#I’ve been struggling with drawing faces recently for whatever reason so I was like. hey what if I just. Didn’t

[aimfall]

harry is getting some snork mimis

[writesowhatnext]

pretending is a gateway drug // george weasley

Summary: George bribes the reader into being his fake girlfriend for forty-two days, you can imagine how that plays out.

Request: hey lovey! absolutely in love with your writing; it’s so beautiful and i just cannot get enough of it! if your requests are open (and you like the idea) could i ask for our beloved george x reader—i’ve recently been obsessed with fake dating tropes where they end up together in the end.. i don’t have anything specific in mind for the plot, i know whatever you come up with will be fabulous :D thanks a ton darling.. keep on writing, you have a gift, x

A/N: I love this trope so much and this was the sweetest compliment and I was beyond excited to start this – also I usually try to keep it gender neutral but it was a struggle with this so sorry about that :( also this is so long oh my god

Reader: female

Warnings: female reader, making out

You hadn’t heard George sneak up behind you, but being friends with the twins for as long as you had, you weren’t surprised easily.

“Y/N, I need a favour,” he said, leaning on the bookshelf you were rifling through. You didn’t turn to face him; you already knew it was George by his voice.

“No.”

You dragged your fingers across the spines of a few books before finding the book on Potions you were after, a disproportionately happy smile lifting your cheeks at the prospect.

“You don’t even know what it is!”

You huffed, running your tongue over your teeth before turning to him, tilting your head.

“Fine. What is it?”

You raised your eyebrow, leaning the book on your hip. He smiled slightly.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

You blinked at him, staring at his hopeful expression.

“No.”

And with that, you walked over to Madam Pince to sign out the book. George stayed a few feet behind you, not wanting to incur Madam Pince’s wrath as he had done countless times before. Fred and George were notorious in the library; once they’d made Pince so mad she banned them for a month before McGonagall convinced her they needed to use the library for their studies. A laughable idea.

“Thank you,” you said to the librarian. She shot George a deathly glare over your shoulder and you couldn’t help but enjoy his discomfort. She then directed it at you and you found yourself walking toward the exit very quickly.

“Come on, Y/N, please!” George begged, walking next to you back to the Gryffindor common room.

“No.”

“Please…”

“Nope.”

“What if I split the money with you?”

You stopped in your tracks, frowning and turning your head towards him.

“What money?”

You wanted to punch him for the cheerful grin that erupted on his face.

“I am so very glad you asked. Ron said that I couldn’t get a girlfriend if I tried, which is a bit rich, really, don’t you think?”

Something about your expression told him he should get to the point.

“Anyway, so, Ron made a bet with Fred that I couldn’t get a girlfriend before the Yule Ball.”

“So why not just get one of the Beauxbatons girls to date you? It’s like two months away.”

“Forty-two days, actually. And, I don’t actually want a girlfriend.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“I don’t believe you.”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed your shoulders, spinning you around to face the window, the whole of Hogwarts in the view.

“There is a whole world of girls to make out with out there, Y/N. Now, why would I limit myself?”

You turned your head to face him, his face very close to yours from where he stood with his palms still sat on your shoulders. Your face felt warm all of a sudden.

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he smiled, letting you go so you could turn around. “But will you help me?”

“Why me? Why not Angelina? Or Katie?”

“Fred’s got his eye on Angelina and I think Katie actually fancies me…” his expression turned from pensive to cocky in almost a second. “Can’t blame her really.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms, your book perched in your hand.

“How much?”

“The bet’s four galleons.”

“Four?” you echoed, frowning. “Bloody hell, Ron must really think you’re undesirable.”

You smirked, tilted your head to the side. “Can’t blame him really.”

“Oi!” George huffed, pushing you to the side. You shoved him back, starting to walk again.

“I’ll do it for two galleons.”

“Two galleons! That’s bloody half!”

“Nice to see your years of Arithmancy has paid off.”

“That only leaves a galleon each for me and Fred.”

“Without me, it leaves nothing for you and Fred, because without me, you won’t win the bet.”

He stared at you for a moment, the only sound: your in-sync footsteps down the corridor.

“Fine.”

“When do we start then, boyfriend?” you asked, stopping directly outside the Fat Lady’s portrait and swivelling to face George with a smug grin, enjoying his annoyed reluctance far too much.

“Right now, girlfriend.”

And so, that’s how became George Weasley’s girlfriend in four minutes – no doubt a new record for him. When you walked inside, you rushed to sit down first, as you always did, and ended up on the opposite side of the sofa to Fred, your feet stretched out towards him and your back against the arm. As he always did, George lifted your feet with an eye roll and sat underneath them, resting them on his lap. The others all greeted you but nobody batted an eyelid.

But then George placed his hand on your leg, just above your knee and you felt your breath hitch at the contact. He seemed to notice your unease and turned to you, a silent question in his eyes as he began to rub his thumb up and down. You shot him a small smile, mainly for any audience you may have had, you told yourself, but you couldn’t deny how nice it felt, though and that both scared and delighted you.

“I’m sorry,” Fred said, his voice loud as he looked at you. No one had really heard him yet, but you knew it wouldn’t stop him, he was relentless. His eyes were full of amusement and you could only imagine how much he’d enjoy this whole arrangement. “What is happening here?”

He pointed at George’s hand on your knee and for some reason, George had the good sense to look almost bashful at the attention. Some part of you didn’t want him to make it a big deal or obvious but you couldn’t figure out why exactly.

“Bit saucy for you two, isn’t it?”

With a scowl, you lifted up the leg George’s hand wasn’t rested on and kicked Fred in the side, earning a grunt in response.

“Shut up, Fred,” you whispered, trying not to draw attention to yourself. George laughed at his twin’s pained expression.

“Brilliant, love.” He said so easily it was almost natural. You froze at the pet-name but thankfully you could blame it on Ron’s outburst that had cut through the room.

“Is something going on with you two?” he asked suspiciously, looking between you and George accusingly.

“Get a grip,” Ginny insisted, “Y/N would never stoop that low.”

You smiled at her comment but you knew you’d have to do something pretty convincing to earn your two galleons.

“Oh, shut up, Ron,” you said half-heartedly, drawing every eye listening to you. George’s hand squeezed your leg comfortingly, or maybe warningly. Hermione frowned, leaning forward.

“Are you dating George?”

You pursed your lips and leant into the back of the sofa, automatically towards George, a force of habit you weren’t aware of.

“Wow,” Harry said, rather observantly for him. You rolled your eyes before standing up and walking away from them. You knew all eyes were on you and so, you stopped and turned, eyebrows drawn down.

“You coming?”

George’s face lit up at your words and he stood up, grinning as he raced over to you. As you both walked towards the boys’ dorms, you could feel their stares on your back. George could too, it seemed, and as you started up the stairs, he rested a hand on your hip. You knew, at that point, that you were definitely getting paid after this.

You were two weeks in when you started slipping. You hadn’t forgotten that you were supposed to be dating, in fact, it seemed like you’d forgotten that you weren’t really. Something about George just felt so right and easy. He’d put his arm around your waist when you sat next to him or around your shoulder in the corridor and he’d kiss your hairline before he left and your cheek when you’d done something to be proud of. You spent more time with him to keep up appearances and whilst you knew you liked George - he was one of your best friends for a reason - you didn’t realise how much you liked his company. He made you laugh until you thought you’d throw up and smile so much your cheeks would ache. You had to remind yourself it wasn’t real but you didn’t suspect anything untoward about your feelings really – you were just close with your best friend, is all.

Ron, however, was immensely suspicious. After three weeks of the pretence, he stormed in to find you lying on the sofa with George, your head on his shoulder with his arm wrapped around you as you played with each other’s hands, talking about nothing. It wouldn’t have been an uncommon sight before your business deal but now everybody thought you were dating, there was something strangely intimate about it.

“I know you’re faking it,” Ron said, frowning and pointing his finger at you both. You snorted and George frowned, neither of you moving.

“Okay?” you said, not at all fazed. Maybe you’d gotten a little too used to it.

“I’ve never seen you kiss.”

You shot Ron a strange look before you felt George’s lips briefly pressed against the side of your head. Ron rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, a smug expression on his face.

“I meant properly. I’ve never seen you kiss properly.”

Fred, who’d only just arrived, sat down on a chair opposite you with an amused smile.

“You’re a right little pervert. Aren’t you, Ronniekins?”

“Oh, piss off, Fred. You know I’m right!”

“Fine,” George said, shuffling a little bit and sitting you both up. He stood on the sofa, dragging you up with him. He ignored your confused expression, looking around the busy common room with a grin. “Ladies, gentlemen and Ron, this is my very real girlfriend and we are very really dating and I love her very much.”

You knew it wasn’t real and you were fine with that, you thought. You couldn’t ignore, though, the unsettling feeling in your stomach. You didn’t have time to think on it though because within seconds, George had grabbed your face in his large, warm hands and kissed you. You were understandably startled at first, completely unprepared and very much not convinced about how fake the whole thing was – it certainly didn’t feel fake when he bit softly at your bottom lip. There were multiple wolf whistles and hoots from the people around, mostly Fred, you suspected. You couldn’t focus on them as your hands shot to George’s chest in surprise, his jumper soft under your fingertips. He leant you back a little bit, one of his hands holding you close to him by the small of your back. It wasn’t until you felt lightheaded that he pulled away.

Slightly dazed, you looked up at him and he sent you a dazzling smile before he turned to Ron, who was as red as a tomato and swallowing gruffly.

“Fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. He all but slumped away, cursing under his breath.

George turned to you, a smile on his face, as everyone decided they had better things to do than stare at you and George making out. You felt a lump in your throat as you stared at him and for a moment, it all felt way too real; one hand on your back and the other cupping your jaw, you felt like he was still kissing you and suddenly you couldn’t breathe again. George opened his mouth to speak but Fred beat him to it. His face was a lot lower than yours were from his place on the floor, a ridiculously smug smile on his lips.

“Brilliant work, you two,” he said cheerily, staring at you for a fraction too long. “Truly dedicated to the cause.”

You felt sick at his words, but you nodded anyway.

“Thanks for going with me there, Y/N. We definitely sold that kiss.”

You nodded again, feeling empty. Nothing made you feel more hollow, though than when George’s hands left you.

“Ready to go give Filch a lunchtime he won’t regret?”

“Always,” George replied, beyond excited. He shot you a wink before disappearing with his brother through the portrait hole. You sat down on the sofa with a huff, your eyes sad and your heart tied to an anchor.

You avoided George the fourth week. Not enough to make anyone suspicious, but enough to make you feel less horrible about the whole situation. You weren’t ready to think about why it had been bothering you so much; you knew it was fake when you signed up for it and it wasn’t like you liked George or anything. Fortunately, a voice calling your name interrupted you before you could go down that rabbit hole. Unfortunately, the voice belonged to George and he was chasing after you, rushing past shorter students. You knew full well you couldn’t avoid him, no matter how much you wanted to, so you plastered a big smile on your face and turned to him, fully aware that noise carried on the moving staircases.

“Georgie,” you said happily, ignoring the gnawing feeling inside. “How’re you?”

You expected an equally fake response from him, but, as always, he surprised you. He grabbed the top of your arm lightly and pulled you into a deserted classroom, shutting the door behind you and dropping his hand.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together and eyes full of, what looked like, hurt. He was a better actor than you gave him credit for.

“What do you mean?” Your voice was the same light and airy tone you’d used in the corridor and it clearly wasn’t sitting well with George.

“No, no,” he shook his head, his long red hair swishing with the movement. He did look very handsome- “None of that crap, I’m serious. Why’re you avoiding me?”

“Why?” you frowned. “Does someone suspect something?”

“What?” he looked visibly taken aback. “No, forget that. I want to know why my best friend is ignoring me.”

You swallowed, not really looking at him, but through him.

“It’s nothing, George.”

“It’s clearly not nothing-“

“George, give it a rest, please.”

He paused, noticing how upset you seemed. He went to brush away a stray lock of hair from your cheek when you pulled away, avoiding his eyes.

“I’ll make sure nobody questions anything, don’t worry,” you said before rushing around him, leaving the door open behind you.

George officially didn’t know what he was doing. It seemed like a great idea, at first. He needed a fake girlfriend, his best friend was a girl and Fred had agreed, he’d pushed him to ask you and it was going great, it was very convincing. Truth be told, he loved it. He loved making you laugh and he loved the casual touches and the affection. But then he kissed you, and something changed and now you wouldn’t even talk to him.

“Fred?” he asked, sitting on the floor of his dorm opposite his brother. “Do you think I’ve messed it all up with Y/N?”

“What?”

Fred, who rarely worried about anything in life, was concerned. As soon as Ron had teased George about getting a girlfriend, he’d orchestrated the whole thing to try and get the two of you together. He’d been right, as well; those few weeks you spent pretending only further convinced him that you were both perfect for each other. But now, sitting there, playing around with random inventions, he felt slightly guilty.

“She won’t talk to me,” he paused, “I think it’s this stupid bet.”

Fred had never seen George look so sad.

“After I kissed her, she’s just been acting so weird. I just-“ he paused again, sighing. “I just want my best friend back.”

Whilst Fred was, of course, very sympathetic to his brother’s plight, he’d stopped listening. George’s words only further solidified his belief – if you freaked out after kissing George, there was only one reason why and he would get it out of you, kicking and screaming.

“You fancy George,” he said the next day, following you into an empty corridor on your way to the library to return a book.

“Firstly, stop following me, you creepy sod. Secondly, of course, I do,” your voice grew an edge, “he’s my boyfriend.”

“Now we both know, dear Y/N, that that is not what I meant.”

You stopped walking and frowned at him; his smile only grew.

“See, I thought about why kissing him would freak you out so much and it just became so blindingly obvious. I mean you picked the less good-looking twin, but I can understand it-“

“Does he know?” you asked, and Fred’s amusement faded when he saw your panic.

“No, but I suggest you talk to him about it. It’s definitely in your best interest.”

With that, he strolled in the opposite direction, whislting with his hands shoved in his pockets, leaving you with a big decision and also, probably, a library fine.

You didn’t decide to talk to George until dinner. You sat next to him the whole time, your arms touching, but never really interacting with each other and that only created a black hole in your chest. You couldn’t cope without George, as your best friend or the something more you knew you wanted him to be. After you’d both finished eating, you reached over and grabbed his hand, his head jolting towards you at the contact.

“Can we talk?” you asked quietly, everyone else too concentrated on their food to hear you. He nodded and with a carefully calculated routine, you walked out of the Great Hall hand in hand. Your hands dropped as soon as you turned the corner and that alone made you feel sick.

“George-“

“Y/N-“

You both stopped, nervous, breathy laughter filling the corridor over the soft hum of people talking from the hall next door.

“You go first,” you insisted, desperate to avoid what you knew you had to do.

“Well,” he scratched the back of his neck with his hand before sighing. “This whole thing started off really nice, like really nice,” your eyebrows drew downwards at the soft pink flush of his cheeks.

“But now it’s weird and we’re weird and I- Y/N, I don’t want us to be weird. I don’t care about four stupid galleons; I care about my best friend-“

“George, I like you. Like, like like you ”

You had to curse yourself for your timing, but you just couldn’t hold it in, looking at his sweet expression as his mouth said such nice things.

“What?”

You screwed your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“I didn’t know I did until we were pretending and then there was all the touching and the talking and it just felt so right and then you kissed me and I didn’t know what to do because it wasn’t real and all I wanted it to be was real and I didn’t know-“

His lips were on yours and his hands, cupping your jaw gently, pulled you into him. You barely registered it before he pulled away, a large smile on his face that only grew larger with your bewildered expression.

“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?” he asked, wetting his lips as his thumb lightly brushed your cheekbone. You blinked at him, your mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

“For real?”

He laughed.

“For real.”

You couldn’t help the slow smile that lifted your cheeks, unable to contain the happiness that flodded through you. Your whole body felt light and George’s smitten expression made your heart soar. His eyes twinkled and you knew that yours would be just as ecstatic.

“I thought you didn’t want to limit yourself to just one-“

Before you could finish your teasing remark, he was kissing you again and this time, it was even better; this time it was for real.

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator

@loveisblindness​

@decadentwastelandtrash - I’m having trouble tagging you I’m sorry!!

@xinyourdreamsx​ 

@brainlesspasta​ 

[actress4him]

Bonus Whumptober Content

I had no plans originally of continuing the story from Whumptober Day 28. As far as I was concerned, it ended badly and that was that.

But you can all thank @outtacommission , because I was bribed into continuing it!

If you need a refresher on the original chapter, click the link above or read it on AO3.

This is the start of the new content, which ended up being super long, so I broke it up into three short chapters. I’m really excited and nervous to share this. Writing sequels for oneshots that weren’t originally supposed to be continued is...tough. This is the second time I’ve done it, and I always feel like the continuation isn’t as good as the original. But I’m pretty happy with how this turned out, so I hope that you guys enjoy it, too!

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Warnings: (big spoilers!) needles, implied CPR, broken bones, blood, brain damage, paralysis, amputation, panic attacks

.

“Quiznak. Oh, holy quiznak, Keith?”

.

“He’s not breathing. I’ve got no pulse.”

.

“Hold him steady, I’m cutting the back of this chair off so we can get to the shrapnel.”

.

“Come on, Keith. Breathe. Breathe!”

.

“Look, I found this in Red’s first aid kit. I’m a universal donor.”

“Get it hooked up, he needs everything we can give him.”

.

“Please, Keith. Please.”

.

“Shiro, his ribs…”

“I know. They’ll heal.”

.

“Wait! Look!”

“Oh my g-...okay. Okay. Hurry, let’s get him to the Black Lion. I’ll need you to ride with him so you can keep up the transfusion.”

“Right behind you.”

.

.

Consciousness came in spurts. The first time, he surfaced from the never-ending blackness to nothing but cold and pain, and the feeling that his insides were twisted into a big knot and trying their best to exit his body. As he retched, body automatically jerking to try to sit up or roll over and sending even more pain shooting through him, frantic voices surrounded him.

“...reaction...blood…!”

“But...O neg...shouldn’t…”

Somebody scooped him up like a baby and ran, jarring his screaming abdomen with every step, before depositing him onto a semi-soft surface.

“...Galra…”

“...sample...synthesize more…”

The words meant nothing to him. All he knew was pain and nausea, and a blur of lights and movement above him.

Just before he passed out again, there was a sharp prick in his forearm that momentarily drew his attention away from the rest of the pain. He couldn’t find the energy to protest it.

.

.

The second time, voices were the first to filter in, hushed tones that sounded as if they were speaking a foreign language. His eyes fluttered open, but the bright lights overhead made him wince and squeeze them back shut. 

“You’re okay,” someone soothed, the only words he could actually pick out from among the rest. “You’ll be just fine. Go back to sleep, now.”

There was a prick on the back of his hand, and he whimpered involuntarily. But a moment later the nothingness was taking back over, and he gladly slipped underneath.

.

.

The next time he woke, he had no recollection of the first two times, or of anything that happened before, but for some reason he was surprised to be waking up. Somehow, he didn’t think he was going to do so. But here he was, awake. Only, he had no idea where here was.

“Keith? Bud? You with us?”

He knew that voice. Turning his head toward it, he willed his eyes to open, and after a moment, they obeyed. A blur of yellow and brown met him. 

“Hey, bud! It’s good to see those eyes open. Can you hear me?”

Keith blinked, trying to bring the person into focus. Once their features had solidified enough that he could make out dark brown eyes and a smile, he licked his chapped lips and attempted to speak. 

“Hunk.” For some reason the N dragged on for much longer than he had intended, but it was a word, regardless.

“Yeah! That’s me! Oh my gosh, you have no idea how happy I am that you’re awake and okay.”

How long had he been asleep? It must have been a while for Hunk to be worried. And he was pretty sure he felt okay, though maybe a bit numb overall. Maybe he really had been asleep for a long time. It kinda felt like he was waking up after one of those naps you take while you’re sick and your fever breaks in the middle of it.

He licked his lips again, to no avail. “‘hirsty.”

“Yep, yep, I’m sure you are.” Hunk turned and snatched something up off a nearby table, bringing it toward Keith’s face. “Here ya go. Small sips.”

The water was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted in his life. He wanted to gulp it all down, ignoring what he had been told, but Hunk pulled it away after only a couple of seconds. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go get Shiro and Fallenta and let them know you’re awake, alright? I’ll be right back.”

Keith struggled to process that sentence. He didn’t think he recognized one of those names, and he still couldn’t figure out why him being awake was such a big deal. Unless...he had gotten hurt in one of their fights. But then why wouldn’t he be waking up from the pod, not in whatever bed this was?

“Wha...happened?” His words continued to come out strangely, despite his best efforts. Maybe he had been sleeping on his face, because it was one of those numb parts of him that didn’t seem to want to move properly.

Hunk froze at the doorway, turning slowly to face him. “Um...what do you remember?”

It was a good question. Wrinkling his brow, he searched his still half-dazed mind, trying and failing to grasp at the snippets of memories that danced by. It didn’t take long for his head to start hurting, and he shut his eyes, giving up for the moment. “Don’t know. A fight?” He had a vague recollection of being in Red recently. “In the Lions?”

“Um, yeah, well, that’s...one thing that happened.” Hunk seemed nervous, fidgeting with his hands. “I’m gonna go, um, get the others, and they can tell you everything, ‘kay?” Without giving Keith a chance to protest, he disappeared through the door.

Keith sighed, and tested out various parts of his body. Other than most of his right side being curiously numb, and an almost unnoticeable ache in a couple more places, everything seemed to be working properly. He had been in Red right before waking up there...right? Maybe she could tell him what was going on.

Only when he closed his eyes and reached for their connection, he came up empty. There was nothing there. No hum, no purr, nothing. His heart leapt into his throat. Red! Red, where are you? What if something had happened to her? What if she was gone? What if he had done something to make her reject him, and he wasn’t even a paladin anymore, what if that’s what Hunk didn’t want to tell him? If he wasn’t a paladin anymore, then he’d...he’d be nothing. Useless. There would be absolutely no reason for him to be in the Castle anymore, in space at all. The other paladins would take him back to Earth and dump him off, and he’d have no one and nothing yet again.

The door opened, and Keith shot upright, ignoring the way it made his head swim and that ache in his ribs twinge. “I can’t feel Red! I can’t...what happened? Where’s Red?”

“Hey! Hey, shh, Keith, it’s okay!” Shiro was across the room in an instant, sitting down on the side of the bed and grasping Keith’s shoulders in both his hands. “I need you to calm down for me, okay? I’ll explain, but I need you to take deep breaths.”

Drawing in one such breath to appease the man, Keith glanced around the room, taking in Hunk’s worried expression and the alien stranger that stood on the other side of his bed. “Somebody please just tell me what's going on.” The words were still slurred, which was getting more frustrating by the second. “Why’m I here?”

He hated the look that Shiro shot up at the alien before catching his eyes again. They were treating him like a fragile child. Even when he was a child, he had gotten more bad news in his few years than most adults did in their whole lives, so it wasn’t like he didn’t always expect more. 

“You were in an accident,” Shiro finally explained, still speaking far too slowly and softly. “You and Red got hit with a zaiforge cannon and crashed into a nearby planet. Do you remember?”

Keith already knew he didn’t, so he wasn’t going to waste time searching his memory when he still wanted answers. “Where’s Red? Is she okay?”

Offering a sympathetic smile, Shiro squeezed his shoulder with his flesh hand. “She’s in rough shape. All her systems are shut down right now. But Pidge and Coran and Hunk have been working on her, and they’re optimistic that everything can be fixed. With time.”

Letting all his breath out with a whoosh, Keith slumped over forward. It was simultaneous good news and bad news. Red hadn’t rejected him, or at least he didn’t think so. But he hated that she was so badly hurt. “I wanna see her.”

Shiro’s smile twitched up a little higher. “I know. But first, we need to check on you. You’ve been unconscious for quite a while. Everything seems to have healed up alright, but there were some things that couldn’t be tested while you were out.”

As if this was their cue, the alien - an objectively pretty, willowy creature with mauve fur, four long, thin arms, and a myriad of long, thin fingers on each hand - stepped forward. Their voice was light and feminine, and had a lilting accent that reminded him of Lance when he fell into his native tongue.

“I am going to give you some simple instructions to follow, okay?”

Keith frowned. “Who ‘re you?”

“Oh, yes, right.” Shiro indicated the newcomer with one hand. “This is Fallenta. She’s a Tellimite. They’re one of the most medically advanced species in the universe. We wanted to make sure you had the best care possible, so Allura brought us to Tellima as soon as we had you in the pod. Fallenta has been...indispensable.”

His explanation only caused Keith more confusion. If he had been in a pod, then why did he need a doctor? And again, why was he in some bed now? 

Seeming to sense his questions, Fallenta smiled and settled down opposite Shiro. “There were some...complications from your injuries. Coran and Shiro made the right call by placing you into a healing pod right away, knowing that it was the only way to save your life, but that meant that your bones that were broken could not be reset before healing. One of my jobs was to correct this once your abdomen wound was no longer life threatening.”

“Yes, you actually had two different stints in the pod,” Shiro nodded. His brow furrowed. “Well, three, if you count the time that your body rejected the blood Pidge had given you and started trying to shut down. Thankfully, Coran had those samples he took from all of us at the beginning, and was able to synthesize some more of yours.”

Keith couldn’t stand the troubled expression on Shiro’s face, especially since he had been the one to put it there. Lifting his left arm, he gently squeezed his brother’s elbow. “I’m okay now.”

Shiro smiled, but there was a sheen to his eyes. “You have no idea how relieved I am about that.”

“Your cognition seems to be just fine,” Fallenta said, “and losing memory of the traumatic event is not uncommon. There are a few other things I need to check, though.”

She spent the next few minutes shining a flashlight into his eyes, asking him some questions about things that happened prior to the accident, getting him to remember a short list of objects, and observing his reactions to various movements and sounds. All of it led Keith to believe that it was his brain being tested, and it made him nervous. No one would tell him anything else, though, simply repeating that they would explain everything shortly.

It seemed to be going well, though, and everyone was smiling and calm, so he tried not to let it get to him. Until Fallenta moved on to testing sensations. She started on his left arm, lightly touching it with her finger, then poking her claw into his skin, then digging in her knuckle. Everything felt like it should.

“Alright, the right arm, now.” She smiled at him and held his gaze, but after a moment of nothing further happening, her smile faded into a neutral expression. Another moment, and he was wondering why she hadn’t done the test yet. 

“Do you feel any of this, Keith?”

“What?” He looked down, and her finger was on his forearm. As he watched, she moved it up and down his arm, tapping lightly. He swallowed hard. “It's...it's been really numb e’er since I woke up. My face an’ leg, too.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shiro stiffen. “What does that mean?”

Fallenta smiled again, and as nice of a smile as it was, he was beginning to hate it. “Let’s complete the tests, and I will be able to tell you more. Can you feel this?” 

This time he watched as she pricked him with her claw, and to his relief, there was a faint jolt of pain. “A little. It's muted, though.”

“That’s good. And this?” She used her knuckle that time, and again, the pressure was faint.

“Same. What's wrong with my arm?” he demanded, glaring first at her, then Shiro. “Why can’t I talk right?”

“Have patience -”

“No!” Keith yanked his arm away from her with far more effort than should have been required. “I'm out of patience! Tell me what's wrong!”

Shiro put a hand on Fallenta’s shoulder, nodded at her, then reached forward and took Keith’s hand. “When we found you…” He paused, his jaw clenching and eyes flicking away for a split second before he seemed to steel himself to continue. “Your heart had stopped. It’s impossible to say how long you had been like that. I was able to get it started again, but it took a few minutes. So your brain…” Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out in a sigh. “It was without oxygen for several minutes, at the least. Brain damage has been a concern from the very start. When I said you have no idea how relieved I am that you’re okay...it was possible that you wouldn’t ever wake up. Or if you did, that you wouldn’t be able to function at all.” An errant tear slipped out, and he dashed it away with his metal hand. “But you’re here. You’re awake, and you can speak and think and...and it’s gonna be okay. I promise, it’s gonna be okay.”

Brain damage? The words hit him like a blow to the chest. That meant his arm...his face...they weren’t just numb, they were...they were…

He ripped his hand from Shiro’s grip. “How can you say it's gonna be okay? Do you hear me? I soun’ stupid! An’ my arm...how’m I supposed to fight an’ fly if I can barely move my arm?”

“But you still have some movement and sensation,” Fallenta broke in. “That is very good news. It means that, with physical therapy, you can regain even more use. You can even have speech therapy to help you build up your facial muscles.”

“Speech therapy?” He almost laughed at that. “We’re in the middle of a war, we don’ have time for speech therapy!”

Shiro’s hand landed on his leg. “We’ll make it work, Keith.”

“No. No.” He shook his head harshly. “Get off. Get off me, I need...” Flailing his one good hand toward Shiro and Fallenta, he gritted his teeth against the tears that wanted to fall. The weight on either side of the bed moved as the two of them stood. “I need some air. I need...” Red, that’s what he needed. He reached for the corner of the blanket that covered his legs. “I’m gonna -”

“Keith, wait!”

Shiro and Hunk both lunged, but it was too late. He had already flipped the blanket to the side, revealing what lay underneath.

Or rather, what didn’t lay underneath.

He was gonna be sick.

His leg. It was…it was missing from the knee down.

Keith screamed.

The next minutes or hours were a blur of tears and pain in his chest and breaths that wouldn’t come. He vaguely recalled Shiro being in front of him, his lips moving but no sound coming out. He vaguely recalled thrashing and slamming his head into the wall behind him. 

After that, though, the nothingness took back over.

Next

[wovenstarlight]

YWBK update: chapter 25 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 25 here, or start from the beginning here

okay, on to notes and commentary! first time i’m doing these, let’s hope this works out. commentary under the cut to save people’s dashes

Hamin laughs. “Given how bad you are at not being suspicious, that’s understandable.” “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.” Hamin screws up his whole face in a squint. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little bad.”

this part was really funny to me when i wrote it because i was like “hmm reasons for DHM to understand why HHJ wouldn’t work in the guild” and then i was like Wait. Their Whole First Meeting, Dude. DHM was lowkey convinced for the longest time that HHJ was like, on the run from the KR version of the mafia, and got plastic surgery to look like his little brothers, and is possibly in some sort of witness protection program??? or something??? how else does he not have cops on his ass this man is so suspicious all the time

“I don’t think… They said the dungeons were, like, different worlds? Did they find people there?”

mafia theory second place. dungeon theory first place

“Like, humans? Um. No, no humans.” “So then you can’t be from there. Okay.”

dungeon theory shot down. mafia theory back in the running

“Hey,” he says cautiously. “I’m— I’m gonna go get us some water, okay? Why don’t you… take a minute.” “Okay.” “The bathroom is over there, if you need it.” “Okay. Thank you.”

after four years working alongside a guy you start to notice when he’s feeling a little out of it and needs a bit of a break... but as JHW mentions later you also learn to be a little subtle about giving him one

jung heewon What’s with your typing? It reads like Jihye’s [HYJ]’s fine. Very energetic Too energetic? He’s going to burn out. How do I make him calm down

Epic Burnout Man makes a reappearance! when translating sclass one of the things that makes me want to shake HYJ most is his habit of constantly adding things to his to-do list while he already has 1 billion things on his plate. and all the time he’s whining about “UGH there’s SO MUCH WORK to do” No One Asked You To Do It

Anyway. the point is. HYJ isn’t about to be beat by HHJ at Developing Issues 😔

jung heewon I haven’t spoken to him directly about this because if he’s anything like you he’ll take it as an insult You wtf whts tht supposed 2 mean quit typing jung heewon Better not say shit, mr “No, I can’t take days off and cater to my interests or go out with friends or on a date, I’m too busy taking care of the kids and making sure their needs are met, no I don’t care that there are thousands of people out there balancing personal enjoyment and romance and work AND kids at the same time, are you suggesting I be a BAD GUARDIAN to MY KIDS?”

see above re: not being too direct with pointing out when HHJ’s having Issues because he doesn’t react well

You wht but our eyes r fine jung heewon Even if having glasses doesn’t run in the family, you should still get him checked, just in case

top 10 funny time travel moments: referring to you and your past self as “us” (our = my eyes are fine), but other people think you mean “our family” (our eyes are fine = no family history of long/shortsightedness)

Also. Sooyoung-ie says hi [Attachment: 20XX1213_144516.jpg] 

ok no lie this was one of the parts that pissed me off the most, even though it’s Literally One Line, because. i love chat exchanges. i really do. when done right they’re a lot of fun to read. But Do You Know How Long It Took Me To Figure Out A Calendar For The Events In This Fic. now everything’s TIMED i have to count HOW MANY DAYS IT’S BEEN since XY event so i can CORRECTLY NUMBER the FILE ATTACHMENTS!!! this sucks!!! it took me fucking forever to pin down a timeline just so i could write this chapter plus the few before and after it!!!!

anyway i gave up when i reached year. i just put 20XX. fuck it. we are running on fairy tail time now. (actually i think that’s XXnumber number? XX76? or was it X796. something like that. Who cares i stopped watching fairy tail forever ago)

Fuck it! Hamin will understand!! “If you Awaken you should come work with me,” Han Hyunjae says all in a rush. 

“HAMIN WILL UNDERSTAND” => he literally was cool with me giving zero context for half a dozen absolute balls to the wall nonsense bullshit things i’ve done before. he’ll be fine with this too. dog_in_burning_house_this_is_fine.png

“You already know about the guilds, those are going to be for dungeon Hunters, but I was thinking of forming something like an independent group of contractors. Awakened people with skills that aren’t useful for combat, but that might… that will be generally useful. It’d be you and me, and maybe one other guy I met recently. Probably more in the future.”

given that HHJ has no idea currently that peace exists (i’m so sorry baby i’ll find a way to shoehorn you in soon i miss you so much) he’s got no intentions to start a kiseungsu business yet! he mostly wants to live quietly while just acting as a manager for other Awakening-related services, like YMW’s forge and DHM’s tracking service, along with the information exchange/lowkey spy ring that he’s planning on setting up with JHW and the bar. since HYH is fine associating with him in this timeline, HHJ’s thinking he can get a foot in the door that way, then eventually spread out into dealings with most major guild leaders

RIP to this plan. you were well-made but you will not last long.

“Please, I can’t tell you how I know that, I really can’t, it’d put me and my brothers in danger if it got out. But—” “No need.” Hamin looks slightly alarmed, and Han Hyunjae feels himself settle at the obvious concern in his eyes.

MAFIA THEORY RAPIDLY RISING TO PROMINENCE??? THIS IS NOT HOW DO HAMIN WANTED HIS GUESS CONFIRMED

“I spoke to the Task Force Head and she said that there’s been discussion about hosting a meeting for the nearby high-rankers, where they’ll announce the guild proposal and see who else is interested in trying it out.”

“they’ll announce” i’m sorry king 💔 you deserved a nap

(OH ALSO FUN FACT choi eunyoung is a canon character, not an OC of mine! she appears in uhhh i think late 140s? 150s? something like that)

“I think there’s… probably only one other S-rank who’s Awakened right now?”

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehhehe

Hamin beams. “No, they’re doing great! Spookie’s taken really well to the new housing situation, but I think Spots might miss the store…”

shoutout to @daemonic-dawn​ for letting me borrow a pet name, love u king. i had a much longer ramble about pet names here but i finished typing and realized it was all entirely off topic so i removed it for convenience

Hyunjae makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t— I mean.” He huffs, visibly taking a deep breath, and Yoojin frowns reflexively. [...] “Is everything alright?” Yoojin kind of wants to be annoyed at his tone on principle, but he forces his shoulders to relax, matching Hyunjae’s posture. Though he can’t stop himself from being a little short when he answers.

things the brothers have learned in four years living together: getting confrontational often leads to arguments that just fizzle out anyway, so it’s way fucking easier to consciously tone down their combativeness in advance when talking to each other about things they have problems with, instead of screaming their heads off and then having to calm yoohyun down afterwards to boot

“I guess. Whatever.” Yoojin slumps. “Can I…” “Hm?” Hyunjae blinks at Yoojin as he gestures to the spot on the bed beside him, then jolts. “Oh! Yeah, sure, c’mere.” He opens his arms, and Yoojin goes over and flumps on the bed, head in Hyunjae’s lap. Almost immediately, Hyunjae starts stroking fingers through his hair, and Yoojin relaxes into the touch, listening as Hyunjae continues speaking.

cuddles 🥺🥺🥺 sorry i don’t have any other commentary here just. cuddles. extremely and overwhelmingly comforting for a man who spent the better part of 8 years(?) with no major positive relationships, and a kid who spent 12 years of early life basically abandoned by his parents. you had best bet they gave up on not hugging each other 1 year into this whole mess

Yoojin hums in acknowledgement. It’s not like he’d ever let himself get hurt; he has too many responsibilities to his family and friends. If he wants to be good enough to keep up, he can’t afford to fuck up like that. But… hyung will worry if he keeps working so hard. He can slow down a little for him. 

Problems disorder man when will you stop. the way he sees “getting hurt” as an inconvenience and an obstacle to his duties rather than a danger to himself. the way he doesn’t really care if he himself gets hurt, but if it’ll worry his family, then it’s a no-no. it’s just. wow. i know i wrote this but i hate him

“Not really. I talk to Myeongwoo about it sometimes.” “Ah, right, Myeongwoo.”

haha gays

“Don’t be weird about him,” Yoojin warns[...]. “I won’t, promise.”

if the “i won’t” line had a dialogue tag it’d be “Han Hyunjae lied”

“Is Eunwoo still in his relationship?” “Mhm, happy as ever. Apparently they’re trying long-distance, now that Eunwoo’s gone off to university abroad.”

three guesses for who eunwoo’s dating and you won’t need the first two

Hyunjae raises his hands like he’s going to deny the accusations levelled against him, so Yoojin seizes him by the collar and shakes him until he cries for mercy

oh my o/rv ass struggled so bad with not writing “shakes him like a man betrayed” here. it killed me not to. but in the end i prevailed (against, uh, myself. don’t think about it too hard.)

“Jeez, okay, he’s an F-rank!” “Eh?! Then why—” “He’s also got an SS-rank potential skill,” Hyunjae admits[...].

play-by-play of this scene because god if i draw any scene in this fic it would be this one just for the sheer hysterical nature of HYJ’s reaction:

YOOJIN: I HATE YOU WHAT THE FUCK WHY. TELL ME HIS RANK

HYUNJAE: HE’S AN F

YOOJIN: WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK?

HYUNJAE: he’s also got an SS-rank skill,

YOOJIN:

[harderbetterfasterstarker]

not starker, but why the hell not. i recently finished this endhawks fic, and endhawks is a ship that i feel like hits a lot of the same buttons for me as starker does, so if you’re interested, check out the first two chapters below, and the rest is on ao3 here. 

Local Teen schemes to shame father, accidentally gets him a boyfriend instead.

Enji watched carefully now, took in the way that Hawks and Shouto were tucked into a corner of the room. Enji couldn’t see his face clearly, just the edge of his profile, but it was enough to see that the sharp grin that had fallen from his face while he listened to Shouto was replaced now by a soft smile. Whatever he said brought a similar expression to Shouto’s face. Without understanding why, Enji looked away, struck with a sudden pang of emotion, too much all at once, and at first it registered as anger—always anger—but he wasn’t that kind of man anymore, so after a long moment clenching his hands, the tight hot knot of anger loosened, fell into separate threads of—sadness (I’ve never seen Shouto smile like that before, never), jealousy (why Hawks? what did he do to make you smile? why are you sharing this moment?), pride (because I’m glad it’s Hawks, you are both such good heroes, such good men), and, right there at the center of the knot, anger (at himself, always at himself, for not deserving these moments).

It had been a long meeting, at the end of a long week, but, after all they’d been through, there was something comforting about even the mildly overwhelming roar of so many heroes’ discordant chatter. Ostensibly, the purpose of these meetings was to facilitate information sharing, but Enji knew that they were as much about the reassurance of each other’s presence as anything else. They’d lost enough that it was still a relief to hear Fatgum’s loud laughter, Mirko’s booming voice as she retold the story of some villain capture. One voice he kept waiting to hear and didn’t—and Enji found himself turning to scan the room, until his eyes found bright red wings, and he could let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It wasn’t that he didn’t know that Hawks was fine, but there was something about seeing those wings flutter and shift, the slope of his jaw as his mouth edged into a grin as he said something to make Shouto laugh—

Shouto?

Enji watched carefully now, took in the way that Hawks and Shouto were tucked into a corner of the room. Not out of sight, obviously, but far enough away that their conversation obviously read as private. After the laughter ended, Shouto said something else to Hawks, his face falling back into that tight little frown that he seemed to wear most of the time. Hawks listened for a while—actually listened, which was a shock in and of itself, that he wasn’t interrupting to bug and nag like he constantly did to Enji, which much mean this was something serious—and then was reaching out to rest a hand on Shouto’s shoulder. Enji couldn’t see his face clearly, just the edge of his profile, but it was enough to see that the sharp grin that had fallen from his face while he listened to Shouto was replaced now by a soft smile. Whatever he said brought a similar expression to Shouto’s face. Without understanding why, Enji looked away, struck with a sudden pang of emotion, too much all at once, and at first it registered as anger—always anger—but he wasn’t that kind of man anymore, so after a long moment clenching his hands, the tight hot knot of anger loosened, fell into separate threads of—sadness (I’ve never seen Shoto smile like that before, never), jealousy (why Hawks? what did he do to make you smile? why are you sharing this moment?), pride (because I’m glad it’s Hawks, you are both such good heroes, such good men), and, right there at the center of the knot, anger (at himself, always at himself, for not deserving these moments).  

“Endeavor-san?” Enji turned around to see the Midoriya kid looking up at him with those huge green eyes, holding one of those notebooks of his, and turned his attention to answering the kid’s question.

*

“Shouto.”

They were on their way out of the agency, Bakugo and Midoriya arguing over something just a few yards ahead, so Endeavor kept his voice low. The only indication that Shouto had heard him was a slight tension to his shoulders and a muttered ‘what’ so low that Enji almost didn’t hear it.

“What were you talking to Hawks about today? After the hero meeting?”

If anything, Shouto got tenser, his shoulders creeping higher.

“Nothing.”

“Is it something about hero work? Because Hawks is undoubtedly a good hero, but I could help with any questions you have.”

“Drop it, it’s nothing.” Shouto’s voice had edged out of his normal monotone and into a dangerous level of flatness, one that Enji was beginning to learn to heed, so he stayed silent and let Shouto catch up with Midoriya and Bakugo and slot in-between them to play peacemaker.

*

A week later, Hawks climbed through his office window while he was doing paperwork.

“Hawks.” He was trying for stern, but since everything at Jaku, Enji had had a hard time being stern with Hawks.

“Hey big guy! I know, I know—doors, not windows, but, c’mon, you’ve ridden in your elevator. Long wait, crowded, bo-ring. Why ride when you can fly?” Hawks was crossing the room to lean on an edge of his desk, while he let one of his feathers shut the window behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I just happened to be in the neighborhood, decided to drop in, check in, you know—the usual.” At that moment, Enji heard the distinct sound of a stomach growling, and turned to glare at Hawks.

“Really?”

“I mean maybe I forgot to eat lunch, but you know how busy heroing is! That’s not why I dropped by—or at least, not the only reason. I like you for more than your wallet, Endeavor-san.” Hawks was laughing, but his feathers were ruffling in a distinctly nervous way and he was running a hand through his hair. Enji sighed, and shoved his paperwork to the side.

“I’m too busy to go out anywhere—behind on paperwork after that minor gang bust earlier this week. We’ll go to the cafeteria.”

Hawks kept up his inane chatter as they walked through the halls down to the agency cafeteria on the second floor of his building, through the line for food, and all the way to the table, where Enji noticed that, as soon as they sat down, Hawks’ left wing slumped slightly, at an awkward angle.

“Hawks,” he said, interrupting the younger hero mid-sentence halfway through some kind of story about one of Mirko’s sidekicks’ birthday. “How did you get here?”

“Well, you see, when a mama bird loves a daddy bird—”

“You flew, didn’t you?” The sudden tightness in Hawks’ jaw and the bob his throat as he swallowed gave him away. “Hawks—you’re not supposed to be straining your wings or the new muscle in your back like that.”

“Number one, I didn’t know you cared!” Hawks was laughing cheekily, but avoided making eye contact.

“If you strain the muscle, you could do permanent damage. It’s a hero’s job to take care of themselves, Hawks.” He listened to Hawks’ half-hearted apologies and promises, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on the man, and noticed Shouto’s eyes on them from across the cafeteria.

*

“Was it about starting your own agency?”

“Was what—my conversation with Hawks? I told you to drop it.”

They were walking towards the UA dorms together—Shouto insisted that the students didn’t need to be walked to the door like children, but, thankfully, Eraserhead agreed with Enji that no matter how much the kids had proved themselves in battle, unnecessary risks remained unnecessary.

“Because while I hope you know that I would be happy for you to take over the agency some day, it’s fine if you want to start your own. Admirable, even. I could tell you about the early days of the agency. When I inherited it from your grandfather, it wasn’t—it was essentially starting anew. I could—”

“It wasn’t about starting my own agency.” Shouto had quickened his pace, and they were at the door to the dorms now.

“Well, then, was it—”

Shouto had shut the door in his face.

*

Enji knew he should drop it. He’d heard enough from his therapist about respecting boundaries, especially the fragile ones his children were trying to draw as they struggled their way towards healthy relationships with their father. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Shouto’s face, that soft little smile—the trust in it, the comfort in it—and the twist of jealousy in his gut when he thought about that smile directed at him. He just wanted to show Shouto that if he would just let Enji in, he could be worth that smile too.

They were washing up after family dinner on a Thursday, the only two left in the estate. Fuyumi and Natsuo had already left to go back to the home they shared with Rei, and Enji would drive Shouto back to the UA dorms soon. Even silently washing dishes, Shouto’s mouth was drawn into a tiny little frown, and Enji couldn’t help but picture that smile.

“Was it about—”

“Seriously? It wasn’t even hero stuff, it was about guy stuff, okay?” Shouto dropped the plate he’d been holding, and Enji winced as he watched it chip against the counter.

“Guy stuff? Shouto, I’m a—”

“Not about being a guy. About being… into guys.”

There was a long, hesitant pause between them. Enji’s mind was flickering between stunned silence and deafening moments of too many thoughts, too much input.

“Because, you know, Hawks and Mirko are the only out heroes in the top ten.”

One thought floated to the top of Enji’s brain, and he couldn’t begin to (refused to) guess at why it was the first thought that came out.

“Hawks is gay?”

“I—Are you kidding?” One of the parts of Enji’s brain that was still working noted a lick of flame flickering across Shouto’s cheek. “I come out to you and that’s the first thing you have to say? You’re not surprised I’m gay?”

This—this he knew the answer to, though his mouth was still moving faster than his brain, and his therapist had warned him about speaking without thinking about thinking through the consequences first, but the last thing he’d said was Hawks is gay and the realization was still ringing in his brain when this should be about Shouto.

“Shouto. When you were six you informed me you were going to marry All Might.”

“And you told me to shut up with that disgusting nonsense!”

“Of course I did—you weren’t going to marry All Might!”

“Oh my—so you’re seriously trying to tell me you weren’t homophobic, that this was just about your stupid hatred of All Might?”

“Of course I’m not homophobic, I—” Enji could feel the temperature rising on both sides of the sink, could see more flames licking across Shouto’s face, uncontrolled, and he stopped himself. Took a long, deep breath the way that he’d practiced, let his mind clear into nothingness and then let himself feel each emotion, let each unnecessary thought drift away until he could find the words he wanted to say, the ones he meant to say.

“Shouto. I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like you had to hide this part of yourself from me. Who you love will not stop me from being proud of you. I understand why you didn’t want to tell me or talk to me about this, and I’m glad Hawks is someone you feel comfortable speaking about this with.”

Shouto looked frozen, eyes wide open, as Enji slowly turned to continue doing the dishes. Silence reigned until they were sitting in the car on the way back to UA, when Shouto finally muttered, eyes fixed firmly out the window—

“Thanks, Dad.”

*

The next day at the weekly hero meeting, Enji couldn’t help but notice Hawks more than usual. He’d never bothered learning any personal information about his fellow heroes—irrelevant—and he told himself that it remained irrelevant. It shouldn’t change the way that he saw Hawks at all.

He watched Hawks stretch his wings behind himself, laughing at something Mirko said.

Nothing should change.

He watched Hawks take a seat next to his intern, the one from Shouto’s class, leaning over to mutter something to the stoic teen that made a hint of a smile break out on his face.

Nothing should change.

From across the room, Shouto’s eyes on him caught his attention. Shouto looked away before they made eye contact and turned to Bakugo, saying something that started more of Bakugo’s infernal yelling.

Nothing had changed.

*

It wasn’t even a week later that Hawks was at his office door again.

“I used the elevator this time. Aren’t you proud of me, number one?” He looked pleased with himself, and a little more put together than the last time Enji had seen him. His wings looked good—fuller than before, no drooping. He could never say that out loud, though, because even Enji had the emotional wherewithal to realize that Hawks hated to be pitied, for anyone to act like Hawks should be anything other than his absolute best, so his brain just skipped ahead to—

“Why are you here?”

At that, something in Hawks’ bright grin faltered, and something somewhere in Enji’s gut fell painfully in response.  He’d been trying to be—not nicer, per se, but… better. Not for everyone, but at least for the people who mattered. For his family. For Shouto’s friends. Inexplicably, for Hawks. He’s told himself that he owes Hawks, is all. Hawks’ injuries were his fault (Hawks’ beautiful red wings, another casualty burned up in Endeavor’s flames).

“For lunch. You… invited me?”

Hawks’s tone fell just short of his usual carefree air, and Enji blinked, momentarily stunned by the realization that Hawks actually wasn’t just doing his usual teasing. “I didn’t.”

“I did,” another voice echoed from the hallway outside his office, and Enji’s attention shifted to see Shouto, his friends hovering behind him awkwardly, mismatched eyes meeting Enji’s gaze with a challenging stare. “Is that a problem?”

And—oh. “Of course it’s not a problem,” Enji replied, keeping his eyes on Shouto’s, ignoring the urge to examine the nervous fluttering of Hawks’ wings he could see in his peripheral vision. “I’ll just—uh, see you all later.”

“The reservation is for five,” Shouto said, turning around and heading towards the elevator. “Might as well come too, old man.”

Shouto said nothing further on the subject as the motley group made their way out of the agency and through streets teeming with the midday lunch rush. Shouto said nothing further on any subject, actually, keeping his usual silence. Between Midoriya, frantically quizzing Hawks on his latest villain takedown while scribbling notes in that damn notebook of his, and Hawks, answering good-naturedly and dealing with any civilian interest in the group, the walk passed with as little awkwardness as could be expected. Enji had never thought he’d be grateful for Midoriya’s incessant chatter, but he supposed there was a first time for everything. And, when he was honest with himself, the kid wasn’t that bad; even before Shigaraki, Enji had found himself almost fond of him, if only because he was such a good friend to Shouto. He looked between the babbling boy and Shouto, spying Shouto huffing a short laugh at something Midoriya was saying. Maybe they—should he tell Shouto that he would approve? Of Midoriya? No, Shouto wouldn’t care for his approval, right? Unless… Shouto had, actually, in the end, been nervous about telling Enji about his sexuality, had thought that Enji had disapproved. But would saying he would approve of Midoriya imply that there were choices that Enji would disapprove of? And while that wasn’t necessarily wrong—Enji’s eyes lingered on Bakugo, who was currently yelling at a passerby who’d had the misfortune of being saved from stepping into traffic by the angry teen—for Shouto, Enji would put those feelings aside.

They’d made it the restaurant and were sitting down, and Enji still didn’t know what, if anything, to say to Shouto. Enji never knew what to say to Shouto. He’d spent his whole life working from the scripts of his father, and his grandfather before him, only to realize that they were—that he was a failure, as a hero, and as a father, and to start all over at square one, half his life spent walking down the wrong path. He kept trying to be better, but even still, he knew that more than half the time he said or did the wrong thing—voice too loud, tone too harsh, Shouto’s shoulders flinching imperceptibly or his stare going just that bit more icy. And now there were more landmines for him to desperately try to avoid.

Caught in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the attention of several sets of eyes on him until he felt one of Hawks’ feathers nudging at his back.

“Sorry, Shouto-kun, didn’t quite catch that,” Hawks said breezily, and Enji glanced over at the grinning hero and wished that he was the kind of person who knew how to express his gratitude in some kind of simple, subtle way. But he didn’t have Hawks’ feathers—all his fire could do was burn.

“I asked if you knew of any gay bars.” Shouto’s stare shifted to Enji, though his tone didn’t change at all. “I decided I’d like to go to one.”

Blessedly, everything was silent for a long moment, while Enji tried to force his brain to think of—if not the right response, any alright response. He instinctively knew that this was a test, of sorts, a public challenge from Shouto, and one he couldn’t afford to mess up—not just in front of Shouto, but in front of Midoriya, bright red and eyes wider than Enji had ever seen them, Bakugo, snorting and rolling his eyes, and in front of Hawks—Hawks who was looking up at him with real surprise in his golden eyes and a light flush across his cheeks, Hawks who had been his biggest fan, Hawks who had looked up to him as a hero since he was a kid, Hawks who was gay.

But time was running out, the moment was stretching too long, and so Enji just sighed and said, “No drinking until you’re 20.”

Bakugo let out a short bark of laughter, though Enji breathed easier when Shouto scowled, as if the laughter was at his expense and not at Enji’s. He cast a half-glance over at Hawks to find that even though the flush on his face had deepened, he was looking back at Enji with a smile, big and bright like he’d done that first time they’d had lunch in Fukuoka. Fuck, Enji needed to thank Hawks. He couldn’t say anything in front of Shouto, it would embarrass him, and it wasn’t like Enji was any good at putting together the right words, anyway, but—

Because Enji was staring right at Hawks, he noticed the sudden tension in the younger man’s body and the shiver that rippled through his wings a half-second before he registered the vibrations of the ground beneath them and the beginning sounds of screams, so he was only a step behind the winged hero on their way out the door, listening to the interns tripping over themselves to follow them.

Now wasn’t the time, but later—he’d thank Hawks later.

*

Later didn’t come the next time Enji saw Hawks, or the time after that, or even the time after that. Enji was used to Hawks dropping by his office once every couple of weeks, if that, seeing him at top hero meetings, maybe an occasional phone call on a tip or lead one of them had. But somehow, Shouto had figured out that Hawks was working on a long-term case and staying nearby, and so the awkward lunches had become a weekly event, and then twice weekly. Not that Enji had an issue with Hawks’ more frequent presence, but all the moments that he used to get with Hawks bled into their lunches, he didn’t dare say anything to Hawks with Shouto around—he still got the sense that Shouto was assessing him somehow—and he didn’t know how to get a moment with Hawks alone. He could say something, but the words never quite came right to his brain, he always felt half-tripped up, and so he just… left, ignoring the feeling of Hawks’ eyes on him.

And then there were the times Enji was glad Hawks wasn’t around.

The agency was oddly quiet, for once, and Enji walked down to the cafeteria to see a group of his sidekicks huddled around a table with their heads bent low, the interns too, mumbling and passing something back and forth. Shouto glanced up when he heard Enji come in, and Enji saw a shadow of something like amusement pass across Shouto’s face, but before he could really identify what it was, his expression was back to its usual placidity.

“Why don’t we get the opinion of the number one hero himself?” Shouto said, just loudly enough for his voice to carry across the room to Enji’s ears. He started heading for the table, curiosity bleeding into his irritation at his staff for whatever distraction they were entertaining, growing stronger as Burnin herself looked up from whatever was on the table, her normally grinning face horrified and as red as Enji’s flames.

“What is this,” Enji said, staring down at whatever Burnin was trying to half-cover with her body.

“We were just looking at Hawks’ latest advertising campaign. What do you think, old man?” Shouto’s voice had that challenging tone again, as he pulled what turned out to be a magazine from Burnin’s desperate grip and handed it to Enji.

It took all of Enji’s hard-won control to keep the flames on his face from flaring out dangerously as he looked at the image in front of him, but he did note that several of his sidekicks winced at the sudden temperature increase he couldn’t help. Because Hawks’ face was staring up at him from the page, looking over his shoulder from between red wings spread proudly, his usual playful expression suddenly intense, body posed in such a way that he looked half a second from taking off, perched on a boulder in nothing but a pair of too-tight swim trunks. After he’d torn his eyes away from picture-Hawks’ piercing stare, his attention caught on the line of Hawks’ back—a long, lithe line, rippling with the muscle Enji knew Hawks had worked painstakingly to build back up so he could fly again, and—absolutely covered in burn scars, skin mottled and warped, jarring differences where the grafts had been, and Enji couldn’t stop himself from bringing his thumb up across the page to trace the skin. The text, advertising—cologne? who knew?—read “fly free”.

Someone coughed, and Enji realized he’d been looking at the picture for too long. He fought the urge to flare up in embarrassment again, and instead cleared his throat. They’d asked for his opinion?

“Being a hero means being a public figure, which means getting asked to do endorsements and advertising like this frequently. How to handle it depends on the type of image you have and want to project as a hero—endorsements that seem genuine and are well-received from heroes like Fat Gum or Mt. Lady would seem awkward or insincere from a hero like Eraserhead or Nighteye.”

Midoriya had reached into his backpack to get his notebook, but Shouto shot an impatient glare at the magazine in Enji’s hand.

“That’s why I don’t do these kind of things often—not because I disapprove of them categorically, but because they don’t fit with my image. The hardest thing to balance with endorsements and advertisements is how to appear in them while still maintaining enough an appearance of strength that people feel they can count on you as a hero in times of crisis. Hawks is the current hero who achieves that balance best.”

Enji noticed, with some small satisfaction, several jaws dropping around the table. He didn’t often praise others, but what he was saying was true—he’d known it from the first time he’d patrolled with Hawks, that the younger man could pull off a public image that simultaneously led people to both genuinely like him as a person and genuinely trust in him as a hero. It wasn’t until after Jaku that he’d realized just how much of a well-orchestrated facade it had all been, but it just made Enji admire the man more—that Hawks knew what it meant to struggle for the success.

“And the best heroes can make these opportunities work for them. Hawks’ injuries after his—after the—” Enji stumbled slightly, thinking of Touya’s face twisted in maniacal glee, “after last year are public knowledge, to a degree. By taking an opportunity like this, he ends the quiet speculation about them while still showing them from a position of strength. And the product tagline might as well be a hero slogan here—not only emphasizing the strength in flying, but the freedom of showing the scars.”

Midoriya was writing so quickly Enji thought he could hear the pencil ripping through paper, and Shouto was looking up at him with a dumbfounded expression on his face. None of them knew he was essentially paraphrasing a conversation he’d had with his PR agent long ago, on whether to attempt reconstructive surgery to reduce the appearance of the scar on his face after the battle with the High End, but the point had been the same both times. He’s glad Hawks got the chance to make this point, to show his strength for the whole of Japan to see, because—Enji glanced back down at the magazine in his hand, the glossy sheen of the paper over the gnarled lines of the scars, and realized his thumb was running over the proud angle of Hawks’ back again.

He tossed the magazine back onto the table, where it landed with a smack that seemed too loud for the suddenly quiet room.

“Now get back to work, all of you.”

*

The next week, Shouto came to Enji’s office of his own volition for the first time since he’d started at the agency. Enji dropped his paperwork immediately.

“Shouto.”

“… Endeavor,” Shouto returned, and Enji tried not to let the missing ‘Dad’ bother him. It was enough that Shouto was here—speaking to him, learning from him, tolerating him. He didn’t deserve to ask for more. So he just nodded, waited while Shouto realized that Enji wasn’t going to say anything about the form of address.

“What you said about Hawks’ ad campaign…” Something twisted in Shouto’s expression, and Enji startled to realize that he looked almost… sad, or guilty, just for a moment. “It’s not something we’ve talked about a lot in school yet. I know some of the other students at their internships and work studies have gone along to things like that, and I wanted to…” Shouto trailed off, just the hint of a blush on his cheeks, embarrassed at having to ask, and Enji understood.

“Of course. I don’t often do those, but I could find another hero for you to shadow to—”

“No,” Shouto interrupted, all traces of his blush gone. “I mean—I’d like to see how you handle it.”

And Enji hadn’t done any kind of advertising campaign in at least ten years, but—Shouto cared about how he would handle it, as a hero. Shouto wanted to learn from him, and not anyone else.

“I’ll talk to my secretary and try to get something set up.”

In lieu of a response, Shouto just nodded and turned to head for the door. After hesitating for a moment longer, watching his son’s back with a mix of hope and pride and guilt, Enji finally reached for the paperwork he’d set down when Shouto first walked in.

“Thanks,” Shouto suddenly said, stopping on the threshold and looking back over his shoulder at Enji. In the moment before the door shut between them, Enji thought he could see a hint of that same guilt he’d seen before, when he’d mentioned what Enji had said about Hawks. But then the door closed, the expression was gone, and Enji was left to chalk it up to underlying guilt about Touya—something Enji was painfully familiar with—and let it go.

[quiet-kunoichi]

“ please….stay, just for tonight. ”

[ misc quotes meme | @suck-my-tomato | verse; post-modern ]

She had come over.

Well, that's not entirely true. Initially, Sasuke had showed up to her apartment after a missed call from her, followed by a quick [text:] im sorry about that. So; in lieu of their weird and strangled conversation the other night, where he offered his support any time she felt close to relapsing (or otherwise, but he wasn't ready to say that aloud just yet) -- Sasuke's slingshot brain thought of the worst conclusion and immediately called her back. But in fact, the call back wasn't so immediate, after all. It had been forty minutes since she had attempted initial contact. She doesn't pick up, and her awkward and uncertain voice tells him 'sorry you missed me. uh, yeah - leave a message and i'll get back to you .. eventually. probably.' The beep of her voicemail catches him off guard; a weird beat of silence begins the message before he mutters a quick, "Hey.. I hope you're alright-- Call me, okay?" Minutes pass with him staring expectantly at the screen. She doesn't call him back; he curses himself for getting caught up in his most recent painting. Unable to contain the swirl of emotions, Sasuke rises to his restless feet. He paces the room a few times, biting at the skin of his lip and glancing over to his blackened phone screen now and again. He even tried sitting back down at his canvas, picking up the brush and the palette again: just to get his mind off of it. Sasuke knew it would be pushing boundaries if he just showed up because she didn't reply in.. twelve minutes. "She's probably fine," He told the room, the drying paint, himself. But clearly he wasn't certain enough - because when his phone vibrates against the coffee table, Sasuke risks the detailed linework by nearly diving out of his seat to snatch his phone. But his once high-strung heart was now rocking heavy in his gut and making him seasick. Just a text from Naruto. He doesn't even bother to read it - instead pulling up the sporadic text conversation with Kimiko and rereading her short message as if he could read between the lines. Fuck it. In cases of recovering addicts, sometimes boundaries would have to be pushed; he was personally familiar. So, Sasuke snatched his car keys from their place beside the door and heads for her apartment. His hands were clammy and stuck to the steering wheel with an iron grip the whole time. What was he going to walk in on? Would this behavior bring up old, bruised memories - would it roll their hesitant friendship back a few steps? Maybe she truly didn't mean to call; maybe she was not even home. Or she was home, but had someone else over. That thought tightened his throat. But nothing compared to the nagging gnat of trauma whispering something much more foul in his ear: perhaps he didn't come soon enough, and the apartment would already be empty. Worse yet - a repeat of the scene he came across a few months ago. No. Sasuke refused to let his brain run down that beaten path: instead, he barely made it through a yellow light and parked on the street across from her apartment building. The next time he blinked, Sasuke was standing in front of her door, fist hanging in the air. Had he already knocked? He can't remember. Kimiko hadn't even the time to quickly soak up the leftover water from her hair and wrap up decently when the second knock came. It sends a zip of fear up her spine; her mouth is gummy, so she cannot even reply. She just wraps the nearest towel tightly around herself and quickly ( and carefully ) pads over to the front door of her rather.. 'minimalistic' apartment. No, she hadn't unpacked fully, yet. It wasn't that she was expecting to pick up and disappear at the drop of a hat; it was just too hard a task, truthfully. Opening the door a crack (seeing as this apartment didn't have the foresight to install peepholes) Kimiko peers through a sliver, a single dull yellow eye landing upon his face. Oh --

Blinking a few times, Kimiko's death grip on her door is slackened in surprise. The door comes open a few more inches, and reveals that she indeed just got out of the bath. "..Sasuke?" She questions, as though the man before her might chameleon into someone else with her next blink. He stammers a reply; an apology - and she tells herself that the color of his cheeks was likely due to the strangeness of his voice, because she could not picture any other reason why he'd feel embarrassed. "H-hey. Uh, I'm sorry. I was just --" He's struggling to figure out how to express his thoughts coherently while she's standing there with her hair dripping and a towel tucked tightly around her slender frame. "You didn't answer, so.. I'm just checking in on you." Was it more awkward to look at her while she was sorta-kinda indecent, or more glaringly awkward to obviously not look at her at all? Her neighbor's door opens; Sasuke is ogled at from across the hall. Kimiko's stare slides over and the decision is made for her: she opens the door and gingerly takes his wrist, beckoning him inside. Closing the door behind him and locking ( the knob, the dead bolt, the chain, the swing-bar guard ) it, Kimiko turns to him and draws his attention back from where it wandered about her empty apartment. Well - mostly empty. Suppose the issue of not having any clutter or decorations was that a lone bottle of whiskey appeared like a glaring centerpiece on her coffee table. She'll behave as though it didn't exist. "Sorry. It's nothing personal; she stares at me, too." Kimiko murmurs, catching that telltale look of concern hardly concealed in his stare as he turns back to her. "Kimiko.." His voice is careful, as though they stood on thin ice and he was chancing the very real possibility that whatever he would say next could make them fall through and catch hypothermia. "I should get dressed," She'd reply, dipping her head and passing him by on her way back to the bathroom. Despite her hope that he would ignore the obvious, too - Kimiko returns to the front room once dressed, and Sasuke is leaning his weight into the arm of her couch rather than sitting upon it. She catches him in a staring contest with the bottle of liquor. Arms tucked across her midsection, she stands adjacent to him and awaits the backfire from being caught -- even if she hadn't indulged in it (yet). "I'm sorry I didn't pick up." Instead of scolding her, Sasuke apologizes. It's.. strange, but quietly welcomed in the stead of worse repercussions. She doesn't respond, because she doesn't know quite how to. So, with fingers steepled and head dipped to the floor between them, he speaks up again; but it's not without strain. "I know I said I'd be available for support if you needed it-" She's expecting him to follow this sentence with a 'but I said it too soon' or a 'but I changed my mind', and she doesn't want the heartache that would follow hearing that kind of statement, so Kimiko cuts him off. "It's fine, Sasuke. Really.. I'm fine." She shouldn't lie like that, but old habits die painfully slow. At last, his gaze lifts and they share a look; one that's hard to place. She knows that he knows she's lying, and she swallows the guilt and shame that comes with that. "I didn't have any. The cap is sealed, if you want to check." She offers the olive branch, and Sasuke truly considers it: but decides against it, in an attempt to show his trust in her claim. Even still, a short sigh escapes her; fingers come up to rub at her eye. Now having a proper look at her, Sasuke recognizes an old shirt she used to wear in high school. It draws attention to how much she's thinned down since then, the fabric now loose in places that it used to hold onto her curves. Dark crescents are worn like ghosts under her eyes, her cheekbones are taut and pronounced in a way he hasn't noticed before. Kimiko speaks up before he has the chance. "I did think about it," She admits, sounding tired. "And I did call," Another admittance, this one with a twinge more shame behind it. He gives a little wince. "But I walked away from it." A half-hearted shrug follows. Actually, she had tossed her phone on the couch and fled to the bathroom, mid-panic attack and desperate to scald and then simmer in a soup of flashbulb memories: just so she could watch them wash down the drain with the soapy bathwater. But a knock on the door interrupted that sequence, and now here they both were.

"It's okay that you didn't answer. I know that .." She hesitates, the fingers at her side starting to pluck at the edge of her shirt. "I know you're busy, with stuff." Ah, real smooth, Kimiko. That totally wasn't obvious. Her lips press firm, and she can no longer bear to hold his gaze, so she drops her own while slowly curling her grip over opposite arm. "And I'm fine to handle it on my own. I've done it before." Yeah, that probably wasn't the best thing to add in, either. "I was working on a painting." Sasuke replies, then turns over his palms to expose the flecks and streaks of paint that litter his pale skin. He's not sure why he felt like she needed the visual proof; but she had offered some tactile evidence with the sealed cap to her bottle of whiskey, earlier - and he wanted to extend the same offering in exchange. To make it a two-lane street, like his therapist had mentioned last week. Before her.. self-inflicted incident - Kimiko had been the only one expressing her efforts to make amends. He wasn't proud of the result; so now, in light of the aftermath: Sasuke wanted to try, too. "Oh." She replies, dumbly. "Um," Umber hues roam around the room, but he continues to look up at her. "..Sorry you came all the way out here to check on me. I didn't have my phone, I was in the bath, and-" Her fingers are plucked from her side and engulfed by the dual caress of both of his palms. He holds her small hand in his own, and places his other hand on top. It strikes her heart, giving it a kickstart as she looks between their clasped hands and back up to him. "Don't apologize." He begins, "I came to check on you because I wanted to." A thumb runs over the top of her hand, trying to soothe. Instead it just gets her heart in a weird flutter; unused to this intimacy, even after all this time. Or, perhaps especially after all this time. "I see." Is her quiet reply. Parting his lips, Sasuke realizes that she's transfixed on her hand sandwiched between his own. He returns it, but admittedly, it isn't without some reluctance: like pulling apart two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle after finally connecting their uneven ends. "..Have you eaten?" He asks, and she appears dumbfounded by the question. "What?" It comes from her mouth laced in confusion. "Have you had dinner? I parked by a sushi restaurant and I was thinking of ordering takeout." He looks up at her expectantly: Kimiko clearly hasn't been eating well enough, and he wouldn't let that slide by him. So, without an answer - Sasuke is already pulling up the menu on his phone, swiping a finger down the menu. "Do you still like salmon, and eel?" He gives her an upward glance; she's getting obviously flustered. "Sasuke.." Now it was her turn to lace her voice with the careful and wary tone of warning. It dawns on him, then -- He'd just invited himself to stay in her space. Casually, too: as if it were commonality. It hadn't been, not in a long time. The realization ( and deflation ) must have been rather obviously etched upon his features, because Kimi is quick to the draw and apologizing. "I'm sorry, it's just- I don't mean-" His hand comes up, and she quiets down. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped the gun like that." He rises to his feet, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. "It's not like that,.." She trails off, and without transparency, Sasuke decides to play it safe. "It's okay to be uncomfortable, Kimiko. You've done well to respect my boundaries, and I don't want to push you. I'm glad you didn't relapse." They stand there for a few beats more - until he can't take it anymore, all the things left unsaid hanging between them; he heads for the door. "Sasuke, wait." Kimiko's voice is pressed with a twinge of urgency; she's gone as far as to take a few strides and grasp for his wrist. When he stops and looks down at her over his shoulder, Kimiko reflects the little girl at the playground all those years ago: doe-eyed, perpetually a tad afraid, knowing what she wanted but not yet certain on how to ask for it. She lets go of his wrist and returns her hands to herself, one arm still tucked around her center as the now free hand comes up to collect a strand of her hair. Sasuke turns to face her properly.

"It's not that I don't want to spend time with you," She begins to explain, pressing the knuckle of her finger ( wrapped with a coil of dark hair ) into her cheek. "I really appreciate the offer of sushi, and.. your time." A little inaudible gulp, and a stolen glance back up at him. "I just don't want to be here, really." At last, she's admitted the true hang-up to this entire situation. Slowly, his eyebrows raise -- he understands where her reluctance is coming from, almost immediately. "Kimiko, did he send-?" His concerned question is cut off with a quick toss of her head: No. Or, more likely: No, I don't want to talk about this right now. With a nod of acknowledgement, Sasuke folds his lips before proposing a solution. "Do you want to take the sushi to my place, then? We could watch a movie." His offer is received with a hopeful look on her part: like he had offered a child if they'd like to get ice-cream instead of doing their homework. "..Are you sure?" She has to ask, and it brings a little smile from him, exhaling through his nose. "Yeah, I'm sure." ------------- So their night together had officially begun; ( Kimiko did in fact still like salmon and eel ) - sushi was secured, the drive to his place was shared in amicable silence with the background of music, and the movie was picked effortlessly. Of course, she had perked up after that first ( and hesitant ) bite - and also to nobody's surprise, Kimiko had easily agreed to the movie he suggested; for it was a movie that she was planning to watch, anyway. The night played on without a single scratch or trip in the record, and conversations flowed back and forth without a hitch. They were truly getting along without so much as a hiccup or awkward pause along the way. Now satisfied and lulled, Kimiko was starting to drift upon his couch, curled against the pillow between them. The TV screen washed in red, and Sasuke hums in amusement, dipping his ear towards his shoulder and murmuring, "I guess you were right, Brenda didn't last longer than Stacy. Still, I don't think there's going to be a Final Girl." Kimiko hums something nonsensical, half-muffled by the pillow she'd nuzzled down into. Properly looking over now, Sasuke double-takes the scene beside him; and his heart swells. She was ..well, undoubtedly cute, curled up and dozing off in the smack-middle of a slasher movie. In the moment of privacy, Sasuke unfolds into an unseen smile. A few moments pass as he studies her sleep-slackened face, peaceful and unmarred from bruises or tears. Picturesque from their early highschool years. A little sigh escapes his nostrils, the familiar sense of nostalgia clutching him. Reaching forward, Sasuke plucks the remote from the coffee table and turns down the movie a notch or two before rising to his feet and taking care of the takeout boxes. She's done well to eat most of her food; he's proud that she made the effort. Returning to the couch, Sasuke brings with him a clean blanket from his storage closet. Gingerly, it's draped over the slumbering girl. He returns to her side, arms stretching into his wingspan across the back of the couch. His weight pressing into the cushions beside her causes Kimiko to stir; she tucks herself closer to him, nose following his familiar scent and notching against his shoulder. Sasuke stills in his spot as his old flame stitches slowly back into his side, the familiarity in such an action eliciting a similar response from him. His arm lifts from the back of the couch; it hovers just over her shoulders before slowly settling upon her. A hand cups her arm, sinking down into his seat on the couch and feeling his heart hammer in his chest: God, how he felt like a teenager, again. Those first few instances of intimate physical contact with his best friend whom he had an enthralling crush on: it came rushing back in, now. That twist of excitement tightening his chest in all the right ways, a weird warm flutter in his gut.

Thumb slowly begins to slide up and down over her bicep, Sasuke looking right through the TV screen as he dares let his cheek lower, one centimeter at a time, until it brushes just over the top of her head. He could just close his eyes and be content like this, turn into a statue forever in this position that he didn't realize how much he truly missed. But a shrill shriek from the movie is enough to pull Kimiko from her dreams; eyes slowly blink open before she realizes the circumstance and quickly retreats from the intimate embrace. Kimiko's heart is thunderous in her ears as she reels from the comedown of her otherwise peaceful slumber - eyes rounded into full moons that blink at him while she tries to collect her surroundings. "I- God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I just; I fell asleep." She's tripping over apologies and excuses for her 'inappropriate' behavior, and Sasuke's face is burning with the childish shame of being caught. Now he's flustered, too. "No- It's fine, really -uh, I didn't mind; you were just sleeping- I know." Their awkward dance stifled down into an even worse silence. His fingers twitched at the back of the couch, wanting to reach out and grip her arm so gently, to just quietly pull her in and tuck her under his chin, like the old times. But he doesn't, and her unforgiving grip on the pillow clutched to her chest slowly comes undone. Sasuke watches her, but again, she's receded back into her shell, unable to look over at him while coming down from the level of embarrassment she'd catapulted herself into. On the table between them, Sasuke's phone lights up with a text. Neither of them can see who its from, but Kimiko catches the time before the screen goes dark. "It's late.." She trails off; and he doesn't pick up on what she was insinuating. It was one in the morning, and he’d received a text. She could’ve read the name if she really tried, but she already had a good guess; and it made her stomach curdle. So, with a small swallow, Kimiko rubs her arm and starts to stand up. "I should get going." Suddenly, Sasuke understands - and he cannot bear the thought at this moment, not after all that's transpired: even if given the option this morning, he would've likely not felt any one particular way. Or maybe he would have - thoughts and feelings are scattered all over the place. But one thing was for certain, it was screaming in his head as she collected her things and tucked hair behind her ear, lingering; as though she were waiting for him to say something, anything, god damnit-- "Um, well. Thank you for dinner, and.. sorry I couldn't stay awake through the movie. Guess I'm aging fast," Her attempt at a little laugh breaks his heart. He feels like such an idiot, his tongue tangled into knots and sitting useless in his mouth, his body sewn into the couch. She must think he was just sitting there, waiting for her to excuse herself from his apartment on her own. Fuck. So much time has dragged by, when in reality it was only a single beat of silence before she cleared her throat softly and dropped her arms down. "Don't worry about driving me back, I know the bus routes." Her voice falters at the end, and suddenly, she's turned on her heel and heading with purpose towards his door - like ripping off a band aid. "Kimiko, wait-" Finally, words choke from his throat with his sheer desperation to keep her from leaving. Not again. Up on his feet now, Sasuke made it a whole three feet before realizing with subdued surprise that she had in fact ..waited. Almost as though she were hesitant to actually leave, in the first place. So, she stalls facing the front door and clutching her phone to her chest, lingering - waiting to hear him out. A single golden beam rolls over her shoulder and drinks him in, eyebrow dipped up in an expression of both uncertainty and hope. “ please... stay, just for tonight. ”

Slowly, quietly, Kimiko turns. They share a encapsulating moment, holding a tender stare from across the room. She recognizes the fear etched into his face - that telltale look of expectant abandonment, the childish shrinking away from his own vulnerability. Kimiko won’t leave him; not like she had, before. Before she weighed the fear of entangling him into her corrupted life against the knowledge that every time she slipped away and into the night, a little piece of his heart broke loose. So, as long as he would ask her to -- Kimiko would stay. He holds his heart in the base of his throat - truly expecting that she would turn back around and leave him here, alone. Maybe laugh at him for the inflated hope that she would stay for the night; be there when he woke up in the morning. Instead, Kimi breaks his expectations and approaches with careful, practiced steps - returning to his side. Without a hint of hesitation this time, Sasuke reaches out and scoops her into his embrace. His body was moving of its own accord, playing out the complicated desires of his heart. Kimiko doesn't fight it, nor does she still into ice. In fact, the girl just melts against him; doing what came naturally. It was second nature to tuck her head into the crook of his collarbone, to delicately slip her arms beneath his and hook her fingers into the fabric just over his shoulder blades. His chin rests atop her head, fingers gingerly running large, comforting circles over her back. Everything fell back into place; as natural and second-nature as breathing. There was no effort involved, in this moment of soft re-collision. Only a wish, on both of their parts - that this connection would have happened sooner. That their selfish games of head vs. heart would have been silenced and put out well before this night. Accompanying that desire was the hope that things would really be okay, this time: he would ask her to stay, and she would - he wouldn't mind, and it wouldn't be just for tonight. So, Kimiko had come over; and in the end, she wouldn’t leave his side unless he had asked her to.

[sierraraeck]

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Spencer x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

(This is my gif so please give credit if used)

Summary: She suspects that Spencer is having some trouble in light of recent events and plans on confronting him about it, be he beats her to it. Story eight.

Category: Some angst. Some fluff. Some steam.

Warnings: Cussing. Mentions of drug abuse and PTSD.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I have made a new category called “steam.” This is hotter than fluff but not as intense as smut. It’s basically super passionate/intimate kissing and touching. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I didn’t think it was a big deal at first. Things had calmed down since finding Morgan’s cousin and were pretty much back to normal. I was still dancing, but I couldn’t bring myself to do private showings. I tried, but everytime I walked into that room, my scar started burning and my head started spinning. I had to walk out. Once I did, I was fine. It pissed me off because privates made up half of my earnings, and I even made it through a whole private one time, but immediately after had a panic attack. I didn’t even know that was what was happening until JoJo told me that was most likely it. So I just decided to stay in the main room for a while until this phase or whatever wore off.

The other thing I noticed that wasn’t completely right either was Spencer. He was … different. I don’t exactly know. He was talking to me less, coming over to my apartment to read less, and was kinda drawing into himself more. He had moments throughout the day where he’d press his palm into his eye and had trouble focusing. I asked him about it, Derek asked him about it, everyone asked him about it, but all he kept saying was that he was fine. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.’ It was so frustrating. He was more irritable for a time, and then things changed.

Then, he actually seemed fine. He seemed better than fine. He still had headache-y moments, and was still more withdrawn, but he seemed … better? I don’t know. Spencer could usually keep his head on straight, but his emotions the past few months were very touchy. He had more pep in his step one moment, then the next he was the human equivalent of a snapping turtle. His mood swings were giving me whiplash.

I don’t know how I didn’t pick up on it sooner, probably because I was so worried about my minor strokes at the clubs, but he displayed all sorts of drug user signs. Withdrawing from people close to them, showing less interest in hobbies they enjoyed, having ‘less time’ for things, making weird calls, being moody, being late, headaches. It was all there. And since he refused to talk to us or tell us about it, I decided to follow him.

I know. I know. I was disrespecting his privacy and I shouldn’t have done it but I did. I was worried about him. Plus, the last private thing he told me about his life before all this weirdness popped up was that his mother was getting worse. That would definitely push someone over the edge.

So I followed him.

Come to find out the good doctor wasn’t as good as he claimed to be. When he got home from work, he just sat on the couch reading for a while. Then, he got in his car and drove a few blocks over to a payphone (I didn’t really know those still existed). He waited until exactly 9:15 to dial the number. He then hung up, and waited for a call to come in. When it did, he answered it so fast I’d have guessed his life depended on it. But that is how drug addicts act. I’d know. He stood there and talked for an hour, having to put four more quarters into the machine. That’s when I got confused. If it was a drug dealer, it’d make sense that he would call them from a payphone. But talk to them for an hour? Definitely not. However, his following actions still pointed to a drug dealer. When the call ended, he got into his car and drove to another street corner near a small apartment complex. He walked around to the back so I couldn’t see what he was doing. He got back into his car less than two minutes later, a reasonable time for an exchange, and drove home. It was about 10:30 when he got back home, and he closed the curtains and shut off the lights. Sure, he could have been going to bed, but considering he had some form of insomnia and people high on drugs don’t necessarily like bright lights or being peered in on… That’s all I was saying.

While I had a plausible working theory, I didn’t just want to come out and accuse him of being on drugs. I decided that I’d give it a few days and I would observe his every move. I also decided I’d continue my spying for those few days just to see if he would continue to call someone on a payphone and meet them behind an apartment complex.

Unfortunately, all of his actions within the remainder of the week just confirmed my theory. Dammit Reid. What have you gotten yourself into?

I decided I’d confront him about it in the morning. For the time being, I had more work to do. I went to the Camelot, avoided doing any private showings, and then returned home. I was caught completely off guard when I saw Spencer leaning up against my apartment door.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I tried to sound as casual and cheery as possible.

“I could ask you the same.”

“I live here,” I pointed out.

“So why are you just now getting home? It’s 2 am,” he said.

“What are you getting at?” I asked. “We’ve known each other long enough to not have to tiptoe around each other.”

“Out for another walk?”

“Yep,” I said, not even trying to hide it anymore. It didn’t matter that I’d already changed back into normal clothes, he saw right through me. He had since the moment we had that case involving Morgan’s cousin.

“How did you really know Cindi?” he said in that eerily soft, but hella intense tone. Even though I had just told him to stop playing games and get to the point, he was trying to force this out of me. I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction.

“I told you. I recognized her picture.”

“See, that doesn’t make sense. You also said that you had previous dance experience from before prison, which I don’t doubt, but she seemed like she recognized you. She would have only been on the streets within the last few months. How could that be possible?” He was starting to get smug, but I was going to make him work for it.

“I don’t know. A lot of people on the streets recognize me.”

“No that wasn’t it. She knew you and Emily told me that the two girls at the club knew you, too. They even hugged you!”

“Oh, so now Emily’s involved?” He was infuriating and my tone told him so.

He sighed. “That’s not the point. The point is that you are struggling and aren’t asking for help.”

“We’ve been over this. I told Hotch all of this already and-”

“Just tell me why you’re doing it.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” he pleaded. His voice abruptly changed from confident to begging.

It was no use trying to get this around him, so I gave in. “Old habits die hard. And I need the money. They’re basically using me as a volunteer at the bureau and I’ve got to survive somehow.”

“Let me help you.”

“I’m okay,” I said, attempting to slip past him to my door. “Plus, you need to help yourself.”

He bypassed my last comment. “What about the drugs?”

I whipped my head to look at him. How did he know about that? I could see how he figured out the dancing, sure, but I knew how to hide a drug problem.

“What?” I asked, stunned.

“What about the drugs,” he repeated.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. Before I could turn back to my door and fully get the key in the lock, he grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me to face him. His firm grip pushed me up against the door and held me there. Being so close to him made the four inches he had on me very evident.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, my voice stern. I was surprised by his actions, to say the least, but I wasn’t going to let myself be rendered useless.

“Tell me the truth,” he replied, his voice deeper than I’d ever heard it. I’d never seen him like this, and I hated to admit it, especially because that shouldn’t have been my focus, but I liked it. It was exciting. He leaned forward, staring intensely into my eyes, daring me to lie to him.

The attraction I’d felt for him had been growing since the day we met. The more I got to know him, the more the foreign feelings started to take over. I couldn’t stop myself as I closed the gap between us, electricity coursing through my body. I pressed my lips lightly against his, testing the waters. I don’t know if it was the shock or him melting into the kiss that lessened his grip on me. It didn’t matter. The moment he did, I moved my hands slowly up his arms, feeling each individual muscle move against my fingertips. I reached the top of his shoulders, then his upper back, and out of habit, I checked for twitching. There wasn’t any, which made me smile into him, but there was a different type of movement. His shoulder blades pinched, repositioning his hands to have one resting on my cheek and the other supporting the small of my back. My hands continued their path, tracing patterns on the back of his neck before reaching their final destination. The cold metal of the bracelets on my wrist sent a shudder down his spine before I wove my fingers through his hair, toying with the loose curls I found there. The hand on my cheek slid back into my own hair, pushing it behind my ear and simultaneously grabbing as much of it as possible. I had been repressing this desire for so long, it was nice to finally release it. I deepened the kiss, which his tongue happily allowed, and refused to come up for air. He didn’t, however, letting a slight gasp fall from his lips as he pulled away. I looked up into his eyes, feeling almost proud. I could tell he was fighting the urge to smile as he got right back to business, as if that didn’t just happen.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I shook my head, breathless. “No. I didn’t.” I leaned toward him again, pulling him closer to me, my hands still entwined in his hair. I left an open-mouthed kiss on his earlobe before whispering, “But what about you? I know you haven’t exactly been the good doctor you usually are.”

He pulled back to look at me, our noses practically touching, confusion in his eyes. It took effort to let him respond and to not just interrupt him with another kiss.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your drugs.” I licked my lips. Just like that, he reverted right back to being confrontational, removing his hands from my body. I reluctantly let go of my grip on his hair.

Instead of trying to deny it, he asked, “How did you know that?”

His voice was a low growl, so I matched it when I responded, “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“So you followed me?”

“I was worried.”

“There are a lot better ways to show that.”

“Since when have ever I done a good job expressing my emotions?” I arched an eyebrow.

“Never.”

“Exactly. Plus, I don’t think you’re one to judge considering it definitely took an extra effort to put all the pieces together in my life and come present them to me at 2 am.”

“That’s true.” We stood there staring at each other for a while, both contemplating if we should just let our problems be implied, or if we should actually talk about them.

“Well, if you don’t plan on leaving or getting any sleep, would you like to come in?” I asked. He nodded. The key was still in the door from when I tried to open it earlier. I’m glad I didn’t succeed in that quest until now.

We entered my apartment and he took a seat on the couch. I was right behind him, pausing to take off the bracelets and rings and tuck them into the nearest drawer.

“Why are you taking those off?”

It was an unexpected question, and I was sort of surprised he noticed my quick movements. “Just not feeling them anymore.”

“But you are hiding them. You are putting them in the nearest drawer you can find, and based off of how silently you tried to walk, following me into your apartment, you want them off and fast. Why?”

Those metal chains had been a part of my identity for a long time. They were how people identified me, and at some points, even how I identified myself. That crazy, badass bitch who earned all of those and is somehow still alive to tell the tale. “I guess it’s because they are a part of a different me. They show who I used to be, and that’s never who I wanted to be around you guys. I didn’t want to end up being the street rat criminal you were all forced to work with. I wanted to be better than that this time around. On the other side of good and bad. Somehow, I feel like I can be more without them. You make me feel like I’m more.” It was the most honest thing I’d said or done all week.

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“You don’t have to change for me, for us. It’s okay if-” he started. It was a sweet sentiment, but not what I was trying to say.

“No, I know,” I cut him off, “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. You make me better. You guys make me want to be better. That’s sorta why I was hoping none of you would figure out what I’ve really been doing all these nights.”

“So you are still dancing,” he said it like it wasn’t a question. I guess it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“And you’re still on drugs.”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“I know you. You’ve been acting differently ever since the Cindi case.”

I know you. I tried not to let it get to my head.

“Likewise. You’re on drugs, too.”

“Yeah. Your turn. How’d you know?”

“I saw you getting them from someone behind an old apartment complex. You seem pretty friendly,” I added.

“What makes you say that?”

“You talked to them on the phone for quite some time prior.”

His eyes went wide. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought we had just silently agreed to be honest. I saw you talking on that payphone for like an hour prior to meeting your dealer.” Unless that wasn’t your dealer on the phone. But who else could it be?

“Oh. That.”

“Why are you being weird about it?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are. Tell me why,” I demanded.

“It’s nothing. Just a problem with the meeting place,” he stated. I let it slide.

“What drug?”

“Dilaudid,” he tilted his head at me, his way of asking me the same.

“Coc and heroin.”

“Both?”

“Unfortunately,” I said and it was unfortunate. I’d been sober for so long, but I made an impulse decision to be helpful, which of course ended up being hurtful. But it’s me so of course there’s always a price to pay. When isn’t there?

“Is it because you took those when we were helping Morgan?” It’s like he could read my mind.

“Yeah. I mean, I had pre-existing problems, but that was the trigger this time,” I stated sadly.

“Pre-existing?”

“Yeah. Being young on the streets means people think you are vulnerable and super easy to manipulate. I wasn’t, which pissed a lot of people off but it was also why I was so good at what I did. Those who wanted to control me like the rest of the easily manipulated newbies took to drugging me. When I was in the gang, too, I had a lot of drugs shoved my way. For a period of time, I worked so hard to fight the effects. I tried to resist taking them and I did my best to stay clear headed, even when they continued upping the doses. That’s how I learned to resist them. Plus, after having doses that probably should have killed me, I built up quite the tolerance.”

“After that?”

“After that period of time, I gave up. I had fought it for nearly three years, every single day, and I got tired. I finally just let them drug me without resisting. They gave me so many different drugs, which is how I got good at identifying them. It turned into a mind game for me. In order to ignore everything that followed the drugging, I decided I’d pay attention to every detail of how the drug affected me. How my eyes felt, how my breathing felt, how my heart felt, even how my blood in my veins felt. And I kept note of which hallucinations came with which drug so I was better able to prepare myself and hopefully control myself during those that got really bad,” I said. It was yet another situation I detached myself from. “Why dilaudid?”

“I was forced on it when I first started working here,” he whispered. I could tell he wasn’t willing to elaborate, so I decided to ask a different question.

“And you’ve been dealing with this ever since?”

“No, no. I quit a while back, but when I heard that my mom was doing worse it caused me a lot of stress. I started getting these really intense headaches and no one can figure out what’s wrong with me. On one of the last cases, a little boy almost died because I couldn’t focus, so the next time I had a headache, I tried taking dilaudid. It was the only thing I could think to do, and it helped. It reduced the pain and gave me back some semblance of focus, so I stayed on it,” he said.

“Spencer, it’s not your fault that-”

“I know, and I know that he didn’t die, but if he had, it would have been my fault. I’m not willing to take that chance in the future. Other people shouldn’t have to suffer because I’m having problems.” I nodded, knowing that there was nothing I could say that would convince him otherwise. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” I answered.

“The hallucination you were having that day, you said you’d never had it before?”

“Nope. I guess it would have to be because I’ve never taken all of those at once before.”

“Yeah, but, what was it? All Morgan told me was that you were worried about me and when I came in, all I got from you was ‘tell me that’s not real’ followed by relief.” I found it amusing that he wanted to know more about the hallucination he obviously knew was about him. I blew air out my nose in a silent laugh before my mood shifted at the memory of what I saw.

“I saw you on the ground. You had several broken bones, limbs in directions they shouldn't've been. You were bleeding … everywhere. I tried to remind myself that it was all just in my head but my options were to let it continue and have it end up being real, or make a fool out of myself. I wasn’t going to take any chances,” I said.

We sat there looking at each other in silence for a while, before he decided to break it.

“How is it going back there?” Spencer asked.

“Back where?”

“To the Camelot. A lot happened there.”

“It’s fine,” I said, but even I could hear the lie in my voice.

“Wanna try that again?”

“No,” I sighed, “Don’t look at me like that.” He had those soft, puppy-dog eyes, which always compelled me to tell him things that I wouldn’t tell anyone else and he knew it. I could drown in his gaze and I would feel privileged.

“It sucks. I haven’t been able to do privates, I haven’t even been able to go into that room without my scar hurting and my head pounding. I tried it once, but immediately after, had a panic attack and threw up.”

“You’re experiencing PTSD,” he said. I looked at him, brows knit together.

“What?”

“It’s okay. It’s totally natural. You experienced something traumatic so it’d make sense that you are having trouble,” he said.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I replied, shaking my head.

“Yes it does. You-”

“No. It doesn’t make sense. I’ve been through plenty of things like that and worse and I didn’t even have a team of trained experts backing me up and I’m doing fine with those. What do you mean I have PTSD?” I sounded a bit bitchier than I would have liked.

“I don’t know why you haven’t struggled with other memories. You probably dumped them or just haven’t experienced anything after the fact that would trigger those feelings,” he replied. He was speaking in his ‘Doctor Genius voice’ as I called it, sounding like a professor.

I grunted. “Whatever the reason, it sucks and needs to get fixed fast because it’s messing with my income.”

That elicited a small laugh from him. “That’s not how it works.”

“I know. Too bad, though.”

“Too bad.”

I rolled my eyes and let out an annoyed laugh.

“What is it?”

“It’s just that my life is a disaster,” I answered, running my fingers through my hair.

“That’s not true-”

“Oh please. Your body’s in better shape than my life,” I gave him a sarcastic smile. I think we were both still a little high from the hours prior. I know I was.

He pressed his lips together, but I saw the corners tilt up just slightly. Once he could fully compose himself, he said. “That’s not funny.”

I pinched my fingers together and held them up to his face. I squinched up my nose. “Just a teeny bit?”

He quirked his mouth over to one side and squinted his eyes at me.

“No?” I asked. He shook his head. “You know it was only a joke.”

“I know,” he said with a small lip-smile

“I think you have a great body,” I said, still grinning.

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not! I mean it!” I lightly wacked his bicep. He gave me a knowing look on the verge of a smirk. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” he defended.

“You thought it.” I argued.

“Oh so you can read minds now?”

“No, just your pretty face.”

He finally let that full smile breach the surface, a light pink color dusting his cheeks. “You really just complimented my scarecrow figure.”

“I did,” I confirmed unabashed, nodding my head profusely. We both suddenly burst into a laughing fit, one that could have easily been considered my ab workout for the day. By the end, I was clutching my stomach and wiping the tears streaming down my face. When we both reached planet Earth again, we just peered into each other's eyes.

I suddenly felt exposed, like he was analyzing the contents of my mind and soul. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, breaking eye contact.

“No, seriously. What?” My voice was calm and inviting, a tone that seemed to be reserved only for him and any of the victims we talked to.

“Are we going to talk about what happened earlier?”

“You mean the kiss?” I felt delirious and just let the words roll off my tongue.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to talk,” he said, wetting his lips. His voice got deeper again and I was hoping that I was reading the signs correctly.

“You don’t?” I inquired.

“No, not really.”

I playfully inched forward on the couch and in a sultry tone asked, “Then what do you want to do?”

He placed his long fingers on my neck, brushing his thumbs over my jaw. “This.”

He feverishly pressed his lips to mine and I quickly moved from my crossed-leg position onto my knees. I put my one hand on his back and the other on his neck. He was still sitting, so I had the vantage point. I leaned over him, slightly tilting his head back so that we didn’t have to part. He extended his legs the length of the couch, sliding them in between my own, anticipating what was coming next. His hands still cupping my face, he slowly laid back, bringing me with him. My hair fell like a curtain around our faces, creating a sacred space just for us. His tongue asked permission to deepen the kiss, and I granted it without hesitation. I brought my one hand from his back into his hair, using my thumb to rub gentle circles into his temple while the other stayed firmly planted in its place at the back of his neck. I felt his muscles give out a little, and I smiled into our kiss knowing that he trusted me to support his head, and I did so like my life depended on it. This time, it was me who had to come up for air. His eyes fluttered open as I gently laid his head down on the cushion underneath it. I swung my leg over his body so I was no longer straddling him, and cozied up next to him.

He was studying my face. “What-”

“Shh,” I said, before he could get anything else out. I placed my thumb on his lips, tracing over them. “Let’s just get some sleep.”

He looked down at me as I rested my head on his chest. His look of slight confusion turned to one of adoration. I couldn’t remember the last time, the last person, who looked at me like that and it made me feel all warm. I curled into him, wrapping my arm around him. In turn, he brought his own arm around me, settling it on my waist. His breathing steadied and the next time I looked up at him, he was asleep. Spencer’s face looked peaceful, making him look more beautiful than ever. I smiled to myself, finding comfort in the constant rise and fall of his chest, sleep dragging me under to the soothing sound of his heartbeat.

[fiction-in-my-blood]

The Bewitching Hour Part 1 (SITS Smut) Kyohei x MC

I’m thinking of turning this into a series with all the guys in it, so if you enjoy, stay tuned :)!

Warnings: Fingering, Sex

~~~~~~

Work had been trouble lately. Not only was the ghostwriter severely struggling with doing her own job, a lot of the Revance members were on edge because of it. Takashi’s Demon Mode had been making more frequent appearances and many worried for their own safety, few also worrying for the only woman in the house. Not only that, The morning the producer woke up, there was a stranger in their kitchen.

“Who the hell are you and how did ya get in my house?” Kyohei roared at the half naked, rejectfully majestic man that stood at his fridge, peering at the contents like they were going to put themselves together for his breakfast. The man didn’t seem much phased by the shock of one of the inhabitants of the house that wasn’t his, he found it amusing, that showed on the smirky, mysterious grin that appeared on his face when he turned around.

“Hey, man, don’t worry about it, I spent the night.” The admission did nothing to ease Sir Kyo’s suspicion, instead making him more pissed off in the early hour. No one would be a morning person if this is what they had to deal with first thing. 

However, before he could argue, demanding him to explain, a high whine came from the far end of the room. “Mitsu~, I told you not to come down until I was ready.” The strangely provacative yet shy call of the young woman, merely dressed in an overbearing sweater and shorts, hair a mess after the activities she had partaken in the past night, shocked the other resident. 

“But, my dear, you were taking too long. I was getting a different type of hungry.” The man, surely older than her but a gentlemanly youth about him, cooed, a teasing smirk forming on his lips as he remembered what he had been hungry for only a few hours before this conversation. Masami blushed.

“They call it a walk of shame for a reason, Mistu. Get your stuff before anyone else wakes up.” She crossed her arms in defiance, the brunt of her configuration halted by the notebook she held in one hand. Kyohei recognised it as her writing journal. 

“Okay, I guess I can get dressed. Unless you want to keep something for future uses?” The man with fair hair long enough to be pulled back into a long pontail sauntered over to the ghostwriter, leaning over her to steal her lips. Before he could catch them, however, he was blocked by a wad of paper.

“No kissing, Mitsu. It’s in the agreement.” She sighed, almost exhausted with having to remind him all the time. The roll of her innocent eyes didn’t go unnoticed by the slightly distracted producer. 

“Hello. What the hell is going on here?” A little pissed with having such a rude introduction, Kyohei made himself known to the couple. The fact he would soon learn about some of her stress relieving habits brought a blush to Masami’s cheeks, trying to hide them with her hand as Mitsu chuckled to himself beside her. 

“I-I have those lyrics done, Kyohei. Read through them when you’re ready!” The ball of red quickly made her exit after slapping her notebook on the coffee table in the living area. Mitsu couldn’t help but enjoy the sight Kyohei would usually also be happy to see. 

“There’s nothing to fear, sir. Just a trade in professions. You may like the use my services too one day.” With the way Mitsu’s been acting in this extraordinary scenario, Kyohei couldn’t tell what he was suggesting. What was this man’s profession and what did it have to do with Masami?

“If you’d like to see my portfolio, I’d love to comission if you find it desirable.” Only now did Kyohei spot the large art pad held to Mitsu’s body with his arm as he continued to rest his hands in his pockets. 

“You’re an artist?” Kyohei, significantly cooled compared to moments ago, grew slightly curious to the man’s offer. 

“And Miss Mami is my muse, and I her’s. We arranged it years ago.” The nickname rolled off with such ease it showed how close the two must be. Kyohei almost felt jealous just talking to the man. 

“Show me.” He demanded, wanting more to see what had impressed the girl so much to have the obvious relationship they had together. This made that mirthful chuckle reverberate from Mitsu’s chest once again. Despite the clear irritation on the producer’s face, he placed his sketchpad on the kitchen counter and opened it up. Kyohei’s eyes went wide at the images before him.

Pages upon pages of naked women, mostly Masami, framed in comprimising positions, always a lewd look in their eyes. The drawings seemed so realistic, Kyohei almost felt like he was there when it was created, even if they were just sketches- mainly black and white. The one that really caught his eye was the masterpiece on the back page. It was Masami, on her back with her knees pressed to her chest, feet up and vulva on full display. He looked away, an intolerant blush surfacing on his cheeks.

“I’ll say, my most recent piece is my favourite. Masami surely was in her creative flow last night.” A look of pure pride overtook what his usual expression seemed to be as he gazed upon the picture of his business partner. She seemed too innocent most of the time, it was only Mitsu who ever got to see this side of her. 

“Creative flow?” Kyohei was drawn by the odd explanation for such a drawing, his gaze following the man as he ripped the page out with little regard to his other pieces. 

“You don’t know of her Bewitching Hour? And how long has she lived here?” A tone of pity mixed with amusement filtered out of his mouth as he placed the sheet of paper on the counter before closing his book once again.

“Like any woman, Masami is a powerful being. Sometimes her talent gets too much for her and she can’t seem to let it out at all. She gets so pent up sometimes, I’m man enough to admit even I can’t satiate her creativity.” Mitsu laughed on the memory of an irritated Masami climbing off his lap with a heavy sigh of not being able to pleasure herself with his body. He didn’t mind, he had those nights too, it was the joy of their agreement that made him so confident in his abilities.

“But what’s a Bewitching Hour?” Kyohei was beyong interest by now. For months he had wanted to her his hands on the innocent cutie that lived under his roof. This might finally be his chance. 

“It’s just my term for it. She does her best work, in the bedroom and in her songs, at night. The only way she can filter her ideas is in the act, as one would say. On nights I can’t get to her, she’ll desperately play piano. I’ve never heard it myself, but I’m sure its beautiful.” A mesmerised look drifts into Mitsu’s eyes as he imagines all the dirty scenarios he could get into if he could just catch her off guard in one of her musical trances. 

“Remember, if you ever hear music in the dead of night, the Bewitching Hour has begun.”

~~~~~~

Several days after the mysterious and mature artist escaped the Revance home without being spotted by any other members, Kyohei has gotten very little sleep. Mostly from anticipation to hear any type of tune drifting through the halls and some due to the thoughts that clouded his brain. How would he initiate such an occasion? Were her trances even a thing? Would it be right to take advantage of that to experience the feelings he’s been waiting so long to feel? Maybe yes, maybe no. It all depended on her, really. If he showed up, made himself known, and she just happened to jump on him, he wouldn’t stop her. Even if she needed a little coaxing, he would be happy to take the place of her muse if for a night. He just wanted to encounter what he had heard, and seen in still images, was so magical. 

Then, on one fateful night, a jolly tune bounced in the distance and Kyohei shot up in bed. Where or who it was coming from didn’t matter as long as who it was he hoped it would be. He grabbed a shirt just in case this didn’t turn out how he had hoped and stormed out the door. 

In the hallways, following the strangely enticing sound to what must have been from the recording studio, the darkness and tune was a little eery. It was upbeat and fun, but the emptiness of the halls and the hyperawareness that everyone was asleep made a suspicious shiver run up Kyohei’s spine. Please, please don’t let this be Takashi.

Sure enough, through the door that was standing open, was a risquely dressed woman, her fingers jumping along the keys of the keyboard in their in-home recording studio. She was in her pyjamas, a worn tank top that must have been from her teenage years from the cute character on the front and shorts of a different design but just as old. Her hair was up in a rushed bun, sagging to the side when she tilted her head in frustration. Her ideas weren’t flowing the way she wanted them to and Mitsu was in Osaka for an art showing. She had no other outlets. 

Except for the man that now stood directly behind her. She didn’t notice him at first, too wound up in her musical whimsy until she felt a warm pressure on her shoulders. She jumped, the electric instrument groaning with a clatter of keys as her fingers slammed down at the unexpected sensation.

“So tense. You need to relax if you want to get your work done in time not to get punished.” A tone she was all too used to breathed on her ear as Kyohei leaned over head, the feeling of his erection pressing into her back. Not that she could feel it, she was too stunned as to why he was here and too busy trying to bay her urges. No matter who it was, she would go for anyone in this state. Before she had met Mitsu, she would go on the prowl in less that suitable establishments, usually mistaken for a prostitute, even though she was the most dressed person on the whole block. Although, it didn’t matter to her, she usually got what she needed.

“Help me then.” The demanding tone spurred Kyohei on, the stern look making him chuckle. She looked as frustrated as Mitsu had made her sound and that led him to believed that this could happen. That he could get what he want. What they both wanted- for whatever different reasons.

Slowly but directly, Kyohei’s fingers from one hand drifted over her bare skin, along her collarbone and arond her neck, making her look up at him by tugging lightly on it. From some of the sketches in Mitsu’s book, she liked and was a frequent user of positions like these. Masami gulped at the heat that suddenly flooded in her. 

With that slightly startled but so heavily lustful look in her eyes, Kyohei continued, inching his other hand down her chest and under her top. She moaned the second he tweaked her nipple. Both of their hearts raced at this less than innocent act taking place in such a common area of their home. Masami didn’t think about it, too caught up in trying to filter through the words flying around in her head, but Kyohei was metaphorically shitting bricks. If someone came in, would it be his fault? Would she get angry? The sound of a whimper pulled him out of those thoughts though.

“K-Kyohei, ca-can you... Can you finger me?” The forwardness of Masami’s words and the pleading look in her eyes as he held her face up to meet his gaze caused a shot of arousal to fire through Kyohei’s body and he wasted very little time in pulling her up. He quickly looked around for a surface to lay her on, but there was only the couch and the office chair that didn’t have any important equipment on it, so he pushed her onto the ground, laying her legs over his as he leant over to her. His hand was no longer around her neck, instead both were either side of her head, holding himself up over her. 

With her hair sprawled out around her, pale wrists settled close to were his hands were, eyes slightly wide at seeing him in this position and cheeks flushed with desperate but embarrassed need, Kyohei had never been more turned on by any other woman. Masami wasn’t anything special. She didn’t have the ‘perfect’ body or have the greatest make-up skills. She was slow and at times absent-minded, just like right now, she seemed to be concentrating on something else and Kyohei didn’t know that this was what she was usually like in the moment. She was concentrating on her lyrics.

But Kyohei didn’t want that. He wanted all thoughts on him. 

So, sitting back onto his heels, he focused all of his attention to her lower half. Palms falling on her knees, which only now had he realised were slightly bruised and was sure they were from the last time she had done something like this, his hands crept up her legs. The warm sensation on her body, chilled by the cold room and limited clothing, sent an excited shiver through her- dispersing any thoughts of music to the side, just for now, just so something could make sense. There was Kyohei Rikudoh, having her straddle him while she was on her back, making his way to her nether region with a look that seemed a little too excited. 

But, Masami didn’t have time to think that fact over as she felt some sort of pressure on her clit. She gasped out a moan as she looked down to see Kyohei’s thumb disappearing underneath the fabric of her shorts. The motions on her fastened the more she moaned but the second she got a little louder, it was gone. 

But only for a moment. Masami was about to complain before she felt that same digit enter her fully. Although shorter and thinner than some men she’s had, Kyohei’s thumb worked wonders on the nerves that were building up in that area and the nerves that had been in her head for the past few hours. He enjoyed the silent gasping as he pressed in different directions before slipping out and replacing it with his middle finger, once again seeing that short burst of annoyance before her lips parted to take in enough air to remind herself to breath. He wanted so badly to trap those plump things under his, exploring her mouth like it was the Mariana Trench, so, he leaned in.

“No.” A muffled call escaped Masami’s lips as she covered them with her hand, protecting herself from his advances. He stopped his thrusting fingers, wondering if he had hurt her, but she shook her head. 

“N-Not on the lips.” She stuttered, the darkest blush she’s had tonight ligthening her face as she kept her hand there. Kyohei was slightly confused, his brows frowning at the strange demand. She would let him fuck her, but she wouldn’t let him kiss her? Well, he knew she was strange, but he didn’t believe it when she had reprimanded Mitsu. He thought it was just because he was there. 

“I-If that’s gonna be an issue for you...” Masami led off as she sat up, inched herself away the best she could to keep the distance away from their faces and his fingers, which he hadn’t realised where still in her, slipped out. She bit back a moan at that, too embarrassed and scared to have annoyed him to make a noise. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m not going to force you.” Kyohei smirked, wanting this more than he wanted to exercise each of his fantasifull whims. Masami’s shoulders eased at that and her gaze wondered down his body. 

“Oh?” She muttered at the tent she saw pitched in his shorts. They were loose and thin, something like basketball wear, so she could definitely tell most of that height wasn’t material. She was in for a treat tonight.

With the tilt of her head, she reached forward, pulling down his waist band and helping his cock escape before he could say a word. To his surprise, he panicked as she grabbed it with such gentle fingers his hands flew behind him to keep himself upright. As her knees weren’t hooked over his anymore, she could sit on her own legs as Kyohei’s crossed his in front of him.

Masami knew what she was doing, she had a routine. Something she knew worked every other time she had done this act with someone new, so, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of his dick before licking it. 

“You’re rather forward, huh?” Kyohei tried to regain his usual composure as the petite woman before him hardened him so suddenly he worried there’d be no blood left in his skull. She looked up at that incredulous smirk and couldn’t help but blush as she realised what she was doing.

“I want this.” She replied bluntly, not blaming herself for her less than ordinary ways to relieve stress. She licked him one last time before she brought her lips right next to his ear, careful not to let go of his cock. “So, will you fuck me now, Sir Kyo?”

Her questioning tone was almost innocent if not for the words that spilled out of her mouth so easily. Kyohei felt something come over him, an all too familiar feeling of lust, and he pushed her back by her shoulders onto the floor where she had been moments ago. He pulled her shorts and panties off, all in one go, and threw them behind him without much care as to where they ended up.

“You came prepared?” Masami frowned her brows at the condom Kyohei pulled out of his pocket. She wasn’t mad, she was happy he had one, but it did confuse her. She didn’t really know he was aware of her trances. 

“Always am, Miss Mami~.” Kyohei’s teasing tone, mimicking the voice of her usual muse, made the girl blush, covering her frown with the back of her hand as she laid there, waiting patiently. She looked too cute for what he was about to do to her.

“Shut up and help me.” She grumbled, reminding him why they were here in the first place, and Kyohei couldn’t help but chuckle. The two stayed in their separate states until Kyohei sharply entered her. 

Both mind’s turned into a pleasured fog that distracted either side of this couple from the outside world. Not that anything was happening that they would need to look out for, everyone was asleep and Kyohei hade the foresight to close the door. This allowed them, mostly Masami, to moan to their heart’s content. She clutched the top that fluttered over her as Kyohei towered over, holding himself up with one hand and her right thigh with the other. 

“K-Kyohei.” She gasped out, eyes half-lidded as she looked up at him as his hand massaged that part of her leg, waiting for her to be comfortable enough for him to move. He seemed pushy, but he did care, being the secretly thoughtful guy he was. The sound of his name told the producer he could start thrusting. 

“You’re so tight.” He grunted as those movements pulled him out of the short but sweet trance he found himself in as he watched the young woman writhe beneath him distracted him from the tightness of her. How could a woman said to be so risque and ravaging seem so virginal?

“Y-You’re just big.” The comment made her blush and she pouted, momentarily preoccupied from the heavenly sensation slowly grinding into her. 

“Don’t frown like that. I’m sure you’ve dreamt about this, haven’t you?” He drew even closer to her once again, propped on his elbows as he continued to thrust in and out of her, one hand holding her cheek. He was careful not to make it seem like he would try to kiss her. 

The smugness of his tone and sudden hard pound of his hips made Masami’s hands fly down his torso to grip the skin of his behind, hoping it would spur him onto giving her more of that much needed pleasure. “K-Kyohei.” Her ideas were finally organising themselves. She was so close. All she needed was a little encouragement. 

“Go on. Scream my name. I know you want to.” Even though his own breathing started to hasten, his heart racing and his words sometimes tripping over themselves, Kyohei tried to seem as cool as he usually was. But, the clawing feeling on his lower back and arching of her’s, pressing their bodies even closer together was just so erotic, he found his own thoughts becoming jumbled. There was so much he wanted to say, so many dirty things he wanted to whisper in her ear to make her blush harder, to stutter his name more, he couldn’t understand any of the words that threatened to spill out of his mouth. Something about loving something, but the shriek of the woman below him pulled his thoughts away from that strange sensation.

“K-Kyohei!” Arms flying up his body and around his neck, pulling him closer and her up so he could snake an arm around her, holding their bodies flush together, Masami couldn’t hold back anymore.

“More. Please. I need so much more!” She whimpered in his ear and he only just realised his thrusts had slowed while he was thinking. Then, one thought made sense. Flipping them over so he was on his back and Masami was sitting on his lap, his cock buried so deep inside her she was sure she must have been hollowed out by him, Kyohei smirked. 

“Go on, do it yourself. Use me to inspire you.” Sitting, holding each other, his hand clutching the back of her hair so he could whisper in her ear without risk of her pulling back, Kyohei pulled as much out of her as he could. Albeit the ground prohibitted most of his movement. When he loosened his grip, Masami sat up, looking at him with another one of her cutely questioning expressions.

“How do you- Oh!” Masami gasped as he pushed her hips down, mainly to distract her from her question and also to pleasure himself. Her hands once again clenched the fabric on his chest and she subconsciously started bouncing up and down, the sound of skin hitting skin sounding between them. Heavy breathing, moans of each other’s names, and the smell of hot, sweaty sex filled the room. It was lucky they had good ventilation in here.

It didn’t take much longer for either to finish, coincidentally at the same time, and when they both felt each other’s releases, Masami collasped forward, landing on Kyohei’s chest with a soft thud. She was panting, her thighs aching slightly from the exercise, and Kyohei chuckled, his arms sprawled out either side of him. The two finally had a moment of silence...

...Until Masami jumped up, his penis sliding out of her but she didn’t seem to care much, and yanked her journal from the table she had been struggling over before he showed up. As if this hadn’t just happened, as if one of the most sort of bachelors at the moment wasn’t laying half-naked on the floor behind her, Masami started working. She started pouring her heart out onto the pages in front of her, making quick work of the song she had been struggling with for the past day and a half. 

It couldn’t be hidden, Kyohei was a little pissed. He had just had one of the most amazing sex sessions he had ever experiences, and she was still able to make it to the desk chair and write? So, he got up, meaning to turn her around and pound her against that journal that seemed to occupy her thoughts, when she met his stern gaze with a delighted smile. He only now saw the slightly darkened rings under her eyes and, despite that, she still looked adorable. 

“Thanks, Kyohei, you were a big help!” Masami cheered, slapping her book shut and standing up, only to find the two much closer than she had anticipated. Both their lower halves were completely on show, but she couldn’t let herself look down. She was beat but, most of all, she was able to write. She had been able to accompish what she set out to do. 

Kyohei just chuckled at his own stupidity. He should have understood what Mitsu meant when she really did just use his body to satiate her creativity. This was just a trade in professions, a transferable muse and a writer, nothing more, nothing less. 

“Call me if you need anymore help.” He winked, his smug smirk returning to his face as Masami blushed at the offer, turning to find her shorts, throwing them on and running out the door so she could finally get some much needed sleep. What neither of them had realised was the pair of panties, tucked behind a filing cabinet after Kyohei had carelessly thrown them over his shoulder. 

[deuynndoodles]

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suspicion increase by deuynndrabbles and @whimsicalweast

chapter summary:

It's their first day out looking for ghosts, and it's a great day to be suspicious of Danny.

He glances back at his sister and Danny, who are still talking about space. Well, it’s more the latter who does so, rambling passionately while Mabel struggles to stay focused on one topic for this amount of time.

As Dipper realizes the irony of the situation, he stifles a laugh with his hand.

TW FOR DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF A PANIC ATTACK

3.8k | ch three

It’s the next day, the sun high in the sky. Birds are chirping, wild animals scurrying through the trees, and three kids are walking through the woods with one certain great uncle trailing behind them.

Dipper is in the front, a now fixed ghost tracker sitting in his hands and a bag of a dozen more sliding off his shoulder. (Dipper mentioned the problem to Ford a couple nights ago and he agreed to fix it. It’s even upgraded so it won’t break the way it did last time.)

Mabel is close behind, her baggy sleeves trailing behind in her graceful yet clunky movement. Today she wears a navy blue sweater with a cartoon ghost resting on the center surrounded by itty bitty stars. Her headband is white and her skirt a lighter grey, with her own ghost device settled in her sweater pocket. She’s ignoring the faint buzzing in favor of watching the scenery.

Danny is about a couple meters behind the twins, his own beeping device shoved into his big jeans pocket. He’s watching the scenery like Mabel, trailing a hand along the grass and occasionally picking a long piece to fiddle with in his hands.

There’s a long groan, and Dipper glances behind him to see Mabel leaning her head back to stare at the clouded sky, her feet planted on the dirt and unmoving.

“Why are we all just quiet?” She says, prolonging the last two syllables and sticking her bottom lip out a little. She takes a lock of her hair and begins to twirl it around her finger. “Let’s do something that isn’t just staring at those silly devices.”

There’s a quick shout of indignation from Dipper, but Danny interrupts by giving a slight nod and saying, “Yeah, it is kinda boring.”

Danny catches up to Mabel, his eyes drawn to the sweater she has on. He isn’t really sure what else to say (he’s not the best at small talk) so he compliments, “Nice sweater.”

It earns a toothy grin from said girl and she twirls in place as if to show off her creation. “Thanks! I made it myself!”

“I like the ghost, it looks pretty cool.”

“I thought it was fitting!” Mabel chimes, still grinning.

“Are those stars around it?” Danny asks, because his brain always comes back to the topic of space. Mabel nods, and Danny smiles widely, saying, “I love space!”

Mabel draws out a gasp, pressing her hand to her chest right on top of the ghost’s eyes. “Me too.”

Dipper’s pretty much sure that Mabel’s just saying it to make Danny happy. It works, as Danny’s eyes light up. She always does this, and Dipper won’t barge in this time.

Anyways, he’s paying attention to the pad in his hands more.

“Isn’t it just so cool?” Danny grins. (His face is full of excitement and he knows he’s going to rant about his special interest now. He’s practically prompted.) “Stars are amazing, and just so beautiful. But honestly, I’m super excited about space travel and all that stuff.”

Mabel nods along as if she understands every word that makes its way out of his mouth when Danny simply continues to rant on and on about astrology and other topics about space with an intense passion.

Dipper is more focused on the device grasped in his hand. His eyes dart about the monitor, looking for any sort of ectoplasmic signal but comes up empty. Dipper makes the quick hypothesis that ghosts are more active at night.

He glances back at his sister and Danny, who are still talking about space. Well, it’s more the latter who does so, rambling passionately while Mabel struggles to stay focused on one topic for this amount of time.

As Dipper realizes the irony of the situation, he stifles a laugh with his hand.

Mabel constantly tries to steer the conversation away from scientific aspects, preferring creative or ‘girly’ subjects like glitter and rainbows. She’d likely come out here in the hopes of finding a ghost cat and cuddling it or something. Probably to hang out with Danny too, maybe flirt with him or whatever the heck Mabel thinks she’s doing.

Instead she has to listen to the boy ramble on about various studies of space.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Dipper can tell how absolutely bored Mabel is with Danny’s speech, and he still struggles to hide his chuckles.

(He’d probably get along better with the teen better than his sister, if he weren’t so skeptical of Danny’s unknown intentions.

He is still a stranger, after all.)

Mabel’s hands are fiddling with the loose threads of her newly made sweater. Her attention had clearly drifted off elsewhere a while ago, but Danny still hasn’t noticed, ever so caught up in his one-way conversation.

Dipper catches her eye, throwing a smug expression her way as Danny continues to speak animatedly, and his sister returns a raspberry as she slumps over.

‘Very mature’, he thinks.

Dipper rolls his eyes with a smile, about to return to examining the machines when Danny mentions a topic that Dipper had recently heard about.

“The Apollo missions inspired an entire generation of people to pursue math and science careers, and it’s amazing! Our society continues to become more technologically advanced and dependent, and the general populace need to become more scientifically literate to keep up.

“I’ve always dreamed of being an astronaut,” he says, his excitement slowing as he gazes down at the floor. “I’ve just- I’m not what you’d call a star student.” He gives out a chuckle, a chuckle that is absent of actual humor, and it makes Dipper hesitate in his step as well. “And outside of school, I’m pretty busy with other stuff. Uh- extracurriculars, and all that.”

With those last few sentences, it finally clicks, and Dipper whirls around.

“It was you!”

-

“I’m sorry, what?”

It’s the first thought that runs through Danny’s head, and apparently it spills out his lips too.

“You-You were the guy who helped me back to camp a week ago!” Dipper exclaims, his finger still pointed at the confused boy.

(For some reason this makes Danny think of Wes.)

“What?” It’s Mabel who says this. She’s eloquently ignored.

“Y’know, when you- uh, when you fell from that tree, and pointed out the constellations to me?” Dipper stammers, and Danny’s eyes widen in recognition.

“That was you?” Danny asks, and Dipper nods slowly, as if he’s uncomfortable.

(Mabel looks on in pure confusion. She is still promptly ignored.)

“What a coincidence, huh?” Danny lets out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. “Well, uh. Nice to meet you? Again, I guess.”

(Danny truly does see it to be a coincidence. It’s so odd, how the universe chooses to dump on him in a place that isn’t Amity Park. Hasn’t he had enough?)

He stretches out his hand awkwardly, and cautiously, Dipper steps forward and shakes it. They’ve already met, but this makes it feel more official, Danny thinks. Maybe not quite that, but he imagines it’d make the scenario much more awkward if he jerks his hand back now.

Instead, Dipper is the one to pull his hand back, replacing his steadfast grip on the pad in his hands. It gives out a solid beep, and then returns back to its muted noise.

“Well,” Dipper starts, his face screaming the fact that he feels very awkward in this scenario. “How about we go back to looking for ghosts?”

“Sure!” Mabel chirps, and Danny shrugs, finally pulling out the device in his hands. He’s down for pretending that never happened.

Dipper pauses, and then says, "Hey, I can't see Great Uncle Ford."

Mabel pauses in her balancing act on a toppled tree trunk, glancing up to her brother. She takes a look back behind her. "Yeah, I guess so."

Mabel takes a seat on the ground, adjusting her skirt. Danny leans against a tree, and then a thought pops into his head.

“Oh shit, I pointed out the Big Dipper to a kid named Dipper.”

“Language!” Mabel sing-songs, blowing a small raspberry from her pleasant spot on the ground as Dipper's face reddens.

"Seriously?" Dipper bites out as Mabel gives a dorky snort, a fair imitation of the pig sitting back in her room.

(Ford can hear the tail end of the conversation as he settles his cane in a knot of roots and heaves himself over it. A fond smile tugs on his lips, and he lets out a chuckle.

He's glad the kids are getting along.)

"Go back to your dorky devices, guys." The last word is said even more dorkishly, and Mabel gestures to said devices. Danny imagines that she's already shoved her gadget back into her sweater pocket.

As Ford steps back into the small clearing that Danny and the twins are sitting in, everyone rises and Ford hands out snacks to each kid individually.

Five minutes later, they’re back on track and return to their task.

Danny this time trails in the back, stimming by shaking his hands, deep in thought.

Dipper is clearly wary of Danny, probably due to the fact that Danny said he fell out of a tree with little to no explanation. (He really needs to control what comes out his mouth.) Danny must seem pretty suspicious.

Or maybe it’s just how the kid acts. He can’t be entirely sure.

He’s still surprised that Dipper hadn’t mentioned his run in with Danny. The two don’t seem to be quite attached at the hip, but he can still tell they’re very close. He sees how they can just communicate without speaking, how comfortable they are around the other. It’s nice, he thinks.

(If later asked, he’d deny it. But Danny can’t help but secretly wish he was as comfortable around Jazz as the twins are around each other.)

What surprises him even more? It’s the fact that Mabel doesn’t question it. She’s been pestering Danny with questions non-stop since ‘inviting’ him over for a sleepover. Mabel is a chatterbox and it’s so odd that she doesn’t press, because it seems like it’s practically part of her nature to find out more about things.

The only reaction out of her hearing of Dipper and his meeting (aside from the earlier input) is a questioning glance at her brother, to which the boy shrugs halfheartedly in response.

Mabel throws him that look that Danny knows as ‘We’ll talk about this later’. He knows it well, having been on the receiving end of it countless times from his own sister. She then slows down, another grin on her face, and she strikes up another conversation.

To be honest, the constant conversation is starting to wear him out, but he still does it anyway.

“What’s your favorite animal?” Mabel asks, skipping happily.

Danny isn’t entirely sure. He says so.

“Me too!” Mabel grins, moving her hand to fiddle with her headband. “I just can’t decide! There’s cats, but dogs are really cute too! And not to mention koalas, and elephants and just. So many animals I can’t choose between them all.”

-

All in all, it’s a fairly uneventful day. All they seem to have done is walk through the forest, checking the devices, enjoying the scenery and engaging in small talk.

It leaves Dipper with a dissatisfied feeling sitting in his gut, but he doesn’t express it like Mabel does. Mabel sinks in disgruntlement with a roll of her eyes, slumped over slightly with her energy drained as much as it can be for Mabel Pines. That is to say, she has the energy of a normal person.

“Don’t worry, there’s still tomorrow,” Danny says, with an awkward pat on Mabel’s shoulder.

(Danny’s silently wishing they actually don’t come across any other ghosts. But alas, they’ll find someone, he’s sure. This woods has the same eerie feeling as the Ghost Zone, so he knows that there are supernatural entities in this place.

He’s not eager to find out what they are.)

Dipper’s head nods slowly in agreement, and it occurs to him that this isn’t the only day they go out to search for ghosts and he isn’t a failure-

Mabel elbows Dipper in the forearm, her mood having taken a 180 and a slight smirk resting on her lips. “Why you sad, bro-bro?” The brunette asks innocently, as if she wasn’t the one just dragging her feet along on the forest floor. “You still got a lot of-”

Mabel purses her lip, searching for the right word.

“Data. That’ll help, right?” She elbows Dipper again.

(Dipper’s sigh has a hint of disappointment, and Danny knows that Dipper is actually the one more disheartened in this situation. Mabel tends to exaggerate her feelings.)

“You’re right, Mabel,” Dipper mutters, fiddling with the pad in his hands again anxiously. “We have a lot of data now.”

Dipper glances up slightly, and sees the silhouette of the Mystery Shack illuminated in the near sunset, the sun beginning to slide behind the wide expanse of trees. He turns his head back to face the device, pressing buttons occasionally to change the view.

From behind him, Mabel straightens up, and pulls on Danny’s sleeve. “You ready for another sleepover?” She asks excitedly, her voice lilting.

“Nah,” Danny responds. “I’ll find somewhere to stay tonight.”

(Danny doesn’t want to bother Dipper again.)

Dipper doesn’t entirely care. He’s almost glad that he doesn’t have to sleep in the same room as Danny tonight, but he won’t say it out loud.

(Mabel huffs, and she has the social awareness to give a glance to the boy who is scouring the devices in his hand and in the bag on his back.) “Fine, just be okay, okay?” She pauses, and then giggles. “I said okay twice.”

Dipper inhales sharply, and Mabel instantly quiets. The next few minutes are pretty awkward, as all they do is walk. Dipper’s feet are tired and he’s more walking on impulse now, waiting for the moment to sit down. Mabel seems to be out of energy as well, as she doesn’t break the silence with her excited gestures or bubbly sentences.

The twins step up onto the slanted porch promptly, Dipper collapsing sitting on one of the stairs. Mabel groans and fans her face with her baggy sleeve, and Ford is a few meters behind them. Danny puts his hands in his pockets, staying a good few feet away from everyone, and gives a quick wave.

“See ya guys tomorrow,” Danny says, and as the two twins step inside, Dipper rushes to the nearest window to look out at Danny.

(He doesn’t see anything, as Danny is already long gone.)

-

Dipper sits in a fold-up chair as he watches Ford review the data they’ve collected that day, pouring over the gadgets. There haven't been very many ectoplasmic signatures, but any information is helpful and will allow them to know how to better handle it when they do come across a ghost for the first time.

The brunet still pipes in here and there with his own views on the data, but his mind has already drifted elsewhere.

(He does remember his first meeting with Danny. It was a week ago, and it’s still very fresh in his mind. The flimsy excuse of ‘stargazing’ had been so odd. But what other reasons could Danny need to climb a tree for? Was he hiding from something? Someone?

How had he even gotten up there in the first place? The branches on the trees in the forest are often placed far from each other, and once you do get a grip on them the brittle branches give up on your weight and you go collapsing back to the ground.

He’s seen Mabel try to climb the trees on multiple occasions. She’s never gotten past five feet above the ground.

And how does he just disappear into thin air? One second he’s beside Dipper and the next he’s nowhere to be seen. It’s also absurd how many times he hasn’t noticed the teen beside him; it’s like the teen has no presence whatsoever.)

He rests a hand on his forehead, letting out a sigh with a frown.

(Danny is such an enigma and it’s just so frustrating being unable to figure him out.

Though, he says this as if there’s anything to discover in the first place.

For all he knows, Danny could just be a regular teen with somewhat questionable hobbies. He hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary, ordinary for Gravity Falls at least. He gets along with everyone around him just fine with the occasional awkward sentence or body posture, fiddling with things when he’s nervous like Dipper does.

Dipper’s probably just going crazy overreacting.)

He glances up, combing a hand through his hair, letting out another unsteady breath.

(But if that's the case, why does he feel so uneasy?)

Ford pauses, taking a glance at his great nephew. He turns to him, devices still in his grasp, and asks, “Are you okay?” He cocks his head slightly to the side, eyeing Dipper’s tense body language.

Dipper nods sharply, rubbing his arm and staring down at the slick lab floor. “Yeah. . . Just, uh, thinking about some stuff.”

Ford seems unconvinced, his eyes still trailing on Dipper before he turns back to his devices. He hums in confirmation, making Dipper feel slightly guilty for the white lie.

A few minutes pass, and Dipper still can’t focus, catching more than one concerned glance from his great uncle.

"So, care to tell me what 'stuff' you're thinking of?" Ford questions, idly rifling through some papers.

Dipper fiddles with his lip with his two front teeth, rubbing his left arm. He winces slightly, refusing to meet his great uncle’s gaze.

“I-I dunno, it’s just. . .” He sighs, his hand dropping to rest by his side. “Danny’s been- He’s been super helpful and gets along with Mabel, but I- but I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something here.”

Ford’s eyes soften, and he sets down the papers on another tall pile of paper. He leans down and pulls out his own chair from underneath a table, twisting it to face his great nephew and Dipper does the same with his chair.

“I get how you feel, Dipper. I understand, really I do, but not everything needs a dramatic reveal.” Ford says, gently patting Dipper’s head. “Oftentimes, people are exactly who they claim to be and that’s rather normal. Just because something may feel off about someone, doesn’t have to mean they’re dangerous.

“Gravity Falls is indeed a strange place, but not everyone who steps foot into the town is a monster in disguise.

“Puzzles are marginally harder to solve when you can’t see each individual piece and fit them together, or when you refuse to see the pieces in front of you. I myself had a difficult time grasping this after so many years spent living here.”

("And in the portal" remains unsaid, but Dipper can hear the hint of it behind the words Ford speaks.)

"You certainly have a knack for picking out who or not to trust, so if you really believe Danny has harmful intentions, I'll listen. To me, Danny just appears to be a typical teenage boy, similar to yourself, but it's your call, Dipper. Just remember that putting your faith in others isn't always harmful."

(“Not as easy as it sounds” whispers in the back of his head, and he shakes it away by bobbing his mechanically and allowing the words his great uncle speaks replace the dread sitting in his gut for absolutely no reason-)

Ford is right; he’s getting worked up over nothing. Not everyone is out to get him.

Danny isn't out to get him.

(It's irrational to think Danny would do anything to hurt Mabel, or anyone else for that matter.)

Danny’s just a random teen who made his way into Gravity Falls, a teen obsessed with space and finding himself wrapped up in Dipper’s research. From the start, Danny has done nothing but help them, and he likely thinks Dipper is weird when he refuses to meet the teen’s eye, hands shuffling nervously.

Guilt rises into Dipper’s chest, and almost immediately Dipper feels terrible. He’s only made things feel more awkward for Danny. By making the teen feel uncomfortable during their outings. Disappointing Mabel by ruining her sleepover.

(‘You know they would've been happier without you there, anyway,’ his brain barges in, and he can’t find the heart to deny it.)

Dipper is always bringing people down along with him. It’s his fault Ford’s machine broke. If he hadn’t gone out that night, none of this would have happened, anyway.

(Dipper always needs other people to help him. He’s just useless by himself.)

(Why can’t his brain just act normal for once? Why can’t he ever seem to let people in?)

His eyes begin to sting, and he feels the panic taking hold, leaching into his chest and refusing to let go. He curls in on himself slightly, because he can only just live through it and mentally hit himself-

Is it really so hard to trust people again?

(Dipper already knows the answer to this question; he knows because of the being that frequently haunts his nightmares.)

(‘Trust no one’ echoes endlessly in his mind, reflecting off every boundary and always making its way back to the center-

Dipper’s hand burns, engulfed in blue flame-

His laughter, resonating within his ears-

There’s no escape-)

His lungs refuse to take in air, and his vocal cords won’t work to even choke out a scream.

(He can't breathe-) 

In a split second, there’s a warm hand resting on his shoulder. It’s vaguely comforting, but Dipper still jerks away from it and takes in a shaky breath as his lungs start working again.

His mind slowly clears, and he glances up to see Ford resting beside the chair on his knee, hand pulled back slightly with a concerned expression on his face.

(‘You did that to him. You're the one troubling your great uncle. You're just a burden’, his brain screams at him, and he can’t find the courage to scream denials back.)

“Dipper?” Ford asks tentatively, concern hidden in his eyes. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah-Yeah,” Dipper manages to choke out, still taking shaky breaths and refusing to look the man in the eye. “I’m good.”

"Are you sure?"

Dipper pauses for a moment, but then nods slowly. “I’m okay, Great Uncle Ford.” His breath is starting to steady, and he takes his first deep breath. “Thanks. For everything.”

(Really, he’s okay.

‘Keep telling yourself that’, his brain taunts, and he sighs again.

He's fine.)

[woopboopboop]

Of promises

Note: Trigger warning!!! There is mention of suicide in this story. If you are uncomfortable, I suggest that it would be better to not proceed or you can proceed at you own discretion. 

Look who’s back at it again! This is one is kinda fluffy and angsty at the same time? I don’t quite know. I’ll let you be the judge. Happy reading, babes.

I am not going to lie. I think about you almost all the time. I think about you when I am at work too. It’s amusing how the thought of you keep on appearing in my mind no matter how focus I am on something else. As I listen intently to the added vocals blending in with the strumming of guitar and mellow bass sound of the latest track, I can’t help but think of the time when you peeked over the book you were reading and concentrating on the random strumming patterns that I was experimenting one evening. You seemed fixated to the melody even commented how good it sounds and that was when I knew it needs to be in one of my songs. I unconsciously shake my head, smiling at the thought.

“What are you smiling at?” Kid asks, approaching the mixing console where I am standing next to.

“Just – thinking of something,” I say, scratching an invisible itch behind my ear, smiling sheepishly.

“Your wife?” Kid raises his eyebrows at me before returning to tweak some knobs on the board.

I try to hide my growing smile but it doesn’t really work. “Yeah. My wife.”

I am used to the band, Jeff and everyone else teasing me but when it comes to you, boy oh boy, do they have newfound love for it. “Lovebirds”, “Head over heels”, “Totally smitten” are just some of the words they use to describe us. You know this, of course, because I share about the things that we talk about during studio breaks or even random things that we did inside or outside of studio. Sometimes, you join in on their teasing game. But I don’t mind at all. They make the butterflies in me come alive and I live for the feeling after all. They make me think of you and I love having you on my mind.

The clock is way past midnight when I reach home. After fumbling with the house key for a while, I finally gain entrance, kicking my boots to the side and setting both the house and car keys on the wall key hooks. With the guidance from the living room dim lighting, I walk towards the kitchen to get a glass of cold water. Opening up the fridge door, the light bathes a portion of the kitchen wall and floor in a soft, yellow hue. It is then that I remember you asked me to grab milk from the nearby shop. “If you don’t mind,” you added.

I curse under my breath not because I despise the domestic act but because I actually forgot about doing the exact thing and I only have the ability to remember it now. I have to admit that you are the one who is better in remembering things be it dates or appointments. As for the milk, I will get it tomorrow.

Carrying my heavy footsteps upstairs, I notice the beam of light from beneath the door signifying that you left the light on. I tiptoe to flick off the light switch after switching on the table lamp on your side. The room is in total darkness except for the light from your half illuminating the room dimly. We agreed that only the light from your side will be on when we are sleeping after I vividly recall you telling me that you are not a fan of sleeping in the dark. You tell me about things that scare you and things that make you happy afterwards a lot and I also share mine.

I sit down carefully on the bed and watch you sleep facing my side of the mattress. Haruki Murakami’s Men Without Women is lying face down on the bed just a few inches from your chest. Closing it, I put the book along with other collections of Murakami in the bedside drawer behind me. I can’t help but notice an unfamiliar book residing in the drawer, I guess you bought it recently to add on our reading list. Yes, our reading list. In fact, there a lot of our things in this house and for each passing day, there will always be some new addition. Just like when there is a new record added to the existing little tower of vinyl records in the study room, new set of rings on the vanity or even new mugs with minimalist design in the kitchen.

Every object in each room of this house is an embodiment of us, together or individually. Though, I have to say that your presence was stronger because when I step into a space, I feel you. I feel your presence now too but at times it feels like it is fading away before it comes again in a crashing wave. I remember the time we talked about this over a cup of coffee. On that day, we shared our most complex struggles through simple words and comforting gestures.

Like my eyes always do, they return to you. The soft light in the room highlights certain features on your face and it begins to darkened towards the part where you have your face buried in the pillow. A sudden rush of warmth creeps behind my neck, making its way to my ear. The electrifying and alluring feeling is still the same as the one that I felt when we shared our first kiss. In fact, every touch and small gestures exchanged between us, especially now, brings more intensified feelings. You look so peaceful, frozen in time, except for your eyes darting back and forth behind your shut eyelids and the rising and falling of your breathing.

Your hair is everywhere with some strands falling on your upper arm, hiding two scars located at the same place which can hardly be seen. You always try to hide the scar, not liking the reasons behind it but I always tell you that things happened for a reason and that I will always love you and promise that I will be by your side if you need me. There is a scoff of disbelief on your face at first before your eyes soften and thank me for willing to be by your side. I love kissing the scar just as a reminder that I love you. I love kissing it without any reasons too. It has a slightly different colour from the rest of the skin on your body where I love to leave kisses as well. Hell, I just love to kiss you. No question asked. But I love to see you like this too, so I refrain myself from waking you up.

You shift for a bit in your sleep and a strand of hair falls down across your face. As if it is a reflex action, I move the strand away and tuck it behind your ear. My finger caresses the shell of your ear and you jaw with the slightest pressure. I notice your eyes fluttering, as if they want to open or maybe you are just dreaming.

“Hey,” you mumble when you gaze is focusing on me.

“Hey.”

We bask in silence for quite a while and I thought that you go right back to sleep but then I hear you asking me, “What?”

“Nothing. Just watching you.”

You squint your eyes and pull the duvet to cover half of your face, “Creep.”

“But you love it.” I stick my tongue out and you pull the duvet until it’s not covering you face anymore, sticking your tongue back at me. My lips find their way to your forehead, leaving a soft kiss before I disappear to the bathroom to change.

Coming back, I see you starting to fall asleep again. I smile and breathe in your presence for a moment before joining you on the mattress. Your eyes are fluttering open again as I caress your chin with my thumb and forefinger. My thumb stops at your cheekbone and I whispered a quite sorry. You shake you head and lean closer to me. We exchange long and gentle kisses, fingers wandering to every place that they can reach. And we don’t stop until both of us run out of breath. I don’t want to stop. Ever. Not when your fingers are tugging my hair slightly and mine resting on the nape of your neck to deepen our kiss.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, worried lines shadowing on your face.

I prop myself up on one elbow and carefully lay out the words. “It’s about the trip.”

You look more aware than anything at this moment, bottom lip pouting a bit, “I’m not going to like this, huh?”

“I’m so sorry, love. I’ve checked the date, I swear, but unfortunately it clashes with some promotions stuff that’s going to happen. The team and I confirmed the date and we can’t move it to another time.” I look into your eyes, hoping that I am not letting you down too much. You have been very excited for the trip, talking endlessly about it.

“Babe?” I call out and see your eyes regain their focus and concentrate on mine. Head falling deeper into your pillow, you hum, asking me to repeat whatever was said.  

“The date for the trip clashes with my work. I’m so sorry. Really.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” you whisper, drawing circles on the back of my hand. “When can we go then?” It sounds more like curiosity than anything else.

Leaning down, I kiss your nose and you scrunch up your face, giggling softly. “In three weeks time. I promise.”

“H, you are promising a lot of things. Don’t think I’ll forget all of them.” I know you are serious beneath the joking tone of your voice. I lay back on the mattress, reaching over to snuggle into the dip of your neck. The faint scent of chamomile lingers in the air where I am hiding. After sponging few kisses on your neck and holding you close, I loosen my grip and move away from the crook of your neck. My eyes move from looking at you lips, to your nose and finally setting on your eyes.

“I intend to fulfil each and every one of them. You are stuck with me for a long time. Don’t think you’ll forget about that too?” You nod your head and both of us giggle. When the giggling stop, we are left with gazing into each other's eyes, as if we are looking for something. I found something behind yours, despite the dim light trying to hide away whatever it is in the shadow.

“You okay there?”

“Yeah.” I feel the little space between us closing in and our lips brush each other. You are no longer sleepy and I am no longer tired.

 A single sun ray wakes me up in the morning. I jump up, panic at first but then it dawns on me that I have today off. Your side of mattress is empty. I roll over and bury my face on your pillow, smelling in the chamomile scent.

I lift my head when I hear the sound of water running from the bathroom. Bare naked, I cross the room in a number of strides and is reminded about last night when I encounter our clothes mingling together in a messy heap on the floor. I blush thinking about it as if it is our first. I knock on the bathroom door, calling out your name. Silence. I turn the knob slowly and push the door open expecting that you will be standing under the shower, asking me to join you there.

I am about to greet you good morning but see that there’s no one in the shower but the marble tiles staring back. As I lower down my vision, I find you slumping against the glass door. An angry stream making its way from your wrist down the drain, a huge contrast from your skin colour. Suddenly, I don’t know what to do. I am panicking. I rush over your limb body, wrapping the wound with whatever that I could find at the time. I pick you up and get you in a purple robe before I grab the clothes from last night and put it on. You feel so light and so heavy at the same time in my arms as I carry you to my car.

I fumble with the key in my hand. I don’t even know if I have locked the front door or not. I keep on calling your name as if it is a chant that can get you to magically wake up. All of this while trying to stay sane when in actual reality the world feels like it is slipping from my grasp. I wish that you reply my calling with any incoherent sentence or even garbled sounds. But you don’t answer. You don’t wake up.

When reaching hospital, I can only vision what a sight we are to those waiting there. “Please, help me!” I call out to no specific person. Everything just goes by so quickly and in a blur as the nurses push your bed towards the emergency room. Why aren’t you finishing my words when I try my best to explain what happened to the doctor? Why aren’t you opening your eyes when the doctor barks command to the nurses? Why aren’t you struggling when they put on the bed? Why aren’t you here to comment how ridiculous I must have look with my damp, wrinkled, half unbuttoned shirt? I don’t even notice the bloody patches on my shirt if I don’t button it up.

I stay out of everyone’s way and lean against the pillar near the entrance. A woman approaches me and pass me a document that I need to fill. I make a beeline for the counter so that I have a flat surface to write the paper on. As I fill in the paper, the nurse presses me for any information and I answer as best as I could but then I keep on thinking of you. I think about the milk that I forgot to buy. I think about the trip that I postponed last night. I think about the upcoming tour and that I promised you will stay longer with me this time. I think about all of the promises made, waiting to be fulfilled over our happily ever after.

“Have you call her family?” asks the same nurse. I must have look so distraught trying to fill the blank spaces and answer her questions. I stare at her for a moment to process her question. I want to say to her that I am your family. She is about to repeat the question when I shake my head.

“Call them. Let them know what’s happening.” She waits a couple of minutes until I finish filling up the paperwork. The waiting room is filled with a lot of noises given the works that are going on here but I feel so alone. The worst of thoughts come creeping in and start becoming louder each passing minute. I snap back and remember that I need to inform mum and your mother about the situation. Mum is very much heartbroken over the phone when I tell her about what is going on. It’s a bit funny that I am the one who consoles her instead of the other way around. I can’t blame her though. She loves you so much that she regards you as her second daughter.

 I don’t know whether I prefer to be with family and friends at the moment or to be alone. The clock ticks slowly while things around me are moving at a normal speed. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, Mitch stands behind me and Sarah besides him. She hugs me without saying any words and Mitch offers me a weak smile.

“She’s going to be all right,” they assure me. I don’t know what else to say so I thank them.

Almost all of our close friends are here, waiting for any news from the doctor or nurses. I don’t dare to pay attention to their presence and kindness because I may break down and cry. That is the last thing that I need in this situation. “What is taking them so long,” I mutter, pacing back and forth, occasionally running my fingers through my hair. Sometimes they interlace with the curls for a while as I try to remain calm, taking deep breaths here and there. I need to be strong for both of us.

More people arrive and then I hear a familiar voice. Mum’s. Standing up, I greet her, Gemma as well as your mother with a hug. Your family is here too. I recount what happened to them and I can’t help but choke on few words as I feel the tears threatening to spill. They look so worried, afraid even, especially your mother since she knows you well enough to know that there are times when it can be so hard for you. And I am worried and afraid too.

In the midst of things happening, Mum finds her way to mother me, “Have you eaten?” Her question reminds me that you would do the same too. Regardless what the situation is. Trust me.

I get up from my seat and walk as fast as I can to the toilet. Finding the nearest toilet bowl, I vomit. I would think that there is nothing left inside of me after seeing you slumped in the shower this morning but I keep on vomiting until the only thing left is the bitter taste in my mouth. My knees buckle against the cold tiles. I feel a hand running up and down my back and see mum kneeling besides me. She holds me so tight, afraid that if she let go, I will break into tiny pieces.

“Everything’s fine. She’s going to be fine.” Her voice soft and soothing.

“No. She’s not.” I let out a sob, both hands fling to my face, covering my eyes, pressing hard against them. I don’t know if admitting it to myself or saying it out loud is harder.

I try not to cave into the heavy feelings but it is a total failure when the thought of being able to stop you is more overpowering. “She’s barely breathing when I found her. I call out for her but she didn’t respond at all. God knows, how long she had been there before I found her.  I should’ve been there. I should’ve noticed it earlier when she looked a bit different last night. I should have known. This is my – ”

“Harry, do you love her?” She holds my face between her hands.

I nod, wiping stray tears falling down my cheeks. I am crying again.

“Sometimes, no matter what you do, you can’t protect the people who you love all the time. Things that happened to them is out of your hands. At times like this, the only thing that you can do is pray for them. Pray for her. Continue to love her. That’s all that you can ask of yourself. Things happen for a reason.”

She let go of her hands that cradles my face and hold my hands instead. The words sound weird when you are on the receiving end. Things happen for a reason. I always say that to you and it makes me think if you ever feel the same way as I did when I heard the words. Sadly, it doesn’t really bring comfort. It only leaves you in wonder of what is the reason behind all of this and what did I do to deserve such thing.

Friends and family sit patiently in the waiting room. It feels like an eternity waiting to be allowed in the same room as yours. The doctor approaches me to further inform the state that you are in and to be honest, after he says that you are in a stable condition, I am in and out of the conversation. I just need to see you on my own to believe that you are totally okay.

I sit beside you quietly and hold your hand gently. I don’t want to risk waking you up since the doctor told me that you need the rest. Your hand is cold as I hold it with my own. The fingers of my other hand touch your securely bandaged wrist. If you were to be awake, I guess you will make fun of my matching red nose, cheeks and eyes. I smile thinking about it. Carefully, I bring your bandaged hand to my cheek, then littering feathery kisses on your knuckles. I then nestle your hand onto the sheet but not letting go of our intertwined hands. I love holding your hands too. I love how we pass secret message by squeezing each other hands when we are in public. I love it more now that I can see both of our wedding bands adorning our fingers when we hold hands.

Watching you in this state, the only thing that I want more than anything is for you to wake up. I want to see the colour in your eyes again. I want to hold your hands firmly and not letting go. I want to feel your presence in this space. I am willing to do anything and everything just to get you to say my name. My mind drifts to the conversations that we had last night and I remember you teasing me about the promises that I made. I know I have a bad track record of keeping my promises but just know that I meant it when I say I want to fulfil them. The only thing that I need right now is for you to wake up and you will see that I am here as promised.

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

What are your thoughts about how Dean's being treated in the narrative this season? I was excited starting out but so far, I've just been disappointed by how he just seems superfluous to the plot. And I don't understand why the writers seem to be taking shots at him in almost every episode. The Achilles' heel thing, putting responsibility for the rift on his shoulders (while Cas' part is handwaved away), Garth's snub in naming his children, his undisputed claim that Sam is better than him (1)

at everything, Fortuna’s insult…it’s just a lot. Maybe it wouldn’t be so jarring if Dean wasn’t the only character being consistently treated like that. To be fair, it hasn’t been all bad. I’ve liked some of his character development (although I find his new tendency to not voice his dissenting opinion a little worrisome, given his natural intuition) and there have been some awesome scenes like standing up to Chuck. But I just don’t know…(2)

Thank you for this ask! I think it’s an interesting thing to explore. I have been feeling a little iffy about some things this season, too, so I want to use this opportunity to sort through my own thoughts. It’s gonna get long so I’ll put a read more…

Let’s start from the easy part. 15x11: I don’t think that Fortuna was genuine when she made that comment about Dean, and we’re not supposed to take the beach read comment as a reliable perspective. All she does is a sort of test to read them; she lets both Dean and Sam win a match against her at first, as a sort of test but also as a trick to make her opponent confident and make him play again. Except that Dean’s second match is against a very talented player, and he wins not because he’s lucky, but because he’s genuinely skilled. He proves that his skills at pool - a shorthand for his skills in general, which they had been doubting of, wondering whether it was all Chuck - are real. 

Could skills beat luck? Probably not when luck is the goddess of luck herself, but I wonder whether Fortuna picked Sam as her opponent when stakes got high instead of Dean because she wanted to play against the less skilled of the two. I think that she’s playing them on and also off the pool table, and Dean realizes this when she goes “this one could be interesting”, you can tell from his reaction that he’s like “hey that’s a trick to play with the less skilled one of us” but Sam takes the bait. She also pretends to fall for Sam’s trick of distracting her by making her talk, just to reveal she can win whenever she wants to when the stakes are final. From what we’ve seen of her, I think we can infer that her modus operandi is to make people confident, so they’ll play again, higher the stakes, and then lose, not necessarily against her, just against someone, and lose their luck - she plays first with Dean when she doesn’t know who he is, and I assume it’s a common trick - let the newcomer win to stroke his confidence. (In gambling, the idea is to give players smalls wins to make them gamble more, and lose more.)

So, the narrative doesn’t give us any reason to believe that Dean isn’t right when he says that he is better than Sam at pool, and the point of the “beach read” comment is that he is not a beach read. Fortuna is supposed to be an unreliable narrator at that point, because she’s testing them. In fact, at the end, she rewards them on the ground of being “heroes”, which invalidates her previous statement, be it genuine or not.

Also consider that “sexy but skimmable” i.e. a pretty idiot, is the sort of taunt that Dean has received often in his life. If Fortuna is truly skilled at reading people, then she picks exactly something that has a history for Dean, and also something that has a history for Sam, i.e. that he’s more “interesting” (smart, skilled, whatever) than his brother. Coincidence?

That he’s pretty but otherwise worthless is something Dean has internalized by being told, not necessarily in words, over and over in his life. That reminded me of John’s old hunter friend who was like “didn’t you grow up pretty” and “if your father could see you now”. It took Dean a long time (and with plenty of fallbacks) to realize he’s more than a pretty face who follows orders. On the other hand, that he’s a more interesting “read” to Dean’s “beach read” is something Sam’s always had in his mind (he was the one who questioned the orders while Dean acted as John’s faithful little dog…) and it took him a long time, and some big blows to his own ego, to get out of that mindset.

So I don’t think it’s random that Fortuna goes for, you know, down with Dean and up with Sam, so to speak.

Dean’s statement that Sam is better than him at everything except pool - I read that as a very parental thing. It’s a very parent thing: telling your child that they’re proud of them for surpassing you. It should be the goal of a parent, you know, that your child is a better person than you - and a parent being like, you’ve become more skilled than me at my skills (except this one non-fundamental thing I can still kick your ass at :p) and I am proud of you, is a common trope.

So I read that as a small but very strong Dean-as-Sam’s-parent moment. Recently Sam also mentioned out loud that Dean raised him, so the writing team has not dropped this very important piece of characterization.

15x10. I think that the point is that Garth is Dean’s friend first and foremost. He doesn’t name his kids after his friends plural, he names his kids after the most important people for his friend singular. That’s how I read it at least. It’s weird because Dean hears one twin is named after Sam and assumes the two siblings are named after the two siblings, and the dissonance between his expectation and reality is what makes the humor. Also… Garth and Dean are a “who knows maybe in another life” kind of duo, you know…? They have a chemistry. Garth is Dean’s type, once you go past the appearances, and judging from Garth’s choice in wife, Dean’s pretty much his type too. You don’t name a child after that kind of person in your life.

Also, from a extra-diegetic perspective, Dean’s mirror is Gertie (from the name Gertrude meaning “strong spear/spear of strength”), the girl, because he’s always aligned with the feminine.

15x09. Now, this is the episode I’ve struggled the most with. Not sure if the problem is the episode itself, or the fact that the episode came after a season of the fandom acting a certain way towards Dean and Cas and their conflict, and that colored the episode a certain tint for me.

I’m kind of suspending judgement as I wait to see how the rest of the season goes and how Dean and Cas’ relationship develops, but my fear is that the narrative never really allows Dean to have emotions, so to speak, nor addresses Cas’ side of the issue(s). 15x09 itself is telling of a certain problem - Dean is experiencing certain emotions and going through a certain thing with Cas, but bam something happens that makes him terrified that he’s lost Cas again, and that forces him to scrap what he was going through. I’m not sure I’m explaining myself well here but bear with me.

He doesn’t get to sort through his emotions, he just goes in emergency mode again and the emergency just gives a yank to his emotions. I suppose the intent was “situation makes Dean realize he doesn’t want to lose Cas/he was wrong at making Cas the emotional scapegoat of his anger” but I don’t think it really worked. Dean was grieving and experiencing one of the most severe traumatic things in his life (actually, multiple at the same time). There’s no “right” or “wrong” in his emotions. I’m not saying that grief/trauma gives you a free card to be mean to others but… I mean, it does?? I think we’ve sort of created a culture of yelling “that’s abusive!!” at what are normal human experiences and expect that a person should act “properly” at all times. There’s a refrain of “x experience explains the behavior of y but doesn’t justify it!” which, sure, is valid with certain kinds of behavior, but there’s a whole jumble of normal human experiences in between “good” behavior and unjustifiable behavior.

Maybe I’m just culturally Catholic to the core, but all this pressure on Dean to beg for forgiveness for being harsh to Cas feels… iffy to me.

I guess I see forgiveness a bit differently, too, because I don’t think forgiveness - and especially when and how quickly you get there - is a choice. If Dean wasn’t emotionally ready to forgive Cas and open up emotionally to him again, then making him feel guilty for not being quick enough to get there is not exactly my idea of a healthy process.

Then there’s the “you didn’t stop me”, which, I get the whole thing behind it - Cas’ deepest fear is that Dean doesn’t care if he leaves, Dean’s deepest fear is that Cas is better off if he leaves, so, draaaama~~. But Dean has a history of people leaving him and feeling he can’t (isn’t worth) ask them to stay instead. Sure, it’s good drama. But I’m not sure that the narrative is allowing the space for understanding that Dean needs the emotional security of feeling like he’s worth to ask to stay just like Cas needs the emotional security of feeling like he has a place where he belongs and isn’t just a guest.

Again, I think it would be unfair to draw judgement of a narrative that is ongoing, and I hope that my fears are unfounded and the narrative will address what I wish it addresses! Of course with a little less than half a season still to go, emotional conflicts and character development can’t be wrapped up yet.

Another point you bring up is Dean’s reluctance to express his dissenting opinion. I do not think we have a pattern yet - his acceptance of Sam’s decision not to trap Chuck was intended, I guess, as a moment of growth in the sense that he acknowledged that Sam is a grown adult capable of drawing his judgement and make informed decisions, so he trusts Sam’s judgement and doesn’t drill him with questions. We still have to see how they all react to Jack’s revelation about Billie’s plan, so I would say to wait and see about that. Dean’s face at the end is not a “well this is excellent news” face, nor is Sam’s (who is framed after Jack talks about getting stronger, which is something Sam has a history with). Considering this season brought Lilith back, I’m sure they haven’t forgotten about Sam’s demon blood arc... I do wonder if Dean will avoid getting too confrontational with Cas, though. We’ll see.

Now, you say that he seems “superfluous to the plot”. I would normally say, well of course he’s superfluous to the plot, he’s the protagonist, he’s the one that reacts to the plot that happens around him. But I understand this is not the kind of answer you’re looking for. Honestly, I might be wrong, but I think that the first roughly-half of the season is the Male Part. The second part of the season should be the Female Part. In the first part, Chuck is rampant, Billie’s plan is dormant, Amara is minding her business and not being relevant to the plot, the plot is Sam-heavy, Rowena dies and reverts to playing a game of power, Mary is dead, Eileen is a piece played by Chuck. Now, with Billie’s plan being put in motion (although I don’t believe that’s the endgame or a Good Thing™ in unquestioning terms, but it’s still Death entering the game), I think a new phase should start. Dean confronting Chuck was already a start, and also how they got some support from a female deity that expressed negative opinions about Chuck -- I think that we’ve entered the second part of the season, and things are going to change. I’m looking forward to see what will be Amara’s role in all of this... especially considering that’s inextricably related to Dean’s role.

Feel free to ask for any clarification or addition or argument!!

[dredshirtroberts]

Hooooo boy we are feelin some EMOTIONS today, folks.

this is not a happy post, if you’d like to skip I entirely understand, and in fact encourage doing so.

I’ve been needing to do a one of these for a lil bit because I’ve got Thoughts and Feelings and they are complicated and I can’t accurately parse them in my head so we’re gonna air it out on Tumblr like a sheet on the line during laundry day.

here’s the thing.

I got some complicated family feelings in my chest places and it fucking *sucks*.

I was kept from spending time with my family by various means over the past several years to the point where I wasn’t attending holidays - which, in my family, is just not done. You can skip a holiday but you have to make it up on another occasion and I...wasn’t doing that anymore. Two separate people had me convinced I was not loved by my family, that they did not care for or appreciate me like *they* could and that I was better off not being around my family.

And maybe they had some valid points. Which I hate admitting because they used a lot of “valid points” to get me to be completely isolated in life without anyone but them and any time I branched out I was, for lack of a better term, “punished” for having denied them my attention or time or whatever. (this is of course not as nuanced a take on it as I would prefer but this is already going to be long without me going through the whole...everything, again. You can search the captain rambles and life post tags on my blog for more on this topic).

Anyway...so I’m no longer with people who are actively trying to keep me from talking to other people/being around people who are supportive of my own efforts and goals, etc. And I was welcomed back into my family with open arms and that was...honestly unexpected. After everything I’d had told to me about how they were and how they should be and what I should feel about them...I wasn’t expecting them to love me.

I rode that rose-colored wave for a *while*. But as the world descends into chaos and I learn more things about myself that make me feel more like *me* than I have...possibly ever now that I try and think about it, I am seeing things that I had hoped had been exaggerated or made up by those in my life who had hurt me.

My parents raised me in a very right-wing conservative household. The evangelical style of christianity didn’t come until I was already an adult but the building blocks must have been there or it wouldn’t have happened so...extremely when it finally did. There were a lot of...really shitty attitudes towards other people that I didn’t recognize growing up in it - I didn’t recognize it until a lot later, in fact.

They’re...They don’t see anything wrong with the way they are. Which, you know, *sucks*. 

There’s going to be a lot of dismissive phrases littered throughout this because I’m trying to be...i don’t know. I do it as a thing to lighten the mental load on myself - dismissiveness and joking around, exaggerating for effect, etc. - which i know might come off weird but like...this is really fucking bothering me guys and I...I’m doing my best.

Cause here’s the thing. I was raised believing the world was one way and that we were *right* about things. We had the answers and anyone (liberals) who didn’t agree with us were wrong and would either see the light and come to our side or were too stupid to know how wrong they were so we wouldn’t have associated with them anyway. (reasons why i’m currently frustrated with the political opposition to Republicans/Conservatives/The Right #1 actually)

And then I grew up and I saw the world was not that way. And I expected that my family would be able to see the world with the insight I had gained, and..they just...don’t.

I’ve excused a lot of their shit beliefs recently. not like, trying to defend them to anyone or anything but I don’t confront them. Mostly because I know while they won’t say it to my face, I know how they think about people who think like me (because I was there for those conversations, I was there and I thought like them and now i don’t and that makes me one of those idiots they talked about, a stupid person who can’t see the truth they believe so fully that they think is backed up by facts and figures but their facts and figures are *flawed* - mine aren’t better but I can acknowledge that and extrapolating data from all the things and coming to a conclusion is what I was taught to do but now that I do it for the wrong side what must they think of me? What must they say behind my back?)

I have...a lot of kinda fucked up shit about my family. Nothing overt, nothing that immediately screams to me “Hey fuck-o, this shit isn’t a universal experience and something is wrong here!” but it’ll be small things that I’m like “Ah, okay. Not everyone had this experience and those that did are currently working through the *trauma* of it by going to *therapy*. Hm.”

I’ve done some work in that respect and that’s good. Doesn’t make my issues go away but makes it so I can handle them a little better. Most of the time anyway.

I’m trying to make several things that are true but contradictory work together in my brain and it’s not going well.

1) my family cares about me and wants me to do well.

2) my family has hurt me in the past and is currently hurting me (though not intentionally and not maliciously - please dear god let it be unintentional and non-malicious). 

3) My family does not “agree” with LGBTetc people.

4) My family do not believe that there are systemic issues inherent in the government we live in/under and the society we must participate in (Because it benefits them, and they have not had to challenge their thoughts on this before).

5) My family are kind of racist.

6) My family was my only support system when I was leaving an abusive situation.

7) ...My family might have abused me a little.

I go back and forth on point seven a *lot*. See point 2 about the intentionality/maliciousness factors. If they didn’t mean to do it, does it still count? 

Does it matter if it still hurts?

My sister outright told me that she doesn’t agree with trans people (meaning she doesn’t believe you can be trans, really). But I’m okay because it’s me, and now I can be her gay best friend when we’re drinking at family stuff.

She didn’t understand why I was hurt by that. I attempted to explain it and she got defensive and angry so I just...didn’t fight about it. Just played the part. I’m her brother when it benefits her but otherwise I’m still her sister. I’m still mom and dad’s daughter. Even though I told them I’m not a girl. I told them I’m a guy.

Dad’s response was the most favorable initially and I think...he might eventually come around to it (he’s always wanted a son. he has a boy dog and has also imprinted really hard on his lawn roomba about it). He also might...not.

I’d like to transition further. Eventually. If it’s feasible. But also, right now it’s not. Right now it’s me cutting my hair short and not wearing dresses or skirts (even though they’re super comfy) because I want to avoid being misgendered as often as possible. It’s binding for uncomfortable and unsafe lengths of time because I am a MAN dammit, and I will be a man at this family function in whatever way I can. And when I go to the length that I do to be seen the way I want to be seen and I am *ignored*....

fuckin’ hurts you guys. I just fuckin’ hurts. 

And I want to correct them. I want to stand up and say STOP YOU’RE HURTING ME. PLEASE. I AM NOT A GIRL. I HAVEN’T BEEN THIS WHOLE TIME I JUST DIDN’T KNOW WHY I DIDN’T FEEL RIGHT AS A GIRL. PLEASE JUST CALL ME A BOY, USE MY PRONOUNS, USE A NEW NAME OR AT LEAST THE NICKNAME THAT ISN’T MY FULL NAME. 

but i don’t.

because I’m scared of losing them again.

And it’s fucked up because they’re *already* lost. They’re Fox-watchers and Trump-supporters and they don’t want to listen to science or facts or *anything* outside of what’s presented to them by pundits and talk show hosts, and the fucking EIB network with their political propaganda for anything that isn’t what the liberals want.

And I don’t know that I can get them back because they’re *real* far down that particular rabbit hole. And I’m...I’m just trying to figure out what I want in life. What makes me happy. And part of what I want is what I always wanted and never had.

I want my mom and dad to look at me, see me, see what I do see how I try and what I love and care about and tell me that I’m enough. That they love me because this is who I am and I am enough for them. Even if I wasn’t accomplished and didn’t try they would still love me because I’m *me*. and I’m their *child* and they *love me*.

And GOD it is so FUCKING painful to know that’s not a realistic thing to hope for. Because I’ve been trying for 28 GODDAMN years doing ANYTHING and EVERYTHING I can to be enough for them. I played good, christian, conservative little girl for SO goddamn long, even when I wasn’t Christian or conservative anymore, even when I saw the cracks, I wanted to be what they wanted.

And even now that I *am* what my dad wanted (a son) I’m not enough because to him i’m still a girl, to my mom I’m the failed daughter the one she didn’t do enough for so now it’s about how she fucked up and not about NO. This is ME. Stop. Stop LOOKING at me like that WHEN YOU DON’T SEE ME. YOU SEE SOME IDEALIZED VERSION OF ME WHO WAS NEVER GOING TO EXIST BECAUSE SHE WASN’T ENOUGH EITHER.

...

This is a lot more than I thought it would be, pain wise tonight, guys. My bad. 

I’m still struggling with my eating habits, I’m still struggling with my self-worth, and finding what makes me feel fulfilled. I’m getting better at some of it though.

I’ve smiled and laughed more in the past week or so than I have since I came out to my family. I wouldn’t have done that without my very very good friends who are very very kind to me and god I wish I could do more than draw stupid pictures and write stupid stories for them but it makes them happy too? so i’ll just do what I can and maybe it’ll be alright. 

Gonna try not to fall too deep down the abandonment issues pit tonight folks. I’m already upset enough. 

Good talk.

[obsidiancreates]

No Simple Walk In The Park

(Still on break but I had a sudden idea and I- I couldn’t just not write it.)

(Damien gets Actor out of the house for the first time since Celine left, and it doesn’t go well...)

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

“Mark, please, it can’t be good for you to do this. You haven’t left the house since Celine-”

“Don’t!” Mark snapped, getting too close to Damien’s face for comfort. He opened his mouth to say more, but a fit of coughing interrupted him. He stumbled back from Damien, hacking into the sleeve of his robe, trembling from the force of the fit. Damien reached out to try and support him, but Mark pushed him away. 

He took a deep, wheezing breath, and Damien noted with concern that neared terror how labored his friend’s breathing was. 

“You’re making yourself sick, Mark. Isolation isn’t how to deal with what’s happened,” Damien said in his gentlest tone. He moved closer, putting a hand on Mark’s back and rubbing it in circles to try and help the shaking. “Just come with me to the park for a little while. It doesn’t even have to be for very long. You need fresh air, sunlight...”

“I can get that in the garden,” Mark mumbled, his eyes squeezed shut as he continued to struggle to draw breath.

“Mark...”

Mark grit his teeth. “I can’t! I can’t leave, it doesn’t wa-” he was cut off by another coughing fit.

“It doesn’t... want? What?”

“Nothing,” Mark said, breathless. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I can barely see right now, much less think.” He panted and wheezed between words. 

Damien caught sight of his friend’s sleeve. It was... drenched. Damien wrote it off as just saliva from the coughing, but... there was far too much. He watched drops run down his friend’s hand. Was it... water? From his lungs?

No, it couldn’t be. Mark would be drowned if he had water in his lungs.

“Mark I... I know I haven’t been able to be here for you like I should, and you have every right to resent me for that. But I’m trying to be here now, while I can, and I think a little bit of time back among the living will help you.”

Mark tried to push Damien away again, but he paused after a moment. “Life is for the living, Damien, and I... I hardly consider myself among them.”

“Mark,” Damien moved to look his friend in the eyes. “Mark, please open your eyes.”

Mark shook his head. Damien sighed.

“Very well, that’s fine. But listen. Don’t let this kill you, in any sense of the word. You have a bright, fun-loving, entertainer’s soul, and it doesn’t belong trapped in this manor forever. It belongs out in the world, where it can mend and heal from the wounds it’s been dealt. You must choose to live, Mark, or else you’ll end up rotting in your own misery in your own home.”

Mark’s wheezing was all that could be heard for a few moments.

Well...

Damien could have sworn he heard something else, some kind of... whispering. But he dismissed it. He and Mark were the only ones there. It must have been the wind, or perhaps the house settling...

Mark squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and took a deep breath. He gave a small gasp and stumbled forward, almost falling, kept from collapse only by Damien catching him. The barely audible noises seemed to grow... frantic. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Damien said, trying to drown out the unsettling noises around them. He didn’t know what was wrong with his friend, but he would damn well try and help him get better in any way he could.

“Okay,” Mark said, his voice strained. “I-I’ll come with you.”

Damien smiled. “It’ll be good for you, I promise.”

“I’m not changing out of my robe though. Not- not here.”

Damien chose not to ask about the reason. “That’s fine, I think I have something that could fit you at my house. Shall we get going?”

He ignored the continually increasing background noises. ‘It’s just the house settling. It’s just the house settling.’

Mark nodded. Damien kept supporting him as they made their way to the door, Mark seeming more and more apprehensive the closer they got. Damien turned the handle.

It didn’t budge.

He used both his hands and pulled as hard as he could.

The door slowly creaked open. Damien felt like he was trying to move a mountain.

As soon as they stepped out Mark shuddered, his whole body trembling like all the warmth had been pulled out of him at once. Damien himself shivered, noticing for the first time how cold his friend felt even though the fabric of the plush robe.

They got to Damien’s car and drove away. Damien tried to focus on the road and not stare at the way Mark’s face drained of color as they got farther away from Markiplier Manor.

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

“Isn’t it lovely out today?” Damien commented as they entered through the gates of the park.

Mark, dressed in a red suit that one of Damien’s politician friends had gotten him (red really wasn’t Damien’s color of choice, but Mark had always been fond of it), looked up at the sky. “I suppose so.”

Mark was nervous, shaky, his eyes darting around like he was afraid something would jump out and attack him. Since they’d left the manor his face had gone nearly white, like there was no blood flowing to it at all. He kept coughing into a handkerchief and quickly hiding it from Damien’s view when he was done.

“Oh, come on now old friend. The sun is shining, there’s a good breeze, and the few clouds in the sky are perfectly fluffy!”

Mark blinked. His eyes seemed unfocused. For a second the glaze over them cleared, and a small smile made its way onto his face. “Yes...it is quite nice.”

They strolled through the park, under the shade of trees they used to climb in their youth, through patches of warm sunlight that Damien hoped would bring color back to Mark’s face, by picnics of families and friends as they celebrated the beautiful day. 

Mark smiled as she walked. Not a big, dazzling smile like he normally did, but a small, close-lipped smile. Still, it was a smile nonetheless. “I told you this would help,” Damien said.”

Mark laughed a little. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this warm,” he said, almost absentmindedly. 

Damien wasn’t sure what to say to that. So he brushed past it. “Not to mention how delightful the birds sound.”

Mark nodded. “I’d forgotten how much I like hearing them.”

Damien opened his mouth, wanting to ask why there would be no birds chirping at the manor when surely the garden attracted all kinds, but he hesitated. The manor seemed... a poor topic of discussion. He felt a chill just thinking about the... “settling” noises from earlier.

They made small talk as they walked, Damien telling Mark about his recent acts as mayor, about how he’d really like to introduce Mark to the DA at some point, he really thought they’d get along, about how the movies and local theaters had grown dull without Mark to join in them. Perhaps he over-exaggerated with the last subject, but he just wanted to try and get Mark interested in his own passions again.

Mark talked with him about what he had planned to do before... before everything happened. How he wanted to go into writing and producing as well as continuing to act, how he had wanted to try and coax Damien into being in one of his plays once he got a few written. “You’d be a great star, Damien! One of the leading men!”

Damien laughed. “What role would I even play?”

“I had an idea for you being a wicked governor.”

“Oh Mark, I could hardly pull off a villainous role.”

“I believe you could, if you really tried. I’ve played one or two and it’s not as difficult as you might think.”

“Well, perhaps when you’ve written it I’ll take you up on the offer.”

Mark kept coughing into the handkerchief the whole time. Damien took another one out of his pocket. “Here, I think yours is long beyond usefulness by now.”

“Thanks,” Mark said, taking it. Damien’s blood ran cold when he saw a dark, wet spot on Mark’s hand. “What is it?”

“Mark,” Damien held onto Mark’s wrist, careful not to squeeze and make Mark feel threatened, “Is this blood?”

Mark looked at the spot. “On, no. No, I’ve been using a new teeth whitening method, it turns my spit black, that’s all. It’s very effective, see?” Mark grinned, but Damien wasn’t convinced.

“That is far too thick to be spit.”

Mark yanked his hand away. “Just drop it. It’s nothing to worry about.” He went to tuck the other handkerchief back in his pocket, but Damien grabbed it before he could. “Hey!”

Damien stared at it in horror. It had to be blood on it, it was a dark thick liquid that certainly was not water or spit, but it...

It was too dark, too think. Like some kind of... black sludge, as opposed to blood.

“We’re getting you to a doctor. Right now.” Damien took Mark’s hand and started leading him back towards the gate.

“No!” Mark pulled away. “Let’s just go back to the walk and forget this happened! It’s nothing, Damien, and there’s nothing any doctor can do about it!”

“You can’t stop coughing, wheezing, and now you’re hacking up blood or- or whatever this is! You’re sick, Mark, very sick, and I’m not letting you neglect yourself any longer!”

“Oh why, because you feel so bad about neglecting me when I needed you?!” Mark shot back, his voice venomous. Damien flinched away, shocked by the rage that had so quickly taken over his friend. 

That’s not fair, I- I tried, but I had other duties!” 

“I needed you! And you left me alone, in that manor, with only my own grief and the-” Mark stopped, a coughing fit even more violent than all the others wracking him, making him double over, and then fall to his knees.

Damien forgot the need to argue, forgot the question he was going to ask about what else Mark had been left with, and rushed to kneel by Mark. Mark had the clean handkerchief gripped in his fist, so Damien held the dirty one up to his mouth. Black... whatever it was, had already made a small puddle on the ground, and Mark just kept coughing up more.

After what seemed like forever the fit stopped. Mark stayed still, shaking, head drooped, as Damien threw the handkerchief aside. “Please, Mark, I don’t want you to die. We have to get you to a doctor.”

Mark laughed, bitter and weak. “It’s a little too late for that.” He struggled to his feet. “I’m going home. I shouldn’t have left.”

“That place is bad for you! Look at yourself, you’re a shell of who you used to be!”

“IT’S ALL I HAVE LEFT!” Mark screamed, screamed at Damien, at his best friend since childhood. He stepped away, wiping from his eye what looked a lot like a tear made of the same black substance that he was coughing up. “It- it’s-” He looked at his hand, at the tear. He shivered, looking almost fearful. “It’s...”

He set his jaw. “I need to go home.”

Damien didn’t know what to do. “No, you need help.”

Mark wiped his hand on the suit jacket. “I have help. Just not from you, and not the kind of help you think I need.”

Damien grabbed Mark’s arm as the actor tried to walk away. “Do you actually want to go back?”

Mark froze. “What?” He wasn’t facing Damien, and he made no move to change that.

“Do you actually want to go back? That manor is... something feels very wrong with it, and I’m afraid it’s clouding your judgement. I can arrange for a different house for you to stay in, you can get some help, stop being so isolated. Your rage is just festering within you, and if you don’t stop it it’s going to ruin you.”

Mark was quiet for a long while. Damien moved so that he could at least see the side of Mark’s face. The actor was staring at nothing, actual, real tears in his eyes. “I-I...”

And then that darkened glaze came over them again. “No.” He wrenched his arm away from Damien. 

“Thanks for the suit,” he said, half genuine and half sneeringly. And he walked away.

Damien watched him go. He wanted to run after him, to force him to get help, but he had a feeling Mark was done... entertaining his ideas.

He sighed and picked up the discarded handkerchief, not wanting to litter. He would try again when he got a chance. 

He could still save Mark from himself.

Damien looked at the black sludge staining the handkerchief. It seemed like it was spreading, slowly eating up all the fabric until none of it was left untainted.

He could still save Mark from himself.

Couldn’t he?

[firemblemimagines]

Flight Duty with Claude

Claude rested his chin in the palm of his hand, watching Byleth as they gently disengaged themselves from a very one-sided conversation with Lorentz. Claude tried his best to hide his smirk as the nobleman steadfastly marched on, insisting loudly that Byleth surely needed to relax and catch up with him after being gone for five years. Claude was sorely tempted to let them struggle on their own. Alas, he also wanted to be the one who knew more than the the professor for once. 

"Hey, Lorentz, teach! What're you guys talking about?" Claude said, rising from the table and striding over. Byleth threw him a thankful glance that Lorentz missed completely. 

"I was just suggesting to the professor that perhaps we should go over political matters over some tea," Lorentz explained. 

"Ah, don't you think they would rather do something else besides sitting still? I don't know about you, but if I just woke up from a five year nap that would be the last thing on my mind," Claude said. Byleth nodded in agreement. 

"That may be so, what if we went riding together instead? It's a fine evening to be on horseback. And we can check in on the commoners while out," Lorentz said, eyes glistening with pride at his own stroke of genius. 

"Oh! That's right. I completely forgot. The reason why I came over is because we have flight duty, remember teach?" Claude said, nudging Byleth's arm. He was eternally thankful that Byleth's emotions were hard to read, because truthfully he didn't think they could lie to save their life if they weren't always a blank slate.  

"Don't let me keep you both from your duties then. And Claude, that reminds me. Your wyvern, Yorick, has been scaring the horses again with his antics," Lorentz said. 

"Oh Yorick, he just wants to be friends," Claude said brightly. What was really the truth was that the wyvern was probably hunting them. But that was the kind of wyvern one got when rearing one from hand fresh out of the wild. 

"Let's get to it teach, before we're overrun by spies," Claude said brightly, gently taking Byleth's arm and drawing them away towards the stables.

"Thank you," Byleth said. Claude beamed at them, happy to hear their voice. It was always a delight, a treasure even to have such a response. Not that he minded. Sometimes it was nice to just talk for a long time with someone listening.

"Not a problem. But uh, I really do have flight duty. You're welcome to come along if you'd like," Claude offered. He watched Byleth closely as they walked, trying to figure out what they were thinking. He knew what quirks to look for, such as when they wrinkled their nose slightly, they were about to say no. 

He was also happy to see that the freckle on the side of their nose had stayed, but that was irrelevant. 

"I would love to. I don't know how to ride though," Byleth said.

"Not to worry. Unlike what Lorentz has said about poor Yorick, his reputation when I'm around has always been absolutely stellar," Claude said, opening the barn door that led into where the wyverns were kept. 

Byleth nodded their thanks as they stepped into the darkness. Claude followed closely behind, shutting the door before any of the creatures thought to slink out. Inside, the smell of rotting meat was prevalent, and the heat was almost unbearable. 

"They like to be warm, so every respectable wyvern stable makes sure to have a magic furnace running at all times, especially in winter," Claude said. He mentally kicked himself. Teach would know these things, they were a mastermind after all. But that was the issue with Byleth. While they talked a little, they also made Claude talk a lot more than he usually did. 

"Yorick is this way," Claude said, pointing towards the back of the room. As they walked, draconian eyes glimmered in the darkness. Claude reached out and patted the space between a pair of eyes, touching scales hot to the touch. 

"Hilda sends her regards," he said fondly to the beast. the creature cooed at the name 'Hilda', but drew its snout away nevertheless. 

"They're very loyal," Byleth said. Claude looked over, unsurprised to see them watching him. Nothing escaped them. Not even for a second. 

"Yeah, probably because they know who feeds them the most," Claude joked, grabbing his saddle before diving into Yorick's stable. 

"Get up, lazy bones, we're going flying today," Claude said, nudging the beasts foot. Yorick opened an eye lazily, before ponderously closing it again.

"That wasn't a suggestion," Claude said, tossing the saddle onto his back. The wyvern sat up with another massive yawn, teeth dangerously close to Claude's head as he dove underneath the wyvern's neck to secure the saddle in place. 

"Come on you overly decorated lizard," Claude said, tugging on Yorick's crest. The wyvern let Claude pull his head to the side, pushing his massive head into Claude's armpit affectionately. 

Byleth stepped out of the way as Claude guided Yorick out of the stable, talking to him about nothing and everything in particular. Finally, he scrambled on, twisting to look down at Byleth.

"Well, climb on," Claude said. Byleth, for all their bravery diving into battle, actually looked...scared?

"Do I have to?" Byleth asked at last. Yorick turned his head to size up Byleth, snorting with derision when they took a hesitant step back. 

"I promise I won't let us crash into any walls or the ground, and you can hold on as tight as you like," Claude said solemnly. He tried his best not to grin as he said it. Teach? Scared of Yorick? 

"If you say so," Byleth said, the worried crease between their eyebrows remaining as they carefully climbed on. They settled onto the saddle behind Claude, a moment later their arms twining around his middle and holding fast. Claude felt them press up tightly against his back, tried not to think too much about it. 

"Alright Yorick, let's give teach a nice and smooth ride," Claude said, before digging his heels in.

Yorick, bless his heart, didn't listen to a word Claude had said. The wyvern took three massive bounds forward in the courtyard before launching itself into the air, wings snapping outwards at the last moment to drive them upwards powerfully. Dust rose up around them, and Claude fought to breath from how tightly Byleth was holding on.  

Yorick beat against the air for several long seconds before coasting at an eye level of the battlements of the church. Claude reached down and patted Byleth's hand reassuringly. 

"It's okay teach, it's smooth sailing from here, he knows the route by heart," Claude said. 

"If you say so," Byleth repeated doubtfully, letting go just enough for Claude to catch his breath. They flew together just so for a few rounds about the battlements, until eventually Byleth had relaxed enough to merely rest their hands around Claude's stomach. 

"See, I told you it wasn't that bad," Claude said, scanning the distance. It was highly unlikely that anything would happen, given that they had just recently taken over Garreg Mach. He figured that Edelgard already knew about it, but he supposed she was just waiting to catch them off guard. 

"The sunset is pretty," Byleth said, pointing towards the burning sky. Claude made a noise of agreement. So it was. Yorick banked sharply to the left, and Claude lunged to reign him in.

"What's the matter with you?" Claude scolded. Yorick roared indignantly. 

"There's someone below! Looks like they're trying to sneak in," Claude shouted. His heart raced as he allowed Yorick to fall into a free fall. He snapped up the axe from the sidesaddle, rising in the saddle just slightly so that he would be ready to lean down and slice the head off of the--

"It's just me!" Raphael screeched. Claude pulled the reins hard, and Yorick swooped out of his dive. 

"Sorry!" Claude called back, securing his axe back into the saddle. Byleth shook behind him, and Claude directed Yorick to land on an embankment a little further on. 

"Are you okay?" Claude asked, swinging one leg over the back of Yorick to see Byleth better. To his shock, they were laughing, hiding their face behind their hands. 

"You-you're laughing?" Claude asked. Byleth shook their head helplessly, before delving into another fit of giggles. 

"I'm sorry, his face was too much," Byleth said finally, gasping for air. 

"His face? You should've seen mine! If it wasn't my axe, it was going to be Yorick clawing him to shreds," Claude said, laughing himself. Oh, what a way to go. Poor Raphael. 

"I think I need to go on rides more often with you," Byleth said, smiling.

"Oh, you don't have to, this doesn't happen all the time teach," Claude said quickly.

"Perhaps you've scared the other students into silence and this is the first I've seen of it," Byleth said teasingly. Claude sighed dramatically. 

"Fine! Fine, I get babysat because my wyvern is a brat, whatever," Claude said dramatically, smiling despite himself. 

"Let's go back," Byleth suggested, wrapping their arms around Claude's stomach comfortably.

"As you wish," Claude said. Perhaps it wouldn't be all that bad to have teach along for flight duty. As long as it made them laugh.

[pbpress]

Midnight Coma

By Ruqayyah Pickel

My parents always said I was a resilient child. 

So they weren’t surprised when I took a bowling ball to the head when a fight broke out at our local arcade a couple of months ago--and seemed to be just fine, save for the massive bruise that formed on my head. 

I did still end up in the hospital for about a week, but other than that I was fine. I still felt lightheaded at times, and I passed out quite a bit, so my parents decided to homeschool me to limit the risk of my head trauma getting worse. There were too many things at school that would pose as a hazard to me...especially the stairs. 

Being an only child, spending a lot of time at home was…rather boring. Sure, there were the huge stacks of RPGs and fighting games I got for Christmas, but the bright lights and flashing would probably make my frequent headaches even worse. So I mostly took to reading mystery novels and drawing when I wasn’t doing schoolwork. Most days, though, I preferred to read. Drawing was fun too, of course--I used to love to come up with strange characters, or just drawing cool landscapes I found online when I was out of ideas, but the last thing I needed was for my parents to come and check on me and see the more recent pages of my sketchbook.

Anyone who looked at my sketchbook nowadays would think something was wrong with me. They wouldn’t exactly be lying, though: recently, my pages were filled with stuff that had been happening in my dreams. Shadowy figures standing over my bed, running down dark alleyways, fearing for my life, drawings of me being chained to my bed by spectral shackles…drawing these for the first time used to unnerve me, and I barely ever finished the first ones. However, I gradually came to find it more therapeutic, like I could put a face to the otherwise enigmatic forces that haunted me each night. 

Getting a good night’s rest was nearly impossible nowadays; I was tormented endlessly by sleep paralysis and recurring dreams. I couldn’t go a single night without dealing with either of them, or both. Some nights, I’d find myself frozen in bed, trying to will myself to move with no avail. I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t cry out for help, but I just struggled endlessly to free myself from whatever was holding me down, feeling the warm tears falling down my face as I wept in silence. Sometimes my sleep paralysis lasted for over an hour. Before my parents homeschooled me, I ended up missing the bus because of it. 

Other nights, I actually could move...and I kind of had to. I’d find myself in that same dark alleyway, knowing what was to come and dreading it every time. I would walk around aimlessly, waiting, until *he* finally showed up. 

Those heavy footsteps, the chill in the air that my dream tormentor always carried with him. Those black, tattered clothes, his black gloves, his huge hood that held an empty void where his face was supposed to be. He would just stay there for about a minute or so—I counted—before bursting into a sprint towards me. I couldn’t fight him, I couldn’t reason with him, all I could do was run as fast as I could and scream, hoping some dream god could hear me. This faceless killer always carried with him a razor edged knife that was curved just slightly, and though I’ve yet to feel it pierce my skin, just thinking about how it would feel sent shivers down my spine. 

Before long, I started seeing this maniac in real life, too. No, not on the street wandering the waking world, luring other innocent victims to their death. I started seeing him in my room, while I lay there, motionless, helpless. He stood over my bed, the knife in hand at his side. I saw it, he knew I saw it. But he did nothing. Not for a while, at least. 

Then, he started to take action. 

He would raise the knife up, slowly; sometimes it wouldn’t even fully reach the top before I had managed to blink him out of existence. Sometimes, though, the knife would go higher, sometimes reaching the very top. Some nights, the knife would already be fully raised when he showed up. Then, like a roller coaster car at the top of the hill, it would plunge straight down. Only then was I finally jolted out of my sleep paralysis.

Too many times have I seen his nonexistent face.

Too many times have I pleaded with him to leave me alone.

Too many times have I screamed in silence, felt my heart thunder against my chest in real life as I tried to outrun this shadowy killer. 

Too many times have I laid in my bed, frozen, my face drenched with cold sweat as I woke up with a comatose start after my relentless tormentor was inches away, always just inches away from finishing the job. 

And too many times have I broken free from his chase, thinking I was safe, only to find him just inches away in the real world. 

When I did eventually wake up, I found myself in tears. I just wanted it to be over. I just wanted to go to sleep. Whenever I asked my parents for help, they just told me to “look up a solution, ”or “just try to sleep.”

And I did.

I always did.

I never stopped trying.

And I never stopped failing.

But I had enough. There had to be something I could do. Fortunately, I did have one person to confide in: my good friend Quinn, who claimed to be a witch. One morning, after yet another run-in with the shadowy killer, I sent him a text:

“Can you come over?” 

Immediately, I saw that he read my message. And so I waited. Two minutes later, I heard a knocking on my window. I turned to see the wild-haired, freckled witch boy crouched on my windowsill. He had on his signature necklace with a metallic feather on it. His brown shirt was torn a bit, creating a slight v-neck, and his “lucky witch hat” was tied on his back with the string. He stumbled through the window as I opened it, and he landed on my floor.

“I see you’ve called on my services once again,” the witch boy said, putting his hat on as he sat cross-legged. 

I nodded. “It’s gotten worse. He’s started showing up in real life, too.” 

“Like, you’ve seen him around?” Quinn asked. 

“No. He’s shown up right beside my bed, sometimes even stabbing me.” 

“Well, not really stabbing you, now, right?” 

“No…at least I don’t think so.” My hand instinctively moved toward my abdomen, where I would often find the blade just inches from me before I woke up. “But during these nights, when I woke up…I could feel a slight stinging sensation right here.” I gestured toward my abdomen. “I...also found a bruise there earlier today.”

“How strange…” Quinn said. “I suppose he’s finally caught up to you.” 

“Caught up to me? How?” I asked, worried.

He gave me a solemn smile. 

“It’s as I suspected. He’s a dream demon.” He opened his purse and flipped open to a page in his homemade spell book, then showed it to me. “Creatures of the night that only attack a victim while they’re sleeping. Yours just happened to be strong enough to reach the waking world…and I can only think of a few that can do that.”

I felt the color drain from my face. Did I really have a dream demon?

“Is there any way to get rid of one?” I asked Quinn. 

He thought for a second, examining his book, then looked up at me. 

“Standard exorcism—though not like you’re any good at that—won’t work on this particular nasty,” he explained. 

Ignoring his hurtful comment, I urged him to go on. 

“Fighting a dream demon,” he continued, “requires one to arm themselves mentally, and, to an extent, physically. The way I see it, you’re at an advantage and disadvantage simultaneously. Your greatest weakness is your greatest strength. And you may fear it, but the truth is, you will have to accept it eventually. Especially in a case like this, you don’t have much of a choice.”

I felt my face contort into an expression of confusion. As always, Quinn’s riddles had caught me off guard. I read his own expression, hoping he would give me some kind of clue, but that slight smile stayed on his face. 

Finally, I had come to realize what he meant. Quinn and I had talked for so long that I was somewhat accustomed to the kind of magic that he gets up to. I was then, at least, familiar with the “solution” he had in mind.   

Astral projection…

Quinn first told me about it a little while ago. I won’t lie, the ability to project one’s soul out of their body sounded awesome...except it required the body being completely still in order to pull it off. 

In other words, I would have to enter sleep paralysis. 

In other words, I had to do the exact thing that led me straight to my supposed dream demon. 

“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting…” I said, “Then absolutely not. Astral projection is way too risky for me. Look what damage he’s done to me already! I might as well just slap a sign on me that says ‘hey! I’m helpless! Come kill me!’ This plan is completely counterproductive! Are you out of your mind?!” 

Quinn let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Oh come on,” he said. “I promise you, it won’t be so bad. You just have to trust me. Besides, I’ve been doing this longer than you have. Your whole sleep paralysis problem is going to make astral projection a lot easier. Like I said--your greatest weakness is your greatest strength.”

It was my turn to let out a shaky sigh, one heavy with anxiety. 

“Very well.” I sat on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, ready to listen, like a kindergartener. “What do I need to do?” 

“Finally come to your senses, hm?” Quinn gave me another sly smile. “Lovely. Now, listen closely. I don’t have much time, so I can only say this once. The instructions are as follows...”

—————

Quinn’s instructions stuck with me that whole night.

Step 1. 

I got in bed, lying flat on my back and throwing my covers over me to where only my head was exposed. I stared at the dreamcatcher on my ceiling; more specifically, the very center of it. I focused on my breathing, and tried to clear my mind of everything. Slowly, the thoughts of everything, save for Quinn’s instructions, slipped out of my mind…that fateful day at the arcade…the shadow killer that pursued me every night…the adrenaline from the other night as he chased me down in the dreamworld…

Step 2. 

That’s when I began to feel…strange. Like my body was shaking, vibrating, but as far as I was aware I wasn’t moving a muscle. As Quinn had instructed, I was to leave these feelings alone and stay completely still. 

Step 3. 

I thought about moving my right hand, but kept it still. Then I moved up my arm, willing myself to move it up and fight against the physical restrictions I had placed on it. This went on for several, unsuccessful minutes, until finally…I felt my arm move, as if it actually was. But my physical arm lay still. Then, I moved on to my left hand and repeated the process. Then my head, both legs, and gradually…I lifted myself up from my bed, leaving my body behind. 

For a moment, it felt like I was still in bed, then I looked back—or down, rather—to find myself lying in bed, eyes shut. It reminded me all too much of an open casket funeral, and my stomach dropped just looking at me.

My stomach dropped even further when I realized I was floating.

The very air around me felt like an ocean, and I frantically flailed around trying to find any sort of ground. When I tried to hang onto the edge of my bed, my hand phased right through. 

Just fly over to the ground! I thought to myself. This should be easy!

But it wasn’t. The weightlessness was jarring; I flailed around desperately in the darkness looking for something to cling onto. It didn’t help that I felt so vulnerable without the fleshy cocoon that was my body. The sensation of someone—something—trying to pull me away, was ceaseless. The room around me felt larger as I continued my desperate flailing, like any sort of anchor I could use—my bookshelves, the foot of my bed, my chair, the windowsill—just got further and further away. 

I kicked my legs out, trying to force my body to go upright, until I finally managed to jerk myself upright. Confident in my position, I landed my feet on the ground, praying I wouldn’t slip under the floor. 

To my surprise, my feet landed on the floor without slipping through. 

I didn’t begin to question how I managed to stay on the second floor; I was too busy reeling from the probably-too-long process of trying to steady myself. Now all I had to do was wait and see if that faceless terror decided to come for me again. 

And so I waited.

And waited. 

And waited. 

It’s been several minutes and nothing was happening. Surely some outside force was causing my sleep paralysis…right? So where was it? If I had managed to pull off a feat like, oh, I dunno, forcing my spirit out of my body, then nothing was impossible at this point…

Right? 

Finally, I gave up and decided that I was probably better off getting myself out of this state of paralysis. I stood on the edge of the bed, right where my feet were, turned around, and fell back on top of my body, hoping to be jolted awake by the sudden return of my spirit—

And fell through the bed instead, stopping myself just in time before I fell through the first floor, too. I looked around and, after taking a minute to process everything in the dark, came to the conclusion that I was in my living room. Annoyed, I drifted back towards my staircase, intending to go back and try again—when I felt something grab me as I turned the corner. I was pulled back into the living room, and found myself face-to-face with an eerily familiar figure…

…the same black-clad, faceless, knife-wielding killer from my dreams. Grabbing my wrist, he held the knife behind my neck, as if to draw me closer. I was almost forced to look at the empty void where his face should have been. 

You know how some people say that if you stare into the void long enough, the void stares back at you? That’s kind of what happened to me…but worse.

No, the void didn’t just stare back at me. It smiled at me, a cruel, triumphant smile that only grew as it saw the absolute terror on my face as I felt the cold steel against my neck; as if it could just feel the overwhelming despair within me that only continued to eat at any hope of me getting out of this situation alive. 

“Who...are you?” I whimpered. “What the hell do you want from me?”

My dream demon gave no response. It didn’t do anything, in fact. As panicked as I was, I started to at least regain my senses when I noticed that this thing was almost completely still. It didn’t even look like it was breathing. 

Was it actually frozen? Or was it toying with me?

Either way, I wouldn’t let this be the end. 

One last chase, I decided. One last chase. I’ve already outran it several times. What was one more?

I immediately broke off into a sprint, pushing my hooded tormentor’s arm that held the knife away as I stumbled on my way out the door. Being incorporeal, I at least had the advantage of being able to phase through the locked door instead of opening it. The feeling of phasing through solid was much more jarring than I could handle, and I continued to stumble a bit as I ran far, far away from the house. I could barely feel my transparent feet hitting the concrete, or the tree branch that would’ve smacked me right in the face after I ran into it. I couldn’t even feel the wind on my face, though I’m not sure if this came from being too overwhelmed with terror or a side effect of being incorporeal. 

The only thing I did feel, however, was the constant, incessant dread of my accursed stalker barely even a foot away from me. I didn’t want to turn around, I begged myself not to look, trying and failing to comfort myself with the lie that the killer wasn’t as close as I thought it was, there was no way, no human can run that fast. The even more obvious lie, of course, was that this was another dream, and even if it does catch up and strike me, I would wake up back in my bed, back in my body.

Finally, I caved and turned around, only to find myself facing that sinister void once more. I screamed, tripping and collapsing to the floor face-down. I turned back up to face my attacker, who was innocently holding its knife behind its back--no, that wasn’t a knife anymore, I noted. It had somehow grown longer than the razor-edged knife it had before, and I could now see the end of the blade from behind the void-faced freak’s back. It had now reached the length of a dagger, or maybe just bordering on the edge of being the length of a shortsword. 

I could only crawl away from my tormentor as I struggled to stand back up. As I pushed myself off the ground and back on my feet, my stomach dropped when I realized my feet were no longer touching the floor. Though I tried desperately to get myself back on the ground, remembering how jarring the feeling of floating had been the first time, I realized that my would-be killer was only a few feet away from me at best, and I should take advantage of this new ability. I willed myself forward, pushing through the air like a swimmer pushes through water, and then did the same going upwards, up past a nearby three-story house. 

I was flying, I realized with awe and wonder, which was quickly cut short when I saw my tormentor climbing up the same house. Part of me wanted to warn the neighbors inside, but every other bit of me just wanted to make sure I actually survived this nightmare. 

I flew back to my house, phasing through trees and powerlines and a bit of scaffolding, until at last I nearly missed my own home. Spotting my room on the second story, I phased through the window and back into my bedroom. It was still dark in my room, but I made out the shape of a body in the darkness. 

But...it wasn’t my body. 

At least, I didn’t think it was. It looked too weak; some bits of hair had fallen out, I looked like I lost a small, yet noticeable amount of weight, and when I looked closer at my face, it didn’t look like me at all. I looked much more pale, my lips were extremely dry, and I could make out the color of an old and large bruise that covered over a third of my forehead. Suddenly, I felt my stomach drop when I realized what was so familiar about how I looked.

I looked dead. 

That’s when I felt a cold breeze come in through the same window, and turned around to find my void-faced, black-clad killer raising a giant onyx scythe towards me. I found myself unable to move, unable to fly away. I just stood there, paralyzed with terror, looking dead in the eyes at the same monster that faced every soul at the end of their lives, no matter how much they begged for mercy.

Its giant scythe, its black clothing…this wasn’t a demon, was it? 

No. It was something worse. People dealt with this thing more frequently than demons, yet this walking void carried with it more terror, more despair, more ruin than any demonic creature could even dream of. My parents always said I was a resilient child, yet my resolve shattered in the face of this monster. I stood in front of it, weeping silently as the sheer dread of my tormentor filled me from head to toe. 

“Please,” I begged. “I held on for so long…please don’t take me away.” 

But it didn’t listen. It never listened. My “resilience” may have made me feel special, but right now I was no different from everyone else—standing in front of this monster, pleading for their lives, never receiving an answer.

And so, like everyone else, all I did was stand there as its onyx scythe tore through my soul, letting out one final silent scream as I felt my very being, and the remnants of my resolve, fall apart. 

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

[heyyyharry]

In Another Life Series: Chapter 8 - The Curse

…in which Y/N discovers the truth, and Harry is just late.

Series description: Y/N and Harry are soulmates and destined to meet in every lifetime, but no matter how many times they reincarnate and find each other again, they never seem to get it right.

AU: reincarnation, soulmate!harry, prince!harry, assistant!y/n, witch!y/n.

Chapter 7 - The Tour: Harry’s tour begins, and Y/N struggles with her feelings for him.

(So this is pretty dark...but it turned out better than I’d expected. Btw, all the characters besides Harry, Jeff, Mitch, Sarah don’t exist in real life lol)

wattpad link

.

Jason loved Y/N. It was obvious, like a written fact. His parents knew, all their friends knew, only she didn’t. Well, Jason assumed she probably did, but in order to keep their friendship from falling apart, she pretended like she had no idea. 

She called him up again tonight and told him, Harry/ her boss/ the-man-she-was-in-love-with decided to stay in his toxic relationship, choosing his girlfriend and not her. Y/N was crying, and Jason swore he almost booked a plane ticket to go see her right away. He’d known it was a bad idea since she started having these dreams about Harry, which had gotten quite intense lately; the most recent one being him getting hit by a car right in front of her eyes. It wasn’t just a nightmare because she woke up crying and gasping for air. 

Jason couldn’t logically explain the reason why this guy named Harry had such a tremendous impact on his best friend that it was gradually driving her insane. However, he knew it would be best if she came back home. 

“I will,” she told him, to his surprise. “I’ve…made up my mind. I’m going to quit.”

“Are you sure?” He asked though he felt so relieved knowing she was going to walk away from the job that had been tormenting her from the beginning.

“We’re doing the LA show tomorrow night and I’ll let him know right after that. Don’t worry.” The sigh at the end of her sentence left a heavy feeling in the bottom of his stomach. She truly loved this man who didn’t love her, and the worst thing about that was Jason knew exactly how she must have felt.

“I’m sorry for calling you up, J. Thank you for hearing me out,” she said.

To which he replied saying it was not a big deal. “We’re best friends, aren’t we?”

“The bestest.” He could feel a smile in those two words. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Good night, J. Love you.”

“Love you,” he repeated what she’d just said, while meaning something else entirely different.

.

.

.

Ann sat by the fireplace in her dark room, all windows were closed and the only source of light in presence was the flame dancing before her eyes. She was bored, so she tapped her forefinger once, almost putting out the fire and then one more time to revive it. The witch repeated her magic trick a couple more times, when all of a sudden, there was a knock on the door, which caught Ann off guard, causing the flame to flare and knocking Ann right off her chair. 

She sat on the floor, eyes wide, mouth agape, chest heaving up and down as she had no idea what had just happened, and how. For a second there, she lost control of her own power.

The person knocked louder this time. Ann hurriedly stood up, then told them that they could now enter.

“Ann, darling, I brought you your meal,” said the young maid who was carrying a tray into the room. Ann was disappointed because she’d been expecting to see Edward, though she’d known it couldn’t have been him in the first place, he wouldn’t have knocked.

“Marina,” spoke Ann as the maid turned to leave. “Do you have an idea where Edward might be?”

“No, dear, I haven’t seen His Highness today,” she replied with a sympathetic smile.

“Oh….”

“He’s been busy you know. I heard he had to meet with the ambassador from Spain this morning and show them around, and also there’s a lot to prepare for his wedding with princess Emilié.”

Ann nodded once, staring down at her feet. “Right…the wedding.”

The maid released a long sigh as she slowly approached the sorrowful girl, reaching out to hold her hand. “My dear, I’m very sorry, I know how much you love His Highness.”

“Marina, am I being stupid for loving him?” Ann asked quietly, her voice trembling as if she was on the verge of tears. 

“You’re not the first to fall in love with the Prince,” said Marina. “But…you’re the first he’s fallen in love with. I’ve seen the way he’s always looked at you, and he keeps reminding me to send you nice clothes and fine meals and making sure you stay warm at night.”

Ann looked up to meet her eyes. What the maid had just said should’ve made her feel better, yet it didn’t, not a bit, not at all.

“But, again, His Highness is always going to choose his throne, which also means…the Princess.” Marina gives Ann’s hand a gentle squeeze as she noticed the young girl’s glistened eyes. “If I were you, I wouldn’t build my hopes up so high for it to get shattered down. I know you’re a good person, Ann, and you deserve more than a troublesome life bound by these walls.”

Ann mumbled her gratitude then watched the girl walk out of the room. Soon the door was closed again and she was left alone, again. Edward hadn’t come visit her since last night, after she’d found him and Emilié, his true wife-to-be. Maybe he’d made his choice. 

However, Ann loved him too much to make her own.

.

.

.

“Hey, Lisa!” Jason smiled when Y/N’s flatmate came to answer the door.

“Hi, kid. What are you doing here?” Lisa raised an eyebrow at him. “She’s on tour with Harry Styles, the love of her life, remember?”

He rolled his eyes and stepped inside before she even intended to invite him in. “I left my notebook in Y/N’s room the other day when I was helping her pack. I come to get it.”

“Okay. Be quick, I’m leaving in five minutes.”

“Five minutes. Got it,” Jason said quickly as he headed straight to Y/N’s bedroom. He’d been here too often so it was like his own place now, but his best friend had never been a tidy person, so to look for something in her room in five minutes only would be quite a challenge.

“Where the hell is it?” grumbled the young man when he searched through the stuff on Y/N’s working desk, which was always disorganized anyway.

By accident, he knocked over a pile of books with his elbow, cursing and bending down to pick it up. It was only then did he discover a brown paperback sketch book which, for some reason, caught his attention before anything else lying on the floor. He picked it up and sat down on the edge of her bed as he opened it. He’d never seen this book before, but he was sure she wouldn’t mind him taking a look for she loved bragging about her masterpieces to him anyway. Jason had always loved seeing Y/N’s artworks; whenever she showed them to him she would go into every detail from her choice of colors to the story behind each sketch and painting. Nevertheless, there was something wrong about these drawings. These weren’t what she normally would draw. 

The first few pages of the book were portraits of familiar strangers, whom Jason could easily recognize, but he never would’ve thought his best friend would know about these people. He flipped fast through the next pages and found some scenes she’d described to him before, those were the scenes from her dreams, she’d been drawing them probably to remember or to try and put two and two together. She wanted to know the answer for them perhaps.

The most recent sketch in the book was of a throne, on which sat a king whose face was blank, which was too creepy for Jason’s taste. On the walls behind the faceless man hung plenty of portraits of royal members without faces as well.

“Hmm…portraits…a palace…a king…” 

Jason widened his eyes when he felt a lightning strike right through his brain. He swiftly flipped back to the first pages of the book. How could he have missed it? The portrait of Edward Rammour in the museum!

Y/N was right to say he didn’t know any celebrity who was still alive, because Jason recognized most of the people in her sketch book. The only thing they had in common, besides the fact that they were all famous and dead, was how much they resembled one another. 

All of them possessed a strikingly identical pair of green eyes.

.

.

.

“Edward, stop!”

The young Prince squeezed his eyes shut when he halted his feet, then turned around to face his mother, the Queen. Her eyebrows were knitted together when she approached him, and without waiting for the young man to speak for himself, she scolded him first, “I can’t believe you called off the meeting to run off to see your lover! That was not how a prince should behave!”

“Mother, I called off the meeting because that man was talking nonsense.”

“That man, was about to offer us powerful warships so whatever nonsense he’s feeding you, you accept, with gratitude!” Said the Queen, shutting Edward up for good. “You need to stop acting like your father and keep it in your pants, for God’s sakes!”

“This is not about Ann, mother.”

“It’s been about her since the day she arrived!” 

Edward didn’t argue this time, so she knew she was right. That girl must have casted a spell on her child, because the son she’d brought up wouldn’t be such a fool for any woman. She didn’t raise him to be like his ignorant father.

“Edward,” she lowered her voice and laid a palm on his face, stroking his cheek gently like she’d always done since he was a baby. “You’re young and I cannot forbid you from lusting for beautiful ladies, but she’s not worth the time. You’re getting married, and you should only be this devoted to your wife and your wife only.”

“I…I’m gonna try to accept the marriage,” he said, almost making her happy. “But I don’t love Emilié, mother. I never will. You told me to follow my heart, right? That’s exactly what I’m doing here. I love Ann, and I want to be with her.”

The Queen did advise him that, but what she meant was him falling in love with a noble, not a girl with no background or title. 

“Edward, you’re hurting both girls by making this decision,” she said, stopping him immediately when he intended to walk away. “Do you think she’s going to stay around while you’re married to another? And what would the people say if they know their King is in love with a peasant?”

“Father sleeps with the whole kingdom and he’s still King, isn’t he?” The question slipped out before Edward could stop himself, leaving him and his mother in utter shock.

He swore he’d never seen her so hurt and disappointed for she didn’t need a reminder of how her husband had never loved her, especially when it was a reminder from her own child.

“I didn’t mean t—“

“Enough.” She raised her voice. “You are coming with me back to the throne hall. We’re having tea with the ambassador.”

“But mother—“

“Either you come, or you can stop calling me mother for good.” With that, she stormed away, leaving the Prince behind with a difficult decision to make. 

Edward thought about Ann and how sad she must have been waiting for him to come visit. He loved her, he truly did, but he also loved his mother, and he couldn’t let her down like his father had always done. Taking a deep breath, letting it out, Edward quickly followed the Queen back to the throne hall, even when his heart was aching to be elsewhere.

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.

.

Y/N knew she was supposed to hand in her resignation form after the show, but then she overheard some girls in Harry’s team gossiping about how she was in love with him and he’d told her no because he was in love with Lillie. They called her by these awful names she couldn’t forget, and they didn’t even know half the story to make such cruel accusations. All those lies made her feel sick and she couldn’t be anymore patient to wait until the show was finally over to get this pain off her chest.

That was why she knocked on the door of his dressing room just fifteen minutes before the show, thinking there was no turning back now that she’d made up her mind; yet the moment she saw him and he smiled at her, she almost forgot why she was there. 

However, she couldn’t allow herself to forget, not this time.

“I quit.”

Harry froze as soon as he heard those two words from his assistant, who was actually handing him her resignation form. This clearly wasn’t a joke.

“Why?”

“Why?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows at her employer and snorted humorlessly.

That was his response? Just a one-word question without any emotion at all? That was how much she meant to him?

Despite the look of shock on the assistant’s face, Harry seemed rather indifferent to this news, almost as if he didn’t care, which made her wonder,

Does he care?

“Your contract hasn’t ended yet, so if you want to quit you must give me a good reason.”

“It’s all in this form—”

“No. I want to hear you say it.”

Now Y/N had officially lost her patience. She withdrew the paper and held his eye-contact as she spoke loud and clear, “I cannot be around you anymore, Harry, that’s why. Is that a good enough reason for you?”

“And why can’t you?” He raised another question, looking as calm as ever, which drove her insane.

“Are you seriously not letting me quit?”

“You have to answer my question, Y/N.”

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

She didn’t know what he wanted or why he was acting this way. He appeared like he didn’t care whether she left or not, but at the same time he didn’t seem like he wanted to let her go. What exactly was it that he wanted? She wasn’t a psychic, he couldn’t expect her to read his mind!

“Y/N,” Harry broke the silence to remind his assistant he was still waiting for her reply.

Well, if he wanted to know the truth so badly, she would let him. It didn’t matter anymore, because once she’d left this job and gone back home, they would never see each other again. She would never see him again…Though the thought of that made her sad, it was reality, and she needed to accept it, and move on.

“Because…” She took a deep breath. “I think I love you.”

Harry didn’t say anything, just stared at her. Though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel his eyes burning holes on her face. Y/N wished he would start to speak, he could just laugh at her if he must, at least give her a reaction. His silence right now is slowly killing her.

“Now you know the real reason,” she said because he didn’t. “Can you let me go?”

“Think?” He puckered up his forehead, leaving her surprised. “You’re not sure?”

“Was that all you cared about?!”

“Yes, Y/N, that was all I cared about because I am sure. I love you.”

What?

“I love you,” Harry repeated once again, assuming she didn’t hear it the first time, but she did. She did clearly. She was just bewildered and had no idea how to react and what to believe.

“But you and Lillie—“

“Are over,” he finished that sentence for her, leaving her once again at a loss for words. “I broke up with her that day when she came here. She asked me to do her a favor by letting her team announce our breakup, because you know…Lillie. She’ll probably say she broke up with me, whatever, that doesn’t matter anymore.”

Harry left silence for Y/N to fill in but she remained quiet and kept gazing at him. It was all up to him now. He’d said what needed to be said and she hadn’t stormed out so it was a good sign. He might as well finish this the right way, what he should’ve done along time ago.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but I’m telling you now because…” Y/N felt her stomach tighten, and her hands shake, when he took a step forward closing the distance between them. “I don’t want you to leave.”

She had never stand this close to him. She thought she might pass out, hoping she wouldn’t. Their lips were just a few inches apart. So close. Almost…

Is he gonna—

Then her phone started to ring.

“Don’t answer that,” Harry whispered, a frown formed on his face as he stared at her intensely while reaching out for her hands. Y/N, however, recognized the special ringtone so she couldn’t ignore it now.

“It’s my best friend Jason,” she said. She had never neglected any call from Jason. The voice in her head told her this one might be urgent, it hadn’t been wrong lately, which was what she was afraid of. So she withdrew her hands from Harry’s, excusing herself to go outside and answer it.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” she said before walking out of the door. 

Harry watched her go with a lump in his throat and an ache in the chest which he couldn’t explain, even to himself. What if that moment before the call was the only happy moment they would ever get? What if the promise she made, was the only one she failed to keep for him? 

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.

.

Emilié had no idea why she was requested to come meet the Queen in her garden by the lake. She was specifically told to come alone, so it shouldn’t have been something as simple as discussing a royal ball or her wedding with the Prince, which, by the way, was getting quite close already.

“You would like to see me, Your Majesty?” 

The Queen, whose back was turned to Emilié, didn’t speak, she nodded to signal her two maids to leave her with the Princess, and went on admiring the beautiful red roses she loved so dearly. 

“This is my favorite spot,” she spoke and carefully ran her fingers across a delicate rose petal. “I’ve grown these myself, do you like them, Princess?”

“I do, Your Majesty,” replied Emilié. “But I suppose they’re not the reason you wanted to see me?”

“Well, they are, just not entirely.” The Queen finally turned around to face the young lady. She might not be as youthful as Emilié, but her beauty was doubtlessly timeless. Everyone knew Edward didn’t inherit his beauty from his father, but from his mother, who, unfortunately, was never the King’s favorite woman.

“You see, our people grow a lot of trees and flowers and herbs in this garden. My roses are indeed the most beautiful of all, I’m very proud of them,” the older noble said with a gentle smile. “So tell me, Princess. If our palace was ever under attack, and if you were given a chance, what would you most be likely to save from this garden?”

“The roses, Your Majesty?”

“False,” the answer left the Princess in shock. “The herbs.”

“But you said—“

“The roses are just for presentation. We like to look at them, but we don’t need them, whereas the herbs can be used as remedies for sickness, healing herbs can ease pain and fix wounds.” The Queen took a long pause to study the Princess’ face, and once she was certain Emilié knew where she was heading to, she continued, “You are a rose, beautiful, yet useless. She is a herb, Edward needs her to survive. She’s in charge of his heart, sooner or later, my throne.”

“He cannot make her his Queen, she’s not a highborn.” Emilié laughed wryly, however, deep down inside, losing her title as the future Queen of England was what she’d been afraid of since the moment she’d laid eyes on Ann.

“You foolish child!” The Queen suddenly raised her voice, causing Emilié to flinch in shock. “Edward ran away from everything once and he didn’t have a solid reason then. Now, he’s got her, so if he cannot run away, he’ll make sure she stays by his side, no matter what the cost is.” 

There was something in the Queen’s tone that gave away her fear and worry which she’d tried so hard to cover up. The fear that her one and only son, whose royal blood was running through his veins, was likely to give up his crown for a peasant, with no background or title.

“I raised him. I know how stubborn he can be. Edward would go against God to make that girl his Queen if he wanted to. So as long as I’m alive, I cannot let a dynasty crumble to pieces, just because my son’s wife is an idiot who cannot keep her man.”

Emilié swallowed hard and took a step back once the Queen took a step forward. 

“He promised he would give me a chance…”

“Promises can be broken, like stitches! She’s already sleeping in his bed and you’re here to tell me my son’s future is built upon a promise?”

“I’ll come up with a better plan—“

“No. You’ve done enough,” said the Queen as she raised one hand in the air, telling the girl to shut up and pay attention. “This time you do as I say.”

“What if Edward finds out we’re plotting behind his back? I cannot risk losing his trust again…” 

The Queen released a sigh, for she could see behind the face of a ruthless girl like Emilié was still a fragile heart. She used to be like that, many years ago, soft and weak. Having lived that long and gone through that much damages like she had, the heart, like a rose, would eventually wilt to brown. 

Edward was the only light that kept the Queen’s heart from rotting, and she would do anything, and she meant anything, to make sure her first and only son got to sit on that Throne, unharmed. His desire for the girl named Ann would threaten his claim as well as the French alliance, and if she ever got to become Queen, blood would have to spill. A mother could not standby and watch that happen to her own child.

“Don’t worry, darling,” the Queen said, lifting the Princess’ chin up with one finger. “By this time tomorrow, the girl named Ann will have been long gone.”

.

.

.

Harry was sweating in this suit.

He had never experienced such anxiety before going on stage. He’d been performing in front of a massive audience ever since he was a teenager. He was born for the spotlight, he loved being up there, he loved the sound of the crowd cheering him on. So what was happening here? Why were his palms shaking and why couldn’t he breathe? 

“Kid, are ya alright?” Mitch asked in concern as he saw Harry struggling to even stand on his own two feet. 

Though his headache was killing him, the first thing coming out of Harry’s mouth was, “have you seen Y/N?”

“No, she came to see you earlier, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did, but then she left to answer a personal call.”

“H, you’re sweating. Are you sure you can go on stage?”

“I’m sure…” he replied, trying to steady his breathing. “I think I’m just nervous.”

Mitch laid his palm on Harry’s forehead, then with a frown, he said, “kid, you’re burning up. You can’t go on stage now.”

“I can,” Harry groaned, eyes squeezed shut, reaching for his friend’s shoulder for support. He didn’t look fine, not at all.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Mitch scolded him while holding his face. “I’m gonna get Jeff alright.”

“Get Y/N...”

“Okay, Jeff and Y/N. You sit here.” Mitch grabbed a stool nearby, pulling it to his side and making Harry sit down on it before telling a guy from their team not to let Harry on stage until he felt better. Everything after Mitch was gone became hazy to Harry. All the sounds were muffled and his sight started to fade. All that was left in his head, was Y/N. 

In the bathroom, down the hall, Y/N was hiding in a stall, sitting on a toilet lit while talking to her best friend, because the loud music from outside didn’t allow her to hear him clearly.

“Hurry up, Jason! I’m late!” Y/N cried out, burying her face into her palm. “This better be important or I won’t ever pick up your calls again!”

“Look, you need to calm down and hear me out! Jesus…just…put me on video.”

“I don’t have time to video chat with you, J.”

“Damn it, just do it!” His response really surprised her. He’d never talked to her like that, so she was taken aback and therefore didn’t hesitate to do as he said immediately. Jason’s face popped up on the screen soon after, he was still sitting at her desk, in her bedroom.

“Wait, are you in the bathroom?” He raised an eyebrow, causing her to squint her eyes in annoyance.

“Just hurry up!”

“Okay, okay, do you know these people?” Jason went straight into the point with a question while showing her drawings on the cam for her to see.

“How dare you look at my—“

“Just answer the question!”

“No! They were just random people I saw in my dreams!” She breathed harshly, confused and offended by his weird behaviors. “What’s wrong with you today, J?! It’s like you’re being possessed.”

Jason ignored that and went on explaining, “these aren’t just people from your dreams, Y/N. They were real people!”

Y/N snorted, though she was a little bit creeped out by her own best friend at this point. “J, I know I’ve told you some weird stuff but—“

“This one is Basilio,” Jason began anyway, pointing to the first portrait in Y/N’s sketch book. “He was a famous British painter in the 17th century who fell in love with a girl named Elia. His family forbad their love and then she died of a terrible disease.” He quickly flipped to the next page. “Jameson Wallace, an 18th century’s writer. In his autobiography, he mentioned his lover Martha who killed herself when he chose to marry another woman, whom he’d been engaged to for two years before he met her.” Then onto the next drawing. “Lewis Reeves, a scientist in the 19th century, already married when he met the love of his life, they had an affair and he died while traveling at sea.” The one after that. “Leon Morrison, an actor in the 20th century, their love story made the papers because she was seventeen and he was twenty-five, they couldn’t be together and he died later in a car crash.”

“But—“ Y/N was almost speechless. She was scared, no, terrified. “Those people couldn’t be real, because…”

“Because you thought they were different versions of Harry that you came up with in your own head?” 

Yes.

“No.”

“Then we all circle back to…this.” Jason ignored his best friend’s denial and moved the phone’s camera to the laptop behind him, on the screen of which was an image of the portrait of the King, the one they’d seen in the art museum, where it all began. “Edward Rammour, King of England in the 16th century, fell in love with a peasant girl who was prosecuted of treason and later on executed.”

No, this can’t be true.

“Remember when you told me how this man’s eyes resembled Harry’s, and you kept seeing them in your dreams? What if it’s not just a coincidence, Y/N?”

This can’t be happening.

“What if they’re all linked together?”

“This…is insane, Jason…” Y/N tried to laugh, but she found no humor in the story. “Tell me this is all a prank you came up with to scare me.”

Jason looked at her, frowning as he shook his head, “I wish I could, Y/N…”

“So you’re telling me these are all…the same person?”

“Not really...Have you ever heard of reincarnation?”

She had. She remembered reading about it somewhere but she didn’t believe it. No sane person would, obviously. 

“Reincarnation is the philosophical or religious concept that an aspect of a living being starts a new life in a different physical body or form after each biological death.” Jason read out loud the information on Wiki and turned back to the cam. Y/N’s head was spinning, still she managed to hear some keywords to understand what he was talking about. 

“Y/N, describe again to me that room you see in every single one of your dream.” 

“Why?”

“Do it.”

She breathed harshly, shutting her eyes to reimagine the scene before her eyes. “Okay, it was in a palace. There was…a high back chair made of a deep dark oak finish with a red velvet cushion…a throne, it sat at the top of a three stepped platform. There were high windows, many tapestries hung from the walls. There were…many paintings…portraits of faceless people…That’s all I can remember.” 

“Like this?” He showed her an image he found online, which was exactly like the room she’d just described. 

“H-How?”

“This is the throne hall in the Rammours’ palace. How do you know the details of a room you’ve never been in, Y/N? The only reasonable explanation is that you have been there before.” Jason looked at her and he was just as frightened as she was, maybe more. “Those dreams you were having weren’t dreams, they were memories from your past lives.”

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.

.

Everyone in the Kingdom had heard of the King’s reputation. He was everything his son Edward was not. He cared about himself more than his people and had spent most of his time on the throne sleeping with young girls and blaming others for his own failures. Instead of trying to stop crimes, poverty, and hunger, he wasted so much effort and wealth into these terrible witch hunts, for which countless of innocent lives had ended in ashes.

Rumors had it, when the King was still a young prince, a fortune teller told him a woman with magical powers - a witch, would take away everything he loved. She would end his life and also his family name on the throne. He believed her words entirely, so the first thing he did when he became King was to capture every woman whom he suspected to be performing witchcrafts, then have them burnt alive with no mercy.

However, a witch wouldn’t have easily got caught by an imbecile monarch whose heart was as small as his brain. Witches were usually charming and wise and beautiful, and a man like the King would never have harmed or suspected a beautiful lady. 

His lust for Ann had intensified since the day his son brought her to court. The only reason he hadn’t laid a hand on her was because Edward was always by her side. The only person beside himself and Ann that could sense his desire for the young girl was his wife, the Queen. 

“Your Majesty,” a guard announced to the King, who was getting dressed in his chamber by two of his maids. “Princess Emlié is here.”

“Send her in.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Emilié entered shortly after with a vibrant smile on her face, the one that would light up every single room. Had she not been his own son’s future Queen, the King wouldn’t have let such an opportunity pass by.

“You’d like to speak to me, Princess?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but—“ She pursed her lips, looking at his servants. “—Could we speak alone?”

“Don’t mind them. They’re quiet as mice,” the man said and raised his arms so the girl in front of him could button up his shirt. “I’m a busy man, Princess. You’d better not waste my time.”

Emilié straightened her back and cleared her throat. She couldn’t let anxiety talk her out of this. “It’s…It’s about the girl named Ann living in this palace, Your Majesty.”

“What about her?”

“Well…She’s a dear friend of my future husband, your son, Edward, and we are very close to each other. She’s told me that she…she had a desire for…you, Your Majesty.”

The King froze at once, then held up his hand to tell his maids to step aside. The Princess stood with her head hung low as the monarch approached her. His broad-shouldered figure towering over her, leaving her hands trembling on her sides.

“Is this true?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. And I’ve noticed the way you’ve always looked at her, so I told her that you might feel the same, and she was very happy.”

“Was she now?” 

Emilié nodded, then finally looked up at the older man, faking a smile. “She will be waiting for you at midnight, in your library, if you are interested.”

There was a long pause in the conversation. The King probably needed a little bit time to think about the offer, but of course, he couldn’t say no to it.

“Tell lady Ann, I’ll be there.”

“She’d be thrilled to hear that, Your Majesty.” Emilié bent her knees and gave the King one last smile before making her way out of his chamber. Her heart was beating like a drum, yet there was a strange kind of liberation inside of her. She’d thought she would feel so remorseful for doing the thing that she’d done, but now, revenge actually made her feel…alive. 

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.

.

“So I was all of those dead girls, and Harry was all of those dead guys?”

“Y-yeah…” Jason nodded fast. “Jeez, it sounds creepy when you put it that way.”

Y/N hated how her best friend sneaked in a joke in every situation, including ones like this. She ignored him and continued, “okay so…if that’s true. Then why did it only happen to Harry and I, and not…you…or Lisa! Or anyone else for that matter!”

“Okay, my theory…” He tapped a finger on his lip, forehead crinkled from thinking too hard. “The witch, well, the first you, got angry because Edward didn’t stop her execution, so she cursed him to never find love again?”

“Then she would curse him to die in every lifetime, but that wasn’t the case wasn’t it? You told me there was that girl who killed herself, one died from a disease? I mean, why would you curse your own self in the after life to die? Unless this witch me really sucked at being a witch.”

“Okay, you’ve got a point, so it wasn’t her who cursed him.” Jason rested his chin on his knuckles on blew air from his mouth from frustration. 

“Yeah, I refuse to believe the first Harry would agree to kill the first me, I mean, he might not be Harry but he was still…Harry. And Harry’s too kind...” She bit on her bottom lip, holding back another sigh as she mumbled to herself, more like a realization then a wild guess, “maybe he was just late. He couldn’t save her.” 

Jason noticed the way Y/N kept her head down and he intended to ask her what she was thinking of. He didn’t need to though, it was her who spoke first, “so what will happen in this life then?” Her voice was trembling because she was truly afraid. “Is either of us going to die?”

That, Jason had no answer for. He wished there was anything he could do to find out, to protect her, but he knew as much as she did, maybe less. He couldn’t be her hero, not in this story.

“I…don’t know…but that was how it went, right? They died because they fell in love.”

It took Y/N a moment.

“No…” Her eyes widened as she discovered something. “They died because they tried to get together. They all met at the wrong time, one was either taken, engaged, forbidden by their family or too old and too young for each other…But Harry and I, we’re different.”

“He’s got a girlfriend, Y/N!”

“He told me he broke up with her, J! He told he loved me right before you called.”

“He…he did?” Jason didn’t know how to feel about this, but he’d got a bad feeling because it wouldn’t be this easy. He didn’t want to tell her that though, she looked so much happier, he couldn’t put out the hope in her eyes.

“Yeah, this is a good sign right?” She smiled, exhaling all at once. “Maybe we’re an exception! Maybe it’ll all work out in this lifetime!”

“Y/N, I think—“

Suddenly, Jason was interrupted by a voice from the other side of the door. “Y/N, are you in there?”

“Sarah?” Y/N spoke up, giving Jason a look before standing up from the toilet lit.

“Oh God, there you are! Everyone’s been looking for you. Are you alright in there?”

“Yeah, I’m on the phone…” Y/N answered honestly, but she couldn’t help but notice how frantic her friend sounded. “What is it, Sarah?”

“Harry…” There was a pause, as if Sarah couldn’t find a proper way to deliver this news, or maybe she didn’t want to be the one to do this. It took her a few seconds to finally complete that sentence, knowing it would crush Y/N.

And, it did.

“Harry…Harry’s in the hospital, Y/N.”