#anyway. neat stream now i need to eat the stream was long and then i wrote this djjkdjkwdjkdjkdwkj

[narwhalandchill]

ok misc stream thoughts!!!

ANYWAY livestream over nice 30 pulls of aventurine funds for anni!!!! they didnt do anything insane but honestly it was kinda cope to expect them to, ratio for free was clearly a more of a spontaneous move and hes available throughout anniversary anyway so the "another 5*" were.... a little over the top im sorry wjkjwdjkwdjk altho i wouldnt have complained obviously. a free himeko or sth couldve been on theme for the cosmodussy event but eh cant be helped

im actually glad for the skippability of the reruns 😭😭 like i have luocha n jingliu (+ LC for latter) so by skipping acheron for now im gonna have a nice time getting aventurine and most likely his LC (2/3 of his 4* LC selection is so sad tho), love that fucker hope he gets to do proper mayhem in story too. cool death talk please dont actually die yourself for real for real tho i will be sad. like i do think its based of aventurine to pull off a stunt that appears to be what we in the business might call a certified chapter 5 komaeda moment but. ahahaha nooo dont actually die youre such a funny hat man .

(also sick boss form is sick but . bootleg FL im sorry aventurine. they hit perfection already and theyre never fucking topping the galaxy cape cyclops eye beak mask drip i swear JSWJWJDKWJKDWJK but also yes me biased? in favor of that ginger? i could never)

but it seems ill have a solid time getting aventurine and saving up for now??? since i dont think im too interested in robin or boothill either. i was kinda worried topaz' rerun would be in 2.1 for IPC antics with aventurine bc i am kinda curious abt pulling for her but now its gonna be 2.2 at the earliest so. Phew

the stream ran a bit too long lmao but like overall i tend to like the dev discussions so most of it was still neat, altho downside of dev streams is that not knowing chinese i cant just like. afk and listen on headphones and go get water or something 💀💀 and they were definitely dragging stuff out on purpose no way they werent but eh. people will live its just bideo game livestream. and like these folks do hard work on the game they can yap about what they do sometimes its only right lmao

leakers public shaming session was definitely a jumpscare but i do genuinely empathize w shaoji on that one. like. ive always been one for kit + banner leaks first and foremost and story leaks just. i dont care for them much. ive had my share of looking at them occasionally but i definitely agree with the way story leaks either by themselves or when misconstrued and misinterpreted really fucking mess with the intended experience for any given story and how that must feel like shit for the writers. like if story leaks stopped happening altogether id be perfectly content. and thats just ppl who look at story leaks on purpose cuz. im not going to even begin w how like. yes the leaks subreddits and most big leakers do spoiler warnings and keep the story stuff spoilered. but then theres literally the entire rest of the internet where shit gets spread untagged and without warnings the second they are posted anywhere at all and how that fucking ruins peoples experiences. like its 1 thing to click at a spoiler tagged post knowingly and get ur experience messed up with. but when u dont even want to see it its rly fucking bad and i v well understand condemning all story leaks (even those properly flagged) just on that basis alone. but yeah actually felt bad for him there and see where he was coming from for sure, even as a consumer of leaks

ok well that sure was a wall of text. didnt expect to write that much JWJKWJKDDWJK but ya

Anyway. biggest priority is holding strong w skipping acheron as sick as her animations are but def looking forward to her teaser and the animated short. like . even with the black swan dykery. (that was a fucking jumpscare too). i dont need her rn. despite how cool she is 😭😭

& also have to say im v happy they clarified their stance on hi3rd references like. the way theyre going abt it is absolutely how it should be going. hsr by nature is more directly linked to hi3rd like honkai is in the name but its such a dumbass idea (like some fan takes out there....) to want the stories of hsr depend on another games lore. rewarding old fans with easter eggs and tidbits is perfectly fine and im even interested in seeing where they go with acherons obvious raiden situation - especially knowing theyre not about to ruin their own story with "it was hi3rd all along!" (not that i ever rly thought theyd seriously blunder that bad lmao 💀) . so yea thats neat

i think story wise im not gonna say much of my thoughts bc unfortunately i have clicked on like. a leak or four. not the major stuff i dont think but enough that commenting on stuff w some of the things im aware of in the periphery is going to tint stuff . but im still excited to see where things go!!!

AAND OH. ACTUALLY i do have one more thing . so the multiple POV thing being actually implemented is SOOOO good im so fucking happy theyre committing to it being a thing 😭😭😭 like SO many story pitfalls can be avoided by just letting it be that TB doesnt need to be fucking everywhere a major thing happens as the centerpiece of events so we as players can see it. like it gives a way of showing different events and sides of characters in a much more natural manner its sooo good that theyre implementing it already. like this alone has me in such high hopes for the story going forward. like yea theyve branched from our POV before already and in penacony as well but expanding on it even more is 100% the correct way forward

last thing: god they did jingliu so dirty in her concert illustration. WHAT is she wearing 💀💀💀anyway yeah lesgo 2.1 its cool

i lied real last thing: siobhan . siobhan i would do anything---

[randomsufff]

HEHAHBFKI More South Park doodles I think I’m going insane.

Actually this is kind of the product of me being liking South Park way back in high school but was too embarrassed to draw them when I was bored in class and now it’s all kinda flooding back 💀

Read below if you want to know more about my New Kid and my thoughts behind some of the doodles cause this turned out longer then I though 💀

Anyways- introducing my New Kid. No name cause I literally have no idea. Whatever the cannon name is ig- though I’d think it’d be funny if she was referred to New Kid by literally everyone like in game. I like the idea that a lot of people have with their New Kids that they liked the makeover section with the girls during the Stick of Truth a little too much. I also like it cause… uh… I didn’t play Stick of Truth. (The combat system is not my cup of tea) So it’s not until the start of TFBW does she know shes really a girl.

To give context to the top right drawing- I couldn’t remember the dialogue Wendy says in the alleyway if you say you’re a trans girl- but I do know what she says if your a cis girl (I always knew you were a girl) cause I did a second play through as a cis girl. And I don’t know if there’s supposed to be a huge time jump between the end of Stick of Truth and TFBW but I think it would be funny if it was just the next day- so combine these two fact to get “Wendy always clocked New Kid as a girl but NK just found out yesterday 💀”

Anyways- she’s such a cutie, I love her and her cool superhero outfit I gave her. Outside of the game- I’d like to think of her basically exactly how she acts in game. Mostly non-verbal, with the occasional zingy one liner, and just kinda goes along with the crazy shit the happens in South Park un phased. Like if she was in a episode- the plot would happen and she would be on screen, but wouldn’t say anything, and anytime another character would address her, they’d respond however as if she spoke lmao. Aroace, just like me, so she’s just friends with everyone (except Cartman) and vibes with everyone.

The mini Style comic I though of cause 1) I wondered if Kyle had the same elf ears as the other elfs did in game (again, never played and it’s been a while since I saw gameplay so whoops if it’s confirmed or whatever) and 2) I thought it would be funny if Stan was caught lacking and tried to /rp his way out of it (I wanted to add an extra bit where Kyle would be like “Oh, are our characters gay for each other??? (ARE YOU /SRS OR /J STAN)” and Stan would have to just “yes, and” his way out.)

The last three images were kinda of a stream of consciousness put on paper and made neat lol. I really like showing that all the costumes the kids wear are homemade and stuff- either stuff taken from their parents or visibly taped together etc- cause I think it’s charming. Anyways- I though Kyle’s little robe could be like one of his parents bath robe- and it would be a little too long for him to run without eating shit so he’d have to hike it up like a skirt/dress. Which lead to me thinking that Cartman would say some shit about that and how Kyle, who has a literal Golf Club, would smack his ass up. Which then lead to me thinking about how since Kyle’s the Elf King and Stan’s basically his right hand how he might lift it up wedding dress style if needed (/RP GUYS, RIGHT?RIGHT???) and how Cartman would react, which lead to that one JoJo meme cause thats literally how they’d retaliate.

Always- I’ll probably have at least one more post about South Park I swear. There was a period of time before I stopped watching (I gotta pick it up again) where I would doodle a bit of whatever was happening in the episode, each episode. Crazy I know, but not only did it improve my drawing skills but it helped me remember what actually happened in episodes cause I have shit memory and definitely don’t remember some of the episodes I watched. So I might redraw some of those- see if anyone can tell what episode they’re from.

[toestalucia]

my very very long msq talk now that they said go wild with spoilers, mainly about the newest update but a few mentions of earlier act3 chs as well

pointing down arrow, nonsense livereactions whenever i needed to scream to myself in my document (many times)

'souls that have fulfilled their purpose await their next life in the space they hold most dear' MELIINNNNNNNNNN

WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY. eats my hat. i didnt expect to see him so soon, i was like either he is gonna save us from trouble or HE is in the trouble. onoyu gave emirin those tissues knowing full well who he was voicing in the update. cant wait for the summer stream where he can add another name to his gbf roles<333333333

oki let me look at my dialogue notes and not start with the Big Thing (ecksegrande) (im talking about ecksegrande) (what the hell has been up with ecksegrande)

i rly like rel btw. like yeah morilynn was created & rel is a speaker so its not in the same genre as like..........heres our new erune whos they/them HOWEVEERRRRRRRRRRRRRR i think its neat regardless. wokeblue fantasy. + their writing issues aside, both bhadra&miach appearing this year? lots of pronouns man. cagli getting a new unit too......if that marked the end of the ossan jokes ill do anything for u cygames(lie)...ladiva showed up in the cagli farming event too now that i think about it.......and koku was introduced 2 rotbs ago......neat tbh. balurga next. sorry that had nothing to do with rel's character i was just waow! when they went they/them with them. actually rel being a speaker is ssooooooooooO OUGGHH IM SOOO CURIOUS ABOUT REL TELL ME EVEN MORE i do lov the domino effect of rel getting more work cuz the otherworld is erm. gone<333 the fact she has 0 stamina is so silly, wanting to see the ocean,,,,,i dont know just how much lucio&shalem gets along with the gods but rel's insistence about it was fun to see. very intrigued to see how it develops

Rel: I serve as guide, caretaker, repair technician, and Speaker here in Estalucia, as well as attendant to the Omnipotent.

guy of many roles. guide of a total of like. 5 ppl tops probably before this. dad& repti, i assume more has reached estalucia before

Rel: The vestiges of the old world—the Otherworld—remained on the surface. And because the floating islands lacked available land for burying the dead, the custom of interring them below arose as an alternative. This gave rise to the belief among skydwellers that the surface itself was the realm of the dead. As a result, much of the concept of an afterlife was incorporated into the Otherworld.

this has always been my fav journal entry so im always so happy its been showing up So much LOL either way im soo curious WHAT happened to the old world in the first place....like we know it was dying but.......why.........was it just time.....what the hell was going on.....

sidenote but otherworld& crimson horizon in general having so many wrong conclusions is neat i think ? joels sr mentions the whole "water = mother of everything, echidna = mother & gate to the otherworld, -> theres a ocean at the bottom of the skies" or whatever. naming things ebisu as well in regards to ebisus wish-making or what it is, im not doublechecking this one

Vyrn: Th-then what about the boundary? That's part of Estalucia too, right? If we can just reach it, there might still be somethin' we can do… Rel: The boundary—otherwise known as the Sacred Perch of Araboth, the Seventh Heaven—is now vacant. I believe you are already well aware of the fate of my master—the Omnipotent's clone—who once sat upon it.

Gee, I Wonder Who This Is For. anyway i didnt realize they were going to make things align in this way for it......very much looking forward for this info too, lots of names thrown around but since we havent Gone there yet........lacking info....rel tell me more....

Rackam: If you're tellin' us the Otherworld exists because you guys screwed up… Doesn't that mean we were basically just cleaning up after your mess? Rel: You claim to have cleaned up after the divine? Rackam: Yeah, that's right. So I couldn't care less if your master's god or not—there's gotta be some accountability here.

Rel: That is not permissible. Rackam: I thought your god didn't intervene.

GO RACKAM GO

Rel: God never truly disappears. He dwells in all things, his essence and power omnipresent, merely changing form. And here in Estalucia, a relm beyond the skies and stars… These two core conduits can be used to bring about the triumphant return of the Omnipotent. Choice: I won't let you touch them. Rel: This was never a negotiation.

i have no comments about this one, this is just in here for me in the future. the triumphant return of the omnipotent.......this was never a negotiation..............thinking about the otherworldly being that was trying to strike a deal with captain.......

Rel: You were supposed to have been confined to the outer layers after my master was lost… Gallanth: Seems you don't know who you're dealing with. Something like that could never hold me. Besides, my son finally made it all the way here. It's only natural for his father to give him a proper welcome, right? With a broad grin, Gallanth ruffles Captain's hair, unable to contain his joy. Choice: Dad? Gallanth: Gran/Djeeta… You've gotten so big. It's been, what… over a decade now, hasn't it?

not pictured: me losing my mind. AAUUGHHHHH IT HAS BEEN. IT HAAAASSS BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Gallanth: Lyria… That's what you go by now, right? Gallanth lowers himself to one knee in front of Lyria, bowing his head deeply. Gallanth: This reunion never would've happened without you. You're the reason (Captain) is still alive today. I know I don't really have the right to talk after abandoning Captain for so long… But please, let me express my gratitude as a father at least. Thank you, Lyria. From the bottom of my heart.

'thats what you go by now, right?' intrigues me like nothing else. atmans line about lyria from the anni event too.........im sooooo excited to find out the details about lyria, like we know vyrns heavily connected to rein, but orchid (because she was in orchis body..? halfastral?) could order lyria around.........which i assume means that other astrals can do that as well....? unless its a very specific akasha situation, both in regards to her & byleistr. why the hell was byleistr authorized for akasha is it just cuz he was the astral in mephorash. he is clearly more well-liked/respected than loki, aside from the fact he married a skydweller. WHATS GOING OOONNNNNNNNN WHAT DOES ALL THIS IMPLY FOR MY LITTLE LYRIIAAAAAAAAA is the astral god showing up next ch.......or are they staying away.....are they the reason hell's happening in skydom.......no that wouldnt make sense....then who the heeeeeellll is in the skyrealm.........new astral hopium. 'lyrias in danger' augh ough arugh;_; if astral god did show up like bahamut did, at least vyrn has people with him, but lyria..........is she alone (either in something that looks like astral realm, ecksegrande, or agastia) or is she with loki & repti.......everyone else is sooo divided, so i assume those three are too, but reptis here with ulterior motives........and we dont know about lokis past......

Rel: Designating units. Four beings of destruction, two beings of creation, two conduits, one integrated entity. Initiating transport.

i thought the numbers was weird the moment she said them but i didnt think that repti&aunt was THIS close behind<3333/would get caught in it. four (rackam, captain, gallanth, aunt), creation (loki, repti???), conduits (lyria, vyrn), integrated entity...noa???. bahamut of destruction, astral god of creation.......but also the singularity role........hm....

Gallanth: Unfortunately, I'm not the best at thinking my way out of my problems. Hmm, what to do… Noticing Captain's silence, Gallanth speaks in a reassuring tone. Gallanth: It's all right. I can promise you that Lyria and the rest of your friends are alive and well. Rel's not the type to lie, and with even less strength than a child, picking a fight with us wouldn't lead to much.

sniff.

Gallanth: Will you… tell me about your journey so far? I'm sorry for leaving you on your own for so long. But I'm here now. So please, let me hear your story. The sight of Gallanth's awkward grin brings a sudden flood of long-forgotten childhood memories rushing through the captain's mind.

SNIFF. 'let me hear your story' this, too, is prommy of wiz-

Gallanth: We were duking it out one-on-one, but neither of us could get the upper hand. I mean, the Omnipotent is basically an immortal god, right? And thanks to how Estalucia works, I couldn't die either. Then suddenly, the god just vanished. Must've been the Otherworld's doing, huh? Sounds like you had a hell of a time too, Captain—

please elaborate. please. please elaborate. PLEASE ELABORATE. 'i couldnt die either' PLEASE ELABORATEEEEEEEE

Gallanth: Relax! I was totally fine. You take a lot after me, you know, Captain. Someday, you'll be able to take on a god or two single-handedly too, no problem. Choice: I don't know about that. Gallanth: Haha! Playing it safe, are you? That's just like your mom.

Choice: I'll catch up in no time. Gallanth: Now that's what I'm talking about! Any kid of mine's gotta have that kind of drive.

eating my hat

Gallanth: As you've probably heard, Estalucia is basically like an afterworld. Not being bound by a body gives me all sorts of freedom here, but at the same time, it prevents me from impacting the physical world. Even I can't smash through reality itself. If only it had a physical form—then I could just give it a good wallop.

'not being bound by a body' PLEASE ELABORATE. FOR US & YOU.

At the unexpected mention of her name, Captain reacts with a jolt. Choice: Why did you leave me behind? Choice: What was the meaning of that letter?

when we are sad we say this time im rly gonna do it. anyway i think this entire convo was ssooooo fun....theyre obviously so awkward about the entire thing...gallanth tries his best.....because hes the dad and hes the one who had to leave so hes the one who has to extend his hand the furthest.....and captain struggles to rly reciprocate......and then ask whats their most important question 1) when presented with the name they never got to learn 2) instead of letting it build up further. the anime was very big on the 'why did you leave me behind', its echoed in their dream in no rain, no rainbow where baby captain cries & vyrn comforts them. they let go of the letter just a few chapters ago because they lost everything. the letter is currently next to the scarf that was relayed to them from their aunt. LIKEEEEE ough i think its so good. what a good moment to have them ask that. what a lovely awkward conversation. the fact gallanth keeps informatin even after that is SO great too, i lov drama & being unable to explain everything as it is because that moment brings so much pain

Gallanth: But divine mission or not, she had no idea where to start. While we were still trying to figure it out… They arrived. The True King and his forces from the Istavion Kingdom. Back then, I was weak. Too weak to protect what mattered. That's why I… I…

Gallanth: In the end, Rein was the only one I managed to keep safe. The True King laid waste to everything, and took Rein's newborn baby sister away. In order to get her back… And to carry out the mission to Rein by the sky god, we set out on our journey.

augh.......dad......mom....but also having it confirmed true king went there more or less immediately after rein got her mission. tau'luk when i get u tau'luk. with VIOLENCE.....this man............pholia...;_; anyway aunt being 14-15years younger than rein is hilarious to me. NEWBORN BABY SISTER..............................TAU'LUK....CMON NOW......I KNOW U WANTED THE 15YO BUT...DONT SETTLE FOR A BABY........A BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY i dont wanna count the years rn but the fact he had pholia&ally. were u ever haunted by ur actions. stole someones elses baby, gave up being a father to ur own. dude i love oarlyegrande. anything for the skies.......okay lets count. they were 15. lets assume rein had captain when she was 20ish cuz its gbf. dad left for estalucia when he was 25-30. he should at least be 35-40 now. aunt. AUNT IS SO YOOOOUNNNGGG OHHH TAU'LUK RLY MIGHTVE HAD ALLIAH&PHOLIA WHEN HE KIDNAPPED AUNT???????????? alliahs 28...wtf alliahs TWENTYEIGHT YEARS OLD? ok yeah....... because its 15 + (we dont know how many years between them & captains birth & dad leaving for estalucia) + at least 10. right. heavens. her full art has a chain around her legs in the artbooks. alliahs 28. pholia is older.

Gallanth: Once this journey's over, are you heading back to Kahlesgrande? Walfrid: Sigh… That's the plan. My fiancee is awaiting my return, after all. Gallanth: So you're going to inherit the title of Blue Knight? Become the True King's lapdog?

anyway also lines thats for me. i didnt rmbr it was inherited like that...i was so curious why walfrid still decided to become luminary knight when he shouldve known what happened in zinkenstill. anyway rly funny walfrid&gallanth convo when u take into consideration that obviously Everything went wrong in ecksegrande<333

Gallanth: So when you succeeded to the Istavion throne, I was honestly pretty stunned. Vyrn: Trust me, we were just as shocked as you were. Gallanth: I don't mean to lecture, but when it comes to marriage, you should really consider your partner's folks as part of the equation. Choice: Family advice? From you? Gallanth: Y-yeah, that's a fair reaction. I'm really sorry. For not being around all this time…

Choice: Let's just get on with the story. Gallanth: R-right. Guess it must be jarring when I suddenly switch into parent mode like that…

WE DONT WANT THE MARRIAGE EITHEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRR U SAW IT, IT WAS FORCED UPON US. CMON NOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW anyway lov that captain has two choices and they are both bitter. guys this entire thing was written for me im SO pleased with how awkward everything is

Gallanth: Before facing off against the True King, we arrived at an island in the Ecksegrande Skydom. It was the final destination of our divine mission—the island where the sky god awaited. That's where we… … Well… we found a certain girl and brought her back to Phantagrande. She was the Girl in Blue… That is, Lyria.

anyway. anyway. elaborate. ELABORATEEEEEE. ECKSEGRANDE? THE SKYDOM WAS INVADED BY THE OTHERWORLD? THAT WAS IN A STALEMATE WITH ISTAVION? THAT WAS MORE OR LESS LOST? THAT ECKSEGRANDE???????????? THE ISLAND WHERE THE SKY GOD AWAITED. vyrn was there. lyria was there.

hurk. thats the info i wanted to doublecheck. even if otherworld werent there/around when dad&mom were there, ecksegrande........the island where the sky god awaited..................and where rein. um. smiley face. where she. yeah. smiley face. i assume? did u have a newborn baby on the trip or was captain born After this. cuz this is the part where gallanth trails off & captain&vyrn asks about singularity business instead. 'thats where we...' PAUSING THERE ISSSS HEEELLLOOOO ELABORATEEEEEEEEEEEE 'well...' WHAT THE HEELLLL HAPPENED ON THAT ISLAND

Gallanth: A singularity is someone who stands at the boundary created when the world was divided into the Sky Realm and Astral Realm. In your case, Captain, you carry the blood of Rein, a shrine priestess of the sky god… And you're also connected by a life link to Lyria, who acts as a conduit for the Astral god. Under the right conditions, other singularities can also emerge. Or more specifically, the emergence of one singularity triggers the emergence of more.

this has been the exact description ive been looking for for a while<333 'other singularities can also emerge' NERUKO MENTION FIRE EMOJI who else is gonna become singularity. very curious about the details about bubs with this line. is it cuz astral + crimson horizon? or is it cuz of shalem??? i dont know my bubz lore

im not gonna include the rest of that convo, but im very intrigued. i dont have anything to say about it, but im sooo curious about the old world.........fate itself.................loki has had a line about that too...'not even fate itself'......the one that i think mirrored captains insistence on even going against fate to save lyria&vyrn. i think theyre cool. anyway its not phoenix right? i cant rmbr what phoenix has said about things like this........but i got the image phoenix is entirely separate, even tho it also is older than the current world. but ig phoenix is more aware of it then, as someone whos also incredibly cryptic & 'has seen everything' etc. well also cuz it wouldnt make sense cuz then gallanth wouldve gone & fought it<33333 but i rlyyyyy wanna hear phoenix talk about this, so...........what do u have to say on the topic of fate.....as someone who knows when the souls will exist at the same time...........

Gallanth: I wanted you to live a peaceful and happy life. My aim was to keep you far away from this endless conflict between the skies and stars.

dad who didnt want captain to set out for revenge...and thus decided to keep their family a secret....T_T oughhh u are ssoooooooooo wrong for all this but i lov it sm. i lov keeping info away in order to save someones heart. and then u sent the letter anyway so clearly SOMETHING went incredibly wrong during that time but I LOVEEE CONFLICTS AND CONFLICTING ACTIONS AND EVERYTHING dude going thro this im just. for me...

Vyrn: Actually, y'know… If our goal was to reach Estalucia, wasn't a quiet life kinda off the table to begin with? Gallanth: …! Yeah, you've got a point. I guess I just really loved traveling myself. Maybe deep down, I wanted you to get a taste of the skyfarer life too, Captain.

i know theyre doing the pause as a 'haha hes silly' but............theres more to this,,,,,,,,ofc i think the conflicting sentiment of 'i want you to love travel like i do' and 'i want you to be safe' are both true, but.......what the hell happened for u to go to estalucia...and what happened for u to send a letter...

Behind Gallanth's clumsy demeanor lies the unmistakable resolve of a father trying to make up for precious lost time.

Gallanth: I was never able to be the place you could come home to. So at the very least, let me hear the tales you would've told your family when you returned.

Gallanth: But it's all right—I'm here now. There's nothing to worry about. No matter what happens, I'll make sure you're—

BUHUHUHUHU

Vyrn: But from the sounds of it, you've already got the gist of what our trip's been like, right? So what's the point in rehashin' it? Gallanth: I mean, yeah, I do know the sequence of events that happened and whatnot…

so uve seen everytime we've died. or almost died. and couldnt interfer. while youre also battling the fact you couldnt save zinkenstill nor aunt nor rein. excellent wonderful i lov trauma running deep in this family i lov dad & child with both strong 'i dont want you to get hurt again because i dont want to lose you, so im sending you away from danger' <-hc, but also cmon.........no way captains not gonna be badly affected by losing everyone like they did.......dude im ssooooooooooooooo watching ur child die because u had to call them to estalucia & thinking u shouldnt have left them because then they wouldnt be in these situations all the time and now that you can actually protect them that feeling overtakes everything else even though you, of anyone, knows everything they've survived. ITS SO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

Vyrn: But he still left you with us and took off for Estalucia. Now that we've come all this way, we deserve to hear the real reason why, don'tcha think?

YEAAAHHH YEEEAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH ECKSEGRANDE.........REINS FATE WITH BAHAMUT...........why did u go to estalucia...

Gallanth: Not like you can go wrong with eggs and meat, right? Choice: Love it! Gallanth: I thought you might! You've gotta eat big in the morning if you want to get your energy up! Vyrn: Hehe… That was such a classic dad-kid moment! Gallanth: Y-you think so?

i am normal and not crying i will be okay if they kill him off or make him unable to return to the skyrealm im going to become the joker i NEEEEEEEEED awkward family moments I NEEEEED THEM

Vyrn: I mean, shouldn't we be fightin' together at least? You might be crazy strong, but havin' more people on your side is always better, right? Gallanth frowns deeply at Vyrn's remark. Gallanth: No… I've made enough sacrifices already. Winning isn't the point. If I can't protect those I care about, then nothing else matters. Gallanth's pained words weigh heavy as the memory of friends lost in battle against the Otherworld flashes through Captain's mind. Gallanth: You understand, don't you? You and I both got this far because there's something we want to reclaim… Something we never wanted to lose in the first place. For me, that's you and Vyrn. Gallanth turns to face the two fully, his eyes flickering with conflicting emotions. Gallanth: I'm not asking you to understand. This is what being a parent means. The way you put others before yourself is admirable… But as your father, I can't bear the thought of losing you. I won't fail this time. Just leave everything to me.

EATING MY HAT. I GET IT I GET IT I GET IT. THINGS I WANTED FOR CAPTAIN WRITTEN FOR THEIR DAD IM GOING TO BE ILLLLLLLLLL what if we were both rly stubborn and selfish and cant bear losing anyone else even if thatd put a strain on our (alrdy strained) relationships

Gallanth: And here I thought the earlier blow had already decided the fight… but you went and threw in another for good measure. Choice: I got carried away. Gallanth: Well, I guess that happens… Choice: Had to vent years of pent-up resentment. Gallanth: Heh… I suppose I can't complain about you getting a little extra payback.

buhuhuhu....

Captain accepts the praise with a mix of pride and slight embarrassment. Surrounded by the warmth of family, the captain can't help but voice another lingering concern.

lov that captain still cant take a compliment. they are so cutie

The captain's mother may very well be in Estalucia, waiting. As the realization strikes, Captain suddenly bolts off without warning.

also lov that they keep running away when theyre overwhelmed emotionally (familywise), even if they had a destination of sorts this time

Guided by a yearning for motherly affection, Captain runs into a tranquil, sacred forest where mysteries still linger. At its deepest point, near a small shrine, a shadowy figure stands silently. Priestess: … Choice: Mom? Priestess: Singularity… Our meeting here must surely fate.

what a family meeting. actually went O_O when they showed her cuz i didnt expect aunt to be here...i expected her with repti.......the fact this is the first time they properly meet RAAAUAUUUUGHHH

Priestess: The time has come. All the pieces are in place, and the final stage is upon us. The skies and stars… Destruction and creation… The cycle of genesis must now come to an end. Her voice is solemn, void of emotion, and brimming with the absolute conviction of a god's decree. Here, in the promised land sword to divinity, the final chapter of the creation myth is about to unfold.

IM SOOOOOOOOOOOOO EXCITEEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDD LEAVE AUNT ALONE UR DAMN GOD BUT ALSO AAUURURURGRGRGHHGGHA all the pieces are in place.......the final chapter of the creation myth......

Io: That's right—I died. Though Io recognizes the fact, a lack of true emotional connection to the reality leaves her tilting her head curiously.

moment where i had to take a pause. i lov io sm guys................welcome to the grandcypher crew, most of us died once yaaayyyyyyyyyy

Her serence visage—like that of a slumbering beauty from a fairy tale—is surrounded by a gentle dance of butterflies, gathering as if drawn to a blooming flower. Rosetta: Yes… I know. Thank you for telling me. So, Captain, you've finally reached Estalucia and reunited with him, have you?

i thought this was cool. rosettas endless information continues (also crying about it)

Vira: But if anyone could accomplish the unbelievable, it's Captain. (There's no way Captain's journey has been cut short. I'm sure they're doing their best to get things back on track…)

VIRAAAAAAAAT_T <-cried the entire time. anyway vira is aware gcyph is mia, but not all of them do???? since pommern reasoned by bringing up how devastated they were about katalina???? very interesting......

This was merely the beginning of what would later be known in Sky Realm history as the Reconquista—the Astrals' second great campaign to claim dominion over the skies.

In the promised land at the end of the skies, the culmination of fates converges. And not all of it is steeped in light—for even the unseen hands of shadowed schemes hasten their pace, drawn toward the same inevitable conclusion.

IM SO EXCITEDDDDD PT2 cannot wait to find out the details about what happened in ecksegrande. deeply concerned for where loki, repti & lyria are rn. do think its missed opportunity to not lean heavier into the people who were lost. or well. for ios part. i wouldve liked that even if it wouldve made things more difficult for io. but ig they didnt meet because io hasnt /accepted/ being dead...? or because this is a /new/ thing...? otherworld just disappeared.......well most likely its cuz they didnt wanna do that much for various reasons so oh well but<333 aunt. augh. arugh. AAUUURRGHHH was rly huh? to hear things going on in skyrealm too. very intrigued. do wonder if theyre rly planning to have all that in the next update, or if its estalucia and then into whatever is going on in the skyrealm. ANYWAYYYYYY ehnough of me. i had a good time. i lov dad. playable when

[navegandoaciegas]

Hay(wire)

Kinktober 1/31 : quickie, face fucking, facial.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: smut, explicit language, unprotected vaginal sex, sex in a barn, oral sex, facial, set after the events of CA:TWS.

Yeah, I actually did it 💀

A/N: day 1 of @itgetsdarksometimes35 spooky challenge + Kinktober.

Bucky despises you.

He loathes how his heart rate picks up whenever he sees you, or how the pit in his stomach grows larger when he doesn't. He can’t stand the way the other farmers talk about you and look at you, but mostly he hates how you bite your lips and clench your thighs when he catches you staring, the tangy scent that floods his senses when he’s close to you, and how you never question why an American veteran would be picking hayballs in the Romanian countryside.

He hates your kindness, the way you hang onto his every word when he describes the night sky, your stained hands and the flowers you weave in your hair, your nipples showing through your white t-shirts, his blood draining from his brain and shooting straight to his cock just looking at you.

You bring out the beast, the soldat lingering inside some recess in his mind, the side of him that wants to own you, and ruin you for everyone else.

You bother him, talking and being nice. Smiling. Cracking jokes. Eating your lunch with him when the other boys are too afraid to approach him. Filling the silence with your stories while he munches on buni’s sarmalele and merely grunts in acknowledgement. Bringing him water when he sweats buckets under the sweltering sun. Shamelessly flirting like you find him attractive.

As if a pretty girl like you could ever want him, he thinks, with the stench of horse shit clinging to his skin and oozing out of his pores.

He scoffs at himself, and stacks another hayball, willing himself to forget all about you.

-

You know he hears your steps on the cobblestones before you enter the barn where he’s stacking hay in neat piles, like he always does before going to bed.

“You can continue this tomorrow, I’m sure buni won’t mind if you take a break.” you quip, closing the door and leaning on the wooden stall.

You eye his tanned skin, reddened by the scorching August sun, the strain on his sweaty long sleeved t-shirt that clings to his bulging biceps, the outline of his back muscles as his chest heaves.

There’s something animalistic about him, something that makes your stomach churn and your pussy tingle. When his t-shirt trails up, you can’t help but observe the hard planes of his abs and the coarse, black hair that trail them.

“I’m doing what she pays me for, and so should you.”

He dismisses you with a curt nod as he keeps lifting the hay and stacking it away for the winter.

By that time, you’ll both be long gone, so you might as well make the most of what you have.

“I’m done picking plums, if you must know.” you state, an unimpressed look making its way on your face. “You work twelve hours everyday, and you won’t drink her țuică or smoke the cigarettes she gives the other boys.” you say, approaching him slowly until you’re standing in front of him, so close you can see the darkness in his eyes and smell his pungent sweat, “She worries about you, you know.”

Your eyes stray from his, traveling down to his plump lips. He swallows thickly and inhales a sharp breath.

“I worry too.” you continue, stalking closer.

His manly, musky scent is intoxicating, and you feel short of breath, heat and slick pooling in your panties.

“Always working, never having any fun. Life must be very lonely for you.”

There’s static energy, or maybe magic, between you two.

“My life’s just fine.”

He’s gruff as always, but you hear his voice waver when his eyes drop to your own lips, and he finds them parted, and so inviting.

You shrug, feeling your skin crawl with anticipation, want, need. “I know, I’m just saying, I could make it less… lonely.”

You see him cave. You know he wants you, and he’s never exactly subtle about it. But when your hand reaches for his left arm, the spell shatters, the air gets sucked out of the little barn, and the growl that he lets out terrifies you and excites you at the same time.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” he snarls, snatching his arm away from you. He looms over you, rage burning behind his steel blue eyes. “Or-”

He interrupts himself, taking a step back and restraining whatever wild instinct is clouding his judgement. The veins on his neck swell up, and the smirk on your lips and your tangy smell only add to his irritation.

You know you shouldn’t prod. You know he could crack your skull in half without breaking a sweat.

But you’ve also seen him bathed in spring’s pollen, cooing at newborn chicks and patting their feathers, whispering soft words in a language you don’t speak. You’ve seen him kissed by the summer’s sunrise, leaning his head on uică Dan’s horse while petting his mane, and humming to mătușă Ana’s cow while milking her.

You’ve seen him sneak outside your room every morning for the past two months to leave wildflowers on your doorstep, and you know he’s the one who carries you to your bed when you fall asleep on the deck chairs outside, after stargazing together for hours, and pecks a lingering kiss on your forehead, whispering to you, his sweet girl, to sleep tight.

So no, you’re not afraid, and very turned on.

“Or what, big guy? What are you going to do?”

Jaw clenched, fists so tight his knuckles are white, nostrils flared. He closes his eyes, heaves a heavy sigh and mutters a ‘fuck that’ under his breath, and in a blur he’s on you.

But he’s not hitting you, no.

Just like you predicted, he goes haywire, feral, his mouth is on yours, his tongue prods your lips, his hands roam everywhere, tangling your hair and kneading the flesh of your ass.

He bites your bottom lip, and you taste metal on your tongue. A moan escapes you when one of his thick thighs comes between your own, and your core rubs against the rough material of his jeans.

“Took you long enough.” you tease him when he allows you to catch your breath.

He’s sweaty, rough, his clothes soiled by the ground he spends his days working on, and you find that you don’t care, that you want him to dirty you and ruin you in this barn, with hay poking your skin and cicadas screaming outside.

You’re staring at each other, panting, eyes swallowed by darkness.

He doesn’t answer, never speaks much anyways. He’s on you again, his hand on your throat, and it doesn’t hurt but it’s tight enough to make its threatening presence known.

Your walls flutter around nothing.

The other hand, splayed on your back, guides you as you grind yourself on his thigh. It’s been two months of sexual tension, and it’s about to explode.

You reach for his t-shirt, eager to feel his skin against yours, but he stops you, and the look in his eyes, hard yet pleading, is enough to make the protest die in your throat.

Your own shirt is discarded, maybe shred to pieces. His touch is bruising and desperate as he explores your body like it’s his last day on Earth.

He nips and sucks your skin, surely leaving dark marks behind, rolling and pinching your nipples between his fingers, swirling his tongue around them until you’re pushing him off of you.

“I need you.” you moan, shrieking when his teeth bite down on your shoulder.

Pain is a bucket of cold water on your burning skin, a contrast to the pleasure he brings you, and yet it doesn’t diminish it, but amplify it until his teeth on your flesh are all you want.

He lets himself fall on the hay, dragging you down with him. It irks you, pokes you, and quite frankly, it doesn’t smell like roses.

But it will do.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and hastly drags them down to your knees, not even bothering to get rid of them.

When he pulls on your hair and spins you around, it’s not romantic. When he forces you face down, ass up, it’s not pretty. When he spits on his hand and roughly shoves two fingers inside you, making you wince, it’s not soft and caring.

“I’ll take care of you later, need to be inside you now, doll. I’ve wanted you since the day I first saw you.” he murmurs.

You hear him fumble with his belt as he keeps rubbing your clit and pumping his calloused fingers in and out of you. “It’s been so long.” he adds, as an afterthought, while he strokes his cock and gets himself ready for you.

The hay scratches your cheeks, and you feel his intense presence as he kneels behind you, ready to take you like an animal in heat.

“Please.” you whine, wiggling your hips and brushing against him, “I need you to fuck me now, James.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and lines himself up with your entrance, teasing your folds and smearing your arousal on his tip. You feel him prod your tight hole and you brace yourself for the pain, but when he breaches you, your walls stretch perfectly around him, accomodating him, and all you feel is a dull burn that soon gives way to pleasure.

Moaning at the fullness of his heavy weight inside you, you try to bounce on him, but his hands on your hips halt your movement. He's as rough as you expected him to be, and the coil in your core is unbearable.

“Fuck, you’re so damn tight.” he groans, picking up a faster pace, slamming in and out of you. “Made for me, so good.”

He pulls on your hair, and the pain shoots straight to your cunt, making your walls clench on him.

Arching your back you meet his harsh thrusts, feeling his cock hitting that spot inside you, the one that makes the pressure build impossibly fast every time he bumps against it.

It’s all too much and not enough, and when he tugs on your hair again, your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You don’t feel the hay scratching you anymore.

“Fuck me harder.” you plead with tears streaming down your face, revelling in the lewd squelching sounds of your pussy and the slapping ones of his balls hitting your folds.

He never talks, and he won’t start now, you realize. You don’t care though, because all you can think about is his other hand snaking between your legs and furiously rubbing circles around your swollen clit.

You mewl when he snaps his hips and his tip hits your cervix. “I wanna hear those sweet noises pretty girl, wanna hear you fall apart on my cock, only for me.”

He brings you high, and higher, and the pressure grows more and more, until the knot unravels.

“Cum on my cock, fuck, cum all over me sweet girl. I missed this so much.”

When the dam breaks, you feel months of sexual tension release, and the tight coil inside your belly snaps. Your limbs jerk as a hot surge of electricity assails you, and you gush all over his cock, feeling your pussy constrict him in a vice.

He rides your aftershock, pummeling inside you while icy cold claws your every nerve ending. You’re drooling out of your mouth as a man you barely know brutally fucks you like a beast, but in the hazy state you’re in, you couldn’t care any less.

“I’m close.” he gnarls, tightening the hold on your hips, “Where can I-?

“On my face.” You turn and peek over your shoulder just in time to see the shock in his eyes. “I like it that way.” And I’m not on birth control.

When his thrusts become sloppier and his breathing erratic, he pulls out of you and stands. You turn around on your knees and face his thick cock, half wondering how he could make it fit inside your cunt.

“Open those pretty lips of yours babydoll, I want to fuck your mouth too.”

You comply, parting your lips. He shoves himself inside you, clutching your hair and neck as he fucks your mouth relentlessly, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag.

You can’t breathe anymore, but he keeps going, moving your head along his length. You taste him on your mouth, heady and salty, feeling every vein and ridge of him.

You look up, and seeing him all disheveled, hair sticking out everywhere and red faced, lights the fire in your pussy again.

Your hand finds its way between your folds while he holds you down until your nose rubs against the coarse hair on his pubic bones and his balls slap against your chin.

Quickly, he slides out of you, and pumps his cock once, twice. He cums on your face with a moan, painting your lips, cheeks and the tip of your nose with his white hot spurt.

When you open your eyes again, you find him staring at you already, with the most expressive look you’ve ever seen him wear and something akin to a smile dancing on his lips.

“God, doll. I didn’t even know I could do that.” he confesses, all doe eyed. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, babygirl. I’m gonna keep fucking that tight pussy of yours all summer.”

You let out a giggle when he hoists you over his shoulder and the hay that’s stuck to your clothes flies everywhere.

“Gonna fuck you until you’re sore, until you’re sobbing and you beg me to stop. Fill you up over and over again. Make this pussy all mine. No more other farm boys, you hear me?”

He keeps his word that night, and you keep yours all August long, and you know neither of you want this summer to ever end.

—-

Day 1 of Kintober done. Join my taglist if you want to be tagged in more :) (link on my blog)

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[silversatoru]

birthdays don’t have to suck

fushiguro megumi x f!reader (elli)

synopsis: you get really sick on your birthday, but megumi makes sure that you still have a good day :))

t/w: fluff, reader is sick, vomiting, medicine (tylenol lol), some details pertain specifically to elli

wc: 2.2k

a/n: a small birthday present for the love of my life @megumifushi who never sleeps enough and is always sick,, i love u and i hope ur days not too bad <3

you stared into your dimly lit laptop, red eyes squinting at the black text that sped across the screen as your fingers scrambled against the keys. you weren’t even sure that what you were writing was comprehensible at this point, but your essay that was due tomorrow morning wasn’t gonna write itself. at this point it just needed to get done, concerns of quality were thrown out the window hours ago.

aside from the burning and stinging in your eyes, your entire body ached, and you were ridden with chills and goosebumps. seemed like a fever was coming on, but you didn’t have the time or capacity to care about that right now. you’d pop a few tylenol and crawl into bed in a couple hours, and everything would be better tomorrow.

what time was it anyway? it couldn’t possibly be that late yet, right? 

you glanced to the corner of the screen, eyes falling on a bright 3:56am that made your heart sink and your eyes widen. you had a terrible habit of losing track of time and staying up into ungodly hours of the night — a habit that your wonderful boyfriend was trying so terribly hard to break. 

you glanced to your left and took in his sleeping form, his lips parted ever so slightly as he took small breaths of air. he’d be disappointed and upset with you if he knew how horrid your sleep schedule had been lately, and he’d probably blame your chills and headaches on your lack of sleep as well — which in all fairness was probably pretty accurate. 

“i’ll just finish this up real quick and then i promise i’ll sleep, ‘kay gumi?” you spoke softly, running your fingers through his soft, spiky hair. 

he was undisturbable, his mind off somewhere in a dreamland that was quite the distance from your small bedroom. and that was probably for the better, because him nagging at you to go to sleep would be too distracting for you to get your work done. 

your hands moved rapidly against the keyboard for about another hour, words spilling onto the screen until you finally hit the page requirement for your paper. it was probably terrible, most likely had a few words spelled wrong, and honestly you were pretty certain you’d repeated yourself several times, but fuck it — submit. you were typically an excellent student, so one bad paper wouldn’t kill you, and you were too tired and achy to care right now. 

you got up and placed your laptop onto your desk, plugging it in and letting a heavy sigh fall from your lips as you made your way back over to the bed. the soft blankets were therapeutically warm on your chilly skin as you crawled in against megumi’s back, effectively turning him into the little spoon and pressing your nose to the back of his neck. thankfully, sleep found you shortly after, your eyes fluttering shut as you drifted off into a much needed slumber. 

babe 

wake up 

babe

you woke up to small finger pokes to your cheek from megumi, his face laced with concern as your vision finally focused on his features. he bent over and pressed his lips to your forehead, pausing there for a fraction of a second and then standing back up. 

“i think you have a fever. i noticed when i woke up and you felt like a fucking space heater,” he frowned, confirming your initial suspicions from last night, “i’ll go get some medicine”.

you groggily nodded your head, shivers coursing through your body and dotting your extremities with goosebumps. your condition had definitely deteriorated overnight, your eyes stinging and a horrible nausea creeping up your throat. 

by the time he returned with the medicine you had yourself propped up against the pillows, thick blankets pulled up to your chin in an attempt to minimize the icy feeling in your body. he handed two small tylenol tablets to you with a disappointed look on his face — a look that said: i’m gonna kick your ass for not getting enough sleep again. 

“i’ll let everyone know you’re not feeling well enough to go out tonight,” he hummed as he handed you a glass of water, your brain filling with thick fog as you tried to decipher why he would need to let anyone know you were sick. 

the look of pure confusion signaled to him that you had no idea what he was talking about, megumi shaking his head before he spoke up again, “it’s your birthday, dumbass, we were supposed to get food and stuff with yuuji, inumaki, and nobara and maki”. 

birthday 

oh 

forgetting about that was another habit you continued to succumb to every year.

“mm, shit,” you sighed after drinking back the pills, “i forgot”. 

“figured you would,” megumi clicked his tongue, “but i didn’t, because i’m a good boyfriend. can you drag yourself out to the kitchen? you should eat”.

“don’t think so,” you mumbled, attempting to disappear back under the blankets before he could coerce you to follow him outside of the bedroom. 

but megumi is impossibly even more stubborn than you are, wrapping his arms under your body and lifting you to his chest, “guess i’ll just have to carry you then”. 

“fine,” you let out a long groan — was it a bit dramatic? maybe. but in your defense you felt like you’d been hit with a train.

he peppered your face with kisses as he carried you out of the bedroom, lovingly setting you down on one of the high bar stools around your kitchen table. he instructed you to stay in the chair, abruptly returning to the bedroom to bring out a couple blankets to wrap around your shoulders. you were grateful for the extra heat, you body still shaking and shivering as the medications worked to cure your fever. 

megumi was a man of few words, preferring to display his love for you through acts of service than grand confessions, and this was very eminent when he wordlessly grabbed a couple pots and began cooking for you. you let your face fall onto your arms, resting your chin as you watched him silently shuffle between the stove and the pantry. the silence was comfortable, and you weren't going to complain about watching your muscular boyfriend walk around the kitchen in nothing but a pair of loose, plaid pajama pants. 

a few minutes later he was placing a steaming bowl of soup and a couple slices of baked bread in front of you, a savory scent flooding your nostrils. 

“red lentil,” he spoke as he handed you a spoon, “it’s your favorite, so you better eat it”. 

“yes, sir,” you gave him a small smile, dipping the cool metal into the hot liquid and scooping a spoonful into your mouth. 

“all of it”

“yes, megumi, i will try”

to no surprise, the soup went down pretty fucking horribly, your head hanging low over the toilet while megumi held your hair out of the way. your throat was practically raw by the time you were done heaving and vomiting up the meal, your eyes brimming with hot tears. 

megumi tied your hair up in a neat bun so he could step away, filling up a glass with water and carefully helping you to take small sips and rinse out your mouth. he was tedious with the clean up, washing your face and helping you brush your teeth — ensuring that you felt the best you could given the situation. he then scooped you back into his arms, carrying you back to bed and profusely apologizing for making you eat the soup — but he was just trying to make you feel better, he really was doing his best.

you were ready to add today to your long list of terrible birthdays, chalking it up as another failed attempt, but megumi was not about to let that happen. he knew you had a rough history with birthdays, but now that he was here? you’d have a bad birthday over his dead body. 

he scoured the back of your fridge for ginger ale, gatorade, jello, and whatever else he could find to make you the perfect sick-person platter. and he made sure he was logged into every streaming service that the two of you collectively owned, preparing netflix, hulu, and crunchy roll so that he could easily access every single one of your favorite shows and movies. and so you spent the majority of your day tucked safely against megumi’s chest, forcing down small sips of ginger ale and watching an assortment of tv. 

your phone rang at some point — a facetime call from all of your friends who had gotten together so they could all wish you a collective happy birthday. megumi stuck a singular candle into a cup of blue-raspberry jello and ignited it with a small flame; and then they all sang the most terrible rendition of “happy birthday” that you’d ever heard, yuuji’s voice a little louder and little more out-of-tune than everyone else's.

you mustered enough energy to blow out the flame, everyone cheering while megumi shoveled a scoop of the blue jelly into your mouth. you swallowed it with a smile, praying it stayed down while everyone sent you off with an assortment of “feel better!”, “we love you!”, and “wish you were here!”

your night got pretty quiet after that, you and megumi climbing back under the covers to watch a few more episodes of your new favorite anime. it wasn’t until well into the night that he finally asked you if he could give you the presents he’d gotten for you. reluctantly, you said yes. you hated receiving gifts (it was just one of the many reasons you hated your birthday) but you knew that megumi wasn’t going to take no for answer. 

he was obviously nervous, palms sweaty as he handed you a couple neatly wrapped packages in plain, solid colored paper. they were very megumi, perfect folds with not a single crease, the paper simple yet elegant and adorned with a singular bow on top. 

you hesitantly peeled the paper off the smaller of the two, revealing a tiny box that contained a classic looking silver locket. you felt your heart pinch in your chest as you clicked the locket open and revealed two small pictures of each of the two of you. you weren’t particularly sentimental, but on top of your lack of sleep and not feeling very well, the simple gift caused few tears to well up in your eyes. but he was quick to wipe them away, insisting that you had to open the second gift first, and that birthdays weren’t meant for crying. 

you followed his instructions, ripping open the second package and revealing a larger box that contained a series of envelopes. each one was decorated with tiny doodles of you and megumi, his demon dogs, hearts, etc. they were sickeningly cute, and you immediately reached for the first one before megumi reached out and stopped you. 

“they’re not for now; they’re for when i’m gone, you know, on missions and stuff,” he could barely even maintain eye contact, his eyes dipping low as yours filled back up with tears. 

despite your lack of energy and the fever that was starting to return, you showered him in hugs and kisses after that, thanking him over and over for the most perfect gifts, and for making your day as wonderful as it could have been. 

all things aside, you were coming around to the idea that birthday’s don’t have to suck. 

bonus: the first letter: 

to y/n:

i know im not great at telling you what i have to say through words, actually, i’m kind of really bad at it. but i thought writing these might be a nice way to try and get better? i’m not sure. anyway, i guess i’ll start by saying that you mean a lot to me, and i probably miss you a lot right now (even though ill be too afraid to reach out and say it). not sure how long i’ll be gone for at the time but it’s probably a few days at least. gonna work hard so i can hurry back to see you. 

i hope you’re sleeping enough, but i know you’re not. you never do, especially when i’m not there to yell at you. i hope you’re eating enough too. but you’re probably also not doing that. you’re like taking care of a stubborn child, you know that? but this is supposed to be a love letter so i’ll try to refrain from scolding you too much. but do try to take care of yourself. ill see you soon. 

megumi

[slippinmickeys]

Another Twitter prompt:

1. It was a weird thing to think, but it was odd that they'd put the new chemistry professor in Old Chem. The building -- cramped and dusty with an unreliable heating system -- hadn't actually housed the chemistry department in 35 years. It was now filled mainly with graduate students who either didn't mind that the clanking basement furnace would give up the ghost thrice every February, or just felt lucky to have office space and didn't complain. Dr. Fox Mulder, a tenured and often traveling research professor liked Old Chem, for what it was worth. Its bricks were the same orangey-red of the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon and it sat stalwart and proud on a rise above the river that purled through campus. The offices were small, and they lent everything in them -- from papers written in '82 to the newest state-of-the-art computers -- an aged patina that made you want to smoke a pipe and contemplate philosophy.

In any event, he never seemed to run into the new chemistry professor, even though his office was right next door.

2. One of the kids that rode on the same school bus route on the Vineyard had been a guy named Dana Dupree. He was five years older and a baseball star, and while Mulder hadn’t thought the kid was all that bright, he still worshipped him anyway, until the day Dupree graduated and Mulder never thought about him again.

He supposed that was why he thought the new professor was a man until she showed up at his door with a sheepish looking undergraduate he vaguely recognized from his Tuesday/Thursday lecture.

"I believe this may belong to you," said a caramel-soft voice from his doorway.

He looked up to see a short statured titch of a woman looking at him expectantly. Next to her was said undergraduate, who was hitching his backpack on his shoulder uncomfortably and looking anywhere but Mulder's face.

"Does it?" Mulder asked without standing.

"These are office hours, right?" the kid said, looking up through a thick hatch of shaggy hair.

Mulder looked at his watch. "Indeed they are," he said, and motioned for the boy to sit in one of the chairs opposite his desk -- the only one not covered in sheaves of paper and books. The kid slid into it and the woman in the doorway raised a hand and started to retreat into the hallway when Mulder said:

"And who do I have to thank for the saving of wayward students?"

The woman gave him a small, closed mouth smile that nevertheless reached all the way to her eyes.

"Dr. Dana Scully," she said, nodding at him and taking another step back. "Your new neighbor." With that she was gone.

3. He didn't see her again for almost a month. He was heading down the narrow back stairway that led from Old Chem's parking lot to the third floor hall of offices when he heard a forceful expletive followed by the sound of several light things hitting the floor. When he rounded the next landing, Dr. Scully was carrying an overfilled and close-to-disintegrating cardboard box and looking helplessly down at a wash of manila folders and dot-matrix printouts that were scattered across the floor and accordioning down three steps.

She was bending to put the box down when Mulder came trotting down the last few steps.

"Let me get that," he said, bending down to pick up the sheety detritus which he tapped into a neat stack.

"Thanks," she said, sounding reluctant to accept the help.

When he stood holding the papers out a little awkwardly, she gave him a grudging smile and he tucked the stack carefully into the box she now had balanced on her hip.

"Would you like help carrying all this up?" he asked, "I can get the box?"

"I can manage," she said, and Mulder thought she probably could -- she only had one more flight to go.

"Then at least let me get the doors," he said, bounding back up from the way he came, and seeing her safely to her office.

She gave him a small sideways glance as she unlocked the old Schlage, and when she fumbled with the keys, he reached out and wordlessly took the box from her hands so she could open the door. She gave a last hard shove with her shoulder and she was in, and he entered and put the box gingerly on her desk.

"Wow," he said, taking a look around the room. It was spotless and bright, airy in an effortless sort of way that was near impossible to find in the stuffy confines of Old Chem. "If Professor Abernathy saw this place, I think he'd want to move back in."

She smiled at him and he noticed for the first time that her eyes were a bright liquidly aqua, as cobalt as the Caribbean. His heart beat once, hard, then returned to its normal cadence.

"Then where would I go?" she asked, and he thought he detected maybe a hint of flirt.

"Next door," he offered, "it would be tight and wouldn't be good for much beyond a good game of Battleship, but wayward undergrads wouldn't get lost."

She laughed, a sheath of hair falling into her face, her locks the same color as the sandstone in Utah -- the same color as the bricks of Old Chem.

He felt something in his chest he hadn’t felt in a long time.

4. He normally didn't stay this late, but his TA was out sick and he needed to get the grades turned in by noon the next day.

The moonlight coming through the single window in his office was pale and diaphanous, and it shone in a small rectangle on the grungy berber of his floor, the small desktop lamp illuminating only the papers in front of him.

There was a sharp knock on his door.

"It's open!"

It swung in to reveal Dr. Scully, holding a couple cartons of what looked like Chinese food and two paper-wrapped chopsticks packs, her face looking hesitant but hopeful, her hair a muzzy halo backlit by the fluorescents in the hallway.

"Your light is on a lot later than normal," she said, holding up the cartons, from which drifted the tangy waft of Pad Thai. "Thought you might need some sustenance."

His stomach gurgled in response.

“Partay,” he said, gesturing her in.

She smiled and shuffled in, setting a carton in front of him and the chopsticks on top.

“Apologies for the dimness, the overheads were giving me a headache,” he said, reaching behind him for the large pillar candles he kept in his office -- the building was notorious for losing power in the summer months, and he’d learned to be prepared. “Too weird to eat by candlelight?” he asked, fingering a lighter.

She shrugged and plopped down into the free chair across from his desk and folded her feet under herself, somehow looking cozy in the notoriously uncomfortable chair. He lit the candles and placed one on the desktop between them, unwrapping the chopsticks and rubbing the handles together. He considered her for a moment and she seemed to do the same.

“Do you always order for two?” he finally asked, opening the top of his container and letting the steam puff up gently around his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled dreamily. It smelled wonderful. She opened her own, deftly spearing a bean sprout and delicately nipping it in half. “It makes great leftovers,” she said, then expertly twirled a small bundle of noodles onto her own utensil and took a happy bite. “And I’ve been curious about you,” she finished around a mouthful of food.

“Me?” he asked, surprised. He shoveled in a mouthful with far less finesse and she chuckled at him.

“Yes,” she said, “you. The enigmatic Dr. Mulder. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Normally, he probably would have said something like oh really? and then made a smartass comment about her spying on him, but something held him back. Instead he said, “...what do you want to know?”

She looked at him, chewing thoughtfully. The candlelight gave her a fresh-faced look, her skin dewy and glowing. She had cupid’s bow lips, the color of overripe raspberries. A thought flashed through his head that they would probably taste as good as they looked.

“How long have you been tenured?”

“Five years.”

“Undergrad?”

“Oxford.” She raised an impressed eyebrow.

“Married?”

He choked and covered for it by coughing. She was still looking at him earnestly, expecting an answer.

“Ah,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Almost.”

“Narrowly avoided the institution?” He felt like he was being interviewed by a seasoned criminologist. She was unruffled and laser focused. Normally he would have had sirens going off in his head by now, abort! abort! but he was into it. Really into it.

“Narrowly avoided the spouse .” She grinned and took another bite and he decided to lob one back at her. “Why, you in the market?”

She looked at him levely, chewing no faster or slower than before. When she swallowed, he kept his eyes on the elegant column of her neck, watching her throat work.

“I’m a professor of chemistry, Dr. Mulder,” she said, quirking one eyebrow in a way that charmed him even more. “I’d never rule out adhesion.”

5. It was a tempest. A Goddamn tempest, and it had come rushing off the plains and, propelled by the jet stream, roaring into campus with the force of a freight train. He was halfway to the building that held his evening lecture when the wind picked up, and he was just passing Old Chem when the rain came. A torrential downpour that would have felled even the strongest umbrella. A streak of lighting followed immediately by the crash of thunder and he darted into the Old Chemistry building just to escape it. He was standing in the small foyer looking out the small beaded window panes in the old oak doors -- there were still a few students darting haphazardly into random buildings -- when his phone dinged. He pulled it out of his pocket.

UNIVERSITY EMERGENCY ALERT -- STORM WARNING -- STAY INDOORS -- ALL EVENING CLASSES CANCELLED

Sighing, he turned to head into his office to wait out the storm. He was thinking he had lab results in his briefcase he could probably go over when the power suddenly -- though perhaps not surprisingly -- went out. He drifted up the stairs to his office in the uncomfortable beam of the stairwell’s emergency light box, the bulbs shining brightly in two different directions like some kind of demented wall-eyed robot.

When he got to his door, he saw a small light flitting about the office next to his, then heard a thud and a muffled curse. He knocked lightly.

“Everything all right in there?” he called out.

The door was flung open and a frazzled-looking Dr. Scully stood before him, the too-bright glow of her cell phone flashlight pointing somewhere around his belt buckle.

“Hi,” she said, then rather needlessly added, “the power is out.”

“Welcome to Old Chem,” Mulder said with a trace of sarcasm, just as another flare of lightning highlighted her dressed-down outfit. Unusually, she was wearing jeans, a white tank top that rather nicely showcased the twin pillows of her decolletage and an old chambray shirt, shirtsleeves rolled to her elbows, unbuttoned in the front.

“My phone is about to die and I can’t find my portable charger,” she went on, a bit flustered, “and I also can’t see a god damned thing. If I was near my lab I could probably improvise some kind of glow stick, but I’m… not,” she finished lamely.

“You want some help?” he offered, setting down his briefcase in the hallway. There was an emergency light at the far end, but its light barely reached them. They were mainly highlighted in the red glow of the Exit sign that hung from the ceiling just to their left.

“I was actually on my way out. I give up. I can charge it in my car.”

He’d just noticed that her laptop bag was slung over one shoulder. A crash of deafening thunder shook the building.

“I, uh, wouldn’t go out right now,” he said, holding up the emergency alert on his phone, “it’s biblical out there.” Her shoulders slumped. “Come into my office,” he went on, digging his keys out of his pocket, “I don’t have Pad Thai, but I still have those candles.”

She smiled and he flushed a bit at the memory. It had only been a week and a half ago. She’d been pretty forward, and he’d been about to ask her out when the janitorial crew came rolling down the hallway. They’d quickly emptied the trashcans in the various offices on the floor, but when they kick-started the industrial floor polisher out in the hallway, Mulder had been fairly sure his window had closed.

She passed by him while he held open the door, and was forced to back herself up to the wall so he could squeeze by a moment later to get to the pillar candles and lighter he kept on top of his file cabinet. Their hips grazed ever so slightly as he brushed by her and he caught a heady whiff of her perfume, a spicy, floral scent studded with hints of white musk and bergamot. He had to keep himself from leaning into her to get another sniff.

“You want to have a seat?” he asked, indicating the guest chair.

“Not on your life,” she laughed, “it took three PIlates classes to work out the kink in my back from the last time.”

“Take mine,” he said, and settled himself into the chair across the desk, shifting to try to get comfortable.

After several moments she let out an undignified guffaw and stood.

“Come on,”she said, still chuckling as she rose from his office chair, “let’s go into my office. We’ll be a lot more comfortable.

Slightly chagrined, he grabbed the candles and followed her obediently. She had two nice looking chairs sitting side by side with a small, tasteful side table in between them, and they both settled in.

“Well,” she said, looking at the candles, “this is romantic.”

He chuckled.

“Any idea how long this is supposed to last?” she asked, nodding toward the small window. The sun hadn’t quite set, but the sky was a frightening velvety grey and the branches on the ancient maples outside Old Chem were bending sideways in the thrash.

Mulder pulled up a NOAA app on his phone.

“Radar shows three cells coming through,” he said, pinching the screen to get a bigger picture. “One on top of the other.”

She smirked at the innuendo, but made no move to do or say anything. He tossed the phone on the desktop next to a candle.

“Well,” she said, “any chance you’re up for a game of Battleship?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

She’d actually bought one. He was delighted when, from under her desk, she pulled out a brand new, still-in-the-cellophane, honest-to-god game of Battleship. They were twenty minutes into their second game and she was absolutely handing him his ass.

“How are you so good at this?” he asked her, after he put the last red peg into his submarine.

She studied her board.

“My father was a naval officer,” she said, not looking up, “a Captain when he retired. He was gone a lot. As a kid I would play this game with anyone who would play with me. Even the old lady next door. It made me feel closer to him.”

“Where does he live now?” Mulder asked, then, “C8.”

“Miss,” she said, “He and Mom are in Maryland. B12.”

“Hit. Any siblings?”

“Three.”

“E1?”

“Miss. You?” she asked. “B11.”

“A sister,” he answered, then leaned back and sighed. “You sunk my battleship.

She smiled victoriously. “You giving up?”

“I know when I’ve been bested,” he said.

He looked out the window at the storm as he helped her pack up the game. There was a brief lull in the weather while one cell moved off and another moved in. One of the trees in the diag out her window had been uprooted by the wind and was leaning into one of its compatriots like a soldier limping off the battlefield.

“It’s been nice being stuck here with you,” she said, finally leaning back.

“I’m glad,” Mulder said, nodding to the window, “because we may end up being stuck here all night.”

She put her thumbnail in her mouth and tilted her head. “I can think of worse things.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, swallowing hard.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think you should ask me out.”

He felt himself flush. Again. “If I asked, what would we do?”

“Drinks,” she said, “dancing. Maybe see where the night takes us.”

He nodded at her, considering. He briefly bit the inside of his cheek. “Will you go out with me?” he finally said.

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “When?”

He stood. “Right now,” he said, getting a flash of inspiration, a jagged line of lightning streaking outside the window. “Stay right there.”

The candles sputtered as he swung open her office door. The dim red from the Exit sign gave just illumination for him to go into his own office and pull out the bottom drawer of his desk. When he returned, she was sitting up, intrigued. On her desk he deposited a bottle of Lagavulin and two small rocks glasses.

“You like Scotch?” he asked.

She nodded, smiling. He returned her smile and poured her a finger. He did the same and held it up in salute.

“To our first date,” he said.

“Slainte,” she said, tapping her glass into his own and then taking a slow sip, her eyes never leaving his.

The spirit was as smooth as high C, but burned its way down his esophagus, filling his belly with the warm haze of nerve.

He reached for his phone, which was still sitting on top of her desk, swiping and tapping until the soulful purl of Nina Simone’s Feeling Good began to leak through the tiny speakers. He upped the volume so that the sound of the singer’s velvet voice swelled over the roar of the rain outside, set down his glass and held out his hand to her. She took a large swallow, almost finishing what was in her glass, and set it down next to his, taking his hand. He pulled her to him.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, pressing his hand into the amati curve of her back. There wasn’t much room in the small office, certainly not enough for a good dance, but if they swayed, turning in place like a couple of kids at an eighth grade dance, it would get the job done.

She canted her face up to his, blinking slowly. “Yes,” she said in a voice as low as his had been, and then pressed her head to his chest. He pulled her in even more, pulling their clasped hands in close.

She fit perfectly into the lee of him, and something just felt right about it as she settled in, sighing contentedly. It was like a key sliding into the right lock. Click .

The song was over before either of them were ready for it to be. Mulder didn’t move as the brassy sound of the big band faded into nothingness. He scarcely even breathed. Dr. Scully shifted in his arms, but made no move to step back. After a moment, he worked up the nerve to look down at her and found her looking right back.

“What happens next?” he muttered, tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

“Next?” she said, voice barely a whisper. “We see where the night takes us.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

[panda-noosh]

taste test {kaz brekker x reader}

   there are guests today.

    little information was given to you, but you don’t mind; you’re not here to entertain anyone. you’re here to do your job and move on. who the king associates with is honestly none of your concern. 

   you’ll leave the assassins to the royal guards.

    you wake on the day to witness the palace in hysterics. chefs bustle around like headless chickens, maids and butlers ironing uniforms that have not had a crinkle in them since the war. the scent of food - a cacophany of it - rises to the surface, making you crinkle your nose at the onslaught of different options. all you want is a slice of toast to prepare you for the day, but the thought of walking into that kitchen has you cuddling up in bed for a few minutes longer.

    you’ll have to eat that food pretty soon. just a small bite, just enough to get a taste. a hint. 

   you close your eyes.

    the peace doesn’t last long, because it never does. a knock sounds at your door, startling you from your reverie. you roll over, not even bothering to cover yourself when you call out, “come in!”

    a palace guard - rico - peaks his bald head round the door and raises a brow. “still sleeping?”

   “clearly not.”

    “good. you need to be up and at your post in thirty minutes; we have guests today.”

   you pull the quilt over your head. “don’t remind me.” you peak an eye over the top, raising a brow. “who are the guests?”

   rico narrows his eyes. “you haven’t been told?”

   “well, no. i never really asked.”

    “then i’ll leave it as a surprise.” he claps his hands, like you’re some kind of dog. “get ready. i don’t want to come back up here again.”

   “then don’t,” you reply, but he’s already disappeared.

    you drag yourself from bed to do as he ordered. there’s no point arguing with the palace guards - they seem to think they own the place, even though they live basically under the thumb of every other individual walking the grounds. even you, the lowest of the low, can manipulate them into doing what you want if you just try hard enough. a few sweet words and a confident tone, and they’re like putty in your hands.

    but the truth is, you don’t care enough about todays events to put on that confident tone. you pull your clothes on, fiddle with your bow tie, and head downstairs to see what the day has in store for you.

    breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

    a risky day ahead.

    you’re required to be at the kings side long before the guests arrive. you’ve never questioned it. the rules of the palace have never made any sense to you, but you go along with them, because you don’t want to get into any more trouble than you already have. that’s why you find yourself stood by the kings side in silence, hands clasped in front of you, trays of delicious breakfast foods being delivered by hasty, sweaty porters.

    the dining room is swathed in beautiful decor. banners hang from the ceiling, red and gold colours matching the grand wallpaper all around. the fancy carpet has been rolled out, tucked beneath the long, mahogany dining table and stretching all the way to the double doors ready to greet the guests. 

   even the king is dressed well for the occasion, which is another surprise. though the king hardly looks like a peasant, he makes a point to put in as little effort with his appearance as possible, just to show people that he can get anyone to fear him from personality alone. his riches and fancy fabrics have nothing to do with his power.

    but today he wears his finest silk coat, the buttons straining against his round stomach. his beard has been freshly trimmed, and you watch his hand rock back and forth amongst the hairs. a few stray ones float from his chin to the table, and you quickly swipe them away. the king doesn’t even notice; he continues staring at the doors, one dark skinned knuckle tight around the arms of his throne-like chair. 

     finally, after what feels like forever, the double doors up ahead are pushed open. two palace guards dressed in red hold them in place, and a man is ushered in.

    a man you recognise immediately.

    he’s got a cane now, which is different. there’s those gloves on his hands, the sides of his head still shaved, with that shaggy, dark mess still perched on top, a school boys haircut that looks most out of place on someone with blood on his hands. he’s frowning, because that’s what kaz brekker does - the king shows his power through his booming voice and cruel choices. kaz brekker shows his power through his expressions. 

    you don’t meet his eyes, though you don’t look away. kaz has his gaze on the king, not even noticing you standing at his side, and for that you are thankful; you don’t think you want to look into those blue eyes again. you promised yourself you wouldn’t, not before the nightmares disappear.

    the king slowly stands. he rubs his beard one final time for good measure before saying, “you’re late, kaz.”

    “call me mr brekker,” kaz replies, before gesturing to an empty seat at the end of the table - the seat farthest from the king. “shall we sit?”

    you swallow; you’re familiar with this attitude from him, but you’ve been in the kings presence too long now to pretend kaz isn’t on thin ice. 

    the king, however, is clearly in a docile mood, as he nods and sits down. the food in the centre of the table goes unnoticed for a while as the two stare at each other, waiting for the other to crack and begin the conversation. you fiddle with your fingers, uncertain whether kaz has seen you, whether he recognises you, whether he’s just keeping a straight face because he’s kaz, and he’s a professional.

    finally, the king clicks his fingers at you. “stack my plate. you know the drill.”

   you burst into action, bustling round the table, scooping up different assortments of breakfast foods you know the king enjoys; he’s got his bacon, and his eggs, and the bread, pancakes on the side. you slather beans along the rim of his plate and place a single hash brown in the residue, just as he likes it.

   and then you sit down, and pick apart the entire thing.

    you can feel kaz’s eyes burning into you as you work, but you pay him no attention. you have to focus, because this is kind of a life or death situation. you sniff the food first, though this very rarely shows you anything you might need to worry about. it’s too fresh, still warm in your fingers when you lift it to your nose. you can smell only the warmth of it all, but you take the precaution anyway, just to show the king you know what you’re doing.

    and then you nibble the edges, heart thumping with nerves rather than poison entering your body. that’s what you’re looking for - poison, an assassination attempt. even in his own palace, the king is paranoid. his own staff have turned against him before. you’re not entirely surprised.

    you chew, swallow, pause, repeat.

    “all clear.”

   you hand the plate back, tuck your hands in your lap and look down at the table at kaz. he’s staring at you, an eyebrow raised, and you understand immediately that he recognises you, probably knew you worked here before he even entered the premise.

   was he here for you?

   you banish the thought and look away. you wait until the king has started digging in before excusing yourself and exiting, your job for the morning complete. at lunch, you will have to repeat the process, and again at dinner, but until then, you have the morning to yourself.

    you walk through the gardens, because fresh air is all you need right now. your heart is hammering, and you curse yourself for it - kaz brekker has not been in your life for months. he shouldn’t have a grip on you. he shouldn’t even know you are here, and yet he does, because of course he does. kaz doesn’t step foot anywhere until he knows the ins-and-outs of the entire place. he keeps his ducks all in a neat row, and you were a fool to believe you had escaped it.

    it’s not like kaz is a bad man. he’s evil, certainly, with horrible actions under his belt, but you can understand his reasoning. he kills a man, and maybe that’s an overexaggeration, but the man was also seconds away from traumatising a poor woman walking home from work. kaz takes a life, saving the day in the process. it’s how he works, how he’s always worked for as long as you’ve known him.

   and you’ve known him for a while.

   you haven’t been by his side in months, but someone like kaz brekker is someone you never forget. once you know kaz, you never stop knowing him, which is a curse more than anything else. oh, how you wish you could wipe the slate clean, pretend you never got involved with him and his gang in the first place. but that was your decision - your stupid, careless decision - and you need to face the consequences.

    having him here, at your place of work, was a consequence.

    you sit down by the stream just outside the palace grounds. a duckling struts past, paying you no attention whatsoever. a stray lilipad floats gently through the water, spurred on by the tiny breeze ketterdam has for you today.

     you like to come here sometimes, just to clear your head a little bit. nobody else bothers with the nice scenery and the nature; they think it’s a waste of time. if it wasn’t for the gardener, this place would be a wasteland, left to shrivel and disappear into shadow. you’re thankful it’s been kept pleasant, though - it’s a good place for someone who wants to have no thoughts for a little while.

    you lean down and run your fingertips along the water. it’s cold, and a weed gets tangled between your fingers. you lift it from the water with a wince, flicking your wrist to get it off-

    a cane clamps down on your fingers, shoving your hand into the grass.

   you inhale sharply, straightening up but not turning around.

    “so easy to startle,” kaz hums. “you’re losing your touch, y/n.”

    you twist your hand and catch the bottom of his cane, using it to pull yourself to your feet. kaz doesn’t stumble, but you never expected him to; kaz doesn’t stumble. he’s much too stubborn for that.

    you whirl around, and there he is, that frown on his face, his head tilted like he’s analysing you even before you’ve said two words. a heat festers in your belly. you don’t know if you want to hug him or slam your fist into his nose. 

    “so this is where you ended up, is it?” he glances at the grand gardens, the glistening lake, the ducklings swimming past. “you’ve surprised me, i gotta say. i never thought you’d be into such grandeur.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, cheeks heating up. you will admit, the palace is certainly not the place you thought to find yourself, either; after living in the barrel your entire life, you had grown used to dirt stained clothes, weeks without washing, hunger pains. this was different. this was a different type of hell, a hell in fancy clothes.

    “cat got your tongue?” kaz continues, swinging that stupid cane back and forth. “shame. i think we have a lot to talk about.”

   “why are you here?”

   “ah, asking the right questions now!”

   “just tell me, kaz. tell me, and then we can go our separate ways - just like you wanted.”

    his expression falters for a moment, so quick that it’s clear he doesn’t want you noticing the power you still have over him, even just a little. 

    “fine,” he says. “let’s walk.”

   you do just that, hands tucked into pockets, head tilted down. it’s easier to talk to him when you’re not subject to his facial expressions, too - handling both of them is too much. 

    “you want to know why i’m here,” he begins. “i’m here looking for you.”

    your stomach drops, even though that was kind of what you were expecting. 

    he pauses, giving you a chance to fill in the silence with your own thoughts, but you don’t even look up.

    he barrels on. “we had a tip-off from someone that you were working here now. no one else believed it, but me? i know you a little better than them. i was surprised, but i could picture it. you’ve always been irrational when you’re desperate.”

   you wince. “you don’t know me at all, kaz.”

    he smiled at the sky in response, like you had walked into his trap.

    “i hope you didn’t come here thinking you can coax me back to the barrel,” you continue. “that’s not going to happen.”

    his jaw clenches, head still tilted towards the sun. his skin is a little darker now, a little more tan. he’s probably been out and about, you think, causing havok in the sunshine, ruining people’s holidays because he can.

    “i thought you would say that,” he says. “so i’m bringing the problem to you.”

   you nearly stumble. “what?” freezing in the middle of the path, you grab his arm and whirl him around, forcing him to look at you. “what have you done, kaz? what problem?”

    “she asked for you.”

    “kaz-”

   “inej is sick.”

    your breath falters. those words, so simple, yet so . . . unexpected. inej ghafa - the wraith, your best friend, the girl designed to be indestructible. that’s why kaz picked her. that’s why she worked alongside you. that’s what made you the best damn crew in ketterdam.

    “sick.” 

    kaz nods, shrugging his arm from your grip. “sick. ill. not well. poorly. whatever you want to call it. she’s not doing good, and the only person she’s asking for is you.”

    “so where is she?” you whirl around. “is she here?”

   “not walking alongside us, no.”

   you scowl. “i mean at the palace, kaz. is she at the palace?”

   “she will be.” kaz pulls a golden watch from his pocket. “in about three hours. that should give your employer plenty of time to set my room up and make some space in the hospital wing, don’t you think?”

   you close your eyes, trying desperately to steady the thumping of your heart. he could be lying, and you know that, but what if he isn’t? what is inej really is on her death bed, and you never even got to say goodbye?

    the thought terrifies you to the point your hands begin to tremble. when you open your eyes, kaz is staring at them, and you’re almost certain there is something close to pity sparking there.

   you quickly snap your arms behind your back and nod. “fine. okay. i’ll see her. but once i’ve done what i can, you leave. both of you.”

    kaz studies your face. the fire in your stomach burns even brighter, forcing you to look away and keep walking.

    kaz follows, all soft footsteps. “i’m not here to bring up the past, y/n. i hope you know that.”

    “you can understand why i find that hard to believe.”

   “well, yes. but i’m serious. what we had, it means nothing now. you’re a different person, and so am i. we can let it go.”

    you swallow the lump in your throat, trying to pretend those words are exactly what you wanted to hear. but a knot twists in your heart, almost to the point of pain.

   you take a deep breath and glance at him over your shoulder. he’s only a few steps behind, but his presence is so large, so there that you nearly trip. 

   and then you say, “we never had anything, kaz. remember that.”

----

   it’s like you’re trying to hurt each other.

   that’s how it’s always been between you and kaz, but at one point, it felt natural. it was a bit of fun. a few snide remarks here and there, followed by kaz confessing he thinks your eyes are a very pretty colour. a bit of sparring, followed by you telling kaz he’s the most important person in your life. 

   this time, however, the mere sight of him is a torment, one you don’t find fun in the slightest.

    the king tasks you with leading kaz through the palace. this was a job you fully expected to be given, but it doesn’t make it any easier. kaz stops to examine every little thing, tracing his fingers along artefacts you would be murdered for touching.     

   you swat his hand away when he reaches for a bust of the kings father. “stop it. if you knock that over, he’ll have you hanged.”

    kaz raises a brow before touching a gloved fingertip to the stone. you groan and march off, trying to ignore the butterflies at the sound of his soft, hidden chuckle echoing behind you.   

   you show him his room, a beautifully decorated space much grander than any room the king has ever given you. kaz whistles when he walks in, looking at the wine bucket on his chest of drawers, and the freshly made bed with the thick linens, and a view to die for.

    “spoiled,” he says.

   you roll your eyes. “i’ll leave you to get comfortable.”

    “or.” he whirls, catching your arm. his fingers slot in the crook of your elbow, the leather of his gloves sparking unwanted familiarity within you. “you can stay, and we can talk some more.”

   “i have things to do, kaz.” you rip your arm from his grip. “the king will be having lunch soon, and i need to be there.”

    kaz scoffs, slowly sliding the knot out of his tie and slipping it from beneath his collar, like undressing in front of you is no big deal. “so you can do what? potentially die? you know, y/n, i once thought you were a tough son of a bitch, but the longer i’m here, the more i’m realising just how weak you are.”

    ouch.

   “we’ve all got to make a living somehow,” you reply. “you murder people, i keep the king safe.”

    “the same king you wanted to assassinate a few months ago?” he tilts his head, pursing his lips. “what a drastic change of heart.”

   “go to hell, kaz.”

    he raises a hand. “wait for me outside; i’ll come to lunch with you and your king.”

   you pause. “has he invited you?”

   “i don’t need an invite.”

    “you’re not permitted to be there-”

   “i’ll be there.” he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “i want to watch you in action. you’ve always been very good in action.” he smirks, and you know he’s just teasing you, trying to get a reaction. your cheeks heat up, but you quickly turn on your heel and scurry out before he can notice. 

    you don’t wait on him outside. instead, you hurry to the dining hall, where the king is already seated. he looks up when you enter, fingers already tangled in his beard. his wife sits beside him, grand and tall and everything a queen should be. she scowls when you enter, but you ignore her, immediately taking your seat by the king and fanning a napkin over your lap.

    “sorry,” you say. “kaz brekker kept me.”

    “it’s mr brekker,” the queen snaps. “have some respect for our guests.”

   “y/n can call me kaz.”

   you close your eyes, listening to the thump of his feet and cane against the carpet. 

   “y/n can call me kaz,” he repeats, lowering himself in the chair at the head of the table. “mr brekker is a little too formal for them.”

     “mr brekker,” the queen exclaims, fanning her reddening face. “i wasn’t aware you would be joining us for lunch!” 

   you nearly roll your eyes at her flustered state - okay, so kaz is attractive. he’s also half her age.

    kaz leans back in his seat, tapping his fingertips together. “oh, no, i’m not eating. i’m just here to observe.” at the confused silence, he shrugs. “i have nothing better to do, and i’ve always been fascinated with the hobbies y/n takes on. such a talented soul they are.”

    you’ve never heard kaz speak so formal before, and you have half a mind to laugh. instead, you glance over to see his own lips trembling in his attempts to keep a straight face - he finds this just as amusing as you do. messing with the royals, it’s all a game to him. they are the fools. 

    “do you two know each other?” the king asks, handing you his stacked plate.

   “no,” you snap. kaz grins behind his glove, staring at you over his fingers as you hasten to add, “no, we don’t. i just met him today.”

    the king nods slowly, not quite sure whether to believe you or not. you don’t give him a chance to doubt any further before picking up your knife and fork and cutting a small chunk from a slice of tofu. you go through the usual routine with everything on his plate, but all the while, kaz stares. you feel his eyes like a fire sinking into the side of your face, putting you off from paying proper attention. you pop the cut-off’s in your mouth and chew, turning to meet his gaze, as if making eye contact with him is some kind of power move. however, he actually looks a bit. . . worried? concerned? you’ve never seen that expression on his face before, and it makes your stomach flip as you swallow the food.

    you give a final nod, handing the plate back to the king. you repeat the process with the queen before standing, straightening your trousers and excusing yourself.

    kaz’s chair screeches as he stands.

    “mr brekker, would you not care for some lunch?” the queen asks.

    “no.” he turns and follows you out the dining room, catching your arm when you try and run. “what the hell?”

    you spin, snatching your arm away. “can you stop grabbing me?”

    “what happens if their food actually has been poisoned?”

    “then i get poisoned.”

   he raises a brow, skin paling. “and do they have someone on hand for if that happens?”

   “on hand to do what?”

   “don’t play stupid, y/n. on hand to save your fucking life.”

   you scowl; it’s been a long time since you’ve heard kaz curse, and it shames you to feel the same thrill run over you. 

    “i get sent to the infirmary,” you reply. “but it’s never happened before.”

    “never happened-” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “this is the kind of life you want to live? you left the barrel for this?”

    “no life is as bad as the barrel.”

    kaz’s lips tighten, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest moment before he opens them again and says, “you left the place where people loved you, cared about you, and you came here. to this shit hole. you’re risking your life for them, and you have the nerve to tell me this life isn’t as bad as the barrel?”

    even to you it sounds ridiculous, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. 

    “the barrel wasn’t a life,” you say. “the barrel was a beginning for me, but i’ve moved on.”

    “you don’t move on from that.”

   “maybe not mentally, but i can damn well get away physically.” you lean in, lowering your voice. “i just wish you’d let me.”

    his eyes scan your face, drawing attention to just how close you are to him. his breath fans your cheeks. you can make out every line on his lips, every crease in his face. you could lean forward if you wanted to, close that distance.

    you step back, once again straightening your trousers. “tell me when inej arrives and i’ll come meet her in the infirmary.”

    kaz doesn’t say anything. he watches you leave, and part of you - a retched, traitorous part - is disappointed he doesn’t follow. 

   ----

    inej really is sick.

   “so it’s true,” you say, sauntering into the infirmary. “the wraith has been beaten.”

    you’re trying to jest, but there’s little humour to be felt when she looks like that. her dark skin is pale and sickly, warm drops of sweat clinging to her forehead and rolling down her neck. she’s dressed in only a thin night gown, revealing collar bones and stretched skin where her muscles once were. 

   she looks up, bloodshot eyes meeting your own, and even in sickness, she manages a smile when she sees you. that’s enough to have you breaking. you rush to her bedside and bundle her in your arms, nearly sobbing with relief at the feel of her pressed against you, her hands in your hair, her mouth inches from your ear.

   she whispers, “it’s you.”

   you pull away, nodding. “yes. it’s me.”

    “what are you doing here?”

    you pull a chair over and sit down. “that’s not important.”

    “yes, it is.”

   “i’ll explain later.” you lean forward, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “you talk first; what’s going on?”

   inej coughs into her elbow; something rattles in your throat, and you try desperately to hide your wince. “i just got sick. i fell in the brig a few days ago, and i don’t think the water was very healthy.”

   “of course it wasn’t,” you grumble. “it’s the barrel, you stupid girl. what did you expect?”

    “i cleaned myself pretty well afterwards,” she defends. 

   “clearly not well enough.” you place a hand to her cheek. “has anyone come to see you?”

   “some man in a coat,” she replies, nuzzling down in the pillows. “he checked my temperature and my blood pressure and all that stuff. said he’d be back soon.”

   “and he didn’t seem . . . concerned?”

   inej shrugs. “i didn’t look him in the eye. men like him don’t sit right with me, y/n. i let him do his job, but i’m not looking at him. i’m not giving him ideas.”

   you nod. there is a silence, but those are okay between you and inej. 

    finally, you reach over and take her hand. her palms are clammy, cold, but her grip is strong. 

    “i’m sorry i wasn’t there to help you.”

    her head snaps around, eyes widening. “y/n-”

   “i know you always say you understand why i left, but it’s just. . . i don’t know. i feel guilty about it. i feel selfish sometimes, and you’ve had to travel all the way here whilst you’re in this state all because i wasn’t there to-”

    “has kaz been making you feel guilty?”

   your mouth snaps closed. “i don’t. . . i don’t think so?”

    inej sighs, head dropping back into the pillows. “don’t listen to him. i understand why you left; i always have. kaz just. . . i don’t think he ever got over it when you disappeared. it was like a part of him went with you.” she shrugs. “a part of him did go - you.”

    silence again, because you have no idea how to respond to that. kaz was hurt when you left, and you know that, but he’s kaz. he’s tough. he’s been through everything a person should never have to go through. the thought of his final straw being you is almost laughable to think about.

    “he loved you,” inej continues, even though you don’t want her to. “he really, really loved you.”

    “past tense,” you whisper. “not any more.”

    inej smiles sadly, and that’s all you need to see to understand you’re right - he’s moved on. he’s here with you now, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. he’s here on business. he doesn’t care about you, and he said it himself - whatever the two of you had is gone, non-existent. you thought you had come to terms with that, but seeing the confirmation on inej’s face makes you feel suddenly exhausted.

    “well this isn’t about kaz and i,” you say, pulling your shoulders back. “come on. tell me what’s been going on since i left.”

   ---

    you’re trying to sleep when you hear the bang.

    trying being the key word. always. every night, you put your best efforts into drifting to sleep, but it never seems to work how you want it to. you toss and turn for hours on end, drifting in and out of your associative state, but not really falling asleep. time just passes, and then it’s day time, and you’re working again.

   tonight is no different.

   the bang is loud, just next door to your room. your ears immediately prick - the palace guards aren’t moving towards it. you’re already awake, so you may as well see to it yourself.

   you swing your legs out of bed, grab your dressing gown and walk into the hallway. glancing back and forth, you see nothing out of the ordinary.

   the bang sounds again.

   you narrow your eyes, walking further down the hallway. turning a corner, the bang sounds one final time before a pair of shoes flies at the wall and crashes to the floor in a heap.

   you rush forward, eyes wide. “what the-”

   kaz spins, another pair of expensive shoes already in his hand. “oh. did i wake you?”

    dazed, you snatch the shoes into your possession and toss them to the floor. “what the fuck are you doing, kaz? people are trying to sleep!”

    “i was also trying to sleep,” kaz replies. “i am one of those people, so why are you yelling at me?”

   you rub your eyes in frustration - sometimes talking to him is like pulling teeth.

   “oh, come on,” kaz says. “i was just doing a bit of late night cleaning. this room is a fucking shit hole.”

    you raise a brow, sighing. “what are you on about? this room was pristine when you came.”

    “yeah, well, i thought so too. and then i found this.” he motions for you to enter the room, and though you know it’s a bad idea, you do so. he hooks his foot around something beneath his bed, and pulls out a box overflowing with expensive shoes.

   you narrow your eyes. “what’s the problem?”

   “rich men shoes,” he says, like that explains everything. after knowing kaz as deeply as you do, it kind of does make sense.

   you sigh again, kicking the box back beneath the bed. “go to sleep, kaz.”

    “i can’t.”

    “try.”

   “you know i can’t.”

   you pause, overcome with a sudden chill. you wrap the dressing gown tighter around your body, trying to refrain from looking at him - he’s still dressed in the fancy clothes he wore this morning, but the top button is pulled loose, and his hair is a mess. his eyes droop a little, evidence that he really wants to sleep, but genuinely just can’t.

   and you know why.

   “i’m not asking you to stay with me,” he continues, grabbing a pair of socks from the floor. “i’m just saying - you have no right telling me to sleep when you know what it’s like.”

    “are they bad again?”

    kaz purses his lips. “they’ve been bad for a while.”

   a while. that’s how he always phrases it. when he says it’s been a while, he means it’s been a while since you left the crows, left him. 

    you swallow, looking to the ceiling like the intricate design will give you clarity. “i can get you tea or something. a fresh blanket. whiskey.”

    “trying to get me drunk?”

   “kaz, i’m serious.” you meet his eyes. “you look terrible.”

    he laughs, a sly sound that reeks more of danger than amusement. “thank you.”

    “let me get you something.” you turn, but he catches your elbow. you glance back just as he drops his hand like your flesh has burned him, an uncharacteristic redness adorning his cheeks.

   “didn’t mean to touch you,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “but i’m serious; i don’t need anything. it’s useless anyway.”

    everything is useless. every remedy he’s ever been given has never worked. the only remedy for insomnia that has worked for kaz brekker is you.

   but you can’t do that to him. you can’t do that to yourself. 

    “okay,” you mumble. “just. . . stop making so much noise, alright?”

   “did i really wake you?”

    “i couldn’t sleep either.”

    you stare at each other. it’s like you’re waiting for the other to break. you hate that you kind of want him to break.

    his adams apple bobs. “make yourself some tea, then. i’ll be a bit quieter.”

    you nod. “thanks.”

   “how’s inej, by the way? did you see her?”

    “i did. she seems. . . okay.” you shrug. “the doctors are going to do everything they can to help her get back to normal. then you can go back to the barrel.”

    kaz nods, though his movements are slower this time around, shoulders a little more slumped. neither of you say anything else as you walk out, tugging your dressing gown a little tighter around your body. 

   you don’t take his advice. you don’t need tea, or whiskey, or a fresh blanket; with kaz’s words and his expressions and him, you know there is no way you’re getting to sleep any time soon, no matter what remedy you use.

    ----

     “good morning, royalty.”

    the king looks up from his breakfast, the very breakfast you have just tested for poison. it sits weirdly in your stomach this morning; after a sleepless night, your appetite has deserted you, but you have no choice besides eating.

   kaz strolls into the room, dressed in a suit. his white shirt sits against his chest, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal the crow tattoo on his arm. you awkwardly rub your own crow tattoo, suddenly very aware of how permanent it is.

    “good morning, mr brekker,” the king says. “again, you surprise me with your presence. we weren’t expecting you for breakfast.”

    “i am just full of surprises.” he sits down in his usual seat and meets your eyes. “how are you this morning, y/n?”

    “y/n was just about to leave,” the king replies, as you knew he would; he likes hearing your voice as little as possible. 

    kaz, however, keeps his eyes on you. “i asked y/n. not you.”

    you stare straight at him, a silent warning. “i’m good, mr brekker. well-rested.”

    “you can call me kaz.” he leans back, grinning. “i’m glad to hear it. maybe you and i can take a walk amongst the duck pond again later on.”

   there he goes, putting on that god awful formal accent that he thinks is so funny. 

    you scowl. “i’m a bit busy today, mr brekker.”

   “kaz.”

   “he asked you to call him kaz, y/n,” the king snaps.

   kaz nods. “i asked you to call me kaz, y/n.”

   you bite your lip, pushing back the retort that so desperately wants to rise. he’s just sat there, grinning with no shame. the king is looking straight at him, and he doesn’t even care.

    “any duties you’ve been given today can be postponed until later,” the king says. “mr brekker is our guest, and if he wants your company, your company he shall receive.”

    kaz’s grin gets wider, and oh, you want so desperately to punch him square in the face. instead, you force a smile, turning to the king to tell him just how honoured you would be to give kaz brekker your company on this fine morning.

   and that’s how you find yourself strolling through the gardens with kaz, yet again.

    “you’re unbelieable,” you mumble, arms folded over your chest like a school kid having a tantrum. 

    “i’m good,” he replies. “you know i’m good, y/n. i don’t know why you act surprised.”

    “he’s the king, kaz,” you hiss. “can you not tone it down a little?”

   “tone what down?”

   “the-” you gesture vaguely, though the only word you can conjure is flirting, and there’s no way in hell you’re letting that slip into the conversation. “the shit. tone down the shit!”

   “i’m not scared of him. i know you want me to be, but i’m not.”

    “oh yes. how could i forget? kaz brekker isn’t scared of anything.”

    kaz scoffs. “kaz brekker is scared of plenty of things - men aren’t one of them.”

   such a kaz thing to say. the most frustrating bit about it was that he was telling the truth.

    “i told inej what your job is here,” he continues after a moment of tense silence.  

   “oh?”

   “she understands. says you’ve always been one to do anything to survive.”

   you shrug. she’s right. 

    “that worries me, you know.”

    “nothing worries you, kaz.”

   “the thought of you in danger does.”

   you shake your head. “don’t start this now. you said it yourself; what we had was nothing.”

    “why can’t i worry about you without it having to mean something bigger?”

    “because everything you say means something bigger.”

   kaz falls silent. he knows it’s true, and so do you. kaz has never been able to speak his full extent, always letting people think less of him so he can take them by surprise when the time is right. you have learned first hand how frustrating that can be, but it was also a part of him you grew to love. it was what made him so intelligent, so cunning. it was what made him kaz. 

 “are you not ever worried you’re going to get unlucky one day?”

   you glance over. he keeps his head ducked down, one hand curled around the head of his cane, the other tucked into his pocket. “i know what i signed up for. getting poisoned was kind of part of the risk.”

    “since when did you even know how to identify poisons?”

   your lips twitch. “jesper taught me.”

   kaz rolls his eyes skyward, running a hand through his hair; the sun glows against his tan skin. “of course he did. honestly, the shit you two got up to when i wasn’t around-”

    “we had fun,” you say. “we could only do that when you weren’t hovering over our shoulders.”

   kaz glares. 

   you look to the floor, afraid to smile at him, afraid to open this conversation into something even mildly pleasant; if you can get through this entire visit without thinking of kaz fondly, maybe it will make all of it a bit easier. maybe you’ll be able to trick yourself into thinking you’ve moved on, grown stronger since your time in the barrel.

        “how is jesper?” you ask, because you suddenly feel like you can’t help it.

   kaz shrugs. “how jesper always is.”

    “worse?”

    “for a while. he didn’t take you leaving very well, but he straightened himself out.” kaz tugs on his lapels. “he always does.”

    “yeah. he does.”    

    you wonder about jesper sometimes. it hurts to know he took your leave badly, though you should have known; jesper has never been one to handle his feelings well. that was your job on his behalf. you would often sit with him at night, just to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. you once handcuffed him to his bed post to stop him heading out into the gambling hall of the hotel you were staying in.

    he was the only one you could ever really properly speak to about what was going on between you and kaz. inej understood kaz, but jesper was kaz’s right-hand man. he was the one kaz would go to about things like that.

    “does jesper know how to make your brew?”

    there is no moment of confusion, like he was expecting the question. “i’m sure he does. i never ask him to make it, though.”

    your nostrils flare. “kaz-”

   “listen, the nightmares aren’t going to disappear,” he says, raising a silencing hand that you swat away before he can think it works. “i don’t need some special brew helping me sleep.”

   “no, you’ll just stay awake until you drop dead.”

   kaz grins, sharp as knives. “that’ll be the way to go, won’t it?”

   you shove his shoulder, suddenly furious. he looks over, still grinning, because kaz has always found your frustration amusing. he used to say you looked like a chipmunk who just got their nuts stolen.

    “for someone so smart,” you hiss, “you’re pretty stupid.”

   “because i won’t indulge in your famous sleep remedy?”

   “because you’ll let yourself suffer before asking for help.”

    his smile fades. “i only ask certain people for help, y/n. it’s not my fault those people keep leaving.”

    your heart drops; there he goes again with the impersonal little jabs, knowing he’s cutting you so, so deep. you don’t even humour him with a response, instead quickening your pace until you begin to feel like he isn’t even there.

    but that’s impossible, because he’s kaz brekker. he’s yours. even when he truly isn’t there, it’s like he’s walking right beside you, and you’re beginning to get very annoyed by the attachment. it’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on kaz, but neither of you seem able to help it.

   you continue walking until the cold gets a little too much. then you head back to the palace in silence. 

----

    final meal of the day. you will make sure it’s not poisoned, and then you will go to bed.

    kaz is there, as per usual. the king and queen don’t even act shocked any more, simply welcoming him into the dining hall. oftentimes, he’ll stroll in by your side, his cane clicking against the marble and that smug little smile playing on his face. you always ignore him, even though the king says it’s disrespectful to do so. 

   tonight, you do just that. you take your seat beside the king, gather up his food and start the process. the beef is smothered in gravy, making the scent test a little difficult, but you give it a go anyway, because it’s protocol by now. 

   kaz watches from afar, one finger pressed to his lips. he’s lounging back like he’s comfortable, like sitting in a palace is what he does every day. his eyes are narrowed, focused.

    you pop the beef into your mouth and chew; nothing.

   you move onto the potatoes. nothing.

    finally, you dip your fork into the sweetcorn and raise it to your lips.

    kaz slaps the fork from your hand. he makes no noise. one minute he is sat at the head of the table, and the next he is by your side, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you from your seat.

   the queen shrieks as the fork flies directly at her, sweetcorn and all. a glass of wine tips over when kaz pulls you to your feet, your knee slamming against the underside of the table. palace guards run inside, but none of them know what to do - nobody in the room shouldn’t be there, and so they stand by the door, glancing at each other.

   your eyes, however, are trained on kaz.

   “what. the. fuck?” you hiss under your breath as the king tends to his startled wife.

   kaz meets your eyes dead on. “you really need to get better at your job.” he grabs your arm and starts for the door. the king hollers after him, demanding to know what is going on, but kaz pays him no attention, and you have no idea why you’re not fighting any of this. your heart is hammering in your chest at a million miles per hour, and you have so many questions, but it’s just reflex by now to trust kaz. 

    he drags you through the halls until reaching his room, where he pushes open the door and leads you inside. it is only then, when it is just the two of you, that you come to your senses, replaying that scene over and over in your head.

   you whirl around, yanking your arm from his grip so harshly that you stumble back. “what the hell was that, kaz?”

    “how much training did they actually give you before throwing you in to risk your life everyday?”

   “why do you care?”

   he starts pulling his tie loose, not even looking at you. “just tell me.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, trying desperately to keep your attention away from the way his gloved fingers tug and pull at the knot on his tie. “i did a course at the start where i could identify all the different types of poisons.”

   he quirks an eyebrow. “that all?”

   “it was enough.”

   “if it was enough, y/n, you would have noticed the soft spots in the sweetcorn.”

    your head snaps up. soft spots?

   he hums, despite you saying nothing in response. “wilde yolk makes food go soft in certain places. it also kills people in about ten seconds if consumed in even the tiniest amount.” he looks up, flicking his tie off completely. “did you not learn that in your course?”

   you bite your lip and look away. you were so distracted at that dinner table these days, focusing mostly on kaz brekker at the end of the table. you had no idea he was examining your food just as much as you should have been. you had no idea he was keeping an eye out for you.

    “so is this experience enough to get you to move back to the barrel?”

   your eyes snap up. he’s staring right at you. he doesn’t even look fazed by his question.

   and that makes you so, so angry. in seconds, you have gone from grateful to furious; only kaz can elicit that response from you.

   you step back, glaring. “so that’s what this is then? you came all the way here to drag me back to the barrel?”

     “well, no. i came here to get inej help, but she seems to be healing up pretty well with all the goods your people are giving her.” he shrugs, bottom lip protruding. “so i thought i’d try my hand at this.”

     “you are unbelievable.”

   kaz raises a brow. “are you getting mad at me?”

   “you are unbelievable!” you want to throw something at him. you want to break down and cry. you kind of want to go with him. “it’s like you haven’t listened to a word i’ve said. are you that self-centred, kaz?”

    “you know i am.”

    you close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. maybe you’re overreacting. maybe you really are better off in the barrel, where you were born and raised, where you learned everything you ever knew. but here, with kaz being the one to drag you back - it reminds you so harshly that you’re his. you are his, and that is all anyone will ever see you as, and that thought. . . you don’t know how to feel about that thought.

     “this isn’t the life for you, y/n,” he continues. “you know it isn’t. once the barrel has you, it doesn’t let you go. we’ve all learned that the hard way.”

   “is that what you are?” you spit. “the hard way?”

   he shrugs. “you should be grateful it’s me and not someone worse.”

   “there is no one worse, kaz.”

   his lips twitch, the only sign that your words have actually struck a nerve. “you mean that, do you?”

   “don’t act like you’re the good guy. you know you’re evil. you’re proud of it! that’s why i had to leave. that’s why i’m in here risking my life every single fucking day! i wanted to get away from you!”

   and oh, saints, this isn’t going how you wanted it to go. the words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them, mind racing too quick for your mouth to catch up. his face continues falling with every word, but you don’t stop. 

    “saints, kaz, when are you ever going to grow the fuck up? you walk around pretending you have everything under control, that you own the place, but you’re nothing - nothing - without the rest of us. you would be dead twenty times over if it wasn’t for that little crew of yours, the people you have under your god damn thumb.” you step forward, teeth gritted. “kaz dirtyhands brekker can’t even take his own fucking gloves off.”

    “is that what you want?” he steps closer, so close your chests are almost touching. his face is red, a line of sweat glittering upon his upper lip that only ever shows itself when he’s furious, out of his mind with anger. “you want the gloves to come off? fine.”

   and then he plucks the gloves from his hands and throws them on the floor.

    his hands. the hands you have seen only twice in the years you have known him, the hands that have never touched your bare skin. suddenly they are in full view, free reign to do whatever you want with them, but all you can do is step back, one hand covering your mouth as you try and process what you’ve said, what kaz has done, how the situation could have taken such a harsh, grim turn.

    but kaz isn’t finished. kaz is never finished. 

    “is this what you want, y/n?” he demands. “you need me to bear myself completely for you to believe i’m in love with you? or is this not enough?”

   “kaz-”

    “what else is it going to take, huh? tell me.”

   “kaz, i’m-”

   “what about this?”

   he’s crazy. he’s crazy, and making mistakes, and you know this because he reaches forward and cups your face in his bare hands, flesh against flesh. shock ricochets through you, eyes widening as kaz lets out an anguished groan, his own eyes slipping closed. you feel his fingers trembling upon your skin.

   you wrench away from him, gasping.

    he immediately spins around, clutching his hands to his chest. he groans low in his throat, pressing his head against the wall. sweat trickles down the back of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. you catch a single tear run down his cheek that he can’t wipe away because then his fingers will be touching his skin, and he hates that. it kills him. you know it does.

    you rush forward, placing a hand safely on his jacket-covered shoulder. his breathing is ragged and shaky.

   “kaz,” you pant. “oh god, kaz, i’m so sorry. i’m so, so sorry. why did you do that?” you whirl around frantically. “your gloves. where are your gloves?”

   he doesn’t reply. you’re talking to yourself at this point. you spot his gloves on the floor and grab them, immediately handing them back without so much as a brush of your fingertips against his. he’s hurried and distressed when he tugs them back on, clenching his fist over and over again, as if to ensure his hands are safely hidden beneath the leather.

   he doesn’t turn around. you stand behind him, one hand pressed to your chest, eyes swimming in tears you didn’t even feel rising to the surface.

   “kaz,” you whisper. “i’m. . . i didn’t mean. . .”

   “you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he mumbles, straightening up. “i’m not asking you to return to the barrel with me so you can serve me, or whatever you think this is. i’m asking you to return so i can have you there. so we can be together again.” he glances over his shoulder. “as it should be.”

   you stare at him, wanting to respond, wanting to tell him to go to hell, but you can’t lie. never before have you been able to look kaz in the eye and lie, and maybe that’s why you say nothing. he’s right in every sense - you and him are meant to be by each other’s side, no matter what. barrel born and raised, nobody understands you quite like he does.

   but admitting that, throwing away every barrier you have worked so hard to put up . . . you can’t do it.

    kaz waits a moment longer before laughing half-heartedly, sounding more exhausted than anything else. he lowers his head, black hair falling in his face before he swipes it out of the way, looks at you and says, “get out.”

     “kaz-”

   “stop saying my name.” he turns, tossing his tie onto the bed. “get. out. inej and i will be gone tomorrow.”

    you swallow thickly, pushing away the tears. and then you do as he said, because standing in his presence for much longer is going to send you into a spiral you don’t think you’ll be able to crawl out of again. you’ve been down that road before, and it took everything in you not to be consumed.

    ----

    “why do you look like you’ve been crying?” inej asks. she’s sat up now, a tray of soup perched on her lap. the colouring has come back to her skin, and she stands up whenever she wants to. whatever the palace medics did for her is working wonders, which you suppose is one thing you should be grateful for.

    you lean over and dip a slice of bread in her soup. 

   “are you checking if it’s been poisoned?” inej jokes, and when you don’t respond, she sighs. “you and kaz have a fight?”

    you wince, which is answer enough.

   “what about this time?”

   “he wants me to go back to the barrel with you.”

    inej pauses, eyes still cast to her soup. you look at her, stomach curling in sudden realisation.

   “wait,” you say. “did you know that was his plan this entire time?”

   “no,” she replies, though she looks sheepish. “i genuinely was sick. kaz just. . . came along for the ride when he heard you were here.” she looks up and groans. “you can’t act surprised, y/n. what were you expecting? for him to just walk out and leave you here?”

   “that would have been the right thing to do, yes.”

   “well,  you know kaz better than that. use your brain.” she waves a hand in your direction. “pass me another slice of bread and tell me about this argument.”

   you don’t want to. all day you have been thinking about the feel of his hands on your face, his flesh against your own, the anguished groan ripped from his throat. he put himself through that to prove - what? that he loves you? that’s what he said, but it was only a few days prior he was claiming what you and him had was nothing. it was forgotten, and you were happy about that for the briefest moment. if kaz moved on, you could too. 

    but then he took the gloves off, and it was just. . . messed up again. you were left confused and guilty and pining, and you hated yourself for it. it was as if all that hard work you had put in to forget about kaz had been thrown out the window - trust kaz to come in and ruin everything.

    “i can see what you’re thinking, you know,” says inej suddenly.

   “can you?”

     “take it from me,” she says. “kaz is never going to get over you. he’s never going to let you go. he’s never going to stop trying for you. he’s a stubborn bastard, and a stubborn bastard is even worse when they’re in love - which kaz is. disastrously, madly in love.”

    “he said we were nothing.”

    “he’s a stubborn and prideful bastard.”

    you close your eyes, heart thumping. “i don’t know what to do, inej.”

   “well, do you love him back?”

   your eyes fly open. “what kind of question is that?”

   she shrugs. “an obvious one, but i want to know the answer.”

    you know the answer. your brain screams it at you. you have felt the answer in your bones every day since you left the barrel, and yet speaking it aloud feels like a betrayal of yourself from yourself.

    so you look away, and as inej always claims, she can see exactly what you’re thinking.

    a soft chuckle slips past her lips. “the barrel never leaves a person, y/n. and apparently, neither does kaz brekker.”

    “what are you suggesting?”

   inej shrugs. “kaz and i are leaving for ketterdam in the morning. there’s definitely room for a third person.”

----

   you don’t sleep that night. neither does kaz.

   you can hear him pacing back and forth in his room, no doubt replaying the days events over and over in his mind in the same way you are. his hands against your skin, his eyes piercing your own, those words he spoke that left you tingling all over.

    even now, laying in bed, you can’t get over what he said. i love you. that was the jidst of it, and though you had heard that confession from him a few times in the past, it was different this time around. it was kaz trying to prove himself, which he never did before. if someone didn’t take kaz at face value, he wouldn’t bother. 

    and you have to admit, hearing him say those words was like a shot to the chest. they are the very words that have been on the tip of your tongue for months now, spoken only in dreams when you finally allow yourself to sleep. you can say them to no one else - just kaz. always, always just kaz.

   and maybe this realisation is the reason you find yourself getting dressed at six in the morning. maybe this realisation is the reason you pack all your things into the ruck sack you came to the palace with. maybe this realisation is the reason you tip-toe to the courtyard, avoiding the eyes of the staff who all look at you like you’re some kind of prisoner escaping your cell.

    it’s still dark. the grass is wet beneath your thin shoes, the jacket you have pulled on doing little to protect you from the icy winds coming from the ocean just feet away from the palace’s front door. hovering on the banks is a boat, a boat you recognise as The Mast, one of the many boats kaz has won from different people around ketterdam.

   you nearly cry at the sight of it.

   you don’t waste time waiting on kaz and inej - you don’t want to have this discussion with either of them until you’re safely on the water, until you can’t change your mind. 

   you clamber onto the boat, giving a sheepish smile to the stunned crew member - Daryl, you think he’s called - as he stares at you approaching. he offers you a hand when you finally reach the deck, his eyes never leaving your own.

    “morning,” you say. “i’m y/n.”

   “i know,” daryl replies, before tipping his hat. “it’s wonderful to have you back on board.”

    you smile awkwardly, unsure how to respond; how much do the crew actually know about what happened between you and the crows? how many people bore witness to that god awful aftermath?

   you decide not to wait around to hear the answer. instead, you tell daryl you’re going down to the cabins, and he doesn’t argue. you disappear beneath the deck, finding the first room with a bed and immediately claiming it as your own; despite the lack of sleep, you are not tired in the slightest. you can’t get kaz out of your head, how he is going to react when the boat eventually docks and he sees you strolling off of it, greeted by that rancid ketterdam air. back in the barrel.

    you lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. you will fall asleep eventually. you’ll trick yourself into it.

    and then the door opens.

    your eyes snap open with it; you must have fallen asleep eventually. groggily, you lift your head and look at the intruder - and your heart immediately falls.

   “kaz.”

    he looks crazed, hair stuck up, eyes wild. behind him stands inej, grinning from ear to ear, though the minute kaz steps into the room, she disappears into the shadows, leaving you and dirtyhands alone.

    his eyes never leave yours as he approaches. he marches to your bedside, grabs your hand and pulls you up.

   “kaz-”

    he shoves you against the wall, gun pressed to your temple. you inhale sharply, though you can’t claim to be surprised or scared. you stare into his eyes, watching his own trace your features, looking for any sign that you are here in bad company.

    “kaz,” you whisper, because it’s always his name that fights past your lips. “it’s me. i’m going home.”

    his grip slackens. the gun crashes to the floor, and before you can say anything, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. you are careful to rest your head upon his shoulder, not touching his flesh, but feeling him nonetheless. tears spring to your eyes, dribbling down the bridge of your nose and soaking the shoulder of his fancy suede jacket - one he stole from the kings wardrobe, you notice.

    but you don’t pull away, afraid to go without his touch for another second.

    “is this what you want?” he asks, voice muffled by your hair. “is this really what you’ve decided?”

    “yes.” you pull away, hands sliding down his arms. “you’re right, kaz. the barrel is . . . it’s a shit hole, but it’s where i belong. it’s all i know. and you and me. . . we have to do this thing together.”

    he narrows his eyes. “what thing?”

   “everything.”

   the corners of his mouth twitch. you can imagine kissing those lips, drawing him close and embracing in that way lovers often do. however, you’re content, happy even, with the way things are. you hold his gloved hands, and he says he loves you. you confide in him, and he confides in you, and sometimes you fight like children, but in the end, he will have your back no matter what.

    “everything,” he repeats. “yeah.” he slips his gloved hands into the sleeve of your jacket, tracing his fingers along your crow tattoo, the one he matched, the one everyone matched when they decided to let the barrel take them over. you shiver, biting your lower lip. “you still have it.”

    “i could hardly get rid of it,” you reply. kaz looks up, and you sigh. “i would never get rid of it, kaz. no matter what.”

     he nods, rolling your sleeve back down. he pulls it over your wrist, covering your fingers before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the soft, rain soaked fabric. 

    he looks up at you again. “yes. no matter what.” 

[copias-thrall]

Would it be alright to request some Papa IV x f!Reader? Like the reader is a very kind and sweet person and she has always supported Copia kind of thing? Maybe they’re having a whole day to themselves to celebrate?

Yes! Let’s get some more sweet Copia 😊 

They made fun of him and called him The Rat.

Terzo made him the butt of all his pranks.

Nihil undermined him at every turn.

Imperator pushed him to the point of breaking.

What you saw a man trying to do his best with his only flaw being an outsider within the Abbey walls, and in a place where actual hellbeasts were basically demon cats, were rats such an odd choice of pet?

You were fairly certain Copia knew the “Squeak if u like cheze” sign was taped to his back, but he just walked down the corridors anyway and let the Siblings and Ghouls chitter at him. You’d seen this man save one of the Abbey mice from a glue trap, and your heart just couldn’t let it continue.

So, you’d approached him and offered to remove the offending paper.

Copia, however, had just smiled at you.

“It is good of you to say, Sister. But let them have their fun, eh?”

He’d given you a slight bow and had gone on his merry way.

After that, however, Copia had warmed to you, often seeking you out so he could sit with you in the mess hall at mealtimes or chat theology with you on lazy Saturday afternoons.

When some of Terzo’s faction had started stuttering to make fun of Copia’s shyness with public speaking, you’d tried to shut them down. Not everyone was good in front of a crowd—especially when that crowd was hostile. All that did, however, was get them to double down and start calling you, "rat lover."

“Doesn’t it bother you, Cardinal?" you'd asked during one of your food dates. "It’s so…petty.”

But he’d just given you a fond look.

“It is of no consequence, dear Sister. Let them be thinking what they will.”

You’d learned all of his rats’ names and started smuggling them contraband from the kitchens.

Copia had you transferred from Imperator’s admin pool to work as his assistant.

“All this new paperwork!” He’s swept his arm across the stacks of his desk. “I thought I could be using a little help from a friend, yes?”

You’d inherently understood you weren’t there to file paperwork—you were there to tell him when to take a break, to replace his cold coffee, and to be a sounding board.

And you didn’t miss the way Copia’s mismatched eyes would look on you with adoration.

Well, you thought he was pretty neat, too.

When he’d been away on his first tour, you’d done your best to keep up with him. You had your other duties and your friends, but you tried to send him a supportive word before, during, and after each performance.

His missives back had grown fewer as the tour had dragged on, but each one had been effusive—if riddled with typos.

After the first tour, things had been different. Copia had come back from the road a glowing success…and in a tight suit that showed off his assets instead of his smothering cassock.

The tide turned, and while there were still his many detractors, gone were the days of “kick me” signs and farces.

You’d noticed a significant pay increase and an extra day off.

“But Cardinal! You need me here!” you’d protested.

He’d simply grabbed your hands and kissed each one.

“I do. And that is why you must be well-rested. Lots to get done. Now, shoo!”

And truth be told, the two of you had worked harder. Copia had spent less and less time in his study and more time attending meetings or at band practice or at weekend symposiums. You’d done your best on keeping his mountain of paperwork down to a molehill, but sometimes the two of you needed to work late into the night to meet seemingly arbitrary deadlines while you put your foot down and told the kitchen Ghoul that making some rigatoni past hours wasn’t going to kill them.

Of course, then you needed to put your foot down about Copia stopping long enough to eat the carbonara. Sometimes he’d growl at you, and you’d have to snap your fingers at him and tell him being hangry wasn’t a good excuse to be snippy with you; he was predictably contrite after he’d consumed a good portion, and you took his apologies as your due.

All of which is to say: you had Copia’s back from the get-go, and he knew you were always in his corner.

When he comes back from Mexico newly ascended, there are dozens of Siblings who want a piece of him. Some—like you—have been in his fan club since day 1; others jumped on the bandwagon during the final tour; while a few just see the razzle dazzle and want to shine too.

You’re in his study because you want to make sure everything is caught up before he comes back to work. You imagine that he’s going to spend a few days reaping the rewards of his promotion, and—while a part of you feels a little let down about not being a part of that particular party—you are genuinely invested in Copia succeeding.

So when the door bangs open, you’re startled to find Copia…er…Papa Emeritus the 4th striding into the room.

“Oh! Your Dark Excellency! I was just making sure—”

“How did I be knowing I would find you here, eh? Today is not a day to be working!”

“But you—”

He makes a shushing noise and reaches his hands out. They linger in the air between the both of you until he makes a “come here” motion with his fingers.

Tentatively, you curl your fingers into his gloved ones.

“We are taking the day off, yes?”

“W-we?”

Copia raises an eyebrow at you. “Sí. With who else should I be celebrating?”

You blush, pleased that he seems genuinely baffled.

The March air is living up to its reputation, so Copia leads you to one of the sunniest rooms in the Abbey. There, you find a picnic blanket set up with a picturesque spread of food, and Rain helping Mountain to position a bevy of potted plants around the area.

Copia clucks at them good-naturedly to leave. Rain gives you the thumbs up and Mountain just pats you on the head as they leave. (As Copia’s Girl Friday, you’ve had to backmanage his ghoulies as much as you’ve had to organize his report piles.)

When he gestures for you to sit, you arrange yourself comfortably in a big square of sun that’s streaming in from the windows. As you take in the meats, cheeses, sandwiches, and fruits that populate the corner of the blanket, Copia putters around with a bottle of Champagne and two glasses.

The whole thing is a little unexpected, but not unwelcome, and you watch him with fondness as he utters a Whoopsie when the cork goes flying at the ceiling and as he obsesses over making each glass level.

You two clink glasses with a Salute, both taking a modest sip.

“This is lovely, Cop—uh, Papa.” He’s all smiles. “But why me?”

His eyebrows draw together, and he tilts his head at you.

“Mia cara…who else would it be?”

You blush and shrug your shoulders, looking down at your platter. When he takes your hand in his warm, leathered one, you look up and get lost in his earnest, mismatched gaze.

“You are the most important person in my life.”

His thumb strokes over your knuckles.

“You are too sweet, mia cara. Helping an old man—”

“You’re not old—”

He tsks at you.

“Helping a person I am being. At my side even when you are in the knowing.” He taps his nose and winks. “Our little conspiracy of silence, yes?”

That Copia is not quite exactly the bumbling, nutty-professor he leads the rest of the Clergy to believe he is? Yeah, obviously.

He nods.

“And yet, you are by my side. Keeping my head on straight. Because you are wanting to.”

Because you saw the way he treated his rats, his Ghouls, and even Sister Imperator. He may have a dangerous ambition, but he’s not a dangerous man.

“I believe in you Papa.”

He gives you that fond look again.

“Well. I believe in you too, Sister.”

Copia lets your hand go and claps.

“Now! Let us enjoy this feast! Next up is a movie marathon where we enjoy our food comas, yes?”

You pop a grape into your mouth.

“Of course, Papa.” You give him a devilish smile. “How ‘bout you give the schedule so I can make sure we’re on track, hm?”

He blinks at you for a moment before giving you his little rat laugh.

“Ah, eh heh heh! There is my little taskmaster.”

“What would you do without me?”

He tosses a gape and just barely catches it in his mouth.

“I wouldn’t, cara. I wouldn’t.”

[szallejhscorner]

Too Late

How Long is Forever - Part 29

3.6k words, @nek0dzuken @amortentiaz @lindsayjoy444 @lilithlamorgue @beewolfwrites @booksandhoneymilktea @sadeyesgf @celestiacq

The rain feels so cold. Like ice-cold needles piercing your skin with every drop falling down from the thick clouds. But there is another cold emerging from deep inside of you, and it tastes like fear. Is this the end?

You wanted to be strong, wanted to stand up against his apathetic manners for once, because you were angry – and still are – and it was just right to show him. He might not be the most experienced when it comes to relationships, but even for someone like Chishiya, it means not only to take, but to give as well.

Sure, he has given you many things lately. And it’s fine if he doesn’t want to talk about his past for now. Yet he didn’t have to be so blunt about it!

You ruffle your soaked hair and shout out angrily. Why does loving Chishiya have to be so difficult at times?

It doesn’t matter where you go, because you can’t see clearly anyway. Even without the tears constantly streaming down your cheeks, the rain would make it impossible to make out anything further away than your outstretched hand. Not that you’d know where to go. Waiting for Chishiya at the game venue is not an option, because you can’t face that man right now without the danger of punching him into his face. And going back to the caravan doesn’t feel right as well…

Will he come back once he’s done clearing his silly game? Will he agree to talk about what happened and set things right again?

It is Chishiya, after all. He is not that kind of person to follow somebody around. What if pride will keep him from returning… what if he has put you behind already?

Facing him again like this isn’t a good option anyway. You need to calm down first so you won’t say or do things you might regret later. Right now, the rusty cars covering the street are taking the hits and kicks from you, and you don’t care that your knuckles are turning brightly red and that your foot starts to hurt with a throbbing pain. The pain is the fuel you need right now, the physical ache as well as the incomprehensible pain inside your chest.

You barely realize how the markets and shops give way to a park, how a neat bridge leads you over a small river and how the broken pieces of a blimp have caused a school to collapse with parts of a Clubs flag still clinging to a swing next to the building.

A stray dog crosses your path, not really bothered by the cold rain although it appears as wrecked as you feel. Its fur is dull and tauted, and the ribs are clearly visible under its skin. It growls at you, but it is a weak noise, proving that the animal is more afraid of you than the other way round.

“This is all I have to spare… Sorry if it’s not what you prefer to eat,” you whisper as you pull out the fruit and nut mix and rip the bag open before placing it on the ground before you. You don’t feel hunger right now, and thus take a few steps back so the dog can approach the offer with a safe distance to you.

It sniffs at the snack that is already soaked with rain, but starvation forces it to empty the whole bag within mere seconds. You don’t wait for it to finish but instead continue your aimless walk to nowhere, and you can’t help but think about Chishiya. Has he been able to clear his game already? Does he think about you like you think about him? What will he say to you when you meet again?

Even without the rain, you would not be able to see the Jack of Diamonds blimp anymore. And the sound of its explosion would not reach to you either, so there is no way to find out about this for now. But you feel so cold that you can barely move any longer, and maybe it’s time to search shelter somewhere from the rain.

Just… where?

You’re sure that somewhere around here, you’ll find an apartment that you can break in to easily. Some unlocked door, a destroyed window maybe… And if you’re lucky enough, there will even be some canned food.

A gust of wind pushes you forward, causing you to almost stumble over the ground. It sounds almost as if the wind calls your name, and you laugh dryly at that thought. Are you going crazy already?

But there it is again, someone calling your name. It sounds far away, almost completely going under in the rain, yet you can hear it a third time. You turn around, part of you hoping that Chishiya managed to find you after all and is now calling you to go home.

The streets are empty, and you can see no face inside the windows above your head… The voice calls again, louder and more determined this time so you finally are able to make out the direction where it’s coming from – the Meguro cinema.

It’s a ways to go to the shelter I’ve found yesterday, you know? Just search for the Meguro cinema if you want to come for a visit.

Kuina.

Your legs start to run long before your mind realizes who is waving for you in the entrance of the once brightly lit cinema. As you throw yourself into the arms of your tall friend, feeling how she pats your back while she huffs complaints about how you soak her clothes as well, fresh tears emerge from your eyes once again.

What started as a reunion-hug quickly turns into a gesture of massively needed comfort, and Kuina continues to pat your back and whisper soothing words to you for a while longer. Just how does she manage to be there every time something goes wrong between Chishiya and you?

Keeping the grip on your shoulders, she pushes you a bit away to look into your face. “Honey. I have SO many questions! But it’s no good when you die from a fever, so we’ll make sure to get you some dry clothes first, hm?”

You nod and wipe your nose with the sleeve of your soaked shirt, and Kuina leads you into the lobby of the cinema, which is sparely lit and even appears a bit creepy with all the dark corners and shadows. You catch sight of a couple of lounge chairs decorated with pillows and blankets and some clothes here and there, and it’s obvious that this is the corner Kuina has chosen for herself.

Battery-operated lamps are the only source of light, but it’s enough to see most parts of the lounge corner. The empty popcorn bags and beer bottles have been thrown away far enough to escape the light beams, but a decent smell remains.

For a moment, Kuina’s dreadlocks disappear inside a bag almost as huge as the woman herself, and without even looking at you, she throws out a towel, some fresh underwear and basic clothes that won’t fit at all, but at least they’re dry.

Getting out of the wet clothes is uncomfortable and the air feels even colder on your skin now, but at least you have the towel to wrap into. If only you could have a hot shower and throw the towel over the heater so it would be warm and comfy the moment you stepped out of the water…

“I’ve seen this face often enough to know that those are Chishiya-tears. So what has that bastard done this ti- oh?” Kuina turns around at the end of that sentence and stops at the sight of the freshly bandaged wounds and reddened skin around them.

You follow her eyes to see what has startled her and shrug. “The King of Hearts. We ran there to escape the King of Spades, and I have been electrocuted and had a near-death experience, but we managed to clear the game.” It doesn’t sound too confident at all with your shaky voice and the sobs interrupting your speech, but your thoughts wander on to what happened after the game, causing your lips to turn into a bittersweet smile while you pull over a black top.

Kuina kneels down next to you and lifts your chin with her hands, and her brown orbs spark with curiosity while she expects your teary eyes. “Hold on. There’s more behind that grin. You wouldn’t grin after remembering the King of…” she slowly exhales a breath and leans back on her heels. “you did it. For fuck’s sake, you did it!”

It feels so good to slip into dry socks, even more because they’re a bit fluffy, and you try to avoid the gaze of your friend while your face reddens. Kuina huffs and chuckles mockingly.

“Is he so terrible at it that you come here in the pouring rain, crying and sobbing, just to bitch about him with me?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh and box Kuina into her shoulder. “Of course not! I… we…” It’s hard to summarize everything that happened afterwards into a few words. “We talked about our future, you know – if we will live together. I started to ask about children, which apparently is a total taboo issue for him. He refused to talk, I refused to stop asking, and then…” Kuina hands over a tissue to you and only then you realize that the tears have started to fall again. “He told me to stay if I can accept that he will never be a Prince Charming, or to leave if I can’t.”

Kuina stares at you with perplexed eyes and shakes the dark dreadlocks before she grabs your wet clothes and puts them away so they can dry. “And you left?”

“Obviously.” You sigh and hide your face behind your hands. “I was so mad at him! I couldn’t stay there just like that, so I had to leave! Maybe I panicked? But it wasn’t fair! We have come so close to each other lately, and a relationship does not work with someone just taking while the other doesn’t stop to give.”

As soon as she is done with hanging up the clothes, Kuina drops down on the seat next to you and wraps a blanket around both of you. She rummages through something next to her again and pulls out two bottles of beer and reaches one to you after opening them.

You make a grimace at the bitter taste of the warm and stale liquid, but Kuina doesn’t give you time to complain. “Since when has Chishiya ever been easy to handle? Be honest to yourself, sweetie! You knew from day one that he will never be that guy to gift you roses and chocolate. And still you did everything so you could stay near him. Why not this time?”

There is no doubt in her words, and you know she’s right. Chishiya has been nothing but honest to you, and he didn’t tell you to leave. He offered you to stay, with the premise that you’d stop complaining about who he is.

“And on top of that,” Kuina continues,” I do think he has given back some things to you. When I first met him in the Beach, he would have never been the guy to share a caravan with someone and let them hug and kiss him as they please. But once you stepped into his life… he slowly changed.”

She takes a gulp of her beer, not minding the taste at all, and puts her arm around your shoulder. “It started when he woke me up in the middle of the night so I could comfort you. Remember that day?”

You nod, since it’d be impossible to forget that night. Although you didn’t know he actually sent for Kuina – but thinking about it now, why else would she approach you at the pools in that time of night right after you were experiencing an emotional meltdown?

“He cares for you. Yes, he’s an asshole and definitely the worst person on earth to handle his feelings, but he has them. So let me ask you now: do you still love him?”

This answer doesn’t need any considering time. “Yes. Of course I do!”

From the corner of your eye, you can see a satisfied smile on Kuina’s face. “And do you think you’ll be able to handle his sociopathic traits?”

You can’t help but snort at this. He will never change into a completely different person. There might be things he will never tell you, situations that will always be difficult for you. And still…

“I want to be able to.” It’s a mere whisper, but it feels just right to say it. “Even though he will never be that Prince.”

“You know, honey… There’s a point both of you have been missing.” Kuina extends the half-emptied beer bottle inside her hand as if it would help to prove her point. “Chishiya might not be charming for anyone but you, but that’s the thing. For you, he is your prince charming.”

And with that, she gets up and wraps the remaining blanket around you. You can’t make out what exactly she’s doing, but soon enough a wonderful smell reaches your nose and while you’re still pondering over her words, Kuina eventually approaches you with two steaming bowls in her hand.

“Is that… meat!?” You exclaim at the sight of the food, which is basically some kind of stew with rice and meat that resembles chicken. Kuina nods with a proud grin.

“Yep, it’s rabbit! Managed to hunt it down just this morning, so enjoy it while it’s still hot.”

She doesn’t have to tell you twice, since it has been over a week since you’ve had meat to eat for the last time. Neither Chishiya nor you have tried yourselves in hunting down living animals as long as there were enough instant noodles and sauce packages.

During your dinner, Kuina won’t stop to ask questions about the last night, and while you try to avoid the details, she won’t give up until you give her at least some answers. “So you don’t think it was his first time?”

You huff and stare into the opening of the beer bottle. It still tastes bad, but you slowly get used to it. “Actually… I don’t really want to think about that. And I don’t care as well.” Which is true, because while you’re sure that Chishiya didn’t have a real relationship before he came to the Borderlands, you still don’t want to know about his sexual encounters during that time.

“But you’re going back to him.”

“Maybe he’ll allow me to. Just… I don’t know where to search for him.” It is too dark already to leave for the caravan, and you’re not sure if he will be there after all.

Kuina places down her now empty bowl and grabs a bucket of popcorn. “The King of Diamonds is not far from here and last time I checked, its blimp was still up. Maybe head there as soon as it’s light enough in the morning?”

You nod, since this sounds like a place Chishiya would definitely search for. Although you worry what you’ll do if he is not there, Kuina already places her hand on your shoulder as if she can sense your worries. “Use your heart or something, and you’ll find him. Somehow you always do.”

 Night approaches, and with a full stomach and dry clothes and your friend next to you, you fall asleep within minutes. It is a dreamless night, and the moment you wake up, you are too antsy to stay inside the cinema for much longer. Outside of the huge glass walls, the sun goes up behind the rain clouds, and a quick breakfast is all Kuina can convince you to before you leave.

She hands you over your now dried clothes and a rain jacket, way too big for you but the best thing inside since Kuina has no umbrellas near. She accompanies you to the outside and leads you to the other side of the building, a thin jacket barely sheltering her from the rain herself. Her hand raises to point towards a special direction, but it stops midway.

“Oh. It seems that the King has been defeated.”

Feeling your heart drop to your knees, you exhale a shaky breath. If Chishiya cleared the game already, how are you supposed to know where he is?

Once again, it’s Kuina placing her hands on both your shoulders and squeezing them tight. “you will find him. Don’t ask me how, I just know you’ll do.”

You nod, although you’re not completely convinced yet. “What about you?”

Your friend gives you a wide grin and pulls you into a hug. This time it’s her wearing the soaked clothes, but you barely feel them against the material of the rain jacket. “There’s still a Spades game waiting for me! Someone else can have that damned King, but the Jack is mine.”

“Come back alive, okay?”

“Same goes for you,” she mumbles at your back before she lets go and pushes you towards the direction where the King of Diamonds has been. Somehow you’re not worried about her – if someone is capable of defeating the Jack of Spades, then it’s Kuina.

Walking fast through the empty streets, you throw a look to the sides now and then, searching for any clue about where Chishiya could be now. The plan is to head to the Diamonds game even if it has been cleared already, but maybe he is still around there. And if not, you should be able to find the way back to the shopping mall and from there back to the caravan. He has to be there, somewhere.

Charred parts of a blimp lead you to the Supreme Court, but they’re already cold and long distinguished by the rain. It seems that even if Chishiya has been part of defeating the King, it probably happened still yesterday. Which would fit him, of course – heading for the King right after he defeated the Jack.

“I hope you’re proud, Chishiya. Clearing all three Diamonds games…” your whisper drowns out in the rain, and you choose one of the streets without thinking too much about it. He is not here anymore, so maybe the caravan…

A gunshot makes you jump, and you immediately turn towards the direction where it came from. It was not too close, but it means someone has to be there. And it didn’t sound like a sniper, especially since you don’t see the moving blimp somewhere close.

Suddenly you’re freezing with fear. Not for yourself, but for Chishiya. What if he has gotten himself into trouble? What if he’s…

NO. You start to run, still trying to hide in the shadows of the building so whoever has given off that shot won’t try to hurt you as well, and one particular thought repeats inside your mind like a mantra. He will be fine. He’s not hurt. He will be fine. He’s not hurt.

There is no second gunshot, but you can hear screams, and their voices are familiar to you. While it’s not Chishiya, you have heard them before, you just can’t say exactly who it is. With heavy breath, you climb the hill in front of you, only to freeze at the sight presenting itself.

The highway is partly cracked and overgrown with grass, and dozens if not hundreds of cars are scattered everywhere over it. One figure is lingering on top of one car, his upper body wrapped in cloth stripes and bandages and pointing a rifle at someone else. Judging by the dreadful laughter and his wrecked appearance, this can only be Niragi. Kuina told you he’s still alive, even though you didn’t want to believe it.

His gun is pointed to that climber girl from the Beach – Usagi? – and hiding behind another car, armed with a rifle as well, stands Arisu, who cries out for Usagi to leave with panicked voice. But you don’t care for them the slightest bit, because in the next moment, you catch sight of another figure leaning against the side of a car. He looks pale, and his left shoulder is covered in dark crimson.

“CHISHIYA!!”

The moment you shout out his name and start running again, everything happens all at once.

Niragi fires his gun at Usagi, and Arisu doesn’t hesitate even a heartbeat to fire back at him. You barely see Niragi fall down the car, since your eyes are glued to Chishiya.

He has taken a step away from the car towards Usagi, and in the moment you shout out his name, he turns his eyes towards you. They grow big, but if from your sight or from the bullet burying itself into his stomach, you can’t tell.

You reach him the moment his body slumps to the ground, and you’re there just in time to support his head before it crashes down onto the concrete as well. A burbling sound escapes his mouth, and you feel a hot liquid covering your hand that rests on his side way too quickly.

So much blood, and it’s burning even hotter than the tears against your skin. And there is nothing you can do as desperation and fear squeeze tightly around your heart.

Too late.

[severetimetravelnerd]

I Don’t Know(13) (ft. G Dragon and MINO)

Part 13

You’ve had enough of this crap.

This series will be updated once a week, every Friday! No specific time though lol. It’s an AU where Jiyong has a younger sister and you’re her best friend! Featuring my OC Mirae as the Best friend. Just saying, it’s not related to any of the scenarios I’ve written so far. Please do leave me some comments or asks! I love receiving them! It’s also a bit of a love triangle situation, so yeah :)) There will be eventual smut in this series.

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Taglist:

@kwonnansi​ ; @unabashedturkeytreeslime​ ; @happiestgirlontheeastcoast​; @yee-hawwwwwwww​ ; @slayergroupie0128​ ; @herewecomeitsjekki​ ; @happygirl327​ ; @to-all-the-stories-i-love​ ; @kankoshio​

Please comment if you’d like to be added to the tag list:))

This is the second last part!!

Word Count: 2020

WARNINGS:  crying, drinking.

——————————————-

You tried to put up with it. You really did. For two weeks, you respected his wishes and put some distance between the two of you, no matter how much it hurt you to go back to being practically strangers with Jiyong. You didn’t message him. You passed on all messages for him via his manager. You didn’t try and acknowledge his existence at work, even though you were working on his comeback. It got tougher by the day, because his manager had given you printouts of the lyrics of the songs in his comeback for you and your team to have a better idea of what to do and after reading them, you were moments away from bursting into tears, because of the beautiful way in which he put down the feeling of longing he had for you. You knew that feeling. It was what you felt for him. For all those years, and somewhere deep down, you knew you still did. You also had to fight the urge to laugh, because when you read his lyrics about wanting to be close to you, all you wanted to do was shake him and ask him why he was pushing you away again. Yeah, maybe he wasn’t being mean to you this time, but it hurt. It hurt so goddamn much. You were so confused. But you tried. You really tried to maintain the distance. You tried even harder to pretend like it wasn’t affecting you. But you betrayed yourself in the small things. The hope in your eyes whenever you thought you heard his voice. The constant looks towards the door. The general air of weariness about you. The pained expression you got whenever someone spoke about him. Even so, you persevered for two weeks before a combination of things made you snap.

-two weeks later-

You were mid conversation with Hwiyoung when Jiyong’s manager walked in. He was smiling and looked very excited.

“Okay, you guys! I thought it might help with your work if you listened to Jiyong’s album, starting with the title track ‘I Don’t Know’. It’s the song for the music video you’ve been working on!”

And before you could make an excuse to get out of listening to something you knew would only cause you more pain, he started playing it. The moment you heard Jiyong’s voice reading out the message he sent you the night you confessed to him, you found yourself unable to move. You wanted to get up and walk away, but from the sound of his beautifully melodic voice and the things he was talking about, you were stuck in this flurry of memories. They all flashed before your eyes. The day you realised you liked him, the times you cried over him, the times he comforted you; everything took over in this wave of emotions and it proved to be too much for you to bare. The song had ended, but you were still stuck in your own world. You were only jolted out of it when Somin hesitantly wiped a tear off your face. Shocked at yourself, you looked upwards to find Hwiyoung, Lia, Somin and Jiyong’s manager staring at you, confused. You opened your mouth to make an excuse and laugh it off, but you couldn’t.

“I-I need to go.” Your voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”

And you walked out of the room, tears streaming down your face.

What was going on? What was Jiyong playing at? You liked him and then he rejected you. You tried getting over him and more or less succeeded, but then he entered your life again. He told you he loved you, he acted like he cared. He drew you out of your walls, enough to trust him again and expect something from him, when he disappeared and ignored your existence. That song pushed you too far. You were just so confused. You walked down the hall, fully planning on crying until you calmed down and returning to work, when you heard his voice. At first, you thought it was just the song echoing in your head, when you heard it again. His laugh. Pausing, you looked around and realised you were near a practice room, with the door wide open. Against what your mind was telling you to do, you peeped in to see Jiyong doubled over with laughter and the actor blushing and hiding her face.

“Jiyong, stop laughing at me!”

“That is not what I meant when I said dance.”

“Well, I know that now.”

“Here, this is how you do it.”

He turned her to face him and guided her arms to wrap around his neck. Smiling, he wrapped his arms around her waist, leaned her head against his chest and began swaying to the music. And that was it. You snapped. It wasn’t even seeing the way she looked at him or the way he touched her, though that didn’t help. It was the song he played while dancing with her. It was the same song that played for the first dance at Sohyun’s wedding. It was the same song the two of you danced to over and over again. You looked down at your phone, looking through the images and finding the picture from that night. It was one of the few good memories you had with him. Subconsciously, you always thought of that song as special to you and Jiyong. Seeing just how special it was to him, you felt betrayed. It wasn’t even noon, but you were done. You needed it to stop. You walked off, deciding to go to Mirae’s house and drink your ass off. Little did you know Jiyong heard your footsteps as you walked off. He wanted to run after you, hold you and erase every memory of him with that other girl, but he couldn’t. He knew he had to maintain the space. You were happier without him.

---

Mirae jumped up from the couch when she heard this continuous knocking on her door, almost annoyingly loud.

“Hold on, for fuck’s sake! I’ll be there in a minute.”

She flung open the door, fully prepared to scream at whoever was at the door when her jaw dropped. You were standing there, seriously dishevelled, in your work clothes. Your hair was pulled out of the neat arrangement it had been in in the morning, your make up was smudged from all the crying and you had tear marks running down your face. You had this painfully forced smile on your face and you held two bottles of wine in your hand.

“Mirae! Babe,” You threw your arms around her. “Let’s get drunk.”

“Y/N, what? It’s 11 am.”

“So what? Who cares? It’s just a little wine anyway.”

And before Mirae could stop and ask you what happened, you opened a bottle of wine and chugged.

Mirae gently coaxed the bottle, which was half empty, out of your hand and sat you down.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”

You grabbed the bottle back. “Nope.”

Before you could drink again, Mirae snatched it away again.

“No, we’re not doing this. You’re going to get drunk and rant and then forget everything if you continue drinking. Not happening. We’re going to talk this out and deal with our problems, okay? We can take however long you want, and you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but you’re not doing this thing again where you try to forget about them.”

You fell silent.

“You wanna take a shower and change into something comfy? I’ll fix you something to eat in the meantime.”

You slowly nodded and left. When you got back, you were decidedly calmer. Your skin was a little splotchy from having cried so much, but you weren’t near hysterical anymore, which is always a good thing. Mirae just quietly watched you and didn’t say a word until you had eaten. While handing you a glass of water, she sat down beside you and pulled you into a hug.

“Y/N, I don’t know what happened, but it’s okay. I’m here for you. We’re going to get through this.”

You couldn’t help it. You started crying again. She held you and let you cry it all out before finally asking you,

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah.”

You took a deep breath and started ranting about Jiyong. Mirae heard you out throughout and with each passing second, she got more annoyed at her brother.

“Good god, he is an idiot. I don’t know what he’s thinking. You know what he rants about when he’s drunk? About how he would do anything for your happiness. I didn’t realise he meant he wanted to pull this bullshit. He always talks about how he will wait for you, no matter how long it takes, if you’re unhappy. That idiot doesn’t realise that there is no need to wait for fuck’s sake. He even heard you tell him you love him. But no, that’s not enough. Why? “She won’t remember saying it.””

She paused when she noticed you staring at her.

“What?”

“I told him I love him?”

“Yeah, you did. You were drunk, which is probably why you don’t remember.”

But the moment she said that, hazy recollections of the night he sat with you in the park started to come back to you. Fuck. You told him you loved him. You told him you missed him. And as you sat there shocked over your words, you realised just how true they were. Shocked, you whispered to yourself,

“Then why is he doing this?”

Mirae sighed. “He’s an idiot, that’s why. Also, he thinks he’s never seen you smile as happily as you did when you were with Minho.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s only because I wasn’t with him!”

“I know that. You know that. The only problem is he doesn’t.”

You jumped up, determined to go and talk things out with Jiyong, when Mirae held your arm, stopping you.

“Look, I know you want to go talk to him now, but it’s only 2 in the afternoon. He’s still at work, with everyone else there. If someone records your conversation, it would be a huge scandal. You should talk to him after he goes home. Why don’t you nap for a while instead? I know you haven’t been sleeping all that well.”

Reluctantly, you followed her advice. She was right. You couldn’t afford to risk a scandal involving you, Jiyong, Yuna, Jae and Minho.

---

It was late when you woke up from your nap. Really late. You rubbed your eyes and reached across to check the time on your phone. 11pm. Wait. What. How on earth did you sleep for nine hours straight?! You doubled checked the alarms you set on your phone. Great. You managed to sleep through all of them. You looked around Mirae’s room and you saw a family photo. Jiyong. That was why you were exhausted in the first place. You couldn’t sleep thinking about him. Well, not anymore.

---

Jiyong was lazily watching some old reruns of a tv show, not able to bring himself to watch anything you liked, when he heard someone maniacally banging on his front door. Worried for a minute, his fear eased when he heard your voice.

“Kwon Jiyong, I know you’re in there! And if you don’t fucking open this door, I’ll stay here all night.”

Worried about you, he gently opened the door, prepared more for you coming in and sitting down. He was not prepared for you storming in with crazed eyes, kicking the door shut behind you, grabbing his collar and pushing him against a wall.

“Wh-what”-

“Enough. I’ve had enough of this Jiyong. Why? Why are we putting ourselves through this?! No. Why are you putting me through this?!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve had enough of you ignoring me.”

“Y/N, I had to-”

“Shut the fuck up and listen. I love you Jiyong.”

And you pulled him closer, sliding your arms around his neck before kissing him.

---

Copyright © 2020-2021 @severetimetravelnerd All rights reserved.

Any unlawful and unauthorized sharing of these works will result in legal action.

(Reblogs are good :) )

[little-red-beret]

Hey gang I made a Promare fic if anyone has seen that! It’s my obsession atm so here ya go:

Galo Thymos woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs drifting through the loft and smiled. Today was a special day, and he was already being surprised. He wandered into the kitchen to find Lio in a loose shirt and boxers holding a frypan over a hand omitting a small blossom of pink flames. Lio glanced up from his cooking and a small smile spread across his face.

“Is our stove broken?” Galo asked.

“I haven’t been using my flames enough, they’re getting restless.” Lio explained.

They sat together at the dining table, eating at a leisurely pace with no job to be at all weekend. The only place they had to be was at an island resort much later in the day for a long awaited holiday.

“Have you finished packing?” Lio checked.

“Are you kidding, I finished that last night!” Galo answered as he passionately devoured Lio’s cooking.

“No, you haven’t, your swimsuit was still in the draw this morning.” Lio pointed out.

“Right!” Galo noted. “This is going to be so fun! We’ll go swimming! In the sea! And we’ll play volleyball on the beach! And we’ll eat so much food! There’s a couples’ dance class at the resort, too!”

“Can you even dance?”

“Wanna see?”

“No, you’ll hurt my eyes.”

Galo grabbed a pillow off a couch close behind him and threw it at Lio’s head.

They finished packing and set off after breakfast, Galo in a straw hat and colourful button up shirt, Lio in his usual all-black getup. The bus trip to the ferry terminal was sunny and Galo was buzzing with excitement. He and Lio rested their heads on each other’s shoulders, staring contently out the window. The ferry terminal was like another world. Lio squinted against the wind that blew his hair in his face. The waves were capped with foam, and clouds lined the horizon.

“Did you check the weather before you planned this trip?” Lio asked, staring apprehensively at the port.

“No, why would I?” Galo shrugged. Lio took out his phone and opened the weather app. Whatever he saw caused him to literally burst into flames. Travellers around them screamed and hurried to put space between them. Somewhere in the terminal a child started crying.

“It says there are storms all weekend, you idiot!” Lio cried, showing Galo the neat row of lightning symbols on his phone.

“Cool it, firebug!” Galo whispered, glancing around nervously. “It’s just a little surprise! Besides, weather reports are never accurate, anyway!”

“You really don’t think ahead, huh.” Lio muttered bitterly, taking a deep breath and vanishing the fire.

“It’ll be fun, I promise! You know I’ll always find a way to make things fun!”

Lio glared at his lover, but the longer he glared, the harder it got to suppress the smile breaking out across his face.

“Let’s get going, then.” He took Galo’s hand and they continued towards the ferry.

The ferry ride was terribly rough. Galo marvelled at the view from the railing the entire time, eyes glued to the sea.

“Look at that wave!” He exclaimed, just as he had for every other wave. “Ooh, that one is like ‘whoosh’!” He wiggled his hands about in imitation. Lio was resting his head on the railing beside him instead of actually looking. “Are you good, Lio?”

Lio uttered a tiny moan as a response.

“Are you getting seasick?” Galo fretted, lightly placing a hand on his back. Lio nodded against the railing.

“Honestly, I don’t do well with motion....” he muttered weakly.

“It’s okay, we’ll be there soon!” Galo assured him, watching the overcast island in the distance.

Lio didn’t speak a single word after Galo’s reassurances, nor did he move. The clouds only got darker and the waves taller as they neared the island. Galo put a hand over Lio’s and felt how tightly it gripped the railing. He kept his hand there to ground him and continued his ongoing ocean commentary on the view Lio was missing.

When the boat docked, Lio finally straightened, looking incredibly pale and delicate.

“You really don’t look like you’re hanging in there...” Galo worried, squeezing his lover’s hand tightly.

“I’ll be fine, I just need to lie down for a bit when we get to the hotel.” Lio insisted bravely.

The second they stepped off the ferry, it began to pour rain. Galo burst into laughter at their misfortune.

“Now you look stupid in your beach outfit.” Lio remarked wryly, and Galo laughed even harder. Lio smiled weakly and snuggled into Galo’s arm. They walked quickly to a taxi queue, eager to escape the rain as soon as possible.

Much to Galo’s horror, the taxi took them swerving through a windy mountain range where they could barely see through the heavy rain. He helplessly watched Lio’s complexion begin to match his hair as their journey progressed. Every few minutes he offered hushed reassurances that they were almost there, stroking Lio’s hand with his thumb. Lio’s hand began to tremble beneath his as they were pulling into the grand driveway of the resort.

They were dropped off and elegantly suited doormen took their suitcases for them. Galo stared at the luxurious decor in awe. The staircase leading into the hotel was marble topped with a red carpet. Gold accents lined the doors and windows. Then Lio tore away to the nearby gardens, collapsing next to a rose bush in the rain.

“Oh, no...” Galo muttered. Lio sat there rigidly with a hand pressed to his mouth. “I’ll get us checked in!” He called, figuring it would make Lio’s life easier and that he would still be there when he got back.

Sure enough, Lio was still kneeling by the rose bush every time Galo glanced out the panoramic reception window while he waited in the queue. Even after they were checked in and Galo had been handed the key card, Lio still hadn’t moved. Galo stood by the window and watched in concern as Lio sat there getting drenched by the rain. He noticed a woman in a white sundress a metre from him staring wistfully at the miserable weather. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one who didn’t believe in reading weather reports.

“Great beach weather, huh!” Galo joked, always eager to lighten the mood.

“I have a boyfriend.” The woman responded flatly.

“Me too!” Galo beamed, pointing to the small man kneeling in the garden. “He’s about to throw up.” Right on cue, Lio’s back arched and he produced a vile torrent of sick. “Oop, that’s my cue to leave!”

Galo joined Lio in the rain, dashing over to make sure he was okay.

“Poor sweetie!” He cried, crouching in the wet grass beside his lover. Lio was shaking violently on all fours. Galo patted his back as he brought up another stream of sick, retching loudly. They were fortunate that the rain softened the awful process a bit, muffling the sounds and washing away the mess as it was made. “That’s the way, get it all up, Lio!”

Lio belched and heaved up the last of his breakfast. He convulsed and gagged helplessly as his stomach continued trying to rid itself of its perceived poison.

“Good job!” Galo encouraged. After endlessly gagging for a few more minutes, Lio finally sat back on his heels, letting the rain pour down his face for a moment. Then he slumped against Galo and buried his face in his shoulder. Galo took him into his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re good.” Lio trembled in his arms. Whether it was from the vomiting or if he was crying, he wasn’t sure, but he held him all the same. “Poor baby!” he cooed.

Eventually, Galo convinced Lio to come inside. They dripped trails of water all the way to their hotel room, shivering and worn out from the cold in each other’s arms. They changed into dry clothes, and then Lio ignited pink flames in his palms.

“Lio, not here, you’ll set off the smoke alarms!” Galo scolded.

“It’s warm.” Lio defended.

Galo sat against the headboard of the queen sized bed and opened his arms. “You know what else is warm?” he prompted. Lio let the flames flare up for a moment, but ultimately chose to climb into Galo’s arms and snuggle against him.

“How are you feeling?” Galo asked, resting his chin on top of Lio’s damp hair.

“A lot better, but I need a nap.” he mumbled into Galo’s chest.

“We can take a nap together!” Galo declared.

“Sounds fun...”

Galo stroked his hair tenderly.

“Of all the people to be stuck indoors with, I’m glad it’s you... idiot...” Lio murmured, setting his heart ablaze once again. On second thought, everything Lio did made him glow inside several times per day.

“Me too.” Galo said, enjoying the rare moment of profoundness from his normally shy lover. They spent that afternoon nestled together and fell asleep to the sound of the rain.

[texanredrose]

@holyschneet​ dear god I could hardly respond to things on tumblr 3 years ago and they’ve only made it more annoying since. Anyway, first, get a big pot.

Fill it with water and put it on the stove, high heat, and let the water boil. While it’s doing that, take a look at your bookshelf, movie shelf, or video game collection. Pick an old favorite to reexperience. For me, it’s Voltron or Brutal Legend.

(Old Voltron, mind, not the Netflix wank.)

(Clue (1985) is also a great one I enjoy.)

I know streaming is the new hotness but physical media, in all its forms, still has a place in today’s fast pace environment. Plus, this gives you something to do while the water boils. Picking it out, I mean; if you’re like me, it’s hard to pick just one thing sometimes, so by the time you’ve picked your thing and set yourself up to enjoy it, water should be at a pretty good boil. Turn off the heat and add a cup of sugar per, I dunno, 2 quarts of water. I’m not a scientist or a baker; measurements are guesstimates. Pour the sugar in slowly and stop pouring it when it stops dissolving instantly, then add another 1/2 cup of sugar to be safe. Once the sugar’s all dissolved, throw in some tea bags.

(I advise using bags without googly eyes but you do you I guess.)

Brand really doesn’t matter but, for best results, black tea, at least 5 bags per quart of water. Throw in a few extra if you like strong tea.

Next, find you a snack.

These are the ones that come in certain MREs. As such, I can eat these fuckers no matter what. Nauseous as hell? I can still eat ‘em. It’s a nice little mindless snack that can tide me over for a bit. Bread also works. 

Now, while the tea steeps, go enjoy whatever you picked out. 

Here’s the trick: this is an old favorite. While nostalgia colors it enjoyable, you’re probably gonna notice some things that are annoying now or even upsetting. Jokes won’t land. Pacing will seem weird. Story elements will feel tired. Plus, you already know where the story leads.

Enjoy it anyway. Get lost in it. Remember why you loved it initially. Acknowledge the faults, the rough patches, the parts that don’t work anymore. Consider which has changed more: the world or you. Did you used to enjoy something that you don’t enjoy now because you’ve changed? Did you never ‘get’ a joke, and now that you do, you don’t like it? Isn’t it strange how these stories, though in some ways timeless, are also a capsule of their time? Who were you then? Who are you now?

Tea should be done steeping now. Grab you some pitchers and fill them halfway with ice.

(Why are so many pitchers nowadays so fancy? Btw, I recommend plastic and not glass; glass gets so heavy when it’s full.)

If you’ve got the patience, put your pitchers in the fridge for about an hour. If you don’t, grab a glass and fill it with ice, then pour the tea straight in, letting it sit about a minute.

You’ve now made yourself some sweet tea, had a snack, and took a trip down memory lane. Neat! Now here’s the key part: recognize that you did something and that has meaning. It’s really tough in today’s world to remember that slowing down, relaxing, and enjoying things are pretty vital to our overall wellbeing. This is coming from a diagnosed workaholic. So, whether you actually followed these steps or just read this post, you’ve taken a step back from all the pressures being exerted on you. You probably needed it. At the end of the day, you need to take care of you. And if you do that by indulging in old favorites, finding new ones, cooking, cleaning- whatever, indulge when you can, and enjoy it unabashedly. Life’s too short to be embarrassed about liking things.

Also, people are always going to get mad about things. Someone’s probably losing their mind right now about how I make sweet tea. That’s fine. I ain’t gonna stress it. If something or someone starts stressing you out, walk away. It’s better for you in the long run.

Also, there’s a reason I specified physical media. Unplug now and again. It’s not all about metrics or hits or engagement. Exist because you have the right to exist. Have fun because fuck opinions.

Just, ya know, try not to be too big a dick about it. Like, yeah, enjoy yourself, light a sparkler because they’re pretty, but don’t burn down your neighbor’s house. Even if your neighbor’s a dick, the house didn’t do anything wrong.

The only way I’ve made it to where I am today is by just... letting go of a lot of the negatives and focusing on the positives. Making light of the dark times. Chasing the sun even while standing beneath the moon. The one thing I have learned is that it all comes out in the wash. Give your friends hell and let them give you hell in return. Try to laugh, and when you can’t laugh, remember the times you could and that you’ll be able to laugh again, soon.

That’s all I got. If you’re asking for writing advice, I’m afraid it’s more of a monkeys with typewriters situation.

Specifically, this monkey. Although I think he’s an ape. Or a gorilla. Or a dude in a suit.

The hamster fell off the wheel at some point.

[aomine-ryo]

Can I request Midorima cheating over his wife because of infidelity or hormones. Trying to get her back so hard. And learning the importance of marriage and yayyy happy ending..You caa make it long if you want, Thank you...I read some of your writings so I thought it would be a much much much greater..New follower anyway, Ill support you....Taank you so much....

Never thought I’d be writing a scenario about cheating haha so this is quite new. It’s interesting though! It’s a long one, but I hope you enjoy it xx

Scenario: Midorima cheating on his wife

You and Midorima have been happily married for over two years and you thought things were going rather smoothly. The two of you had your own routines, but you both made sure that you had dinner together every night, where you’d talk about your day and anything else that popped up.

However, recently he had been coming home later than usual, sometimes even getting back after midnight when you were already fast asleep. You didn’t think too much of it at first, but you started to feel quite lonely having dinner alone and falling asleep in an empty bed, so you decided to bring it up with him one morning before he left for work. “Hey Shintaro, do you mind trying to come back home a bit earlier? It gets quite lonely when you’re not here,” you said to him.

“Hm, I’ll try,” he hummed, avoiding eye contact with you, though you didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“I’ll see you later,” he said after swallowing the last bite of his toast and placing a kiss on your cheek before heading towards the door.

“Have a good day, I love you!” You called out after him.

“I love you too,” he replied with a small wave.

The day went by and Midorima was home late yet again, returning just when you were getting ready for bed. You went to greet him at the front door and you noticed that his appearance was quite dishevelled. His hair was tousled and his clothes looked like they had just been thrown on. The messy tucking of his shirt raised some confusion within you because you knew your husband liked to have things neat and tidy. “Welcome back, why do you look like such a mess?” you questioned as he took his shoes off.

“Oh, I had to move around a lot at work today— it was a bit hectic,” he explained.

“Sounds difficult. If you need anything let me know,” you replied, wishing to ease his tension somehow because it was quite unsettling to see him in such a state.

Of course, he never did ask for any help because that’s just how he was. So the next day, you decided to surprise him at work since you knew he was going to be working late yet again. With a bag of pastries in hand, you headed to his office after greeting his secretary. Thinking he was in his office alone, you opened the door without knocking, only to find your husband’s lips on another woman’s, who sat on his desk with her arms and legs wrapped around him. The bag of pastries dropped to the floor as you clasped your hand over your mouth after letting out a loud gasp.

Both of them immediately pulled away and Midorima’s eyes widened in panic upon realising that you had caught him. “Y-Y/N— uh, please don’t freak out. I can expl—“

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks. “What’s going on?” you managed to say, though you were practically whispering. You wanted to scream and run as fast as you could, but nothing happened; you were just frozen in place.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Midorima said as the other woman awkwardly excused herself and left the room.

“Sorry?” You repeated, the volume in your voice slowly increasing. “Is this why you’ve been coming home so late?”

Midorima hesitated for a moment before bowing his head down shamefully, “Yes.”

You felt a pang in your chest. All these nights you’ve spent alone, trusting that your husband was hard at work, proving to have been a lie. You wanted so badly to leave, but your body wouldn’t budge. So you were stuck there, looking for answers. “A-Am I not good enough for you?” you questioned, voice cracking as you cried harder.

“What? No way!” he answered immediately, shifting closer to you. “I love you,” his arm reached out to attempt to hold you but you instantly swatted it away.

“Don’t touch me,” you muttered menacingly, “and you can’t say you love me after lying to me for God knows how long.”

“Y/N—”

“I’m going home,” you said, finally being able to move. “I’d find somewhere else to sleep tonight if I were you.”

Midorima didn’t stop you. He let his eyes well up with tears as he watched you walk away. He deserved this and he knew it. In fact, he even expected some sort of violent outburst from you. You know, screaming, trashing his office- that stuff. But somehow, this was worse. He’d never seen you go silent like that.

Why’d he do that? You were better than any girl he’d ever met and he was aware of that. Whatever he had with you was amazing. But he had to go and fuck it up. He had no one to blame but himself. “Shit,” he cursed to himself as he kicked his desk in frustration. Why didn’t he just stop his co-worker when she initiated it at first? She gave him so many chances to end it, but he kept going, desperately clinging onto the thrill of rule-breaking that he’d never felt before.

Midorima let out a long exhale as he took his phone out. Following your advice, he searched for a hotel to spend the night.

He spent hours tossing and turning in the hotel bed, making him realise how accustomed he had become to having your warm body lying next to him every night. Now that you weren’t there, he just felt uneasy. His endless spiralling didn’t help him go to sleep any sooner either. Constant thoughts of how you deserved better and how he had wronged you flooded his brain. Eventually though, he managed to drift off after letting out a few tears.

The next day, Midorima was at the front door of your house, patiently waiting for you to answer his knocks. He heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door and coming to a halt.

“Go away Midorima,” you said from behind the door.

“Midorima...?” he muttered to himself in confusion. You were using his last name now, the severity of the situation becoming even more apparent to him. “Y/N please let me in. I’m sorry. I really am. If I could undo it I would,” he said.

He got nothing but silence as a response.

So he continued, “I made a mistake. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but please don’t let it end here. I can fix this,” he pleaded.

The door cracked open, revealing your tired and tear stained face. “How could you possibly fix something like this?” You mumbled, the plain sight of his face making you want to burst into tears again.

“I’m not too sure yet, but I can promise you that I’ll try,” Midorima replied, beginning to feel somewhat hopeful now that he had gotten the door to open.

“And what if you can’t fix it? I don’t want to waste my time here,” you said harshly. “Come back when you know how to ‘fix this’.” You shut the door again, leaving Midorima standing there helplessly, wearing a dejected expression as he tried to figure out his next course of action.

He ended up spending the next few days at the hotel before eventually going to stay with Takao. He didn’t exactly plan on staying there, but when he turned to his best friend for some advice and he found out about Midorima’s situation, the raven-haired boy insisted that he stayed in the guest bedroom of his house. It didn’t make much of a difference where Midorima stayed though- he was still unable to get much sleep. The thought of you had occupied his mind and each day he spent without you made him realise how much of a role you actually played in his life.

Some mornings, he’d wake up and lean over to the other side of the bed to give you a kiss, but he’d soon be let down by the realisation that he was alone, and so his days would often start with his mind reminding him of the guilt within him.

After a few weeks, Midorima returned to your doorstep with a bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand. When you answered the door and he laid his eyes upon you for the first time in weeks, his entire body felt giddy. You looked as beautiful as ever. He missed you.

“Oh, hey,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your tone as you realised that you forgot to look through the peephole before opening the door.

“Hello Y/N,” Midorima said, smiling gently as he held out the flowers. “These are for you.”

Your expression softened a bit upon seeing the flowers— he still remembered which ones were your favourite. “You know flowers aren’t going to fix everything right?” You said, building your walls up yet again as you took the flowers from him.

“Yeah, of course I know,” Midorima replied, glad that you had accepted the flowers. “But consider it a starting point.”

The scent of the flowers distracted you for a moment as a small smile creeped across your face. However, you quickly wiped it away after reminding yourself why you were so hurt in the first place. “You know, being alone for the past few weeks was awful. And what was even worse was the fact that all I could think about was how you lied to me. There’s been one question that had practically been eating me alive- what does she have that I don’t?” you said, causing Midorima’s heart to sink.

“Please don’t compare yourself to her,” he said. “You’re absolutely perfect. It’s just that, when she came onto me I was blinded by the thrill of something new. It meant nothing to me— honest. I shouldn’t have gone through with it and I apologise from the bottom of my heart. You’re the only one I want, Y/N.”

You hesitated for a moment before opening the door wider for him to enter the house. “Come in. I think we have a few things we need to discuss,” you said to him, trying not to smile too much at the way his expression lit up. “To be clear, I’m not accepting your apology just yet. It’ll take me some time. But this is your house too after all.”

You and Midorima sat on the couch and talked into the night, discussing all your feelings about each other and the situation. Tears were shed and laughs were shared, and by the end of it all, you had managed to reach a point of understanding. Things weren’t back to normal, and they wouldn’t be for a while, but you didn’t hate him anymore.

You accidentally ended up falling asleep on the couch after a long silence between you two. Midorima attempted to wake you up with a light shake, but you were out cold. So, he picked you up in his arms and carried you to the bed, tucking you in before heading back to the living room so he could get some rest too. That sleep on the couch, albeit alone, was the best sleep he had gotten in weeks.

As the days went by, Midorima did his best to win you over. He’d pay attention to all your needs. He’d buy you little gifts from time to time and he would even cook meals for you, never asking for a single thing in return. He went to sleep on the couch every night without any complaints, even though he did get neck pains every now and then. However, he was truly displaying his resilience and commitment to change.

Over time, things slowly began to improve. Small acts of physical affection made its way back into your lives through kisses and hugs. Eventually, Midorima and you shared a bed once again as well, and he couldn’t have been happier to be able to fall asleep next to you again. He had worked hard to be able to get to this point, making you understand how important this was to him. You could never completely forget what he had done though as your mind would sometimes randomly recall the hurt it had caused. However, one look at the current Midorima was enough to remind you that he regretted what happened and that he did his best to prove how much he valued you, and it seemed like he was never going to stop trying to prove it.

[sickstarlight]

fic inspired by a prompt from one of my generators, with additional inspiration from a post @rachthecool made! (reposted to add the tags I forgot, sorry <<;;)

3.8k of nausea-induced neuroticism and blame misplaced on OCD, warning for implied emet*phobia / general anxiety about illness.

—

He feels it first like, like an itch, like an itch he can’t reach, like the itch that creeps back in to the back of his head until he can’t ignore it, can’t ignore it anymore. And he, well, he manages it the same way, of course, because he stops being - reasonable, stops thinking clearly when it gets too strong, and he simply can’t afford that now, can’t afford to lose his focus. He’s very busy, there’s no time to let a thing like that get in the way, not now, especially not now, when he’s getting so close. So close!

It’s not so bad, anyways, when he can focus on his work. When he can devote his attention to it. Makes it easier, to ignore it, push it aside for a time. Not fight it! Never fight it, no, that’s how it gets him, if he fights it, well, he’s already lost. But set it aside, that he can do, for a while, when something else has his attention. As long as his work’s not interrupted.

But this, now, this is something different - quite different. Setting it aside, that’s supposed to work, supposed to let him get on with things for a time, but it doesn’t seem to help. Something’s wrong, terribly, terribly wrong, and it, well, it’s like it’s eating him alive, pulling at all the threads of his thoughts until they unravel. His focus, that crisp bright ray of focus that’s supposed to keep it at bay, it just isn’t there, today, isn’t there at all. Scattered, like reflections on the water, stirred up by the wind.

He shuts his eyes, presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, his thumbs against his temples, as he takes in a breath and lets it out. That’s better, that should be... better, but it’s still there, still pulling at the edges of him: something’s wrong, out of place. He checks his desk, the pens and pencils laid out all in order, the notebooks marked and stacked just where he needs them. Not neat like people think it ought to be, but then, people often seem to miss the obvious patterns in things, don’t seem to understand the math - and the math is always flawless.  Always flawless! The mathematician might err, of course, even he’s only human, but the math itself is perfect.

And it’s not his desk that’s misaligned, no, though he touches each notebook and writing utensil just to be sure, just to be on the safe side, adjusts them each minutely and confirm they’re laid out exactly as they should be. Precise. Mathematical. It’s something  else that’s wrong, that’s ever so slightly, well, displaced.

Back to work, he’s got to get back to work, but he’s started thinking about it now, about all the dozen things that could be wrong, and the itch won’t go away, and, well, now he’s got to be sure. Got to be sure. If he could only focus maybe he’d put it aside, but he can’t now, not today, so there’s nothing for it.

He turns away from his desk and crosses the room, opens the blinds and closes them again. Opens them and closes them again. Again. Again. Satisfied that they’re fully closed, everything in order, he checks all the lights as well, one by one, runs the tips of his fingers along the edges of the shelves along the wall as he makes sure his books and files are all in order. Everything’s as it should be, as it should be, good. Good.

But why, then - why the itch. Why the feeling of wrongness that makes his spine crawl and his shoulders draw in too tense. Why the nagging sense that something isn’t right. His mind drifts briefly to the thought of what might be wrong in the kitchen, or the bedroom, or the foyer - but he tears his thoughts away from all that. No time for that, no, no, he can’t think about that.

It’s not real, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s not, it’s not real, it’s not real or, at least, not measurable, not perceptible. Not something he can change or fix, despite the inexorable need to do something. He closes his eyes again, presses his fingertips to his temples. Wasting time, he’s wasting time now, and he’s too close for that, much too close. Got to snap himself out of it.

He takes a breath. Lets it out again. With one hand, he reaches into his pockets for his cigarettes, counts how many left in the pack, eleven, good, that’s good, and pulls one out carefully. He puts it between his teeth, flicks his lighter a few times before letting it catch to light the end. Inhales, and holds his breath. And holds it. And holds it.

When he exhales, his head is spinning, but it feels - clearer, yes. Clearer. Sharp. Focused. He takes another drag and sits back down, adjusting his chair into its place, into its proper place. It’s still there behind his eyes, the unfamiliar itch that he can’t place, but it’s dulled now, dulled enough that he can think. Back to work,  he tells himself, can’t solve a problem he can’t see, now, can he, so he ought to work on something he can.

For a while, it works well enough; as it often does the cigarette helps soothe the itch, keeps it from getting, well, overwhelming, from getting too hard to ignore.  Something else to focus on, help clear his head of all the meaningless distractions.

But even before he’s finished he feels it creeping back in, prickling at the back of his neck and clawing at his spine. That’s not supposed to happen, not yet. It’s supposed to, supposed to help, supposed to keep the feeling at bay for longer - an hour, sometimes two if he’s lucky, if he’s focused on his work.  Shouldn’t come back yet, why, he’s still smoking his cigarette, it can’t come back now.

He rubs his temples with one hand, takes the cigarette out of his mouth to sip his coffee in the hope that it’ll help, but it’s gone cold, gone cold and stale in the time he’s been working.

For a few minutes longer, he tries to keep working. Tries to keep working. There’s so much to do still, he can’t let it get in the way. Can’t let it get in the way. But if it’s coming back already while he’s still got a cigarette in his mouth, it only gets worse after he snuffs it out. Not so bad as it was before, no, not quite so bad, but it begins to eat at his focus again, drowning out his thoughts with the persistent nagging feeling that something is wrong until he can barely think clearly.

Perhaps stepping away for a moment, just for a moment, will help, he finally decides, and lays down his pen. Just a moment to clear his head, yes. With a sigh, he downs the rest of his cold cup of coffee and gets to his feet to pour himself another in the kitchen.

The taste of copper suddenly coats his tongue, cutting through the lingering traces of smoke in his mouth, and deep in his gut he feels something lurch unpleasantly as the room seems to spin.

No, no, no, he can’t - he can’t be - can’t happen, he can’t let it happen, can’t be careless enough to let himself—

He hiccups and a mouthful of, well, coffee, mostly coffee spills onto his desk and as he catches his breath he has a brief glimmer of, of clarity, just enough to push his notebooks aside; they fall to the floor in disarray but he doesn’t, he doesn’t have it in him to care. The tight choked feeling in his throat is all that seems to matter, the only thing left that matters.

“No,” he whispers, “no, no, please, no.” He hopes the sound of his voice will ground him but it doesn’t seem to help. “No, please, no, I don’t - want—“

 

He breaks off as his throat closes up, his stomach heaving, making him gag. He’s going to be sick again, isn’t he, doesn’t matter how much he doesn’t want to be, how much he can’t be sick, not now, not now. He closes his hands and opens them, raises one almost to his mouth before thinking better of it. Another painful lurch of his stomach makes him gag again, and then retch, before vomiting another stream of coffee and acid up onto his desk.

What a mess, he’s got to, got to do something about the mess, can’t just leave it pooled there on the polished surface, but he feels as if he can’t move, as if he’s stuck somehow, stuck frozen in place. It shouldn’t be difficult, why, it shouldn’t be much different than if he’d just, just knocked over his cup of coffee, that’s really all it is, just coffee, except for the smell of it - and of course there’s the way the cream’s started to, to spoil, to curdle - and the sight of it thickening’s enough to make him gag again, choking on the foul taste at the back of his throat. He’s - he’s got to - got to - leave, he’s got to leave now, before he’s sick again and makes it even worse.

Stumbling slightly he runs for the bathroom, has to press one hand to his mouth halfway there when he gags and nearly vomits in the hall, only barely manages to swallow back the burning in his throat. He drops to his knees without the time to turn on the light and wraps an arm around himself. Can’t, can’t stop shaking, bent double over the toilet and fighting to choke back the contents of his stomach as heaves wrack his body - but it’s, it’s, well it’s simply no use at all. The itch that’s been nagging at him for hours has made itself at home now on the back of his tongue, and the best thing, the best, the only thing he can do is dislodge it.

He whimpers, and sounds pitiful even to himself as he gags and retches weakly over the water, a thin stream of liquid spilling over his lip. Helpless to stop it, entirely helpless, but knowing’s not enough, just not enough to keep himself from fighting it either. He hates it, hates it, hates being helpless, having no control, having anything he can’t control let alone himself.

Another heave makes him pitch forward, shuddering as his stomach forces up more of its contents. At least he’s barely eaten today, and it’s all liquid, well, mostly liquid, just coffee and cream, nothing else in him to expel. Even that, why, after a long few minutes - he can’t tell how long, can’t keep track, nothing to measure except his own ragged breathing - even that trickles off to nearly nothing, until he’s only gagging, just shaking and gagging uselessly.

With a groan he spits into the water and slumps back against the wall, eyes screwed shut, waiting for his heartbeat to settle. He digs into his pocket and pulls out another cigarette. It’ll calm him down, maybe it’ll calm him down, and if not it’ll at least get the sick taste out of his mouth.

His hands won’t stop shaking as he fumbles with his lighter; the first time he tries to get a spark it goes out, and he curses under his breath as he starts over, click click click click click click click before it catches on the second try.

The first drag makes him cough when the smoke hits the back of his throat, still raw, raw and ragged from retching and heaving trying to empty his stomach. He grabs the cigarette out of his mouth quickly as he hunches over the toilet again, but there’s nothing, simply nothing left in him to bring up. He sits back again, slouches against the wall and puts his cigarette back between his teeth.

There’s still the mess, all that awful mess he’s got to deal with, and only worse now, now, now that he’s let it sit all this time. Terrible, terrible, the thought of it, makes his stomach turn again; he sucks in a deep breath, smoke burning in his chest, and lets it out slowly through his teeth. Terrible thought, but what’s to be done about it now? He’ll have to see to it, sooner or later. Once he’s finished his cigarette, yes, once he’s finished this cigarette he’ll go and clean it up.

He stays curled there on the floor after he snuffs the cigarette out against the tile though, for a few minutes longer, just needs a few minutes longer to rest, when he’s only just gotten finished emptying everything from his stomach. His head feels heavy and the room’s spinning faintly around him, even now that the prickle of nausea has faded. Just a few minutes longer, he thinks, taking a breath to steady himself and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, pressing them in until he sees stars.

Okay, he tells himself, okay, okay. Get up, up up up, it’ll only be worse the longer he waits. Up and into the kitchen for a cloth, and then back to the studio to deal with the mess, nothing else to be done about it. With an effort, he pulls himself back to his feet and stumbles out into the hall, reeling a little as his vision blurs.

First the kitchen, where he doesn’t bother turning a light on, just fumbles blindly in the drawer for a dish towel. He checks the corners of it before running it under the tap, makes sure it’s soaked through, soaked all the way through and then grabs another, dry, as well. Checks the tap twice to make sure it won’t drip, checks the stove just in case, and then again for good measure. Good, good good good, everything in order.

He lingers for a moment longer in the kitchen, and considers turning the lights on to examine it more thoroughly, examine every corner in depth - but he’s wasting time again, wasting time, looking for excuses to delay. It’ll only be worse, only be worse the longer he puts it off. He’d best just get this over with.

Gritting his teeth, he ducks into the hall again and heads back to the studio. There’s a foul smell that hits him as soon as he’s in the door, harsh and acidic, and it nearly makes him want to vomit again, but at least he’s sure, well, relatively sure he can’t, so there’s no need to worry. No need to worry. No need to worry.

Still, his throat is tight as he stumbles over to his desk, and it makes his breath catch in his throat. Get it over with. He drapes the cloths in his hand over the back of his chair and leans down to grab the waste paper basket under the desk. Up close, the smell is so strong it makes even his empty stomach churn, and he has to swallow hard to clear the lump from his throat so he can breathe. Just have to get it over with.

He rests one hand gingerly  on the clean edge of the desk to steady himself for a moment before he grabs the dry cloth, holding the wastebin up against the desk to contain the mess as he mops it up. He’s not yet half finished cleaning the surface of his desk when it overwhelms him, completely overwhelms him, though he’s not sure if it’s the smell or the feeling of it soaking into the dishcloth under his palm; he has to brace himself against the desk again to lean over the bin, retching harshly but bringing up nothing of substance. His eyes are watering, making his vision swim, and he scrubs at his face with the back of one hand.

He’s just pulled himself together enough to try and finish cleaning up when he hears someone at the door, someone knocking at the door. He freezes. Can’t answer, not now, can’t let anyone see this mess though why someone’s come to visit is far beyond him—

“Royce?” That’s Grant, it’s Grant calling from outside as he knocks on the door again.

Shit. Had he sent a message to say he was coming? Had they had some plan to meet that Royce had forgotten? He can’t remember, can’t remember, been too caught up in his work all day to think of anything else, and it doesn’t matter now, no, what matters is that Grant is here and goodness knows he can’t let Grant see this.

“Royce!” Grant calls more loudly, hammering harder on the door. “Royce Bracket, I know you’re in there.”

For his part Royce wishes he wasn’t, in fact, wishes very much that he was not in here, that he was more or less anywhere other than here, but there’s nothing he can do about that now. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and sets his jaw, one hand clutching the edge of the wastebin tightly as he hurries to finish cleaning up his desk. The urge to gag again threatens to overpower him, but he’s got to finish this, got to get this cleaned up before Grant sees, so he swallows hard against it and keeps wiping the pool of sick into the bin.

“Royce?” Grant calls from behind him, much too close.  “What are you - ah, hell.”

He turns quickly, trying to keep himself angled between the desk and the doorway to hide the awful sight from Grant, but the movement makes his head spin and he has to double over the bin again, with a weak gag that comes out more like a strangled sob.

“You damned idiot,” Grant says quietly, crossing from the doorway to put a hand on his shoulder. “What have you gone and done to yourself now?”

“I think, ah,” he manages, his voice hoarse and trembling. “Think I’m not well.” He swallows hard, trying to clear the lump in his throat again, and adds, more quietly, “Not... really very well at all, actually.”

“I can see that,” Grant says, not unkindly. “You look awful. When’s the last time you slept?”

“I, ah,” he falters. “I’ve been, well.”

“Mm,” Grant replies, arching an eyebrow. “I thought as much.” He glances at the desk, and Royce wants to disappear into the floor. If Grant’s grip on his shoulder wasn’t so  tight, he might collapse, might just collapse right here. “Have you even eaten today?”

“Not, not much since....” he begins, frowning. “Since, ah...” Now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure the last time he ate even was today, technically speaking, in the usual sense. Certainly more recently than he’s slept, but that’s little use, little use as a measure at the moment.

“Get something to eat and then get to bed,” Grant tells him. “You look ready to drop.”

He groans, swaying on his feet as his stomach lurches unpleasantly. “No, I can’t, don’t think I could, ah, could eat much, not at the moment,” he manages weakly, and swallows hard, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“Bed, then,” Grant says firmly, steering him towards the hall. “You need to sleep, Royce, you’re going to kill yourself like this.”

“But I,” he protests. “I’m, I’m busy, Grant, busy busy busy, I’ve got too much work to do—“

“And it’ll be here when you’re up again,” Grant points out, pushing him gently out the door. “You’re in no fit state to work now, though. Go, and I’ll make sure you have some ginger tonic when you’ve slept, and something light to eat.”

“I have to, well, have to clean up this mess,” Royce insists, but he doesn’t have the strength, doesn’t even have the strength to dig in his heels as Grant marches him down the hall. “All this mess, I can’t just...”

“If it’s so damned important, I’ll see to it myself,” Grant says. “You’ll have to get your papers back in order yourself, I’m afraid, but you can do that after you’ve slept.” He stops pressing forward outside the door to the bedroom, his grip on Royce’s shoulder loosening slightly. “Bed, Royce,” he says. “Now.”

If he were to be totally honest, why, if he were to say anything about it at all, Royce would have to admit it’s relief, more than anything, quite incredible relief he feels as he stumbles into his room, his knees simply giving out from underneath him as he reaches the bed. His head is still spinning, still spinning even now that he’s no longer standing, but it’s better than being on his feet. As much as he might like to argue, would still very much like to argue in fact, it seems his body, fueled mostly by coffee before he’d thrown all of it up, has sided with Grant in this particular debate, and even as he struggles to crawl under the covers he finds it’s getting hard to keep his eyes open.

He thinks Grant says something, looking into the room from the doorway, but he can’t make out what it is, can’t make it out at all, and everything’s gone dark before he has the chance to ask.

It’s dark by the time he wakes, sometime late that night, and his head feels clearer than it has in days, and when he turns on the light by his bedside it’s to see a plate of soda crackers and a bottle of ginger tonic on the nightstand, just as Grant had promised. He manages a smile, pushing himself upright, and reaches for the tonic with one hand.

When neither a few sips of tonic nor a handful of crackers makes his stomach try to revolt, he rubs at his eyes with one hand and stumbles to his feet. It seems Grant’s already gone, gone home once he was asleep, but there’s a message waiting for him, reading Hope you’re feeling better when you’re up. Cleaned up in the study; I don’t know how you organize your things but I tried to at least make them tidy.  Call if there’s anything you need. -Grant.

It’s true, when he looks into the study, that all his things are still out of place - but the notebooks, pens, and papers he’d scattered on the floor in his earlier panic are stacked and lined up neatly at the edge of his desk. To his surprise he’s still relieved, even glad about the attempt to help, even as he sits down to rearrange them, put them all back in their places, all in their proper places.

He’ll have to say thank you later, he promises himself, once he’s caught up with his work. As much as he’d resented Grant’s unexpected appearance at the time, now that he’s back on his feet he can’t deny he’s grateful for the help.

[magnusgoetia]

Transcript of a Sinner’s Conversation: A Meeting with Caecus

--Begin (In Medias Res)--

Sinner: You kiddin'? Dyin' was the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Caecus: There’s nothing you left behind? No family to miss?

Sinner: My family? Fuck 'em, I'd ‘ave hired 'elp to kill 'em already if it meant they'd be dead-dead, and I wouldn't have to spend time wiv 'em down 'ere. It wouldn't be right for me to force this on my friends either, but they'll be 'ere in due time anyway. I can wait.

Caecus: So, you’re expecting your friends to join you here as well. The wait must be awfully lonely.

Sinner: Ah, not really. I’ve made friends while I’m ‘ere. The shit I can do ‘ere is like, fucking magic and with it I can make up for what I lack in a lot of different ways. Just wish I could remember how I ‘ad died.

Caecus: Maybe it’s better not to remember… Not all of us intended to be here, after all.

Sinner: No. No, perhaps it’s best not to remember. I quickly found out that it's not just evil folks that end up here, lots of good folks, plenty of weird ones too. I'm sensing you’re of the “gooder” ones, you radiate...well, it’s 'ard to describe, but I don't sense any hostility from you at the very least, even though you were born ‘ere.

Caecus: How amiable of you. But remember, a birth is just a new beginning of sorts. You couldn’t have been alone since you were… delivered to us.

Sinner: Ah, you’re a poetic type aren’t ya? Anyway, I’ve not made many friends but I do ‘ave a particular fondness for this one clown...me an' 'im seem to 'ave this weird connection wiv each other. Actually, he's more of a jester type, though rather embarrassingly his name escapes me...

Caecus: Are you, by chance, referring to an imp named Blocko?

Sinner: Yeah, don’t surprise me you know ‘im. He seems like the type to ‘ave a particular reputation.

Caecus: That he does, and yet a divine will connects us. I’m being led to believe your intriguing appearance has an even more… intriguing history.

Sinner: Riiiight...Well, you know what they say about skeletons and closets. Though I suppose I ‘ave nothing to hide ‘ere...Well, to put it simply, I was a broken kid. I never got help, and I did... unspeakable things to anyone who ‘ad wronged me—or simply didn't like.

Caecus: Even the purest of souls can be corrupted by another’s sins.

Sinner: Yeah...Well, it's not like I'll stop doin’ what I did while I was alive, with all that murder and hedonism. Though death has a way of humbling some people...In any case, the murders mostly stopped as I grew older. I seemed to have preferred to just traumatise people instead, ruin lives of the people I saw as bad or evil.

Caecus: Then you found a different punishment for those you had judged.

Sinner: I suppose so. A lot of it involved me spying on groups of people. I'd worm my way into the seedy societies that thought they were safe in their little circles and collect dirt on them. Really sick shit too by the way but don’t worry, the hypocrisy wasn’t lost on me either.

Caecus: Oh? You judged yourself a hypocrite yet continued along a path of self-appointed righteousness... Why?

Sinner: I don’t know, maybe a sense of catharsis? A lot of these were people who I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about killing or whatever. Sometimes it was more personal too, there were—still are people I am attached to up there that got hurt, and I took my revenge on them in their place.

Caecus: Ahh, how noble. Fighting for your friends.

Sinner: Yeah, there was this one particular bastard. Actually, there were a few…but…eh, nevermind…this one particular guy who was essentially lying to one of these “friends” and caused them a psychotic breakdown. I didn’t take action right away, but I did end up killing ‘im. Didn’t even bother hiding the fact it was a murder.

Caecus: What made you wait?

Sinner: Money, mostly. It makes the world up there spin, and you need a lot of it to get anything done, right? Well, I ‘ad to wait until I ‘ad enough money to fly to the states on top of all that shit involved in immigratin’. When I settled in, that’s when I made my move on a buncha grudges. This guy was just the first. Moving to the states made my life a lot easier in some ways. Was a lot easier to sleep when I took care of the grudges too.

Caecus: Oh, wow. You must have had remarkable resolve to keep a “grudge” that long… Tell me, did all of them truly deserve it?

Sinner: No, most didn’t, but I am…was, an angry person. I found I was very much capable of venting my anger, to put it mildly, and I was much too young when I had...shall we say...discovered it.

Caecus: Young minds are impressionable.

Sinner: Right, and the fact that I was generally good at getting away with it made me feel just that little bit better about it.

Caecus: So, you exploited that validation to continue justifying your actions. Most sinners in your position never reach awareness...

Sinner: Yeah? I’ll take that as a compliment, but I was totally emotionally disconnected when committing my crimes. Afterwards I pretty much always dealt with conflict. Cognitive dissonance is a bitch. Though I had largely stopped my ways. I’m ‘aving way too much fun down ‘ere, and even though I won’t drag ‘em down here with me, I’d love to have my friends join me eventually.

Caecus: Would they be pleased being here, embrace this existence like you have?

Sinner: I dunno, some of them have a hard enough time as it is with one existence, I doubt they’ll be too happy to find out there’s another waitin’ for ‘em. The others I’d imagine would be quite surprised all the same, being atheists and such, but I reckon they’d come to like it.

Caecus: An existence you cannot escape is itself a prison. Albeit, choosing to enjoy it in spite of that perspective is a marvelous thing. If you could imagine them in your presence, what would you do?

Sinner: Again, I dunno. It’s hard to tell when they’re not here yet but I am somewhat interested in what’ll end up happening should they get here. I dunno if I’ll be able to tell if it’s them even.

Caecus: And how do you dare to enjoy existence now?

Sinner: Well, I’ve been doing everything I’ve ever wanted to do but could never do in life amongst other things. It’s kinda embarrassing, but I played a bunch of video games, so I miss those quite a bit. I’ve found plenty of ways to fill that void though. Some of your movies are pretty sick down ‘ere, and importing goods from the other rings to ‘ere means I don’t miss out…mostly, on their fun too. I just wish I could explore the other rings; I don’t get why us sinners can’t.

Caecus: Decretum is often difficult to understand. However, it would seem a blessing that you’ve been placed with the multifarious company of the pride ring.

Sinner: True enough, whatever that means. There’s a lot of strip clubs, greedy businesses and shit, stuff you think you’d only find in the other rings. Though I think I probably would’ve ended up in wrath if we landed in the rings based on our sins.

Caecus: Most catechisms view wrath as an excessive anger. You strike me as having more control than the average sinner.

Sinner: A lot of people on the surface woulda said the same too, I was and I suppose still am really good at keeping it in check, well, good enough to not make it obvious anyway. Though it’s been a lot tougher down here.

Caecus: This is a realm of collective temptation, after all.

Sinner: My only judge here is myself and perhaps my peers if I let them. I still kill down here, but it’s been in self-defence. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone out of anger yet but let’s just say I’d feel sorry for the poor sod who happened to piss me off on a bad day.

Caecus: You’ve always been your own judge. I suspect the lack of good comparisons for your behavior here has coaxed you further.

Sinner: Actually, I could tell you about the first person I “killed” down here. It was soon after I woke up. I suppose this guy thought it’d be easy—fresh sinner, just in time to be another tally mark on some statistic.

Caecus: A second death, the lake of fire…

Sinner: Uh...yeah, I reacted on instinct and it musta been a sort of “kiss of death” type shit. I only touched the dude with my hand, and he just kinda…shrivelled up and died. You know…like when a cartoon character eats a lemo—ah sorry, you can’t watch TV.

Caecus: Ah, yes… a shrivelling death is nevertheless descriptive.

Sinner: Anyway, I have a bunch of other powers too but that one I’m most afraid of you know? I can drop the ambient temperature of an area so shit gets cold, have some form of telekinesis and a buncha other stuff, like I have some kinda control over this weird glowy energy, it’s how I have my eyes, which are purely for show, I don’t need them since I can see perfectly fine without ‘em...not that you’d know I even have ‘em.

Caecus: I’m aware you observe our world, in a traditional sense. My observations are just a bit more… unorthodox. And I feel as if your fear is not from a lack of understanding.

Sinner: Well I seem to have it under control, but I’m afraid in a moment of weakness I might react without thinking, you know? I’ve not had it happen yet, but it would be so easy when flippin’ out that I just give ‘em the ol’ touch of death.

Caecus: Even a king’s heart is just a stream of water to the hand of… fate.

Sinner: Gonna be honest, I haven’t the foggiest of what you just said. Though if I’m being honest myself, I couldn’t care less if it was someone I didn’t know anyway. Only really care about my friends and such. You seem pretty neat yourself.

Caecus: The impression is mutual. It’s not often that I’m seen as anything other than senseless and intimidating. I don’t find it unwarranted, granted; my appearance is as disconcerting as my psyche.

Sinner: How do you even know what you look like? It’s not like you can just look into a mirror.

Caecus: I was presented with a vision soon before I arrived, my last blessing I suppose… Regardless, my rebirth is a tale for another time. I’ve relished in your company long enough, and I must answer my calling. I’m sure our paths will converge again.

Sinner: Hey, I hope so too...uh....

Caecus: Please, call me Caecus.

Sinner: Well, it’s only polite to give you my name too. I go by many names here, but I am quite fond of “Mr. Death” as silly as it sounds.

Caecus: Silly, yes, but very becoming of you. A pleasure, Mr. Death.

Mr. Death:Well, don’t let me keep you. I’d like to see you again sometime, Caecus. I’ll take my leave.

Caecus: All in due time.

--End--