#<- my feet tend to hurt from a lot of walking/exercise so i run without shoes sometimes to help the soreness

[oh-gh0st]

fuck i got walnut stains on my foot

[dycefic]

Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it.  They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

[aghostpost]

The Hard-J (Victor Creed x Reader)

A/N: I know I said it would be ready by the weekend but... it wasn’t! Excuses only work for those that make them, so I won’t bother lmao~ This one is for @queengiuliettafirstlady and everyone else that loves a little Victor Creed intensity. ♥

“Can we not do this today, please?”

“What the hell was that about?” He slammed the door after him as I went to my kitchen to put groceries away. 

“He saw me walking back from the store, that’s it.”

“That’s it, huh? What did I say about hangin’ out with him?”

“We weren’t hanging out! I told you, he saw me walking and he was helping me carry a few things. That. Is it.”

“You see how he talks to me? How he’s always talked to me-“

“-I see two brothers who, for whatever reason, can’t seem to hack it.”

“We aren’t brothers.”

I rolled my eyes, shoving my peanut butter and fudge swirl ice cream into the freezer. “Brothers in arms.”

“Because there’s no damn respect! Always lookin’ down at me like he’s some kinda fuckin’ superior.”

“Vic…”

“I don’t want you around him. You hear me?”

I let out an exasperated sigh as I rolled my eyes. “It’s too hot to argue about this shit.”

“You’re the one arguing instead of just agreeing, Y/N.”

“Your relationship with Logan is just that: yours. I have no problem with the guy.”

“If I see you two together again-“

“- Do not end that sentence with a threat, Victor-“

“- I’ll do you one better and end it with a guaran-fucking-tee!”

“We live in the same city, I’m bound to run into him sometimes!”

“Y/N look at me… Hey!” He shouted, making me jump out of my skin as I gave him my undivided attention. Clearly he was serious, which he tended to be. But this time, more serious than normal.

He was always so very dead serious whenever we talked about Logan.

“I don’t care if you’re next door neighbors with him. If I see you two with each other again, it will not end well.”

“For him? Or for me?”

“Both o’ you.”

I stared him down and watched him do the same, his face cold hard steel, not even a muscle flexing as he spoke to me. “What the hell happened between you two, anyway?” I asked. “What did he do that’s so damn bad you’re forbidding me to even say hi? He kill your cat or somethin’?”

He smirked and let out a huff of a chuckle, his left fang peeking from behind his lips. “You think I’m kiddin’?”

I rolled my eyes and pushed him away from me to continue putting the food away. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I’ll stay away from him, Victor. Whatever the hell makes-” I couldn’t finish my sentence before I heard the loud crash of glass breaking. I whipped around and saw a wet puddle dripping on my wall, the floor beneath it decorated with broken glass and what was a very nice bouquet of assorted flowers. “Are you shitting me?!”

“Oh, I got your attention now?”

“You had it! You’re throwing a temper tantrum, breaking my shit, all because you’re jealous of someone I’m not even interested in?”

“Jealous?” he questioned as he slowly stalked towards me, like a predator carefully eyeing its prey. I was no stranger to Victor's temper; under the right circumstances, he could go from settled to up in flames with the snap of a finger. Maybe it’s because he was never really at ease, always ready to pounce at any moment’s notice if necessary. Yeah, I know he has little patience and is kinda trigger happy to get into a fight, his own source of entertainment. But that was with other people, strangers. With me, he exercised a lot more restraint. We’d have arguments, he’d yell, maybe hurt a wall and then storm off.

But whenever Logan was involved, it was a different story...

“You need to relax,” I warned as I slowly backed away from him, ready to defend myself if necessary, even if I knew it was a losing battle. 

“Did you just say I was jealous of him?”

“Are you?”

“What reason do I have to be jealous?”

“You tell me. What is it, Vic? You think I’m gonna run off with him into the sunset? You come over here one day to see me, all my shit is packed up and I leave a note behind? I doubt he’d throw my shit around like you just did.”

“I bought you those damn flowers,” he growled.

“You gonna buy the replacements too?” I asked playfully, trying to diffuse the tension but failing. It was painfully obvious, literally, he wasn’t in the mood to play when I felt his fist grip me like a boa constrictor. He forced my head against the kitchen cabinet behind me and got close to my face. If he moved any closer he’d be able to taste the chive cream cheese bagel I had on the way over here. 

“Now that all depends…”

“Victor, let go of me. Now.”

“What’s the matter, hm? I thought you liked it rough?” he spoke with a tone of warning before a lecherous grin spread across his face. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t release a flutter deep in my belly, my incessant desire for him threatening to surface. It was embarrassing and admittedly disgusting to me, how even in moments as such, there was always going to be some shred of me that could neither ignore nor deny my constant thirst for him to satisfy me in ways only Victor knew how.

“You’ve made your point.” I tried to remain calm while fighting for air. I was willing to bet money that he could feel my pulse quickening beneath his grip. If even one of his claws came out I’d be bleeding out all over the linoleum.

“Have I?”

“You have five seconds to get the fuck off of me... or I walk.” He stared me in the eye only a few seconds longer before relinquishing his grip. If there was anything I caught on to in the seven months we’ve been seeing each other, if that’s even what you wanna call him dropping by for food, sex and quality conversation with a solid night’s rest, it’s that he actually greatly enjoyed having me in his life. He would never admit it, of course, being the poster boy for hypermasculinity; no way he’d display the level of emotion required to confess he liked me. But I picked up on it in subtle ways he probably doesn’t even notice. The way he throws his arm over me in his sleep, subconsciously keeping me in place with him. The way he came over and pretended it was just for sex, when we wouldn’t wind up having sex at all. The flowers he bought me, before throwing them to the wall in a rage. Most importantly, the way he wouldn’t stay gone long after a fight and would come back with his tail tucked in ready to apologize, afraid that would be the fight that finally scared me off and into the arms of someone else. I wasn’t using that to my advantage here, but I was letting him know what we both knew but never spoke of:

He wanted me around. He liked me.

I took a moment to allow oxygen to return to my lungs before I addressed him. “I pushed a button o’ yours with that little J-word?”

“What on Earth gave you that idea?” he asked sarcastically.

I nodded. “Fine. Noted. But I promise you, next time you use your words, because if you ever think about putting your hands on me again-”

“-Now you’re ending sentences with threats?”

“Guarantees, right?” I stalked to the corner of the kitchen and grabbed the broom that was wedged between the wall and my fridge then slammed it into his chest. “Dust pan behind the fridge,” was all I said before making my way to the bedroom.

“We’re not done-”

“-I am.” The moment I turned the corner out of the kitchen he was following me, the broom loudly clapping against the kitchen floor. The same hand that was just wrapped tightly around my throat was now finding its way around my waist along with his other one, pressing me to the wall. “Victor-“

“-I’ll getcha new flowers.”

“Fuck the flowers and fuck you.” He wasn’t hearing any of it. He grabbed my wrists and began making his way to the couch, my legs clumsily bumping into any and everything I walked towards. 

“I’m not gonna pour my heart out an’ tell you all the fucked up things about me, if that’s what you’re waitin’ for me to do.”

“Mutant in human world. It’s not hard to figure out.”

“And I’m not tellin’ you the textbook of reasons I’m not holdin’ hands with him either.”

“And I’m not agreeing to stay away from him for your reasons and personal grudges unknown.”

“So maybe I didn’t make myself as clear as I thought.” Before I was aware the back of my legs bumped into the arm of my couch. I was desperate to create some sort of distance between us, so I fell backwards and wiggled away to the far opposite end of the couch. He stood at my feet and without breaking eye contact, lifted the loose black henley from his chest. He was possibly the only person I knew that could wear black and long sleeves in the peak of a summer in the city without breaking a sweat. But now wasn’t the time to be impressed by minor things.

“It’s too hot for this, too.”

“You tellin’ me no?”

“Yes!”

“Why?” he asked as he continued advancing in my direction, fumbling with the belt on his jeans as he kicked his shoes off.

“Because I don’t feel like it. You’re not about to makeup sex your way out of putting your hands on me, dick.”

He shrugged to himself. “You never turned it down before.”

“Well, you know what they say the definition of insanity is, right…”

“Doin’ the same shit, expecting different results.”

“And I want different results, Victor.”

“Fine. So let’s try somethin’ different.” Without a word or warning he bent down and scooped me up, a hand firmly resting under each of my thighs, my legs snaked around his waist. I thought he was headed towards the bedroom, but he took a surprising left turn to the apartment balcony, gripping me tightly before using a hand to open the sliding glass door. The humidity instantly smothered me, my glasses fogging from the shock of being exposed to the summer heat after leaving my air conditioned living room. He sat in one of the wicker seats of my patio set and placed me in his lap, lifting my sundress so I could straddle him free of obstruction. He placed me directly onto his cock and was not gentle about it; my head instantly fell back as a rush of air escaped my chest, my hands finding his neck. 

“Fuck,” I whispered.

“Exactly.”

“Shut the hell up.” There was no time for playful banter. The sun had only just started to set, meaning there was still plenty daylight for us to be seen; this had to be quick. And quiet. Quiet would be the hard part without a doubt. With his help, I lifted my body up and down, his fingertips digging into my hips as he held tightly to my waist. “Holy shit, Vic.”

“Still think I’m jealous?”

I grinned to myself. “I dunno; you’re fuckin’ me like you got somethin’ to prove,” I teased. Clearly there was jealousy but I knew better than to answer him with a yes. But if jealousy is this good a sexual motivator, I’d be happy with this silver lining to our fight. He lifted my dress up more, enough for him to expose my tits and seize my right one with his mouth. My head fell back, a cry escaping me when I felt the sharp stab of his teeth on the mound of flesh. “Fuck!” He growled, his mouth vibrating slightly around my nipple. 

“Ya still gonna run away and leave a note?” he asked, the heat from his mouth making toes curl.

“Never.” Unless he pushed me to it, of course. 

I felt the pads of his fingertips press my scalp, my hair tightly intertwined in his digits as he pulled my head back and forced me to make eye contact. “Don’t threaten to walk again.”

I rolled my eyes. “Or else?” I mocked.

He shook his head, his pelvis ceasing, the rapid rise and fall of our chests the only movement remaining between us. “No. Just don’t.”

I stared at him a moment longer and simply nodded before standing and turning around, lifting my dress over my head, then taking the rusty balcony rail in my hands to steady myself. I turned to look at him; to my surprise he was already stroking himself in the absence of something else warm wrapped around his cock. “Whatcha waitin’ for?”

“Can’t enjoy the view?”

“Enjoy it any longer and I’m gonna melt.”

“Someone other than me hungry for it?” he said with a hard slap to my right cheek before roughly re-entering from behind, making me jerk forward into the hot metal rail. I grunted at the pain in effort not to be too loud and settled comfortably on him, my body fitting him like a glove. He was in no way gentle as he thrust himself in and out of me, primal grunts escaping his chest every time his hips rammed into my ass. My tits would surely be bruised the way I was uncomfortably pressed into the railing. I stared at the rusted and flaking metal coating of the bars beneath my arms and fought to keep my legs from collapsing beneath me, every bone in my limbs turning to apple sauce, my muscles sore and aching. If only this kind of workout kept me in shape and was doctor recommended. And quiet as I was, there was nothing I could do to muffle the loud smack that echoed in the air when Victor got slap happy, or the sound that came from my mouth as a result. The funny thing was, the more I tried to shush him, the more intensely he fucked me, and the more sound we both ended up making. 

“Sss, holy fuck! Fuck fuck fuck, Vic! Shit!” I cried out, the restraint I had for my volume loosening. On a slower day I would have had a bit more self control, but I never lasted long, or quietly, when he was in a more animalistic mood.

“Mm, that’s right,” he grunted, digging his fingers into my hip bones. “Lemme have it, baby.” And before I knew it I did exactly that. My legs gave out beneath me and I fell to my knees, failing to hold myself up on the balcony railing any longer as I came. My moans were beyond stifling, and I felt nothing else, not even the pools of sweat pouring out of me. For just a moment I’d fallen into a deep well of ecstasy, my head throbbing from the mix of summer heat and pleasure, before I regained some composure to return the favor. 

I grabbed the thin cushion from my patio chair and placed it at his feet and knelt before him, taking him into my mouth as deep as I could. As hungrily as I could. Without hesitation his hands flew to my head, cradling the back of my skull and maneuvering me to a pace of his pleasure. “Atta girl,” he encouraged. He knew I was a sucker for praise, and after being a complete asshole I was expecting him to lay it on with the ass kissing for the rest of the evening. Now he had me working like I was the jealous one, when really I was only in competition with myself; I wanted to see if I could make him cum quicker than any of the other times I did this. I worked my head in a swivel and both of my hands in opposing twisting motion, pulling him into me as far as I could without biting off more than I could chew. It was useless, however, since Victor was determined to push my head down way past my limits. His hips undulated as he thrust his dick deeper and deeper into my throat. He’d momentarily pause and hold his place before pulling out to allow me to draw air, all before repeating the process. “Look at me,” he demanded, which was all he needed to say for me to know what time it was. I stared upwards at him with his cock still in my mouth, my eyes glassy with tears, and he pushed himself deep into my throat one final time and pumped the tip of his dick at the back of my throat. He held eye contact for as long as he could before his head fell backwards, eyes slamming shut as I felt the muscles of his thighs tighten. He grunted a low, beastlike growl before I felt him release all he had to offer in my throat, the sensation slightly tickling. I slowly jerked his dick off for good measure to ensure I got him for every drop before swallowing the thick, sticky fluid, swirling my tongue around his tip before he removed himself from my mouth. 

“Ah, Jesus fuck,” he sighed, his chest rising and falling as he tried to recover.

“I think I missed that Sunday school lesson.” He rolled his eyes and looked down at me, head still resting in his lap, before rising and extending a hand. I grabbed and he pulled me up, coming face to face with him and the wild grin plastered on his face. “Back inside before my ass gets covered in bug bites.”

“I could scratch it for ya,” he offered, running a claw harmlessly up my spine. I shivered and pushed away from him before round two threatened to begin, sliding the balcony door open, relieved once the ice cold air conditioning hit my chest.

“No thanks. But you absolutely can buy me another bouquet of flowers. And a vase, while you’re at it.”

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur has never had wings. He has long since resigned himself to that fact. However much of his father's blood runs through his veins, it is not enough to grant him that gift.

Wilbur comes back to life, and his back begins to ache.

(word count: 6,141)

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

It’s stupid, but when his back first begins to ache, he assumes it’s old age.

The thing is that he doesn’t have any real frame of reference for what constitutes as old and what does not. His father is old, but his father has lived for literally thousands of years. Technoblade is not quite so old as that, but Technoblade never dies is more than just a catchphrase. Tommy is young, he’s sure of that much, but Tommy has days where he wakes up and his head and ribs won’t stop aching, remnants of that third death that have never quite left him, so Tommy is perhaps not the best gauge of what pains are and are not normal for a young person.

Wilbur doesn’t think that he’s particularly old. He’s still not yet thirty, unless he counts the void years. Then, he’s older than thirty. Then, he’s older than his own bones. He tries not to dwell on the void years, because dwelling on the void years gives him urges that he’s still learning how to ignore. Urges like informing everyone gaily and at length when the inevitable heat death of the universe will be, or giving everyone a graphic description of what happens at a microscopic level in the human body when it picks up a stomach bug.

The point is, he’s not very old. But he feels it, a lot of the time, so when he wakes up one morning and his back is killing him, he shrugs it off and goes about his day. It hurts, sure. It hurts kind of a lot. But he’s had worse. The void took him apart molecule by molecule and put him back together again so many times that he learned to love it, and compared to that, this is nothing at all.

Life in the Arctic has been—nice. It’s been nice, reconnecting with Phil, cautiously rebuilding his relationship with Technoblade. Tommy comes to visit a lot, and it’s odd, trying to juggle the kid he thinks of as a brother with his father and his father’s best friend, especially when there’s so much bad blood between the lot of them, but they make it work. And Ranboo is around a lot, and he’s a nice kid, and Niki stops by every so often, and it’s good to see her. No one else is very interested in coming to visit him, which is understandable, but she always smiles at him, and he knows that they’re still friends. Which is good.

He’s fairly sure that the four of them, Phil and Techno and Niki and Ranboo, have some sort of secret club thing going on. They always give him different answers when he asks about it; Niki blinks and tells him it’s a book club, and Ranboo does not blink because he does not have eyelids, but Ranboo claims that it’s a pet grooming society. So they’re lying to him for sure, and he thinks he could know the truth if he wanted to, if he tapped in just a bit more to those bits of void that have nestled in his heart. The temptation is strong, sometimes, but he resists.

He doesn’t want to mess with a good thing, is all. He’s found a peace here in the snow that he didn’t think he would be able to find outside of the grave. He is hesitant to call himself healing, but most days, when his head cries out for blood and fire and burning the world and himself along with it, he can push the idea away and carry on without trying to act on it. That is healing, perhaps.

Captain Puffy tells him it is, anyway, and he’s found that Captain Puffy tends to know what she’s talking about.

But so. His back hurts. And he expects it to stop after a while, because even old person aches surely can’t last forever. Except, it doesn’t, and in fact seems to only get worse over the next few days, to the point that he starts to worry that it’s going to begin interfering with his functionality. Which he doesn’t want. He needs freedom, freedom to go where he wants, even if where he wants to go usually isn’t very far. It’s the principle of the thing. He does not do well with confinement, with spaces that are too enclosed, and if this pain ends up laying him out in his room, he’s going to go insane.

Poor choice of words, that. But the point still stands, so he makes a decision. The decision is this: he’s simply not going to allow that to happen.

So he slaps a smile on his face and carries on with his business, and does his best to ignore the way his spine starts to feel like it’s cracking open and stabbing into the surrounding muscle. And he is a very good actor, if he does say so himself, so for the most part, no one seems to notice that anything is wrong. Phil asks him if he’s feeling alright, but he’s able to deflect by claiming fatigue, and Phil accepts the explanation easily. And the pain only increases, does not let up at all, but it’s a gradual sort of increase, so before too long, he figures out how to adjust to it. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

And then Tommy stops by for a visit, and they’re chatting outside for a moment, and Tommy says something stupid and ridiculous, so he smacks him gently upside the head, which Tommy takes objection to. And then they’re wrestling, which makes the pain flare a bit, but it’s manageable, especially since he gets Tommy pinned in about four seconds flat, which. Is concerning, a bit, because he is not particularly strong, physically, so if he can pin Tommy, there are a lot of other people who could also definitely pin Tommy.

But he’s probably not thinking about it the right way. This was a play fight, not a real one, and it’s difficult, sometimes, to remember that the server is currently at peace.

He pins Tommy, both of them panting and grinning in the snow, and he doesn’t let up until Tommy admits defeat. And then he gets to his feet, and here is where he makes the error: he turns his back.

The snowball impacts him right between his shoulder blades. He stumbles forward with the force of it, and his knees hit the snow.

Tommy is already cackling, is calling him a bitch. Wilbur barely has time to think oh, shit before something spasms, and it’s like something has taken a knife to him from the inside out. He hears a strangled little scream, choked and agonized, and barely recognizes the fact that it’s coming from him, because black spots are dancing across his vision and his lungs aren’t inflating properly and he can hardly think.

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, a wide smile still in his voice. “Don’t be such a pussy. I didn’t even pack any ice in.”

He can’t reply. The agony is centered where the snowball hit, but it’s radiating outward, and the whole of his back feels like it’s burning and freezing all at once, and he shudders violently, breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He clenches his fists, braces them against his thighs, pressing down hard enough to leave bruises.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, more uncertain. And then, Tommy is there, kneeling down in front of him, and his face goes all wide and panicky. “Wilbur? Holy shit, are you dying? Are you having a heart attack? A stroke? Are you freezing to death? Have I just killed you with a snowball? You’ve got three lives again, right? Where are you hurt, Wil, come one, you’ve got to tell me, you’ve gotta tell me so I can fix it, are you—”

“My back,” he manages, “my back’s been—my back’s been hurting, it wasn’t your fault, it’s just—” He cuts off with another gasp as all the muscles in his back convulse, tensing and untensing and tensing again and sending a wave of stabbing pain through his nerves.

“Oh, Prime,” Tommy says, “oh, Prime, alright, you’re gonna be fine, big man, let’s just get you inside, alright? Can you walk? Nevermind, just—” Tommy hooks his hands underneath his arms and hauls him to his feet, slinging one of his arms across his shoulders as soon as he can get them in the right position. He lets out a little whimper, and hates himself for doing so, just a little bit, but fuck, that hurts.

The stairs are a trial. His feet drag, and he would trip and fall flat on his face if it weren’t for Tommy. But then, they’re inside Phil’s house, and Tommy sits him down on Phil’s ratty little couch, and he immediately curls in on himself, hands gripping his forearms as if the pain will go away if he hugs himself hard enough.

“Okay, shirt off, Wil, let me see,” Tommy says, and he blinks dumbly for a moment.

“What?” he asks, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“No, just—you’ve got to let me see what’s wrong, yeah?”

“‘S old man aches,” he mumbles, but doesn’t try to fight it when Tommy begins manhandling his arms, pushing at his coat sleeves.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy demands. “You’re not that old. Who do you think you are, Philza fucking Minecraft? Come on, just let me see—” He finally manages to get the coat off, and then the shirt, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh as it’s exposed to the air. Tommy freezes.

“What?” he asks. “What is it, what’s—”

“I don’t,” Tommy says, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t, Wilbur, I don’t know what this is, I don’t—holy shit, that’s actually kind of scary. Um! No, nevermind, don’t pay attention to me, just keep um, breathing! Breathing is good! Breathing exercises!” He breathes in and out, loud and exaggerated. “See, just like that. I’m just gonna—”

And he puts a hand out, and before Wilbur can stop him, he rests it on his back. Light and cautious, but still too much, and Wilbur stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. In the same motion, he flinches away, violently, but the damage has already been done. Because the contact hurts, a lot, but what’s worse is the horror, because in the split second that Tommy’s hand touched his skin, he could feel the way that it is wrong, that his back is wrong, that there is something terribly wrong. Because there are ridges protruding from his back, long and thick and raised, and it’s wrong and it hurts and Tommy’s right, actually, this is scary, he’s fucking scared.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tommy is saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I won’t do that again, I’m so sorry, Wilbur, are you okay? Please be okay, please—”

He nods, though it’s more like he lets his head fall and then painstakingly brings it back up a little.

“Okay, I think we need—” Tommy says. “I think that I don’t know what to do, so I think we need—” He takes a deep breath. “Phil! Phil!” Loud, panicked, earsplitting. Wilbur winces. “Phil! He is home, isn’t he? Phil!”

A second passes, and then, drifting up from the basement, a distant, “Tommy? Everything good?”

“Phil, get up here right fucking now!”

There is a beat of silence, and then there are footsteps, quiet at first but growing closer, and they are quick, hurried. Phil must have detected the genuine fear in Tommy’s voice, because Tommy and Phil generally stand on very shaky ground with each other, so while Phil will typically indulge Tommy in his whims, it depends on the day as to how far he’ll go, how quick he’ll respond. But it’s only a moment or two before Phil’s head pokes out of the floor, his hands clinging to the ladder, his face twisted in confusion.

“What on earth is the matter?” he asks, and then breaks off as his eyes land on Wilbur, who—he must be a sight. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. But terror flashes across Phil’s face, and he is crossing the floor in an instant, hands hovering over him, fluttering helplessly, though thankfully, he doesn’t touch.

“What’s wrong, where are you hurt, what—” The words come out in a jumbled flurry, but he stops just as abruptly, and Wilbur knows that he is looking at the horror show that is his back.

“It hurts, Phil,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Phil says, sounding—still concerned, but perhaps marginally calmer? “Okay, you’re going to be alright. I think I know what this is.” He settles himself on the couch right next to him and opens his arms, and Wilbur doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward, slumping against him. Phil seems to know better than to put any kind of pressure on his back, and instead places one hand on his arm and the other on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“Then what the fuck is it?” Tommy demands.

“Tommy, I need you to run over to Techno’s and ask him for something for pain, and something for sleep. Can you do that for me?” Phil asks instead of answering, and perhaps Wilbur should be terrified by the implication that he’s going to need either of those things, but the promise of some kind of relief overrides any kind of trepidation.

“Like fuck I will,” Tommy says, “Not before you tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!”

Another convulsion wracks him. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, and tastes blood. His breath is hitching, and he can’t stop it.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice is sharp, but then, Wilbur feels rather than hears him sigh. “It’s wings, I think. I don’t understand why now, but I went through this a long time ago, when I was very young. I recognize the signs. So Tommy, please.”

Tommy makes a surprised little sound. Wilbur isn’t looking, has his face buried in Phil’s shoulder, but he can imagine the look on his face: the slack jaw, the wide open eyes. And then, there are rushed footsteps retreating, and the door slamming, and Tommy’s muffled voice calling out for Technoblade.

And then, Wilbur processes what Phil just said.

He twists his head around so he can see his face, regretting it a moment later. Any kind of movement seems to make the pain worse, and he has to take a moment to tremble through it.

“Wings?” he whispers. “How?”

He’s never had wings.

If he were going to have wings, he would have gotten them a long time ago. He remembers nights spent as a child, staying up and hoping for feathered appendages to somehow miraculously appear on his back, just so he could be more like his dad. He remembers the crushing disappointment when he finally accepted that no matter how much divine blood runs in his veins, it is apparently not enough.

But he did accept it. He accepted it years ago. There is absolutely no reason for him to be developing wings now, as a fully-grown adult, but Phil sounds so very sure, and his back hurts so very much, and perhaps that’s consistent with actual appendages trying to sprout out of him.

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “I’ve never heard of it happening so late, even in avians. Which, I’m not exactly, but I got mine when I was a kid like they do, and I don’t—I don’t know, Wil, I really don’t, but I remember what it was like, yeah? I know what to do. It’s gonna suck for a little while, but you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he croaks, “okay—” and then he has to stop talking, because the pain flares again, bright and intense and holy shit, but it’s worse this time, because now that he knows what’s going on, he can feel them. He can feel things inside of him, pushing against his muscles and his skin in ways that absolutely should not be possible, and there is too much of him to be contained in his body, and there are things inside of him trying to escape—

It’s almost like the way he gets when he thinks about the void too hard. Except not, because when he does that, he feels the urge to dissolve away, gently and peacefully, to let himself back into the quiet that is not quiet and the darkness that is not dark, where all the knowledge of the world is at his fingertips, too much for a mortal brain to contain and remain sane. That is not this. This is his own body trying to explode. There is no peace, no dissolution; it’s messy and physical and Prime he just wants it to stop.

He shifts in Phil’s grasp, fruitlessly trying to find a position that takes the pressure off, a little bit. It’s no use, of course, because he can still feel something moving under the skin of his back, and his vision whites out, and when he comes back to himself, he’s shivering, shivering and shaking and sobbing in Phil’s hold, and he doesn’t remember when he started crying but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Phil is keeping up a steady stream of soothing nonsense, and he latches onto the sound of his voice like it’s the only lifeline he has.

And then the door bursts open, and Wilbur doesn’t bother trying to look, but there are two sets of footsteps, not just one.

“Here,” Tommy says, panting, and there are several thumps, and several clinks, glass on glass.

“Oh god, don’t—and he’s doing it, he’s just dumping all of that on the floor. Don’t break those, Tommy, those aren’t splash pots. Have you never handled a potion before.” Technoblade pauses for a moment. “So, what exactly’s wrong with him? The child was making no sense at all.”

Wilbur thinks he detects a note of concern. But he’s not thinking clearly, and it’s always hard to tell anyway, with Technoblade.

“He’s got wings growing in,” Phil responds, voice clipped. Wilbur feels his hand leave his arm, and he whines at the loss of touch. And then another spasm, and he whines again, pressing his face harder into Phil’s shirt.

“Oh. Huh. Yes, that makes perfect sense, of course.”

Phil’s arm dips a bit, and Wilbur finds himself being moved, his head gently tilted back. Phil’s face comes into view, pale and blurry.

“You want to drink this for me, Wil?” he says, and then there is glass at his lips, and he parts them immediately. He doesn’t like being knocked out, doesn’t like the loss of control that comes with it, but if he has to be aware for another five minutes, he’s not going to be able to keep himself from screaming aloud.

He swallows, grimacing at the taste. The effects start hitting right away. His mind detaches from himself, and the pain drains from him. Every muscle goes lax.

He exhales.

“There we go,” Phil murmurs, “there we go. It’s gonna be alright, Wil. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna be okay.”

The world falls away. He lets it. He trusts his father to catch him.

----------

He wakes up a few times, and each time, it hurts. Phil is always there, and usually, Tommy too, and sometimes Techno, and he can barely move but they always see that he’s awake, and they give him a potion and he’s under again, and he’s glad for it, because those moments of consciousness are a spiral of pain and confusion and his thoughts flying apart because he barely understands what’s going on or why he’s hurting and he just wants it to go away.

And then there is the time he wakes up and he thinks somebody is cutting his back open, and he can feel his own blood on his skin, sticky and hot, and he thrashes, trying to get away, and that makes the pain so much worse, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is inhuman, and he fights until a potion is poured down his throat and it’s back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and people are talking in low, hushed tones. He can’t make out what they’re saying. He cracks his eyes open, and it’s Phil and Technoblade, deep in some discussion, both looking terribly concerned. He decides he’ll ask what’s wrong later, and then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and some part of him is moving, and he doesn’t understand what it is because it’s not any of his limbs, not his arms and not his legs, and it feels alien and foreign and his back feels like it’s been shoved under a woodchipper and then tossed through a paper shredder for good measure, and he’s not aware enough to know why, so he panics. There is a bit of the void that still dwells in his heart, and he calls on it, cries out to it, and it answers, comes rushing in around him, and his mind expands to peer into galaxies.

Philza is at his side a moment later, and he is able to look at him and see all the weight of years that lie behind his eyes, and all the years that lie ahead of him, and the moment of his death, all spiraling out like a tapestry and like a mass, and the music is atonal, confused, but a closer glance reveals it to be twelve-tone, order in the chaotic lines. Wilbur is with the void again, and his heart still beats, but it’s a near thing, and he could stop it if he chose.

“Do you want to know, Philza?” he asks, words spilling from his lips like rain, like the river, like the flood. “Do you want to know when it will happen? I can see it. I can see how some part of you wants it. All our histories are like tangled up threads, but they all come to an end, and I can see those endings, Philza, I can tell you about them if you like.”

Pain constricts Philza’s face, and Wilbur doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know who wouldn’t love the void and its peace and its everything.

“I know, Wilbur,” Philza says, “I know, but how about you come back to me now, okay? Come back to me?”

“We’re all little bits of code, Philza,” he informs him. “None of us are real. We’re little bits of code and words on a page and lines in a script written by our better selves. Nothing in this world really matters. We might as well have all the fun we can before the lights go out. Do you want to know when that will be, Philza? Not too long after you, Philza. Not too long at all. I told Tommy, he knows, he didn’t want to know but that’s alright, he’s better off for it, if he hasn’t forgotten.”

“Come back, Wil, come on,” Philza says, “you can do it. You’ve got a heartbeat, do you feel it?”

Philza takes his hand and places it over his heart, and—that’s right. He’s alive. He’d forgotten. The void spins, and then it tucks itself away again, waiting for the next moment he needs it, and he is left with only vague impressions of what he’s just said and a vague idea that everything hurts and something is wrong with his back and he’d like to go to sleep now, please.

“Alright, yeah,” Phil says, “here, you can have this, you can sleep. You’re doing so well, Wil, I promise it’s almost done.”

He takes the potion. Or tries to; Phil has to hold it for him.

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he hears Phil say, very far away. “So long as you come back, everything’s okay.”

He goes back to sleep again. He thinks he wakes up a few more times, but he doesn’t really remember. He doesn’t really want to.

----------

And then: awareness.

The first thing he processes is that everything aches, deeply and acutely, but none of it feels nearly as bad as it did before, and not even as bad as it’s been over the past couple of weeks. It’s irritating, painful, but more than manageable, really, practically a relief. The second thing he processes is that he’s lying on his stomach, and that there is something weighing him down.

His mind puzzles over this for a moment. He tries to roll over, to see what’s going on, but something stops him, and then he remembers: wings.

He’s got wings. There are wings on his back. Growing out of him. A part of his body. Wings.

As soon as he realizes that, he becomes aware of them. And it is so very strange, to suddenly have access to two extra limbs, to suddenly have additional body parts to move about and control. It’s a feeling impossible to describe, and he has to take several minutes to process it, to try to become accustomed to it. It doesn’t really work, but he tries moving them anyway, just a bit of a flex, and—

Ouch.

He groans, shoving his face into the pillow. A mistake. That was a mistake. He’d rather like to go back to sleep now and pretend that none of this is happening.

But his vocalization draws attention, and then there is a hand on his shoulder, gently brushing him just enough to feel, not enough to pain him. He turns his head to the side, reluctantly, and Phil is kneeling beside him, his face open and soft and clearly relieved, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“Hey,” he says. “How you feeling, Wil?”

He considers this, and decides on honesty. “Bit like I’ve been caught between a piston and a wall for the past couple of days,” he admits. “Better than before, though.”

“Good to hear,” Phil says, and then his face goes a bit more serious. “How much of that do you remember?”

“Not much?” he says. “I don’t think? Impressions, I guess. I know I wasn’t having a good time. I’m glad I don’t remember it too clearly. I was out for most of it, yeah?”

“Most of it,” Phil agrees, and Wilbur thinks that perhaps there is something he’s not saying, but he doesn’t feel like pressing the matter. He can guess what it is, anyway; there is a chill in his chest, and his thoughts feel just slightly more fractured than usual, so it’s not hard to assume what might have happened. Not hard to assume where he might have gone. He’s sure he’ll feel terrible about it when everything stops feeling so surreal.

He has wings.

“It’s over now?” he asks, and winces at the way his voice cracks. “It’s done?”

Phil’s eyes do the thing where they go immeasurably soft and crinkly at the edges, and it’s love and relief and sadness all at once. “It’s done,” he agrees, and then hesitates. “You’re not gonna be able to fly on them for a while, but would you like to see?”

He doesn’t understand why Phil is being so cautious about it. Of course he wants to see. If he’s going to be put through hell, he wants to see what came of it. He wants it to be worth it.

“Usually, when wings grow in, they’re all downy and shit. Like a baby bird,” Phil says, probably in response to whatever face he’s sure he’s making. “Flight feathers come in over the next few weeks.” He pauses again, and Wilbur thinks he understands his reticence, now, understands the still-present concern.

“But that’s not what happened with mine,” he states, and Phil shakes his head.

“Yours are fully fledged,” he says. “Probably part of why it hurt so much. I don’t know why, Wil. But do you wanna have a look?”

Wordless, he nods, and Phil takes that as his cue to reach out and help him sit upright. It’s far more effort than it should be, compounded by the fact that his sense of balance feels all wrong, and that’s going to take some getting used to, he can already tell. And he’s sore, like he’s run a marathon or fought another half dozen wars all in one go, and his head spins a little bit when he finally situates himself. He closes his eyes against it, breathing in sharply.

He feels Phil guiding his wings forward, into his field of vision. He opens his eyes.

They are very big, is the first thing he notices. They would have to be, of course, to hold his weight up. Magic and suspension of disbelief only stretches so far. They are very large, and the feathers are very large, and they are very angular and neat as well, so neat that someone has to have arranged them while he was unconscious, because there’s no way that they came out looking like that.

The color, though. The color. He swallows, hard.

They are black, perhaps. They look black. But he knows on an instinctive level that they are black in the same way that the void is black, and that if someone were to stare at them for too long, they would realize as much, would realize that actually, they are not black at all, but rather some color or some lack of color that is beyond human comprehension. The void translates as black to the human mind because it is as close as the human mind can get to true perception, and most of the time, Wilbur remembers it as black, but it was not, and his wings are not, and he is never going to be free of it, is he?

On some level, he knew that. Knew that the void is in him and about him, and no matter what he does, it will never leave him completely, not after all the years he spent with it, intertwined with the infinite nothing. But now he has wings on his back, and they should be a connection between him and Phil, should be something to celebrate, but he stares at the plumage and feels sick to his stomach.

“Wil?” Phil asks. He sounds confused, sounds worried by his reaction. “You okay, mate?”

He’s not sure how to phrase this in a way that Phil will understand. Not sure that he wants to.

“Void,” he manages, voice a broken whisper. “They look like void, Phil.”

He looks up just in time to see Phil’s face crumple.

“Wil—”

“They look just like it, Phil,” he continues. “Just like it. And I know I’m not always good about, about being here, about keeping myself stable, but I’m trying. I try to ignore it when it calls, I try not to reach out to it, and when I fail, I, I try to come back, I do, I swear. I can’t—I can’t have these, Phil, they’re from it, that’s why I’m getting them now, maybe it triggered something, I don’t know, but I can’t, Phil, I can’t—”

He reaches out toward them, intending to do—something, maybe, and Phil must have a better idea than he does, because his hand darts out and snags his, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, Wil, don’t do that, okay? We can work on it, we’ll figure it out, but please don’t—”

“You’re up!”

He and Phil both freeze, and as one, look to the door. Tommy is standing there, grinning like nobody’s business, and Technoblade is lurking behind him, his face contorted into an expression that looks like he wants to murder someone but really just means he’s feeling very awkward.

Tommy glances back and forth between the two of him, and his face slowly falls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Nothing—I mean, it all went right, didn’t it?”

He blinks. Tilts his head slightly. Gently removes his hand from Phil’s grasp, and then spreads out his wings behind him, putting them on full display, as far out as he can make them go, and it aches and he’s not going to be able to hold them there for long, but it’s worth it. He wants Tommy to see. Because Tommy will know. Tommy remembers. And unlike him, Tommy hates to remember. Tommy hates the void. So perhaps this is an act of self-sabotage. That’s what Captain Puffy would say. But he does it anyway, because he wants someone else to see and understand, understand in a way he knows Phil won’t be able to.

“I’ve got void wings, Tommy,” he says, and a smile splits his face. “See them?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he flinches.

Gratification is not nearly as sweet as he thought it would be. Actually, he just sort of feels like crying.

But then, Tommy’s brows draw together. And he steps further into the room, coming closer and closer until he’s standing right up against the bed, staring at the feathers. Wilbur holds himself very still.

“I see,” Tommy says slowly, “but Wilbur, I’m not sure you do.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and cranes his neck to try to see whatever Tommy’s looking at. For a moment, he doesn’t; there’s just the feathers, void feathers, death feathers, a reminder that—

But arctic sunlight slants through the window, and if he shifts his angle just a little bit—

The noise that escapes him is small and involuntary. He hopes no one calls him on it, but that’s the least of his concerns right now. Because the colors do not change, not exactly, but if he holds them to the light, the sun illuminates the feathers, haloing their edges in gold, and there is a sheen of color running across them, a sheen that ripples and moves as he shifts them in the sunbeam, and it is a beautiful, rich blue.

And they’re lovely.

“Oh,” he says, and Tommy laughs at him, the fucking gremlin.

“Yeah, fucking oh,” he says. “You’re such a moron. They’re so fucking ace, Wilbur.”

“I think that maybe you need to work on rememberin’,” Technoblade says from the doorway, “that you’re the sum of all your experiences, and not just one.”

Wilbur stares at him.

“Oh my god,” he finally says. “That’s so cheesy. Who the hell are you and what have you done with Technoblade?”

“Alright,” Techno grumbles, “see if I do anythin’ nice for you ever again. I didn’t come up here to receive this kind of treatment. This is an outrage.”

He laughs. He laughs, from the sheer relief of it, and his trepidation is melting away like snow in the sunshine, and he can allow himself to revel in it, to revel in the wings on his back, and he is sore and tired but this is what glory feels like, maybe, and perhaps he can fly into the air and there will be no wax to drip away.

Perhaps these wings are of the void, but they are of him, too.

And he looks to Phil again, and Phil is smiling at him, warm and happy. His own wings are flared out behind him, tattered at the edges, so many feathers torn or still missing entirely, and the more time that passes, the more and more likely it is that those feathers are never going to grow back, that Phil truly will never fly again. Phil has already resigned himself to it, he knows, but Wilbur has never given up hope, will never be able to bring himself to give up hope.

“It’s not fair that I can fly when you can’t,” he says quietly, and the room goes still and quiet. Especially when it’s my fault, he doesn’t say, though he knows everyone hears it.

“Wil,” Phil says, “nothing could bring me more joy than this.”

And Wilbur hears what he means: you, here.

So he flexes his wings and revels in the ache and revels in the sunshine and revels at his family, here, his father sitting by him and his friend-protege-brother poking at curiously at his feathers and Technoblade still in the doorway, not leaving even for all his grumbling. He revels in this, revels in this life, and for a time, the void recedes entirely.

And in its wake is the sunlight.

[prof-peach]

Hey Prof, I need your advice.

My sister recently decided she didn't wanted her bulbasaur anymore (she got him on a whim about a month ago) and gave him to me, he is quite violent and tends to attack when I try to get close to him.

Now, that wouldn't be a huge problem, but my Purrloin has gotten hurt trying to befriend him, she's quite outgoing and never really liked fighting (we enjoy contests so she knows a few more flashy attacks), so she couldn't even defend herself properly.

I don't want to give up on him and my local rescue center is filled with Bunearies (you know, after Easter kids don't want their Bunny anymore) so they can't take him in right now, any advice in how I can go about this situation?

Sounds to me like you have a tricky little dude on your hands. So you're not battle orientated which will make this harder, Bulbasaur in the wild are actually quite combat minded to defend their families and territory, and a lot of their herds consist of strict hierarchy based on power and skill, often led by older, fully evolved members of their group. 

Before you take any actions to befriend them, its worth noting that any pokemon who comes into your care showing aggression is usually doing so for one or two reasons that are pretty universal for any species. Fear being the main issue with pokemon who have been ditched, if a pokemon is unwell, if it feels exposed, if it is unsure of you or your home, your partners, it may lash out because it is afraid. Even what looks like pure anger can stem from a fear. Of course some individuals are just full of rage, its not unheard of, but for the most part it comes from somewhere else. 

For a moment, take the time to put yourself in this pokemons shoes. It was chosen, with hopes and ambitions of its own, by your sister, a stranger to them, and for whatever reason they were cast aside. This reason may be unclear to the pokemon, it may be unfair, unkind, or even without malice just out of pure indifference. No matter the reason, this pokemon has been left behind by a trainer it at one point probably wanted to try to get along with. I don’t know what your sister may or may not have done, or provided for the bulbasaur, but it will help you understand how its feeling, if you were to ask her about their relationship prior to you receiving the pokemon. If it has always been aggressive and angry, i’d seriously consider talking to it about release, not rehome. 

We humans have a preconceived notion that pokemon are pets and things to keep with us. This may be true for some sure, but not every pokemon wishes to be a captive to a human, they may want more for themselves, and wish for a free life with their own kind. We cannot put our wants and desires above that of the pokemons, so you two need to have a talk, at a respectful distance for safeties sake, to see what the Bulbasaur feels they may want. These are herd pokemon, born and bred to be with their own kind, if not a larger group, if its lonely, if it wants to go home, to start a family, or simply to not be held in a ball as some creature to be owned, then you as its current carer must give it what you can. You can always find another pokemon who wants to be your partner, but you cannot give back lost years to a pokemon who has lived a life its unhappy with. Treat them with respect, and be open and honest. At the end of the day we have a chance to help pokemon, and forcing what we want onto them is a hinderance, and will lead to them feeling unsatisfied and bitter in the long run. 

Some pokemon lash out due to the process of being handed off to someone else, trust is earnt, not always just simply given to whoever holds the pokeball. Remember this as you move forward, and try to keep your other pokemon away from them, Bulbasaur are territorial species, and have to accept pokemon into their families before simply allowing them to come and go freely into their personal space. Despite their grouchy natures at times they usually do have a morally positive compass, and defend with ferocity when they love something. Perhaps in you showing genuine concern for their welfare and future, offering them not what you want, but instead what they want, they may give you a chance to get closer, but take baby steps, and try to be their friend above all else. I bet they're feeling pretty lonely right now. 

Its worth sharing interests with the pokemon, talk about contests, see if they're interested, some pokemon have a predisposition for this, others have no interest and prefer more battle based lives, or even peaceful non-competitive existences. no amount of pressure will change a pokemon’s nature, and some just aren't cut out for the fine art of showmanship that contests require. You can however use powerful attacks in showy ways, so theres always hope that they could enjoy it, if you can work with them to their strengths. 

If possible, work to getting them outdoors, cooping grass types up can lead to stroppy, testing personalities, many thrive in the outdoors, he may need some serious outside time to compensate for the lack of exercise and natural stimulation they may have not been getting prior to your ownership. There are plenty of areas in public that are much like tennis courts, areas of space you can book for a set amount of time too exercise difficult pokemon, these locations are often secure facilities, both outdoors and indoors, to suit a range of species. find one that has outdoor facilities and book a few hours per week to go there, increasing the time whenever possible. This exercise and time with you may help to find common ground, and topics that you and the bulbasaur can bond over. This can be anything from battles, to sun bathing, playing sports, games, swimming, running or digging, and everything in between. Bulbasaur naturally are great foragers and tend to like to snaffle about in long grass and shrubland, hiding treats like berry slices in a secure environment is good enrichment and can tire the pokemon out. a tired pokemon is usually a little less aggressive, having lower energy levels and less want to expend attacks. this process also associated you with something fun, and your scent will be on the treats too, so they'll know you were the one to provide this activity for them.   

I’d also take plenty of time to observe the bulbasaur, as your sister got them on a whim, they probably had no prior knowledge of the species, or how to correctly care for them. In a month, a health complaint could have begun to show, so observe their colouration, feet, walking gait, sleeping patterns, feeding habits, and general behaviour. Excess scratching, heavy breathing, or unusual shaking or moving can suggest a health condition is starting to take form. Most can be helped if caught early, but some illnesses give the pokemon discomfort, and can lead to snappy tempers and irritability. It could be that this individual is in pain, or finding life difficult due to its health, which can cause a lot of hostility as i’m sure anyone would agree. It can suck to be sick!

This species can be won over if you can prove you have a skill of worth to them. This is the case with a lot of pokemon, having respect for something they cannot do, and learning that they need things from you can lead to them at least tolerating us humans. Its a foot in the door. A trick i like t use with particularly difficult bulbasaur is to give them their fav food, whatever it is, then put it in a clear container the pokemon cannot open. They have no thumbs, and their vines though dexterous, aren't able to open every kind of container. The pokemon will want whats inside, and be unable to access it. they will eventually give up out of frustration. this is where you come in. enter the space, don’t let your pokemon approach as this can be threatening, and open the container. leave it on the floor open, making sure they've watched you get the thing open. They can then approach and enjoy their fav food, all thanks to you and those wondrous thumbs you have. repeating this process yields good results, and starts a mutual relationship of tolerance and acceptance between you and a bulbasaur. Most will accept they want the food more than they want you gone, and you provide something they can’t get to. whatever you do, don’t let them see that you were the one to lock the food up in the container. Get a friend to do it, or do it in the room, and leave it in place on the floor, before allowing the bulbasaur to enter and investigate the item. If they see you're the one doing it, the trick is foiled, and your back to square one. Eventually this does tend to lead to the pokemon becoming less stressed with you around them, and eventually it leads to trust, and even friendship. This trick is good to use to get them use to you, once they're ok with you being around them because of your use to them, they may start to take food from you directly, engage in play, or even just sit and tolerate company for short periods of time. Do not expect this to be quick, but it does usually do the trick. 

Regardless, i do have concern that the pokemon may want to be with its own, should you discuss this and find they're not interested in being housebound and a pet, feel free to send them our way, we had exactly this situation in mind when setting up the islands facilities, and have extensive locations designed with grass pokemosn needs at the forefront. Theres a small herd of about 12 bulbasaur evolutions that live north of our labs, no people see them, they are happy as a unit, and are left alone to go about their lives, with the only interactions between humans being us giving them their yearly health check, or should we spot them with an issue, we may intervene. They live away from others and pretty much free, in a poacher safe environment. Its not ideal, we like to keep pokemon in areas they come from, with people who love them, and you show great concern for the pokemon so it would be a shame to have to let them go, BUT sometimes thats just life, and theres nothing to be done about it other than accepting that the pokemons wants come first. They may just be mistrusting so try everything else first, and see how you go. hopefully you’ll yield some results from this all. Good luck out there trainer. 

[yannasunflower]

dust to dust | chapter two

chapter one | chapter two

ao3

You don't know what makes you save Kuroo Tetsurou's life. All you know is there is no world to save anymore, but damn if you're just stupid enough to try.

Genre: hurt/comfort/romance/angst Rating: Mature, subject to change (gore, violence) Kuroo x fem!Reader Word count: 3.5k

hey everyone! here's chapter two, as promised. this fic is also cross-posted to AO3, where i'm under the same username. linked above as well! next chapter, action picks up, plot picks up, and we get more Kuroo, promise. enjoy, and as always, please reblog, like, and comment <3

Nobody ever told you how absolutely boring a zombie apocalypse could be.

Your ragtag group of survivors have scavenged what entertainment they can - books and gym equipment, even a few board games. People like Suga and Takeda keep busy with the children, teaching them to read and garden and how to survive if mommy and daddy never come back for them.

You open one lazy eye as a gaggle of them stumble after Suga, hanging on to his every word.

You’re not sure how the two men handle placing a long knife in a child’s chubby hand, fingers barely able to grip it,and showing them how to strike right at a nighstalker’s heart, fast and deep. Their giggles float through the air and the sound is almost dreamlike and if you keep your eyes closed, you can pretend this is a movie and when you open them, the credits will roll and you can go home.

Others tend to the elderly, of which there are only three in your group. You try to keep them comfortable and as far from danger as possible. But your body constantly prickles with the knowledge that they aren’t just vulnerable - they are a vulnerability. A hole in the brick wall you are attempting to build around this little community.

The healthy and fit young people patrol and take rotations on the watchtowers. Teenagers help with the lessons. Takeda had been firm about this. Once a kid turned seventeen, they were allowed to join the patrols, but until then, they stayed sequestered away.

It was almost comical, telling a tall, strong, angry Tobio that he had to mind the children. He towers over you, but he had bent to your will after a brief glaring contest. And then a week later, Shoyo had bounded into everyone’s hearts, including his, and the pair were inseparable.

Kiyoko, for her part, had taken one look at Yachi, shivering at Hinata’s side, and adopted her, sweeping her under a protective wing and keeping her there.

For people like you, who have no “bedside manner” as Kiyoko puts it, there are chores and day to day mini emergencies to keep you busy. Somehow, in the months since the world finally decided to fall apart, you have become mediator and negotiator. It’s an unlikely role; you can see your mother’s arched brow if she was still alive to see you now.

You barely have the patience for grocery shopping.

She would have laughed, elbowing your father, who would have made a valiant attempt at a straight face.

These are useless memories but you allow yourself to indulge for a moment. You have nothing better to do. Lunch is cooking, inventory has been completed, the guard rotation is set for the next two weeks. Ukai had waved you off this morning when you finally managed to corner him, complaining about your ceaseless energy and the “mad glint” in your eye. His words.

“That look means trouble for me,” he had growled, pointing an accusing finger at you. “Go to your cell and get some sleep for the love of anything you find holy.” Without another word, the man had leaned against a wall, put his feet up on his desk, and closed his eyes. A clear dismissal. You tried not to huff but you definitely stomped a little bit on the way out.

You don’t know how to tell him that staying in your cell, with your eyes closed, is inviting the living nightmares. You don’t know how to tell anyone, really, that you are just as haunted as this prison, as Daichi’s eyes.

That the only holy thing left in this world is fear and if you succumb to that, you’ll never move again.

You let a sigh tumble out of you. Forcibly, you shove your thoughts in another direction.

It had been a week since you brought home your latest stray. Kuroo had spent the first three days doing little else but sleep and eat. Daichi has taken to walking him around the Pit every day, explaining the way things work, and Suga showed him his pride and joy just yesterday. Kuroo had been suitably impressed by the garden, if the generous second and third helpings Suga thought he was sneaking to him at dinnertime were anything to go by.

The man has filled out nicely. He looks less skeleton, more human after sleep and hot food. You had peeked in on him in the grey of dawn that morning after Daichi not-so-subtly hinted that Kuroo had been asking about you.

He sleeps curled up on his side, hair falling against his cheek. In another world, you would have taken a picture.

Kiyoko tells you that the men like him, that Tanaka has stopped regarding him with all the wariness of a stray cat, and that she’s pretty sure Yachi has a crush on him.

You open your eyes into a blazing afternoon, unsurprised to see the subject of your thoughts stretching in the courtyard, the weak sunlight rippling over his bare arms. His black hair is messy as ever and you are struck all over again by how tall he is.

Tobio got a new babysitter, you think with no small amount of amusement. The gangly teenager needs someone to keep him in line and frankly, you don’t have the time and Hinata is just as likely to suggest some stupid shit for them to get into as he is.

You are still stretched out like a cat on a bench, letting the sun warm you, half-hoping it will lull you into a nap.

It’s boredom, more than anything, that makes you turn your head toward Kuroo.

“If you’d like to get some exercise, we have equipment. I’m sure Noya can show you,” you call.

Kuroo jumps and swivels to look at you, eyes wide and so, so dark. You look away. Something about him is like staring at the sun; too long, and your eyes burn.

“Didn’t see you there,” he admits easily, sauntering over to your bench. You eye his approach, noting that he really must be feeling a lot better. His movements are more fluid now, lean muscles becoming apparent on his shoulders.

Daichi has blessed every woman, and a few men, in the Pit by finding Kuroo a pair of grey joggers and a muscle tank top for everyday wear.

“I don’t do well with sitting still,” he says, leaning over you. His head casts you in shadow, blotting out the sun. “This is something I think you can understand.”

Up close, you can see that the shadows beneath his eyes are retreating gradually. His smile looks less like a grimace today.

You hum, swinging your legs over the bench and sitting up. Blood rushes from your head and you lean back against your palms. Kuroo lowers himself to sit next to you.

“Daichi forces me to limit my rotations on the guard towers and patrols,” you answer. “When we first found this place and cleaned it out, I was working overtime and made myself sick. Him and Kiyoko have been conspirators against me ever since.”

Your fingers thrum against your thigh as you say this. You feel more than see Kuroo’s eyes on them.

“They love you,” he points out, a little unnecessarily.

You snort.

“Love is expensive nowadays and everyone in the Pit is broke.”

“You love them back even more.”

You glare at him but he is just looking at you, tracing the planes of your face. A frown tugs at your lips.

“How are you feeling?”

Kuroo rolls his shoulders experimentally, stretching his arms above his head.

“Better,” he affirms. “More like myself.”

“A nosy busybody who talks like a grandpa?”

“Exactly.”

He is grinning now and you have to fight to keep yourself from returning the expression.

The bruises on his face are yellow now. You estimate it will only take a couple more weeks of regular meals for his face to fill out and his skin to look youthful again. You don’t bother asking him how long he had been alone, what happened to his family. None of that matters now. The apocalypse is a great equalizer.

“I talked to Takeda and Kiyoko this morning,” you begin, leaning your head back and closing your eyes against the sun. “They agreed to give you another week before putting you on guard rotation.”

“I would appreciate that. I want to earn my keep, however I can.”

A ghost of a smile dances across your lips.

“You’re just bored,” you tease. It’s been a long time since you felt sleepy and loose enough to tease anyone.

“You say that now, but newbies get the shittiest schedule possible,” you warn him, unsure why you’re telling him this. “Be prepared. Once you’re back to top form, we’ll discuss sending you on patrols for medicine and expanding that garden of Suga’s.”

There’s silence but it’s comfortable, easy. You let yourself enjoy it for just a few moments before standing, opening your eyes and offering Kuroo a full smile and your hand.

As he shakes it, looking only a little confused, you wonder how much longer he would have survived on his own in the city.

“Welcome to the Pit,” you say before turning on your heel and walking away.

~~~

Nightmares are as plentiful as soil on Suga’s fingers.

A sliver of moonlight is all that keeps you from sinking into the darkness, skin clammy, chest heaving. Your fingers twist into the sheets. A prayer is whispered that you didn’t scream this time. You can’t bear the thought of Kiyoko running again, feet bare, knife in hand and tears glistening on her cheeks. Her utter, pure relief haunted you for a month.

It would be so easy, you think, to never get up again.

Kiyoko would care for you. Daichi would stop by, every day, and update you. Ukai would read to you, probably, or nap in your cell, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

These are the thoughts that force you up, out, stumbling into your worn boots, shrugging a jacket on.

Takeda finds you in the office hours later, hunched over inventory reports in his neat handwriting, hair pulled back. He puts a pot of coffee on and hands you a steaming mug, holding a hand out for the report you’re struggling to understand.

“Winter is coming,” you sigh as you hand it over. He doesn’t ask about the shadows beneath your eyes, doesn’t comment on the fact that it’s barely six-thirty in the morning and you’ve clearly been awake for a number of hours.

A smile quirks at his lips.

“I didn’t know Tanaka managed to get the TV’s up and running,” he jokes. You wave your hand in a vague gesture, taking another sip of the liquid heaven in your hand.

“We need to get winter supplies,” you answer and that sobers him up. He nods, slowly, eyes roving the paper.

“Winter isn’t for over six months,” he reminds you. An eyebrow is raised. A teacher, waiting for an explanation. In moments like these, you see the high school teacher that you’d found barricaded in his office, babbling a stream of students’ names that Daichi had quietly whispered as your group cut them down, reading them off their uniforms.

On Takeda’s worst nights, as you guarded the door to his cell, you’d heard those same names, apologies and nonsensical gibberish streaming from his mouth as he grappled with his dreams and feverish tremors.

You stand, stretching, before stepping in front of a map of the city that Suga had snagged on one of his patrols. It’s huge, taking up an entire wall. Little markers litter the paper, different colors, and you run your finger over the pale blue ones in the northeast corner.

“There’s a limited supply of winter clothes in the city. I don’t want other groups getting to it first - we don’t need that bastard holding it over our heads when we have food and they don’t,” you remind him. Your arms cross behind your back automatically. “With the snows, we’ll need snow boots. The kids need jackets and thermals. We need to completely outfit the prison’s entire water supply system to last through snowstorms. We need hot water before then or half of us are going to be too sick, and the other half will be taking care of them. We need medicine, too.”

You tick off each item on your fingers, pausing to consider if you’ve missed something. You’re probably missing ten somethings and you struggle to see what they are. You need more coffee.

Takeda is twenty-nine, but when you turn to look at him finally, he seems sixty, glasses dangling from his fingers, nose bridge pinched between his knuckles.

He mutters something suspiciously close to a curse under his breath before opening his eyes.

“You’re right,” he admits. “We’re going to need at least seven months to prepare.”

The morning is a whirlwind. You send the youngest children, always the earliest risers, to fetch Daichi and Kiyoko, both much more bright-eyed than they have any right to be. Takeda drags a yawning Ukai into the office moments later and Tanaka slouches after them. Suga pokes his head in to give you a little wave and knowing smirk that everyone else finds nonthreatening before ushering the children to the cafeteria for their breakfast.

You’re positive you’re not imagining the pale pink coating Daichi’s cheeks.

After explaining the situation, everyone sucks in a collective breath.

Tanaka never sits and always faces a door. From his corner of the room, he glowers at the map.

“Well, fuck,” he neatly summarizes. You nod your appreciation for his conciseness.

“We need to get a hold of meat,” Ukai points out. A something you had missed.

You grab a marker and the portable whiteboard Takeda had grabbed a few weeks ago. In neat characters, you begin documenting everything thrown around the table.

“Raising livestock will be another way to keep the little ones busy.”

“We can’t ask people to shower in cold water during winter, that’s cruel.”

“Tanaka, is there any way to get the heating system up and running by then?”

“What about air conditioning? We have to get through the summer to get to winter, and heat is just as likely to kill us.”

“If other groups realize what we’re doing, we could be in trouble.”

A headache is brewing somewhere behind your temples and you bite back a groan. Kiyoko pushes a cool water bottle into your hand and you know she isn’t fooled for one second.

“I think we’re missing someone here,” Kiyoko points out mildly after what feels like an eternity of circular conversation. All eyes turn to her and she’s unruffled, fingers still wrapped around her mug.

“Kuroo could be a huge help to a lot of this,” she continues. “I’m sure he can help Tanaka and Noya with everything on their list, and we need more able-bodied men on the patrols anyway. He can help us with medicine, our food supply, all of it.”

A furtive glance in Tanaka’s direction is not encouraging. He’s glowering, eyes hooded.

“We barely know him,” Tanaka hisses. You have to privately agree.

“We barely know each other,” Ukai shoots back. “We’ve been here, what, three months?”

“He hasn’t even been on a patrol yet and you want him helping us make important decisions that affect everyone, including the kids?”

“That’s unfair, and you know it, Tanaka,” Takeda says patiently, but somehow reproachfully at the same time. “Kuroo has been in no condition to patrol. The man was emaciated.”

Takeda continues, levying everyone at the table with a stern face.

“We all trust each other now because we took the gamble and brought people in and allowed time to prove it. It was always a risk, and it will always be a risk, but we can’t let that stop us. What we’re doing here is more important than just working together to survive.”

It’s a flowery, nice sentiment, to be expected from a literature teacher, and you barely hold back a snort at Ukai’s warning look.

“None of this matters,” you cut in. “Takeda’s right. And so is Kiyoko. He could be a huge help to you specifically, Tanaka, and he’s getting better every day but we have to give him time before he’s physically ready. You saw him when we brought him in – he was skin and bones.”

Tanaka subsides into grumbling acceptance and you take it as a win.

Daichi returns with Kuroo in tow just minutes later, and if Kuroo is at all confused, he doesn’t show it. He folds himself into a chair, all long limbs and wide feet.

The problems are laid out on the table again. You watch as Kuroo absorbs it, eyes narrowed, flicking sometimes to the map on the wall.

“Frankly, I wish we were in an apartment building,” Tanaka reveals after an hour of debating the best way to acquire livestock.

You sigh, rubbing the heel of your hand into your eyes hard enough to see colors. You know it’s not Tanaka’s fault, that he’s saying out loud something you’d privately thought before. That the electrical systems in apartment buildings would be much easier for him to coax into submission.

But you’re tired. Kiyoko is rubbing the old wound on her shoulder again, Ukai’s fingers are tapping a loud rhythm on the table, and Daichi is watching you lose your mind with that same placid smile in place.

“I wish the apocalypse didn’t happen and we all didn’t have nightmares every damn night, but here we are,” you snap. “I wish we were all cozy in furnished apartments right now, too, and I wish we didn’t have to talk about these things.”

You wish the children didn’t have to hold knives, you wish Suga would stop forcing you to eat, you wish you could forget your mother’s laugh, you wish and wish and wish.

Tanaka’s mouth is open and Daichi is sighing, rubbing a hand over his face. Kuroo’s eyes are expressionless and he just looks like he’s waiting, though for what, you can’t even begin to guess.

You find that you don’t have the energy to regret the words, so you barrel on.

“The apartment buildings are stacked with nightstalkers. It would take weeks to clear even one out, and we would lose people. Guaranteed. We lost one person clearing this prison out and that —”

You’re cut off by a strange choking noise in your throat. The memory of Ennoshita is sweet, cloying, poisonous. Takeda looks pale and strained at the mention of it. His last student.

Your voice is pitched low when you manage to blink away traitorous tears. The sound of your chair scraping is loud and grating against your ears as you stand. They all watch you silently. Waiting.

“Ennoshita is buried here,” you say and the surprise on their faces is almost insulting. “So is Ayasaki’s little girl. We have a life here, one we built and fought for. The kids love it here, it’s as safe as it can get, and it’s isolated from the turf wars in the city. You know why we chose this place, you were part of the vote that decided it, Tanaka.”

Deep breath in. Out.

“I know I’m asking for a lot, but it’s necessary, and we’re all up to the task simply because we have to be.”

As far as motivational speeches go, you’re sure this is ranked pretty low. But Daichi straightens and Kuroo’s eyes are gleaming as he stares at you. Kiyoko is almost smiling and you take that into both of your hands and hold on for dear life.

“I have to protect them.”

Everyone in the room opens their mouth at pretty much the same time but Ukai beats them all to the punch with his lazy drawl.

“You’re a moron,” he sneers. “An absolute idiot if you think you’re doing any of this alone. Now run along and get some breakfast before Suga drags you there by your hair.”

~~~

It doesn’t surprise you when Kiyoko finds you later, on the roof, scribbling half-mad ideas into a plain notebook. She always knows where to find you.

“I think you should stay home tomorrow,” she says without preamble. The word home nearly sends you stumbling off the roof.

“Why? Am I dying and I don’t know it?” you ask dryly. The look she levels at you nearly makes your heart stop.

“We agreed to let Kuroo go tomorrow,” she explains, settling into the spot next to you, peering curiously at the notebook in your hand. “But you haven’t been sleeping and we can’t afford to lose you because you’re too tired to stand properly.”

You scowl. Damn the four eyes. Her and Takeda know too much for their own good.

“I’m fine,” you wave a hand dismissively. “I’ll get some rest tonight, promise.”

She let’s the matter go, which is a point for you, but you watch warily as she opens her mouth again.

“Tanaka is looking for you.”

A sigh.

“I should apologize.”

“That’s what he said.”

A laugh, short and barking, escapes you. Kiyoko smiles at the sound.

“We’re all such idiots.”

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Alright kiddos, it is time for! The last chapter of the opening arcs / battle trial! Wherein we continue Katsuki's mental breakdown! <3

I’m considering doing some kind of end-of-arc(s) summary / personal thoughts thing after this as a way of sort of compiling my thoughts on the story as a whole so far, as well as just being open to answering your general ideas and open questions / suggestions about the story and characters and whatnot so far (and I guess to come?) So have at it, I want to know what you all think about these first eleven chapters as an introduction to the series / characters / plot / whatnot.

[No. 11 - Bakugou’s Starting Line]

That is… a lot less damage than I thought there was. Like, it still looks pretty bad, but not to the point of ‘it’s going to collapse if someone breathes funny’ bad like I was thinking before. The active explosion of the panels before this probably added to that impression. Also, the building is a LOT smaller than I thought it was?

And speaking of Katsuki’s mental breakdown! He’s just standing there in complete shock while Tenya is comforting a vomiting Ochako, and Izuku is passed out on the floor. Someone points out that the losing team is almost unscathed while the winners are down for the count - they lost the battle but won the war, so to speak. Tsuyu points out that it’s just training though.

(to the tune of ‘Final Countdown’) It’s a mental breakdown~ (kazoo solo)

But in full seriousness, this is the first true moment we see of his worldview being smashed open. Like, he was definitely shaken with Izuku’s actions back with the sludge villain, but Katsuki was just more quiet and sullen. Here? Here he’s just had one of the pillars he built his entire mindset around - that Izuku was weaker than him - torn down as violently as the wall he blasted open. He is not okay with this. He’s sweating, he’s shaking, he’s probably about five seconds from collapsing to his knees and screaming. 

Fortunately, he’s mostly knocked out of his own head by All Might showing up and placing a hand on his shoulder, telling him to head back so he can get graded. Katsuki doesn’t really seem to be listening as All Might goes on about how whether one wins or loses, they can come out ahead by learning from the experience - instead he’s watching as Izuku is taken away on a stretcher by two transpo-bots to the nurse’s office. 

In the monitor room, All Might announces that the VIP of the battle was Tenya, much to said boy’s surprise. Katsuki is looking pretty gloomy and stuck in his head, while Ochako is still struggling with the lingering nausea. Tsuyu asks why the VIP isn’t one of the hero team who won, and All Might asks the class if any if them can guess at his reasoning. 

Momo raises her had and says she does, and then explains that Tenya had best adapted to the scenario. Katsuki’s actions were motivated by a personal grudge, and his use of destructive attacks indoors was foolish. Izuku’s performance suffered from the same faults. And Ochako lost focus halfway through and her final attack was haphazard - if the weapon had been real, the attack would be unthinkable. Tenya, on the other hand, formed an actual counterstrategy, and thought about what the struggle would be like. His only fault was being too slow to react at the end, and the hero team only won because it was a training exercise with exploitable restraints. 

Tenya is touched. Meanwhile, the rest of the class is stunned silent, with All Might shaking because she said it better than he could. He hesitantly adds that Tenya was a bit too stiff, but otherwise she was correct. She huffs and says that they need to start at the bottom and work up - if they don’t cheer each other on, they won’t even become top heroes. Her name is also introduced here, as well as the fact that she’s the number one recommended first year.

How’s Katsuki doing?

Eh… we’ll come back to you in a bit. For now, the other battle trials! Shouto and Shouji (hero team) versus Ojiro and Hagakure (villain team), in a new location. The heroes are both quiet, while Hagakure is getting hyped up and taking off her gloves and boots to go full stealth mode. Ojiro is a bit flustered at that, thinking that it makes sense for someone invisible, but that it feels unethical.

(Which is, I’m guessing, that comment that her ‘hero costume’ is being buck naked, which honestly, I refuse to believe. If the support companies can make a costume for someone who goes impermeable (which, by its own definition, would mean light goes through as well, ergo ‘invisibility’), then she can get one as well. I think she’s just a troll who says the costume is nothing to fluster others - I mean, considering she does like hidden camera shows, and they tend to do those weird stuff to surprise or discomfort people, it would fit in line with her character.)

Anyways, when the hero team is sent in, Shouji is listening in just inside the building with several arm-ears, right before they shift into really concerning-looking mouths to relay information. Shouji tells his partner that one is on the north side of the fourth floor, while the other is on the same floor barefoot - clearly, the invisible one is trying to ambush and capture them. Shouji also gets a title card and an explanation of his quirk, Dupli-arms: he can replicate his own body parts at the tips of his tentacles!

Shouto warns Shouji to get out, since it’s about to ‘get frosty in here’. Their opponents think they’re playing a defensive game, but it means nothing to him. He then proceeds to show off just what he means by ‘frosty’.

Yeah, that’s a bit OP there. Poor Ojiro - and definitely poor Hagakure, who got frozen to the floor with bare feet. Shouto walks in and says to bring it on, but that fighting without the soles of their feet will be painful. All Might and Kirishima are shivering in the monitor room from the cold, with All Might noting that neither Shouto’s ally nor the weapon were harmed when he immobilized the enemy; Kirishima says that he’s too strong. 

Hagakure’s hurting where she’s frozen, and Ojiro is freaked out and not even trying to break out as Shouto walks past and puts his left hand of the weapon, giving his team the win. Shouto apologizes to them as the ice steams away, Ojiro shocked to see how quickly the building is warming up. As Shouto finishes melting the ice, he declares that they are in different leagues - and we get his title card!

Number two recommended first year, quirk Half-Hot, Half-Cold (which I think is supposed to have some greater pun or sound better in Japanese? [Hanrei Hannen] I suppose does roll a bit better, but hmmm…) His right side can freeze things and his left can burn. His range and limits are unknown - what a beast! 

(Katsuki, meanwhile, is biting his lip to keep himself from saying anything - likely another blow to his preconceived belief that he was the strongest right while he’s trying to come back from the last one.)

We get a brief summary of what the other teams did: Sero and Kirishima played villains and defended with Sero’s tape as traps around the room. Tsuyu went along the walls while Tokoyami had his quirk primed to attack. Jirou scouted with her quirk while Kaminari kept a charge prepped in his hand, and Mina threw a ot of acid around, a bit of which burned Aoyama’s cape. 

We transition to the end of the class, with All Might telling everyone well done, and that besides Izuku, there were no serious injuries. He complements their teamwork and says they all did splendidly, considering it was their first exercise. Someone in the class mentions that after Aizawa, a straightforward class that that was almost a letdown. All Might walks away, saying that the teachers are free to have no-nonsense classes if they like, and that he’s off to give Izuku his evaluation, letting them know to get changed out of their costumes and head back to the classroom before he runs off in a hurry. Mineta notes he seems to be in a hurry, but that he’s also so cool.

All Might glances back, seeing Katsuki in the back of the class still in a gloomy state. He thinks about how Katsuki is ‘a bundle of conceit’ and how the most inflated egos are often the most fragile. As a teacher, he needs to give the boy some counseling, but for now, he has to save on his time, due to only having enough strength to get through a single class.

Which, considering All Might’s limit before USJ is three hours, seems a bit weird, so let’s do some math.

The villain teams have five minutes to set up, and the heroes have fifteen to get to the bomb after that - twenty minutes. With five rounds, that’s an even hundred minutes for the exercises, not counting those that ended early. With all the time saved from Shouto’s instant take out and assuming average times for the others, we probably have more like eighty minutes spent on those exercises. Of course, we can then add time for getting to and from the buildings, as well as the assessments of each match and determination of the VIP. So that can probably bumped back up to 100 minutes, maybe closer to 110? Which would just fit within the bounds of a double-class period for Japanese schools (which are fifty minute classes with ten minute breaks in between). 

Japanese classes have four periods before lunch and three after. The ‘canon’ schedule has heroics lessons happen THROUGH lunch period, which makes no sense when they need that energy in order to be able to fight. I am also skeptical of fighting right after lunch, when that makes it more likely for them to throw up if they take a bad hit, ergo, the reasonable time period for these lessons is the last two periods of the day - thus giving the kids about an hour for food to digest and energy to get into their systems.

I think this is also added onto with how Izuku doesn’t freak out after this over missing a class, which makes sense if it was the last one. Plus, well, scheduling the most exhausting and injury-prone class at the end of the day means that anyone who needs to rest a while actually can without missing important things - and that the kids won’t be too tired to pay attention to whichever teachers they would otherwise have afterwards.

...right, my original point. All Might is supposed to have three hours, but gets stressed out after using just two hours here. I can get that maybe it’s three hours total, but holding it for two continuously without chances to ‘unflex’ and rest for a bit might be straining on him still? Or maybe he just spent some time that morning doing hero things and so ran out of time a bit early. 

Anyways, I think I’ll end this off here, since it’s about halfway and we did get through quite a bit. Next time, we finish off the opening arcs of the series, and then I guess I do some Q&A / personal thoughts so far / narrative analysis / whatever? I guess send in questions or thoughts or whatever you guys have, and I’ll answer them after the next post. 

[headfulloffantasies]

Mandalorian Rest Stop

Ao3

Din interacts with the Jedi children at Luke’s Jedi Academy.

My Kofi

Din’s ship sat just beyond the lush green gardens of Luke Skywalker’s Jedi Academy. At the hottest part of the day, all the students were inside the domed building working on their mystic arts or whatever. Din bent under the wing of his ship, trying to get at the stubborn panel in need of realignment.

“Dank Farrec,” Din cursed the rivet that refused to budge.

“Dank Farrec,” a small squeaky voice answered. Din straightened up so fast he slammed his helmet on the panel above him. He spun around. A small sticky child stared back at him.

“Dank Farrec,” the child repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Din said quickly. “It’s a bad word. Don’t say it.”

“Dank Farrec,” the child giggled.

“Where is your handler?” Din looked around. The Jedi Academy didn’t keep as close eye on its youngsters as Din’s Covert had, but he was pretty sure all the kids were supposed to be training. Hence why Din was fighting with rusty rivets on his ship instead of spending time with Grogu.

The child plopped down in the dirt and started playing with a leaf like they had no intention of moving any time soon.

Din crouched next to them. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere?”

The kid did not answer. They had dirt smeared over their rosy cheeks and something blue staining their hands. Din made no assumption about age, considering his own child had been alive longer than him. But if he had to guess, he supposed the little one was four or five.

“If I pick you up, will you scream?” Din asked.

The child responded by lifting their arms and making grabby hands.

Din scooped the child into his arms. They immediately stuck their dirty fingers to his chest plate, leaving blue smears behind. The child laughed at their own reflection in the armour.

Din heaved a sigh. “Okay, let’s give you back to the Jedi now.”

“I’m a Jedi,” the child informed Din.

“I’m a Mandalorian,” he answered.

The child nodded, completely sombre.

Din walked into the main learning building of the Jedi Academy. In the common room, Luke had a group of children practicing levitating blocks of wood.

“This one is yours,” Din dropped the child at Luke’s feet. They reached back for Din with sticky, grabby hands.

“There you are, Lana,” Luke smiled. “Did you have fun with the nice Mandalorian?”

Lana looked up into Luke’s face. “Dank Farrec!”

Luke’s expression turned brittle. Din buried his head in his hands.

“I didn’t do it,” Din said into the dark of his gloves. He lifted his head.

Luke bent to speak to Lana. “That’s not a nice phrase, honey. Let’s try something more polite, okay?”

Lana nodded, all sweetness and sugar again.

Din turned to leave. Something whizzed past his face and struck the back of his helmet. Din stumbled, caught off balance. He whipped around, hand on his blaster.

The wooden blocks the kids were lifting dropped, except for the one still circling Din’s head.

All of the kids laughed while a single boy’s eyes widened in fear. The block hit the ground. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. Din remembered his name was Holden.

Luke glanced between Din and Holden.

Din let out a shaky breath. “It’s alright. Don’t do it again.”

Holden nodded so hard Din thought he might hurt himself. Din waved good-bye to Luke and went back to fixing his ship.

Luke invited Din to join Grogu and the other students for an evening meal around a campfire on the lawn. Din declined, until Luke informed him Grogu was throwing a tantrum at not having his father’s attendance.

Din lifted his head to the stars and wondered what he’d done to deserve this. Actually, no, he deserved a lot worse for his actions. He could sit through a meal with some kids.

Din took it back after five minutes around the campfire. He’d rather face a mudhorn again than spend mealtimes around children. They shrieked and screamed every time the fire crackled. They held their cooking sticks over the fire and dropped more into the flames than they managed to eat. Lana somehow got condiments in her hair.

Din picked up Grogu. “Don’t be friends with her, okay? You already have too many bad habits.”

Grogu blinked at him and made bubbles. Prime example.

Din settled Grogu on his lap with a plate of some kind of sausage. He passed bite sized chunks of meat to his kid.

Luke came out of the dark and sat next to Din. “Not so bad, is it?”

Din made a non-committed grunt.

Holden, one of the older students, came bouncing over to Luke. “Will you tell us a campfire story?”

Luke laughed. “You’ve already heard all my stories.”

“Tell us about the Death Star,” a dark-haired kid named Ryan piped up. The other children shouted their dissent or agreement in equal measure.

“What about the Mandalorian?” A voice rose about the rest. “Tell us a story Mando!”

Din stiffened. The kids all quieted, settling to watch him with rapt hope. Even Luke turned to him with expectation.

Din shuffled Grogu in his lap. “I don’t know any campfire stories.”

“You must know some stories,” Luke suggested. “A Mandalorian story?”

“Only the story of the Mythosaur,” Din said. The kids waited in a hush. Din sighed. In a stilted tone he told them the myth of how the first Mandalorians tamed the great creatures and used them to defeat their enemies. He arrived at the end of the tale to complete silence. Din flushed under his helmet.

“I’m not much of a storyteller,” he admitted.

“Tell us another!” Ryan demanded. He waved a cup of blue bantha milk and spilled half of it on the ground. “Tell us a bounty hunting story.”

Din looked to Luke for permission. The Jedi smiled his encouragement.

Din racked his brains. “One time,” he started. “I hunted a man to the edges of the Great Green Swamp.” Din let the tale unfold off his tongue. He outlined the perilous trek through the treacherous marshes, the harrowing escapes from the various wild beasts, and the shootout once Din finally found his man.

He paused there. Din realised telling the children that he’d killed the man probably was not a good idea. The kids all stared at Din. They looked ready to leap out of their seats.

“What happened to him?” Lana’s huge eyes bored into Din’s visor.

Din closed his mouth and swallowed hard. “He lived a very happy life,” Din squeaked. “He did not fall into any swamp pits or drown at all.”

“Right,” Luke clapped his hands together. “Dessert and then bed.”

Din took Grogu back to the ship for the night. In the quiet of their berth, Din removed his helmet. “No more campfires, okay?”

Grogu only snuggled into Din’s neck and let out a snore. Din decided that was a yes.

Din woke to a scuffling noise. His eyes snapped open. Grogu sat up on Dins’ chest, making cooing noises at the door. Din turned his head. The sounds got closer. He reached for his helmet.

The door whooshed open. Din slammed the helmet over his face.

Three tiny faces screamed. Grogu screamed back.

Din jumped out of bed. The kids scrambled backwards. He recognised Holden, Ryan, and the newest student, Trystan.

“Sorry! We didn’t mean to-,” Holden started.

“Is this where Grogu sleeps?” Ryan demanded. Trystan cowered behind Holden’s back.

Din stared at the intruders. He was very aware he was wearing only his flight suit and all his armour and weapons sat stacked across the room. His feet were bare.

“What are you doing here?” He finally managed to ask.

Ryan screwed up his face. “Do you sleep wearing that?” He pointed at Din’s helmet.

“I asked you a question,” Din snapped.

Ryan had enough wherewithal to drop his gaze. He scuffed a boot on the floor. “We wanted to see Grogu.”

Grogu babbled from the bed at the sound of his name. Din put one hand on his tiny head without looking away from the boys.

“How did you get on the ship? I locked the doors.”

Holden and Ryan exchanged a look. “We used the Force.”

Din’s brain became a screen of static. He really hated the Force some days.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said.

The boys nodded. “I’m sorry,” Holden said again.  

Din sighed. “Does Luke- Master Skywalker know you’re here?”

All three boys shook their heads and wouldn’t look at Din.

“Go tell him what you’ve been up to,” Din pointed towards the ship’s ramp. The boys scampered away.

Din closed the door behind them.

Grogu whined. Din looked down at him. “What are the chances there’s such a thing as Force proof locks?”

 Luke planned an expedition to the top of a mountain as a Jedi exercise. Din approved wholeheartedly that most of the kids had too much energy and needed to run it out. He wished Luke luck.

Luke pressed his lips together. “I was asking if you would come with us. I would appreciate having someone with survival skills around in case we run into trouble.”

Din sighed in the privacy of his helmet. “I am not carrying anyone up a mountain. Least of all you,” he said.

Luke grinned. “Did I ever tell you about my Master Yoda?”

They made it to the top of the mountain with only mild complaining from the Jedi students. For this exercise Luke decided only to bring his oldest students. Tami, Holden, and Jameson trekked after their Master with Din bringing up the rear.

Tami tended to bolt off the path after whatever caught her eye. Jameson was easy to keep track of because of his bright red hair. Holden stayed as far as he could get from Din for the entire trip.

When they reached the peak, Luke decided they all needed to meditate. Each kid went off a little way and chose a spot to sit quietly. Din did a quick perimeter check to stave off the boredom. He came back through the trees and noticed Jameson had chosen to sit at the very edge of the mountain’s sheer drop.

“We’re getting awfully close to the edge here,” Din said as he came up behind Jameson.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jameson answered.

A rumbled echoed up from the ground. Jameson snapped wide eyes to Din.

The ground buckled under Din’s boots. Din had a split second to act. He snatched up the kid and tossed him hard. Jameson hit solid ground just as the edge of the cliff gave.

Din fell. He tumbled end over end.

He activated his grappling line. The grapple caught on the cliffside. The jolt at the end of the rope nearly pulled Din’s arm from its socket. Din swung hard back towards the rockface. Din slammed into the rock. Something in his shoulder popped. Din couldn’t bite back the shout of pain. Lightning raced from his shoulder to his fingertips. Din ground his teeth past the nauseating pain. He hung suspended by his ruined arm over the thirty-foot drop. Din forced himself to take several deep breaths.

Din reached for the cliffside with his good arm. Every little movement sent another shock of agony through his shoulder. Din managed to cling to the rockface. He scrambled and found a footing. The sheer relief of taking the pressure off his shoulder almost made Din sob.

He looked up. The crumbled edge of the cliff seemed miles away. How on earth he was going to climb up there with only one arm, Din didn’t know.

A sound caught in Din’s ears. He looked down. Luke scrambled at the bottom of the cliff. Din wondered how he got down there so fast without breaking his neck.

Luke waved his arms and shouted. Din couldn’t understand him.

Luke closed his eyes and lifted his hands. Something pulled at Din’s grip on the cliffside. Din panicked and clutched harder. The energy tugged at him gently.

“Don’t!” Din shouted.

Luke either didn’t hear him or ignored him. The Force pried Din from the cliffside. Din flailed in midair. He felt cradled in something firm as beskar, but so obviously insubstantial as a cloud. Din’s heart skipped at the sight of nothing but air between himself and the ground so far below. Slowly, Din descended down to Luke’s level. Luke released Din gently on his feet. Din swayed and almost collapsed.

Luke grabbed Din by his shoulders. Din groaned.

“You’re hurt,” Luke’s eyes widened. “I can help.”

“Don’t,” Din tried to push him away. “I can take care of it-.”

Luke unbuckled Din’s pauldron unfairly fast. Luke eased the shoulder armour off with surprising gentleness. He braced his hands over the dislocated joint.

Din reminded himself to breath.

Luke wrenched the shoulder back into the socket. Din swallowed his shout. The moment the pain passed, relief flooded Din’s veins. The awful strain in his muscles relaxed.

“Thank you,” Din said.

“You saved Jameson’s life,” Luke said quietly.

“You would have done the same,” Din answered.

Luke laughed. “I’d be a bloody streak on the cliffside if I’d tried that.” He surveyed Din with his earnest blue eyes. “The Force moves around you, Din Djarin.”

 Luke insisted Din join the students for dessert after dinner that night. Din arrived in the mess hall holding his injured arm in a sling. Grogu didn’t like it. Din’s heart twisted at the sight of his son trying to wiggle out of Luke’s grasp to heal Din.

Din reached over and pinched Grogu’s ear. “Eat your cake. I’m okay, ad’ika.”

“What does that mean?” Lana’s tiny face popped up next to Din’s knee. “Ad’ika. What does it mean?”

“It’s Mando’a for son or daughter,” Din explained.

Lana huffed in disappointment. Cleary she’d hoped for more swear words. She stomped away.

Luke’s eyes danced in the light from the lamps. “You’re very good with kids, Din.”

“Am not,” Din answered. He pointed to his son dribbling cake frosting on Luke’s cloak. “This one doesn’t listen to anything I say.”

Something crashed into Din’s back. Din twisted, wrenching his shoulder painfully. Stick thin arms wrapped around Din’s chest from behind. Jameson’s teary face came into focus leaning on Din’s armour.

“I’m so glad you’re not dead,” Jameson hiccupped. “When you went over the edge, I thought you died.”

Din carefully reached around to pat Jameson on his bright red hair. “I’m alright. So are you.”

Jameson nodded. He extricated himself from Din and wiped his running nose on his sleeve.

Din didn’t know what else to say. “Do you want some cake?”

He held out the slice Luke had politely put in front of him even knowing he wouldn’t eat it.

Jameson shook his head. He sniffed and then waved and rejoined the group of boys playing a game at the other table.

Din looked over at Luke to ask what on earth had just happened.

Luke gave him a smirk. “The kids like you.”

“I saved his life, he better like me,” Din grumbled half-hearted.

“You’ve become like a weird uncle to half these kids.”

Din blinked behind his visor. “I’m weird? They have magic mind powers!”

[fictionliv-ing]

Walk With You [Akaashi Keiji X Reader]

In which you’re an assistant manager for Fukurodani’s volleyball team and their vice-captain can’t help the things he feels for you.

view this on wattpad!

god he looks so good

Word count: 6.1k words

Genre: fluff, fluff, and more fluff

-

“Y/N-san.”

You look up from packing your bag, meeting the gaze of the Fukurodani volleyball team’s vice captain. “Hm?”

“Do you mind throwing us some balls for practice?” Akaashi asks, voice coming out smooth and collected, despite the fact that the team had just finished a particularly exhausting training session. You can’t help but notice the shyness in his voice, even though this isn’t the first time he’d made such a request.

“Aren’t you guys tired?” You ask, rising to your feet. He shrugs in response.

“Bokuto wants to spike more, and you know how he gets…”

You deadpan. “Yeah…I do.”

Leaving your bag to the side, you follow the dark-haired athlete to the ball basket positioned near the net.

“Hey hey hey, Y/N-chan! You’re helping us practice again?” Bokuto asks loudly. Your captain pops up out of nowhere, scaring the hell out of you as he restlessly flits around the court. “You’re so nice!”

You spend the rest of your evening helping Akaashi and Bokuto with their free practice. Even after the other team members have left, the two friends keep going at it, only stopping when it’s time to close up the gym.

Ever since you joined the volleyball club as a manager-in-training a couple of weeks ago, you’ve occasionally been asked by Akaashi to help with their post-training practice sessions. Because of this, you’ve gotten quite close to the duo and have grown familiar with Bokuto’s many mood swings. The three of you have all gotten to know each other, but despite the fact that Akaashi is your classmate, you don’t really interact with him outside of club activities. That’s probably because he’s the type to keep to himself and you find yourself hanging out with a couple of your other friends instead.

Of course, there are times when Akaashi is spending time with Bokuto in between classes, and the captain excitedly greets you in the hallways with that ridiculous energy of his. While Bokuto is always the first to approach and strike up a conversation with you, your classmate follows quietly behind his best friend and joins the conversation when he feels like it.

“Thanks for helping us again.” Akaashi says, picking up his bag after we finish cleaning up.

“It’s no problem.” you reply, shouldering your backpack.

“Say, Y/N-chan!” Bokuto pipes up. “What did you think of my spikes? Pretty good, huh?”

“Amazing as always!” You let out a laugh at his never-ending liveliness. “Do you ever run out of energy?”

-

“Hey, ‘Kaashi.”

“What is it?”

“You’re classmates with Y/N, right?” Bokuto wonders out loud, looking up at the sky as they walk home together.

“Yeah, why?”

“She still shows up to practice alone, why don’t you walk with her?”

The dark-haired boy shrugs. “What difference would it make? We’d both still make it to the gym.”

Bokuto’s shoulders drop at his best friend’s aloofness. “That’s not the point, Akaashi! Don’t you want to get to know her? Don’t you think she’s cute?”

An image of Y/N laughing pops into his mind. Akaashi pauses, but it’s a second too long.

“HA! I knew it! I knew you found her attractive!” His best friend exclaims triumphantly, a scheming grin appearing on his face.

“Where are you going with this, Bokuto-san?” He sighs. No use in denying it.

“I’m saying you should make a move!” The owl-haired captain says giddily. “Walk her to practice, talk to her in between classes, become a close friend, ask her out!”

“Okay, you’re getting ahead of yourself.” Akaashi states. “Wouldn’t that be inappropriate? Dating the team manager?”

“Manager-in-training.” Bokuto corrects. “And no, it wouldn’t be. I guess, not as long as you manage to keep it strictly professional during training. Besides, this is high school, not some big-league team! I say go for it.”

Akaashi returns home that night and falls into bed thinking about Bokuto’s words. Could he do it? He’d never been the type to approach girls out of his own accord, preferring to keep to himself and admire them from afar. He simply hadn’t encountered someone he liked enough to pursue a relationship with.

But then images of you handing him a water bottle after practice, smiling brightly as you commend his hard work overtake his thoughts, and he find his chest swelling at the thought of being able to hold your hand --

Shaking his head, Akaashi lays on his back and stares up at the ceiling. What was he doing, already thinking about starting a relationship? He should start with forming a solid friendship first. The smaller things. Baby steps.

-

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!” Your friend calls as she exits the classroom.

“See you!” You reply, taking your time in packing your things and disposing your leftover scratch papers from the previous class’ math exercise. You still have some time before practice starts, anyways, there’s no hurry in getting to the gym.

“Y/N-san.” Comes a voice behind you.

When you look up, you’re surprised to see Akaashi standing there, bag packed and slung over his shoulder. “Akaashi-san, hello! Is there anything you needed?” That’s weird, he never talks to me outside of practice…

“Would you, um-“ He clears his throat. You raise an eyebrow. He’s never been one to stutter, either…did something happen after practice last night? “Would you like to walk with me to the gym?”

Oh.

“Sure, Akaashi-san.” You reply smiling, moving to quickly pack your bag. You walk out the door with Akaashi following close behind you, the both of you falling into step beside each other as you make your way down the stairs and out of the building.

“You don’t have to add -san, you know.” He says. You turn to him with a questioning look on your face, prompting him to explain further. “You can just call me Akaashi.”

You grin playfully. “Only when you start calling me Y/N too. Without the -san.”

Chuckling softly, Akaashi watches you with intrigued eyes before looking away eventually. “Alright.”

Soon enough, the two of you split up to change in your respective club rooms. You expect to next see him in the gym, practicing with Bokuto or someone else, but when you exit the girls’ changing room, he’s standing there, leaning on the railing, waiting for you still.

“Shall we?” he says, pushing off the metal bars that keep him from falling to the ground. “Y/N?”

Growing warm at the gentle way he looks at you, you avoid eye-contact as you mentally curse his composure. “Let’s go.” And stop looking at me like that.

The pair of you arrive at the gym ten minutes before practice starts, and unsurprisingly, a loud greeting is the first to welcome you.

“Akaashi! You didn’t wait for me after cla-” Bokuto whines, running to his best friend’s side. Realizing that his vice-captain hadn’t arrived to practice alone, the team captain grins knowingly at his friend before flashing you a bright smile. “Y/N-chan!”

Offering a smile of your own, you return his greeting sans all the extra energy. “Good afternoon, Bokuto-san!”

When Bokuto begins to drag his best friend away to practice and you’re being called by Kaori to help with setting up the equipment, you exchange one last wave with Akaashi before heading off to tend to your duties.

-

“So, you took my advice, huh?” Akaashi doesn’t even need to look to know that his best friend’s snickers are accompanied by a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Shut up, Bokuto-san.”

-

“Y/N, watch out!”

At the sound of your name, you turn—but not quickly enough. You only have time to bring a hand up to your defense before a volleyball hits your arm harshly, leaving behind a bright red patch of pain.

“Ow!” you hiss, falling on your rear from the impact and leaning against the wall behind you.

“Y/N-channn!”

Unsurprisingly, the captain is the first to run to your side to check on you. “Does it hurt a lot? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit it your way…”

As Bokuto rambles on and on about how he didn’t mean to hit you, the other team members come to gather around, growing noisier by the second.

“Y/N-san. Does it hurt much?”

“Konoha! Get some ice!”

“We’re all out! Wataru finished the last of it earlier.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Don’t die, senpai!”

“I’m okay, guys, really.” You cradle your throbbing arm as you smile sheepishly at the group of boys, their captain on his knees, begging for forgiveness. “It’s fine, Bokuto-san. It doesn’t hurt that much! I’ll probably just need some ice.”

Doing your best to calm the captain down proves to be futile as everyone can sense him spiraling into one of his moods. “I’ll visit the nurse, just to make sure!”

“I’ll go with you.”

Everyone turns to the source of the unexpected voice. Akaashi stares right back with his usual stoic expression, not understanding the looks of surprise his teammates are wearing. “What? She’ll need someone to go with her.”

“Right.” You say, beginning to pull yourself up to your feet. Akaashi is quick to help you up, resting a supportive hand on your back when you fully stand. You try to ignore the warmness of the gesture, his fingertips soft, gentle, and burning hot against the small of your back—or maybe it’s just your imagination. Inwardly shaking your head, you mentally scold yourself. You shouldn’t be focusing on the heat of his palm or the fact that he’s standing so close to you. Your arm is injured after all. “I’ll be back as soon as I- Bokuto-san, please stand up. It was an accident, I’m completely fine!”

“Y/N-chan! I’m so sorry I hurt you!” Completely ignoring your words, the team captain continues to cry out his despair at the accident he’d caused. You’re about to reassure him one more time that you were just fine when Akaashi speaks up.

“You guys know what to do. We’ll be back soon.” He tells the rest of his teammates, leading you to the gym exit. The two of you walk to the clinic in silence, not really saying much. Akaashi speaks up first.

“How’s your arm?” It’s a simple question, but his voice always makes anything he says sound so smooth and alluring.

You shrug. “Not that bad. I’ve seen worse, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I take it back, I don’t know why I said that.” You smile sheepishly, chuckling under your breath, embarrassed at your nervous blunder. “I’m fine, really, I am. I just I don’t want Bokuto worrying too much over this…”

“Oh, he will. You know him well-enough to know that he will.” Akaashi lets out a chuckle of his own, the sound escaping his lips sounding far too elegant to be casual. You’re caught off-guard; for a while, you watch at him curiously, wondering what it is about him that makes him so…so…ugh. Cursing inwardly, you feel stumped, unable to find the word to describe the man in front of you.

“What is it?” Akaashi asks, raising an eyebrow.

Flustered at having been caught staring, you straighten and look ahead, cheeks warming. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

At that exact moment, the two of you arrive at the clinic, and you give him a thankful smile before slipping inside.

Phew. That was a close call.

-

Practice had let out earlier than usual, and by the time the two of you make it back to the gym with an ice pack pressed against your arm, the other team members are lightly playing around, waiting for the return of their assistant manager and their vice-captain. Akaashi isn’t surprised at all when he sees his best friend lazily practicing his serves, seemingly still dejected over the fact that he had hit you with one of his spikes. Once again, Bokuto is the first one to run up to the pair of you, bombarding with you with questions and apologies. The rest of the team follows closely behind, making sure you’re okay before proceeding to clean up the gym and make their way home.

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi addresses, walking up to his best friend who is picking up stray volleyballs. “Do you mind if I go ahead? I want to walk her home.”

Having picked himself up from his mood swing after you confirmed that the nurse had said there was nothing to worry about, the captain sidles up to Akaashi, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and teasing his vice-captain. “Ooooo ‘Kaashi you’re smooth, huh? Taking advantage of the situation-“

“I’m not taking advantage of anything or anyone.” The vice-captain interrupts. “I just want to make sure she’s completely alright and that she gets home safe.”

“Mhmm. Okay, Akaashi~” Bokuto smirks, returning to his task. “Whatever you say!”

Ignoring the knowing smile that his best friend gives him, Akaashi walks away, heading to the club room to change out of his practice clothes and to fetch his things. Leaning against the railing, he waits until you step out of the girls’ club room. Seeing you hold the ice pack to your arm and struggle to keep your backpack on one shoulder at the same time, he steps forward, taking hold of the strap of your bag. “Allow me.”

“Oh, that’s fine, I can carry it-“

“You’re struggling, there’s no point in trying to hide it.” Akaashi cuts you off, taking the bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He turns and gestures for you to follow him. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

“Are you sure you want to walk me home? Is it out of your way?” You ask, falling into step beside him. When you tell him the name of the district where you live, Akaashi raises an eyebrow.

“I live there too.” He says.

You straighten. “Oh.”

On the way home, the two of you naturally fall into casual conversation, sharing stories and interests.

Keep her talking. Akaashi thinks to himself, enjoying your company. Her voice is a beautiful sound, and there’s so much to learn about her.

Whenever Akaashi says something that makes you laugh, the sound echoes in his ears like it’s the only thing he can hear. The sight of your face in joyous laughter is enough to render him speechless. Admiring the way the moonlight washes over your face and illuminates your features as you talk excitedly about this new book you’d started reading, he finds himself wanting to freeze this moment in time, maybe even take a picture to preserve the memory.

Not that he needs a visual aid to remember it, of course. The image of you laughing is now permanently etched into his brain. And he wants more. Thinking about the different ways he could get you to laugh and smile, Akaashi doesn’t even realize that he’s now just watching you with soft eyes and a small smile on his lips.

“But in the next chapter, she starts learning how to use magic, and it’s the coolest thing ever—" You stop mid-sentence. “Akaashi?”

Snapping out of his trance, he raises his eyebrows at you. “Hm?”

“Why were you looking at me like that?”

Putting on his best innocent face, Akaashi avoids your gaze and looks away. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, it was almost like you were in love with me or somethi-- oh! This is me.”

Almost choking at her words, he clears his throat nervously. Looking around, Akaashi takes in his surroundings. The two of you have come to a stop in front of your house. “You live here?”

Nodding, you turn to face him. “Yeah, why?”

“Well,” He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “I live back there. Just a couple streets down.”

“Oh? I didn’t know that.”

“How come I’ve never seen you in this area before?”

You tilt your head, Akaashi’s heart leaping at the action. God, you look so cute. “What do you mean?”

Trying to ignore the way his stomach flutters as he meets your gaze, Akaashi continues. “I mean, you head home after practice more or less the same time I do, yet I never see you around. Which is weird, because technically, I should’ve bumped into you at least once by now.”

“Oh. That’s probably because I practically speed-walk home every day.” You say, smiling sheepishly. Akaashi simply raises an eyebrow, prompting you to expound. “With how late practice ends, it’s pretty dark by the time I have to walk home. And, well…it’s not the smartest idea for me to be taking my time, I mean, who knows what could happen to me?

“It’s a scary world for women.” You mumble, growing quiet and shifting your gaze down to your feet. Akaashi’s heart drops at the tone of your voice, disliking the disappearance of your usual brightness. You’d tried to hide it, but he could tell that the simple act of walking home alone terrified you. He tries not to think about what you could have possibly experienced to make you feel so unsafe, instead choosing to bring a finger to your chin and tilt your head upwards so he can meet your eyes again (where he got the courage to do such a thing is a mystery).

“You won’t have to feel that way anymore.” He tells you sincerely, voice laced with unwavering confidence. “I’ll walk you home every day.”

Taken aback by the sudden offer, your eyes widen by a fraction.

“Really? Are you sure?” You ask, looking up at him with questioning eyes. “I’m assuming you walk home with Bokuto, won’t he be bothered if you suddenly stop?”

“You can join us. We split up halfway, anyways.” Akaashi answers, hand falling back to his side. “I don’t want you to always feel the need to look over your shoulder and watch your back. So, I’ll watch it for you.”

When you say nothing and continue to stare at him, he rethinks his diction. “I mean that in the most innocent way possible, I promise—”

You let out a soft laugh, effectively stopping him from finishing his sentence. “I know. Don’t worry, I know.”

Taking your bag from him, you give him a thankful smile for the second time that day. “Thanks, Akaashi. It means a lot.”

After you’ve both said your goodbyes, Akaashi turns and walks back to his house with a grin painting his lips, wondering what else he could do to keep you smiling the way you do.

-

You do your best to fall asleep quickly that night. You really do.

It becomes apparent that sheer willpower is not enough for you to forget about the events of the night. Your thoughts are preoccupied with the dark-haired boy that you had somehow befriended, images of him swimming around in your head as your attention flits from one moment to another.

The way he’d glowed under the soft light of the moon, the way he had watched you quietly and listened to every word that left your mouth, the way he’d made you laugh, even the feeling of his fingers on your chin and back still lingered. You remember the way Akaashi had walked you home, his presence beside you the most comforting thing you’d felt in a while. The mere thought of him brings a smile to your lips. It was the first time you’d felt that safe with someone.

When you leave your house the next morning, a couple of packed sandwiches in your hand to eat on the way to school, you’re surprised to see that leaning against a streetlamp, is the same boy that had occupied your thoughts the night before.

“Akaashi?” At the sound of his name, he looks up and greets you a good morning.

“What are you doing?” You ask, walking up to him. He falls into step beside you as naturally as he had the night before, causing you to raise an eyebrow at his actions.

“Accompanying you to school.” Akaashi answers simply. “Might as well just walk together, right? Seeing as how we’re practically neighbors.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I haven’t even seen where you live yet.” You chuckle, then pause. “Were you waiting for long?”

“Not really, no.” When you give him a disbelieving look, he responds with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

You decide to let it go and instead, offer him a sandwich. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

He shakes his head and takes one for himself, thanking you before biting into it. “This is good.”

“You think so?” You ask brightly, smiling down at your handiwork. “I made them last night before going to bed. I’m always craving something to eat in the morning.”

“You did a great job.” Akaashi commends, taking another bite.

Your walk to school is filled with light conversation and comfortable silences, the both of you enjoying each other’s company.

-

Over the next couple of months, Akaashi makes more of an effort to grow closer to you. He sticks to his word and walks you home after practice every day, even waiting for you in the morning on your way to school, and sticking around after class to accompany you to the gym. He does his best to help you in the smallest ways, helping you carry the things you have to bring around, assisting you with your manager duties during his break times, and even helping you understand the lessons in confusing classes. 

He’d been a complete angel. That, he was sure of.

Which is why he could not, for the life of him, understand why it was so easy for you to be dragged away by Nekoma’s team captain the minute you guys had arrived at Shinzen High for the summer training camp.

Akaashi could only watch as Kuroo waltzed up to you, introduced himself, and smoothly started a conversation. Slinging an arm around your shoulders, the tall boy leads you towards the other teams who had just arrived, not wasting any time in getting you acquainted with the Karasuno and Nekoma team members.

“Akaashi, you’re staring.”

Jumping at the sudden voice in his ear, Akaashi side-eyes his best friend. “No, I’m not.” He denies, pretending to busy himself with his duffel bags.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are, you know? Have you confessed to her yet?” Bokuto says, walking with his vice-captain to the dorms.

At the captain’s words, Akaashi turns to his best friend immediately, a nervous look crossing his face. “Seriously? Am I really that obvious?” He hadn’t even told--

Letting out a boisterous cackle, Bokuto grins teasingly at him. “I’m only joking. You’re good.

“Though it wouldn’t take much for someone to be able to tell that you like her.”

The rest of the day doesn’t get much better. You quickly befriend the other boys, and every time Akaashi tries approaching you to help you carry the towels or water bottles you prepare for the Fukurodani team, someone else from Nekoma or Karasuno beat him to it. If you’re not hanging out with the other athletes during their break times, you’re enjoying the company of the Karasuno managers.

Other than that, Akaashi’s luck is going great. They had yet to lose a match, successfully keeping up a winning streak. The only thing missing from the entire equation is you celebrating alongside them.

-

“You guys,” You say, holding back a laugh. “are incredibly uneven.”

On one side of the net stands your new friends, Kuroo and Lev, with the tall blonde from the Karasuno team—Tsukishima, you think? The opposing team is composed of Bokuto, Akaashi, and the bright first year from Karasuno, Hinata. The longer you look at them and their height difference, the harder it is for you to keep your laughter in. “You sure you don’t want to switch around?”

“She’s right.” Akaashi adds. While Bokuto and Hinata look positively unbothered, it seems you’re not the only one who thinks this is an unbalanced match. In terms of height, that is. “This is unfair.”

“Eh, it’s fine. We should do things we can’t do in official matches.” Kuroo’s eyes glint mischievously, smiling challengingly at his opponents. Sparing one last look at them, you chuckle to yourself and walk back to your position at the scoreboard. You spend the next hour keeping track of the scores for both teams, cheering for both sides enthusiastically.

“You guys~” a sing-song voice comes from the gym entrance. There stand your fellow managers, the two of them leering teasingly at the rest of you. “If you don’t hurry, the cafeteria will close soon and you won’t have dinner~”

In a flash, the boys panic and run out the door, Tsukishima and Akaashi being the calmer ones of the bunch. After bidding your senpais a goodbye, you follow them out and make your way to the dining hall as well.

Standing alone outside the gym, Akaashi had stayed behind and is waiting to accompany you on the way.

Dinner is eventful, and you sit in the corner of the table beside Lev. Akaashi takes the seat in front of you, quietly eating his meal as Bokuto engages in a loud conversation with Kuroo and the first years. Neither of you say much, you focusing on savoring your food and admiring the gorgeous boy in front of you and Akaashi occasionally pitching in to the conversation with witty comments at his best friend and the Nekoma captain.

-

Akaashi takes a deep breath.

He’s going to do it. Tonight.

All week, he’s had great luck. They had barely lost any of the practice matches and had improved greatly in their time here. His tosses were much better as well, his teammates having noticed and complimenting him on them. He hadn’t forgotten anything at home either, and nothing bad had happened to him so far. With only one day left before the camp ends, he was willing to bet that he has nothing but good fortune ahead.

His best friend’s words echo in his head. Have you confessed to her yet?

Come tomorrow morning, the answer to that question would be yes.

Doing his best to appear inconspicuous, Akaashi stands outside the dining hall, nervously fidgeting as he waits for you to finish with your post-meal manager duties. After what seems like decades, the double doors finally open and he straightens automatically, expecting to see you. Kaori and Yukie walk out instead, conversing with each other and stopping when they notice their setter’s presence.

“Akaashi-san! Did you need something?” Kaori greets.

“Oh, it’s no problem—”

“Y/N-chan! Akaashi’s here for you!” Yukie calls out cheekily.

Akaashi’s eyes widen. How’d they know? “No, it’s fine, I can wait—”

“Akaashi!” You come to the door with a skip in your step and a smile on your face, still wearing an apron and cleaning gloves. As the other two managers excuse themselves and walk away with knowing smiles, he can’t help but notice how good the black and white apron looks on you. “What is it?”

Imagining how you would look wearing his jacket and jersey, Akaashi brings his eyes up to meet your gaze. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me on a walk? After you’re done.”

You nod rather enthusiastically, and Akaashi notices how your smile only grows bigger at his request. “Of course. I just have to finish up in here, I’m almost done! I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

True to your word, Akaashi has to wait onl a couple of minutes before you come rushing out the door again, giving him a sweet smile as you smooth down your hair and clothes. He returns your smile with a small grin, the two of you walking side by side under the night sky. The both of you find yourselves wandering around the open field, the conversation centering around the past week and how you found your first training camp with them.

Being reminded of just how little time you spent together in the past week, Akaashi can’t help the question that falls out of his lips. “So, you’ve gotten close to Kuroo, huh?”

You give him a teasing smirk. “Jealous, are we?”

“No, no. Just observing.” He lies, trying his best to sound convincing. “He seems to be especially fond of you.”

You shrug. “The other managers don’t really give other teams any attention, and he told me about how they don’t have a manager for Nekoma at all. Besides, he’s a nice guy. He does get a little flirty at times, but that’s just who he is.

“What about you?” You ask, turning to look at the boy beside you. “Made any new friends?”

“Other than Tsukishima, Hinata, and Lev? Not really.” Akaashi answers. “It’s been a great camp though. Luckily, we only lost a handful of our matches. This week was really good.”

He swallows nervously. Here goes.

“Speaking of luck,” he starts, voice extra timid. “I have something to tell you.”

“Hm?” You pause when he stops in his tracks, turning to face him properly. “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah.” Akaashi says, mustering all the confidence that hadn’t left him yet and looking you straight in the eyes. “You.”

You blink, confused. “Me?”

Heart racing with nervousness, he takes another deep breath, willing himself to maintain eye contact. “I like you, Y/N.”

There it is. No backing out now,

Your eyes widen, breath hitching in your throat. “Oh.”

“And I just,” Uncharacteristically stumbling over the words that fall out of his mouth, Akaashi lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m not the best at talking, but I didn’t want to do it over the phone, or with a letter, or anything other than a verbal confession, because you deserve better than that. For the past few months, I’ve been doing my best to show you that I care, but I wasn’t sure if you actually noticed. I didn’t get to do that this past week, though, which I regret, but every time I tried approaching you, you were already talking to someone else, and I didn’t want to interrupt. I admit, I lied earlier when I said I wasn’t jealous, but—”

Realizing that you aren’t saying anything, he stops mid-speech to gauge your reaction. You’re still staring at him with wide eyes and silent lips, an expression he sees as anything but positive. “Shit, sorry. Was it something I said? I should stop talking, shouldn’t I?”

At your lack of response, Akaashi assumes rejection. As his heart falls and his last sliver of confidence disappears, he looks down at the ground, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Guess my luck ran out.

“It’s late. We should probably get back to the dorms.” He mumbles dejectedly, turning away.

“Wait, no, Akaashi—” Your hand grabs at his arm, successfully stopping his movement and keeping him facing you. “I’m sorry. I was just processing everything.”

At the tone in your voice, Akashi raises his head to look up at you, daring to entertain the tiny bubble of hope in his chest.

“I do notice.” You say gently, giving him a soft smile. “You walk with me every single day, morning and night, even though you don’t have to. That alone speaks volumes, ‘Kaashi.”

He allows himself a small smile at the affirmation.

“And you don’t have to be jealous about anyone.” You say, stepping closer. Akaashi allows his hand to be pulled from where it nestled in his pocket, your hand trailing down his arm to lace your fingers together. “I like you too.”

The bubble of hope in his chest bursts into an explosion of joy, eyes widening and chest growing warm at your words. “Really?”

“Really.” You confirm, laughing softly. “At the risk of sounding all kinds of cheesy right now, I really do feel the safest when I’m walking with you, you know.”

His gaze turns soft as he pulls you closer for a warm hug. Nuzzling the side of your head, he breathes in your scent, relishing the feel of you in his arms. His skin burns where you touch it, his brain unable to process anything else.

Akaashi pulls back a little to look you in the eyes, marveling at how mesmerizing they look under the stars. “Do you, um,” Dammit, what is wrong with me? Just say it, Keiji, say it! “Do you want to—”

“Yes.” You answer without waiting for him to finish, eyes glittering and lips smiling. It’s brighter than any other smile Akaashi has seen you wear, and his heart leaps at the realization that it’s because of him that you’re this happy. “Yes, of course, I want to date you.”

Smiling widely, Akaashi leans his forehead against yours. The two of you walk back to the dorms, sides pressed up against each other. Even after he kisses your cheek goodnight and crawls into his futon, the smile on his face and the giddy feeling in his chest don’t fade.

-

“You’re in a good mood today.”

At his best friend’s comment, Akaashi looks up from his stretching position on the ground. It’s the last day of the training camp, and everyone is getting their fill of last-minute practice before they all have to depart at sunset. “What do you mean? I’m feeling…normal.”

“Really?” Bokuto pries, crouching down by his vice-captain’s side. “Because around this time of day, you’d be glaring over at that.”

Following his friend’s outstretched finger, Akaashi’s eyes come to rest on a small group at the opposite side of the gym, where Kuroo stands with an arm resting on your shoulder as he and Yaku converse with you.

“Glaring’s not really something you schedule.” Akaashi shrugs. “What about them?”

Bokuto’s brow furrows in confusion. “Dude. This entire week, you’ve been radiating jealousy at how close Kuroo and Y/N-chan have gotten. Where’d all that go?”

“Why should I be jealous?” Thinking back to what you had told him the previous night, Akaashi calmly proceeds with his stretching. “Kuroo’s really friendly. That’s just who he is.”

The owl-haired captain stares at his best friend disbelievingly. Akaashi may have been able to fool everyone else, but he couldn’t fool his best friend. Bokuto may be dumb, but he knows Akaashi, and he knows that his best friend had been extremely jealous of Nekoma’s captain this past week. “Did something happen between the two of you or--?”

Before finishing his question, Bokuto gasps loudly. “Hang on. Kaori told me that you were with Y/N last night. What did you do?”

Akaashi opens his mouth to answer honestly, but at that same moment, Yukie calls them over for their last practice match against Karasuno.

Later. The vice-captain says with his eyes.

-

“Sit with me later?”

“Of course.”

-

“Can I hold your hand?” You ask shyly, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. “Keiji-kun?”

Not a lot of people choose to call Akaashi by his first name. He stares down at the girl occupying the seat next to him on the bus home, admiring the way the late afternoon sun bathes you in a warm glow. At the way his name sounds when it rolls off your tongue like that, his eyes brighten, flashing a vibrant color of blue. The small grin on his lips turns into full-fledged smile as he forgoes a verbal response and takes your hand in his. Leaning in close, Keiji rests his forehead against yours, chuckling at the pink tinge of your cheeks.

“Okay.” He finally says. “My turn.

“Can I kiss you?”

Something flashes in your eyes as he all but closes the distance between you, waiting patiently for your consent like the true gentleman he always has been. It’s your turn to act instead of speaking, and you press your lips against his in a chaste kiss. You start to pull away, but Keiji follows after you, leaning forward to keep your lips together. You find yourself latching onto his arm and hugging it tightly as a giddy feeling threatens to throw your body into overdrive, your chest swelling at the foreign sensation.

Keiji’s kiss is exactly like him; gentle and sweet. Slowly, he coaxes you into it, sticking to what he knows you’re comfortable with. He brings his other hand up to trace your jaw, his fingertips leaving wildfires in their wake. When you finally part, he looks down at you with tender eyes as you nuzzle his jaw affectionately.

“Walk me home tonight?” You mumble in a daze.

You feel him lean his chin on top of your head, prompting you to rest against his shoulder. And even though you already know his answer, Keiji still surprises you with his response.

“I’d walk with you anywhere.”

-

Bonus:

“Ohhh, they’re so cute!”

“Yukie, take a picture, quick!”

“Take lots!”

“Komi, stop pouting! It’s not their fault you’re single!”

“Group selfie with the sleeping couple!”

Bokuto peers at his friends from his seat, smiling at the way they’d fallen asleep cuddled together.

Something had happened last night, indeed.

~

masterlist

[doodle-zombie]

Lamia Bonding #15: That Happened

Warning: Mentions of scars and abuse.

---

It was, once again, time for a shopping day. Valerie didn’t like to go shopping once a week, since it took so long to drive into the nearest town, so she put it off to once a month. Unlike last time, she was much more knowledgeable on how to handle her boys when it came to being gone for a long time. They knew she would be going out the next day when she cleaned out the fridge and cabinets, tossing out what none of them ate and making a list of what everyone wanted. Sangria and Marmalade didn’t seem anxious about her leaving but she had known that Currant was basically dying inside over her possibly leaving him behind again.

“Make sure you’re ready to go tomorrow, Currant,” she told him, knowing he had trouble asking still. Valerie pretended not to see the way that he perked up. “The sooner we leave the quicker we can get back home.”

“don’ need ta tell me twice,” Currant grumbled.

Her decision to bring him along while leaving the larger boys to guard the house proved to be a wise one because Currant was more than enough to keep anyone else at bay. She’d gotten so used to having such sweet boys in her life that she often forgot Currant and Sangria were venomous in the first place. And Lapis was so small that he didn’t come off as very threatening to people who saw him, being that Corny were pretty common and the only type she saw more than them were Papythons. Valerie had initially thought Corals wouldn’t raise many eyebrows but she was given an immediate wide berth for just having Currant at her side.

Sure, he was venomous and could deliver a nasty bite if he wanted but he was her sweet boy before all that.

“People are so dumb,” Valerie told the two of them, flopping on a bench. It was early enough that she was able to get in some exercise for the lazier boys before they got down to the shopping. Anyone who thought Currant didn’t sit in the cart obviously didn’t know him well, he’d even made sure a blanket was brought so he wouldn’t get cold.

“fuck people,” Currant agreed, delighted when his cursing earned the scandalized glare from a couple of old ladies walking by.

Honestly, Valerie imagined having Currant with her is how mothers must feel when they had more than one kid. He would insist on sitting in the cart, which meant she wouldn’t have as much room in it for whatever she needed at the store, so she would be carting around two carts instead of one. It wasn’t a deal-breaker or anything that would make her consider rehoming him but she sometimes wished there were other monsters that she could adopt that would be able to push a cart alongside her. You know, without having five feet of tail trailing along behind them. Because Val refused to get a human roommate and she definitely didn’t want a child or anything in that vein.

“ya got an audience, val.”

Lapis’s voice in her ear pulled Valerie from her musings. She looked in the direction his hands pulled a lock of her hair towards. Indeed, she didn't have an audience. A little boy that couldn’t have been past 13 (she had trouble judging the ages of kids but he was pretty small) and hidden half behind him was the first full-sized Pygmy she’d ever seen. But her SOUL damn near cracked at the sorry state of the little guy. Sangria and Marmalade both had cracks in their skulls from running off predators around the house but this was the first time she’d seen a city-dwelling lamia have any hint of injury. And it was a huge crack that ran straight through his left socket, an injury that must have been so traumatic at some point the light had never returned to his socket after he healed.

Her first instinct was to get angry at the kid but it was obvious that wouldn’t go over very well.

“Hey lil’ guy,” she crooned, paying no mind to the human child and focusing on the Pygmy. He was nothing like the ones she’d seen at the adoption center, timid and quiet, and even Currant seemed at a loss.

“Uh… hi,” the kid squeaked, nervously wringing his hands and looking around. Warning bells were going off in Valerie’s head, along with the feeling she should have been looking for cameras. This stuff only happened in movies, right? “So, so I saw you have a couple lamia. And… and I wondered if you wanted another one?”

Did she hear alarm bells or a whole alarm siren blaring in her ears? Sure, you could adopt a lamia for free from a center and, if you appeared nice enough, there wasn’t really a process to see who would take the best care of them once they left the center but this was a stretch. Not a lot of parents wanted to get a lamia for their kid so when you saw a child that did have a lamia they tended to be best buddies. These two did not look like buddies.

Closer inspection revealed that the Pygmy had a leash on, hidden beneath a tattered bandana that looked like he’d never gotten a new one. He looked incredibly underweight too. Pygmy weren’t the largest lamia (they were, in fact, the smallest) but they usually didn’t look like a stiff breeze would dust them either. Known for their energy, they didn’t get chubby but they at least kept their magic health up. Valerie was looking at one sick little Pygmy, face flushed under her scrutiny and scales dull from lack of proper care.

Stars above, did he have old scales stuck on him?

“Listen, kid,” Valerie huffed, unable to contain the frown. “You don’t just beg your mommy and daddy to adopt for you and then decide you don’t want them anymore.”

“I didn’t ask them to get him,” the kid blurted, his loud voice making the Pygmy flinch and shuffle towards Currant. As if the little lamia needed protection from a child. “Mom needed to work more and she didn’t want to pay a babysitter… so, she… she…”

“Are you shitting me?”

Under different circumstances, Valerie might have felt bad about swearing in front of a child but that, that was a disgusting reason to get a lamia! A free babysitter? In a sick way, it made some kind of sense. Pygmy had an overabundance of energy that would be useful in keeping up with children and they had a high drive to complete tasks, they were very good at playing with kids and other pets. But they were small. And nothing could force a child to respect a Pygmy the same way they would a human babysitter, who would have the authority needed to put them in line. The sweet nature of a Pygmy would be too easy for them to run roughshod over, which would get the Pygmy in trouble with whatever demons acted as parents.

The scar the lamia had suddenly seemed a lot worse.

“Who hurt him, then?” She was determined she would learn who had done damage to the lamia if nothing else. “Because I may not be able to punch a child but if it was your mom or dad I will punch someone in the kidney.”

“badass.”

“heh.”

Currant and Lapis already knew that Valerie would gladly throw hands to protect any of them but she was threatening a good bite more harm.

“Um, it was my kid brother. He tried to put a hand in Pygmy’s socket and then smacked him with a toy truck…”

“OK, kid, what the fuck?!”

Currant and Lapis did not find this funny. She couldn’t see the way their eye lights went out and how they stared at the kid. The poor Pygmy knew they were talking about him and attempted to cover his face with a whine. Val didn’t have a maternal bone in her body when it came to humans but she absolutely would fight a bitch over a small skeleton being sad.

“Oh, baby, I’m not mad at you,” she soothed. “Who could be mad at such a cute boy?”

Her experience with Pygmy was an absolute zero but Valerie did have some idea of what might ease an anxious lamia. Currant could be anxious as well and she’d gotten pretty good at helping him feel at ease.

“Can you repeat after me, sweetie?” Valerie asked, getting down to her knees beside Currant. She waited until the Pygmy nodded, but Currant and Lapis were both watching her as well. “Say, ‘Nobody is mad at me.’”

The Pygmy didn’t say anything, looking at the kid who was willing to hand him off without a second thought. Well now, that wouldn’t do.

Apparently, her boys could suddenly read minds.

“nobody ‘s mad at me.”

“no body to be mad at.”

Leave it to Lapis to get the reaction, even if it wasn’t what she had hoped for. The Pygmy in question huffed in a very disapproving way but he was smiling now, showing off his little fangs. His one good eye light seemed to focus with laser intensity and suddenly he realized that neither of the boys she had with her looked at all anxious or unhealthy. In fact, bringing Currant and Lapis worked in her favor because they both had a healthy amount of chub on their tails and scales that glittered in the light. They were perfectly happy individuals.

He may not have vocalized what she said but he zoomed into her belly, bowling her over. She hit her back on the grass with a little ‘oomph’. When she looked up, the kid was gone.

Well, looks like she would have a lot of explaining to do when she got home.

--

Despite what Valerie wanted to do, she couldn’t just drop her planned day of shopping to go home empty-handed when she was supposed to be appeasing her boys. And rewarding all the good behavior. So she simply resigned herself to dealing with Currant and the new addition while she tried to convince herself that she shouldn’t name the Pygmy. Once she named him she just knew that he wouldn’t be leaving her, no matter how any of her boys reacted to the news. In typical fashion, he was an absolute darling who made himself incredibly useful as soon as he’d realized they were going to the store.

It was adorable to have such a tiny helper.

He couldn’t push a cart by himself but he was perfectly willing to grab things on the lower shelves so she could add them to the basket. It was too cute, how eager he was to shop with her, but Val didn’t blame him one bit. After who knows how long as a live-in babysitter he needed the change of pace, and he was an amazing assistant. His energy was similar to a shrunken down, much sweeter tempered version of Sangria. The little guy was still incredibly nervous around children, she noticed, but Val avoided children herself so it didn’t become an issue.

The nonfood shopping was done first because she could put a lot of those items in with Currant, but as they were going towards the food she spotted the most adorable little scarf. It wasn’t meant for lamia, clearly meant for a child, but it was a very pretty shade of blue and she was weak to the way the Pygmy’s eyes had zeroed in on it. His bandana was ruined and he would look just adorable with a little scarf done up properly.

And it matched a pair of gloves she’d seen online that would make him the cutest little thing ever.

Being an adult with no self-control, she bought the scarf and a new shirt, very aware of the dilated eye lights staring up at her.

She was going to keep him, it was an inevitable fact she’d been foolishly lying to herself about.

“Admiral,” she murmured, getting his attention by pointing towards the candy on the lower shelves. “Warheads, please. And a bag of your favorite.”

The poor Pygmy looked confused. His previous family hadn’t even given him a name, choosing to just call him his lamia type instead, so she maintained her patience and repeated his new name. Admiral beamed at her, zipping around in delighted circles, and she finally got to hear the excited babble she’d been looking for. His name on repeat. When it came to the Warheads he had no trouble grabbing a bag but after that, he seemed to just… freeze?

Oh the poor baby, had he never been given candy before?

“Clearly I should find your previous abusers and have some strong words,” she muttered darkly. “We’ll get you one of the multi-packs, so you can try a little of everything.”

She was finally treated to the way he buzzed in place from excitement and it was cute. Sure, getting a Pygmy hadn’t been her original plan because they were a lot higher energy than she was and she had worried that it wouldn’t provide a good environment to live in. Not to mention her property was massive and a Pygmy would be easy pickings for some things that had lived in the woods. She wasn’t worried now because Sangria and Marmalade made sure that the woods were safe. And Sangria wouldn’t have to share his toys, she had a collection of stuff that was saved in a wishlist that she would finally have an excuse to buy.

The moment the second cart was filled to bursting she knew it was time to skedaddle on out of there. Valerie picked Admiral up off the ground and perched him upon her hip until he grabbed on, not wanting him to get lost or trampled on. Lifting him off the ground had the added benefit of allowing him to help move things out of the cart and onto the conveyer.

“My hero,” she told him when he beamed at her.

“Uh… your Coral won’t bite, will it?”

Valerie sighed, the weight of ignorance weighing upon her shoulders. Her day had been so stressful already that she had absolutely zero patience for discrimination of any sort.

“Listen, Linda,” she snarked, “just because he’s venomous does not mean he’s going to leap across the counter and rip your jugular out. He’s an absolute gem. So please, continue to just do your job and leave Currant alone.”

The poor (probably barely 19) cashier was quick to keep any other comments to herself. The rest of their interaction went by in silence and then she was left with trying to figure out how to get all this stuff to the car. What had been two carts was now three, obviously because nobody could figure out the same puzzle she’d done to pack the carts in the first place. That, and the cashier had avoided putting anything in the cart with Currant.

“Stars help me.”

With all the maturity of someone twice her age, Valerie looked the cashier in the eye and encouraged her Coral (who had been so well behaved the whole time) to coil around her. She looked like a lunatic with three lamia weighing her down but nothing would prevent her from making idiots look like idiots.

“Be glad I’m not venomous,” she deadpanned as she turned on her heel to walk out.

Apparently, it was sass day.

Walking with Currant and Admiral clinging to her was a unique challenge. They weren’t heavy to carry around so she wasn’t straining under excess weight but they were incredibly awkward to have on her when she was attempting to push one cart and pull another. She managed but it was quite the struggle.

Currant had gotten his exercise slithering around the park but it was nice that he would help put the bags into the back of the van. And Admiral was an awesome helper. Between the three of them, it was easy to get all the bags out of the cart and into the van. Such assistance couldn’t go without reward so she pulled out some candy for Admiral to try and gave Currant his favorite chips to munch on.

Lapis woke up for a snack, delightfully getting crumbs all over her neck and shoulder.

Valerie hadn’t been anxious in the store but as soon as she started the drive home she found her nerves were completely shot. Marmalade would accept her decision but she worried how Sangria might react. On one hand, he would have someone to play with but she didn’t know if he would see it that way. He still had a ways to go before he could be comfortable asking for things without having to seem enraged that she hadn’t read his mind.

Her worries weren’t unfounded. Sangria went still the moment he saw the new lamia, a warning hiss rattling from his ribs. Admiral was small but he didn’t seem to cower in the face of a Mamba’s ire. It was a tense stand-off until Valerie finally had enough and shooed the irate Mamba away.

“If you’re not gonna help you can go.”

“Rude,” Sangria barked back, swatting at her hands when she tried to grab some bags for herself. “We will be talking about this.”

Well, it was tame as far as Mamba threats went.

[silverandarsenic-hcs]

Ghost BC X Love Languages

another “kat has mental illness” post inspired by This post. But this one is much happier than my murder HCs. please enjoy. (again i didn’t do all of them because I Do What I Want) 

Papa II: He seems the most cold on the outside, compared to the others. In life, and in love. But if you really know him, that just isnt the case. Papa II loves just as fiercely and as passionately as both his brothers and the ghouls, he just shows it very differently. He won’t take you on extravagant getaways at your every whim, or pull romantic stunts in your name, or shout to the roof tops about how you’re the only one for him. But if you have a favorite flower, every night he’ll bring you home a few that he picked from the Church gardens on his lunch hour because he thought of you. He’s gentle with you - not strict, stern or callous like he is with others. He knows youre strong, but thinks the best way to nurture that is to show you small kindnesses. He won’t say I love you every three minutes like clockwork, and he will only call you by your first name unless you tell him you’d prefer something else. His love language is more focused on truly understanding his partner in every way one can imagine to understand another. 

Papa III: His love language gets misunderstood a lot. And a lot of HCs I’ve posted talk about how he loves, more so than any other of the group. We know the youngest Emeritus to be extravagant, in love and in life, to be passionate, to never hold back when it comes to self expression. And as true as those things are, when you know those things about a person, they might begin to come mundane. At first, the flowers he brings you will keep you smiling for weeks. And then it’s fancy dinners. Vacations. A sky writer to mark your name in the heavens. He tries to outdo himself with every new display of affection, but thats exactly why his perfect partner is someone who never becomes accustomed to the lavish. He doesn’t do all these things so you think better of him, or return any favors. All he wants is to keep the smile on your face. He’ll tell you he loves you when he thinks you need to hear it, and even when you don’t want to. He’ll take care of you when you’re sick, however serious, and at the end of every single day, no matter what you did, he’ll crawl into bed beside you and kiss your hair and tell you how amazing you are.

Cardinal Copia: It seems, one of the only things the cardinal can do with confidence, is love. He’s very good at it. His love language revolves around how his partner likes to be shown affection, and he’s adaptable for it. He listens to his partner extraordinarily well, and proves it to them in small gestures. Kind words, or love letters, or small thoughtful gifts. He’ll do what it takes to let his s/o know that he does hear their words, and does want to do everything in his power to make them happy, and does want this to last forever. He’s good at reading people. If you’re in a bad mood, he’ll listen to you. If you want comforting, he won’t leave until you smile, but if you want to be left alone, he’ll give you space. He’s good like that - never takes it to heart when his partner needs some alone time. After all, he only has a social capacity so high himself. 

Swiss: He’s the most casual about things. He’s honest to a fault with the people he cares about. He’ll call you babe/baby, and kiss you on the top of the head before he leaves for work every morning, and before he goes to the bathroom or the kitchen. After a long day while you two are watching TV he’ll rub you feet or your back or whatever hurts. He’ll buy you flowers, and chocolates, and on Valentine's day a beautiful necklace or bracelet you pointed out in the mall a while ago. He won’t do big things for you, because he just doesn’t know how to do them without coming off as disingenuine or cheesy, but he hopes its the little displays every day that make up for it. You’ll never have to doubt that Swiss loves you, together or apart. If he’s mad at you or doesn’t feel like you’re reciprocating his feelings, he’ll tell you instead of letting it bottle up. He won’t yell, or scream, and wants to talk about issues so you can move forward from them and understand how to treat each other better. He expects the same on your end, honesty and calm discussions. Swiss needs a partner who understands that he needs to feel just as loved and noticed as he makes you feel. 

Rain: (Okay after that thing Nyx wrote about Rain in lingerie i have a very specific idea of him in my head that i am finding it IMPOSSIBLE to convey. This is not it. I will find a way one day to explain to you how i see this good man but until then you’re getting Usual Rain.) His love language is soft. He’ll give endless words of affirmation and make sure every single second of every day that they understand how much he loves and cares for them. He’s the type to give small gifts all the time, of things that reminded him of them, but not without good cause and not too much. Once a week, maybe, and only if he thinks his s/o will really enjoy it and be flattered by it. He’s more likely to stay home more than his partner, so he’ll do things around the house to keep it nice and clean. Make the bed. Sweep. Take care of any pets that need attending too, and make sure they’re fed and exercised appropriately. He’ll cook dinner for his s/o, and hell make a new recipe once a week just for some flare and see if it gets added to the roster of Good Meals that his s/o is happy to have any time. House wife boy, I suppose. 

Mountain: He’s the most casual and quiet when it comes to love. He will do absolutely nothing and assume saying i love you once in a blue moon is more than acceptable - it’s not that he doesn't care or doesn’t think of you, he’s just a little clueless. You would have to properly sit him down and tell him “i like that you do this, but i would like a little bit more of this” for him to even realize that he isn’t making you feel how he wants to. And he would listen, he’s good for that. He won’t just do it because he was told to either - he takes it to heart that he isnt making you feel loved like you should be, and he genuinely wants to remedy that 

Aether: His love language is primarily quality time. Whether out on a walk, or on a date, or sitting on the couch silently and doing your own thing, Aether is happy to just be around his s/o. He loves being able to just spend time with them, no matter what they’re doing, and comfortable silence is important to him. It shows you’re comfortable around him, and don’t feel the need to impress or ask questions. When you speak he’ll put down his phone or whatever he’s doing, and give you his full undivided attention, and expects the same from you. He’ll treat you how he expects to be treated, but never in a way that seems like he’s expecting anything ridiculous from you. Nothing elates his heart more than hearing that his s/o is proud of him, and appreciates him and all he does. Of gifts, he’s most likely to be practical with it. If you needed something for work but didn’t have time to run to the store, or needed groceries, or needed something for the house he’ll get it for you. it’s rare that he’ll give you any gift that doesn’t serve a useful purpose except for a holiday or birthday present.  

Dew: Sometimes it can be hard to tell his romantic attraction from platonic attraction, and if you dont really read it just right, it can cause some problems for you. He’s not about any of that classic romantic shit aside from a decent cuddle at night. He tends to treat his s/o like a best friend, because that’s kind of who they are too him. They’re his first options for invites to whatever adventure he wants to go on, or when he wants to walk to the gas station across town at 4am for a slushie. He won’t be more gentle with you than he is with his friends, including a little rough housing, but he still makes sure you don’t get hurt. It can sometimes feel like you’re just one of the guys, the only difference being that you’re having sex, but you have to look closely. He makes the most effort to be around you. He’ll leave you little gifts around the house that don’t seem like gifts - half a chocolate bar, a stick he found on his walk home that he thought you might like. If you live together he’ll clean up after himself more than he would have. He won’t call you pet names unless you ask him too, but he’ll shorten your name to whatever he thinks your name should be. Change it all together if he thinks it doesn’t fit you. You just have to know Dew really well to be able to understand his love language, and for a lot, its something they never learn. (the chocolate part was inspired by another post that ive now lost so if you wrote it or have the link pls send and i will link it here! wasn’t my idea i just agree!!!) 

- Kat

[sickly-qt]

Okay so I have a request! It’s a classic scenario, but it never gets old!! Maybe Ambrose and Liam are driving somewhere pretty far, and get some sketchy food and once they’re back on the road, oops. It’s food poisoning. Queue them pulling over multiple times to be sick and it’s just miserable, but one definitely has it worse, so the one who’s less sick has to suck it up for a little and drive to the motel. Then just more puking and comfort!

This was a lot of fun! Here you go!

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Ambrose teased, rubbing Liam’s thigh as he woke up.

“Hi.” Liam mumbled, stretching. “How far are we?”

“About an hour and a half.” Ambrose responded, looking at Liam out of the corner of his eye.

“Ugh, I hate being in the car this long.” Liam complained, shifting in his seat and looking out the window.

“You act like we don’t make this trip regularly, Babe.”

“Yeah, and the drive sucks every time.”  Liam leaned back as far as he could in the car seat and closed his eyes again, “My stomach hurts.” 

“Is it bad?” Ambrose asked, not really concerned. They had stopped to eat at some random diner earlier and the food was probably messing with Liam, like most foods tended to do.

Liam shrugged and sighed, shifting in the seat again until he was comfortable. “Not really, I just feel really full.”

“Okay, maybe try to go back to sleep until we get there.”

Liam had no issue falling back asleep, but he kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he slept. Ambrose would be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling a bit off himself. As he drove his stomach got more unsettled. Everything got worse when they hit traffic. The stop and go motion of the car was doing terrible things for Ambrose’s stomach.

Ambrose leaned back his seat a bit and cracked his window to get some fresh air. It was cold but stale, hot air the car was blowing was making him feel sick.

When Liam woke up again Ambrose knew they were screwed.

“How’re you feeling?” Ambrose asked, watching Liam rub his stomach while he stretched.

“Kind of nauseous,” He mumbled, muffling a burp into his hand. “‘Scuse me. I think the food from that place isn’t agreeing with me.” 

“Great.” Ambrose looked at the GPS, which had an ETA of about 45 minutes. Judging by Liam’s face though, he wasn’t sure if they had 45 minutes.

Liam took a deep breath and swallowed, “Actually, I feel really sick.” 

“I feel kind of gross too, I don’t think the food was good.” Ambrose said quietly, watching the quick unraveling of his boyfriend.

“Are you kidding?” Liam whined, leaning his head back against the headrest. “Food poisoning is exactly what we needed on this trip.”

“We have about a half hour to the hotel.” 

“I don’t know ‘Brose, I feel really bad.” Liam groaned, “And you’re not really looking too great either.”

“Yeah. I’m trying not to think about it, but you’re whining isn’t really helping.” Ambrose sighed.

With basically no warning Liam hiccuped and quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, panic in his eyes.

“Fuck,” Ambrose mumbled, dumping the bag of water bottles in his back seat and shoving it into Liam’s hands.

Liam shook open the bag and a mouthful of vomit flooded the plastic bag.

“You’re okay, Lee.” Ambrose said, reaching over the center console to rub his back.

Liam was almost impossibly quiet when he was sick, meaning there was no warning for Ambrose except for the sound of another wave rushing up his throat.

“I’ll pull over as soon as I can.” Ambrose told Liam, trying his best to keep his composure. The sound of Liam being sick really making his stomach rebel.

“Holy shit.” Liam groaned, tying the bag and sitting in in the footwell. “That sucked really bad.”

Ambrose nodded, not opening his mouth. As soon as they got off the exit ramp Ambrose pulled off to the side and quickly opened his door, emptying his stomach onto the pavement. He coughed harshly and gagged again before pulling himself back into the car.

“We’re fucked right?” Liam mumbled, cracking open a bottle of water.

Ambrose nodded, “So fucked.” He rested his head on the steering wheel for a second before pulling back onto the road.

That lasted about fifteen minutes before they were pulled into a rest stop with Liam doubled over in the grass about ten feet away from the car.

“Are you okay babe?” Ambrose called from where he was leaning against the trunk of the car, sipping a bottle of water. It bothered him that he had to be so distant but he knew that if he went over, he would feel sick again and he still needed to drive the rest of the way to where they were staying.

“Yeah.” He called weakly, before his shoulders pitched forward and more of his stomach contents spilled onto the grass.

Liam walked back over to the car, looking pale and miserable. He leaned his forehead against Ambrose’s chest and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“This isn’t fair,” He whined. “You’re fine now and I’m still sick.”

“I still feel pretty rough, but I’m sorry you feel so bad babe.” Ambrose said, running his fingers along his spine.

Liam shook his head, “It’s not your fault. Let’s go so we can get to the hotel, I want to lay down.” he said weakly, walking to the other side of the car.

“Do you want any water?” Ambrose asked, after getting in.

“No, I want to make it to the hotel without throwing up again.” Liam leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

They made it to the hotel without further incident and Liam sat in the car while Ambrose checked in. He grabbed their bags out of the trunk and knocked on the window for Liam to get out.

He followed Ambrose to their room, shaky and pale, collapsing into the bed as soon as he saw it.

“Do you want to get a shower first?” Ambrose asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, tucking Liam’s hair behind his ear.

Liam nodded into the pillow and then got up, pulling some pajamas out of his bag and shuffling into the bathroom.

The water felt nice against his skin and he relaxed for a second, but only a second.

Ambrose came into the bathroom barely making it to the toilet before he vomited, catching his hand and the toilet seat in the process.

“‘Brose?” Liam called, peaking around the shower curtain. The sight alone, making him gag.

“I’m sorry, I tried to wait until you came out.” He choked before burping up another mouthful of sick.

Liam winced, “It’s okay.” he stopped the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, “Aw, sweets it’s in your hair.” Liam said, part disgusted and part sympathetic.

“Are you serious?” he asked, resting his head on his clean hand. “I took it out because I had a headache, I knew I should’ve left it up.” Ambrose flushed the toilet and stood up. He washed his hands and turned to the toilet, wiping it down with a towel.

“I’ll clean it up better tomorrow,” He mumbled, completely out of energy. “I do feel a bit better now though.”

Liam got dressed while Ambrose took a shower and laid down on the bed, on top of the blankets. The coolness felt nice. 

Ambrose came out of the bathroom in exercise shorts and a towel draped over his shoulders, his freckles standing out by how pale he was.

“Come lay down.” Liam said, rolling over to make room for Ambrose.

Ambrose hung the towel on the door and walked over, laying down next to Liam and pulling him close to him.

“God, I hope this doesn’t last all weekend.” He mumbled into Liam’s hair, “I was really excited to go snowboarding.”

“I was really excited to watch you snowboard,” Liam replied. “Let’s get some sleep and hope this all is over by the morning.”

He knew this was wishful thinking as his stomach was starting to cramp again, but he could try to get some sleep in the meantime.

“I love you.” Ambrose whispered, pressing a kiss into Liam’s temple.

“I love you too ‘Brose. Goodnight.”

[segenassefa]

3. A Semi-Original List of Things To Do During Quarantine

Niggas all over the timelines are baking banana bread, doing headstands, and making Tik Toks. Yeah it was fun the first few weeks – but now we’re almost four months deep into quarantine and the gworls need some change! A bit of variety. Some pizazz, if you will.

Well, fear not!

I am here to help (as per usual). Digging into the depths of my chicken breast-like brain has been hard, but I’ve done it to compile a list of things to try now that quarantine is dragging along. Some of these you’ve definitely heard before (but they were so good, it was worth mentioning again), some of these you may have considered but never really saw the value in, and some of these seem like I pulled them out of my ass, but I promise, they’re a fun time and definitely worth the try.

Take up a new workout routine now that gyms will probably cease to exist.

I can’t even speak on this one (my record this quarantine has been four days without leaving my bed), but health comes in different forms. Even back in the early stages, one of my favourite things to do was get a coffee and aimlessly walk around downtown – it got me out of the house, it didn’t feel like exercise, and was an excuse to take advantage of the warm weather. Exercise is both important for physical as well as mental health, as cited by a million and one studies, and can break up the monotonous cycles of online shopping, self-loathing, and eating that everyone seems to be trapped in these days. Your options, however, go beyond yoga and walking. Buy some weights or use one of the jars of canned tomatoes you have sitting your pantry (…) and do a weight routine. Go for a run. Climb some stairs. Bring back step aerobics like the bad bitches from the 80s. Ride a bike (Queen’s Quay is really nice, and pretty empty on the weekdays). The other benefit to establishing a good routine now is that you can carry it out through the winter. Maybe not the bike riding part, but you get my point.

Socialize (safely).

           I never understood the obsession with patios until I went to El Jefe a few weeks ago, and it got me thinking about how fun that actually must be when everyone isn’t terrified of getting a virus from the person eating chips and guac two tables over. But! There are alternatives! I know you don’t believe me but there are! Toronto has more parks and green spaces than you’d think, and now is the perfect time to take advantage of them. Connect with nature, friends, and socializing in an environmentally friendly space (throw those White Claw cans in the trash, please) and you and your friends will literally be the peak of ecofeminism. If you’re tired of wearing your crop tops and lashes to the grocery store, picnics and beach days also give you a reason to look cute in public again (and with a mask, you don’t even have to put foundation on the bottom half of your face. #win). Some of my favourite places include Trinity-Bellwood Park and Woodbine Beach. If you have a car (or a lot of patience) Scarborough Bluffs is also definitely worth the commute. I think it’s a game changer that “going out” now means sitting in the grass making small talk, instead of getting hammered in some dark, damp club, but maybe it’s also improvement.

Clear out the clutter that you always tell yourself you’re too busy for.

           I know you see it, bitch. That box of clothes overflowing in the back of your closets. Or the basket of random hair ties, scraps of paper, and pen caps on your shelf. What about when you open social media – Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, whatever – a see all these random people on your feed that you don’t remember following, much less ever meeting in real life. Quarantine has forced us to retreat to our own spaces, physically, mentally and emotionally, and now more than ever is the best time to reflect and take inventory of what brings you joy and (God forbid we’re in this situation again) what you’d be ok with surrounding yourself with 24/7. It may be hard – times of crisis especially encourage a scarcity mindset instead of an abundance one – but it doesn’t hurt to try and reframe your thinking!

The 3 Restaurant Rule

If you’re anything like me, then you love Uber Eats. Since this virus has stripped the joy of going out to eat from my small and soft hands, we’ve had to find ways to work around this. One of these compromises has been Uber Eats. But that, much like anything else in life, can soon get repetitive (and niggas were clowning me for actually enjoying Swiss Chalet. Fuck y’all.) So, I established some ground rules, one of which being the three-restaurant rule. Do I follow it all the time? No. But knowing that it exists had made trying new foods more like a game. Here’s what you do:

1.     First, pick a type of cuisine (I’m partial to sushi, so we’re going to use that for this example).

2.     Next, really study Uber Eats. Find the best restaurants in your area specializing in that kind of food and pick three restaurants that look the best to you. Another alternative (especially if you’re lucky enough to live downtown where a majority of restaurants are doing take out) would be to curate a list of places on Yelp! I loved doing this when outside was open – it made eating out feel a bit more purposeful, almost like it was for research).

3.     Then, keep a lil list – on your phone, on paper, in your camera roll - wherever. When you’re not in the mood to cook, consult the list, and don’t pick a restaurant twice in a row. Start building up a list of places that you can say you’ve tried. Keep tabs on how you felt about the food to compare it to in-person dining when restaurants re-open, or make it an event with friends. Dress up, get together, crack a bottle of wine (or some beers, or sake, ya know – whatever floats your boat) and make it an event.

The other upside to this is now when people ask me for recommendations, I can give them with confidence instead of bullshitting like I would have before (sorry y’all LOL).

Learn how to do your own personal upkeep.

           It would probably take me ten hands and feet to count the number of videos I’ve seen of nail salons throwing customers out for being black or on the prejudice of race and/or class, or the number of hair salons and stylists who charge extra fees for thickness, length (or lack thereof), or for specific styles and modifications, etc. If you knew me, you know I was devoted to my nail salon. I loved the feeling of getting a full set of acrylics, having all the work done for me, the little burn on my cuticles when they’d slide my hands under the UV light. But in quarantine, a lot of things happened – nail salons closed, I became unemployed, and suddenly, $60 manicures every two weeks were not realistic. YouTube has so many videos on how to do basic self-care - things like cutting or dyeing or braiding your own hair, doing your own nails (whether it be acrylic, gel, even a basic polish manicure), doing your own eyebrows – the possibilities are all there. And, if you get good enough – you can always go ahead and make it your own side hustle (with salons operating at half capacity, the demand for people that do house calls is rapidly increasing). I’ve recently swapped my acrylics for press on nails and let me tell you – game changer. They last just as long, look just as good, and allow me the freedom of talon-like nails without having my bank account scream at me (a post on how I do my faux-acrylics at home coming soon!)

Try to watch something that isn’t reality television.

I know 90 Day Fiancee is that GIRL. And if you’re like me, you tend to get very sucked into YouTuber mukbang drama as well (if anyone wants to discuss Nikocado Avocado with me, I am more than willing). But after a while, it gets kind of repetitive, and there’s no harm in educating yourself on other topics. Netflix, Amazon Prime Video, Hulu, even YouTube all have so many documentaries on a variety of topics – from crime, to health, to cults – there’s literally something for everyone. Plus, there’s something really self-satisfying about learning something on your own. If you need a place to start, my personal favourite is Bikram (Netflix) and any of the Vice documentaries on YouTube, but there are so many, so browse around and find one that suits your personal taste.

           There are also many documentaries on environmentalism and the Black existence/experience/life in America and globally. Considering all the things that are going on right now, it would be wise to educate oneself, especially when the tools for doing so are a few clicks away. My personal favourites are 13 and Who Shot the Sherriff, but there’s so many that you don’t have an excuse not to at least learn SOMETHING.

Severe ties and blame it on the pandemic.

This one is pretty self-explanatory. Maybe there’s the persistent wanna-be friend who you tried to avoid in your Thursday 11-1 lecture and would incessantly text you for notes. Or the creepy guy who would always be in your study spot in Deerfield and message you after with the dumbass eye emojis. Maybe it’s that one friend you used to call to console you of your issues, but by the end of the chat you felt more unnerved than understood. Whomever it is, don’t be afraid to stray away a bit and use the excuse of social distance or “getting your head together” to gradually give yourself some space and make things a bit obvious without having to be a total asshole. It can help, tbh, and the last thing you need in a time like this is to feel guilty for someone else’s feelings.

Be ok with doing nothing.

Life is always on some go,go,go shit. With people posting all those fucking memes about hustling or whatever, it can be easy to feel like you’re sitting in quarantine wasting your life away because you haven’t joined Forex, or OnlyFans, or started three side businesses, or taught yourself a new language or whatever. But listen – look at quarantine like a break. You had a nice long break to re-cooperate and self-indulge a lil bit and you know what? That’s ok! You’re not less of a person because you chose to rest or hang out in bed more than you should have. Don’t let other people’s progress (or lack thereof) be a measure of your own. How can you expect to bounce back after a GLOBAL PANDEMIC if you spent the entire time beating yourself up for not living up to other people’s idea of success? …Exactly. This list is just for fun and personal growth, but realistically, quarantine is for doing whatever the fuck you want (safely and sanely, of course), but literally look at this time off as God, Allah, Buddha, whomever, pumping the brakes on what is a normally hectic life. Slow down, enjoy the small things (ALL the small things), and allow yourself to be what you are – a human being, not a fucking machine.

[gaamagirl565]

Matters of the heart S2 ep 7

Matters of the heart Season 2 Episode 7 How the tides turn Special thanks to @1a-lchemist for help with the Romanian {OPENING CREDITS} {Zapada comes down the stairs to see Isaiah sewing something} Zapada: Copilul meu? Isaiah: Oh! Good morning Zapada! Zapada: what happens here? Isaiah: oh, I’m sewing something for my baby brother or sister! Zapada: May I see? {Isaiah holds up a tiny red bear with jingle bells attached to the limbs} Zapada: Ohhh! Isaiah! That is so…*sobs* Isaiah:...Zapada? {Zapada pulls him into a tight hug} Isaiah: ACK! Zapada: Copilul meu dulce! {Varian walks in with a cup of tea but stops when he sees them} Isaiah: Dad! Wait! Save me! {Varian sneaks back out} Isaiah: Ah!..W-wait!...no! You traitor!! {Varian smirks and goes to walk away when a villager runs through the front door; Varian drops his teacup and Zapada and Isaiah are immediately at attention} Villager: Varian! Sir! Message from the King and Queen! Varian: What’s wrong? Villager: The cult made an unprovoked attack on a neighboring kingdom! Multiple casualties, homes destroyed and crops burnt… {Isaiah gasps and Varian covers his mouth in horror} Varian: a-anything else? Villager: The King and Queen are going with a small group to help aid the survivors. The Queen requests the Royal engineer’s attendance. Varian: Understood. Tell Rapunzel I’m on my way. Villager: As you wish sir. The group will leave at noon. {The villager leaves and Varian hurries over to his desk and begins packing a satchel; Zapada walks over to him} Zapada: Varian? Varian: I don’t understand...they’ve never made an unprovoked attack before… {She takes his hand} Zapada: are you alright? Varian:...I’m...I’m fine…*he brushes her cheek*...I’m just confused and I feel like I could have prevented this... Zapada: Perhaps we have answers when we get there? Varian: We? Zapada: Isaiah and I are going with you! Varian: Zapada no! You’re too heavy with child! I won’t risk losing all of you. Zapada:  Varian! Te iubesc, dar oprește această protejare obsesivă stupidă sau te voi sugruma până la ultima răsuflare!

{Isaiah looks on shocked and Varian shrinks back} Varian: I...Have no idea what you just said but I feel like I should fear for my life... Isaiah: Dad please let the severely hormonal albino lady go with you...I don’t wanna die. Varian: *sigh*....fine Zapada: good...I go pack my saddlebag… {She walks away; Varian slumps against his work bench} Varian:....Get married dad said...it’ll be fun dad said...ugh. {Cut to the forest with Noremoth sitting in a tree with Catalina} Catalina: haha! Stop it! Noremoth: and why would I do that? You make the funniest face! Boop the nose! Catalina: haha...I can’t believe your mission is almost over… Noremoth: yeah… Catalina: You’re gonna come back sometime right? You’re super fun to hang out with… Noremoth:...*sad smile*...Yeah...I’ll be coming back. Keira: Hey love birds! Catalina: Keira! Stop calling us that! We’re not “love birds”! Keira: Whatever, Eugene and Rapunzel need us… Catalina: what for? Keira: that cult attacked another kingdom last night. {Noremoth jumps down} Noremoth: WHAT!? Catalina: You know about them? Noremoth:....yeah… I heard of them...I have to go… {Noremoth runs over and mounts his horse} Noremoth: Catalina it was lovely to meet you...Keira...bye…. {He gallops off; cut to Isaiah on a horse looking conflicted and Eugene notices and rides up next to him} Eugene: Hey kiddo. You alright? Isaiah: yeah...just...I kinda feel like this is my fault. Eugene: W-what? How? Isaiah: I made the cult mad cause I attacked miss Cass...and then she attacked me and now I have some of her power. And...now they’re attacking innocent people and it’s all because they want the moonstone sliver! {Pink magic crackles around him} Eugene: Hey easy buddy...deep breaths okay? Isaiah: sorry… Eugene: it’s not your fault..these people are...unstable...they’re crazy with anger and I bet half of them aren’t even angry they just are cruel and bloodthirsty. Isaiah: Then how do we stop them? {Rapunzel rides up} Rapunzel: With Corona spirit! Eugene: Sunshine! Rapunzel: We’ll all get through this...it may seem bleak and hopeless at times but as long as we have each other and keep the faith we’ll make it through. {Isaiah smiles at her} Eugene: Oh my god… {Isaiah looks and gasps in horror as they ride up to the kingdom; in the distance, Noremoth rides over a hill and sees the carnage and looks shellshocked; the place is practically burnt to the ground with people trying to dig through the remains and set things back in place} Varian:...They’ve never gone this far. Rapunzel:...Varian go with Eugene and help make plans to rebuild, Angry and Catalina look for survivors, Zapada and Isaiah you can help the wounded, I’m going to go find the leader here and get what happened. All: Yes you’re majesty… {Everyone goes to do their respective jobs and of in the background Noremoth skulks in the shadows looking at the destruction in utter horror} Noremoth:...I don’t understand...why did they…? {He steps on something and it crunches; he lifts his foot and picks up a singed toy wooden horse; his eyes widen and he drops it and covers his mouth as he runs over to a wall and gags; after a few moments he just rubs his head against the stone wall} {begin song “fighting”} {NOREMOTH} So many things happen in a year

But mostly bloodshed paints all my time I watch eyes fill with fear So many things in my life I regret but still I’m fighting So many days I wondered “was my birth a crime?” But as I grew I realized my only crime

Was being an orphan! “A drain on society” “a filthy pest” Well maybe now they’ll feel Remorseful.  As I run my sword through their chest So many times I wonder is it worth it? To keep on going or to give up and die. My existence until now had no meaning. So why? Why do I keep Fighting!? I see the destruction that I cause and kills me It kills me deep inside. I hear children cry the same cry I did I wish to help but my hands are tied I ask in my mind that they forgive me. So why? Why do I keep fighting? Oh, why? I’m fighting… But why...do I still fight?

{End song with Noremoth wiping his tears and overhearing talking and he lurks closer in the shadows to evesdrop} Kingdom leader: It was just terrible you’re majesty...we stood no chance… Rapunzel: Just take a breath and try to explain it. Kingdom leader: Well they came in the middle of the night... none of us were expecting them.  they were like animals.  setting fire to everything, pillaging,  they killed a great many of us,  but I know what they mainly wanted, they broke into the treasury of our kingdom... they took so much I fear for my people… there was one woman who I assume is the leader once she had what she needed from our Treasury she told her band to retreat... but by then... the damage has already been done. {Noremoth growls with anger and slinks away} Rapunzel: I assure you Corona will do whatever they can to help this Kingdom get back on their feet… Kingdom leader: Thank you, your majesty… {Cut to evening and Isaiah walks over to a basin and washes blood from his hands with a sigh} Varian: Hey buddy… Isaiah: Dad… {Isaiah hugs Varian and snuggles into his torso} Varian: Rough day? Isaiah: a lot of these people are really hurt...Dad, why are people so mean? Varian:...That...That’s a good question, buddy. And unfortunately, I don't think anyone will ever have the answer to that one. {Zapada walks over} Zapada: Isaiah was quite the little helper today... he helps me tend a lot of burns and cuts today. He’s a little hero. Varian:  tell me something I don't already know. {Isaiah smiles and suddenly Zapada jumps and grabs her stomach} Zapada: Oh! Varian: Zapada!? Are you alright!? Zapada: I’m fine!...little one is kicking me!..wanna feel? {Isaiah nods and gently puts his hand on her stomach} Isaiah: ….wow...hi there!... Varian: we still need to decide on a name… Zapada: we said Clover for girl...we need boy name. Isaiah: I got one! Varian: Oh ho...really? Let’s hear it. Isaiah: Sterling! Zapada: Sterling? Varian: Like sterling silver? Pfft.. {Zapada smacks his vest} Varian: OW! Zapada: act nice! Isaiah: *laughs* {Cut to the Cult HQ where Larkspur sits drinking from a goblet; Noremoth then storms in and walks up to her} Noremoth: YOU HEARTLESS WENCH! Larkspur: Well you're back... how was your mission did you learn any valuable information? Noremoth: Yeah I learned your backstabbing cutthroat! Larkspur: oh am I now? Noremoth:  you knew I would never agree with a plan to pillage and commit genocide Larkspur:  I wouldn't call what we did “genocide”. {Noremoth slaps the drink from her hand} Noremoth:  what would you call it then!?  did you even see what you left behind!?  both men, women, and children slaughtered like pigs!  when I joined this movement I joined because I too wanted to see a new world order and I also wanted Corona to pay for what they did to me.  I did not join to slaughter countless innocent civilians.  do we even need the money you stole!?   or was this just a little fun Rendezvous for you!? Larkspur: you know how the men can get...they tend to get a little tense when they haven't battled something in a while.  and our vessel did need the exercise. I needed to make sure her powers were still at full potential.  well potential enough without the moonstone that is. Noremoth:  this is not what we originally stood for. Larkspur: is that so?  and pray tell how do you plan to fix it in your little mind? {Noremoth unsheathes his swords} Noremoth:  it's time we got back on track. Larkspur:... are you truly sure you want this, Norie? {Noremoth swings his sword at her and she blocks it with her dagger} Larkspur:  you filthy bugger… {Larkspur shoves him away and they circle one another} Larkspur: who would have thought this is how it ends? you know I did like you, Noremoth. Noremoth:  no you didn't…. {she shoots some throwing knives at him; he deflects them with his sword and charges her; Cassandra hears the fighting from her cell} Cassandra: What the hell? Larkspur: Urgh! Noremoth:  you know I always wondered why you never listen to me but now that I'm fighting you I think I finally understand. Larkspur:  oh really? Noremoth:  your pathetic little girl who's had nothing go right for her in life.  what's wrong mommy and daddy didn't love you enough? {Larkspur charges with a scream and swings down at him; they lock swords} Noremoth: admit it I'm right! aren't I!?  you're pathetic and scared, and were pushed around all your life!  you put on this front acting like you care but in reality, you don't care at all you just want everyone to suffer under your thumb for the crappy hand you were dealt!  you're no better than a whiney child! {Larkspur punches him and Noremoth falls back on the ground; Larkspur goes to jump on him with a knife and cuts his arm but he kicks up and flips her over; Larkspur lands harshly on the ground} Larkspur: AUGH! {Noremoth gets up and points his sword at her and wipes the blood from his lip} Noremoth:  as I said before...  pathetic. you don't even know how to fight. Larkspur: ….. that maybe but I do have one thing that you will never have… Noremoth:  and that is? {suddenly swords are at his throat with cult members surrounding him} Larkspur:  I have faithful followers… Cult member 1:  what should we do with him, Mistress? Larkspur: Throw him in the dankest little cell that we have here... and let him rot for the time being... I'll figure out what to do with him eventually… Cult member 1:  yes mistress… {The grab Noremoth and drag him away} Larkspur: Buh-bye Norie… {He’s taken to a cell and harshly thrown in; Cassandra looks up and sees him in the cell across from her; Noremoth groans and clutches his injured arm; Cassandra tears part of her clothes} Noremoth: Urgh!... Cassandra: Hey!... {Noremoth looks up and sees her toss some bread with a cloth wrapped around it to his cell} Cassandra: tie the cloth around your arm tightly... it'll stop the bleeding.  and I was saving that bread but you can have it… Noremoth: ...Thank you… {END CREDITS}

[roonilwazlibisawriter]

Rumors

It was a vague memory but man was it beautiful. He held me in his arms and spun me around. We’d float across the pavement as the snow fell around, covering up where our feet had once met the ground. He laughed and my heart skipped a beat. I smiled as I just watched his eyes and facial expressions. He was telling me a story about what had happened with the boys that day but I wasn’t really listening. I was too mesmerized by the beauty of this boy. The way his smile spread across his whole face, how his eyes showed every emotion he was feeling at the moment even if his tone said the opposite, the way he’d glance up as if there was cards above my head reminding him of how the events had laid out, how he wouldn’t look straight at me but everywhere except, making me think he was replaying the whole scene in his mind and watching it with his eyes. We had still been twirling and soon we stopped as he fell down, pulling me with him. I just lay there laughing as he brought me into his arms. The snow had lightened up yet it continued to fall around us.

             “I love you.” The words meant for my ears never reached their destination as they floated off with the wind and soon so did the vague little memory I cherished with everything I had.

I slowly opened my eyes and saw that it was the middle of the night. I sat up, my head throbbing, before getting out of bed with a sigh. My bed made a rustling noise as I moved and I turned to see tissues long forgotten all scrunched up in a pile where he used to be. My eyes became watery and I shut them once more as another memory came to my mind.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He had said as he walked out the door. The boys followed, carrying his stuff so he wouldn’t have to come back and get it. They gave me a sympathetic look but didn’t say anything. I knew once they walked out that door, I’d lose the relationships I had with them as well. He had said that it was just not working with the distance and travelling and so I figured it wouldn’t work with them either. I seriously thought we could fix this and make this relationship work but it just ended.

I opened my eyes and walked out to the kitchen. I grabbed a glass of water and some medication for my headache. I looked at the door as I sighed and thought about it. It had been almost a couple of months and I still missed him, everything about him. His touch, his voice, his smile, his eyes, the way he’d hold me in his arms or speak sweetly into my ear. He’d always make me a nice cup of tea when I was upset and I would sniffle as he held me close, telling me everything would be alright. I felt a pain in my chest as I thought about it. I hadn’t heard or seen any of the boys since then. I didn’t go on the internet in fear of seeing something about him. I was really happy for how big the band was becoming but I knew the minute I saw his face, I’d crash completely and be back to square one. A light flashed by the window as I subconsciously touched my stomach.

My stomach. My period hadn’t come last month but I had brushed it off as I had gotten started on a new exercising workout and I knew from experience that changing exercising plans tend to screw up your schedule but I hadn’t yet gotten it for this month either. I hadn’t done anything about it. I was too afraid to take a test. I knew I would soon need to figure it out but I just couldn’t do it. I removed my hand from my stomach as I moved the glass to the sink and walked back to my room. I cleaned up the tissues before curling back up under the covers, soon falling into a deep sleep.

   The next day I went to the store and got a test. I returned home and locked myself in the bathroom as it made me feel a bit more secure even if I was the only one there. It took me another two hours before I finally opened it and peed on the stick. I then waited for a minute or two before leaning over and looking at the stick that sat there on the counter. One line. I’m not pregnant. I didn’t know how to react. I sighed before throwing it into the trash and unlocking the door. I walked out and went to grab my phone as it went off.  I look at who’s calling. Shelby. I answer it.

“Hey, Shelbs. What’s u-“ I didn’t get to finish even asking as she started screaming into the phone. I pulled it away from my ear for a second before returning it and saying, “Shelby! Calm down, slow down, and repeat.”

“Go look online! Go check twitter! Right now and don’t hang up!” She said it very out of breath and rushed but I did as she told me to. Someone had sent me a link. I pushed on the link and a small article was brought up with the heading: JUST AS THE BOYS ARE GETTING BIG, IS IT THE END FOR ONE OF THEM?

             I scrolled down and saw a picture of me leaving the store from this morning. I scanned over it and almost dropped the phone.

             “It’s been two months since anyone’s heard anything about Ryder Bradley’s relationship. He hasn’t been reported with his girlfriend for almost two months now yet it seems as though she was caught leaving the pharmacy today after being spotted buying a pregnancy test. Is she cheating or have they been meeting up on the DL?

             These boys have gotten…”

I stopped reading after that point. They didn’t know. They didn’t know we had broken up. Not only did they not know but now everyone thinks I’m pregnant with Ryder’s baby or that I cheated on him. I knew they were becoming big but not big enough to have articles as such written about them. I must have missed a lot in the two months I have been disconnected. I realized Shelby was still on the phone and I grabbed the phone that had slipped into my lap. I brought it up to my ear before sighing.

“Did you read it?”

“Yes.”

“Is it true?”

“We broke up.” I didn’t say anything else before ending the call. I sat there stunned. If all these people had seen this, does that mean he’s seen it? I didn’t know and I was too scared to find out. I heard my phone go off and I answered it without looking, thinking it was Shelby again.

“Hello?” My voice was tired and so was I.

“Is it true?” Even though I barely heard the question, I knew. I knew that it was him. He had read the article and now he was searching for an answer. I knew I would eventually have to give him one but for now, I couldn’t so instead I hung up the call before throwing my phone and locking myself in my room. Oh man, what is going on? I couldn’t comprehend anything as I slowly drifted off into a sleep while my mind shut off. What was I going to do?

When I awoke again, it was late. I looked at the clock and it read 8:00. Guess not that late. I got up and quickly found my phone. I saw a bunch of messages from Shelby. I then saw I had 15 missed calls from Ryder, 8 from Evan, 3 from Ben, 5 from Ash, 3 from Shelby, 1 from my mom, and even 1 from Ryder’s mom, Liz. I sighed. I then looked at my laptop that I had forgotten to shut and I go over and wake it up. I had a bunch of direct messages and tweets. I didn’t want to look at them so I shut my laptop and looked around my house. It was spotless. It still felt empty as it had once been filled with all of his stuff. I knew I had to do something so I grabbed my phone. I pulled up Ryder’s contact and sat there, trying to find the courage to press his number and call him.

               An hour passed before I finally pressed the number and held the phone up to my ear. It rang only once before a very familiar voice rang through and into my ear. “Hello?”

             “Hey.” I heard the echo so I guessed I was on speaker.

             “Hi.” I could tell he was searching for answers by the hesitant tone he spoke with.

             “So I know you want some answers. I’m not pregnant so you can breathe.” I heard the whole room fill with sighs. “Sorry for the big scare.”

             “It’s fine, just glad that it was cleared up” I nodded before realizing they couldn’t see me.

             “Yep, so is that all you needed?”

             “I guess so. Thanks again. Oh, hey we’re home for a little bit, so you might see us around.” I knew he was trying to be polite but I couldn’t take it. I scoffed lightly hoping he wouldn’t hear. “What?”

             “Oh. Just that I don’t think it matters since you all pretty much cut off any contact with me since that day. I know you are trying to be polite but I don’t want to hear it. I thought we were all friends and even though we stopped dating, I didn’t think that meant we’d stop talking. It hurt and the fact that you only contacted me because of a stupid rumor hurts even more because you’re not calling to see if I’m okay, but rather to make sure your career is okay. I’m happy that you have become so successful but please don’t try to act like everything’s okay between us. If I see you around then fine but I doubt I will. I’ve got to go.” With that I hung up the phone and started crying. Ryder wasn’t a bad person and I feel so bad for saying what I did but it hurt when they all just cut off any type of communication and such. I had tried to text them a few times to see how everything was going but they didn’t even answer or acknowledge me. I just wanted this day to be over. I walked back to my room and this time when I fell asleep, it wasn’t to escape but rather to disappear from the world into a world of my own that I could find some peace.

               The next day, I got up early. It was about 8:00 and it was a Saturday. Nobody else was usually up this early on a Saturday so I decided to go for a run. I ran down to the park near the house and just decided to run around it for a bit. I had my phone with me to play music and after a good 45 minutes of running. I stopped at a bench to stretch a bit. I wasn’t really paying attention as people started to show up as I was lost in the music that was playing. I turned around to start walking back when I ran into someone. I was about to apologize but when I looked up, I found Ash looking down at me. I sighed before trying to walk around him. He stopped me though before signaling for me to pull out my ear plugs. I did as he asked.

             “Ash Stevens. How is it that I run into you after a day like yesterday?” I knew my voice sounded a bit snappy but he just laughed it off.

             “Hey. I’m not alone. The other boys are around here too, somewhere. How are you doing?” He gave me a small smile as I sighed and looked down.

             “I’m okay. How are you and all of this?” I knew he knew what I was getting at.

             “I’m good. I’ve missed you. I know you were upset about how everything went down but we just didn’t know how to contact you. You looked so upset and hurt that day and all of us thought there was no way we could make it up to you. It was the wrong way to go but it happened and we can’t change it.” I nodded as tears lingered in my eyes. I saw the others walking up behind.

             “It was nice to see you but I really can’t do this. I miss you too.” I didn’t look up but quickly walked around him and I heard the others say hey but I kept my head down as I began to run back. That hurt even more because I missed them so much. Things would eventually be okay but for now I needed time to process this all and heal.

                As I arrived back at the house, I had to hold back a scream. Once inside, I just let it all out. I screamed and yelled out at the frustration I felt for this whole situation. I was tired and upset but more than that, I just wanted everything to be okay again. I have my faults and flaws and I know I’ve made mistakes but so did everyone else. I knew eventually I’d have to get over it and become friends with them again or I’d have to completely shut them out. There was no in-between. After I was done letting out all I needed to, I decided to take a shower. I stripped my clothes off and stepped into the water that was waiting for me. It was perfect. It was hot and the steam quickly filled the bathroom up, fogging up the mirrors. I just let myself relax as I let my mind wander, soon creeping upon a lost memory that had been tucked away safely.

             I giggled as he ran his hands over my back, the water cascading down onto our heads. It wasn’t sexual or anything but rather a sweet innocence to it as his hands lingered a little once they reached the lower part of my back.

             “Stop. It tickles.” I giggled again as he moved his hands back up to my shoulders.

             “Has anyone ever told you that you need to just stop stressing or worrying? You are so tense and your muscles are completely tight. You just need to let go and have fun once in a while.” He started rubbing my shoulders and it hurt a tad bit but it also felt really good as he kneaded away the knots that were there.

             “You know I can’t do that. I’m just that type of person. I try but then I freak out even more because it feels irresponsible and somewhat scary.” I sighed as I leaned back into his chest. He leant forward and pressed a kiss to my temple.

             “Just breathe. Don’t think about it. You think too much and that’s what gets you into trouble. Instead of overthinking, acknowledge that the problem or assignment is there and then give yourself a break. If it can’t be fixed within the next couple of minutes or you don’t have a time restriction or just don’t know how long it’ll take then don’t worry about it. It’ll work itself out.” He had grabbed my hands during his little speech and he was now playing with them. The water had turned warm instead of the hot it was when we first got in and we knew we’d have to get out soon. I knew he was right but I didn’t know how to do that but in this moment, I had achieved that, even if it would end once I was out.

             “You’re so smart..” My voice trailed off as my eyes began to droop. The shower was becoming a nice little cover to keep me safe and warm but I felt it being turned off. Ryder moved to pick me up and he whispered softly in my ear to just sleep. I nodded before curling into his arms…

             I jolted up, finding instead of hot water but now a cool light waterfall coming down on me. I turned it off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel. These memories were becoming a nuisance, always coming at the worst times. I put on some pjs, threw my hair up into a bun, and made some nice hot chocolate. I curled up under a blanket as I turned the lights off in the house and popped in one of the many chick flicks I had for days like this. As it started playing, I wondered what it would be like to have these moments that are written about or directed. Sure, they’re movies but someone somewhere must experience a moment like this at least once.

             I had only gotten halfway through when there was a knock on the door. I paused the movie and got up. I was just at the part where, just like in every chick flick, the boy and girl get into a fight and all you do is feel bad. My eyes were puffed up from crying and I had a big sweater on. I didn’t check to see who it was as I swung the door open. Before my eyes, I found the most beautiful human being alive. Ryder Bradley. Even after everything, he was still so mesmerizing to me. I knew I’d eventually have to talk to him so I just stepped aside as he walked on in. I had pictured this moment so many times going over different scenarios but right now my mind was blank. All the practicing and rehearsing was gone.

             I looked over as Ryder stood in the middle of the front room. He was fiddling with his hands and was peering down at his feet, as though something was bothering him. I walked over and sat back in my spot. I didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything. I resumed the movie, the room still dark, and the only light source was the sun that seeped through the windows and into the house. Ryder walked over and sat down next to me. He moved to pull me in and I cuddled up into his arms. We just sat and finished the movie, holding each other tightly as though any moment this could all disappear and we could lose one another forever.

             The movie had to come to an end and so did the little fantasy we had lost ourselves in for the last 45 minutes. We pulled apart and I got up to turn on the lights. I didn’t turn around once everything was illuminated by the lights but instead kept facing the wall.

             “I’m sorry. Not just for the way I acted over the phone but for the last two months and that day. I never should’ve left. I should’ve fought for you and done what was right. I thought that becoming big would be too hard for you but I should’ve known better. I don’t know why I ended it. Maybe I was scared. Actually I know I’m scared. At this moment, telling you this, waiting for a response. I feel so vulnerable as though any moment, I could lose you forever whether it be just as friends or more. I haven’t been able to sleep or eat or focus on anything since that day. I know nothing I say can make up for it, but I’m asking for you to just understand how much I truly am sorry and how much I have missed you.”

             I had started crying once again, man was I emotional, and I didn’t want this to end, not even in the slightest. I didn’t want any more words to be exchanged. I turned around and walked quickly over to him before crashing my lips against his. He pulled me to him, holding me as close as possible as we both desperately grasped at anything we could. We needed each other and I don’t know what was going to happen but for now, I needed him. To hold me, to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, to kiss me, to pull me closer, to act as though the past two months never happened. I pulled at his shoulders and he wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me off the ground. He gently set me back down and pulled away. I looked up. My face covered in tears, my hair disheveled, my clothes all wrinkly, my nose red. He studied my appearance for a minute before a small smile graced his beautiful face.

             “I have never seen you looking more beautiful than in this moment.” He whispered it softly, the atmosphere now a calm warmth and I just looked into his eyes. His eyes told me everything. He meant the words that just came out of his mouth. He didn’t need to say that, but he wanted to. “Even with everything that has happened, you have stayed strong and graceful. I don’t know why and I don’t know how but I do know that there isn’t anyone who will ever compare to you in this moment when you look so scared and frightened yet so beautiful and serene. I don’t know how to explain it but you just are worth it.” He trailed off and I could tell he was having a hard time with his words. I looked down before glancing up at him.

             “I love you, Ryder Bradley. Never forget that. I don’t know what’s going to happen but I can’t take not being with you for one more moment. Even after everything, I still need you just as much as I did two months ago.” He looked up at me, looking for the truth in my words and I knew he saw it. We didn’t move. We just stood there for a moment before he grabbed me and swung me around, kissing me all over my face. I guess now I’m one of those girls that gets written about and it felt good.

[victoriadevereaux]

BAD MOMS 2

Time: idk we’ll say today for fun

Place: The Barn

People: Victoria, Aurora, Brigid, Derrick

Summary: Brigid lures Aurora into the barn where she tries to force Victoria into a brutal training exercise. Victoria is absolutely not having that, and goes ham on brigid for hurting Aurora. Also there’s an I love her but you didn’t hear that from me. 

Notes: No actual physical victoria/brigid abuse this time but I mean it’s brigid so it’s fucked up

BRIGID: Brigid prided herself on being a ruthless woman -- persistent, but smart enough to know when stubbornness would no longer serve. Willing to take the most direct path from where she stood to where she needed to be. Victoria needed to learn control, so Brigid taught it to her, with the might of her fist and her magic, sparing no expense for the most important lesson she could ever impart on her hybrid offspring. But when that pebble hit her waterlogged chalk mark, Brigid knew her methods were no longer working. Physical pain would not push her daughter past the point of losing control. But when the frazzled blonde head of Aurora Black rushed out of the Manor and into the courtyard to rescue her twitching, downed fiancee, inspiration struck. Victoria lost control in the most dangerous of ways when David was taken from them at the attack. Perhaps Victoria had learned the lesson to blocking out physical pain after two decades; perhaps emotional pain was the trigger Brigid needed to press next. She watched; she waited. Her daughter's concern when Aurora Black went 'missing' under Aemilia's supervision. The way she moved her fiancee into her own room after the fact. The smug look on Aurora Black's face not long after the full moon. Victoria had a weakness. On a cool, but sunny day, Brigid prepared herself, gathered her will and her plan and made her rounds about the Manor to find one Aurora Black. She pasted a polite smile on her cheeks. "Miss Black. It's a fine day and there are some things we should discuss. Would you mind taking a walk with me?"

AURORA: She's been having an overall good morning, done a round of her usual: shower, morning tea, breakfast. Now she's sitting in the living room, reading (she's been doing a lot of reading nowadays), while Victoria was off training like she did almost every morning. Its eerily quiet in the manor, which she assumes means most of the wolves have been keeping themselves in check lately and with no arguments in her pocket in the last 72 hours, she feels as though she can finally breathe. Or maybe it has something to do with her rapidly growing feelings for Victoria. Either way, she's still surprised, when Brigid finds her, and with a smile on her face nonetheless. It makes her instantly wary, especially after their last conversation, but she's stuck within a wall and a hard place -- she couldn't say no to her, as a coven leader and her soon to be mother-in-law. She puts her book down, trying her best to offer Brigid a smile in return. No one could ever put Aurora on edge more than Brigid Devereaux. "--- Sure. Of course. What do we need to discuss?"

BRIGID: The tight smile she receives makes Brigid's only curl higher. "I was hoping to discuss things between you and Victoria. Your coming nuptials. Family matters. Once we're little more private, of course. Walk with me?" Turning on her heel and heading toward the door, she gives Aurora little option but to follow or be left behind.

AURORA: She scurries towards Brigid the second she turns towards the door, not wanting to be left behind. The last thing she needed was for Brigid Devereaux to consider her an unlikely match for Victoria after everything they worked towards. She has to pick up her pace, but finally, falls in line with her as they walk outside. "My mother has yet to set a date for the wedding. But I am more than willing to go through with the arrangement Madam Devereaux. I had been hesitant at first but I've come to... Care about your daughter and I think we make a solid alliance together. At least, as far as I can tell".

BRIGID: "I'm quite aware of that, Miss Black," Brigid replies, leading the way down the path toward the old barn. "In fact, the alliance between you and my daughter is exactly what I was hoping to discuss." Her smile stays with the truth of her words. "You see, I believe Victoria has come to care about you a great deal, as well. In a way we do not tend to openly recognize in our family, but one that I see in her quite plainly all the same. Would you concur, Miss Black --- Aurora?"

AURORA: There's something about Brigid's question that makes her wary, but she's still inclined to answer it. She's still unsure where they're headed, but she recognizes the path they're on; Aurora draws some distance between them, just a cautious step to the side, a subtle flight response, but not enough to make her want to bolt. "Y-Yes?" It sounds like a question, she stutters over the word. "I care about her too. Isn't that what our union was supposed to be about? What good is it for if there's no loyalty anywhere?"

BRIGID: "I'm not asking to scold you for feeling for her," Brigid says, keeping her steps even as Aurora works smoothly to increase their distance. She doesn't seek to follow her. "In fact, I'm counting on them." She doesn't hesitate. The heel of her palm connects hard with the soft indent at Aurora's temple. As soon as the younger witch stumbles, Brigid's magic reaches out hot and fast to catch her, bind her limbs, support her weight as she drags the blonde Black the last few feet to the barn's open, waiting door. Brigid drops the girl graceless at the first set of shackles. Working quick, she secures the heavy iron over her fists first, then her ankles. As she stands and straightens her clothes, she runs her fingers over a vial of ash sitting waiting in her pocket. "Victoria will be joining us soon," she says, uncaring if the half-unconscious Aurora can actually hear her. "Then we will see how deeply her weakness truly runs."February 16, 202

VICTORIA: She'd gotten her mother's message, to meet in the barn. Victoria assumed there'd be some kind of training or perhaps a wolf to be punished that her mother needed help with. She didn't ask many questions. Just headed there at the proper time, once her training was finished and things were settled. Stepping inside the barn, a feeling rose in Victoria's gut, something sinking and odd and off centered. She turned, to see her mother and behind her Aurora, disoriented and chained, close to the wall she sat by in the strong, wolf shackles. "Aurora?" Victoria's eyes went wide and she looked from her fiancee to her mother. "Mom, what's --  Why is she in here?"

BRIGID: "She's here to help with your training," Brigid says simply, magic prickling at her fingertips as she reaches into her pocket to withdraw a small burlap sachet of dried herbs. "Let's make sure she's ready to join us, hmm?" Holding the sachet under Aurora's nose, Brigid's fist crumples, crushing the pungent herbs under the friction of her palm to wake the younger woman.

AURORA: It startled her awake, the strong smell of herbs Aurora thinks she’s familiar with, and she gasps as she returns from her forced sleep. She’s met with a strange sight; her fiancé across from her, looking perplexed, Brigid hovering close, and shackles around her wrists, that she attempts to pull unsuccessfully. “Victoria?” She groans. “What is happening?” It occurs to her that she’s trap, and that this can’t be good, so this time she tries magic to let her out of her shackles, and when nothing happens and she thrashes harder against the chains, she notices the ring around her on the ground. Ash. “What the hell is wrong with you? Let me go!”

BRIGID: She waits while the blonde realizes her predicament, while her daughter watches and Aurora makes demands. Once she is finished, Brigid crosses the room the a low wooden shelf, retrieves a piece of chalk, leather gloves and a small glass vial. She draws an X the size of a walnut on the barn's thick, worn stone wall before she returns to Aurora's side, donning the gloves and unstoppering the bottle. "I believe you know the rules," she tells her daughter. "There is a scarf on the shelf behind you. Stand against the opposite wall and hit the target." She looks down at Aurora, considers her for a moment before she says, "hold out your hand, Miss Black. You will be Victoria's motivation."

VICTORIA: Victoria's eyes travel fast, from her barely conscious girlfriend to her mother. She's watching, almost frozen. Her whole body preparing for fight when Aurora wakes up in shock and panic, furious and terrified. "Mom..." At first she starts as though she intends to be reasonable, but then she steps forward, closer to her mother and Aurora like she might get between them. Victoria doesn't even look toward the shelf or the blindfold or the game. "Get away from her." A fireball ignites in her hand. "Mom, I'm not doing this."(edited)

BRIGID: Brigid shakes her head in disappointment as fire swirls over Victoria's palm. "Truly, Victoria? You lose your control this easily?" Her boot flattens on the chain at Aurora's wrist, pinning it tight. With one gloved hand, she pulls her sleeve back and grips her arm tight at elbow. With the other, she tips the glass bottle at a slight angle, letting a slow drip of himalayan salt water drip from the opening. Drip. Drip. Drip. The drops track down Aurora's forearm as Brigid keeps her gaze on her daughter. "Begin, Victoria."

AURORA: She can tell what's about to happen. Its a test, just like the one Brigid had put Victoria up to in the forest the day she had found her not far from the property, except this time, Brigid takes it a step further by putting her in the line of fire. She's stronger, stronger than Aurora and without her magic, she can't push her away when she pins her wrist between her fingers. She tries to jerk away. "What are you doing?" And she knows, immediately when she sees the water drip from the water and onto her skin. "Victoria don--". The burn is like a hot iron cast against her arm, leaving a scarce trail of vapor as it leaves her skin aching. Aurora's breath catches in her throat and her fingers twitch from the pain. She tries to hold it in, for Victoria's sake, but the screech comes out through her teeth.

VICTORIA: "Mom, no! " It comes out fast, sharp, entirely sudden and loud and completely not in the control Brigid wants. Victoria doesn't hesitate either. She doesn't begin. She doesn't play along. She hears the pained sound Aurora makes and releases the fireball she holds without a second of further hesitation, aimed square for Brigid's chest. "I said get away from her."

BRIGID: Releasing the vial from her grip, Brigid brings her palms up, swiping fast and hard to the side to dismiss her daughter's fierce fireball. Disappointment and fury war in the boiling rumble of her bloodstream, her snarl turned toward Victoria. "How dare you ----- " With one foot swiping at the ash, her magic reaches out, slipping into the circle before Aurora has a chance to reach out. With the heat of her anger, she sends a strong shockwave along Aurora's limbs, a prolonged shock of the jolts she'd sent Victoria before, and watches as the helpless blonde that her daughter has come to care for so much, has become so weak over, twitches and writhes where she's bound.

VICTORIA: Neither she or her mother could have known that that was going to be Brigid's last chance. But the moment that Victoria sees her mother's magic shock Aurora, her whole body spirals into a fury. Faster than before, harder than before. The rhythms of the universe in complete discord instead of her usual balance with them. It's messy, when she throws a small shock her own at her mother, and then another ball of fire, clearing the distance between them in seconds before she takes Brigid by the shoulders and all but throws her to the ground, separating the magical grip she has on Aurora and landing on top of her in one motion, not remotely fluid or graceful but animal, furious, filled with fire and anger that comes from the darkest parts of Victoria's eyes. She can only remember being this mad one other time and even then it's a blur. It's a blur now. A knee lands in Brigid's ribs, Victoria hits her, hard in the face, landing her other elbow against Brigid's throat. "How dare I?" It barely sounds like her voice. "How dare you. She's my fiancee. She's innocent she's an original witch, She's mine -- " Victoria doesn't know what she was going to say but all she can feel is rage and that boils over, guttural and furious. She holds her arm against her mother's throat even harder, hits her again, but this time with magic in her fist. "Of course I'm weak. Of course I"m out of control. I've always been out of control! That's why you hate me so much, isn't it?" Everything pours out of her and Victoria can't even see anymore. She grabs Brigid by her shoulders, slams the back of her against the floor again. "I'm not you. I'm never going to be you and I'm -- I never want to be you. Because she's -- I love her. And you're a monster!"

DERRICK: Its a strange thing, to feel something when the witch you're bonded to does; its never the same. Sadness doesn't translate to sadness, excitement doesn't translate to excitement, and fury certainly doesn't either. Its something, a feeling of dread, that something is wrong. She'd told him not to intervene; when she was with her mother he didn't have to step in, but there's something different about this, something that makes him stand from his outpost, leaving another one of the wolves in charge. He can't help it, he doesn't even know where Victoria is but suddenly he's running straight towards the barn, faster, and faster, and faster -- he breaks the branches as he swiftly makes his way through. They break his skin but not enough to hurt. Until he's there, until he swings the barn doors open as hard as he can and he sees it. Aurora Black motionless against the chains, looking like she's trying to gasp for air, and Victoria carrying animalistic fury, on top of her mother. I love her and you're a monster! It takes him a second to understand what had just happened. "Victoria!" It might be the first time he's used her name without a title in front of Brigid Devereaux, but there's no time to apologize. "Stop, stop! You're going to kill her!" That's when he grabs her by the waist, pulls Victoria off her mother with all his strength, keeping a steady grip on her. It would take an inhuman amount of strength to get out of it. Derrick pulls her back, drags her until he creates safe distance between them. He watches Aurora look up from the veil of her hair, her body trembles; he thinks she's crying, but he can't tell from this distance. "What the hell is going on here?"

BRIGID: Her face throbs. Her neck feels pinched, too tight, and her chest burns for air. She'd swear on her death bed that she had seen it, that hint of gold, that's wolf's touch in her daughter's eyes and when Brigid is able to push herself up to sitting, her lungs gasping to catch a breath, she isn't able to hide the fact that her fingers are trembling. "----Get them both to the house," she manages, through her words are harsh, each vibration rasping over the chords in her throat. She tries to clear it, almost winces, swallows instead and tastes the blood pooling in her cheek spread thick and heavy over the back of her tongue. "No one sees them," she adds, forcing out the words. "Now."

DERRICK: "Yes ma'am". He has no choice but to follow Brigid's orders; he had considered the way his loyalty would shift, the way it would be molded and changed, how Brigid Devereaux is the one mangled and beaten and all he wonders is if Victoria's okay. But he doesn't say anything, instead, he slowly lets go of Victoria, and takes a careful step towards Aurora, still in chains. Derrick looks back to make sure Victoria won't make further moves to hurt her mother, and once convinced he won't have to stop another attempted murder, he brushes the circle of ash around Aurora aside, noticing the part Brigid must have opened to make Aurora collapse like this. He undoes the shackles and Aurora's knees buckle, falling on the ground on her knees. Derrick's arms are around her when Aurora's knees give in. She tries to move when he sweeps her off the ground, surely searching for Victoria. He sees the way her eyes move, as if she's expecting Victoria to be the one to carry her, but when she grips his shirt (with barely enough strength to close her fingertips around it), he walks straight towards her. Aurora lets her arm go limp and he notices she's reaching out for Victoria once he's standing in front of her. He presses his lips together and he thinks the look he gives her is enough of a tell, so he nods towards the barn door.