reign in the manner that she was capable, dying after giving birth the king’s heir. His one true love, the king had called her after he death.

“She’s beautiful,” You whisper, admiring not only the artistry but also the focus on the painting.

Benedict watches you admiring the portrait painted so carefully by Holbein. Though the portrait is indeed beautiful, Benedict finds himself agreeing that they do not hold a candle to you. As he watches you lift a single hand, trying to dampen the urge to run your fingers over the brush strokes, he thinks to himself that there would be no artist on this earth that would be so talented to capture your beauty.

His breath comes faster; his heart rate increases. He recognises the symptoms; he’s only experienced such signs before. He had been eighteen then; barely a man but man enough to accept that he had fallen in love with his best friend. Years later, here he was, experiencing such feelings once more. Once more, he wonders what it would be like to be loved by you. He cannot help but hope that the mystery woman in the society papers is you.

-------

Dear Reader,

It seems that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton reads my paper!

He was overheard at the Somerset House Holbein exhibition, complaining to Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) about my last column in which I criticised his treatment of the lady in love with him.

All I have to say on the matter is this:

Mr. Bridgerton, for every complaint you offer, you break her heart further. Stop now before you do irreparable damage.

-----

“What does she mean ‘break her heart further’? I’ve been trying to figure out who it is so I can put a stop to it!”

“It doesn’t matter whether you know who it is, Benedict,” You argue, placing your teacup on the table, “But rather the fact that you unknowingly hurt whoever it is that is in love with you.”

“Do my feelings not matter?” He demands, throwing the damned paper onto the table. Benedict runs a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. “I’m sorry,” He apologises, “I should not have taken that tone with you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You’re forgiven,” You laugh, “I’ve heard you say a lot worse.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Leaning forward on your chair, you wring your hands together, working up the nerve. “What feelings haven’t they taken into account?”

“Lady Whistledown,” He spits the name with derision, “Hasn’t taken into account that I may not have noticed someone in love with me because I am in love with someone myself.”

It’s as if the chair is pulled out from under you; your stomach dips and flips as the world crashes around you and Benedict is none the wiser. He’s none the wiser to the palpable shift that has taken place. Instead, he’s sat down across from, looking utterly defeated.

“Does she know?” You ask after a moment of silence, using the time to pull yourself back together, to compile it all and put it away for later.

Benedict shakes his head; eyes sad as he watches you. “Why haven’t you told her?” You ask, unable to stop the questions now they’re on the tip of your tongue.

“I suppose for the same reason she hasn’t told me. Fear maybe?”

“Fear of what? I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything.”

“Fear of rejection. Fear of humiliation. Fear of ruining a friendship,” He lists off, counting the reasons on his fingers, holding them up for you to see.

“Have you thought about telling her?”

“All the time,” He answers honestly, and you wonder whether the crack your heart makes was audible to the whole of the ton.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

“Eventually.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the teacup instead of him, readying yourself to offer up your broken heart. To confess that the two most recent society papers have been about you; have shown your heart to the whole of London.

“It’s me,” You confess quietly, voice no louder than a whisper but he hears you all the same.

Benedict’s head whips towards you. Had this been another situation, it would have been funny, but the look on his face… “What?” He whispers, shocked.

“It’s me,” You announce; louder this time, ready to lay your heart out on the floor for him to break entirely. “It’s me, Benedict. Lady Whistledown must have overheard Eloise and myself talking at Lady Danbury’s ball the other night. She had caught me watching you dance and asked me outright. I couldn’t deny it. I’ve been in love with you for years, Benedict. For as long as I can remember.”

“For as long as you can remember?”

You nod, wringing your hands together once more. “I didn’t realise until I turned twenty, just what my feelings meant. I think I’ve always been in love with you, Benedict.”

Benedict remains silent; eyes wide, hands slack as they rest on his thighs. He looks like he doesn't believe the very words leaving your mouth; as if he is unworthy of the love you offer him so willingly. 

“Say something, please,” You plead, “I know it isn’t proper for the woman to announce her feelings for the man, but I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. Not when it is the focus for Lady Whistledown to sell more copies of her paper.”

“I didn’t know,” He whispers after a prolonged silence.

“You weren’t to know. You don’t have to feel the same, Benedict.”

“I do as it happens.”

“What?”

“I do feel the same,” Benedict clarifies, standing from his chair, “I’ve loved you since I was eighteen.”

You sniffle slightly; emotional from hearing the words you have longed to hear for years. The words that have haunted your dreams; had you rushing from sleep, so you didn’t let yourself believe an alternate reality.

“You do?”

Benedict nods, “I do. I love you very much.”

“I love you too,” You reply, standing from your chair, reaching for him – not wanting anymore space between the two of you.

He dips his head, pausing mere millimetres away from your lips. The question burns in his eyes; desperate to know whether he can kiss you after so long waiting. Your nod is barely imperceptible but it’s nod, nonetheless.

Slowly, almost wanting to savour every moment, Benedict presses his lips to yours. Reaching up, you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him pressed against you after having waited so long, after having dreamed of this moment for too long.

He tastes like tea and his hands bring to life the butterflies in your stomach as they wander the path of your back, settling on your lower back, dipping you slightly. Benedict groans softly at the feel of you lined up against him. If he had known heaven was this close, he would not have waited this long.

Benedict breaks the kiss; not out of need of air, but to stop himself from taking this too far when you feel like heaven pressed against him. You smile widely, kissing his jaw lovingly before starting to laugh lightly. Benedict’s hands on your waist tighten possessively as he joins you in laughter.

Briefly, he wonders whether this is what it feels like to be loved by you.

********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​

[disgruntledspacedad]

Save a Horse 

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

summary: (fluff, slice of life) You ride a horse. Javi has a heart attack. 

words: 2kish

warnings: language. Utter ignorance of ranch life, but Ears is enthusiastic, at least. No horses were harmed in the writing of this fic.

a/n: unbeta’d.

It was Pop’s idea to start with. 

“Have you ever ridden a horse, Orejas?” he breaks the easy morning silence suddenly, resting his empty mug on the counter and shooting you an expression that can only be described as conspiratorial.

“No,” you answer honestly, thinking wryly that Pop certainly knows how to catch your attention. 

Beside you, Javi stiffens, and you can feel his gaze heavy on you. He’s been a little jumpy ever since he’d got you back, and with good reason, really. You rest a reassuring hand on his thigh and squeeze, receiving just as much comfort from the gesture as you’re offering.

This man is your rock.

Pop is still watching you expectantly, and you feel your lips tug upward. It’s so easy to smile at Chucho Peña. “But I’m game to try anything twice.”

Pop grins, and Javi blusters a deep sigh.

It’s nice outside. For being early November, the weather is surprisingly mild in Laredo, the air smelling of grass and hay and maybe a little bit of horse, but in a good way. The sunshine is warm on your skin, the sky extending bright blue as far as you can see. 

Pop leads you to the stables, prattling on about horses and saddles and other things that you don’t understand in the slightest. Javi follows silently, catching your fingers in a vice grip. His jaw is tense, his brow furrowed in that little frown that seems to be permanently affixed to his face ever since Colombia.

Your heart flip flops, and you stop, pulling him close enough to rest your head on his chest. Automatically, Javi’s arms wrap around you, pulling you in, and he sighs deeply into your hair. 

“Freaking out,” you remind him gently. 

He huffs a tiny laugh. “I know.”

You lift your lips for a quick kiss, and Javi obliges eagerly. “It’s going to be okay, babe,” you murmur as you pull away. 

“I know,” he repeats softly, looking for all the world like he really doesn’t. 

“Come on.” You tug at him, noticing Pop carefully not watching you in the distance. “It’ll be fun.”

“I doubt that,” Javi mutters darkly, but he follows anyway.

“This is Caballo,” Pop announces, stopping in front of a freakishly huge black stallion.

Creative, you almost say aloud, reminding yourself to be nice just in time. This man is as good as your father-in-law. It’s probably wise to keep that favorable impression you’ve made.

As if sensing your thought, Pop winks at you. “Javier named him.”

You shoot a little smirk in Javi’s direction, knowing that he’ll pick up on your teasing. He doesn’t rise to your bait, though, the killjoy.

In no time at all, the horses are saddled up and ready to go. Javi is perched atop a cream-colored mare, Cerveza, and Caballo is all yours.

Pop declines to ride, preferring to supervise you from the ground. “He’s very gentle, Orejas,” he tells you as he helps you into the saddle. “Won’t throw you or buck. Not like Cerveza.” He winks up at you. “Es una pequeña perra.”

Together, you laugh. You’ve picked up on enough Spanish curses during your time in Colombia to get the message.

Javi and Pop offer you some last-second advice - relax, sit up straight, and keep the reigns loose - and then you’re off, plod-plod-ploding at a mind-numbingly sedate pace around the fence line. 

By the third lap, you are thoroughly, utterly, completely bored.

“I think I’m ready to go faster!” you shout to Pop. “Can I make him go faster?”

Pop tips his hat at you, shooting you a toothy grin. “Tap him on the sides with your heels, Orejas, and say, ‘giddap!’”

“Gently,” Javi warns you sharply.

You shoot him a glare that’s only half-mocking. As if you’d just kick this poor horse in the ribs - god, it’s like Javi doesn’t know you at all.

“Giddap,” you say in your most dignified voice, nudging Caballo with your feet like Pop had told you. Caballo jolts forward, cantering half-heartedly for a couple of steps, then slowing to a walk with a disdainful snort. 

Ugh. You toss a questioning glance back at Javi. He’s doing a very poor job of hiding his grin.

Motherfucker.

Pop is smiling, too. “Try it with a little more authority, Orejas!” he advises. “He’s a big animal, and proud. You’ve got to tell him what to do, not ask politely.” 

 Javi snorts. ”Shouldn’t be too hard.”

You whip around to stare at him, lurching forward when Caballo reacts to your sudden shift in body weight. Behind you, Javi breaks out into snickers.

Well, then.

Exasperated, you decide that Javier Peña is far more of a big, dumb, proud animal than the horse you’re riding, and you manage to climb atop him every day and submit him to your will just fine.

Caballo shouldn’t be a problem. 

You square your shoulders, determined to get it right this time, and summon every John Wayne movie you’ve ever seen to the forefront of your mind. It’s not an impressive anthology to pull from - you’re more of a sci-fi kind of girl - but it’s more than enough to get a clear picture in your head of what needs to happen. 

You gather the reigns in one hand, straighten your back, and take a deep breath. 

“Hyah!”

Caballo is off like a shot, surging forward with an enthusiasm that sends your body rocketing backwards. Your feet fly up, suddenly free of the stirrups, and its all you can do to hold like mad to the reigns with your right hand - why the fuck did you decide one hand was better, anyway?? - while your left flaps free in the wind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” you tell Caballo. You’re not begging, you’re not.

You’re vaguely aware of shouts behind you.

You manage to pitch forward just enough to avoid falling off the ass-end of the horse, but it’s a near thing. Caballo is in a full-out gallop, lungs chugging beneath you, mane flapping in the wind and stinging your eyeballs. You lean in and hold on for dear life, and goddamn, none of those westerns ever mention just how rough it is on horseback. You are going to be so fucking sore tomorrow, ass, tits, and bits, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, because you are riding this horse, dammit.

You realize your mistake a moment later. Pride goeth before the fall, and your feet had shaken free of the stirrups on Caballo’s initial leap forward. Now, your legs are free-floating, flap, flap, flapping in the wind, and each bounce is sending you just a hair further over to the side. 

Oh shit shit shit.

You flail, arching your toes in a desperate attempt to find purchase somewhere, but it’s a done deal. Grip with your knees, some primal instinct screams, or maybe that’s just Javi - you think he might be chasing you in the background.

By this point, you’re flat sideways on Caballo’s body, curled up more on his ribs than his back. Flop flop flop. He hasn’t slowed one bit, and you realize with sudden, horrifying clarity that gravity is a fucking bitch, and it’s a matter of where, not if or when, you fall.

You decide to do things on your own terms and let go, dumb as it may be. You pitch forward and roll, tucking your shoulder into the ground like your gymnastics teacher had taught you when you were six. There’s a horrifying moment of chaos and pain - the world is spinning, nothing is under your control, and the breath is knocked completely from you, but it’s over in an instant, and you’re left staring at the shockingly blue sky, blinking into the sunlight and listening to the receding hoof-falls of that goddamned horse.

“Ears! Ears! Ears!” Javi is making a lot of fucking noise somewhere over your shoulder. 

The ridiculousness of the situation hits you all at once, along with a truckload of relief. You relive it all in an instant, picturing how utterly fucking stupid you must have looked, clinging to a runaway horse with your hair wild in the wind and your short little legs bouncing like chicken wings, and before you can find your way to your feet again, you’re laughing so hard that you can’t fucking breathe, which is almost a problem, because there wasn’t much air left in you to begin with -

Javi’s kneeling over you now, blocking the sun with his body, panting hard. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Ears, are you okay?”

You can’t stop laughing long enough to answer him. You curl up in a ball on your side, trying push yourself up on your elbows, but you can’t.

“Oh… Oh my… Oh my god,” you stutter, breathless. 

Beside you, the tension bleeds from Javi’s body in one long, broken sigh. You realize that he’s laughing, too. He leans his forehead into your shoulder, slumping into you bonelessly.

“I… I couldn’t… the fucking foot loops -” in your discombobulated state, the word ‘stirrup’ is lost to you. “My feet, Javi!”

He shakes his head into your neck, hot little breaths puffing on your bare skin. “I know,” he giggles, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. “I saw.”

You try to stagger upright and don’t quite manage it. You’re feeling dizzy, almost a little drunk, but before you can stumble again, Javi is right there, hauling you to your feet and catching your lips in a deep, gentle kiss.

“You.” Javi breathes into you, his mustache tickling at your lip, and you lean heavily against him, allowing him to do most of the work of holding you up. “Ridiculous girl,” more kisses, “What do you have against me, huh?” a soft nip at the corner of your mouth, “It’s like you just try to scare the life out of me, Ears.”

“Dunno.” Your voice trembles, and you’re unsure whether that’s leftover adrenaline or the way Javi’s gigantic hands are stroking possessively at your ribcage. The flannel he’s wearing is worn soft with age, and you nuzzle into it, sighing. “It’s a hobby, I guess.”

“I can think of better hobbies,” Javi growls at the skin of your neck.

“Not right here,” you laugh, suddenly aware of Pop approaching. Javi whines like a puppy as you push him away gently, his hair mussed and his lips swollen, and your heart swells in your chest.

Christ, sometimes you still cannot believe how fucking lucky you are. 

“Besides.” You can’t resist stealing one last kiss from his chin. “You know you love it.”

Javi’s breath catches. His eyes darken. One thumb strokes softly at your cheek, tucking back a stray hair. “Querida,” he starts -

You’re startled by a slow clap behind you, and both you and Javi jump back as if burned. Pop has finally made it to the scene. “Buena, Orejas!” he teases, his dark eyes dancing. “Well done!”

Asshole, you think fondly. Sarcasm runs strong in the Peña clan, it seems. You shake your head at him, a grin pulling at your cheeks.

Pop reaches to grip Caballo by the reigns. The motherfucker had finished his flight around the the ranch and wandered back toward you, sedately, almost nonchalantly, as if to say, ‘who, me?’

“Ready to go again?” Pop asks, holding out the reigns in your direction. 

Javi groans. “No, Dad.”

You’re not sure if Pop’s serious, but you are. “Absolutely!” Fresh air and adrenaline have made you giddy, and you decide on the spot that, apart from almost dying, riding a horse is the most fun you’ve ever had in your life. 

Caballo takes a little half step back, side-eyeing you with as much expression as a horse can muster, as if he’s sensed your intent and wholeheartedly does not approve.

You glance back at Javi. He’s sighing hard, head in his hands, rubbing his palms to his eyeballs with a ferocity that must have him seeing spots.

You decide to have mercy. “How about tomorrow?” you suggest, bumping shoulders with Javi in a gentle reminder that you’re here, you’re okay. “I know there’s still some beer in the fridge.” 

Pop nods sagely, still grinning as he pats Caballo on the haunches. “I think so.” He offers you a quick wink, and you decide for the third time this morning that you really, really like your almost father-in-law.

“Thank fuck,” Javi mutters to himself. 

You elbow him hard enough to draw a grunt, then offer him a quick peck on the lips in compensation. “Come on, babe. It wasn’t that bad.” 

He huffs in response. 

[rms-moonchild]

Chapter two

WORD COUNT: 1k+ words

GENRE: Fluffy, romance, angst, smut at a later date

PAIRING: Namjoon x original character

DESCRIPTION: It was supposed to be just a normal day of filming RUN BTS. Namjoon didn’t know he was about to discover something he certainly was not ready for. That something being finding a girl in the middle of the forest.

THEMES: Namjoon x Fem!character, mentions of abuse/rape, Smut, some Violence, some strong language

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ride to the hospital was a rather eventful one. Namjoon's heart sank more than a few times. It appears they had gotten to her just in time because she crashed once leading them to need to administer CPR and at one point, she started to have a seizure. Why was Namjoon there may you ask? Well after some rather intense debate he managed to convince them to let him join in the off chance that she woke up and didn't understand Korean. He didn't think she would and neither did the medics, but Namjoon looked about ready to strap himself to the ambulance in order to be able to go with them. Truth be told be just felt like it was his responsibility to make sure she was going to be okay. He was the one that found her. Shouldn't he be able to know if she was alright? She was his responsibility from here on out.

"We're here. I'm sorry to say but this is as far as you are allowed to go. A nurse will escort you to a waiting area and we'll update you as soon as we can." The head medic told Namjoon as he wheeled the girl into the emergency area. As soon as she was out of sight a nurse ushered him into a small waiting room. I was empty of people which he was happy for. Sitting down he pulled his phone and dialed the first name in his recent call log. He fidgeted anxiously waiting for the person to answer.

"It's about time you called! I was about ready to start calling all the hospitals to check if you were in any of them!" Namjoon grimaced and held the phone away from his ear as the other person yelled on the other end.

"I'm sorry Seokjin-Hyung. We just got here. They have me in some waiting room."

"So, I'm guessing you don't know anything yet?"

"No, not yet. Though I probably won't for a while either. She wasn't doing very well while on the way. They had to restart her heart and she started having seizures. I'll let you know as soon as I know something."

"You really expect us to just go back to the hotel and wait for you there. No, we are coming to the hospital to wait with you." That was Jungkook. They must have him on speaker as he heard a round of murmured agreements.

"You don't have to. We don't all need to be here. You should go rest while you can." He sighed smiling slightly when his comment was met with cries of outrage.

"We are coming whether you want us to or not Joon. So just tell us which hospital you went to so we can come, and all be anxious together." Yoongi said after he managed to get everyone to calm down. After he told them where he was, he hung up and sighed. Leaning back, he tried not to think too negatively about whether the girl was going to make it or not. After about 20 minutes, he wasn't sure, the other member rushed into the waiting room looking at Namjoon hoping that he had some answers. When he shook his head they visibly deflated and sat down in various spots determined to get comfortable for who knows how long they would be here for.

Several hours and a bunch of coffee later a doctor finally came in looking exhausted but relieved, "Are you all here for the young woman" The doctor asked looking around the room. As soon as they heard him start speaking, the members were scrambling to get up and start asking questions.

"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down, please. I can't answer all of your questions at once. One at a time please." The doctor pleaded backing away slightly.

"Sorry," Namjoon apologized for the group after managing to calm everyone down, "How is she doing? Is she going to be alright?"

"The young miss is going to be fine. We managed to locate and repair where she was bleeding internally. Surprisingly enough she didn't have any broken bones. However, that's not to say that she's not in bad shape. Most of her ribs were heavily bruised and she'll need to be careful of the stitches on her stomach from where we had to do surgery. She was also severely dehydrated as well as malnourished. Once she is released, she'll need to take it easy on the food. Too much and it'll make her sick." He explained making sure they all understood, "We are not sure whether she will have any neurological damage until she wakes up. Until then it will be helpful to talk to her. She may be able to hear you even if it seems as though it seems as if she is asleep."

"Can we see her now then?" Namjoon asked smiling slightly. Even if they managed to get her in stable condition didn't mean they were out of the woods yet. The worst case is that she never woke up.

"Yes, however, the authorities would like to speak with whoever found her first."

"That would be me." The doctor nodded a waved for Namjoon to follow him out the door.

"A nurse will be in to show the rest of you to the recovery room." And with that, he left the room with Namjoon following close behind. They walked to the end of the hall and to the right then through a door where two police officers were waiting. They turned to when the two entered the room. The doctor bowed before leaving the room.

"So, you're the one that found her?" Officer one asked.

"Yes sir"

"Can you tell exactly what happened? We already talked to you director and managed, but we would like to hear what you recall of the incident." Officer two said pulling out a notepad.

"Well, we were in the middle of filming our newest RUN BTS episode. It was going to us playing paintball. I had decided that I didn't want to be in the main crossfire, so I was going further out to wait for a good opportunity. I heard my name being called because I was going too far out, but when I turned, I saw something lying there so I went to go look what it was. That's when I noticed that it was a girl. I immediately check to see if she was alive and called for help. That's when my Hoseok showed up and he ran to get help. She must have been out there a while because she was very cold. I placed my overshirt on her to try and help. I'm not sure if it did, but I'd like to think that it did." Namjoon explained. Sure, he left out a small detail here and there, but he got the main point across, "I was wearing a head camera if you would like to look at it. I'm sure Bighit will be more than happy to hand over the footage."

"Thank you, Mr. Kim. If we need it we will contact them. Thank you for your time." Officer one said getting ready to leave.

"What's going to happen to her?" Namjoon asked before they could leave.

"As of right now she is under the care of the hospital so she will remain here still stated otherwise by the hospital. Once she wakes up, we will be able to better determine what is best for her. For now, let's just hope she gets better and recovers." And with that, they left after bowing.

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

Date tag - January 28

January 28 - Angst with Confessions

Author’s Note: So one of my weird, obsessive interests is war correspondents. I’ve read lots of books by them and lots of articles, including this amazing one about female war correspondents. There really was a “reporter hotel” outside Baghdad during the various wars in Iraq, which is oft cited as being a place that is falling apart and may suffer from rubble from bombings and blackouts, but offered an array of black market booze for the reporters. I really admire war and conflict correspondents, so I hope I don’t make light of the harrowing situations they put themselves through in order to do their jobs well. Also, this was oddly inspired by a convo with @theunpaidcritic about reporter!AUs for JB.

Slightly NSFW.

***

“Fuck, Hyle, how many times do I have to tell you? Your job is to send our editor the photos we choose together. Not your favorites.” 

Jaime looks across the crowded hotel ballroom, where Brienne’s usually calm voice is raised above the normal level of ruckus of the room. At any given time, the Orange Coast Hotel, is a temporary home to numerous reporters and photographers from across the known world who cover the war raging in the Disputed Lands and beyond. 

The nearby conflict has not left the hotel unharmed, and at any given time, there are bombings and blackouts. Correspondents hunker down in the ballroom, swearing over stories or taking calls on their various phones, both the slim mobiles if there’s service available, and the chunky satellite phones when in an emergency, which for them means a deadline. 

Brienne sorts out whatever issue she’s having with her colleague after more raised voices and wild hand gestures, before she huffs across the room and sits down next to him. “I don’t know why you put up with him,” he says calmly. 

“He has a lot of conflict experience,” she sighs, her voice a near grumble. 

“But you don’t get along. In this line of work, you need someone who has your back, and not just with your editor.” 

Brienne narrows her eyes at him and takes a swig from Jaime’s half finished glass of whiskey. “It’s only a six week assignment. I’ll make do.” 

The first time he met Brienne, he called her too innocent to be a war correspondent. She’d been green, he hadn’t been wrong about that, but she found her footing quickly. Brienne scarcely backed down--not from her editors or a story--and over the years, their admiration for each other had only grown. Reporting on conflict and trauma made you bond quickly, and sometimes in unhealthy ways, with your colleagues. “You could come work with me,” he offers easily. 

“I already want to kill Hyle,” she grouses, running a hand through her hair. “You think that wouldn’t apply to you?” 

Jaime chuckles. “Probably doubly so.” 

She allows a small smile at that. “Where’s Dacey?” 

“Off on a world tour,” he shrugs, but catches Brienne’s worried gaze. “She’s having a tough time, after what happened in Qohor. So she’s taking a break. A long one.” 

“So you’re out here by yourself?” He sent in his photos an hour ago, but prefers to stay in the midst of the fray rather than return to the quiet of his room. He nods. “That isn’t safe, Jaime.” Her hand falls to his knee and he tries not to think of all the times they’d turned to each other for comfort. This godsforsaken place. 

“It’s alright,” he replies, a little too cavalierly. Brienne’s blue eyes slice through him, practiced and observant. 

*

It’s practically a rite of passage at the Orange Coast Hotel: reporters and photographers drinking heavily and then winding up in each other’s rooms. Some of those nights have destroyed long distance relationships, a few marriages, but never, as far as she knows, anyone’s career. War reporters are far too proficient at being damaged. They might fuck a colleague, but their moral obligation is to tell the story, to let people know of the world’s horrors and injustices, to challenge them not to look away. 

So when Jaime shows up at Brienne’s room after midnight, she’s hardly surprised. He steps into her arms without so much as a hello and then her hands are undoing his belt, and fuck, she’s forgotten how fun it is. It feels wrong to say she missed this, but it rises up on her tongue all the same, Jaime kissing her in reply. He fucks her, Brienne bent over, her hands against the wall. When she drags him to bed, they slow things down, the closest to loving she’s ever had. 

Afterwards, he falls asleep, his soft snores keeping her company as she lies awake, wondering what it would be like to work together. Jaime is the best in his field, and has been since before she graduated. Brienne never told him that when she was still in university, he came to give a lecture on war photography. All the other girls were swooning over his brooding nature, his devil may care smile, but she thought he was full of himself, and he proved her right the first time they met in a conflict zone. Never meet your idols, she remembers thinking, and now, she sleeps beside him, trying to puzzle together when she may have fallen in love with him. 

In the morning, she’s surprised to find him there with coffee, orange juice, and toast brought up from the bar downstairs. His camera bag is by the door. “You don’t even carry a suitcase now?” she teases, starting to reach over him for a piece of toast, but he snags her wrist and to her surprise, pulls her down onto his lap, kissing her. “Jaime, is everything okay?” They’ve never done this. The morning after. At most, they would give each other a nod or wave in the hotel lobby, one or both of them with bags under their eyes. 

“I have to go to the Painted Mountains for a couple weeks,” he tells her, voice gravelly and still thick from sleep. “But when I get back we should talk about this.” 

Brienne blinks, thinking she’s dreaming it. “About what?” 

“You and I,” he chuckles, his green eyes twinkling. 

“Working together?” she asks, confused. 

“Brienne.” He says, exasperated, but he’s laughing, and then leaning in for another kiss, longer this time. Oh. Her hand tentatively traces his cheek, skin weathered from the time spent outdoors in the desert sun, her fingertips burning over his scruff. 

When they pull apart, Brienne nearly laughs, she’s scarcely felt this happy. “Why now?” They’ve been doing this for years. 

“Why not now?” he replies, not giving much away, but understanding slowly dawns on his face. She wants a real answer. “Because I miss you when you’re gone.” 

A warmth pulses through her, realizing the kernel of truth in what she said last night. Brienne doesn’t just miss the sex, their connection. She misses him, she misses them, when they’re apart, each off on assignment. “I miss you, too.” He wraps his arms around her then, Brienne resting her chin on the top of his head. “You’re coming back here in two weeks?” Jaime nods. 

*

She and Hyle return to the hotel after a long day. Covered in dust and mud and possibly blood, all she wants is to take a shower, but Brienne stops in the middle of the lobby when she sees Catelyn Tully at the hotel front desk, looking frazzled. Her heart rate picks up. Why would Jaime’s editor be here if he’s not due back for another week? It’s been a long time since they’ve seen each other, but Brienne steps over to where the older woman is standing. “Catelyn, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh, Brienne, thank gods. I’m trying to find someone to take me to Slaver’s Bay. Jaime is in the hospital there.” Everything happens in slow motion after that. Catelyn must lead her over to one of the lobby’s couches, because that’s where she finally returns to herself, a stiff drink in her hand. “You didn’t hear?” She shakes her head. “There was an ambush in Khyzai Pass. He was with the company under attack.” 

“Khyzai Pass?” It was incredibly dangerous, much more so than the Painted Forest. 

“I didn’t know either,” the older woman says, her tone somber. “I wouldn’t have let him go.” 

Jaime’s sudden need for clarification about their relationship takes on a new meaning and Brienne curses herself for being so stupid. “I should have realized.” The whole area is in such tumult that for years, Slaver’s Bay has been cut off from most means of transportation. The only way they might be able to reach Jaime is by boat, but traversing the straits of Valyria would take days. “Did you talk to the hospital?” 

Catelyn nods, her face pale. “They said he was stable, but he’d lost a lot of blood. He...his hand got hurt. There may be nerve damage.” 

She nods, her throat thick with emotion, tears welling up in her eyes. If he couldn’t take photos, Jaime wouldn’t want to live. An urgency rises up in her chest. “We have to get to him.” 

A shadow falls across the two of them, and Brienne looks up to find Sandor Clegane looming. “I can take you there.” 

They spend the next two days in an armored Jeep, barely stopping, but Clegane is true to his word, they breeze through checkpoints, and Brienne can barely thank him before she’s racing through the hospital corridors, a name echoing in each heartbeat. Jaime Jaime Jaime. 

[linkspooky]

Hey, I’ve been reading a lot of your BNHA metas, (they’re all absolutely awesome btw) and I was wondering about two things, what kind of mental illness do you think Shigaraki has? And I read a post somewhere that speculated that he might have suffered a tbi when his father hit him with the tree sheers, do you think that might be true?

Hello anon, thank you for your ask! 

I will try to answer your questions the best I can, however beforehand I think it’s important to note that I don’t really like diagnosing characters outside of like specific examples where the authors tell us this is the disease they were attempting to portray, or headcanons. Shigaraki clearly shows signs of mental illness, but I don’t think Horikoshi writes characters by looking up a list of symptoms in the DSM and then writing them based on that. 

Also yes, the two clearest examples of mental Illness (Shigaraki, Twice) are both villains but I have faith that the mental illness of Shigaraki is an instance where it’s used to humanize him and show how much of a victim of a system both characters are, rather than just to give the villain traits that are abnormal and therefore creepy and dangerous. 

I can’t give you a specific dianogisis but I can give you a more in depth look at several symptoms that Shigaraki displays. 

Excoriation 

Excoriation disorder is an obsessive-compulsive spectrum mental disorder that is characterized by the repeated urge or impulse to pick at one’s own skin to the extent that either psychological or physical damage is caused. In Shigaraki’s case it’s clearly a stress response that is aggravated the more violent, unstable or dangerous a situation he is put into. 

Which is why I find claims that Shigaraki is content with violence, or likes being a killer and is comfortable living this way to be false. Because Shigaraki’s own body constantly rejects him. He feels a compuslive need to scratch and harm himself because his body cannot handle the stress of being violent. It’s a stress response because Shigaraki does not actually on some level want to be doing these things, and living in a constant state of stress and harm makes him more compelled to vent his stress by following his compulsions. 

The compulsion he feels can sometimes get so bad that in childhood he was rolling around the floor, crying and frantically scratching his whole body. This is not what All for One said and him holding back his urge to kill, but rather Shigaraki responding to the stress. Shigaraki is seven and was put in front of two homeless people who were threatening to harm him and he already came from a physically abusive household. He’s in unbelievable stress with no healthy way of venting it, and thereofre he compulsively self harms. 

GAME TALK

In general Shigaraki uses a lot of game talk. This is not so much a symptom of mental illness necessarily as it is a coping mechanism, but the goal is for Shigaraki to distance himself from reality. Basically it’s a mechanism for rgaining control because if you imagine life as just one big game where you are the player, you feel much more in control then some random kid who lost his family in a freak accident then got picked up by a super villain. Gamespeak is also a way of being deeply impersonal with the situation, in case it goes bad Shigaraki can say it’s just game over. It’s a layer of distance between him and reality, like I said, escapism to cope. His insistence of using game terminology for everything could also be seen as a “special interest” but once again that depends on your intepretation Shigaraki shows a whole cluster of symptoms that overlap with a lot of things. 

HIGH ATTENTION TO DETAIL

Shigaraki in a fight where he and AIzawa are jumping around trying to kill each other, Shigaraki is able to notice a detail as minute as when the hair falls over Aizawa’s eyes it stops, and also that his quirk was weakening because the tiny seconds long windows were getting shorter and shorter. 

This is an extremely small detail to notice. Hyper-sensitizing, or hyper-attention to detail is another sign of mental illness, because usually the brain filters out superfluous details like this because otherwise noticing everything in that fine detail would overwhelm the senses. 

Immaturity 

Shigaraki is completely unable to handle his negative emotions like a well-rounded adult. Though, I dislike how All Might and the others phrase it in this discussion because it is a pretty ablist description (downright sick in the head, a toddler’s sense of feeling like he can do whatever he wants). (the ablist part is that they’re using symptoms of his clear mental illness to dehumanize him.)

Regardless, Shigaraki of course does act like a man child, constantly talking about games, giving up easily, not having the patience to converse with others especially in situations he does not want to be in, throwing tantrums. 

Children who are abused and neglected especially to the extreme extent that Shigaraki has, show long term developmental (that is term for the process of growing into a full adult) and behavioral problems. To the point where some studies have shown even the brain’s chemistry is permanently effected and the brain grows differently. 

Children need a stable environment, and also positive role models for what adults act like to grow into full fledged adults, Shigaraki had neither of those. In fact he was also raised almost entirely outside of society except for the first five years of his life, so there is also no outside influence on his upbringing as well, which is why he is like a child, egocentric, unable to handle his emotions, because mentally he was never given the chance to develop past one. 

ISOLATION

This is something that Shigaraki showed at the start of the series, but also has shown to develop past. At first he never left his room and from the several trash bags it’s quite obvious he spent long periods of time in there without taking care of himself or the environment around him in any significant way. 

Shigaraki is no longer isolating as a result of having gotten closer to the league, he is basically available to them at all times and does not shut them off in any significant way. Which in this quick tangent we can also talk about symptoms Shigaraki does not have. Shigaraki is able to read a room pretty clearly, and knows how to hide himself in a crowd enough to keep Deku hostage with no trouble at all, and even leave the scene with Uraraka there without provoking her into attacking him or tipping her off what he was doing right away. Shigaraki is fairly competent at reading other people and he does have social skills so he’s not like someone who never sees the light of day or cannot interact with others and is clueless on how people think. 

He’s also shown to be capable of making emotional connections with other people, and also of being considerate to those people’s needs. Which also shows that Shigaraki is capable of communication and also has an awareness of the feelings of other people and the ability to empathize, he is just choosy about who he makes connections with. He is definitely not someone unable to form an emotional connection with another person. 

Shigaraki also shows a pretty flagrant disregard for all social norms, but that can be a result of being raised outside of society all of his life.

Shigaraki also likes to piss people off on purpose, almost like he is testing their boundaries and what he can get away with the same way a child playing around might.

Dissociation

We have seen Shigaraki experience Dissociation in both senses of the word. First we have seen him physically detach himself from his feelings, and his own body in the middle of a fight and still continue on in a fugue-like state. 

He experiences dissociation in the sense of the word meaning periods of detachment to your body, drifting away from your consciousness, severe feelings of alienation from himself, extreme difficulty concentrating or holding focus to the moment, his perception of both time and the area around him slipping to levels that are borderline hallucinogenic. 

Dissociation is a mental process where a person disconnects from their thoughts, feelings, memories or sense of identity.

Shigaraki also displays traits of what is more classicly known as Dissasociative identity disord. He has two names, and clearly considers the life of Shimura Tenko to be separate from Shigaraki Tomura for a long time at the start of the manga. It might not be full on DID, but he at least dissociated his memories away from himself long enough that he forgot all of them like those memories belonged to another person, not Shigaraki but rather Tenko. 

Shigaraki also foils Twice pretty heavily who developed actual dissociatve identity disord. He even shares similiar symptoms of speaking to himself when he speaks to the hand of “father”. I am not saying he has full on DID like I said I’m not diagnoising just that he displays several symptoms of it. He also came from an abusive household at an incredibly young age, which is where DID most commonly manifests. 

Shigaraki also shows signs of flashbacks when his memories return at inconvenient times during fights when direclty exposed to violence, or he experiences a trigger reminding him of his past. Flashbacks are a symptom that have the most in common with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

To answer your question on whether Shigaraki has a brain injury from when his father hit him with shears, there is evnidence suggesting he could have suffered brain damage, especially in the symptoms that he shares with Twice. However, at the same time Shigaraki also would have developed brain damage either way. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is something that permanently rewires the brain after exposure to trauma. His brain has suffered a traumatic injury regardless of whether or not it was the garden sheers that did him in. 

Suicidal Ideation / Self Harm

Shigaraki in general wishes to not exist, or to destroy everything so it will not exist anymore. Even if it’s not a direct wish for suicide that symptom is called suicidal ideation. It’s intrusive and persistent thoughts of suicide. The likely cause is once again, Shigaraki is absolutely not comfortable living like this, and is constantly overwhelmed with stress and pain and is seeking an escape. 

Shigaraki also actively seeks out harm. The same way he obsessively compulsively scratches, he puts himself into harmful situations like the extremely painful hellish surgery the doctor said he did not even have to endure if he did not want to. He feels compelled to harm himself, even when he is not fighting against someone else. He inflicts harm on himself becauseit is once again an unhealthy way to process his emotions. Oncce again all of these symptoms are there not to make Shigaraki out to be terrifying and incomprehensible because he is mentally ill, but rather to show he is a human being caught within the cycle of abuse with extremely unhealthy methods of coping with that fact. 

[whumpywhumper]

Soup

So @0idril0 authorized me to go ahead and post the next section of her Nico series which I wrote :) It is original author approved  

Continued from: here

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @captivity-whump @kungpao-giffy @doityourselfbombs @comfy-whumpee @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumptywhumpdump @whumpitywhumpwhump @walkingchemicalfire @genesissane @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump

*** 

Sorina hummed while she worked, kneading the bread to go with her slowly simmering bone broth. She’d roasted the chicken before carefully separating the meat from the bones, adding them to her already chopped vegetables and water. 

The rest of the pack house was quiet. She’d woken a few hours after her fainting spell-and hadn’t that been embarrassing-to being warm and comfortable. Cocooned in sheets and a quilt she didn’t recognize, surrounded by the scent of soap and safety. It took her a moment  to recall where she was, but, as soon as she had, she crept from the room into the darkened hallway. Open doors revealed no one in the extra rooms, and absolutely no bedding on them. 

On silent feet (and she felt a flutter in her stomach when she realized Evan probably removed her shoes), she stole into the living room and found Kristy and her friends. Moonlight spilled over their sleeping forms, giving its soft illuminescence to the room. She had to smile at them, even in spite of the circumstances that made them do it, because it was just too fuckin’ cute. 

Kristy and Brian were on a pallet on the floor, every spare blanket, pillow, and cushion in the middle of the living room. The sucubi had braided her hair to sleep, taming her normally riotous curls, and the end of the braid was curled in Brian’s fingers, where he’d apparently fallen asleep playing with it. 

They were curled toward each other, his other arm under his head, like he’d been leaning on it to get a better look at her while they talked. Kristy’s face was slack with sleep, arms held crossed over her chest like she had since she was little. Their blanket was bunched around her, barely covering Brian, but it was obvious that she hadn’t just stolen them. 

Sorina shook her head, amused. I wonder how long that’s been going on. 

Clint had stretched himself out on the couch, one of his hands laying across Nico’s forearm like he couldn’t bear to not touch him even in sleep. The corners of her lips turned down, and she huffed the ghost of a sigh. She needed the full story. 

Propped in a chair next to Nico was Evan, his head tipped back and neck stretched at an awkward angle. His mouth was open, and every slight inhale drew out a small snore. In his lap was a clipboard, full of papers with times, medication names, and stats carefully listed. He clutched a damp rag in one hand, the other dangling to the side, a pencil underneath the chair from where it had dropped through sleep numb fingers. 

She smiled, letting her eyes soften and reached toward him, letting her magic soothe the worry lines from inbetween his brows. He needed to sleep. There was a lot of responsibility on him, he couldn’t afford to be so out of it. 

Stepping forward, around her sleeping sister and her unrealized paramour, her hand crept into Evan’s hair. The graying strands were soft under her fingers, but she didn’t linger. Gently, she tipped his head forward so that he wouldn’t wake with a crick in his neck. The exhausted man didn’t stir, only letting out a small snuffle of air as he settled in. 

They were all so tired, absolutely drained of energy, and all due to one poor victim of a crime she didn’t fully understand. Said victim looked like he was finally asleep. Actually resting instead of the delirious half-conscious state he had been in previously. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, the wet wheeze still audible, but he wasn’t panicked, and the rapid eye movement and twitching was gone. 

Leaning over the arm of the couch, she checked on Nico, touching the back of her hand to his forehead. The sweltering heat from before had lessened. Now, it was no longer the heat of a desert dune midday, but it was still warm, like she was holding her hand too close to a candle. 

Checking the clipboard in Evan’s lap, she saw that his last medication was listed about 2:15 a.m. Barely twenty minutes before. Evan must have fallen asleep fast and hard. 

Turning back, she brushed her hand through his hair softly, like her mother used to do when she was sick, and noticed it was cleaner than before. Evaluating him further, she noticed that his bandages were fresh and clean. They’d bathed him, apparently, the speckles and smears of blood that had been present across his skin washed clean. 

A curl of satisfaction unfurled itself in her belly,  hopeful that her work had actually made a difference to saving his life. He certainly looked stronger, and there’s no way he would have tolerated a bath in the state he was when she arrived. 

Settling on the arm of the lounger, she curled her hand against Nico’s fingers, mindful of the broken and misaligned bones. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t stir. 

Looking past the ulcerated wounds on his face and neck, Sorina noted his pale complexion, more than just blood loss and lack of sunlight. His blue eyes as he’d panicked while she worked and examined him called out to her, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of her little brother. That name still rang in her head like the biggest of bells in a church steeple. 

Nico. 

She wiped at a tear that tried to form in her eye, recalling her own brother’s cherubic cheeks and curly black hair. How both of them had looked so much like their mother that her father joked that when they were older people would think they were triplets. 

Viciously, Sorina chased away the image of them both laying still and unmoving on the asphalt, blood pooling across the black surface as she’d tried to get up and get away from the men with guns. Her face throbbing as she pushed her way into running, hands cut to shreds on glass. 

I don’t want to think about that. Stop it.

She took a deep breath, exhaling her pain as she laid Nico’s hand back to his stomach. Her Nico was dead and gone, but this one still needed help. The IV bag that Evan had set up would have fluids to keep him hydrated, but the injured man still needed nutrients. Everything he could get packed into a medium he could keep down. Plus, everyone else would need to eat too. 

So, a few hours later, Sorina found herself in a strange kitchen kneading dough. A red, plaid apron was wrapped around her, protecting her clothes from flour streaks. The kitchen was surprisingly well stocked, and she hadn’t found any difficulty in finding any ingredient she needed. 

Once it was closer to actual morning, she would make some real breakfast food, but the soup she was making had a majority of the nutrients Nico would need while being easy enough on his stomach to keep it down. Plus, she was making enough of it to last for days. 

She’d checked on Nico every fifteen minutes while she worked, making sure that he was still sleeping and stable. She had the feeling that Evan wouldn’t be very happy that he’d fallen asleep, but Nico was safe, and he needed the sleep. 

While she was separating the dough for its last rising, a strangled snort and the quiet thump of something on the carpet made her turn around. Wiping her hands on the apron, she went into the living room to find Evan leaning over Nico. His clipboard was on the floor, probably escaped when he shifted in his sleep, but it was ignored now. The beast master’s fingers were on the boy’s throat, checking his pulse and the tight wind of his shoulders relaxed as he found it.

“He’s alright, Evan,” she said softly, not wanting to wake the others. 

Surprised, he jumped and twirled on her, eyes flashing red for just a split second before he recognized her. He put a hand to his chest, breathing heavily as he leaned over his knees. “God, you scared the shit out of me,” he whispered. 

“Sorry,” a grin stretched her face and made her eyes crinkle. “I’ve been checking on him every fifteen minutes for the last two hours. I haven’t noticed any change.” 

Straightening, Evan signed, rolling his neck and running a hand through his hair. “Thank you, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Here I was berating Brian for leaving him alone, and I went and did the same thing.” 

Sorina shook her head, coming further into the room to put a hand on his shoulder. “You needed the sleep, don’t beat yourself up. Nothing’s happened.” 

“But it could have.” 

“Anything could happen, but it didn’t,” she said firmly, cutting off that line of thought. It wouldn’t serve any of them. “Why don’t you check him over, soothe some of your worries, and I’ll bring you some tea.” 

He nodded, rubbing at the bags under his eyes and displacing his glasses before leaning back over Nico. 

When she came back, she held a steaming cup of tea in one hand, and a bowl of the chicken bone broth in the other. The broth was carefully strained with no heavy seasonings, but it still smelled wonderful to her. 

Evan was busy administering something to Nico through his IV port, but he tilted his head in question toward the bowl, eyebrow raised. 

“Figured he needs all of the liquids and nutrients he can get, especially if those are pain meds and antibiotics you’re giving him. It’s easy on the stomach, homemade, I think he can handle it just fine.” 

“Yeah, that sounds fine. You said homemade?” 

He sounded surprised, and she felt a wave of dry amusement. “Not all twenty first century women shun the kitchen,” she said, mock sternly. 

“My mistake,” Evan laughed, blushing sweetly. If she wanted, she could probably see the yellow, golden shivers of happiness twisting around the edges of his aura. But she was tired, and she wanted to look at the smile lines around the corners of his mouth more. 

Evan moved out of her way, taking the tea from her with a grateful smile. She settled on the arm of the lounger again, carefully setting the bowl on the side table so that she could spread a towel across Nico’s chest and neck. 

“Would you mind grabbing one of those small pillows, Evan?” She whispered, pointing at one of the ones that had escaped Brian and Kristy’s nest. 

Handing it to her, he settled back in his chair, watching her carefully. Sorina didn’t mind the scrutiny, it was far beyond her first time helping someone sick eat. 

Cradling Nico’s head in one of her small hands, she brought him up slightly, rubbing her thumb across his skin. Eyelids crinkling, Nico stirred, stiffening as he came closer to consciousness. “Hush, Cola,” she murmured, “it’s okay, just need to get some food in you, yeah?” 

Nico didn’t offer any protest when she slipped the pillow behind his head, blue eyes opening slightly to gaze glassily around the room. He didn’t seem to really focus on anything, but she started to feel the waves of fear building. 

Her heart cracked at that, and she shushed him again, rubbing her thumb across the middle of his forehead, “it’s okay, just some broth, nothing to be scared of.” 

No answer was forthcoming, but she saw his lips move slightly with unintelligible words. Steadying herself, she grabbed the bowl, dipping the spoon inside before blowing on the hot liquid. Testing it first, she didn’t want to burn Nico, she finally brought the spoon to his mouth. 

A cut off whimper made her pause, but Nico didn’t pull away, opening his mouth obediently at the feel of metal against his lips. Sorina took a quick breath, feeling her eyes widen slightly. She didn’t know what that meant exactly, but she could guess. 

Shuddering, she pushed her horror away. He needed this, she couldn’t get in his way. It wasn’t time to catalogue everything that had been done to him. 

Pouring droplets of the broth into his mouth, she murmured to him, “Drink, little bear.” 

His chapped and dry mouth worked slightly, letting the liquid slide down his throat. Sorina sighed when he didn’t choke or cough, bringing more liquid to his mouth quickly to take advantage of his limited strength. 

Apparently she was too fast, and he choked on a scared whine, face turning away from her. A low rumble to her side made her jerk, spilling a few hot drops of soup over her thumb. Clint raised his head, hair muzzy and eyelids sleep heavy, but the wolf’s yellow eyes locked on to her in an instant. Lip curling, she saw his incisors elongate, and she bopped him on the nose with the spoon.   

He flinched, startled, crossing his eyes to look at the spoon held threateningly in front of his face. “Knock it off, Rover, don’t make me spill this.” 

Evan snorted, slurping at his tea in an obvious effort not to laugh at his friend. She felt oddly accomplished. 

Clint grumbled, but his teeth returned to normal as he sat himself up, rubbing at his face. “What time is it?” 

“Same time it was yesterday,” she answered, bringing another spoonful to Nico’s mouth and getting him to swallow a few more drops. 

“Hardy har har,” Clint scowled, watching her feed his mate. 

Evan took pity on the barely awake werewolf. “It’s a little after five, we’re just trying to get something on his stomach for the new round of meds.” 

Yawning, Clint nodded, his shoulders slumping as he looked Nico over. He turned to Sorina, and the naked gratitude in his face made part of her anger at him crack. “Thank you, thank you so much for helpin’ him.” 

“My pleasure,” she acknowledged, concentrating on feeding Nico the broth. “Get some more sleep, Clint. The stronger you are, the more the bond can work to help him heal.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He laid back down, hand coming back to brush against Nico as he closed his eyes. 

Cutting her gaze over to Evan, she saw the lingering fatigue in how he slumped over his cup of tea. Gazing into the cooling liquid with a blank face. “You should go lay down, Evan, get a few more hours of sleep. He’s got his meds, and I’m wide awake. Still making bread in the kitchen, and I’ll have breakfast ready before his next dose is due. I’ll wake you up if anything changes.” 

Evan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking his glasses off. “You’re right. Thank you, Selene.” Getting to his feet with a heavy slouch, he set his tea aside and grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch. The other end of the sectional couch was empty, and he sprawled out on it easily. It only took a few minutes before she heard the sound of soft snores. 

Sorina helped Nico with a few more mouthfuls of broth, gently wiping his face of the drips that escaped his mouth. His eyelashes, what remained of them, fluttered against his cheeks as he ran out of energy. 

She set the bowl to the side, it was nearly empty anyway, and reached out to brush his hair back from his forehead. Humming, she settled him with soft touches, words starting to fall out of her mouth in a simple melody. One her mother sang to them when they were going to sleep. 

One she’d sung to Nico when he had nightmares, and kept singing as Kristy came into her life. When she got to the refrain, she trailed off, pressing a kiss to her fingers and placing it on Nico’s forehead. 

His eyelids fluttered, and he leaned into her touch. “Th..ks..’Rina,” he murmured, barely audible, barely intelligible, before sighing into sleep. 

She froze. Wide eyed. Breath caught in her throat. 

[vmheadquarters]

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. --Chapter Twenty of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @beezlebobble​​. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.21 from @DRiver2u - tag, you’re it!

—————————————————————————————————— CHAPTER TWENTY by @beezlebobble​ a/k/a orionseyes

“Wallace!” Veronica exclaimed as she hobbled as quickly as possible, clutching Logan’s arm. Logan dropped her hand as he raced over to the staircase to bend down and check Wallace’s pulse. As Veronica finally neared, he helped her clumsily and painfully crouch down to check on any other injuries Wallace might have. The rest of the group huddled around a very still Wallace.

“He’s alive! But we’ll have to wait to find out if he’s broken anything. I don’t see signs of broken bones, but he must have hit his head and back pretty hard coming down that slide.”

“Looks like a wild ride. Wallace was Slip, Sliding, Away…Slip, Sliding, Away…” Dick crooned as Veronica reached out and smacked his nearest limb hard, which happened to be his leg.

And slide it was. What had been previously a normal, albeit ornately fussy, wood-paneled staircase, was now a long, slick, wooden slide. The steps had collapsed like a funhouse trick and Wallace had been taken completely by surprise.

“Dick, how can you?! Someone’s trying to kill us! And I might be next. They know I’m wearing my Louboutins and I can’t outrun them or walk in the snow! Anyway, they would get totally ruined. Oh God, I almost went upstairs to get something out of my bag, that could have been me! Walter’s unconscious, but I might have been killed!” Gia wailed as she turned and cast herself dramatically into a nearby Luke’s arms. He patted her back ineffectually while Susan and Carrie simultaneously rolled their eyes. They caught each other and started to giggle. Alexis sighed and clutched arms around her middle as she looked down on Wallace’s still form. Duncan and Cole hovered behind Susan and Carrie with concerned looks on their faces.

“For the last time you idiots, his name is Wallace! Veronica shouted. She glanced around the room and rubbed her chin, “This seemingly-luxurious mansion appears to have a ridiculous number of secret rooms and hidden mechanisms, like it was built for the stage or as a movie set. I think we need to figure out what exactly this house is, who owns it, and see if anyone can recall its history.” Veronica had that steely, intent investigator’s look in her eye that made Logan equal parts impressed and aroused. He reached out and pushed a wild lock of hair that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ear.

“Baby, this is why I love you. There isn’t a challenge you won’t face.” He stood up briskly and brushed his hands on his jeans. He then reached out a warm hand to help her rise to her shaky feet.

She gladly took it. It was a solid comfort and she realized that she looked forward to Logan actually being her partner in the future. “At some point, sweetheart, you’re going to have to find me something I can use as a cane. I’m not built for resting. Us Mars’ are hardy, peasant stock, not made for swanning on some low-slung couch like Gloria Swanson. Girls like me gotta give birth in the cornfields and get back to milking the cattle, you know.”

Logan grinned and bent down to sweep her off her feet. “Honey, you need to sit still for at least fifteen minutes while we gather our collective wits and sort this out. Let Daddy Logan make you nice and comfortable.” He carried her carefully back to the living area and deposited her on the plush, heavily upholstered sofa which had been moved aside for the mattresses.

“Hey Casey, you and Dick grab Wallace and move him out here. Lay him out on the mattress by the dining table and we’ll get to business,” Logan directed as he grabbed a blanket to lay over Veronica’s lap. “Wait here a second.” He got up and left the room. A minute later he returned hoisting a leather tufted ottoman that had been in the library.

“In case you want to move around and keep that foot elevated.” Veronica cupped his face and gave him a quick, tender kiss. She’d missed how much he was always taking care of her.

“OK, everyone, gather round! Mother Goose has some stories for you kiddies. First, let’s figure out this house situation. Has anyone heard of this house, been at this house, or known anyone else who has? You’re all Richie Riches, surely, some of you must have visited or heard something.”

“I have never heard of this place, and please don’t call me Shirley,” Dick piped up. Logan reached over and slapped him on the side of his head. “Ow, man, why did you smack me so hard?”

“Shut up and quit fooling around, Dick. There’s at least one dead man and multiple attempts on other people’s lives and you have to keep acting like a fucking donkey.”

Dick grumbled and plopped himself down on one of the mattresses. Everyone else had seated themselves around in a circle.

“My dad used to sail out this way sometimes, but I don’t think he landed on the island or knew the owners. I think I remember something about it being a hotel or inn?” Casey suggested.

“No, I don’t think it was a hotel. There are no exit signs, or a front desk, or a lobby. It doesn’t have that institutional, sterile feel.  It feels like someone’s not-so-welcoming home,” Carrie stated. “I’m not sure if I could live here, but it looks like someone did. This island is not exactly inviting.”

“I think you’re right, but I guess it was long shot to think that any of us Southern Californians would have an idea about this place. If only we could boot up Mac’s computer or someone’s phone and try to find more info about this place.” Veronica mulled this over while she stroked the arm of the couch as she leaned back.

“If it helps, I was told that this place had been used for murder mysteries for a really long time. Like, maybe decades? That should help narrow down any search,” Mac offered.

“Did Jen know anything?” Veronica asked her.

“Maybe.” Mac shrugged. “She seemed like she had been doing this for a while, and that the house itself served that purpose for a lot of groups.”

“OK. First, we have to find Jen. For information and probably for her own safety. She might be in cahoots with the killer, or he might have already gotten to her. Regardless, she has info that we need. Second, we are partnering up if we need to leave this room, but otherwise staying put. I don’t think any of you are in cahoots with the killer, mainly because some of you are just not that clever.  So that means, everyone keeps an eye on each other. We are all going to leave this island alive. Even Dick.” Dick glanced over and pointed both his pointer fingers at himself as if to say, who, me?

“We know that our suspect is a large male. He managed to drag Leo’s body in the snow to the stable. He tossed me off the balcony like a ragdoll. But it’s entirely possible that he’s just the muscle because the mastermind behind this must be our hostess!” Everyone in the circle nodded in agreement and Alexis shivered.

“The other thing we are going to do is figure out how many hidden rooms, cubbies, compartments are in this place. That means going room by room, tapping walls and pushing unusual looking panels, knots in the wood, carvings, knobs, handles, sconces, books in bookcases, and lifting statue-like things. You’ve all seen it in the movies, so use some of those as guides. I have a feeling our mastermind can’t resist watching us and is hiding somewhere in the recesses of this large, weird house.”

Logan leaned over and threw his arms around her. “My girlfriend is so smart and sexy. You all listen up.  There’s no way we’re getting out without Veronica’s help.”

“Your girlfriend, huh?”

“Yup.” Logan popped his mouth to say. “The smartest, sexiest, peskiest girlfriend a lucky goofball like me could have.” He hugged her to him and kissed her firmly on her head.

“Unnnhhhh.” Everyone turned sharply around as Wallace moaned. He groaned again as he slowly sat up while clutching his head. “Oww, my head. Did the Hulk club me or something?”

Logan rushed over as Veronica looked gratefully at him. They truly were going to be a team and it made her heart almost burst to see him showing care for one of the most important people in her life.

“Now, Wallace, you need to be careful.  I think you bumped your noggin pretty hard as you came sliding down.”

“Ugh, now I remember! I took the first step and the stairs just disappeared, and that was it.”

“OK, Wallace, you need to lay back down, you might have a concussion.” Logan tenderly helped Wallace lay prone as he gazed up at Logan with a bemused expression.

“Look at you, helping me. Veronica would be so proud.” He sighed and laid back as Logan covered him a soft, camel-colored throw.

“I am proud.” Veronica called out with a huge smile on her face, showing all the affection she felt for him. Logan turned towards her and grinned back. It felt so good to be in tune with each other. They were going to grow together and face whatever the fates would bring.

“I can’t stand it anymore!” Dick cried as he rushed past Casey and pushed him into Cole, who raced after him. He grabbed both handrails and yanked himself to the top of the landing. There was a cry from the next room.

“Yee-haw!” There were some squeaks and then a low rumble as Dick rolled from the base of the stairs into the living area and rose with a flourish. “Ta-da!”  Casey took one look at him and took off for the stairs. The next few minutes were chock-full of sound of a flurry of idiots and donkeys racing up the slope that remained of the stairs and hurling themselves down.

“I’m hungry.” Gia whined. “I don’t want pop-tarts for dinner. I’ll just die if I don’t eat anything. My doctor says I’m anemic and should forage at least every two hours. I wonder if there’s anything paleo in this god-forsaken dump?”

“Right, we’re all hungry, but the food is being guarded by Madison's corpse. Do you really want to eat that?” Logan asked, looking around at the glum faces.

Dick chimed in. “I don’t care; if no one else does, we should go for it. Logan cooks a mean pasta. I mean, my doctor says I’m a growing boy and I gotta forage every hour.”

“But pasta is carbs!” Gia complained.

“Gia, god help me, just shut up for once. I think pasta is a safe bet and there’s probably enough down there to feed all of us.” Logan got up and pointed at Cole and Duncan. “You and you are coming with me. I’ll go into the pantry, grab supplies, and pass them to you. We all have to keep up our strength for what lies ahead.”

The three of them headed down to the basement as Veronica leaned back and sighed. This was not going to be easy. Her injury was going to make everything so much harder and really put her at a disadvantage against her two or possibly more hidden foes.

In her hideout, Della watched the screen closely and focused on Veronica. She did not trust that girl. She was always kind of skeevy. Look at the way she ordered Logan around. And he was literally waiting on her hand and foot. It really was disgusting. She would never make Logan do that. She would worship him, and cuddle him, and stroke his hair, and then make delicious pasta meals for him. Pasta, wait? That gave her an idea. She couldn’t do anything to what they were currently going to eat, but she could sneak down there after and prime some of their future meals. Hmm. This was going to be lots of fun. She had the perfect stuff to spike their food.  She walked over to the small desk in the room and pulled on its only drawer. Inside was a bottle of just what the doctor ordered.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

monster monster!

[link x reader]

author’s note: was really hurting for inspo when suddenly i got an idea revolving around fang and bone not being owned by kilton, but someone else ;))) (also i did tweak how the shop works a lil bit for the sake of this story, which i hope you do not mind)

word count: 6,125

With the amount of rain beginning to pour from dark clouds, which had slowly crept in these last several hours and concealed the sky, one may hardly believe it had been perfectly sunny this morning. The expectation that the weather would be agreeable the whole day is why Link had decided to begin his journey this morning and not tarry any longer. He still has a large distance to cover until he arrives at his destination, and while he would have liked to continue on a bit more before stopping for the night, it wouldn’t be a good idea. A small voice in the back of his mind reasons he could keep going, if he really wants to, but the quick flash of lightning in the distance and the rumble of thunder close on its heels kills that notion in a heartbeat, and Link finds himself taking shelter at the stable just off the main road.

After he checks his horse in with the stablehand, he steps beneath the canopy and heaves a deep sigh of relief, the roar of the storm now muffled. Warmth washes over him, sinks into his skin and seeps through damp clothes. He does his best to wring himself out by the entrance so as not to track water along the wooden flooring. As the minutes tick by, his shivering ceases, and he digs enough rupees out of his pocket to pay for a bed.

There are a few other travelers here. One sits at the table writing in a journal, the scratching of pen on paper overpowered by the relentless shower outside. The two others are asleep on the far side, so Link takes care in setting his bag gently down by his bed, to make as little noise as possible. Instead of following the leads of those slumbering Hylians, he walks back to the threshold, leaning against the wooden frame to watch the rain. Another streak of lightning illuminates the sky for a brief moment, and Link absentmindedly counts off the seconds in his head—One, two, three…—until thunder growls so strongly the earth seems to shake.

The noise of the torrential downpour makes it difficult to hear much, but Link’s learned to be perceptive. Boots thud heavily against the floor, sending shockwaves Link can feel traveling towards his own. The silent newcomer claims the open spot to his left, but doesn’t assume a casual stance like he does, remaining straight and on high alert. Link spares a quick glance at the one who has joined him—a guard—then turns back to the scene in front.

Both of them stand there quietly, but that doesn’t last long. Link’s eyes pass over the blue flame flickering in the lantern, wholly unbothered by the raindrops, just as the man next to him speaks.

He introduces himself as Hoz, and he shares with Link rumors of a shop only open at night, featuring wares of the less savory sort, and some might even say the ominous or unsettling. It isn’t simple to stumble across, and perhaps that’s on purpose, for the cover of darkness ensures not everyone has the opportunity to peek at the sinister merchandise. It’s called Fang and Bone, Hoz says, and if you’ve an interest in monsters, that’s the place to go.

Link hadn’t been too absorbed in the topic at the start of this spiel, but his curiosity grows the more Hoz expounds on the hearsay that’s been flittering throughout Hyrule. If this shop had been restricted to this one region, here in Akkala, Link might not have been too invested in finding out more immediately, and would consider it a topic set off to the side for another time. But it’s something else entirely that its reputation stretches across the whole land, because though that’s true, there are few who are able to attest to its existence and its goods and, most importantly, its owner, for who could possibly be at the center of the sinister business of dealing in monsters?

Apparently Link needn’t voice his newfound interest in discovering this shop for himself, for Hoz to pick up on it. The man merely looks over at him and smirks.

“I see the glint in your eye,” he remarks. Though they stand next to each other, he needs to raise his voice to be heard over the rain. “You want to find it too.” He suggests asking around the region as a way to glean useful information of its whereabouts, and politely requests that should Link come across this mysterious emporium, that he return to these stables to tell him all about it.

Link, feeling sleepy now, gives a sleepy smile in response and nods, a silent promise that he’ll do just that. Hoz bids him a goodnight then makes his leave to give Link some time on his own. Link watches as he does a quick scan of the interior, in search of suspicious activity he knows there is none of (there isn’t much to be on high alert for), before he walks up to the counter to chat with the stable master.

Another bout of lightning. Another roll of thunder. This storm shows no signs of stopping anytime soon. Link crosses his arms as he lingers to observe it for a couple more minutes, and he wonders distantly if Fang and Bone is still open for business somewhere out there.

By morning, his plans have changed. If he resumed his original route, he would be in the next region over by sundown, especially since the skies have cleared up and, unlike yesterday, remained as such. But he decides to stay for another day or two instead, inquiring from those in the area about a store that specializes in monsters. He’s hoping to learn of details that at least point him in the right direction, provide a starting point, but the vast majority of those he speaks to look at him like he’s suddenly grown two heads and they don’t say it out loud but they’re wondering why on earth he could be seeking out anything like that. And those who don’t react that way, those who know what he’s talking about and pretend they don’t but Link can tell deep down they do know something, however small, aren’t very eager to share.

It takes a good deal of convincing to get the answers he wants. His words worked most of the time, but when they didn’t, he used rupees to make up for it. He’s lower on money than he would’ve like to have been at the end of all that, but somehow it’s easy to brush off when he sinks into one of the chairs at the Tarrey Town inn and studies the map on his Sheikah Slate.

The name Skull Lake is so on the nose it almost makes him laugh. It could also be no more a fitting location for a place called Fang and Bone to set up shop. Now that he thinks about it, he’s surprised, and a little irritated, that he hadn’t figured it out himself, because if he did, he’d have saved himself a lot of trouble (and rupees). Though he supposes the idea may have been so ridiculous in theory that his subconscious hadn’t bothered to make the connection, already assuming it would’ve been a dead end. His subconscious really ought to get out of the habit of doing that. Who knows what else he could miss…

“I heard tell of your hunt for a shop of monsters.”

Link’s gaze slides from the screen over to Kapson standing behind the counter, the only other occupant of this building. Link’s brows furrow in confusion, wondering how he could know that when he hadn’t said anything, but he realizes Pelison must have mentioned something. The young Goron is always excited to hear of Link’s most recent adventures, and of course, on this visit, Link recounted the rumors Hoz had shared, though in less frightening terms. He has no desire to be responsible for nightmares.

“Another traveler came through here just a few days ago looking for the same thing.” Kapson walks the short distance to the table Link sits at and takes the seat on the opposite side. He has no reason to stay by the counter. It’s late, most of the town is asleep, and there aren’t many who arrive in the middle of the night. “I imagine they must’ve found it by now.”

Link sets his Sheikah Slate aside, the zoomed in image of Skull Lake staring up at the ceiling for several seconds before disappearing as the screen shuts off. You believe it then? he asks. The stories.

Kapson inhales deeply, as though to take those moments to put together his response. And when he has it, he smiles slightly, amused in a sardonic kind of way. “There have been much stranger things afoot in Hyrule.”

Link can’t help chuckling and nods in agreement. He’s witnessed many of said “strange things” up close, often being at the forefront to investigate and, if need be, set them right. The whispers about Fang and Bone hardly sound bizarre in comparison. And he realizes that’s how he’d been approaching it this whole time—he had never believed it to be just rumors. Once Hoz had brought the topic to his attention, Link had every intention to find it, had been confident there was anything to find. A clear contrast to those he had asked for more information who assumed he’d gone crazy. Perhaps his sense of what was normal and what was atypical has been skewed, but he takes comfort in the fact he’s not alone in his sentiments, judging by the words Kapson has shared.

He’s due to set off for Skull Lake the next day, but he’s in no rush. The ride won’t be long and the shop is only there at night. So he wakes at mid-morning and kills time restocking his supplies and talking with the other villagers. Then when the sun has passed its highest point, now beginning its journey to the western horizon, he packs up his saddle bag and mounts his horse. He gives a final wave to Pelison as he leaves, and gradually the sounds of Tarrey Town fade behind him.

The last minutes of the dying light paint the world orange. Link pulls out his Sheikah Slate to ensure he’s riding in the right direction, and surmises that the cluster of rocks up ahead are part of the lake’s shoreline. The lake itself is still hidden and would require getting closer and maneuvering through stony outcrops to be able to spot it. Link has to hand it to whoever owns this shop—this is no easy place to happen upon. Which he supposes is exactly what they want, for it means that those who do find this place have sought it out intentionally, and possess a legitimate, vested interest in a selection of goods not entirely conventional.

As though sensing that Link has reached his destination, the last slivers of sunlight extinguish themselves in a sigh, blowing strong enough to ruffle Link’s hair and cold enough that he sees his own breath when he exhales. To minimize noise, he dismounts from his horse and tethers it out of sight from anyone who might be on the lake, then proceeds on foot. Pulling his cloak tighter around him, he peeks around tall columns of stone, eyes narrowed as he scans the expanse of Skull Lake.

It’s a full moon tonight. Link makes a habit of tracking the phases, and earlier today, he had mused that if the moon were waning on this particular evening, he probably wouldn’t have adequate visibility to discern anything out on the lake. But while standing here, with his blue gaze on blue waters, he learns that his assumption was wrong. Even if it had been a new moon, the dim yellow light from the center of Skull Lake would draw his attention right away, a beacon in the dark night.

There are no patrons browsing from what he can tell. He guesses he might be the first of the evening. Stepping out from behind his hiding place, he walks across the small land bridge leading to the island where the rumored monster emporium stands alone, lanterns hanging from the wooden counter with more attached to what Link notices as he gets closer is a large patchwork hot air balloon, the colors of each piece mismatched and oddly charming. And painted on the wooden sign hanging above the shop counter window in thick black paint, so the words can’t be misread: Fang and Bone.

The shop owner is turned away, preoccupied with organizing the shelves. Link surveys the selection, passing over the horns and fangs of various creatures; guts and hearts that he swears twitch every few seconds; severed wings and tails and eyeballs that squelch as the merchant grabs a few and drops them into a glass jar. Finally, among the many other spooky items in stock, are small purple flasks with gold accents and gold stoppers.

Nearly a minute passes and the shopkeeper has taken no notice of Link, and he’s not sure what he should do. Does he talk? Does he rap his knuckles against the counter a few times, for lack of a bell? Eventually he decides to clear his throat, loud yet succinct, enough to announce his presence but not enough to startle.

“Yes?” the merchant says as they twist around, prepared for any inquiries. “Is there anything you’d like to see?”

Bright eyes are trained on Link from beneath a hood, and it catches him off guard. To be honest, he had envisioned the owner of this kind of shop to be much more… menacing, with mad eyes and a suspiciously wide grin, gnarled and sharp fingernails like claws, surrounded by an aura that spoke of trouble and disturbing delights. It’s certainly not the most outrageous expectation, and he’s confident anyone else who’s heard of Fang and Bone has thought the same. But you’re none of that.

Lithe fingers push down the hood to reveal your face and you look, well, perfectly normal. Your eyes show you’re sane as can be, and you smile a tight-lipped smile that matches those of the other shop owners in the villages, who wear them to be polite as they deal with customers. He feels no sense of dread to be this close, has no inkling that you could be evil or up to something bad. Poking out from your hair, which is tied back into a neat braid, are long pointed ears. Just like his.

Link has no need to stock up on monster parts. He gathers his own during his travels, and he’s not running short on any supplies. But you’re watching him intently, waiting for him to talk, to ask about what items you’re offering, and it’s fair for you to assume he does want to buy because why else would he have come all this way? The biting curiosity, Link thinks to himself. It’s what keeps him rooted to this spot despite harboring no intention to purchase anything. However, there is one thing he wants to ask about…

He glances over your shoulder at the small purple flasks and asks what they are. You smile at his piqued interest and reach back to grab one, holding it up, the soft glow of the lanterns bouncing off the glass. Monster extract, you explain. An essence of my own creation. Cook with it and you’ll experience a significant energy boost.

While you spoke, you’d been staring at the flask, gaze and voice filled with pride at your work. Thus, you miss the mixture of emotions lining Link’s face, but when you finally do notice his dubious expression, knitted brows and a slight frown that bordered on distaste, you laugh, and he sees sharp canines that look remarkably like fangs.

“Don’t worry, I’ve done careful research. Mix it well, and you can hardly tell it’s there,” you state. You pull the stopper off and stretch out your arm so Link can take a closer look. His eyes drop down to the flask then slide back up to you and you nod in reassurance. “Some customers like to inspect the wares more closely.”

Tentatively he grabs it, fingers curling around the narrow neck. Dark purple tendrils float from the opening and dissipate in the air as they rise. He brings it close to his nose to take a sniff and does his best not to recoil at the stench. He fails, and you chuckle again quietly, reminding him of its concentrated nature. You aren’t quite drawing the extract from flowers.

Link hands back the flask and you replace the stopper, asking what he thinks. Initially he’d been on the fence, and was leaning towards saying no thanks, but your stare is piercing, like you can see right through him, and he finds he doesn’t want to say no. So he doesn’t. He says he’ll buy one and you smile in satisfaction at another satisfied customer and there’s a glint in your eye like you know what you’ve done. Who could say no with a gaze like that?

Before Link can get rupees from his pocket, you inform him that monster extract can only be paid for with monster parts. And as he has no shortage of those, he pays easily, and the disorganized mess of guts and tails and wings in his bag is replaced by one neat purple flask.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Your grin is courteous and you don’t appear to be affected by the fresh smell of rot emanating from the monster parts now sitting on the counter between you. “I hope you’ll stop by again.” For a moment this statement gives Link pause, and he wonders if you say that to everyone. (And would it matter to him if you did?)

No one else is in sight as he makes his leave, but the night is still young, which leaves plenty of time for others to arrive. Once on the shore, he glances over his shoulder and sees you’ve returned to your original task of sorting your inventory. Your back is turned to him and you’ve brought up the hood of your cloak again, and he’s staring at two large, different colored buttons and a piece of fabric sewn and stuffed to resemble a beak. The goofy-looking makeshift monster makes him smile as he walks to his horse.

The following morning, he finally resumes the journey that had been put on hold these last few days. It’s still a lengthy ride down to Necluda, but with little to no detours, (certainly not any that last as long as his hunt for for Fang and Bone had been), he arrives by the end of the week.

He deeply inhales a breath of fresh air as the houses of Hateno come into view just over the hill. His body seems to know he’s home, for suddenly his shoulders sag, full of fatigue from his extended bout away from the village, and he’s yearning for a good night’s sleep in his own bed. It’s dark when he passes the gateway and steers his horse onto the main road stretching through town, but there are plenty of people outside who wave in greeting.

Ivees’s face lights up as Link pushes open the door to the general shop. Pruce isn’t behind the counter, which means she’s the one in charge tonight. She sets her broom aside and asks how he’s doing and what he’s been up to. Link’s response is curt, borne out of exhaustion, and as he talks, she’s smiling sympathetically because it’s not difficult to tell from the tone of his voice that he’s tired.

“I’m glad to know you’re okay,” she says. “No cuts or bruises on you, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Link chuckles good-naturedly, then picks out produce to bring back with him to his house. His food stores were depleted right before he left, done purposely so nothing spoiled while he was gone. Ivee counts the costs of everything he’s chosen and placed on the counter then provides a total, and Link opens up his bag for her to place it all into while he counts out the correct amount of rupees.

“What’s this?”

At Ivee’s question, Link tears his focus from the rupees in his hand. Her fingers are wrapped around the neck of the flask of monster extract, not taking it out of the bag but merely angling it so she can see the accents on the glass more clearly. Because she isn’t a child, he doesn’t have to sugarcoat his answer, but he does take a moment to figure out how to explain. He settles on starting with a question: Have you heard those rumors of a shop selling monster parts?

Ivee purses her lips in thought, and several seconds later, she nods. Link tells her it’s real, and that’s where he got the flask from. It’s monster extract. Ivee’s eyes widen in shock once she learns what she’s holding, and she emits a horrified squeak and lets go. He laughs and assures her it isn’t toxic, and that the only danger to be worried about is the stench.

After the produce is put away in Link’s bag, he shrugs it back onto his shoulder. But one more query from Ivee prevents him from leaving.

“What’s the owner look like? You know… of that shop.”

Link smiles but it’s not so much directed at Ivee as much as it is to himself, as he remembers your eyes reflecting the low lights of the lanterns and remembers your lips forming a delightful curve he wanted to see again as soon as it was out of sight. And all he tells her is that the owner isn’t nearly as scary as she might be imagining.

He’d been excited to make dinner once he returned home, but the intimate, cozy setting makes him incredibly weary, and instead, he drops right into bed, still in the clothes he’d worn since this morning. The weather is cold but within these four walls, with the gently crackling fire, he has no need to burrow beneath his blankets. Not that he’d have much energy to do that anyway.

The rooster crowing wakes him up, but the pain in his neck is what prevents him from being able to go back to sleep. He passed out the moment he hit the bed, and it hadn’t been in the most comfortable position. Rubbing at the sore spot, he sits up and walks downstairs to make breakfast. His stomach grumbles as he cooks, having missed out on a meal last night. The last time he’d eaten was yesterday early afternoon.

His day is spent in town, catching up and swapping stories with the others. They usually prefer to hear more of what he’s been up to, reasoning that there’s never anything too newsworthy that occurs here, nothing worth sharing, but Link doesn’t think that’s true. The monster-slaying and traveling across the whole of Hyrule has become standard for him, so to listen to stories of the goings-on of home is refreshing. He voices this to Tokk, who laughs and, with a smile that crinkles the corners of his aged eyes, muses The grass is always greener, isn’t it?

Link also fills his time doing any odd jobs anyone approaches him with. He pitches hay for Dantz on the farm, carries in the boxes of produce for Pruce to restock his store, helps Sayge clean up the floors in the dye shop. He’s moving around until sundown, and while he’s tired by the end of it, he also feels satisfied to have been so productive. Offering his assistance around Hateno is his method of relaxing. He isn’t sure if he’d be able to sit around. If he tried, it’s inevitable that he would get the itch to do something, and he’s in luck, for the villagers are sure to have that something to keep his hands busy.

A practice of his had gone neglected since he came back, one he should’ve done yesterday but failed to carry out due to fatigue clouding his mind. Once his tasks are done and the moon is high in the sky (it’s a crescent tonight), he traipses over to the goddess statue, his boots sifting the grass with each step. The statue is barely lit by the light of a nearby torch, and he kneels down before it to pray to Hylia. It’s a tradition he has had for a long while now, done after every safe return to Hateno.

At the tail-end of it, a hard gust of wind blows out the torch, and the orange glow which had run down the length of the statue disappears. Link stands and makes his way over to it, prepared to grab it from the sconce and reignite it with one of the torches farther down. But a faint light in the distance grabs his attention, and he squints in an attempt to discern the faraway source better.

His head tilts and internally he’s debating if he’s actually seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. No, it can’t be that, he tells himself. It can’t be because that wouldn’t make sense. But the fact is it’s hard to deny that what rests on the hill is a large balloon, stitched together with a curiously mismatched patchwork. Kapson’s words flood back—There have been much stranger things afoot in Hyrule—and Link concedes that to discover the balloon here, quite far from Akkala, is not the most outlandish phenomenon he’s ever bore witness to.  

So when he finally accepts that yes, that is exactly what he’s seeing, he turns left and right to check if anyone else had noticed the balloon’s presence, but no one is staring, nor had anyone noticed him staring and tried to check out for themselves what he’s concentrating so hard on. He places the torch back in the sconce, still unlit, and jogs down to the dirt path leading out of town.

He follows it for a while, then veers off as he approaches the hill where Fang and Bone has set up for the night. The numerous lanterns bathe him in soft light, their radiance like a greeting, and his eyes slide down from the balloon to you behind the counter. Your back is turned, just like last time, but he doesn’t have to clear his throat or speak up or knock on the counter because, as though you could feel someone there, you turn around, and upon seeing him, you smile widely. You do it so well you could put the moon out of business.

“Hello again.” Clearly you recognize him, based on the familiarity in your eyes which are striking beneath the hood of your dark cloak.

Link’s chest bubbles with warmth to learn that you remember him, but that heat tempers as he wonders if you remember everyone. How large could your customer base be? You must have a sizable pool of patrons to stay open, but small enough that knowledge of your shop isn’t widespread, remaining for the majority of Hyrule a simple rumor. Those who buy your wares are most probably repeat customers as well, giving you ample opportunities to memorize faces. So perhaps he is not so special as to stand out as much as he assumed he had.

“Here for another flask of monster extract?” you ask, interrupting his train of thought. “Or something else?”

Your opening questions would typically merit no extra consideration. They’re signs of a good merchant assisting their customer, initiating a discussion to help them find what they’re looking for. But Link’s hesitation to respond is only a reasonable reaction when he’s been arguing internally since you greeted him about whether he does stand out, and therefore whether your questions mean anything more. Now he stands here, silent for an amount of time toeing the line of awkward, if it hadn’t crossed that already, wholly unsure if you’re implying something. Are you referring to the other products behind you or yourself?

He scolds himself: This is ridiculous. He’s reading too deeply into it. The case might very well be that you are implying absolutely nothing and he’s projecting his own feelings because it’s true that he is here for something other than monster extract but it’s not the pulsating bokoblin guts nor the glassy keese eyeballs on the shelves. He’s here for your utter fascination with the creatures he slays on his travels, a task he views as mere routine. He understands the basics, what parts of a monster he requires for what elixirs, but never has he been laden with the curiosity and pure elation burning in your eyes as you speak of those beasts, a distinct sense of fondness in your voice. It’s this seemingly paradoxical behavior which made him want to come back because he has never known anyone like you. He’s here for you.

Of course, he doesn’t just say that. In fact, he dodges the questions entirely, opting instead to admit that he hasn’t gotten around to making anything with his current flask of monster extract. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and you chuckle, nodding in understanding. Not intent on trying to scramble for answers when you inevitably ask if he’s interested in any of the other products in stock, he changes the subject: I didn’t know Fang and Bone changed locations.

You nod. “I move all over Hyrule. And tonight, luck would have me in the same village as you.”  

Link’s speculations start up once more. Were you calling yourself lucky? Had you been wanting to see him again too? Maybe he’d been correct in discerning a reciprocated interest, and it hadn’t just been the result of paranoia and doubt, hazards against potentially making a fool of himself. And he’s silently agreeing that yes, the circumstances were lucky indeed.

Where will you go from here? he inquires, and you say you aren’t sure yet. You like to follow the road, let the wind guide you where it will. The corner of his lips lift in a small smile, and it widens as you continue to explain that this lack of a set destination gives you the freedom to track monsters’ movements in the vicinity if you happen to notice any. So I guess the wind points me towards monsters, and I just end up in the closest town, you state with a quiet laugh.

“Maybe I’ll run into you again,” you then remark offhandedly, and Link swears it almost sounds hopeful, and his chest tightens upon this realization. He isn’t imagining that softness in your gaze, filled with an optimism that luck would be on your side again—both your sides—and when you grin, he thinks his heart might burst.

He does buy three lizalfos tails, less because he needs them and more because he doesn’t want to leave empty-handed. The rupees they cost are worth it anyway, as he witnesses the care you take in grabbing the tails from the shelf and setting them down on the counter. He tucks them into his bag which is mostly empty now that he’d had the chance to offload unnecessary items at home. But before he can leave, you suggest out of the blue that he bake a cake with the monster extract: I’ve been told it’s quite tasty!

Link’s smiling to himself on the walk back through town. He passes no one on the way, for it’s late enough that even all the adults have turned in for the evening. The chill melts away once he enters his house, and as he prepares for bed, he’s already thinking ahead to the next time he should come across you, on another clear midnight with the stars a backdrop to that colorful hot air balloon. He’s envisioning it behind closed eyes, playing on a loop the gentle sway of it in the breeze. And he dreams of it too.

Eventually he’s on the road again, traveling west. He always hates to say goodbye to those in Hateno, but he comforts himself in the fact that it won’t feel like very long before he returns. It never does, perhaps owed to the innate longing for home that seems to make the days pass just a little bit faster.

The weather has been better too, with no risk of rain. The sky is cloudless and blue and the temperature has remained moderate and pleasant. Link’s sure that’s going to change as he passes central Hyrule and reaches the fringes, but he’s no stranger to the more extreme climates there, and he’d packed appropriately.

However, for now, any concerns of weather too hot or too cold are far from his mind as he spots a sleepy Outskirt stable. Smoke gently rises from the fire outside, and the air smells of baked apples. There’s only one other horse being tended to by the stablehand, and Link’s horse makes it two. He doesn’t plan to stay overnight, for there’s plenty of daylight left to keep going. Rather, he’s taking the moment to rest and give his horse a much-deserved break, since they’d gotten an early start today, packing up and moving on before the sun came up.

There is a third horse here, a large one, which is standing facing the main road. It pulls along a cart, the contents of which are covered up by a layer of burlap. Link passes it on his way to the fire, where he takes a seat on the tree stump. He assumes the one currently in conversation with the stable master is the owner, but he doesn’t care to linger on it for long as he pulls up the map on his Sheikah Slate. He’ll need to plot out the distance he’d like to travel with the remaining hours of sunlight and find a safe stopping point.

“Thank you!” the person talking to the stable master says, and the sound of their voice tears Link’s focus away from studying the map.

He only sees a profile of the Hylian’s face, given he’s sitting off to the side, but it’s unmistakable that it’s you walking towards the large horse waiting patiently. He notes how peculiar it is to see you without your large cloak and heavy hood, and with your features illuminated by the natural light of the sun and not the artificial lights of all the lanterns. No one might ever expect you to run such a monstrous business, though maybe that’s exactly what you want.

The point is, you aren’t any less wonderful to behold in broad daylight, and the shock to find you here, which makes Link’s stomach bubble as the world suddenly feels to have been turned upside down, prevents him from calling out to you. (Not that he would know what to say.)

You’re facing him when you angle yourself to mount your horse, and before you hoist yourself up, you spot him, and without missing a beat, you smile. To the outsider, it appears as nothing more than a polite grin, the likes of which are shared with a stranger when catching their eyes across a room. But Link knows better, and he detects a similar recognition in your own gaze.

The smile reaches your eyes and it’s amused, and you watch each other for that brief second you take to throw your leg over your horse to sit down in the saddle. It feels like eternity and Link is aware of the wordless connection flittering between you, an unbridled excitement like you’re doing things you aren’t supposed to, like you’re sharing secrets you shouldn’t have learned of in the first place.

He stares after you, your horse, and your cart leaving the stable and continuing down the road, and he watches until you’ve gone over the hill and you’re gone from view. A small part of him wants to follow you, to see where you might go this time, but he gets the feeling that if he were to mount his horse and run after you, he’ll discover you’ve disappeared into thin air, like a magic trick. Perhaps that hot air balloon of yours is secretly good for flying after all, and you take off in it when you’re far away from any prying eyes. So he figures he’ll spend his hours traveling through Hyrule with his eyes on the sky, in search of a mismatched patchwork balloon.

[adorkablephil]

Fic: Imaginary Friends (Chapter 9)

Title: Imaginary Friends Summary: Nothing’s AU ... except that Dan and Phil have been appearing in each other’s dreams since childhood without realizing it because they’re soulmates. Everything on the outside looks like the reality we’re used to irl. Rating: Teen Word Count: 4.6K (this chapter) Tags: Soulmates, AU, But Kind of Not AU, Except That There’s Magic, Certainly Not a Typical Soulmates AU, Dreams, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Pining Author’s Note: Thank you again to my Patreon folks for reading this chapter in advance and giving me their thoughts on it. You guys are the best! Fic also available on AO3 here

[Masterlist of all Imaginary Friends chapters on Tumblr]

Chapter 9: Loyalty and Betrayal

The kitchenette and lounge area was silent except for the sound of the bus engine and tires on the road beneath them, neither of which Phil could hear over the pounding of his own heart. Eyes squeezed shut tightly, he tried to hold back tears.

It would all be over now.

He hadn’t closed the door to the bedroom when he ran out, but Dan had not followed him or even shouted any well-deserved obscenities. What was Dan thinking right now? Was he still lying there in the bed, disgusted that the person he’d thought he loved was actually Phil? Was he remembering the dreams they’d shared and seeing it all differently now that he knew? Was he hating Phil for not telling him?

Was their friendship even going to survive this? How could it? How could it possibly?

He had ruined everything. Nothing could ever be the same. They’d have to finish the tour, of course, but after that …

Phil bit his lip and let his head droop, leaning heavily back against the counter. He looked over at the narrow sofa. He could probably sleep there. It might be more comfortable than the cramped, cement-hard bunks. And tomorrow … he didn’t want to think about the conversation they would have to have tomorrow. But they obviously wouldn’t be sharing the bedroom again.

He heard a noise to his left and turned to see Dan, hair a riot of sleep-tossed curls, holding onto the sides of the doorway as he emerged from the bedroom. Phil couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. In their dreams, they read each other’s thoughts and feelings so easily, but here in the real world, Dan was often a complete mystery. Never so much as right now. But Phil was fairly certain he knew some of what was going on behind those unreadable brown eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Phil hurried to say. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I know you don’t feel that way about me in real life, and I was … I was being selfish…”

Dan took a step nearer, trailing a hand on the wall to keep himself stable in the moving vehicle. “It was you, all this time? All these years, it was you?” Dan’s voice was low.

Phil nodded miserably. “I didn’t know, though! I didn’t know until you showed me what you look like! I swear I didn’t know. Not until … you know … these past couple weeks…” He flushed with the guilt of admitting how he’d abused Dan’s trust, how he’d taken advantage of the dream world to have what he couldn’t have when they were awake. All the things they’d done since he figured it out. God, Dan would hate him for that.

Dan took another step, eyes hooded and intense. “It was you,” he repeated slowly.

Still unsure what exactly was going through Dan’s mind, Phil rushed to apologize again. “I know you don’t want me like that, not really, and I shouldn’t have…” But Phil’s next words emerged as only a stunned, truncated breath as Dan grabbed him, long body slamming Phil hard against the edge of the counter while one hand fisted in Phil’s t-shirt and the other wrapped around the back of Phil’s neck to pull him into a blazing kiss.

Phil’s stunned mind went completely blank, unable to process this utterly impossible turn of events, but his body reacted instinctively, kissing Dan back with equal passion.

It had never felt like this in their dreams. Everything they had done together, all the times they had kissed or made love … that had been their dream selves, and there had been an incredible emotional intimacy to their ability to always know how the other was feeling … but the actual physical sensation of Dan’s body moving against him, pushing against him so hard that Phil was pushed up to half-sitting on the counter now, the feel of Dan’s short fingernails biting into the skin of Phil’s neck with the strength of his grip, the heat and wet of Dan’s mouth as their lips and tongues nearly attacked each other … nothing in the dreams had been like this.

Nothing in his entire life had been like this.

Phil had no idea what was going on. Dan was angry with him, right? He’d betrayed Dan’s trust. Dan didn’t want him, not in the real world, and now that he knew that dream Phil was real Phil, he wouldn’t want either of them.

So … was Dan … was this some kind of punishment? Some kind of angry sex kind of thing? Phil had never had angry sex, but he knew it was a thing, knew it happened. He really hoped that wasn’t what was going to happen now.

Even if it had all been based on a lie, he didn’t want to taint those few memories he had of loving Dan in their dreams. He wanted to hang on to those memories forever.

Especially once Dan was … gone. Because he knew Dan would leave now.

Except that Dan wasn’t leaving. Not yet. He was doing rather the opposite of leaving, actually … though Phil supposed the actual opposite of leaving would be coming, and neither of them was literally coming … not yet … though the way Dan was rubbing against him was definitely pushing him down the start of that road.

Phil pulled his mouth away to gasp, “I know you’re mad about …”

But Dan’s hand tightened on the back of Phil’s neck and pulled him closer, his other hand letting go of Phil’s t-shirt and sliding up into Phil’s hair where he got a firm grasp that pulled slightly, sending shivers down Phil’s spine. Dan’s hot breath panted against Phil’s lips, “Jesus, Phil! Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll be mad about it later. But right now … Phil … I have literally been waiting for this my entire life! So just…” And then his mouth was on Phil’s again, his fingers desperate on Phil’s neck and hair, his body pressing and rubbing and pushing against Phil, little desperate noises sounding in the back of his throat…

And Phil just lost control. One arm went up the back of Dan’s sleep t-shirt to slide a hand against the smooth bare skin along his spine, while the other went to his head, where he twined his fingers into Dan’s hobbit hair, cradling Dan’s skull as their kiss went on and on and on. Phil’s arm up Dan’s shirt slipped down to wrap around his waist, holding him tight like he might vanish at any moment, because this moment felt more unreal than anything that had ever happened in his dreams and he worried that this itself might be a cruel dream … a dream about Dan … about what he wished he had with Dan … but not an actual Dan dream in which Dan was actually present. Because why would Dan, Dan in the real world, Dan who knew this was actually Phil … why would Dan kiss him like this?

But Phil selfishly let himself sink into it, let himself believe the lie, let himself imagine that this was real, that Dan really felt this way about him, that Dan really felt this desperate need to be close, to hold him, to kiss him, to … oh god that felt good…

“We should get back to the bedroom.” Dan’s voice sounded rough like gravel, like nothing Phil had ever heard from him before.

Phil pulled away sharply enough that Dan’s hands lost their grasp on his neck and hair as Phil wedged his hands between them to press against Dan’s chest. “No,” Phil said firmly. “I know you don’t want this with me, not with the real me, and I’m not going to … it would hurt too much afterward if I let myself pretend. If I let myself act on…” He trailed away, eyes dropping to stare fixedly at the floor. “I know it was only in the dreams, Dan. And bringing the sex part into the real world when I know you don’t feel …” He couldn’t bring himself to use the word “love.” It just hurt too much. “I know you don’t feel the same way about me here as you did in the dreams. And now that you know it’s me, I understand that things will have to change…”

“Well, fucking obviously,” Dan replied in a voice that said he considered Phil a complete imbecile.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as soon as I figured it out,” Phil told the floor of the tour bus at which he could not stop staring. Meeting Dan’s eyes right now would gut him, so he avoided it as long as possible. “I knew you would want to stop, and I just … I wanted … I wanted to hang on to it as long as I could. I hoped you would never find out, but you kept asking questions, and I…”

Still staring fixedly at the floor in the dimly lit room, Phil thought he heard a frown in Dan’s voice when he said, “Wait. You think … you think I don’t want you?”

Phil gestured awkwardly at himself. “I know I’m not what you probably imagined. And you’ve never shown any interest, any sign of being attracted to me, so I don’t want this as some sort of extension of the dreams. Now that you know, now that you know it’s me, I know it has to end.” He finally looked up and met Dan’s eyes, and it felt like the bravest thing he’d ever done. He made sure his voice didn’t shake when he said firmly, “I know the dreams can’t go on. Let alone this, whatever this was. I don’t know what you were trying to do…”

“I was trying to get your fucking clothes off and do what I’ve only been dreaming about,” Dan growled. Literally growled, like if a tiger could talk. He sounded dangerous and predatory.

Phil shook his head. “I won’t be a stand-in for that dream person you fell in love with. I’m me. And now you know it. This can’t go on. Surely you see that.” Why was Dan dragging this out? Why must he persist in trying to use Phil as some kind of … some kind of physical embodiment of the person he had loved, even though he now knew the truth?

Dan stepped away, leaving Phil to slide back off the counter and back onto his feet. Relief surged through Phil as he accepted that it would stop now. It would hurt—god, of course it would hurt—it would hurt for the rest of his life—but not as badly as if they’d gone through with this, with Dan just … using him. With Dan thinking about that imaginary person while using Phil’s body.

Dan marveled quietly, “You really think I don’t want you. That I don’t love you.”

Phil looked into his eyes, firming his courage to do this thing that felt like it tore his heart right out of his chest. “I’m sure you love me in your own way. But … I know you don’t want more than that with me. You’ve made it clear for years. Just because … because something else happened in our dreams … that doesn’t change what’s really going on between us, between you and me, Dan and Phil, in our real lives. I know you just see me as a friend, and that’s okay. I accepted it a long time ago,” Phil lied.

“So … you love me … but you don’t believe that I love you,” Dan said slowly, as if verifying the obvious.

Phil smiled sadly. “Dan, you don’t have to feel guilty. I’m sorry I … I know it’s sort of like I took advantage, continuing with the dreams, letting myself feel … letting you go on believing I was something I’m not … letting you…”

“Okay, then,” Dan said abruptly, interrupting Phil’s apology. “Let’s go to sleep. Now we both know it’s you and it’s me. And in the dreams we can each sense how the other feels, right? So let’s go to sleep. And I’ll show you how I really feel. You’ll be able to know.”

Phil closed his eyes in pain. “You’re really going to make me do this? Make me … make me feel…”

“Yes,” Dan insisted, sounding frustrated and annoyed and angry. “I want us to go to sleep, and I want to come into your dream, and I want you to know absolutely everything I feel about you and about learning who you are and about all of this.”

Phil bit his lip, humiliating tears welling in his eyes. “If that’s what you need to do. To … pay me back for what I did … or whatever. To … I don’t know if you want revenge for how I lied to you or what, but … if you need that, I’ll do it. I don’t know how I’m going to fall asleep right now, but I’ll try.” If Dan needed it, he’d do it. He owed him that much at least.

They climbed back into the bed together, not touching. Dan absolutely radiated waves of anger that Phil could feel even without their dream connection. He cringed on his side of the bed, curling into a fetal position and staring sightlessly at the wall he could barely see in the glimmers of light that occasionally made their way through the gaps in the curtains. He lay there a long time, hating himself for all the ways he’d betrayed Dan’s trust, preparing to feel the full brunt of Dan’s disgust, preparing even to feel nothing … if Dan actually shut him out entirely. That would hurt the most, if even in his dreams he couldn’t feel Dan anymore. But it seemed like the most probable outcome.

He watched flickers of faint light occasionally appear and disappear on the wall. He heard Dan’s steady breathing behind him and wondered how Dan could have fallen asleep so easily after that confrontation, wondered if Dan awaited him in the dream, wondered what the dreamscape would look like when (or if) Phil arrived. He doubted it would be the field of cornflowers or the cushion-strewn treehouse. He pictured rapidly flowing lava, flaming meteors raining from the sky, earthquakes, rabid horses stampeding toward him, sure to trample him into the lava, and somewhere in the midst of the horror, he drifted into a restless sleep.

Phil found himself floating in the infinite darkness of space. No cable connected him to a spacecraft … he simply drifted alone in the vast emptiness of outer space, helpless. He wore an astronaut’s space suit, but none of the buttons seemed to do anything when he frantically pressed them, and he knew that he would quickly run out of air in the bubble helmet.

He wondered if Dan was doing this to him on purpose, putting him through a hellishly panicked nightmare, and his heart pounded in his ears. He could feel his breaths growing quick and shallow, and thought he remembered reading that hyperventilation would only make you run out of oxygen even more quickly. The thought made his breath even faster, his mind spinning, his heart pounding louder and louder in his ears, and he felt so very very afraid … and so very very … sorry.

His last thought was that he was sorry he’d done that to Dan, that he’d betrayed him like that. Dan didn’t deserve it. Dan deserved a happy life, and Phil had gone and messed it all up. Couldn’t even be a proper friend.

His heart beat even louder. Pounding. Pounding. Pounding. As if it might burst out of his chest with his panic. But soon it would stop entirely he knew … when he was dead.

He wondered if dying in the dream would mean he died in real life. He pictured Dan waking up to a Phil corpse lying in the tour bus bed next to him, probably no paler than the living Phil had been. How would he explain it to the audience at the next venue? Their fans would be so disappointed. But at least they wouldn’t know the truth about what a terrible person Phil had been, what a terrible friend. They wouldn’t know how horribly he’d mistreated the person he loved most in the entire world. But Dan would know. For the rest of his life, even if Phil wasn’t there, Dan would know.

In those last seconds, with those last gasps of breath, those last deafening poundings of his heart, Phil hoped Dan understood how sorry he was. He hoped he really understood and believed him. And that maybe he might be able to forgive him someday.

Then suddenly the stars around him began to shift in an unnatural way, almost as if they were reaching toward him, and Phil felt something huge wrapping around him, lifting his body so that he was no longer suspended weightless in space. Something … sheltering him. Protecting him.

Saving him.

“Jesus, Phil!” He heard Dan’s voice and understood that it came from the stars. It made sense now. “Melodramatic much?” Phil heard disgust in the tone and wasn’t surprised. Of course Dan was disgusted with him. He’d known that already. “It took forever to find you this time. Were you not reaching out to me at all?”

As Phil found himself deposited upon a grassy hillside in bright summer sunshine, the starry sky that had surrounded him as he suffocated in his astronaut suit shrank and warped and twisted itself into Dan’s dark spangled silhouette, and then into Dan himself, the way he looked in real life, except that his hair was curly. Phil knew it was a strange thing to notice at that moment, but his mind wasn’t working quite right yet. A moment ago, he’d thought he was going to die.

“Your hair … is curly…” Phil murmured in a daze.

“You said you liked it better curly, so … I left it that way.” Dan waved a hand in front of Phil’s face, then snapped his fingers an inch away from Phil’s nose. “Earth to Phil! Don’t you want to talk about how we’ve apparently been in each other’s dreams since forever, or how I tried to drag you off to bed and you blew me off, or how we just had a huge fight in the tour bus, or how you tried to kill yourself in your own nightmare, or how you completely shut me out so that I had to hammer down the doors to get into your dream to save you?” Dan’s looked the most frustrated and annoyed Phil had ever seen him.

“I … shut you out?” Phil asked, confused.

“What the fuck were you trying to do? You can’t lock me out when you have nightmares like that, Phil! You have to leave me a way in so I can help fix it. Haven’t I always helped before?”

Phil stared at Dan’s familiar face, at those brown eyes that looked so clear and almost amber in this bright sunlight. “You’ve helped me with nightmares?”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Well, what do you think? I’d just let you thrash around and suffer on your own? I always found some way to make it better if I could. I mean, maybe you had nightmares times when I was awake and so I couldn’t hear you calling me, but if I was asleep I always came running if I knew you were having a nightmare. Most of the time I didn’t have to actually show up myself … I could just manipulate the world of your dream so it wasn’t so scary.” Dan looked at him oddly. “You really didn’t know I was doing that?”

“I didn’t even know you could do that,” Phil stammered, gazing at Dan in awe now. “How many times did you save me?”

Dan’s dismissive shrug seemed to indicate it was probably more times than he could count. “I don’t know. I mean, it started when I was just little…”

Phil interrupted, eyes wide, “You started saving me from my nightmares when you were a little kid?”

Dan frowned. “Well, yeah. I mean, of course. We were both kids. But since I could control the dream stuff, I helped out. You did a pretty good job of calling out when you needed me. And you were there when I needed you, too.”

Overwhelmed, Phil lay down flat on his back on the grass, gazing up at the brilliant sky above them. It wasn’t just blue, though. It was a combination of colors: blues and greens and yellows. It seemed familiar, like he’d seen it before, but he knew he’d never seen the sky like that even in his dreams. The sky here was sometimes odd, but this was … different.

“But we can reminisce about old times later,” Dan insisted firmly, turning on his side so that his face looked down into Phil’s own. “I believe we were in the middle of a fight when I suggested we go to sleep to solve it here.”

“A fight?” Phil frowned, trying to remember exactly what the fight had been about, but then he remembered again and cringed. “Right. Because I didn’t tell you. Because I betrayed your trust…”

“No, you moron,” Dan interrupted him impatiently. “The fight about how you didn’t believe that I love you.”

Phil closed his eyes in the dream, not wanting to see Dan’s face above him. “I know you love the me that is in the dreams. It’s just … the me in the real world…”

Dan sighed his heaviest, most put-upon sigh and said, “Yeah, so now I know it’s the same you in the dreams and in the real world. I know it’s you, Phil. And you look like you.”

Phil opened his eyes and looked down at himself. He couldn’t see his face or hair, but his hands and body looked like his own. And he was wearing his Pixel Pops t-shirt with black jeans. “I guess I did it accidentally,” he apologized.

“I helped,” Dan explained. “I mean, you can make some changes here, but I’m better at it, so I do most of the heavy lifting.” He shrugged as if this was the most normal thing in the world to be talking about. “But you’re getting me off topic again.”

“What topic?” Phil asked, his mind spinning from all the things Dan kept saying, things that made no sense, and yet made things suddenly make so much more sense, things that nobody else would understand, but which the two of them had been living as long as they could remember…

Dan growled. Not a sexy tiger growl this time, just a frustrated growl like when he discovered Phil had eaten his cereal. “The topic of me being in love with you, dimwit!”

“But you’re not. Not with the real me,” Phil objected, trying to be the voice of reason in this completely insane conversation. “Dan, you’ve made it very clear. Painfully clear. For years. You’ve always made very certain that I wouldn’t get the wrong idea. I think it’s been even more obvious lately, actually…” Phil began to feel too vulnerable lying on the ground like that, so he sat up so Dan wouldn’t be looming above him anymore, his face so close like that.

“Yeah, well, there’s a good reason for that,” Dan said wryly. “Because I was already in a relationship, and it was getting even more intense, so I had to distance myself from you, from any feelings I might have about you that might be … more than they should be.”

Oh that hurt. So Phil had missed something. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” he said through numb lips.

“Jesus, you are the densest…” Dan cut himself off, then took a deep breath. “Okay.” He moved so that he was sitting facing Phil directly, looking him right in the eyes, and Phil somehow felt that he couldn’t look away. The intensity of Dan’s eyes held him there, pinned, waiting for the death blow.

“I’ve fallen in love twice in my life,” Dan began slowly, and his eyes were softer now, the brown warmer and richer in the sunshine. That familiar little secret smile was on his lips, the one Phil had been seeing so much lately. “The first time I fell in love was under a rainbow cloak made out of flowers…” Phil’s eyes widened. Dan had been in love with him in their dreams that long? “And the second time I fell in love was at the Manchester train station,” Dan finished.

Phil’s lips parted in shock, his mind reeling.

Dan smiled wryly and explained, “I tried to fight my feelings, though, because my heart wasn’t free. I’d always known that someday I would find the person in my dreams and we would be together. I knew he was out there in the world somewhere, and I knew we were soulmates, and I knew I had to find him eventually so we could spend the rest of our lives together. So when I fell in love again, I couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe that I could be so disloyal … god, I felt so guilty.” Dan rolled his eyes suddenly and punched Phil in the shoulder. “But it was you both times, you idiot! I fell in love twice, and both times it was you!”

This time Dan was the one who flopped down on his back. “All that time I spent fighting how I felt about you, because I’d already long ago found my perfect match, my permanent someone, my soulmate even though that sounds cheesy as hell, and I wasn’t going to jeopardize that … but fuck! All that angsting I did these past several years! All those efforts at pushing you away, keeping you at a distance! And it was all just you the whole fucking time!” He chuckled a sort of low, amazed little sound. “You have no idea what you’ve put me through.”

“What I’ve … put … you … through?” Phil’s words emerged slowly, as if weighed down and bogged down by his confusion, as if his thoughts fought their way through a thick sludge of disbelief.

“We’re in the dream now,” Dan replied calmly, gazing up at the oddly-colored sky, his profile so lovely Phil hurt to look at it. “So you can sense what I feel, right? Well … what do I feel right now, Phil?” A contented little smile, not so secret anymore, curved his lips, though Dan continued to look at the sky instead of at Phil. And when he stopped arguing, stopped assuming, stopped thinking … Phil suddenly could feel it all, could feel Dan’s emotions, and they rolled over him like a tide, and they pulled him under, and he rolled with them, and they filled him and ran through him like his own blood and made him whole…

And then he was pressing Dan down into the soft grass under a sky the color of Phil’s own eyes, and he was kissing Dan’s wonderful, delicious, smiling mouth with a lot of tongue and a hint of teeth and every ounce of love he had to give.

Author’s End Note: Chapter 10 is already in the works and I’m slaving away to give you guys the last couple chapters of this story. In the meantime, if you enjoyed this, maybe drop a couple bucks in my TIP JAR & I’ll love you forever! Or just like, comment, reblog, and generally tell me you like what I do! I’m a whore for any kind of praise.

[Continue on to Chapter 10]

[imagine-loki]

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Sixty-Eight

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

Maebh groaned as she felt her side cramp again, then hissed at the less than comfortable kick that her child gave in response to her stretch.

"Are you alright my love." Loki caressed her swollen belly where the baby had kicked, still half asleep.

"Your son or daughter is trying to tell me to suffer in silence." She groaned.

"Well I do not think you should, if you are suffering, I wish to know about it." He kissed the side of her neck, pulling her closer to him.

"You are only saying that because you were not here the last time if you had been, you would not be so willing to endure it this time."

Loki sighed. "I am so sorry about that my love." He held her as close as he could to him. "I still feel terrible about that, you needed me and I was not there."

"I needed you to come home to me, and you did; that is all that matters."

It had been over a week since Maebh had confronted Loki's behaviour; Nafi had forgiven his father's outburst, after Maebh had taken him aside and explained that Loki was overstressed about the baby's impending arrival, and Frigga, though he had had no arguments with her directly, had begun to notice he was more like himself again, though not entirely.

"Do you think it is still settled?"

"It seems to be, I cannot sit properly, and it is kicking high, so I am grateful it righted its position before the birth, I do not think I would be able to birth it head first." Maebh tried to get comfortable, but the child was kicking a lot.

"It is moving so much, you think with how little room there is in there it would not be so active." Loki held his hand over where their little one had moved.

Maebh turned slightly to face him, a small smile on her face. "Are you calling me fat?"

Loki chuckled in return. "I would never do such a thing, you are carrying my child, my love, I can never express how beautiful you are in doing so."

"My stomach looks like lightning bolts."

"I had noticed, what causes such?"

"According to Eir, it is to stretch it to facilitate the child, they will fade with time, but never disappear."

"Then they are of great importance, allowing our child the space it requires to develop." Loki allowed his hand to trace patterns over her stomach, tickling her slightly in the process.

"Get out of bed, you need to meet Thor today to deal with the Vanaheim situation." Maebh's voice seemed stern, but it lacked her usual bite when she was giving orders.

"No, I wish to remain here with you for the day." Loki leant in against the back of her neck, kissing it, not caring about her hair being in his face.

"Not possible my dear husband, now get out of...ooh!" A sharp pain coursed through her. "These pains are getting worse and far more irritating."

Panic set in Loki's features. "Pain, what pain? Why did you not mention any pain to me?"

"They are false labour pains." Maebh dismissed, sitting up.

"What, are you sure?"

"Yes, they are irregular, momentary and do not cause my stomach to harden, so yes, I am very sure." She consoled.

"You are sure?"

"I may have hurt myself birthing Vali, but I can assure you, I will never forget the pains that accompany birthing your children Loki."

Loki was uncertain, but could not argue something he was oblivious to the ins and outs of. He rose from the bed and swore to himself to check with Frigga and Sif if what Maebh was saying was true or if she was just trying to alleviate his concerns. "Do you require anything from me?"

Maebh shifted slightly before answering. "Nothing you are able to give me at present." Loki frowned for a moment, but her cheeks were slightly reddened, telling him what it was she was referencing.

"Are you asking for what I think you are?" He asked, in slight disbelief.

"I cannot control how my body is reacting to this child, it has me far more...sensitive than Vali had me." She tried to explain, rising precariously from the bed, a moment later, Loki pulled her to him and allowed his fingers to make their way down her torso to her ass.

"Maebh, my darling, all you need to do is ask." He breathed against her lips, his hand making its way under her night clothing and to her drenched core. "Norn's my love, you really are so sensitive." He began to gently caress her, causing her to moan before biting her lips together; leaning in, he spoke in a whisper. "Let go, my love." Maebh's nails gripped his shoulder firmly, so much so that he could feel them digging into his skin through his tunic, causing him to hiss in pleasure and pain.

Maebh's legs shook as she came closer to her release, all too soon, her body went over the brink of pleasure, and she found herself sinking her teeth into Loki's chest to prevent herself from screaming in undiluted ecstasy. "Loki," she gasped as the last of its waves pulsed through her; her legs no longer supporting her weight, something Loki had foreseen, meaning he was holding her up.

"I have you, my love."

"I'm sorry." She whispered, her cheeks red.

Loki's brows furrowed. "Whatever for?" She bit her lips together and looked at his chest, then back up at his face guiltily. Frowning, Loki followed her line of sight to his chest, his brows rising when he saw the slight red stains that were now on his light tunic. "I see."

"I didn't mean to." She could no longer look him with her guilt.

Loki used his forefinger to lift her chin so she was forced to look him in the eye again. "Maebh?" She did not look at him, so he tilted her head a slight bit more. "It is nothing."

"I broke your skin, I caused you to bleed."

Loki's eyes widened as he realised that her eyes were filled with tears. "Darling, it is alright, I know you did not do so to injure me, I see it as a great testament to how I make you feel, that to me is a good thing." He smiled.

His words did not have the desired effect and his wife began to weep before pulling from him and storming away from him and out of their bedroom door, through the house and out into the yard, passed a very confused Frigga and Gertrude. Loki only followed her to the bedroom door and watched, somewhat perplexed as to her actions.

"Dare I ask?" Frigga asked.

"I honestly do not know," Loki responded truthfully. "One moment she was content, the next, she began to get all upset."

Frigga nodded and looked thoughtful. "If this time is like the last for her, the child will be born before the end of the week." She commented, getting back to what she was doing. "You had better retrieve her dear, it has rained heavily through the night, and she could slip and hurt herself." His mother suggested.

Loki did not wait to be told anymore and rushed after his wife, sure enough, the ground was sodden from the rain, but there was no sign of his wife in the yard. He looked around for a moment, grateful to find her footprints on the ground in the mud to tell him of her direction of travel. Following them, he came to the stables, where the footprints continued inside. "Sweetheart? Maebh, I know you are here." He turned one direction to see the stalls with their horses, but no sign of his wife, he then turned around and saw his wife leaning against a wall, staring at a piece of straw in her hand. "Maebh?"

"I hated this the last time too."

"What my dear?"

"One minute I am happy, the next, I am sad, or angry, or both, or other such emotions, and it drives me insane, I loathe it." She explained, not looking at him.

Loki walked forward. "I know darling, but your body is trying to deal with everything, this can happen. Sif, if Thor is to be believed, is like a wolf with a toothache when it comes close to birthing, and mother thinks the child will be here soon."

"I feel like I am going to burst, look at me."

"I think you have never looked so beautiful, you are gravid with my child, it is the most beautiful thing in the world as far as I am concerned."

"You sentimental fool." She gave a small smile, which fell again when she saw the bite mark bloodstain on his chest.

"Do not start that again. I did not feel it."

"Do you feel it now?"

"Yes, but it barely smarts."

"How did you not feel it then?"

Loki smiled and encased her in his arms. "Because at that time my dear wife, I was preoccupied with the absolutely delicious sight of you coming apart at my touch."

"I am incredibly messed up at present." Maebh shook her head, allowing him to pull her close to him.

"Good, I was concerned that I alone was such."

Maebh frowned at him. "You still feel out of sorts yourself." She realised Loki felt embarrassed as he nodded his head. "Why did you not say anything?"

"You had enough to concern yourself with, and I was being ridiculous."

Maebh took his face in her hands. "Nothing about you is ridiculous, you matter as much as anyone else here. I need to know you are okay, because I worry otherwise, and that is worse for me, if I know what is going on, I can deal with it, not knowing is the worst fate."

Loki gave her a small smile, placing his hands over hers, before turning slightly to kiss the palm of her left hand. "Noted, shall we return to the house and get some breakfast?"

"I suppose we had better, Norn's I hate having to face your mother again after I have been silly."

"She does not judge any of it, she knows it means nothing." Loki wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple, walking her out of the stable.

As Loki had stated, Frigga seemed to make no note of anything that had occurred outside of her own personal thoughts and made no comment to Maebh regarding the matter as they worked through the home during the day. By afternoon it was all Maebh could do to stop herself from falling into the nearest chair and going to sleep.

"Go for a rest dear." Frigga encouraged as Maebh leant against a wall, her eyes immediately falling shut a moment later.

"If I sleep now, I will not sleep tonight," Maebh mumbled.

"If you do not willingly go now, you will keel over in an hour and risk yourself and the child." Frigga countered. "You are too tired love, go to bed."

"I will be fine."

"I will make you a bargain, why do you not rest next to the fire in here."

Maebh was going to argue, but the idea of being warm and the knowledge that she never really slept if she dozed on the chair, but rather just had a small rest, she conceded and walked over, pulling a large pelt from the back of the chair as she did so, and curled up as best as her rotund stomach would allow in front of the fire and immediately dozed off.

"Maebh." The young warrior woman groaned, not wanting to be woken from her comfortable rest, even if her neck was slightly uncomfortable, her back was not in pain for the first time in days. "Maebh, please wake up." Frigga pleaded.

Opening one of her eyes, she was looking into the worried eyes of her mother-in-law. She had no idea how long she was asleep, but she could see it was beginning to darken outside. "What is wrong?" She asked groggily. She looked down and saw Vali standing in front of her, using her leg to balance him as he stood, it was then she realised that his hand was wet. "What? Ah!" She felt a pain in her back, one she recognised from before.

"Your waters have just broken." Frigga realised, pulling Vali away from his mother, and looking to the floor where it was starting to flood with warm fluid trickling from the chair where Maebh was sitting. "Are they sore?"

"It would not be called labour if it was easy." Maebh retorted through gritted teeth as the contraction ended and she could breathe properly again.

"I realised you have been getting them while you were sleeping, I woke you because you actually seemed in pain as opposed to uncomfortable the last time."

"I wish you had left me rest," Maebh grumbled.

"No, because you were told by Eir, you needed to walk around at the beginning, it will aid you along, so up you get and into the bedroom with you, you are not birthing my grandchild in the living quarters like some hound in a basket," Frigga ordered, already praying to the Norn's that Maebh and the child she was about to bring into the world were going to be alright.

Maebh wanted to retort, but she knew her next contraction would not be long hitting her, so she rose to her feet and went into her room.

"Take him." Frigga gave Vali to one of her own maids then turned to Gertrude. "Warm water in a basin when I order it and cold cloths, this does not seem like it will take long." Gertrude nodded at her orders and set about doing them. Then Frigga turned to her other maid, "Get one of the men to fetch Eir and Sif, if you see my son, inform him his wife is about to birth, and for the love of the Norn's someone get that cat away from that bedroom door." Frigga indicated to Ellie, who was meowing and scratching at Maebh and Loki's bedroom door. As her orders were obeyed, Frigga took a moment to go back into her room and looked to the sky. "Odin, please, I pray for you to speak with the great Freya, we need her help now, Maebh needs her to watch over her as she does this task."

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

I’ll Be Good - Jungkook

Masterlist Word Count: 1418 Theme: lil’ bit of angst, lil’ bit of fluff

Authornim: I found this piece in my drafts and completely forgot about it. When I read it back, I thought it was good enough to post. So please enjoy this kinda weird oneshot.

Like a rat in the gutter, pestered in diseases, dying slowly in regret. His flesh rotting off his bones from the humid nights he spent outside with untreated wounds because even a bandage is something he doesn’t have money for.

And now he stands tall, wearing the scars from his past like they are paintings worth millions. No one can touch him, no one can reach him, no one but her. But she doesn’t care.

She has been pushed into the ground, stomped-, and spit on by men like him. She’d be damned if she’d let a man like him close to her once again. Her past gives her a bitter taste in her mouth, which is why she lives for the future. He lives in the now, but only because he has no other choice. Right now makes the difference between life and death.

He disgusts her and yet she always ends up in his bed. Sleeping like an angel next to him while guilt is eating her up. Her head tells her: “tomorrow I won’t give in. Tomorrow I’ll be strong.” Her heart strongly disagrees and tells her he’ll be a better man by the morning.

‘Jungkook?’ she asks in a whispering voice that sounds like music in his ears. The nature plays a symphony and she sings the main vocals. The morning light that peeks through the curtains is her spotlight. Her hair dances in the soft breeze that the opened windows let through. To him, she’s unreal. An angel. No, more perfect than an angel. She is his world. ‘Yes?’ he asks. Normally he’d get angry for someone waking him this early in the morning, but her beauty has made him soft. ‘Run away with me.’ Her words echo through the room, through his head, for minutes. She counts the seconds until she realizes that he won’t respond. Her legs swing over the bedside and she stands up. He watches her hips sway as she walks around the room, gathering the clothes that are scattered on the floor.

She knows what time it is. She knows damn well that he won’t follow her, he won’t chase her, he won’t stay with her. To him, she was just a game. Little does she know he stayed for her.

‘Good morning.’ With a smile as strong as a thousand suns, she walks into work. Finally she is where she wants to be. Finally she has a normal and respectable job. She doesn’t have to sell her body anymore. She can now provide for not only herself, but also for the little boy that looks so damn much like him. He’s like a picture, a distant memory, a painful reminder of her bitter past. Sometimes, she cries when she sees her baby boy. She sees the love she once had in his eyes, the emotion she once dared to share in his eyes, the passion he once has in his eyes. Yes, sometimes she cries.

Where she once thought crying was a sign of weakness, she now thinks it’s a strength. It is being able to be vulnerable in front of people you love and people you fear. She’s been teaching that to her son so that he may grow up to be a respectable young man who isn’t afraid to face any challenge.

The big white walls and amazing amount of windows surprise her. She never thought that these simple things could make her feel so free, yet so captured. Like a caged bird. She realizes something. We are all birds inside a cage that is so big that we refuse to believe that there even is a cage. The once who had it rough are the once who realized and escaped, but in the end we all end up behind these bars if we want to live our life in common comfort. And common comfort is all that she needs right now. For her son. She’ll starve, she’ll be sick, she’d give her life if it’d be the only way for him to eat, be healthy, be alive.

‘Good morning.’ He sits at his desk with a frown plastered on his face. He reads about an author with four bestsellers. He sees her picture and thinks of the times he had her. The times he only had to reach out to touch her beautiful face, to caress her cheeks, only had to lean in to kiss her lips, and he let all of that slip away because of his doubt.

‘Ehm, sir?’ his assistant says as she sees that her boss isn’t responding. ‘Yes?’ he asks. The tone of his voice tells his assistant to either make it quick, or run for her life. Her choice. ‘You took today and tomorrow off. What are you doing in your office?’ she questions carefully. He snaps out of it and looks up at her. ‘Why did I take the day off?’ ‘Your friend, Jung Hoseok, is getting married.’ Jungkook runs his hands through his hair in frustration. ‘No, they cut it off last month,’ he tells his assistant. ‘Either way, you have the day off,’ she says, ‘and you need it. So please get out of here. Go take a nap at home. Your eyes look awfully dark.’ He nods and gets up from his chair.

About an hour later he finds himself enjoying the sun in the park. He shouldn’t spend sunny Saturdays like today at work. A smile faintly appears on his face after having left for so long. That is until a little boy runs past him, tripping a meter or so away of where Jungkook is sitting. Worry marks his face as he rushes over to the little kid who is crying big tears and holds his one leg like his life depends on it. ‘Hey kid, are you ok?’ Jungkook asks as he squats down next to the little boy. The boy shakes his head and looks up at the bigger man bowing over him. When their eyes meet, Jungkook feels like someone is holding up a mirror to his face, a mirror that shows your past. The kid looks like his baby pictures. What are the odds? ‘My knee hurts,’ the kid cries out. Jungkook looks at it, but sees nothing but a blue spot. ‘It’s not that bad, let’s see if you can stand,’ Jungkook says and he grabs one of the hands of the little boy to pull him up. ‘Thank you hyung,’ the kid says with a small smile as he wipes his own tears. ‘Now let’s find your eomma or appa,’ Jungkook says as he starts looking around. ‘I know where she is,’ the kid says and grabs Jungkook’s hand, pulling him along to a small blanket spread out under a tree with some juice boxes and snacks scattered all over it. On it is a woman with her face in a book. It’s impossible to see her face. ‘Eomma, look! This hyung looks like the pictures of appa,’ the little kid says cheerfully. ‘Jungki, I told you not to go around and bother people because you think they look like appa. Appa is gone,’ she says as she puts her book down. Finally Jungkook puts the pieces together, but she hasn’t even looked at him. ‘I think he’s right. I am his appa,’ Jungkook says. The woman’s eyes widen and she looks up at the man in front of her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asks with tears in his eyes. ‘Because I found out after I left and I knew you couldn’t take care of a family.’ ‘I can.’ ‘I don’t want you to.’ He sees the tears in her eyes and she sees the tears in his eyes. They don’t want to speak the words that lie so heavily on their hearts. Three little words are so tough to carry, even tougher to speak. Especially for broken people. ‘I’m a better man. I have a stable job, I have a house, I can provide for us, please let me take care of you,’ he begs her. She stands up to take a few steps closer. Jungkook eagerly waits for her words to come down on him like a thunderstorm. He closes his eyes, but instead of angry shouts and furious curses he feels two arms wrap around his waist and a head rest on his chest. ‘I missed you.’ ‘I swear I’ll be good to you for all the times that I couldn’t.’

[fmservers]

SoftBank’s debt obsession

We are experimenting with new content forms at TechCrunch. This is a rough draft of something new. Provide your feedback directly to the authors: Danny at danny@techcrunch.com or Arman at Arman.Tabatabai@techcrunch.com if you like or hate something here.

Today, we are focused on SoftBank .

The Wall Street Journal and others reported that Masayoshi Son, the founder and CEO of SoftBank, will take into account the killing of Saudi Arabian journalist Jamal Khashoggi when considering whether to receive additional investment from Saudi Arabia in future Vision Funds. Saudi Arabia is the largest investor in the current Vision Fund, having pledged $45 billion of the $98 billion fund.

The political risk surrounding the Kingdom made us curious: why the obsession with Saudi money, beyond the obvious that they write monster checks?

The answer turns out that it’s not just that the country can write large checks, it is that they are willing to write large checks to one of the most heavily levered companies in the world. SoftBank — including its Vision Fund — has engorged itself on massive levels of debt in order to increase returns — often at the expense of operational stability.

First, take the Vision Fund. According to PitchBook, most of the fund is underwritten by SoftBank itself ($28 billion), Saudi Arabia ($45 billion) and Abu Dhabi ($15 billion). But, the fund has also been on a huge debt binge in order to juice returns. As reported by Mayumi Negishi and Phred Dvorak at the WSJ:

Around 60% of the money promised to the Vision Fund by investors other than SoftBank takes the form of debtlike securities that earn a 7% fixed return annually. That is an unusual structure for a fund that backs young, unprofitable companies, where it is unclear when—or if—investors will make money.

On top of that, the Vision Fund and its affiliate have been borrowing money: They had around ¥636 billion ($5.6 billion) in debt as of the end of September, up 28% in the past six months, according to SoftBank filings. That money has partly been going to pay the returns promised the funds’ investors, the filings say.

And SoftBank is planning to have the Vision Fund borrow an additional $9 billion or so to boost the fund’s returns further and make more investments, Mr. Son told The Wall Street Journal after the press conference.

That’s $14.6 billion in debt for a $98 billion fund.

That’s not insane by any measure, even if the use of debt is relatively unusual for venture firms (unlike in private equity, where debt is very standard). The Vision Fund invests at a much later stage than most startup investors, and its term sheets — from what I hear — are heavily-laden with economic terms that give SoftBank huge downside protection. It’s hard to believe that the GPs could invest $98 billion, and not find at least $14.6 billion in returns to cover their debt repayments.

Here is the thing though: SoftBank is the second largest LP in the SoftBank Vision Fund, and that contribution itself is also funded by a balance sheet that is staggering in its debt load.

Image: Koki Nagahama/Getty Images

Earlier this week, SoftBank announced profit levels that blew analyst estimates out of the water, reporting a profit of $6.2 billion in the company’s second quarter. The stock rose despite broad unease from investors around the company’s deep ties to Saudi Arabia and the continuing political fallout of that situation.

The bigger number though is sitting on the liabilities side of the company’s balance sheet. As of the end of September, SoftBank had around 18 trillion yen, or about $158.8 billion of current and non-current interest-bearing debt. That’s more than six times the amount the company earns on an operating basis, and just slightly less than the public debt held by Pakistan.

And though SoftBank’s sky-high debt balance tends to be a secondary focus in the company’s media coverage, it’s a figure that SoftBank’s top brass is well aware of, and quite comfortable with. When discussing the company’s financial strategy, Softbank CFO Yoshimitsu Goto stated that the company is in the early stages of a transition from a telco holding company to an investment company, and as a result is “likely to be perceived as a corporate group with significant debt and interest payment burden” with what is “generally considered a high level of debt.”

The hope for the company is that as investors recognize it as an investment business, the way SoftBank’s creditworthiness will be evaluated will change and it should be able to operate with more flexibility around leverage levels as Bloomberg’s Shuli Ren outlined in a feature on the company earlier this year:

For acquisitive globetrotters, being labeled an investment firm means having a lot more room to issue debt. In January, Fosun was upgraded one level by Moody’s, which didn’t seem at all concerned by the Shanghai-based company’s debt pile. It noted only that Fosun had no liquidity issues considering it held 61 billion yuan ($9.6 billion) of cash and marketable securities against 35 billion yuan of short-term liabilities.

As SoftBank becomes an investment company, leverage is no longer an appropriate measure, CFO Yoshimitsu Goto was cited as saying in a cover story in the Nikkei Asian Review last weekend. SoftBank’s Vision Fund and Delta Fund mean the firm can use debt without damaging its balance sheet, he said. In effect, SoftBank has already started to resemble the likes of HNA, using complex instruments and margin loans backed by its shares in Alibaba Group Holding Ltd. to finance more startup acquisitions.”

But the lack of an “investment company” label has never stopped SoftBank from pursuing aggressive expansion with a highly-levered balance sheet in the past. SoftBank has in fact had a deep history of operating at debt levels well above industry averages, dating back to the mid-1990s following the company’s 1994 IPO.

At the end of 1998, SoftBank had around $5 billion in debt on its balance sheet and was using three times as much debt to finance its operations vs equity. The company continued to use debt as a means of financing an ambitious M&A strategy that included the $20 billion acquisition of American telco Sprint in 2012-13, which led to the downgrade of SoftBank’s credit ratings to junk by both Moody’s and S&P, where they’ve remained since.

Photo by Jin Lee/Bloomberg via Getty Images

Junk rated credit still didn’t stop SoftBank, with the company spending around $32 billion to buy U.K. chip designer ARM Holdings in 2016. At the end of that year, SoftBank had a debt balance of around $125 billion.

Then in early 2017, SoftBank announced plans for its Vision Fund, which would effectively allow the company to continue making sizable investments despite having an overstretched balanced sheet. According to the Financial Times:

A person involved with the fund’s creation says the structure was designed to address the challenges of placing major bets on technology start-ups. While traditional private equity funds often borrow against their purchases to boost their firepower, Mr Son would likely struggle to raise leverage against companies that have little to no cash flow.

The creation of the Vision Fund led S&P to revise the credit rating outlook for SoftBank from stable to negative. And as the Vision Fund has lined up commitments to borrow another $9 billion, some lenders have started to view SoftBank’s strategy with more caution, such as Bank of America who decided not to provide $1 billion in the financing arrangement two weeks ago due to concerns that the lending terms were too risky.

Again, SoftBank’s reliance on debt isn’t new, with some Japanese investors and bondholders even applying a “Masayoshi Son discount” to the company’s securities. And SoftBank has proven its ability to operate, and operate well, under such conditions, surviving and growing substantially over the past two decades amidst several market turnovers and crises.

Nonetheless, when a company is operating with such high leverage, risks are amplified and even modest bumps in micro and macro conditions can have serious implications for investors, startups and the broader investment ecosystem.

What’s next

Probably going to look at SoftBank some more. Have thoughts? Reach out to us directly.

We are still spending more time on Chinese biotech investments in the United States (Arman wrote a deep dive on this).

We are exploring the changing culture of Form D filings (startups seem to be increasingly foregoing disclosures of Form Ds on the advice of their lawyers).

India tax reform and how startups have taken advantage of it.

Reading docket

Danny had 8 hours of meetings yesterday and read about one page of any of this, despite his best intentions.

Bloomberg’s piece called “The $6 Trillion Barrier Holding Electric Cars Back”

The New Yorker piece called “Why Doctors Hate Their Computers”

Eliot Peper’s new science fiction novel Borderless

A new report about China’s military and its deep connections into American academic research

“LA Is Trying to Fix its Prostitution Problem by Banning Right Turns at Night—and it Might be Working” — intriguing headline, let’s see if it follows through

The Information’s deep dive into white-collar crime and lack of prosecution thereof in Silicon Valley

Via Arman Tabatabai https://techcrunch.com

[oovitus]

Eating too much? You can blame your brain. [How brain signaling drives what you eat. And what to do about it.]

Forget willpower: Brain signals drive what, how, and when we eat. If you’re eating too much, here’s how to take back control.

++++

It’s no secret that obesity rates have been rising in the U.S. (and other industrialized nations) for the past 30 years. It’s also no secret that Americans eat more than they used to; by almost 425 calories per day since the early ’80s.

For decades, government officials, research scientists, and fitness pros blamed this on a lack of willpower — folks’ inability to “push away from the table”. Diet book authors, TV doctors, and other nutrition experts tell us we’re gaining because of gluten. Fats. Fructose. Or whatever the nemesis of the day is.

But all this finger-wagging never really explains why.

Why are we eating so much food?

And why is it so hard to stop?

The answer lies in our brains.

You eat what your brain tells you to eat.

Ever open up a bag of chips planning to have a small snack, only to find yourself peering into an empty bag, just a few moments later?

Your brain is to blame.

Our rational, conscious brain thinks it’s in charge. “I eat what I want, when I want it. And I stop when I want to”. But we have a lot less control than that. Behind our decision-making processes are physiological forces we’re never even aware of.

You see, deeper brain physiology drives what, when, and how much we eat — along with its co-pilots of hormones, fatty acids, amino acids, glucose, and body fat. For the most part, our conscious selves just come along for the ride.

In this article, we’ll explore:

how our brains dictate so many of our food choices;

how these physiological forces can lead to weight gain; and

what we can do to take the power back.

Why do we decide to eat?

Simply put, we eat for two reasons.

Homeostatic eating: We eat to get the energy our body needs, and to keep our biological system balanced (aka homeostasis).

Hedonic eating: We eat for pleasure (aka hedonism), or to manage our emotions.

Most meals are a mix of homeostatic and hedonic eating.

We do know that ghrelin, the “hunger hormone”, stimulates our appetite. It peaks just before meals, and falls during and immediately after eating.

Yet ghrelin is not the only factor in hunger or the decision to eat. For example, research shows that mice without ghrelin still eat regularly, just like the mice with ghrelin.

Although taking in nutrients is as old as biology, we still don’t know why and how humans get hungry and decide to start eating. Hunger and eating is shaped by many factors, including:

our genes

social cues

learned behavior

environmental factors

circadian rhythm

our hormones

As you can imagine, it’s complicated. So, science still doesn’t have “the secret” to hunger and eating. (Yet.)

We do, however, know a lot about why we stop eating.

Why do we stop eating?

Once we’ve started eating, what makes us stop?

This is in part influenced by satiation — the perception of fullness you get during a meal that causes you to stop eating.

(Satiety is sometimes used interchangeably with satiation, but the terms aren’t the same. Satiety is your perception of satisfaction, or reduced interest in food, between meals; satiation is your perception of fullness during a meal.)

When we eat a meal, two physiological factors work together to tell us to put down our fork and call it quits: gastric distension and hormonal satiation.

Gastric distension

When empty, your stomach can only hold about 50 mL. When you eat, the stomach can expand to hold 1000 mL (1 liter), or at the extreme end, 4000 mL (4 liters or 1 gallon).

Your stomach is designed to stretch and expand, aka gastric distension. Your stomach is also designed to tell your brain about how much stretching is happening.

As your stomach expands to accommodate the incoming food, neurons in your stomach send this message to your brain via the vagus nerve, which runs from your head to your abdomen.

At Precision Nutrition, we encourage people who want to lose fat to choose more nutritious yet low-energy and high-fiber foods, such as vegetables, beans, and legumes. Because these take up more stomach space, they can help us feel full, though we’re eating fewer calories.

Unfortunately, though, gastric distension isn’t the full picture.

Hormonal satiation

While you eat, your GI tract and related organs (like the pancreas) tell many areas of the brain that food is coming in. Some of these signals travel up the vagus nerve, while others enter the brain by different routes.

Some of the more important of these hormones are:

Cholecystokinin (CCK): When we eat fat and protein, the gut releases CCK, telling your brain (through the vagus nerve) to stop eating.

GLP-1 and amylin: Recent research indicates that GLP-1 may be the most unique, and important, satiation hormone. It seems to stimulate the production and release of insulin (a powerful satiation/satiety hormone itself) and slow down food moving from the stomach into the small intestine, among many other impressive mechanisms. Similarly, amylin is one of the few satiation/satiety hormones shown to actually reduce food intake.

Insulin: When we eat carbs and protein, we release insulin. This tells your brain that nutrients are coming in, and eventually tells it to stop eating.

Many of these hormonal messages stick around. They can tell us to eat less at later meals, too.

(This is why you should think about your food choices and eating habits in the long-term — over the course of a day, a few days, or even a week. For instance, a high-protein breakfast might prevent you from overeating at dinner.)

Together, these physiological responses (along with other hormones and signals) help you feel full and know when to stop eating.

Yet these still aren’t the complete picture, either.

Your brain also drives your food consumption over time.

What really matters to your weight and overall health, of course, is what you do consistently — i.e. what and how much you typically eat, day after day.

Your body has a system for managing your long-term energy and nutrient needs. It’s called the leptin feedback loop.

Leptin is a hormone that’s released by fat tissue. Leptin tells the brain how much energy we’ve just consumed and how much excess energy we have stored up (as fat). The more body fat we have, the more leptin in our blood.

The brain makes decisions based on leptin levels about hunger, calorie intake, nutrient absorption, and energy use and storage. Then, it cycles back to regulate leptin production in a loop that can help keep our energy (and body weight) balanced over time.

Within this feedback loop, energy stores influence leptin and insulin concentrations in the blood. These signal the brain, which in turn sends out signals to influence energy expenditure, food intake, appetite, and nutrient absorption. These come full circle to influence energy storage.

If stored energy (fat) and leptin remain stable over time, we are more easily sated during and between meals. Smaller portions feel OK. And our metabolic rate stays high.

If stored energy (fat) and leptin drop over time, it sends a message to the brain (mainly the hypothalamus, which links your nervous system with your endocrine system) that we need to start preventing starvation.

The brain responds to lower leptin levels with several anti-starvation strategies:

We get hungry. Like real hungry. Like eat-your-own-arm hungry.

We move around less. Our NEAT (non-exercise activity thermogenesis), or our daily movement like fidgeting, standing up, and anything other than purposeful exercise, goes down. The couch starts looking better and better.

We burn fewer calories through movement as our skeletal muscles become more efficient.

Our metabolic rate slows down significantly (as seen in the infamous ”Biggest Loser” study).

It follows, then, that if stored energy (fat) and leptin go up over time, you’ll want to eat less… right?

Yes. Sort of.

Unfortunately, you can’t always count on that response.

How much leptin will go up when you start eating more varies from person to person. And how your brain responds to increased leptin levels also varies from person to person.

Clearly, people’s physiologies vary a lot. In some people, when leptin rises, their brain decreases their appetite, and increases their NEAT output. In others, the response isn’t nearly so robust.

That being said, most of the time, for most people:

The leptin feedback loop works well to naturally regulate our energy expenditure and consumption… until we disrupt it.

The food you eat can change your brain.

Assuming we’re properly nourished, that well-balanced leptin loop will tell us when we’ve have enough. It helps us feel sated and allows us to eat reasonable portions, comfortably.

But that nicely balanced loop can become disrupted — quickly — when we eat certain types of food.

A diet filled with hyper-palatable, hyper-rewarding, heavily processed foods can overthrow the the brain’s “stop” signals.

In plain English, this means so-called “junk foods” that are sweet, salty, creamy, and/or crunchy (maybe all at once), and full of chemical goodness that spins our pleasure dials… but contain relatively few actual nutrients.

This type of diet prevents leptin from doing its job of regulating our energy balance. It can even make our brains inflamed and leptin resistant.

We end up feeling less satisfied. We want to eat more. And our bodies even fight to hold on to the weight we gain.

Hyper-palatability

Palatability is more than just taste — it’s our whole experience of pleasure from a food. That includes taste as well as aroma, mouthfeel, texture, and the whole experience of eating. Palatability strongly influences how much we eat at meals.

That seems obvious: Of course we eat more of the foods we like. And of course some foods are more pleasurable to eat than others.

But some foods aren’t just palatable — they’re extremely palatable. They’re what you might call “too good”. Anything that you “just can’t stop eating” would fall into this category.

Reward value

Along with palatability, some foods give us a “hit” or a reward from some type of physiological effect. We’ll go out of our way to get foods with a high reward value — in fact, we may learn to like them even if they don’t taste very good.

For instance, few people like black coffee or beer the first time they try them. But coffee has caffeine (yeah!) and beer has alcohol (double yeah!). Our brains like caffeine and alcohol.

So we learn quickly that coffee and beer are good things, and we learn to like (or at least tolerate) their taste.

Over time we discover we like — maybe even can’t live without — them. We’ll wade through a crowded bar to buy a drink, we’ll stand in an absurdly long line for our afternoon coffee fix, and we’ll pay exorbitant amounts of money for relatively simple products.

We’ll also make room for high-reward foods even when we’re full. This is why at Thanksgiving, after moaning and groaning about how full you are, you miraculously make room for pie when it’s time for dessert.

Tasty + fun = no shutoff switch

Now, what happens when you put these two things — hyper-palatability (tasty) and high reward (fun) — together?

A dangerous combination.

We want these foods, we like these foods, and we’ll work hard to get them. When we do get them, we often don’t quit eating them.

These types of foods have a winning combination for keeping us interested and eating:

energy density. i.e. a lot of calories in a small package

high fat content

high refined starch and/or sugar content

saltiness

sweetness

pleasing and specific texture, such as creamy or crunchy

drugs, such as caffeine or alcohol

other flavor enhancers or additives to improve mouthfeel

This magical mix is rarely found in nature. It is, however, often found in highly processed foods like cakes, cookies, pastries, pies, pizza, ice cream, fried foods, and so forth.

The more of those elements we have, the better.

Make something salty, and sweet, and starchy, and fatty, then add in some extra flavors and scents, appealing colors and a pleasing mouthfeel for good measure, and you have something that’s been scientifically engineered for us to over-eat.

We naturally love and seek out these things.

Evolution has equipped us for it.

If you love so-called “junk food”, and feel like you can’t stop eating it, you’re not alone, bad, or weird.

Your brain is doing its job to keep you alive.

For example, high-fat foods are energy dense. Good news if you’re a hunter-gatherer and nutrients are scarce. A sweet taste can tell us a food is safe to eat. Bitter-tasting foods could be poisonous.

Yet our ancestors weren’t exactly dialing in for delivery. They had to bust their butts with daily activity such as stalking, gathering, and digging, even for minor rewards like a meal of turtle and tubers.

Today, of course, high-fat foods aren’t nutrient-rich animal organs or blubber that we had to work nine hours to get; they’re Frappucinos and bacon double cheeseburgers that we bought while seated in our car.

Evolution’s gifts now work against us.

This is your brain on processed food.

Our brains loooooove processed foods. But our bodies don’t.

These enchanting and semi-addictive foods aren’t usually very nutritious. They have more energy than we need, with fewer nutrients (i.e. vitamins, minerals, phytonutrients, essential fatty acids, etc.) and fiber.

We don’t feel full or satisfied when we eat them.

After a while, our brain forgets about its natural “stop” signals in favor of getting more of that delicious “hit” from food reward. Our hedonic pleasure system starts bullying our homeostatic energy-balancing system.

Over time, if we eat a lot of these foods consistently, we might even injure and inflame the parts of our brain that regulate our food intake and energy output. Now our homeostatic regulation isn’t just getting pushed around, it’s also on fire.

We’re not sure exactly why this happens.

Getting too much energy from foods, and especially these foods, seems to injure our brain’s neurons, particularly in the hypothalamus. When we are injured, we normally release inflammatory cytokines (aka cell signals). This happens in the brain as well (since the brain is part of our body), causing hypothalamic inflammation.

There is also evidence that significant consumption of these energy-dense foods changes the populations of the bacteria in our gut. Which affects the gut-to-brain pathway and also causes hypothalamic inflammation.

Hypothalamic inflammation then leads to leptin resistance.

Disrupting the leptin feedback loop

You might have heard of insulin resistance, the condition where people’s cells stop “hearing” insulin signals, and slowly lose the ability to control their blood sugar levels.

The same thing can happen with leptin: Your brain can start to ignore or “tune out” the leptin, even if you’re eating enough, and have plenty of energy stored in your body fat.

In insulin resistance, the pancreas can simply pump out more insulin to keep blood sugar under control (at least for a while). Since body fat is our main leptin factory, to make more leptin, we need more body fat.

You see where this is going, right?

When you’re leptin resistant, your brain thinks it doesn’t have enough leptin.

The brain needs the leptin factory (i.e. body fat) to get bigger and produce more leptin.

Operation Add Adiposity begins.

You feel hungry. Regular portion sizes are no longer satisfying; it’s harder to feel satiated and you want to keep eating, and eat more often.

You gain fat. Mission accomplished, or so your brain thinks.

Here’s what the leptin feedback loop looks like now, in this disrupted scenario:

The leptin feedback look can be disrupted by inflammation and neuron injury, sometimes caused by eating too many processed foods. This, combined with other genetic and environmental factors, can lead to leptin resistance and increasing body fat.

As if that weren’t enough, it seems this inflammation and resulting leptin resistance might even cause our bodies to defend our increased weight. (This seems to be because the brain now views this higher level of leptin and body fat as its new normal.)

In this case, our body fights even harder than normal to stop us losing fat. (Scientists are still researching exactly how and why our bodies do this.)

D’oh.

Hyper-palatable, highly rewarding foods are often the most readily available.

Tasty-fun food-crack deliciousness bombs are everywhere.

Today, these are the top 6 sources of calories in the U.S.:

Grain-based desserts (cakes, cookies, donuts, pies, crisps, cobblers, and granola bars)

Yeast breads

Chicken and chicken-mixed dishes (and we don’t mean chicken breasts — think chicken fingers, chicken stir-fry, and chicken nuggets)

Soda, energy drinks, and sports drinks

Pizza

Alcoholic beverages

And:

Fast food now makes up 11 percent of the average American’s energy intake.

We now drink 350 percent more soft drinks than we did 50 years ago.

Soybean oil (largely used in highly-processed foods) accounts for 8 percent of all calories that Americans consume.

All of this, of course, makes perfect sense.

If you’re a food company, you want people to eat your food.

How do you do that? Engineer the food to be extra-rewarding and hard to stop eating. People eat more, and buy more, and then lie awake at night thinking about how they could totally go for an ice cream sundae with sprinkles right now…

If you’re a savvy marketer, you might also invent new opportunities for people to eat.

Like… at movies. In the car. “Snack time” before, during, and after school. In front of the TV. At sports events. Before, during, and after workouts. Late at night (which is usually where processed foods excel). And so on.

Social norms and our environment also affect where, when, how, and how much we eat.

Now that food and food cues are everywhere, all the time, it’s hard to avoid wanting to eat, and hard to know when to stop eating.

Change what you eat, change your brain.

You can’t control your unique genetic makeup, your history of dieting, nor your physiological response. But you can control your behaviors.

Here are two simple (but not necessarily easy) steps you can take to help your natural appetite regulation system get back online and do its job better:

Step 1: Eat more whole, fresh, minimally processed foods.

This means stuff like:

Lean meat, poultry, fish, eggs, dairy and/or plant sources for your lean protein.

Fruits and vegetables, ideally colorful ones.

Slow-digesting, high-fiber starches such as whole grains, starchy tubers (e.g. potatoes, sweet potatoes, yams, cassava, etc.), beans and legumes.

Nuts, seeds, avocados, coconut, fatty fish and seafood for your quality fats.

Step 2: Eat slowly and mindfully.

No matter what you eat, slowing down will help your brain and gastrointestinal tract coordinate their activities. It will help you feel more in control of choosing what and how much to eat.

Plus, since the signals are getting through properly, you’ll often feel satisfied with less food.

Step 3: Eat fewer processed, hyper-palatable foods.

Step 3 can be tricky. We get it. After all, this whole article is about how appealing those foods can be.

Step 1 and 2 will make Step 3 easier. If you get more of the “good stuff”, and stay mindful as you eat it, there’s often less room (and desire) for the other stuff.

Over time, if you do these 3 steps consistently:

You’ll probably notice you crave highly processed foods less, and feel more in charge of your food decisions in general.

You’ll feel fuller for longer as that leptin loop returns to normal (at least to some degree, keeping in mind that each person’s body and situation is a bit different).

You may lose body fat.

You’ll probably find you feel, move and perform better, too.

++ Food intake is complex.

Physiology plays a big role. But so do psychology, relationships and our larger society, our culture, our lifestyle, our individual knowledge or beliefs about food and eating.

This means you aren’t “doomed” by physiology. You can use other things to help your body do its job.

A meal of whole foods, properly cooked and seasoned, and enjoyed at the dinner table with your family or friends is going to be much more satisfying than eating in your car next to the drive-through window.

You don’t have to live in a world of bland and depressing “health food” just because you aren’t carpet-bombing your taste buds. Throw a little butter and salt on those veggies. Make them taste good — just not “too good”, too often.

Your brain will love you for it.

What to do next: Some tips from Precision Nutrition

Here are a few of our favorite strategies to help you find the right balance, and make smart choices.

1. Recognize that your body is a system. Think long-term.

What you do today can affect what happens tomorrow. Your breakfast can change your dinner.

If you restrict food and nutrients with a fad diet that “starts on Monday”, you might find your body aggressively taking back its energy by Friday.

2. Eat mostly whole, minimally processed foods.

Whole, minimally processed foods are not hyper-rewarding or hyper-palatable. It’s harder to over-eat them. They don’t cause hypothalamic inflammation and leptin resistance.

They have lots of good stuff (vitamins, minerals, water, fiber, phytonutrients, disease-fighting chemicals, etc.) and are usually lower in calories.

Here are some ideas for putting together a delicious plate.

Choose whole foods that you enjoy and will eat consistently.

3. Eat enough lean protein.

Protein is a satiety superstar.

We’ve seen in both research and our clients: When people eat more lean protein, they eat fewer calories overall. But they feel more satisfied. Sometimes even like they’re eating “too much”!

For most men, this generally means consuming 6-8 palm-sized portions of protein daily.

And for most women, this generally means consuming 4-6 palm-sized portions of protein daily.

4. Eat plenty of vegetables.

Vegetables — especially colorful ones — are obviously super healthy. They give you a lot of volume and nutrients for very little calories. And many of them are fun to eat (think crunchy carrots, baby tomatoes, etc.).

For most men, this generally means consuming 6-8 fist-sized portions of vegetables daily. For most women, this generally means consuming 4-6 fist-sized portions of vegetables daily.

5. Get quality carbs and healthy fats from whole, less processed foods.

For carbohydrates, look for whole grains, beans and legumes, starchy tubers (such as potatoes and sweet potatoes) and fruit. The combination of resistant starch, fiber and water content will help you feel fuller, for longer.

When it comes to carbohydrates, for most men we recommend 6-8 cupped handfuls of carbohydrates daily. And for most women we recommend 4-6 cupped handfuls of carbohydrates daily.

For fat-dense foods, look to high-quality oils and butters, nut butters, nuts/seeds, avocados, and even a little dark chocolate. Fat tends to be digested the most slowly of all the macronutrients, especially sources that are less energy-dense and higher in fiber (e.g. nuts, seeds, avocados).

For most men we recommend 6-8 thumb-sized portions of healthy fats per day. For most women we recommend 4-6 thumb-sized portions of healthy fats per day.

6. Consider how you eat.

Work on eating slowly. Pay attention to your own internal satiety cues. Eat without your smartphone, TV, or computer in your face.

Eat from smaller plates. Create an environment in your home and work space that makes it difficult to overeat or be tempted with highly-processed, highly-rewarding foods.

Remember Berardi‘s First Law: If a food is in your house or possession, either you, someone you love, or someone you marginally tolerate will eventually eat it.

This also leads to the corollary of Berardi’s First Law: If a healthy food is in your house or possession, either you, someone you love, or someone you marginally tolerate will eventually eat it.

7. Be flexible.

Recognize that it’s OK to have some of those highly-rewarding foods. Completely avoiding them, or demonizing them as “bad” or “poison” usually does the opposite of what you want: You feel like a guilty failure, and you often end up overeating or bingeing on those “banned” foods.

Instead, choose (in other words, decide in advance) to indulge in some occasional cookies, brownies or ice cream. Eat them slowly and mindfully, until you’re satisfied. Enjoy them.

And then move on, back to your regular routine like it ain’t no thing.

Keep in mind that how often you choose to indulge should depend on what you’re looking to achieve.

8. Be aware

Cultivate an awareness of how you feel before, during and after your meals.

Do you eat because you’re truly hungry, or because the clock says it’s time to eat, or because you just “feel snacky”?

Do you feel overstuffed at the end of a meal, only to find yourself staring into the fridge two hours later?

Where do most of your meals come from?

Consider keeping a food journal for a couple of weeks, making note of what you eat and how you feel. You can also jot down stuff like what you’re thinking, and what else is going on in your life (e.g. stress at work).

Simply becoming more aware of your body’s cues — and how these relate to other factors — will help you better regulate your food intake. Awareness helps you make decisions that are more in line with your body’s actual needs.

If you’re a coach, or you want to be…

Learning how to coach clients, patients, friends, or family members through healthy eating and lifestyle changes — in a way that supports long-term progress — is both an art and a science.

If you’d like to learn more about both, consider the Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification. The next group kicks off shortly.

What’s it all about?

The Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification is the world’s most respected nutrition education program. It gives you the knowledge, systems, and tools you need to really understand how food influences a person’s health and fitness. Plus the ability to turn that knowledge into a thriving coaching practice.

Developed over 15 years, and proven with over 100,000 clients and patients, the Level 1 curriculum stands alone as the authority on the science of nutrition and the art of coaching.

Whether you’re already mid-career, or just starting out, the Level 1 Certification is your springboard to a deeper understanding of nutrition, the authority to coach it, and the ability to turn what you know into results.

[Of course, if you’re already a student or graduate of the Level 1 Certification, check out our Level 2 Certification Master Class. It’s an exclusive, year-long mentorship designed for elite professionals looking to master the art of coaching and be part of the top 1% of health and fitness coaches in the world.]

Interested? Add your name to the presale list. You’ll save up to 33% and secure your spot 24 hours before everyone else.

We’ll be opening up spots in our next Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification on Wednesday, October 3rd, 2018.

If you want to find out more, we’ve set up the following presale list, which gives you two advantages.

Pay less than everyone else. We like to reward people who are eager to boost their credentials and are ready to commit to getting the education they need. So we’re offering a discount of up to 33% off the general price when you sign up for the presale list.

Sign up 24 hours before the general public and increase your chances of getting a spot. We only open the certification program twice per year. Due to high demand, spots in the program are limited and have historically sold out in a matter of hours. But when you sign up for the presale list, we’ll give you the opportunity to register a full 24 hours before anyone else.

If you’re ready for a deeper understanding of nutrition, the authority to coach it, and the ability to turn what you know into results… this is your chance to see what the world’s top professional nutrition coaching system can do for you.

jQuery(document).ready(function(){ jQuery("#references_link").click(function(){ jQuery("#references_holder").show(); jQuery("#references_link").parent().hide(); }); });

References

Click here to view the information sources referenced in this article.

2011. Economic Research Service. U.S. Department of Agriculture.

2011. Economic Research Service. U.S. Department of Agriculture.

Berkseth KE, et al. Hypothalamic gliosis associated with high-fat diet feeding is reversible in mice: a combined immunohistochemical and magnetic resonance imaging study. Endocrinology. 2014 Aug;155(8):2858-67.

Berthoud HR. 2004. Mind versus metabolism in the control of food intake and energy balance. Physiol Behav 81:781–793

Berthoud HR. Metabolic and hedonic drives in the neural control of appetite: who is the boss? Curr Opin Neurobiol. 2011 Dec;21(6):888-96.

Cabanac M, Rabe EF. 1976. Influence of a monotonous food on body weight regulation in humans.Physiol Behav 17:675–678

Cohen P, et al. 2001. Selective deletion of leptin receptor in neurons leads to obesity. J Clin Invest 108:1113–1121

Colantuoni C, et al. 2001. Excessive sugar intake alters binding to dopamine and μ-opioid receptors in the brain. Neuroreport 12:3549–3552

Chin-Chance C, Polonsky KS, Schoeller DA. 2000. Twenty-four-hour leptin levels respond to cumulative short-term energy imbalance and predict subsequent intake. J Clin Endocrinol Metab 85:2685–2691

Cummings DE, et al. 2001. A preprandial rise in plasma ghrelin levels suggests a role in meal initiation in humans. Diabetes 50:1714–1719

Cummings DE, Overduin J. 2007. Gastrointestinal regulation of food intake. J Clin Invest 117:13–23

Dadalko OI, Niswender K, Galli A. Impaired mTORC2 signaling in catecholaminergic neurons exaggerates high fat diet-induced hyperphagia. Heliyon 1 (2015) e00025

De Souza CT, et al. 2005. Consumption of a fat-rich diet activates a proinflammatory response and induces insulin resistance in the hypothalamus. Endocrinology 146:4192–4199

Diaz EO, et al. 1992. Metabolic response to experimental overfeeding in lean and overweight healthy volunteers. Am J Clin Nutr 56:641–655

Duffey KJ, Popkin BM. 2011. Energy density, portion size, and eating occasions: contributions to increased energy intake in the United States, 1977–2006. PLoS Med 8:e1001050

Enriori PJ, et al. 2007. Diet-induced obesity causes severe but reversible leptin resistance in arcuate melanocortin neurons. Cell Metab 5:181–194

Faulconbridge LF, Hayes MR. Regulation of energy balance and body weight by the brain: a distributed system prone to disruption. Psychiatr Clin North Am. 2011 Dec;34(4):733-45.

Figlewicz DP, Sipols AJ. 2010. Energy regulatory signals and food reward. Pharmacol Biochem Behav 97:15–24

Fulton S, Woodside B, Shizgal P. 2000. Modulation of brain reward circuitry by leptin. Science 287:125–128

Geary N, Smith GP. 1982. Pancreatic glucagon and postprandial satiety in the rat. Physiol Behav 28:313–32

Guyenet SJ, Schwartz MW. Regulation of Food Intake, Energy Balance, and Body Fat Mass: Implications for the Pathogenesis and Treatment of Obesity. J Clin Endocrinol Metab. 2012 Mar; 97(3): 745–755.

Hall KD, Hammond RA, Rahmandad H. Dynamic interplay among homeostatic, hedonic, and cognitive feedback circuits regulating body weight. Am J Public Health. 2014 Jul;104(7):1169-75.

Hoebel BG, Teitelbaum P. 1962. Hypothalamic control of feeding and self-stimulation. Science 135:375–377

Leibel RL. 2002. The role of leptin in the control of body weight. Nutr Rev 60:S15–S19; discussion S68–84, 85–87

Lockie SH, Andrews ZB. The hormonal signature of energy deficit: Increasing the value of food reward. Mol Metab. 2013 Aug 19;2(4):329-36.

Moran TH, et al. 1992. Blockade of type A, not type B, CCK receptors attenuates satiety actions of exogenous and endogenous CCK. Am J Physiol 262:R46–R50

Morton GJ, et al. 2005. Leptin action in the forebrain regulates the hindbrain response to satiety signals. J Clin Invest115:703–710

Morton GJ, et al. 2006. Central nervous system control of food intake and body weight. Nature 443:289–295

Münzberg H, Flier JS, Bjørbaek C. 2004. Region-specific leptin resistance within the hypothalamus of diet-induced obese mice. Endocrinology 145:4880–4889

Powley TL, Keesey RE. 1970. Relationship of body weight to the lateral hypothalamic feeding syndrome. J Comp Physiol Psychol 70:25–36

Puzziferri N, et al. Brain imaging demonstrates a reduced neural impact of eating in obesity. Obesity, 2016; 24 (4): 829 Report of the 2010 Dietary Guidelines Advisory Committee

Ritter RC. 2004. Gastrointestinal mechanisms of satiation for food. Physiol Behav 81:249–273

Sclafani A. 2004. Oral and postoral determinants of food reward. Physiol Behav 81:773–779

Shi H, et al. 2009. Diet-induced obese mice are leptin insufficient after weight reduction. Obesity (Silver Spring) 17:1702–1709

Sørensen LB, et al. 2003. Effect of sensory perception of foods on appetite and food intake: a review of studies on humans. Int J Obes Relat Metab Disord 27:1152–1166

Steinert RE, Beglinger C, Langhans W. Intestinal GLP-1 and satiation: from man to rodents and back. Int J Obes (Lond). 2016 Feb;40(2):198-205.

Stratford TR, Kelley AE. 1999. Evidence of a functional relationship between the nucleus accumbens shell and lateral hypothalamus subserving the control of feeding behavior. J Neurosci 19:11040–11048

Swinburn BA, et al. 2009. Estimating the changes in energy flux that characterize the rise in obesity prevalence. Am J Clin Nutr 89:1723–1728

Thaler JP, et al. Obesity is associated with hypothalamic injury in rodents and humans. J Clin Invest. 2012 Jan 3; 122(1): 153–162.

Tremblay A, et al. 1992. Overfeeding and energy expenditure in humans. Am J Clin Nutr 56:857–862

Van Bloemendaal L, et al. Effects of glucagon-like peptide 1 on appetite and body weight: focus on the CNS. J Endocrinol April 1, 2014 221 T1-T16

van de Sande-Lee S, et al. Partial reversibility of hypothalamic dysfunction and changes in brain activity after body mass reduction in obese subjects. Diabetes. 2011 Jun;60(6):1699-704.

Williams DL, Baskin DG, Schwartz MW. 2009. Evidence that intestinal glucagon-like peptide-1 plays a physiological role in satiety. Endocrinology 150:1680–1687

Wortley KE, et al. 2004. Genetic deletion of ghrelin does not decrease food intake but influences metabolic fuel preference. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 101:8227–8232

Zheng H, et al. Appetite control and energy balance regulation in the modern world: reward-driven brain overrides repletion signals. Int J Obes (Lond). 2009 Jun;33 Suppl 2:S8-13.

The post Eating too much? You can blame your brain. [How brain signaling drives what you eat. And what to do about it.] appeared first on Precision Nutrition.

Eating too much? You can blame your brain. [How brain signaling drives what you eat. And what to do about it.] published first on