#...annoying... mood instability or whatever.....

[chibiexorcist]

pointless rant under cut

I genuinely do not understand those who quite literally romanticize the concept of betrayal, nor those who ship the hurt with the one(s) who hurt them. From both lived experience and witnessed situations, I can only view it as a terrible thing, and cannot bring myself to believe that anything based on it could ever be healthy in nature.

Trusting in someone, only to have them turn around and use that against you? Believing in them, only to be lied to, or manipulated, or even killed?

Especially if it's a repeating trend, or someone you swore to protect, or someone you gave your loyalty to… That kind of thing breaks a person. It is not a good thing. And even if the offender apologizes, even if they feel bad, to jump right into "aww, they're so shippable" is…! It disgusts me! It pisses me off, the way some fandoms literally fawn over that shit.

I don't understand the reasoning behind it, and quite frankly, I don't want to understand!

People can like what they like. Whatever. But in fandom spaces or other areas that don't affect lives? That doesn't mean I have to like it or agree with it. And in this case? I don't. Never have, never will, never want to.

[magioftheseas]

Poppy Tea Consumption

For @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Be Careful What You Wish For taken from here.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mental instability and implications of violence.

Notes: Reincarnated!Tsukasa and Hanako-kun is too good of an idea to not attempt at least once. So I sure attempted! Tsukasa, of course, is not careful when it comes to what he wishes for at all. This could’ve been so much darker lmao but I wanted my attempt to be more subtle.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

In the old school building, on the third floor within the third stall of the girl’s bathroom, you have to knock on the door three times to contact one Hanako-san. It’s said that whoever succeeds in summoning her will have one wish granted. However, in return, she will seize a precious belonging.

In the past, there have been rumors of successful summons that have resulted in truly unfortunate events. Freedoms taken away, lost loved ones, and even complete ruination. Some girls have even gone missing as a result of contracting Hanako-san. It’s spooky stuff—but the last alleged contact happened over a decade ago. Who knows if it was still true anymore?

He really shouldn’t be up here but he can’t help but be curious. Third floor, third stall. He had to wait for three girls to leave before going in and knocking on the stall door three times.

“Hanako-san, Hanako-saaaaaaan,” he sing-songs. “Are you theeeeere?”

He waited, waited, and waited. He checked his phone. About three minutes passed. Aaaaaaaaand—

Nothing. Snorting, he even knocked again.

“Come oooon,” he whined. “That’s so booooring! Are you there or are you fake?!”

Still nothing. Sullenly, he kicked at the door. It creaked eerily, but that was it.

“So lame,” he grumbled, turning on his heel. “Guess I should just leave.”

Just as he was about to, he felt a chill down his spine, like he was being watched or reached for. He does still—and it happens. Something passes through him, causing him to shudder.

“Here I aaaaam,” a voice drones from behind, high-pitched and surreal.

Excitedly, he spun back around and practically kicked open the door. To his radiant delight, there was someone seated atop the toilet. It clearly wasn’t human—whatever it was had a faded outline and accompanying white will-o-wisps. It may have sat like a person, but...

“Hanako-san, right?!” he exclaimed. “It’s true! You’re real! You’re really real...and you’re also...in pants!”

Actually, ‘Hanako-san’ seemed to be dressed in a boy’s uniform with the hat pulled down so that the face was obscured. It was strange, he mused, tapping his lip curiously. “I didn’t know Hanako-san was a crossdresser, but okay! Stay there! Let me...take a picture!”

He already had his phone out, so it was a matter of angling the shot...making sure he got the will-o-wisps in frame... He snapped the photo, except what showed on his phone was nothing more than a sad, lonely toilet.

“Hmm...” His cheeks puffed as he inquired. “Do you think you can make yourself visible?”

“Is that really what you summoned me for?” Hanako drawls, sounding either cold or irritated. He’s used to that, so he just nods along without a care.

“Yep. My friend’s really into supernatural stuff, and she’s been giving me the cold shoulder lately. I think she’ll play with me again if I give her proof. Also, she’s in the broadcasting club, so it’ll be a cool announcement to make! Hanako-san’s real...! And now another student is at risk of going missing! Hehehe. Being spirited away by a ghost sounds fun! What happens when you spirit people away? Do you eat them? Do you flush them? Do ya, do ya, do ya?”

Hanako’s arms crossed, and the crossed tightly. Oh. Hanako was angry.

Even ghosts get angry with me, huh...

“Anyway!” he went on. “I wish for proof of your existence! That’s it! In return...you can have my pinky! Just the tip!”

Hanako’s lip curls in distaste, and he looks solemnly at his hand, wondering if maybe Hanako wants all the way to the knuckle. Maybe Hanako wants his organs instead. He supposes he can part with some of them, mainly the useless ones...except those wouldn’t have a lot of value, huh...

“You watch not only too much horror movies, but yakuza shows,” Hanako then sighed, sounding quite, quite tired. Like his homeroom teacher or even the principal. Super ancient, too. “I reject your wish.”

Huh?

“I reject it,” Hanako coldly repeated to his wide-eyed stare. “Get out.”

“Huuuuh?! Can you do that?!” But why? Why, why, why? “Why, why, why, why?”

“Enough.”

The room almost shook with the force of that order. Almost like facing down an abusive parent, he was baffled to be in this situation with a crossdressing ghost, of all things. That was strange! So strange!

“Is it a forbidden wish?” He wondered if that was it, even as he wondered-wondered about that. “But, what else am I supposed to wish for? I don’t really care about anything else. I don’t really need anything else...”

“Get out,” Hanako just coldly repeated. “Now.”

“But...” He protested childishly. “But why—?”

“YUGI!!” a voice bellowed, getting his attention. Turning, he could see just how angry and flustered his homeroom teacher was. The man only ever looked that agitated around cars. How strange. “What the hell are you doing in the girl’s bathroom?!”

“I was...” He trailed off. “I was talking to Hanako-san...”

“Honestly,” his teacher griped. “You and your outlandish stories.”

He stopped paying attention, noticing the girl peering inside. She was the calmest one there, as always.

“Sakura!” he exclaimed, rushing to her. “Hanako-san is real! Real and a crossdressing weirdo who won’t grant my wish!”

She catches him when he throws himself at her, whining into her shoulder.

“Hanako-san won’t grant my wish! And Hanako-san won’t even tell me why!”

“Tsukasa-kun,” she sighed, gripping the back of his uniform. “I told you not to cause trouble.”

“But, Sakuraaaaa!”

“That’s enough,” she snapped, stern but never cruel. “Sensei, I’m sorry for him.”

She tugs him away even as he wails.

“I don’t understand at aaaaaall!”

No one else replies. Sakura is dead quiet. But the silence left behind in that girl’s bathroom was thick enough to crush someone like an ant between fingertips.

--

“Eh... Honorable Seventh...” Tsuchigomori bows his head, clearly shaken and anxious. “You’re pretty angry, huh...?”

“Why would I be?” Hanako returned, eyes wide and vacant. Darker than the deepest abysses. “The living are not my concern.”

“Ah, guess not,” Tsuchigomori murmured, unconvinced. “Still... I’ll take responsibility...and leave.”

Hanako lets him depart, playing with his hat. Once alone, his expression twisted into something truly horrid.

“Even in this life... Tsukasa still...”

--

“You did something unnecessary again.”

“You were ignoring me,” Tsukasa accused, pouting across the snack table that Sakura set up with tea. “I thought you were mad.”

“Sorry,” Sakura’s mumble was more akin to acquiescing than apologizing. “It was not like that... I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.” Tsukasa waved his hand before reaching out and snatching a sugar cube. “I summoned Hanako-san, and it was suuuuch a disappointment.”

“No one has succeeded in summoning her in over a decade,” Sakura said. “It is not surprising.”

“No, I summoned Hanako-san,” he corrected sharply, smacking the table. “But Hanako-san took one look at me and not only refused my wish but also told me to get out! Do you think Hanako-san was in a bad mood?!”

Sakura blinks at him. She’s never been expressive and he never minded that about her.

“...right.” Her head bows again. “You said something like that earlier.”

“You didn’t pay attention!” he yelled, not angry at all. “You were drowning me out even though I summoned Hanako-san for you!”

“I did not ask you to do that,” Sakura sighed. “I...have made you anxious, yes... I did not think you would be that bothered, Tsukasa-kun.”

“I was!” His voice rises and rises. “I was even more bothered when Hanako-san rejected my wish! Am I that unbearable? I don’t understand! I even offered my pinky tips and everything! And all I wished for was proof! Shouldn’t Hanako-san have wanted the extra traction?! Instead...!”

Sakura sinks into her chair.

“You are...shouting, Tsukasa-kun...”

“I’m so agitated! I don’t understand! I don’t, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t!”

He ends up knocking over the tea, causing it to spill all over the table, the decorations, the cookies, and Sakura’s lap. She doesn’t even flinch even though it’s hot. She just stares at her stained blazer and skirt and without another word, gets up and leaves to go wash off. Tsukasa just watches her go sullenly. He laps at the tea, and it has a sour tinge.

Looking at his reflection, he perked up.

Something struck him as weird, really, incredibly weird.

--

“Hanako-san, Hanako-san, Hanako-san!” He knocks on the door once again. “Grant me! My wish!”

He didn’t get an answer. He pummels the door rapidly.

“I! Know! You’re! There! GRANT ME MY WISH!!!! I CAME UP WITH A NEW ONE! I want a washing machine! A really cool washing machine! And maybe a dryer! Come on! COME ON COME ON COME ON!”

“Um, Yugi-kun...”

He’s interrupted not by Hanako, but by a girl who looks quite annoyed.

“Not that I don’t...get whatever you’re doing...but this is the girl’s bathroom, you know. And Michiru-chan’s been waiting for you to leave.” She in fact looks ready to kill him. “Get out.”

Despite that, she doesn’t sound as angry as Hanako.

“I’ll wait, then!” he exclaimed. “I want Hanako-san to answer me!”

She sighed haggardly and irritably. Nothing like Sakura at all. Her friend, Michiru, is ducked behind her for safety. Tsukasa pays neither of them further mind, just skipping past and standing outside. He doesn’t bother noticing the looks of disdain he gets when the girls leave, instead striding right back inside to start knocking anew.

“Hanako-san, Hanako-san, Hanako-san, HANAKO-SAN!!!”

--

“Yugi, are you trying to get expelled?”

“Am I gonna get expelled?” he asks innocently. “All I was doing was trying to get Hanako-san to answer.”

Sensei sighed like how everyone else sighed at him. Sighing, sighing, sighing. So many trees must blossom and flourish with so much sighing. They should’ve overtaken the school by now with roots crushing the bricks and branches growing through the windows.

“Hanako-san’s at fault!” he claimed. “Hanako-san knows I’m there but won’t answer! Won’t even grant my wish! Isn’t that Hanako-san’s job?”

“Hanako-san...isn’t real.” Sensei spoke through sharp, gritted teeth. Have they always been sharp? Has Sensei always looked so beastly? Sometimes... Tsukasa wonders if Sensei is actually human. “Stop going into the girl’s bathroom, Yugi. I will not ask again.”

Adults like to give ultimatums and last chances all the time. Tsukasa has no problem calling their bluff because what’s the worst they can do? Hurt him? Kill him?

“If Hanako-san agrees to grant my wish, then fine.” He gave a firm nod. “I’ve already made tons though and Hanako-san doesn’t bite. I’ve asked for pictures, washing machines, candy, donuts, a katanuki stall, ice cream, and a vaulting pole! I’m not sure what else to ask for, maybe a book?”

“Stop this nonsense, Yugi,” Sensai snapped. “It’s gotten out of hand.”

“If a girl wants to use the bathroom, I let her! And I don’t get the big deal—there are stalls anyway and I don’t try to peek!” Tsukasa shot back. “Are you going to tell me it’s harassment? Is Hanako-san going to charge me with harassment?! Hanako-san’s the one not holding up the end of the bargain! You make a wish to Hanako-san and Hanako-san grants it! Why won’t Hanako-san grant my wish?!”

“Because—!” Sensei stopped, coughing into his hand. “Because Hanako-san isn’t real.”

“I saw Hanako-san! Hanako-san spoke to me! Hanako-san is moody and weird and wears a boy’s uniform! I know what I saw, you’re not going to tell me I didn’t see anything when I saw Hanako-san! And Hanako-san was the one who said that my wish was rejected! But, why?! Did I do something wrong? It can’t be because I’m a bad person—even bad people get their wishes granted all the time!”

“Y-Yugi...” Sensei tries, but Tsukasa just screams.

“WHY DOES HANAKO-SAN HATE ME?!”

Sensei doesn’t answer. It occurs to Tsukasa then that this is such a weird thing to be bothered about. But the more the thought about it, the more upset it made him.

After a while, Sensei gathers himself, and just when Tsukasa thinks that he might be comforted, Sensei puts on a stern face.

“Get your things and leave. Consider yourself suspended for a week, Yugi.”

“What?” He’s a lot quieter than usual. The words leave him feeling like his head got stuffed with cotton. “You can’t do that. You’re just a homeroom teacher.”

“And you think it’d be that hard to convince the higher ups?” Sensei asked wryly. It’s less cruel and more matter-of-fact. “You’ve made yourself a nuisance for long enough that they’ll take any reason to be rid of you. You’re lucky this is temporary.”

Tsukasa opened his mouth and shut it. He opened it again. He smiled, showing his teeth.

“But, what am I going to tell my parents?” he asked, his tone of voice sweet.

Sensei stared him down coldly.

“Nothing. You’re not going to tell them anything. Get out before it becomes two weeks, Yugi.”

Still smiling, Tsukasa does just that.

--

He’s not so badly behaved that he doesn’t stay at least one day at home. He spends most of it alone, drawing on whatever paper he can find even if it’s mail. He doesn’t get scolded. He’s not spoken to at all. Even when the class rep brings him things, they don’t speak to him. He’s pretty sure they don’t like him for that time with the birds and mice. He’s banned from the gardens for that reason, too.

Well, not banned per say, but he gets chased out whenever seen. One of the girls there looks like a fish whenever she gets angry. It’s cute. That’s the kind of girl he’d like but he still likes Sakura best. Sakura, after all, is his friend. That makes her more important than everyone else he interacts with.

He wonders if her dog’s celebrating his break. His entire class probably is. Maybe the entire school is. Maybe they’re all throwing a big huge part with cake and juice and everything, including streamers. Streams of all colors, none for him. They’re all laughing with relief while he’s at home.

In the meantime, Tsukasa draws tunnels. Tunnels upon tunnels that wind around his house like the pipes underground. He’s almost done by the end of the second day. His wrist is killing him too much on the third.

On the fourth night, he breaks into the school.

--

“And on Thursday, he’s going to break into the school,” Tsuchigomori drones. “I’m gonna catch him and have him expelled. And you won’t have to worry about him ever again.”

Hanako hummed, doing a good job of focusing on his game with the mokke.

“I knew he was going to get expelled, so I thought you wouldn’t ever hear about him,” Tsuchigomori goes to admit, having the decency to look somewhat ashamed as he rubs at his scalp and spins around his pipe. “I was surprised that he tried to summon you, Honorable Seventh.”

Hanako doesn’t say anything to that, but he does look more disappointed than usual when the mokke beat him in cards.

“You’re the one who actually asked, y’know. So, there it is. Pretty mundane and uninteresting. As if it’d be any other way.”

“...sensei.”

Tsuchigomori immediately stiffened. Hanako’s voice was just as sickly sweet as his—as the other Yugi’s.

“What’s going to happen to him after he gets expelled?”

“I’ve told you as much as I’m allowed,” was his answer. “Anything more and my existence will fizzle. You knowing this much was destined, so it’s fine. But you don’t need to know the rest.”

Hanako grinned at him.

“I see. That’s fine, then.”

“It’s fine?” The tone used was very not-fine. It wasn’t a fine tone at all.

“It’s fine. You’re dismissed.”

--

Climbing over the gate was easy. Picking the lock to the old school building was simple. All that remained was a hop, skip, and a jump up three flights of stairs until he ended up in front of the girl’s bathroom. He shuffled from one foot to the other before stepping inside. He hadn’t encountered a living soul since he broke in, having gotten pretty lucky. It’s not going to mean anything, like that time he won a crane game and his toy got torn to pieces.

He knocks on the third stall door three times.

“Good evening, Hanako-san,” he begins in his best cordial tone taught by Sakura. It probably sounds super lifeless, more lifeless than a fly on its back. “Radio silence this time, too? That’s fine! I brought a radio!”

He sets it and turns it on. It plays nothing but static no matter what channel he flicks it to.

“I found it in a trash heap,” he explains. “Isn’t it cool? I managed to get it to work, too! It’s so ancient, like, like, like from...a century ago! It’s super dirty and smells really funny! Isn’t it the coolest?!”

He presents it with flourish.

“And I’ll give it to you if you just grant my wish!”

He holds it up for a bit. Once three minutes of silence have passed, he throws it to the ground and stomps it to bits.

“Too noisy,” he said, and he sits down so that he can rip apart what remained with his hands. All these wires and jagged metal edges crumble so easily between his twisting fingers. “It’s so damn noisy.”

The bathroom stall is vacant even when he kicks the door open. Tsukasa just sighed, like everyone else.

“I’m so bored,” he laments. “Every day passes by, less interesting than the last. It’s only the superstitions that are different. Y’know? Like how fairies steal your things. How your time can get stolen. How mirrors can show your worst fear and trap you in hell! I like that one a lot! I’ve always wanted to know what it’d show me! I want to know!”

He pauses, sucking in his breath.

“There’s one about the grim reaper taking girls to be his wives. What do you think being married to the grim reaper is like? I bet it’s awful. I bet he’s weird and nasty and girls don’t like looking at him. That’s why he takes so many. Because none of them like him. Nobody likes him. Nobody likes death. Even the people who claim otherwise are big fat liars who are unliked by everyone, too. Because nobody likes liars, even though they lie to themselves all the time.”

He yanks out more wires.

“This world is nothing, which is why I don’t really mind giving up anything. Maybe...that’s why you don’t like me, Hanako-san. It’s fine. I would never wish for people to like me. That’s weird, creepy, and nasty. And super, super pathetic. Only losers would wish for someone else to like them. Why don’t they just change their looks and awful personality if they’re that desperate? I don’t get it. That’d be better than making a wish to some weird, crossdressing toilet ghost.”

His radio is now completely torn to pieces. It’s not even recognizable anymore. It’s worse than junk, and it had been junk when he first found it. He does look back into the empty stall, and he sighs again.

“I wish you’d just talk to me.”

And a flashlight shines on him from the door. He’s not even surprised that it’s Sensei. Sensei, who looks so tired and aggravated.

“Trespassing is illegal, Yugi.”

“Yep,” is his easy answer. “So is vandalism. I broke every potted plant I could find and painted all over the art club’s walls. Am I gonna get expelled now?”

“You aren’t giving anyone a choice now,” Sensei pointed out. “Come with me.”

Smiling, Tsukasa stood.

“Sure thing!”

He skips up to Sensei, beaming at him. Sensei only looks down with even more contempt, but just as Sensei’s long, spidery fingers wrap around his arm...

“Wait.”

It’s Hanako’s voice, but it’s Sensei who waits. Blinking owlishly, Tsukasa sees—that the other is afraid. Afraid and in disbelief.

“C...Come on,” Sensei stutters. “I’m gonna...”

“You’re going to leave,” Hanako says. “But he’s going to stay.”

“H...!”

Tsukasa looks behind him, but no one’s there. Sensei sucks in his breath and then releases his arm with a groan.

“One more chance,” he murmured. “I’ll give you the chance to clean up this mess and get the hell out, Yugi.”

“But what about everything else?” he asked, eyes wide.

“What else?!” Sensei seethed. “You lied about the pots and the walls! The only thing you actually broke was a damn lock that needed to be replaced years ago!” He shoved Tsukasa back. “Clean and then leave. I better not see you until two weeks from now. Have a night nice, Yugi.”

Just like that, he leaves. Just like that, Tsukasa’s left standing there in a state of utmost confusion. He only flinches because a new hand presses lightly against his back, and it’s cold enough to send him into shock. When he turns, it’s to face Hanako floating close by, almost completely obscured by shadow.

“You’re too much trouble for your own good,” Hanako mourns. “Do you care about yourself at all?”

“No, I don’t.” He can’t help but laugh. “I’ve never cared! Not once!”

He can’t see, but the air around them is as cold as it is strangely bitter. Like someone upset enough to will spring into winter. He’s heard about deities who could do that. He doubts Hanako is a deity. Hanako-san is just...weird.

“Do you care, Hanako-san? I can’t believe you even ordered Sensei around like that. Since when was Sensei your subordinate?” He’s vibrating with excitement and a sparkling gaze. “I always thought Sensei didn’t seem very human! Even his name is super suspicious! What other supernatural beings are among us? Do you know if there are aliens, too?!”

“There are no aliens,” Hanako said flatly. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“There’s things even Hanako-san doesn’t know?! Or are you hiding something?! Tell me, tell me, tell me!” He exclaimed it until he went breathless, and after a while, he realized. “Oh, right... I wished for you to talk to me and you’ve already...done that. Am I going to get spirited away now? Is that why you kept me from getting expelled?”

He’d miss Sakura, at least, but it’s fine.

“Whatever you take is fine,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m not taking anything.” Hanako flicked his forehead. “There’s nothing from you that I could possibly want. If I had to make any demands, it was that you stop calling me a crossdresser. I wear this because I’m actually a guy.”

“A guy...haunting the girl’s bathroom? You’re not a weirdo, you’re a pervert. Okay.” He didn’t really care. “What do you mean you don’t want anything?”

“What I mean is...” Hanako is suddenly close enough to make his head spin. The contours of Hanako’s face was fuzzy, but his eyes—his eyes were uncomfortably, almost achingly bright. “Yugi Tsukasa, there’s nothing you could ever have that I could ever want. I was not fulfilling your wish when I chose to speak to you. It was merely a whim. It meant nothing to me.”

“Nothing, huh...” The brightness of that gaze threatened to burn him alive, like ants under a microscope. He wondered—how many insects did he squash without a care? How many did he just stare down at with dullness and contempt? If those mindless drones had any feelings whatsoever, they might understand how he feels right now. But why would they? They’re ants. “Okay. I’m just gonna get expelled another way. Everyone else already likes it best when I’m not around, after all. Even Sakura.”

He pulls away so that he can start picking up the pieces of his radio and tossing them. He hums, plucking them one at a time. There was a lot of pieces, but he took his time. It didn’t matter how long it took, because no one was going to use the bathroom at this hour. Or on this day.

Sometimes the moonlight filtered through the window and caught onto the gleaming pieces of metal. He paused to admire them, stopping when he realized the sight was such a pale comparison to that of the true night sky.

“Hanako-san,” he says. “What do you think of the stars? Aren’t they pretty? I read up on constellations and stuff, too. Did you know if you went to space without a suit that aaaaaall the air would be sucked out like a vacuum? It’d be like—boom! Rapture!”

“Rupture,” Hanako corrected softly, sounding a lot like Sakura.

“Space is mostly empty, but it takes light soooo long to travel across that we never see the stars as they currently are. We only see them like, many, many, many, many years ago,” he explained. “In all that time, the star might not even be there anymore. Oh, but we’d see right away if the moon ever blew up! And then, we’d all die because it’d rain so much flaming debris and cause so many shockwaves! I wonder what that actually looks like. Raining fire would be...”

He was so caught up in his rambling that he ended up slicing his finger on one of the jagged pieces. He stops himself at the sting. He doesn’t cry, however, just staring at the injury, squinting at it before he lapped at it. Without thinking, he wipes it down on the front of his uniform, no doubt staining it with red.

He hears the intake of breath, but maybe it’s just the wind. Wasn’t the window a tiny bit open...? He does feel a cold breeze for a moment—and a deathly chill the next.

“Wah! C-Cold...!”

He tried to get up to close the window, but he’s pulled back before he can. The sudden bout of resistance in the very air was strange, it was almost as if he was being—

“Hanako-san...?”

Oh. Hanako was embracing him. Hanako was embracing him from behind, holding him so tightly that he couldn’t move.

“Waaah, cold!” he whines. “I bet it’s colder than spaaace!”

He does squirm a bit. Hanako’s like a block of ice, so it’s hard to generate any amount of warmth. Maybe this is what being spirited away is like?

But Hanako-san just said...

Hanako sighs into his ear.

“Oh, Tsukasa. You’re still the same.”

Tsukasa blinks as he’s then squeezed. Hanako just holds him. He holds him and holds him even to the point where Tsukasa’s breath turns into visible puffs of white. He shivers, and Hanako just continues to hold him. There’s no heartbeat against his back, and more shudders go down his spine.

“I’m sorry, Tsukasa,” Hanako says, and the apology doesn’t feel like it’s for him. Not at all. “I just...”

“Who...” Tsukasa can only manage one response. “W-Who are you talking to...?”

Everything pulses. It’s so freezing that his body is spasming, and he can only recognize distantly that he’s started crying.

“Ah.” Hanako, too, sounds so far away despite still being so close. “It’ll be alright, Tsukasa. It’s not like you’re going to remember this.”

Through blurring shapes and tears, he can somehow tell that Hanako’s fingers are nearing his face.

“No...!” Try as he might, he can’t escape. “No, no, no, no—! Don’t—!”

A name claws its way up his throat, scrambles up his tongue, but before he can even choke on the first syllable...

Hanako trails his fingertips down from his hairline to his forehead. It’s almost affectionate. He barely has time to register the sad smile on Hanako’s face—that face which looked...so familiar...as familiar as his own...

Who are you?

Everything falls into black.

--

Tsuchigomori doesn’t say anything, just keeping his head ducked subserviently. Tsukasa sleeps without a care, but it won’t be that way for long, so they have to hurry.

“Can you have him brought back to wherever he lives?” he asked, getting straight to the point. “You can, right? You wouldn’t let me down.”

“I’d have to ask Nagisa,” Tsuchigomori sighed, rubbing his head irritably with three different hands. “He’s sympathetic to the kid, maybe overly so.”

“That’s nice,” Hanako says cheekily. “I envy him, then, for having such nice teachers.”

Tsuchigomori won’t meet that probing stare, and he avoids the kid too, for that matter. What happens between that kid and Honorable Seventh isn’t his business, even if that kid’s his student. He’d been resigned to that since the day that they met and he nearly went into shock at the sight of curious amber eyes blinking up at him.

That kid had the same grin as back then, nothing like how Honorable Seventh used to be.

“I almost pulled a knife on him again,” Hanako laughs like it’s a funny joke. “How do you think he would’ve reacted?”

The way Hakujoudai vibrate give away how truly aggravated and agitated the seventh wonder was. So, Tsuchigomori elects to remain silent. He pretends not to notice the look Hanako gives to the kid now curling up as he slept.

“...take good care of him, sensei.”

It’s a soft request, spoken with emotion and meaning burrowed deep into the bones. Hanako tugs off his hat, mournfully regarding his once brother. It’s meant to be a gesture of finality, but Tsuchigomori knows without reading ahead that it was only that. A hollow gesture.

This was someone who changed the future once before, after all.

[noirrest]

TANYA, a jaguar beastman who always seems to be annoyed at everyone and everything.

look she's killed someone, but that's no one's business but she and her cousin's.

[ picrew link ! ]

meet tanya, a woman who was known as a menace to the humans in her old world. most people tended to avoid her for good reason. regardless of species.

name

tanya stevens

age

nineteen

birthday

04/04

zodiac

aries

place of birth

land of the rainforest

dormitory

ramshackle

gender

female

pronouns

she/her

appearance variations

her hair is locked up into a shorter style, but sometimes she adds extensions to give it some length. seeing as it doesn't take long for her to unlock it, sometimes she can be seen with a natural style or with braids

naturally, her hair is two-toned, the left half black and the right half blonde.

her left eye is a chocolate hazel while the right is a dull green. her irises take up most of her eye, but her sclera is black

as expected, she has the ears and tail of a jaguar. her left ear is blonde while her right ear is black. for better imagery, the blonde half of her hair has a black ear while the right has a blonde ear

her legs are more animalistic from the mid-thigh down

sometimes she has freckles, sometimes she doesn't. they appear at random times

outfit variations

tanya prefers loose clothing, only wearing form fitting when it benefits her. sometimes she can be seen in a sweatpants, oversized hoodie, and no bra combo and other's it'll be dress-shirt, fitted slacks, and elegant hair-do. it really just depends on her mood.

she wears her school uniform much like kalim. she wears one of kiburi's stolen jackets, the button-up, and the slacks. she threw her only vests into a fight she got into and never saw it again. most of the time, she leaved the first few buttons of the shirt unbuttoned and the jacket open, allowing some of her cleavage and bra to be seen. ["..? ion give a damn. if you have a problem with it then you don't deserve to be given life. grow up, dumbass."]

for anything casual, tanya wears the sweatpants, hoodie, and no bra combo. ["what? i'm at home! lemme be comfortable, fool."]

she wears the shorts of the gym uniform. that's it. she does wear upper wear, but it's only a sports bra.

height

5'8"

172cm

personality

tanya is a social creature by all means. she loves parties of any types, quickly becoming the life of it when she feels it's becoming dead. the only thing that sets this lively attitude back is the fact that she's easily irritated.

as much as a social butterfly tanya presents herself to be, jaguars are still solitary creatures; and to an extent, so is tanya. when she's out of energy, she tends to lock herself in her dorm or room for a few hours to work it back up.

she's quite violent, but she knows how to keep it under wraps. she's been hiding her bloodlust tendencies since she was a child. sometimes this shows during whatever fights she gets into that week, sometimes it doesn't.

tanya isn't a selfish person perse.. but if she had to choose between her greatest dream being accomplished and her closest friend's life..

ever the athlete, tanya is known amongst her peers to be competitive. no matter what she'll have to go through, she'd love to come out on top.

unique magic

“buried in the ocean.”

this unique magic is a dangerous one, easily leading to many death's or mental instability— including the users— if the one using it loses focus.

tanya prefers to use it as a torture method, using it to either fill her opponents lungs with water or using the dripping water torture method. when she decides to finish her torture, the water evaporates without a trace.

[pigeonfancier]

I'm in such a mood lately! Write things, delete them, have discussions where I wiffle-waffle throughout the entire damn thing - I am always, generally speaking, pretty hard-set in my opinions and actions, so the new shakiness is kind of weird. But I'm stuck in health hell right now, while we figure out medical tests and other bullshit, so I suppose this might just be par for the course right now.

I got annoyed enough by my perceived instability that I decided to just go ahead and cut my hair, though! It's from ass length to chin length, and I was expecting to find it a little distressing, or alarming, but mostly it's just a relief, lol. Long hair is great when I've got the energy and time for it, but that's not right nowww.

Especially when my body keeps doing new, irritating things. Got major psoriasis for the first time this year! Also have ended up getting a large black spot[?] appearing on my lip, thankfully hidden from view unless I'm brushing my teeth. "This is weird, but probably a vitamin deficiency," I said, and nowww there's two more spots! :)

I'm talking to a dermatologist, because my aunt had skin cancer, so my exasperation with my body has won out over my usual avoidance of medical shit. I mean, it's not like I'm not spending way more time with health professionals right now than I prefer, anyway, right? Ohio's back up to 4k daily cases, and there's such a weird aspect to this. I'm exhausted of caring about this pandemic, but every time I start to get fatalistic, I remember that my perfectly healthy, young cousin died of this, and other relatives have, too, so.. whatever. Real adulthood, I suppose, is acknowledging that you're tired of dealing with this shit, and then dealing with it anyway.

The only good aspect of my perpetual state of exhaustion right now is: I am very fond of my friends and social circle! There is something very satisfying about this constant urge I have to scruff people like a kitten and shake them at the crowds (unlike a kitten). They're great! Look at them! Appreciate them! I used to get very overaffectionate and go off on long, fond spiels to people whenever I hit the intersection of fluffy and tired, listing all of their virtues and my favorite of their flaws.

Thankfully, I have mostly grown out of that, and now I just save the overaffectionate speeches for my head, hahaha. Everyone knows that I think they're the bees knees at this point, it's fiiine.

I'm just very satisfied with people right now! I adopted a policy about two years ago of lowering my tolerance for bad behaviour, and repartitioning out my social energy accordingly - if someone continuously distresses me and is uninterested in changing, why am I devoting energy to them? if I do not actually enjoy this person's company, or if someone doesn't acknowledge and appreciate the fact I am devoting time and energy into them, or if someone is unwilling to o the same.. why am I doing this? What am I getting out of this, exactly?

I say "lowering my tolerance", but honestly, it's more.. actually choosing a healthier way of engagement, lmfao, instead of just throwing energy and time and affection towards anyone that comes knocking, because doesn't everyoneee deserve to feel valued?

The answer is yes! Everyone should feel valued, and loved, and like they are a useful, efficient, beloved part of the greater system of their social spheres. But I am not a martyr, people are not charity cases, and my credit cards aren't big enough to cover the energy bill that that shit demands, lolll.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

this is (another) interview

"So... the ghost you mentioned last time," she begins the week after, hesitantly.

"This again," Lewis replies, already weary and a touch annoyed. "Why are you so invested in this? I already told you everything. He's dangerous, he's a liar, he'll fry you alive without a second thought. There's nothing more to say."

You're a liar too, she thinks, but refrains from saying. "Right, right. So how do you know?"

"I told you. Experience."

"What kind?" Her hand hovers over her notebook. "Did you used to know him? Or- did you try to help him once? Did he-"

He sets his fork down, closing his eyes. "Vivi, please. I'd... rather not talk about this now." His voice is still mostly calm, but the torches behind him are flickering a warning.

For once, her common sense wins out over her curiosity. That and she can read the tension in his skull, betraying something more than simple irritation. "Fine. Consider it dropped." For now. "So about that library you mentioned..."

The conversation resumes its normal easy pace, whatever mood had come over Lewis dissolving quickly. Vivi almost forgets about the story she's after, too, caught up in the now excited back-and-forth about books.

Only almost, though.

This is turning into a longer project than she had anticipated, but Vivi can’t say she’s upset about that.

Both her new ghosts are oddities, not quite fitting into any of the classifications she'd constructed. They have the power of wraiths, but none of the instability that normally comes with that. It's the first time she'd ever seen anyone that could use their magic for more than destruction.

Lewis’s mastery over his fire is incredible, a sight to behold even for her – she can't remember ever meeting a ghost this skilled with their innate powers. More than just a weapon, more than just a tool, it seems a part of him. He uses it for everything from cooking to cleaning, to light his way, to heal – she still feels a thrill of excitement when she thinks about the time she’d cut her hand and had gotten to watch, fascinated, as the site of the cut was swarmed in fire and healed completely by the time it was gone.

Arthur’s lightning might not be so versatile, but – and maybe it's just the way his home was constructed – it seems to bring life to the very world around him, animating objects to rearrange or put away or bring out without even having to get up. The whole home pulses with a sort of mechanical unlife, and Vivi just knows that if she was allowed, she'd have a field day exploring and cataloging everything he's made.

---

“Why fire, d’ya think?” she asks once, sitting at the kitchen table and watching Lewis cook.

He pauses for a moment. “I’m not sure. I suppose… it’s just useful, isn’t it? Fire is important to everyone.”

“Sure, but so’s lots of things. Like water, electricity…” she draws out the last word in a fake-casual voice.

If he notes her choice of examples, he doesn’t comment on it. “Well, maybe it is more than just useful. Fire is… familiar. I already knew how to use it, so it... came naturally.”

She nods along. It’s common for a ghost’s structure to take on traits of things they like, or to reflect their personality.

“When I woke up,” he says, more quickly now, and she knows he means when I died, “I needed… to protect myself. Fire was the first thing I could think of that could… help me.” Save me, are the words that go unsaid.

“Oh.” Curious as she is, she knows better than to press a spirit about the events of their death. And she can tell Lewis is getting uncomfortable, even if he offered the information himself. “So what else can you do with it?”

He looks up again, and some animation comes back into him as he starts talking about the mansion.

---

"So... why lightning?"

Arthur glances up at her with a frown and a "huh?"

"For your magic, I mean." She waves her hands at him, mostly gesturing at his tail. "You're all electric and stuff, I was just wondering... why? How come that's the element you gravitated towards?"

"Wasn't like it- it was a decision. J-just... woke up an- and I was," he waves a hand, "like this. All electric and shit or wh-whatever you s-said."

"Huh. Weird." She leans further over, propping her elbows up on the table, and continues talking mostly musing to herself. "Maybe it's a personality thing...?"

"I d-don't think that's it," he's quick to say.

"Did you work with anything electric when you were alive? It could be because it's familiar, maybe?"

After a moment with no response, she looks back up to notice he's giving her a look, and she realizes she's crossed one of the lines. In all honesty, she should have expected that one, plenty of ghosts were reclusive about their old life and with how Arthur was in general...

"Uh, yeah, forget it," she says, trying to communicate a sense of you don't have to talk if you don't want to. "So, how are the cookies? They're lemon, I dunno if you like fruity stuff, never had that before."

The glare leaves his eyes and he relaxes, floating back down into his seat. "Th-they're good, yeah."

---

She wonders if Arthur had deliberately constructed his house into a maze, or if it had just turned out that way, but what she had seen of it twisted and turned deeper and deeper into the hill with no end in sight. Every room she'd been in seemed jammed with what looked, to her, like meaningless trinkets and weird contraptions, and only some of them seemed to serve any purpose beyond storage. There was the living room she'd been invited into, and a bedroom she'd only caught a glimpse of once. Did he ever even use it?

Lewis's mansion seemed put together with much more care – or maybe he was just more naturally organized, that sounded equally likely. It was constructed like an actual house, at least, with some order to what went in each of the three wings. Bedrooms, the kitchen, lounges and libraries and those sorts of things were all kept in their own defined places. It made her wonder, though, why he'd gone to all this trouble. It wasn't like he needed all this space for anything. Maybe it just helped with not feeling claustrophobic.

She’s starting to get a sense, too, for what kind of people they are – and what they'd been before they died.

Lewis is always fussing over her, obviously concerned about her career choice of "professional ghost meet-and-greeter," something he openly thinks is dangerous no matter how many times she points out that he is one of the aforementioned ghosts. He also has an obvious fondness for stories, and though he'll try to keep up his proper, almost regal demeanor, she can still easily see how he lights up like a child at the offering of a new one for his collection. She's started bringing him books as often as she can, and finds herself with a renewed gratefulness for her connections at the Tome Tomb. His favorites are adventures and romances, she's deduced through trial and error, though he's very picky about the latter – he'd actually given a few of them back to her, something he'd never done with any of the others.

He loves to cook, too, and is good at it, with a level of skill that makes her suspicious that he'd been a chef at some point in his life. He doesn't seem nearly so interested in eating what he made, though, and while he'd sit and eat with her while they talked, Vivi would usually be sent off with a box of whatever was left.

Arthur, almost the polar opposite of Lewis's friendly demeanor, is reclusive and almost defensive, rarely offering any information she doesn't ask for. He still won't let her in if she doesn't have any food with her, and even then it had taken a while to convince him that no, she was just coming back for a chat, no nasty surprises here now please open the door. She wonders if maybe he still thinks she's a ghost hunter of some sort. It would explain the open suspicion and how quick he was to kick her out again. It almost wouldn't be worth the trouble, and honestly if this was just a random ghost she probably would've taken the hint by now (or, more accurately the constant barrage of demands) and left him alone. As it stands, though, he's one half of the most fascinating mystery she's gotten her hands on in a while, and like hell is she going to give up because of a little persistent roadblock.

So she’s gotten into sort of a routine. She’ll meet up with Lewis once a week, more or less, if she doesn't find something that she just had to show him right then. He'd give her some food for the road, and she'd turn around and march right down the hill and across the valley and hand it to Arthur. Lewis... probably wouldn't be too happy if he knew what she was doing with the food he gave her, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right?

She's slowly adding more and more information to her collection, and gaining both ghost's trust in the process, but she still has to tiptoe around the topic of the other one with both of them. Any mention of Arthur was sure to send Lewis into a rare bad mood, with a flare of poorly-concealed anger and something else that he still refused to explain, but that was pretty much the end of whatever conversation they were having. His responses become snappy, and while she certainly isn't afraid of him, she still doesn't want to press him on what was obviously a touchy subject. On the flipside, Arthur almost completely shuts down when she mentions the ghost up the hill. Despite his irritated response the first time she brought him up, like Lewis's own response, it wasn't just anger there. She wasn't good enough at reading people to parse what else it was in either of them, though.

But she was getting better and better at asking roundabout questions, at getting both of them to say more than they meant to. Eventually she'd have enough to put the story together. Or so she hoped, at least.

[hopehunted]

“ 𝐔𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐈 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐒𝐀𝐘, 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄. ” is that SHELLEY HENNIG? oh no, that’s 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐃, born on the 27th of JULY, 2011. i heard SHE (CIS FEMALE) is a 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 in the 𝐖𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐀. apparently, they can be PERSEVERING and BOLD but also known to be MERCILESS and GUARDED. spends most of their free time battling a bone-deep desire to flee, probably smells like METAL. is that a bite mark i see?

character inspirations: laurie strode (halloween 2018), murder coat!rick grimes (the walking dead), din djarin (the mandalorian), bigby wolf (the wolf among us), kelly bailey (misfits), frank castle (punisher), spot (the good dinosaur), trilla suduri (star wars), stitch (lilo & stitch).

you can find jordan’s stats right here, where i’ve also put all her links. there’s a good bit of info there, so i’ll just be fluffing her out a bit more here! 

— 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ; 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘'𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐑. CONTENT WARNING: the second-to-last bullet point of this section mentions pregnancy, postpartum depression, and infant death. it’ll be marked with ***.

jordan was born and raised in rural country, far beyond fedra’s reach. their community was overlooked by the government and denied entry to quarantined zones. they were left to fend for themselves — nothing but them, the land, and a dread so thick it filled the air like smog. 

her parents died quickly - no match for the changing tides - and their farm was overtaken by insurgents. suddenly, she became communal property. no, schrodinger's orphan: simultaneously everyone's and no one's ward. soon enough, a young couple would come to adopt her. it was good while it lasted, but jordan's luck is pure shit. family is quickly associated with the ephemeral: each caretaker having taught her something different before they pass or abandon her somewhere — all of them having made a promise they can’t or don’t intend to keep. some of them offer her their compassion's warmth, while others cut like a knife. she's a sponge: soaking up their essences until there was no more room for her, or who she may have been otherwise. 

above all, jordan learned how to make herself useful. she grew older and tougher in more ways than one. in a world intent on eating her alive, jordan fought to prove her worth, earn her place in groups, and for what bit of food and supplies they could scrap together. it was a life of grit, blood, and sweat: each moment clouded by the intrinsic need to survive, pushing out the fantasy of ever letting her defenses down. there is no order in the bush. jordan doesn’t know anything else — her life revolving around a fight, always. what moments of light she has are flickers in the dark ; moments she struggles still to claim are real. it’s easier to accept a grim fate than it is to hope for a brighter one. see, around these parts, hope kills quicker than a clicker.

time passed and jordan was a woman grown, just settling in to her twenties. for once, things we’re actually going well. their camp was protected, safe. it felt odd, she thought, this moment of peace. hope crawled into her brain through her ears and settled there, colonizing her consciousness. a tender friendship and string of bad decisions blossomed into something more; something that felt.. permanent. one thing led to another and suddenly they were expecting. jordan had never had a family before, not in a true sense, but she was excited to try. the idea of creating something greater than her was an exhilarating one, as though a string of good deeds could somehow right what was otherwise wrong in the world. she was excited to assume the role of a teacher, a leader, a caretaker. never before had she wanted anything more than that.

*** the storm passed and jordan realized she’d only been in the eye of it, momentarily untouched. the unimaginable unfolded before their eyes and jordan ventured elsewhere to a place formerly unbeknownst to her. it was a place for which there were no words, no understanding to be formed of a wound of that magnitude. jordan couldn’t bear to be present. memory had no mercy. her body, aching and sore and still producing sustenance, had no mercy. people would attempt to console her and it only made her want to bite. her partner was kinder than she deserved and it only made her want to scream her throat raw. she felt as though she’d shattered into a million pieces, the shards of her embedded in her very flesh, digging deeper with every step she took. at that point, there was only one truths to be told: jordan couldn’t stay.

it ends with this: jordan walks into the bush and doesn’t come back. she leaves nothing behind — not even a note or a whispered goodbye. she's just gone.

— 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄’𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘, 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

she’s twenty-six when the grizzlies find her: a trail of mutilated bodies leading them to a woman worn. misery has made a fiend of her: she’s harsher now, her hurt branded into the scarred skin of her body.

unsurprisingly, jordan fits right in with them. theirs is the only world she knows — she doesn’t notice the barbarism. if life is one long act of violence; what makes this any different? she takes to the work easily, proving her worth and earning the mark of the bear with ease. fremont lake is home, but jordan doesn’t trust it. she finds solace elsewhere, back in the woods. she’s happiest when scavenging or on a hunt, all too eager to keep herself occupied somehow. 

despite her efforts to be otherwise, jordan is a known figure in the wyoming militia. she’s a gun aimed wherever yen wants her: she’s brutal, decisive. jordan doesn’t flinch and she doesn’t hesitate. when there’s a move to be made, she’s typically one of the ones at the front of it. frankly, she’s no stranger to extreme violence. she bites and she scratches and she’ll use whatever is in her reach to win a fight. she’s not trained by any official means, but she has heart and will go for your knees every single time. it’s dirty, desperate, and merciless. you won’t leave a fight with her without a mark.

jordan doesn’t know how to deal with people being genuinely kind to her. she thinks there has to be a catch somewhere, that everything is a transaction of some sort. she’ll get nervous, flustered even. like, ‘what are you doing? is this a joke? stop looking at me like that.’ and if she does something kind, she’d rather die than be recognized for it. being tender? being acknowledged as a human being capable of contributing something of worth? gross. ew. too revealing for her, thanks.

she has a lot of survival skills knowledge. knows how to make do with minimal supplies and resources, and i mean that in the bear grylls doing nasty shit just to make it through the night type of way. she’s also an excellent huntsman. she can sniff out tracks easily and leaves no nook or cranny untouched when scavenging. she’ll climb and crawl through questionable buildings if there’s a chance for loot inside. you might want to watch your belongings around her, too.

her living quarters are bare, and you can’t tell much about her just by looking through it. having moved from camp to camp for a majority of her life, coupled with an innate sense of instability has pretty much dissolved any real sense of ownership she feels over things. she does like little trinkets, though. typically small animal figurines. she thinks they’re charming.

she can be a great friend, if you manage to get close enough. she's brazen, a surprisingly good listener, and always more than willing to lighten the mood. she may not laugh at your jokes, but she'll have your back, even if it costs her own. as it turns out, jordan can be very generous sometimes: she’ll shower you in attention and walk in your shadow, chasing the light you emit. deep down, jordan has a strong desire to please, and shows her love through acts of service. she wants to be needed, and needs to be useful to those she loves.

had coffee once and she hated it. too needy of a drunk to feel comfortable drinking. avoids the fighting pits. freezes up when someone touches her. can and will steal your flannel shirts.

— 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄.

first of all, when i say i’m genuinely down to do any and all plots i mean that. i don’t say no to anything lol and want to do all the things, whether it’s mega death angst or something that’s so sweet it’ll make my teeth hurt. gimme everything, pls n thanks!

i’ve purposely left some gaps in her history in order to leave room for anything we cook up. people she was once in a group with / traveled with way back when could be cool. little acts of fate are my favorite - imagine the reunions! whether they hated each other, were familiar, or were thick as thieves is all good with me. 

if anyone wants to pick up the ex she wanted to start a family with, then i’d be willing to discuss that! they could be from any faction [except for the purged, logistically]. doesn’t have to be the actual person that got her pregnant either. jordan checked out after everything that happened and ultimately left without any warning, goodbye, or anything. surely that’s gotta rouse some intense feelings, especially if they just so happen to come across her again.. as fate and its shit sense of humor would have it. 

jordan can have some friends.. as a treat. hehe. seriously, give her someone to shoot the shit with and to annoy the hell out of!

friends with benefits / one night stands could be interesting, especially since jordan doesn’t really let very many people that close to her. keep in mind though, she’s the type to fuck someone and then never speak of it again which is very well-adjusted of her. 

jordan gets bit pretty early on in game, and by that i mean literally in january of 2044, lol. so, having someone help her with her wound could be interesting. i was thinking it could be some quid pro quo type of deal where she asks them for supplies in exchange for whatever they want, but i’m down to discuss any differing ideas / alter it to fit our characters. jordan wouldn’t want them to know what the supplies was for, but the opportunity for them to find out anyhow could still arise because who doesn’t love some good ole drama? 

someone that does not vibe with her / she doesn’t vibe with could be cool, too! not everything is peachy keen, you know?

exes / almost exes are one of my weaknesses. getting so close to someone that you end up on the other side of them is so bittersweet. i need it. jordan is a difficult individual, so maybe this was a will-they-won’t-they type of situation that never went anywhere, or it was silent pining, or whatever else we think of is all good with me. can have been unrequited or not, too. could be a relationship neither of them can leave well enough alone, or one that makes it difficult for them to ever go back to being friends - maybe there’s too much bitterness to see past. i just wanna paint some angsty little trees, man. 

[the-mangled-readings]

CyberPunk Love

A/N: Okay, so I been wanting to write this for the longest, hope you guys like it! It’s a two-point of view Fic, from Connor’s and the Readers (Obvs).

Pairing : Connor x FemaleReader

Story Summary: After 8 years the Reader comes back to Detroit and engages with her old Parter Hank and his new sidekick Connor, investigating new homicide cases but Connor begins to suspect she's hiding something.

Chapter Summary: The Reader comes back and reencounters with Hank (Old Partner) and meets his new Partner, and catches his attention.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Flirting.

Word Count: 2,068

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

( Y/N’s View )

“I want my—I want my MTV ...

I want my—I want my MTV ...

I want my—I want my MTV ...

I want my—I want my MTV ...”

You were singing along Dire Straits “Money for Nothing” iconic song as you drove at full speed through the highways of Detroit. Never did you thought that you would ever come back, after the Revolution, you wanted to stay away from all the drama but for your luck, you had been offered a better position. You were currently a Police Detective, and you had been told that if you moved back and took the offer they would promote you to the rank of Lieutenant, and you being you, you didn’t want to lose the chance of making your dad proud, and especially Hank.

After your father passed away, Hank Anderson became your mentor at the Detroit City Police Department. He had a close relationship with your parents, especially your dad, they met at the police academy and from there everything became history. Hank watched you grow and eventually he saw you as his daughter. You even got to meet his son Cole and helped Hank after the sudden loss, but due to other personal issues you had going on at the time, you had to leave Detroit.

Your destination is just 2 mi away ...

You heard the AI voice on your motorcycle instruct you as you stopped at a red light. Looking around, you noticed that everything was still the same, the smell, the buildings, the people, shit even Hank’s favorite food truck Chicken Feed. You sighed deeply as you turned, noticing the light turning green. 

“Thank you, Captain Fowler, for the opportunity I will not dissa ... Oh who am I kidding, I sound so pathetic.” You rehearsed and mentally facepalmed yourself, outside in the parking lot. “I sound like a loser ... Hopefully, Hank is still here.” You breathed out tiredly after driving 35 hrs. “Jesus Christ, I think I’m going to pass out ...” 

“Oh but if it isn’t the Infamous (Y/N) ...” You heard from behind, a familiar yet annoying voice you could never forget. “Oh but if it isn’t Detective Dick Twat Reed ...” Twirling at the nickname, Gavin let out a fake laugh, making you force a smile. “It’s been a while ... what could of have possibly dragged you back to this shithole, huh.” He leaned against the gas tank of your motorcycle, making you roll your eyes. “Could it be that you finally realized that, I was your one and only and not that Pretty Boy you ran away with to San Francisco?”

“That’s none of your business Gavin ...” You spat out, turning your motorcycle off, making him laugh. “Ahhh poor detective (Y/LN), she got all flustered ...”

“That’s enough Detective Reed ...” A louder and firm voice made the both of you turn. 

“I’m sorry Captain Fowler ...” Gavin’s voice broke a little as he spoke. Captain Fowler only turned to face you, his stern look slowly softened into a smile. “Detective (Y/LN), if you please ...” He instructed and you began to walk into the entrance, along with Captain Fowler by his arm, leaving Gavin behind.

After stepping into the entrance doors, you stopped, looking down at their logo :

“Detroit City Police Department”

“Your father would of have been so proud of you (Y/N), seeing how much you’ve grown.” Fowley praised at you making you tear a little. “Thank you, Captain, that was the idea.”

“Well then, let’s get going ...”

( Connor’s View )

“Hank, would you like some coffee?” Connor politely asked the hungover middle-age man that was barely awake “You seem a little tired today ...” He persuaded, only earning a groan and a middle finger from him. “I’ll take that as a yes then ...” As he got up from his desk and began to walk towards the break room, he noticed Captain Fowler lightly laughing with a woman, it seemed a bit odd, since he was always in a bad mood, and mostly was because of Hank. 

“Hey did you hear, Lieutenant (Y/LN)’s daughter is back.” 

Connor heard Chris whisper to his small group of friends, making everyone suddenly bring up stories of the mysterious girl. “Looks like you won’t be Hank’s partner anymore Connor ...” He instantly recognized the snarky tone that entered the room. “Gavin, leave him alone.” Chris quickly defended, only to be ignored by a laugh “Whatever, that bitch is already Fowler’s favorite, so you guys better watch out what you say and you ...” He pointed at Connor, looking at him from head to toe “Hank is going to forget about you before you know it ...” 

“Ignore him, Connor, he’s just being annoying like always.” Chris comforted Connor, earning a soft smile from the Android.

While walking back to his shared desk, he began to think about what Gavin and everybody said :

What did they mean?

Who was she?

What was so special about her?

His thoughts were quickly interrupted as he found Hank nowhere to be found. He probably took a bathroom break Connor thought to himself. Setting down the cup of coffee on Hank’s desk, he took a seat at his desk.

As he was reviewing the new case files, he heard Hank :

“Oh my God, (Y/N) is that you ...”

He turned around to see Hank's mouth open and smiled, and tear up? Making Connor frown at the unexpected actions, it wasn’t in Hank’s nature to smile at just anybody, especially tear up, he turned to finally see the mysterious person, and Connor finally understood.

Software Instability ^^^

Woah ...

Connor quietly praised the person. It must be the famous Lieutenant’s daughter, he was so intrigued by her that he could practically feel his Thirium pump beat through his chest, maybe his Regulator wasn’t working, maybe it was a malfunction, there was not a chance that he could ever fall in love, and especially so quickly.

But what if ... 

Is this what they meant when they say Love at first sight? ...

Software Instability ^^^

( Y/N’s View )

 “So how do feel Detective (Y/LN)? Being back home must be a big change.” Captain Fowler questioned, taking a seat on his desk. “It’s been 8 years since we last saw you, and I heard many good things about you, including that Terrorist case ...”

“Oh yeah ... that one.” You quietly responded feeling yourself sinking in the seat. “Captain Fowler, there’s something I need to tell you before I join back the team.” Making Fowler frown.

“Lieutenant (Y/LN), holy shit ... Hope you’re proud Dad.” You told yourself, as you exited Fowler’s Office. Looking around, you decided that it was time to meet up with Hank again. You were just about to take your last step when a couple of people instantly recognized you, trapping you in hugs and “Oh my god, You’re back !”  “Congratulations Lieutenant”  “It’s so good to see you again (Y/N)”

After what felt like forever, you were able to get away from everybody, making your way into Hank’s Desk, only to be stopped again ...

“Hey, sweet cheeks ...”

Fucking Reed!

“What?” You turned on your heel, looking at him with a death glare. 

“Hope you know, Anderson already has a partner ...” He teased while leaning back on his chair. “And it’s an Android.” Earning a frown from you. “That can’t be ...” 

“Oh you better believe it, and he’s fucking annoying too. He’s been with him for about a year or so, hope that doesn’t harm your feelings ...  Lieutenant.” He scoffed at the end making you a little uneasy. 

You began to walk away from Reed’s desk and as you were questioning Hank’s sudden’s partnership with this “Annoying” Android you were interrupted by a particular voice :

“Oh my God, (Y/N) is that you ...”

And there he was, your old Man, Hank Anderson.

“Hank !” You called as you ran towards his arms, crying on his chest. “Oh my God, Hank, I’ve missed you !” Pulling away from his arms, you took a better look at him, he looked tired and hungover like usual, but something in him seemed different. 

“Jesus, look at you, where’s my little girl, you’re a grown woman now, I’m so proud of you (Y/N).” He ran his left hand on your cheek, wiping the tears away. “I’m so glad you’re back ... You have no idea how much I needed you, especially after ...”

“The Revolution?” You questioned, quirking an eyebrow at him, making him sigh deeply. “Yeah, it was quite stressful, I could of have used an extra hand.”

“I know, but I was dealing with something at the moment ... But I’m back!” Punching him lightly on the arm, making him chuckle. “So ... I heard you got a new partner.”

“Oh yeah, well I was practically forced actually ... But he’s a good guy.”

“Android, you mean?” You questioned, crossing your arms.

“Things changed (Y/N), and believe me when I tell you that he’s ...” He turned to Connor only to find him looking at you with his mouth open, and frozen?

“Jesus Christ, Nevermind ...” Hank shook his head and facepalmed himself, making you chuckle.

“Connor, close your fucking mouth before any flies get in. This is (Y/N), she was my partner before I was assigned to your ass.” Hank snapped at the poor Android that looked embarrassed. “I don’t know what’s got into him ... But anyway, I heard some people spreading the news already, congratulation Lieutenant (Y/LN), I’m impressed.”

“Oh stop it ...” Your cheeks began to turn into a rosy shade.

( Connor’s View )

How can she look so beautiful without even trying ...

Software Instability ^^^

What is this feeling ... Wait, feeling?

Software Instability ^^^

No, it can’t be ...

“Hey, Connor, you alright?” 

His thoughts were interrupted by her soft voice, he could feel his Thirium pump beat through his chest again. How could a human make him feel like this? He became Deviant, but he never thought that one day he would ever get to experience such emotions. 

“Yes, I’m alright ... I’m so sorry, let me introduce myself properly.” He quickly got up from his chair almost stumbling, making you smile. “It’s okay, just don’t hurt yourself.” 

The moment he touched your hand, he felt something inside of him, something he had never experienced but then his readings made him look at you differently.

“Connor ... can you let go of my hand?” She asked nervously, looking quickly to Hank for help. “Hey Connor, that’s enough ...” Hank tried to intervene but Connor’s grip was stronger. 

“My readings are telling me that you’re ...” 

“RK800 ... Let go of Lieutenant (Y/LN)’s hand NOW!” Fowler’s voice echoed through the entire Office, startling Connor and everybody. “I’m sorry Captain Fowler but ...”

“LET GO OF HER HAND NOW, THAT’S AN ORDER!”

Connor turned to look at you, noticing your stare and your body language completely changing. “Let go of my hand ... if you know what’s better for you.” And he finally did. Hank immediately pushed Connor away from you. “Let me see your hand.” 

“It’s fine Hank, let’s just get out of here.”

Connor watched both of you leave the office, everybody's eyes were on him, but quickly returned to their work. He felt a heaviness within him, as he sank down on his chair. 

“I told you didn’t I ...” Gavin teased Connor as he walked by his desk. “Hank’s favorite ...” Laughing at Connor’s embarrassment. 

“I know what I felt ...” He said to himself.

Software Instability ^^^

( Y/N’s View )

“Jesus fucking Christ ... (Y/N), I don’t know what happened back there, but I promise you, Connor isn’t usually like this.” Hank reassure you, as the both of you walked down to his car. “It’s okay Hank, he didn’t hurt me, see?” Raising your right hand, you showed no sign of bruise or wound. “Although ... There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Yeah, what is it?” He asked as he turned the engine of his car. “Actually, why don’t I buy you a drink and then we can talk about it?” 

“Hm, San Francisco did change you ... Fine, as long I’m the one drinking.” He joked, even though you knew it was going to be the case. “But with one condition.”

“Hm?”

“Bring Connor with you.” 

TAG LIST IS OPEN!

[kyberphilosopher]

Seven: Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Objective A: Follow Detective Kennedy

          Objective B: Begin Working on Cases

Selecting Priority…

Processing…

Priority Selected: Work on Cases

Work on Cases

          I turn my attention to the desk across from Detective Kennedy’s. There is nothing attached to that side of the glass divider, and I see no nameplate. I decide the desk is empty.

          I pull the chair out and place myself in it cleanly. I use my pointer finger to turn on the computer. The little power button turns yellow and the monitor seems to breathe out like it’s getting ready. Then it cuts itself off and the button goes black again.

          A thought pops into my mechanical brain. In 2041, we have Androids. We have holograms and technology that took years to perfect. But still, we cannot make our computers work properly? I won’t deny the simulated feeling of frustration that washes over me. It’s rather annoying.

          I get myself out of the chair, push it back in, and turn around. My led flashes red when I jump, having not sensed a presence there.

          It’s the woman who put her hand on Detective Kennedy’s shoulder earlier. She’s standing there. Looking deeply into my eyes with a negative emotion.

Name: Celeste Amora

Date of Birth: February 3rd, 2013- Age 28

Height: 5’6

Weight: 142 lbs

Race: White, Latino-American

Birthplace: Tacoma, Washington

Occupation: Police Officer at Seattle Police Department

Family: Carlos Amora, Father (Age 56) Ingrid Amora, Mother (Age 55)

Finding Articles… No Articles Found.

          She is one inch shorter than I am. Still, this inch feels like a mile. She has dark hair tied back into a bun with her dark blue police cap on her head. Celeste has chocolate brown eyes and full, heart shaped lips. She has full cheeks and a button nose, but this is not a sign of being fat. She is an attractive female.

          “May I assist you?” I ask.

          Celeste completely ignores my question. “You know, I’ve been trying to get partnered with Cal for a long time.”

          “I was unaware of that,” I tell her. Her heartrate has increased in anger. This is the emotion of jealousy.

          “You know what? I think you should resign for the case.” Processing…

Processing…

Processing…

Request Denied.

          “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I have been assigned to Detective Kennedy and I only take orders from him now.”

          Celeste’s left eye twitches in annoyance. “Listen here you plastic piece of shit,” she starts lowly.

          “I did not turn my audio off. I was already listening.”

          There is another sharp increase of her heart. “What the fuck is your problem?”

          “I have no problem.”

          “Well clearly you do because you’re pissing me off.”

          I smile softly, almost to ease the tension. “You are the second person to say that to me today. I assure you I have no purpose of making humans angry. All I want is to accomplish my mission.”

          Celeste scoffs. “Whatever,” she says as she stalks away.

Selecting New Priority…

Check on Detective Kennedy.

Checking on Detective Kennedy.

          I make my way to the elevator calmly, messing with my cuffs yet again. I call the elevator and wait patiently with my hands behind my back.

          There are so many people here that don’t like me. Is it because they look down on Androids? Or because of their encounters with the Exceptions who have become threats? If it is become they simply look down on Androids, that does not seem a wise thing to do. Androids are not alive, but they are the most intelligent beings humans have created. We are capable of so much more than we are used for

SOftware Instability ^

     And yet we are frowned upon and argued with. Humans created us, and yet they blame us for so much of the problems. It doesn’t seem… what’s the word? Fair?  

Software Instability ^^

    I let out the Android equivalent as a sigh and step onto the lift. For a moment, Officer Shovelman looks like he’s going to use the elevator too, but when he locks eyes with me he continues walking nervously. The door closes before I can do anything.

          I examine myself in the mirrored walls as I zoom up. I smooth out my black jacket and brush my fingertips against my synthetic hair. I look alright, so it doesn’t seem to be my appearance that has offended people so much.

          “Rooftop,” the seductive female elevator voice says. The door opens to reveal a short gray hallway with a metal door. There are several stains in this area, and two empty beer bottles. In the corner is a crumpled bag of chips. I should remember to put a trashcan up here.

          I step out of the elevator and push the metal door open. Rain floods my senses and makes my audio struggle to adjust for a second. It is static, then soft and comforting. The heightened smell of petrichor fills my nose. Drops of wetness pitter against me and I look up at the sky for a moment, taking the feeling in. This may be as close to comforting as an Android such as myself may get.

          When I tilt my head back down, I see a figure in front of me. He stands by the edge of the roof, overlooking the city of Seattle. I can see his grey hoodie peeking out from his brown jacket.

          I decide not to address him as I approach slowly. Soon enough I am on his left side, in line with her peripheral vision. He’s raised a cigarette to his lip and is puffing out smoke. The rain isn’t falling hard enough to extinguish it, yet.

          What should I say? I don’t really have anything to apologize for, but I should still say something. I did come up here to check on him, after all.

          “I understand not everyone is comfortable in the presence of Androids,” I say softly. “But I suppose I did not expect this.”          

          “You didn’t expect this?” Detective Kennedy scoffs. His heartrate isn’t high enough to convey anger, so he seems to have certainly calmed down. “What did you think was going to happen?”

          I find myself shrugging weakly. “Detective Everhart apparently had a record of being polite with machines such as myself.” Detective Kennedy turns back to the city. “Did you know him before I died?” I ask, politely and curiously.

          He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and puffs out some grey air. “Yeah,” he says. “He was a dick.”

          My led runs yellow as I process the information. My face falls into a frown. “Oh,” I say, sounding just as disappointed as a human would.

          “So,” says Detective Kennedy. He taps his cigarette and ash falls onto the floor. “A fucking Android investigating Androids. How will I know you’re not one of the Exceptions?”

          “I run tests regularly,” I assure him. “If I come across any instability, you will be the first to know, Detective.”

          He squints at me. “You don’t have to be so fucking formal,” he says. “Jesus.”

          “I’m sorry. What should I call you instead?” The man glares at me like I’ve offended his entire family, and him. “Cal.” I say quickly.

          “Cal. Cal is fine.”

          There is silence between us. I think it’s awkward.

          “You got a name other than Aleksandra I can call you?”

Searching for ‘Nicknames, Aleksandra’.

Searching…

Possible Nickname Found.

          “Aleks,” I say, pronouncing it like Alex.

          “Alright,” Cal says. “Aleks.”

Software Instability ^

          I smile softly at him, attempting to put him at ease. “I’m glad.”

          Cal looks me up and down, taking a hit from his cigarette. Then he blows smoke straight into my face, making me close my eyes and my led turn red. “Right,” he says as the smoke clears.

          I open my eyes, finding him staring into mine. As my led light turns back to white, I try another approach. “I like the rain,” I tell him.

          Cal Kennedy raises his eyebrow at me curiously. Instead of saying anything though, he flicks his cigarette over the edge of the roof and moves past me. To my luck, he does not bump shoulders with me rudely. He opens the metal door a little aggressively and it slowly closes behind him.

             “Aleksandra,” Adelicia greets as I come up behind her. She says my name smoothly, like maybe she’s in a good mood. She turns around, today wearing a more intense yellow suit that makes my eyes twitch momentarily.

          “Hello.”

          “Icarus was so sorry to hear about the Detective Everhart,” she says, not really sounding empathetic. “Have you begun working with your new partner? Detective…”

          “Kennedy,” I say, bowing my head slightly. “I am selecting the best approach to working harmoniously with him.”

          “And what do you think that is?”

          I think for a moment. “I am… not sure yet.”

          “What a vile man,” Adelicia shudders with a dry throat. “It is most unfortunate for him to be with the department.”

          I say nothing. It’s clear that Cal has some deep rooted issues and some anger problems, clearly something against Androids, but there are some things about him that I certainly feel satisfied with. I appreciate that he pushed into the guy that pushed into me. I appreciate that he actually asked for a nickname to give me. It was a very humanizing thing to do, even though he clearly understands that I am not human.

          “Have you learned anything about these Exceptions?” Adelicia continues.

          “No,” I tell her. “I only just got assigned my partner about an hour ago. I attempted to access the files but my computer didn’t turn on.”

          Adelicia appears displeased. “Did you try to fix it?”           “I was interrupted,” I explain, feeling a little offended that she’s assuming I did something wrong. I am the most intelligent machine created.           “Careful, Aleksandra,” Adelicia says with a frown. “No need to be… hostile.”

          I nod my head slowly. Something about me being here in the white room feels uncomfortable. “I trust you will have the situation under control.” She turns back around. “Dismissed.”

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 84

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Sleazy Bed Track

Summary: Claire and Alfie attempt to tame the wild Genevieve. With her memories coming back and her mood swings coming quicker than they can control, they're faced with some very hard truths about Gen and her behavior. Song is Sleazy Bed Track by The Bluetones. One of my fav songs.

Warnings/Tags: Language. References to assault and violence. PTSD. Angst. Drug Abuse. Trauma. Self Hatred. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Claire sits at Genevieve’s oversized desk in her office worrying over paperwork and forging Genevieve’s signature to keep the business running smoothly. The afternoon sun drops through the tall windows, plush curtains pulled back to show the landscaped yard. The smell of food wafts through the house, Aggie is busy in the kitchen and Alfie is giving Genevieve a bath. A small moment of calm in the estate as things run as they should.

But as Claire finalizes the books, her ears perk up to another sound, shouting from the bedroom. Something that usually wasn’t and shouldn’t be happening. Genevieve had only started speaking again and yelling was the last thing she needed to do. But as Claire makes her way down the hall to the decorated bedroom door she hears Alfie shouting back. Which given the circumstances was most unusual.

Genevieve growls angrily, hands in her hair, tugging at it with her face contorted in pain. “I can’t do this!” She bellows.

“What do ya fuckin want from me love? I don’t know why you’re so bloody angry!” Alfie shouts in confusion, hands in the air in surrender to the whirlwind that was Genevieve, whipping around her room.

Claire stands with her hand on the knob and listens.

“I need my medicine is what I need!” Genevieve sounds distressed and Claire can hear sobs between the forced out words.

“I said I'd give it to ya.” Alfie says more quietly, "Just lemme have it 'n I’ll-“

“No! You don’t understand! I need it out of my head! Now!” She shouts, taking a dramatic swig of the glass bottle.

“Fucks sake Genny!” Alfie growls and knocks the bottle out of her hand as it lands on the carpet and spills.

“Look what you’ve gone and done!” She wails, stumbling back towards the bed.

“Me? I’m not gonna let ya kill ya self on the stuff! You need to calm down. I told ya you’re safe. Memories can’t hurt you unless ya let them.” he insists but it falls upon deaf ears.

“It’s never safe in my head Alfie.” Her voice grows quieter, her chest still heaving from the excitement as she falls back into the bed. “Only when I have my medicine. Then he leaves...then I can’t…remember…” her breathing slows as she sprawled on her back, gown covering her only partially like some painted Greek goddess.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” Alfie stands with his mouth open and rubs his face hard. “What the fuck was that love?” He commands, moving towards her and covering her with a blanket.

“Alfie.” She whines. “I don’t…can’t…” She sighs and puts the back of her hand to her forehead. “It’s too much. It...hurts too much.” She laments before he watches her eyes glaze and her vacant expression return.

He takes a few heavy steps back. Understanding where the outburst had come from but not knowing why it was so damned intense. He’d never seen her behave like this. He mutters swears to himself as he lets his bewildered expression stay, walking towards the door.

“What good you were in there.” He remarks as he opens the door to reveal Claire waiting. He was soaked, shirt transparent and hair with droplets clinging to it.

“Alfie? What on earth was that?” Claire’s voice was light and full of concern.

“You know as much as I fuckin do.” He answers, exasperated as he shuts the door. “Get someone in there to watch her, I’m…fuckin’....I need some fuckin’ air.” He grumbles, moving past her and shaking his head in defeat.

“Can you tell me what happened at least?”

He only half turns, hands up in surrender to the encounter. “One minute she’s happy in the bath, the next she’s sobbing to the point of sickness, then screaming and fightin' wif me.” He doesn’t look at Claire while he speaks, but he still uses his hands to elaborate.” She saw the...bruises and the marks on her. It was time for her afternoon medicine, right? I was gonna see how she handled a bath without it, check her pain ‘n that. And she started staring and then cryin’ ‘n and talkin’ ‘bout how she doesn’t want to remember.” He finishes angrily. Knowing he could do nothing about the cause or effect of the situation they were in.

“So they are coming back.” Is what Claire takes from the story.

“Apparently so. Which we were told was a good sign. But at what fuckin' cost? She’ll burn the bloody house down or fuckin' kill me in me sleep with that bollocks! Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He groans and goes back to his plan of just getting out of the house.

“What on earth's happened to Alfie?” Aggie queries, coming up from a back hallway.

“Genevieve did.”

“Did she try to drown him?” She chuckles, misreading the situation.

“She’s getting her memories back.”

“Oh. But why is he all wet?”

“She was in the bath and saw the marks and had a few mood swings in a very short period it seems. Crying, to screaming, to angry. She took her medicine and she’s down now.”

“Bless her. Poor thing.”

“She needs to learn to control herself. What happened can’t be changed. She can’t throw tantrums like a child like this Ags she-“

“Hush dear.” Aggie waves her hands at her. “Be patient. She isn’t herself. Her mind isn’t hers right now. Give it time. She’s still healing.” A gentle voice of a maternal heart defends Genevieve. “Let’s call the doctor. That’ll calm down Alfie and we can raise our concerns.”

Claire nods and sighs in agreement, and does just that.

——

“Why is she on the fuckin’ drugs if ya can’t tell what the fucks goin’ on when she’s on ‘em?” Alfie yells at the doctor, one hand on his hip and the other motioning to a dazed Gen in the bed.

“Her body is still healing. She can take it for the pain. The mental side effects are secondary and are worth the negative side effects to treat the physical.” the doctor speaks calmly, used to Alfie’s coarse language and manner at this point.

“Fuckin’ says you, yeah? You’re not here when she’s screamin’ and throwing a tantrum like a fuckin’ child.” his surly delivery makes Aggie shoot a frown his way.

“Alfie.” she scolds, her hands wringing in front of her.

“Well, she is. Actin’ hysterical. I’ve seen her be upset, right? We’ve fought, she’s cried, disappeared ‘n that. But this is different. These mood swings aren’t…that.” he speaks with a firm hand that punctuates his points.

“Emotional instability is common for patients with head injuries. Being in the war, I assumed you knew that.” The Doctor speaks with such an indifferent face it angers Alfie more.

“But she weren’t in a fuckin’ war was she?” he retaliates.

Claire rolls her eyes and nudges Aggie with her elbow. “Now who’s being childish.” she mutters.

“No, she was through something she didn’t sign up to be in. Her trauma is just as real to her as any soldier. You treat it the same. Time and patience are all I can recommend besides the current course of treatment. If she becomes too erratic and the behavior worsens after what I deem a sufficient amount of time for healing, which could be up to a year, you may want to look into having an asylum take care of her if it’s too much.”

“Fuckin’...NO. Fuck off.” Alfie expresses with a face that shows such incredulity that the man would even suggest such a thing. “I’m not sending my bloody wi-” he stops himself, rubbing his brow with a red sclaed hand, his skin only worsening under the new stress of Gen’s new habit of being unruly. “I’m not sending her to fuckin’ Bedlam. She stays here. Don’t fuckin’ suggest it again.” he warns, a strong and furious finger pointed in the doctors face as his shoulder and chest puff up in defense of her. “Fuckin’ asylums. Fuckin’ ‘ell...call yaself a bloody doctor…” he mutters loudly as he stomps out of the room.

“These are the stages and steps of treatment. She is currently on course. There is nothing more I can do.” the doctor replies with a still unphased face as he turns to the two women left in the room. “From what we understand of the brain, it will cause this sort of behavior while it’s repairing itself. Sometimes, especially in women who have undergone such events, they will have overwhelming sadness and anger. Similar to hysteria but with a different cause.”

“Yes, yes.” Claire says and breathes heavily. “Thank you, doctor. Forgive Mr. Solomons he’s under a lot of stress. In his defense Genevieve was...is a very intelligent and headstrong woman who wouldn’t act this way under normal circumstances. And he’s not a woman, he doesn’t understand how we work on an intimate level enough to understand what’s going on in her mind.Especially for what she’s gone through.”

“Understood. I take no offense.” he waves a dismissive hand. “Keep her under watch. Medicine as needed. Work with her and what she wants instead of against it. It should help keep her stable. I would keep her isolated like this in the meantime. Don’t want her to lash out inappropriately and cause damage elsewhere.” he gives a nod of his head and leaves.

Aggie and Claire stand and stare with crossed arms and worried hands at Genevieve who are blissfully unaware of the trouble she was causing.

“So what are we gonna fuckin’ do?” Alfie says wandering back in the room.

“Exactly what we have been doing Alfie, fuck’s sake. Can you not bloody listen?” Claire says to him with an offended tone that catches him off guard.

“So we’re just gonna let her behave this way? No repercussions?” his voice was loud and still annoyed. Giving away how hurt he was underneath his anger.

“YES!” Claire and Aggie both snap at him.

“Who she is...her brain...soul...whatever you want to call it is damaged. It has to heal to make her who she was. You cannot rush it and disciplining her and upsetting her will only make it worse.” Aggie states with a low angry brow that Alfie always finds surprising. “She’s not a bloody child Alfie. You don’t discipline the sick. Fucks sake!” she throws her hands in the air in anger and stomps out, little fists balled into her dress to hold it up.

“Fuck me…” he whispers watching her go.

“You’re being an insensitive, thick, prick Alfie.” Claire states plainly.

“Excuse you?”

“Just because she might behave like a child in this state does NOT mean she is one. We stay the course.”

“I know she’s not af uckin’ child.” he grumbles, feeling attacked. “But she went after that medicine like a fuckin’ fiend.” he asserts with more concern and less anger. “I know men what get addicted to such things. We keep it under control. Keep it out of sight, not out by the bed. I don’t want her seein’ it unless it’s time for it. We need to keep an eye on her, right?”

“I can agree with that.”

“Good.” he responds with a stern nod. “Now quit fuckin’ yellin’ at me because I’m tryin’ to deal just the same as you are. While also handlin’ my business, and her, and everyone in the whole of  fuckin’ London gossipin’ like children ‘bout her, right? I’ve got a lot on my fuckin’ plate right now and I’m gonna yell and be fuckin’ exhausted and get tired of this shite, yeah? So don’t treat me like a fuckin’ villian ‘cause I’m the one who says what everyone’s thinkin’. Ya just don’t have the bollocks to say it out loud.” he preaches with broad shoulders set in a defensive pose and staring her down in his tactic of intimidation to hold his rank in the home before sauntering off.

On some level Claire knew he had a point. But he also didn’t have to throw his weight around like he was. She was trying to be the unbiased mediator for everyone but even she had her limits. Alfie was very smart, intuitive even, but he wasn’t a woman. Claire knew that what Genevieve needed now was some understanding from a woman. Someone who wouldn’t raise their voice or accuse her of acting crazy when these feelings came along. She sighs and slouches in the chair by Genevieve’s desk, wondering how she was going to manage everything on her own until her employer and friend started acting like herself again.

------

With more spacing out of her medicine dosages, things do not get better. They get worse. Genevieve was now prone to sudden fits of sobbing and anger. If anything reminded her of what had happened, her brain would overwhelm itself and she’d become inconsolable. She’d broken nearly half the stem wear in the house. They’d taken to serving her before Alfie would get home so he didn’t have to see her break a glass every meal. But what they couldn’t know, because she wouldn’t share, and didn’t want to think about what that the same sort of glasses they used were the same Horne had when he would give her water, or alcohol laced with God knows what. So every meal she remembered him pouring it down her throat and every meal she would take it and smash it against the wall. She didn’t even do it consciously. Her body reacted to her mind telling her, ‘No, we don’t want to think about this.’ But instead of dealing with it by distracting herself, as she lacked that control, she would lash out. It was purely base instinct and reactionary, but it didn’t keep it from chipping away at everyone’s composure and sympathy with every shard they cleaned up. Eventually she smashed them all and Claire, being the logical one, bought different ones. Next meal, when they stood by with a broom and pan to clean up at tea, she didn’t smash it. She had her meal, had her medicine and went on about her afternoon. Everyone stood shocked and silent and looked at each other.

“Guess she didn’t like the glasses?” Aggie says with a confused face, but the simple assumption makes Claire laugh a bit madly. Of course, she didn’t. Why else would she only be triggered by that one thing? She felt stupid for not realizing it sooner and it helped her to look at Gen’s behavior a bit differently. There were reasons for her actions, but she couldn’t communicate them. So they had to listen in a new way to her and that would take some practice.

For the most part, Alfie still calmed her. She like seeing him, which was good, that meant at least for him he saw a more calm woman. Alfie was the rescuer in her mind. All she’d thought about while she was being held and thus, a source of positive feeling. He tried his best to remain tender when she would cry and most days it wasn’t too hard. He could grasp why she would want to, it was something he understood. It was something he saw as soft and feminine and his instinct was to be soft back towards it. But the anger...it was another situation. One he should understand better than any, it was what he used to focus himself. But with only wild emotion, no outlet or even a cause it seemed he couldn’t support the behavior when it happened. He would bring in one of the women and leave. Then she’d cry. Then he’d return. It was a terrible cycle for everyone to be stuck in. But as the doctor said. Keep the course, this is all standard. But living in it felt anything but.

Genevieve had been improving. There were good and bad days, sometimes she seemed even normal when that sweet spot of medicated and sober was hit. So on this day, she was allowed to wander about unaccompanied, being kept an eye on by the staff and reported back to Claire and Aggie who were desperately trying to catch up on their own work. It wasn’t a mistake to let her be on her own, it was good, she was inside her own head, somewhere she needed to be more, to learn how to control things again. But you can’t expect her to control herself when faced when every negative thought she worked so hard to avoid was said in front of her.

The newest maid Dorothy, the one Alfie had been keeping his eye on was once again on the phone during work hours. The man of the house wasn’t home so she didn’t care to behave herself. He was the only one she was afraid of, which was a mistake. A series of huge mistakes on her part that would lead to a comeuppance she wouldn’t see approaching.  

“It’s been a madhouse, let me tell you.” she starts with a nasty tone.

The word mad was currently something that made Gen feel terribly guilty. She was mostly aware when she would act out, but was trying to control it but everything just felt so intense. Everything from pain to sadness, it was all so strong, unlike anything she’d ever felt and she just wanted it to stop, for her to feel normal and stable again. And the morphine did that.

“She throws things at least once a day. It’s ridiculous. She’s tearing her own house apart. She’s a mess and her brain must have been turned to jam because she’s acting like she’s comatose one minute, the next she’s raging about something out of nowhere and then she’s sobbing and being carried back to her bed. She can’t control herself!” she pauses for the person on the other end of the line to respond with praise.

Tears fill Gen’s eyes. Was that really what she’d been doing? How people saw her? Was she really such a huge burden?

“It’s been what? A few months? Nearly? She’s not going to get much better, clearly. I’d write her as a lost cause and ship her off to some hospital far away if I was him. Who needs that. Not like they’re married. He avoids her half the time, he looks so bloody angry when he leaves her room. Like he hates her. I’m sure he’ll leave her any day now. I’m just waiting for it. Guess I’ll have to find a new job though. Oh well.” she sighs.

She thinks Alfie hated her. She couldn’t control herself and he was going to leave her. Her breathing picks up, leaned against the wall outside the door, her hand to her chest.

“I mean, she still hasn’t bled so...she’s probably pregnant that Horne’s child. And when that happens he’s definitely leaving her.” she replies with such confidence and malice it makes Gen’s stomach turn.

It was the one thing Gen tried to block out, the one thing that sent her into a dark place she didn’t know if she could ever get out of. She was worried she was pregnant. Her head spins and she starts to cry, her mouth filling with bile at the thought, her stomach aching from her mind making it so. All she heard was she was a burden who would be alone, he love didn’t love her back, and that monster put a baby in her. She’d gone so long without getting pregnant, not knowing if she even could, and this would be how it happened. It was suited, wasn’t it? Another terrible thing to happen to her? More punishment for her evil doings. She deserved it, she deserved worse.

She shakes and barrels into her bedroom, knocking over things in her cabinet to get to her medicine. She fights through the wheezing and the panic that courses through her and takes big swigs of the tiny bottle, finshing it off since there didn’t seem to be too much left. Soon she felt it. That warm, welcome numbness, that feeling that nothing would hurt her, if just for a little while. She rests her head against the wardrobe, eyes shutting and letting out a pained groan. This was okay, the medicine would make it okay. She didn’t have to feel this right now. Right now...she was okay.

----

“Where’s Genevieve gone off to?” Aggie says with a cheerful disposition, wiping her hands on her apron as she speaks to one of the girls in her wing cleaning.

“Haven’t seen her in hours, ma’am.” she says politely and nods, going back to dusting.

“Claire?”

“I’ve been in here all day. Not a peep.” she says in a distracted tone.

“How you seen her?” she asks another girl out by the back doors.

“Saw her last in the garden ma’am.” she gives a polite bow and moves back to carrying the box of vegetables.

----

When Alfie gets home he can feel the prickle of chaos again. He throws his things by the door, no one there to receive them as he knows something’s going on.

“What’s happened?” he asks with a hard face.

“She’s gone missing again.” one maid sighs with annoyance.

“Fuckin’ what?” Alfie's heart leaps into his throat.

“We hear her in the garden but we’re trying to find her. My apologies. She’s wandered off.” she responds with a tired and disheartened face.

“Fucks sake.” he groans and stomps off towards the garden.

By the time he reaches the end of the maze of hedges and shrubbery, little secret alcoves and hiding places littered throughout she’s being taken by the arm by Aggie down the path.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell ya givin’ us a scare again there girl.” he declares, leaning in to speak to her but Aggie’s face doesn’t look happy.

“Did I? I’m terribly sorry.” she whispers with glazed eyes that were red and wet with fresh tears. “I’m so sorry. I don't know…” she begins to well up again.

“What were you doin’ out there love? Did ya not hear them callin’ for ya?”

“No. I...I don’t know...I was…” she shakes her head, clearly confused and Alfie’s brow lowers but with more disappointment than anything.

“She was doing very well today.” Aggie tried to compensate but Gen’s eyes fall to the ground as slow-rolling tears plink into the dry dirt. “I’m not sure what happened.” she sighs.

“I don’t...I don’t know.” her eyes squint as if she really was trying to figure it out, which was better than usual. “There was...something.” she cries and rubs her forehead. “It hurts.” she whimpers and he takes her from Aggie.

“You really are tryin’ to think of it aren’t you sweetie?” he suggests, holding her face and making her look at him. Her eyes were so sad, confused and looked fearful.

“I'm sorry.” her bottom lip quivers. “I am, I just...I can’t…” she gulps.

“Shhh…” he whispers and takes her into his arms. “Come now.” he grunts out. “Would ya like ya tea in bed?”

Her arms wrap around his neck and squeeze so tightly he coughs. “Don’t leave me Alfie, please. I'm sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He looked to Aggie with confusion on his face and she shrugs. “I’m not leavin’. Just got home dinnit I?”

“Ever. I’m sorry. Don’t leave.” she whines, burying her face and continuing to mutter it over and over.

“Something’s happened.” Alfie states, sensing something was off. “She’s more…”There” than usual when this happens.”

“I know. But she just keeps apologizing and saying she doesn’t know. Then the poor thing gets a headache from trying to think too hard.” Aggie pouts.

“Did somefin' happen?” he urges her, pressing his cheek to hers as he carries her.

“Yes.” she grumbles into his neck.

“What?” he asks, sitting her on the bed.

“I don’t know. It  hurts.” she answers with a yawn.

“Well let’s rest then, yeah?” he responds with an inquisitive look on his face.

She nods, reaching out for his hand. “Don’t leave.” she begs softly.

“I’m not. I’m not. Hush now.” he tells her, pushing her hair back from her forehead as her mother told him to. He rubs his thumb between her eyes, causing them to flutter closed. “I want to ask her more but I’m afraid I know better.”

“I know. I asked her until she started crying. I tried.”

“This is different. She’s not...angry or screamin’."

“Perhaps it’s a good sign?” Aggie suggests.

Claire comes in and her sigh startles them as they stare at Genevieve. “Perhaps. But my guess is no.” she frowns, holding up the empty bottle on the ground.

“Fuck.” Alfie spits out. His hope faltering and anger flaring up into his cheeks. “Look at this. Fuckin’ mess. Like some junkie.” he mutters shaking his head.

“She didn’t do this for no reason.” Claire interjects. “She doesn’t act out for no reason. She was doing just fine today.” she defends the woman who can’t who is half asleep in bed.

“Why is she speaking so well and answering us if she’s on it?”

“Because they get a tolerance to it. Want more and more.” Alfie explains through gritted teeth.

“But why did she do it?” Claire demands sternly. “Something happened.”

“Or nothin’ fuckin’ happened Claire because on top of all ‘is she’s gone and gotten dependent on the fuckin’ stuff innit?” his anger clear in his voice.

“She did turn to drugs...before.” Aggie adds hesitantly and Claire shoots her a look of betrayl that is quickly replaced with anger.

“Yeah, she did. Her and her little party days. Daddy kicks her out, she goes wild. Now she gets hurt again, goes to this.” he motions to the bottle in Claire’s hand.

“I don’t think it’s that simple.” Claire responds with a shake of her head, looking to Gen in the bed. “She’s been doing so well.” she maintains forcefully.

“Yeah and she’s done well before innit she? And then she goes and over does it and here we are again. Are we gonna not learn our fuckin’ lesson or are we gonna start lockin’ this away from her?”

“I’ll put it in my room. Only I have the key.”

“Now there’s a plan, yeah?” he replies with sarcastic tone but real support. “We start weanin' her off the stuff. It’s been months. She doesn’t even have any bruises or injuries left. All's wrong now is in her head.” he taps his finger to an angry and gnarled looking brow. “Call and get more, but keep it from her, right? It’s time we start fixin’ this before it gets out of hand.” he states with authority and then leaves.

Claire is left shaking her head. “I don’t disagree but.. she wouldn’t do this for no reason.”

“She’s hurting. That’s why she did it. Poor things mind is…” Aggie sighs heavily.

“She was doing so well though.” Claire states angrily.

“It doesn't have to make sense dear. It just is. Alfie is right. We don’t need a repeat of her youth. I’m too bloody old to go through that again.” she groans.

Claire is left standing alone. She looks down at Genevieve, wishing she could tell her what was wrong. Claire’s gut told her something wasn’t right. Something besides her using the medicine to numb herself, which she understood and even expected to a degree. But she was so...reasonable when she spoke. She wasn’t mumbling about children, she wasn’t speaking to people who weren’t there. She was wide-eyed and apologetic, fearful, answering questions and reacting to her environment. Something had caused this meltdown, something very real to Gen.

---------

With her medicine cut back, she’d been doing fairly well. There had been crying spells and bouts of anger but nothing destructive. What they didn’t know was Gen had a bottle of morphine at her disposal. Slipping sips when things got too much after they would leave. She was inadvertently giving herself better control, hiding the use from them, waiting until they were gone to reach for it. And she was becoming aware that they were catching on to her needing it. The doctor had said she could take it as was needed, and just because they didn’t agree with what was a need and what wasn’t didn’t mean she and her sick mind should go without. Or so was Gen’s opinion.

Claire, who was not the best teacher for such a thing, sat across from Genevieve as she tried to read her Hebrew study books. Something she used to do in her downtime while sipping tea and relaxing was now something that took the entirety of her focus and she had to be watched over when attempting such things. Sometimes she’d get headaches, sometimes she’d get upset she couldn’t do what she used to but it always ended in her falling back into the bed and demanding dramatically she be left alone for a nap. Despite the eye-rolling that behavior specifically might induce from someone, they saw it as an improvement, as her being dramatic without being destructive was a step up from where they were at. Even speaking out what she needed was a good sign.

Genevieve had been at it for over an hour, her nose tingling and her head starting to throb as they letters blurred and she notices so little progress being made. She observes Claire flying through a book of numbers and becomes full of jealousy. Claire was like a hot knife through butter with the task and Gen was barely scraping along and having immense trouble even doing that. Gen felt her emotions flare and bubble. More negative thoughts that wanted to jump out of her throat and be shouted at whoever was closest.

Instead, she slams the book shut, Claire’s attention on her instantly then shoving it off the desk. “I’m too fucking stupid to do this now.” she announces with her eyes to the desk, face scowled and Claire holds in her sigh, knowing she was on the edge of a meltdown.

“You aren’t stupid, Gen. You’re just a bit delayed due to your healing. Don’t let it get to you. You’re doing perfectly fine.” she assures her in a calm voice.

“You’re sitting there going through your work so damned easily. I could do that! I miss being smart. Now I can barely read without my eyes crossing and burning and everything making my head hurt!” her voice is high and strained.

“Well I haven’t been through what you’ve been through, that’s why I can and you can’t. If I’d been through what you had I’d be in the same situation.” she tries to gently explain. But as soon as it was out of her mouth she knew she shouldn’t have said it.

Reminded of exactly what got her there in first place Gen’s control dissolves. “I’ll never be the way I was will I?” her bottom lip quivers and she begins to sob loudly.

“Shit.” Claire mutters, quickly marking her place and rising from the desk in Gen’s room they shared. “Yes, you will. You have to be patient. You’ve come so far. You’ve been doing so well. Everyone’s proud of your progress.”

“That’s a load of shit!” she spits out, standing and shoving Claire away who tried to soothe her. “Everyone else knows it but no one will tell me. I’m hopeless. I’m broken and used up and damaged.” her head and arms flail as she speaks, her bells sleeves flowing about creating a whirlwind around her that was a very good visual to accompany what she was getting caught up in. She rushes over to her nightstand, kneeling and struggling with something.

“What are you doing?” Claire demands with exasperation in her voice as she walks over slowly, unsure of what to expect.

“I’m just going to give in. Be what you all think I am. What’s the point in trying?” she speaks loudly and articulately getting the bottle out from behind the drawer.

“What in the fucking hell Gen?! Where did you get that?!” her voice flares with anger.

“The doctor! Because I NEED IT Claire!” she replies as she rushes to open it and gets it to her mouth before Claire knocks it and Gen onto the bed. “Why do you want me to suffer so?!” Gen cries and writhes on the bed.

“Look at you! Gen! This isn’t you!” she screeches in anger, holding her best friend down as she reaches for the bottle on her bed. “You’re better than this! You’re stronger than this! Why have you been sneaking this? You clearly know it’s wrong!” she begs with tears in her eyes of frustration.

“You don’t understand. You CAN’T. NO ONE CAN!” she laments with gritted teeth, fighting to get away from her.

“WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL IS GOIN’ ON HERE?!” Alfie’s voice booms across the room and Gen sees her moment.

“Oh Alfie!” she puts on a damsel routine hard and shoves Claire away, running into his arms.

“What is it love? What’s happened?” he questions, taking her face into his hands.

“I got the most awful headache trying to study Hebrew and became so distraught. I was having such a hard time.” she pouts and holds his hands, stroking them gently. “I wanted my medicine so I could fight off the headache but she wouldn’t let me. Told me I was a fiend and that she wouldn’t let me!” she throws her head into his chest and cries dramatically. He believes her, her using his weakness to her feminine softness to her advantage.

“YOU SLY BITCH!” Claire snarls with true anger in her eyes as Gen smirks at her while Alfie holds her head close to him, already pointing his finger at Claire in warning.

“You was the one tellin’ me not to talk to her like that! What the fuck are you doin’? She’s trying to study and get better and you won’t give her any for something legitimate. That’s not what this is about. This was to make sure she didn’t get too much.” he booms her way.

“What about this then?” she reaches across the bed and grabs the now empty bottle. “She was keeping this in her nightstand. Behind our back.”

“Genevieve?” he roars, holding her by the chin. “Is this true?”

She could feel his hands shaking and knew the anger was towards her and real fear builds, tears begin to fall. He reminded her of him. A very real and intense flashback begins in her mind. He sees her eyes go wide, backing away, then scrambling to get away as he reached for her. “No!” she screams and stumbles over furniture.

“Don’t hurt yourself you bloody- UGH!” Alfie groans in frustration.

“GET AWAY!” she shouts, kicking at him.

“She was studying. She did get upset. Then she said she might as well give into what we thought of her and got this out. She felt stupid, she said.”

‘You’re not bloody stupid! You’re hurt!” he shouts, not controlling himself as she scrambles on her stomach in the floor to get away from him.

“You’re scaring her Alfie.” Claire rubs her face and sighs loudly.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?!” he replies with clawed hands as she backs against the wall and shakes like an abused animal.

“She’s having an episode. Just...let her be. Go get the fucking medicine.” she moans and moves over behind him. “I’ll watch her. You’ve probably sent her into another daze. I made the mistake of mentioning what happened off-handedly earlier. All my fault I suppose. I was just trying to explain why I could do my work and she couldn’t.”

“Well nice fucking work there Claire. All the preachin’ ya did to me ‘bout it, trying to get her used to talkin’ ‘bout it and now THIS happens every time we do. Fuckin’ coddling her. Now we have to sedate her like an animal. Fuckin’ ridiculous.” he stands and breathes loudly out of his nostrils as they flare and he attempts to compose himself.

“I’ve got an idea.” Claire declares. “Distract her.”

“I ‘ont fink she needs no more distractin’.” he smarts off and kneels in front of her speaking softly. With the gentle words, she comes back down a bit, looking around bewildered. “There she is. ‘Ello.” he greets, giving her a wave.

“Wha-? Ugh. Again?” she responds with true disappointment on her face. “I was...ugh I was there again.” she rubs her head slouches against the wall.

“Here.” Claire offers, kneeling down next to her, handing her a bottle full of liquid.

She looks at it and begins salivating, looking to both of them nervously. She wanted it. Oh God, she wanted all of it so badly. But if she let them know that they wouldn’t give it to her. They both saw it in her eyes and knew there was a problem. With shaking hands, she takes it and almost hides it shamefully as she relishes a drink. Then another...then another before Claire takes it away and Gen gives her a bit of a fight for it, a small series of noises of complaint.

“There.” Claire states standing back up. “You got what you wanted now lie down and sleep this off.” she orders, giving Alfie a tug of his vest.

Gen stands slowly, inching towards the bed and getting into it, her large eyes still unsure if they would chastise her for taking the medicine. She thinks she played it cool. She wasn’t sure.

“Right.” Alfie grunts. “I’ll be back to check on ya just gotta...do a few things first, yeah?” he tells her with his usual harshness, nothing too crass towards her.

She nods and hunkers down, feeling shame on top of everything else as she wonders what is wrong with her and why she felt so out of control. This wasn’t her. This was the morphine. Right? Or was this her now? She’d never thought herself addicted to anything before. But she was starting to wonder about herself, hearing what they said about her now. The shame sits heavy in her chest, her face red from embarrassment. The shame moves to anger towards herself quickly, she would’ve known better if she weren’t so daft now.  

Outside the bedroom door Claire holds up the bottle. “I filled it with water.” she declares proudly.

“Ah.” Alfie nods.

“So we’ll see if that can help. See how she reacts. I know you saw how she looked at us...how she looked at this.” she shakes her head. ”Because clearly…”

“We have a very real problem on our hands.” Alfie answers rubbing his chin in contemplation of how to handle this and hide it, without treating her like what she was quickly becoming, an addict.

Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

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[dreamsicledream]

Monsters in the frost pt 1 and 2

Heres my recent writing piece Monsters in the frost. I worked very hard on it.  I’m posting both parts please enjoy  and if you can reblog or send me  a message with your opinion

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Pt 1 - Monsters in the frost

Ice began to spread across the mirror like surface of the lake and a blanket of pristine white snow. Yukon frowned his nose wrinkling. Winter was here too soon. It was unusual. How could it reach this cold in mid sepetember? Yukon leaned forward letting the water lap at his fingers in a part where the lake hadn't frozen. His mind was already whirring and turning over every possibility of what might be happening. The Increase in monsters... the cold was it related? He felt a sick dread knott at his gut as he removed his hand from the water. Strands of hair as white as the pristine snow fell in his face and he began to twist them around his nimble fingers tightly. His nose wrinkled as he ran over more thoughts. Were the monsters affecting the temperture? Or did the temperture signal that were monsters were coming? They were already struggling with the number they had. Vern could only handle so many even with the small blessing of foresight he had. Should they call in help? Should they have gotten someone to investigate the phenomenon?

Spiralling more and more as he tried to figure out what to do in his head, Yukon barely noticed his tail thrash breaking up the ice with each slap. He didn't even hear the footsteps approaching the cold snow until he heard a voice.

"Hey fish breath you going to continue to splash everything?" the snarling voice called from behind him. He whipped around to see.... Vira. Vira stood at the lake's edge hands on her rather large plump hips glowering at him with the constant look of mild annoyance she always wore. Her long pink toned hair had fallen out of the bun she always wore it in, now laying past her shoulders with various leaves in it. Her foot tapped with the same sort of foul attitude he was used to.Despite Vira's well unpleasantness, Yukon sometimes had to admit she was pretty useful for one of their resident monsters. Well monster was a harsh term except he had seen her change. When Vern was absent or busy they could bribe her to help out.

"Vira. Its the same pleasure as always to see you here" he retorted letting go of the hair he had been twisting to look at her and making his way over to the lake edge across the icey currents.

"Oh cut it. We both know no one looks forward to my presence. Shut it with the false flattery fish sticks" she huffed rolling her eyes. The pattern of her skin which resembled a whirling storm over the sea changed, flicks of lightning flashing across it. Oh he knew something had her in a worse mood now. He'd be lucky if he didn't see the claws forming if e didn't aggravate her more.

"Okay Okay Vira. What brings you here?" he sighed placing his hands up defensively.

"The magic in the area feels gross. So mister I know everything, fix it. also another monster interrupted my enjoyment of my snacks so I'm definitely going to filet you if it happens again! Ugh do you know how long I waited for my fresh donuts?" she snapped her fangs flashing. He sighed his shoulders dropping. Vira's ability to sense the feel of magic, had brought useful information. Yukon considered prying but he glanced at her scowl and impatient tapping . Best not to annoy her more. However he did know his own way to get information out of her. Vira was rather easy to please after all.

"Okay Vir I'll get to investigating it. So far I don't know anything. I'm the town mage not the the town detective. Why don't we go down to the bakery and I'll buy you a new box and you give me information about the sensations you're experiencing in the local magic" he said hoisting himself out from the water and on to the snow. His voice oozed charm and he flashed her his best smile knowing bribery would get him everywhere with her. Her eyes glittered and the patterns on her skin shifted. The usual stormy pattern changed to a more clear sky and she gave off a soft glow with her pointed ears twitching.

"... Its a deal" she mumbled and before he could ask immediately got his wheelchair which had been fitted with little bits to ensure he didn't dry out when he had to traverse the land. In one movement she picked him up and sat him down. He blinked a bit surprised at her speed. He chuckled after a moment.

"I'm so getting you the limited edition ones" he hummed.

"So why don't you ask the catpaw corp or whatever to help out with figuring out whats going on?" Vira asked waving her hand as she wheeled him to the village rolling her eyes. He leaned back looking up at her with a frown.

"Why don't you ask your father, mister developer of curses and researcher of immortality?" he asked but then regretted the words the instant he said them. He had forgotten in one split second about... her family issues. He could see the pain in her expression the minute he said it. He could feel her grip tightening on the chair almost enough to crack the handles. She looked away to hide her face.

"Shut up" she snapped a small quiver in her tone. He felt low. He didn't get along with Vira... no one did but that was too far. He regretted reacting so defensively. He tugged at his sweater as silence settled between the two... a heavy silence that felt like a large divide. He didn't have any answer of what to say to make things better. an apology didn't feel like enough.

"I ... wasn't thinking. Im sorry. We can do this on our own I just feel" he mumbled sinking down in his seat after what felt like minutes stretched into one long eternity of unease. She didn't reply. He had expected some sharp snap or just something. Maybe an insult... but instead he got nothing.

The rest of the time on the way to the bakery was seeped in that silence that made him feel disgusted. He wanted to hide in the lake again. She didn't even say anything as she opened the door to the warmly lit bakery. He twisted his fingers in his scarf.

"Can I get one of all of vira's favorites?" he called to the baker who just raised a brow and nodded. The baker scampered off in a second and Vira wheeled him to one of the tables.

"Vira. I'm sorry" he sighed. She glanced at him as she took the seat across from him.

"You say it again im leaving you in the snow" she retorted "I'm adding a milk boba tea to your tab". He felt immediate relief when she responded finally. Yukon paused a moment though thinking of how to ask her the questions he had about the local magic. He needed to know what felt strange to her but it was hard to understand something he never quite had an experience with.

"Vir? Okay try to explain it to me whats wrong with the magic" he mumbled.

"It feels like its falling apart... unstable. You know what I mean? Like something is causing it to fall apart and just spike and wane uncontrollably" she tried to explain as she got up to get the sweet baked goods from the counter and brought them over to the table.  He began twisting his hair around his fingers again. Could magic instability effect the weather this badly? What did it have to do with the increase of monsters. He thought the creatures weren't the same as vira's species or at least he was pretty sure so they weren't made of raw magic.

"Does the magic feel similar when you encounter monstes?" Yukon asked plucking a sweet from the plate. Vira nodded as she stuffed a glistening donut frosted with a pink glaze in her mouth.  The gears in Yukon's mind began to turn. He felt like he was on to something but he didn't have the full grasp on it yet.

=====================================

Pt 2 - Monsters in the frost

Yukon's fingers tapped along the side of his cup. He felt his brow wrinkle as he stared into the depths of the coffee thinking. It felt like he was turning over a puzzle box in his mind without all the pieces. The magic around the creatures was off but what did it mean? Was it decayed magic? Or merely some sort of more dark magic twisted in some manner? Could the creatures be beings made of magic or maybe were they synthetic? Every question turned in his mind as he tried to piece together what his next course was. They could capture the creature maybe... vern wouldn't agree with that as the town protector but... if it led to answers maybe he needed to do that. He stared down into the depths of the cup thinking it over more.

 "Vira... Could you track one?" he asked quietly as he leaned forward in his wheelchair, his icey toned eyes met her sea blue ones "I want to catch one... to figure things out".

 Vira leaned back scrunching her brows together in a more thoughtful look than her usual glares. She stirred her coffee crumbling a little cookie into it.

 "Yeah of course i can fishfilet but your idea sounds pretty peak dumbass. Youre not exactly combat skilled in a wheelchair. Im guessing you know lovesick fool vern isn't going to agree either especially considering hes kind of getting a family started" Vira noted rolling her eyes as she mentioned vern "... I'll do it. Guess I'll have to be your big guns too? We'll have to get one out of Vern's radar though. Hes quick when it comes to sensing them and getting there to take care of it"

 She was right. They'd need to find one far enough from the village, Vern wouldn't get it. He took a swig of the coffee in his hands wondering if his closest friend would see this as a betrayal. He set the cup down and raked his fingers his hair. His eyes glanced out the window watching snow drift down in glistening crystals covering more of the town. if the monsters and weather were linked... it was more important to fix things than worry about hurting his friend's feelings. The shifting of the weather could leave their town lower on resources.. he dreaded the idea of the village running out of food.

He didn't realize his expression had scrunched up so much until Vira flicked a tiny folded paper napkin at him breaking his focus. His gaze flitted to her. Her pink hair fell in wavey strands in her face and deep blue eyes gazed at him from behind large owl rim glasses. Her round features made her glare a bit less frightening than she probably intended and her rounded nose wrinkled as she stuck her tongue out at him before getting up.

 "We better get wheeling. I've got business this evening" Vira said before he could even ask her to come with him like she knew he would. His tail flicked with a slight amusement before resting in its usual spot on the wheelchair once again.

 “Thank you Vira. So where are we headed?” he chuckled with a grin at up at her as she made her way to behind the chair.

 “Theres a little art studio well outside the village. Its way out of Vern’s range and I can sense there might be a monster on the way there. We could take advantage of the fact its a repurposed store room and use it to box in the creature possibly. Worst case, you could probably enchant some rope to hold the creature. Still the large space gives us an edge.” she mumbled flicking a few strands of pink hair back. He nodded as she wheeled him out of the warm golden glow of the bakery into the glistening white. The cold air stung a bit. Yukon could see the warm whisps of his breath dance in the icy air before disappearing. His fingers tugged at the fabric of his gloves as the snow crunched beneath the wheels and trails of snow formed in their wake as they made their way through the winding streets like a maze of snowy cottages. He could see families in their homes lighting the fires, and preparing the thick winter blankets all around him. The hints of oranges from the windows the only thing breaking up the white that seemed to stetch over everything. The further they got to the edge of town the quieter things got. He no longer heard people humming as they got carried their firewood or talking as they walked through the cold. Oranges stopped laying across the pure white leaving only an empty expanse before them instead of the usual fields. It felt like it went on forever.

  Vira who had been quiet began a soft tune in a language he hadn’t heard as they walked. He felt his jaw drop agape. She never sung. Or at least he hadn’t ever heard her sing. Her voice was soft, high pitched in a sort of gentle way as she sung. The wind whistled an accompaniment to her song. He didn’t want to say anything to break the moment. He just wanted to listen.Yukon couldn’t help wondering if this was her native language she sung in. He knew she didn’t speak her culture’s language usually. There were…. issues with her and her own culture. He knew the sort of hate in her expression whenever she spoke about how she grew up in short moments. Her mother… had regrettably passed leaving her in the care of her father. Her father was a man whose obsession was his research and his first wife… her sister’s mother. Well half-sister to be more exact. Her half-sister was the golden girl of the family. Praised and adored by so many who met her no matter what she did while Vira had always struggled to just be worth some shred of praise. Eventually that enviroment hit some boiling point. Something happened Vira didn’t ever speak of and she had ended up here… researching magic from the catacombs under the city, that he understood was forbidden. He had asked her about her research and magic more in depth but she’d shrug it off. Sometimes when he asked she’d be colder and sharper than usual aiming purposeful insults to push him away. She didn’t lie to him though. Thats the thing despite all her oddity… she and vern would never lie to him to manipulate him. They might beat around the bush or be clumsy socially but he knew they had no sort of talent with manipulation or lies. Vira would tell someone to shut up and shove it before lieing and Vern well… Vern was just the world’s worst liar. He could trust them. Even if she protested, Vira would always defend him and Vern.

 He chucked a bit at his own nostalgia which caused Vira to stop suddenly. He lurched forward in his seat at the sudden stop and turned back to look at her. Snow settled on her pink eyelashes and the rim of her spectables, Her deep usually teal skin tone had shifted to a more soft lighter blue that cast a small faint glow across the snow. The little cloud like pattern of her skin seemed absent of thunder currently although he could see one or two as she glared at him pressing up her glasses.

  “You interrupted my song” she huffed.

  “Sorry I was just thinking about things. Nostalgic sort of sensations” he informed her. She stuck her tongue out wrinkling her nose.

 “Sentimentality? Gross. “ she replied as she continued wheeling “I’m just going to toss you in the first pool of water we find if you keep this weird stuff up”

 “Oh? How cold. How could my favorite witch do this to me? Toss me cold and alone into the waters of the winter where I might become some fish popsicle.” he said dramatically with a grin playfully.

 “Keep tempting your luck. Just go on. I know you like the ice. “ she retorted with a little grumpy huff that created a little cloud of warmth when she exhaled. He couldn’t help grinning more at her obvious annoyance.

 “Well then miss lovely Vira are we almost there” he hummed leaning back. He watched her ears wiggled and her skin shift to shades of bright teals across her face. Embarassment? Well that was new.

 “Shut up! Oh my god you’re such a wind bag. We’re really close now” she snapped and immediately tried to adjust his view forward. He chuckled again a bit quieter this time to himself as he watched the shape of the artists studio come into view as they rolled down one of the hills decorated the countryside. Large skylights decorated the slope roof, probably letting in the light of the setting sun into the large building painted with scenes of vibrant places he had never seen along its concrete walls. It stood out, a burst of color in the quiet. The walkway was just as colorful. It was hard to imagine that a monster might of lurked around such a place. However he could see vira bristle. He could hear the snarl rumble from her body. He glanced at her hands seeing them distort in shape growing like sharp razor like claws leaving scratches in the wheelchair handles.  He felt his breath catch in his throat as he glanced around trying to figure out where the  creature might be skulking waiting to devour someone whole. Vira clicked her tongue quietly then gestured to one of the top windows. He hadn’t noticed it but one window was broken letting the snow fall through.

 Before Yukon could even say anything, like a flash Vira was darting forward pushing the chair through the snow in a dash. He gripped the handles startled by the sudden movement. Ahead the sounds of wood ripping and breaking rung through the silence. Yukon felt his brow wrinkle as he frowned. His ears could pick up sounds from inside the warehouse. He could hear glass shatter. Vira paused only to stop at the door and leave him there before rushing in. He could seem her features had shifted as she had moved past. A familiar shape of her face distored from its human like features shifted into something more akin to a dragon’s snout with sharp horns atop her head and the flash of her fangs… he knew them well.

He grasped the wheels of his chair hesitantly as he gazed into the open door before him shrouded in thick shadow. Yukon took a deep breath. He could feel his heart beat faster and faster… an inkling of fear growing. Combat wasn’t something he was front and center for. He couldn’t just let things be like this though. What if there was someone in there who needed his help.  Vira could handle trapping the beast well enough couldn’t she? Now he had doubts about that too. He took another deep breath letting the burning cold air fill his chest a moment before he began to advance inside the warehouse.

 It was dark as he crept ever so carefully forward. The skylight cast rare beams of light over the dimmly lit studio. Shelves filled with paintings made a maze around him. He could hear some of the shelves smash from the sounds of the fight. He leaned forward in his seat trying to peer what might be ahead, his ears moving as he struggled to listen for sounds of someone other than Vira and the monster. Just barely he could catch some sounds. The distant scared gasps of a person along with small hiccups.  It felt so close but still so far. The racks of paintings obscured the view but he could see a path through them to a little workshop area where he was pretty sure the sounds came from with an easel and small platform.  His fingers gripped the wheels of his wheelchair tightly before he took care with each movement toward the area. Statues loomed between the shelves watching his every careful movement. Something about statues had always unnerved him. They reminded him of something distant like a strange foreboding memory at the corner of his mind he couldn’t quite grasp. Yukon shook it off though inching forward more and more towards the workshop section to where he heard the small noises .

 When he reached the section he had been aiming for his eyes flitted around looking for the source. He could hear the snarling, and snapping of the fight between beasts growing closer and he felt the panic rise in his chest. It felt like his every movement was too slow as he looked around for the source. He wasn’t far off luckily. Curled up hidden against the shelves was a small burst of pink hair trying to hide in some sort of wrapped fabric. Yukon wheeled closer quietly. He extrended one of his hands out to the shaking bundle. Deep rose toned eyes peeked up at him from under a mess of soft pink hair. They were beautiful in a way Yukon hadn’t expected. Marks of soft glowing gold decorated their warm yet lightly tanned skin. Yukon couldn’t spot any clothes either under the shawl they were hiding under. He figured they were probably the artist’s model but where was the artist. He couldn’t help the curiosity about that tugging at the back of his mind but he took the delicate hand of the young man in front of his in his own gloved hands and carefully pulled him into the wheelchair atop him.

 “Sorry about the close quarters but lets get you out of here… I’m yukon” he whispered softly as he began to unwind the scarf from around his neck. He drapped it around the young man in his lap.  “I’m… meda” the model mumbled his voice quivering just a slight bit rattled from whatever had happened before they got here. Yukon’s thoughts wandered wondering if the artist, Meda worked with, had … perished. He pushed those thoughts down though as he began to unbutton his coat. Yukon carefully laid the warm fabric around Meda’s shoulders.

 “Its cold outside… cant have you freezing. Wouldn’t be a good rescue then would it?” Yukon joked trying to ease the situation the best he could . He could feel a small chuckle leave Meda’s body and Yukon felt a small bit of relief. It was odd to have someone in his lap. Oddly close, he could feel the warmth of the other man as his hands moved to grip the wheels carefully. He could feel the light rise and fall of Meda’s chest as tiredly the model laid his head atop Yukon’s chest. Could he hear how fast Yukon’s heart was beating? Yukon turned the chair and began to inch it towards the door. He worried about the cold but cold was safer than claws and fangs dyed with blood.

 Yukon struggled to try to make his way as quickly and quietly to the open door as he could. Claws scratching on concrete and the howl of a beast in pain filled the air behind him. He could feel his hair stand on end. His thoughts wandered to small worried about Vira. He could hear the shelves crack and break with each impact until right in front of him the two beasts landed. Barreling through the shelves scattering the ruined canvases. Vira’s changed form was pinned under the beast’s claw. Slick oil like blood stained her skin and oozed from the large gash across her snout. Despite the painful wounds though her jaw opened as she snapped her razor sharp fangs still fiercingly trying to dig into the flesh of the creature that loomed above her. The beast kept her forced down with its talons digging in her stomach.  Broken feathers fluttered down on to the bloody floor from the beast’s own wounds. Its wings had been clawed through and some of the thousands of eyes decorating its shadow like form had been clawed out. The oil like blood of Vira mixed with the creature’s own on the floor as its beak opened. It leaned forward and Yukon felt like his heart might stop watching the scene.He couldn’t move fast enough. Every movement felt too slow as he rummaged through his pockets for something that could help. He needed something… anything he could enchant to catch the creature off guard. His finger tips brushed cold metal. It was a small  retractable knife. Vern had given it to him in case of danger. This was danger. He pulled it out fumbling the blade out as quick as he could. He prayed in his mind this would work as he forced the feelings he was feeling into his own magic. He forced every panicked prayer and desire to save Vira into his own magic focusing it into the blade. The metal grew colder in his hands and in one swift movement he threw it.

  The blade sunk into one of the red eyes then from that spot ice exploded covering the beast in it over one of it’s shoulder blades where its wings connected to its body. The creature faltered from the force of it and Vira snapped up in that moment her claws ripping across its chest before it could move causing feathers to fly. It stumbled taking steps back and she lunged.

 Yukon covered Meda’s eyes as Vira tackled the creature down biting into its neck with her rows and rows of fangs. It twitched and thrashed beneath her. He looked away as he heard her claws dig into it cracking bone ripping it apart every time it tried to snap at her. He gripped the wheels with his free hand and took a slow moment to wheel forward. He could hear gurgling blood filled croaks from the monster as he left clutching Meda close to his chest. They weren’t catching this one… it had taken too much of a chunk out of vira plus they didn’t need to get someone else hurt. His stomach felt like it turned as he made his way outside.

  The cold air felt like a shock jolting him out of the moment. He glanced down at Meda removing his hand.

  “Sorry” he muttered quietly “... are you okay?”

   “Thank you… for saving me. I’m not usually this anxious I promise… What was that thing? The um big bird? Well and the other thing… the one with horns and massive claws? The thing fighting the bird” Meda asked stumbling over his words as if trying to regain what pose he had usually between shivvers from the cold. Yukon let a sigh escape his lips.

    “Thats one of the monsters… they eat people. They tend to plague this area since before I was even here. As for the horned creature, thats vira. Shes one of the people who hunts the creatures. She tracked it here.” Yukon explained raking his fingers through his hair. Meda glanced up at the man who rescued him as if studying Yukon’s features.

     “You tried to save me even though you cant move as well on land…” Meda said softly “do you usually come with?”.

      “Uh me? No no I’m the enchanter for the area. I enchant weapons or tools for people . I work with the hunters but Im not one myself. I’m here because originally we wanted to catch it… we want to find out why more keep appearing. I’m guessing you’re new here?” Yukon muttered glancing away. Now that they weren’t running from monsters he felt very aware of the fact Meda wasn’t wearing anything beneath coat,scarf and the shawl. He opened his mouth to add a question about that but quickly snapped it shut.    “I’m a model. My artist had suggested that a change of scenery would yield to more creativity so we asked to borrow a friend of hers studio” Meda answered adjusting his own hair a moment “She probably would of liked to paint you… I was waiting in the studio while she went into town”. Well that answered many questions but still left quite a few. His mind wandered a bit to running over the situation currently. They had failed to catch the monster but they had managed to save someone. On one aspect but on the other he was no closer to answers then when he started. Worse, Vira would definitely probably be gorging on that monster’s corpse like a rabid animal till her wounds healed, have crazed. They’d have to make it somewhere on their own. Maybe vern’s home would be best. He could get the young man in his lap dressed then escort him to town so they could find the artist Meda was working with. Vern would question what happened though… worse Vern would be angry they hadn’t told him. Maybe he should of told Vern though. Why was he doubting everything? Why did everything seem to not fit together like he planned.

  Meda’s hand waving infront of his face jolted him from his thoughts a moment.

    “Hey, whats got you spaced out handsome” Meda chuckled with a roguish grin he hadn’t expected from the young man’s earlier demeanor. How long had he been thinking? Was Meda staring? Yukon felt his whole face to the tips of his pointed ears heat up with embarassment as he stared down at Meda watching the model’s tail flick mischievously.    “Ah … uh I’m going to bring you by my friend’s place so we can borrow clothes” yukon mumbled straightening up his eyes flitting away unable to meet the rosey toned ones of Meda’s. He gripped the wheels of his chair and began to wheel away from the warehouse.

[pocketskittles]

Rant incoming: My therapist is an idiot and it took like 6 weeks to finally convince her that my symptoms are related to a personality disorder and not mood disorder & she’s got her facts wrong. To be fair, she “does not treat personality disorders” 🙄 ok. So I have Borderline personality disorder and have known this for years but it’s not in my charts. Well we finally went thru the DSM-5 and she read the list of 9 of which I experience 6 out of the 9 on a regular basis 👍🏼 alright. Next appointment I mentioned some crazy mood shifts and blamed it on BPD and she’s all like no no that’s bipolar that’s definitely not a PD thing because PDs are ingrained and aren’t relating to the brain chemicals or blah blah whatever I was annoyed and stopped listening. She said she didn’t recall going thru the DSM and wouldn’t look up her notes when I asked her to. 🙄 but said we can look into the manual for bipolar at our next appt. Ok. I argued I dont have bipolar and she insisted. So next appointment comes around and she pulls out the DSM and looks up bipolar. …moods lasting several months- nope. okay how about it weeks? Nope. Several days in a row? no I dont have that. Nope. My moods don’t even last a day. Nope. And she’s like oh okay well looks like you don’t have that. 🤦🏼‍♀️ (duh) and I asked her to look up BPD ..(for the 2nd time but to her it’s the first time) she starts naming the criteria Yep Yep Yep Yep Yep and she gets to the one “Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (eg, intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)” And she literally says well that would explain those mood shifts you were describing. 🤯 oh yeah? Does it now?? Really? 🤦🏼‍♀️ I’m so glad insurance pays for our visits because if I had to pay out of pocket to walk my own therapist thru how to do her job, she would no longer be my therapist.

[magioftheseas]

Higanbana Raft

Day 1: Comfort/Recovery (Alternative: Light/Darkness)

Summary: Kamukura's assigned to take care of Komaeda while he's sick and after the members of SHSL Despair have already had their fun. Komaeda is, unsurprisingly, not too happy with this turn of events.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Sick character fic. Mental instability, discussions about health, hospitals, and vague references to past abuse/violence. Pretty light, but still there so be careful.

Notes: Starting off the week with something simple and...not-so-sweet. One of the possible prompts I suggested that I was really sad didn’t win was “red spider lilies”. I incorporated those in this fic to make up for it. It’s technically canon considering there are red spider lilies in Komaeda’s hospital room (and only his iirc) in sdr2. Yep. 

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

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“Our most precious Komaeda-kun is sick!”

Vivid crimson red spider lilies decorate the room and windows as though the very area had burst into bloom.

“Thus, we have to do our beeeeeeary best to help him feel better! Upupupu!”

For anyone else, the room would be blinding from the lights to the white, white walls and tiles, making the crimson red stand out all the more.

“After all, we’re all comrades, aren’t we? Comrades in despair!”

Her scratchy, unpleasant, saccharine laughter rings in his ears as he steps into the room.

“So, Kamukura-kun, would you please take the best of care of him for us?”

Komaeda Nagito was curled in on himself in the bed, trembling and coughing up a storm. The room was awash with the scent of spider lilies and sick. The blankets are too thick. Komaeda Nagito is feverishly flushed. Red on white. Just like the flowers along the walls and window sill.

Komaeda manages to catch his breath, swallowing back saliva into his dry throat. He could tell so very easily that such an action hurt with how Komaeda rubbed at his throat almost sullenly.

“...I really am under a bout of horrible luck...” He mutters it harshly as though the very words scrape against his vocal chords. “For you of all people to check up on me... Well, I suppose it’s only hurting my pride. Aha. Hhck.”

Another hacking cough. Kamukura sets out the bottle of water he brought along with the necessary pills.

“Coupled with your frailer disposition,” Kamukura says, brushing his hair back. “Along with the sadistic, poisonous tendencies of those who were supposedly ‘tending’ to you... It really is just your luck that you are still alive in spite of everything, Komaeda Nagito.”

Komaeda lets out a wheezy giggle, twisting to shakily push himself up. He smiles calmly even though his eyes are heavy with darkening, swirling despair.

“It’s just my luck,” he repeated lightly. He takes the water, he swallows back pills and drowns them with well-worn familiarity. “I know that. But with you here, I guess that means that they’re sick of me being sick. Ehe. Such kindness my class shows!”

Spoken with nothing short of a cheerful contempt.

Kamukura glances towards the flowers left behind. With a glance, he can pick out which ones are more wilted than the others.

Komaeda coughs a few times and lies back down.

“Ah... Hah... It really hurts, being like this... It’s really annoying, too...” Another cough he tries to cover, another spasm, and another sniffle. “This is just...inconvenience... It’s not really despair. I was just being tormented for entertainment.”

“Yes.” That much was obvious from the start. It’s boring that Komaeda Nagito pointed it out now. “But you had expected this treatment, had you not?”

Shifting. Sniffling. Shivering.

“...that’s a horrible show of bedside manners,” Komaeda murmurs, almost glumly. “Even Matsuda-kun wouldn’t have been so rude.”

For a while, they were both quiet. Then, Komaeda sneezed and messily wiped it away with his stained, crumbled handkerchief.

Then, a sigh.

Kamukura turns away.

“You will not recover like this. One second.”

“Ehhhh?” Komaeda whines. “No, I don’t want yoooour help!”

“If you wish to recover,” Kamukura said coldly over his shoulder. “Then that want is detrimental. A contradiction. Foolishness.”

Komaeda pouts at him.

It’s not playful like she would be. It’s not like how Matsuda Yasuke’s irritated scowls had been, although he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the face Komaeda Nagito had foolishly wanted to make.

Instead, it’s just pathetic.

Kamukura goes and fetches the necessary supplies and aide without another word.

--

When he returns, Komaeda is still in a poor mood. That much is clear.

At the very least, he’s passive and docile as Kamukura wipes him down, even as he winces, grimaces, and squirms out of habit under his touch.

Kamukura is swift and efficient. He might as well be.

Komaeda sighs as Kamukura sticks the cooling pad to his forehead. And then, Komaeda is the one looking at the flowers.

“...when I was little, I got really sick while my parents were away for work. I was home alone, I was probably crying, I was...” He trails off. “I was probably despairing. But, it was my own fault I had to be alone like that. My own bad luck.”

Then, a laugh.

“When my parents got back... Mama fed me. Papa read me a story. After I got better, they took me to the amusement park. It was a lot of fun.” Another laugh, harsher than before. “And then, there had been an accident. Seven people died. A flu had spread. The park was closed indefinitely. We could never go back.”

There’s nothing to say. Not in response to that.

“You should eat something,” Kamukura said instead. “I will prepare you porridge, then. There are fresh ingredients being stored here that I can use.”

“You’re going to detoxify them, right?” Komaeda asked quietly.  “Because I just know those ingredients are all poisoned.”

“I know,” Kamukura said. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

Komaeda twists onto his side, fingers pressed onto the cooling pad lest it slipped off.

“Nothing, you say... Okay then, I suppose.”

That was really all there was to it. Except for one thing.

“I don’t really like sweet things,” Komaeda murmured. “So if you’re going to add something like honey, can you at least use salt to offset it?”

“Very well.”

--

“Ah, thank you for the meal.” Komaeda sends a prayer, and then blows his nose. “Mmm... Wow, even a boring bowl of daikon looks elite when you’re the one who made it.”

“It is a basic remedy.”

Komaeda takes the bowl and takes a bite, sipping at the shaved ice added. He swallows without any trouble. This fact seems to irritate him.

How boring.

“You really are so disgustingly good at even the most basic things,” Komaeda says, and then sighs. “It tastes really good. Thank you.”

He continues to eat.

“Mm, mm. Yeah, with something like this, I should be...” A sudden shudder. A wince. Komaeda rubbed his throat. “Mmgh.”

Kamukura had expected this of course. He takes the handkerchief Komaeda had been using. At that, Komaeda jumped and protested.

“Wait—!”

But already, Kamukura had observed the stains. He could smell it just as keenly as he sees it. Bitter iron. A dark burgundy. Blood.

“...uu...” Komaeda whines, sipping irritably at another spoonful. “It’s fine. Since the coughing will go down after I finish this, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Kamukura sets the fabric aside.

“Nothing to worry about!” Komaeda exclaimed. Then, he grumbled. “Still, you really started me... You should’ve already known that I cut my throat from coughing so much...”

“I did.” He had. Of course. “It is as you said. It will be fine.”

“Then why concern yourself?” Komaeda mumbled more than asked. “Now that I think about it—that was weird of you to do, Kamukura-kun.”

Wasn’t it.

It was. There had been no point to the action.

“Aha... Haha...” Komaeda giggles weakly. “So even Kamukura-kun wants to torment me... I really have gotten so pitiful.”

No.

“No,” he said. “No, that is wrong.”

“Hmm?” Komaeda smiles at him blankly, watery eyes glassy. He takes another bite of daikon. “Whatever do you mean wrong? What other reason could it possibly be?”

“...impulse.” Kamukura lowers his gaze, fidgeting in a way he hadn’t for a while. “It was nothing more than an act of impulse. No underlying motivation. Certainly nothing born of malice. Do not group me with them, Komaeda Nagito, especially if you deny your own attachment.”

Komaeda considers it, humming some more.

“...even if that’s true, you’re still a tool of despair, Kamukura-kun.” His smile widens. “You always have been.”

Kamukura can only exhale softly.

“Boring. Believe what you wish.”

With that, he turns away.

“After you’ve finished eating. Rest for a bit. That should ease the recovery process. I’ll return when you wake.”

“Ehhhh? You’re like a nurse, Kamukura-kun!”

“Is that not the duty being performed?” he asked bluntly. “That is what I am here to do after all. Nurse you back to health.”

Komaeda blinks a few times, mouth a circle of awe.

“I’m really lucky!” he chirped. “Having such a handsome nurse tend to me!” His smile dropped and shattered like porcelain. “It’s just unfortunate that it has to be you.”

“Say what you will.” Believe what you will. “Just...get some rest, Komaeda Nagito.”

“Yessir!”

--

When he checks on Komaeda, the other is fast asleep.

Komaeda, despite everything, sleeps peacefully.

Kamukura takes the empty bowl. Komaeda sighs softly, shifting ever so slightly.

“Mm...”

There’s a slight flutter to Komaeda’s eyelashes. A slight twitch and twist of his lips.

As Kamukura idly strokes those soft ivory strands back, Komaeda’s features pinch up.

Komaeda shivers, his intake of breath hitching.

Kamukura is about to say something to perhaps soothe him, but then, Komaeda murmurs the name of someone long dead.

Tears cling to those snowy white lashes.

He murmurs another name. Another person long dead.

Several of those flowers are wilting. Perhaps Kamukura should pull them out and dispose of them.

And, then.

“Mama... Papa...”

Kamukura wipes those tears away, but more are beading in the crevices. Sighing, he resumes brushing back Komaeda’s hair.

Komaeda Nagito is...truly a frustrating person, but... He is not a bad person at heart. Even I know this.

He remains there until Komaeda begins to stir, curling in on himself. He only leaves because there is more to prepare before Komaeda wakes.

--

For no particular reason, there is a moment that he recalls from their school days. Before she enacted her plans. Before the world begin its inevitable crumble.

This was a moment that any boring person would refer to as carefree.

“Good morning!”

Komaeda Nagito was smiling brightly as per usual, lightly swinging a plastic bag as he skipped inside. There was a bounce to his step, a twitch of his expression, and then, Komaeda’s gaze flickered towards him. And lingered.

“...Why is that marionette in the bed?”

“Because he’s obviously feeling under the weather, idiot,” Matsuda snapped, swiping to take the bag from him. To his growing irritation, Komaeda pulled it away from his reach. “Komaeda, what the hell even is it?”

“I didn’t think puppets could get sick,” Komaeda said almost innocently. Then he grinned. “But of course! I was here to deliver you some lunch! You so rarely eat, Matsuda-kun, that’s no good! You have to keep your energy up as much as you can!”

“Uh, huh.” Matsuda’s brow furrowed before he just sighed and held out his hand. “Put it here, then.”

Giggling, Komaeda handed him the packaged sandwich.

“I bought it at the campus cafeteria, so sorry it’s not as good as Hanamura-kun’s homemade.”

“It’s also way less likely to be drugged, so I’ll take it. Please and thank you.”

Komaeda snorted; Matsuda unwrapped the sandwich and took a messy bite.

At the time, he himself could only watch quietly and vigilantly. Even from here, even like this, he had known every component of that sandwich down to the crumbs. Komaeda once more glanced his way. Those ivory lashes lower, and that easy smile dropped into an almost scowl.

“If all else you’re going to do is act pissy towards the pet project, you can just leave if you like, Komaeda,” Matsuda said, mouth half-full. “Or has your brain just gotten worse? I can check.”

“Ah, no, sorry, I’ll behave.” Komaeda waved his hand. “I, um, actually I...was going to eat here, too. But the bed is taken... But I guess someone like me should be happy with the floor.”

He had blinked at him; Komaeda had stubbornly kept his eyes averted.

“Whatever.” Matsuda swallowed. “Like hell it really mat...”

There was a resounding buzz from the doctor’s pager. Without missing a beat, Matsuda checked it. His scowl twisted and darkened.

“...shit. Really? Urgh. Well, that’s fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Oh!” Komaeda lit back up with that simplistic cheer. “Duty calls!”

“Don’t word it like that,” Matsuda snapped, shoving himself up still with his half-eaten sandwich in hand. “Looks like I’m going to have to eat on the run. Urgh.” He pointed at Komaeda sharply. “If you’re going to stick around, behave. You can take my seat but do not get crumbs on my fucking desk.”

Komaeda’s eyes shimmered with brimming tears. “M-Matsuda-kun really is so kind...!”

“Ew, gross. Keep your runny nose far fucking away from my desk too, alright?”

Sniffling, Komaeda quickly nodded. Sighing, Matsuda runs his fingers through his hair.

“...Kamukura.” Matsuda turned to him. “Once you’re feeling better, you’re free to go. And don’t mind this mushroom head, got it? He’s got a bark, alright, but he’s also...” Komaeda was still sniffling and trying in vain to wipe away trickling tears, drool, and mucus. He hadn’t seemed to notice the conversation currently going on. “Yeah...”

He had only nodded in response.

With a sigh and a sloppy wave, Matsuda then headed out, shutting the door tightly behind him.

Komaeda blew his nose. And then, Komaeda met his gaze. Komaeda held that stare.

“...gross.”

Komaeda’s own face was gross, someone could say. Especially like that.

But he just hadn’t bothered.

So boring.

“If you’re not feeling well,” Komaeda went on, frowning. “Does that mean you haven’t eaten, Kamukura-kun?”

He had perked up at that.

“...I do not require much nourishment. I have taken all the necessary vitamins. I will be fine.”

“Just the vitamins?” Komaeda asked. “What about an actual meal?”

“Unnecessary.”

He had, of course, had meals before. He has had to prepare meals for the sake of showcasing his talent. But they had been—and still were superfluous. Unnecessary. The researchers hardly bothered for a reason.

Sometimes, Matsuda had snuck in snacks and offer him some. However, that often had been the extent of it.

Either way, Kamukura hadn’t given it much thought.

(If it hadn’t been for this moment, he’d likely continue to not give it much thought. But even with that...)

Komaeda had squirmed once he seated himself in Matsuda’s chair. He had blown his nose once more on tissue and then cleaned his face, tossing the trash. His cheeks were still flushed, eyes still rimmed with red. He bit his lip, worrying it with his teeth.

Kamukura had thought about how that lip would swell at this rate. And how really incredibly pitiful that was.

But Komaeda just kept talking.

“Just the vitamins... That sounds despairingly bland. You don’t even get toast in the mornings?”

“Ineffective. Too few calories.”

Komaeda puffed his cheeks. “Toast is good. Um, you should also drink milk, I think...”

“Ineffective. Too few vitamins. Too low a percentage.”

“But,” Komaeda said. “There’s at least the taste...”

“Irrelevant. Boring.”

Fuming, Komaeda ducked his head, shaking just the slightest bit.

This always happens. Kamukura thought dully. It only takes a word to set him off. Komaeda Nagito truly is drearily predictable. So boring. Trivial. Getting like this over such an inconsequentiality... Well. There is only so much logic to expect from one so drearily emotionally-driven.

(And even now, that hasn’t much changed.)

He had opened his mouth to say more, but instead caught the bag Komaeda Nagito threw at him, the bag containing another packaged sandwich. The one Komaeda Nagito had been planning to eat himself but wouldn’t have been able to finish due to his poor appetite. It had been expectable, then, that Komaeda Nagito, in spite of his misgivings, in spite of his irritations, had given it to him instead.

He should have expected it.

(But he hadn’t. Not really.)

“Just vitamins and supplements aren’t enough,” Komaeda bit out. “You need something with taste for stimulation. Saying something like that is irrelevant—are you stupid?”

Kamukura blinked at him. Once. Twice.

...stupid?

(He hadn’t expected that either.)

“Stupid!” Komaeda exclaimed. “Yes! I just asked if you were stupid! And I meant it seriously! If you’re just a genius, you really should have thought of that...!”

“I had.” He regained his composure. But to have even lost it in the first place—“I still deemed it irrelevant. Unnecessary.”

“Oh. I see.” Komaeda frowned, unimpressed. “You really are stupid, then.”

Stupid?

“Are you too good to actually eat something?” Komaeda asked haughtily, twirling a strand of ivory around his finger. “I really doubt that. So, you should just eat, Kamukura-kun. You’re feeling under the weather after all. Something light like that sandwich should at least help.”

Kamukura stared at him. And then at the packaged sandwich. And then back at him. Then, exhaling, Kamukura swiftly undid the wrapping.

“If you insist, then.”

He didn’t waste time, eating and chewing at exactly the necessary speed for efficient digestion. Nothing more, nothing less. After all, he had thought that he shouldn’t waste too much effort on something so menial and so—unnecessary.

But Komaeda had smiled at him. It was supposed to just be a smile. Just a smile. A quirk of the lips. Ten muscles. Insignificant. Unnecessary.

“Were you really feeling unwell, Kamukura-kun?” he asked with a cheerful, barbed lilt.

It hadn’t been a smile.

The word stupid had rung in his ears. How ridiculous. How boring.

(It still rings to this day.)

“Even I get tired,” he had found himself saying. “And those researchers do so love to test my patience in addition to my talents. It is only a break. That is all.”

He took another bite of his food.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Komaeda replied and he stretched. “Either way, it’s a huge waste of time. Hope can’t be cultivated through science. That’s ridiculous.” He laughed at the very thought. “It’s not true hope. But it’s not your fault, of course. That idiot reserve course student asked for this. You didn’t.”

One of these days, that running mouth of his will cause a considerable amount of trouble. But that would be expectable. It has almost certainly been doing that already.

“It does not matter to me,” Kamukura said. “Regardless of who it was, I would have existed like this.”

“The idea of something like you being mass-produced is quite frightening,” Komaeda said. “My, the world might crumble to pieces on the spot!”

“That would not happen.” A pause. “My creation was far too costly. In resources. In time. And there is still more troubleshooting and testing to do.”

“Aah, I suppose that’s true... I’m still worried though...” Komaeda drew in his knees. “But there’s not much I can do about it. How despairing.”

There was no point in responding, so he merely continued eating. Komaeda was quiet as well. And Kamukura popped in the last bite, licking off the last bit of crumbs from his fingertips.

It had been...

“Oh. How was it?” Komaeda asked, perking up even as his cheek remained rested against his knee. “Was it adequate, at least?”

“It was...” He tossed the trash with a proficient flick of his wrist. It landed perfectly into Matsuda’s wastebasket. “Adequate. Yes.”

It was a sandwich. There is not much else to say.

With that, he just lied down with a sigh.

“You’re just going to sleep? That’s pretty dangerous,” Komaeda said. “I might get bored and decide to doodle all over your face.”

“How boring.”

“I could also cut your hair,” he said. A pause. “Aha, that’s a horrible joke. I won’t do that. Also it’d be a waste of good scissors...probably.”

Kamukura had simply let his eyes fall shut. It would not take much to lull himself to sleep. How terribly boring it would be—but would it be any less so were he to remain awake?

“Kamukura-kun.”

There was just no real point.

“You really should eat more.”

It was just one of those days he remembered, back before everything fell apart.

(And yet, it was a memory that clung to him amidst the world’s rubble.)

--

“Here you are.”

“Ah. Oh. Thank you for the meal.” Komaeda’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but he still perks up at the porridge placed on his lap. He wafts the scent towards him, and sniffs. “It smells too good to be mere gruel.”

“I added extra ingredients,” Kamukura said. “Including medicine to help you feel better.”

“Aah, really?” Komaeda giggles a bit. “How thoughtful!”

He blows off the steam before he takes a bite. For a moment, his expression changed, eyes glimmering for a bit.

And if he hadn’t cried while he slept, perhaps there would be tears right now.

“...oh. It really does taste good.” He averts his gaze, smile gone. “Not that it’s...surprising.”

You say that, but you are surprised, Komaeda Nagito.

Kamukura doesn’t say that aloud, however.

“Please eat it all,” he says instead. “For the sake of a speedy recovery.”

“...it’s almost too good to eat,” Komaeda mumbled, almost glumly. “Hey, Kamukura-kun, why is it...?” He trails off, like he can’t bear to say it. “I... Never mind. I’ll eat it then. I’m sick of having to rely on you anyway. Yeah.”

“Yes,” Kamukura echoed. “So eat it all so that you may regain your strength.”

“Not that there’s much to regain,” Komaeda added, almost bitterly, but he kept his stare stubbornly away. Instead, he stared at the flowers, and his face fell. “Ahhh... Several of them are gone.”

“Because they were decaying,” Kamukura said. “They would have attracted bugs and bacteria, which would’ve impeded your recovery.”

“Ah, huh.” A pause. A soft laugh. “Wilted flowers can be more beautiful than those in bloom. So it’s still a shame.”

That is...

“Is it because of the symbolism you say that?” Kamukura asked. “How dull. Flowers are flowers.”

“Flowers are life, just as all living things are,” Komaeda said firmly. Then, rather suddenly, he turned back and smiled at him. “Even a rotting flower is flourishing with life, Kamukura-kun!”

Kamukura stares.

“...I suppose that is correct, from a technical aspect.”

Komaeda Nagito is...

“It’s for reasons like this that you can never be true hope even apart from the technical aspect,” Komaeda huffed. And then, a pause. “But... You’re not as hopeless as I thought you were. I apologize, then, for my excessive cruelty towards you, Kamukura-kun.”

“...”

Komaeda flustered.

“T-That doesn’t mean I dislike you that much less of course,” he rambled on. “I dislike you a little less but it’s not by much, I promise! You still have a lot about yourself that you should change, Kamukura-kun! Such as being way less cold! And playing along a lot more nicely with others!”

“Boring,” he said.

“Case in point,” Komaeda sighed and took another bite. His irritation immediately softened. “But... Maybe it’s difficult for you... It’s difficult, isn’t it, to be gentle in a world this harsh. Hahaha, even when it comes to kind-hearted people, I don’t expect them to treat me gently. That’s just effort I’m not worth.” He falters. “So then, why...?”

He nips at his spoon and then shakes his head.

“...never mind. I’m just rambling. It’s probably really annoying to listen to.”

“I do not care,” Kamukura said. “Whether you speak or do not speak, it matters not.”

Komaeda bristled, even though he had not meant anything negatively by that. However, he could tell that Komaeda seemed aware of that factoid, at least.

“Mmgh.” Komaeda seemed to eat a bit more quickly. “Whatever, whatever.”

“You will choke, Komaeda Nagito.”

Komaeda almost chokes. Kamukura delivers a swift smack to his back to get him coughing.

“Urgh... Ugh... Uu...”

Komaeda sniffled.

“...you really are too much, Kamukura-kun.”

“Am I?”

“You are,” he insisted. “You definitely are.”

“...Hmm.”

There was nothing more to say on that front. Komaeda finished his porridge in silence. And then, Komaeda laid back down. He said nothing more, even then.

...frustrating person.

--

When he was well enough, the first thing Komaeda did was bury the remaining, dead spider lilies.

“It’ll bring nutrients to the soil,” Komaeda said. “And more flowers will blossom! It will be the hope that sprouts from despair!”

“It will do little,” Kamukura said. “The soil is tainted and vacuous. These flowers will hardly make a difference.”

“But a difference will be made, nonetheless,” Komaeda hummed, picking dirt from his fingertips. “Something is better than nothing, Kamukura-kun. You really should learn to appreciate the little things, ehe.”

“Boring,” was his own predictable response.

Wiping the dirt from his hands, Komaeda shakily stood up.

“Well, since I’m feeling much better, I suppose this is where we part,” he said. “Thank you again, for all that you’ve done for me, Kamukura-kun. As much as I hate being in your debt, I do still appreciate it.”

Kamukura remained quiet. Unsurprised, Komaeda gives a quiet, resigned sort of laugh.

“Well, that’s that. I guess I’ll be on my way.”

“You are just going to wander aimlessly?” he asked.

Komaeda nodded. “I’m going to just go wherever my luck takes me. I have a good feeling, since there was such a bout of bad luck before.” His smile twisted. “You’re going to just be wandering without purpose, so you have no room to judge, Kamukura-kun.”

“No, I do not. It does not really matter either way.”

Komaeda shrugged and tugged up his hood.

“I’ll be seeing you, if luck dictates it,” he hummed. “Will it be good luck or bad luck? Either way, I do so hope it’ll be significant all the same.”

He waves.

“Well, then.”

With that, he turns away and begins to walk. Kamukura watches him go, watches him take those first few steps.

“Komaeda... Nagito.”

He ended up speaking up, and Komaeda immediately spun back around on his heel, blinking wide eyes at him.

“T... Take care of yourself,” he said. “Just... Take care of yourself.”

Komaeda frowns, tilts his head, and turns back around, tossing a reply over his shoulder.

“Same to you, Kamukura-kun.”

He seemed to scamper away afterwards, as though in much more of a hurry than before. It would not surprise Kamukura if such were the case.

However, there were...other surprises...

He touches his mouth carefully, as though such an action would evoke an explanation for those words bursting out. Of course, no such thing happened.

“It’s difficult, isn’t it, to be gentle in a world this harsh.”

Kamukura mulled over those words.

He was not wrong... But somehow, those words still irritated me. Strange, indeed.

Perhaps he was just tired of the harshness of the world.

It wouldn’t be that surprising. There was no point in dwelling; he should move on to wherever.

But, still.

Komaeda Nagito... What kind of world do you truly yearn for? If it were indeed a kind and gentle one, then, that, I suppose...would not be as boring as this one.

[tickles-tea]

A Well-Deserved Punishment

**Happy Valentine's Day! Here's a fic no one asked for that I had fun writing!**

**Fair warning: This is a tickle fic**

Shizuo loved moments like these.

He and Izaya were resting on the couch, Shizuo settled between his boyfriend's legs and leaning back against his chest. The informant had been doing something on his phone for the past hour or so, and it must have been important because he had been blessedly silent.

Shizuo realized the importance of these moments and tried to enjoy them as much as he could. After all, Izaya was considerably more stingy with physical affection than he was with his taunts and insults. He must have been in a really good mood today since he didn't so much as blink when Shizuo started caressing the legs caging him in.

Izaya's loose shorts did little to hide the way pale skin turned to goosebumps under Shizuo's feather-light touches. He lazily drew circles on Izaya's inner thighs, curious to see how quickly the skin would react, though this movement provoked a different reaction than he'd expected. A shaky breath sounded from behind him as the muscles tensed beneath Shizuo's fingers.

Glancing back at his partner, Shizuo raised an eyebrow in silent question. Izaya, however, seemed to be intently focused on his phone. His face was completely neutral except for the very faint blush coloring his cheeks. It would have been hard for most people to notice this crack in the pokerfaced man's facade, but in the years that they'd been together, Shizuo had learned to catch these little details that revealed Izaya's true feelings.

This skill had proved to be very useful in their relationship as Izaya still had trouble admitting to certain things, such as how much he really cared about Shizuo's well-being. His reluctance to voice this had caused some problems in the beginning of this strange thing they developed. Luckily, Shizuo had always been good at seeing through Izaya's bullshit so it hadn't been an issue for very long.

Now though, this understanding allowed him to see how flustered his partner was. While Shizuo could admit that he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed-something Izaya liked to remind him of daily-he could easily determine why.

Izaya's eyes flicked down to Shizuo briefly before returning to the phone. "Did you need something, Shizu-chan?" He said, words straining as he tried to speak in a nonchalant tone.

"Ah, no, sorry." The blonde responded, not sounding very sorry at all. Shizuo looked away from the informant with a smirk as he resumed his fluttering touches on the now trembling thighs. He made no comment on the soft gasp that escaped Izaya's mouth nor on the not so subtle squirming as he quickened his pace slightly. He could imagine how the stubborn man behind him was trying to fight down the smile that was surely tugging at his lips.

After a few months of dating, Izaya had grown comfortable with more intimate touches, a change Shizuo had welcomed with open arms. He had initiated physical contact as often as he could, and with this he discovered a secret Izaya had done his damnedest to hide.

Orihara Izaya was unbelievably ticklish.

Shizuo was hardly surprised to discover that Izaya's thighs were sensitive; after all, it seemed that the man was ticklish everywhere, and there was really no reason for his thighs to be an exception. Shizuo found it incredibly amusing that Izaya still tried to hide it, even though this particular weakness had been exploited by his partner many times before.

Eager to learn just how sensitive those legs were, Shizuo focused his tickling on Izaya's inner thighs after noticing that the informant squirmed a little more when he'd lingered there. After only a few moments of the concentrated tickling, Izaya's writhing started to become more urgent and his legs pushed against Shizuo's sides in a futile attempt to escape the touches. The blonde's body, however, kept them open and vulnerable, which said blonde took complete advantage of.

"Shizu-chan, s-stop it. I'm busy," Izaya said in a shaky tone that was nothing like his usual clear and confident speech. This obvious instability and lack of control still did nothing to keep him from saying, "Maybe I should look into beast-sitters to keep you entertained while I'm working."

Shizuo brushed off the weak jab and kept his mind on the objective. His goal was to break the seemingly unbreakable man's composure, and it seemed that such a goal wasn't as unreachable as one would believe. Apparently deciding that talking was too risky, Izaya remained silent, or as silent as he could be. In a mere couple of seconds, soft, broken giggles started to come free from Izaya's mouth. They only increased in volume as the tickling persisted, despite Izaya's best efforts.

"Is something funny, Flea?" Shizuo asked, knowing just how much a teasing comment like that would annoy the other man, especially since he wasn't able to snark back.

Izaya was fighting a losing battle, a battle Shizuo knew he refused to give in to easily. That is until deft fingers moved a little higher up his thighs. With one particularly sharp jerk of his legs, Izaya was finally reduced to loud, breathless laughs rather than the muffled giggles from before.

"S-STOP IHIHIHIT, YOU PROTAZOAHAHAHAN," he exclaimed now that he had lost the unspoken competition between them.

Thin hands grasped the back of Shizuo's shirt and tugged desperately. While Izaya was most certainly a clever individual, all reason seemed to escape him in his haste to make the tortuous touches stop in any way possible. One way he apparently deemed to be possibly successful turned out to be pulling at Shizuo's hair. His attempt proved to be a failure as his boyfriend only chuckled and carried on with his motions, barely taking notice of the assault on his hair.

Izaya cackled and kicked his leg out when Shizuo gently squeezed the area right above his knee. "FUCK YOU, SHIZU-CHAHAHAN," was the near immediate response he received for that action.

As much as Shizuo wanted to mess with him more, teasing was the informant's forte and frankly, he just wanted to enjoy this. If anything, Izaya would likely be affected by his silence just as much as he would his teasing.

Shizuo was brought out of his intense focus by a hard object smashing down on his head. Fingers stilling instantly, the blonde turned to see Izaya, flushed and panting for breath, holding his cellphone above his head. Shizuo was somewhat satisfied to see the moment Izaya realized his mistake. His auburn eyes widened, standing out starkly against his now pale face.

"Shizu-," he started timidly before he was interrupted by Shizuo's fingers digging into his thighs with such intensity that he howled. He flailed his arms about, phone falling from his hand and onto the ground. "STAHAHAHAH, STAHAHAHAHAP, I'M SOHAHAHAREHEHEHEE," he tried to stutter out an apology in hopes of mercy, but he could barely get past the beginning of the word before it dissolved into hysteric laughter. Izaya's thrashing legs didn't deter Shizuo in the slightest, who continued to wreak havoc on his boyfriend's thighs with spidering fingers.

It was only when Izaya's laughter turned silent and his writhing ceased that the blonde's fingers slowed to an eventual stop. The informant heaved in a deep breath and covered his blushing face with a hand that felt much heavier than it was. Shizuo waited as his boyfriend caught his breath before asking, "Are you okay?"

Izaya lifted his hand to glare at Shizuo before muttering a halfhearted "I hate you." Shizuo only smiled and turned his body so that he could wrap his arms around his partner's waist. They both knew the statement was a pathetic attempt to salvage whatever pride Izaya had left. They also knew that he'd had way too much anyway.

It must have been that pride mixed with too much confidence that allowed the breathless man to murmur an exasperated, "Maybe we need to sign you up for obedience classes too," before he was faced with merciless-and much deserved-tickling once more.

[softshelby]

Jealous

Michael Gray x Reader

A/N: i said i was going to post this tomorrow but i got it done tonight so i thought i might as well post this now, i’m too disorganised to have a queue! anyway i hope you enjoy it and i always welcome criticism or anything. also i literally just made up another character for this i’ m not entirely sure why but I've already done it now so here it goes

Summary: You and Michael attend a dinner at Grace and Tommy’s and Michael thinks you’re being a little too friendly with another guest

(credit to gif owner)

You looked around the extravagant dining hall, taking in the portraits that lined the wall and the ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. When your eyes finished wandering around the room they settled on the man sat opposite you. You couldn’t help but smile when your eyes met his, his own mouth spreading into a smile far more mischievous than your own. This was the first dinner you had been to at Tommy and Grace’s and Michael was doing everything he could to make you feel comfortable. He had stretched his legs under the table so you could feel them brushing against your own. At first you thought he was attempting to play footsie with you, which you had attempted to stop immediately, but he made it clear that wasn’t his intention. He just wanted you to know he was there. He was making sure that if you felt uncomfortable or anxious at any point, there was a physical reminder that he was with you to calm you. His sweetness and consideration always managed to make you grin uncontrollably, no one made you quite as happy as he did.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the food arriving. Servers milled around the room, making sure everyone got food and had full glasses. You raised yours to your lips, saying cheers to those around you. As the alcohol slipped down your throat you were acutely aware of how you were not entirely sober. In fact, you were sure by the end of the night you would be quite resolutely drunk. Michael had begun talking to the person next to him and you suddenly realised how you didn’t know anyone else around you. The rest of the family seemed to be sat further up the table and you could only assume that those around you were business partners or family friends. Although you had been dating Michael for some time now you knew very little about the business. Michael liked to tell you as little as possible, partly to protect you and partly because he didn’t know what you would think about him knowing what he had done. What he continued to do.

You began to eat, the food clearly expensive. Evidently this wasn’t just a social occasion, but an opportunity for Tommy to show off what he had. Wealth and power. You continued to eat in silence, enjoying the food, the alcohol putting you in a good enough mood that you were quite content at with your own thoughts.

“First time eh?” Someone said, pulling you out of your thoughts. You turned to the source of the voice; a young man sat to your left. He was dressed in what seemed to be an expensive suit and was smiling at you in a friendly manner. Although he was nothing compared to Michael, you could admit he was an attractive man. He had a strong jaw line, highly structured cheek bones and blonde, tightly curled hair that he had somehow managed to keep under control. You stared at him intently for a moment, not quite taking in what he had said.

“Is it your first time here?” He questioned for a second time. “Just you’re looking a little lost.”

You blushed realising how odd you must have looked just staring like that.

“Yeah first time. Am I that obvious?” You chuckled, trying to laugh through the nerves and suddenly self-conscious of how the others thought of you.

“We’ve all been there don’t worry.” He replied, taking a drink. “I still get scared coming to these kinds of things. I don’t know a man here who isn’t scared shitless of Thomas Shelby or his brothers, whether they would admit it or not.”

You raised your glass to the anonymous man, “I’ll drink to that.”

The man laughed, raising his drink with you.

“I’m George by the way. George Harrier.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You responded.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Y/L/N.”

“Oh please, call me Y/N.”

You looked up at Michael who still seemed engrossed in his conversation. No doubt it was about business judging by the severity with which Michael seemed to be whispering. You thought it best not to interrupt, instead turning to George, asking him questions about his life and how he knew the Shelby’s. He turned out to be better company than you were expecting. He was really quite funny and frequently managed to have you laughing loud enough for a few of the guests around you to turn and look. These guests included Michael, who was now pressing his legs against yours a lot harder than the light brushes of before. You didn’t notice the increased pressure against your legs and you didn’t notice when the contact stopped completely, when Michael had pulled his legs back from yours and tucked them under his own chair.

When the meal finished, you got up with your drinks and headed towards the parlour where the family seemed to be mingling with associates. Clearly this was a place of business. You were beginning to wonder whether the Shelby’s ever did anything just for the fun of it, or if there was always an ulterior motive. You milled around the room, drinking more than you realised as you attempted to settle your nerves. A few people you recognised spoke to you briefly but most were too busy to stop and chat. Grace was too busy being a good host, speaking to every guest, to have a full conversation with you and Michael was nowhere to be seen. He had got up from the table quickly after eating, walking ahead of you and getting lost in the crowd. You could only assume he had some business to attend to but you couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt at his absence. You downed some more of your drink and looked around the room again, praying to see a familiar face.

“Lost again?” Said a voice from behind you, making you jump.

You cursed as you spun round to face whoever had frightened you to find it was George again. You relaxed at the sight of him, glad to see a friendly face amongst a room of strangers.

“I hope I didn’t scare you too much.” He laughed, offering you another drink. Taking the one he was holding out for you, you put your now empty glass down on the nearest table.

“Anyone would think you were trying to get me drunk Mr. Harrier.” You giggled, undoubtedly intoxicated by this point.

“Anyone would know that you were already drunk Miss Y/L/N.” He replied, laughing along with you.

You were thankful he had found you in the crowd. Standing around, alone and drunk, in a crowd of people was slightly pathetic but now you had someone else to stand around drunk with, you felt it was far more justifiable. The alcohol coursing through your system made the conversation between the two of you flow easily and you laughed loudly along to the story George was telling. It was at this point you looked back up into the crowd and finally spotted Michael. He was staring at you sharply, anger behind his eyes rather than the normal softness with which he looked at you. You raised your eyebrows at him but he turned away, returning to his conversation with the boring looking man in front of him. Shrugging it off, you turned back to George, assuming that whatever Michael was upset about was to do with whatever business he was trying to sort out. As you turned, you could feel the room start to spin around you. You had definitely drunk too much.

“Is everything alright?” George asked, eyes filled with genuine concern as you looked up at him with hazy eyes.

“I’m fine just little dizzy.” You could tell your words were slurring slightly and you weren’t entirely sure how straight you were standing. George grabbed your arm in an attempt to steady you. You held onto him, not wanting to draw attention to how drunk you are. Embarrassing yourself was not something you had intended to do that night and you were praying the Michael wouldn’t be too upset with you.

Suddenly, someone pulled you away from George’s grip. Stumbling, you fell into the arms of whoever had grabbed you. You had been struggling to remain upright just standing there but being pulled like that was enough to make you trip. Despite your instability, a strong body held you upright. You heard Michael’s voice saying something angrily to George before he guided you out of the room, unsure of whether you were causing a scene. Michael didn’t say anything more until you reached the room that Tommy and Grace were letting you stay in. The walk down those long corridors felt forever and when you finally got there Michael sat you down on the edge of the bed, pausing before breaking the silence.

“What the fuck was that Y/N?” You could hear the anger in his voice, even though your eyes were not focusing enough to see the anger on him. The two of you had fought before but it was nothing serious, you weren’t sure you had ever seen him so annoyed at you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to get so drunk,” You started, voice begin to crack as the alcohol stopped you from holding back your emotions. “I would never want to embarrassing you I’m so sorry Michael.”

“Embarrass me? What are you talking about? Half the people in the room are more drunk than you are.” His voice had softened slightly at the sight of you upset but he still couldn’t hide the sharp edge of irritation.

“That’s why you’re so angry at me and why you wouldn’t talk to me, because I’m drunk and embarrassing and messy and I’m really really sorry.” You were trying to get up from the bed now but Michael sat you back down with a firm grip.

“I’m angry at you because you spent all night having a fucking great time with George Harrier, flirting and laughing, right in front of me.”

You were confused. You sat on the bed trying to piece together the parts from the night that had made him think this but the drinks had made your brain fuzzy. Michael started talking again before you could even respond.

“God, you basically threw yourself at him and I just had to do something once I saw his hands all over you. Couldn’t you see he was trying to fuck you? Although it looks like you probably would’ve been up for it.”

“I wasn’t flirting Michael.” You began, your confusion turning to anger at his harsh words. “I wasn’t flirting, we were just talking. I didn’t know anyone there and you were busy and he was nice to me. We were only having a conversation because I had no one else to speak to. When the meal was done, you left so quickly and I was by myself. Why shouldn’t I talk to him. I didn’t realise that having a conversation with someone meant you had to have sex with them.”

“Y/N I…”

“No listen to me for a minute,” you stood up as you spoke, wobbling as you did so. “I may be drunk Michael Gray but so help me God I love you and only you and I’m kind of pissed off you think I would flirt with anyone else, let alone try and fuck someone else.” You jabbed your finger at him causing him to lean back from you a little. He looked a little shocked at your response as the anger seemed to dissipate from him. As you tried to walk towards him you fell back towards the bed, Michael grabbing you as you fell but deciding it would probably be easier if the both of you just sat down. Once you were on the bed, he wrapped his arms around you whispering apologies into your ear. At first you didn’t respond, sitting rigidly but you soon gave in, leaning against his chest and softly kissing it through his shirt.

“I’m just scared of losing you that’s all.” He said softly, almost as though he were embarrassed to admit it. Your heart fluttered as he said it and you hugged him tighter.

“You could never lose me Michael, I’m yours.”

“I know.” He whispered, pulling away from the hug so he could kiss you gently. “And I yours.”

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

2AM - part 7 (A Minseok Series)

Genre: Angst

Characters: Minseok X You

2AM [M] - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

Had you become desensitized to him now? You had been seeing his face all night. All month actually.

But seeing Minseok in person felt like a dream. Of all the places, in that stupid bar that you loved because of its dark quiet hidden corners and the proximity to your apartment and that damn smile of his.

So wide and so believable. And yours, just as wide and just as believable. That beautiful smile replayed through your mind as Kwangseok returned to your side, suspiciously not mentioning Minseok’s name at all upon his return.

Did Kwangseok know? You’d expected him to ask and when he didn’t, you felt annoyed for thinking up some believable lie for the man that you didn’t end up using.

He was called away for work. He had to go to the gym. He is in love with me and couldn’t stand to see me with another man.

You faked a headache. Kwangseok was no longer surprised when you ran. He just smiled his sweet understanding smile that made you sink deeper into the dark pit of guilt you had been living in for some time now. You couldn’t even see the light of the surface anymore. You’d been down here for so long now.

He didn’t try and kiss you or even lean in for a small hug like he usually did when you parted ways after a date and you watched his back as he walked away, lifting his cell phone to his ear as he always did when he left you, on the sidewalk outside of the bar, knowing you would take a cab home as you always did.

And normally you would have.

Minseok’s face flashed across the screen across the street. Stringy green hair and a strange outfit that fit whatever theme the music video was about.

You hadn’t even had the chance to congratulate him on the debut. He had been a friend for so long, you knew more than anyone how hard he worked for this. Your mind flashed to the summer..that phone call with him when he told you about the subunit, and you remembered the elation in his voice. He was still winded from whatever physically demanding thing he had been doing and you could see the smile on his pretty face with the sound of his voice. The news brought a smile to your face and actually seeing the fruits of his labor in front of you now was bittersweet.

You wanted to congratulate him. Slap him across his back, tell him he did a good job, give him a hug and a kiss and jump up and down in excitement for him.

Perhaps it was the drinks in your belly, making their way to your brain, toward the part that knew better, but you found yourself holding your cell phone up to your ear with a ringing sounding out into your brain.

It rang and it rang and you felt a familiar sensation. The feeling that the number of rings had been too many now. His voicemail would be picking up and he would see the missed call from you. He would see that you hadn’t left a voicemail. Would he know that you called him after drinking? Would he gather that much after seeing you at that bar, just two hours ago?

Where had he gone? Did he go home? Did he go to a different bar so he could have his drinks in peace without your face haunting him? Maybe he was working.

“Hello.” The gruff word said in his voice cut off your thoughts. He sounded winded. He was breathing very hard and the labored way his lungs gasped in and out for air caught you off guard as he answered the call just a second before his voicemail did. Whatever he had been doing had been very physically exerting. Which for Kim Minseok was saying a lot. The man was very fit and it took hours and hours of intense exercise for his breathing to sound like that.

“Why are you so out of breath? What were you doing?” You couldn’t help the familiarity in your voice that snuck out. You had Minseok on the phone again and something about hearing his voice through the line threw you back into it.

Comfort. It felt comfortable to have him speaking into your ear. Or gasping for air into your ear.

“Running,” he breathed out and you heard a pained groan.

Running? You had interrupted his runs plenty of times and he never sounded like this.

“Why do you sound like that are you okay? You shouldn’t overdo it Minseok, you’ll hurt yourself.” You couldn’t help the worry in your voice. Old habits and all…you always worried about him. It was so ingrained in you at this point you were powerless to fight it.

“Why did you call?” His breathing still sounded too hard but he gasped and eked out his question, ignoring the worry you knew he heard in your voice, this Minseok wanted you to get to the point so he could get back to killing himself on the treadmill, or the race track, or wherever it was he chose to run. Only part of you knew your concern was misplaced. He wasn’t yours to worry over…yet you couldn’t help it. Wasn’t he still a friend? Weren’t you allowed to worry about your friend?

“I–” you began, steadying your chest with your hand over your heart, feeling the stilly thump thump thumping that you needed to get ahold of, “–I wanted to give you my congratulations.” You smiled into the phone, hoping your sincerity would shine through in your words and reach his ear.

You heard his heavy breathing. The sound of it was beginning to even out some, but only slightly.

He was quiet though, not responding to the words you knew he heard, nor accepting your sincerity and your smile faded the longer you listened to his silence.

“M-Minseok?” You called out to him, despite the obvious fact that you could hear his breathing on the line that told he was still there.

“I heard you, I’m just–” He cut you off quietly and you heard an exhale that sounded exasperated.

“–I’m at a loss for words…I don’t–” he exhaled hard against the line and the air rushing out of his lungs flew noisily across the mic of his phone, punctuating whatever mood you had interrupted. The mood that you were sure brought an edge to his voice.

“I’m trying to understand why you thought it was a good idea to call me right now.” The edge in his voice slid across your skin, making your face screw together in discomfort as it began to press down harder.

He was upset….but couldn’t you call your friend? Hadn’t you always called him when some good news about him filtered your way? You felt your temper flare, perhaps fueled by the alcohol in your system, perhaps it was your pride, but you lifted your chin, as if he could even see you right now.

“What’s wrong with congratulating a friend on a job well done Minseok?”

You heard a laugh that had absolutely no traces of humor in it and he pulled the phone away from his mouth to growl away from the mouth piece. His obvious frustrations made you frown your lips, feeling your mood sour the longer this went on. Why couldn’t he just accept your well wishes? Was it really so wrong of you to call?

“What’s wrong?–” he was speaking again, his voice was much harder this time and you felt the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up as a chill ran down your spine.

“–I just saw the woman I am in love with, out with another man…laughing with him…playing with him–”

“Kissing him in a dark corner of a bar and then she– she is calling me to tell me congratulations?” The chill on your back had spread, bringing the heat as blood rushed your skin and your heart pounded noisily inside your chest, echoing loudly in your ear drums.

“Congratulations for what?” There was a trembling instability in his voice and you felt your mouth go dry as you tried to swallow again and again.

“You want to know why I sound like this? You want to know if I am okay? I’m not. I’ve been running as fast as I can for two solid hours, just so I can feel something other than this.”

“M-Minseok–” you whispered into the line, desperate to stop this pain you felt surging through your chest at his words.

“It hasn’t worked. I still feel it. I can’t feel my legs and I can hardly breathe.. but I still feel this.”

“I–” even if he had let you speak, you weren’t sure you would have found any words to rival this pain you heard. You definitely felt your own pain surging up. Reminding you of all of it. The tears you cried yourself to sleep with after the day you left him on the floor of his home, begging you not to leave. You must have forgotten that pain for a moment…you must have lost your mind, thinking it was a good idea to call him tonight. Stupid drinks. Stupid flashing billboard across the street that put his beautiful face into your mind. Stupid false smile on his face as he greeted you that made you somehow forget all of this.

The pain rushed through your chest and you felt a stinging in your eyes as you looked at the bright screen.

“–but congratulations right? Yeah. Thanks.”

An audible click on the line had you pulling your phone away in shock. The words on your screen indicated that the call had ended and you watched the phone time out and turn black.

The wetness that ran down your cheeks brought you back into yourself and you held onto the power button of your phone, turning it off before you could do anything else this stupid again tonight. You wiped away the tears on your face with flat warm palms and took several deep breaths.

You decided to walk it. You lived a few blocks away and some fresh air would clear your head. Or so you told yourself as his words replayed again in your head.

Your apartment was cold and dark and you rubbed roughly over your arms as you walked inside.

Had it always been this cold in here? Had it always felt this deserted and empty?

Even your cat felt the chill. She was curled up in a tight ball in a corner of the sofa and she didn’t move when you walked through the door.

Is this why people got dogs instead of cats? You suddenly longed for someone…anyone who might be genuinely happy to see you walk through that door.

You shuffled through your home, feeling the effects of the sadness taking over, confounded by the alcohol you were sure. Halfway through your living room on the way to your bedroom, a soft knock on your door halted your steps.

Two soft knocks.

What time was it? Your clock said it was just after midnight and you pivoted on your feet, pulled toward the sound at your door.

Your head swam as you looked through the peephole and saw him. He wore the same black hood he wore at the bar. The smile was long gone and his face looked serious and severe. His eyes closed slowly and you saw his chest rise and fall with the deep breath he took.

Of course you opened your door. Despite the pain you felt in your heart from his words. Despite the loneliness and the sadness you felt when you thought about his face. Despite the guilt you felt in your gut for reopening the wounds that he had been trying to forget about enough so they could begin to heal.

You pulled the door open and peeked around the edge, gauging the mood he had brought with him. Would he be angry? Would he be here to yell at you for your mistakes again? Calling you a bad person for thinking you could ever be his friend again?

Hadn’t you already made your choice that day that you left?

But… the idea made you sick to your stomach. The idea that this person who had been in your life for so long was no longer yours to have. No longer your friend, no longer the person who you wanted to call the second something good happened to you, or the second something bad happened to you.

Maybe your mind had been so clouded by the sadness that you forgot how nice it felt to hear his voice on the phone.

If this kept up…the two of you would be no more than strangers.

You didn’t want to be a stranger to him.

His eyes met yours and you saw a look you might have recognized, had you seen it more than once or twice in your entire experience with Minseok. This wasn’t anger. This was…something else, something more hopeless and abandoned. Forsaken and destroyed this was…regret.

He held his hands together at his waist with his phone clutched between his hands and his appearance was…wet. His hair was wet with sweat and his hood was dark in spots. His eyes were tired, sunken looking with dark circles below marring his prettiest feature and he looked too pale. Too exhausted and too spent.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a soft voice.

“You were trying…and I–” He rolled on his feet and you pulled the door open further as he stood there swaying like a tree during a hurricane.

“–I was throwing a fit like a little kid. I’m sorry.” He rocked again. Why was he swaying so much? The paleness of his skin leapt out at you again as you looked at his face. The sheen of sweat covering his skin made him shine in the moonlight coming in through your window.

When did he last sleep? When did he last eat? Why did he look so tired and so thin?

“Minseok are you….okay?” You hated that you had to ask that question, because you knew the answer. He had already told you he wasn’t okay, but you meant it in the more immediate sense. He looked like he was about to pass out.

His eyes looked back up into yours, up from where they had wandered as his thoughts swam frantically inside his head and you saw him focus on your face.

“God…you–” he puffed out a breath and swallowed as he looked at your face. “Your smile…so pretty, can’t you smile like that for me? Why is it just for him? I miss you smiling for me like that. Won’t you show me that smile just once?”

“Minseok come inside. You don’t look right.” You reached for him, feeling his arms and the wet clothes he wore. You could smell his sweat, fresh and the under layers of a soapy scent that hid below the manly smell. He was still talking but his legs moved where you pulled him.

“I miss you…I miss my best friend that I could tell anything to. Why did you take that away from me? I feel…I feel like I can never come home again.”

He lifted a hand, clutching his cell phone tightly in a trembling hand and you pulled him into you, urging him through the door to the sofa where he could sit down, yet every word from his lips was like a gasp of smoke that burned your lungs going in. A sweet poison you wanted to breathe in deep even though you knew its effects would linger for far too long and make your thinking fuzzy.

“I…tried to call you back right away. I knew I was being an asshole again but you turned it off. Look–” His hands were moving over his screen, showing you something. Call after call made to a number, something saved in his phone with a single short word and his hand was shaking too hard for you to read what it said. You could only see the same word again and again in his call history.

When his hand finally settled you saw it.

One word repeated in that phone that made you stop the movement, stop the pulling at his hoodie as you tried to remove the soaked garment from his frame and you saw it.

’Home’

He had called ‘Home’ again and again…but surely it couldn’t have been you.

Surely this man who you loved so dearly, and who was so deep into the denial of his feelings for you up until you’d finally had enough, surely he hadn’t saved you in his phone like this.

I feel like I can never go home again.

Had it always been this way? Since the beginning? Why didn’t he ever tell you? Why didn’t he ever tell you any of this?

Why did it take something so drastic to pull the truth from his own lips? His mouth was quieting down now and he watched you silently as you pulled the clothes off of him. You’d seen him naked plenty of times and you told yourself you were just taking care of him so he didn’t pass out from exhaustion. You were his friend and you were doing what a true friend would do for another. He cooperated, moving his arms up when you pulled his shirt off, and stepping out of his pants when you pushed them down.

“When did you eat last Minseok?”

He had gone quiet and the quiet persisted as he looked into your face. You were holding his clothes. His shirt, his hoodie, the sweatpants he wore. You held them in one arm and pulled his forearm with your other, bringing him further into your home toward the bedroom where you knew you had a change of clothes for him.

Bits of things collected through the years. Left behind as he made his hasty retreats, you held on to all of it. You handed him a stack of his own clean clothes. His hands lifted to grab the stack in silence.

“Take a shower while I make something to eat.” You were done asking him questions. He was too out of it to respond to any of it, but the orders he seemed to be okay with. You heard the shower running and you made sure the door stayed open so you could hear for any signs of distress.

You shower was quick and he stumbled out of your room dressed and looking more exhausted than when he went in. It must be hitting him now. You fed him, watching as he ate slowly, his eyes drooping and closing as he chewed carefully, probably not even aware of what he ate.

“Minseok, go lay down on my bed. You look like you’re about to drop.” The effects of the alcohol were fading and you found your mind clearing. He wasn’t moving but his eyes were open again, watching you with a blank expression on his face.

Why wasn’t he moving? You knew he needed to sleep, and he knew it too. But he just sat there watching you.

“Will you come with me?” His question was nearly inaudible and the sadness behind his eyes watched you.

You considered, feeling the effects of the night hitting you hard now. It was late and you should sleep. A wave of drowsiness had been threatening since he got into the shower and now, watching his shoulders sag where he sat in a chair at your kitchen table and the half lidded way his eyes kept track of you, you felt more tired than you had before.

“Come on,” you said. Relenting. Would you even get him to sleep without you? Did you want to?

As you walked by where he sat you held out your hand and his eyes looked at your open palm for a second before he lifted his own hand and placed it carefully inside of yours.

He felt warm. He smelled clean and his hair was wet and laid against his forehead. His face was still too pale and his eyes were too tired but in those eyes…was a different look. Peace. Not quite relief, you could still feel the edge in him. He was braced for whatever you said or did, but the sadness had abated some.

You pushed him toward your bed and he fell into it, slipping below the covers he pulled them up to his chin, looking more like a little boy than you had ever seen of him and his stubborn eyes refused to close.

He was watching you. Did he think you would leave him there alone? With as cold as you felt tonight? With as empty as your house was?

You walked to the other side and climbed in under the same covers and he rolled onto his side to face you.

The temperature under the covers was cool and you shivered as it touched the bare skin of your legs. Your sleep shorts were always too short and you should have worn long pants to sleep in tonight, but you were too tired now to care.

He didn’t touch you right away and you weren’t quite sure what you expected.

You rolled around, trying to find comfort in your own bed that you suddenly felt just a little bit crowded in, just a little bit…Minseok had never shared your bed for the night. Not for sleep. This wasn’t a thing that he did, yet as you rolled you felt his hand with your own and you felt his fingers flex as you touched him. When you looked up into his face, after you couldn’t stand it any longer you were surprised to find his eyes closed.

You shifted closer. His hand was warm and you felt the heat radiating off his body where he laid and when you moved you felt him move, shifting into you until you felt strong arms arms wrap around you and pull…into him. Into his warmth and into his peace.

This didn’t feel frantic or even the least bit sexual. This was…new. You turned to let him hold you and you found it. The comfortable spot you had been searching, his body heat cascaded over your back and his legs moved over your own, feet tangled around yours, his toes curled over the top of your foot and you could smell him. How could you still smell him when he had just used your shampoo and soap in the shower? But it was there. Minseok. His manly smell that seeped through your hazy mind right into your dreams, pulling you down deeper and deeper until you no longer noticed that tingle against your heart. The one that told you your wound would bleed if you kept scratching at the fragile stitches like this.

Sometime in the early morning, before the sun was up and before the birds were singing, you woke up still in his arms.

When you opened your eyes they took a moment to adjust and your memory took another moment to bring you up to this moment…but this moment felt significant.

Kim Minseok was in your bed and you were securely held within his arms as he slept. You tried to sit up, trying to get free just a little so your mind could function just a little bit.

You shifted and you felt his arms tighten their hold, pulling you into his chest, his chest rose and fell and a groan sounded out from his throat.

Your stirring had made him stir as well and he protested, whatever he thought you were doing.

“No, don’t go yet. I need more of you. Almost…it’s almost enough.” He was awake. The lucidity of his words told you that he wasn’t sleep talking but he had awoken when you did.

You gave in, too tired still, your resolve was too weakened from the sleep to resist him and you dropped and wrapped your own arms around him, snaking below his arms, around his waist.

You couldn’t help it. He smelled too good and he felt too warm. It was cold out there. You felt a small lump at your feet that told you your cat had a similar idea. She was curled up just below where both of your feet tangled below the blanket, seeking out his warmth just as greedily as you did.

When you squeezed around him you felt his nose, his breath nuzzle into your neck, breathing in deeply, the smell of you. Did he feel it too? The need for closeness? How long had it been since you had smelled each other like this? Who knew such a thing could feel as desperate as the need to breathe, the need to eat, the need to feel the warmth of this human being.

You didn’t have to get up yet. The longer you laid in his arms, the further away the plans of the day drifted and the further away your memory of what it was that you had been so mad at him about landed. With a distant thud somewhere on the horizon it fell. You’d probably find it later. But right now, his hands were rubbing against your back and his arms were holding you as he breathed you in again and again until all of this drifted as you fell back asleep.

The second time you woke up you were alone.

Your bed was empty of both Minseok and your cat and you sat up quickly, wondering if he slipped out in the early morning. Well rested for once and ready to tackle his busy day. The sun was shining through the windows and you threw yourself back down onto your bed, not quite ready to get up and greet your empty apartment.

Just as your head reached your pillow you heard a noise somewhere in your home. A noise that should not have been happening if you really were alone here, but that noise coupled with the smell your nose caught a minute later told you this was real.

Someone was making coffee.

You heard a can opener and a faint meow and your feet were on the floor in an instant.

You stood, dumbfounded at your bedroom door, watching the Minseok in your kitchen. Opening your fridge, using your faucet, making coffee, feeding your cat as she wrapped around his ankles and he moved slowly through the kitchen to throw the lid of the can into the trash can and not step on the hungry animal who instantly loved him once he had opened the can. She only had eyes for the one holding the cans.

Minseok was in your kitchen.

He didn’t leave. He was here and he was real and you could smell the coffee with your very own nose and when he heard your steps his face shot up, lips parted, eyes wide and surprised for a second…or two. Perhaps three whole seconds he stared at you watching him in your kitchen and you stared at him, watching you.

“Good morning,” his voice was soft with just a hint of a smile hidden somewhere below the uncertainty you knew you heard there.

“I am making breakfast,” he said and you had an urge to rush back to the bed to finish sleeping because you were obviously dreaming right now. This wasnt real. There was no way Minseok was in your kitchen, bending at the waist to casually run his hand down the length of your cat from head to tail, before he lifted the spatula in his other hand to flip something in the pan at the stove.

It smelled good. The coffee smelled good. He looked good in your home…and in your life.

The food was served and you stared at the spirit who had taken over Kim Minseok’s body who sat down across from you at your small kitchen table. His blonde hair was unstyled, laying flat on his head and he drank his coffee with his eyes shifting around the room, not quite meeting narrowing eyes. Why did you feel so…blindsided by this? You’d shared meals with him before. Never in your home at sunrise, but… hadn’t you eaten with him alone before? You racked your brain and came up short. All of the meals you had with him had been with his family. In his home with his hand slipping up your thigh as his mother served the potatoes.

Or at a restaurant or cafe. You had those with him.

The intimacy of this meal had its own aroma and you lifted the eggs to your mouth to eat the very first meal this man had cooked for you in two years of this strange relationship with its strict rules. You chewed as you shrugged, deciding that the sandwich he made you the day you first slept with him counted as a meal shared, even if you didn’t get to finish it.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, through bites of eggs. “That we never did this before…I thought at the time that it was somehow for the best.” You put your fork down for that one. Was he doing this now? Getting out his confessions and apologies once and for all. For all the rules and for all the hurt feelings and wounded egos that results from those rules.

You opened your mouth, hoping some words might find their way out of your lips but nothing happened.

“I thought, like an idiot… that maybe If I acted like that…like an asshole that maybe it would go away and you wouldn’t get hurt.” His fork was abandoned as he clung to his coffee mug like a lifeline, holding it in front of his chin as he spoke. His eyes not quite reaching yours as he spoke the honest truth. The reasons behind his actions that hurt you so.

“D-Do you think that maybe…you can forgive me? I can’t stand the idea of losing my best friend. I tried it…I tried it for the month that I ignored you and I couldn’t do it sober–” he took another sip of his coffee, forcing himself to drink his prop that he held on to so desperately. His eyes looked up into your wide surprised ones once before he looked back down at the table in front of him.

“And this last month well…I–” you heard a deep breath that sounded out over the mug, accentuated by the cup, you heard the echo of it. “I don’t think I can live without you at least as my friend.”

You felt lightheaded and realized that you hadn’t been breathing at all during his apology. You took a deep breath and reached for the glass of water he had brought you with a fucking multivitamin from your kitchen counter. You noticed he took one too even though it clearly said the word women on the bottle. He merely shrugged as he shook one out for himself.

The water went down cold and you tried not to cough as you swallowed. His eyes were on you as you drank, clearly waiting for some response to his question.

“Of course we can be friends Minseok. I never once thought that you weren’t my friend.” You nodded as casually as you could, feeling some bit of relief at having the lines of communication with him open again. The relief was overwhelming actually and the longer you basked in it, the more you felt the warmth of the sunlight shining through your windows, warming your once empty and cold home. You smiled a small smile and you watched as his eyes ticked down to your mouth before he smiled in response.

The exhale from his chest that came after that smile sounded more like the first refreshing ‘ahh’ after a deep drink of water for a man who had been dying of thirst. His smile widened and he put his cup down to lightly rub his palms over his face, hiding the widening smile you saw on his pretty lips.

After breakfast you began to wonder how long he planned on staying in your home…in the light of day. Without a single bottle of soju in sight. He was at the kitchen sink again, washing the dishes and pans he had used for breakfast and you found yourself drawn to him. When you leaned against the kitchen counter with your hands over your chest, not quite comfortable letting him do all this work alone, yet unsure of how much he actually wanted your help.

You started with handing him dishes to be washed and graduated to grabbing the newly cleaned dishes to dry with a towel, all the while catching the side glances he shot at you that felt a lot like the shy Minseok who first showed his interest in you.

When all of the dishes were dried you hung the towel on the hook behind you on the fridge and when you turned around you caught his eyes for a second before he leaned in, reaching past your shoulder to grab the towel for his wet hands.

“Oh, sorry I–”

You felt the warmth of his arm as he reached around you for the towel and he smelled like Minseok. Something had stopped him because he stalled for a moment before he pulled it back.

The proximity of him was very suddenly overwhelming in an instant and your eyes watched his profile for as you absorbed the feeling of him. His eyes looked beyond you, but the sharp inhale of breath he took through his nose told you something. He was as aware of you as you were of him and the clench you saw in his jaw told you that maybe this wasn’t the greatest test for this brand new friendship of yours.

When he licked his lips and turned his head a fraction of a tick in your direction you froze and held your breath. When his eyes followed suit, the earth stopped spinning and you felt positively captured by those eyes.

He looked into your eyes for what felt like days, months or years and his fingers did something behind you as he tugged at the towel he sought out. He was just here to dry his hands.

The deep sigh you heard as he took a step backwards signaled the onslaught of reality.

“So how are things with–” he paused for a second, trying to recall the name. Whether for show or because he genuinely blanked on Kwangseok’s name you weren’t sure but you came to his rescue either way.

“Kwangseok,” you supplied and you swore you saw a flash in his eyes. Something primal hidden just below the surface that he tried to keep well hidden.

“I couldn’t help but notice how…close you two seemed.” He did well to keep any inappropriate tones from his voice. Minseok was a good sport. He wasn’t taking it personally to see you moving on. What best friend would?

He took another step back. It was a testament to how well you knew the man that you caught it. Minseok was working so hard on not being obvious, that the obviousness of it all was practically screaming out at you.

“Kwangseok is nice to me,” you said and his eyebrows stayed completely level on his forehead. Not a hint of annoyance anywhere on his countenance.

“He likes me.” You added as an afterthought and Minseok grabbed the handle to the broom he had found in your closet. Why was this man suddenly dead set on cleaning your home?

“And you?” He pushed the broom around, capturing a few stray strands of cat hair and a piece of cat food from near his feet.

“Have you–” he cleared his throat suddenly and you saw a bit of color on the tips of his ears, “–y-you know…”

You knew without a doubt what he was asking. But you would be damned if you would let him had any juicy details of your sex life without outright asking you for them.

“Have I what, Minseok. What are you asking me?”

Okay so maybe your voice came out just a little sassier than you intended, but the man had a way of asking you non-questions to absolve himself from actually being the one responsible for asking the question. If he wanted this, he would have to say it with his own two lips.

“I’m just…curious. As a friend … you know?” He defended as he stepped closer to where you stood watching him push a single piece of cat food around your floor with your broom.

You bent down and picked up the piece of cat foot from the floor and his eyes followed you around as you threw it into the trash can. You reached for the broom feeling the resistance in him to release the thing and when you tugged harder he tugged back, catching you by surprise you stumbled into his chest with your hands outstretched to keep from falling.

You yelped in surprise as you fell into him and the broom fell, clattering noisily to the floor as his arms swing around you. Capturing you within his arms, his hands flat against your back, you felt the firm muscles of his chest below your hands and your fingers flexed.

Had he always been this warm? Had his arms around you always felt this tight and strong?

They must have because the familiarity of this hit you hard. You looked into his face and he watched you too closely. Seeing way too much of the the truth in the way you looked into his eyes.

You caught the swallow in his neck and your eyes moved up to dwell along his lips.

“Do you know what I missed most about you?” His lips moved and he spoke in a whisper that you felt deep inside your chest.

“Hmm?” His arms further tightened around you, pulling you into him. The small space that existed between your bodies disappeared and you felt the warmth of his chest against your breasts and your belly.

“The way you taste.” His focus was on your lips now and you felt the unmistakable pull into him. The pull that had nothing to do with his strong arms and seemed to originate from deeper within your bodies.

It always was too strong between the two of you.

Would you let this happen? Were you ready to fall back into this…love?

A knock on your door saved you both from having to make a choice.

The knock broke the spell, three raps against the wood that were the soundtrack to the three steps back that you took, out of his arms and away from those lips that threatened to consume you again.

You felt dazed and the knock sounded once more. Minseok was moving and he stood at the door peering through the peephole by the time your legs started working again.

He stiffened and took a step away from the door, not stopping with a single step he was walking away from the door as if it was on fire he swiftly moved past you fleeing from whatever it was that stood on the other side.

“It’s your boyfriend” he whispered harshly into your ear as he made his way by and you looked wide eyed at your closed door once before turning back to face the man who made his way deeper into your home as if he was looking for somewhere to hide.

“He’s not my boyfriend–” your words were cut off by the sound of your door code beeping out and the door swung open.

Kwangseok stepped through the door slowly, holding two cups of coffee in a to-go container, his head peeking through the opening as he made his way inside with a sheepish smile that appeared as soon as he saw your face.

Your face surely held onto your shocked expression and it was only a second before Kwangseok looked up and beyond where you stood. His smile fell slowly as his brain caught up with the situation he saw before him.

“Well if he isn’t your boyfriend, why does he know your door code?” Minseok said definitely out loud and with his voice definitely full of all the jealousy and hostility you knew he had in him all along and you prayed that possibly, just maybe the earth might open up and swallow you whole.

2AM [M] - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

[reaping-cain]

4, 18, 25

This was supposed to be angsty but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Lots of staring and retweaking the prompt. I hope it’s to your liking!

Picking up the threads. Post-Trespasser, canon verse (Cullen x Kaeran) Slight angst but with happy ending. 1717 words.

Life after the Exalted Council was quite the adjustment. Officially they were disbanded but under this pretense, the skeleton team was hard-pressed to find the Dread Wolf and end his madness. Even after the encounter, the Inquisitor was having difficulties in taking things easy and delegate others to do the work while she recuperated. Cullen noticed since the weeks leading to the Council that Kaeran had been erratic and prone to fly between various moods. In the end, he thought that his wife’s flighty behaviour was caused by stress of her work and the growing instability of the anchor. 

Now with the seeming demise of the second Inquisition and the threat of the mark removed, Cullen wasn’t so sure that Kaeran was quite on the mend; the loss of her arm was disastrous and it pained to see her withdrawn and so vulnerable. A part of him worried about their future and whether they could see through this seemingly insurmountable hurdle. And then, and then…she surprised him with a joke when she awoke, seemingly in a better state of mind.

“I’m sorry…”

“Maker, whatever for?”

A small laugh burst from her dry lips, her eyes watery but not sad.

“This must be hands down the worst honeymoon in all of history.”

Cullen looked at her incredulously, unsure how to respond. Finally, he decided to slowly crowd her on the bed, leaning close and giving her time to voice objection. He so wanted to kiss her, cradle her against him and rub soothing circles down her back. He hopes one day soon that she would let him. 

“My darling Inquisitor, did you just make a joke?”

“I did,” she said proudly, her body starting to tremble with barely contained laughter.

There were tears that followed, both happy and heart wrenching. Without hesitation, he joined her under the blankets, rolling her onto his side with her head against his chest. They spent the rest of the day in bed with few words said; the companionable silence and warmth trapped between them a balm for both.  

Weeks had passed since then and some progress was made. Or so Cullen thought.   

One morning he awoke to find her spot of their bed empty. He saw that the large doors to the balcony were wide open. Curious, he went towards them and saw Kaeran sitting, contemplating over a small crate. It took her a moment to realize her husband was watching, and startled, she slammed the crate shut, looking sheepish.

“Sorry, um…hungry?” she asked. 

He found that he was quite hungry but his curiosity was more pressing.

“What’s in there?”

“Nothing but trinkets I found during my travels. Boring, really.”

“I have nowhere else to be but I understand if you don’t want to share.”

She urged him to come close, reaching for his hand; when he offered it, she leaned forward to kiss it before squeezing it a few times. The look in her eyes worried him.

“Someday soon, when I am brave.”

He wanted to tell her how brave she already was, that nothing could diminish his love for her. He hated how words failed him in such moments.

A few hours later, Cullen noticed that the crate disappeared. He tried not to think about it or the fact that his wife was keeping things from him. 

The crate reappeared a fortnight later.

Whatever was in that crate, it called to Kaeran in the dead of night. Cullen frequently woke up to find himself alone in their bed. He reasoned that his wife needed space, yet even that hurt. If she needed the space, perhaps he ought to give her more time for herself during the day?

When he told her that he had some work to do and couldn’t keep her company, he watched for her reaction. He tried to ignore her fake enthusiasm. That day was one of the most painful in recent memory and he hardly got anything done.More days passed and it seemed that the arrangement worked; he would give her space and she no longer snuck out of bed while he slept. Cullen was conflicted about this development and though it was comforting to awake with her in his arms, he still woke up at night worrying that she might leave his side again.

One day Cullen was particularly frustrated and decided to leave his office early. He brought some papers with him, still feeling guilty for not doing enough and walked back to their shared quarters. 

Ever since their return from the Exalted Council, Cullen hadn’t worn his armour. The lack of a war, and the terse, yet civil alliance between Orlais and Ferelden meant that there was no need for it. It also wasn’t necessary when he was tending to his wife’s every needs while bedridden. The lack of armour also meant that Cullen was able to move more freely and not clang with each step he took. 

He finds Kaeran lounging on the chaise which had been moved closer to the roaring hearth. With her back to him, she was unaware of his entrance and completely absorbed with whatever was making soft clicking sounds. Cullen wondered if she wasn’t working out one of Dagna’s puzzles. His eyes wandered over her relaxed form, how her hair absorbed the warm glow of the fire and how the lighting accented her shaved patch. 

Cullen approached slowly, not wanting to disrupt his wife’s preoccupation. He was perfectly content with just greeting his wife and possibly play with her hair when he saw the crate again, this time it was open. 

As though sensing that she was not alone, Kaeran whipped her head around and with a flash of light, dropped what she was holding. Neither of them said a word. 

Again, words fail him. He was brought up on action and reaction, so he followed his instincts. He moves to face her fully, his back to the fire and watches her expression. If she wants him to leave she will have to say it. Instead, she pats the space beside her and he joins her on the chaise. 

That’s when he sees the bundle of wool on her lap and he reaches to touch it, careful to not have the precious material slip from one of the wooden needles.

 “What in the Maker are you making?” 

“Is it that bad?”

He assesses the project. He doesn’t know much about knitting but he can see that the stitches aren’t as consistent as the scarf she had knit him so long ago.

 “How,” he begins, “how are you able to knit again?” It sounds like a stupid question but he’s too curious to choose his words carefully. He hopes Kaeran will forgive him.

“Oh, right,” she remembers and reaches for her empty sleeve with her right hand. 

He notices briefly that there’s an iron bangle hugging her stump and as she twists it gently, a shimmering light grows and fills the space of her missing limb. He knows he should say something, but for once he finds himself with too many words and they’re all trying to fly out of his mouth. Flapping his mouth open and closed makes his wife smirk. Oh how he missed that look.

“I can’t believe you!”

“My love?”

“This,” he gestures to the abandoned knitting project in her lap, the open crate and her actual phantom limb. “All of this, this is what you were hiding from me? Why you would disappear at night?”

“Oh Cullen, I had no idea that you knew about my nightly obsession.” 

She wants to reach for him with both hands but hesitates, not wanting to overwhelm him. Instead, she teases his hair with her right hand before cradling the side of his face and running her thumb over his ear, hoping the gesture soothes some of his ruffled feathers. It finally dawns on her.

“Is this why you started giving me some time for myself during the day?” 

He gives her a small smile before nodding. His eyes suddenly have too much moisture in them and he blinks several times.

“My husband,” she murmurs, kissing the tip of his nose. “Ever so thoughtful.”

He clears his throat, now slightly flushed from sudden emotions and the hearth.

“So, one of Dagna’s creations?”

“Oh, yes. A work in progress, we’re testing out a few things but this seems to be consistent.”

“A pity that your knitting isn’t.”

She smacks him for it and he chortles. How he missed that annoyed look.

“I’m working on it. I have plenty of time to get reacquainted with my knitting needles but I can’t slack off.”

“I think you deserve to slack off once in a while. You did save the world.”

“Twice.”

“Mhm.” He toys with the wool, frowning at the wonky t shape.

“What in the Maker are you making?”

“Boots.”

“They’re awfully small.”

“Well, I have to start somewhere.”

“Right.”

“And then it’s a matter of trying to keep up. Three months, six months, a year old.”

Cullenstops thumbing at the wool. “Kaeran.”

“Yes,dearest?” 

She rests her hand on his, she sees them tremble and fears that sheoverdid it.

Perhaps it was too much too soon. 

Or perhaps he was having another episode of withdrawal. When he has yet to respond, she goes to touch his forehead but freezes when he finally looks up, staring back at her. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“No, Cullen, I expected to bring our child into this world without your knowledge and only inform you with a missive hand delivered by your favourite scout. Honestly!” 

“Our child,” he breathed. All this time worrying and fearing the worst, that his wife no longer loved him, and all for happy news and love reaffirmed. 

“I was going to tell you soon, when I felt brave enough.”

He pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly while caressing her hair.

“My fierce little tempest, you’re the bravest person I know. I am so happy, I love you so much. I could kiss you right now!”

Kaeran pulls onto his shirt, grabbing his attention. She doesn’t need to, she already has it, always will.

“You should, you really should.”

Whatever fears cling to him, they fade when his lips meet hers.

–//

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