#if its possible to have this tiny little insignificant thing changed on a paper?

[minglana]

considering kinda coming out(ish) as nb to this week's dorm worker........

[txt-fic-recs]

Beomjun (🐻+🦊)

⸻ ૢ་༘࿐a list of ao3 links for beomjun recs!

❥ • stargazing (fluff, friends to lovers, college au, tyunning side-ship)

⤿ and if yeonjun was looking at beomgyu more than the starry sky above them, you couldn’t blame him, there were stars in his eyes.

❥ • under the sky in room 553 i discovered you and i (angst, suffering, tyunning side-ship, mcd, childhood friends to lovers, tragedy)

⤿ “Have you ever heard about the origami hearts tradition in the hospital?”

Taking the heart, the child excitedly inspected it, nodding in glee. “Yes! My mama told me that when someone leaves the hospital to go to heaven, we all fold a paper heart for them! Like this, like this!”

“That’s right,” chuckled Soobin. “But do you know how it started? It started here, in this room. From a boy who used to fold a paper heart every day for his lost love, hoping each one he makes will take him closer to the day those eyes would open again.”

"Unfortunately for him, the day never came."

In other words, a hopeless love story of two childhood best friends who didn't realise what it meant to have each other until it was too late; compiled of yearning, loss, forlorn hope, unrequited love, and every tragedy in between.

❥ • blurred lines and thin white lies (college au, fake dating, tyunning side-ship, fluff)

⤿There’s a clear line drawn between friends, lovers and even between enemies. Beomgyu is aware he’s dancing on lines blurred and tangled, built on tiny white lies and sweet nothings, but Yeonjun is making it hard for him to not think—to not wish there is a little truth somewhere behind all this.

(Or an au wherein Beomgyu asks his old highschool crush, Yeonjun, who he hasn’t talked to in three years to pretend to be his boyfriend just so his parents would finally leave him alone, not thinking through that maybe, just maybe, feelings have a possibility of coming back.

Or maybe they never even left in the first place.)

❥ • try not to be so obvious next time (fluff, 5+1 things, friends to lovers, jealousy)

⤿ Choi Beomgyu is in love with his best friend, and he’s not very good at hiding it. He thinks Yeonjun doesn’t notice the fleeting glances he steals, but Yeonjun knows all.

or

The 5 times Beomgyu stares at Yeonjun’s lips longingly, and the 1 time Yeonjun kisses Beomgyu.

❥ • Loud and Clear (fluff, idiots in love, jealous choi yeonjun)

⤿"You're mine okay? No more taking pictures." Beomgyu cutely nodded, placing his hand above Yeonjun's, gingerly caressing it.

"Okay." The noiret let out a relieved sigh and smiled widely. "Good."

-just two boyfriends being cute at the mall

❥ • space case (angst, BTS mention, soulmate au, beomjun side-ship, open ending)

⤿ Soobin firmly believes in the butterfly effect. A butterfly simply flapping its wings, can cause a fucking tsunami somewhere across the world. Isn't that sick? It's so sick, if you ask him. He likes that -- he likes thinking that any small, seemingly insignificant decision he makes, can cause a chain of events that change his life. He likes thinking that everything he does means something, whether it means something to himself or to the stranger he passed on the street. So, no, he can't really get behind this soulmate thing, because it's fucking stupid that his destiny is already written in the damn stars. He has to spend his entire life knowing that he doesn't get a choice in who he ends up with, or where their lives go from there. His fate is sealed, like some sort of fairytale.

or

the one where kai and soobin are soulmates.

❥ • I'm a fool for you (college au, soulmates, hanahaki disease, fluff, angst, sookai side-ship)

⤿ In which Beomgyu’s roommate is hot, straighter than a ruler and the university’s biggest fuckboy.

Also his soulmate.

It’s fine. He’s fine. Until he coughs up his first petal that is.

❥ • can i go where you go? (can we always be this close?) (childhood friends, slowburn, non-linear narrative, mutual pining, taebin side-ship)

⤿This is how Yeonjun falls in love: in years that go by, in grains of sand that trickle down from an upside-down hourglass, slow yet certain, steady but sure. Like the rain— a drizzle at first, then a downpour, and then finally, the storm.

This is how Yeonjun falls in love: in between wishes that aren't his to make, in a parting gift for an eighteenth birthday that stretches past the night, and all the years that dwindle in between.

❥ • do flightless birds dream of flying too? (fluff, humour, angst with happy ending, college au, fake dating, slow burn, taebin side-ship)

⤿Some background:

First, Choi Yeonjun is a third-year Dance major, close friend, and the object of his affections for the past two years (Soobin would interject, love at first sight, with disgust, though Beomgyu disagrees).

Second, this big fat crush he’s been harboring is preventing him from living his life to the fullest. College is supposed to be the time to explore, date and learn what you want in a relationship. He can’t do that when he’s only got eyes for one person.

Third, given the first two points, he’s come to the answer that he just needs to get over Choi Yeonjun.

The question is: how?

The answer: Sometimes, the best way to get over someone is to actually just date them. Or, in Beomgyu's hopeless case, ask them to help you practice dating. No, Beomgyu will not explain how that works.

❥ • from jupiter to saturn (fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers, slowburn, mutual pining)

⤿ He’s nice. Beomgyu is nice—he heard that many times, from his classmates, his friends, and now, his best friend. But Yeonjun never bothered asking what they meant, even if the curiosity lingered at the back of his head.

Is he nice in a way that leaves Yeonjun wondering if he’s been missing out on all the times he purposely stepped over the opportunities to talk to him? Is he nice in a way that leaves Yeonjun so speechless that he couldn’t say anything else—he’s nice. Sweet and nice.

Nice had never been enough to say who someone is.

(Or: this is how Yeonjun falls in love with Beomgyu—season by season.)

❥ • let’s fall in love for the night (and forget in the morning) (fluff, angst, strangers to friends to lovers, college au, slowburn)

⤿ The probability of crossing paths with the one who makes your heart ache, the one who makes you want to risk everything — the chances are infinitesimal in such a large city like Seoul. Beomgyu doesn’t believe that he’ll find the one for him. Nor does he actually want to find them.Until a stranger with bright eyes and an even brighter laugh leaves him chasing after all the what-ifs.

❥ • Is This Our Start Line? (past sookai, past beomjun, fluff, angst, moving on, feelings realisation, yeonbin endgame, taegyu endgame)

⤿ Are late night conversations really enough to make you fall in love with someone?

With the right person, yes.

Or

Yeonbin hanging out on the balconies of their side by side apartments every night, having random late night convos.

Until it wasn’t just random late night convos.

❥ • hold my hand, we're going to fall now (i'm not afraid, don't let go) (hogwarts au, mutual pining, misunderstanding, fake dating, armortentia, fluff, slow burn)

[ongoing]

⤿ Soobin just wants to make it through his final year at Hogwarts quietly, ace his N.E.W.T.s, and ignore the way his heart skips a beat sometimes when he sees his former crush pass by in the hallway.

A certain Slytherin prefect has other ideas.

❥ • i know it hurts (cause i feel it too) (fake dating au, college au, friends to lovers, slowburn, fluff, angst)

⤿ yeonjun doesn’t know why he agreed to fake dating his best friend, but he did.

it was just friends helping friends, but the second yeonjun starts to feel his chest tighten every time their fingers interlock, and the second he starts hearing his heart beat out of his chest every time he presses his lips against beomgyu’s, he realizes something went awfully wrong when he chose to agree to beomgyu’s idea.

and when it’s all over, he sees his boy walk away with someone who is not him. and only then does he realize, not having beomgyu by his side felt lonely.

and yeonjun hates feeling lonely.

❥ • and you'll be alright (unplanned pregnancy, implied abortion, omega choi yeonjun, omega choi beomgyu, alpha choi soobin, choi beomgyu-centric) ⤿ Beomgyu makes the hardest decision of his life on a Tuesday.

❥ • Of A Star (werewolf au, implied/referenced rape, mpreg, alpha choi yeonjun, omega choi beomgyu, beta kang taehyun, abandonment, angst) ⤿ It was eerie and lonely. Beomgyu never liked to be alone, never cared for silence either. Yet here he was. Standing in an unfamiliar place, inevitably abandoned... Well, perhaps not completely so.

[techniwater]

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[hoodedsuns]

Spring Bloom | Lee Felix

Genre: Artist!AU, Fluff

Summary: A continuation of Dead Leaves 

Word Count: 1.6K

Spring is without a doubt Felix's favourite season of the year. It is afterall, the season of new beginnings. Gazing at the vast blue sky through the open window, he followed the slow moving clouds on their journey, allowing his mind to wander wherever it pleased as he entertained the childish thought of sitting on one. With the weather steadily heating up and the playful but tenacious stalks of daisies sprouting up in the most unlikely of locations, the air comes alive with bubbly chatter and a welcomed sense of newfound motivation. He could almost smell the distinct scent of grass wafting through the air even though the nearest park was at least half an hour away. 

Who on earth wouldn't like spring?

Felix's attentive eyes flickered back over to where you laid haphazardly on the floor in a shirt that you had stolen from him, ignoring the way the thin cotton fabric had ridden up and was exposing your stomach in favour of lazily scrolling through twitter in search of something that could cure your boredom. It was a common sight to see on these lazy sunday mornings where neither of you felt the need to exert more energy than what was needed, completely satisfied with just basking in each other’s presence.

Bringing his legs further into himself so as to create a stabler surface atop the chair he sat on, Felix re-balanced his sketchbook onto his bent knees, left hand grabbing onto the side tightly. And with careful strokes, he filled yet another page of his sketchbook with random drawings of your figure and features as he sketched out the final curve of your pursed lips – a habit of yours that appears whenever you were focused on something. He sometimes affectionately refers to you as his little duckling because of it, although you would often just reply with an amused “I’m older than you”. 

"I miss autumn," you announced to no one in particular, causing Felix's heart to skip a beat. 

You always had a knack for reading his mind. It was something which Felix took great joy in adding to his ever growing list of 'evidence we're soulmates' that he kept track of in his phone. Or maybe it was just pure coincidence, nothing more than a mere product of him over analyzing anything that had to do with you. Even so, he'd much rather choose to believe that it was the former reason.

Stretching your limbs out wide like a starfish, you let out a loud groan before heaving yourself up into a sitting position, a dumb smile present on your face. "You know that I can hear your pencil strokes right?" You turned your head to face a flustered Felix who immediately started busying himself by babbling and stammering out excuses of how he definitely wasn't sketching you.

You smirked, having successfully caught Felix in your childish trap. "All I said was that I can hear you drawing, I never said that it was me you're sketching." Aside from the muted hum of the traffic outside, it was dead silent for a moment before Felix realised his mistake.

"You just love teasing me, don't you." He gave a resigned sigh at your amused chuckle. Felix wasn’t sure why but despite having been caught drawing you numerous times, it still made him nervous when you called him out. Perhaps it had something to do with how much of his emotions would bleed into the lines, leaving the most vulnerable parts of himself open for anyone to see as long as they had possession of his sketchbook. But regardless, he was more than used to dealing with the cheeky side of you and the first lesson he learned was that it’s much easier to just give in than try to fight a battle that already had a predetermined winner. 

Felix cringed at the way your joints popped audibly as you got up from the hard wooden floor and walked behind his chair, resting your chin on his shoulders to get a good look at his creation while your fingers ran themselves through his dark brown hair that was still a little damaged from its previous bleaching. 

Despite your outward confidence, you were still slightly nervous on the inside considering how the sketch was basically a testament as to the way you appeared through Felix's eyes. Your insecurities were unfounded however, as proven by the instantaneous fluttering of butterflies in your stomach the moment your gaze met the drawing. You were never one to put yourself down but you really couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible for you to still look so effortlessly breathtaking to him even in all your messy and makeup-less glory, feeling as though you were unworthy of how much love and awe you could feel in the simple graphite lines. He even scattered random tiny stars and hearts across the page.

Clearing your throat, you quickly grabbed the sketchbook out of his hands when he had turned his head around to glance at your reaction, using it as a shield to hide the remnants of your lovestruck expression while hastily flipping the book to a random page in an effort to distract yourself from the warm feeling that was growing in your chest. 

"Hey, that's the cafe!" Your hands stopped their movements as your eyes widened in excitement, lips quirking upwards just from the sight of that familiar and homey building.

After your initial recommendation, the pair of you would frequent the quaint little shop together with Felix having fallen head over heels with the heavenly pastries and cozy atmosphere, an exact mirror image of your own self when you had first discovered that small haven. It was the place that nurtured the shy and uncertain connection between the two of you into something more unequivocal as Chan, the owner of said cafe that both you and Felix had formed a close friendship with, would smuggly remind his employees everytime you two visited. And in a way, it wasn’t that far from the truth. It not only provided you with a safe and comfortable environment to be in when you were first getting to know Felix better, it was also where you two made it official thanks to everyone’s gentle nudges whenever you guys got stuck or too afraid to pursue something more. But Chan’s ego was already big enough without you openly agreeing with him.

"Is this the reason why you were so late that one time?" Your eyes latched onto the grey figure of yourself smiling softly, attention completely taken by whatever nonsense Chan was spewing as he cleared the tables near you of their empty dishes and cups, before looking at Felix with a deadpan expression. 

He could only smile sheepishly, giving you the answer to your question. 

In his defense, his original plan was to meet you inside immediately but he got sidetracked when he spotted you through the large windows of the cafe. You looked so happy and at peace that Felix immediately felt his heart swell with love, completely awestruck by how innocent and seemingly angelic you appeared in that moment. Which of course, led him to immediately scrambling for his sketchbook and a pencil. Felix would never forget the strange stares he got from the people who walked by him, both concerned and disturbed by the sight of him furiously sketching while sitting down on the hot pavement in the middle of nowhere. 

It was through things like this that reassured you of Felix’s affection, although he is also very vocal about it. He’s always so hellbent on capturing the little moments of you that you would personally find insignificant, encapsulating those emotions of his that no words could fully describe. You shook your head, smiling in disbelief before flipping to yet another random page.

"Oh, is this your childhood house or something?" You brushed your fingers across the page without actually making contact with the paper, marvelling at how detailed the drawing was as your eyes travelled from the creeping butterfly pea vines to the obedient golden retriever that sat on the front porch, tail wagging in excitement.

Confused by the lack of a reply, you lifted your head up only to be met with Felix's cherry red ears, his face being completely covered by his hands. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and you ended up choosing to stay silent and allowing Felix the time to find his words as you could sense a slight change in the playful atmosphere that previously filled the air. 

Seconds ticked by before Felix opened his mouth, "It's the house that I want to live in with you in the future." He lowered his hands, voice trailing off at the end. Your mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ at his response. Neither of you had really talked about the future of your relationship before. But despite the vulnerability that was clear in his tone, his gaze was filled with nothing but pure determination, steady onyx coloured eyes boring into yours with the intensity of fiery embers. You felt shivers run down your back, having been reminded of when you had first met Felix. It was that same look of absolute confidence in his eyes, a stark contrast to his fumbling hands, that intrigued you in the first place.

Brushing your lips lightly across his, you resisted the urge to peck every single one of his little freckles when he unconsciously leaned forward in chase of more, hands reaching out to grab onto the hem of your shirt on its own accord. 

"I'm looking forward to it."

[kingliam-rys]

Forgotten Memories (Liam x MC)

A/N: So Hi, I never write anything (this is my first oneshot/fic/ drabble?), so don’t expect this to be a regular thing but I got this idea from a photo from my childhood (I was dressed as a princess), and my MC head canon, kind of has a tragic backstory and I felt like this was a good way to discuss it with Liam. I just want to preface that there isn’t a ton of dialogue, because as I wrote this, I realized how atrocious I was at writing dialogue…..Oh also,  I mention that they have a VCR, and I’m just gonna need you to pretend that those aren’t obsolete anymore, cause otherwise they wouldn’t be able to watch the tape. so yeah…thanks. ok. enjoy. bye. 🙈🙉🙊

Description: MC(I named her Riley because I’m unoriginal) replays an old tape from her childhood, and shares some memories about her past with Liam. 

Riley sat in one of the spare rooms in her and Liam’s quarters. Dozens of boxes scattered the room as the Queen tried to unpack. It seemed comical that after being married to Liam for the past eight months and living in the Palace, she has just found the time to sort through belongings from her past. Though given the renovations on the royal quarters were only recently completed, and then the extended stay in America for the Beaumont/Walker wedding, it really wasn’t a surprise at all.

Most of the boxes went untouched when Riley came to Cordonia over two years ago, and while she still did not have a need for her old Diesel jeans, or black non-slip waitress shoes, sorting through her old life brought up many nostalgic memories. Besides the clothing that took up most of the boxes, there were a few that held mementos of her childhood. An old barbie, that now had tattered clothes, and frizzy hair, it was one of the only dolls that Riley had when she was little, and she carried it everywhere. Holding the doll in her hand, she could recall the time when she was just a child, she’d bring the doll along with her to the park, where she’d find her older brother shooting a basketball, and her neighbors grouped around watching the young children scattered about.

A small smile played on her face as she placed the doll down, and picked up the next object, another memory forming. It was a coffee mug that had a faded floral print and a chip on the rim. While it didn’t seem like an extraordinary object, it held a significant place in Riley’s heart. It was the coffee cup she saw her mother use every day. The same one that would be held in her Mother’s hand as she woke her for school every morning, the floral scent of her mother’s tea rose perfume, reaching her, before she even opened her eyes. Or the same mug that would be clutched in her mother’s grasp as she called for Riley and her brother to come inside, from the balcony of their small one bedroom apartment.

The things that were in these boxes, told more about Riley’s life than any of her accomplishments could, even more than Maxwell’s memoir would.

Riley sat back from sifting through the box, trying to recall her childhood, beyond what these objects were able to bring about, but that was the problem, there weren’t many more. Whether that was because they were insignificant to her, or whether she subconsciously wanted to forget the bad, there weren’t many. But, obviously, her life went on, and while her mother worked tirelessly to provide her with everything her and her brother could want, Riley couldn’t help but be grateful for what had become over her life. Married to a man who loved and adored her, a little baby on the way. Hell, she was Queen of a country, how could she possibly regret anything about how her life turned out. Well maybe one regret, the pixie cut in middle school that had her mocked for months. That may be the only thing she’d change.

Her hand absentmindedly went to her small bump, ghosting gentle circles over where she felt the tiny flutters of the baby’s movement. A happy reminder that her child would have a childhood filled with happy, loving memories, with both of its parents guiding them through life.  

Her grin was prevalent as she returned to sorting through the remaining contents of the boxes, mostly old papers and projects from when she was in grade school, a few sports item,-most likely keepsakes from her late-brother, and an old high school sweatshirt that had a faint scent of nauseating axe body spray, most likely owned by an ex-boyfriend that she stole it from and never returned, nor threw away. As she lifted the sweatshirt, she spotted the last item remaining, an old VHS tape. It’s content even more of a surprise, since there were not many photographic memories from her childhood. And she could not remember a time when her small family ever had a video camera. The quizzical look returned when she saw the unmistakable scrawl of her mother’s hand writing on the label: Riley’s 4th B-Day

Checking the time on her phone, she noticed that Liam would be arriving home from his last meeting soon. She closed up the last of the boxes, deciding to take time another day to sort through the remainder of her past life. Exiting the spare room, Riley walked through the hall of the royal family’s quarters, holding onto the VHS tape, glancing up when she heard her husband enter through the front door.

“Hello, my love,” He says, removing his suit jacket, placing it on the chair beside the entrance. Riley smiles at him, noticing his tired appearance. Liam had taken on more work, and scheduled even more meetings for himself, to lessen the load of her schedule, but also lessen the load of what would be expected of them in just a few short months.

Riley greeted him and he leaned down to press a kiss to Riley’s lips, while also placing a hand on her growing bump. She reciprocated wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into his embrace.

“How was the rest of your afternoon, feeling okay?” He asked, holding her close, relishing in their embrace.

“Yes, it was very productive. I got through some of those old boxes, most of it can be donated, old clothes and what not, but I found some things from my childhood, random mementos that I had held on to, nothing too special but,” Riley explained, and her giddy joy took over as she held up the tape she found, “Look what was hidden at the bottom of one! It’s from my childhood, though I don’t remember much from my fourth birthday, but how amazing, I thought there was nothing left, but this just comes out of nowhere.”

Liam returned his wife’s joy, while he knew some of Riley’s upbringing, it was always a painful remembrance for her to talk through, as she reminisced about her late mother and brother. This provided a glimpse into her forgotten childhood, that she could keep and remember forever.

“I know we have dinner with our friends tonight, but do we have time to watch it now?” Riley questioned, Liam taking a glance at the time on his watch, “I believe so. We should be able to watch this in our room.” They grabbed the tape and headed to their bedroom. Once in the living area of the suite, Liam put the VHS in the player and turned on the TV and when they were both comfortable on the couch, Liam pressed play.

“Ok, my little love, are you ready for your big day,” a light voice asked. “Yes, Mama, I ready to be a pwincess.” A little voice replied, bringing into view a baby faced-Riley.  Liam’s eyes widened as he looked at little Riley dressed up as a princess. The sparkly pink dress with matching crown and glitter wand, were perfect.

“And what is today, Princess Riley?” her mother asked. “My bwirthday!”  The eager little girl shouted, showing off a toothy grin, “And how old are you sweetie?” Riley replied holding up four fingers. “How many is that Riley?” Her mother encouraged.  Riley touched each finger counting out, “One, two, three, four. Four, Mama!”

Just then, a little boy, dressed in his own princely garments, appeared on the screen, standing next to Riley, “ah, and there is Prince Nicholas. Are we ready to start the party then?” The voice asked. The picture began to shake and shift over the small apartment, landing on the scene of the kitchen table where it was set for an extravagant tea party. With the two kids seated at the table, a woman passed in view, sitting next to little Riley. That woman, being Riley’s mother, Rose.

At the sight of her mother, Riley’s breath caught in her throat as she watched intently, everything about this forgotten moment making her that much more emotional. She never thought she’d be able to see her mother, or hear her mother’s voice again, it had been years since she’d passed. Riley had almost forgotten how gentle and even toned it was, it was like listening to a peaceful lullaby.

The scene played out before them, young Riley and Nicholas both taking moments to tell extravagant tales of their “life” in the castle, until Riley’s exclamation that when she grows up, she wants to marry a Prince.

Liam squeezed his wife’s hand at that moment, stealing a glance at her, smiling, as she watched the home video play out. Liam kept his gaze to her, as looks of confusion rolled along Riley’s face. She didn’t remember much about this birthday. Sure, she remembered the pink dress, and the tiara, and of course, the claims of wanting to be an actual princess, but what little four year old girl didn’t dream about being a princess.

Riley didn’t have too many memories from when she was younger, very few stuck, and there weren’t many reminders of what her life was like before she was able to recall moments from her childhood. And the moments she could remember, weren’t always filled with her mother smiling so much, or her brother and her laughing until their faces turned red.

Tears began to prick her eyes, damn hormones, Riley thought, trying to hold back all the emotions she was facing watching the reminders of her fourth birthday. Liam tightened the hold on his wife as he sensed her reaction to the video. The memories carried on before them and Riley was almost lost in nostalgia until a knock sounded through the old recording.

In the video, Riley’s mother gave a confused look, as her children voiced who they thought the unexpected visitor may be. Rose moved out of the camera frame as she went to answer the door, where a new voice was heard.

“Hello Princess!”

Little Riley’s face lit up as she saw the source of the voice, and with a grin exclaimed, “Daddy!” Immediately running out of the camera view to greet him.

Though their joyous reunion was only overheard, the look on her young brother’s face remained, as he rolled his eyes and gave an annoyed huff. Rose, returning a moment later, giving Nicholas a pointed look. Riley could practically hear the tone her mother would use, Play nice Nicholas. It’s your sister’s birthday, it makes her happy.

That’s when the man, that Riley never thought she’d have to see again, stepped into view of the camera. Holding on to his four year old, smiling and laughing. And overall what looked like a blissful moment, only pained Riley to see it even more.

Present Riley immediately tensed, reaching over to grab the remote to turn the TV off. Her breath was heavy, as her heart rate increased. She felt like her world was closing in around her as she reacted to the memories the old VHS tape brought about. Riley’s relationship with her father was a bit troublesome. He was only around occasionally during her childhood, showing up maybe once or twice a year-usually around the summer, and if she was lucky again during her birthday. But the man had disappeared all-together when she was eight years old, only sending a sporadic birthday card or Christmas card, if he remembered. Or at least that’s what she thought. She learned the truth, years later, of what kept his life, his actual, real, day-to-day life from hers in New York.

Riley felt Liam’s hands smooth over her cheeks, not even realizing that her tears were falling harder than before. The tightness in her chest subsiding as she could faintly hear her husband’s whispered words, that tried to calm her down. Take a deep Breathe, Riley. It’s okay, my love. I’m right here. Look at me.

She was able to calm her breathing, realizing her panic wasn’t just affecting her, but the little life inside her. Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze, meeting the bright blue eyes of her husband. They were filled with worry as they began to search her face.

“Hey there, talk to me.” Liam’s thumbs wiped the remaining tears from Riley’s cheeks. She hiccuped at the fetal attempt she made to calm down. “I-I’m fine.” She whispered, fearing her voice would give away the true heartbreak she still felt. She didn’t want Liam to worry, he always worried enough about her. “I just need a moment,” she asked, settling against him as Liam returned the embrace, his hands landing on her bump.

Even eighteen years later, Riley didn’t realize the hurt that she still held onto. How the man who lied to her, and left her, could still continue to break her heart. The memory on the VHS tape wasn’t even a bad one, it actually seemed like a normal jovial moment between her and her father. But maybe that was the issue, of all the memories Riley had with her father, they were always happy. Her second grade graduation where he surprised her with red roses and a trip to an ice cream shop for a giant chocolate sundae, or her sixth birthday where he bought her an American Girl doll and a visit to Manhattan where they ate tiny sandwiches and drank tea.

Yes, the little time she spent with her father was some of the most resounding in her mind, and that broke her heart even more. She couldn’t remember the joyous times with her mother, no shopping trips or grabbing coffees, gossiping over a boy Riley had a crush on, nor could she recall special moments with her older brother, him comforting her over a boy who broke her heart or cheering for her at her high school graduation. No, instead, the materialistic recollections of her absentee father filled her thoughts.

Liam soothingly ran his hand along her back, her head tucked under his chin. Riley was no longer crying, just staring at the space ahead of her. “Do-Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, lowering his gaze to hers.

“It was hard to see them. My mom, my brother.” She paused, shaking her head in a bit of disbelief, “my dad.. it was a bit surreal. I don’t think I’ve ever remembered a time when we were all so happy.” Riley took the time to let it sink in. “I mean, my childhood wasn’t horrible, my mom made sure we never went without, but she worked long hours, and my brother and I shared a cramped bedroom, while my mom slept in the living room. It wasn’t ideal but considering our circumstances, that’s just how it was.”

Liam nodded in understanding, knowing this instance of her life, while it wasn’t a traditional home, it was Riley’s, and he believed that her family’s struggles helped build her into the woman he loved so much. The strong, compassionate, loving, woman.

“But to see my father,” She continued, shaking her head at the thought of him, “My face lit up like someone plugged-in a strand of Christmas lights, I don’t know why I believed that man held the world in his hands, but that’s how I saw him at the time.”

Riley’s voice began to shake near the end, knowing she had to stop. To take a breath, let her husband provide her with a pearl of wisdom that he always could offer to her.

“He was-he is your father, no matter what he decided to do later in your life. I think in the moments he did spend with you, are true and honest to how much he cared for you.” He remarked, not knowing the entirety of Riley’s reality, “Parent’s do crazy things sometimes, some meddle in your life when they think they know what’s best, other’s just leave when they feel like they can’t be their best. And the one’s like your mom, will do everything in their power to make sure that you can become the best.”

He always has a way with words, That was what she needed, Riley knew that Liam always could talk through her jumbled thoughts, to help sort the mess and hurt in her mind, that she couldn’t quite articulate as eloquently.

“Thank you, it helps calm my mind to hear that, and even though I don’t think I can ever forgive him for leaving or for what he did to my mom… thank you.” She tilted her head, capturing his lips. Trying to convey the love she felt for him. He eagerly returned the kiss, only to pull back to rest his forehead against hers, his hand cupping around the side of her neck.

“Anything for you, my love.” He reminded her, placing a kiss to her forehead. Riley leaned into his embrace, wrapping an arm around his neck and she shifted to rest her legs across his lap.

“Can I know what happened? I mean, other than the fact that he disappeared when you were a child, I don’t really know much more about him.- Like what is his name?” He asked, running his thumb along her knuckles. She smirked at his caring nature, feeling herself calm in the hurt she felt towards the man.

“His name is Andrew, Andrew Pierce.” She revealed, sorting through the account of her father’s life “I’ve mentioned before how the last time I saw him was when I was eight years old, but I only discovered the truth about him when I was fifteen, right before my mom passed away.” Riley continued on, to explain how her father had another family in some fly-over state, the traditional white picket fence family, and Rose only discovered the truth when she attempted to serve Andrew with child-support papers. Learning that not only did he not live in New York, he had a wife and child living as a happy family in some upper middle class neighborhood. The nice house, with fancy cars, the extravagant vacations and family parties, while her mother worked 18 hour days, sacrificing time with her kids to make sure they had a roof over their heads and food on the table.

The extravagant gifts that Riley received from her father would be things she would trash later on, knowing how much more he could have provided for her. Not even in materialistic items, but in her school tuition, or school uniforms or lunch cards. Andrew Pierce couldn’t even make sure that his daughter survived on the streets of New York City, his decorum wouldn’t allow for it.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to talk about this before. I thought that, that part of my life was over, that it held no baring over who I am right now. But it does, subconsciously, I think that it has always been a motivation to who I am, and who I wanted to become. Thinking that if I was good enough, he would want to be a part of my life.

“No need to apologize, love. I figured whenever you felt ready to share, that you would.”

Liam’s hold on his wife tightened, placing a kiss to her hair, as he heard the recounts of the man who is her father. It easily rivaled and bested his own, surprisingly. He silently wished there was a way he could take away the pain his wife had felt for so many years.

“I wish  I could offer more, but I know that we learn from our parent’s mistakes. I know that as much as I admired my father as a King, I wish to not repeat how he was as a father to me.” Liam remarked, trying to soothe Riley.

“I know Liam, you are going to be an amazing father to our little cub, they couldn’t ask for anyone better. That’s one thing I know for sure, I never have to worry that you will leave our child or that you will pass them along to a nanny just because you can” Riley smiled, picturing Liam holding their little cub, her dark curls with his expressive ocean eyes. Running a hand through his hair she tentatively thought of herself as a parent. As a mom. It terrified her.

“I’m scared,” she paused, “I’m scared that I’m going to turn out like him, that I’m not cut out to be a mom, to be a parent.” Liam’s arm tightened around her, “I don’t believe that for one instant, you care for our baby so much, you are loving and compassionate and strong, and I know you, Riley, you are meant to do whatever you set your mind to. You are not Andrew Pierce, you are Riley Brooks-Rys.”

A smile tugged at her lips as she rested her head against his shoulder, her fear subsiding at his words, “ Thank you Liam, Thank you for being you,” She whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And hey, four year old Riley got her wish, she married a Prince- well a King, but same thing.”

Riley laughed at her husband’s antics, a swell of love filling her heart. “Yes she did, and that’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”  She remarked, planting a kiss on Liam’s lips.

[oghoneytryst]

savior;

continuation from the sunflower. series / part 3

where a fan becomes a friend

a/n: thank u for being so patient with this. my inspiration and writing just ... hasn’t been it lately, but I'm really pushing through and i am so happy to have finished this part. honestly, we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but I will try my absolute best to drive this wild ride down.

pls let me know how you feel about this part! pls be nice b/c I'm currently in sad bitch hours :-)

also sorry that tumblr is a weirdo and made the format for text super strange, idk what to do about it but i hope it doesn’t affect anything!

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

~ Nov. 14 ~

Every digit embodies a shapely mark of intimidation; all ten, with their loops and their curves that shower in iridescence through her late morning eyes. Midnight ink saturates the sticky note’s pale yellow, tiny creases in the square body and little curls at the edges. She knows the value of this ordinary paper, and in her hands, it dances in the flame of eternal possibilities.

The pregnant woman sits on an office chair with desperation in her chest. Beneath the buttons and ruffles of her bright marigold blouse, her heart beats against her clammy skin. Heavy thighs stick to the squish of the chair, a mermaid’s tail in a muted pencil skirt. The material expands and shapes over her little bump; her growing joy; her inconvenient little bundle that she adores so much.

As a result of her punishable overthinking, she tears away the inside of her cheek, gnawing teeth at war by mindless command. In a pile of her worries, the minimal harm is at the very bottom. At the top are these ten digits that transfix her curious eyes. It isn’t as if she hasn’t considered dialing the number before. Insignificant pregnancy whines, however, cannot compare with the favor she would be asking of him now.

Without trouble, she recalls the days that had followed Harry’s visit. She recalls her tears on the couch, angry at nothing, angry at everything; the frustrating changes of her body, the awful work days. In all of her recollections, she complains to her roommate, who she admires greatly for putting up with all of her dramatics.

On the 6th, she had obsessively craved some Dippin’ Dots. It had been on the 6th that Aaron found himself arguing with a pregnant woman, a feat he had never wanted. It hadn’t mattered that such a pregnant woman had been his infuriatingly needy roommate, someone he actually does care for. He really had no trouble telling her no after her incredibly annoying behavior that afternoon.

She, of course, is never able to control her pregnant mannerisms. Yet, Aaron has always been suspicious of what she had been like prior to the bun in her oven. He has only ever known her as a woman-carrying-child in need, so perhaps during this process a lot of her personality hyphens instead of alters.

Nonetheless, her demand had been frankly impossible on the 6th. The nearest Dippin’ Dots is more than a half hour drive away from their home, and nighttime had been approaching soon. There hadn’t been a chance that Aaron would bear through Los Angeles traffic for, quote, “fucking balls of ice cream.”

So, with the fire of the sun drizzling to a bedazzling California sky, she had wept over nothing and everything at once. The timeline of her pregnancy had not made her emotions plausible. Instead, it had been the collective world turning against her on a tiring, unwelcomed day.

In the flash of a second, she had heard the ding in her fuzzy brain. The sticky note with the fruitful digits ... maybe he has some connections! Maybe he can bring us some! Do you think? If he’s not busy? What if he has a special freezer meant for his own supply of Dippin’ Dots?

It had been harmless on her part; an oh-so-bright idea crafted from a momentary desire for soft frozen food. She had been so close to make the call, if not for her dearest roommate and his not-so-delicate intervention. Aaron, the man who she believes admires Harry more than she does. With a high percentage of certitude, she knows he’d be first in line to invite the Cheshire man back to their unimpressive home. 

In truth, that had been the reason for his disapproval of ringing him up that night. He believed it to be lunacy, sharp scissors at the ready in order to cut the special ties she had somehow knotted up with Harry. The man’s exact words – in that richly Northwestern accent – had been: “if you ever need something, please, don’t hesitate to call this number.” Something, in Aaron’s eyes, had not been anything. While he does not have a single doubt that the rock star would fly to her rescue in any situation, he advised against calling him for certain things.

Not everyone is so fortunate to have Harry in their lives. Aaron, with all of his respect for the man, knew that this had been a game to play carefully. If his pregnant roommate really enjoyed Harry’s company, she would have to play every card right, especially with a man as reserved as he is.

His points had been compelling, but she had not seen it as seriously. Her intuition had not stopped her from rethinking her decision once and twice and thrice. In the end, she had put her trust in Aaron’s madman words and had not called Harry. In the days that had followed, his charismatic voice lured in the back of her head whenever she scanned the sticky note, second-guessing herself about whether her temptation to call him had been worthy enough of his time.

It had been more difficult to resist calling when she had been alone one unfortunate night. The bustle of the neighborhood brought her to a reality that she did not particularly enjoy. Forced by the comfort of her pregnancy pillow, there had been a magnetic pull of the stars that whispered to her eyes through an overbearing distance.

She only wanted a friend that night. Someone to talk with, to hear their voice so that it could bring her back to the bit of sanity she had left. Previous nights, Aaron had been a solace for her, soft-spoken words lulling her to sleep after suffocating in the clouds for too long. Except that night, he ended up at his workplace until the late hour, and she recognized her loneliness as dangerously frightening.

For hours she cried, wanting a hug, wanting something to make her feel real and existent and safe. On that night, in her most calamitous moments, she later came to notice the vivacity of her swollen stomach. It had been – always is – comforting to feel something there, even without having to actually feel movement. It had been therapeutic to whisper her fears and truths. It had been on that night, she would never be alone again.

She hasn’t thought to call the number since. While it has only been a mere 10 days, there feels to be an infinite timeline of moments in-between. She knows it to be more accurate for him and his busy, ever-changing schedule.

They’d had a conversation last time, when he brought her that treasured gift. He sat on the dusty floorboards, her rested on a heavenly cloud with a smile to match. It had been simple, a little awkward at times, though never once had it felt forced. She feared them reverting back to strangers, to sense the shift in energy that would put a strain on her heart.

She scans the note again. xxx-xxx-xxxx. A dime of kisses, where no other option lies.

With her phone face-up on the receptionist’s desk, she rolls her eyes. Messages of apologies and excuses flood in, though her scant aggression dissolves into an antsy frown. She cannot be mad at Cindy/Sydney for cancelling on her, especially when she does not even know her actual name. The frustration of her anger devolves into frustration of herself, for this damn appointment that she had not set up a backup plan for.

“Excuse me?”

Breaking up with an intense, one-sided conversation, she raises her head to a sheepish man in his late 30’s, early 40’s. He stands at a short height on the other side of the receptionist’s desk, square glasses disguising his truest features.

She grins at him, a cheery delight overpowering her honest glum. “Hi, how are you?” her voice chirps, a shift in her behavior that she considers a skill-set. “What can I do for you today?”

“Uh, I’ve already spoken with you. I have an appointment with Sanders at 10 and you told me to fill out a form. I’m still waiting for it.”

The woman’s smile falters at the man’s irresolute explanation. He ends each sentence as though it is a question, not wanting to step on a wrong foot. She takes in his appearance, and there is familiarity in his rusty red, untucked polo. 

“Right.” Her eyes close in repent of her common forgetfulness. “That’s right. I’m sorry.” She scurries to get the papers together on a clipboard, pushing the rolling chair in every different direction. “I’ve just been a little slow today.” The man laughs off the mistake, assuring her that there are no worries.

“Really, no trouble at all.” 

He thanks her for the form once it is secure in his hands and walks to the waiting area. This accidentally precedes her rushing to hand him the sticky note, to which she quickly realizes her mistake before he has a chance to read the numbers. He sits down in a modern arm chair next to its twin, where a young preteen girl shifts around nervously. Out of plain assumption, she recognizes the pair as a father-daughter duo. The man smiles at the girl, crossing his legs, trying to console her nerves as best as he can with humor.

The pregnant receptionist smiles.

The ventilated air of the office smoothens in her lungs.

For her child, she would do anything – everything. As hesitant thoughts surge through in hungry waves, she dials the number in her phone anyway. In the back of her head, she contemplates whether it is actually his number or if it belongs to an assistant of his. It doesn’t sound completely off from what a celebrity would do. He doesn’t know who she is. It’s better to play it safe than to make a foolish mistake that he later regrets. 

The trio of short, snippy buzzes vibrate through the line. It is an electric feeling, comforting almost to hear its warm murmur during her wait.

“—Hello?”

Her languid eyes illuminate in the mirror of neon signs; her body freezes over with a blizzard of nerves. His voice is somehow deeper than she remembers from 10 days ago, an ironic sultriness in his polite tone.

“Hello?” he asks again with a tad more infliction in the single word.

“...H-Hello,” she responds, tongue running dry and the last sensible part of her brain sabotaging her. Why didn’t I prepare for this? It is feasible that deep in her subconscious, she had expected an assistant to answer. She practically wanted an assistant to answer. 

He repeats himself, “Hello,” a little more chirp in the melody of a mockingbird.

“Hi. Harry?”

“Who’s calling?”

The question stumbles her for a second. Is it good or bad that he cannot recognize her voice? Admittedly a consequence on her part for taking so long to reach out. She answers anyway, her name spoken with so much dubiety, but really, what is she afraid of? 

“You know, the uh, the one from—”

“Oh—”

“From Mel’s and, the one with ... pregnant, y’know—”

“Yeah!” he exclaims, echoing her name through a mildly static output. “Of course. How are you? Doing alright? Baby’s fine?” 

She pulls away from the phone to breathe, suddenly elated over his reaction. His charisma is virtually magical. She touches her cheek to the screen again to answer:

“I’m doing great, thank you. Baby’s fine, I hope.”

A delay of worry replaces his lack of an immediate response. “You hope? Why, what’s – is there something wrong?”

“No!” she bursts out, the father and daughter staring back at her in surprise. She nervously chuckles and smiles at them, deflating in her chair as she continues. “No, sorry, that came out wrong. I meant to say ... well, I’m sure the baby’s fine. Nothing feels wrong, but I do have an appointment for an ultrasound today.”

A faint crackle from the line resonates in her ear. She clearly pictures Harry’s sigh of relief.

“Really? That’s great. I hope it all goes well.”

“Thanks! Thank you, I do too—” she snickers, “Obviously, but I have uh ... there’s a bit of a predicament.”

“Predicament? Fancy word.”

“Right, well, it’s not so much of a fancy situation that I’m in. See, I was supposed to be picked up later today by Cindy Sydney so that she could take me from work to the appointment, but she just called and cancelled because she has to pick up her aunt from the airport. She got the dates mixed up somehow, which makes no sense because pregnancy has made me very forgetful, and even I didn’t get the dates wrong. I think that might have to do with the planner, it does keep me organized, but even then—”

“Darling,” Harry stops her, unaware of how she chokes on her own tongue at the endearment. Darling. Darling again! From darling to love, she is in a storm of beating hearts. “You’re gonna ‘ave to slow down. What – you don’t have a way to get to your appointment, is it?”

“Yes. Right. I don’t have enough for an Uber or a Lyft right now without affecting my budget for next month. She offered to pay for it, that or for cancellation fees, but I don’t really trust those kinds of transportations right now, and I already got approval from my manager, so switching the date would just be super inconvenient.”

“Right. I understand.”

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that no one else that I know of is available, and I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy. I wouldn’t be calling if—”

“No, no, that’s alright. I’m glad that you’re calling.”

The pregnant woman simpers, a needle pricking at her heart. “R-Really?”

“Of course. I would be more than glad to help. If you could just send me the location of your workplace and where you’re getting your ultrasound ... what time is your appointment?”

“At 2. I want to get there maybe fifteen minutes earlier. You’ll never know how much the traffic will back up at that time. Is it okay if uh ... are, are you picking me up or...?”

“Yeah, why?”

“N-No, nothing, I just ... didn’t know if you were busy. Didn’t want to assume.”

“Yeah, my schedule’s fine. Not really doing anything that I can’t do later, so everything’s fine.”

“Oh, okay. Good. Great. So, uh, is it okay if you arrive here at, say, one-oh-five-ish?” 

“Oddly specific.” Harry chuckles. “But sure. I can make that happen.” 

“Great! Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You’re quite welcome ... thank you for calling.”

While her appreciation for him has always been so strong, this heavy thump in her pink and red organ is nearly unbearable. Ever since he fell intertwining into her life, she tries her hardest to ignore whatever feelings may occur. Now it seems more ideal to control it than to suppress it.

“You’re welcome,” she speaks softly, 16 again with a crush on a boy. “Thank you for picking up.”

Unbeknownst to her, he smiles on the other end. “S’ my pleasure. Now, get back to work, you over-achiever!” His accent purposely thickens on his second sentence, eliciting a natural, honest laugh. “Don’t forget to send me the addresses. I’ll make sure everything works out.”

Their phone call ends with innocent expressions of repetitive gratitude and gentle goodbyes. The pregnant woman does not waste a second to send him the addresses via text message, not allowing herself to fall victim to her lapse of memory. She checks over the numbers, the street names, the zip codes – all more than once, to make sure that all is well and not in metaphorical flames.

new message: Got it. See you later. H

H. She bites on her silky lip, a refreshing taste from her natural balm. She is familiar with the signoff, though she doesn’t know if it is something he does regularly or if it is only a one-time confirmation that this is, in fact, his number. Does he expect her to save his ten digits in her contact’s list, somewhere underneath a family member and above an old friend? She is giddy, undoubtedly so. An unspoken dream of hers as a plain teenager unraveling into reality! It causes the brightest smile this orthodontist office has ever seen.

So much esteem fills her up at eleven in the morning, and to her expectation, the hours go by very slowly. Alternating clients, each with different lives, somehow bound to this one place and time. Sorting forms and making calls and opening emails; a distraction in one way or another, but neither can steal her attention entirely.

Due to a much-needed bathroom break, she almost misses the message. Relieving her bladder had not been the first or even second of the day, but it is important that she stays hydrated, and this is especially true during her pregnancy. She really cannot afford a preventable trip to the emergency room right now.

When she reaches the receptionist’s desk, the message hides behind the black screen of her phone for an entire minute. She is lucky that her outdated iPhone can still be trusted by reminding her of a message succeeding two minutes from when she receives it.

new message: I’m outside. Toyota Camry in black. 

Despite her anticipation for his arrival, the message throws her off any and all guards. Primarily it is because he arrives six minutes before their agreed time, whereas her friends are usually a few minutes late. Secondarily... 

“Toyota?” she whispers to herself, eyebrows arching together. She isn’t too up to speed with car models, but she is more than certain that Harry has driven some different sort of vehicles in his time. The only moment she can ever recall him in a Toyota had been that commercial he had done years ago.

Regardless, she raises steadily from her chair on wheels, pushing it back as she collects her belongings. It is without trouble that she notices the slight shake of her hand, the sweat collecting on different sections of her skin. She ignores it. “Ang!” she calls, groaning at the absolute mess of her work bag. It is more professional than her casual bucket bag, wide with its faux leather, but it is just as much of an interior travesty.

She picks up her phone to send a one-handed message:

Conch.

Coming* 

Be out soon.

“Ang!”

There is a franticness to her as she steps around the receptionist’s desk. She sports an added height in her footwear, something that she tries to savor before her feet start to swell. She thinks it will be unbearable to wear heels then, but she’s not for certain.

“I’m here, I’m here!” Ang announces, stepping into the light of the front area in her navy scrubs. “Sorry, nena, I had an alarm set for one in case you forgot. Guess it didn’t go off.” 

The pregnant woman watches her coworker situate herself on the rolling chair. “No, no, you’re fine, it’s not one yet. Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve been able to forget. I’m just so excited, you have no idea.”

“No, I don’t.” Ang smiles. “You’re about to see your child! That’s a huge deal.”

“I know! I know, I can’t wait.”

“I can. Especially until Stefan buys me a ring. Otherwise, I’m going to keep working on my career.”

The woman smiles at her friend, thanking her once more for taking over her station while she is gone. She repeats the same gratitude, expressing how much this truly means to her, because it all comes from her honest heart. She really is in awe of how willing people are to help her when she is in need.

“Also, turn that alarm off before it starts ringing. It makes me anxious every time I hear it.”

“You and I both.” Ang snickers. “You’re off to your appointment then?” 

“Yes, my uh, my ride’s here so ... better early than late when it comes to these things, y’know?”

“Mm-hmm. Who’s taking you?”

The pregnant woman hesitates. “A friend. Has the day off from work, thankfully.” 

Ang begins to sift through a small pile of paperwork, sparing her coworker a measly glance. She’s not unfamiliar with the receptionist’s work, so she takes this as an opportunity to rest her active legs. She can also recognize the strange tone of the pregnant woman, a shaky smile that carries suspicion.

She doesn’t think too much on it. “Great. Be safe. Let me know how it goes.”

For that, the pregnant woman is grateful. “Thank you.” She smiles, a frail wave in Ang’s direction as she blindly scurries away. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She almost runs belly first into the glass door, but stutters her movements before any panic arises from Ang. Still, she sighs with relief when she hears the chime above her pregnant coworker’s head. “...Be careful.”

“Got it! Bye!”

The woman’s face twists in agony as she exits the office. A tenacious heat buries her in an embrace. Parallel to the sidewalk she stands upon is a dark vehicle, a protective tint rises from the brim of the tires and extends beyond the sleek windows. She gravitates in its direction at the sound of the passanger door unlocking, considering it symbolic, the single click of the door a new breath of feasibilities. 

She stalks a couple feet to her right where the car reeks with caution. It isn’t until the passanger windows rolls down that she can sense her blood settle and burst all at once. “Hi.” Harry leans forward at his side, revealing his face amongst the darkness of his surroundings.

“Hey, hi,” she greets him back through the open window. “Good to see you. Nice car.” 

“Thanks.” He smiles, scarce eyes pulling to her every movement. In the most mundane activities – fingertips at the door handle, crouching to the seat, buckling the seatbelt – she highlights his curiosity. “Good to see you as well. Also, s’ actually not my car.”

With her lips as barriers around a reusable straw, she pretends to be surprised. “It’s not?” she smacks her tongue, relishing in the purity of her water.

Harry shifts the gear in drive, setting the GPS up and maneuvering out of the lot with high-alert. “No. I’ve borrowed it.”

“Why—”

“Starting route to—” The animatronic voice interrupts their conversation.

She tries again, “Why would you do that?” with slight disappointment in their reunion. It lacks excitement, but somehow picks up where it’s been left off. No longer a drastic stretch in time are those 10 days.

Harry shrugs casually, turning onto the main road where other vehicles swim along. “Draws less attention.” He pauses, to which she then decides to look over. With the exception of him driving, she gets the impression that he avoids her eyes more so to keep her from catching the sadness in his. There is only a sprinkle, a shimmer that is never truly absent. “Thought you’d might be a little anxious about your appointment,” he continues, “Didn’t want you to have to worry about something else.”

“Oh.” She warms up, her organs all collectively combusting. “Thanks. Thank you for thinking of that.” Her words express gratitude with ease, but the glimmer in her eyes twinge with empathy. She doesn’t ponder over her privacy, or how simple it is for her to go out and do as she pleases. Since his 16th year, he had not been so lucky.

“Of course,” he replies, professionally monotone, as though he can shut off even the faintest flicker of emotion. “S’ my pleasure. How are you feeling? Nervous?”

“Uh, yeah, a little. I’m really jittery and I’ve been drinking water nonstop. On top of that, my bladder is the size of a bean. I’m really good at holding it in though, so I’m not afraid of ruining your seats or anything. Or ... not your seats, but your seats for now. Not like ... not that you were even thinking about that...”

Harry chuckles throughout the entirety of her run-on spoken thoughts. It is never at her – no, never. It is because of her, because despite any situation, she is this fountain of goodness drowning in gold. “Very nervous then?” he teases.

“Yeah ... sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. Nothing to be ashamed about. It’s an important day for you. I’d expect—”

“Turn left on—”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he finishes, lowering the volume of his pesky GPS. “Must be surreal, if anything.” The robotic voice is still present, but becomes more of a background noise that allows them both to speak freely. 

“Oh yeah, completely. It’s like ... it’s like I can’t feel them yet, like movement wise, but ... I don’t know. I guess ... obviously I know they’re in there, but even without movement I can feel them. I know they’re present, heartbeat and everything. Does this – is any of this making sense?”

“Yeah,” he quips amusingly, “it is. Even if it didn’t, doesn’t matter. It makes sense to you and that’s more than enough validation.” 

“Mmm. Right, but it’s still nice to have someone understand.”

Harry sneaks a glance in his peripheral, inhaling and exhaling as to settle into the moment. “I know—”

“In 500 feet, keep right—” 

“What was, uh—” he digs into another topic, the robotic voice somehow a savior that refreshes the conversation. “What you said on the phone about ... Sin City, I think it was?”

“What?”

“You said something about being picked up near Sin City? From your work to your appointment? I thought there might’ve been a store or somethin’ near your job, but I don’t think I saw anything like that.”

“Sin ... oh!” The woman laughs, slapping her knee consciously. “Cindy Sydney. She’s my ... well, yeah, I guess she’s my friend.”

“Cindy Sydney?” he repeats, slowly enunciating every syllable so as to make sure he’s got it right. “Huh. Eh ... that airport story makes more sense. Didn’t know who you were talking about.”

“Yeah, my bad. I know I tend to ramble, probably explains why no one calls me anymore. They can’t even understand what I’m saying.”

“I understood!” he proclaims, expression of his pride lacing around his lazy smile. “Yeah, got it now. Cindy Sydney. That’s really her name? Like ... Phillip Phillips?” 

“No.” The woman laughs, almost choking on her water. “N-No, it’s ... I don’t know her name, to be honest. One of them might be it.”

“Wh—how do you not know?”

“Okay, so basically, I met her maybe a month and a half ago? Somewhere around two months, I guess. And it wasn’t like this everyday sort of meeting at, say, a retail store or something. Can you believe that one night I wake up to use the bathroom I half-pay for, and this woman who I’ve never seen before comes out, no pants, maybe underwear, and what I now assume to be Aaron’s shirt?”

“Aaron?” Harry questions nonchalantly, as though the thought of him is of half-importance. “What, like a—”

“Yeah, so, he usually never brings anyone home. If anything, he’ll go over to someone else’s and come back really early in the morning. So, picture me, pregnant, really loopy because I have to pee, half-awake mind you, running into a complete stranger in my own home.”

Harry adds dramatically, “In the middle of the night!”

“Exactly! So, while I’m tiredly freaking out, trying to not literally piss myself, she’s apologizing and introducing herself. I don’t know if I heard Cindy or Sydney, hence why she’s both, but it could be neither. Anyway, we ended up talking in the hallway and I told her about my situation and why I was living with Aaron. She was actually really nice and offered to drive me whenever I needed a ride.”

“Hmm. Interesting how that played out.” He shoots her a look, to which she can only shrug. “Why haven’t you asked Aaron what her name is?”

“I did! I think he’s annoyed that I befriended his one night stand because he told me her name was Sierra. Then again, he probably doesn’t know himself.”

“Jesus. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Oh, it’s too late for that. I’ll just be extremely awkward. I really do feel bad about it though. She is a nice person, except for, y’know, cancelling on a pregnant woman. I mean, it’s not a huge deal or anything, but ... c’mon. Would you ever do something like that?”

“Dunno,” he playfully smirks, “Maybe if she forgot my name...”

“I didn’t forget it! I never knew it!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking. But I have noticed that you like to play the, uh, the pregnant card a lot.”

“Oh yeah!” she fixes her position on the seat, pulling the seatbelt to her preferred adjustment. “Not a doubt about it. Coming from a place where no one really took me seriously. I mean, yeah, maybe I was a little dramatic when I was younger, but that shouldn’t invalidate my feelings. Now it’s like ... you have to take me seriously. Not only am I going to raise a child on my own, I’m literally growing said child inside of me. Isn’t that just ... just fucking amazing?”

Harry stops at the red stoplight, which he is glad for, because now he can look over and mesmerize at her. He can see before him a woman who smiles at the window, water bottle between her thighs, hands on her belly. It’s grown a bit, he thinks, and it is truly, wonderfully, unimaginably powerful.

“Yeah,” he silently agrees, “fuckin’ amazing.”

The woman smiles, but her wandering eyes suddenly widen with worry. She holds her hands out, an aura around her belly as she props an inch forward. “Did I...” she thinks aloud, “I didn’t ask you how you were doing today. How are you, Harry?”

She looks at him with features full of soft inquiry. The now green light ever so symbolic, he wonders how magical such a mundane thing must be in the dark of the night. “M’ alright,” he answers, pressing on the gas, somewhat wishing that the drive never ends. “Thank you for asking.”

~

Her angled feet dangle from her seat on the examination table. Harry sits in front of her on a separate chair, leaning back in a position juiced with supremacy. His index finger taps against his lips in sync with the tick of the black and white wall clock. 

“So, you work as an orthodontist?”

She looks to Harry with her body stiff in discomfort. “No,” she answers, noticeably quieter in such a mellow area. “Just at the office. I’m a receptionist. Didn’t go to like ... an orthodontist school or anything. Even if I did, I’d probably still be there. Probably takes a lot of years.”

“Right,” he agrees. “A receptionist, then? Do you like it?”

“Sure. It’s not my dream job, but it pays the bills. Plus, I get along with everyone in the office. They’re like ... my distant second family.”

“Alright...” he gradually begins to smile. “What’s your dream job then?”

The woman shrugs, so quickly that it is considerably sad. “I don’t know. I went to community college undecided.”

“What did you graduate in?”

“Well, I got my A.A., but beyond that I haven’t ... finished. I transferred to the nearest University but after a semester or two I just ... I just didn’t finish.” She looks to her lap where her fingers play with the material of her blouse. Harry discreetly frowns at her dejected expression, an ambience of regret seeping out of her system. “It’s hard enough for people to get a job with a Bachelor’s degree. Competition is high, especially in Los Angeles. I’m lucky as it is with just my A.A.”

“Yeah. I understand. M’ sorry for bringing it up. Didn’t mean to pry.”

Her features immediately shine with worry. “No, it’s completely fine. I’m the same way. Always curious.” She forces a laugh, but the intention is sincere enough. “If anything, thank you for asking, or even ... caring at all. Not a lot of people show an interest in me, especially not after this one.”

She points an accusatory finger to her belly, which he takes as another opportunity to marvel. It is so fascinating to him, as he believes it would be to anybody. This power she holds, the strength she gives off. This strange and endearing woman who he had met by questionable circumstances of fate – she opens his eyes to something he’s not quite sure of yet.

“Anyway, being a receptionist is fine for me,” she continues. “I’m basically Pam Beasley except knocked up and without a Jim Halpert. I mean, she was pregnant twice, but by then she was already married.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Oh ... um, The Office reference.”

“Ah. Alright. Still haven’t seen it.”

“Finished the series again. At least Pam wasn’t a receptionist forever.” She allows her eyes to wander around the room. “...Thanks for coming in with me,” she offers, meekly smiling amidst a thick, awkward air. “I’m sorry if it’s super weird, they’re probably going to assume you’re the dad, so just so you know—”

“Oh—” 

“Just so you can be prepared—”

“Right, no, it’s fine. It’s good. That’s fine.”

“...Really?”

“Of course. I mean ... like, I’m not the father, duh, but it’s harmless. I’m honored to be here with you either way.” 

She looks down to her belly, where her freshly painted nails – she’d recoated for the special occasion – search tenderly. “I didn’t ... picture it like this. Not everyone wants to have a baby, or get married, or things like that. But those who do ... you just can’t help but picture it, y’know? You dream about your wedding, what the venue will look like, what you’ll dance to or wear. Or when you have a kid, you imagine that first look. Your first look at your baby to know they’re actually in there, and you can almost see your whole future right before your eyes.”

By now, Harry is in a trance of both comprehension and disbelief. For him, it is difficult to find people in which he can relate his thoughts to; someone he can honestly understand. With the spontaneous flow of his life, he isn’t able to picture the future as he once did at 16. Yet, as her defenseless words spew out, he contemplates the quick flash in his eyes.

She smiles, and though it does not reach her eyes, it is authentic in the purest sense. “I ... wish the circumstances were different. No one ever really wants to picture it like this.”

He doesn’t find offense in her honestly, no matter how poorly she constructs it. If anything, with his entire body and soul, he aches to turn back time. “I understand,” he says, because while she most certainly does not need or depend on the father, she had pictured it differently. He knows that she had pictured herself to be in love instead of broken and built up again. She doesn’t need him, but she wants him, at least a little bit. It is for that that he can never entirely hate him.

“...Except you,” she confesses shyly. “And I’m not just saying that for obvious reasons. If you weren’t here, I’d be alone. I probably wouldn’t even be here. That’s why I’m always thanking you, because it really does mean more than you can imagine. Being alone is fine, I can sort of manage, but ... it’s nicer to have someone with you, y’know?”

“...Yeah.” Harry blushes, failing to cover it up with a cough and a sniffle. “I’m ... I know. I understand.”

The sound of the door unlatching rattles their bodies. “Hi!” the doctor storms in, breaking their moment. The two of them smile, the pregnant woman nods as her name from the lips of the lady in the form of a question. “This must be papa?”

The pregnant woman silently snickers at her oh-so-psychic abilities. She offers Harry a witty raise of the brow, but due to the blindness of her pride, she fails to recognize the cheeky glint in his eyes. As she opens her mouth to deny the doctor’s innocent assumption, Harry chimes in and steals her words. Except, they’re not her words at all.

“Yes,” he announces, his accent supplying to the playful sarcasm of his tone. “Yes, that is me. As Maury would say ... I am the father.” 

To say she is shocked ... well, it is not all that off-character. Harry is a humorous man, one that loves to entertain. The statement makes her do a double-take, jaw opening with a single throaty chuckle. He responds with an animated grin and cartoon wink – how can she not play along?

“Right.” She nods. “This is my baby daddy ... Halpert.”

Harry snickers, but covers it with a cough. “Halpert. Yes. Says so on my birth certificate.”

The doctor smiles at them both, amused by their charade. She has probably seen many acts in this office, so she lets their humor be. Besides that, she begins by asking a few simple questions, reconfirming everything before directing the woman to lie on her back.

“Sorry I didn’t dress practically,” she discloses, “I just came from work. Didn’t really have time to change, or even think about bringing clothes to change into.”

“It’s no problem. We’ll just open this up...” The doctor starts with the lowest button on her blouse, continuing to undo the following three. “And lower this down a little,” she continues, carefully dragging the upper part of her pencil skirt down until her belly is nicely exposed.

The pregnant woman tries to ignore the discomfort that she feels. Firstly, lying on her back is a nightmare without her pillow. Secondly, with her blouse pried open, a mere centimeter of her bra peaks out. Harry sitting next to her is the third basis of her discomfort, intense concentration on his part with the upmost awareness. The fourth, the icing on the cake, is like literal icing. While the doctor had told her to prepare for the cool gel, it doesn’t make it any less frosty on her skin.

Despite it all, her minds swivels around a haze. The doctor’s equipment runs along her stomach, eager to discover. Her hands clench without her noticing. She feels as if her lungs run out of oxygen – she forgets to breathe! Nothing is important to her other than what the doctor has to say about what can be seen on that unreadable screen, the one where she strains her neck to catch even a glimpse of meaningless motion.

She looks to the doctor, taking in every feature that may indicate something, anything. She momentarily forgets about Harry, who leans forward in his seat, risking everything by placing a hand over her knuckles. She doesn’t notice. All she can focus on is the doctor’s smile.

“Found them,” she announces, continuing her movement with more confidence than before. 

“You...” the pregnant woman’s chest deflates. Her breath hitches, needing more than two words to convince her that everything is okay. “...You found?”

“Yes. There’s the head,” the doctor points to the screen, brown muck never more beautiful. “the body...” The woman listens, matching up the body part with the picture on the screen. A wave of newfound contentment vanishes every worry away – almost, because really, she can’t help herself. “Everything looks great, mama.”

“Mom...” she stumbles out, swallowing thickly as her fingers fall loose. She shakes her head, overcome with every emotion she’s ever known on top of those that are entirely new to her.

Harry smiles at her, noticing the light drips swaying down her cheeks. “That’s your baby,” he says, disregarding the possibility of destroying his cover as Halpert. He himself begins to empathize with this woman, this calm of a storm that he’s only known for a few short weeks. “Congratulations.”

“C—” She can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the screen, the ache in her neck multiplying, but she just doesn’t care. “My baby...” she speaks softly, the room almost entirely silent, but still it feels like there are a million things going on at once. And yes, she is smiling. She is over the moon, over this entire universe and the next. It is dangerous territories to be so elevated, and she knows this to be true when she begins to feel the low.

~

A bitter California sun never truly settles. When she walks out of the imaging center, heels scraping against the dry and jagged sidewalk, she winces and sighs. Her blouse now intact, her skirt lifted again, but the residue of the gel makes it stick to her skin more than any perspiration. In her hands, she holds onto the envelope with the printed pictures of her son or daughter – she doesn’t know yet. With the baby’s position, it had been a little hard to tell. She’s relieved for it though. There had only been so much that she could absorb in such a short, life-changing moment. 

Harry follows after her, already with his shaded sunglasses scooted close to his face. He mimics her position as she leans against the side of the Toyota, staring down at an enclosed envelope. Very steadily, she lifts the flap open and slides the picture out, running a thumb over the body of her child. 

“Sorry you couldn’t find out the gender today,” he speaks up, observing the way she cradles the print. It is natural, the way she possesses that tender quality of a mother. “Must have ... must be—”

“It’s fine,” she says, not wanting to hear the end of his sentence. “It’s not like I’ll never know.” 

“Right.”

“Right.”

“Good. Still a beautiful moment, eh?”

“Yeah...”

“Thank you for letting me be a part of it.”

She looks up at him, but the connection is blocked by his sunglasses. She smiles either way. “You’re welcome. That sounds weird to be saying.”

He looks down, ankles crossed, hands in his pocket. “I know I can’t, um ... ever know what you’re feeling, but ... how are you feeling?”

“...Good?”

“What I mean is ... I’ve never been to an ultrasound. I’ve been friends with lots of pregnant women, and I know that doesn’t mean I have a clue about ... I just, for the moments like these, I imagine the woman to be happy. Happier than happy, and I just ... I don’t know. How are you feeling?”

A period of elongated seconds pass as the pregnant woman considers his talk. Birds chirp, an ambulance sounds in the near distance, and the faintest wind kisses her face with the leaves of the rustling trees. “I’m ... happy,” she answers truthfully, closing her eyes as the burn in her chest rises up her throat and to her nose.

“And...” Harry presses on, noticing how her answer hangs off the edge of a cliff.

She swallows, face molding like a ceramic statue on which the rain pours. “...And scared.” Her voice quivers. She doesn’t want to open her eyes. She’s far too cowardly to envision the colors. 

Harry stands still, watching as she unravels the rawest parts of her. He doesn’t want to ask why – it should be obvious to everyone. She is a single mother-to-be. Her life is moving quicker than she could have ever imagined. Of course, she is scared. It would be strange of her not to be. Therefore, he doesn’t ask, but instead calls to her. In a faint second, she breathes in, coming alive to the world again. Her shaky hands wipe frantically at her blinking eyes, a sorry attempt to erase the remnants of her weakness.

“God...” she scoffs. “I can’t – why am I crying? This is so dumb.”

Harry shakes his head, his entire body now turning to her. “No, it’s not. So, you’re scared. Everyone is. I am. Why wouldn’t you want to be scared?”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing!” she bellows, entirely turning to him. As her words sink in and flow on, he slides off his glasses, letting them hang from the fine stitch of his t-shirt collar. “Or – or what I’m going to do. I’m ... I was a child yesterday. That’s what it felt like. I was ... searching for independence and purpose and now I’m...” A breath trickles out. “I don’t want to ruin this child, Harry. But I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing.”

“No,” Harry argues. “No, you won’t. I know you won’t. You’re going to do everything you possibly can for your child. That alone makes you an incredible mum.” By now, his hands are on her shoulders, thumbs absentmindedly smoothening her nerves. “And incredible mums don’t know the answer to everything, that’s what makes them so incredible. They don’t know anything!”

She sniffles at the sidewalk. “Yours does,” she mumbles, indicating how well-rounded she sees this kind man. The manner in which he had been raised ... he is a foundation for reckless excellence.

“To be fair, I’m her second child,” he reasons, even tittering a little. “When she had my sister, she didn’t know what she was doing ... but she learned. Even after all these years, she’s still learning. You can’t expect yourself to be perfect ... at least, perfect without any flaws. You’re scared, that’s ... it’s important. You can’t skip that stage, alright?”

She reluctantly nods, but she has to admit to herself that his charisma is magical. To be a mother at her age – perhaps it is not uncommon. Yet, it is a vague new-coming of an experience. This growth that she possesses, her body ever-changing in the autumn to spring, the little person that will resemble parts of her and no one else. If that is not a future more uncertain...

“You’re going to be excellent. An excellent mum. And you’re not alone. You have Aaron. Maybe Cindy Sydney Sierra, if her aunt’s not visiting ... and you always have a friend in me.”

...but how sad it would be to plan every waking moment and every dying night. How safe it would feel to stumble upon no surprise. In the end, a future without uncertainty is no future at all. She doesn’t know what she will do when her baby fusses and whines and drives their mother to insanity. Previously oblivious of the happiness it will bring, the overwhelming flutter in her chest is a euphoric feeling like no other. To love another person unconditionally, entirely – to be loved in return – that is the greatest and only certainty she will never need.

[thekriseffect]

Blissful Silence (Liam x MC)

[Note: I had the day off from work today, so what did I do with my free time? Wrote another TRH fic! It’s a little (a lot) all over the place and it ended up being longer than I originally anticipated (apparently my mind had a lot to say), but overall I’m happy with its outcome... I think. That could change within a few hours.]

[Summary: After the announcement of the heirs gender and with Freya’s due date only days away, everyone is anxious for their arrival. You can read my previous similar fic here if you’d like!]

[Tag List: @romanticaheart-posts, @cora-nova .]

“What about Oliver? It’s cultivated, like Liam, yet also simple, like you.”

I was gritting my teeth so tightly I was sure they would fall out as I stomped to the great hall, Madeleine hot on my heels with pen and paper gripped determinedly between her stupidly perfect manicured nails. I didn’t think it was possible for me to dislike her more than I already did, yet these past eight months had proved me wrong. She’d evolved from an irritating itch to a festering disease, one with seemingly no cure that was driving me more toward insanity with each passing day.

It was late morning and the palace was fairly quiet with most of the staff out doing their duties for the day, so it gave me the illusion that I was alone, which was far from the truth. I was never alone, not anymore. I knew Mara wasn’t far behind, my ever watchful shadow, though she was careful to camouflage her presence like she had been for the past several weeks, which caused the sour bitter-taste of guilt to stick to the back of my throat. I hadn’t meant to snap at her. I was just tired of everyone treating me like I was a piece of fractured glass, ready to shatter into millions of irreparable shards at a moment's notice. I was pregnant, not dying.

“Lionel would also be an acceptable choice.” I grimaced. “Or Alfred, after Alfred Dumar, the fabled Cordonian dueler. The public would love that, not to mention it would portray stability to name the heir after someone so admired within society.”

“For the last time, Madeleine, I’m not discussing baby names with you.” Liam and I had recently announced the gender of our child, a boy, under the guidance of our press secretary. We had originally planned to keep it a surprise but Cordonia’s citizens were growing restless as were the neighboring royals. They wanted answers and I was failing to provide them. Curse me for taking too long to grow a human being inside my belly.

A press interview was scheduled to take place in the great hall this afternoon to discuss the kingdoms future king, so I was shoved into a satin pearl gown that hugged my torso a little too snugly with dozens on beaded clips secured in my hair to try to tame the strands flat. It wasn’t working. I blew a rogue flyaway away from my scrunched forehead. Definitely not working.

“It would be good to disclose this sort of information during the interview, Freya. With your due date being mere weeks away the media is going to be as demanding as ever,” she told me matter-of-factly as she scrawled something inside her notebook as we walked from corridor to corridor.

“Then they can wait those last few weeks to get that information,” I shot back.

The one thing they fail to tell a pregnant queen was how different her circumstances would be from a regular pregnant woman. I knew that things would be more complex for me than a typical mother, I���d always known, but it was one thing knowing and another thing actually experiencing it firsthand.

Every one of them wanted a piece of my son for themselves. They circled around me like vultures, blackening the sky as they anticipated the big moment so they could dive in for the kill. Dive in for that tiny chip of power that they would be offered. I’d do anything, anything, to keep him from their clutches. He was mine… at least for now.

I’d stopped listening to Madeleine minutes ago. Her even tone melded into the background with the rest of the pointless factors as my mind raced with obsessive thoughts until a deep throb started to pound like a heartbeat against my skull. My soles hurt, my back cramped, hips too tiny to accommodate my now massive stomach, and this dress was trying to suffocate me with it’s never-ending ruffles.

I slipped a clip free from atop my head.

I was warm. Too warm. Like I was sitting too close to the sun. Why did this castle have to be so goddamn warm?

Another clip was ripped away impatiently and dropped, forgotten on the marble below.

I glanced down at my dress. I hated the color ivory. It was reserved for people who were considered pure and innocent and I was neither. I felt like I was posing as something I wasn’t wearing it. It wasn’t meant to be worn by people like me.

I reached up again, my fingers trembling slightly now. Down went another clasp, echoing soundlessly against the ground as Madeleine’s voice droned on and on.

We came to the end of the corridor then only to be met by a set of polished, gleaming stairs. My legs ached. Stairs. So many stairs.

Madeleine moved forward down the steps while I was rooted to the spot like my feet were super-glued to the floor. I stumbled back, hands reaching behind me for the glass of the long decorative table that posed with two velvet cushioned chairs in the hallway in front of one of the windows overlooking the castle gardens. My fingertips met a cool surface and I shifted to the right to ease myself down into one of the chairs.

I sunk into it with a soft sigh and let my eyes fall closed as I tipped my head back against the headrest. Immediately some of the tension eased, evaporated into nothing, giving my lungs more room to breathe. I placed a hand against my uncomfortably swollen belly and began moving it soothingly in small circles back and forth, back and forth. I wish I could stay here like this, without a care in the world. I wish—

“What do you think you’re doing?” Madeleine’s voice came directly above me though I didn’t open my eyes to look at her.

“Sitting.”

Even without meeting her gaze I could hear the irritation laced within her words. “You don’t have time to sit. You need to meet with Liam and the media downstairs in ten minutes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care if you want to, you have to.”

“I’m the Queen of Cordonia,” I said. “I don’t have to do anything.”

She huffed as she towered over me with what I could only guess was a disapproving expression. “You know that’s not how this works.”

I hummed. “Are you sure about that?”

“Unlike the rest of your companions, I don’t find this amusing—.” I’d stopped listening after that. It was always the same with Madeleine. She’d tell me to do something, I’d refuse mostly just because I could, and then she would lecture me about my “incivility” and remind me of the importance of my “regal demeanor.” I was a queen and, in her mindset, that meant I was expected to smile and wave and look pretty while keeping my mouth firmly shut.

I slumped further down into the armchair, the light playing against the inside of my eyelids as I let my thoughts wander away from me. The window behind me was propped open slightly, letting the strong scent of freshly mowed grass drift up into the room. I took a deep breath and allowed that seemingly unimportant observation wash over me. It’s funny how something familiar like that can calm you down. It was one of the things I’d learned to cherish more and more over the past year, the little details. The ones that appeared insignificant but in truth were what held everything together at the seams. I sighed. When did things become so complicated?

“Freya?” A new voice cut through my thoughts. Worried, richly masculine, and perfect. Liam. “What happened?”

Madeleine answered before I could, her sharp tone clashing so harshly against his that it almost made me laugh. “Your wife is being effortlessly impossible, per usual.”

Footsteps grew closer. I could feel him kneel down in front of me, his large fingers gripping the armrests at my sides as he searched my face. “Frey?” I opened my eyes to meet his. Concern pinched his eyebrows together. He had the appearance of the refined king, blond hair neatly combed back and white dress shirt stretched across his broad chest invitingly, but the expression of my doting husband and instantly my heart rate settled. “Are you alright?”

“I’m sitting,” I told him.

Liam gave me an amused look. “I can see that.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I placed my hand over his on the chair and he brought my fingers to his mouth, his lips brushing softly against my knuckles. I let my fingertips play across his newly shaved cheek as I matched his gentle look with one of my own. “They’re waiting for us,” he murmured.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to go.”

“Neither do I,” Liam said. “But I don’t think we get much say in the matter.”

“Unfortunately,” I grumbled.

“How about this,” he pressed, Madeleine silently scolding me from behind his shoulder. “We go and finish this one interview, maybe pose for a few photos.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “And afterwards we spend the rest of the evening together, just you and me. No interruptions.”

I leaned forward with bright eyes. “Really?”

“Really.” He smoothed away the wild hairs against my brow to kiss my forehead. “What do you say, My Love?”

A small smirk curved my lips. “I say… you’ve got yourself a deal.”

———

The gentle pressure of Liam’s fingers intertwined with my own was comforting as he led us hand in hand through the palace maze later that day. The press gathering had taken up most of our afternoon so the sun was just beginning to disappear beyond the trimmed hedges, leaving everything in a blinding golden glow. An easy silence enveloped us while we walked; I think we were both grateful for the quiet. It was something we really didn’t get to experience much of anymore.

We wandered for a few more minutes before the path narrowed, opening up to a small clearing ahead and I let out a startled laugh as the sight of a distressed swing hung low on a crooked branch came into view. It had been over a year since I had last been here yet everything looked exactly the same. The overgrown vines, the metal canopy overhead, the grass peeking through the stones of the trail. Warmth spread low in my belly as all the shared memories rushed back.

“You really are a helpless romantic,” I teased as Liam helped me onto the swing. The wood was pale, peeling from old age and use and the ropes burned against my palms as I gripped them tightly.

“I try,” he said with a small smile.

I gave myself an experimental push. “This is where you proposed to me for the first time.”

“It was supposed to be the only time.”

“If your family had gotten their way I wouldn’t even be sitting here today,” I said, causing a distant look to cloud his eyes, and immediately regretted it. It wasn’t Liam’s fault that his parents had disapproved of our relationship. He wasn’t responsible for the actions of other men, even those carried out by his own father.

I nudged him with the tip of my flat to try to lighten the mood. “You seemed nervous that night. I must be extremely intimidating.”

He laughed. “I was terrified.”

“King Liam? Terrified? I find that hard to believe.” I gave myself another push.

“It’s true,” Liam told me. “I knew I was going to propose to you almost immediately after meeting you, Freya. For me it was something set in stone, something as normal as breathing. But for you?” He shook his head slightly and broke eye contact to rub the back of his neck. “I grew up in this environment. Being engaged to a woman I had known for less than a year wasn’t an unusual thought for me, but that wasn’t the case for you.” He stepped closer, fingers gripping the rope of the swing as he hovered above me. “I was sure you were going to say no.”

I stood then and tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. Blue eyes clashed against brown. He was so close that I could feel his warm breath against my cheeks, taste the heat radiating off of his chest in waves.

“And yet here I am,” I whispered while taking one of his hands and laying it over the bump of my stomach.

His irises flared, expression shifting from composed into something soft and vulnerable with every emotion open and out on display. Joy, fear, adoration, nervousness, love. So much love.

“Freya, I—,” he started before I molded my lips against his, cutting him off. I kissed him like I had that night so many months ago, in the same exact spot. Intensely and greedily like I couldn’t get enough of him. Pouring all my thoughts and feelings into a single gesture, taking everything that he was willing to give and giving back just as much. His fingers tangled in my short hair as he pressed his mouth so hard against mine that I was sure it would bruise. My head began to spin. He peppered tiny kisses over my eyelids and brow as I pulled back and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I love you too,” I told him.

[mayonaka-no-sasayaki]

CoAi/ShinShi Week 2019 - Day 2: Wish/Dream

Disclaimer: I do not own Detective Conan or it's characters.

August 26th - Day 2: Wish / Dream

Senbazuru

Summary: Weeks pass with no change and still, Shinichi continues on with a prayer on his lips for each and every crane.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20424386

Fanfiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13374442/1/Senbazuru

@coai

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

It starts out simple, whimsical even.

He's reading a case file and feeling stuck, his hand unconsciously grabs a balled up document that he's planning to throw out and tears it into neat squares. Fingers twist and press, wrist turning until a clumsy looking paper crane sits on top of the library table.

A blink and Shinichi finds his mind has cleared, deducing the key evidence with a flourish.

Soon, it becomes a habit. Shinichi wonders what his brain finds so relaxing about origami or even that of paper cranes. His head turns to the side to rest on top of his knees that he's pulled up, gives a slow blink at Agasa-hakase's window that he can see from his seat.

Ah.

Haibara.

Now that he thinks about it, Haibara kinda reminds him of a crane; elegant and beautiful.

Vision blurry, he turns away.

Right...he hasn't visit for three days now. Not since the doctors gave him the news.

...That won't do. Hospitals are lonely and he's come to really hate leaving Haibara alone.

Taking his files and torn papers, Shinichi shoves them into his bag and makes his way to the hospital.

Weaving through the familiar corridors of white washed walls, Shinichi slides opened the door to Haibara's private room and shuts it with a soft click. There's some fresh flowers on the bedside table that he knows are from Jodie-sensei and Haibara's favourite throw blanket from Agasa-hakase.

Very few people know that Haibara is in a coma and Shinichi hopes it'll stay that way.

While the war against Them is over, they still don't exactly have the okay for having Haibara out in the opened yet; seeing that Haibara is one of the few agents that defected from Them and still being alive and all that. Well, as far as anyone's concern, Shinichi is sure as hell gonna make sure Haibara stays alive.

He dumps his bag on the floor and drags the overbed table to him and gets to work.

Hours pass as he finds clues and leads. Cleaning up the mess that They left behind is troublesome and a chore but Shinichi would be damned if he would ever let those bastards fall through the cracks. Not after all that they've done.

Not after almost killing Haibara.

Through it all, he folds paper cranes. One after another.

It's illogical and superstitious but for every crane, Shinichi feels his heart beat a little stronger, a litter more hopeful for each tiny bird.

Days pass and his new routine follows him into his daily life. Ran and Sonoko are confused at his habit but he doesn't pay it much mind, finding comfort in the simple task. He does it at school, home and even at the MPD whenever he has to do paperwork after a case. Some offered their help but he always politely and firmly turned them down. This is something he wants to do on his own; with his own two hands. It's nothing elaborate but for all of his clumsiness in showing his gratitude, he can do this much.

A gift.

A small, insignificant gift for the woman who risked her life for him and brought him home as himself instead of the child he masqueraded as.

For every crane, Shinichi inadvertently finds himself leaving a prayer behind. For longevity and happiness and hope. All for the woman lying prone in her hospital bed. Haibara...or is it Miyano now since she took the antidote before confronting Gin? Either way, his partner has lost too much and if he can give something back to her, he would. Though for now, sitting by her bedside, Shinichi folds cranes of different shapes and colours then, weaves them together; hoping that his wish would be granted once completed.

Sometimes, he talks. Other times, he doesn't. Silence has never bothered them; their understanding of one another came surprisingly easy despite their volatile start. Shinichi always makes sure to update Miyano about their kids (the Tantei-dan kinda are at this point now) and reassures the biochemist that Agasa-hakase is well and doing his best to follow her health plan for him.

Weeks pass with no change and still, Shinichi continues on with a prayer on his lips for each and every crane.

Shinichi doesn't pause his life. That would be an insult to Miyano and all of the people that fought in the war against Them. But he doesn't forget. He comes by every evening at sunset and leaves when visiting hours end like clockwork. There's only a handful of people who knows where he goes everyday.

His parents. Agasa-hakase. Furuya and of course, the FBI he's been working with.

He'll never risk Miyano's safety again after the last time in Kyōtō. Considering that mishap had the unfortunate consequences of having Rum's attention on him and in turn, those he's sworn to protect, well, Shinichi is more than willing to stick to the shadows until Miyano can make her own decision about her situation.

Still, Sonoko's snooping is a bit of a pain though, and he knows that Ran is concerned about him despite the distance between them since he came back. They tried to continue dating and make it work but...in the end, he couldn't bring himself to tell Ran about the details of what happened with Them despite the fact that Ran knows about Conan now.

Like he thought, it was the deal breaker between them. It stings but honestly, he's just grateful that Ran still cares and doesn't hate him after lying to her about Conan for so long.

Maybe they can try again once they've sort themselves out. But right now, all Shinichi wants is for all the people he cares about to be whole and hale again.

"Geez," he mutters, folding another crane before letting it join its brethren. "You better appreciate this, Yawny. I think I'm even seeing these things in my sleep. Hell, is it even possible to do origami while sleeping?"

"...since it's a stupid talent, I'd say the chances are quite high simply because it's you."

Shinichi snorts. "Rude."

"Says...the obnoxious Imp."

Silence settles again and—

"Holy shit."

Shinichi almost gives himself whiplash when his head snaps to the bed and sees amused turquoise eyes laughing at him.

"Haibara..." Then he shakes himself before rising from his seat to sit beside the biochemist on the edge of the bed. "Miyano...?"

Haibara gives him a faint smirk. "Miyano's fine. I think we...both know that part in my is over now."

"Safety reasons," he agrees with a nod. "Yeah, I know."

Hai— Miyano still looks too pale for his liking. And parched.

Oh, right. Coma.

Shinichi thinks his brain is still trying to play catch up. He hasn't been sleeping well lately.

Once the scientist has something to drink, Miyano gives him a critical look. "You look terrible. I bet even more than me."

He really must be sleep deprived if he misses this woman's snark.

"Lies," he refutes with a cheeky grin; the first one in ages. "You haven't seen a mirror so there's no way you'd know I'm worse."

"Fool, I don't need to. Not when you look like a breeze could knock you over."

His grin widens. "Again with the lies."

"Now you look deranged." Miyano then looks at the cranes, eyes softening before her smirk turns teasing when she spots the random piles of origami strewn haphazardly in her room. "You better clean that up. Honestly, what are you, seven?"

Rolling his eyes, Shinichi sticks his tongue out.

"Oh, that's mature."

"Shut up," he grumbles, trying and failing to hide the happy grin that's threatening to split his face in two. Shinichi jerks a thumb to his epic crane army. "I made these for you, y'know."

"I can see that." Miyano finds his hand and catches it with her own. Shinichi clutches onto the biochemist like a lifeline. "Did you reached a thousand?"

"I think so." Shinichi looks around at the piles, shrugging with a sort of carefree attitude that makes his shoulders feel lighter. "You're awake aren't you?"

Miyano scoffs, incredulous. "You wasted your wish on me?"

"It's not a waste, barou." The words comes out sharp and firm, before he relaxes and leans forward to hover over Miyano so that he can catch the scientist's eyes. "It'll never be a waste to want you happy and safe. To want you home."

Miyano holds his gaze, the coolness in her eyes melting into something grateful and fond. "...Thank you."

"You're welcome." Shinichi pulls away then, waves a hand to Miyano as he climbs onto the bed. "Now, scoot over."

Miyano gives him a suspicious and incredulous glare. "What? Why?"

"Because I'm happy that you're finally awake so I wanna give you a hug," he states matter-a-factly, rolling his eyes.

The deadpanned stare Miyano sends him is familiar and dearly missed. "And you want me to scoot over because...?"

"Because I miss you and I'm exhausted and I just wanna sleep." Shinichi makes a shooing motion with his hand, impatient. "So, scoot."

Letting out a long suffering sigh, Miyano obliges until there's enough space for a tight fit. Strangely, it makes him wish that he's Conan sized again so that they can rest comfortably. Oh, well.

He slides under the covers and immediately wraps his arms around Miyano in a tight embrace, tucking his face into Miyano's neck to hide the tears in his eyes.

A hand is placed on his head and he hears Miyano letting out an amused huff. "Ugh, incorrigible."

"Well, you're infuriating so we're even."

"...miss you too," Miyano eventually says after a moment of comfortable silence, shifting until she lies on her side to cradle his head. It causes more tears to flow. "Tadaima, Kudou-kun."

Shinichi lets out a sob, nodding and holding onto Miyano closer in bone deep relief. "Okaeri, Miyano."

A thousand prayers; all for a single wish that finally came true.

[lonestorm]

Adventures of Sindad - 5

Summary: Sinbad is lucky to be alive after his whole “Taking over the world” phase. But with the fact that he had completely fallen off the deep end, the generals decide it’s time that Sinbad is reined in from is obsession. There are, perhaps, seven people that will be up for the job. Seven tiny people.

Basically a Sinbad post-Magi redemption story of him trying to raise seven children.

Chapters: Prologue | Night 1 | Night 2 | Night 3 | Night 4 | Night 5

Also on AO3 and ff.net

Sinbad’s head was still spinning with numbers by the time he made it back to his office. He was calculating a million different possibilities of what could go wrong with the latest deals made, but each seemed manageable, and most profitable. Businessmen always did manage to prosper in chaos; as he’d spent most of his life trying to rid the world of turmoil, Sinbad wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about benefiting from it. He wouldn’t have minded if it was for the sake of protecting Sindria and his dream of peace, but now… now no one was fighting, the world was free of Solomon or David’s (or his own) control… what else was there for him to do?

The thought stopped him in his tracks, just before his door. The fear gripped him so tightly that he couldn't reach for the handle.

Anything he sacrificed had been for the destiny he saw.

And now his sight was gone.

SInbad let out a shaky exhale and ran a hand through his hair. When he’d admitted it before, he’d still found something to change, something to improve--the fabric of the world. Now there was no voice in his head, no magician, no magi to tell him what more could be done in place of his own vision.

For the first time, the rest of his life was a blank page.

For the first time, he didn’t feel…

Well, he felt silly thinking of the word “special,” but that did seem to be the closest fit.

Special. He wasn’t…

But he shook his head. No. No time to think about that now. He had kids to pick up from school in a short while.

When he entered, there was giggle and a small voice humming. Kaito and Samia were sitting on the floor with Pipirika, drawing on scrap paper with colored pens. Pipirika was laughing, complimenting Samia on her squiggly… flower, was it? And Kaito was enthusiastically coloring his picture of a ship blue while humming a quick little tune with the strokes of his hand. They instantly looked to him as the door opened, and Kaito jumped up.

The boy barreled over to him, gripped the bottom of his robes and held up his paper. “I made you a ship!”

A bit of his anxiety fell away as he took the picture. “You did this all by yourself? Wow! It’s a lovely ship, Kaito. Thank you.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, and said, “I need to finish up for about half an hour, and then we’ll head home and pick up your siblings.”

Kaito nodded as Pipirika gave a short wave and departed from the room. Samia moved wordlessly to sit by his feet and continued her drawing. Sinbad had only just rounded his desk when his phone rang.

The caller ID was labeled Rurumu Academy. He frowned, and put the phone to his ear. “President Sinbad of the Sindria Trading Company. What can I do for you?”

The voice was strained. “U-uh, S-Sir, there’s been an issue with your children today, and it’s policy to call the parent and ask them to attend a meeting as soon as possible.”

Sinbad stood up straight. “Issue? Are they okay? Which ones?”

“Um, all of them, Sir. And they’re essentially fine; I’m afraid they started a fight in the hallway.”

He gaped at the phone, and then put it back to his ear. “Wh-what? You’ve gotta be joking.”

“I-I’m afraid not, Sir. They’re in the office now, awaiting your and the other parents’ arrival for the disciplinary meeting. Will you be able to attend?”

“I, uh…” Sinbad sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Yes, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you for your time, Sir.”

“No trouble. Thank you for letting me know.” He hung up, and dropped into his seat with a groan.  So much for getting the rest of the airship forms read. First day with his new hours and he’s already leaving half an hour early.

Steeling himself, he dialed his phone and gripped his desk. Ja’far picked up right away, with a snappy, “What.”

“I have to leave early,” Sinbad said shortly, turning his chair to face the window. “The school office called me in for a meeting. The kids got in trouble.”

“Already?”

“Already. I’ll take the forms home and work on them tonight.”

“Fine.”

Sinbad hesitated. “...Yamuraiha is in town today, right?”

“Yes.”

Before he could think about it too much, Sinbad said firmly, “I’d like to have you and her over for dinner.”

Surprise was evident in Ja’far’s voice. “...oh. Why? Is there some new magic device we need to discuss?”

“No. Just… because.”

“Uh… okay. I’ll call her. What time?”

“I’ll play it safe and say seven. We’re having...something.”

A weighty pause. “...Yeah. Alright.”

“Yeah. See you. And… I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

He could almost hear Ja’far’s eyes bugging out over the phone. “Really?! I-I mean, uh, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” sighed Sinbad, leaning far back in his chair.

Ja’far was quiet for a moment, and then replied, “No, I’m sorry. I know you’re doing your best now to fix things, and I haven’t made it any easier for you. I should have talked to you about the changes, first.”

“That’s not your job. And I know I didn’t do the same for you when I was making those… decisions.”

“I’m not helping by repeating your actions against you,” Ja’far admitted. “I guess I’m still just… pissed off.”

“I know.” Sinbad turned back around, closing his eyes. “See you later.”

Sinbad dropped his face into his hands and let out a strangled groan. How was he, the builder of the peaceful world, supposed to keep his good reputation with the headmistress of the school he founded when his own children started brawls on their first day of class?

Gathering his will, he pushed himself out of the chair and grabbed his jacket. “Samia, Kaito, we’re going to leave a bit early today, alright? I have to meet with some adults at the school to talk about your siblings today.”

The kids agreed quite readily, but Sinbad was now more concerned about how to get them out of the building unseen. He found Pipirika’s number on his phone. “Hey, I know you’re busy, but I need you to escort the children to my car. I’ll follow shortly.”

“Uh… okay, sir.”

“...I’m not in the mood for dealing with the press today.”

“Ah. Understood. But um, you didn’t drive in today, sir.”

“Oh. Right. An extra company car, then.”

“Right away, sir.”

Sinbad followed soon after his confused children; he was glad they weren’t old enough so that they wouldn’t think he was embarrassed about them. Zara, on the other hand…

He groaned, pushing to his feet. Pipirika led the kids out soon after, and he waited five minutes to walk down and get in the car in front of them. “Ready for an adventure?”

The young lady at the school’s front desk squeaked and dropped all of her papers when she saw him. “O-oh! M-Mister Sinbad! U-uh, r-right this way… I-I can watch the y-younger ones while you’re in the m-meeting. I-I have toys back here for when p-parents need to do that.”

“Thank you very much, Miss,” Sinbad told her, trying not to smirk. He was aware of the effect he had on women, but with everything going on, he hadn’t exactly gotten an ego boost from it in a while. After a day like this, he could use a little blushing and longing gazes in his direction to cheer him up.

The headmistress’ office was at the end of the reception area. Grimacing, Sinbad slowly pushed open the door. The kids looked up at him all at once, squeezed in the room on variously shaped chairs, as if they had to gather some from other places just to fit the students all in. A few other children were scattered among them, but Sinbad was focused only on the bruise forming on Seti’s eye, the cut above Zara’s brow, and the blood trickling from Leo’s knuckles.

Sinbad stormed in and knelt beside them. “Are you okay? What happened?” He brushed Zara’s hair away from the sticky blood, examined Leo’s knuckles. Checked over Rei and Kendria; they seemed unscathed. He took Seti’s chin in his hand gently and turned his face. “Who did this to you? And where is a cold pack for his face?”

“On its way,” he headmistress said shortly. She was an lady in her fifties, graying hair back in a tight bun. “If you could have a seat, Mister Sinbad, we’ll start the meeting and discuss the situation.”

With a last glance over the children and a reassuring smile in their direction, he sat and folded his hands. Three other parents were here, sternly sitting by their jittery kids or gaping at Sinbad. “Now, I was called about some kind of scuffle?”

“All of your children,” the headmistress began, “were involved in a physical fight in the atrium today.”

“He started it!” Zara seethed, pointing at a mousey-faced, brown haired boy to her right.

“Hush, Zara,” Sinbad told her in the most soothing tone he could muster for the situation. He leaned back in his seat. “We each need to wait our turn to speak.”

She gritted her teeth, and seemed to be about to retort, but Leo kicked her in the shin. Bless that kid.

The headmistress continued, “From what I’ve gathered, there was an argument that evolved into a fight. Eventually, the ben Sinbad children ganged up on these other boys-”

“There were ten of ‘em against us five!” Seti protested this time. “You only caught three of ‘em!”

“Seti.” Sinbad gestured for him to be quiet with a finger. “Wait your turn. I’m sure the headmistress will take what you say into account fairly.” He offered the lady a smile. “So what was this argument allegedly about?”

“I-It’s quite insignificant,” the headmistress said, trying and failing to keep an entirely stern demeanor. The eternal magic of a smile. “We have a zero tolerance policy on fighting.”

“Well, I’m sure the children were aware of that,” Sinbad began, folding his hands. “And they still chose to fight. Surely zero tolerance doesn't quite solve underlying problems that are the source of the rule breaking?”

The headmistress shifted and cleared her throat, flustered. “Th-that may be, but indulging childish arguments--we can hardly cater to a child’s petty issues-”

“On the contrary, headmistress,” Sinbad said, smiling more widely while his tone took a sharper edge, “I care very much about addressing the children's’ issues, and hardly find them petty.”

In his peripheral vision, he could see the kids begin to smile. But what really made his chest swell was the flicker of approval in Zara’s widened eyes.

At this point, the headmistress finally seemed to remember that Sinbad was the main funding for her school.

“O-of course, sir. Em, would one of you children raise your hand to calmly explain the argument? Each side will have the chance to speak.”

Every student’s hand shot up, except Kendria, who was anxiously kicking her feet while staring at the ground. The headmistress chose Leo to speak, probably having picked up that he was the levelheaded one of the group.

Leo spoke as calmly as she’d asked, “That boy was making fun of Kendria’s trouble with the language and hat and staff and Torran markings.” He pointed at the boy that Zara had indicated. “His friends joined in--nine of them--and he grabbed her staff away. Zara told him to give it back and leave her alone, and when he wouldn’t, Seti hit him. When they started hitting Seti, Zara and I joined in to help him and Rei was trying to get everyone to stop. Kendria got her staff back and did a spell to separate all of us. Six of his friends ran away before the teachers came. And that’s what happened.”

Sinbad’s jaw clenched; he’d told Kendria this morning that everything would be fine. The fact that this bully had made him a liar caused his hands close tightly around his armrests.

The headmistress raised her eyebrows at the accused brown-haired boy. “Is this true, Jeremiah?”

“No,” he muttered, not looking at her. “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’--these kids are all freaks and started fighting us.”

From the looks he was getting, Sinbad could tell that no one was convinced.

“Jeremiah!” the boy’s mother said harshly. “You don’t call other children names! Apologize.”

At his mother’s command, the boy murmured an apology. Sinbad turned to the headmistress. “I’m sure my children are tough enough to handle juvenile insults without devolving into violence, but I’d prefer them to have a more stress-free learning environment. And furthermore, taking the staff of a magician is rather dangerous for anyone involved; this boy is lucky it didn’t take off someone’s limb on accident.” His eyes swept over the children. “Perhaps they were concerned about that situation, wanted to get the staff back as quickly as possible, and didn’t think to get a teacher instead.”

Spreading his hands open in compromise, he said, “I understand that it’s school policy to give appropriate punishment. Might I suggest this as a first strike, and you trust me to discipline them accordingly on my own? I will ensure that they will learn proper restraint in the future. If this happens again, you have my full permission to use your own disciplinary procedures. My children have just experienced a massive change in their life in one week and have yet to understand the culture of their new environment. I’d be most appreciative of your leniency until I’ve had further chance to explain this to them.”

The headmistress seemed quite lost for words for a minute. “I… yes, the school would be open to that. Please see that your children understand how to handle these issues in the future, and next time, you will all have school-delivered consequences. The ben Sinbad children may leave, unless any parents have further objections or questions about the situation?”

The parents were quiet, until one blurted, “Chairman Sinbad has children?!”

Me too, man. Me too, he thought. Sinbad stood, gestured vaguely to the kids, and gave a helpless shrug. “Evidently. Come along, Sindria Squad.”

The kids trailed after Sinbad like a line of ducklings, Kaito and Samia catching up to their siblings eagerly. He began to lead them towards the back parking lot, walking very stiffly. Sensing the tension, the children kept quiet until they reached the car, where Sinbad helped them inside and then got into the driver’s seat. He breathed out, gripped the steering wheel.

“You know better than to get into fights,” Sinbad finally said, staring at the children in the mirror. “My children cannot be kicking around other kids at school.”

“Oh why, because we’ll ruin your image?” Zara spat, crossing her arms and flipping back her bangs. “Lighten up, old man--we didn’t even get punished.”

“The only reason you didn’t get punished is because I did some sweet talkin’ to get you out of it,” Sinbad said through gritted teeth. “It’s not about my image. It’s about responsibility. You’re underage, so I’m still responsible for you. I trusted you all to behave well. And any of you who thought fighting would fix this rather than getting a teacher or walking away from silly verbal insults has disappointed me.”

Leo and Seti looked down into their laps, but Zara barely flinched. She bit back, “Responsible for us?! You’ve only had us for a day! Why should we care if you’re disappointed? How should we know what high class expectations you have for us in your fancy rich people world? As if you’d know anything about what it’s been like for us, what it’s like to suffer and not have whatever we want whenever we want--sometimes you have to fight for that! And you-” “That’s enough,” Sinbad said quietly, but firmly. “Perhaps I don’t know much about any of you, but that comment proves that you also know nothing about me. So let’s just make it clear: I expect maturity from you, respect and civility, whether or not someone is being respectful to you. You use physical violence only when someone is being violent with you or your friends. Taking her staff didn’t count; that’s when you get a teacher. I’m disappointed that you fought-”

“You just-!”

“However, I am proud that you defended your sister,” Sinbad finished. “Kendria, good job separating them, and good job to Rei for trying to help. Leo, Seti, and Zara, I’m glad you’re okay, and I’ll get you some ice when we get home. Kaito and Samia, thank you for being so patient and good at work today. Now we’re going home, where you’ll do your homework, show me when you’ve finished, and then you may play in the main room or the backyard in view of the kitchen windows. Are we all clear?”

There were murmurs of approval all around, mixed with a few “Yes sir!’s” here and there.

The kids kept themselves occupied on the way back, talking quietly (for the most part) amongst themselves. And Sinbad… he was barely keeping his shit together, so many things on his mind that he thought it might burst.

It was less of a problem trying to keep your cool in a business situation, where his superiority was mostly unquestioned. But these kids had barely any reason to grant him see him as an authority figure. He had to gain their respect. Or maybe… just Zara’s. He could easily gain the respect of kings and queens with his power in the past (With the exception of being thrown in a chasm of snakes), but Zara wasn’t likely to give a crap about whether or not he could blow a hole in a mountain. She cared about if he was… well, he didn’t even know.

Well, at least he knew the right questions: What did they need from him and how could he give it to them?

That was a bit more like a trading company situation. He’d observed what a trading partner needed and found out how to give it to them for what he needed in return… though Sinbad supposed he couldn’t exactly expect to get anything in return from children. All the same, just being generally observant should solve his problems. He was good at figuring out what people needed.

He nodded to himself reassuringly, and focused on what he needed to do next. Paperwork. Check homework. Make sure kids don’t die. Order food. Make sure kids don’t die. Try to make sure dinner isn’t awkward. Make sure kids don’t die. Put kids to bed. Try to actually sleep. Without alcohol.

...yikes.

[micahrodney]

Thread; Chapter 5 - Fantasyland

This was a commission for MatthewCaveatZealot. There was a terribly familiar thump as Neil's head hit the ceiling above his bed. The same precariously rigged alarm clock on his loft bed was blaring, and the disorientation that came with it. Neil wanted to believe that what he had experienced was a dream, but he knew better by now. He was awake, for certain, but he had not truly been asleep.

The question now was how he made it back to his dorm room, though he feared the answer was obvious. Another day or so of him running on “autopilot”. Let alone what that must have been like for his family.

His family. God, he missed them so much right now. In the past week, his universe had expanded a thousand-fold, entirely against his will. All Neil wanted was the safe surroundings of his old family home. He wanted Travis's insufferable theatre music blasting at all hours of the night. He missed Dawn spending every hour of the night playing on the NES they had. Just as comforting were the random pop-ins from Kim, and the sight of his father hard at work, with papers sprawled all over the coffee table.

He wanted his mother. Just his mother being there. Her presence.

The hole in his heart was warmed by a bit of metal. It was then that Neil noticed that he was wearing an amulet of sorts. It was on a chain of silver and ended in a pendant made of some otherworldly metal. It shone as brightly as freshly pressed steel but had faint transparency to it. Etched into it with crystalline blue lines were several stars, connected by points: the Crossroads, of course. Roughly, they formed a constellation similar in appearance to the Southern Cross.

“Can you hear me?” Rem asked, directly into his mind. 

As the Somni spoke, the blue lines glowed faintly.

“Yeah,” Neil replied, dazedly. “Are you going to explain this?” 

“We simply moved this one to a more convenient position along this thread. But fear not, you are in your original world, as Nox promised,” Rem explained. “To this one's family, the transition was natural. That is to say, this one did not do anything untoward or unexpected in its absence.” 

“If we're going to be communicating regularly,” Neil said, exasperated. “You could try being a little easier to understand.”

“What does this one mean?” Rem asked, as patiently as Neil had ever heard him. 

“For starters, you could stop calling me 'this one.' You know, use 'you' and 'your',” Neil replied. 

Rem waited for a moment to respond as if he were trying to wrap his head around the new mode of communication. “Very well. Neil. I will attempt to speak more plainly to... you.”

“I appreciate the effort,” Neil praised faintly. 

“It is difficult for me,” Rem added. “Somni are not accustomed to dealing with other races. Your presence is honestly slightly confusing to me. It upsets our natural order.”

“Well, I can't exactly stop existing to make things convenient for you,” Neil retorted, thinking back to their first exchange where he had nearly been reduced to atoms by his soon-to-be mentor. 

“Indeed not,” Rem agreed. “Now are we going to spend the rest of the day discussing our feelings on the matter, or shall we get down to business?”

Rem was consistent, Neil had to give him that.

“Alright, boss,” Neil said, leaning his head back against his pillow. “What's the game plan?”

“The Crossroad we are concerned with is a crucial event that will take place this evening at your friend Damian's house. Something will happen, we know not what, but you must be there to witness it occur,” Rem explained. 

“Wait, that's it?” Neil asked. “You don't have any more information than that?” 

“We observe only the surface level information about these changes. I may as well ask you about the inner workings of an ant colony. It is up to you to be at the right place at the right time. The event should be significant enough that you will not mistake it if that is any consolation,” Rem said, without any sign of sympathy. 

“Cool,” Neil sighed. “And then what am I supposed to do?” 

“Binders can read the movement of the Crossroads and correct their course. When you finally do enter the critical moment your perception of events will be rather metaphysical,” Rem began. Here, for the first time ever, his tone softened somewhat, though it retained every ounce of its original rigidity. “The experience can be quite frightening. Just know that I will be watching over you and you will not be in any personal danger. However, if you fail-”

“I get it,” Neil cut him off firmly. He didn't need to be told. Thousands of timelines erased in an instant. Trillions of lives cut short. 

“Good,” Rem uttered. “Now what is your plan?” 

“I just have to get to Damian's house, and I know the perfect way to get there.”

---

Angie stirred her coffee idly as she listened to Neil's proposal. The tiny booth at The Junction was not an ideal location for the chat, but it was her lunch break and the poor boy seemed so desperate. It was quiet enough for two in the afternoon, with a drizzle keeping most people off the streets.

“So you finally want to join my game?” Angie summarized. 

“Yeah, I mean,” Neil rubbed the back of his neck. His own coffee was barely touched, but the aroma was satisfying and kept him alert. “Damian always talks about how great it is.”

“Normally I wouldn't let you just pop in last second. I mean our session starts in like four hours,” Angie began. “But honestly Jack and Violet can't make it tonight so it will probably be a good one for you to test out the waters a bit.” 

Neil knew about Jack and Violet but was not familiar with them personally. Honestly the fewer unfamiliar faces the better for his purposes.

“Is this just about the game?” Angie asked, leaning into Neil slightly across the table. There was a peculiar expression on her face which Neil couldn't read. 

“What do you mean?” Neil asked, somewhat defensively. He had made the decision to wear a blue sweater today and he felt like he was drowning in it under her gaze. 

“I mean... a little birdie told me about Erica,” Angie replied, tilting her head slightly. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

In all that had happened over the past week, Neil had completely forgotten about Erica. The girl he loved for years, and who broke his heart completely out of nowhere. He guessed he should still be feeling sad about that, and yet when the fate of the multiverse was at stake, a young romance seemed pretty insignificant.

“Oh, well yeah,” Neil shrugged. “I mean, I'm okay and all. It was just so sudden.” 

“Take it from me, breakups suck, but they also just kind of... happen, you know?” Angie said, leaning back in her seat. “It'll hit you every once in a while. You'll get reminded of them and what you had, and then, boom, you're crying into your pillow again for no good reason. But it gets easier, bud.” 

Neil coughed uncomfortably. He wasn't sure how to process this new and unsolicited advice. Naturally, his brain defaulted to asking the worst possible question.

“You've had a breakup recently too, huh?” 

Angie rolled her eyes at him. “Tactful.”

“Sorry, I'm just really bad at this,” Neil laughed. 

“Utterly hopeless. Too bad I can't teach you how to talk to women since that requires a brain,” Angie teased. 

The two chuckled nervously and there was a brief silence, during which a thousand possible conversations could have happened if either party knew what to say. Neil wondered for a moment how many different threads had just been created at this moment involving either of them being just a little bolder.

“So who all will be at Damian's place tonight?” Neil asked, as casually as he could manage. 

“Trying to meet somebody?” Angie teased. 

Neil blushed slightly. “I mean, I just wanna get a sense of the crowd, you know. Usually, when I'm at Damian's house it's just his folks and kid sister. And they have a pretty quiet household usually. It's-”

“Settle down, champ,” Angie said, knocking her fist on the table to get Neil's attention. “It's gonna be Damian, Ash, and Victoria. And now you, I guess. Which reminds me, do you already have a character created?” 

“Oh, uh,” Neil's blush intensified. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all. 

“Hang on, I always carry the Rules Cyclopedia with me in my backpack. Hope you don't have any plans for the next hour and a half,” Angie chuckled. 

---

Damian's house, or more accurately his father's house, was practically a castle. The post-modern nightmare was rigid white walls with wide bay windows and a wrap-around patio. It looked more like the office space of some high-tech startup than it did a residential home. To complete the effect, the home was surrounded by twelve acres of dense woodlands with neatly lined cobblestone paths. If Damian's dad had the power, he would have evicted the animals too. 

The main ground-floor living space was technically called the “sunroom” but all the shades had been drawn and track-lighting illuminated a rectangular mahogany table. Six comfortable leather desk chairs were arranged around the promising assortment of battle maps, books, bowls full of various flavors of chips, soda bottles, and even a tray of deviled eggs, courtesy of Damian's mother.

Angie sat at the head of the table, a beautifully illustrated dungeon master's screen creating a sense of distance between her and the players. She had dressed up for the occasion, with a grey wizard's robe draped over her shoulders and clip-on elf ears.

The players were more casual, the only one who really got into the spirit of the event was Damian himself, who was wearing a maroon vest and bracers to mirror his half-elf rogue character: Quem. He was sitting just to Angie's left and fidgeting with his dice.

Opposite Damian was Neil himself, who had, after considerable effort of grasping the rules of this strange new game, had settled on a gnomish wizard named Frobozz the Magnificent. This was definitely not his usual scene, and he much preferred games on a computer screen to those played with pen and paper.

But duty called.

At the end of the table were Angie's friends Ash and Victoria. Ash sat beside Damian, his chiseled features and slight stubble capturing the image of the rugged Marcus, the human fighter he played. He wore a black t-shirt bearing the album artwork from Metallica's “Master of Puppets”.

Victoria was dressed somewhat plainly in a grey v-neck and jeans but wore a black pick around her neck as a sort of talisman. Damian had mentioned that she was the guitarist of a local garage band, and the connection between these two and Angie started to make more sense. She was controlling Elwin, the halfling bard.

“Alright guys,” Angie said waving her arms in a grandiose bordering on the satiric gesture of welcome. “As you all know we are joined by a new face tonight. This is Neil.”

“Hey, man,” Ash nodded respectfully. 

“Welcome, welcome,” Victoria greeted. 

“Uh, hi everyone,” Neil replied nervously. “So yeah. First time.” 

“It'll get under your skin,” Ash said. 

“He's not wrong,” Damian chuckled. “I was just gonna play a session or two to see what I thought. Now I host the game.” 

“Yeah, Damian, I gotta say, this doesn't seem like your scene,” Neil said, feeling slightly bolstered by the presence of his friend. 

“Hey, I get to spend five hours a week pretending to be the world's greatest thief. What's not to like?” Damian shrugged. 

“He only started playing because he was trying to sleep with my friend Liana,” Angie corrected. 

“Lies and slander!” Damian chuckled a little too brazenly. 

“I mean, fair enough, you stuck around after she moved, but you were not subtle about it,” Angie added, fiddling with a sheave of notes behind her screen. 

“Get used to this,” Victoria said conspiratorially to Neil. “D&D is about 80% game to 20% trash talking.”

“Don't forget the snacks and beer,” Ash added. 

---

When the game finally began properly, Neil had to admit the appeal. Gone were the five random strangers sitting around a table. In their place were a team of four heroes being led through a fantasy realm through Angie's skillful story-telling.

The heroes had been tasked with the recovery of an ancient artifact from the ruins of a long-abandoned castle. Elwin, Quem, and Marcus began the session already at the gates of the castle, where they had left off the previous week. Angie used this as an opportunity to introduce Neil's character. Frobozz was a former wizard of the fallen kingdom who had been magically sealed away in the castle dungeon for many years. Now Frobozz was helping the heroes while he decided what to do with the rest of his life. It was a simple story that allowed Neil an out in case this wasn't for him.

But it was hardly necessary. Within the first hour, he already knew he loved the world that Angie had created. The castle was filled with deadly traps and terribly clever puzzles to solve. And when they reached their first combat encounter and Angie broke out the battle map and clay miniatures it went to the next level.

“I don't have a gnome wizard mini yet, so you'll have to be a goblin for now,” Angie said apologetically as she placed the figurine on the map. 

The battle was fierce, with the four of them facing off against four undead warriors, each one mirroring the players themselves. A hulking zombie still in plate mail led them, followed closely by two skeletons, one wielding a dagger and the other a bow. In the rear was a spell-slinging shade. And considering Neil did not know what he was doing, the battle was especially hectic.

It was about halfway into the melee when there was a knock on the sunroom door. Ash was explaining the finer points of the Magic Missile spell to Neil, while Victoria was desperately searching through her character sheet to see if she had any Potions of Healing left.

“Come on in!” Damian called. 

The door slid open and his little sister Talia entered the room. She was wearing a set of lime green pajamas and holding a stuffed Babar the Elephant.

“Talia, what's up?” Damian asked, walking over to the young girl.

“Mama needs your help,” Talia said. “In the kitchen.” 

The plan was for their family to have a traditional dinner around this time, but Damian would be excused to bring his plate back to the sunroom. As for the others, Mr. Levant had ordered them a couple of pizzas out of consideration for their palate.

“Hi, Talia,” Neil greeted politely. 

Talia froze in place and gave the unmasked expression of shock that only kids can truly manage. She then covered both of her eyes with her hands, and meekly muttered, “Don't talk to strangers.”

“Stranger? That's Neil,” Damian laughed. “You're being silly, kiddo.”

“Sorry, I'm not trying to frighten you, little miss,” Neil apologized, scooting his chair back in. 

Stranger... maybe I am a stranger. What if this isn't my thread after all? 

“It's about dinner time, isn't it?” Ash asked. 

“One-track mind,” Victoria teased. 

Damian ignored both of them and took his little sister's hand. “Alright kiddo, take me to her. Angie, I'll just be a few minutes.”

Neil leaned back in his chair a bit as he tried to consider what he would do as soon as Damian got back. He was in a tough fight and had no idea how to get out of the mess they were in. As his brain whirred with the possibilities Ash and Victoria were debating, he felt a pulse from the amulet.

“You are near the Crossroad now,” Rem informed him. It was clear that nobody else in the room, except him, had heard the voice. “It's not in that room. Somewhere else in the house. We still don't have a clear picture.”

Neil was taken aback. For a moment he had almost forgotten why he was there. Now that he was reminded, he needed a way to excuse himself from the group.

“Uh, I'm gonna go see if Damian needs any help,” Neil explained. 

“You can just say you're using the can, dude, we're grownups here,” Ash said. 

“Allegedly,” Victoria smirked. 

“I'm not the one who tried to seduce a dinosaur, okay?” Ash shot back, referencing some prior adventure of theirs. 

“It's a valid strategy, I'm a bard. I'm sorry you don't understand our love,” Victoria laughed. 

--- Neil slunk down the narrow T-shaped hallway from the sunroom in the southeast corner of the house into the open-layout public space. The western side of the house was an open space, with carpet for the living room half and tile for the dining room. Around the corner from this, facing the front door, was the stairwell leading up to the bedrooms. On the opposite side of this were the stairs leading down into the basement. The kitchen was off to the side of the dining room, on the opposite side of the house from the sunroom.

“So any bright ideas?” Neil whispered. 

“It seems likely that it is in the floor below you,” Rem offered. 

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Neil sighed, moving towards the basement door and placing a hand on the basement door. 

“Talia!” shouted Damian's mother from the kitchen. “Don't touch the pan, it's still hot!” 

Neil jumped at the sudden shout, and his fingers rattled the doorknob. Footsteps approached from the stairs above him and he quickly let go, attempting to act casual. He was temporarily frozen as Anders Levant rounded the corner.

Damian's step-father was an impressive-looking man; bald but with a neatly trimmed beard that lined features nicely. He was wearing a black collar shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and draped in grey suspenders that connected to his matching pants. The man looked constantly ready for action, and this was no exception.

“Evening, Neil,” he said with a smile, but with the grain of unflinching seriousness that coated everything the man said. “Break time from the grand adventures, eh?”

“Mr. Levant,” Neil nodded. In truth, Neil had only met him once or twice before. He was something of an enigma and wasn't one for large social gatherings. “Sorry, I was just going to see if I could help your wife set out dinner.”

“Were you?” Mr. Levant said, his voice raised slightly.“ I'm certain she would welcome that. You're going to make some woman very happy someday. My generation never got taught 'woman's work', you know.” 

Mr. Levant let out a deep bellowing laugh and patted Neil on the shoulder. There was a slight, reflexive grip as he reached Neil's neck. A tight pinch, and then he let go. His touch felt like lightning at the moment, but it was over as soon as it began.

“Right,” Neil nodded. “I mean, I figured. I guess I'd better go into the kitchen then, right?”

“You know where it is, oh grand explorer,” Mr. Levant nodded. It was a statement, not a question, and it carried the subtext of dismissal. 

“Yes sir,” Neil said, sliding past Mr. Levant and walking down the hallway towards the kitchen. He glanced briefly over his shoulder to see Mr. Levant sliding a key into the basement door and locking it shut. 

“It's him.” 

Rem's message was unnecessary, as he felt a powerful burning in his chest at the sight. The pieces were falling into place right before him, and now he just had to do something about it. He had to get into that basement. Something horrible was going to happen down there. But what? And how? And how did it relate to Mr. Levant?

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

“Pizza!” Talia cried. 

“Tiny one, that is for your brother's friends!” Mrs. Levant said. “You can have one slice after you finish your dinner.” 

“I'll get it!” Neil said, opening the front door. 

There was another way into the basement. A window on the lower level. It was narrow, but Neil was slim and he could probably squeeze his way through it. He just had to get outside and work his way around to it. This was going to require a distraction and the pizza man was perfectly timed. He opened the door to a haggard-looking college kid holding two large boxes and a couple of 2-liters.

“Hey sir, it's $18.78.” 

“I'll grab the food from you,” Neil said, taking the pizza. 

“You gonna pay for it too, Neil?” Damian asked, appearing from the kitchen and patting him on the shoulder. 

“I'll get you back for it, I promise,” Neil laughed, trying to hide his nerves. As he turned around, Mr. Levant was still standing by the basement door. 

Damian handed the guy $25. The window was closing, and he was being watched closely. He couldn't exactly bolt out the front door after the pizza guy. Holding the food and balancing the two-liters anxiously he moved towards the sunroom. Neil felt a knot forming in his stomach. His time was running out.

Then he considered another strategy. One born from desperation and recklessness.

“Rem,” Neil whispered, his lips hidden behind the two-liters. “It's Mr. Levant himself, right?” 

“Correct. What does that have to do with-”

Before Rem could finish his thoughts, Neil acted. Feigning himself slipping on his shoelaces, he barreled into Mr. Levant, food first. Pizza and soda went everywhere and Mr. Levant was knocked back against the rear wall, his head making contact with the molding of the dining room door-frame.

“Son of a bitch!” Mr. Levant cursed, as he reached back to his head. His hand came back bloody. 

Neil didn't look much better as he had hit the opposite frame, except his forehead took the brunt of it, leaving a nasty gash between his eyes.

“Oh! Daddy's bleeding!” Talia cried. 

“Dad!” Damian cried out, rushing past Neil to help his father up. 

“I'm sorry!” Neil blurted, doing his part to keep up the illusion. “I slipped, I'm so sorry!”

“Hey, is everyone alive?” Angie asked, poking her head out of the sunroom. 

“We've got to get you both to a hospital,” Mrs. Levant said, emerging from the kitchen. She had been through far worse and was doing a wonderful job of maintaining her composure. “Talia grab some towels. Damian, you start the car. Are you alright, husband?” 

“Looks like you got me,” Mr. Levant chuckled, calming down slightly as he sat up to stare Neil directly in the face. “Boy, you certainly do know how to throw a party, don't you?”

There was an understanding between the two of them at that moment. They were both going to play their part, certainly. But Neil felt it as sure as he felt the burning in his breast from the amulet, and the uncomfortable way the light glinted off of that phony smile of his. Anders Levant knew exactly what he had done, and – somehow – why he had done it. There was far more to this man than Neil could have ever possibly imagined. 

It's him, alright.

[lovemychinchilla]

Are Chinchillas Dangerous? Biting, Scratching & More

Chinchillas are loving, docile animals. But affectionate pets can turn nasty and even dangerous sometimes: biting, scratching and more. So what about chinchillas?

Are chinchillas dangerous? They aren't. Their scratches are like insignificant but painful paper cuts, and while their bites do hurt, they can't do significant damage. At worst they could give you a bite that gets infected. You can catch things from handling chinchilla poop or pee, or touching your pet's cage when it's dirty, but you should wash your hands after handling or cleaning your pet's cage anyway.

The guide below first looks at whether chinchillas are dangerous and aggressive, before looking at how they can defend themselves (biting). We'll assess how dangerous a chinchilla bite is: both how deep it can be and how likely it is to get infected, and whether a chin could be dangerous to a child.

Are Chinchillas Dangerous?

Chinchillas are probably the least dangerous pets it's possible to keep. They have gentle natures, and the 'weapons' they possess aren't anywhere near dangerous. A bite from a chinchilla can hurt, but a) it's incredibly rare for a happy to chinchilla bite, and b) even if your chinchilla does bite you, that bite won't be dangerous, just painful. They aren't even a danger towards children.

If anything, it's the person that's the danger to the chinchilla. It's easy to accidentally mistreat chinchillas, or even accidentally break their bones. This is something you'll be familiar with if you're an experienced owner, but as a new owner, you may not know.

Are Chinchillas Aggressive?

Chinchillas are docile and skittish by nature. They prefer to avoid confrontation, and will only seem aggressive when they feel like they need to defend themselves. Your chinchilla won't seek you out to bite or scratch you, or your child. It's only if you handle it incorrectly or mistreat it, or if it doesn't like people, that it will feel the need to be defensive.

Do Chinchillas Bite You?

Your chinchilla's teeth are its primary weapons. It has long, sharp incisors that it keeps trimmed by gnawing on things. It uses these teeth to break through plant roots, gnaw on tough foods, and to defend itself.

Other animals have long canines (fang teeth) that they use to attack other animals. Chinchillas don't have any canines, not even small ones. Instead, it's their incisors (front teeth) that are long and sharp.

Your pet will do everything it can to avoid the need of biting. That's because it's so small that if it went head to head with an animal your size, it would easily be beaten—and probably eaten. Instead, it will try:

Running away and hiding

Making loud noises

Standing on its hind legs to look bigger

Spraying urine at you

It's highly unusual for a chinchilla to bite without trying these things first, but it can happen. Sometimes that's true of adopted chinchillas that were mistreated in the past. So, if you tried to handle one of these chinchillas, it would nip at you to tell you to go away.

What won't ever happen is for your chinchilla to seek you out to bite you. Chinchillas aren't aggressive by nature because they're prey animals. It's only if the chinchilla feels the need to defend itself, rightly or wrongly, that it will bite.

Do Chinchilla Bites Hurt?

Chinchilla bites can hurt. They don't cause large bites overall, like other pets do, such as dogs. The only teeth they bite you with are their front four teeth, their incisors: two on the top and two on the bottom. And these teeth are thin, making the bite even smaller.

But there are two things that make chinchilla bites hurt, and hurt badly. The first is that a chinchilla's teeth are flat. They don't have sharp points to them. A sharp tooth punctures skin easily and cleanly, but a flat incisor doesn't. This makes the edges of the bite wound rougher, longer and more painful. This applies whether the bite breaks the skin or not.

Second, a chinchilla's teeth may not be wide from side to side, but they're long from top to bottom. A bite wound can therefore be much deeper than you might expect. The deeper the wound, the more painful it is: a surface-level bite will cause sharp pain, but a deeper one will cause a duller, throbbing ache on top of that sharp pain.

How much the bite hurts depends on how intent the chinchilla was on hurting you. If it gave you a warning nip, the bite may not even have broken the skin. But a chinchilla that was particularly defensive, and felt the need to bite you seriously, can hurt you.

It also depends on where the bite occurred. Some parts of the body have more nerve endings in them, meaning that any damage there will hurt more. The hands and fingers have lots of nerve endings, while the arm or elbow have fewer. So, a bite to the fingers hurts a lot.

Do Chinchilla Bites Get Infected?

Even though they hurt, chinchilla bites aren't serious. But they can become serious if you don't treat them properly and stop them from getting infected.

Infection occurs when bacteria enters a wound. That's partly what makes bites such an effective form of defense: not only are they an instant way of fighting back, but your chinchilla's mouth is full of bacteria. It's therefore highly likely that the wound will get infected if you don't wash it.

You don't need to do anything unusual, or even see a doctor to get the wound cleaned (unless, of course, it's very serious). You have to wash the wound and, if necessary, flush it out with saline solution. This gets rid of any bits and pieces that may have been left behind in the wound and could trigger an infection. It is also a mild antiseptic, so kills bacteria it comes into contact with. If you don't use saline, you can use another antiseptic solution that's safe to put on skin.

You then need to keep the wound dressed correctly with a band-aid or bandage. This stops bacteria from entering the wound. Change the dressing each day and monitor for signs of infection like swelling, redness and pus. If you spot any of these signs, talk to your doctor about antibiotics.

My Chinchilla Is Biting Me, But It Doesn't Hurt...

It's perfectly normal for a chinchilla to nibble and gnaw on things. This isn't like a full-on painful bite, but more like a nibble. It's a similar feeling to biting your nails, if you've ever done that.

If your chinchilla is doing this, don't get mad. It's not angry with you, nor does it feel defensive. Your pet doesn't have very good eyesight, and all it's doing is exploring its environment looking for things to nibble on. If you don't want it to do that to your fingers any more, offer it a chew toy to chew on instead.

Do Chinchillas Scratch You?

Chinchillas don't have claws they can use to scratch you, at least not like those that predators have. Your chinchilla won't lash out with its paw and scratch you like a cat will.

Do Chinchilla Scratches Hurt?

Chinchilla scratches are surprisingly painful, but not for the reason you might think.

A chinchilla's nails aren't like the claws you see on a cat. If anything, they're more like our nails. They're short, square-looking and flat, and they don't poke out past the toe like a predator's claws. What would be more accurate would be to compare them to a baby's nails.

Now, if you've had children, you'll already know where we're going with this—but for anybody who hasn't, we'll explain. Babies have surprisingly sharp 'claws', too, because their nails are like tiny little blades! They're so small and thin compared to an adult's nails that they can actually cut you, almost like a paper cut. Chinchilla nails do the same thing.

What you won't see, though, is your chinchilla scratching you like a cat does. Chinchillas plain don't do that. That's something aggressive that predators do, which is why they evolved longer, sharper, harder claws. A chinchilla's paper-cut-nails aren't any defense at all against a predator or a threat, so they never learned to use them. The most that will happen is that your chin will accidentally dig its claws into your skin when you handle it.

Do Chinchilla Scratches Get Infected?

It's unlikely that a chinchilla scratch will get infected. That's because it's unlikely that one will break the skin. The deeper the cut, and the more that the skin on the surface is 'roughed up', the more likely infection becomes. But since your chinchilla's claws are so small, they likely won't make you bleed.

Besides that, a chinchilla's claws aren't as dirty as its mouth. A scratch therefore won't be pre-loaded with bacteria like a bite would be.

Can a Chinchilla Hurt a Child?

While we don't recommend chinchillas as pets for kids, that's not because they put your child in danger. So long as your child is well-behaved, your chinchilla is no more likely to hurt it than it's likely to hurt an adult.

The problem is that children can misunderstand and accidentally mistreat chinchillas easily. They require adult supervision and guidance on chinchilla care. Problems that can arise include:

Cuddling and hugging. Your child will no doubt want to hug and squeeze their pet. But chinchillas don't like being cuddled closely unless they really trust you. Plus, they have delicate bodies with bones that can be easily broken.

Picking the chinchilla up before it's ready. Chinchillas take time to get used to their owners. They aren't like puppies that have trusting natures. The chinchilla isn't fully domesticated like other pets, plus they're prey animals, so can be defensive when picked up for the first few times.

Moving the chinchilla around quickly while it's held. Kids can get overexcited easily and run around, wave their arms, and scare the chinchilla they're holding.

You can teach your child how to handle and care for a chinchilla correctly. But if your child has trouble remaining calm, it might not be a good idea to let them handle a chinchilla. Otherwise, the chinchilla could get defensive and bite or scratch them.

Can a Chinchilla KILL a Child?

There's no way that a chinchilla could kill a child. For starters, chins aren't aggressive; that means that when they bite, they bite once, in self defense. But even if the chinchilla does bite your child, its bite won't be anywhere near big enough to cause life-threatening harm.

If you're concerned about buying a chinchilla if you have a child, talk to an experienced breeder. They may allow you and your child to spend time with one to see how you get on. You'll see first hand how gentle and calm these creatures are when they're treated and cared for correctly.

Can You Catch Anything From Chinchillas?

It is possible to catch things from a chinchilla. They can carry bacteria, viruses and fungal infections, each of which you can catch. But you can avoid catching anything from your pet through the application of basic hygiene standards.

What Can You Catch From a Chinchilla?

You can catch gastrointestinal issues from your chinchilla. Chins can develop gut problems just like we can, which give them diarrhea. If you were to touch your chinchilla's poop and not wash your hands afterwards, you could catch whatever gave your chinchilla gut issues.

Similarly, chinchillas can catch colds and flu. While some kinds of cold and flu only affect other animals, not people, some can be passed from animal to man, or vice versa. Chins can have ringworm, which is a fungal infection, and can be passed from pet to person.

Besides thinking what you can catch from your chinchilla, though, you should also think about what diseases you can pass to your pet. Chinchillas can get conjunctivitis, better known as pinkeye. You can pass this on to your pet, and while it's annoying for you, it can make your chinchilla lose its eye. Your chinchilla can also catch the herpes simplex virus, so you shouldn't handle your pet when you have a cold sore.

How Do You Catch Things From a Chinchilla?

Close contact is what makes viruses, bacteria and fungal infections pass from animal to man (or from man to animal). In plain English, that means handling your chinchilla. If you pick up your chinchilla and don't wash your hands afterwards, you may pick up a bug too. If you touch your face or eat food with your hands, you can then catch whatever your chinchilla has.

The same applies in reverse. You should wash your hands before handling your pet, so that you don't pass anything on to it. And if you have more than one chinchilla, you should wash your hands after handling one and before handling another for the same reasons.

You should wash your hands before and after handling any pet, regardless of whether you're sick or not. It's just good practise.

Below, you can find our chinchilla quiz, new posts for further reading, and a signup for our Chinchilla Newsletter!

#chinchillas #chinchillabehavior

[spntvdhunger]

Eternal

FOLLOW FOR MORE

Requested by anon: Can you do a Damon x reader where you are dating Damon, get kidnapped,fed blood, then killed in front of Damon? Then he helps you transition, and he's really sweet but sad because he didn't want you to have to live that life.

Pairings: Damon x reader

Warnings: A little grafic. A tiny bit of angst and fluff <3

Word Count: 1615

A/N: Sorry for taking so long with the requests, but I’ve been busy with french classes and argh,,, But anyways, here is it. I really love this one <3 Let me now if you want to be tagged. Feedback is apreciated.

Being in a relationship with Damon Salvatore was one of the best things that ever happened to your life for sure. But on the downside, you knew Damon had a past and most of the times he rather not to talk about it and you were okay with that, but with that past sometimes came with some enemies. And now you had experienced that by yourself.

A very old vampire kidnapped you while you were driving back home from your job. He stood in the middle of the road and you pull over, but as soon as you did that, he came to your door and snatched it from the car like it was made of paper and then grabbed you.

The vampire took you to an abandoned house outside Mystic Falls and tied your hands and legs to a chair. The only thing that was on your mind was ‘what Damon could have done to pissed him that much?' And you knew your boyfriend, you knew all the things he was capable of but you never judge him, you loved him so much that his past wasn't something you care. "I've been waiting to do this for so long…" The vampire hissed, while he ran his fingers through your neck. "I have to admit it, I never thought that Damon would fall for a human. This just makes things easier for me, gorgeous." You opened your mouth, ready to threaten him, but he put his hand over your face. "Ah-ah. I'm the one talking here."

Suddenly the door fell off from its site, revealing a furious Damon. "Let her go!" He barked. "I'm going to rip your heart out after this. I should have done that fifty years ago." "Well, you did that to my brother instead." The vampire said. "Damon!" You called him. His eyes focused on you and he nodded. "You are going to be okay, Y/N" "Oh I wouldn't be so sure about that." The vampire that now was behind you placed his arm around your neck, and took his other hand to his mouth, biting his wrist. "it was your bad keeping her so vulnerable." "Don't you dare."

But he did it, he put his bleeding wrist in your mouth. At first, you fought, you tried to cough, to spit the blood, but it was impossible. The blood kept running until it filled your mouth and made you swallow it. "No!" Damon screamed and you saw him for the last time. The vampire snapped your neck in one single movement, killing you.

Damon jumped to the other vampire and he tried to fight him, but the rage that fed Damon in that moment made him unstoppable. The other vampire had an insignificant strength and he died in two seconds, Damon did what he said, he ripped his heart out and throw it to the wall, staining everywhere with blood.

He ran to you and untied you very carefully and he carried you in his arms. Tears coming down his face while he felt your lifeless body on his arms.

That was one of his biggest fears, he didn't want you to become a vampire. The years you've been together he had told you that million times. It hurt him because he loved you and he wanted in his life forever but not this way, he wanted you to have a normal human life and now somebody took that. Just to hurt him, and hell he had succeeded.

You woke up some hours later. You now were in Damon's bed. Your head was spinning and the morning light coming from the window hurt your eyes. "Y/N?" You heard Damon mumbling, he now was in front of you. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned to softly kiss your lips. "Damon…" You were happy to be with him but you felt very confused. "How do you feel, sweetheart?" He said, millimeters from your face. "I don't really know…" You answered. He moved back, so he could see your whole face. "Damon… Did I… Did I really die?"

You remembered what happened, the pain that came after the sound of your own neck being broken. Then everything went black and some hours later you were on the bed that you've been thousand times before, but you could barely recognize it, you could barely recognize yourself.

"Yes." A single word made your world crumble down. "Damon… I… I…" He wrapped his arms around you, keeping you in a single piece, keeping your world together. You knew that you now were in transition and had to make a choice… "Shh… Y/N." He whispered in your ear. "You don't have to make this."

You turned to see him and shook your head. "But I don't want to die." He wrapped you again and kissed you on the top of your head. "I know baby." You were shaking, crying without tears. "I'll do it… I'll drink…" He pulled you apart and looked at you with nothing else but worry in his blue eyes. "You don' have to do this, Y/N."

You placed a hand on his shoulder and bit your lower lip. "I want to be with you, Damon, I don't want to give up on you." He took both of your hands, desperate for your touch. "Forget about me, don't do it for me." Saying that was so painful. He was known for being selfish, but he couldn't be it with you, for him you were the most important. "I´m also doing this for me. I don't want to die, I want to do things in this world… I… I'm not ready to go." Your voice trembling. "I know this is not ideal, but I'll learn to live with it… With you." You reached him and kissed him.

After that, he left the room for a moment and when he got back, he was carrying a blood bag in his hands. Just by seeing the red liquid your whole body tensed, while you felt your throat on fire. You could barely control yourself and stay still while he gave it to you. When the blood invaded you, everything changed. Your senses, your feelings, everything was now heightened. The sun light burned your skin, making you sped to a dark corner, where Damon caught you, making sure you were safe.

Bonnie made you a daylight ring immediately. You were one of her biggest friends and she wanted to help you in everything she could. Being a vampire changed you, obviously. You were somebody new and wanted to discover the new abilities you had acquired. And Damon was with you the whole time, showing you how to control yourself, how to compel people and how to manage your new strength.

A few weeks later you were at the Grill with your friends, something that you really missed, but it was challenging. You heard all the beating hearts of everyone in the restaurant, making you hungry. "Damn it, Y/N, your eyes." Everyone at the table was looking at you. Caroline looking around, assuring no-one else had noticed. Your boyfriend tried to hide you, while you covered your face with your hands, feeling your veins moving under your fingers. You closed your eyes, and try to control it, but you couldn't. "Let's get out here."

Damon led you to the back exit. Once out and far from the living, your face turned back to normal. You struggled with it, but seeing you doing that was something very stressful for Damon, he didn't want that for you. "Hey, I'm fine." You said. "I'm strong." You placed one hand on his cheek. "I know you are." His classic smirk appearing on his face. "But enough experiments for today, okay?" He took your hand.

Walking down on the street you looked at the clock tower. One night, that now seemed like an eternity ago, Damon took you to the clock tower. That was the night you discovered he was a vampire and that same night you discovered he was the love of your life. "Come with me." You jumped, using your new strength and reached the top with no effort. Damon reached you one second after. The night was beautiful, filled with bright stars. "I think I'm liking this, you know." You said, breathless. Your eyes were busy admiring the sky but Damon was focusing on you. He smiled and took a step closer. "Now I have time to see, time to go everywhere, to read, to taste… An infinite number of possibilities." You turned, crossing your gaze with his. "I think I never thought that way." He admitted. "And the best part is that I get to share it with you." A huge smiled broke through his face, probably the first real smile since you turned. "You are the best thing I have, Y/N and now I have you for the rest of the eternity."

He kissed you roughly, his lips moving yours in an intimate dance. "There is one thing that I haven't showed you yet." You copied his smirk. "What is that?" "Well, I can't tell you, I have to show it… One perk of being a vampire, you are gonna love it." He shrugged. "What are you talking about?" You raised an eyebrow. "I have to show it, I told you. But first I have to take you to the bed." He winked. "Oh…! Well, yeah, I'm in."

TAGS <3 @strawberryjuiceboxxx @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car

[jungblue]

→ wips tag

So while I’m still on hiatus for personal reasons, I am also still writing. It’s all coming along slowly, but even though I’m taking this small break from tumblr I would still like to share some of the things I’ve been working on, so thank you to @xtaexhyungx for tagging me, and I hope you guys enjoy! ♡

title: Splinter

pairing: jungkook | reader 

genre: smut, angst, college au

preview:  —

Perhaps buried deep within the thumping bass, spilled liquor, and dimmed lights of every college party, you might just be able to find yourself a love story… Of course, it might not be perfect, far from perfect actually. However, at that age, or more specifically at that time in someone’s life, mistakes seem to be abundant. The factors are endless, so plentiful in fact that they pile on top of one another until this supposed love story — splinters.  

The fragments lay in a million pieces, each one telling their own little story of how it all ended.

Laid strewn at the forefront of that pile of broken pieces was the shard branded hormones. Those vibrant sensations that make your vision go blurry and judgment turn haywire. Those pesky little things that when mixed with alcohol make you forget all about that guy or girl you’re really into… That guy or girl that you’ve been dating for three months — that guy or girl that deserved way better than a fresh out of high school kid that didn’t know how to handle their fireball mixed with an empty bedroom upstairs at a party.  

Next is that gleaming shard of freedom. It burns bright. The second you step foot onto that college campus miles upon miles away from people telling you what to do, how to act, or where to stay, your tolerance for limitations shifts. Being held down to any given place, any given idea, or any given person, it causes a flight response. The body wanting to maintain its newfound freedom, relieving itself of the hindrance to their fresh independence... Plus, having the ability to run from your problems without a choir to comment isn’t exactly helpful either. So combine all of that, and maybe it results in some runaway act of studying abroad for a semester to dampen the feelings of guilt and love with culture shock and ample amounts of bodies… Yeah, that definitely puts a pause on things.  

Another piece laying sound in the graveyard is that dingy, jagged shard reflecting the uncertainty of the future. It’s that constant pressure that bombards you saying if you haven’t made a dent in the path towards your goal by the time you’re twenty-five, then you’re falling behind. This reality (even if it is false) sets in maybe three years down the line. Tailgating loses its taste, the library becomes your home even more so than it had been before, and your time for connections and relationships downsizes to the point of not even trying… Not even trying when that guy or girl is really making an attempt to reconcile with you, and even though your heart wants it, your mind says there’s no time for that now, at least nothing serious — maybe after medical school, because somewhere along the line our lives turned into planning how much fun our lives will be once X, Y, and Z happens some odd years down the road.

It’s these, along with many other fragments, that lay in a messy array around the relationship. Some are tiny and seemingly insignificant pieces, however once the micro aggressions start to build, they inevitably become one larger section of the puzzle. Some of the remains are large and shiny, others dirty and defiled. It’s all a shattered mess of emotions and incidents, but if you can somehow manage to pick up the pieces and realign the edges, then just maybe you can still see the beauty in what it all once was.

more wips below the cut~

title: Delivery 52

pairing: jin | reader

genre: fluff, smut, pizza boy au

preview:  —

When you ordered those two pepperoni pizzas with extra cheese and a nicely carbonated soda on the side, it was not your expectation that a delivery boy such as the one standing before you would arrive with it in tow. He had chocolate hair and eyes that peeked from beneath his work hat, pouty lips that dripped enticement — but most importantly he was holding your order that was going to soothe the aching pang that tonight would surely bring.

“Hello,” He said in a sing-song manner that brought a slight smile to your lips.

“Uhm hi,” You replied, quickly reaching for the boxes of pizza that he was offering to you. You turned around to set it on a piece of furniture that would normally be there, but you hadn’t exactly gotten around to organizing yet, so you had to settle for placing it on the floor. When you returned for the soda he was grinning fondly at you.

“New to the neighborhood?” He asked, motioning inside to the messy arrangement of move-in boxes.

“Yeah, I just finished moving in today. It’s a mess,” You said with a bit of nervous laughter. “Just needed a bit of food before I start unpacking all this stuff.”

“Yeah, I get it. I had to move a few months back, too. I was using my discount at my job a lot when I was trying to stock up on groceries. Way too much pizza,” He laughed.

“Well, you’ll probably be seeing me a lot. I order pizza like once a week even when I’m not moving. It’s a problem.” You weren’t just making small-talk either, it was the truth. Every week like clockwork you ordered your greasy guilty pleasure… Yeah, you were totally trying to get on fixing that… Totally.

“Once a week?” He said, surprised but with an amused expression. “You ever get tired of it?”

“Nah, pizza’s the only thing that never seems to let me down,” You shrugged, because again, it wasn’t really a lie.

He chuckled, “Ah, well I look forward to delivering your weekly pizza fix.”

“I look forward to that too… Uhm,” You paused, your eyes glancing at the nametag attached to his shirt. “Seokjin.”

He waved his hand in response, “Just Jin is fine.”

“Jin, okay then. I’m Y/N by the way.”

He smiled, “Well, Miss Y/N, hopefully I’m lucky enough to get your delivery next week. I’ll try to snatch it if not,” He winked, making a weird sensation flash inside of your chest.

“Yeah, I think… I think I’d like that,” You nodded, biting at the inside of your cheek to try and stifle the wide grin that wanted to fight its way to your lips. “Oh, and don’t I need to sign that.” You pointed towards the slip of paper sitting in his hand that he seemed to have forgotten about.

“Oh yeah, sorry I almost forgot,” Jin laughed as he handed you the receipt and pen, and you quickly scribbled away at the paper before giving it back to him. “So, see you next week?” He asked, motioning at the boxes of pizza on the floor.

You paused, smiling before answering. “Yup, see you then.”

title: Waves

pairing: hoseok | reader

genre: angst, smut, soulmate au

preview:  —

present day.

It was a mistake. Getting involved this deeply with each other was a complete mistake.

But simply saying that, well, that really wasn't going to change anything, now would it? Because the fact of the matter was that you did this to yourselves. You knew that a future together was impossible, that your marks didn’t match, yet for some reason you and him decided to unknowingly test something. Something that you so desperately wished you didn't now know the answer to.

What's the human limit for how much two people can possibly care for one another? Again, you honestly wished that you didn't know the answer to that question, but you did.

The answer was, more than you should be able to. You shouldn’t be able to love someone this much. You just shouldn’t. You shouldn't be able to give so much of yourself over to someone that it feels like your chest is caving in anytime you think about the possibility of not being with them. In theory you really shouldn’t be able to do that — but unfortunately that was exactly where the two of you were.

Palm pressed to the center of his bare chest, your nails digging lightly into his skin, as if to keep him anchored in some way. His coffee colored eyes wandered across the planes of your face, an unspoken, but most certainly felt, sorrow settling between your bodies. You had been laying here for a while, the silence eerie to the point that it was almost unbearable. Unbearable silence wasn’t something that the two of you were used to. You had always been perfectly comfortable with each other, but lately anytime the two of you talked in this intimate context, emotions got too high, tears spilled, and it honestly just became too much for either of you to handle — so instead you decided to do the thing that would hurt even more than talking.

You reached for his forearm resting on your side, turning it so that you could see the date etched along his skin. Once again reminding yourself that he wasn’t yours, he never was, and he never would be.

02:14 2013 10 21

It was a date nowhere even close to yours, a five year and two month difference if you wanted to be exact. You still had five more goddamn years. Five more incredibly long years of waiting for this person that fate had apparently deemed perfect for you. But the thing was… You didn’t want them, not in the slightest, whoever they were — you only wanted him.

You wanted Hoseok.

You just wanted him, forever, but he wasn’t yours to have, and you were going to be painfully reminded of that for the rest of your life once the next seven days passed.

title: Seven Minutes (in vanilla paradise)

pairing: jungkook | taehyung

genre: smut, angst, college au

preview:  —

It was only supposed to be seven minutes.

Seven minutes in that cramped closet that barely left a foot of room between two sweating bodies. The muddled beat of music finding its way beneath the door as the scent of splashed liquor and wandering cannabis etched itself inside the stiches of everyone’s clothes. The sound of young kids in their twenty somethings or almost twenty somethings echoing down the hall, reminding the people inside the closet that maybe they’re a bit old for this game that they’ve only ever seen portrayed in high school movies.  But in the end, they come to the conclusion to just say fuck it. They’re already in the damn closet, so why not figure out what that means. Maybe things get handsy, or maybe things don’t anywhere at all. Both are completely fine.

But again, it was only supposed to be seven minutes.

However, when it’s Kim Taehyung wrapping you in his being. Masking you in that vanilla cologne, that vanilla shampoo, that vanilla aftershave that has you disassociating from the fact that you’re in some rundown apartment that smells like the literal definition of ass. Well, then you might just pray that seven minutes is just the minimum, and that he’ll have mercy on your soul and drown you in his everything until it’s this blinding vanilla afterglow.

— Unfortunately it takes Jungkook a while to understand what being shrouded in that scent by that type of person does to a guy.  

“Jeon Jungkook.”

But in the end, all he can really comprehend in that moment is the fact that his name just got pulled for seven minutes in heaven by the hottest guy at this party and his dick is already kicking.

I’ll be tagging: @baeseoul / @jungkxook / @wonhopes / @jiminniemouse !!!

[louisfeatharry]

* newly added fics to my fic rec page as of 08/18/17 (29 fics in total) all fics are larry unless specified otherwise • more recent recs

✨ indicates favorites of mine!

✨ Be Still by thisonegoes (150k) [zarry, au, detectives, angst, prose]

Zayn hears the telltale sound of stretcher wheels bouncing up over a weather strip. A tech backs out of the door first, as both Zayn and Harry turn to watch. They wheel the black body bag out and lift it down the stairs, to take her away. She's officially cleared for transport, no longer a resident of the household. She's now just a corpse wrapped in plastic.

When they finally turn back to one another, Harry blinks and then shatters into pieces.

Detective Zayn AU.

call me a safe bet (i’m betting i’m not) by mrsenjolras (29k) [lirry, au, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, angst, pining]

They agreed that it would be too hard for them to keep up their relationship long distance, that they didn’t want to risk losing their friendship. So it made sense that when Harry was away, they saw other people. They’re the same as they always are when they’re together--Harry guesses you could call them friends with benefits, but he doesn’t think that really encompasses what they mean to each other. Louis calls them idiots, which, well, probably isn’t all that inaccurate.

It’s not really that big of a deal. Harry is happy. Liam is happy--well, Harry’s pretty sure Liam is happy. So Louis can just shut it.

[Or: Liam and Harry have an arrangement, and it all goes great, until it doesn't.]

Can’t Fool Me by emma1234 (25k) [au, uni, secret relationship, fluff, smut]

“I hate frats,” Louis repeats for what feels like the millionth time.

“Yes, I’ve heard, once or twice or every day for the past three years,” Liam says. His careful tone reminds Louis of how his mom always sounds when one of his siblings is on the brink of a tantrum.

Louis glances speculatively at Liam’s frat brothers, who are still huddled together and chatting, with the exception of the one who’s looking in Louis’ direction. Maybe Louis shouldn’t rule out a tantrum. While making a scene wouldn’t actually free him from fraternity nonsense in the future, it would at least be entertaining.

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

Counting The Steps Between Us by zarah5 (24k) [au, pining, friends to lovers]

AU. So, yeah. That year abroad helped Harry establish that he is in love with his best friend. Now, if Louis would stop treating him like a little brother, that would be awesome. (Additional ingredients: a collapsing tree house, a lot of pining, the other three boys as Louis' new best mates from university, and a camping trip. Serve hot.)

End of the World Tonight by whoknows (12k) [ou, exes to lovers, coming out, angst]

“You remember when you told me that you wanted to live with me for the rest of your life?” Louis asks. His voice trembles a bit, exposing exactly how much he hates what he’s about to do. How much he wishes that he wasn’t about to do it.

“I remember,” Harry says. His expression is a little lost, like he thinks that they’re about to have a fight and he’s not sure what they’re supposed to be fighting about. Louis closes his eyes because he has to, has to take a second to regain his courage. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep suffering, can’t keep killing himself trying to hide this. He’s ready. He’s been ready for a long time.

feel so foolish by juliusschmidt (13k) [au, high school, pining, fluff]

Louis and his friends keep laughing at Harry; he's sure of it. But he's not sure why.

for now (and forever) by orphan_account (83k) [au, military/war, fake relationship, friends to lovers, slow burn]

"It's nice that you want to offer that, but I just can't do that. First of all, it's illegal."

Louis shakes his head vigorously. "No, no. It's not like one of us is gunning for a visa."

"Listen to yourself," Harry laughs, shaking Louis' shoulders. "Don't you think it's a bit weird to con the country you're supposed to be serving?"

Louis is going into the Army, Harry is going nowhere, and there's nothing like a little identity fraud between friends.

glimpse of the silhouettes by orphan_account (7k) [ou, pwp]

Harry isn't sure what the rules are for this. It's hard to believe that there are any, that's there's a handbook just waiting for him to buy: why is my best mate getting hard in my lap when I touch his arse?

✨ Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds (88k) [au, historical/past setting, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, out, pining, angst, fluff, smut]

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.”

-

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

If I Fall For You, Would You Fall Too? by slashter (29k) [zourry, au, fluff, famous/nonfamous, smut]

“Fuck, Louis, most of us can’t even find one person to date, and you go and land yourself two!”

Louis flips Niall off and closes his eyes, trying his hardest to ignore the blond’s peals of laughter. It’s true what Niall says, he can’t have them both. And this is him imagining that either of them would even want to get with him, which he knows is pretty much ridiculous considering the fact that they’re obviously seeing each other and why the hell would you pick Louis Tomlinson over Harry Styles or Zayn Malik?

[Or the one where Louis is a uni dropout who's just managed to land a new job as a housemaid, and he ends up getting to clean the shared apartment of well-known socialites Harry and Zayn]

Infinity in Always by cumquat (22k) [au, hurt, angst]

A stranger greets Louis whenever he looks in a mirror—a stranger with sunken eyes, sharp cheekbones and hollow cheeks, whose strands of mousy hair tangle into intricate knots; curl into something akin to a broken halo.

Every morning he recites, speaks to no one but himself so he could try and remember that, “This is me. This is how I look like.” The simple act is done so often that it has become more like a ritual than a routine; and even then it’s only part of what he must do the second moonlight dies and day breathes again.

(In which Louis suffers from prosopagnosia; he can’t recognize faces, even familiar ones. He can’t remember his own face, let alone Harry’s, but he remembers the way his skin feels under his fingertips, how he trembles under his touch as if Louis is fire, and Harry is nothing but mere paper, disintegrating into ash)

✨ keep the light on by renlyne (43k) [gryles, ou, friends to lovers, slow burn, angst]

but·ter·fly ef·fect noun 1. (with reference to chaos theory) the phenomenon whereby a minute localized change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere. 2. a cumulatively large effect that a very small or seemingly insignificant natural force may produce over a period of time. In which Harry Styles tears up over glitter, and Nick Grimshaw’s life becomes immeasurably more complicated.

Or: it’s 2020, and really, better late than never.

✨ Like an Endless Summer by Anonymous (87k) [au, summer, slow burn, friends to lovers, pining, fluff]

“You just wanna go fawn over Styles as soon as possible,” Zayn grumbles.

“I do not. Plus, he probably got ugly this year. Eighteen is an awkward time...I bet he’s got acne and one of those terrible fuckboy haircuts all the hipsters are getting these days, with the shaved sides? Just watch, the first year we’re gonna get any time together is gonna be the first year I don’t have a stupid crush on him.”

---

Or, Louis is a riding instructor at a summer camp, and Harry is a fellow counselor who he’s been successfully managing his crush on for the last two summers. That is, until Harry shows up this year leveled up and lethal, and all Louis’s formerly perfected veneer of nonchalance melts like a popsicle in the sun.

✨ Lost for Words by AGreatPerhaps12 (102k) [ziam, au, summer, hurt/comfort, innocent/bad boy, fluff, angst, pining]

"Zayn was so stunning and so consistently kind to Liam that his stupid heart had the annoying habit of practically vibrating in his chest whenever they were together. Liam wasn’t deep enough in denial not to know what that meant anymore, but he was still forcing the feeling down as vehemently as possible. It was difficult, though, when Zayn turned to Liam with that smile and said his name like he was worth time and attention, and all the while in the back of his mind there was this chant of—

Get the fuck out of my house. I’m not having a fag for a son. I want you and your shit gone by the time I get back.

—Yeah. That."

Or: The one where Liam has a stutter and zero self confidence, and Zayn has a carefully controlled temper (also starring Louis and Harry as that disgustingly-in-love couple and Niall as the only straight guy around, apparently).

One of the Beautiful People by cantgetnoworse (24k) [au, fluff]

Louis is a sparkly go-go dancer on Saturdays. Zayn is his lifelong best friend with benefits. Zayn falls for someone new and Louis' world turns upside down.

✨ pray for some sweet simplicity by delsicle (237k) [au, a/b/o, enemies to lovers, sports, secret relationship, angst, smut]

Louis is the only omega to ever make it in the cut-throat world of competitive motorcycle racing—that is, he would be if anyone actually knew about his identity. Now, his sights are set towards competing in—and winning—the European Grand Prix, the biggest and most difficult race of the entire year, so he can disappear underground for good. He’s close enough, too, until an alpha sports journalist is assigned to follow Louis’s every move as he prepares for the event of his career.

Or, an AU where motorcycle racing is the biggest sport in a heavily divided world, Louis is trying to take control of his own destiny, and Harry is in for more than he bargained for.

Small Doses (Loving You It’s Explosive) by Anonymous (38k) [au, enemies to lovers, smut]

Louis Tomlinson finds himself at Vitality Fitness to try and turn his life around after having left his cheating boyfriend of four years. The gym's owner, Liam, quickly becomes a good friend, but his right hand man is rude and dismissive from the get-go. Louis and Harry continue to clash all while Harry is trying to move his way up the ranks in Manchester's amateur boxing circuit, but they can't seem to stay away from each other.

Something That Scares Me About Love by justyrae (51k) [lilo, ou, friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, kid fic]

Louis has always been fairly good at hiding things he didn't want to share. If he doesn't learn to start sharing, pretty soon he won't have anyone left to hide things from.

Something to Be by aguantare (12k) [au, uni, sports, angst]

Louis plays football for UCLA; Harry used to love football.

Standing on the Edge of Forever by EllaO (55k) [au, kid fic, angst]

“So let me get this straight. You took Mr. Squiggles from the classroom habitat, took him with you on your fieldtrip to the zoo, and released him in the aviary?”

Harry Styles is a single father, just trying to keep his life organized after losing his husband four years earlier. Between his daughter, Liam's hellion twins, and Sophia throwing him into any romantic tangle she can think of, life gets a little crazy. Of course, everything changes the moment Lo and the twins get interested in their school musical, The Wizard of Oz. Because the new director, Louis Tomlinson, is just about the most attractive man that Harry has ever seen.

Featuring adorable Dad Harry, hotshot actor Louis, three sassy kids, a badass Sophia Smith, and a Liam who just wants all their kids to be well behaved.

Take Me Back to Where We Started by amory (27k) [au, exes to lovers, famous/nonfamous, angst]

Harry and Louis haven't spoken since they broke up four years ago. As boarding school sweethearts they once spent every waking moment together, but now they can hardly stand to be in the same room. When their five year class reunion comes around, both boys decide against their better judgement to return and (hopefully) have a good time.

The only problem is, they're both still hopelessly in love.

Starring Harry as the petty ex, Louis as the new James Bond, Niall as a boy genius and fake boyfriend extraordinaire, and Liam and Zayn as two friends just trying to make it out of this weekend alive.

✨ Tell Me How To Feel About You Now by justyrae (38k) [au, famous/nonfamous, friends to lovers, exes to lovers, smut]

Louis thought it would feel different once he got to LA. He knew it was best for him; a fresh start as far away as he could get. But when the plane touched down and he stepped out into the hot air around LAX, Louis felt exactly the same.

There's still a hole in his chest where his heart used to be; ripped away even after trying for so many years to keep it from happening. He knows it's not all his fault, not by a mile, but it doesn't stop him from blaming himself for it all going wrong.

If he'd just stayed strong, if he'd said no when he said yes, maybe everything would be different.

Or, Harry has been trying to convince Louis to date him for years, but Louis has always been wary of Harry’s fairly obvious commitment issues. Louis eventually gives him a chance, opening his heart up to the one thing he fears.

under me, you by hazzafrazza (12k) [ou, friends to lovers, pining]

You Won’t Believe Who Was Spotted Leaving Harry Styles’ Primrose Hill Pad!

If Harry was being completely honest, it probably wasn’t the best idea to be a world-renowned popstar and an infamous vigilante.

(Especially when all the comic books said never reveal your secret identity to keep your loved ones safe – which was all well and good, until Louis.)

Or: Harry wants a lot of things – fame, glory, Louis – but that last one is particularly hard to get when everyone thinks you’re dating your secret superhero alter-ego and suddenly you’ve become your own worst cockblock.

✨ we’ll play hide and seek to turn this around (give me love like never before) by Wankerville (19k) [au, uni, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst]

“So here's the thing,” he starts. “I didn't mean what I said a few weeks ago to like, hurt your feelings or anything. If you like painting your nails, then you should do that, and not like, care if anyone else doesn't like it because their opinions shouldn't matter, you know?” Louis takes a breath, finally glancing over to see the boy wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. On a whim, he adds, “And like, I noticed you scraping it off and you haven't been wearing any and I think you should because that's what you like.”

or an au where harry paints his nails and drinks strawberry milk and is too nervous for it to be nothing and louis' just trying to figure out whats wrong with him

We’re Like Bumper Cars by sincehewaseighteen (31k) [au, high school, sports, enemies to lovers, smut]

“I have won, I won the final cross country. I win, Harry--”

“Whoever gets to fucking nationals wins it, pretty boy,” Harry teases. “You haven’t won. Interhouse is nothing compared to nationals, or interstate. You haven’t even won interschool. You can dream all you fucking want that you’ve won.”

Louis becomes so ignorant he decides to no longer eye the boy taunting him. “Trophies prove it all, Styles.”

“Where’s your trophy for biggest asshole?”

“Where’s yours for winning cross country?”

Harry growls before hooking his fingers in Louis’ belt loops and bringing them together for a flat kiss.

Or the AU where Louis and Harry are rivals of the century and Cross Country competitors before things get complicated and they play pretend.

What’s Stopping You? by kikikryslee (14k) [au, neighbors/roommates, friends to lovers, online, pining]

That shirt was what held his attention again. How many other guys had the same shirt that H and Harry had, and – wait. H… Harry. Harry did yoga. So did H. They both had the same shirt, and had both gotten home ten minutes ago and were cooking dinner.

No way.

Louis looked at the picture again, and stared more closely at H’s lips. They were pink and pouty, with the lower lip a bit plumper than the top, just like Harry. And H had brown, curly hair that reached his shoulders, just like Harry.

Louis looked over at Harry, who was putting his hair back up into a bun as the kitchen was most likely getting warmer.

“Holy shit,” Louis whispered. Have I been flirting with my own roommate all this time? --- Or, the one where Harry wants to get over his crush on Louis, so he makes a Grindr account to find someone new. Of course, Louis messages him, not realizing H's real identity. It only takes a few days for them to figure it out.

✨ You’ll Be The Death of Me by YinAndYangOnIce (58k) [au, high school, pining, innocent/bad boy, slow burn]

Louis is a punk who is failing history and Harry is a nerd who's really good at surprising him.

You’re a Rabbit, Louis by sunsetmog (5k) [stylinshaw, ou, fluff]

"Maybe Louis turned into a rabbit," Nick suggests. They both laugh. Louis doesn't. Harry is an idiot and Nick is an even bigger one.

Louis stomps past both of them on four tiny, furry, baby rabbit paws, and into Nick's flat. "I hate you both," he says. He sits on the rug by the TV. "And you can stop following me around too," he says to Pig, who sits down next to him on the rug.

"But seriously," Harry says, from the door. "Where's Louis?"

Louis thumps his back leg on the floor. "I'm here, you idiot."

"I'm not really suggesting this could be true," Nick says carefully, "but are we sure he isn't a tiny baby rabbit?"

✨ You’re A Universe by Jiksa (15k) [au, angst, hurt/comfort, kid fic, established relationship]

Harry doesn’t ever mean to hurt him; Louis doesn’t know how to tell him that it’s the only thing he ever does anymore.

Or, Louis’s a stay-at-home dad in London and Harry’s a business expat in Qatar. Louis doesn’t know how much longer their marriage can survive the distance.

[itsnotdavid-blog]

MY VILLAINOUS LAIR

TL;DR - I’m indecisive and I don’t know if I want to live in a large house surrounded by friends and family, or if I’d be better off hiding away in isolation inside some tiny, walled off excuse of a home. No to cars, yes to gardens. Fuck yeah, nature!

-

Nothing’s more fun than being tasked with writing a blog post for a class activity. To start things off, I’d like to apologize beforehand for this needlessly long wall of text. I don’t expect you to read along, and I certainly don’t expect you to remember all the itty bitty details, but I do want you to know is that I’m what the cool kids call extra. We were expected to draw one house and my stupid self ended up coming up with three. If that doesn’t give you an idea of what kind of person I am, then I don’t know what will. 

The question still lingers: what exactly do these houses represent? If there’s one thing I’ve learned today, it’s that all these seemingly insignificant little doodles form a bigger picture. Isn’t it exciting - a big picture made of little pictures? Like one big mosaic where each tile delves deeper into the myriad insecurities that stir within me. My inner optimist says it’ll paint something pretty, like a field of vibrant sunflowers, or a horde of zombies getting ravaged by a pack of fire-breathing velociraptors. Then again, there’s also the possibility of this picture taking the semblance of a donkey’s sphincter, or possibly even Mama June after a hot, sweaty yoga session. 

Either way, the picture isn’t what’s important. 

What’s important is that I’ve got three houses, each more pointless than the last, and it’s my job to figure out what these doodles mean. Even as the professor spoke and told us to put our pencils aside, I simply couldn’t keep mine off the paper. It was like there was this odd, supernatural force compelling me to finish what I started. But why? I don’t even put this much effort into waking up in the morning, so what’s gotten me to go full-ham on something entirely fictional and meaningless? The more time I spent on the drawing, the more I began to realize it was wholly unrealistic.

So I started again.

Scratched that one after five minutes. Too small, too unambitious. This one didn’t seem right to me at all.

So I started again.

Eventually I ran out of time, and was ultimately left with three unfinished houses; all distinct with little-to-no similarities save for the essentials. Needless to say, I was devastated. How could I fail something as simple as drawing a house? This was the unassuming sort of task you’d give to a five year old and I’m sure they’d manage to get it finished one way or another. I’ll bet their houses even have dinosaurs. Life isn’t fair.

The first house I drew was far larger than the other two - the perfect home for a less-than perfect family. There’s even a small patch of land in the back that’s dedicated to growing fruit and vegetables, it is fucking awesome. Despite the sheer size of the building, the rooms totaled to four, and that’s only if you don’t count the garden and the backyard. Think of it this way: if a house is big, you can assume it’s got a lot of rooms, and if it’s got a lot of rooms, it’s got a lot of space for inhabitants and/or guests. Generally, some of the more introverted people prefer returning to a lonelier home after a long day of work, faking smiles and chatting up people they’d never interact with outside the office. The last thing they’d want to deal with at home is even more needless social interaction. 

With that in mind, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to conclude that an introvert wouldn’t want to live with other people unless they absolutely had to. The second house drawn seems to represent this on a deeper level. Let’s pretend for one minute that there’s more to me than meets the eye. It’s not totally unreasonable to assume that a self-proclaimed introvert would want some company every now and then - there’s no shame in wanting to be alone, but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to enjoy spending time with friends and family. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.

Though it might not be clear, given my abysmal skill with architecture, house planning and all things creative, I poured a lot more passion into this house in comparison to the others. Even if I firmly believe that what other people think of me is none of my business, I still feel as if my appearance matters in some way. I’m all for sticking to the status quo but there’s no denying that I’m, as I said before, what the cool kids call extra. For better or for worse. 

It’s strange. I’d never admit it in person, I do actively try to distinguish myself from the crowd for whatever reason… but at the same time, I resent the attention that comes with it. It’s a hard duality to put into words, so you’ll have to pardon my inability to explain it. I don’t quite get it myself, you see. Even if everyone in the world’s special and unique in their own whimsical little ways, people are too busy concerned with themselves to notice this about others. It’s an easy to trap to fall into, perceiving someone as dull simply because they’re not good conversationalists; because their quirks are of the subtler sort and only tend to shine once you truly get to know the person. 

The tragedy is, people won’t ever invest enough time to see that side of them.

This is only highlighted by the sheer difference between this house and the two drawn after it. It could be argued that the first home - the larger home - represents the side of me that wants to be surrounded people, and stand out by towering over all the others. This is in stark contrast to the other two, which arguably fits the size of an apartment room than an actual house given its scale and lack of a second floor - a claustrophobic little hovel that’s more fit for a gremlin than a man. I’d imagine it’d be like living in a trash compactor. Don’t get me wrong, it’s good living. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re living in a trash compactor.

Still, I get the feeling I’m only scratching the surface and that there’s so much you can take from the size of the two houses alone. Maybe it represents my desire to live in isolation in my villainous lair, walled off from the rest of the world. Looking back on it now, there’s no way I’d survive in a house like that. I’d go insane, mainly because there’s nothing to do but also because I’m a bit of a claustrophobe. What was I thinking?

Just by looking at this house alone, you can already tell I’ve started to lose a bit of steam. There’s a reason why I don’t do interior decorating - it’s because I’m absolutely dreadful at it. Look at this. What kind of madman puts the bathroom next to the kitchen and not the bedroom? It’s hilariously inefficient, if you ask me. Takes a certain kind of idiot to come up with a house like this and even bigger one to want to live in it.

Bah! It just gets worse and worse!

If there’s something all three of these houses have in common, it’s a kitchen. Funny. You’d think the bedroom would be something I’d prioritize, but apparently food comes first. In all fairness, the only reason I didn’t include a bedroom in the first doodle was because I lacked the time. It’s strange though. I haven’t exactly cooked a proper meal since I moved here just a little over a year ago. Perhaps this the brain’s strange and subtle way of telling you to start cooking once again, though it’s also possible that my brain’s simply calling me fat. Either way, it capitalizes on my love of food. 

On the other hand there is something that all my houses lack and the only person I can blame for that is myself. There’s no fucking garage. Whether it was a simple overlook or a subconscious desire, it’s given me a lot to think about. I’ve never been fond of cars, and I’ve never exactly wanted to drive either so it’s only natural that there’ll be nothing in my house related to such things. Still, every family ought to have a vehicle. They’ve got to get around town somehow. Walking simply isn’t an option in this day and age, as fun as it sounds. Speaking of oversights, I’ve also failed to make any note of what house would look from the outside. All I’ve got is a top-down view: a simple outline that maps out where the furniture’s supposed to go. 

Not that I’d end up following it anyway. 

[suzanneshannon]

Responsible JavaScript: Part I

By the numbers, JavaScript is a performance liability. If the trend persists, the median page will be shipping at least 400 KB of it before too long, and that’s merely what’s transferred. Like other text-based resources, JavaScript is almost always served compressed—but that might be the only thing we’re getting consistently right in its delivery.

Unfortunately, while reducing resource transfer time is a big part of that whole performance thing, compression has no effect on how long browsers take to process a script once it arrives in its entirety. If a server sends 400 KB of compressed JavaScript, the actual amount browsers have to process after decompression is north of a megabyte. How well devices cope with these heavy workloads depends, well, on the device. Much has been written about how adept various devices are at processing lots of JavaScript, but the truth is, the amount of time it takes to process even a trivial amount of it varies greatly between devices.

Take, for example, this throwaway project of mine, which serves around 23 KB of uncompressed JavaScript. On a mid-2017 MacBook Pro, Chrome chews through this comparably tiny payload in about 25 ms. On a Nokia 2 Android phone, however, that figure balloons to around 190 ms. That’s not an insignificant amount of time, but in either case, the page gets interactive reasonably fast.

Now for the big question: how do you think that little Nokia 2 does on an average page? It chokes. Even on a fast connection, browsing the web on it is an exercise in patience as JavaScript-laden web pages brick it for considerable stretches of time.

Figure 1. A performance timeline overview of a Nokia 2 Android phone browsing on a page where excessive JavaScript monopolizes the main thread.

While devices and the networks they navigate the web on are largely improving, we’re eating those gains as trends suggest. We need to use JavaScript responsibly. That begins with understanding what we’re building as well as how we’re building it.

The mindset of “sites” versus “apps”

Nomenclature can be strange in that we sometimes loosely identify things with terms that are inaccurate, yet their meanings are implicitly understood by everyone. Sometimes we overload the term “bee” to also mean “wasp”, even though the differences between bees and wasps are substantial. Those differences can motivate you to deal with each one differently. For instance, we’ll want to destroy a wasp nest, but because bees are highly beneficial and vulnerable insects, we may opt to relocate them.

We can be just as fast and loose in interchanging the terms “website” and “web app”. The differences between them are less clear than those between yellowjackets and honeybees, but conflating them can bring about painful outcomes. The pain comes in the affordances we allow ourselves when something is merely a “website” versus a fully-featured “web app.” If you’re making an informational website for a business, you’re less likely to lean on a powerful framework to manage changes in the DOM or implement client-side routing—at least, I hope. Using tools so ill-suited for the task would not only be a detriment to the people who use that site but arguably less productive.

When we build a web app, though, look out. We’re installing packages which usher in hundreds—if not thousands—of dependencies, some of which we’re not sure are even safe. We’re also writing complicated configurations for module bundlers. In this frenzied, yet ubiquitous, sort of dev environment, it takes knowledge and vigilance to ensure what gets built is fast and accessible. If you doubt this, run npm ls --prod in your project’s root directory and see if you recognize everything in that list. Even if you do, that doesn’t account for third party scripts—of which I’m sure your site has at least a few.

What we tend to forget is that the environment websites and web apps occupy is one and the same. Both are subject to the same environmental pressures that the large gradient of networks and devices impose. Those constraints don’t suddenly vanish when we decide to call what we build “apps”, nor do our users’ phones gain magical new powers when we do so.

It’s our responsibility to evaluate who uses what we make, and accept that the conditions under which they access the internet can be different than what we’ve assumed. We need to know the purpose we’re trying to serve, and only then can we build something that admirably serves that purpose—even if it isn’t exciting to build.

That means reassessing our reliance on JavaScript and how the use of it—particularly to the exclusion of HTML and CSS—can tempt us to adopt unsustainable patterns which harm performance and accessibility.

Don’t let frameworks force you into unsustainable patterns

I’ve been witness to some strange discoveries in codebases when working with teams that depend on frameworks to help them be highly productive. One characteristic common among many of them is that poor accessibility and performance patterns often result. Take the React component below, for example:

import React, { Component } from "react"; import { validateEmail } from "helpers/validation"; class SignupForm extends Component { constructor(props) { this.handleSubmit = this.handleSubmit.bind(this); this.updateEmail = this.updateEmail.bind(this); this.email = ""; } updateEmail (event) { this.setState({ email: event.target.value }); } handleSubmit () { // If the email checks out, submit if (validateEmail(this.state.email)) { // ... } } render() { return ( <div> <span class="email-label">Enter your email:</span> <input type="text" id="email" onChange={this.updateEmail} /> <button onClick={this.handleSubmit}>Sign Up</button> </div> ); } }

There are some notable accessibility issues here:

A form that doesn’t use a <form> element is not a form. Indeed, you could paper over this by specifying role="form" in the parent <div>, but if you’re building a form—and this sure looks like one—use a <form> element with the proper action and method attributes. The action attribute is crucial, as it ensures the form will still do something in the absence of JavaScript—provided the component is server-rendered, of course.

A <span> is not a substitute for a <label> element, which provides accessibility benefits <span>s don’t.

A <button> without type="submit" is just a <button> that only does what’s bound to it. If we intend to do something prior to submitting a form, then we should add type="submit" and move the action bound to the onClick handler to the <form> element’s onSubmit handler.

Incidentally, why use JavaScript to validate an email address when HTML5 offers form validation controls in almost every browser back to IE 10? There’s an opportunity here to rely on the browser and use an appropriate input type, as well as the required attribute—but be aware that getting this to work right with screen readers takes a little know-how.

Knowing these things, we can refactor this component:

import React, { Component } from "react"; class SignupForm extends Component { constructor(props) { this.handleSubmit = this.handleSubmit.bind(this); } handleSubmit (event) { // Needed in case we're sending data to the server XHR-style // (but will still work if server-rendered with JS disabled). event.preventDefault(); // Carry on… } render() { return ( <form method="POST" action="/signup" onSubmit={this.handleSubmit}> <label for="email" class="email-label">Enter your email:</label> <input type="email" id="email" required /> <button type="submit">Sign Up</button> </form> ); } }

Not only is this component now more accessible, but it also uses less JavaScript. In a world that’s drowning in JavaScript, deleting lines of it should feel downright therapeutic. The browser gives us so much for free, and we should try to take advantage of that as often as possible.

This is not to say that inaccessible patterns occur only when frameworks are used, but rather that a sole preference for JavaScript will eventually surface gaps in our understanding of HTML and CSS. These knowledge gaps will often result in mistakes we may not even be aware of. Frameworks can be useful tools that increase our productivity, but continuing education in core web technologies is essential to creating usable experiences, no matter what tools we choose to use.

Rely on the web platform and you’ll go far, fast

While we’re on the subject of frameworks, it must be said that the web platform is a formidable framework of its own. As the previous section showed, we’re better off when we can rely on established markup patterns and browser features. The alternative is to reinvent them, and invite all the pain such endeavors all but guarantee us, or worse: merely assume that the author of every JavaScript package we install has solved the problem comprehensively and thoughtfully.

Single page applications

One of the tradeoffs developers are quick to make is to adopt the single page application (SPA) model, even if it’s not a fit for the project. Yes, you do gain better perceived performance with the client-side routing of an SPA, but what do you lose? The browser’s own navigation functionality—albeit synchronous—provides a slew of benefits. For one, history is managed according to a complex specification. Users without JavaScript—be it by their own choice or not—won’t lose access altogether. For SPAs to remain available when JavaScript is not, server-side rendering suddenly becomes a thing you have to consider.

Figure 2. A comparison of an example app loading on a slow connection. The app on the left depends entirely upon JavaScript to render a page. The app on the right renders a response on the server, but then uses client-side hydration to attach components to the existing server-rendered markup.

Accessibility is also harmed if a client-side router fails to let people know what content on the page has changed. This can leave those reliant on assistive technology to suss out what changes have occurred on the page, which can be an arduous task.

Then there’s our old nemesis: overhead. Some client-side routers are very small, but when you start with React, a compatible router, and possibly even a state management library, you’re accepting that there’s a certain amount of code you can never optimize away—approximately 135 KB in this case. Carefully consider what you’re building and whether a client side router is worth the tradeoffs you’ll inevitably make. Typically, you’re better off without one.

If you’re concerned about the perceived navigation performance, you could lean on rel=prefetch to speculatively fetch documents on the same origin. This has a dramatic effect on improving perceived loading performance of pages, as the document is immediately available in the cache. Because prefetches are done at a low priority, they’re also less likely to contend with critical resources for bandwidth.

Figure 3. The HTML for the writing/ URL is prefetched on the initial page. When the writing/ URL is requested by the user, the HTML for it is loaded instantaneously from the browser cache.

The primary drawback with link prefetching is that you need to be aware that it can be potentially wasteful. Quicklink, a tiny link prefetching script from Google, mitigates this somewhat by checking if the current client is on a slow connection—or has data saver mode enabled—and avoids prefetching links on cross-origins by default.

Service workers are also hugely beneficial to perceived performance for returning users, whether we use client side routing or not—provided you know the ropes. When we precache routes with a service worker, we get many of the same benefits as link prefetching, but with a much greater degree of control over requests and responses. Whether you think of your site as an “app” or not, adding a service worker to it is perhaps one of the most responsible uses of JavaScript that exists today.

JavaScript isn’t the solution to your layout woes

If we’re installing a package to solve a layout problem, proceed with caution and ask “what am I trying to accomplish?” CSS is designed to do this job, and requires no abstractions to use effectively. Most layout issues JavaScript packages attempt to solve, like box placement, alignment, and sizing, managing text overflow, and even entire layout systems, are solvable with CSS today. Modern layout engines like Flexbox and Grid are supported well enough that we shouldn’t need to start a project with any layout framework. CSS is the framework. When we have feature queries, progressively enhancing layouts to adopt new layout engines is suddenly not so hard.

/* Your mobile-first, non-CSS grid styles goes here */ /* The @supports rule below is ignored by browsers that don't support CSS grid, _or_ don't support @supports. */ @supports (display: grid) { /* Larger screen layout */ @media (min-width: 40em) { /* Your progressively enhanced grid layout styles go here */ } }

Using JavaScript solutions for layout and presentations problems is not new. It was something we did when we lied to ourselves in 2009 that every website had to look in IE6 exactly as it did in the more capable browsers of that time. If we’re still developing websites to look the same in every browser in 2019, we should reassess our development goals. There will always be some browser we’ll have to support that can’t do everything those modern, evergreen browsers can. Total visual parity on all platforms is not only a pursuit made in vain, it’s the principal foe of progressive enhancement.

I’m not here to kill JavaScript

Make no mistake, I have no ill will toward JavaScript. It’s given me a career and—if I’m being honest with myself—a source of enjoyment for over a decade. Like any long-term relationship, I learn more about it the more time I spend with it. It’s a mature, feature-rich language that only gets more capable and elegant with every passing year.

Yet, there are times when I feel like JavaScript and I are at odds. I am critical of JavaScript. Or maybe more accurately, I’m critical of how we’ve developed a tendency to view it as a first resort to building for the web. As I pick apart yet another bundle not unlike a tangled ball of Christmas tree lights, it’s become clear that the web is drunk on JavaScript. We reach for it for almost everything, even when the occasion doesn’t call for it. Sometimes I wonder how vicious the hangover will be.

In a series of articles to follow, I’ll be giving more practical advice to follow to stem the encroaching tide of excessive JavaScript and how we can wrangle it so that what we build for the web is usable—or at least more so—for everyone everywhere. Some of the advice will be preventative. Some will be mitigating “hair of the dog” measures. In either case, the outcomes will hopefully be the same. I believe that we all love the web and want to do right by it, but I want us to think about how to make it more resilient and inclusive for all.

Responsible JavaScript: Part I published first on https://deskbysnafu.tumblr.com/