#(genuinely I think something's been eating them because I have definitely not sifted through more than 50+ of them recently)

[gottagobuycheese]

it’s hard work being the mike wazowski of family photos but somebody’s gotta do it

[oopsimbug]

in which... y/n is just trying to put on eyeliner and harry is bored pt. two

a/n: when she’s back from a six month hiatus after making only ONE fic. wow, do i suck. for anyone who cares, school has been pretty rough. i’m actually procrastinating studying for an exam to finally upload this. it’s been pretty hard to balance both school and writing but oh well. anywho, here it finally is. it took so long to write because i wasn’t feeling very inspired by this. a lot of people asked for a part two and even though i kinda wanted to leave it on a sad note, i am a sucker for giving the people what they want, so sorry if this is a bit shit- i definitely don’t like this one myself. i guess i’m not one for fluffy endings. well, at least for this one i wasn’t. i really hope you enjoy it! more stuff to come, if school doesn’t mind fucking off for a little while (or maybe just forever?) xox -(a) bug

pairing: best friend! harry styles x reader

summary: Harry is worried about Y/n. Y/n is worried about Harry. Harry is solving it by thinking of ways to check on her, while Y/n uses cheesy pasta and the Fresh Prince of Bel Air as an excuse to not think. But what will happen when someone is at her door, and it’s not her delivery man?

warnings: angst, swearing, y/n and harry being idiotos, fluffy end, kissing

word count: 5.3k

It had been a week.

One gruelling, painfully long week.

Harry was biting his nails, staring up at the ceiling as he laid in his bed, worrying about her.

About how he fucked up.

He didn’t think that she would be upset for this long. He thought she would scream at him and then text him the following day, wanting to hang out- a silent “I forgive you”, he supposed.

But after two days of radio silence on her end, he decided to call her. The only problem was that her last words to him were “leave”. She wanted space. She needed to think things through- what things? Harry had no clue. But he had to respect her and her choice to not want him around. So with that, he put down the phone.

But a small part of him (okay fine, a big part of him), wanted her to just show up at his house so they could cuddle again, talking about the stupidest of things while they made cupcakes in his kitchen. They would be listening to groovy music and now and then, they’d stop mixing bowls and sifting flour to dance- well, they were horrible dancers, so more so just wave their hands, hips and shoulders around. It would be fun and would always end up with them laughing at one another. He would lick the batter and she would berate him, telling him that “one of these days, you are going to get salmonella and I’ll just laugh at your stupid ass” and he would retort with something witty and a bit flirty like “don’t worry darling, we both know you would be right at my side if I got sick. I know you can’t stand being apart from me” with a wink and a cheeky smirk. He just wants to see her in her oversized Space Jam hoodie and little basketball shorts. Or her short flower shirt and his sweatpants that she has to cuff at the bottoms because they’re too long. Or even-

He’s gotta stop thinking about her, or his brain will soon explode. But he just can’t stop. He tries to think of the happier moments, like her showing him a tour of her very healthy houseplants that she prides herself in, but every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is her teary face telling him to leave. So no, if he was given the choice to think of her flailing her arms around in his kitchen to dancehall tunes while making sweet treats or crying at something that he provoked, you bet your ass he’d choose the former.

But after the seventh day, he knew that something wasn’t right. This was too much “thinking time”. For all he knew, she could be fine, but she could also be positively bawling. She could be living for this free time, but she also could be waiting for him to make the first move. She could be wanting Harry out of her life for her benefit forever, but she also could be feeling lonely and counting the seconds for their makeup, just like he was.

That was it. He had to go see her and make sure his best friend was okay.

He practised what he was going to say to her in his car on the way to her apartment. “Y/n, I’m so sorry for how I acted. I didn’t stop to think about how you were feeling and didn’t take your emotions into account which was unbelievably wrong of me. I’m truly sorry. It’s just that I really care about you and you’re my best friend and I can’t see you choose a tinder fuck over me and if I saw him in the street I would knock his lights out and I just want to kiss you, can I kiss you, oh god please let me kiss you I just want to-“

Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why was he so upset? He had been on plenty of dates with other celebrities and models and she was always on the sidelines, cheering him on. So why was he getting so touchy-feely about a single tinder date? Maybe he was just in desperate need of attention. He hadn’t had a girlfriend for almost one year and casual fuck arounds also stopped about four months ago, so maybe he just needed to fuck someone quick. That would explain why he sees his best friend’s kindness and natural flirty nature as something more romantic. Every laugh at his jokes, every look in her eyes, every graze of her hand on his thighs as she leans over him to get her drink on the side table next to him, he becomes more switched on and awake. She leaves him feeling giddy and excited at every conversation. “This can’t just be because I’m horny right?” he cannot believe he would ever be that horny. What the hell was he going to do?

*

This is pathetic she thought.

I’m pathetic.

She let out a huge sigh before shoving another forkful of cheesy pasta into her mouth.

What am I doing?

The answer?

Eating carbs upon carbs upon carbs, lounging on her comfy sofa in the most comfortable, yet daggiest pair of pyjamas ever while watching reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air for the fiftieth time, actively avoiding all commitments, housework and jobs that involve moving further than to the kitchen, which even then was an embarrassingly burdening trek on its own.

But she let it slide. How could she not? She was upset and this was how she coped. That’s what she kept reminding herself as she boiled more and more pasta watching the days pass her by without realisation, but now, she’s beginning to question if this was the best idea. Pushing all thoughts of him out of her mind by not looking at her phone just in case he called or texted. But she was beginning to struggle.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what inner turmoil she was facing. He seemed genuinely hurt when she snapped at him. He truly didn’t understand why she took so much offence to the playground ribbing, it seemed. And she had to go be a dick and ignore him. He was probably worried sick. How many times would he have called to check up on her? 10? 15? The more she thought about it, the more she wanted this stupid feud to be over and just be in his arms again, even if it’s just as a friend. So she caved. Turned on her phone, expecting there to be at least a call or a text asking if she was still alive or not. And although she did receive a message of that likeness, it wasn’t from Harry, no. It was from her daily water tracking app, pleading her to fill in her daily intake of water so as to not die of dehydration after she was suspected to have not drunk any for the entire week when in reality, she was just too in her head to open her stupid phone and log her water.

Wow, she thought.

Now not only has Harry chosen to not speak to you, but you also look like a huge idiot right now. Of course, he wouldn’t want to talk to you! You got pissed at him for absolutely no reason and now he hates you. He’s gonna ask for his cardigan and track pants that he keeps at your house in case he wanted to sleepover. He’s going to take back all of his little knick-knacks that he leaves over, like the cute diffuser that he leaves because he knows you need it for your constant hay-fever that blocks your nose and then he’s going to declare that you aren’t friends anymore and then you will never get the chance to tell him how you feel and then-

Her panicky brooding is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who the hell could that be?”, she thinks. It was too late for it to be the postman with her package containing her entire Amazon wish list that she bought on the third day of mourning to make herself feel better. But it couldn’t be Mrs Xiao asking her if she had any holes in her shirts that needed stitching. The sweet old lady fell asleep at 8:37 pm sharp after her medicine that she’d take at 8:30 pm would kick in (which she learnt after spending nights over at her apartment where her niece, Mei, took care of her. Y/n would learn traditional recipes like baozi and watch movies with her two friends all the time). It couldn’t be Mei either, she was always in online uni lectures from 8:30-10:30 pm, locked away in her little study, so as to not bother or be bothered. So now, a little panicked, Y/n wondered who was truly at her door?

Another two knocks come, echoing off the walls of her little apartment as she turns down the volume of the program she was watching. She stares at the door from her couch, debating whether she should risk getting stabbed by a possible murderer or not, before ultimately deciding that life was too short. She was also getting sick and tired of the knocks that kept arriving in threes. She swings her legs off the couch and onto the floor, pushing them into her slippers so that her feet wouldn’t touch the cold floor, waddling her way to the door before shyly opening it, peeking at who it could be through the tiny crack in the opening, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t mind her current state: belly filled with pasta, hair knotty, giant shirt with sweatpants on and Harry’s patchwork cardigan hanging off her shoulders- which she had been wearing all day, cherishing the pretty piece of clothing and his scent imbedded in it, taking it all in just in case he asks for it back. She peeps at the torso of this mystery person, realising that Harry owns the jumper worn by them, before looking up and locking eyes with a worn out and tired eyed Harry, one hand in the pocket of the familiar hoodie and another extended out near the door, ready to knock again before freezing when it opens up all the way to show herself to her best friend. He doesn’t eye her up and down cheekily like he normally does when she is wearing pyjamas, wolf-whistling at her relaxed state, claiming that “You look runway-ready, my love! Do a twirl for the crowd, will you?”. Instead, he stares her right in the eyes with what looks like almost relief, before smiling a weak and broken smile.

One of them needed to break the silence or both would have just stared at each other in her doorway until the world exploded. So she starts.

“Hi.” her voice hovers a tinge above a whisper, almost as though if she dared to speak louder, this probable illusion of the one she loves would fade away. He lights up a little bit, probably relieved that she started the conversation.

“Hey,” his soft voice matched her volume and tone as if he too didn’t want this to be a dream. “May I come in?” The words sound awkward to her coming out of his mouth. Harry never had to ask for permission to be invited in- he usually just strolled in without so much as a holler to indicate he was present, finding amusement in scaring her instead while she was doing whatever she was doing, whether that be reading, watching a movie, cooking or napping. They were the best of friends and never had to inquire about entry to each other’s domains, along with other small things like if they had anything in their kitchens to eat or if they could sit somewhere, so hearing it was a little disheartening and provoked Y/n to think about how serious this situation was.

“Okay”, she replied after the pause of contemplation, opening the door fully so that the lanky boy could follow along behind her, like a little puppy. She didn’t like how awkward the situation was. She just wanted things to go back to what they were.

But then you wouldn’t be able to tell him you love him... her inner voice argued. And she agreed. She knew that yes, this will be awkward, but it’s an opportunity for him to listen to her and know that she isn’t joking.

“Would you like some tea?” She enquires. They’ll need to handle this like proper grown-ups (which in all honesty, isn’t their dynamic- it’s more like first-year uni students who are mature enough to have deep conversations but still laugh at dad jokes and anything remotely serious, like a painting with boobs), and from what she knows, or has seen in movies when the characters are being serious, is that you need tea or a drink of that sort and a sit down on the couch where you talk stuff out. So that’s exactly what she does.

“Yes please,” Harry’s soft voice replies as he toes off his boots that most definitely cost more than her apartment. Y/n nods and heads to the small kitchenette and flips the switch on the electric kettle before going into her cupboard that housed the mugs. Harry stood awkwardly near the sofas, and to save him the embarrassment of waiting while standing, Y/n invites him to sit with a small, “You can take a seat,” and a quick glance at him before returning her gaze to the mugs to make herself look busy. She didn’t want to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds in fear of bursting into tears and the worn out and tired sight of him. She shakes the thought out of her head and begins to prepare the mugs.

Y/n put two teabags in her mug while putting one in Harry’s. She was raised in a household of avid tea drinkers and she inherited her strong tea quirk from her father who would always keep two teabags with only a dash of milk, and the only difference between her tea and her fathers was that Y/n wasn’t strong enough to take her tea without sugar, unlike her father, who thought that drinking unbelievably concentrated leaf juice with milk was a fun and relaxing time. On the other hand, Harry liked to keep one tea bag in his mug while he drank it, but just like her father, he too took little to no sugar with his cup, being the health freak he was. And early in their friendship, when she mentioned it to him, Harry chuckled and chirped, “Your father is a smart man. He has to be for raising amazing and talented people like your siblings. I’m not sure what went wrong with you though...” while booping her nose as they laid together under a tree for a little picnic. And though she rolled her eyes at him and punched his shoulder for the sly dig at her, she was practically beaming at the fact that he thought her family was smart. Harry had no idea how much that meant to her. Y/n loved her entire family, and she was unbelievably close to them, so it made her entire week to know that Harry, someone she respected and loved so much, recognised how talented and smart each of her family members were. Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t need the validation to know that her family was amazing, but she felt so special knowing he took the time to notice. He did that a lot though. Doing things that meant a lot to her without batting an eye. Saying things that only a person as observant as he could notice, like complimenting her eye colour in the light and asking her to read for him because he constantly mentions how much he loves her voice.

Y/n looked over to the same sweet guy she fell head over heels for, who was sitting on her couch, fidgety as ever, and wondered if they would ever be the same after the very next moments to come. She didn’t want things to change between them, but she was dying inside knowing that he wasn’t hers. And getting over him was not in the question, after the fiasco that happened last week. She just wished she could get inside his head to sate her painful curiosity.

What is he thinking about?

**

What is she thinking about?

It’s the million-dollar question running through his mind. What was she pondering over as she made them tea? Did she want to talk to him? Was she mad that it took him so long to find the balls to face her? Was she as nervous as he was? Was she worried that they would never be the same again like he was?

He was going into panic mode, questioning everything, while probably looking stupid as ever. As much as he regretted how awkward things were now, and the fact that he instigated her to lash out at him a week ago, he was realising that he was not regretting the fact that he did it. He didn’t want her to go out with someone else, and she didn’t. And yes, of course, he feels bad-beyond bad, in fact- for making her cry, and wishes he could take it all back, he also sees this as an opportunity to tell her how he feels about her. He could finally tell her that he thinks about her all the time. About her soft smile, her bright eyes, her melodic laugh, her speaking voice that brings butterflies to his stomach. He could tell her about how he loses himself at work, the grocery store, fuck- even at events- thinking about what she was doing at her house. Was she under her blankets on her couch, watching some corny tv show? Was she baking her signature choc chip cookies that taste like the gods blessed every single biscuit on the tray before they were put in the oven? Was she knitting her cat, Chesnut, another rug to plonk herself down on, with her feet up on the ottoman as she listened to the 7 o’clock news on the radio? Was she writing a paper for another deadline? Something so sophisticated, like the exploration of white and male privilege and how it is ingrained in our society? Something that Harry tried to understand and research so that he could stay in the loop with his smart girl’s interests, but he always struggled with.

It was a huge insecurity of his. Not that his best friend was smarter than he was, no way. He treasured the fact that she could and would whip his ass at a debate on things like the state of the world, or human rights. She could school him on global politics, languages, maths, science, history and literally anything else, and he would be cheering her on. What he was insecure about was her realising that he was probably slowing her down in life. Y/n was well within her rights to kick him out of her life for being nothing but a freeloader and stopping her from reaching her full potential, what with him constantly stopping her from her own life to help him go through shit happening in his. Whenever he was sad, or confused, or upset, Y/n was the first person he would talk to and he feared that she would realise that he was probably taking advantage of her and stop talking to him. And that scared him. It scared him because he knew that she didn't need him at all, but he needed her to do anything in life. Every major and minor decision in his life has been approved by Y/n first, and not because she was a controlling friend who didn’t trust him with his own life, but because Harry needed her validation. Harry Styles, a world-famous superstar, had girls, guys and non-binaries at his feet, following his every beck and call. Harry Styles, who was on the cover of every magazine, known by every celebrity, dated only the most perfect of women, required validation from Y/n, a psychology major at a small university. Y/n, who liked to plan her day out on a to-do list, end up not doing anything on that to-do list and cry about it afterwards. Y/n, who breaks it down to “Murder She Wrote” by Chaka Demus & Pliers like it’s her last 4 minutes and 5 seconds alive on this Earth while making pancakes. Y/n, who cries more when she’s laughing while watching Tik Toks than she does during sad movies.

To celebrities, Y/n was nothing but a regular. But to Harry, she was all. She was the warmth of a sweater that you toss in the dryer for a few minutes to make it extra toasty. She was the pad of butter that you spread onto your pumpkin sourdough toast and it ends up being exactly the amount you wanted. She was the feeling when you are driving home from a long day of interviews and premiers, and you’re on the freeway and the windows down and you just… exist. She is the feeling you get when you watch Pride and Prejudice, and the relief of when you find the perfect word to end a lyric. She is when your shoes fit perfectly, and when you finish a book so utterly fulfilling that you lie there in a trance, looking up at your ceiling at 3 am, wondering how you could have been so lucky to be able to be blessed with an ending like the one you just read. Y/n was all those things and more.

And that’s why he had to tell her he loved her. No matter how scared he was.

***

The electric kettle is finished boiling the tea all too quickly as the bubbling comes to an end and the distinct click of the switch turning back off echoes around the silent apartment. Y/n had poured the scalding hot water into the two cups she had prepared stared into them.

It was time. She had tried to avoid this for as long as possible, but now it was the moment to face the music. She picked up the two mugs of tea and brought them to her lounge where Harry was sitting on her worn in green sofa, staring at her coffee table, eyebrows scrunched, pouted lips, deep in thought, before looking up at her with wide green eyes, and followed her to where she stood in front of him. She passed his mug to him before sitting on the comfy chair a few feet away from the sofa and from him, putting some distance in between them for her sake, so that she wouldn’t try to hug him and say sorry without saying what she needed to say first. Which she needed to start talking about now, so as not to sit in the awkward silence created by the two.

Say something!!

“So…’

Jesus fuck…. was that all you could think of? Wow. I am going to lose my best friend.

Y/n was choking.

“I am so sorry,” Harry’s voice intercepts, raspy from the lack of use, looking up from the coffee table he seemed so interested in. “I am so fucking sorry Y/n. I have no excuse as to why I was making fun of you that day. I pushed too far and I am a shit friend for not noticing that you were already on edge. It was so wrong of me and I am so sorry.” He stopped himself before he started to ramble, looking at her with eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

Y/n felt… unsatisfied. Why did she feel this way? He apologised, right? So why does she feel unfulfilled? Why does she want him to say more? He hit all of the points he had to for a standard apology, so why did she think he hadn’t done enough? Was it that little optimist in her brain hoping he would maybe reveal a slight attraction to her? Maybe tell her that he loves her, and has loved her forever and ever? Confess that she has bewitched him, body and soul so that she didn’t have to? God, was she an idiot. But a lovestruck idiot at that. She bites her tongue and replies.

“Harry, I forgive you. Although you were annoying as ever,” She rolls her eyes and smirks, while he lets out a breathy, half-assed chuckle, showing his acknowledgement at her attempt to ease the lowered yet still prevalent tension. She continues. “ I understand that you were just trying to have fun. I guess I was the one who irrationally lashed out . I am always okay with you poking fun at me, but I was just frustrated and tired and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for the improper communication and I’m sorry for pushing you away when we should’ve just talked…”

“I forgive you too. I think this was just miscommunication on both parts.” He stared into her eyes, almost as if he could sense the discontent in her, but chose to ignore it.

“I guess so.” She halfheartedly answered, not really knowing where to take the conversation next. They had both apologised, but evidently still had things to say. Well, Y/n had things to say, that’s for sure, but she was pretty sure that Harry wanted to say something too. He had that look on his face where he wanted to say something but was forcing himself not to.

What does he want to say? Why can’t he say it to my face? I mean, sure, I’m also hiding shit I wanna say, but I have an excuse. This could ruin our friendship. What does he have to say?

“Great,” Harry replies, trying to fill the awkward pauses and conversation that is being held. He still looked like he had something to say, but seemed like he was not budging.

Well, if he’s not saying anything, I’m not either. Why do I have to confess my feelings and put our friendship on the line if he isn’t even going to say what’s on his mind?

“So, are we good?”

“I don’t know. Are we? I mean, I forgive you and you forgive me, right?”

“Right… No yeah, we’re alright. We’re completely fine!” Y/n replies quickly. Why the fuck would you say that? You’re not fine.

There is a pregnant pause and Y/n has half a better mind to just get up, walk to the bathroom again with her head down and lock herself in there till he leaves again, because she cannot take this awkward conversation. Not with him. She shifts, ready to stand up to get some water, when Harry looks at her, confusion and slight panic setting into his face.

“Wait. I don’t think I’m fine…” She looks up at the boy sitting in front of her, reading the words from her mind like they were scribed on a piece of paper in the blackest of ink, permanent and bold. Her heart stuttered. What else did he want?

“Is everything okay, H?” she tentatively asks. He loses eye contact with her, gaze lowering towards the table in front of him

“I-” he pauses, trying to collect his thoughts while simultaneously trying to explain to her why he wasn’t okay. “I just- fuck” his head falls down, his face inches away from the hot tea in his hands, the humid steam billowing out of the mug and warming his elegant face as he takes a deep breath and tries once more to convey his thoughts. “I don’t want us to be friends again.”

Her heart stops. This could go one of two ways. He could either be confessing his hatred or his adoration for her, and either one would probably end with her imploding. She tries to take a neutral tone when she replies.

“What does that mean, H?”

He looks at her once more. “It’s not enough, Y/n... “

“What?” She is confused. Her friendship isn’t enough? How is she supposed to reply to that?

“I want more. I don’t want us to just be friends. I want to be more with you. I want to do more with you. I want to do things that friends… they shouldn’t do together…”

Is he trying to confess he likes her? Why, in all the ways you could speak, would he choose to speak like that?! She has had enough of him dawdling around his feelings. “Harry, stop being cryptic and fucking tell me what’s going on?!”

“I love you, Y/n! I fucking love you, Y/n. So much. And it is eating me from the inside out. I hate that we can’t be normal anymore, and I hate that you don’t love me the way I love you, but I cannot sit here and pretend everything is fine, because I love you.”

Y/n is stunned. Frozen in her spot. Can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe. Stuck in space, and stuck in time.

Holy fucking shit… he loves me…

While Y/n processes the life changing knowledge that her best friend loves her, her best friend conveniently sits next to her, wishing that he was dead for the letdown he was about to receive.

“Say something… please, for the love of God, say something!”

****

She looks up at Harry. Not Harry Styles, playboy, whore, singer, millionaire, but instead; Harry, her best friend of five years, reddened face out of embarrassment. She sees the mortality in his eyes. Feels his presence so heavily in the moment. She is in awe. True awe of him, and his ability to love her. And with that awe- and that stupid look on her face, she reaches up and cradles his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs softly over his plush pink lips. He stands just as still as her, barely breathing, as if it would shatter the fantasy to stardust and he would wake up in his bed, cold shivers running down his spine, as has happened previously whenever he thought of this moment, staring up at his ceiling at 3:40AM wondering why he thought of his best friend in such a way. She creeped closer to his face before stopping a breath away from him, and whispered.

“Is this okay?”

She looked into his eyes, and he looked into hers, both never feeling so alive before. He wishes to tell her that she needn’t ask for his permission, and that he wants to kiss her forever. Eternally locked in an embrace that holds their souls together. But all he can muster is a weak and broken whisper back.

“Please,”

She can hold it for no longer, and leans in the rest of the way, their lips moulding together, for the very first time, eyes fluttering close, as his hands reach to grab her by the hips to straddle him, deepening the kiss even further. And when they part for breath, panting for air with slightly moist lips, they touch foreheads, eyes still closed. Words needn’t be exchanged- everything that yearned to be said was useless, as it could never describe how they truly felt for each other. So hopelessly besotted with one another, that all they could do was breathe together before kissing once more, hoping that their actions could provide even an iota of an idea of how much they love one another.

Two best friends, turned lovers forevermore.

[dulcesiabits]

a minor inconvenience.

summary: When the prefect falls sick for a day, all the first years rush to Ramshackle to take care of Yuu.

notes: sickfic, fluff, friendship, drabble, Yuu + first years, they/them pronouns for yuu, mentions of other twst characters (silver, lilia, malleus, leona, ruggie, vil, rook, riddle, trey, cater), 1523 words

a/n: Letting a sixteen year old child beat up your traumatized students with their weird pet cat and morally dubious friends is not therapy, Crowley!! 

Help! Yuu’s dying!

Honestly, in hindsight, letting a panicked Grim (who didn’t even have opposable thumbs, how the heck did he figure out how to use their phone?)  text the first year group chat was not Yuu’s best idea.

In their defense, however, they were wracked with chills, a sore throat, a horrible cough and a runny nose, so they weren’t exactly in the best mindset to make smart decisions.

And to be fair, Grim was just doing it out of genuine worry-- he couldn’t exactly go to class without his partner, since they each made up half a student. When he had asked how they were doing, Yuu could only moan a “IfeellikeI’mdying.” Grim, who didn’t have more than two intelligent thoughts even on a good day, assumed the worst, and fished out Yuu’s phone. 

It was all done in good faith! There was nothing to be mad about. Grim, who was self-absorbed, worried over them! Even if he disguised it as a “If my number one henchman dies, I’ll have no one to buy me tuna.”

That was what Yuu was trying to convince themself of when their friends, Ace, Duece, Jack, Epel and Sebek, broke down Ramshackle’s rusty, creaky door, magic pens out, worked up in a lather, certain Yuu was on death’s door. 

It was cute that their friends were so worried! No, it didn’t bother Yuu whatsoever that they would need to scrounge up the money to get the door fixed! It didn’t make their headache any better, but it was fine. They were fine.

Still, they couldn’t stop themself from shooting a sharp glare at Ace and Deuce, who tried not to look Yuu directly in the eye. Deuce carried homework that Yuu had missed, and Ace had a lunchbox from Trey.

Jack was holding a bag full of medicine and medical supplies from Sam’s, his tail drooping (Yuu forgave Jack on the spot). 

Epel held a hastily packed container of homemade chicken noodle soup, which smelled so tantalizing that Yuu decided the boy could do no wrong. 

Sebek held a questionable vial of medicine (?) that he swore up and down was a classic fae remedy to any malady. The burbling purple bubbles and bitter smell did not convince Yuu that it would be helpful.

Grim was sulking on the end of their bed, loafing with his paws tucked underneath him like an ordinary house cat. “My henchman can’t get better if you keep bothering them,” he grumbled when everyone had trooped in.

“You’re the one who invited them over,” Yuu said sternly, before looking back at their friends and adding, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“We thought you were dying,” Ace said immediately. 

“Don’t be mad, Yuu,” Deuce added. “We’ll help you fix the door.”

“I can set it back in frame,” Epel said thoughtfully. “I’ve seen my papaw-- my grandpa fix doors before. So I should be able to do it... I think.”

“Enough of that, human. Drink this,” Sebek bellowed, shoving his vial under Yuu’s nose. 

Yuu shrank back into their pillows, trying not to make a face. Now that they were closer to the vial, the strong odor of melting plastic assaulted their nose. “Thanks, Sebek. I appreciate it. I think I’ll be okay, though.”

“What?! Master Lilia himself prepared this brew, and you would refuse--” Sebek began, just as Grim piped up.

“Huh? Are you trying to make Yuu feel worse--” 

“I think what Yuu is saying, Sebek,” Jack interrupted, as Deuce hastily covered Grim’s mouth, “Is that they need to eat something first. It’s hard to eat medicine on an empty stomach.”

Sebek frowned, but lowered his arm. Yuu would have hugged Jack on the spot. “I see! Well, as soon as you have some food, you should drink this. Master Lilia promises that it will cure you right away!”

“That’s great.” Yuu made a mental note to get someone to dump it down the sink when Sebek wasn’t looking. They appreciated the thought, they really did. But they knew what Lilia’s cooking tasted like, and they highly doubted fae medicine would work on humans.

“We’ll go prepare the food,” Ace said quickly, giving a side eye to the vial. “Let’s go, Epel. You too, Sebek.”

The three boys left, leaving Jack and Deuce to fuss over Yuu. 

“This is all the homework you missed,” Deuce said earnestly, dumping some books on Yuu’s night stand. “If you need any help, you can just ask us. I might not be that helpful, but I’ll do my best!”

Jack held out his plastic bag. “Here. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I thought that if you were in trouble, well... you would need as many of these as possible.”

Yuu took the bag from Jack, gingerly sifting through the contents. “Thanks, guys. But, wow, it really looks like you cleaned out Sam’s whole store, huh?”

“Well, Leona heard that something was going on, and Ruggie came with me to go shopping for supplies using Leona’s money. He was the one who suggested we get a bunch of things. He might have bought something for himself on the side, though.”

Huh. The idea that Leona and Ruggie, people who usually only did things if they benefited from it, cared about their wellbeing was touching.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Deuce said. “Trey made you food! Riddle helped with some, and Cater said to feel better soon! He said you definitely can’t miss the next Unbirthday party!”

Grim perked up at the mention of food, drifting closer so he was nestled near Yuu’s legs. “Perfect! I was getting hungry!”

“It’s not for you,” Deuce scolded.

“Eh, it’s fine. I don’t mind sharing.” Yuu smiled, pulling out fever medicine from the bag Jack had handed them. “Hey, can someone help get me a glass of water?”

“I’ll do it,” Jack said immediately, heading out with the fever medicine in hand.

Deuce gingerly sat on the edge of Yuu’s bed. “Class wasn’t as fun without you and Grim. Even Ace was moping.”

“Hah! Of course you would miss the great Grim.”

“Don’t get used to it, though” Yuu informed Deuce. “I’ll feel better again soon. What would you two do without me?”

“We probably wouldn’t get in as much trouble, for one,” Ace said suddenly, his head popping up from the side of the door frame. Marching in, he plopped by Deuce’s side on the bed. “Scoot over.”

Deuce did so with a grumble as the rest of Yuu’s friends walked into the room. Epel was carefully balancing a tray full of soup, sliced fruit, and sandwiches. Jack and Sebek followed, the former holding a glass of water, who handed it to Yuu. 

Yuu drank it in a few gulps as Sebek watched them with furrowed eyebrows.

“I can’t seem to find my medicine, human,” he boomed. “It is a shame. It seems I must nurse you to health myself. Rest assured! You are in capable hands!”

“That is kind of the reason we’re here,” Epel muttered under his breath. Then, more loudly, “Here. I was going to make you soup by myself, but Vil saw me. When he asked what it was for, and I told him I did it because I was worried for you, he decided to make his own... healthy version of it. There should be.. lots of nutrients in it, he said. Rook also showed up and added some... meat... I think.”

Homemade soup from Vil Schoenheit himself? Yuu could sell this stuff for major money. They were honestly surprised so many of their upperclassmen cared about their health. They always seemed to get on the dorm leaders’ nerves with the trouble they got into. So it was nice to see so many people to worry over them.

“Oh, yes. My young master and master Lilia wish you to feel better soon! So you absolutely must, or else! I also wish the same.” Sebek’s cheeks pinken at his own words. “So does Silver, I suppose,” he added as an afterthought.

Yuu gingerly picked up a sandwich. It was easy to tell which of the food had been made by Riddle. The sandwiches were sloppily cut and the ingredients uneven. The fruit slices were lumpy, with bits of peel stuck on them. Still, the image of Riddle, normally so intimidating and stern, fumbling over making a simple sandwich was so out of character they almost laughed.

Grim picked up a sandwich, humming happily at the taste. Epel and Jack were talking about how to fix the door. Deuce slapped Ace’s hand away from trying to steal a slice of fruit. Sebek was brushing off the drawer, exclaiming at how dusty it was, and how it wasn’t healthy.

Yuu smiled, relaxing into the bed and biting into a sandwich. It was nice to know that despite being an outsider who wasn’t even from this world, they had found a group of good friends. They were going to be okay.

(Well, that appreciation would last only until they discovered that Ace, Sebek and Epel had made a mess in the kitchen.)

[guqin-and-flute]

In Your Hands--Ch. 2 [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[Chapter 1]

[This whole fic is the second chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

Yanli is determined to set about evening the exchange of their gifts after she finds a little chest full of her favorite floral incense on his pillow next to her when she wakes. She would like to collect information as he does, sifting through conversation to remember errant tidbits about interests but he is as frustratingly tightlipped on the subject of himself as he ever is. Agreeable to any attempt to draw out his preferences to the point of obfuscation. “Don’t you love this color, A-Yao?” elicits a kindly, “It’s very lovely,” no matter the color in question. She thinks it might be his way of not being a bother, because he certainly isn’t doing anything intentionally. Little does he know that, in reality, it’s making things more difficult on her.

I will know you, she thinks, watching him with keen eyes as they all eat breakfast together and talk. I will give you what you want, if only I could find out what that is.

He catches her watching and tilts his head, smiling in question.

“How are your dumplings?” She asks as an excuse, gesturing. 

“Oh, very good. Would you like some more?”

This man. 

His plate holds a bit of everything on the table, including one of A-Xian’s favored spicy dishes--while it’s something, she already knows he had grown up in Yunmeng and can tolerate spice. She just doesn’t know whether he likes it or not.  

It has almost become a game, to her, if not to him--though she thinks it might be, at least a little, for she sees the flash of satisfaction in his eyes when he lets her take his arm and breathes deeply, taking in the scent of the incense she had let envelop her as she dressed that morning. “You smell wonderful,” he murmurs and she feels herself flush up her neck, even though it had been the whole point of steeping herself in it to begin with.

“Thanks to you.” When she lays her head on his shoulder--partially in thanks, partially to hide her pink cheeks--she feels him lean closer.

She wants to delight him, to see him pleased and surprised into a genuine smile. But more than anything, she truly wants to know more about him. 

There is an inkling of a clue when she buys a guan for him made of graceful silver arches that form a lotus that seems to sit upon water that is reminiscent of the hair pin he had gotten her. When she presents it to him at bedtime, he seems surprised. He lets loose a soft, “oh,” turning it this way and that in his hands. Watching him, triumphant, she slides out her own pin and twirls it next to the guan, allowing her hair to begin its tumble down. “We’ll match.”

For a moment, he simply looks between the two ornaments, one hand coming out to slide his fingertips down the beaded chain of hers. Then, he smiles at her, and it’s wide and very nearly new. “We will.” 

“You like it?”

“Of course, it’s beautiful! I will like everything that you choose to give me.”

She scrunches her nose and tweaks his cheek. “Well, that’s hardly fair! How will I know if you truly do and aren’t just pretending for my sake?”

Turning, he picks her hand up from the bed and chastely brushes his lips across her knuckles. “I will like them because you are the one who gave them, A-Li.”

And at long last, it’s something! Because she thinks it’s true. Perhaps, for him, like it is for her, it is not the usefulness, or the beauty of the thing, but the loving it was given from. She has kept the little drawings A-Xian has given her since he was young, the little carved creatures of wood and soap that A-Cheng used to whittle her (though, realistically, they are little more than blobs she was told are bears and the like. Whatever they look like, they are blobs of love.) She has them lined up on a shelf in her old room, and has brought a few over to the room shared by A-Yao. They make her smile to see because they were made for her; love in a little scene she can revisit through touch again and again. Sometimes, she simply holds them and remembers how it used to be.

This, she decides, is probably what she should focus on for A-Yao--a shelf of happy memories and the knowledge he is loved. 

So, when she is sitting in her favorite pavilion one bright and breezy morning and He Si, one of the servants, delivers a gorgeous new calligraphy set to her and informs her with a barely contained grin that her husband has sent it, Yanli sets to work. After she unpacks and marvels over shiny new things, of course. It’s all sleek and beautiful and of the highest quality.

All morning, she uses his new gift to write him notes that she spends the afternoon ferreting away into places he will find them--like in his pockets or his desk drawers or under his spare boots. Some of them are little lines of poems she cherishes, one or two are shy sketches of the butterflies that had visited and twined through the fluttering, gauzy green curtains as she wrote, and more, still, are idle little thoughts she thinks will warm him. ‘I will be pleased to see you at dinner.’ ‘Remember not to work too hard.’ ‘Have a good day.’

She even gets the joy of seeing him find one while on a walkway, tucked in between 2 delivered missives with the help of He Si’s sleight of hand. The brisk, dutiful stride to business pauses and Yanli watches his slightly bowed head as he reads, the sunlight sliding down his hair like silk. When he looks up and around, she slips behind a delicately carved pillar on impulse so that he can’t see her. Then, she peeks back around. He’s looking back down at the slip of paper in his hand, his mouth a small curl of aching fondness. This one had said, ‘thinking of you.’ Warmth spreads through her when he folds it, neatly and carefully, into his fingers and presses his knuckles to his lips, closing his eyes. It is a moment of him with no mask in sight and she would feel sheepish for intruding if it didn’t bring her such happiness just to see his own. Even after he resumes his purposeful stride and disappears indoors, she is grinning, glowing, and allows herself a moment to seek out He Si to review the heist. “Did it please him?” the girl demands, excited. “What did it say?”

“It’s a secret,” Yanli teases. “And oh yes it did.”

It continues in this manner almost daily, when his gifts allow it; he gives her a parasol and she invites him on a walk under it with her; he buys rich embroidery thread and she weaves a delicate braid for him to wear or display a pendant from. He presents her with a fine silken handkerchief that she returns only days later, embroidered and thoroughly infused with the incense he had given her, draped over his pillow. Sadly, she didn’t get to witness this discovery, but she does see him slip it from his inner pocket as he removes his outer robes, that evening. As she watches him from the bed, Yanli resists the most absurd urge to bashfully pull the covers up over her nose and asks, “You...found it, then?”

Instead of answering, he slowly sits on her side instead of his and spreads it between them on the covers with deliberate care, one side of his mouth tucked up, that dimple pressed in sweetly in the lantern-light. “A pair of mandarin ducks,” he observes, voice quiet, eyes on the handkerchief as he runs his fingertips over it.

“I stitched them myself.”

“They are masterfully done and the colors are beautiful.”

“It was the thread you gave me. I wanted....” The intentions, the symbolism gets caught on her tongue and she blushes. Husband, she has to remind herself. It’s allowed! It’s expected! A long and happy marriage is what one is supposed to want. He makes the prospect of closeness and affection all at once so mysterious and alluring, almost a forbidden thing (though the thought is a ridiculous one, she admits.) “Do you like it?”

He raises his eyes to her and they are night soft. “A-Li, may I kiss you?”

Yanli’s heart jumps to her throat in an anticipatory sort of apprehension and her hands twist in her lap. Anxious without fear; she trusts this and him. “You may.”

Though she had kissed his mouth once before, he had been still, accepting the simple press and nothing more. Now, as he leans in, his hands settle lightly on her jaw, tilting her face up to him, his lips are a sure, gentle slide over hers. It’s odd to have someone so close to her face, and it’s  warmer than she would have thought--not to mention wetter. But not bad. 

Oh no, definitely not bad. 

A-Yao kisses her with the same keen attention he gives everything else; controlled and intent. It feels as if he is slowly sampling her, sometimes the pressure feather-like and almost tickling, and other times an earnest press, inviting her along. The entirety of her skin grows hot at the realization she is being experienced and she can feel her heartbeat as if her entire chest is a drum. He makes it easy, a song that sounds vaguely familiar without completely knowing the next step. She doesn’t feel lost or stupid or silly. She feels wanted. Precious.

When he draws back, her lips are tingling--who would have thought such an ordinary part of her face could produce that much sensation? One would think she would have noticed this before!--and he is watching her carefully. His own lips are slightly pinker and without thinking, she reaches out to touch them, wonderingly. His watchfulness melts at her touch and he smiles against her fingertips--his mouth is warm, like her own when she lifts her other hand to compare. 

“That was….”

“Good?”

“Oh, it was strange but I think I liked it. I--can we try again?”

A-Yao laughs and reaches out as she eagerly shuffles forward on her knees. Yanli allows him to draw her onto his lap sideways but, this time, she reaches out and draws him down. And being the good, patient man that he is, he lets her try again and again as she wishes, moving as she does.

There is no sudden revelation or awakening as she had secretly hoped there might be with such a kiss, (how easy that would have been, if all the whispers and stories and songs had all aligned with ultimate clarity and understanding within her, if it was all at once as easy as everyone else made it seem). But it is new and oddly pleasant to simply be in his arms, closer than she has ever been before, sharing with him. He pulls away and takes her wrist, eyebrows pinched. “You’re shaking. Are you alright?”

Oh. It seems she is. It isn’t fear, but instead a sort of deep trembling that seems to originate from her core, almost like excitement or the kind of giddy terror of a friend chasing you in a game of tag. She smiles up at him. “It’s...new. I think I’m just getting used to it. You’re my first kiss.” 

Something she can’t define as positive or negative before it’s gone passes over his face and he gathers her up, burying his face in her neck, squeezing. She curls back around him, hands stroking his soft hair. “I’m so glad it’s you,” she murmurs, the ghosts of the kisses still shimmering on her lips. “You’re so sweet and kind to me. How did I get so lucky?”

Against her throat, he sucks in a deep, shaking breath before pulling back to deliver an almost perfect smile, the slight tremble in the corner of his mouth the only thing betraying whatever depth of emotion he is feeling. “Jiang-furen,” he says with playful reproach. “You simply can’t steal my lines like that. What will I be left with?”

In response, she clasps his face and leans up to rub the tips of their noses together. "Oh, you're so very clever. I'm sure you'll think of something."

[kinkymankey]

Shantae: Half-Genie Housewife Part 2

It is just around afternoon, as the whirlwind deposits Shantae down on the pier. In front of her stood her lighthouse home, and even though it was well kept it had the feeling of being dingy. “What a state!” She exclaimed, almost in disbelief. “Looks we have some work to do babies,” she says as she pats her belly. “First, a change of clothes,” she declares as she walks inside.

On her first floor was her kitchen, made up of a stove top, an oven and a couple cabinets, joined with a small table with chairs for a impromptu dining room. Some pots and pans hung on the wall alongside a few shelves, and closer to the door was a dry sink with a few books and decorations on it. A rope hung in the middle of the room, leading to the second floor.

Shantae sighed, taking hold of the rope. “However did I manage?” She began climbing up the rope, and though it was quite an effort, she made it to her bedroom with general ease. “Goodness! I should invest in some stairs. Be safer for the babies anyways.”

She looks around her bedroom, which is quite simple. From where the rope hung, a hammock was set up in front of her on two posts, with some sheets hung on it. Above it was a shelf full of books, and to its side was a short nightstand. A bit aways from it was a large brown wardrobe, though some long clean and dried clothes still hung from lines above the room. A gas lamp hung from the ceiling, and behind her was a open window, which was where the lighthouse used to shine its light from.

“Goodness, what a mess,” she exclaimed to herself, beginning her search for some clothes. Opening her wardrobe, she began sifting through it broadly. “No dresses? What have I been doing? Come on, I must have one...ah, this will do.” She pulled out a yellow flowy dress, with some lighter streak of yellow patterning it. She quickly took off her current outfit, hanging it back up in her wardrobe neatly, and pulled her sole dress she owned; she then undid her ponytail, taking a bandana instead to hold the hair out from her face.

“Hmm, none of these look very comfy,” she mused as she looked through her shoes, neatening them up as she went. “Hmph. Ah well, I’ll just go barefoot for now. Besides, it’s time to tidy up this room a bit more thoroughly.”

She slid down her rope and came back up with a bucket of water and a cloth, going down on her hands and knees to scrub the floor. It was a bit of a struggle, her belly getting quite in the way, but she eventually got the floor to shine.

“Perfect,” she smiled proudly, wiping her brow. Her gaze turned to the window. “I think you could use a little once-over.”

She waddled over and scrubbed up the window, providing a clearer view of the town. “There we go! Much brighter, too.” She pauses to look at her progress, cradling her belly. Her eyes soon drift to her hanging clothes and unmade hammock. She shook her head but smiled. “More work for me.”

She started with her hammock, trying her best to get the sheets as even as she can across it. “I should probably get a bed that isn’t a hammock, especially so close to my due,” she talks to herself as she works. “It’s probably a wreck on my back, anyways.” Finishing that, she moved onto her clothes, pulling them down from the lines.  She hung up her day clothes and folded up her pajamas.

“There. Much less cluttered,” she smiled, looking around at her work. Suddenly, a realization hits, and she palms her forehead. “I don’t even have a crib yet!” She exclaimed. “I need quite a bit actually. Should probably get a list together.”

Finding some paper and a pencil, she sits by her window and begins to write. “Let’s see...shoes, dresses, crib,” she mumbles to herself, underlining ‘crib’ in particular. “A bed for myself, probably some new sheets with it, some more baby supplies…”

She looked over her list, and nodded. “That should be it. Looks like I am off to the shops today.” She tucked her list away and carefully began down the rope. Partway down, she catches the stove and oven of her kitchen again. “I guess they could use a cleaning, too,” she assumed, shimmying back up to grab her bucket and rag before finally returning to the ground floor. She also did up the floor, chairs and table as well, since she was down there.

Thinking of which, Shantae checked the cuberts, finding them near bare save for some tea packets, a piece or two of fruit, and a few pieces left of a full loaf of bread. “Oh my! Nothing to eat? No ingredient?” She huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “How silly. Honestly, I can’t believe how silly I was.”

She pulls out her lists and quickly adds all sorts of fruits, vegetables, ingredients and sweets to it. She also added a ‘perhaps’ with a note for a new table and chairs; the one’s she had were fine, but it never hurts to think ahead. Speaking of which, she thought as she looked around her, I need to make things a little safer for the little ones. She stroked her belly, and jotted down ‘baby proofing’ to her list.

As she does that, a knock comes to her door. “Coming!” She chimes sweetly, tucking her list away and waddling to the door.

“Hey, Shan--!” Sky began as the door opened, but seemed to pause and even do a double take. “Shantae?”

“Sky!” Shantae smiled, pulling her friend into a hug. “It’s so good to see you! Come in, come in!”

A bit of a shocked look stuck to the bird keeper’s face, seemingly freezing it as she followed Shantae in. She slowly loosened up as it melted into a look of confusion and hesitance. “Hey, Shantae. Why, uh, why exactly are you wearing a dress like that?”

“Because it’s comfy, silly,” she giggles, heating up the stove and putting a water filled kettle on. “Terribly sorry, I haven’t had a chance to get any food or goodies today, so you’ll have to take your tea on its own.” She sighed.

“It’s cool, I’m not hungry,” she nods slowly and hesitantly. Tea? Why the heck is she serving me tea? “Hey, uh, Shantae. You when I joked, about you going barefoot and pregnant, I, uh, didn’t really think you would.” She laughed a bit awkwardly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” She asked genuinely, getting down the teacups and packets. “It makes more sense than going off gallivanting and adventuring all risky like, especially in my condition.” She pulled out a chair for Sky.

Sky blinked, clearly dumbfounded. “D-Didn’t you just head out this morning on an adventure?” She asked as she eased herself into the seat.

“I did, but I came back after I realised what a silly idea that was,” she smiles. “Not alone, though. I had some help from a lovely man out there who set my head straight.”

“Hm. I think you mentioned on your way out that you were heading out to fight that new baron?”

“Yes! And he was ever so polite!” She nodded happily. “He wouldn’t even think of hurting a pregnant lady, and even offered to walk me home. He was very sweet, not like those other barons. He was a good one.”

“Sure,” Sky nodded. Maybe she’s right? Though it doesn’t explain...this. “So, why exactly are you like this now?”

“Since I realized I should be at home, getting ready for these two angels,” she explains, rubbing her belly and looking down at it warmly. “There is so much still to be done before they arrive, Sky.”

“I assume so. And when did this realization strike? Must not have been last night, since you were showing off that bump at the Dance Parlor,” she chuckled in memory.

“Oh, I know,” she hand waved, her face blushing in embarrassment. “It was so showy of me. You won’t find me there again, count on that.”

“What? But you love being there. It’s basically your second home.”

She shook her head, and smiled. “Not anymore. That was old Shantae. New Shantae is focused on making a nice home for her babies.” She beamed with a whole smile.

“Sure,” Sky nodded slowly. Okay, something’s up. “Again, when exactly did you decide you needed to do this?”

“This morning, when I started chatting to the baron.” The kettle was now steaming. Shantae took it off the heat and poured it into two awaiting tea bag laned cups. She carried them over to the table, setting one in front of Sky and one in front of where she now sat.

“Thanks,” she nodded, taking the cup. “So, new baron. A nice guy?”

“So lovely!” She reminisced. “Ever so kind and polite.” She took a small sip of her tea. “Oh, I only had blueberry tea left, by the way. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” she nodded. “Shantae, if I can be real here, I think that baron did something to you. You weren’t even close to this when you were running by this morning.”

“Oh, don’t be so suspicious,” she chuckled pleasantly.

“Seriously, Shantae, I’m concerned. Something clearly happened. What went down out there.”

“Let me recall,” she set down her cup and tapped her temple. “Hmmm...I went in...he didn’t want to fight me…we had a pleasant talk...and then he walked me home.”

“That’s it?” She asked, slightly presingly. “Hold on, you still wanted to fight him when you got there, right?”

“I think I did,” she responded, stroking her belly softly, “but I soon realized that I shouldn’t be out fighting.”

Sky takes a slow sip of her tea. “What about this morning?”

“What about it?” She asked, giving her friend a funny look.

“Humor me, tell me what you did before you went off to find the baron.”

“Lets see...I woke up, put on that terribly skimpy outfit I always wore, and headed out.”

Sky made a weird noise, somewhere between choking and spitting out her tea. “Wait, did you just call your outfit skimpy? The one you wear everyday?”

“You mean the belly dancer clothes? That thing?” She let out a solid laugh. “It was so showy! I don’t know how I ever enjoyed showing off that much skin all the time, especially with how big my tummy is now! I mean, I’m sure you and the others were just waiting for me to put some clothes on, right?”

Sky sat back in her chair, looking at her cheery friend with a dumbfounded expression. “Okay, something is definitely wrong here. That baron guy did...something!”

“You’re being overly suspicious again, Sky,” Shantae laughed slightly, setting a hand on her shoulder. “I just realized what’s really important to me right now.”

Sky looked distraughtly down at her tea. “This doesn’t feel real...doesn’t feel like you…”

“Oh, Sky,” Shantae gave a comforting smile, pulling her friend into a side hug. “I assure you, it is still me. Same old Shantae, just now with her priorities in line. Please, don’t worry about me, for my sake at the very least.”

She was quiet for a minute, before bringing her teacup back to her lips. “Okay,” she nodded after a long sip, and smiled. “It’s still you here. Still my friend.”

“Exactly!” She smiled, squeezing her shoulder.

“I still think I need some time to process this,” she admitted.

“Of course,” she nodded. “I made a big change, I don’t expect you to immediately acclimate to it. I’m glad you were concerned about me, even if there’s nothing to be concerned over.”

“Still…”

“Enough of that, now.” Shantae playfully put her finger to Sky’s lips. “No worries from you, okay?”

Sky could not help but crack a small smile. “Okay,”she responded partially muffled. “Good,” Shantae grinned, pulling her finger away. “Would you like some more tea?”

“No, actually, I, uh, think I need to go,” she replied, downing the last of her tea. 

“I understand. You need your space.”

“Hate to leave so soon, but I’m sure you have stuff to prepare for the babies.”

“Yeah, actually,” she chuckled a bit. “Was about to head out shopping just when you popped in.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you any longer.” She got up and headed for the door. “See you later?” She asked, pushing the door slightly open.

“Of course. See you later, Sky.” She gave a small wave as she went to pick up the teacups.

The smile on Sky’s face dropped the moment she closed the door, turning to one of urgency as she dashed off to her hatchery. “Wrech!” She called, waking the purple bird from its stoop. “We need to go! We have people to pick up!”

Back at Shantae’s, the half genie set the teacups gently on the left side of the sink with some of the other dirty dishes. She patted her belly happily. “I’m so glad she’s coming around. Hopefully the others understand just as easily. Now, though, shopping!” She walked over to her door and headed out.

[criminally--reid]

library lovers

I h8 the title- n e ways... here's the fix that's been promised to be posted at least twice a week for the past month 😌✋🏽also if u want untagged yk who u are smsbsj lmk,, i just thought id use the anon tag so u could see it snsbsj n e ways let's get on wiv d shit show

warnings: awkward chaotic gay, general smutty stuff y'know, mutual masturbation, i’ve never written mxm fic before so yonkers :| 

word count: 2.6k

Pairing: bi!spencer x (dom-ish)male!reader 

//a.n.\\ somehow the reader ends up in charge and i kinda like it tbh. i'm shit at storylines,  but honestly,, highschool homophobe masturbating with spencer reid? Call that character development 

`°•○●○•°`

You hadn't seen Spencer in years. Remembering the terms the two of you ended on, you weren't surprised either. All throughout highschool, you were the movie-esque tormentors of the frail, nerdy kid. The bully that wasn't actually supposed to exist. The absolute nightmare that had kids like Spencer trembling, dreading to relive the same terror another day. 

Shock couldn't even begin to cover what you felt the day you watched him walk into the library you now owned. You had been working on forgetting him since graduation. Just when you thought the remnants of Spencer had dripped entirely from your memory, everything came flooding in the matter of milliseconds the moment he walked through your door. All the times you watched him eat alone, pick his things up alone after someone had thrown them out of his hands; all the times you could've stepped up and just chose not to. You promised yourself you'd be different. Now was your chance. 

You subtly watch Spencer as he looks through the many isles of books. Beginning at young adult, trailing quickly to non-fiction, and eventually ending up in the classic section. He doesn't spend much time amongst the books - 5 minutes at the most since he walked in - before bringing a stack of 6 books up to the counter; you anxiously waiting to scan him in. 

"Did- did you find all your books alright?" You manage to ask. Spencer merely nods his head, crossing his arms and bringing one of his hands up to his mouth, chewing on his fingernails. His brows furrow and you're worried he's about to say something. 

"I'm a little surprised to see you working here actually." This throws you off. You did not plan for this- this confrontation. 

"I take it you remember me?" 

"I'm not really one to forget things, you know." Fair enough. 

"Well, yes. I actually run the place now. My grandfather had passed it on to me." 

"Oh he's…? I'm so sorry for your loss." 

Spencer's look of sincerity throws you off. After all the years of you being his worst fear, he still had room in his heart to be genuinely kind towards you. 

"It's fine, really. It was so long ago now. And besides- now I have this grand, ancient bookstore." You end with a chuckle and finish scanning the barcodes in each of his books. 

"Thank you- uh actually, could you help me find something else?"

"Of course! What're you looking for?" 

"Everyone keeps recommending me Donna Tart, where could I find some of her work?" 

"Follow me," you gesture and move from behind the counter. 

You walk him over to the very back of the store where all the dark academia-esq books are. While sifting through the books, he asks you a question that catches you completely off guard; his voice nothing above a whisper. 

"And I take it that you don't still hate me-" 

You immediately know what he's talking about. How silly of you to think the past wouldn’t be brought up.  

You clear your throat before speaking up. "I- n-no of course not. I- I uh- I know this is extremely cliche, and I'm not trying to excuse away any of the horrible things I did to you but- I was hiding." 

"From what?" Spencer chimes in quietly. 

"I just didn't know how to feel about myself. Gay this and gay that- it was all so negative. I didn't want to be known for something that was apparently so wrong. I definitely couldn't let the football playing circle jerkers I called my friends know about how I felt towards other guys. An-and I saw how they treated people like you and I didn't want that, so I joined them." 

"So you're gay?" Spencer asks, and you nod slowly. "And you and your 'circle jerking buddies' tortured me because you all thought I was gay?" 

"Well- I- we uh- that's what they said. I knew it wasn't good, but I didn't do anything because of what I was. I know the word 'sorry' will never make up for anything I've ever done or said to you, but I am so so sorry, Spencer." 

"You guys just knew I was gay? -Gaydar that strong, huh?" Spencer ends in a chuckle, easing up your tension, allowing you to slip out a soft laugh, too. 

"Obviously, it wasn't too good. I somehow managed to skate by for four years." 

"That you did." For the first time in years, when you look at Spencer, he doesn't look upset. A content, lazy smile accompanies his happy eyes as he. "Well- actually, I'm not entirely gay so I guess their gaydar needed some tweeking, hm?" 

"Oh, you're-" you attempt, but get cut-off. 

"Bi? Yeah. I realized I was bi when I realized I had a crush on you and your tenth grade girlfriend. What about you?" 

Still skimming the pages of a Donna Tart book, never looking up from it. So nonchalant. Him being so upfront with you was honestly exciting. You never imagined that you'd be remotely friendly with Spencer Reid, let alone him revealing he had a crush on you. "Ah, about junior year, I figured out I kinda had a thing for you." 

"Say, uh," Spencer started, tucking his hair behind his ear and slipping the book back onto the shelf. "I liked you; you liked me. Why don't we hang out sometime or something-" 

You could tell Spencer was trying hard to mask his enthusiasm. You were too. 

"Erm- yeah totally! I get off in about an hour actually; I could call you, and we could grab coffee or something." 

"Sounds great," Spencer says hurriedly as he fishes around in his pocket, drawing out a small slip of paper and drawing the pen from his shirt pocket. He hands you the freshly used paper with his number inscribed on it in smudged black ink. 

The next hour, excitement coursed through you. You're bustling around, fidgeting, unshelving and re-shelving books, sweeping, mopping - anything to keep your mind off of the end of your shift. The busiest yet slowest hour of your life. Your shift ends and your excitement reaches its peak. Your finger hovers over the call button at the bottom of your screen, hesitating. For a split second you get the courage to press call, but then you immediately regret it - that is until his hurried, excited voice slips through the speaker. 

"Hey, y/n! It's Spencer! Uh- you know.. that.. of course. Anyways, uh there's this coffee shop about a block away from my place. I wondered if maybe you'd wanna go and have an early dinner or something." 

You can't help but chuckle at his excitement; trying to calm down your own. "That sounds great, Spencer. What's the place?" 

"Café Negra-" 

"What?!" you cut him off "I go there all the time! How have I never seen you?" 

"What? That's insane. How have we not crossed each other there?" 

"No clue.. Anyways I'll meet you there- uh about 20?" 

"Perfect." Spencer hangs up without any formal goodbyes, but you couldn't care less - you couldn't wait to meet him at the coffee shop. 

The date - which neither of you bothered to assign that title to the event, but you both knew it was, in fact, a date - went impressively well. It's like you two had never been enemies in the first place. Those four years in high school wiped clean of any hard feelings as the two of you drank coffee way too strong for 6p.m., ate double chocolate muffins, and laughed away. 

When it comes time to leave, Spencer stands up first, throwing away his cup and muffin wrapper; you follow quickly and do the same. 

A mutual agreement was somehow made to take it back to Spencer's place. Maybe it was the lack of goodbyes that he seemed prone to. Whatever it was, the evening didn't feel finished. 

Once inside his cozy apartment, he welcomes you to his couch before maneuvering to the tv stand, kneeling down and pulling out three movies. He gestures for you to choose one, and you choose Titanic. Not the greatest choice of the three, but you had a feeling you wouldn't be focused on the movie too much anyways. 

He puts the disc into the player before joining you on the couch. About twenty minutes into the movie, he moves closer to you, resting his shoulder slowly, cautiously as if asking permission. You ease his nerves by welcoming his head on your shoulder and leaning against him in return. The next half an hour is full of stolen glances, light touches, and snuggling. All innocent until Spencer slides his hand up your thigh. You try not to mind it much. Maybe he's just absentminded in all the contact. He doesn't know what he's doing. You try to focus on the movie and not on his hand getting ever so dangerously close until you just can't anymore. Looking down at him, he's already making eye contact with you, driving you wild. Instinctually you connect your lips with his. 

Spencer shuffles over and straddles your lap, never disconnecting your lips. Your hands roam around his shoulders and back before dipping underneath the hem of his shirt and pulling it off. He makes quick work of returning the favor. After a few more chaste kisses, he stands up, pulling you up with him, and pushes his pants to the floor with you following suit. Spencer places his fingers under your chin, bringing your face up to his in an attempt to place another open-mouthed kiss on your bite-swollen lips. However, you muster up a burst of courage and manage to flip the script. Placing your fingers on Spencer’s chest and holding him at arm's length, you keep eye contact while you take a seat on one end of the couch. You motion for him to take his seat at the other end. 

Spencer, still unsure of the current situation, watches you move. He watches as you run your fingertips up and down your thighs. As you wet the palm of your hand with your tongue before running it up and down your shaft. Lightly tracing your fingertips over your reddened head, hissing at the contact. 

“Your turn,” you say barely above a whisper. 

Spencer’s eyes go wide, but he still obliges, wetting his hand and repeating your actions on himself. Hissing and cursing at the contact with his eager cock. He soon gets lost in his own world of pleasure. Moving faster and moaning barely-there profanities. Watching the show, you bring your hand back to yourself. Your eyes shut as you listen to Spencer; his pretty gasps like music to your ears. 

“Y-y/n? I’m- I’m close.” 

“Awh, so soon? You sure you can’t hold on for me just a little longer?” 

Spencer lets out a strangled moan and forces himself to slow his pace. Watching him struggle to contain himself turns you on even more. His desperate whines and pleas for release getting you closer to the edge. “Look at me, bubbas,” you coax. 

Spencer looks up at you, pushing a tuft of hair from his eyes. His other hand still desperately attached to the base of his cock, awaiting further instruction. 

“Listen.. We’re gonna cum together okay?” Spencer only manages a nod in response so you continue. “I want you to move faster again; get closer. But I want you to let me know when you’re about to cum, okay?” 

You’re met with a furious nod for an answer as he works at his waist, bringing himself closer to his climax; you simultaneously doing the same.

“F-fuck fuckfuckfuck! -M gonna cum. Shit! I’m cumming!” Spencer's cries of pleasure send you over the edge and you both spill over together. Your head dips back over the armrest of the couch as you try to catch your breath. You bring your head back up and look at Spencer, only to see him leaning sideways against the back of the couch, still out of breath and coates in a layer of sweat. 

“Why don’t we go get cleaned up, hm?” 

Spencer nods his head in agreement before getting up off the couch and leading you to the bathroom. You definitely aren’t going home tonight.  

[kbstories]

Axiomatic

ax·i·om·at·ic (adj.)

Self-evident; unquestionable.

The best part of battle is the afterparty.

(Or: Remember that banquet Luffy promised? This is it.)

Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Partying

Set in Wano. Spoilers for all of Wano. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

“What do you think?”

Lipstick glides over thin lips, the wax malleable and smooth as it leaves a coat of rusty red in its wake. Killer makes sure it’s perfectly even before he glances elsewhere. In the mirror, Kidd’s face is all scowled impatience.

One last run-down – eyeliner, mascara, lipstick: done, done and done – then Killer grabs the mask waiting for him. “Alright, let me see.”

Their eyes meet and Killer sighs. Metal over skin-and-bone, Kidd’s arms are crossed; his shaved brows push together further. As if Killer doesn’t indulge his every whim by the regular.

“I’m looking. Show me again.”

Kidd grumbles, “Watch.” He opens his arms, reveals an unbuttoned shirt tucked into his favorite patterned pants, glinting gold over black under a double-belted cinch at the waist. So far, so very Kidd.

No, the point of discussion is the frankly massive coat slung across his neck: Nice soft-looking suede on the outside and glossy-grey fur on the inside, it hugs Kidd’s shoulders in all the right places to then cascade down his back in a display of near-ridiculous opulence.

Extravagant, over-the-top, flashy. It’s hard to tell which type of animal had to die for this. There must be a lot less of ‘em now, with this monstrosity in the world.

Kidd is swiveling it back and forth with critical glances to the mirror, the coat wooshing with the motions. Killer takes in the fluid glide of fur over Kidd’s exposed chest, the contrast of impeccable couture against jagged scars. Loses himself for a moment or two imagining how it would feel like to run his hands over both.

An appreciative hum. In Killer’s educated opinion, Kidd looks damn near sinful.

“Yeah?”, Kidd asks and Killer nods. “Yeah. Heh, told ya the detour’s worth it.”

Perhaps it was, although sifting through Onigashima’s treasury whilst bleeding all over heaps of shiny expensive everything might’ve been a case of skewed priorities. There’s no need to talk about what-could-have-beens, though – they’re here, they’re rich and they’re long overdue at Strawhat’s banquet.

Killer’s practically done, tight jeans under a shirt that’s done up to the third button and left to flare open otherwise. It’s not his old favorite (that one stopped fitting him a good year ago) but similar enough, patterned in geometric black-and-white shapes. Definitely one of his fancier ones, not that anyone will care one way or the other where they’re going.

It’s… been a while since it’s been anyone other than them and their crew. Pirates are pirates, allied or no; Killer eyes the scythes neatly stored next to the bed.

Kidd is touching up his lips one last time, the same shade as Killer’s. “Bring ‘em. That Roronoa guy keeps throwing you weird looks and I’m not allowed to kill him.”

Yet goes implied. Killer isn’t wearing his mask and so he doesn’t roll his eyes. “He’s got every reason to”, he reminds his captain, focusing on the heavy clasps of his weapons to keep the memories at bay. The red mark on his chest stings, stuck in the limbo between a healing wound and a fresh scar for a few days still.

A testament to his failure that Killer won’t hide. If Zoro hadn’t stopped him that day his hands would be stained with blood that cannot be washed off, not entirely.

Kidd’s eyes are on him, dark. “I don’t care.”

Resentful as always. Killer reaches for him, digs his fingers into the fluffy lining of that coat and oh, the fur is as soft as it looks. “I do, though.” A firm tug, one Kidd follows until Killer can kiss him, careful not to smudge anything.

“No killing of allies today, ‘kay? We just came back from a war. The crew’s tired. I’m tired.”

“Mh” is all Kidd has to say to that, a grumpy huff against Killer’s lips more than anything. Kidd does give him a proper kiss, however, and Killer knows he won this one.

All he can ask of Kidd is to try, anyways – with two equally hot-headed captains and a whole host of morons around to rile him up, there’s bound to be blood eventually. The trick is to make sure everyone’s drunk enough not to take it too personally.

A pinch to his ass tells Killer he was caught scheming. Kidd smirks, tells him, “We’re getting wasted tonight”, all triumphant like it’s the best idea he’s had all week, and Killer doesn’t miss the emphasis on we.

“Two Emperors down! Strawhat better bring the good stuff tonight or this alliance is over.”

Killer groans, “Kidd”, but he’s smiling, too. Before he can be called out on it, Killer shoves his mask into Kidd’s hands, metal clanking against metal. “Make yourself useful. We’re late.”

Kidd’s laugh is more of a cackle than anything else – “Yes, darling”, said in that sarcastic lilt Killer knows all too well – yet Kidd complies. His hands, organic or otherwise, handle the mask they’ve built with care and precision. Soon, Killer’s vision is narrowed down to dots, the audio filter of his helmet kicking in soon after.

Killer rolls his neck and hums, satisfied. “Ready?”

Kidd throws a final look at himself in the mirror, grinning into the collar of his new coat.

“Hell yeah. Let’s go.”

*

The banquet is a sprawling, messy affair that swallows the entirety of the ramshackle village the Strawhats picked as their home in Wano Country.

From the moment the Kidd Pirates get there they are surrounded. Wherever Killer's eyes roam there are knots of people drinking, eating, laughing and crying, sometimes simultaneously – there, at the heart of it all where the crowd is thickest, burns the largest bonfire Killer has seen in a while, perhaps ever. Smiling faces all around and for once, it doesn’t make Killer’s stomach drop because they’re genuine.

Survivors of SMILE just like him, caught in the rush of real emotions for the first time in who knows how long. Killer has a pretty good idea how that feels like.

Next to him, Kidd is so tense he’s stalking, gaze intense, oozing Haki to keep people away; Wire’s hand is clenched to bloodlessness around his trident while Heat exhales a bit of smoke with every breath and yeah, Killer gets it. Can’t help it himself, either, scythes kept close to his sides to make sure they’re there.

The thing is: They don’t do these kinds of things. Parties, yes, many and often but not like this. Killer can count on one hand the amounts of times the population of any island was actually happy to see them, much less willing to send them off with one big feast.

Actually, he wouldn’t need to count at all because it’s simply never happened. Even filtered by his mask it’s… a lot to take in at once.

The entire damn country is here, it seems, all breathing a collective sigh of relief so monumental the air itself carries their joy. For all that the Kidd Pirates were in this for revenge and glory, Killer can’t deny it’s rewarding to see a nation so ravaged by an Emperor’s greed do whatever they want for the first time in decades.

Finally, a few familiar faces start popping up. Some of the samurai greet them with nods of their heads, overly formal like the people from Wano tend to be; here and there they spot the distinctly branded yukata the members of Trafalgar’s crew are wearing and, rarer but all the more noticeable, those animal people Strawhat dragged along from somewhere.

Minks? Or something? Killer is inclined to say it doesn’t matter if they didn’t have the habit to jump on them out of fucking nowhere. Looking for bone-crushing hugs and wet-nosed kisses, of all things, and– Oh no, he did not sign up for this.

Much less for whatever that group of cat minks are gearing up to, staring at the holes in his mask with eyes nearly swallowed by black, round pupils. Killer is absolutely, solidly convinced he doesn’t even want to know what that’s all about.

“Captain.”

And yeah, his tone is a little more alarmed than he truly means it to be. It gets Kidd’s attention, though – himself having fought off a dog mink enamored with his metal arm not too long ago – and he barks a laugh even when he ramps up his presence to an almost stifling degree.

“C’mon, I feel Strawhat up ahead.”

To nobody’s surprise, they find him smack dab in the middle of everything. Strawhat and his crew are lounging around the bonfire, there’s no other way to describe it: All broad smiles and flushed faces amidst the chaos, completely in their element, and it’s hard to tell if it’s the closeness to the bonfire or the vaguely impressive amounts of empty bottles lying around already. They’re certainly boisterous enough for it to be the latter, even Jinbei.

And no, Killer hasn’t quite processed that turn of events yet. The strangeness of seeing someone of that caliber wheeze into his mug with laughter as his (new?) captain takes a disturbingly big bite out of an even bigger chunk of meat is… not helping things, in that regard.

What a bunch of weirdos. In the safety of his mask, Killer allows himself a small smile.

From here the flames seem to reach for the sky, tinged in warm pinks and oranges by the sinking sun and there, very faintly, Killer can make out the first stars. He can’t remember ever seeing them, not with the factories running over night as well.

“Spikey!!”

Ah. Killer’s head turns with Kidd’s and it’s a good thing, too, because there’s a stretched arm coming for his captain – Kidd bites out, “Nope, no, Strawhat”, red eyes going wide – and Killer manages to side-step it in the last possible second. One, twice it wraps around Kidd, fancy coat and all, and then the rubber recoils.

“Killer!”

Oh my, Killer thinks mildly as he watches him go. Behind him, half their crew is flabbergasted and the other half is in stitches. “Captain’s gonna be in such a mood”, Heat says to Wire, and it just sends them into another fit of chuckles.

For Killer, finding a drink becomes his top priority. So much for keeping things peaceful.

>>Chapter 2.

[wat-the-cur]

Some More Frog Brothers Headcanons:

- Both of the Frog Brothers believe in the existence of fairies. Alan, who wished he could meet some fairy folk, even before he really believed in them, is certain that they should attempt to make contact with one. He maintains that association with such a creature could be beneficial to their cause. He is sure it would hold some invaluable information. Edgar, as always, is a lot more wary, uncertain if a fairy could be trusted any more than a vampire, or a werewolf. He keeps tidying away the enticements that Alan leaves out, around the house, scolding him for his careless behaviour. He decides it would be much safer to go outside and seek out a fairy than to invite one into their home, were it could cause untold mischief. So that is what they do, when they feel they have time. 

- Alan is a fantasy fanatic and you can prise that from my cold, dead hands. He definitely has a Falcor toy that he uses as a pillow. 

- Edgar has a gargantuan crush on Jodie Foster. Once, Alan caught him giving a magazine clipping of her a goodnight kiss, while he thought he was asleep. Though Alan assured Edgar it was no big deal, at the time, in certain circumstances he does threaten to tell Sam. 

- Alan fiddles around with his gum, far more than he chews it. He will wander around the shop, playing cat’s cradle with his slick web of masticated bubblegum, before shoving it back into his mouth and putting his slobbery fingers all over the merchandise. 

- One of the only film scenes to make Edgar tear up, was Rambo’s breakdown at the end of “First Blood”. He tried to hide it, but his eyes were rubbed raw by the time the credits rolled. 

- Early in his friendship with the Frogs, Sam never heard Edgar laugh, nor did he see him smile very much. For quite a while, he believed that Edgar was probably just someone who was born without much of a sense of humour, or else he simply did not understand anyone else’s. This misconception came to a sudden end, one afternoon at Frog Comics. 

The shop was rather empty at that particular hour. Sam had seated himself on the counter, munching his way through a bag of pick ‘n’ mix. Alan was restocking nearby and Edgar was sweeping up around the counter. Sam had been vaguely aware of Scooby Doo rerun, playing on the aged television that propped up dozing elder Frogs, but paid it no mind as he sifted through his sweets. He did not even notice when Edgar paused his work to squint at the cartoon shenanigans, flickering across the cloudy, little screen. Sam’s confectionaries nearly went flying from his lap, when he was startled from his selection by an unfamiliar sound, beside him. 

Edgar was resting his chin upon the tip of his broom as he gazed at the TV screen. A thin, yet oddly toothy grin had crinkled his eyes into bright, little slits. He was laughing. Little snorts, huffs and voice cracking giggles bubbled from his nose and through his teeth. It was an image so unlike that of the Edgar that Sam had known, up until then, that he did not know whether he thought it beautiful, or nightmarish. His rapt attention was distracted momentarily, by Alan marching by him and when he looked back to Edgar, he was sweeping again, looking as stoic as though he had not been amused at all. Months elapsed, before Sam heard Edgar laugh like that again. By then, he was ready to welcome and enjoy it. 

- When there is some down time at the shop, but Alan knows he may have to spring back into action at any time, he likes to recite things to himself. Song lyrics, poems, entire chapters of books, or conversations from his favourite comics. If he makes any mistakes in his recital, he will go back and start from the beginning. 

- Edgar likes Scooby Doo, but Alan is also partial to cartoons. One of his favourites is “The Pink Panther Show”. Edgar cannot understand this, as he finds that show very boring and will not let Alan forget it. 

- Alan prefers to eat with his fingers, whenever he possibly can. His food will have to be pretty wet, or soft, or hot, before he will fetch himself a fork. He rarely, if ever sits down at the table to eat a scheduled meal, preferring to graze throughout the day. He never, ever uses crockery. He eats out of packets and tins and drinks straight from the carton. You can always tell where he has been eating, because he leaves crumbs and spatters and bits of cereal on every surface. 

- Edgar does not have scheduled meal times, either, but he does prefer to eat at the table, with his food on a plate. He will forego a knife, preferring to cut up his food with his fork. His diet I said extremely repetitive and bland, full of carbohydrates. He is always noticeably defensive of his meal when he is eating, leaning right over it, setting his elbows on either side, like a cage. This is because, despite their differing palettes, Alan likes to see if he can grab morsels from his plate, before he can stop him. In spite of the fact that his habit has and still will get him choke slammed onto the kitchen table, Alan always likes to see just how speedy he can be about it.

- The fandoms seems to be on the fence about who is the eldest of the two brothers. Personally, I like to think it is Alan, by a year, or two. The reason that Edgar always seems to call the shots, is because Alan has exactly zero leadership skills.

- Whilst Edgar is hugely resourceful, excellent at making quick decisions and saying “Let’s go here and then do this.” he also has some pretty huge weaknesses. He has a really poor memory for things like directions, names and times and he cannot read a map to save his life. These are areas where Alan has to step up, because his memory is immense. 

- If Edgar does not do something important, that he was meant to do, it is because he has genuinely forgotten. If Alan does not do something important, that he was meant to do, it is because he does not care enough to do it. The important things that he fails to do, are invariably related to himself, alone. 

- When Edgar was little, his idea of “playing”, was to run laps up and down the board walk, or the beach. Alan would set limitations, so that he would never run too far away from him and he could keep an eye on him. 

- Alan sometimes walks around the shop barefooted, because something being barefoot calms him down when he is feeling anxious. 

- It was some while before Edgar actually started wearing trousers. When he was young, he had two, or three smock garments that his Mother made for him, which he wore until they were too short for him and falling to pieces. After they became officially unwearable, he transitioned over to shirts and jeans, but took a while to get used to it. He now has a few smocks that he has bought from charity shops, but only wears them to bed, because has gotten used to wearing a lot of layers. 

- Edgar is the best at drawing, out of the three Monster Bashers. 

- Edgar and Alan’s common ground when it comes to music are The Balfa Brothers and Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band. If Sam has one more thing to say about either of those, Edgar will throw him out of the shop, for blaspheming. 

- Whenever they go to over Sam’s house, Alan always asks him if he has seen any rabbits in the fields, nearby. 

[sirius]

Chaos Theory

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Reader x [redacted], Reader x [redacted] ;)

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 3350

A/N: Finally, it’s here. After much planning and many, many drafts, it’s here. I want to state for the record that this is going to be full blown fic, I’ve already got a heap of chapters planned and three have already been written. Also, things are not what they seem. There will be twists and turns and love interests pouring out from the earth because I’m That Bitch. I’m also a sucker for drama. Anyway, enjoy chapter one!!

Chapter One                                                              

Like most complicated things in life, this story starts with a boy, a secret and a smile.

Even in retrospect, they seem like they’ve been scribbled on a scrap piece of paper and blindly plucked from a nice, big bowl of what-else-can-the-universe-thrust-at-me for the sake of twisted arbitrary, but not everything is as it seems, and everything seems ridiculous and inconvenient. But, at the same time, maybe you should have seen this coming. Maybe you should have predicted the shit storm that was going to spin your life into vertigo, like the earth has been tipped off its axis, latitude and longitude slipping and colliding while the corners of the map fade to ash.

It happens, as you would later realize with an impending sense of doom, like this:

In the summer of 1994, you and your friends stumble through the forest, looking for an old boot.

The forest breathes a cool sigh of air against your cheeks as you wander past the trees, eyes glued to the ground for the boot. Every time your mind drifts to the Quidditch World Cup, the excitement begins to bubble up inside your stomach and you can’t fight back the smile that spreads across your face whenever you reflect on the past few days. Staying at the Burrow was always like an improved version of home, but this time, it's different somehow.

Perhaps it’s the freedom of staying somewhere that isn’t your home. Not that your place isn’t comfortable; you don’t think anyone could deem a Victorian mansion with sprawling, manicured lawns ‘uncomfortable’. But it’s starting to feel more like a sad skeleton with marble walls for skin instead of a home, especially with your father always working and your brother, Luke, staying with his Slytherin friends for the summer.

There’s something about the company, too, that makes this moment so special. Being reunited with the Weasley family and being welcomed into their home is always like visiting relatives. And there’s always something to catch up on with Hermione. Then there’s Harry…

You glance at Harry, who is sifting through the leaves beside you. He’s talking about…something…one hand jammed into the pocket of his jeans, the other swinging by his side, and it’s somewhat refreshing to see Harry so relaxed, so undeniably Harry. Warmth thrums through your veins like honey and you can’t help but smile as you regard him fondly in the late morning sun.

It’s been a while since you’ve shared a moment alone with your best friend. Usually, you’re joined by Ron and Hermione, but they’re currently preoccupied with a debate over…whatever they debate over. You can actually hear them bickering; Hermione’s voice tight and shrill and Ron’s sarcastic remarks muffled by the distance between you and them.

With the sound of their bickering in the background, and the warmth of Harry’s presence forming a bubble around you, the urge to chisel ‘I love my friends’ onto every single rib in your ribcage floods you like a wave of sunlight. It’s essentially how you feel when you’re not saving Hogwarts from corrupt teachers and giant basilisk or helping innocent fugitives escape the kiss of a Dementor. And moments like these remind you just how fortunate you are to have found your friends.

Harry’s gentle chuckle brings your wandering thoughts back into the moment as it fades into a gleeful smile.

“You should have seen the look on his face…” Harry smirks, though the context of the conversation is lost to you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now Dudley second guesses himself whenever he tries to bully me. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder because he’s expecting Sirius to jump out and turn him into – I don’t know¬– a dung beetle,” he pauses and then barks a laugh like he’s just remembered something, “Or a pig! Did I tell you about the time Hagrid gave Dudley a pigs tail?”  

“He didn’t…” you gasp, and Harry gives you an exaggerated, shit-eating grin, “Merlin, he actually did!”

“When he first told me that I was a wizard and delivered my letter to me…he used his umbrella and…” Harry mimics pointing an umbrella at a stone and pretends to cast the spell. You playfully punch his shoulder and Harry recoils with a yelp.

“That was for not telling me,” you scold, fighting back the smile that’s tickling the corners of your lips, “I thought we agreed to tell each other stupid stuff that happens to our relatives.”

Harry pouts an apology, “Can I make it up to you?”

“You can,” you smirk, “but are you prepared to pay the price?”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it,” Harry grins.

There is a fleeting moment where the two of you stare at each other in silence, but the moment is broken with a laugh as you both dissolve into hysterical laughter. A good five minutes pass before you cradle your stomach and heave out a sigh, attempting to regain your composure. Once the remainders of your chortles and giggles fade, you notice a strange look crossing Harry’s face as he stares at you.

“What is it?” you ask, breathlessly, wiping away tears.

“(Y/N) I–”

“(Y/N)?” a curious voice asks from somewhere behind you. You swivel around at the sound of your name, lips curling into a smile when you see Cedric Diggory standing behind you.

Your mouth goes a little bit dry.

“Hi Cedric,” you smile as Cedric approaches, and you suddenly feel self-conscious and bashful.

Your eyes travel over him as he draws closer. He’s tall and broad and athletic, bronzed skin and eyes so blue you could drown. His expression is one of pure delight, like stumbling upon you had been the best thing that’s happened since Christmas, and it’s so genuine it almost convinces you that it’s true. And his smile; gracious and gentle and golden–

That smile of his could cure every disease known to man.

“It’s good to see you,” He grins, boyishly, sounding genuinely pleased.

“You too,” you reply, your voice sounding distant like you’ve stepped outside of your own body and your mouth is moving on its own accord.

Cedric gazes at you with a gentle warmth, eyes as blue as a clear, summer sky, drawing you in. And there’s something inviting about his smile like his lips want to reach down and embrace yours in a tender kiss–

Harry clears his throat and it jolts through you like electricity, almost startling you “Oh, Cedric, this is Harry. Harry, this is Cedric–”

“It’s great to finally meet you now that we’re off the Quidditch field, Harry,” Cedric beams, extending his hand.

Harry takes it, “Yeah, you too…”

Cedric turns back to you, the blue in his eyes washing over you like a wave, “How was your summer?”

You put a little too much effort into a smile you hope looks graceful “Oh, um, it was…pleasant.”

“Pleasant?”

“Yeah. Harry and I have been staying with the Weasleys. How’s yours?”

“Pleasant,” He echoes, grinning, and you feel heat tickle apples of your cheeks, “I met this girl at the end of last year and she…she’s really something y’know? I can’t seem to get her off my mind…”

Cedric trails off into a sigh, gazing into your eyes. You’re reminded of a wilted fire lily pressed between the pages of a dozen letters, all of them signed off with a curling ‘C’; long strands of amber butterbeer melting over your tongue; a spring breeze fragranced with wildflowers and the promise of romance; and a smile, soft and reassuring and setting your entire world alight in a fiery blaze of heat and passion.

Harry clears his throat again and it whips both of you back into the present.

“Looking forward to the game?” Cedric asks.

“Definitely,” you grin, excitedly, “This is Harry’s first Quidditch World Cup,”.  

“It is?” Cedric peers around you and smiles at Harry, “You’re going to love it. Especially this game; two teams at the top of their game, competing for the trophy…”

“It’ll be interesting to see who wins,” You remark, pensively, “Penelope will probably want me to write an article about the game for The Howler, no doubt.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it,” Cedric remarks, “I admire your articles anyway.”

Your heart staggers clumsily around in your chest like someone’s reached down and yanked it up into your throat. Your face is definitely changing colours now; you can feel the heat of a bright red blush burning your cheeks like sunburn.

“Y-You do?”

“Yeah! I genuinely look forward to reading everything you write. They’re interesting and well written. I especially liked the one about the Toad Choir...”  

Your mouth flaps open as you search for words, stumbling over letters and syllables like a bashful child, “Well–uh–I–”

“–Over here, Arthur! Over here, son! I’ve found the Portkey!”

Amos Diggory’s voice split through the still air, the echo rippling through the trees and startling some sparrows.

Relieved by the distraction, you spin on your heel and follow the sound of Mr Diggory’s guffaw’s and Mr Weasley’s voice. Cedric walks on your right side, Harry on your left. It is suddenly unbearably hot like the sun is boring its fiery gaze into your soul. An itch forms on the inside of your wrist as though there was an insect wiggling beneath the thin skin. You claw at it hastily, fingers fumbling with your bracelet in an effort to distract yourself. 

Hermione and Ron join you a few minutes later while Mr Weasley introduces his family to Mr Diggory. As they talk, you can feel Hermione’s eyes moving over you as though she were micro-managing every movement that you make, like you’re pinned beneath a microscope. You turn to her, unsurprised by her expression. She raises her brows expectantly, her eyes darting between you and Cedric.

“Oh,” you bleat, turning to Cedric, “Guys, this is Cedric. Cedric, this is Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.”

Cedric’s lips quirk into a genuine smile, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” Hermione smiles gracefully.

“Yeah,” Ron agrees. Well, at least they can agree on something.

Mr Diggory makes his way over, clapping a hand on Cedric’s shoulder and regarding you curiously. Cedric introduces you to Mr Diggory and his lips curve into a knowing smirk.

“So you’re the writer my son can’t stop talking about,” Mr Diggory’s remark is followed by a firm handshake, “It’s good to finally meet you in the flesh, (Y/N).”

Cedric’s face flushes an intriguing shade of pink, “Dad…”

Mr Diggory barks a warm, boisterous laugh that rattles your chest, “Don’t worry, son, I don’t think she’s going anyway soon.”

He turns to face you, his benevolent, round face beaming at you, “Cedric showed me an article you wrote about last year’s Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Beautifully written. You’re a real talent, y’know. Though I shouldn’t expect any less, given that your old man is the editor-and-chief of the Daily Prophet.”

Warmth glows beneath your cheeks as you smile bashfully at Mr Diggory, “Well, thank you, sir.”

“Sir,” Mr Diggory echoes, followed by a single laugh that punches the air. He turns to Cedric, whose boyish features ripple between embarrassment and pride, and jabs him in the ribs, “She’s a keeper, Ced.”

Cedric winces, an adorable, pink flush blossoming across his cheeks as he fumbles to change the subject, “Er, Dad, we should probably get moving.”  

“Right you are,” Mr Diggory nods, his gaze searching for Mr Weasley amongst the throng of redheads.

As the conversation moves toward Mr Weasley and – predictably– steers toward Harry, you meet Cedric’s eyes and he offers you a bashful, apologetic smile.

You pray to God, Jesus and Merlin that he can’t hear the tha-thump of your racing heart.

***

Portkeys are, perhaps, the second worst way to travel. The first is through the Floo Network because it’s dusty and dirty but Portkeys are…sudden, and the uncomfortable tug in your stomach only makes you feel dizzy and slightly nauseous.  

Fortunately, you’re not the only one who fell face-first on the ground and consequently got a mouthful of dirt. When your vision finally stops spinning, you notice most of the Weasley family collapsed on the ground. Ron groans beside you as Hermione and Harry scramble to their feet. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory and Cedric are the only ones standing, the latter of whom looks a little windswept. He bends down and offers you a hand.

“You alright?” he asks, concern pinching his perfectly chiselled face. You nod and bite your lip as he helps your sorry self to your feet.

You dust the dirt from your grass-stained knees and iron out your denim skirt with the palms of your hands, using it as an excuse to tame your pounding heart. Pushing your hair back, you flash Cedric a shy smile, “Thanks.”

“Happy to be of help,” Cedric grins.

“Of course you are…” George snickers from behind Cedric and Fred snorts.

Cedric swivels around and flashes a polite smile, “Pardon?”

The sun’s heat feels concentrated, baking you with the kind of heat that could shrivel a Sunday roast. The itch returns to the inside of your wrist and you nervously scratch at it with newfound intensity. 

“Oh, nothing, your Highness,” Fred mimes an exaggerated bow, “Er, I mean, Cedric.”

“Good ol’ Ced,” George winks, glancing between you and Cedric. 

Fred claps a hand on Cedric’s shoulder, “Ric…can I call you Ric?”

“Well–”

“Anyway,” you interject before this conversation can get any more embarrassing, “We should probably get moving.”

Without even thinking, you take Cedric’s hand and lead him away from the twins, hoping to create as much distance between you and them as possible. You finally come to a stop behind Ginny and Hermione.

“That was….”

“Awkward?” you suggest.

“I was going to say ‘Interesting’, but ‘awkward’ works, too.” Cedric offers you a lazy, boyish smile. 

You realize your fingers are still interlaced with his and you jerk away from him hastily, as though he’s infected with a contagious virus, and anyone else would be offended by it but not Cedric. Instead, he eyes you with an expression that resembles amusement or intrigue or both, but he doesn’t say anything. You kind of want to leap into a barren, boundless void and hibernate in there for a few thousand years.

“So, my dad is going to hang out with his Ministry friends tonight,” Cedric begins, glancing away shyly, “He…erm…says it’s his ‘Quidditch tradition.’”

“So you’re essentially being ditched by your own dad,” you snort, “Nice.”

“Well, here's the thing…if I say I have company then he won’t feel so bad.”

You blink at him, “What are you saying?”

Cedric smiles boyishly, “Well…I’m saying…asking, really….if you’d like to come over and we can sit around a fire and eat s’mores and just chat. I like talking to you instead of having to send an owl all the time.”

You bite your lip and nod, “Okay. So it’ll just be…us?”

“What will ‘just be us?’” Ron sidles up to the two of you, Harry following. Harry’s eyes move between you and Cedric. There is something unreadable in his gaze. 

“Oh, I was just….” Cedric flushes, as though he were internally battling something, before conceding with a somewhat forced smile “Would you guys like to meet up later tonight?”

“Sure,” Ron shrugs, “Anything to get away from them two.” He jabs a thumb at Fred and George.

“Oh we’re coming too!” George chimes, “We don’t know what it is but if it’s going to be fun, we’re there.”

“Otherwise we’ll make it fun.” Fred adds.

You turn to Cedric, who is graciously trying to stave a grimace, “Of course. You guys can come too.”

“Come along then, son.” Mr Diggory waves Cedric over, smiling at the two of you, “We’d better settle in before the game begins.”

The game isn’t for a few hours but Cedric doesn’t argue the point. Instead, he gives you a lingering look and grazes his hand against yours, “I’ll see you later on tonight.”

“See you tonight,” you call after him, grinning from ear to ear.

Later on tonight, you think with a smile. Your mind pulls apart the words and stitches them back together, your heart singing like a dove in your ribcage.

***

Out of the hundreds of wizards and witches gathered on the camping grounds, you just have to run into a familiar, blonde-haired prat, like he’s a rather annoying shadow.

Whether you like it or not, Draco Malfoy is always there, just waiting to claw his hands into whatever is left of your optimism for the day and tear it to shreds. You can’t even go on a walk with your friends without him popping out of a bush or crawling out of some den like a predator. Even if you’re soaring on a high from Cedric’s earlier invitation, Malfoy almost insists on wiggling his way under your skin. He’s an irritation you haven’t learned how to scratch yet.

You nudge Harry in the ribs when you spot the boy, nodding in Malfoy’s direction. Thankfully, it’s just the four of you, and you remember with a sense of relief that Mr Weasley isn’t here. You don’t want a repetition of what happened the last time he encountered a Malfoy, even if he is a miniature one.

But before either of you can react, Malfoy has already spotted you and he’s swaggering over to the four of you with a malicious glint dancing in his cold, blue eyes before you can formulate a plan of escape. 

“I knew I could smell something foul,” Malfoy scorns, crinkling his nose, “You can smell a Weasley from a mile away from the stench that reeks off them. I suppose you all can’t afford to take showers every day since there’s so many of you. Got to save water now, don’t we?”

Draco snickers gleefully as Ron’s fists curl at his sides. His face is flushed crimson with anger as Hermione grips his wrist warningly.

“Malfoy,” Harry spits, his tone cold and venomous, “The only putrid smell around here is you.”

“Please, Potter, don’t play pretend,” Draco sneers, “Just because no one knocked any sense into you doesn’t mean we have to put up with the peasant and the mudblood.”

“You watch your mouth, Malfoy!” Ron snarls, “Before I break it in with my fist.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Draco smirks, challengingly.

“We all know you’re a coward,” Harry snaps, “Your dad isn’t here so you don’t have to prove your worth anything.”

Draco’s expression darkens, “What would you know about fathers, your father is dead.”

Harry moves to lunge at Draco but Hermione pulls him back. You can almost feel the loathing rolling off Harry as his mouth twists into a frown and his eyes light up like emerald flames. You turn to Draco, imploring him with a pleading look.  

“Look, you’re wasting all of our time. We’ve got better things to do…”

Draco sniffs, fixing a glare on you, “You’re lucky you’ve got your pretty, little girlfriend here to protect you, Potter. Next time, I’ll make sure you’re not so fortunate.”

Draco whirls around and leaves before any of you can say another word.

“Good riddance,” Ron spits, his temper simmering, “He always has to ruin everything…”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “Don’t let stuck-up snobs like Malfoy put you down. It’s the World Cup. Forget about it.”

Hermione drags Ron away, charging through the crowd. You’re about to follow her, too, but notice that Harry is rooted to the ground where he stands. You put a hand on his shoulder and rub soothing circles, hoping to release some tension.

“Forget about Malfoy, Harry,” you smile, “Let’s enjoy the moment and look forward to the game…” and spending the night with Cedric your mind whispers as your heart leaps excitedly.

Harry offers you a weary half-smile as you take his hand, tracing comforting circles across the top of his thumb. He’s always been good at deflecting Malfoy’s attacks. But there’s something ominous in the way he stares at you that has you thinking that maybe this isn’t over. 

You don’t bother to bring it up, though, hoping Harry will release it with all his other worries.

Chapter Two will be coming soon! 

[tuwam]

there's something about you / it's when you get angry / hold me, i saw mercy ( taeshik )

@memseni (

there’s something about you.

when people ask, what is it exactly?

it’s ice cream cones after work. hyunshik with his hair a little matted from longer hours and the longer walk in the sun it takes to get to their favorite place ( taeyang’s favorite ) though it’s out of the way. chocolate and vanilla swirl in a cake cone. it’s hyunshik handing it to him without a word and the sound of giggles behind the desk bringing cherry colors to his cheeks. it’s how hyunshik knows but doesn’t have to ask. how taeyang doesn’t have to say much but the smile when he eats is the first he’s had all day. the first genuine one.

it’s how hyunshik has learned to thrive selfishly but still waits for taeyang to get off, still walks out of the way to walk him home. it’s how all the things that make taeyang warm are so subtle and that’s what makes it worth it. what makes it build up until he can’t handle it. caramel sprinkles atop his frappuccino, a hoodie thrown his way because ‘the hospital’s cold stop forgetting your jacket ( even if taeyang forgets to give it back ).

it’s how whenever he walks into the coffee shop, he’s warmed from his head to his toes, from a simple smile so unlike the others ( and so unlike the ones he gives others ).

there’s just something about the person living about, living so fearlessly, so easily, that’s captured him. someone who people might misinterpret, someone who’s too easy to understand, and maybe too easy for people like taeyang to get trapped by. because he’s had to live carefully, cautiously, and he reads too deep into people, always giving the benefit of the doubt.

hyunshik is what he gives people, and he’s never given taeyang anything but the things he’s lacked since he was young. a little humanity, a little edge, and something gentler than the touch of a sweater or a breeze in the fall.

he can’t explain that well. he thinks the color on his cheeks or the way his hands cover his face does a good job.

he thinks that because of who hyunshik is - he shouldn’t have to. he won’t have to. whatever it is, he’s grateful for it, for a feeling that’s not like he’s constantly sifting through life. floating through dreams and around the people he sees in them.

it’s something.

a deadpan gaze that softens a little at the edge when taeyang walks in ( that he won’t admit and that joowon swears he can’t see ), cheeks a faint tint, a subtle bloom like the flowers budding early and nervously as opposed to ones that won’t stop blooming, that never die in winter. words that don’t cut as people expect, but reach, at least they reach. taeyang - in all his wandering and wonder, finds himself tuning in, only when hyunshik speaks. hyunshik makes him want to listen, want to stay a little grounded. because it’s so few and so treasured and so - him.

‘what is it?’

taeyang’s been staring, spaced out again. the warmth is a little more than the heat he feels at being caught. it’s more than how, despite the door being open and the fan on high, the heat filling the coffee shop. the breeze blows and blows and he realizes that by now, the water droplets on his frappuccino have condensed and they’re about to make a puddle on the counter. he’s not wearing sleeves so he reaches to clean it up before hyunshik notices.

the eyes don’t leave him though, taeyang thinks hyunshik’s been trying to kill him with these looks lately. instead, he stops himself mid-reach for a napkin, places his chin back in his hand.

“nothing.”

hyunshik just grabs the drink to put a coaster underneath it, taeyang getting a small sweep of a rag against his shoulder as a warning, before he’s moving about again.

it’s everything.

it’s when you get angry

taeyang isn’t always so grounded. especially when it comes to memories, nostalgia.

typically spring is the worst for him, but summer is a close second. because sometimes he falls asleep on rooftops, sometimes that’s the escape. sometimes days of cloud-watching turns into days of getting stuck. when the heat makes too many people sun-bathe, too many people laying in parks and dreaming aloud. enough that it’s heavy. enough that he remembers his own dreams. remembers the springs spent getting ready for recitals, concerts. the springs spent dancing on porches, on balconies. with friends and with a future ahead of him.

taeyang remembers those days clearly on the days it’s too hard for him to separate. because it takes all in him to stay grounded and not float between the wishes people call into their minds during the day. summer brings that more often than not. brings wishes and joy and everything that’s built in hope.

he gets like this. a heavy summer sickness akin to lethargy. deep and heat-filled nights. the kind of heat that he feels in his head and drops his toes through the floor. the heat he can’t quite sweat out but instead suffocates him more than the pillows and the blankets.

he gets like this.

though it’s been a while it happens. interns have either more free time during the summer or even less. it varies my school, varies by administrators too. taeyang whose every second is spent at the hospital, is given more time during the summer. to breathe, relax.

he’s never used it. never really had to.

but this is a little harder to bear. a little deeper that it feels almost as if he’s weighed in lead and not bone, not sadness.

when he gets like this - he’s on the roof for hours. sometimes days. the only movement he can bear is the trek from his apartment up to the top of the complex. up where he’s seen the woman of his apartment lay their laundry out. where he can look out all of seoul and dream of the days he wanted to leap and touch the sky.

he almost feels it. reaches every other day when the dreams don’t take him.

time goes by and he forgets about his routine. of visiting the coffee shop almost immediately after work, of texting when he can’t. he forgets about the brighter things of summer, of more time allotted to see hyunshik, hang at the vet clinic or at the pediatric ward. even with his nephew. all of it forgotten in the summer haze that’s taken over. in the remnants of dreams and the cloudiness of it all muddying up his mind.

he reaches. tries to blink away the thoughts. the yearnings.

‘the woman downstairs told me you’d be here.’

as the days blur taeyang can’t quite remember how long it’s been. can’t quite distinguish the dream from the day. only the cloud as they move and as the morph. so it takes a minute for hyunshik’s face to come into view, but he blinks it into formation.

‘have you looked at your phone recently?’

he hasn’t. if only to not miss the sunset and the sunrise. taeyang can’t find the words to apologize, to speak really. hyunhik’s frame is still coming into vision, the clouds moving around him, through him maybe. he’s seen that in a dream perhaps. perhaps this is a dream. a hyunshik who’s come to him, come for him.

‘people were looking for you. are you insane? aren’t you supposed to be studying medicine and people and all that? don’t you know it’s not good to disappear like that? without a message or a text or a note. do you know how that makes people think?’a hyunshik who was looking for him. worried about him.

there are words. apologies really. instead taeyang is finding himself more and more surprised that this isn’t a dream. he tends to not let the hyunshik in his dreams frown too much ( usual as it is, he likes to think he can do a little better as a light in his dreams than in person ) he’s just surprised at how real this is. that if he could reach up, grab at the sun that’s not being blocked from his vision, now dancing around the edge of hyushik’s silhouette.

“you’re real.”‘i am, you need to eat.’“you’re here.”‘i know. now get up.’

taeyang’s brows furrow. he hasn’t tried moving for any other reason but to get here. he can’t imagine getting up. he does imagine what it would be like to reach and be proven wrong. that this is a dream and when he gets up he’ll fall back down. and he’ll be back - dreamless, aimless. his arm remains still in the air, until his hand is being held and he’s being pulled up. literally too his feet and that’s - new - he didn’t think hyunshik was strong enough to yank him through a dream.

taeyang catches his balance though. blinks at the figure in front of him. hyunshik who looks a mixture of a few things. anger, annoyance ( the usual ), worry? that’s definitely worry. that’s - interesting.

“were you worried about me?” he doesn’t mean to ask it out loud. doesn’t mean to be so dumbfounded even though he is. the warmth on his hand disappears.‘let’s go eat, and then you’ll text everyone that you are okay. if you wanted to watch clouds next time just ask me i get off earlier these days.’

taeyang blinks again. and again. and it seems hyunshik gets further each time, so he catches up, runs by his side and just nods his head at the commands. the worry that spills over and that’s new but welcome.

hopeful.

hold me i saw mercy

sometimes - things aren’t that easy. it’s not as easy as dreams weighing him down, making him want to sleep the days away in ways he can explain but doesn’t want to. sometimes it’s the heart, the pain of the past stinging and sticking to his mood. heaviness that does keep him in his bed.

and when it doesn’t keep him in bed - he’s other places. in older places, places too close to the wounds in his heart and the joy he’s forsaken. places he won’t talk about but he won’t ever forget. those memories never really leave. taeyang’s forgiven but as long as he has two feet he can’t ever forget.

so even though he’s back and present.

there are days when he’s back and not completely present. when hyunshik is talking more than usual and taeyang only subtly realizes he’s the one being stared at. he’s the quiet one. when he doesn’t stick around the shop too late, doesn’t ask for much, smiles only thinly.

bright as he is - it’s not hard to notice things like this.

that he’s coming in with a different kind of fatigue. with bruises too easily hidden, too noticeable in limps and hisses.

when he misses dancing he goes to the only stage he knows. the last one. late late when he knows he doesn’t have to check corners and no one will come for him when he collapse son stage. late to where he can collapse and lay there for a bit. enough that the cold of the stage is a comfort as much as a reminder.

no one gets it really. they call it a torture of sorts. they tell him to get over it, to accept it. so he doesn’t talk about it, but he still goes. still finds himself dancing on rooftops, scraping his knees as he envisions jumps and prays to whomever when he falls. again and again, hopelessly and religiously.

when taeyang misses dance, he loses himself to that pain. if anyone notices, they don’t speak on it anymore.

if he comes back thinner, quieter, each time falling into the hole of yearning for something out of his reach.

“how long have you been there?”‘how long have you been here?’

too long. much too long. he’s gone and danced until his legs gave out. all of it and he feels nothing, no satisfaction, little joy. bitterness that he hides his head, low and he gasps for air. for something to fill the hole in his chest.

‘have you been eating?’“have you been watching?”‘i have.’“how was it?”

when taeyang misses dance he gets a little desperate. a little pitiful. if it’s tears or sweat falling he can’t tell. if he’s gasping for breath or gasping to hold tears. he doesn’t know. he does know though, that hyunshik is closer than before. he doesn’t look up yet. he stares at the gray of the stage until it turns dark.

‘you dance like you know you’re going to fall.’“i always do.”‘because you always expect yourself to.’

it’s true. it’s always been true. he’s tried to accept the reality of the situation. that it was all his injury and not foul play. that if it wasn’t the injury everything would be okay. that he could dance and would be dancing without it. taeyang likes to believe that he can put everything on the injury and accept how things turned out because of it. if he was good enough he would have made it. if he was meant to continue it would have happened. he’s accepted the narrative thrown at him in order to keep himself going.

when he looks up, hyunshik’s crouched down this time. stage lights look a little different on him. this type of worry feels a little different. taeyang’s breath stop, his heart drops.

‘stop expecting to fall.’“stop looking at me like that.”‘like what?’“like that.”

like how i look at you.like i’ve just soared.like i still can.

there’s nothing there. no pity. no annoyance. no misunderstanding.

instead, hyunshik holds out his hand.

when taeyang takes it, pulls himself up, his forehead buries in hyunshik’s neck.

“i’m sorry.” is the whisper he allows himself once he gets his bearings. he knows he saw nothing in hyunshik’s eyes that should make him apologize. he knows that the desperation he dances with, which makes him fall with wonder of never getting up. he knows that desperation, often forgets the people who watch him. who smile after him. who care for him.

he barely feels the arms that circle him. barely feels how his body shakes. he just knows, knows hyunshik’s here. in any way that he can be and that’s enough.

that’s all.

and he’s thankful for it. he’ll cherish it with all he can.

[ashwritesstuffies]

Soul Meets Body Joshua Graham x Arcade Gannon

Got this idea at the ripe hour of 5:50am while talking to my artistically brilliant friend Angel @gangnome. This is loosely based on the ending of New Vegas where Arcade went exploring. I like to think he found himself fascinated with finding new reading materials. Naturally he finds himself following this bandaged hunk who at  Happy reading you precious bastards!)

I want to live where soul meets body and let the sun wrap its arms around me,

And bathe my skin in waters cool and cleansing and feel, and feel what it’s like to be new.

The reddening ex-follower had been walking for hours on end. He’d left town when his Enclave identity was revealed, only seldom did he look back. Usually he cursed the sun and the sky and the highly irradiated desertscape he found himself trapped in. His idea was simple, when put on paper. Explore and study, find a place where he can thrive on his naturally high intellect. He’d told only Six where exactly his first trip would be, definitely not because he wanted backup.

He was headed to what was left of New Canaan. As he said to Six, his trip was to sift through the wreckage for what might even resemble a book he hadn’t yet read. Through the mountain spotted areas leading into Utah he went, until an ambush of White Legs remnants proved nearly life-threatening. At the near sound of someone attacking, he was caught off guard. Losing his footing found him sliding down the hillside into a body of cold, clean water.

The sounds of a .45 pistol firing kept his attention away from the horrendous fall. Against all better judgement he sat up in the water to watch what must’ve been fourteen men get blown to pieces by one man.

“Weird flex, but okay,” sarcasm flowed naturally from the blonde man’s mouth.

“They would’ve killed you, but okay,” the burned man’s wit was just as sharp it seemed.

He helped the man up and got him to the camp. He even stayed by his side while the smock-clad man self-administered first aid. After his wounds had been cared for, the leader asked him to stay a while. They spent many hours in deep conversation. From that he learned why his ex-companion had been wary to come back. It was, honestly, unsurprising to find out his old pal Six had helped overthrow nearly the entirety of their rival gang. That was always up their alley. He adjusted his glasses before making his own proposal to the ex-legionnaire. He couldn’t talk, he’d been in the enclave since he was a child. He helped the sick in his own way, mostly by teaching others how to fix their most common issues for themselves. All-the-while affections grew between he and his newfound friend.

At first it was a common admiration. then like a miracle Arcade had found a certain, less irradiated plant that had some numbing properties. Man might think it insane but the scientist found himself the first test subject. In an era without sunblock, sunburns were seldom helped out and certain cancers enjoyed taking lives to those without some form of protection. Applying the bark along with some ash seemed to cool off those pesky burns though. Proud he found himself looking to his heavily burned friend.

“So, um,” he had no idea how to say what he needed to say. “You’re in…. Constant pain, Joshua?”

“I can handle it, why,” he didn’t even look up from his holy book.

“I discovered something that might possibly help,” how in the hell did he get nervous offering this hunk help? The world may never know.

“Absolutely not,” he shut his book, stood from his perch and walked away.

This baffled the would-be medic. “Wait, what the actual hell?”

The New Canaanite stopped, “I said no, this is my cross to bear.”

Naturally the blonde haired gent had to go follow his friend. There was no way in hell, or on Earth he would let another person suffer if he could help it. There was an old saying, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.

Cause in my head there’s a greyhound station where I send my thoughts to far off destinations where they may find a chance of finding a place where they’re far more suited than here.

The crusade went on for two weeks until the older man caved. He couldn’t help cracking a smile  at the idea that anyone would gladly want to help the likes of him. On a particularly painful day he sought out the medic he’d somewhat employed. The binding bandages on his wrists towards his fingertips were the first to go as Arcade prepared his solution. If it could stop the places where rope burned into skin from stinging like death maybe he’d ask for more help.

“You ready to be subject number two in my notes,” a strange, unretractable statement the man lightly tanning man regretted instantly. “ That was… Um, Here.”

He gently took the hand of his acquainted and applied a small, rectangular-ish splotch of the sticky mixture. After it’d been painted on the reaction was nearly instantaneous. A hushed oh followed by a genuine smile inevitably met the top list. Breaking the silence himself, the bandaged man admitted.

“I expected nothing,” it was a small, pseudo-complement. “It actually stopped some of the pain.”

“You’re kidding, right,” he half expected everything he worked for to end in vain.

“For once, no, you actually helped,” yet again with the wit. It was accompanied by a grin that was nearly visible between bandages.

“Wow, finally, I can die happy tomorrow,” they shared a laugh as he realized he’d not yet let go of the charred hand he held.

That night the two sat a bit closer to eat dinner. Joshua told stories and things were oddly calming. No attacks neither animal nor tribal. The stars spotted the sky like bright freckles the moon was but a silver thumbnail up above. In the flickering firelight beneath the blanket of the endless sky the two’s conversations lasted well past the morning’s sunrise. On bedrolls, adjacent practically, they theorized everything. Each of the two men drifted off to slumber courtesy of the other’s voice.

The next day woke the acting leader after a few good hours of rest. He glanced over to the person who’d kept him company. It was unfamiliar, to feel this way about someone else after all he’d done. He had to, in his thoughts, find a way to figure out what exactly the feeling was. Like some sort of trial. He’d not the foggiest of ideas about the possibilities. When the blonde awoke there was cooked food and silent bible reading. Obviously he thanked the blue eyed food-bringer who’d been wearing onto his heart. In response the man’d been quick to pass the love onto someone else, claiming one of the Dead Horses had cooked. Protest threatened to fall from his lips at the blatant deflection of affection.

I cannot guess what we’ll discover when we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels,

But I know our filthy hands can wash one another and not one speck will remain.

An unexpected guest came and went. Turned out several of the friends he’d left back in the Mojave were a bit worried about him. An expedition lead by Six to see if the Arcade Gannon they knew was still alive and well. Luckily for him, things were more than swimmingly. Six months had come and left bringing to his feet the very man of his dreams. He, of course, hadn’t said anything about it to the person of his affection. Six pulled their friend aside, seemingly knowing everything.

“It’s Joshua isn’t it,” their years of wingmanning had given them natural insight. “You’ve got the hots for him.”

“Who the hell do you--” he began to argue then stopped himself. “Yeah, honestly I’m taken.”

“By Josh,” they’d played only to get chastised lovingly by their friend.

When they’d left taking with them the rest of their gang, he had ample time to confess his affections. Six had pretty well insisted that if he thought this was it to jump. The last part was, in the semi-professional opinion of the ex-follower, was inconceivably hard to actually do. Little did he know, the one he had fallen for, too, was in deep in the emotional department. The blue eyed, swat-vested male sat beside his childhood friend. Intensely conversing over heaven, hell, and choices the men made.

“Daniel, have you ever thought of taking a lover,” it sounded hundreds of times better in his head.

“I have, why do you ask,” it was unlike the friend he knew to talk openly of feelings. However, that’s exactly what they did.

An hour or so brought forth the kind of confidence in the ex-legate he had long since forgotten. His loving friend hand fed him a pep-talk and together they assembled a bouquet of flowers. They were to be brought by the burned man to his crush. His gifts were met with gifts of sweets from the rosy cheeked blonde. Chocolate Frosted Fancy Lads, the kind of confirmation he so clearly sought. Words couldn’t capture the beauty of the entire moment. A well needed hug, however, was an offer neither could refuse.

“You got me flowers,” first to break the silence was the handsome scientist with lacking social skills. “I don’t know what’s worse, my chocolate offerings or-” Their lips met once, then twice, breaking the sentence before it could be complete.

I do believe it’s true that there are roads left in both of our shoes,

But if the silence gets you then I hope it takes me, too.

A month found the two happy in love. Given the upcoming holiday Arcade longed to see his friends. Every year he’d spent with the courier and their friends Raul would play his guitar and sing once popular christmas songs. Lily loved to decorate the home, it was all lovely. He couldn’t wait to share these traditions with his man. The one he once dreamed would swoop him up. They’d be proud and it made him so soggy with sentiment.

He talked about them a lot to his man, as did the fiery leader about his friends and the tribals. First they’d spent three days searching nearby cities for gifts. Useful or not the forest eyed man only ever became sappy during the holidays. It was like, a hidden feature of himself only few could see. Once he’d spent well over a few thousand caps on a crapload of repairs needed in the Old Mormon Fort. The look on Julie’s face when she saw actual huts being built to replace some of the tents. From then it kind of snowballed.

“So, you’re sarcastically devoted to your friends,” asked the one he’d been info-dumping history to well into their walk home.

“Pretty much, I hate them, but they’re the greatest,” he didn’t mind clarifying as his lightly calloused hand brushed the bandaged fingers of his boyfriend’s hand.

They’d commandeered a shopping cart from the side of the cracked road to carry back supplies and gifts. Among a bit of the salvage were a few sweaters untouched for the most part save some fallout and dirt. When they arrived back to camp, the green eyed man jokingly suggested Joshua try on the sweater proclaiming ‘Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal!’ To humor his love, he actually slid it over his shoulders and head. When he turned to ask how he looked, he was met with laughter and cheers. After such a display it was only natural that the blonde man bore his sweater with a one headed radstag.

“I look ridiculous,” he couldn’t help but laugh at himself and his decisions.

“We both look ridiculous,” who was the natural leader to not laugh with his love. “It’s an everyday thing, the sweater just emboldens it.”

“You ready to head to the Mojave,” there was excitement and adventure-lust deeply lacing his tone. “Your friends are going to love this, dear.”

The road back to the strip was actually rather lax, the only things daring to step up were Viper gang members who just wanted everyone to ‘stay as far as possible the fuck away from our post’. The burned man himself saw to it that no one occupied the post anymore, all it took was one shot whizzing past Arcade’s head. The shock on that blonde man’s face when the bullet grazed by was enough rage-fuel to set the building aflame but that he did not do. For miles afterwards the usual chatter was replaced with a calm, collected silence between would be married men.

Across the state line a ways into Nevada the green eyed blonde actually spoke up, “so you know you didn’t have to kill them, right?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted in response. “Until they shot at you, then all bets, my love, were so far off.”

“Okay, but next time we could always tactically evade getting attacked,” he knew in his heart that some people just could not be reasoned with.

That being a cold hard fact never stopped the small twinge of regret he would seldom get for the fallen. There wasn’t another word until they reached New Vegas proper. It was a bit of a surprise to find that the ex-legate had never seen the strip. The best friend of Mr. couldn’t make medicines from desert plants met them near the entrance to Crimson Caravan. Upon first sight of their old doctor companion returning was like seeing the first snow of a nuclear winter, except less death and more excitement.

Hugs were passed around like a peace pipe, then they were off again to the strip. It never occured to Six that they were the sole reason some of their friends actually made it onto the strip. Next stop was the Lucky 38’s presidential suite. Inside the old casino, many decorations were being strewn about with purpose. Ed-E had the wasteland equivalent of mistletoe and was flying around with great purpose. Stopping once in a while to get his friends to smooch. For a piece of AI tech, he sure had a way of putting people together.

The day for gift exchanging was upon them, Christmas some called it. Six just called it ‘give me what you wanna and I have some stuff for you’ day. After Joshua gave his first holiday sermon to his newfound friends, the building seemed live. In the cafeteria the salvaged securitrons had a line up of actual decent food. There was enough booze to tranquilize a young deathclaw. Then, after eating well over everyone’s weight in festive goodies they finally traded presents.

From Arcade to Six was an ample amount of stimpaks and some festive combat armor. In return he received an old textbook that talked about native plantlife in the areas. Joshua had given them all bibles, jokingly. His boyfriend’s hand in his he delivered the “you’re all sinners let’s party” speech.

“Hemhem,” spoke up an old brotherhood scribe. “Where’s mine?”

The smile that spread the width of green eye’s face was gorgeous. A true treasure for those who saw it, “hold on junk junkie I’ve got what you need.” He tossed a blue and white dress her way. “Did you think I’d let my gays go without?”

“You’re a  dork, Gannon,” Veronica hugged her wouldbe wingman. “How did you know I liked the color blue?”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to walk around in gourd colors,” they shared more than their fair share of laughter. “Unless you’re like, into that sort of thing.”

Their sentimental shitchat was cut off halfway when the Courier brought in a runt gecko. They introduced the seemingly harmless pet, Squishy. That night was spent with great happiness. When it was time to hit the sack, it wasn’t surprising to find Joshua and Arcade comfortably snuggled up in one of the few rooms. They’d be sure to make this tradition a yearly thing. Finding the crappiest gifts possible and getting the same in return was more than anyone could ask for in the company of both boyfriend and best friends.  

So brown eyes I’ll hold you near ‘cause you’re the only song I want to hear,

A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere.

A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere..

[weelittleweasley]

You Don’t Have to Hate Me | Archie x Reader

Prompt: Being a Blossom gave you a lot of perks, but your family had made a name for itself and you had your rivalries. One of them being Archie Andrews. But maybe all of your family’s prejudices didn’t have to be yours.

Request status: Closed :(

Sifting through your closet, you try to find something to wear to school. Yet you seem to find nothing in your designer closet that fits your mood. Nothing seemed to work, so you walked out of your room into Cheryl’s. You trotted into her room, ignoring her questions as she applied her lipstick. Opening up her closet, you snagged her red sweater and over the knee boots. “Where do you think you’re going with my clothes?” Cheryl questioned you.

Sending her a smile, you spoke, “I’m wearing them. What else would I be doing.” After taking her clothes, you quickly got changed and grabbed your purse before heading downstairs. Cheryl was eating breakfast still as you groaned, “Take any longer.” Cheryl rolled her eyes, standing up as you waved goodbye to your mother.

Your relationship with Cheryl was a hard one to describe. As children, you were very close with Cheryl and Jason. They were your best friends. But as you got older, things started to change and Cheryl became closer with Jason, since they were twins and you were a little under a year younger than them. It was hard to try and keep up with them, that being said, you were left out of a lot of things. But after Jason’s death, you and Cheryl reconnected and you had been stronger than ever. Cheryl was very protective over you, making sure she wasn’t losing another one of her siblings that she loved too much. 

As you walked into school, Cheryl linked her arm with your as you smiled at her. “Did you ever complete that project for Mr. Higgin’s class?” you ask her as you arrive at your lockers placed right next to each other. Cheryl had requested to have both of your lockers together to capitalize on space.

She laughs at your question, “Oh please. That man hasn’t realized that I handed it in. He gave me a ninety on it.” You roll your eyes. Cheryl was a smart girl, very clever and witty. But one day, it was going to come back and bite her in the butt with all of the missed work she has had. “Class is starting soon. Come along, sister.”

You close your locker, trotting behind Cheryl as she makes her way down the halls. The way that the Blossom family demanded attention as you walked into a room was astounding. It was like you could hear a pin from. People watched as you and your sister walked down the halls, heels clicking on the tiles of Riverdale High. Whispers were exchanged between girls while guys checked you two out. The attention was pleasurable at first, but after awhile you wished that you could walk into a room without gossip starting. 

Reggie walks next to Cheryl, talking to her about whatever happened the previous day. You wave goodbye to Cheryl as she walks down the science wing, you down the main hallway into the student lounge. There, you walked to the vending machine to get a water. As you came in, you scanned the room, eyes meeting with familiar faces. Betty Cooper, a cousin of yours, who you haven’t yet determined if she bothers you or if she’s in the clear. Next to her was Veronica Lodge, a friend of Cheryl’s. She was nice enough and she helped Cheryl out in a time of need. And not too far away was Archie Andrews. At the sight of him, you rolled your eyes and fake gagged. That boy was the definition of a hyper-masculine jerk. He had hurt your sister when she was the most vulnerable and not to mention, he had dumped Veronica Lodge for reasons that weren’t so clear thanks to school rumors. But all you knew what that Archie Andrews was not a friend of yours.

Inserting a dollar into the vending machine, you receive a water and try to exit the lounge, not wanting to be in the same room as Archie. But when you turn around, the red-head is standing in front of you. “Y/N,” he looks you up and down.

“Archibald,” you greet. “Didn’t think you’d show your face in school after that wresting match against Keller. Low blow. The varsity line backer couldn’t take down Keller. What a shame,” you sneer as Archie crosses his arms.

He then starts, “You should be one to talk after you got caught hooking up with Blake in the back of the library two days ago.”

You rolled your eyes at the lie that was spread through the school by Blake. “I was helping him with his math homework and you know that. You saw me there, Andrews.” He shrugged. “Now if you don’t mind, I don’t want to make myself sick looking at your face for a moment longer. Ta-ta.”

That’s basically how every encounter with Archie was. A battle of comments between the two of you to see who would crack first. But you two never got to the point of cracking because neither one of you wanted the other to see him or her at that point. Until today. Vixen practice was over as you waited for Cheryl to change in the girl’s locker room. You sat on the stairs, scrolling through your phone before you noticed the boy’s wrestling team was being dismissed. As you watched the boys file out one by one, you saw that familiar red-head exit the gym. His eyes made contact with yours as you looked away, but it was too late. “Miss me already, Blossom? Didn’t think it would take that long,” Archie teased.

Tucking your phone away in your duffel bag, you sigh, “Yes, Archie. The sight of an testosterone heavy jock covered in sweat, smelling like a gym mat is truly a sight for sore eyes.” Archie chuckles at your comment. “Shouldn’t you be showering?”

“Shouldn’t you be kissing up to Cheryl?” Archie retorts as you clench your jaw in frustration. Any time someone tried to compare you to Cheryl, it made your blood boil. You knew that you weren’t nearly as popular or as admired as Cheryl and whenever someone made a comment about you being a Cheryl wanna be, it made you so angry. 

You exhale, “Don’t start with me, Andrews.”

He crosses his arms, as you bite your lip hard and try to contain yourself. “I don’t understand why you think you have to be her.”

That comment sends you over the edge as you stand up from the stairs. “Listen, you can bash me all you want, but don’t you dare drag my sister into this. Cheryl is all I have left from my family, so don’t try to start in on me.”

Your words take Archie back. He didn’t realize that his words had such a resounding effect on you. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he tells you innocently. “Y/N, I think you’re a nice girl and I think it sucks that people compare you to your sister all the time. I’m sorry that you took it the wrong way.” You calm down as he explains himself, you sitting back on the stairs, trying to calm yourself down. “I don’t know why you always think I have it out for you. I don’t hate you and I don’t know why you hate me.”

Looking up at him, you are genuinely confused. Thinking about it, you never really understood why you hated Archie. You had always heard Cheryl talking about him and then rumors and gossip around school kind of tainting your vision on him. It wasn’t even your personal encounters that shaped your view on Archie--it was other people’s opinions on him and his family, the biggest opinion being your family’s. “I guess I just thought that...I was supposed to hate you,” you claim, being genuine.

“You don’t have to hate me,” Archie speaks as you look up at him. “We could try to be civil. Maybe even friends?”

“Y/N? Are you ready to go?” Cheryl exits the locker room, looking at you and Archie, then back at you.

Sighing, you look at Archie with a sad smile, then to Cheryl. “Yeah, I’m ready,” you tell her as you rise from the stairs. Looking to Archie, you say, “I’d like to.”

After the unexpected heart to heart with Archie that day after practice, you tried your best to set aside your families prejudices and treat Archie fairly. You smiled and waved at him in the halls as he did the same for you. During class, you talked normally, no fighting. No trying to one up another. And to be honest, it was a breath of fresh air. It was so tiring trying to hate someone for no reason rather than just letting go and acting civil towards one another.

As time progressed, talking to Archie became much more comfortable and you could tell the dynamic between you was shifting. Things were lighthearted and playful; him stopping by your locker to steal a book as you giggled at his antics. You sometimes stopped by the gym to watch him wrestle as he poked his head into a Vixen practice. The two of you became more taken with each other and it was becoming obvious to the public, especially Cheryl.

It was after yet another Vixen’s practice and as you walked outside of the gym, you saw Archie waiting outside. “Hey, what are you doing here?” you asked, walking towards him. “Wasn’t wrestling over at five thirty? It’s six!”

Archie smiled, “Yeah, but I figured I’d wait to see you. You were in a rush this morning and I didn’t get to talk to you.” You blush at his comment as he walks with you down the hall. 

“Sorry about that,” you look at him. “Cheryl was running late and my mom held us up at the house. I was too concerned about being late to class.”

He bumps into your shoulder, “No worries.” You stop at your locker to gather your things before you head outside to get into you and Cheryl’s car. “So,” Archie breathes as you look at him with a small smile. “I, uh, I don’t know how to phrase this without sounding weird.”

You furrow your brows, “I’m going to need you to elaborate, Andrews.”

With a nervous chuckle, Archie scratches the back of his head. “I don’t wanna rush anything, Y/N. I really like where our friendship has gone in the past month, but...I wanna try something,” he states as you are still clueless as to what he’s getting at. “Do you wanna go out this weekend? Just you and me.”

“Like a date?” you ask him as he bites his lip, shaking his head. Your heart flutters and a blush rises to your cheeks. “Archie, that’s all you had to say,” you giggle, touching his bicep in reassurance. “I’d like that. A lot.”

Archie smiles, “Alright, cool.” He walks you outside to the car where Cheryl awaits you. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he winks as you wave goodbye.

When you enter the car, Cheryl looks at you knowingly. “Archie Andrews? Y/N...you can do so much better,” she laughs, switching the car into drive. You sigh, leaning further back into the chair. “I know you don’t wanna hear it, but I’m telling you this because I love you.”

Turning to your sister, you say, “Cheryl, what are my other options? Reggie Mantle?” Cheryl doesn’t say anything because she knows you’re right. “Archie is really sweet and I think that there could be something between us,” you play with the hem of your shirt.

Cheryl notices the blush on your cheeks and sighs, “If he breaks your heart, I’ll kill him. I’ll say I told you so, but I’ll kill him.” You laugh at Cheryl’s comment, leaning into her shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

As you come into school, you search for Archie in the halls before you spot him talking to Kevin in the hall. A smile appears on your face before you run to him, hugging his larger figure. He laughs at the contact of your body on his, kissing your head. “Hey, cutie,” he hugs you as you giggle.

Kevin smiles at the sight of you, pressing your forehead against each other before sharing a sweet kiss in the middle of the hallway. “I’m sufficiently uncomfortable now and I will take that as my cue to leave,” Kevin speaks as you laugh. “Bye, guys,” he waves before taking off with Betty.

You detach yourself from your boyfriend, still holding his hands still. “Do you know what day it is today?” you bite your lip.

Archie raises a brow, teasing you. “Uhhh, Tuesday?” You punch his shoulder as he laughs. “I’m kidding. Happy two months, baby,” he kisses your lips as you smile into the kiss. “I can’t believe it’s only been two months.”

“I know,” you rest your hands on his chest. “I’m just glad that I spent the past two months with someone as great as you.” He smiles again before dipping his head down to kiss your cheek.

[theunderdogwrites]

Ten "Suggestions" For A New World

I was raised in the Roman Catholic faith. Went to church every Sunday with my family from the time I was four until the age of 19. I was baptized, received my first communion and attended CCD classes (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine). And just for fun and out of curiosity, I've read the bible (New Testament) three times. [I want to quickly share with you the meaning of the word "confraternity": 'a lay brotherhood devoted to some purpose, especially to religious or charitable service'. Already its clear women are not really welcome.]

Once I was free to make my own choices, I stopped going to church. To be honest with you, I couldn't hear myself think over the constant propaganda being served to me by an elderly ornery priest wearing a $2500 robe and asking me to kneel at a $10,000 marble alter while attempting to guilt me into giving the church money to help feed the poor. I've never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but I knew something wasn't quite right with this religion. A friend of mine introduced me to the term "recovering Catholic" and I've adopted it as my own.

Do I believe in God? What... a terribly complicated question. In short, yes. In length, I believe in something I can't put my finger on and it has a name. I know I talk to this Universe character a great deal, maybe that’s it? Anyway, the God I believe in... that something with a name I can't accurately put my finger on - is about kindness and compassion, respect, acceptance, tolerance and love. And I mean, for real. Not just because it sounds good in your mouth.

Have you ever looked up the meaning of TOLERANCE?

‘allow the existence, occurrence, or practice of (something that one does not necessarily like or agree with) without interference’

The fact I’ve not yet killed anyone, means I am a highly tolerant being. Ego stroke.

You may have your own opinions and beliefs; in fact, I encourage you to form your own opinions and sift through what you do and don't believe. But let other people find their own way. Be who they are to be and if it's a different path than yours... don't tell them they're going to Hell. All that does is stress Satan right the fuck out.

I was taught to pray from an early age. Kneel down beside the bed at night, make the sign of the cross and talk to God. Ask him to bless the people you love, show compassion for those who wronged you and be thankful for everything you've been given. End with the sign of the cross. Although I no longer kneel at the side of my bed or make the sign of the cross, I do still pray. I've never had an issue with prayer. It's a form of communication and communication is king. Even if you believe no one is listening, it truly does help to just have raw dialogue with yourself.

Have I ever used prayer to help me out of a tough spot? Absolutely.

Have I ever prayed for something and promised something else I knew I most likely wouldn't follow through with? Yes. Have I ever prayed then become angry when things didn't go my way? Definitely.

Have I asked for forgiveness, mercy and wisdom? Yes.

 I'm not ashamed of any of those admissions. But I'm not going to print them on a t-shirt and strut around either. I don't feel I am any different than anyone else when it comes to prayer. Evidence of this are the religious contestants on Survivor who ask God for assistance in winning a million dollars so they may do good with all that money.

Currently, for me, prayer is an open-ended conversation that takes place in my soul. There's yelling and screaming. Blame. Crying and swearing. The launching of projectiles and ever so often... peace, laughter, approval and cookies. There's chaos and harmony and somehow, I manage to cultivate enough intelligence to string together a bunch of words to make a half decent sentences from time to time.

This brings me to: The Ten Commandments. Take a quick gander at this so you can get your bearings:

https://www.bibleinfo.com/en/topics/ten-commandments-list

In a nutshell, these are "God's standards" which he wants you to live by.

Going to confession was the worst. Especially as a typical 15-year-old girl. "I am not telling you shit" was pretty much my life's motto so to expect me to open up to an old priest and share my sins and secret thoughts so he may shame me with a mini lecture and an act of contrition, was insanity.

Every time I went to confession, I used the same three "sins":

I disobeyed my Mother and Father                                  

I took the Lord`s name in vain

I lied

I figured this to be believable for a girl my age. If you look at the commandments, I wasn't going to covet my neighbor`s wife or his ox and I certainly wasn't going to get myself another God to worship considering I already couldn't figure out the one I'd been given. And murder? I probably didn't even know what that meant. I mean, until the guidance counselor at my school pointed out to me what suicide was, I had no idea it was even possible to do that to yourself. I wasn't stupid, but rather innocent. And isn't it funny that it took a person of "authority" whose intentions were being governed by a higher power, to bring those kinds of ideas into my brain where they once didn't exist? Something to ponder.

Let's be honest, the Ten Commandments... as they stand right now in current society... a little outdated, right? Technology is rapidly changing how we communicate and behave. And it's time to modernize in order to keep up. I'm not proposing we abolish the original document. I'm not trying to offend anyone or stamp out their beliefs. I know the Ten Commandments is a sacred collection of words that many believe is straight from the mouth of God. Attempting to rip up or shit on something with that much power over so many people... is suicide. (Look Ms. Foster! I learned another way one can harm themselves other than dragging a razor over one's wrists! Your job wasn't meaningless after all!)

I'm merely proposing that someone (ME ME ME) take a stab at writing up a new set of standards which people (YOU YOU YOU) should SERIOUSLY consider following if they wish to achieve a pleasant after life. And the only person you must believe in - yourself.

The first thing I want to do is change the word "commandments" to "suggestions". It's less aggressive and more light-hearted, even though you're still expected to comply. No one wants to be told what to do, not really, and by "commanding" them in a preachy way to curb behavior... well, you're just asking for trouble. Imagine the success rate if Moses had come down from the mountain and said:

“Hey... hi everyone, look, God spoke to me and mentioned something about these ten suggestions He'd like us to seriously consider if we want to get into Heaven. He was pretty adamant that we pay attention and do our best to not ignore this list. I think He spent a lot of time coming up with this stuff... so we really do owe it to Him to try and give this all we got. Ok, thanks everyone... back to not raping women and making false idols out of gold".

I just feel that by changing the wording and therefore tone of this document - you're not alienating the more cantankerous, free-spirited or stubborn people of the world with a menu of demands you expect them to blindly obey.

The second thing I want to do is provide a brief explanation for each "suggestion". There is nothing worse than treating people as though they don't deserve further information when you'd like them to do something that wasn't their idea. Communication is comforting and reflects respect. You can't say: "Because I told you so" or "Just do it" and expect to be well received. All this is going to get you are responses such as: "You're not the boss of me" and "Go fuck yourself".

So, without further ado, I give to you:

The Ten "Suggestions" For A New World

 Please do not update your Facebook status message more than once a day:  This is a sign of vanity, a deadly sin. And it's really annoying to the point where people secretly want to kill you for repeatedly mugging their news feeds with updates in increments of 32 minutes, on the broad details of your existence. No one actually cares here, on planet Self Absorption.

Please do not kill: This is the only original "commandment" included on this new list because it has stood and always will stand the test of time. There are loads of shitty, stupid, selfish & servile individuals in the world and relieving them of the burden of breathing seems like an all-around great idea, but it's actually a terrible idea. Why? Well, for starters... it's not your place to end a human life. It's just not. Life is special. You - not so much. Plus, it causes debilitating pain for a great many people. When you take someone's life away you create a hole inside the people who love them. This hole can never be filled. It will never get smaller. These people will never heal. They might be able to carry on... eat food again one day, maybe buy a new couch, laugh at a joke - but they will never heal. They will walk around, unhealed and with a hole in their heart till their dying day. Don't make holes in other people.

Please resist from being a complete douche bag: (Traditionally the term 'douche bag' is     usually gender specific and applies to men, but for this  "suggestion" it also applies to women, because women can be douche     bags as well. This does not apply to cats. The lives of cats are based upon douche-baggery, but it's cute and therefore exempt)  Being a total jerk is in your bloodline. Eve was a jerk to Adam. Adam was a jerk to God. The snake was a jerk to Eve. God was a jerk to the dinosaurs. And the dinosaurs were jerks to everyone. So... this  "suggestion" is going to be a difficult one not to fail at from time to time. The idea here isn't to be perfect, because that isn't unachievable. But rather, genuinely compassionate and generous when you see someone who wouldn't benefit from you running your truck into their fence and then driving off like a douche bag coward. And the state of being a douche bag isn't always limited to actions befitting a little scamp, no it can also be in the way you dress (Underwear above the pants line? Come on!) Or how you tell uninterested parties about your drunken antics and the loss of your favorite pair of really expensive shoes. Or  tweeting/texting the person next to you while you're in a group setting. Now you can see why pretty much everyone will be unsuccessful at this "suggestion". We're douche bags.

If  you open a bottle of wine - please finish it: This really shouldn't require much explanation. Drinking two-day old wine is the equivalent of sucking on week old doughnuts. Even hobos understand this concept. If you save your wine, you're stealing food out of the mouth of a grape stomping child. Is that what you want? No. Drink your damn wine already.

Please flush the toilet after you poop / wipe the seat off if you urinate on it: No  list of "suggestions" would be complete without a mentioning of bathroom etiquette because so many people are unable to recognize and execute proper manners in this area. I reckon 74% of the population does not want to see your excrements. And the other 26% need to seek out some counseling. Immediately. Leaving your shit in the toilet for others to    view does not make you regal, it makes you a filthy barnyard animal. And it's not funny or clever. Neither is urine on the seat. And this applies to both men and women. Take ten seconds, grab some toilet paper and WIPE THE SEAT OFF. Your pee is not liquid gold. No one wants to bottle it to sell on eBay or Etsy.

Please do not use social media to draw attention to your drama: This     is a tough one, I know. We all suffer from drama and when we feel severely slighted by the Universe, a person or even a business... we just want to share our pain in hopes of others being able to relate to us and provide some words of comfort. And what better way to reach your 472 "friends" than screaming out on Twitter or rapidly posting about your discomfort on Facebook. But the problem is... you're not actually connecting to anyone. Not really. You can't see their expressions. You can't hear the tone in their voice. And you definitely cannot count on their sincerity if they don't contact you privately and not in an open forum for all to witness. And, it's awkward. Once people see your drama, they can't un-see it. Even if you delete it, you don't get to delete it from their minds. And as a sub-section to this "suggestion" - also try to avoid saying stuff on social media that you wouldn't say to a person's face. This is just a fancier version of talking behind someone's back while doing it in front of their face without them actually realizing that it's being done.

Please do not text and drive: If you own a car you probably spend a     decent amount of time in that car, driving. Probably so much time that it     feels automatic, like blinking.  And because it's automatic you will rarely think about what you're actually doing - operating a 4000-pound killing machine. What is more important than taking your eyes off the road to check in on your game of choice? Or answering that text about where     you're going on your vacation? Your life. The lives of others. (please see "suggestion" number two) Chances are you're already deeply distracted by your real life, there is no reason to add to that list fumbling around with a cellphone so you can tell someone what you thought about last night's episode of Spring Baking Championship (is that just me?).

Please leave your ego at the door: People love confidence; they hate     arrogance. Arrogance is phony. Intimidation and strutting around like an erect penis OR vagina won’t hide the truth - that you’re afraid and maybe a little underwhelming in your own mind.  There is nothing wrong with     having flaws... accepting those flaws... flaunting those flaws. It builds     character. But if you must insist on being an arrogant tool, then you must  also accept that you're not only unhealthy to yourself, you're toxic to     others.

Please do not give others false hope: If someone has posted an ad on     Kijiji or Craigslist - don't express interest and give them a date and time of when you're going to show up to purchase the item if you have no intention of making an appearance. Forget about it being rude and full of    atrocious manners; it's downright cruel to let someone believe they've     just sold their dining room table when in fact - they haven't. (Yes, I’ve been scarred).

Please remember, you're not always right: Unless you're me. And even then, you’d only be operating at a success rate of about 32%.... so, just be yourself.

[indeego]

Vent #1

I go to a school where our suites have 2 rooms, 2 people each (usually 3 in one room, but then covid happened). So my roommate, the one I actually share a space with, is sometimes hard to deal with.

We had to take a little personality quiz to be matched with someone, like how messy are you, are you a night owl, etc etc. I think I’m kind of half and half with neatness. I’m not perfect, but I usually leave my messes out of sight/under the bed if I have them. Well, when I met my roommate I thought they would be similar, but no. They flat out told me they lied on the form because they were embarrassed to admit how messy they were or something. Like, bruh. No one is using that to judge you, they’re using it to match you with a good roommate to live with, i.e. someone else who’s messy and won’t mind living in it. It’s all on their side which is good, but there’s so much old food wrappers and cans, and one time a whole ass pizza sat in our room for 3 days. They never do their chores (but to be fair, I’m not so great at keeping up with mine either), never takes out the trash in our bathroom, never replaces the toilet roll, uses a shit ton of said toilet paper as well as q-tips, and I pay to replace all of them. They even told me to my face that they are never gonna take out the garbage from our bathroom, and that if he tried to help with the main room garbage they’d throw up. Me too bitch, I nearly throw up doing it cause we’re all nasty but it has to be done!! Smaller detail but they also use a shit ton of ketchup and most of it gets wasted and thrown away and like fdjklfdsjfskld just make a smaller pile and get more if you need it it’s not that hard. They also planned bringing their dog here at some point this year without consulting me at all, and expects us all to help out with her. They even said “so picking up dog poop makes me wanna puke” and then looked at me all expectantly like I was gonna let out and clean up after THEIR DOG. I straight up had to say I wasn’t gonna pick up their dog’s shit. I can’t take her for walks, I can’t play with her, I’m too busy trying to hold myself together and keep up with school work. I got so stressed out last semester with finals, we all did, and you want to add a dog on top of that??? Another small detail, they are constantly using nasal spray. I get it, you gotta use it to breathe sometimes, but I have never once seen them blow their nose. Not once in the many months of living with them. Just the constant sniffle sniffle sniff sniff sniffle sniffle I’m gonna SCREAM! JUST BLOW YOUR NOSE!!!! Honestly I’m kinda pissed that I could have gotten a different roommate.

Now, part of the lack of motivation with chores and stuff is because they have a lot of mental health issues. Severe depression, anxiety, ptsd, suicidal tendencies, etc. They mentioned to me that they had been in psych wards before for this it got so bad. Now I myself have definitely had a history with poor mental health. It was bad for a really long time, I even got close to a suicide attempt once. I hated myself in every possible aspect, but now I’m finally starting to love myself. I’ve made definite progress, even if it’s not perfect, and I’m really proud of myself for that. But part of that is I stopped making depressing and self deprecating jokes, and turned to more positive ones. I stopped saying I was stupid or garbage or whatever, now I’m like “I’m cool and sexy and powerful actually” and it’s been great. My roommate however, is still in that headspace of self deprecation and self hate and I think it’s starting to rub off on me. I’ve caught myself saying I was stupid more than a few times, and generally my mood has gotten worse over this school year. And just the other week, my roommates depression meds ran out, and Walgreens wouldn’t give them a refill (Walgreens in general has been so shitty to this whole household lately like fuck you Walgreens). This meant they had to go cold turkey for 5 days, and slowly they got more moody and upset and depressed (also tangent, I know they have phone anxiety but that can’t be a catch all excuse all the time. They never call before their prescription runs out, and that’s why they have to go days without it. Then they go through a whole spiral for like a week and I’m just thinking “what did you expect to happen, that more drugs would just instantly appear?” I have anxiety about phone calls too, that’s why I have to write a script out before I do certain phone calls, maybe try that). They were constantly saying that they wanted to die, and all I could offer was a “please don’t do that” and suggest taking a shower, drinking some water, or eating a proper meal. It got so bad that they woke me up in the afternoon saying I needed to drive with them to the hospital because their therapist said it was that, or he’d call the cops to escort them. I spent my entire afternoon at a hospital with them, feeling very uncomfortable with the situation. I now have the job of locking their pills and sharp objects in my nightstand drawer so they don’t kill themselves. I feel like I’m the only thing keeping them from committing suicide, and I already got a lot of trauma from that with my mom, I don’t want history repeating itself with my roommate. I don’t want to fear that I’ll wake up and find their corpse, or that I’ll hear them overdosing from the room over and have to call an ambulance. I thought things would get better after the hospital gave them a month refill of their meds, but things still aren’t improving. They keep saying “what if I just killed myself,” “what if I just die,” “what if I just jump out the window,” “I wanna kill myself” and it makes me so feel so uncomfortable and bad, like if I say the wrong thing I’ll set them off or be responsible for making their mood worsen. I know they can’t control that their brain doesn’t produce what it needs to, but I don’t want to be responsible for them and their life. But I have to pretend to be ok with all of this because they don’t have any other option.

Related to that, they also mentioned how they’ve never really had any real friends before (in person at least), and that it’s been really nice to have the rest of us with them and not hate them. But I sometimes don’t enjoy living with them at all. They’ve told me how they had a poor childhood with no friends, and they feel like all their friends eventually stop talking to them and leave them, and it makes me feel guilty for wanting to do the same thing. They think it means they’re too annoying to deal with (which I mean they’re annoying sometimes but I can deal for now), but I feel like it’s more because they’re kind of a huge ball of negativity and sudden mood swings. I’d feel bad just totally ditching them, but I honestly don’t think it’s good for my mental health to be dealing with them and living with them.

Something else is that they are really into Critical Role. Like, mega obsessed with it. I understand it’s probably a hyperfixation and a comfort show, but they’re so invested that when something bad happens in the show it really impacts their mood. Like, they got genuinely really angry and slammed the door of our room when a character almost died. They lay on the floor for nearly 20 minutes after an episode when something bad happens. They also scream so goddamn loud. They’re in our room with the door closed but that does nothing to muffle the sound. So many loud yells and screams and shouting it makes me want to punch a wall. And the fact that the show goes until midnight or later so our room is just occupied until then. Sometimes I want to go to sleep at a decent hour, or I’m just tired, but I don’t want to make them go into the main room because then ALL of us will hear them and no one wins. They also have put so much of their mental wellbeing on if Liam O’Brien likes their fanart or not. They have said “if Liam doesn’t like this fanart I’m gonna kill myself” like, he’s a busy real life adult man who doesn’t have time to sift through every piece of fanart that comes his way. Sure it might happen, but if it doesn’t then tough luck, you gotta move on. You can’t hinge your entire mental wellbeing on a stranger giving you a like on twitter.

I know that a good option for me would probably be to request a new roommate or something, but I don’t know how that would work. I really like the other two, even if I also have small things I dislike, it’s nothing like this level. I don’t know, if anyone out there sees this and has some advice I’d appreciate it.

[johnny-and-dora]

oh, what a beautiful morning

jake and amy's egg-cellent morning adventure - or the one where jake falls asleep to the sound of amy sifiting through paperwork and wakes up to the sound of her making him breakfast, much to his great amusement and only minor heartbreak. (early season 2 fluff) read on ao3

The first time Jake Peralta wakes up in Amy Santiago’s apartment, he wakes up to sunlight streaming through floral pattern curtains, a mildly concerning burning smell heavily permeating the air, and a string of loud expletives coming from the kitchen.

For a second, as his vaguely familiar surroundings swim before him, he thinks he could be back home - he’s lost count of the number of times his mom has started their mornings together by burning every breakfast item imaginable, as if she’s got some kind of arsonist agenda he should probably arrest her for (although, to be fair, it was a blessing in disguise when she accidentally singed off his ponytail in high school).

But then his brain finally shifts into gear and, with a jolt, he realises that it’s Amy’s voice fiercely arguing with various kitchen utensils next door. It’s Amy’s usually delicately folded guest blanket that is haphazardly yet somehow also carefully draped over him - and it’s Amy’s couch that he’s presumably been sprawled all over since he fell asleep midway through working that seemingly impossible case with her last night.

The case. Right. Definitely the only reason he would ever want to wake up in Amy Santiago’s apartment to Amy Santiago making him breakfast. After they spent the night together working a case, because they are respectful and professional police colleagues and will never be anything more.

Not that he’s ever thought about being more, obviously, right? Not like it’s basically consumed every waking thought he’s had ever since that stupid bet, every second of being undercover, every weird moment they’ve shared since he came back. Not at all.

He gets up, immediately feeling like a jerk for being here in the first place - shoving down a pang of guilt for so rudely taking up her couch like that and invading her privacy. She should have woken him up and let him shuffle back to his lumpy mattress and mail tub in peace; now she’s making him breakfast and he’s inevitably going to find some way to make it awkward for them for the rest of the day. Great.

Between the brick wall he’s hit this week trying to crack this case (literally, one of his perps actually threw him against a brick wall the other day) and...other things on his mind, he’s been basically narcoleptic for the past few days and now – well, now, Amy’s going to be scrubbing the Jake off of everything in her living room for weeks.

At least he hasn’t stained or broken anything – yet.

He thinks about leaving quietly, not wanting to intrude any further – but she draws him to the kitchen anyway, because he woke up in Amy Santiago’s apartment, and he’s going to enjoy every second he can get of her shouting match with her stove before she can notice him.

And right, okay, cool, Amy is still just as beautiful as usual when she’s wearing sweatpants and an old NYPD t-shirt, that’s cool. That’s fine.

And, of course, she’s still just as breathtaking when she’s becoming increasingly frustrated with the pan of char-grilled scrambled eggs she’s currently close to either arresting or unceremoniously flinging (he theorises, making a mental note not to piss her off so much that he has to peel the great egg monstrosity off of his face later) but that’s fine. No big deal. He can deal with that.

He has to deal with that. There’s no alternative to solving this mess he’s gotten himself into with this dumb crush. That’s all it can be - she’s with Teddy, and they’re probably going to get married and have loads of nerd children and live happily ever after. Even if she wasn’t, why would she ever want to be with him?

But for now, just for this one tiny barely significant moment, he indulges himself in a stare he can’t normally risk with Charles lurking around; leaning comfortably against the doorframe, unashamedly drinking every inch of her in.

Just for one moment.

And then he ashamedly forces himself to look away, because that’s creepy and unprofessional and definitely not something just a police colleague should ever do. As beautiful and chaotic Amy is at – he checks his watch – 7:30 in the morning (an ungodly hour, might he add) he finally decides to clear his throat, stepping into the kitchen.

“Are you...making me breakfast?”

She jumps slightly at the sound of his voice, whipping around and wielding a frying pan with such force and anger it might as well be a lightsaber. For a fraction of second Jake’s genuinely worried she might split him in half before he starts to laugh and she relaxes slightly, letting her weapon drop to her side as she casually tries (and fails) to look nonchalant, leaning back against her kitchen counter.

“No! What? Maybe...I, erm, felt bad for leaving you on the couch.” “Awww, Ames – was I just too adorable that you couldn’t bear to wake me up?” “No, I just didn’t want to go anywhere near your drool.”

“Oh, ew. Gross.” Jake runs a hand through his hair, suddenly achingly aware of how much of a mess he must look – at the same time as Amy realises she’s still wearing her pyjamas and her cheeks flush a light shade of pink.

So really, he’s nailing the whole not making it awkward thing. Score.

“Sorry for...umm. Yeah. Falling asleep. Didn’t mean to intrude.” “Oh, it’s fine. You were kinda out cold and I figured you could use the rest. This case has been kicking our ass.”

“Yeah. So, anyway, what did these eggs do to you to deserve this? Must be a serious felony.” Jake gestures to the pan Amy’s been wrestling with for the past ten minutes and she rolls her eyes, smiling in the way that always catches in his chest.

“Shut up, Peralta. I was trying to do something nice.” “Are you sure you don’t want me to call in Major Crimes to make this bust?” “I will force feed you this if it kills me, and it will probably kill you.” “Should I file a report for police brutality?” “I swear to God-“

“Okay, okay, I’m done.” He holds up his hands in mock defeat as she turns the stove off, wafting the air in an ineffectual attempt to get rid of the lingering smoky scent. He’s only quiet for a minute, though, before he just can’t help himself –

“Really, I think you’re an egg-ceptional cook. I’m not egg-aggerating at all.” “...I will destroy you with this frying pan.”

“C’mon, Santiago, that’s a bit egg-streme. I’m egg – “Before Jake can even finish, she’s chasing him around the kitchen, whacking him while he half laughs, half cries in pain. They both almost collapse in laughter on the tiled floor, every inhibition or awkward moment forgotten; and yeah, it hurts that maybe they’ll never be more than police colleagues in that way.

But the way his stomach aches from laughing shows that they’re definitely friends. And for this morning, that’s enough.

It’s more than enough, really.  Enough doesn’t even begin to cover how grateful he is to find someone who’ll let him sleep on their couch and make him breakfast and still enthusiastically belt him within an inch of his life with a kitchen utensil.

He’s lucky to have her. He’s way too uncomfortable with emotions to ever be able to let her know that, but he is.

“I was going to say sorry! I’m egg-sorry!” “Do you want breakfast or not, because at this point I’m more than willing to just let you starve.” “...I’ll eat the rest of the pizza if you make some coffee?”

Amy sighs and shoves her blackened amalgamation of a breakfast into the trash, wrinkling her nose in disgust as Jake helps himself to the rest of last night’s leftover pizza.

She pours herself a bowl of cereal and makes them both coffee, and it’s...nice. It’s surprisingly natural, actually, as he sits on her kitchen counter, swinging his legs back and forth and making fun of her parchment scroll length itemised shopping list tacked neatly to the fridge. Like he belongs there.

He sifts through the files that are still strewed haphazardly on the coffee table as Amy gets dressed – showing up two days in a row to work in the same clothes is pretty normal for him anyway, so he doesn’t have to worry about that. They’re both ready for work by the time Jake’s alarm normally goes off, and for once he can guarantee that this time he’s not going to be late.

He can’t wait to see the look on Holt’s face.

“Ready to go?” “Yeah. Um, thank you. For, y’know. Breakfast.”

“That’s okay.” She smiles warmly at him and he can practically feel his heart bursting out of his chest. God, he’s such an idiot. They just sort of stare at each other for a moment before her face lights up.

“Oh, by the way, sleeping beauty – I totally solved the case while you were out.” “What? No way!” “Uh huh. It was the contractor’s wife; she used two fake ID’s, a Mexican passport and the bread knife we found in the dumpster. Want to help me make the arrest?” “The wife! I knew it! Obviously I was so close, really I was just sleeping to give you a chance to –“

Her pointed look cuts him off, and she rolls her eyes as he gives her a dorky grin.

And, just for this one tiny barely significant moment, his stupid crush on Amy Santiago isn’t so overwhelmingly, well, crushing, and everything between them is so, so good.

Even if the smell of smoke around them is still lightly suffocating, and his heart still starts beating way too fast every time he looks at her, and Amy will be scrubbing the orange soda stains off of her couch for weeks.

(Of course, the next time he wakes up in Amy Santiago’s apartment it’ll be in her bed, with Amy Santiago sleeping softly beside him, and everything between them will be better than he could have ever possibly imagined.) (But he doesn’t need to know that.)

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

[lemonradios]

>RED_Holiday pt2

Icarus watched Gage bark obscenities and bitter curses at Rig while he tapped the cooling coffee mug in his hands with his wedding band. None of this was right, this wasn’t anything like he pictured it would be when he found Radio again.

He thought somehow they could go back to the way they were before… Before he realized how much things really weren’t alright. “Gage, sit down, please… ” He told the Green sprite tiredly.

“ Icarus… ” Gage replied in a tone that carried a hint of hurt.

“ Just… Let him finish. I don’t think he meant to hurt us or even them, and while I agree with you that the lies and… How we all found out was… Not okay. Let’s just hear the rest of it at least.” Icarus was always the voice of reason, but he looked so tired, so worn and lacking in his usual air of strength.

Gage groaned although he accepted what Icarus said the only reason he complied and sat down was because he, too, was tired, and the fact Indie had been sobbing pitifully for the last hour had taken him down a few pegs. For as bitter a sprite as he was Gage really did not enjoy making his companions cry.

Rig, who stood in near the archway to the kitchen with his younger brother sitting behind him at his heels, had been quiet until Icarus spoke up. “I’m not trying to defend what I did. I shouldn’t have kept it a secret but I didn’t know how to tell you all either.” He started to explain, again, since he had been cut off so many times already he paused and expected another interruption. Thankfully Icarus reaching out to put a hand on Gage’s shoulder stopped him from ranting again about trust.

“I had been living in that game for years and I don’t even know how long it had been infected before I noticed. The virus that infected the game is a parasite, it doesn’t want to be found nor does it want to kill the hosts. ” As Rig continued he could see Gage growing more and more upset and even physically uncomfortable. “ The bugs grow inside the existing sprites, slowly replaceing their code so they learn the way their host acts. It’s an intentionally slow process to avoid detection. By the time I realized the game was infected the damage was too severe. Too much of the game had been replaced to be salvaged. I was only able to get most of the code for Nathan and the twins.“ Rig normally would be pacing and coming undone by this point but Agent had a firm hold on his brother’s leg.

“I honestly couldn’t… Couldn’t handle seeing them… You know… burst into monstrous bugs. S-So… I took their backups while Agent erased everything else. They didn’t know what hit them and… and I don’t think any of them suffered very long… Though I really can’t swear to that and the backups I sifted through to piece them back together were taken prior to everything so they don’t have to remember that… They’re about as alright as they could possibly be and they really didn’t want this to… You know, get ugly… Like it did.” Rig’s hands were trembling somewhat as he lit up another cigarette.

Agent poked his head out from behind Rig and slowly stood up. “I… Didn’t know… Don’t know…. I - I never.. Hmmm… I have been- Been in a… box… I don’t know - ahh… How not to Mmh, talk with… Others. I didn’t… Didn’t mean to say things- th- things that hurt. ” The hybrid spoke nervously and seemed to be genuinely apologetic. He didn’t understand why he had made everyone so upset, all his life he knew that things ate other things, naturally and consistently, he was only ever told that was bad by Rig. He was a powerful destructive hybrid that had very little experience in social situations.

“I guess I can’t hold that against you, Agent… But you, Rig… You still should have said something to us… To Radio at least. ” Icarus finally spoke again, he was rubbing his temples while he processed everything that Rig and Agent had said.

“ This… Parasite… Is there any way to remove it without a backup or destroying the host? ” Gage’s question came with an uncharacteristically nervous tone.

“I… Don’t think so… At least not that I know of. Believe me if I did I would have taken that route before considering the alternative. ” Rig could tell, everyone could tell, that the topic had Gage very unsettled.

Though they seemed to understand what Rig was saying, what he meant to do, no one seemed at all relieved. If anything they all seemed sadder.

“ I’m… So sorry, everyone. I’ll do everything possible to make sure nothing like that ever happens again… I… I swear if I ever found more of it I would tell you all before doing anything else. ” Rig tried to be reassuring but he wasn’t too sure how well that went over. He smiled at Icarus who nodded back at him before he stood up.

Icarus then pat Gage on the back and moved to where Indie was sniffling and lifted his scrawnier twin up to walk him back oit to the small get-together tbey were having for the holiday.

“Look into other ways of getting rid of that Parasite virus for us, alright? ” Gage asked as he stood up, patting the Hybrid’s arm on his way out the green racer actually stayed by the twins.

Rig watched them for a few moments, it was the first time they’d all been… Supportive of each other in so long it was a little shocking that they were all in agreement or at least on the same page for once. Agent tugged at his brother’s shirt and urged him away. “Come! Show me more the movie things, and… I want you to teach…. Better words.” Rig gently pat Agent on the head, knowing that he needed to tell them so many more things. every lie deeper he went seemed another nail in his perverbial coffin… “Hey, Guys?” Rig called into the living room and waited for Icarus to look up at him before he continued. “When is Radio supposed to be here?” Icarus shrugged, he hadn’t even thought about it since before Agent had made a big scene of eating the game Rig lived in. “He needed some last minute things for Christmas gifts so I assumed he’d be late.” “It’s… /really/ late now though…” Indy added, knowing that Radio didn’t like being out at night. “Maybe someone should go check on him?” Gage asked, unsure what Indy was implying. “Doesn’t he still have that big jerk of a virus husband? he’s probably just running late, I wouldn’t worry too much.” Icarus assured them all as he pat Indy on the back. Rig, however, was definitely worried…