#It's quite hard to describe. a gut feeling of some sorts

[yoyoyokii]

Avoidant

Zoro x Reader

was meant to be fluff, became angst kind to comfort to fluff?

Originally wrote this @mazzieboohoo in my notes app (a girls best friend) instead of sleeping BUT I workshopped it a bit more so here TAKE IT

I don't care if it doesn't make sense that's not my problem

2.5k words

༺｡° .ᘛ𓆩♡𓆪ᘚ. ° ｡༻

Avoidant.

That’s the best, and probably the only, way to describe your boyfriend right now. He seems to spend every waking moment prioritising his training, and while you aren't all that mad at having the opportunity to watch your EXTREMELY attractive lover show off his muscles as his sweat glistens deliciously beneath the harsh rays of the sun, you couldn’t help but worry about him. Okay… you were also beginning to get kind of - well, more than kind of - jealous at the way a stack of metal was getting more attention from Zoro than you were… no! You are a good girlfriend! So- Mainly you are worried. 

Stress and conflicted feelings are gnawing at his heart, it's so obvious, even to Luffy, Mr Oblivious himself! It doesn't help that, in typical Zoro fashion, his choice of resolution is to suppress these emotions at all costs. This was probably the least desirable trait of his, apart from his shocking navigation skills obviously, and you just wish he wouldn't be so difficult when it came to things like this. The whole crew feels like they have to walk on eggshells around him, it's just tiring at this point. His attitude has been hard on everyone, especially for poor Chopper, who sees your boyfriend more-or-less as a father figure and is now convinced that Zoro hates him. 

He isn’t himself when it comes to the nighttime either, in fact, this is now the part of the day that you dread the most. He has been making an unhealthy habit of clambering into your shared bed in the early hours of the morning, absolutely reeking of sake. He then becomes completely restless and spends those minimal hours of rest stirring about, keeping you awake while he's at it. Every night you beg him to talk to you about it, and every night he plainly tells you it’s nothing, and goes back to borderline ignoring you. You aren't quite sure what hurts more, the fact that he is ignoring you, or the fact that he is just straight-up lying to you.

“Hey, I’m sure he’ll be fine, you’re worrying too much” Nami manages to pull you out of your thoughts, smiling at you before sitting at your side. She joins you in enjoying the pleasantry of the summer breeze and you can’t help but pout a little at her words. She is right. She is always right.

“I’m not worried, just making sure he doesn’t hurt himself.” you lie, squinting your eyes as you look out at the sun setting beyond the horizon. The afternoon glare makes your head ache a little and you are sure that you're falling victim to, what is going to be, a painful sunburn. Oh well, that's a problem for your future self. 

Nami huffs at your pathetic attempt at a lie, before swiftly changing the topic. She begins to talk about how perfect the upcoming weather is going to be for your travels to the next island or something. You know she is just trying to lighten the mood, but you can't really focus. Honestly, you feel nauseous, and there is now a growing pit of anxiety bubbling in the depths of your stomach. You begin to question if it's all your fault, that maybe you are the root cause of Zoro’s distress. This uneasiness spurs in your gut and becomes more unbearable, bile threatening to rise beyond its threshold. You begin to think about how the both of you had only really become official recently, after flirting back and forth for months, and how it had only been since then that he had been acting so… off-

“HEY- are you even listening to me?!?!" Nami yells as she nudges your shoulder. You pretend to draw back in pain, attempting to pull off some sort of comedic relief. It's more for yourself rather than to distract Nami from the fact that you didn’t hear a single thing she said (not paying her attention can be fatal...). BUT LUCKILY FOR YOU- 

She just stands, grabbing at your arm to pull you up with her. She now holds your hand and leads the two of you back to everyone else. She utters something about dinner almost being ready and you can't help but to laugh as she enthusiastically declares that it is gonna be the most delicious thing you’re ever going to taste because she ever-so-kindly requested the dish herself. Yeah, she has definitely just used Sanji again to feed her cravings like the girlboss she is🤷 

You couldn’t stomach dinner, no matter how delicious it was, and to sweet dear Sanji’s dismay you had to excuse yourself from the table. Unfortunately, the ease you previously felt from Nami’s presence disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and so you now find yourself sitting on the floor of the soldier deck. 

The stars are abnormally bright tonight, the full moon stares back at you with a sort of glare that makes it feel as if it's empathising with you. You lean back against the Thousand-Sunny's railing and curl your legs up, hugging them against your stomach. As the breeze toys with the fallen strands of your hair and you gaze upwards into the night, you can’t help but wonder if the myth of cosmic love was true. You can’t help but wonder if you and Zoro shared this connection, or if it was all just a love of convenience for him.

It’s these strings of thought that bring you right back to the day that he had finally confessed to you. You reminisce on how you went to bed that night kicking your feet and smiling like an idiot to yourself. You remember thinking about your future with him, and how, when your heart finally began to calm and you dozed to sleep, you found yourself dreaming of everlasting love. Yes, it was embarrassing and childish, even you’ll admit it, but it was nice to finally feel wanted romantically, especially by someone as stoic and stone-faced as Zoro.

You can’t help but smile fondly, albeit a little sadly, at this memory. If only there was to be a shooting star, so that you can wish to go back in time to this moment, to relish in that feeling of giddiness for just a little longer. 

Scouring the night sky for any glimmer of hope, or just for something to distract you from the heaviness adorning your chest, someone’s presence disturbs your failing attempt at finding peace.

Zoro.

He moves to sit with you. A weird sort of tension begins to hang so thickly in the air that you believe you might suffocate. You aren’t prepared for this sudden confrontation, for him to so casually approach you as if he hasn't been avoiding you for god knows how long. Before you can muster up the courage to finally break the silence and say something, he does it for you.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is firm and unwavering, almost intimidating yet somehow soft at the same time. It's as if he never actually intended to hurt you. You should be mad- no more than mad, borderline ready to fight him! After all this stress he caused you, he can only say sorry??? But no. You force yourself to be the bigger person.

“It’s alright.” You pause your thought, now turning your head to look at him. But before you can continue, he interrupts.

“No… it’s not alright” his brows furrow and he returns your graze, staring so deeply into your soul that it almost burns.

“Before you say anything. I need you to know that my shitty actions were not a result of anything you’ve said or done. okay? I know how you tend to overthink.” He breaks his intense eye contact to look down at his lap, almost like he’s hesitant, seemingly taking his time to formulate his next string of words in a way that wouldn’t make you feel guilty. Before he can continue to explain, he pauses. You know that he's expecting your usual snappy reply that's fueled with some snarky remark or joke. That's how you usually respond when a situation gets too serious for your liking. He knows what to expect from you, so when this awaited response never comes, he realises that you must be gathering your thoughts. And so, he decides to give you a few minutes. 

He said he knows you. And it’s true, he knows you like no one else does. You really were just overthinking to the point that it was making you a complete mess. A tear of relief slips from your eye as you fight the urge to fully break down. You quickly go to wipe the tear away, but this action doesn’t go unnoticed by Zoro, of course it doesn’t.

“What? Is something wrong with your eye?” God he’s so daft sometimes. His question is so ridiculous that it almost makes you laugh. However, you just can’t control it anymore and more tears continue to flow.

 “Hey- are you okay? Why are you crying?”

You feel too stupid and selfish to admit that he was the root cause of your tears, so of course, you lie. Again.

“Well… do you ever look at something so beautiful that it makes you want to cry? That’s how a full moon makes me feel, and it’s extra beautiful tonight…” you attempt to steady your breathing as you fake a smile towards him. 

The warmth of his hand moves to sit against the side of your face as he uses his thumb to wipe away a new stream that's spilled over the curve of your cheek. The familiar feeling of his skin against yours is so comforting that it is his touch alone that begins to heal the uneasiness plaguing your heart. And so you lean further into him, welcoming this newfound sense of solace. 

“Of course I do, that's how I feel whenever I look at you.”  

It's this statement that constricts your throat to the point of no return and forces you to choke out the most pathetic sob. At first Zoro’s visibly confused by this, not understanding why you’ve had such a visceral reaction to his words, after all, he was simply telling the truth. If he feels uncomfortable by your emotional outburst he doesn’t show it. He instead wraps his burly arms around your shuddering frame and holds you so securely that you’re sure you are going to suffocate. But come on, we all know you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Now. It’s a common misconception that Roronoa Zoro is too much of a ‘tough guy’ to be affectionate, that he is always too stern for his own good. But this isn't true, especially when it comes to you. Yes, he’s straightforward, overly suspicious at times, and generally a serious guy. But, he’s also loyal, caring, and would die for his crew. Just because he doesn't like to publicly display his gratitude for everyone, it was always there, and his little acts of love for the crew never went unnoticed by you. He knows this about you, that you always take notice of others, it’s part of the reason as to why he loves you so much. 

Your body crumples against his torso, weeping into his chest. You can’t help but to apologise, suddenly feeling guilty for interrupting such a rare confession.

“I’m sorry, I’m so selfish for crying…” you say in between stuttering breaths as you attempt to stabilise your emotions. “I thought you hated me. I’m just so relieved!” 

He stays quiet, listening intently to you as he runs his fingers through your hair.

“Zoro, please talk to me. I’m sorry for interrupting, please tell me what’s bothering you, I hate that you’ve been struggling alone.” You’re rambling now and your words are being muffled by the material clinging between his torso and your lips. You don’t care. You only pray that he listens to you.

“You care too much about me,” he chuckles softly before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “The reason I’ve been such an asshole is because I’ve never loved someone like I’ve loved you. I don’t usually worry about this kind of stuff, but I think I'm a bit shit scared of my own feelings.”. 

You cradle your head upwards, looking up at him with your now puffy, red eyes. Now you listen.

A deep sigh escapes from his taut lips, “It’s just… the last time I cared for someone. Well, you know how that ended.”.

He doesn’t have to say anything else. The point has been made, and you nod in a sympathetic understanding. His eyes grow glassy, tears threatening to spill through his eyelashes. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable. You don’t want to pry, and you know that words of comfort don’t work on someone like Zoro, so you stay silent, instead opting to reach up to cradle his head into your chest. This change in dynamics is definitely not something he is usually comfortable with, but it’s what he needs right now. This loving action pushes him over the edge, and funnily enough, he’s now the one sobbing into your arms instead.

You both sit like this for a while, with you sitting patiently, drawing imaginary soothing circles on Zoro’s upper back. His tears dried a while ago and you aren’t sure how long it’s been since anyone last spoke, but you’re willing to wait until the end of time if it meant that he could feel a moment of comfort within your arms. 

Your reassuring touches do make him feel better. He’s never felt so loved. So cared for. He’s never been the one on the receiving end of a hold so intimate and full of empathy. The idea that someone will willingly listen to him without judgment, that someone can accept his words without forcing a solution.

“This must have been hard, I'm proud of you. Thank you for talking to me.” You finally say, in the softest voice you can muster. He breaks away from your hold so gently, as if he’s afraid that moving too hastily will break you (you are his most precious possession after all). 

You both now sit in a weird and quite awkward entanglement of limbs, staring at each other in a newfound sense of mutual agreement of understanding. Everything makes sense to you, and Zoro finds comfort in knowing that his worries have been heard. A win-win some would say. 

Neither of you say anything, it's pointless. Words can’t show how grateful you are for one another. It’s like they always say, actions speak louder than words, right?

And so he kisses you. 

It definitely isn’t the first time you’ve kissed, but it’s the first time you’ve kissed like this. It’s all-consuming, so filled with love that it’s almost overwhelming, you believe his mouth is heaven; his tongue the eternal paradise. There’s a certain kind of bliss that can only be found in the tenderness of Zoro’s arms, and you wish more people understood saw his soft side, but maybe it's just meant to be your secret to keep. He never meant to be cruel. He just loves you. He always will.

[ckret2]

Chapter 24 of human Bill Cipher being the Mystery Shack's extremely inconvenient prisoner, featuring: the Pines figuring out a way to chase off Bill's ex-girlfriend... who happens to be a giant eyeball with bat wings.

It kinda goes like this.

(A head's up before we get going: this chapter is a bit more mature than prior ones, so I feel like a warning's in order. There's no sex, and nothing here is erotic or sexy (unless you, too, happen to be attracted to eye-bats), BUT there IS some academic speculation on the logistics of alien sex, and some very filthy-sounding dialogue describing acts that, to humans, aren't sexual at all. Plus some dirty humor and toilet humor. And nothing here is what I'd call billford quite yet, considering Ford still very much hates Bill's guts—but like, he's definitely a little too obsessed with the anatomy of triangles for it to be normal. If any of this is too spicy for you, skip this chapter and come back next one. We'll be starting a new "episode" then.)

####

It was past midnight. In his search for the eye-bat repellant recipe, Ford had flipped through every notebook he'd used during his initial interviews of the residents of Gravity Falls, flipped through them a second time, torn apart half his bookshelves looking for any reporter's notebooks he might have accidentally sorted in with his larger binders, and now he was exhausted, frustrated—and, worst of all, bored out of his mind.

Which made it hard to avoid thinking about more interesting topics.

And for the last hour he'd been unwillingly plagued with the question of how an eyeball and a triangle had a "casual physical thing." 

If that didn't mean sex—and you never knew with aliens—then it was still something close enough to fill the same social/recreational niche. It certainly meant sex on the eye-bat's side, Ford had fully documented the reproductive cycle of eye-bats, that was sorted out—but triangles?

It had to be something that would work in the second dimension. Ford had visited a two-dimensional universe populated by geometric shapes, he knew roughly how their bodies functioned: a shape's perimeter was its external surface—its "skin"—and its internal organs were inside that perimeter. So if Bill was still configured the way he had been in his home dimension, any external reproductive anatomy would have to be somewhere on his perimeter, right? Maybe at one of his corners? Or camouflaged where the seams of his brick pattern reached his edges?

But then if Bill were a normal two-dimensional person, he'd have his eye on the edge of his body, not right in the center of his "internal organs." So he'd been rearranged to some extent. Who knew how the rest of his body worked now? His top hat contained flesh and a skeletal structure; maybe it was a removable reproductive organ that could be passed to a partner, like some cephalopods' detachable tentacles—

Ford flinched as he realized Bill was staring at him.

To aid in his anatomical speculation, Ford had drawn a diagram of Bill in his journal and labeled various points on the triangle that might be concealing reproductive anatomy. He quickly scratched out the drawing's staring eye and slammed his journal shut. 

He'd happily gone thirty years assuming that Bill had no sex life—Bill was an energy being who presented himself as a floating featureless triangle, his hobbies involved cheating at chess and discussing multidimensional transportation, he probably wasn't designed for "physical things," and if he was designed for it then surely he wasn't interested. Ford was not pleased to have his assumptions disputed.

Because the thing was—Ford knew more than any living human about the mating rituals of unicorns, werewolf/mermaid couples, stomach-faced ducks, and tentacled warrior piglets. (Did he ever know about tentacled warrior piglets.) He had the only photos of a gnome mating ball, which he didn't need, because that horrible sight would be forever seared into his long-term memory. He knew the names of twenty obscene acts in siren sign language, and knew how to use his extra fingers to make them extra obscene. This wasn't unfamiliar territory to him. He was curious about how strange, supernatural creatures functioned; and those functions included how the reproductive drive influenced their behaviors; and a living triangle that had escaped from the second dimension was certainly a strange supernatural creature.

But, unfortunately, it was also Bill Cipher. And Ford did not want to think about what Bill did in bed. ... Assuming he used a bed. Really, at this point the only thing Ford knew was that Bill's only admitted partner was capable of flight. Maybe he just hovered while he—

Ford slammed his journal shut again to stop himself from scribbling down more theories, then stuffed the journal in a desk drawer for good measure. Did normal people think like this? He had no idea. He didn't even know who he could ask.

Enough of this. Back to searching for that eye-bat repellant recipe, and this time he wasn't stopping until he found it.

####

Like a vast eye in an upside-down triangle, the circular center of the portal lit up so bright blue it was almost white. The four energy vents glowed in sympathy. A rainbow constellation lit up in twirling patterns around the central light.

Bill watched with bated breath, a second-dimensional shadow waiting for his door to the third dimension to open. The cavern walls shook; the ground quaked and rumbled ominously; Bill didn't care. The portal was stable, the lab was somebody else's problem, and Bill had a party to get to.

The steel beams supporting the cavern rolled like a wave, and Bill's stomach roiled with them. They weren't supposed to be able to move like that. But he knew what he was doing, the portal was stable, he was not here to destroy this world, he'd come here to save it, whether it wanted to be saved or not—

The whole world undulated. Bedrock and steel were not built to undulate. Bill bobbed on the energy wave like a toy boat on a choppy sea; but the steel shattered, rock crumbled, shrapnel and rubble sprayed out. There was a peal of deafening thunder as the world below him cracked apart.

####

Bill woke with a gasp.

Oh. Right. Dreams.

Dream diary. With a groan, he sat up, checked to make sure no humans were coming by in the next few minutes, and pulled his stolen journal out of its hiding place.

The guide on lucid dreaming had recommended writing down his dreams in full, vivid, rich detail—any people or scenes or events, anything he could detect with his five (?) senses, as much as he could recall.

He drew a portal—gray inverted triangle with a center circle, four circles around the triangle, all five circles filled in yellow green—and then a yellow green line trailing out of the portal's side that grew progressively wigglier like a seismogram. He labeled his doodle, "this." He'd remember the rest.

After a moment of thought, he wrote, "Don't remember if I was a human or a shape. My organs were doing things a shape's shouldn't." (He wrote "human" as 人; there was no translation for the word in the language Bill wrote in. The two angled strokes stood out in Bill's rows of Morse-like dots and dashes.) "Being around so many humans who are CONVINCED I'm trying to destroy their world must be getting to me. Sixer pitched another hissy-fit about the portal yesterday. Enduring all that negative talk can't be healthy for me. I know I'm just helping their boring little planet, but maybe their accusations are getting lodged in this stupid brain's subconscious."

Maybe he should meditate a bit—go think positive thoughts, drown out the mortal voices that insisted they knew his plans better than he did. He'd had enough dreaming for one night, anyway.

Beneath the note to himself, Bill added in English: "Everything would have been fine if you'd just let me finish, Fordsy." If the humans ever did find this journal, Bill was determined to get the last word in.

Then he stowed away the stolen journal and shuffled downstairs.

He wondered how much was left of Ford's portal.

####

Old man bladder. Stan dragged himself out of bed. The other guest room bed was empty. Stan hoped Ford was sleeping in his study—he'd mentioned once he kept a cot down there. Better than pulling another all nighter studying alien sorcery or whatever.

He skipped his glasses, groped his way to the downstairs bathroom, and, yawning, lined up with the toilet.

The toilet said, "Pretty forward of you, Stanley."

Stan screamed.

He stumbled backwards out of the bathroom and hit the wall. Bill flipped on the light and leaned out to grin at him. "Careful! You're due for a broken hip any day now."

"BILL! What are DOING!"

"Trying not to get urinated on."

"Jsh—shut up!" It had dawned on Stan that if he could hear Bill without his hearing aids, then half the house probably could too. He hoped no one had overheard that. "Why are you sitting on the toilet in the dark!"

"It's a free country, Stanley Pines."

Stan raised a fist. "GET OUT!"

Bill bolted from the bathroom like a scared rabbit, then caught himself, rolled his eyes, and raised his hands over his head in mock surrender. "You could have asked nicely!"

Pointing at Bill as he retreated, Stan added, "And stop being so darn creepy! Lurking in the dark and sneaking around silently all the time, like a... some kind of—burglar ninja assassin!"

Bill turned to shout back, "What, do you expect me to make a peace cry every time I walk around? Make sure I can't sneak up and stab you in the back?"

Stan had caught about half of that. "YEAH, smart guy! It might help!"

Bill flung his hands out in defeat as he rounded the corner.

Stan finished his business, went back to bed, and glared angrily at the ceiling another ten minutes.

####

It had taken half the night, but at last Ford had disassembled the filing cabinet and found a few notebooks that had gotten stuck behind the bottom drawer, including the one with Old Lady Sprott's eye-bat repellant recipe. Ford copied it down, left a list of ingredients on the gift shop cash register for Soos, and finally dragged himself into the house to sleep.

And paused in the entryway.

Bill was sitting in the kitchen, staring out the window; Ford had seen him like this before. Usually, he could make himself walk by.

But he couldn't tonight. Maybe it was yesterday's conversation still weighing on his mind, the loose ends they hadn't tied up tangling around his throat. "What are you doing up?"

Bill's voice was inappropriately calm: "Dying."

Ford's guard went up. "Do you... Literally or metaphorically?"

"Literally," Bill said. "Hey—how many decades do you think this body's got? Probably not even a century, right?"

Ford's guard went down. Just moping. But it was an interesting question, one he'd put some thought into himself—what age had Bill's body been made at? How had his body been made that age? How long would the body last? Ford had wondered whether studying Bill's freshly-made-but-already-adult body might reveal anything medically useful about how aging affected the human body; but the odds of convincing Bill to participate in any medical studies—much less finding someone to conduct the study who believed their story—were nonexistent.

Ford said, "At a loose guess, I'd put you around... fifty, maybe? A very spry fifty." Bill's hair was a shockingly vivid gold, not a hint of gray, and when he was in a good mood Bill bounced about with an enviable lack of joint pain; but Ford had seen faint, delicate creases around his mouth and eyes that spoke to age. And the look in his eyes... Ford hated the phrase "old soul"—he'd been called that by some of his school teachers, and it only made him feel the distance between himself and his age peers all the more strongly—but with Bill, it was uncannily fitting. His eyes aged his whole face.

"You think this thing looks fifty? Wow." Bill took a deep drink from a cider can. "Shooting Star's best guess was half that. Thanks for shoving me twenty-five years closer to the grave."

Half that? When Ford had been a child, he'd had a harder time guessing adults' ages, and he supposed Mabel might be the same; but it was difficult to mistake a 50-year-old for a 25-year-old. Maybe there was something else going on. He'd have to ask her later. "With exercise, a healthy diet, and a little luck, you could still live another fifty." Ford nodded at the two empty cider cans already sitting on the table. "With your current drinking habits, I'll give you five."

Bill cackled—loudly enough to make Ford tense up, afraid someone would catch them talking. "Cheers!" Bill finished off the can and slammed it down with the others. "Ugh. Finite lifespans. Awful."

"Welcome to being human," Ford said dryly.

"'Welcome to death row,'" Bill said. "Ha! What'm I doing, worrying about decades. Let's be real, I don't even need to worry about the next five years. If I haven't found a way out of this body before then..."

Bill left the thought unfinished. An uneasy weight formed low in Ford's stomach.

"Ah, whatever. Like you'd let me live that long. Right, Sixer?" Bill pushed himself up unsteadily, keeping his balance first with a hand on the back of the chair, and then on Ford's (suddenly very tense) shoulder as he passed him. "I'm going back to sleep before that last can kicks in."

The way Bill was walking, Ford wasn't sure he'd make it up the stairs. "Why don't you sleep on the folding bed in the living room?"

"No window," Bill said. "I've g—" (He stumbled on the stairs.) "I've gotta see the stars."

Of course he did. When Bill said it that way, it was so obvious Ford didn't know why he hadn't realized that himself. Where else could Bill sleep but as close to the sky as possible?

Ford listened as Bill stumbled his way upstairs, creaked across the floorboards, and collapsed onto his makeshift bed.

Ford had thirty years left. Exactly thirty years. Don't have a heart attack, you're not ninety-two yet! Ninety-two was a good, old age. Older than his father had been. But thirty years felt too soon. And yet it felt fitting, somehow, for his life to be divided so neatly in thirds.

If Bill lived another fifty years in this body, and Ford lived thirty, who would stand guard over him? Would he and Stan have to pass that burden on to their gniece and gnephew? Or to Soos and Melody?

Why was he wondering—what made him think they wouldn't find a way to kill Bill before then? What made him think he wouldn't kill Bill before the end of this very summer?

What made him so sure Bill hadn't been lying about when Ford would die? Thirty years felt too soon; but ninety-two felt flatteringly optimistic.

Ford sighed, and picked up the cider cans to recycle.

He wondered whether Bill—hiding from his ex, fretting about death, sleeping on his enemies' floor—regretted how he'd spent his life.

####

Bill's second entry in his dream diary started, "Wet dream about Iris."

He filled most of a page with an extremely graphic summary before he sighed in frustration, stowed the journal away, and stared at the ceiling as dawn crept in. Well. Terrific. He was pretty intimately familiar with how humans coupled, but he didn't have much practice with the solo act. Plus the humans would give him heck if they caught him at it. He'd just have to suffer.

So here he was, all riled up and nowhere to go.

Who else could he make miserable?

####

Stan was startled awake by a heavy pounding on his door.

"Heeey Fisherman!" Somehow, Bill's voice was even more grating at dawn. He rattled the door several more times. "Just passing by! Wanted to let you know! Here I am! Right here!"

Did that demon ever sleep? And, follow up question, could Stan knock him out for a few hours?

Ford—who must have come up after Stan went back to bed—groaned and muttered something.

Ford wasn't nearly as loud as Bill. Stan reluctantly sat up and put a hearing aid in. "What?"

"What the devil is he up to now."

"No idea," Stan lied. "Go yell at him about it, he listens to you."

Ford sighed, but got up and left the room.

A minute later, Stan heard Bill exclaim, "I can't win with you people!"

He smirked.

####

The kitchen reeked that morning. When Stan came in for breakfast, the window was open, a fan in the entryway futilely directed fresh air into the kitchen and a fan on the kitchen table directed the noxious fumes outside, there were bags of groceries on the counter—he noticed hot sauce, peppers, cheap perfume, and an entire bag of raw onions—and Ford was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of vile-smelling brown liquid. The moment he saw Stan, Ford put him to work stirring the pot so Ford could start dicing onions.

While they worked, Ford explained the situation with the eye-bat harassing the tourists and the solution he'd hit on to drive it away. Soos had collected the necessary ingredients this morning, but couldn't help cook because he was busy finding a way to block the bottomless pit—

####

Outside, Soos scooted a trampoline up to the pit, carefully lined it up with the edge—the trampoline and the pit had nearly the same diameter—and shoved it in. It plummeted into the dark. After a short wait, Soos chucked a baseball down the pit. It disappeared, then bounced back up.

Soos pumped his fist triumphantly. "Aced it."

####

—so, Ford was working on the repellant, and in the interest of public safety and the greater good he was drafting Stan into helping too.

Which Stan supposed he couldn't argue with, but considering the smell he would've preferred dicing the onions. "Is all this really necessary for one eye-bat? I usually just swat 'em off with a tennis racket."

"This eye-bat happens to be large enough to carry off a first-grader," Ford said. "And Bill claims it's his ex-girlfriend, so I don't want to risk them meeting."

"Huh." Weird thing to date, but then Stan didn't know what he did expect a triangle demon to date. "Somehow I figured he was tangled up in this."

Ford laughed ruefully.

After a moment of chopping and stirring, Ford said, "Speaking of Bill—he claims that you ordered him to announce his presence? And that you tried to pee on him."

"I did not and he's a dirty liar! He made the whole thing up!" Stan didn't expect Ford to believe him. Stan also didn't expect Ford to believe Bill. Ford knew they were both liars. What Stan expected was for Ford to side with the person he liked best.

"Uh huh." Ford didn't question Stan further. Ha. Pines solidarity.

Even though he'd already won, Stan went on: "All I did was mention how quiet he is! I can never tell where he's lurking. Sometimes I almost forget he's here." In Stan's mind, Bill had been rapidly demoted  from "active existential threat" to "annoying houseguest who blends in with the shadows." Watching him help Mabel cut pretty pictures from fashion magazines with plastic safety scissors drained away most of his intimidation factor.

Ford gave Stan a funny look. "Really? I can't forget he's here for a second. Sometimes I swear I can tell where he's been in the house—like a cold spot left by a ghost."

Stan tried to figure out how to ask whether that was a reaction to decades on the run feeling like hunted prey—which Stan knew how to cope with—or a lingering magical side effect of Ford and Bill's alien possession deal—which Stan did not. Then Ford added, "It's probably because I hear him bumping into the furniture all the time."

"Oh. Yeah. That's probably it. You've got better hearing than me." Case closed. Stan turned back to the stove—

A deafening buzz made them both start. Stan splashed boiling brown stink across the stovetop. "What—!"

Standing in the doorway with a kazoo, Bill said, "How's that, Stanley? Do you like that better?!"

"YOU!" Stan flung the stirring spoon to the floor.

Bill bolted from the room with Stan in hot pursuit. "Whoa! Mercy! Truce! You can have the kazoo! It's not even mine, I'm just holding it for a fr— Ow ow OW ow—"

Stan hauled Bill in by the back of the neck and didn't let go until he was in the middle of the kitchen. He pointed at the spoon, then pointed at the pot. "Pick it up. Get stirring." He grabbed another knife and joined Ford chopping onions. Whew, what a relief.

Bill gave Stan a perplexed look, but picked up the spoon, gave the pot an experimental sniff, and got stirring. He didn't even wince at the smell. "Is this the gnome wizz? What is this, punishment for not letting you use me as a urinal?"

"Whatsamatter, I thought you were the one who thinks pee belongs in the kitchen."

"You're both too old for toilet humor," Ford snapped. "Bill, this problem is your fault, the least you can do is help prepare the spray, and you're not getting a knife, so you're on pot stirring duty. Deal with it."

Bill rolled his eyes dramatically. (At the moment, they were both uncovered; but one was already half squinted shut against the morning light.) "Fine, but only because I like hanging out with you."

Ford scoffed.

"And I don't see how this is my fault just because we happened to date. It's not like I invited her over," Bill went on. "If anything, you should be grateful she's my ex, or else I wouldn't be helping you chase her away—"

"Hey, that's what I wanna know about this," Stan said. He gestured toward the window; the ex in question was currently circling above the gift shop entrance, like a vulture waiting for something to die. "Exactly how do you 'date' an eye-bat? Just—how does that work?"

"Well, it depends on the eye-bat, doesn't it," Bill said, a touch patronizing. "They don't all have the same tastes, you know. But she happens to like art films and water parks. Easy date."

"I'm not talking about that! You're telling us you slept with an eyeball with bat wings—right? That's what we're talking about, right?" From the corner of his eye, Stan saw Ford giving him a sharp look, but he didn't tell Stan to stop. Yeah, the nerd was curious, too.

"Yes, Stanley." Bill's condescension was almost more overpowering than the kitchen's stench. "That's what we're talking about. I 'slept' with an eyeball with bat wings." He exaggerated the finger quotes around the euphemism. "Any more prying you want to do into my personal life, or...?"

"You look at that freak out there and think it's appealing?"

Bill stopped stirring and squinted out the window. Flatly, he said, "Yep. She's still drop dead gorgeous. Thanks for asking." 

"How do you even know that's a she! How can you tell a girl eye from a boy eye?"

Ford said, "Technically, Stanley, all eye-bats are female." He held up an onion and used his knife tip to gesture at it like it was a model eyeball, "They're parthenogenetic parasites that reproduce by attacking other species' faces and depositing egg-bearing spores on their eyeballs, which swim to the tear ducts to begin incubating. Over the next few weeks, the infected eyeball grows wings and develops its own nervous system while the host slowly goes blind in one eye, until the new eye-bat is mature enough to emerge from the host's socket and seek out her mother's colony—"

Bill let out a strangled scream. "Enough!"

Stan and Ford stared at him.

"Would you stop talking about eye-bat sex?! I'm already riled up! I don't need help making it worse!"

He slammed the stirring spoon down and started pacing. "I'm losing my mind. Do you know what it's like to be randy for something you don't have the right body for?!" He gave them a pleading, slightly crazed look. "I need to feel her pupil contracting against mine. I'd lick her hot, salty tears off her sclera. I'd bite deep enough to taste her retina. I want to look like I've got pinkeye from all the bat spores coating my face. I'd give my right eye just to have one of her wings fingering my eyelid again—but if I cave and go that far I know I'd lose my head and give her the left one too, and then I've screwed up, because STUPID HUMANS BODIES can't regrow their STUPID EYEBALLS—"

He kicked the wall so hard he lost his balance and stumbled back into the stove. "Ow. I'm going insane. I can't take it. I need to kill somebody. I need to set something on fire."

Stan and Ford were petrified. Stan's jaw had dropped.

Bill was panting from the exertion of his outburst, arms trembling, face flushed. His shoulders slumped. The picture of a broken man, he said, "I'd do anything to rim her optic nerve again."

Ford let out a strangled noise.

Bill took several deep breaths. He rubbed his forehead. "Sorry! Wow. That was... I think the fumes are getting to me." He shook his head. "The fumes and the hormones. Human hormones. You know, your species has very insistent..." He gestured vaguely toward the doorway. "I'm—think I should lay down."

Stan and Ford nodded. Bill trudged from the room. A few seconds later, Stan heard springs creak as Bill flopped his full weight on the living room sofa.

Stan and Ford exchanged a look. Stan said, "I shouldn't have asked about..."

"You shouldn't have asked."

"You should have skipped the science lesson."

"I should have."

They lapsed into silence. After a moment, Ford stood up to take over stirring the pot.

Stan resumed chopping onions. "Say, d'you think he staged all that to get out of stirring?"

Ford didn't reply.

"Sixer?" Stan glanced up.

Ford had turned away from the stove, and was staring at nothing with a faraway, troubled look. It was the look he got when he'd just latched on to some mystery that would haunt him until he solved it.

"Ford—?"

Ford slapped down the spoon and stomped into the living room. "But you hate losing your eyeball! So how did you two— I mean—! The spores—?"

"Incompatible biology." Bill's voice sounded muffled. "It's why we never got serious. She wants kids and my tear ducts can't incubate wings."

"Ah! Of course. That makes perfect sense." Ford returned to the stove with a look of triumph.

Stan didn't know how Ford had recovered from that fast enough to ask follow-up questions. Weird nerd. Stan shook his head but said nothing.

####

In Ford's journal, he scratched out most of his speculation about the anatomy of Bill's species, scribbled over the diagram, and added, "I severely underestimated how much his eye is involved."

####

At one point, during Weirdmageddon, when Bill had been torturing Ford for information, Ford had spat in his eye. Bill had licked it off. He'd seemed eerily undisturbed.

Ford would probably wonder how Bill had interpreted that act for the rest of his life.

####

Outside, dressed in a homemade hazmat suit consisting of painter's coveralls and a scuba mask, Soos faced off against the eye-bat, a spray bottle strapped to each hip like a cowboy's revolvers. Dipper and Mabel stood behind him, armed with a rake and a golf club, wearing a bicycle helmet and a football helmet with tree branches taped on. The eye-bat stared them down warily.

Leaning on his elbows over the kitchen table so he could stare out the window, Bill said, "Bet you a hundred bucks she steals Questiony's hat."

Stan snorted. "I'm not taking that bet. You don't have any money."

Bill grunted and turned back to the window, just in time to see the eye-bat dive for Soos's face. Soos whipped out one of the spray bottles, dropped it, ducked down to retrieve it just as she swooped past where his head used to be, and lifted it in time to spray the eye-bat when she circled back to attack him again. She reeled off screeching, eye watering, pupil contracting. Bill winced in sympathy. Poor gal. And she didn't even have an eyelid for protection. But, hey—better for her to suffer than for Bill to risk getting caught in this body. He'd take someone else's pain over his own embarrassment any day.

"It seems to be working the same as it does on any other eye-bat," Ford said. "Good. Once she's gone, Soos and the kids can spray the rest on the roof. That should drive her off while keeping the worst of the scent away from the tourists."

Streaming tears, the eye-bat dove at the kids. They yelled in alarm. Dipper threw his rake at her and missed. Bill flipped up his eyepatch to squint at the battle with both eyes.

"What, do you see something?" Stan asked.

"Just appreciating her sphericality." Bill sighed wistfully. "That spray's gotta be excruciatingly painful—but, I've never seen her that wet before. Sure, we've fooled around with a little hot sauce a few times, but even then—"

"I'm sorry I asked."

Outside, Soos shouted, "Hey! My hat! Give that back!"

Bill wordlessly held a hand out toward Stan.

Stan smacked it away. "Nyeh."

As the eye-bat retreated toward the forest, Ford sighed in relief. "She's gone. It worked."

"You sound surprised," Bill said.

"Frankly, I can't believe that you gave us accurate information on how to get rid of her."

"What! You wound me! Why would I lie about that?"

"To trick us into doing something that strengthens her? To arrange an opportunity to meet her?" Ford suggested. "After all, as one of your Henchmaniacs, she could have helped you escape."

Bill's blood ran cold.

She could have helped him escape. SHE COULD HAVE HELPED HIM ESCAPE! He'd been so worried about not looking stupid or losing his eyes, when all this time—! He could have signaled Iris from the window, and—and the bottomless pit was right there, she could have carried a message to the gang—at the very least, she could probably open doors for him—and instead he just—when he could have—

He watched in despair as Iris's pretty little optic nerve vanished behind the trees.

No, Bill decided—no, getting her help was a terrible plan. If it was a good plan, he would have done it; so it was terrible. He had a better plan. What was his better plan?

"Come on, you think I need her? I've got all the pals I need right here—whether you're ready to admit it or not." He elbowed Ford. Bill had decided he'd wheedle Ford back over to his side, and he would. His survival depended on it. Now more than ever. "I've got a way out, don't worry about that—it's only a matter of time—and she's not part of the plan."

Ford scoffed. "Really. Last night you were moaning about being on death row."

"Wh—Hey! That was..." Not fair. He scrambled to revise his story.

"You're lying about something," Ford said. "If it wasn't how to get rid of her, then it was why you wanted to get rid of her. For all we know, maybe she wants you dead as much as we do."

"Yeah," Stan said, "the 'girlfriend' story sounds crazy enough to be true, but you seem like the kind of guy who has a string of exes who'd love to kill you." (He did, as it happened, but it wasn't his fault he kept falling for petty jealous psychos who hated seeing him thrive.)

Ford said, "If she hadn't been a danger to the tourists, perhaps I should have invited her in to talk."

Unbelievable. Even when Bill did exactly what he was supposed to, he was still the bad guy. "Fine, she was a notorious black widow and you saved my life, happy? Do you like that story better? I made it up just for you." He jabbed a finger in Ford's shoulder. "You know what your problem is? You're too paranoid. You can't trust anything anybody says. You'll only hurt yourself like that—"

Ford shoved Bill's hand away and stepped out of poking range. "I spent years unlearning the paranoia you gave me. And when I finished, do you know what I figured out, Bill? All along, there was only one person I shouldn't have trusted: you."

It stung, but only in a distant, impersonal way; like a hard slap on a numb cheek. Bill turned to give Ford a sour look. "At the lengths you take it to, I could tell you the sky is blue and you'd have to check."

Ford's gaze automatically flickered toward the window.

"Ha!" Bill angrily shoved the table against the wall as he stood up. "Thanks for taking care of my pest problem, boys." He stormed upstairs, flipping his hood up as he went. Ingrates.

####

The view out the attic window was more interesting than usual, mainly because there were three humans traipsing around on the roof spraying eye-bat repellant. From time to time Mabel came by to make funny faces at Bill through the glass; he did his best to one-up them. Once, Soos nearly fell off the roof and died; Bill hadn't laughed that hard since he was murdered.

Their return indoors was heralded by Mabel shouting, "Dibs on the shower!" and Dipper replying, "I take shorter showers, let me go first!" They pounded up the stairs. Mabel tried to take them two at a time, tripped near the top, and by the time she recovered Dipper was already in the bathroom. She groaned. "Augh! Not fair! I don't want to smell like onions and gnome pee!"

"Neither do I! I need it more, I haven't showered in two weeks!"

Bill wondered why Dipper got to go so long between showers without getting dumped in a cold tub in his sleep. (He knew why.)

Bill whistled to catch Mabel's attention. "Consolation prize." He waved a cheap perfume bottle toward Mabel. "We had leftovers after mixing the repellant. It smells like strawberry candy."

"You're my hero." Mabel took the bottle and sprayed it all over herself, in her hair, and under her sweater. "You need a shower too, you know."

"Sure, but until Dolores fumigates the kitchen I'll just blend into the background stink. I can put it off til tomorrow without anyone complaining."

"You're grossss." Mabel emphasized the hiss by poking Bill's arm. "Once I'm clean, I'm not talking to you until you've showered too."

"I'll be devastated."

"Those are my terms!" She kicked aside Bill's cushion-bed so she could sit under the window without stinking the cushions up, and settled back to wait for the bathroom. After a (very short) companionable silence, Mabel said, "It's too bad we had to chase off your ex. I can see why you like her."

Bill gave her a surprised look. "Can you?"

"Iris was so graceful!" Mabel said. "And murderous, but mostly graceful. Like an evil swan."

Bill laughed. "Yeah! Yeah, she is. Floats like a dream. If you think she's graceful in the air, you oughta see her in the pool. She's the only person I know who can make a cannonball look elegant."

Mabel gave him a sly grin.

"What?"

"Look at you. Yooou still like heeer." Mabel propped her elbows on the edge of the window seat and balanced her chin in her hands. "How did you meet Iris?"

For the last couple of days, almost everyone in the house had talked about Bill's ex like she was some kind of malevolent creature, rather than a person. He was used to outsiders talking about his friends that way—heck, most of his friends were malevolent creatures—but it grated all the same. (He missed home.) Just hearing Mabel call Iris by her name was a breath of fresh air. No one else had even asked if she had a name.

"I met her at a party," Bill said. "I'd just gotten a piano and was showing off, and she came by to ask about Earth music. She wasn't in my crew then—but the party was open invite, and everyone in that corner of the Nightmare Realm knew that if you wanted info on Earth, you came to Bill Cipher. So, we talked about waltzes and tarantellas, I played a little Beethoven, we hit things off..."

They talked until the bathroom was free and Mabel went to shower. Sweet kid. Hopeless romantic, though.

When Bill got out of this place, he was gonna find the first boy who would break her heart and kill him before they could meet. It was the least he could do for her.

####

The third entry in Bill's dream diary: "Shooting Star's cartoon is getting to me. I dreamed about the wolf and the cat arguing over who had to host someone's birthday party. The wolf refused to let guests into his enormous mansion, but the cat's house was burning down. They asked me how to resolve this. I told them the cat should execute the wolf as punishment for his inhospitality, take over his mansion, and wear his skin as the party host. The animals were so in awe of my wisdom that I was deified as god of the jungle."

That was not what he'd dreamed. The animals were so horrified at his suggestion that they'd tied him to a stake and forced him to watch as they threw the cat into the flames of her own house. He couldn't remember whether he'd dreamed that he was a triangle or a human.

He preferred his version. Once he'd regained control over his dreams, he could replay this one and make it end properly.

He'd get the hang of this in no time.

####

(You're legally required to tell me if you had a reaction to this one. Even if it's horror. Especially if it's horror.)

[viburnt]

hello!! I'd like to request "I just need a chance!" with pro-hero! katsuki who's kind of a dick to his secretary who has had for a few years, he's always rude, loud, and brash because well...he's katsuki but he's waaay worse with her because he's trying to mask his feelings for her and she gets fed up with her attitude and tries quitting angst with a happy ending please and thank you 💝

I got carried away with this one a little and it turned longer than expected, I had so much fun! I hope you enjoy it, Anon!

-Viburnt

𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨 || 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

—The hell you mean you are quitting?— Bakugo asked as your shaky hands held the resignation form, your body stiff like a deer facing a wolf.

You had been his secretary for almost a full year, and even though you'd lasted more than your predecessor, the way your boss treated you had finally gotten under your skin.

"It's fairly common for Dynamight to be strict with his employees," you were told before adventuring to the agency for the first time; you weren't warned whatsoever about how caustic the blond could get with his belittling comments and snarky remarks—especially when he was targeting them at you.

—I- I just got a better offer, sir.— The man heard you utter, leaving his desk to walk up to you. He took the paper sheet from your hands to read it, quickly deciding to discard it into the shredder.

He looked at you up and down, making you feel small.

Why did he always have to make you feel like that lately?

—And who is precisely trying to steal my assistant?— His husky voice asked, sending shivers down your spine. You averted your eyes from him to avoid giving away you were lying, still not having the guts to tell him it was his fault you were leaving your job.

—It's a small company, they are starting to grow.— Your voice meekly answered, praying that he wouldn't tell you were making up an excuse.

Perhaps you should've lied a little better than that.

—Isn't the money I pay you enough?— He asked, lifting your chin with his calloused fingers. You hated how even when you despised him during work hours, your heart would skip a beat whenever he talked like that.

"This cute bastard!" You thought, fighting back the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

—You are terrible at pretending, you know?— He sardonically whispered in your ear. —If you want to go, give me the real reason. I'm not letting you go until then, nerd. —You heard him taunt, and just like a switch, all the anger that had cramped inside you burst.

Your face contorted into a frown that Bakugo could only describe as cute, clenching your fists with intensity. "Feisty," he thought as you looked at him with vexation.

—Fine! You are always scolding me in front of other people like I'm some sort of idiot! A-and you keep treating me like a fucking baby! I know how to use a damn printer-

Bakugo heard your little rant begin, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned on his desk. "Have I pushed her around too much?" He wondered, noticing your distress. If he was honest with himself, he didn't mean to be so harsh on you; he just wanted that stupid fuzzy feeling you gave him to disappear.

With a flustered face, he decided to say one particular phrase you'd never imagine to hear, interrupting your fit of office rage.

—I'm sorry if I've been too hard on you.— He apologized, letting go of your face. —It's just- your stupid face always makes me say lame stuff and all.—

Your eye twitched in annoyance.

—Huh? My stupid face? What the- You were about to snap, interrupted by Bakugo's stern voice.

—What I'm trying to say is that I like you, you dumb ass dork. I've been trying hard to get rid of this shitty corny feeling for months now!— He yelled, not caring if the entire office heard him (not like they could say a word about it). —If you want to quit, fine, do so. I've been a bastard with you for months.

Your mouth dropped in shock, eyes wide at the confession. "Did he really just say he...likes me?" You thought your heart beat grew faster. It was known that when little boys liked someone they sometimes mistreat their crush, but this was on another level.

Inhaling sharply, you landed a slap on the blond's face, small frustration tears rolling down your cheeks. He didn't bother retaliating, acknowledging how deserved that was.

— You made me feel incompetent for months, because you liked me?— You exposed. Bakugo felt shame for his actions, recognizing—lately—that they were not the best course of action.

— If I can somehow convince you to stay after the fucking mess I made, say so. I just need a chance!— He promised, sternly. —But if you want to go...

—Dinner.

—What?— The blond said in surprise, watching you trying to calm down. —Dinner. If you want to convince me, take me to dinner.— You said, giving him hope. —And I'm expecting a fancy place; I didn't endure your shit to be eating fast food.

Katsuki's face turned from astonishment to confidence, his signature cocky smile greeting you. You walked up to him with an embarrassed face and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek.

—Pull another stunt like that and you are really going to need a new assistant.— You warned, feeling his hands carefully finding their way to your waist. —Got it... —He muttered, leaning in to give you a real kiss.

[ohtobeleah]

Minimal Losses // Jake Seresin

Chapter Five: Self Reflection & Play Pretend

Summary: Phoenix extends an open invitation to wing night at the Hard Deck. Jake puts his foot in something he knows he can resolve and you struggle with feelings of self doubt.

Warnings: Jake Seresin x FBI!f!reader. Mentions of Bradley Bradshaw x Wife!reader from NCIS. Small amount of angst.

Word Count: 4.7k

Author Note: Smashed this beauty out today. A little bit of a filler chapter but it’s warm and warranted before we head on into the drama. MASTERLIST

The warmth of the water had never felt so good against your aching muscles. You couldn't remember a time where you had been this sore before, this stiff. As you let the water cascade down your aching body, you let out a less than gentle sigh as you stood straight under the hot stream, you, only for a brief moment, sobbed. Cupping your hand over your mouth so the pathetic whimpers that were sure to escape couldn't be heard by any of the other female aviators getting changed and showered and ready to head home after what could only be described as a gruelling day. Not that there were many women hanging about in the female locker room to begin with. 

“Hey Kas!” Phoenix knocked against the door of the stall you were in, having seen you head in only a few minutes ago. “You did good this afternoon.” When you and Jake had gotten back to base, it was business as usual–which meant there was still enough daylight left for two more runs. “Hangman said you only used two spew bags.” You could hear the subtle taunt in Natasha's voice as she leaned her back up against your door. “Out of all of us though Hangman used to spew his guts up the most, it would shock us all how much that man could hold in his stomach.” 

You couldn't help but you smile as the quiet sobs you let escape into your palm turned into laughter of some sort. The tears you shed mixed with the water that rained down from the shower head and soon enough, you were inhaling a grounding breath to keep yourself from falling apart at the seams. 

“I still much prefer to keep my feet on the ground.” You replied, rubbing your eyes, collecting yourself from the few second breakdown you’d allowed yourself to have behind the safeguard of the shower door. “But thanks, I appreciate it.” 

“You coming to the Hard Deck for a few beers?” Phoenix asked as she heard the water shut off from inside the shower stall. “A bunch of us are heading over to grab a bite to eat, Tuesday is wing russian roulette wing night.” It was an intriguing addition to the offer. “Heard through the scuttlebutt that Hangman was gonna ditch but said if you were going he’d be there in a heartbeat.” Phoenix took her opportunity to sweeten the deal, smirking as you opened the shower and stared right at her smirking smug face. “What's going on between you two, agent?” 

“Nothings going on–” You lied through your teeth as you bent over to flip your hair up into a towel, wrapping it up and over your head as you stood back up. “But I mean, if you're inviting me out, I can come, I'm not doing anything tonight.” In all honesty you were just going to head back to your dorm. You quite liked the fact you were the only one who lived on the floor at the moment, you got the whole place to yourself. “Russian Roulette huh?” 

“Penny puts a hot wing in with a bunch of others, it's pretty much always Bob who's the unlucky bastard who seems to find it.” You couldn't hold your laughter in as you tried to apply your moisturizer. Phoenix still stood in the doorway, leaning against the threshold of the shower with her arms crossed softly over her chest. She was already dressed and ready to go, a pair of jeans, causal jumper, hair down after being pulled back in that tight regulation bun all damn day. “It’ll be good to see you mix in with the crowd, get to know the people who have your back a little more?” Phoenix, although she’d enticed you enough already with her proposition to join the gang at the Hard Deck for dinner, still seemed to want to keep pushing reasons on you to attend. “And all things considered Lieutenant Jackson, for what it's worth I think you're doing a great job for someone who's not who she says she is.” Phoenix pressed her lips together as you turned to face her for a moment, a sadness in your eyes more evident than ever before. “I'll see you at the Hard Deck Kasper.” 

Phoenix, with all her pride and strength, turned on her heels to leave you to get changed when you called out for her. 

“Natasha?” Your voice was barely above a mumble. 

“Yeah?” Phoenix turned in her place, looking back at how your shoulders seemed to slump in on themselves. It wasn't hard to see that the weight of the world was resting on your shoulders today.  

“How did you do it?” 

“Do what?”

“All this? I mean—what do you do on the days you don't feel as confident or as fearless or powerful as you normally do?” Phoenix knew it was more of a cry for help than a genuine question. You were struggling to cope with the pressure of this assignment and she could physically see it written all over your tired face. 

“I pretend.” Phoenix replied with a genuine tone. She wasn't even saying it just to boost your conference, she was telling the truth. “I'm one of five female TopGun graduates Agent kas.” Phoenix explained as she watched you unwrap your hair. “And if you haven't noticed we’re the only two women standing in this locker room.” You had noticed early on that Miramar was far more testosterone based than it was oestrogen. It felt like the bureau, just with less agents and more aviators. “I work with all men who are just great but they suck and on the days I don't feel particularly myself, I pretend because you gotta fake it till you make it–” Phoenix paused as she heard the boisterous laughter of Rooster and Hangman walking past the locker room. Most likely on their way out. Phoenix saw the way the corner of your lips turned up into a cheesy grin at the sound of Jake's laugh. You were smitten for the man, Phoenix could see it clear as day. “Or else you cry yourself to sleep and who the hell wants to do that Kas?”

It was exactly what you needed to hear as Phoenix left you to finish getting ready, her words playing through your head on a loop as you got dressed. Wondering if the outfit you'd put together was in fact an outfit or if you'd fallen into the trap of pinterest fashion. Was this an outfit? Or was it just skinny girl rhetoric being shoved down society's throat. You'd never really know and you didn't have time to find anything else to wear. 

“Pretend Kas, just pretend.” You mumbled to yourself, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you pulled your shirt over your head. “Fake it till you make it.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Bradley Bradshaw had seen his wife do a lot of dangerous stuff in the years he’d known her. She’d been held at gunpoint in the very bar they now stood in now amongst his colleagues and friends, she’d been shot on more occasions than he could count of both his hands—scares littered her body like fragmented polka dots, reminding him that although she knew what she was doing most of the time, she was still very much a mortal woman who bled just the same. 

But as Bradley stood back and watched his wife laugh with Jake Seresin about something they both shared a common interest in—making Bradley their comedic target, he paused and had to remind himself that although his Naval Criminal Investigative Service hot headed agent of a wife was a force to be reckoned with, the most dangerous thing he’d ever seen her do in all the time he’d known her……was carry his unborn daughter. 

“Oh, that feels so good.” The corner of Bradley's lips curled upright into the corners of his cheeks as he grinned into the junction of his wife’s shoulder, kissing her supple skin as he wrapped his arms around her sides and took the pressure of the weight of their unborn child off her. Holding her stomach up as she leaned back into him. “You’re not allowed to move ever again, we’re staying like this forever.” 

“You’ve really started to pop haven’t you.” Jake beamed, admiring the Bradshaw couple as they swayed gently, soon to be first time parents. “Not long to go now Gibbs.” 

“Hmm—“ Bradley knew what to expect out of his loving wife’s mouth, he’d heard it far too many times not to expect it. But when she didn’t retaliate and remind Hangman that her name was Bradshaw now and had been for a while—Bradley was stunned. “I'm gonna let that one slide because I feel like I’m floating.” 

“Holy shit you’ve disarmed her.” Jake chuckled as he pressed his lips the beer bottle he held in his hand. “Stay there forever Rooster, happy wife, happy Hangman.” 

“How’d your little excursion go with Kas earlier?” The better half of Bradley Bradshaw asked as Jake spotted your walking in the front doors of the Hard Deck. He watched with a glint in his eye as you searched around the expanse of the pub packed to the rafters with naval riff raff, searching for a familiar face to coax you through the nervousness that threatened to consume you entirely. 

Jake Seresin forgot how to breathe for a mere minute as he watched a smile so pure creep across your face at the fact you’d spotted Bob and Fanboy over by the dart board. Kindly and with all the good graces in your body you made your way over to the two weapon’s systems officers who both wore smiles just as big as yours. Excited to see you’d taken up the offer of wing night Phoenix had extended.

But it was ultimately your laugh that put the breath inside of his lungs again. It was like he’d lept in the light of the San Diego sun that beamed through the windows of the Hard Deck as it set. 

“Hello? Earth to Hangman—?” 

“Sorry Gibbs.” Jake shook his head, rattling his brain back to reality as he took notice to the way the NCIS agent who’s become like a sister to him cradled her hand over Roosters, splayed out across the bottom half of her swollen stomach like they held their world in the palms of their hands. “It was fine, some of the guys were a little harsh on her when we were briefed on this new bullet that’s hit the ground running—“ 

“Cop killers?” 

“The very ones.” Jake confirmed as he took another sip of his beer, watching you sit between Mickey and Bob out of the corner of his eye. Casually having a conversation about something that was maintaining one hundred percent of your undivided attention. “I know why you partnered her up with me now.” 

“She lacks confidence, something you need to have in order to be an effective candidate for field work.” Gibbs confessed as she lulled her head into Bradley’s chest. “God this is like crack—“ Closing her eyes as she swayed and enjoyed the fact her husband was carrying the overbearing weight of their unborn child. “I thought with you having a surplus that she could borrow some of yours.” Gibbs teased. “You really like her though— don’t you, Bagman?” 

“Shut up—“ Jake groaned, squinting his eyes as he took yet another sip of his beer. “I don’t.” He tried to deny the inevitable. But Jake knew his hullshit wasn’t flying with the Bradshaws. They knew how to read him like an open book. 

“Sure as hell wasn’t the type I envisioned you chasing after.” Bradley added as Jake glared his way. The three of them stood by the nook in the back where the sea breeze hit just right for the seven month pregnant woman Jake and Bradley would lay their lives down for. “I asked Kas if she had any sunscreen on her when I passed her on changeover and her response was of course, we’ve got holes in the ozone that we put there ourselves and the poles are a no-go now, earth's cooking itself.” Bradley repeated the remark you’d made to him about how he should really have his own sunscreen, but all Jake did was smile in response. 

He loved that, so much. 

“She’s definitely one of a kind.” It wasn’t that the Bradshaws weren’t good company, they were—it’s just that you’d managed to consume every part of Jakes being since he first saw you. There wasn’t a moment he didn’t want to spend next to you, getting to know you, on top of you or below you. “And on that note, I’m gonna go see what the prodigy herself is up to.” Jake was heading off in the direction of his partner within seconds of announcing his own departure, leaving Bradley and his wife in the dust of their conversation. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before, have you?” Bradley couldn’t help but to let out a deep sigh against his wife’s shoulder as he cradled her growing baby bump from behind. 

“Nope—never thought I’d see the day.” He admitted honestly. There was a small part of Bradley who held a little fear in his heart for Jake. He’d been the guy sitting in the waiting room far too many times to count and he wouldn’t wish that stress on anyone. But with the job title his wife held and with the blooming endgame Bradley saw playing out before his very eyes, he wished he could pull Jake aside, ask him if he could really handle it, before letting him make his own choices. You were young and bright and far more brilliant than what met the naked eye, but that didn’t equate to minimal losses. 

Braldey Bradshaw just prayed Jake could hold you tight, hold you close, hold you endlessly and with enough conviction that it outweighed all the doubts and fears and losses he’d surely face being madly in love with a woman whose life’s mission was to keep people safe, risking her own in the process. 

“You know I can’t stay like this forever right?” Bradley mumbled against his wife’s shoulder, feeling the palms of her hands clamp down on his splayed hands a little more as he chuckled against the spot he’d just peppered kisses with. She didn’t ask for help often, she handled most of her own healing on her own, but when she did need someone? That’s when he knew it was bad. If she needed this? For him to take the weight for just a minute more? He knew she needed it more than she could find the words to articulate it. 

“Unless you want a divorce Bradley, I suggest you reconsider your options.” Her pleas just came out in an empty threat. Bradley nodded, playing the part in his wife’s life he was always meant to play. The doting husband and best friend, the cheerleader that cheered on his wife as she caught bad guys and prepared to give birth to a whole human. His daughter, his baby girl. 

If Bradley Bradshaw had come to realise one thing in life it was that women were crazy, batshit even. But they were stronger than men in every aspect, in every sense of the word. So he did as he was told and stayed put, watching over his wife’s shoulder as his best friend wrapped his arm around the woman who unknowingly held his whole heart in the palm of her hand, grinning to himself as Jake smiled down at you as you smiled up. Beaming at each other like an electrical circuit had just been connected. 

Jake Seresin had fallen in love, Bradley could see it smeared across his poster boy face as clear as day. 

“Yes ma’am—“ Braldey whispered as he held his unborn daughter's kick against his palm. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**~***~

There was a certain level of confidence that just oozes off Jake as he carefully and ever so casually draped his arm across your shoulders as you sat with Bob and Fanboy at the small round bar table over by the dart board. He’s intoxicating and he damn well knows it too. 

“Hi Kas.” It comes out almost like a purr as Jake gives you all his attention for a few fleeting moments, allowing himself to admire your beauty that’s sandwiched between the two idiots to the left and right of you. “Boys, mind if I join the club?” 

“I was just asking if the guys had any interesting tips on how not to throw up.” You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you spoke up to Jake, his eyes lingering from your eyes to your lips as you spoke. “So far I know that bananas taste the same coming up as they do going down so I’ll be sure to try that one for breakfast.” 

“You’re cute sweetheart—real cute, but I don’t want my cockpit smelling like Bananas.” The casual compliment had you swooning, wrinkling your nose as you squinted your eyes and puffed your chest out a little in defence of yourself. 

“As opposed to the vomit it smells like currently?” Bob interjected. “I’d take the smell of bananas over the smell of spoiled acidic food any day of the week.” All you did was sigh in miserable defeat as you let yourself fall forward to the tabletop, extinguishing an groan as Jake laughed and came around to sit in front of you. 

“I can’t keep doing this to myself, my unit chief is gonna think I developed some sort of eating disorder by the time I head back to Quantico.” 

“I used to throw up every flight I took for six months, Kas, it’s honestly no big deal.” Fanboy tried his best to convince you that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. “Besides, isn’t the schedule moving up? I thought we were packing duffels and shipping out as of tomorrow.” 

That has been the debrief. You and Jake had been lucky enough to have had an earlier opportunity to process the information, the others however had not. By the time you were getting back for afternoon exercises the team were just being summoned for an impromptu debriefing with the admirals. 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t stop trying to not be sick?” Jake replied from across the table. “Next time we go up she’ll try again, fail again and then she’ll fail better next time, right Kas.” You couldn’t tell if Jake had meant to blatantly insult you behind a Mirage of humour, but he had. So when you didn’t meet his grin with your own? He knew he’d said something that had accidentally been interpreted as something he didn’t mean it as. “You know what that didn’t come out the way I’d hoped it would, what I meant was—“

“I’m gonna grab a drink and order some food.” You instantly deflected as you cut Jake off in the middle of his sentence. He watched with stunned eyes as you stood and tried to hide the hurt that smeared itself across your face as you tucked your hand into your jean pockets and smiled. Pretending. “I was promised wings and wings I will devour until my heart's content.”

“Kasper–” Jake groaned as he watched you turn without so much as acknowledging him. “Oh my god–” 

“Dude, what the hell even was that?” Mickey whisper-shouted across the table as Jake held a hand up to his forehead, taking his temperature to make sure he wasn't sick. He felt sick, like he was going to pass out, his face felt flushed and his hearing seemed to be a little impaired as he heard his own voice ringing out from his guilty conscience. ‘You idiot, you idiot, you idiot.’ Nope not sick, just an idiot. “I've never seen you fumble what I'm assuming was supposed to be a compliment so badly before.” 

“Incredible performance Bagman, truly.” Bob sighed, he thought there was more to Jake then met the eye but apparently he was as shallow as a kiddy pool, just like he’d always thought. “All you had to say was she’d get used to it? Why’d you have to go and be a dick about it?” 

“I'm gonna go apologise before she tells Penny what an idiot I am and sabotages my wings–like fuck am I getting that hot wing.” Jake stood with his shoulders slumped and the same clampy hands he’d experienced back at the precinct. You made him nervous beyond comprehension and not because he was scared of you in particular. You scared him because you were the only person Jake Seresin cared enough about to worry what they thought about him.  

He wanted you to like him as much as he liked you. The idea that the feelings he were experiencing for the first time in his life had him panicked that they might only be one sided. 

Jake cautiously approached the bar as you ordered your food with Penny, he was going to pretend that he didn't see the way Penny side eyed him as he came to stand behind you. Moving your hair across to one side of your neck before he decided it wouldn't be all that bold of him to kiss the nap of your neck gently and ever so apologetically. 

“Kas–” All you did was brush Jake off, shrugging him back and off your neck as you turned around to face him. Pocketing the change Penny had given you in your wallet as you grumbled under your breath. “

“Listen, in the future if you wanna insult me? You can just go ahead and do it, you don't have to disguise the put down with humour.” Jake was completely and utterly stunned as you brushed past him and headed in the direction of the front doors. Making no attempt to listen to what he had to say for himself. 

“Y/n, hold up a minute will you?” Hot on your tail as Jake pushed past people who unintentionally got in his way, he followed you out to the front deck of the Hard Deck. “I didn't mean what I said to come across as a put down.” 

“I don't wanna hear it, Lieutenant Seresin.” Oh, oh no that wasn't good at all. Jake paused as he watched you take a seat on one of the empty stools that sat scattered around the patio bar, turning to face the view of the ocean that wasn't too far in the distance. “You can go back inside, enjoy your night with your colleagues, I'm sure you're tired of living in a fantasy world with the FBI.”

“Hold up–can we back track for a minute here.” Jake frowned as he took a few strides towards where you sat trying to ignore his ever looming presence. It was hard to ignore Jake Seresin though when he was spinning the stool you sat on around so you were facing him. Trapping you between his muscular, tan and ever so intoxicating arms as he leaned in to rest his hands on the top of the patio bar. “What are you really lashing out about? Because something I said, that was completely misconstrued mind you–is not what has your pretty panties all twisted up in a bunch.” Your jaw hung open for a few seconds as you tried to compute what Jake had just said. 

“You’re infuriating, you know that?” It was hard to admit you were taking your own insecurities about your self worth out on Jake. He could tell there was something stirring in that brilliant yet insecure mind of yours. You knew what he was doing though as he held your gaze, kept a stern look on his face as your eyes trailed the expanse of his stupidly handsome features. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that you're not the first person to tell me that fact about myself?”Jake teased back as you bit your bottom lip to top yourself from snacking back. “Now what's going on?” There were a few silent moments that passed the pair of you by, but inevitably, you gave into the charming ways of the Naval Aviator who had secretly stolen your heart. 

“I don't think I have what it takes to figure this guy out, I’m inexperienced and out of my depth and I can feel myself losing control and I don't know how I’m meant to–” Jakes lips were crashing against yours before you could finish spewing up everything that had been rattling around in your mind all day. It was a kiss full of love and kindness and patience, all of which you hadnt been to yourself the last few days. 

Jake wasn't going anywhere anytime soon either, when you went to pull away all he did was move his hands from the back of the bar that kept you trapped in your stool up to cup your cheeks, holding you against his lips until he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, begging for more. More you gave him. 

Jake set the pace and you followed willingly as he kissed you slow and soft as the San Diego sunset across the horizon of the Hard Deck. But much like all your moments with Jake, it was fleeting. 

“Listen, I'm gonna tell you something about yourself and you’re gonna listen alright?” Jake's hands were still cupping your face, the pads of his thumbs working to caress the apples of your cheeks softly as he spoke sense into you. 

“Are you about to profile the profiler?” 

“If you’ll shut up for five seconds and let me say what I have to say?” That had you sitting up a little straighter in pure surprise, did that just turn you on a little? “You think nobody believes in you, you think that people think you've lost again and again and again, that the lights are cut off on you and wherever your career was heading because you've got no spine.” 

“Jake–” It came out meeker than you had meant it to, but Jake didn't let you interrupt as he watched your shoulders slump, as he watched the glint in your eyes fade into nothing and bore witness to your ability to mask your true feelings finally faltered. Jake Seresin had tapped into a vulnerable nerve that had you falling apart at the seams instantly. 

“Kas, you’re still looking at your dream though, you wanna be the best at what you do because that's all I’ve ever wanted to be, the best– I know you keep reviewing it every damn day and I know you keep telling yourself when you look in the mirror every morning that it ain't over until you win.” 

“You’d make a pretty good profile, Agent Seresin.” Jake beamed so bright at you you swore you felt your heart skip a beat. He was intoxicating. “Now to clarify here, I wasn't saying you're always going to be a failure, what I meant to say was you'll fail so many times that soon enough you're gonna get it right. And when you get it right you would have faulted so many times before, you'll never wanna fail again and you'll be the very best of all of us.” 

If you could go back in time and tell yourself that you'd fall in love with the man you thought you were only going to have a one night stand with, you'd laugh at yourself because one, you didn't have one night stands and two, no man would ever look at you like you hung the all the star in the night sky just for him. But yet here you were, with Jake, and he was looking at you like you sent his heart straight out of his world. 

“I think I'm genuinely growing fond you, old man.” Was all you said in response as you pulled Jake closer to you by his belt buckle. Kissing him deeper and slower and more seductive than he had kissed you just before. When he let a soft moan escape into your mouth you took the open opportunity to wrap your arms up and around his neck, speaking into Jake's mouth as he pulled away for just a second to ghost his lips across yours. 

“Far too fond for me to hide.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~*

Tags // @auroraboreallisfine @buckythewintersquirrel @a-lil-bit-nuts @bookaholics-stuff @ilovewhalesharks444 @a-serene-place-to-be @alexsisrebekah @rhirhikingston @caitsymichelle13 @twsssmlmaa @chaoticversion @topguncultleader @averyhotchner @phoenix1388 @emma8895eb @avaleineandafryingpan @endofdays56 @dempy @redheaded-hobbit @ilovewhalesharks444 @xoxabs88xox @strokesofstokes

[snakegorl212006]

Savanaclaw Journal Entries

------Jack Howl----------------------------------------------------------- -not very vocal ngl -not saying he doesn't talk at all but it’s hard to get a decent conversation as he’s always using his energy to work out or go on a jog -i stayed in savanaclaw once and he’s quite a early bird -he did invite me to one of his jogs which took me a while to be able to keep up -he doesn't focus much on his passed nor his death -Sam stated that jack used to be a popular player in track as well as in a sport called ‘spelldrive’ which is just american football with frisbee -his death wasn't entirely unknown nor was it solved -a few newspaper articles stated that he was caught in a fight between a group of thieves -he died by a shank to the gut in which he bleed out -I felt bad as these groups of thieves weren’t brought to justice. -jack happen to see the newspaper i read about the incident and he opens about his resentment of that day -he’s one of the few i opened to about my task on finding out who died here and he provided info on ruggie and leona -out of curiosity i asked to touch his ears if they were real and how he got them -he explained he developed them after death. -yes there’s as soft as they look -the tail was a bit of a stretch though but they’re also soft -i asked him how he ended up here -he used to be the owner of the wing at the time and turned one of the supposed guest rooms into a gym for himself

-------------Ruggie Bucchi--------------------------------------------- -he was the reason why things are missed placed -he’s so mischievous he could give ace a run for his money. Literally -this doesn't happen but sometimes he dose the same stuff over in heartslabyul -though a bit sensitive about it, he states that he grew up in a poor background and was taken up as a servant of Leona’s family -he became leona’s personal retainer which was “a sweet gig” he describes -he died from a “simple bullet in the head” and hasn't elaborated further. -like jack he strays away from the past but he talks highly how he doesn't have to feel starvation like he used to -it felt like a bitter sweet truth to me -he suggested i should try it out and i couldn't tell if he was joking about that -despite his mischievous side he’s quite a helper -he like to help with certain chores or even help me when i end up cooking over there -although i never asked for his help he still expected me to give him something in return which caused me to always have a donut ready for him so i can “reward him” for every good deed.

------Leona Kingscholar------------------------------------------------ -rude…but he has likable qualities -he’s so moody and very lazy -that explains why he is always visible when I see him. He probably conserves tones on energy -I don’t come to him much as he would probably ignore me and my questions so i don’t even bother sometimes -he has quite a lot of sleeping spots which includes but doesn't limit too: the gardens behind savanaclaw The couch In his room Underneath a tree near the main house The center fountain -he’s nothing but a humanoid house cat. -he has warmed up to me seeing how he’ll use me like a personal pillow when i just happen to be around his sleeping spots -other time he’ll just hang around just watching me -i still didn’t feel like he’s gonna getting answers so i went to sam just to hear the jist about him -Leona was assassinated tho they were after his older brother and son -the Kingscholar surname is part of a royal family that’s still around with his nephew as king -there were news articles showing how this assasonation was connected to Ruggie’s killer -it’s 100% possable it could’ve been committed to the same person -one time after visiting sam, he invited me to play chess in the gardens where he told me Bits about he life when he was alive -his only explanation on why was “I was in a good mood” -he says he kinda likes being a ghost, not having to do much after all -but he has some sort of jealous streak as he could’ve been king if he wouldn't have died

[fluffycoffeebuns]

Maybe

For @mmmkkkkkjkmm. I know it's hard for you a lot, but I'm proud of you. FREAKIN LOVE YOU YOU GOOBER.

༉‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.🍒*ੈ‧₊˚⋆⭒˚｡⋆

It was not like Tybalt Capulet to be nervous about a decision. Usually he always went into things guns blazing, quite literally. He didn’t tend to think through his actions much; instead, he just followed with his gut and prayed it that it would end well for him.

So the fact that he was anxiously shifting from foot to foot outside of Scarlet Orozço’s apartment, holding a tray of what he hoped would be peace offerings, therefore broke convention. It felt unusual for him to be such a nervous wreck standing in public. He had tried to breathe normally and stop the shaking in his legs, though neither endeavor proved successful.

The situation he’d found himself in did not help his nerves much either.

Several times on the drive to Scarlet’s apartment, Tybalt had wondered exactly why he had said yes to her offer. He had tried to make excuses-he was bored, he was shocked, he was, dare he say, amused-but none felt like correct explanation for why he had accepted. Actually, in all seriousness, Tybalt knew the reason he said yes, but whether it be out of pride, indifference or sheer embarrassment, he simply refused to admit it.

Surprisingly, Tybalt was not a man usually drawn to romance. In fact, he usually preferred training and sparring over matters of the physical and emotional. Maybe that was something he could work on more, since being emotionally withdrawn was not helpful in any situation, but still. The offer was something he’d more expect to be given to men like his cohorts, who enjoyed indulging in women of all social classes and tastes, regardless of the consequences. But Tybalt had never been drawn to watching them flirt around with each other, and had never imagined himself in a scenario where we would enjoy the same thing, though he tried to pretending otherwise for appearances.

But that was before Scarlet had smiled at him, and sweetly offered him a date.

So now he was here. Standing outside her apartment, holding a tray of arepas con queso, and flushing at the memory of her towering over him.

That memory, of her hands on his skin and her eyes on his face, it had plagued him for days. He had been writhing at night, unable to escape the burning in his body. It felt so new and yet so familiar at the same time. He has been hit with random surges of desire before, sure, but this, this was something different. Like some sort of switch had gone off in his brain, and now his thoughts were consumed by nothing but Scarlet.

A tiny voice in the back of his head tried to argue that, maybe, it wasn’t just desire he was feeling, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.

Sighing, Tybalt rang the door bell of Scarlet’s house, and prayed to God, Jesus and all the Saints that he would somehow manage to keep his shit together. 

A prayer that undoubtedly came in handy when Scarlet opened the door, dressed in a way that could only be described as goddess-like, dripping in pearls and silk, like a baroque painting. All in red, of course, because it seemed she made a habit of making him fluster. He nearly dropped the Arepa pan staring at her smiling face, suddenly feeling very underdressed in his silk black button down.

(He knew he should’ve worn more accessories.)

A gasp brought him out of his trance. Scarlet was now staring at the arepas, eyes roving over the little disks. “You brought food!!” Scarlet exclaimed happily, grabbing the tray from his hands, which fell to his side, limply. Excitement clouded her features and it was the most beautiful thing Tybalt had ever seen. Her happiness made her practically glow and Tybalt could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw how beautiful it made her.

“You-uhA-I’m-um..” Tybalt said, clumsily stumbling over his words. He cleared his throat. 

“Arepas con queso. They have cheese in them.” His said, nearly kicking himself.

“They have cheese in them” Yeah no shit, dumbass. She speaks Spanish, You stupid fuck. What does she think queso means? Jesus, Joseph and Mary, Tybalt, get your shit together.

“How’d you know I loved Arepas?” She asked cheekily, popping over the tupperware and picking on up.

“Must’ve been a lucky guess.” He lied. In reality, he has asked (or begged) his boss Francesca for tips as he was closing up. Scarlet was her foster-sister, so she had plenty of good tips for a date with her sister.

He hopped it would get him into her food graces, but she still terrified him.

Scarlet smiled happily and bit into an arepa, humming contently. 

“So,” she said, wiping her mouth. “Where to next?”

Tybalt felt his cheeks warm, staring at her beautiful face. The curve of her nose, the highness of her cheeks, her smile.

“The Gardens.” He said confidently.

Hm. Maybe this would work out.

༉‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.🍒*ੈ‧₊˚⋆⭒˚｡⋆

[alovelyburn]

I might be reaching, but I do find it interesting that, when Guts gets sad or wistful or thoughtful about his past and thinks about Griffith, a lot of the time, Griffith’s face seems to be obscured.

Like when he thinks back about how he left Griffith, his face isn’t really shown, sometimes we only see him from the back, and when he recalls facing Griffith, and he was close enough to see how emotional Griffith looked, his face was just a giant blur. Or even when remembering all the Hawk in the cave, Griffith’s face still isn’t fully shown, we only see the back of his armor and his cape.

I do think that it symbolizes Guts’ extremely complex feelings about Griffith. He was the person he thought of the most, quite literally in the Golden Age arc as Guts almost couldn’t go one scene without mentioning Griffith, and with those extremely fond memories, comes his betrayal of all the people Guts loved.

Guts still treasures those times, his memories of the Hawks filled with love and longing for those beautiful times, but with how things turned out, he has a hard time thinking about Griffith because of what he did, yet that makes things hard for him because Griffith was so central to the Hawks and to Guts himself that he just doesn’t know how to truly understand his feelings about Griffith so he just blurs the face of the most significant person in his life.

I don't think that's reaching at all - I've talked about that a couple of times in the middle of various meta rants. He also often imagines Femto either in his most monstrous form (mask, no face under it) or with his face in shadows.

I don't think Guts can sort his feelings out, and more than that, he can't face them. Because his feelings and memories are so complicated and conflicted he tries to focus on the rage and, when he can't do that, he just tries not to "look" at all.

When we do get into his head directly (via Schierke), his perspective on Griffith is pretty clear - she describes him as shining. I think.... the fact that Griffith still shines in Guts' eyes is in itself complicated and something he feels some kind of way about.

[theother-will-grayson]

Hey Witcher fanfic writers ! Do you like hyper specific details and realism? Let's talk "Lute calluses"!

I often see Jaskier's calluses described as "rough", and as someone who has developed finger calluses from playing a bass ukulele with thicker nylon strings and one notable steel string, I can tell you that is NOT what they feel like.

First, a fun little detail just as a bonus: my first (pointer) finger has the strongest callus, and then each finger in descending order has a slightly less prominent callus. Also, they're only on my LEFT hand, because that is the hand that makes the chords and presses down on the strings. On my right hand, I don't currently have any calluses, though if you're picking enough you can develop them, primarily in the thumb and pointer finger. That is not the case if you primarily strum however, as that uses the pad of the thumb going down (a motion that is gentler on the thumb than picking) and the nail going up. Some banjo players are also known to grow out their fingernails to use as picks (I believe they use all 5 fingers), so if you fancy Jaskier as doing some banjo-esque tricky solos, you can add that as a detail too. It should also be noted that Jaskier would probably be using gut strings which I believe are much softer than steel, so I'm not sure how prominent his calluses would even be (but don't quote me on the softness thing). And also disregard it if doing a modern au.

Calluses on the left hand (or chord holdin' hand, you might be a lefty idk) are primarily on the TIP of the fingers, not anywhere else. They present as sort of these hard nubs on the very tip of the finger, like you've got a semi-hard plastic shell under your finger, or you've dipped just the tip in wax.

First gif is my right hand, you can see there's nothing providing resistance other than my normal finger meat. Tw for skin picking just to be overly safe. Skip both gifs

And then my left hand. You can see the flick as a result of meeting the hard resistance of the callus.

Tw over.

Now what do they FEEL like? They're actually quite smooth! You can see in this picture that it's almost like my finger print is stretched out and smoothed as a result

You can see where the callus starts literally just by the change in texture. It really does feel like a smooth little hard nub.

Real quick, tw for body horror in a way? The thing that happens isn't gross but I describe it in kind of a body horror way. Skip the next paragraph if need be.

Now it does get rough SOMETIMES. I'm not a doctor, so take this with a grain of salt, but like I said it's like there's a little nub growing under the skin, and sometimes it kind of...bursts? Splits? I see the tip of my finger start to peel, and I'm sure this isn't what ACTUALLY happens, but it's like the top layer has split open because it's been stretched too far. Idk. But that usually lasts like one day, and then its back to normal. This happens up top, closer to the fingernail, but not really anywhere else.

Tw over.

What other details can you throw in? Well they are a little sore to the touch, if you press all the way down. They indent more and for longer than my other fingers -- when I've been playing for a while you can see the indent of the strings. Lastly, I pick at them occasionally, but it's not like picking at anything else where it would come off, I just flick at the ridge like I do in the gif. Maybe Jaskier would do this too, or perhaps a lover?

Feel free to add on or ask questions!

Thanks for your attention, and go forth and be detailed!!

[nkn0va]

Some general relationship hcs for the murakumos? :)

Ah yes, the murakumos. The waifus of all time. Either people are gonna love this post or they'll probably call for my head. /hj

Content Warning: Spoilers for ending of Central Fiction for Nu

Lambda-11

-To put it politely, Lambda's rather...confused in a relationship.

-She's asked people like Ragna, Noel, Tager, and even Kokonoe about what the strange things she feels when thinking about you, and just about everyone says it's love, so it has to be true. She just doesn't quite know what to do with those feelings.

-She knows that a relationship is all about being there for one another and having complete trust, at least from what she's heard, so that seems to be the best place to start for her. She unconsciously defaults to acts of service to express her love for you.

-She's the only one of her "sisters" that can actually cook worth a damn, so that's one of the most common ways for her to do so, but in general she'll work as hard as she can to fulfill every one of your needs. She wants to prove that she really does care about you, even if she's more subtle and quiet about it than usual.

-As the relationship goes along Lambda will observe you and how you express your love to her back. The more time you spend together the more she'll learn how to adjust to your specific needs and wants in a relationship and learn to use whatever means of expressing affection/love language you prefer best.

-For someone as quiet and subtle as Lambda she can be surprisingly bold when she wants to be. It's no different when she's trying to convey her emotions. She's not the best at it yet, but for the person she loves, it's worth the shot.

Mu-12

-For this ask and all future asks that request for Mu specifically and not Noel, we're assuming this is a CF type situation where Mu has separated from her and become her own person.

-As part of Noel's subconscious, Mu retained all her memories during the split, however in particular she took Noel's subconscious feelings for you as her own. Whether or not Noel ever actually noticed them herself, Mu is completely clueless on why her counterpart had never acted on those feelings, so she's going to do it herself.

-Like her original counterpart, Mu is on the shyer side when it comes to romance. She'll most definitely try for you but it'll take a while to get used to it.

-She's thankfully overcome her negative feelings and opinion that all humanity should die, but she's still quite paranoid when it comes to you.

-Mu is definitely a worrier. If she doesn't know exactly where you are she starts to get anxious. She knows how screwed up the world can be from personal experience and wants to protect you from all that, she doesn't want you to suffer anything even remotely close to what she did.

-You can be rest assured that with Mu as a partner, you have someone looking out for you. Being an S/O to the Godslayer herself means no one will ever bring you harm, lest they desire to get a barrage of swords straight through the gut.

Nu-13

-Oh boy, the yandere...

-I mean, what the hell am I supposed to say that isn't just me describing the trope?

-After she eventually recovers from the sickness she came down with at the end of CF, and failing to remember Ragna, she's sort of...aimless. She doesn't really know what to do with herself.

-Eventually though, you visit the church for the first time since she's recovered so it's her first time meeting you. Those feelings she had soon start to surface again, and this time they're aimed at you. Hey, on the bright side you don't have to worry about her trying to turn the both of you into the Black Beast.

-Fitting of the archetype she belongs to, Nu is not the type to let you out of her sight unless she absolutely has to, even then it'll take a bit of convincing.

-Often times she can't contain her strong intense feelings for you. It often manifests the form of physical affection, clinging to you and refusing to let go. And you know well by now she's gonna escalate real fast if you know what I mean...

-The only people she trusts around you are Lambda and Noel. Anyone else gets the stink eye from her. And god forbid any other girl tries flirting with you. They'll know what it means to be on the receiving end of the sword of Izanami. Whether you enable her in this behavior is up to you, but just know that's not gonna stop her if you don't.

-Being in a church, Nu eventually learns about "becoming one". The old fashioned way, that is, not the way that destroys the world. Unless you stop her, marriage is happening right here, right now. It's both comedic and kind of horrifying at the same time.

-At the very least there's no doubt whether Nu loves you or not. You quickly become her entire world and then some. As long as she has something to say about it, you two are together until the very end.

[tenspontaneite]

The Ceracurist (Chapter 6/?)

The boy grinned broadly, and offered his hand to shake. “Hi Rayla,” he said, cheerful. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m Esarin.”

She took his hand and shook it, bemused. “No you’re not,” she said, fascinated despite herself.

(Chapter length: 8.5k. Ao3 link)

Warnings: References to hallucinogenic drug use, reference to a medical experiment that had unspecified bad outcomes.

---

Rayla wasn’t quite sure what to do for the whole birthday thing.

Gifts were traditional on humans’ birthdays; she’d looked it up to be certain. What to get, though, was harder to figure out. Callum was obviously wealthy and could probably buy most anything he wanted, and on top of that she’d not even known him that long, so it was kind of hard to think of anything anyway. She could make guesses – and truthfinding helped there – but it was still a pain.

She considered and dismissed the omnipresent and too-standard gift of a paperweight. She considered interesting magical trinkets, but had nothing interesting to spare from home and he’d been in Gullcrest considerably longer than she had. She considered art supplies, and finally thought that was probably the way to go. She’d have gone looking in the city, but:

In her drawers, forgotten these last few months, was a book. It had been packed in with the other meagre supplies she’d brought with her – a nice empty tome, its thick cover embossed with the looping silvery designs so typical to her kind, the paper within blank and pristine. She’d thought to use it as a journal of her experiences outside of home, but upon actually arriving had found herself to be no more prone to journalling than she’d been at any prior point in her life. She could’ve used it for note-taking, but it seemed too nice for that.

It would make a decent sketchbook, probably. And the style wasn’t one Callum was likely to find around here unless he specifically went looking for it. It would do.

Wednesday and Thursday passed without any sort of contact from Callum. She assumed his birthday was on one of the two, but having neglected to ask about the specific day, felt weird about sending a message about it. In the end she let it lie, and scolded herself for feeling bereft after only two days without talking to him.

She did talk to Ethari, though.

It wasn’t completely clear to her why she chose to call him. He always liked to be called, and she liked calling him, but that didn’t mean she did it that often without his prompting. Nonetheless, she called him, and felt a weird pang of relief at seeing his familiar face – and the familiar home behind him – materialise on the screen.

“Well now, this is a nice surprise,” he said warmly. “You don’t usually call this early. What’s the occasion?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “Nothing in particular? Just calling. What’s going on at home?”

Ethari hummed, unconvinced, but obligingly settled into the usual rhythm of describing the days since her last calls. The progression of his projects, what Runaan was up to, the lamp-post an overzealous celebrant had knocked over during the recent Full Moon and only just now owned up to…

Rayla listened, and slowly settled, some tension she’d not realised was there easing away. The familiarity was as soothing as it ever was. The presence of Ethari, albeit distant, as well. He always seemed to know what to say, or to do.

…That was probably why she’d called, actually, wasn’t it.

“Enough about us, though,” he said, smoothly bringing his narration to a close. “What have you been up to, this week? I’ve not heard from you since Monday.”

Rayla averted her eyes, and fiddled conspicuously with her hair for a few long moments. “I…may have visited someone’s house,” she admitted, begrudgingly. “Two, actually. One on rest day, and then Tuesday.”

His eyes lit up, smile broadening. “You did make friends.”

There was hardly any denying it now, was there. Her gut squirmed, but not in an unpleasant way. “Yeah, I suppose,” she allowed. “Kind of seems that way.”

“The gaming society people?” He guessed, and she nodded. “Tell me about them.”

It was something of a relief, to actually talk about them all. For all that she’d been trying to keep quiet about her new forays into being sociable, just in case it didn’t work out, she did want to talk about things with Ethari. So she did.

She spoke about Kazi, first, describing them as a very sharp Sunfire elf who turned out to be one of the online Antiquitora players she’d been watching for years, and who had soundly bested her at their arranged game. Then the rest of the core group she’d met; Pava the technomantic tinkerer, Nihatasi the stereotypically-gregarious nomad, Kassa the kitchen overlord, Soren the bellator, and…well. Callum.

Rayla did make an effort to try not to single any of them out too much. She wasn’t sure how successful she was, but Ethari listened attentively regardless, making inquiries here and there. “We’ve arranged to meet up to spar next week,” Rayla said of Soren, and “Kazi wants to make Antiquitora matches a regular thing,” and “There’s actually a birthday party I’m going to tomorrow.”

His eyebrows went up. “Whose?”

She sighed. “Callum’s.” Reluctantly, she added “There’s probably going to be a lot of people. But, ugh.”

“But you’re going anyway,” Ethari surmised, and she nodded glumly.

“Well, I at least know some of them,” she said, trying for optimistic. “Hopefully it’ll be fine. If not I can always just go Moonshadow form and escape.”

His lips twitched. “Well, that should be easy for you, since we’re still in Waning Gibbous,” he commented. “Still, with luck it won’t be necessary. I’m a little surprised you agreed to go in the first place, though.” That last sentence was deliberately leading, and she made a face at him.

“…Yeah,” she said, noncommittally, and at his expression finally relented. “…He really wanted me to come.”

Ethari looked at her. Rayla looked back. There was a whole unspoken stand-off between her stubbornness and his unnaturally-sharp skill for social induction.

Rayla, who was coming to realise that she had called Ethari specifically to get advice about this, eventually managed to get herself to offer something useful. “We’ve been talking a lot,” she admitted, grumpily. “On Full Moon even. He’s…a friend.”

Her erstwhile guardian, who was more than capable of reading between the lines, considered this. “A friend,” he repeated, meaningfully. She scowled at him. “Rayla,” he said, not a little delightedly, “did you call for relationship advice?”

She could feel her face heat up, but there wasn’t much to do about that. She folded her arms. “You can’t tell Runaan about this.”

“Well, if you insist…” Ethari took a moment to glance around his workshop. The doors and windows were closed, and there was no sign of Runaan that Rayla could see. “I think we’re alright for now.” He looked at Rayla and waited patiently.

It still took her a while to actually say anything. She was distinctly not used to any of this. “He…likes me,” she finally said, biting off the end of every word. It felt so juvenile to say.

An eyebrow went up. “Did he tell you that?”

“No.” She averted her eyes. “I can just – you know.” She trusted him to make correct inferences about her truthfinding. But, then again…Callum wasn’t exactly subtle about it. She was pretty sure that all of his friends knew what was up.

“And how do you feel about it?” Ethari was so pragmatic about it, as if that wasn’t exactly what she’d been trying unsuccessfully to figure out on her own.

Rayla made a grumpy noise. “I don’t know. I’ve not even known him a week, all put together.”

“All a bit fast?” He sounded so sympathetic.

“Way too fast,” she agreed. “A week ago, I’d never even had friends, and now I’ve got six of them and one of them wants – ugh.”

“I can see how that would be…a little daunting,” he allowed.

“I hardly even know how to talk to them, you know?” She sighed, and stared up at the ceiling. “And now I’m supposed to figure out what to do about someone liking me. “

Ethari nodded. “Always happy to help you think through it, Rayla. If it would help.”

“Ugh,” she grunted, by way of response. “I don’t even know. It all just…kind of makes me want to disappear and just turn into an antisocial cave-elf who does nothing but train all day.”

His lips twitched. “Does it really?”

She sighed again. “…No, not really. A little bit. But not really.” Having actual friends was nerve-wracking in the worst way, but…already, she wouldn’t give it up. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to, if she didn’t do something stupid and bollocks it all up.

He hummed, and fell quiet for a long while to think; a good half-minute passed in silence. “It sounds like you should just keep on doing what you’re doing, Rayla,” he said at last.

She blinked, surprised, and looked up. “What?”

“Just keep building your friendships with these new people,” he said, like it was completely reasonable. “Including Callum. You can just focus on being friends with him for now, and disregard the rest. Figure out how you feel about him at your own pace.”

She made a face at him. “You make it sound so easy,” she muttered.

He smiled. “Well, maybe not. But it seems like you’re off to a good start with this group. You share a lot of interests, they seem like they want to include you…it’s a good start, Rayla. No need to worry about anything else for now.”

“You’re saying to just ignore that he-” She stopped, not quite able to say it a second time.

“Not necessarily, if you’d rather do something else.” Ethari shrugged. “But there’s no need to rush into anything, either. Just keep making friends, and I’m sure the rest of it will fall into place eventually.”

Rayla sighed. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” he insisted, very warmly. “I know you’ve been having a hard time alone out there, but I said you’d find your feet eventually, didn’t I? And here you are.”

“I’ve only known them for a week.”

“Here you are,” Ethari repeated determinedly. “I’m proud of you, Rayla.”

She assiduously pretended not to feel emotional at that. “…Thanks, Ethari. But seriously, I’ve only known them a week.”

“Let me know how the party goes,” he ordered, as if she’d never said anything.

She sighed again. “Yeah okay.” She searched for a good change of topic. “…Hey, did I tell you I found a computer game that works as truthfinding training?”

Ethari tilted his head, allowed himself to be diverted, and the conversation went on. In the end he hung up with promises to let Runaan know about both the truthfinding game and the sparring-amenable friend she’d made, and that was that.

Rayla wondered if it had helped at all. She felt a bit better, maybe, but…it hadn’t really answered any of her questions. She still didn’t really know what to do.

“Well, whatever,” she said aloud to herself, and went off to investigate some of her mostly-forgotten supplementary truthfinding material. It was not quite a coincidence that she picked out a document on various wound and disease patterns and the scars they left. The more she knew about how injuries and scar tissue worked, the better she’d be able to spot the signs of old injuries in someone, and…identify the origins of visible scars.

She reread it from the first page to the last. In the end, that didn’t answer any of her questions, either.

 ---

 Rayla could tell that the party was uncomfortably busy even before she entered the house.

She had, in fact, been specifically trained to use truthfinding-augmented guesses to know approximately how many people were in a crowd or an interior space based on the voices and chatter alone. Judging by the sounds emanating from the various open windows, through which she could hear pretty much the whole house, there were…probably around forty people in there. Forty-three, if she had to guess at a precise number, and around fifteen more in the garden to the back of the house. There’d been considerably larger parties hosted in her wing before, but she’d never obligated herself to attend any of those.

A few elves were hanging out on the upstairs balcony and watched her as she approached; she didn’t recognise any of them. Rayla hurried faster to approach the door where they couldn’t see her.

There was a makeshift sign taped to the door; a single sheet of paper with RING THE DAMN BELL written on it, and an arrow pointing demonstratively rightwards. Rayla did as instructed, and ten or so seconds later the door was answered by Kassa. “Oh good, you’re here, Callum was starting to worry you might cancel without saying anything,” she said, stepping aside and waving her in. “I mean, he didn’t say it, but it’s not like you can’t see it all over his face anyway. Come in, come in.”

“Er,” Rayla said, eloquently, but went in. Kassa shut the door behind her and turned around.

“Okay, house party rules,” she said, without preamble. “Keep the chicanery to a dull roar, don’t break anything, bedrooms are off-limits to all guests, no canoodling anywhere else either, don’t get too shit-faced drunk, and no hallucinogenics because I don’t care if everyone does them back home, it’s illegal here. Also, Callum’s brother is here and he’s only fourteen, so behave. And yes I know you’re not exactly the type to need these rules, but whatever, it’s the rules and now you know them. Also there’s a communal bath going on in the main bathroom, don’t go in there unless you’re okay with Skywing-typical nudity. Good? Good. Let’s go find Callum.”

Her first thought was, hallucinogenics are illegal? She opened her mouth to question it, incredulous and vaguely offended, but Kassa was already moving. Feeling vaguely overwhelmed, Rayla followed.

The hallways were lightly occupied, the kitchen was occupied, the stairs were occupied, and the living room was thoroughly occupied. The conversation pit was crammed with elves, the table laden with drinks and various bowls of snacks, and clusters of people were off chatting in every available corner. A small legion of folding chairs had been assembled along various walls, and were being put to extensive use. A few people looked wet-haired and generally damp in ways she knew signified a recent exit from the communal bath, which…she’d mostly gotten over the culture shock of that months ago, but it was still weird to live in a city where taking a bath in a big group was a normal thing to do at a social gathering.

Of all those people, she barely knew any. It was more than slightly daunting. There were a few, though. Kassa, obviously. She spotted Pava in a group of elves she recognised from the magical engineering building, his hoverchair dipping back and forth with the force of exactly how emphatically he was gesticulating, arguing some point about…honestly, she didn’t even know. It all sounded like Archaean to her. He was another face she knew, at any rate. And – there – talking to what looked like another couple newly-arrived guests, was Callum.

He was wearing considerably fancier clothes than she’d seen him in before; standard Skywing-style attire as he often wore, but this time it was the sort of thing you tended to see mages wearing at formal occasions, though the colours were a little odd. The blues were standard, but the red interior lining? The gold embroidery? It suited him, but it was a bit weird. It also reminded her of something she couldn’t quite place, which…itched in the back of her mind like an unearthed secret. Of course.

Steadfastly ignoring both whatever was setting off her truthfinding and the fact that those mage clothes really suited him, Rayla silently followed Kassa over, arriving just as the others were leaving. Callum was peering into the gift bag the guests had left him.

“Anything good?” Kassa asked, by way of greeting.

“Another paperweight,” Callum said, resigned, and put the bag down under the little decorative end table. “I guess I shouldn’t complain, but…”

“No, no, you should definitely complain, those things are really starting to clog up the place.” Kassa snorted. “Invite more Earthblood guests next time, they bring plants. Plants are way better.”

“They also bring rocks, so-” Callum started, and then finally looked up. “-Rayla? When did you get here?”

Somewhat predictably, his face lit up at the sight of her. She tried not to flush. “Just now,” she said, and thrust her own gift bag at him in some futile attempt to dispel her awkwardness. “Here. It’s not much, but it’s not a paperweight, at least.” Her voice was a little dry.

Unashamedly nosy, Kassa crowded over to stare into the bag. “Seems promising.”

“Thank you!” Callum said, already brightening at the sight of the book. He withdrew it and oohed appreciatively at the designs on the cover, then flipped it open and found it empty: promptly, his expression turned elated. “Moonshadow sketchbook?” He asked, delighted.

“Oho, you got him art stuff,” Kassa said, approvingly. “Very good.”

Rayla shrugged, embarrassed. “Figured you could probably find a use for an empty book, even if you already had enough sketchbooks.” After a moment, she added “Happy birthday.”

“There are never enough sketchbooks,” he claimed fervently, and turned to put the book in a place of honour on top of the table…along with what looked like a variety of paints, paintbrushes, assortments of fancy charcoal, and more such things. It was all art supplies. She eyed the pile, appraising. If these were his preferred sort of gift, she’d have to keep it in mind for later. A book was fine for someone she’d known for all of a week, but, well. “Thank you. And – thanks for coming, by the way, I know it was kind of short notice.”

She averted her eyes, just a little, embarrassed by how he was beaming at her. “It’s…fine.”

Kassa looked between them knowingly. “Well, I’ve got to go check on things in the kitchen,” she said, amused. “Have fun playing host, Callum. Introduce her to people, she hardly knows anyone, it’s downright shameful.”

His eyes lit up. “I’ve got to introduce you to my brother!” He declared, and was reaching out for her hand in a second. He seemed to think nothing of tugging on her fingers to lead her across the room, all the while Rayla was struck instantly silent by the contact. She tried desperately to remember Ethari’s recommendations to just be friends and not worry about anything else, but was a little too distracted by the gentle brush of his half-finger gloves on the back of her hand.

“Sounds good,” she managed, and allowed herself to be led over to a small group close to the windows. Soren was there, and it took only a glance to see that he was still wearing concealed armour, and to see the not-quite-casual way he was watching the party; standing, despite the chairs near at hand. Still on duty, then. And beside him…

“Rayla, I want you to meet my brother,” he said, beaming, dropping her hand and stopping in front of the only other human she’d spotted here. At first glance he barely resembled Callum at all, but she could pick out the similarities as she’d been trained to. She thought they probably only shared one parent by blood, but they were certainly related.

The boy stood up, a smile spreading on his face, and for a moment, they mutually inspected each other. He looked to be in his mid-teens, in an awkward stage of growth that suggested he’d grow very tall soon, but hadn’t quite gotten around to it yet. Instead he seemed caught half-way between stocky and gangly, and bizarrely well-poised despite it all. His bushy hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he was wearing similar colours to Callum, albeit less mage-y. The blues looked weird on him, somehow.

Then, apparently done with his inspection, the boy grinned broadly, and offered his hand to shake. “Hi Rayla,” he said, cheerful. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m Esarin.”

She took his hand and shook it, bemused. She glanced around, and determined that no one other than Callum or Soren was paying attention to their conversation. “No you’re not,” she said, fascinated despite herself. He was a good liar, unlike Callum. The way he’d said that name…

Rather than look bothered, he just grinned wider. “You sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.” She let go of his hand. It was such an interesting lie. It felt familiar, comfortable – like something old and practiced, a pseudonym he’d used often enough that it did feel a little like his own. And, something in the taste of it… “I think it’s probably a bit like your name, though.”

He looked delighted. Beside him, Callum seemed half-way between sheepish and pleased. He said to his brother, sounding oddly smug, “I did tell you.”

“Yeah, you did. A real truthfinder, huh, that’s really cool.” He withdrew his hand and smiled secretively at her. “Okay, Rayla, you can call me Ez. How’s that?”

She tilted her head. “Fine by me,” she agreed, after a moment. She glanced at Soren. “On-duty?”

He tipped a hand back and forth. “Kinda. Ish.”

After that, she was at a loss of what to say which wouldn’t potentially count as digging for clues. She looked at this boy and everything was a lie waiting to happen. He probably almost never even wore blue; actually, looking at him, Rayla was relatively certain he was wearing it on purpose so he wouldn’t look as much like his usual self. He wasn’t wearing any illusions, she could spot those easily these days, which meant he didn’t consider his appearance well-known enough to actively conceal, but he did expect that people might be able to recognise him under the right circumstances anyway…

She rubbed her forehead, and intentionally truncated the line of thought. She could feel her magic straining along the edge of not-enough-information, and it would give her a headache if she left it. She glanced out of the window to distract herself, then did a double-take. She looked again.

“Something wrong?” Callum asked, face falling a little.

Rayla narrowed her eyes at the road outside the house, peering closely. “Are the people hiding under illusions by the trees over there supposed to be there, or…?” Her shoulders stiffened, reflexively alert.

All three of them blinked, but not like they were alarmed. “…They’re supposed to be invisible,” Callum said, baffled. “It’s moonstone enchantment. How…?”

She heard the implications, and relaxed again. “So they are supposed to be there.” Rayla nodded, satisfied. Just more guards, then. Probably here because of…’Esarin’.

“I hadn’t heard that Moonshadow elves could see through illusions like that,” Ez commented, looking intrigued.

Soren had narrowed his eyes. “Me neither,” he said, slow. “Can most of you do that?”

She shrugged, evasive. “There’s kind of a trick to it,” she said, and didn’t mention that she’d not been able to do it until she’d had a moonshine epiphany during last year’s Blood Moon. “I’m not the only one, but…”

“Is it related to your truthfinding?” Callum asked, clearly fascinated on a much more academic level than Soren was. She wasn’t completely sure what Soren’s deal was, but-

She glanced at him, blinked, and re-evaluated. Oh, right. Soren thought it was a security hole, and wanted to know how concerned he should be. She hesitated, and said “Not…directly?” She didn’t really know how to explain it. “I – you probably don’t have to worry about many Moonshadow elves seeing through your illusions, though.”

“So it’s actually super rare, is what you’re saying?” Soren asked, and took it as confirmation when she crossed her arms. “Good. That’s good.”

“Sounds useful,” Ez commented. “You’re a bellator, right? I bet that comes in handy.”

“Only when there’s illusionists on the other team,” she said, amused. “So far I’ve not fought any. But, yeah.”

“Are you planning on being a career bellator?” Soren looked contemplative. “You’re good enough, you know. I’ve not seen anyone in the professional games do what you do.”

Rayla thought, dryly, that there was a reason for that. Moonshadow elves with the skills she had did not advertise them in the limelight of professional Games; being a covert specialist who everyone in Xadia could identify was not great for one’s career. Unless you really did just want to be a professional bellator, she supposed. “No, I mostly just do Honour Games to keep up my combat training,” she admitted. “It was the best thing I could find. And it’s pretty fun, so.”

“That’s basically why Soren does it, too.” Callum looked contemplative. “You…said you were studying Professional Security, right? What…I mean, why…?”

She recalled, abruptly, that Soren was on the same course as her. Albeit part time, which made sense now: he was juggling a bodyguarding schedule on top of everything else. It wasn’t a bad cover, either – career bellators didn’t have a lot of choices of university degree that would teach them anything useful for the Honour Games, but Professional Security and Tactics was one of them. Most anyone who saw Soren being so active at his bellatorium would make the obvious assumption that he was planning on it as a career.

She wondered who guarded Callum when Soren was studying, or at the bellatorium. Would it be weird to ask?

Belatedly, she realised she was being asked a question. “Because I want to go into professional security?” She answered, automatically, not quite thinking about it. Seriously, though, if Callum warranted a bodyguard, shouldn’t he also warrant full-time bodyguarding? You needed more than one person for a full security detail, especially if you wanted someone alert and awake during the night shift… “I’d settle for counter-espionage, mind you.”

“But, if you could have what you wanted…?” Ez prompted, leadingly. She glanced at him, and found that all three of them were watching her with a distinct and thoughtful interest.

It occurred to Rayla, for the first time, that she was talking about pursuing a professional security career while in the company of an actual bodyguard and two people who had bodyguards. Abruptly embarrassed, she cleared her throat. “Er. Well.” She shrugged, attempting to be normal about it. “High profile security? Which is to say..."

"Bodyguarding," Callum supplied, a little ruefully, like he recognised the irony. Ez looked positively gleeful.

“Or dedicated security detail in general. But…yeah.” Rayla sighed, decided she might as well stop pretending she wasn’t talking to who she was talking to, and lifted an eyebrow in Soren’s direction. “Don’t suppose you know anyone hiring?”

That cracked a smile out of him. “Yeah, I might know a few people,” he allowed.

“’A few’,” Ez repeated, like he thought it was the height of hilarity.

Callum was shaking his head. “What are the chances,” he muttered, and Rayla steadfastly did not interpret the wistful expression on his face.

“I dunno, but it’s pretty funny,” Ez said cheerfully, then elbowed Soren and Callum in turn. “C’mon, let’s go around and talk to people. I’m bored.”

“What, you’re not tired of people telling you how much you’ve grown yet?” Callum asked dryly, but obligingly went along. He reached out and tugged automatically on Rayla’s sleeve, clearly expecting her to come along, so…well, she did.

She trailed awkwardly behind them as they made their rounds of the party, being introduced to people here and there. The Sunfire receptionist from the horn salon, who – mortifyingly enough – did recognise her. Another person from the salon, apparently Callum’s boss, who was an Earthblood elf with pretty magnificent antlers and a bearing that made her know for certain that he had extensive combat training. A handful of game society absentees who didn’t show up to the meetings very often. Some of Soren’s bellator teammates, who were particularly interested at the introduction.

“Wow, I did not expect to meet Stabby Moonshadow Girl here,” said one of them, who Rayla recognised as a deft hand with a crossbow. “Did Soren finally manage to track you down for sparring, or what?”

“Nah, she just showed up at one of the game society meetings and made friends with Callum,” Soren answered easily in her place. “She’s gonna come out to drinks with us after next cross-training, though.”

“Oh, am I?” Rayla asked archly, and he grinned at her.

“This Sunday,” he promised. “After the game ends. We’ve got a favourite bar, dunno what kind of drinks Moonshadow elves like but they’ve probably got something.”

She thought again of Kassa’s assertion that hallucinogenics were illegal, and shook her head. “I’m not making any promises,” she warned, quelling her instinctive discomfort at the idea of it. As far as friends went, other bellators were good candidates, and she did feel kind of bad about accidentally snubbing Soren’s overtures of friendship all this time. But she’d never gone out drinking with anyone before in a social situation like that, and wasn’t entirely sure what she thought of it. “But…we’ll see.”

“Good enough,” Soren said, and the introductions circuit went on.

Rayla was entirely certain she wouldn’t remember most of the names, especially after the chaos that came once Kassa finally emerged from the kitchen to announce that food was available, causing what seemed like the entire house to crowd in there at once. She had the advantage of accompanying the birthday boy, so along with Callum and Ez and Soren she managed to get in and successfully escape with a plate before the ruckus progressed any further, and without further ado they all proceeded outside to grab some chairs and eat at one of the many folding tables assembled in the garden.

She hadn’t actually seen the garden on her visit before, but noted the presence of several night-blooming flowers that glowed in their beds and felt a little more at home. She liked being surrounded by greenery, and there were even a few trees at the end, near the fence…

She blinked, and squinted. Yep, those were definitely more illusioned figures. In the trees.

“I’m guessing those are supposed to be there, too?” She asked Soren lowly, just to check, and he followed her gaze to the trees and grinned.

“Yeah, all good.”

Rayla considered this. The shapes of the hidden guards, from what she could see, did not look especially settled or comfortable in those branches. “Hope they don’t fall out of there,” she muttered, prompting a round of snickering from the boys.

“It’s not exactly what they’re trained for, but we didn’t want anyone bumping into them, so.” Callum shrugged, trying and failing to hide his amusement.

A few people came by while they ate, largely new arrivals who needed to do the customary ‘happy birthday, here’s your gift’ routine. None stayed. At least, not until a new voice sounded behind them, sending a strange shock of recognition down Rayla’s spine. “Evening, all of you,” greeted the newcomer, and they all turned to look. “And…happy birthday, Callum. I’ll give you your gift later, if that’s alright?”

Callum’s eyes had lit up. “Evairas!” he exclaimed, delighted, and rose just enough to usher the new elf into one of the spare chairs. “I’m really glad you could make it. How’s everything going?”

“Hideously busy, as usual,” said ‘Evairas’, and sat gracefully as prompted. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the game night, but, well. You know how it goes. And…” Finally, his eyes met hers. “You must be Rayla.”

She stared, struck by the sight of him. He was a Moonshadow elf, one of the rare few she’d met in the city, and maybe a few years older than Soren. Pale skin, white hair, amber eyes. She’d never met him before in her life, nor heard his voice, and yet…

Her magic stirred in her, strangely intense, ringing with recognition. It was something she’d never experienced outside of a temple before.

“You’re a truthfinder,” she said in the end, completely astonished, and watched the boys all react in her periphery. Clearly, they’d not known about that. “But – but you’re not…”

Evairas looked surprised for a moment, then understanding flashed across his eyes. “You’re a truthfinder, then? I’d not heard that.”

Rayla couldn’t quite look away. The recognition of like-to-like was all the more potent when she’d not been expecting it. “Can’t you feel it?”

A smile twisted his lips, a little self-deprecating, and the answer to her question rang out across the magic with shocking clarity. She knew the state of things before he even spoke. “I can’t, I’m afraid. I never trained my talent, so it’s all very much latent for me.”

That didn’t make any sense at all. Truthfinders were so rare, and so insanely useful, that the idea of one going unnoticed, untrained…she could hardly fathom it. Had he grown up outside of Moonshadow society? It was the only thing that could possibly explain it, surely. With effort, she tore her eyes away, pushing the thrum of magic away. “Bloody Moon, I never expected to meet another one out here,” she said, instead of asking any invasive questions. And, with both of them being truthfinders, anything she asked would be invasive. He didn’t even have the training to make it reciprocal. It was so strange.

“You never told me,” Callum said to him then, sounding very slightly hurt. “Was there – I mean-“

“I didn’t actually find out I had the talent until after…well, after I came to Katolis.” A wealth of meaning, in there. It meant something to him; something to Callum, too. Rayla looked at him and saw: an impression of pain, an impression of infirmity, a history stretching between the two of them woven thickly with old scars. When they’d met, both of them had been wounded, though in very different ways.

Rayla looked away, shaken. “Bloody Moon,” she uttered again, determinedly not looking at him. She’d never come within range of a Priest of the Light or the Shadow since being trained. She hadn’t known what it would feel like to be a truthfinder in the presence of another.

Evairas was looking at her. She could tell, even though she didn’t look back. “I’m sorry, Rayla. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She shook her head, unwillingly, aware of how they were all watching. “It’s not – don’t you know? You’re a truthfinder. I’m trained. I can practically read your mind.” She exhaled, then added “You’d better come over and sit next to me, if you’re staying. That way maybe I won’t see your life story every time I look at you.”

A few glances were exchanged around her, and Ez switched places with Evairas. “Scion of Shadow didn’t mention that,” Callum said,  a little bemused, when they’d relocated. “So, what, if a trained truthfinder meets another one…?”

“It strengthens the effect greatly, or so I’ve been told,” Evairas offered from beside her. With him only in her peripheral vision, the effect was a lot less pronounced. She could almost ignore the input from him like she ignored Callum’s secrets. “Forms almost a sympathetic connection, though in my case, it’s one-way. Since I’ve not got the training.”

“There’s supposed to be a way to shut it out,” Rayla muttered, vaguely frustrated. Something new to look up in her coursework, she supposed. “Never learned it, though. What were the chances of meeting another one out here?”

“Very low, I’d imagine.” The other elf sounded amused.

“So what, did you see his whole life story when you looked at him?” Ez asked, curious. “I feel like you’d have reacted more if you’d seen his whole life story.”

“Ugh,” Rayla said, at the implications, and “No, I didn’t. Just some – impressions. Before I looked away.” They all looked interested, and in Soren’s case sharp-eyed in a security-conscious way, so she checked around carefully for eavesdroppers before answering. The garden was filling up, but no one seemed to be paying attention. “…I know that Callum and…Evairas…were both in pretty bad health when they met, in Katolis. Not in the same way as each other, but.” She shrugged. “That’s about it, though.”

“And, what, if he was a trained truthfinder like you, he’d be seeing that sort of stuff when he looked at you?” Soren asked, while Callum and Ez went very quiet.

“Yeah, probably.” Rayla nodded, and didn’t look at Evairas. Didn’t ask why he wasn’t trained, though she desperately wanted to. Who’d pass up a skill like this? Being a truthfinder – that talent could get you anywhere. She wasn’t oblivious to how many doors it had opened for her already.

Soren patted her on the arm. “Better get on learning that blocking-it-out thing. Sounds like a security problem waiting to happen.”

“I’m not sure you understand how rare truthfinders are,” Rayla told him, but sighed. “You’re not wrong, though.”

Through silent, mutual acknowledgement, the conversation shifted in more innocuous directions once the surrounding tables had really started to fill up. With every one of their group being outsiders in Gullcrest, and all but Ez being residents, it probably wasn’t surprising that they ended up on the topic of culture shock.

“I think it was the baths that I found weirdest, maybe,” Callum mused, when asked what he’d found strangest to adapt to. “I mean, I was living with Kassa’s family when I first came here, right? And Kassa’s mum is one of the thaumatology professors, so she was always having colleagues around for tea and group baths. Kassa brought friends over too. And they all kept inviting me. It was super weird.”

“Did you ever take them up on it?” Rayla asked, lips twitching.

“Eventually? Yes,” Callum admitted, ruefully. “But only once they said I could wear underpants. And, even then...” Absently, he rubbed at his wrist. Rayla couldn’t help but remember the lines of scarring there, hidden beneath his sleeve. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be like the locals about it. With some close friends, yeah, maybe, but…”

“I’ve not spent much time in Skywing cities, but I doubt it’ll ever be for me,” Evairas offered, shrugging. “I might not have grown up in a traditional Moonshadow context, but, well. Our sort tend to be quite body-shy, as far as races of elves go.” He cast some sort of look at Soren, though Rayla was still carefully not looking at him, so couldn’t see it. “Unlike Soren, here.” That sounded amused.

“Shameless, that’s me,” Soren agreed, shovelling a forkful of some sort of pie into his mouth. Around his food, he said “’ve got a great bod. Be sad not to show it off, when everyone here’s having friendly baths all the time.”

The other Moonshadow elf laughed good-naturedly. “I admire your confidence. Still. Not for me.”

“What about you?” Callum asked, and it took Rayla a second to notice the question was directed at her.

For a second, she paused. She knew what he meant. She couldn’t resist it, though. “I don’t have any plans to show my ‘bod’ off,” she said dryly, making air-quotes and watching as Callum narrowly avoided choking on his drink. “No matter how great it is. Soren and all the locals can keep the baths; not my thing.”

Callum turned bright red as the rest of them snickered at him. “I didn’t mean the baths,” he protested, flustered. “I meant – the culture shock. What was weirdest for you. That’s what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rayla flashed a grin at him in all good humour, and couldn’t quite help enjoying his reaction. She’d never really had friends to tease before. Then she paused to actually think about the question. “…Before today, honestly, I’d have maybe said the communal baths were the weirdest thing for me, too,” she said finally. “Now, though…”

They all looked interested at that. “What’s weirder than group bathing that you found today?” Ez wondered.

Ever-so-slightly, Rayla turned Evairas’ direction, just enough to indicate she was speaking to him. “Something Kassa said, when she let me in. Are hallucinogenics really illegal here?” She didn’t bother trying to hide her disbelief. As spiritual as she wasn’t, she still couldn’t fathom a law like that standing.

Apparently, this wasn’t a universal opinion. Callum, Soren, and Ez all looked mystified. Evairas, though…he laughed. “Don’t worry, there’s an exemption for us, and anyone else participating in our culture,” he assured her, and something tight and indignant she’d been carrying around in her chest since arriving finally relaxed. “One of the first things I looked up when I came here, actually. In Katolis they are illegal for everyone. But there’s pretty much no Moonshadow elves living there, so…”

“Wait,” Callum said, now looking confused. Interested, though. “This – is there something I’m missing? What’s so special about drugs to Moonshadow elves?”

“Hallucinogenics, specifically,” Evairas clarified to him. “Given the relationship of the Moon arcanum to reality, truth, and deception, and the strong emphasis of illusion in our magic…substances that induce hallucination have a lot of cultural significance for us, and using them deepens our connection and understanding of the Moon primal. They’re used in a lot of our spirituality and religion. Recreationally, too, though only on special occasions.”

“I’m not even the sort to do the spiritual stuff, and I’m pretty offended at the idea of anyone making it illegal,” Rayla grumbled. “Couldn’t believe it when Kassa said it. I thought, what, have the Moonshadow elves here all been sitting around not calling in hits or blackmailers on the lawmakers? Not bloody likely.” She glanced reflexively at Evairas before she remembered better, and winced back from the flood of intuition. “And you lived in Katolis for a while, even with that law?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t really in the best of places to be opening my connection to the Moon, back then,” he admitted. “It wasn’t important. In the future, though, I plan to ask for an exemption. I will be going back eventually, and I haven’t gone completely native.”

He’s sure he can get that exemption, she understood, without even trying. He knows people who could get that done for him. Then, another unwelcome flash of intuition: Callum could get that done for him. She grimaced, then turned her head enough that she couldn’t even see him in her periphery. “So that’s definitely the weirdest thing,” she concluded, gesturing at Evairas behind her demonstratively. “The idea that something that – fundamental – might be illegal here.”

“Have you taken those drugs, then?” Ez demanded, looking fascinated.

“’Course,” Rayla answered, a little baffled by the question. Who hadn’t, she wanted to ask, but…of course, these were outsiders. Not her kind. None of them had grown up with her ways. It was so weird. “Only the little stuff as a kid, obviously. You know, sweets that make you see funny lights, weird colours and the like? Some really, really weak moonshine, during big celebrations, once you’re a bit older. Was only the last couple years I had some of the proper stuff for the first time.”

“Quite the experience, isn’t it?” Evairas said from beside her, and though she didn’t look, she couldn’t help but feel the strange comfort of that understanding.

She nodded with feeling, feeling dizzy just at the memory.

He didn’t ask her any further about it, and she didn’t expect him to. One of the unspoken understandings among Moonshadow elves was thus: your experiences, your visions, your epiphanies…those were deeply personal. You could tell someone about them, but you didn’t ask.

Of course, the humans didn’t know that. “What was it like? Like being drunk, just plus seeing weird stuff, or…?” Soren asked, and her stomach twisted weirdly.

“You don’t ask that,” she said, a little uncomfortable, and he blinked.

“Oh, huh. Cultural thing? Gotcha.” He accepted that with grace, thankfully.

“I’ve been living here for years and there’s so much I still don’t know,” Callum bemoaned. “I’ve been friends with you for years, Evairas, and I didn’t know this stuff.”

“In fairness, Moonshadow elves are possibly the most reclusive and insular sort there are,” Evairas said, amused. “Most other races of elves know little about us. And I’ve hardly had the most standard Moonshadow life, anyway.”

“I’ll say, if no one ever told you you were a truthfinder when you were young,” Rayla muttered. She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around that. “Or if you’re not training it.”

The pause beside her felt a little like hesitation. “Well,” he said in the end, rueful. “It’s not out of lack of interest. I just don’t have the time, these days. I’m the only assistant teacher on the Katolis Medical Outreach Program here, and that’s a lot of work.”

She considered that. “Truthfinding’s useful in medicine, too.”

“Truthfinding is useful in anything,” he agreed. “I will have to train it someday. It’s too valuable a skill not to. But it hasn’t been my priority – at any point since I found out.”

“After you came to Katolis, you said…?” Callum murmured to him, voice low as though to deter eavesdroppers.

Another hesitant pause. “I was seventeen at the time,” he agreed, cautiously. “A – specialist – came to visit me, to check up on…” Another, much longer pause.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want me hearing,” Rayla spoke up, still carefully not looking. “If you don’t want me knowing, you probably shouldn’t. Not-looking at you only goes so far.”

Callum’s face was carefully blank, and Ez and Soren both looked solemn. Beside her, Evairas held quiet. “…No, I suppose I don’t mind talking about it, really,” he said, eventually. “It’s not like everyone around here doesn’t already know.” A beat. “I took part in the Frontier Deprivation Study.”

Rayla wasn’t imagining the way that conversation around them hushed. It only lasted a moment, before the people at the nearest tables remembered that it wasn’t any of their business, but – the words had fallen like lead weights into the air. Of course they had. She didn’t even know how to react, herself. “That’s…” she started, and had no idea where to go from there.

“It’s alright,” he said, reassuringly, and she couldn’t help but glance over at him. His eyes were understanding, and surely he must have had this reaction a hundred times before. She could see it. “I recovered well enough, though it did take a while. I spent most of that time in the care of the human doctor who’d taken care of me during the study, actually. Ended up her unofficial apprentice, then an official one, and, well. Here I am.” She nodded, woodenly, and kept her mouth closed lest she ask him anything.

She’d read the case studies. Almost everyone did, eventually – the summary articles and most popular pieces of news coverage, if nothing else. It was hard not to. Hard not to follow that thread of morbid curiosity, to wonder, what was it like? How did they live like that? What happened to them afterwards?

Ninety-five percent of the participants of the study had dropped out or been sent home before its two-year timeline concluded. Some, she knew, had never fully recovered from the experience. She couldn’t help but wonder where in those statistics Evairas had fallen – and wondering things, when in such range of a fellow truthfinder, was dangerous indeed. It was only one accidental glance at him and then she knew.

He lasted the whole time, she understood, shaken. All two years, without any magic at all.

It was nauseating even to think of. “Moon above,” she swore, eventually. “No wonder you didn’t care about the truthfinding.”

“I had other things on my mind,” he agreed, and she could see the edge of his shrug beside her. “I – wouldn’t say I regret the experience. It brought me to where I am today, and was…very definitely formative. Still. I’m not planning on moving overseas any time soon.”

“And that’s how you ended up living in Katolis,” she mused, frowning. “And…then you met Callum? Ez?”

The rest of them all shared looks. “Maybe let’s not talk about that one,” Soren decided, and the boys nodded fervently. “This is already too much heavy talk for a party. Let’s talk about…” He searched for something. “Bellators? Bellators. What’s everyone’s favourite squad?”

“You have such a one-track-mind, sometimes,” Callum told him with exasperation. “It’s always training and Honour Games with you.”

“I don’t know, that sounds pretty good to me,” Rayla offered, smiling faintly. “I’m a pretty training-focused person myself.”

The conversation adjusted from there, and she allowed it without protest. These humans – and Evairas – had their secrets. That was fine. She wasn’t going to try to push it, or even try to figure it out.

Still, though. She was on-alert, after that, and it was hard to overlook clues when she saw them. Hard not to notice, when half an hour later, Ez pushed up his sleeve to scratch his arm, and there was a faint and familiar scar there, stretching up his hand and forearm like a crack winding through a pane of glass. Just like the scars she’d seen on Callum’s arms, albeit thinner, and it looked like there was only the one. But…just the same.

She thought of the scars. She thought of the vague, aching knowledge that had jolted into her mind like a lightning-bolt, of how Callum and Evairas had been suffering when they met; that hollow echo of grievous harm. She shivered, and tried not to consider it any further.

The mood recovered from its brief foray into that fraught territory, and the next hours spun from topic to topic in easy humour, interspersed with trips to the kitchen for more food, more drinks, more dessert. A spirited rendition of some human birthday song was held for Callum just before the reveal of an exceptionally large cake, and that was shared around too. In the end, Kassa started clearing the guests out at around midnight, saying “Alright people, some people here have shit to do tomorrow, so start thinking about leaving,” and an hour later, “Get gone, all of you”. This was all delivered via some sort of Sky magic spell that made her voice alarmingly loud.

Rayla, apparently, wasn’t necessarily included in the eviction order. “You can stay over, if you like?” Callum offered, after farewelling the latest departing group. “There’s plenty of couch to sleep on.”

She hesitated, but shook her head. It wasn’t like she’d even drunk any alcohol, to get her in a state such as it might be unwise to walk all the way home. “I’ll manage. Thanks, though.”

He thanked her for coming, anyway. His brother shook her hand again, grinning. “It was nice to meet you, Rayla,” he said merrily. “I hope you stick around. Then maybe I can put you in touch with some security people, sometime.”

Rayla huffed at him, amused. “It was nice to meet you, too,” she agreed. “And…I’ll see what I can do.”

It was a good party, in the end. She’d achieved pretty much the standard party objectives: meeting people, talking to people, having fun. Ethari would surely be pleased. And if the many, many secrets of her new friends were clamouring at her as she walked home…well, she was starting to expect that.

Another truthfinder, she thought ruefully, of Evairas. What are the chances?

Not to mention the rest of it. She wondered what Runaan would say if he knew she’d accidentally fallen in with a bunch of humans who might well offer some very valuable career opportunities, down the line. She glanced towards the invisible guards on her way out, and shook her head bemusedly, uncertain how her life had suddenly taken such a weird turn.

Worry about it in the morning, she decided in the end, and made the long walk home.

  ---

End chapter.

 So like, I wrote a solid 4.2k of this chapter today and am in a very validation-hungry mood apparently, so I’m bringing this instalment to you barely-edited and fresh from the fingers. Pls give comments, I have a mighty need.

 Worldbuilding / etc:

 Evairas: Moonshadow elf; an OC originating from PIAJ. It was very fun how he ended up having connections to a few important world/backstory things, in this AU.

Frontier: The first city established outside of the Xadian continent; a Katolian colony. For many very plot-relevant reasons, it is entirely inhabited by humans. Elven visitors are exceptionally rare, and those that come never linger for more than a few days. (Ceracurist)

The Frontier Deprivation Study: A two-year-long medical experiment that took place in the city of Frontier, funded by Katolis as well as several elven governments and universities. All participants were elves of various races; all volunteers, all permitted to withdraw at any time. The study is profoundly notorious and infamous, and had far-reaching implications in a lot of ways. This will not be the last time it’s mentioned. (Ceracurist)

Moonshine: the Moonshadow elf term for any alcoholic beverage that contains hallucinogens. There are many, many varieties of moonshine. (PIAJ)

Moonshine epiphany: the catch-all colloquial term for any personal, spiritual, or magical epiphany or realisation or revelation gleaned by a Moonshadow elf who went through one hell of a drug trip. Doesn’t need to have been moonshine specifically, just anything hallucinogenic. (PIAJ)

Paperweights: Stereotypical common gift in many Skywing cultures. This is because, historically, Skywing architecture didn’t really believe in insulation, in part due to Skywing elf cold resistance and in part due to (somewhat justified) superstitions that a building without airflow from outside would cause Skywing elves to get sick. Correspondingly, traditional Skywing buildings tend to be very breezy, and paperweights are a must. They’re a common low-effort gift and knick-knack. (PIAJ)

Truthfinder interactions: A trained truthfinder can always recognise another truthfinder, whether or not that one is trained. The truthfinding ability behaves oddly when two of its bearers are interacting, forming a sort of reciprocal link that permits much, much clearer and more detailed knowledge-gleaning than normal, to the point where it’s possible to derive entire memories if trying hard enough. The untrained truthfinder won’t be able to glean this sort of information from their fellow, but may feel a strange sense of recognition, or of knowing the other elf better than they should. This phenomenon of truthfinder-linking can be controlled, with practice.

[thekingofthieves]

Building on your response to the ask abt demon gods: are any of the gods of human religions (Yahweh, Shiva, Ahura Mazda, etc.) actually just powerful demons who humans became somehow aware of and mistook for gods? Or even were actual ascended gods? I'd be interested to know how many of those were "real" in some capacity vs. just being human inventions.

I'm afraid I won't be able to give you a very definitive answer- apologies for that! I just can't really say for certain on most since many have existed for longer than even I have. Plus, I haven't personally met a ton, so I can't confirm upon many of their existences or which ones are of demon origins.

I can say though that most of the demons mistaken for gods or have ascended to godhood are more likely among eastern countries, as I've stated before that the main gateways between the worlds are centered in and around Japan. I'm sure some have ventured out to other areas though- especially the more competitive and power-hungry ones looking for more people that'll worship only them. Honestly... the more a god enforces monotheism, the more I suspect they're from the Makai. That's only a theory though, I haven't done any sort of research to back that claim. It's simply a gut feeling I have due to the mannerisms high class demons tend to have.

I believe that Inari might have been a Youko who ascended to godhood, but I haven't discovered confirmation of that yet. Their energy feels like it might be a bit demonic... but it's honestly hard to tell because the energy of gods often feel so... warped. That's the best way I cant think to describe it, because it gives off such a strange sensation. Perhaps it simply feels so distorted because the power is too intense for non-gods to properly comprehend... Hn, and I've tried asking Inari about their origins before, but they haven't given me an answer yet. They seem to enjoy being secretive with me, and tend to laugh when I ask questions. 😅 I suppose I deserve that, I never was very respectful when they've helped me in the past.

On the other hand, King Yama I'm quite certain was never a demon, considering his... very apparent distaste towards all demons. I'm unsure if the Hindu idea of his origin is entirely correct, but I wouldn't be surprised if he truly was once a human that ascended to godhood in his afterlife. It'd easily explain his favoritism.

For demons who are simply playing god in the Ningenkai, however... I hear they tend to be targeted by those who have actually ascended, especially if they're not S class yet. It's potentially because those gods find it insulting for humans to consider them on the same level as the demons, even though they were once demon as well. Or, perhaps they simply want less competition, and demons are easier to take out than fellow gods. I can't say for sure as I'm fairly apathetic to the doings of gods. I'm only attempting connecting with Inari to try making amends for some of my past actions. Other than that, I stay out of the business of gods when possible.

[trulygracious]

My dad is an extremely aggravating man. I have a lot of poor connections with the people who are around me thanks to that man. I don’t even want to have a physical acknowledgement of his existence because of the things that he has done to me. I have a really poor relationship with him but it’s not just that. I really have no relationship with him. I just talk to him and he talks to me and we don’t connect. He’s really shit at connecting with other people. He’s one of those people who makes you feel like you need to connect with him and get him, but in order to do that you need to act in a certain way or think about specific things which he can take advantage of. He’s sort of mechanical in that sense; he tries to have control over everything and anyone who gets in the way of that control gets told to fuck off. He throws hissy fits because he can’t get the things he’s supposed to get out of things or if you get mad or anything. He escalates the situation but never does if you never pose your issues despite them existing. I guess that’s why I’m immature and have a hard time admitting my problems; he kind of quells it down to, if he has a problem and can’t describe it, he’ll bring it down to a million other things and threaten to gut you. I guess that’s because he has power over me with the money and everything. But the strange part of that too is that his money is a fiddle; he has nothing over me if I just stay silent. It’s a very weird relationship ship or dynamic and I try to ignore him as much as I can because he makes me very emotional but that’s proving to leak itself into everything else I do with any degree of physicality, i.e., everything. It makes me very emotional to deal with him and I don’t even know where to start. He hurts me a lot throwing threats out and stuff. I guess I have to be okay with there being a disconnect between me and him because nothing I say can get through to him. It’s very annoying and stuff. I want to have a connection with him. I think something about him trying to care about me when my mom died had something negative to do with how I see things regarding him. I would like to care about him. I see a lot of good sentiment and a lot of heritage in him too. But I also see him constantly trying to do me harm or disrupt me or just not care about the things I say. It’s hard to look at him. I hate looking at him. It reminds me of when I looked at him when he was beating me. He just stopped beating me because I started to kick him back. I’m not gonna just let him fuck around and hurt me anymore. What a complicated dynamics process, jesus christ. He was very annoying for it. He would always just yell at me whenever I’d look at him. Whenever he’d acknowledge whenever I was in the room he’d say things to me or attempt to get a reaction out of me. But I wanted no part in this. I kind of hated him a lot for a long time. He just doesn’t get what he’s doing to me. He thinks I have no idea what I’m doing. He has no idea what I’m doing. I think he has very little actual idea of what I’m doing. You know, I could just tell him. And he could listen and learn and figure it out and not be so dumb. But he seems to be really stupid about actually extrapolating anything genuinely, like, important about the situation we’re in. He can’t seem to learn or do anything new or important or etc. and it’s quite annoying and/or frustrating and he can’t get any of the details right. It’s his fault if he fucks everything he had up or over. What a dickhead. I dunno. He refuses to take any responsibility for any of this stuff we’re in or even think about it- or anything- competently or with some degree of knowledge or anything without just goofing everything up all the time. I hope he’s scared. When he dies. I hope he’s scared of everything and I’m not there to comfort him. I hope he dies alone and afraid and I’m not there to help him. Because he cannot admit to being a good person. He can’t do it. Nothing crosses his mind with any degree of knowledge or respect. He deserved to have his wife die. And now, he will die too. Usele

less and alone and not listening to anything, like the little child he once was.

You know, the problem I have with this resentment is that nothing I say here, going in this way, here or now, is going to solve anything important for me. I still need to figure out how I’m supposed to act around him and how I’m supposed to incorporate the fact that someone like him exists in my life. He really hurt me a lot, and I’m even too scared to stare at him in the eyes, even now. His yelling or even the threat of it grips my ribcage and frightens me. He never had anything good to say about me, ever. Nothing that really mattered, anyways. He always just congratulated me about things that he thought were important to congratulate me about- you know, default things. Doing a good job at something. But every time he would say those things it just. Rubbed it into my head a little bit more that he didn’t actually know anything properly about me that he could like. Genuinely grasp or anything like that. Like, as if raising me was some kind of automated task. You do this, you do that, bam! Good kid. Except I’m not a good kid. I’m a fucked up rabbit with a heart and strong teeth, and some kind of a yeast infection and perhaps diabetes. I guess it makes sense considering he had it too; and now I probably have it. I guess I wouldn’t be surprised. I wouldn’t be surprised if I did have it. He yell at me for doing things against his own ideas about the world. He kind of categorizes things into group things and then explains them out in a way that’s not helpful to me at all. If I yell back at him about things he tends to group that into the “I’m getting yelled at and can’t do anything about it” category and lights everything up and assumes I’m just trying to get back at him and everything about me not him and it’s like he gets, like, really personal about it and gets all angry. So he’s like, 0-100 about his threats and like presumed actions. He just threatens things if I don’t properly agree with him. What a dick, again. I’m not going to listen to you. But you’re also not going to do anything to punish me. But also if I outwork you or outthink you I just feel stupid because I have so much control over a situation that feels utterly pointless because I’m going to get the same outcome I wanted anyways… well, actually that’s not true, because I want him to connect with me and share opinions with me and learn with me and properly educate me and he can’t do that with me just yet. You know, so I can’t end up connecting with him well. But I can definitely connect with him a little bit if I connect with him at his level. Which is just kind of him taking advantage of me and him being dumb as shit. He’s kind of insanely aggravating for that, I think. What a dumb little idiot, that man. Aggravating is his middle name. He can compromise with other people which I like. But he refuses to do it with me. It’s most important you can do that with me or my brother so that I can live a life I actually enjoy and so can my brother. But instead, he’s just a dick to me and just expects nothing to happen to me or him. Which just isn’t the case at all. He’s a big dick for that. I fucking hate my dad for that, you know. He’s such a fucking penis bro. Fuck my life man. I want him to actually have a useful opinion for me and actually listen to me so I can live my life without him on my back and in my ear. He can just go suffer on his own, the fucking panzy. Pansy? Panzy sounds better but it’s getting redlined. Whatever, panzy. He’s a panzy. A dickhead made out of sugar fairydust and anvils on strings above doorways. What are my choices, then? To deal with my aggravating, annoying, pest of a father and deal with him all the time? I guess my answer for a long time has been, “Fuck that” because I can just rely on his money and not make a big deal out of things. I guess it’s kind of horrifying for me to realize I’m all alone, on my own, and kind of just dealing with whatever my dad wanted makes everything super hard and annoying. And I’m scared of the world. One of those things I’ve always been too afraid of dealing with or thinking about or interacting with- i

n the real world- on a very personal level was realizing how to tackle the world on my own with no one’s help. I guess it’s one of those things that just… really scared me, you know? Because I’ve had this fear, deep down, since I was maybe six years old that I’d have to take real control over my life and realize everything about it and work super hard and get super scared. But… I guess my answer to that now is that, I don’t really have to do that now. I can just… you know, figure my own life out competently and enjoy my surroundings a little bit. I was so scared of doing all of that hard work because of my parents. My mom wasn’t exactly all that far off from what my dad is today, but I guess she wasn’t nearly as bad as my dad is now. She was just similar in ability to scale up threatening demands and not exactly be pleasing or rational or really very nice or competent towards me and my brother. What a stupid little kid, that was, my mom. Christ. You know, I really wished my mom would be a better person than she was. I guess she had her issues, too. I guess it takes some issues to date someone like my dad competently and get out of it. Freedom of expression was not exactly encouraged without a messy helping-hand of adoration that was quickly outsmarted out of me. I couldn’t argue why it was wrong. If I argued it would get escalated. Escalations don’t get me what I want? but I realized if I lied I would just get into the habit of lying about everything, and I guess being a loser is better than being a liar, in many ways. Like, look at my brother. He’s a liar and a loser now, too. A loser who lies a lot and no one is happy about it, or him, and he does nothing with himself or anything. What a nice guy, but… fuck man, what a kid. What a dork. He should have done so much more with himself. Nevermind. Anyways, my dad couldn’t reach a conclusion with me I could genuinely be satisfied with. Young me was terrified by the idea of making up my own opinions about the universe and going out there and reaching for so much so quickly, because I couldn’t get the things I wanted out of the world.

Feb 23 2024

[markets]

hey angie, best friend anon here. yeah i dont mind! sorry if this is a little disjointed i really haven't talked about this before.

so she broke up with me and it wasn't necessarily a messy breakup but i was very overwhelmed when it happened so i didn't say very much and the conversation felt a little unfinished? but we were both emotional about it so we were giving each other space and she had been going through some other personal stuff and posting about it on social media. so i think i reached out just being like 'hey, i know we aren't together anymore but i still care about you, hope you're ok etc. etc.' and we gradually started talking to each other casually again.

before we broke up it was super long phone calls every day sort of thing but we were back down to like a couple of texts. we ran in the same friend circles though and this was while i was in high school, so hard to avoid each other completely anyways.

it definitely took a long time, im not even sure how long exactly, at least a year before we were really good friends and not just casual ones. especially when we had been going everywhere together and doing everything together previously. full honesty, it's rough. it's going to take time and effort to get back anywhere close to how it used to be and in my experience it has to go slow. it's absolutely going to feel awkward at first. i wanted to jump right back to how we were. i wanted the long calls back. i wanted to walk to the park on our lunch breaks again. but i guess more importantly, when i took a step back, i realized what i wanted more than anything was to be there for her. i just wanted her in my life, in whatever capacity i could have, i couldn't imagine giving that up. so i treated it a bit like a friend you knew who had moved away and come back, if that makes sense. and eventually we graduated and our friend groups fell apart and we were the only ones who stuck together. maybe it comes down to commitment? if you want that connection enough and you try your best to maintain it, it does last and get better/stronger over time.

the hardest thing i think was watching her get in other relationships. and not out of jealousy like some people might think but because some of them were really, really shitty people. and the first time that happens it will be like watching any other friend be in a shitty relationship that you can't talk them out of. except you know, quite possibly intimately, that they can do so much better. even better than you and absolutely better than these new people. and she confided a lot in me about her relationships once we were close again. which was also weird sometimes because in some ways you might see a place where you went wrong or where the new person reminds you of yourself and you'll just get this feeling that you're seeing an outsider point of view of your own previous relationship. idk how to describe it. also the first time i walked into her new house after she moved in with her current and longest gf, i felt a bit like being hit by a truck and seeing a possible timeline where that could've been me because we're very similar. but in a way that's a whole story of its own im sure i don't need to go off on. anyways this is extremely long but i hoped that something out of this helped in some way.

anon this kind of gutted me im ngl i was going to log out for the night but aside from the stuff that specifically pertains to your situation at the beginning i literally felt like i was reading something written by my future self if that makes sense. i so completely understand what you mean about wanting to speed past the awkwardness and go back to where you were and just needing to be there for the other person in some way shape or form. the thing about commitment was also reassuring bc one of the reasons i feel so rushed about all this is that i am graduating relatively soon so i dont really have the time to take idk a year off from us (i probably wouldn’t do it even if i could but just a hypothetical) or even a few months and then start building it back up to were we were. but im really committed to making this work even after we all go off to university. also i had just been avoiding thinking about the whole new relationships thing but it was still good to get some perspective on it so yeah thank you so much anon i really do wish you luck with all this

[amoveablejake]

Album of The Week: ‘the record’ by boygenius

Stand out song: ‘True Blue’. 

Advertisements have always been targeted at specific groups of people or certain demographics however, in the twenty first century, advertisements can be even more localised as thanks to algorithms upon algorithms humanity’s next purchase can be predicted for them as that one item that you have been looking for suddenly appears at your fingertips. Perhaps it doesn’t even need an advert, it just being there in front of your eyes is enough to get you on board as the algorithm thinks that you would like it based on your browsing history and hell, it is probably right. Often, I do try and ignore these suggestions but then again, streaming services can often recommend titles that I will go on to like so hey, sometimes it can be worth rolling the dice and giving in to the prediction, although that doesn’t seem to be the right word at all as this is definitely more fact based. This is all to say that for the past couple of months, everytime I boot up Tumblr to write for the blog, be thankful I didn’t write dial up, I am greeted by what Tumblr thinks I would like to see and that has only been one thing. For two months, since what I now know was their second album’s release, I have been met with pictures and videos of a band called boygenius. A band that I knew nothing about but after two months of sustained pleading from the site to get me to engage with it, as I was waiting for my train on Saturday I did press play on their latest album and, well, look...the algorithm was right. Oh so right. 

I know what it is that I want to say next but I am not sure how to word it. What I am sort of hoping to say is that I have been looking for a current band to feel a real connection to for a while now. I’m not sure if that quite gets across what I’m trying to say. There are bands that I feel a very strong and deep connection to, the Beach Boys, and groups that are current that I really like following, Twice, but I think there has been something missing. Again, this is sort of hard to find the right words for so please forgive me if this is a little more meandering. I think perhaps a way to describe it is when I listened to Courtney Barnett for the first time, I heard an artist who is living out there in the world and whose voice really hit home. Courtney Barnett immediately became an artist who I knew that I would love to see one day and if I was to see them, it would be very special indeed. Thats just something I knew, a gut feeling of knowing when something clicks right off the bat. When I pressed play on ‘True Blue’ and heard that opening guitar and those opening lyrics, I had that same feeling but perhaps, even more so. It felt like a wave washing over me and knowing that this band was, is going to become very dear to me. From a few notes of a song sure, but sometimes you know when something is clicking and when that happens its a really cool feeling. It feels a bit like when you’re about to go on a trip and you’re not entirely sure what to expect but as you work your way along your trip you start to feel calmer as you see that everything is as you were hoping or even better. It surpasses all of your excitement. Now, that might not make a lot of sense, but as I say, it is hard to find the words for what is essentially a gut feeling but if you know, you know. 

At the time of writing I have listened to the entirety of ‘the record’ and I am maybe going to save the other self titled album from five years ago from the band for a little bit as I don’t want to rush through their work. Then again, I do have all of the trio’s individual back catalogues to work through and you best believe that I will be doing that. But as I say, I am in no rush at all. ‘the record’ is an album that I want to allow the time to breathe and to fully engage with. Can I see this becoming  record that I hold up there with some of the key ones for me such as ‘Wildflower’ by The Avalanches and ‘Pet Sounds’ by The Beach Boys, I think so. I don’t know what it was that was missing from my music roster but it feels like it was boygenius especially as they have slotted into place so easily. I wrote a couple of weeks ago that I thought I knew who was going to be my key artist on Spotify this year but now, I am suddenly not so sure. And I realise, that this whole letter of adoration might not make a lot of sense and it might seem like excitement for this new discovery and it is that sure but, I don’t know, I think all I can say is that something has clicked with boygenius and I am excited to go on this journey with them. Oh boy, they might be up there with the heavy hitters. I mean we’ll see but, you know, I think I already know. 

-Jake, a man who had a wonderful day at one of the most special places in the world, 19/06/2023

[justanothergreb]

Came across a card while sorting out some boxes in the room which was such a punch to the gut. The card was from an ex, an ex who I would have said was endgame at the time and was him saying how he couldn't put into words how much he loved me. He blamed it on his "scientific mind" and how no words could ever really describe how he felt. Love was such a hard concept for him to understand and put into words because no words conveyed just how he felt about me, us. It may be one of the most romantic things ever given to me (let's not talk about the fact I have, in all actuality, had very little grand gestures, let alone romantic ones in my life).

It got me to thinking how I just seem to attract emotionally stunted/unavailable men (and I do include my husband in that) and I find that quite sad when I reflect on it. I don't know why finding someone who can actually just say how they feel about me (without being forced to) is so difficult. Is it a fear of consequence? If you say it out loud, does that make it real and you have to deal with it? Am I just not the person to deserve it? Am I too much? Do people think I should just know and they don't need to tell me?

I want to be told at least once in my life, passionately, how much I mean to someone. No fear of consequence, just tell me (and we'll deal with the consequences later, if there are any).

I have no idea why I keep coming across things at the minute which are triggering strong thoughts and reactions in me. It's like I need to be reminded of who I am if that makes sense, what I want and what I need.

(Consider our friendship over btw if this ever makes it back to my husband. This is my safe space to scream into the void of my ridiculous thoughts).

[alldrinkingaside]

Relapse is Almost Always Possible Because "Healing May Paper Over the Horror..."​

Like a punch in the gut, I re-read a recent Tweet: "Some people relapse starting with 'It couldn't have been that bad,' when, indeed, it was worse. Healing papers over part of the horror.... "

At one point, and it lasted for years, I felt as if I could not possibly exist without alcohol and that my life would be meaningless without it. I felt like a passenger on a plane that had been hijacked.

If it's going to crash, give me another drink as it spirals downward....

Now, happily living with many years of recovery under my belt, the very memory of the fact that I once thought I could not live without alcohol seems laughable. I have to remember that clearly, and in a healthy way. The (former) Relapse King (that's me!) must neither forget how bad it once was, nor diminish the long, hard road that has brought me to today.

I dare not let healing paper over the horror of addiction's progressive descent.

I have also learned to appreciate the many other memory-related problems that others endure, such as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, in which an individual gets kind of stuck reliving the distress of emotions and circumstances no longer necessary or actual in the present reality. Rather than remembering, relearning, healing and moving on, the memory repeats itself on an endless loop with little or no healing occurring.

Clearly, I'm not a scientist, but I do have empathy for anyone who is suffering from or has suffered from PTSD. I suffered severe anxiety attacks when deep in my addiction to alcohol, but my anxiety in that dark place was a repeating loop-tape of a painful emptiness too difficult to quantify. If empathy isn't the right word, then perhaps the deepest of sympathies better describes my feelings for victims of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I've been somewhere hear there. Luckily for me, my pain, relived, has softened over time.

Healing.

PTSD, for many soldiers, is a maladaptive response to the horrors of war. The horrors occurred and continue to reoccur in a way that is not helpful to neither them nor those around them.

My recovery has been about healing, too.

Normally, when a bone is broken, it heals, and the patient moves on. But in addiction, more than bones are broken. The healing is on a different level than strictly the physical (put aside damage done to every organ of the body, some permanent, some temporary). Sometimes the psychic healing is wallpapered over and the pains that addiction has caused wane over time (the built-in forgetter being sort of the antithesis of PTSD).

Again, healing done not quite right somehow.

"It couldn't have been that bad. I got over it."

A person accumulates a certain longevity in recovery. Things may be going well. Perhaps too well. They stop picking at the scab. The scab heals and goes away until eventually only a few scars remain. Even the scars begin to fade. "Maybe I can drink again, now that the debris of my addiction has been dealt with. It couldn't have been that bad." At some point in the healing process that idle thought is apt to occur to almost anyone.

There is no such thought allowed within my thick skull today. It was that bad. It always got worse. Longer and longer periods of sobriety followed by shorter and ever mor disastrous relapses. I will not let the healing process of recovery wallpaper over the horrors of addiction.

Instead of wallpapering over the pain, I think I'll stick to reading THE WRITING ON THE WALL: "Make no mistake, the Beast Inside is sleeping, Not Dead."

Oh... one last little thing...

It seems to me that my healing in recovery has surpassed the healing of a broken bone. A broken bone can heal only so well, back to its original form, at best. Recovery, seemingly, has this patient better off than I ever dreamed possible.

Impossible? No.

This (former) Relapse King is Living Proof.

*****

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