#again i am surprised anybody cares about my opinions enough to ask me this... or to even talk about my liveblogging lmao...

[adoracora-elizabeth]

But Papa! Why? Chapter 35

A gasp escaped Cora’s mouth when Rosamund stepped out of the changing room. She was wearing a creme white strapless jumpsuit. The top was a silky fabric that was draped in layers.

Rosamund turned around. “Do you like it?” She asked.

“You look amazing in it. Marmaduke will be in awe as soon as he sees you.”

“That is what I am aiming for. Mama will be furious when she sees my choice.” Rosamund winked. “Now let’s see how your bridesmaid dress looks on you.”

“Oh Rosamund, this is your day. I wasn’t expecting to go dress shopping for me.” Cora protested.

“Cora I have already some dresses hanging aside for you. Please try them on.”

Cora smiled. “When you are sure. Oke let me see your picks.”

Rosamund had picked four dresses. Cora stepped out in the last one. The first three were not it and Cora did not like this one either. “Maybe, I should follow your example and not go for a dress. I bet they have suits or jumpsuits for bridesmaids too?” She looked at the shop assistant.

“We most definitely have that.” The shop assistant answered.

“Cora, Mama and Papa are going to get a heart attack when we both do not appear in a dress.”

“Isn’t that their problem and not yours?” Cora said carefully.

Rosamund laughed softly. “You are right, but what would Robert say?”

“I am going to sound harsh, but I do not care what he thinks. Your opinion and Marmaduke’s matter on this day. No one else’s.”

“Oh Cora, I love you. Thank you for being my friend.” Rosamund wrapped her arms around Cora and held her tight. “I am glad you are making sure this will be my day.”

“Rosamund, is there something bothering you?” When Rosamund hugged her, she felt it was more intense than usual.

With a deep sigh, Rosamund lowered her eyes and sat down.

“Ros?” Cora now said with worry in her voice. “What is wrong, can you tell me? Do you want to tell me?”

“We would not tell anybody before the wedding.”

“You worry me, Rosamund.”

“Marmaduke is ill.”

Cora slowly sat down on the sofa. “How bad is it?”

Rosamund was wringing her hands in her lap. “Cancer, it is cancer.”

Cora stretched her hand and took Rosamund’s.”When will they start with the treatment?”

Now Rosamund looked up, and Cora saw the desperate look in her eyes.

“Rosamund? Is this why the wedding day is this fast?”

Rosamund nodded her head.

The shop assistant came back with a colourful suit and a jumpsuit for Cora to try on.

+++

“Hey, I was not expecting to find you in my kitchen tonight.” Robert said surprised when he got home and saw Cora in his apartment. He stepped closer and kissed her neck. “I thought you would go out for dinner with Ros. Did she find a dress?”

Cora nodded. “She did.”

“Cora?” Robert put his hand on her shoulders and turned her around. “What is the matter?”

“She asked me not to tell you.” Cora looked at the ground, and quickly looked up into his eyes. Suddenly she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body close to his. Her hand moved to his hair.

Robert put his hands around her and kept her close as long as she needed. “You do not need to tell me. It is alright.”

When Cora looked up at him again he saw tears in her eyes, one rolled down over her cheek. Softly he brushed it away, gentle he pressed his lips on Cora’s. “Tell me about her dress.”

Cora kissed him back. “That will be a surprise. Did you already plan Marmaduke’s stag do?”

“I am thinking about it, but it is a bit early is it not?”

Cora turned back towards the stove. “Maybe you could arrange it earlier.”

He pressed another kiss in her neck. “I do not know what happened and what is wrong, but I will start planning his party. Is there time for me to take a quick shower? It is so incredibly hot outside and we went on a lunch walk. Papa said it would be good for me.”

Cora leaned her head back and smiled at him. “It is good for you, you still need to make sure you walk enough to get that last bit of healing done. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.

She sighed when Robert left the kitchen, maybe it was not the best idea to go to Robert’s house after this afternoon. Rosamund asked not to tell the family about Marmaduke’s condition. But she could have known that Robert would see it on her face. She was glad he did not press her to tell him, even though she thought he should know. It was his sister. She was glad at least Rosamund had told her, this way she could be there for her and support her.

She heard the shower running, dinner was ready. She put it on a low heat and quickly got some writing paper out of Robert’s office. Slowly her stuff was also appearing in this house, but not her stationery things. They were still at home. She preferred her apartment over Robert’s. His apartment had an incredible view over the city, but it was always busy outside. Hers was looking over the Thames River and when she went for a stroll it was quiet outside.

The shower was still running, she could finish this before he got out and went back into the kitchen.

‘Dear Harold,

Hope you are doing well. How is Mama doing? And the company?

My life here has changed a lot, as you probably realised. Robert’s proposal was the most romantic thing that ever happened to me. But I will not bore you again with that story. I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to marry him. Or at least to get married to him.

Well, that is not why I am writing this letter. I need to talk to somebody about this, and I cannot tell Robert. It has to do with Rosamund his sister and her fiancée Marmaduke. Marmaduke is ill, very ill. They are going to get married this Autumn, the wedding is arranged very quickly. Today I learned that Marmaduke has pancreatic cancer, stage four. It has already spread to his liver and lungs. Rosamund told me this afternoon that he will probably not make it till the end of this year. She asked me not to tell her family, they wanted to prepare for the wedding without everybody worrying about him. I am not sure if that is wise, but I do not have a choice and will need to keep my lips sealed. I do hope you will not tell Mama or anybody about this letter.

I am quite scared of what is going to happen. Rosamund is my friend, and I do not want to see her unhappy. And as long as nobody knows about this, I cannot do anything.

Dear brother, I am sending you a big hug with this letter and a kiss for Mama. I will wrap Robert a bit closer in my arms tonight and thank God he is still with me.

Ps. He told me that he wants children. Oh, Harold, he wants children! Can you imagine me with a little one? Because I cannot wait for Robert to be a proud daddy. Let us hope it is in the stars for us.

Sending you lots of love and kisses,

Your little sis, Cora.

Cora smelled Robert’s pineapple and cedarwood eau de cologne. She looked up and saw him enter the kitchen. His hair was still wet and he was wearing light beige pants with a dark blue polo shirt. That was something she loved so much about him. He was always dressed niceley. She folded the letter in half and put it in the envelope.

“You look refreshed.” She said smiling, while she got up to serve dinner.

Robert took a couple of big steps to reach her. “I feel refreshed. I am happy you are here, I think I forgot to tell you that when I got home.”

Cora raked with her fingers through his hair. “I am happy to be here too. We should do that more often.”

Robert kissed her neck and softly bit her earlobe. “Where do you want to live?”

“I heard you had a large house somewhere?” Cora leaned her full body weight against Robert.

“I heard you are going to rebuild a large house.” He moved his hands over her stomach and pressed her against his body.

“It is an option, but let us first eat.” Cora kissed him tenderly.

[makayla-angelic]

One of the hardest parts about growing up as a “quirky” black girl, is that when you’re in school, and you really want to date...and most of the people that’s in your class is black as well, you’re not even considered an option by half of the black guys because you don’t “act black enough.” So you expand your options, but the white, Asian, and Hispanic guys don’t seem interested in you because they might not find you attractive either or they might just be shy and assume you wouldn’t be interested in dating outside of your race.

Also, when you’re a Christian like I am and you’re trying to wait until marriage to have sex, it’s hard to find the right person who respects and follows your same morals and values because since they don’t believe in it, they don’t see why it should matter to you also, and so once again, you’re left by yourself. When people ask me, “How are you still single?” or people seem surprised that I’m in my mid-twenties and never had a boyfriend before, it’s because I’m true to myself and I know the God I believe in wants me to wait for the right person, He’s not going to allow me to just end up with anybody, no matter what nationality. I’m not going to lower my standards and pretend to be something and someone I’m not just to attract a partner. And that goes for anyone, male or female. 

As hard as it is for me being single right now, I’m also thankful because I’ve never been through a breakup, I’ve never been cheated on, I don’t have any crazy exes, and I’m not by myself alone taking care of a child. I could easily take the number of any random guy from the street and “Netflix and chill” at his place, but I’m not, because I know my worth. I’d rather die single and a virgin than potentially die from a horrible STD that consumes me. 

I know this got a bit off tangent and I know not everyone’s going to agree with this post, but to anyone here who’s reading this and is in the same boat I am, you’re not alone. Stay true to yourself, be a good person and treat others well, and don’t worry about negative opinions of others. <3

[ermuellert]

what are your honest opinions on julian draxler's career?

personally i thought he was genuinely going to be a big star because he was this young wonderkid at schalke who won the world cup as a 20 year old (he didn't do much though to be fair) but it never really turned out that way ... he's not done terribly per se, he is playing for psg, living that sweet life en france, and somehow still getting callups to the german national team but i am just kind of sad that he never reached the full potential that he had ... i thought he would be the captain of the "new" germany generation, one of the leaders, but now he barely gets to play ... i am kind of extra worked up about his case because he seems like a nice and sweet person as well ... anyways maybe i just have a bad track record of predicting career trajectories, all the youngsters i thought would succeed haven't (yet), at one point i believed that julian weigl and max meyer would also be world beaters and here we are ... i don't know what it is, probably a mix of injuries, bad luck, and maybe just not working hard enough ... long long sigh

anyways if you read all that you're an absolute superstar because i really went and wrote an essay oops ... i look forward to your live blogging tomorrow as it is always entertaining ... lots of love xxx

i hope u know that deep down.... like. Deep Down... i am always always always craving to talk about julian...... like trust me... i promise essays on monsieur draxler are always welcome here because i used to write that much about him and sometimes still think that much about him too...

objectively speaking, i think he is doing alright! pretty good by a lot of standards probably, for most of the reasons u listed. he’s getting paid obscene amounts (probably more than he deserves at this moment in time), has a seemingly great personal life, and as u said, still getting his national team callups. 

my personal thoughts, on the other hand, are... well....... not really of the same sentiment. i already know i’m gonna write up an even longer essay so let me just tuck the rest of this ramble under a cut for the sake of my followers lmao

honestly for me... thinking about julian is kind of depressing. if you feel worked up about him, just know that i relate. he seems very happy where he is in his life at the moment and so of course i’m happy for him too but compared to the potential it seemed he had... it’s just a bit sad. mostly because it isn’t as though he’s an excellent player hindered by injuries (e.g. reus) or anything really beyond his control - i think a lot of what’s so disappointing about his career trajectory is really just to do with him and him only.

yes, his failed transfer to juve back when he was at schalke wasn’t his fault but to move to wolfsburg? i know hindsight is 20/20 but i almost wish he’d just stayed at schalke. the drama he got into while he was at wolfsburg really did not do any good for his image, putting aside the fact that he was putting in average (even inconsistent) performances for the team. at schalke, maybe he could’ve had more time to develop within a team he grew up in and just use his time there to work and work hard. (there’s something i want to say about mentality here but i’ll bring that up later)

then, when his transfer to psg was announced, i felt like that was some beacon of hope although honestly, i think anything compared to wolfsburg could’ve looked that way to me at the time lmao keeping up with that club just for him (and partly andré schürrle) was fucking painful my god

at psg he was off to a decent start and things were starting to look up! wasn’t starting every single match but he was playing fairly well and made quick friends with his new teammates (u know who lol) etc. but then of course any sort of rhythm/momentum he gained was totally thrown off by mbappé’s and neymar’s arrivals which i think were both only around half a year after his transfer. 

and so basically since then, he’s been “competing” for a spot with ney, kylian, and di maría.

(ok reading that back i realize that whole recap of his career was not really necessary or at least. making it as lengthy as i did wasn’t but. i’m too lazy to go back and reword everything so bear with me lmao)

taking all that into account, i think yes, to some extent, he has some excuse for the stagnation of his career. he’s had his injuries and he’s been played out of position for large portions of time.

but i think what really frustrates me about him is that as a fan who’s loved him for years it’s really sad to see that what’s holding him back is not necessarily a lack of ability but just that he doesn’t have the sort of drive i wish he did. it’s been on display in his performances before - he can be lazy and invisible - but i think what’s worse is how that translates off the pitch. he’s just never really seemed to fight for a spot in the starting eleven. and if the rumors are true (as they do seem so) the parisian nightlife has not been doing him very good lmao

not only that though but i think he just doesn’t care as much about football as he does about ... image? money? i don’t know. i don’t know what the word i’m looking for is. i don’t think julian is a superficial sort of person and i’m not saying ambition is a bad thing at all, but when he couldn’t go from schalke to juventus (and that failed transfer was riding, presumably, a lot on his wonderboy status at schalke), he followed the money to wolfsburg. put in performances that understandably received criticism at wolfsburg, then very publicly made a whole thing out of wanting to leave and not being able to. then followed the money to psg where he just ... vibes on the bench. well, at least up until this season. but even then, if it weren’t for all the covid cases and red cards, i don’t know if he would be playing as much as he has. 

so tl;dr: i love julian a lot still and he’s still the same sweet dorky fuckboi-ish guy i’ve been a fan of since the start and i’m happy that he’s happy! the tragic irony is that what makes him happy - collecting checks while being a bench player - is also what depresses me quite a bit about him. he has his flashes of brilliance every once in a while where you can see that 17-year-old schalke wonderboy in him, so you know that hype from long ago wasn’t all a waste and that somewhere in there is a very talented, perhaps starworthy footballer. but he isn’t. not because he can’t but because he doesn’t really care to. and not in a dismissive sense i don’t think. i don’t think he thinks “ah who cares about being the best player in the world fuck that” but moreso in the sense of “ah i think i’m doing alright! that’s good enough for me.” and that sort of mentality is what places him (or at least, contributes to his position being) a tier below his peers who have proven themselves (e.g. kimmich, although that also brings up the whole “can that sort of fighter/die-on-the-pitch type mentality be taught or must it be inherent” kind of thing so let’s move on before i write an essay within this essay) at the end of the day i know not every footballer is in this sport simply for the sake of playing it, but from time to time thinking about him fills me with a lot of nostalgia and yes a tinge of disappointment because i can’t help but think of what could’ve been (i.e. what would’ve happened if he’d stayed at schalke? stayed there for good or stayed for a season or two more, developed even more hype, strengthened his abilities. had a successful transfer to a good, solid club and continued to hone his abilities, etc).

ok. now i’m done. i’m so sorry for putting u through all that and skimming this back i sound SO dramatic lmao but man i’ve been through like six-ish years of following his career so fuck it oh well

also if u wanna know how much i still care, know that after the “draxler to leeds united” rumors first dropped, i wrestled with my impulse control every single day for a week trying to stop myself from dming him on insta saying “i love you but get ur ass to leeds or i will kidnap u and get u there myself your football career is killing me but i love you and just want the best for u have a nice day xx”

[pippytmi]

1, 4, 14?

The one hope Kara has for her roommate is that Lena Luthor will not be a smoker.

Alex had told her not to have high expectations; after all, this roommate arrangement was all organized through Winn, and Alex has always stated that she doesn’t trust this man’s self-preservation tactics. (“Once, during an earthquake drill, he started to climb up the building. Kara, what kind of a moron does that?”)

But Kara isn’t as cynical as her sister…or quite as mean. So she trusts that Winn’s people skills are better than his survival skills, and resolves not to write off Lena by virtue of association alone. It’s expensive enough to live in National City; when Winn had promised a roommate that “probably won’t be tempted to murder anyone anytime soon,” that had honestly been a good enough draw. (That had, of course, been sandwiched in a perfectly normal explanation about Lena being the best student in their shared pre-med classes—Winn maintains that anyone pursuing med school that rigorously will be too tired to consider recreational murder on the side.)

So Kara takes her tentatively-moderate-expectations—along with a box of donuts as a gift—and makes her way to apartment 9b. This is technically her first time ever being a real roommate; her only other experience was sharing a wall with Alex during their teenage years, and occasionally during their college years when they weren’t driving each other crazy. So maybe, because she’s never had to deal with boundaries or tact with her sister, she kind of…abandons all formalities and just uses her brand new key to open the front door.

(In hindsight, she really should have knocked first.)

“Golly!” Almost immediately, Kara is jumping right back out into the hallway, and the box of donuts is falling to a tragic death on the carpet. Oh no. Oh gosh. This is more embarrassing than trying to climb up the library during an earthquake drill—

She is still sitting on the floor, dumbstruck, with maple glaze smearing on her jeans when the door opens again. Lena Luthor pokes her head out, and she is simultaneously everything Kara expected and everything she didn’t. Per Winn’s description, Lena is indeed “classically beautiful,” and she has one of those faces: slightly closed off, hesitant to emote much. And when she has clothes on, she truly does have the fashion sense of an aspiring college professor, albeit with a touch more lipstick than Kara would expect.

“Okay, maybe I’m crazy,” Lena says slowly, “but did I hear you say that out loud?”

Kara immediately lifts her head up to squint at the direction of the strange voice. Lena has very pretty green eyes, but they are exceptionally confused at the moment. “What?” she says, echoing that same perplexment in her own voice.

“I could’ve sworn you said ‘golly,’ like some kind of peasant in a Christmas Carol or something,” Lena says, as if that’s a totally normal route of conversation to take after being caught naked. She leans halfway out the door, looking down at Kara with that attractive, baffled expression on her face, and all Kara has taken from this encounter so far is that her new roommate is hot.

“I...did say that,” Kara says after a beat. “But in my defense, I was completely surprised.” As one might be walking in on anybody naked, she thinks, but doesn’t actually say out loud.

“Right.” And then Lena frowns, slightly, in a manner that makes her lipsticked mouth twist down a corner. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming by today. I could have sworn your text mentioned your move in day being the third.”

Kara stretches her leg out and pretends the sole of her shoe isn’t caked in chocolate icing. “Today is the third,” she points out, and then hastily adds, “And um—I’m sorry. I should have knocked. I just didn’t know you were…”

“Showering,” Lena finishes, at the same time Kara says,

“...a nudist.”

Lena stares. And then she blinks, and then she stares some more. “What?” This time, that careful kind of confusion entirely drops, and now she’s looking at Kara like she has grown two heads. “How do you automatically jump to that?”

“Because you’re naked in the middle of the day?!” It’s pretty self-explanatory in her opinion, but Kara still gets up off the floor in order to better face her new roommate (and because it feels strangely like she is the one being judged right now). “Everyone knows that showering is a night or a morning time thing—walking around naked any other time is weird.”

“Wow,” Lena says, and she actually crosses her arms, further cementing the whole Kara-is-the-one-being-judged thing. “I can’t believe you think nudists are weird. That’s pretty ironic coming from Tiny Tim.”

“Hey, I never said I thought nudists were weird. Just, their hobbies are. Is being naked a hobby?” Kara considers delving into that discussion, but Lena is squinting at her (and Lena has a very piercing squint), so she drops the subject. “Anyway, it’s fine if you’re a nudist. I can just…start wearing sunglasses inside, or something.”

“Because my naked body is that blinding?” Lena scowls. “I don’t go out in the sun much, alright, so sue me for being pale—”

“That’s not what I meant!” Kara blurts, helpless, and she knows in that instant she’s gone entirely red in the face. “I, uh. I didn’t mean to sound judge-y. Really, I don’t care what you do in your spare time. Unless…can I ask if you smoke?”

And it is with that sheepish question that Lena’s affrontive attitude slowly begins to fade. “No,” she says, in a manner that is faintly amused. “But I’m glad that’s your priority. Seriously? Are you really just going to say you’d be fine if I spent every single waking moment in our apartment naked?”

Kara shrugs, still flushed up to the tips of her ears, and makes a valiant effort not to think about that when Lena almost-smiles she can see the indent of a possible dimple on her cheek. “Well, if that’s what you want,” Kara says. “I won’t…stare or anything, I promise.”

“That’s comforting, but I’m not a nudist.” Lena smiles, and yep—dimple—Kara is pretty much done for.

“Okay.”

“No, I mean it.” And then that smile drops as Lena suddenly reconsiders something. “Also, why do you assume it’s weird to be naked in the afternoon?”

Kara gestures vaguely with her hands to where her watch would be. “Because,” she says, “it’s weird to shower in the afternoon.”

“But what if I had been naked for another reason besides showering?” Lena apparently has the ability to raise her whole eyebrow, and it’s unfair how mesmerizing that is.

“Like…non-nudist reasons?” Kara asks, and Lena’s smile comes back in a mischievous form.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Uh,” Kara says ineloquently, and suddenly her mind is coming up with far too many scenarios that she really shouldn’t. “That would be fine. Too. I mean, I can wear earplugs with the sunglasses. Or I can just wait out here too, until you’re…done. The carpet here is pretty comfortable. Is it the same in the apartment? ‘Cause if so, I mean, the landlord really outdid himself. I’ve had carpets that aren’t half as fluffy in hotel rooms that charged way more than—”

Lena cracks the door wider, and then her gaze drifts over towards where Kara’s housewarming donut gift has landed. “Have I broken you?” she asks. “Or are you always this awkward around naked women?”

“I’m—what?” Kara sputters. “I’m completely normal around naked women. Sometimes I am also a naked women.”

“Right,” Lena says, “when you shower in the morning. Or night.”

Kara frowns. “Yes,” she says, “and that's completely normal. And not weird.”

“Noted.” Lena pulls open the door the rest of the way, then throws a dangerous sort of smirk over her shoulder. “You are Kara Danvers, right? I’d hate to have to re-do the apartment tour, so if you’ve just come to break in, I have to warn you: I’m saving for med school, so I pretty much own nothing of value.”

“Yeah, no, I’m...Kara,” Kara says, slightly bewildered, but she gathers her bag and her donut box trash and follows Lena inside; she’ll have to deal with the mess outside later. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I just forgot, with the whole…”

“It’s alright.” Lena scrunches her nose up apologetically, suddenly quite sheepish; if Kara had to pick a word, she’d call the tic adorable. “I didn’t exactly introduce myself either. Well, at least in the traditional sense.” She leads Kara into the kitchen, where there is a bottle of wine sitting on the table. “Can I make it up to you with a drink?”

And Kara doesn’t know how, exactly, she’s going to live like this—going to live with the knowledge that her new roommate apparently showers in the afternoon, and drinks a whole bottle of wine alone, and makes sexual references to people she’s known for all of twenty minutes. In other words:

“Yeah,” Kara says, nudging her glasses up her nose and delighting in the curve of Lena’s ensuing smile. “I could go for a drink.”

[restapesta]

them playing truth or dare

Tami had been the one to suggest it.

Ian found it weird that everybody just went along, minds still sane and all, eager to comply and play as if they weren't all full-blown adults with marriages and children; but a few beers in—sans Lip who was sporting a Diet Coke—maybe it shouldn't have been that big of a surprise; the kids were otherwise occupied, Liam was at a sleepover, the Gallagher house was free for them, and them only.

Maybe Ian shouldn't have balked at his husband who had enthusiastically said yes! to playing truth or dare, as if they were all a bunch of teenage girls, begging for their crushes to be revealed. Ian watched Mickey from the corner of his eye as he took a shot of vodka that had been haphazardly lying on the table for communal use—great, Ian would be getting drunk Mick tonight. They'd probably have to crash at the house. Even Ian had a beer to drink and he got hammered pretty fucking quick.

"Okay," Tami said loudly, shushing the small crowd of people who were sitting all around the living room, speaking in a frenzy, voices mushing in together so it wasn't even conversation, just fucking loud and incoherent. Her hair was clinging wildly to her sweaty forehead, strands flying around as if electrocuted, and Ian realized this was the first time after her second pregnancy she was able to really get drunk. He applauded her for it, hoping she was having a great fucking time. Over a year of abstinence and he'd go fucking crazy, probably.

Ian couldn't help but guiltily look at his brother from the corner of his eye as if he'd been able to read his thoughts. He only looked away once Mickey elbowed him, whispering lowly how Ian should probably slow down with the drinks. Wouldn't want you to faint in ten fucking minutes and need me to drag you back home, said the man that was drunk off his ass.

Even inebriated he worried.

"Hey!" Tami shouted until all eyes went to her and the voices drowned out, dissipating into murmurs, one of them being Ian telling his husband that, it was so cute you're worrying about me, earning himself a middle finger in the face. She continued, seemingly pleased with herself for shutting a bunch of Gallaghers up, a feat not easily accomplished (what she didn't know was that everybody was still talking, just discreetly enough for her to not hear).

"Since I was the one who came up with the idea," She said proudly as if playing truth or dare was the smartest, coolest idea ever. "I think I should have the honors of starting."

Lip snorted beside her, a small smile playing on his lips. "You're drunk but okay." His head was shaved off completely, prompted by lice Fred had brought back home from day-care.

They were both sitting on two cushions on the floor, leaving Debbie on the sofa near the door, and Carl on the couch next to Ian and Mickey. His Coke can was so close to his leg, just begging to be spilled. Ian fought the urge to tell him to just move it to the side, but well, everybody else was practically drunk, so it didn't seem too fair. He was forced to endure a bunch of assholes while sober; the least they could do was offer him more Cokes and leave him to ruin his stomach in peace while they all ruined their livers.

"Shush!" Tami swatted at him, a concentrated look on her face. "We're playing."

Lip raised his hands in surrender just as Ian turned to whisper into Mickey's ear, "This is gonna be a shit show."

It was Mickey's turn to shush Ian, swatting him gently on the arm, focus solely on Tami and her upcoming question. He looked genuinely interested in what Tami had to ask—maybe he was looking forward to some juicy questions. Ian thought she'd be the one to ask the blandest ones.

"We're playing," Mickey said once Ian leaned in again to tell him just that, and Ian just shook his head lightly, biting his lip to stop from smiling.

Tami moved her eyes from her boyfriend all the way to Debbie who was fucking around on her phone, typing away slowly. Ian knew she was paying attention, but he also knew that her new girlfriend and their "relationship problems" probably exceeded the game right now.

"You ready, Debbie?" She asked, eyes dropping in sympathy. "This first one's for you. You said you needed to get your mind off of things."

Debbie lifted her eyes from her phone, eyebrows going up, biting her lip. She shut the screen off and crossed her legs, nodding to herself. "Shoot."

"Okay, so—"

"—What’s the most embarrassing thing that turns you on?"

Lip groaned along with Ian at the question. It didn't matter if they all knew everything and anything about each other's sex lives—Debbie talked about hers in a way that not even Ian and Mickey do. So Ian just squirmed in his seat, grimacing and then shooting a glare towards his husband who snickered at his facial expression, and they all sat and waited for their sister to start talking about sex as if they were begging to hear about it. Ian was mentally preparing for having his ears bleed.

"Hmm," She said. "Probably thighs."

They collectively blew out grateful breaths that she didn't feel the need to explain her answer. Ian still squirmed, because, well—why the fuck did he need to have that in common with his little sister?

"Carl," Debbie said, fiddling with her phone again. She probably got a new message she would need to send a ten-paragraph rant over. "What's the worst thing about sex, in your opinion?"

Ian eyed Carl beside him as he shrugged. "Not getting any."

It was Mickey who reached over Ian to clap him on the shoulder, grin wide on his face. He really was drunk. "Good answer, kid."

Ian turned to look at him, face scrunching in confusion. They literally had sex before they came over. "What are you talking about? You haven't spent a day in the past, like, four years not get any."

Mickey shrugged, sipping on his beer. "There were times I wasn't gettin' any."

Ian rolled his eyes. He knew Mickey inside, out—that man always got some, whether it be with Ian or without. So he asked, "When?"

Mickey looked at him, eyes clearer than before, still drunk but sober enough to answer Ian's question earnestly.

He cleared his throat, then sucked on his teeth when he saw Ian really was looking for an answer.

When the fuck did Mickey ever do celibacy shit?

"Look, man," He said. "sex," He annunciated the word. "isn't really the same when it's not with the person you want it to be with. It's weird and mechanical, and knowing what sex you could be having instead of the robotic fucking makes you hate it." He looked over at Carl. "I get what you mean by not getting any because I hadn't seen Ian for two fucking years before prison, and most of that time I just thought I'd have miserable, loveless sex for the rest of my life, so," He shrugged, again, settling back into the cushions. "Not getting any isn't just not having sex. It's not having sex with the only person you want to have sex with because you'll never see them again for the rest of your life."

"So," Lip started, a teasing air around his words. "Pointless fucking equals not getting any, and lovemaking with Ian here equals you bitches are soulmates?"

Mickey snorted. "Yeah, fuck you."

He then, probably noting how Ian was staring at him, completely flabbergasted, met Ian's eyes.

There was a second of them just staring at one another, Mickey's eyes quickly going up and down Ian's form in the most loving/sexual way, before he averted them to Carl again. "Come on, man, who's next?"

Carl grinned wickedly. "Ian,"

"Yeah?" He finally forced himself to stop staring at Mickey who was now placing his hand soothingly over his thigh, silently saying, You know what I meant. I know you know what I meant.

Carl's question was quick.

"Do you believe you and Mickey are soulmates?"

Ian's right eyebrow went up—he'd been practicing after a heated discussion with Mickey at three am on a Wednesday about who had better eyebrows. He was a sore loser.

"What kind of question is that?"

"Well," Carl said. "You've just broken up more number of times than I've had girlfriends—"

"We've always come back to each other," He interrupted, tone defensive; slightly frustrated. Mickey's hand squeezed, warm through the fabric of Ian's sweats.

"Yeah, but—"

"There's no question about it, Carl. If there's anybody in this world that's literally meant for me, it's Mickey. I've loved him since the very first day I met him, and I'll love him until the day I die." He meant it with every bone in his body and he just wished somebody would put it in question again, after all they had been through. Wasn't that proof fucking enough that if there's anybody in this world Ian loves more than Mickey, it's Mickey loving Ian back?

"That answer' your question?" He asked, chin jutting out.

His hands went up in surrender as he lowly whistled. "Got it, chief."

"Yeah, Ian," Tami said, eyes rolling animatedly. "We get it—you love each other most in the world, blah, blah, barf."

Mickey choked out a laugh. "Come on, Red," He said, looking again towards Ian, gaze soft. "Next question."

So they played on.

[laceymorganwrites]

Naruto girls smut

Word count: 2,041

Warnings: a lot of lesbian sex

Pairing: Fem!reader x Ino x Tsunade x Hinata

A/N: I´m sorry that I don´t have a more creative title for this but legit this is all that is

Days and nights were busy lately, but what else did you expect when such a horrendous war broke out? In your opinion it could have been prevented but what did you know anyway?

Yeah, you were quite bitter about it since your home has completely been destroyed and nobody did anything about it. It wasn´t like you were selfish either, there were so many people in the same situation as you and you were sick of it.

On top of that you couldn´t even earn money since there were no missions because everyone was too busy taking care of the wreckage.

It fucking sucked. And you were getting so tired of it.

You had no interest in playing nice or being polite, neither did you want to cozy up to anyone. Fuck that.

You were mighty pissed and so was everyone else. It was your right.

In the time of resurrection as you called it you just tried not to explode from anger, you just directed it all at Tsunade and her following.

Or so you tried. It was hard being angry at someone who was just as angry at you about everything, even more since she was in the position to do something about it but just couldn´t.

Those were tough times.

So tough that you found employment as one of her little helpers, underlings, secretary, whatever you wanted to call it, alongside Shizune.

You didn´t know how to feel about that to be honest. You were glad that you had an income again but still, it felt weird working with the person responsible for all of this.

However in your work you got to know her, better than anyone else. And that was the part that was truly surprising. She wasn´t a monster that people painted her as, she was just a tired woman with too much burdens to bear.

Tsunade was kind to you and always thanked you when you stayed overtime with her which you appreciated. And over time you grew closer to each other, you didn´t have to watch out for what you said anymore and neither did she. It felt so relieving to be able to speak freely and more importantly: hear her speak freely.

It made her more human than ruler.

“You know what, when was the last time you had a good fuck? You really look like you need one, you´re so on edge, that´s not good” you told her, today was an especially stressful day for her and it showed.

“And who the hell would voluntarily fuck someone like me? I think you´re forgetting how old I am…” she sighed, she appreciated your concern but over the years her experiences with sex got worse and worse.

“Oh I would. Definitely. No questions asked” you said sternly, though your eyes told the truth.

Tsunade blushed, it has been a while since someone was this direct with her without being disrespectful.

“Do you mean that?” she quietly asked, averting her eyes a bit, you´ve never seen her so shy, it was cute.

“I´m as gay as can be, of course I mean it. If I can make a beautiful woman like you cum my day is already great” you chuckled, coming closer to her and resting your hand on her cheek, making her look at you.

“Just say the word, sweetheart and I´ll make you forget about all those troubles” you husked, not even trying to hide the lust in your voice. You doubted she ever experienced pure lust before, lust without being objectified. You´d make her feel wanted, desired, treat her like the queen she was.

Tsunade nodded, looking up at you with her big brown eyes, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks, she was way too cute. “Please….” she breathed, a pleading look in her eyes. And that. That was all you needed.

Before she knew it you were on your knees, ready to worship her. You could tell how embarrassed she was but that only made it more enticing to you. Did she ever have sex with a woman before? You didn´t know. But if she did you´d make her forget all about her, and especially about the men. You´d show her a pleasure so unknown to her, she´d have a revelation.

Slowly you took her undergarments off and gently spread her legs to have the most beautiful sight in front of you.

You looked up at her with a smirk once your lips met her soft ones, your tongue exploring every inch and by the sounds of it she seemed to enjoy it.

So it really has been that long, huh? Your grip on her supple thighs grew stronger as she squeezed them around your head just right, not even holding back her moans. Tsunade gripped the table she was sitting on tightly and threw her head back when you started teasing and sucking on her clit, her tits bouncing beautifully.

Soon you inserted a finger inside her pussy, adding to the stimulation and the overwhelming things she was feeling right now. As if eating her out was enough, it certainly was for you but promised her to give her the best cunnulingus that there ever was.

You weren´t a woman that went back on her word.

Tsunade´s moans were heavenly as she struggled to find her thoughts, just hazily looking down on you, grabbing your head and the table, not knowing what to do with herself. It was all too much.

It was oh so good but she wasn´t used to this, she never came so hard in her life. It was all thanks to you.

And that was how it all started, your little arrangements. She was such a pillow princess which was so cute to you. But the best thing was: she wasn´t the only one who was in need of your help.

Tsunade and you were playing around with each other on a regular basis now. One day Ino caught you two and joined the fun, being so stressed from her recent mission. You two took care of her together from then on, dominating her but also teaching her how to dom. It was fun switching roles sometimes, Ino and you would take care of Tsunade sometimes too, depending on her stress level.

This particular weekend would look slightly different though. Ino wanted to invite a friend who wanted to try something new.

Of course you three were more than willing to help.

Hinata was a shy woman but it´s gotten better over the years, she was so beautiful. The way she tugged her hair behind her ear as she coyly smiled at you.

The four of you were meeting at your place, you had already prepared everything. Tsunade and you had some fun before the other two women arrived, leading to Tsunade being tied up in bed and you naked with a strapon.

“Go on, Hina, don´t be shy. You can tell her what you want” Ino told her, gently caressing her hips.

Both women entered your house and Ino already made her way to the bedroom, a route she knew blindly at this point. She smirked and joined Tsunade in bed, immediately undressing and kissing her.

“I...um..I´ve never been….o-….overstimulated...” Hinata´s face was red as she finally spoke those words, this wish she always had yet never got fulfilled. She has never had an orgasm before, she just thought she did, so what she really meant was getting an orgasm.

“No? Don´t worry, princess, we´ll take good care of you, yeah?” you smiled gently, stroking her cheek. “You´re so pretty, do you even know that?” you husked, leading her to the bedroom where Ino and Tsunade were making out.

Hinata sat down on the edge of the bed and felt her chest flutter, the warmth between her legs she squeezed together, whimpering slightly at the sight in front of her.

“You´re… pretty…” she quietly said, not being able to avert her eyes. “Oh? You like watching them? Keep going, you two, give our little princess a good show~” you grinned, joining in and sitting behind Hinata. “Touch yourself for me, won´t you?” you breathed into her ear, having her nod shyly and discard of her clothing. Slowly her hands wandered down her legs, circling her clit as she whined slightly at the contact, it´s been so long since anybody touched her like this, she couldn´t get off on her own so she never masturbated.

Her breathing picked up as she kept watching Ino fingering Tsunade who moaned loudly and grinned at the blue haired woman. Hinata felt her cheeks heat up at that, it was so… playful. Yet intimate. She really appreciated you focusing on her, it made her feel at ease and she could feel herself relax into your presence. “That´s my good girl, does it feel good?” you asked, resting your head on her shoulder and spreading her legs so you could see better, your one hand rested on her hips and the other one was playing with a nipple of hers, making her moan quietly. She nodded, just those small touches had her feel dizzy already, it felt amazing.

“You can touch the others too, you know?” you chuckled and she shyly crawled over to Ino and Tsunade, looking up from all fours, looking so fucking irresistible. Ino leaned down to her to kiss her, though it really was more tongue than anything, more than enough to make her moan into the kiss.

Your hands wandered to her ass, massaging it and grabbing her soft flesh, enjoying every single one of her reactions like when she leaned into your touch.

“You ready to lose your mind, baby?” you asked and Hinata nodded, staring down at Tsunade´s tits, gaining the courage to bury her head between them, kissing them all over and sucking on her nipples.

You grinned and slowly let your fingers wander between her thighs, rubbing against her folds. Ino was busy eating Tsunade out at this point, the room being filled with moans and soft sighs, whimpers and the sound of sex.

Hinata drooled onto Tsunade´s tits as you inserted your fingers, the poor girl was so wet you could put in two at once, immediately starting to move them too, not to keep her waiting too long.

You curled your fingers inside of her, making her make such lewd sounds, reaching points she never knew she had, Hinata threw her head back moaning loudly and you took the chance to slightly pull her hair and pull her in your lap, holding your arm around her tummy.

Ino stopped eating Tsunade out after she came and then laid back, her arm reaching down to finger the woman while she herself spread her legs for Hinata.

She was so dizzy and already overwhelmed, just the smell of Ino´s pussy drove her wild. She tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned forward, grabbing onto Ino´s thighs as if they were her lifeline and digging her face right in between. First she kissed her lips gently before spreading them with her tongue, tasting her slick and moaning loudly against her folds as you pulled out your fingers of her and replaced them with your strap, going deeper than before and stretching her just right.

You held onto her hips, slamming into her, not even being gentle anymore, her moans turned you on too much, the way her ass would shake and she´d arch her back for you so you could reach even deeper.

Hinata was such an obedient princess, sucking on Ino´s clit while looking up at her with this cute expression, a blush tainting her cheeks, not as red as her ass though.

All three women were moaning loudly, Tsunade getting up slowly to sit on Hinata´s thigh, proceeding to ride it, her tits rubbing against Hinata´s. Your thrusts got more intense, more punctuated as Tsunade´s thigh rubbed right against Hinata´s clit, making her legs shake and her moan loudly as the toy inside of her hit her g-spot at the same time, making her cum for the very first time.

She held onto Tsunade, resting her head on her shoulder as she loudly moaned and rode out her orgasm.

[cant-think-of-anything-creative]

OoooOOooooOooo guess what!!! This scene well and truly won't leave me alone so I have spent another night writing up my Thoughts and Ideas into something somewhat comprehensible!!!! I blame @jackdaw-kraai @darthstitch @bookwyrmie completely, congratulations y'all!!!!! You Did This!!!!!! 🤣🤣

In the middle of a crowded ballroom, Vader and the child currently held in his arms stared at each other. Luke had handed her to him before he fully understood that what he was receiving was in fact both alive and a small child, and not something inanimate and, say, less fragile. While he tried to recall what to do with an infant, she did something that, in hindsight, he should have expected.

She reached up and hooked her tiny fingers into the slots of his respirator.

"I would advise against that, child," he said.

"Aba," she babbled at him, her other hand joining the first.

"This is not a plaything," he gently added. A pop-up on his HUD alerted him to a blockage and the estimated time he could stay conscious with the decreased rate of oxygen. "It is a vital piece of medical equipment. I must ask you to treat it as such."

He carefully guided her hands away and continued to fend off her attempts to touch either his mask or the unit on his chest. Eventually she settled for his hand, gripping his thumb and pinky finger and manipulating them as much as she could.

"Thank you for your compromise," Vader said.

The child strung together a set of nonsensical syllables that nonetheless had Vader nodding.

He stood there for a while, half-listening to Luke's conversation and letting the child play with his hand until she got bored. His attention was recaptured when she began making small distressed sounds, ones that dredged up a spark of foreboding within him.

"What is it?" he asked her. "Are you hungry, perhaps?"

He looked at the selection of food -- none of it designed for a child. Moreover, he had no idea what kind of preferences or allergies this one may or may not have.

She whined more insistently and stuck her fingers into her mouth.

Vader turned to Luke, still chatting animatedly with his fellows. He placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

"I will return," he said.

"Sure," Luke agreed, patting Vader's hand, and launched right back into his conversation. Vader looked to the guards stationed at the perimeter of the ballroom and only then did he release Luke's shoulder.

He walked a little ways over to the buffet tables and took a knife and fork from the offered cutlery.

"Look, child," he murmured, tilting the utensils this way and that so the glinting of the light caught her attention. Her eyes latched onto the shiny metal, reaching for them with the hand not currently occupied. Her distressed coos tapered off slightly, but began to rise again when Vader wouldn't let her grab them.

"Hm, not so interesting for you, I think," he mused. "But you may hurt yourself if I allow you to hold them."

She looked at him crossly, wisps of her brows furrowed in caricature of what she'd observed of others. She took her hand out of her mouth to babble insistently and slap the arm holding her, smearing saliva across the dark leather.

"Very well," Vader sighed. "Perhaps there is a mutually agreeable solution."

A fine ribbon of the Force wound around them, pulled deftly from the fabric of reality by an old weaver's hand -- the utensils rose on invisible strings, twirling gently around each other like a mobile. It had a similar effect, as well; the child returned her attention to them, now silent but for the small grunts she made as, again, she tried to reach out.

"I agree," he nodded. "A tactile distraction would be best. But these have far too many points for you to prick yourself on, child."

He twitched his fingers and the utensils collided midair, bending around and around each other until there was a packed ball of metal. One could hardly tell where fork ended and knife began. The metal squealed quietly as it was bent into shape, and the more pressure Vader Forced upon it the more it began to glow a red heat. The child watched as the color changed to a burning orange and eventually a bright, molten white.

Vader held the condensed ball of silver at arm's length, thankful now for the wide berth people tended to give him at these functions.

"I believe you would quickly become dissatisfied a simple ball. Would you not agree?" Vader asked. The child, now that it was well and truly out of her grasp, was already looking around with a lazy, hooded eye. "Hm. Something more complex, then."

He turned back to the metal and began twisting. Some sections pulled apart, some connected together, until the latticework of a great dodecahedron rested above his hand, spinning on all axes so he could ensure the angles were correct from every direction. A shape that would occupy her for some time, hopefully. He carefully rounded each vertex and smoothed every edge, and double-checked it with precision.

Then, once he was satisfied, he began to wick away the heat held within the metal. Slowly, the silver set and hardened. He had to be careful, so the lattice did not cool in sections and split apart.

The child began whining again. Vader idly tucked her more securely against his chest, mindful of his life support -- but something inside him he could not name seemed to both stir and settle once she laid her head on his shoulder.

"Almost finished," he consoled her. "I have to make sure it is not too hot for you."

Eventually, Vader released his grasp of the Force and the dodecahedron fell into his hand, cooled completely to ambient temperature. He turned it over once more, a last check for burs or points that he might have missed.

"Here you are, child. Will this hold your attention?"

She took it from him and immediately placed a rung into her mouth. If she minded the taste, she did not show it.

"I am glad to see it," Vader nodded. "This is the framework of a great dodecahedron, which is a regular polyhedron. Many are taught that there are only five regular polyhedra, but there are actually forty-eight in three-dimensional Euclidean space."

She looked up at him with attentive eyes and removed the shape to talk to him, waving the latticework about.

"Exactly. Perfectly foolish to exclude all but the platonic solids."

She resumed her chewing. Vader began explaining the finer points of three-dimensional geometry, and her attentiveness as a pupil only wavered once he started on hexagonal tiling. (Which was more than fair, in Vader's opinion -- the tilings were the least interesting of the lot.) He continued as her eyes drooped and she settled in his arms, turning her new toy in her hands as she listened.

Suddenly, the great dodecahedron fell to the floor, clinking softly to a stop a few paces away. Vader looked down and stilled in surprise; the child was laid fully on his chest and shoulder, eyes closed and breathing deeply in relaxed and restful slumber. She seemed unconcerned by the hard metal of his mantle, but he dared not shift and risk waking her.

He looked for the dodecahedron and found instead Luke, already rising with it in his grip and making his way over.

"This is cool," the boy said, twirling it in his hands. "Where'd you get it?"

"I crafted it from cutlery," Vader replied, wincing at the volume of his vocoder.

"Woah, neat!" Luke took a closer look at it. "I can't see any seam lines."

"No," Vader confirmed. By the grin Luke flashes at him, his tone had a prideful air to it. The vocoder interpreted his chuckle as a small burst of static.

Luke's smile turned sweet, looking to the child in his arms.

"How is she?" he asked, still fiddling with the toy. "Sorry I handed her off so abruptly. I got caught up."

"It was no trouble, little one," Vader dismissed his apology. "...She fell asleep."

"Ohhh," Luke cooed, hand to his cheek. "That's so precious. I wish I brought my datapad."

"And I am rather glad you did not," Vader lightly countered.

Luke rolled his eyes. "Aw, come on. If I took a picture I wouldn't share it with anybody."

Vader was about to reply when--

POP!

At the other end of the table, a burst of applause followed as someone uncorked a bottle of carbonated wine. The child flinched awake in Vader's arms, blinked twice at the loud and bright surroundings, and heaved in a breath.

"Oh no," said Luke, right before she began to wail.

Vader hesitantly pat her back -- his mantle was too hard to bounce her on unless he wanted to give her a concussion. He looked to Luke, whose arms were already extended.

"Can I...?" Luke asked, and Vader readily handed her over. Luke started swaying in place, rubbing her back in gentle circles. "You were doing great, it's just--"

"My armor is not designed for comfort," Vader agreed. "I believe you are much better equipped for her, little one."

Luke's eyes stayed on him for a beat longer than he expected.

"Yeah, I guess not," he eventually agreed. He turned to the child still crying on his shoulder. "But wow, you've got a set of pipes on you, huh? Hey, what's this? You remember this? Did Lord Vader make it for you?"

Luke managed to catch the child's attention once more, her cries diminishing to hiccuping sobs once she had hold of the latticework again. After a couple of minutes it was back in her mouth, and Vader went to retrieve a napkin from the table so Luke could wipe her face.

While at the table, he let his irritation bleed into the space around him and the Dark responded, prickling eagerly up his neck. The gathered crowd immediately quieted and scampered off to another, less disruptive location.

"She really likes it," Luke said when he returned.

"Indeed. She is an exemplary student."

"Is that what you were talking about over here?" he asked, smiling. "Weird math stuff?"

Vader crossed his arms. "It is a fairly simple geometrical concept. She grasped upon the context immediately."

"Aw," Luke crooned. "That's the cutest thing I've ever heard. You're gonna be a scientist one day, huh, sweetling?"

He poked lightly at her belly, just enough to make her laugh -- and drop the dodecahedron. Vader buoyed it with a quick reaction of the Force, guiding it once more into her hands.

She stared at it with wide eyes, then brought it overhead and threw it.

"Oh yeah," Luke said as Vader retrieved it once again. "A scientist for sure."

[purple-vixen]

Love is a Locked Door - Dick Grayson/Reader

Summary: Damian asks you and Dick to check if there are any monsters in his closet. Somehow the two of you end up locked in there.

_

You have been friends with Dick for quite some time now. He was definitely one of your favorite people in the world. Dick was funny, kind, smart and selfless, and also strong and very, very handsome. Though the latter ones you never dared to say out loud.

You were in love with Dick Grayson, and you kept this secret under lock and key. Making a move never really crossed your mind. You and he were friends for so long that you were convinced he would never see you in the same light you saw him, besides, you were afraid of ruining your friendship. No one understood you like him, there was no way you were going to risk it.

Being his friend meant you were a regular Wayne Manor visitor, consequently being able to witness Dick's crazy siblings. They all adored you, though Damian was the one who became most fond of you. In the beginning he tried to hide it, but eventually stopped doing so. It was very surprising for the batfamily to see Damian getting attached to someone so quickly.

Damian would show you his action figure collection, play violin for you, ask your opinion on his paintings and he introduced you to every single one of his pets. Not to mention the times Damian would show up in your apartment's balcony seeking advice or just someone to talk to and you two would chat and drink tea all night. You always scolded him for not using the door like any other normal person, but after seeing it was not going to work you decided to let it slide.

You saw Damian like the little brother you never had. He was a cute little cinnamon roll. A deadly cinnamon roll that knew how to kill a person with just two fingers, but a cinnamon roll nonetheless. Which is why you were not able to say "No" to Damian when he asked for you and Dick to check if there were monsters inside his bedroom’s closet.

You and your best friend were now inside there, each one holding a flashlight in your hand, pointing the beams to every shelf, hanger, pile of clothes and corners possible. You had to admit, you had the impression something was a bit off, considering that Damian and Jason were also in the room and they still haven't tried to kill each other yet.

Although the closet was spacious, you and Dick accidentally bumped into each other. He grabbed your shoulders to stop you from falling and you could feel your heart beating so fast it felt like it would jump off your chest at any second.

— Be careful. — He whispered softly. You were glad it was too dark for him to see you blushing as he wrapped his strong arms around you.

— Uhm… Found any monsters yet? — Damian anxiously paced back and forth as he watched his oldest brother and you turning his wardrobe upside down.

— Not yet. —

— And if we do, we're gonna kick its ass. — Dick added.

— Hey, (Y/n). —

— Yes, Damian? —

— Thank you for helping me. —

— Anytime, Dami. I'll always be there. — You walked up to Damian just to ruffle his hair, the youngest Wayne shyly grinned in response.

Dick let out a soft chuckle. Little did you know, to Dick Grayson, you weren't just his friend anymore, you became the one he fell in love with. Seeing you and Damian interacting always made his heart melt like crazy. He thought it was so adorable, you were so adorable. It made him want to kiss you even more than he already longed for.

— What is it? — You raised your eyebrows in confusion at your friend.

— Nothing, nothing. I just... remembered a joke. — Dick scratched the back of his neck, cheeks tinting a light tone of pink as the image of being close to your lips secretly ran through his imagination. — D-Don't stand too far from the door, Damian, you have to watch it for us.  — He changed the topic.

— I already am watching. Just keep looking, Grayson. — Damian answered.

— Aren't you too old for the "There are monsters in my closet phase? — Jason was plopped head over heels on the bed, playing Subway Surfers on Dick's phone since his had run out of battery a long time ago. His green eyes glued to the screen, tongue sticking out as he tried to beat his brother's record.

— Jason, take it easy, he's just a kid. — Dick sighed. Being the older one, it always fell to him to cease his siblings' bickering.

— Aren't you too old to be alive? — Damian snapped back to Jason.

— Damian! — Dick rebuked.

— Oh, I spy with my little eye a very ugly monster, he's 4 foot 8 and wearing a turtleneck. — Jason teased.

— And I can see a deadweight spreading germs on my bed.  —

 — Enough, you two! — Dick ordered with authority. — Jason, give me my phone. Since you and Damian will keep on arguing I want it back. —

On his way to his older brother, Jason winked at Damian, who nodded back. As soon as he handed the phone to Dick, Jason smirked at him and then quietly sat back on the bed like nothing happened, hands on his lap with a rather comical angelic face.

— Sorry about that, (Y/n). — Dick changed to a soft tone as he stared at you with puppy eyes.

— It was taking too long, I guess that's a Guinness record. — You joked, trying to lighten up the mood. — Don't worry, I signed up for this when I became your friend. —

— Yeah… Friend. — He mumbled to himself.

You two went back to searching Damian's closet. A couple minutes had passed when the young boy cleared his throat, trying to get yours and his eldest brother's attention.

— Father is requesting me for an emergency. I must go. — He announced.

— Well, I better get going too. Old man's request is an order. And who am I to say no to beating up criminals? — Jason instantly jumped out of the bed and put on his leather jacket.

Words weren't exchanged, yet with just one look you knew what Dick had to say when he turned to you: "I have to leave."

The moment Dick got up and started to walk away, Damian rushed out of his bedroom, leaving the closet door unattended.

— Damian, wait! The...— Before you were able to finish your sentence, a loud slamming sound reverberated. —...door. —

You pointed your flashlight to the doorknob and tried to open it.

— It's broken. Last time Alfred went here to put away Damian's clothes he ended up locked till someone opened on the outside. — Dick commented.

— I know, but it was worth a try. — You shrugged your shoulders. — Talking about Alfred, We could try calling him. I bet he's the only person in the Manor right now. You know, beside us. —

— Great idea! — He took his phone out of his pocket. Dick unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Alfred's name, he barely had time to hit the "dial" button before his phone ran out of battery and turned off. — Jason. — Dick growled, recalling the fact Jason borrowed his phone to play games.

— No prob. I can get my phone, it's in my purse… My god, I'm so stupid. I left my purse! — Dick burst laughing and you elbowed him, only causing him to erupt an even louder chuckle. 

— Well, that's better. — He shrugged his shoulders.

— How can it be better? We're locked in a closet! —

— There was that one time I got stuck inside a garbage truck with the Riddler. —

This time you were the one laughing. That's one of the many reasons you loved him, he always knew how to make you smile no matter what the situation was.

— I bet you loved hearing his riddles all night. —

— Believe it or not, that wasn't even the worse part. I had to soak my suit for an entire week. —

— But seriously, how are we gonna get out? — You asked as soon as the laughter died down.

— To be honest, I have no idea. —

You both tried yelling at the door to see if anybody would show up. Then Dick tried doing the credit card trick he often used to open doors, it didn't work. 

You started avidly searching for something you could pry the door open with. Eventually you encountered Damian's arsenal. The fact Damian kept a stash of deadly weapons inside his closet didn't surprise any of you.

Dick tried picking the lock with a sai and you tried slashing the doorknob with a sword. Dick would have found quite hot the way you wielded the katana and made a perfect dash attack, would have, that was if you didn't almost slice him with the sword on accident. As the last shot, Dick tried to force the doors open by throwing himself at them, the doors were blocked by something neither of you could tell and Dick lightly hurt his shoulder.

— Don't worry. I've been through worse. — Dick reassured.

— Dick, that does NOT leave me less worried about you. You could have a paper cut or a gunshot wound and I'd worry the same. —

— So you're worried about me, huh? — You could see his remarkable smirk dimly lit by the flashlight.

— I'm always worried about you, you idiot! — Dick's smirk grew wider at your reply. — Gosh, sometimes I wish I could wipe that smirk off your face. — You grumbled as you crossed your arms.

— Then why don't you try it? — Dick snapped in a flirty tone.

You inclined yourself towards him and your lips touched his. It was just a peck, it lasted for a couple seconds but for the two of you it felt like the time froze.

— Did that work? — You lifted an eyebrow. But then rolled your eyes when you realized that his wide smirk had become a full grin.

— I think you should try it again. — Dick pulled you closer to him.

Once again your lips met. This time the kiss was hungrier, needier. If only you knew that kissing him would feel that great, you wouldn't have held back for so long. Now that you were there, so close to him, you were free. And so was he.

Dick always pictured how it would feel like to slide his tongue in your mouth as you tugged his hair. And it was so, damn, good. Better than he ever wondered it could be. Dick felt in cloud nine, sensing goosebumps as your fingertips roamed around his abs. He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to him, your chest was pulled flush against his, yet it still wasn't close enough.

You both pulled away breathless. The room was dimly lit, but as Dick tried to regain his breath, you could see his sapphire blue eyes with the pupils blown out.

— I guess that worked. — You joked.

— I should try being cocky more often. — He replied with that same flirty tone. — So… How long did you…? —

— For a while. —

— Yeah, me too. What took you so long? —

— Well... I was afraid things would get awkward between us. I wasn't sure if you liked me back. —

— Are you kidding me? I've been dropping hints for months! — He chuckled. — After all of this is over do you want to go on a date with me? —

— I'd love to. — You grinned.

You two were about to continue your makeout session when suddenly the creek of the door was heard, the bright light from the bedroom almost blinding your eyes since you got used to the dark from being locked in there. Both you and Dick jumped out of each other, in an attempt to not get caught.

— Okay kids, seven minutes in heaven is over! — Jason mocked after opening the door to your way out. Damian right behind him.

— Seven minutes? We've been locked here for two hours! — Dick protested.

— You say it like you weren't enjoying it. C'mon, just thank us. — He smirked.

— What do you mean by "thank" the two of you? Wait… You planned this? — You questioned.

— It was actually Damian's evil master plan, but I helped him execute it. Ya know, making Dick's phone run out of battery, hiding your purse, pushing the desk in front of the door so that you couldn't bust the door down. That kind of stuff. — Jason shrugged his shoulders.

— And apparently it all went well. — Damian nodded. — TT. Maybe too well. —

— Dami! — You rebuked. — Why did you do that? —

— I figured that if you started dating Grayson, you would have an excuse to visit us more often. — He crossed his arms as his cheeks blushed.

— You're aware that if that happens she will come here to visit just Dick, right? — Jason asked.

— Lay a finger on her and you're a dead man, Grayson! — Damian snarled and grabbed your hand, dragging you along with him as he started running. You couldn't help but chuckle at the fact the 11-year-old was so protective of you.

— Hey! I want my date back! — Dick whined and started running after you.

You rolled your eyes at the two boys as you ran, you knew tonight would be a long night since you first arrived at the Manor.

[gureishi]

I love reading your opinions on Saeyoung! I know I’ve thought about this in regards to Zen so I’m curious what your headcanons are in regards to Saeyoung’s future relationships post game with each member of the RFA and Vanderwood??

Ohhhh, thank you for this wonderful question, dear Lea! The characters’ relationships with one another vary so much depending on the route and the timeline. Even though it makes me sad (because of the glaring absence of one beloved character), I’ll write these for the SE timeline.

Headcanon: Saeyoung’s relationships with RFA+Vanderwood post-game

Yoosung

Saeyoung and Yoosung’s relationship is endlessly fascinating to me. They’re close—they’d both tell you that, if you asked—but their friendship in the game is actually very surface-level. Saeyoung keeps Yoosung at arm’s-length, and Yoosung honestly has too much going on in his own head to devote much energy to trying to break down those walls.

The fight they have toward the end of Saeyoung’s route is a huge turning point for both of them. Yoosung is genuinely hurt to learn that his friend had never planned on sticking around, and Saeyoung is surprised to find that anybody actually cares enough to be mad about it. He never really thought too hard about what would happen if (when) he inevitably had to disappear from his friends’ lives—but when he did think about it, he honestly didn’t think he’d be missed.

It is a huge deal that Yoosung gets mad, because it shows Saeyoung that his existence has had an impact on people. It’s after this conversation with Yoosung that Saeyoung tells you he’s willing to try and open up to you, too; Yoosung is the one who shows him that there is value in letting another person become close to you.

Later, I am absolutely certain that they are able to develop a real friendship: one that’s grounded in trust and mutual understanding. When you’re living in the bunker with Saeyoung and Saeran, if there is one member of the RFA who’s showing up unannounced with a backpack full of sweets and a big grin on his face—it’s Yoosung.

Jaehee

Jaehee needs to feel secure in her understanding of the things and people around her. She likes to be able to think to herself, “oh, here is why this person behaves this way.” And it’s for this reason that Saeyoung drives her absolutely crazy.

She respects him, of course—but begrudgingly, because he is an anomaly, a little piece of chaos in her perfectly-ordered world.

It is your love for him that allows her to wrap her mind around his peculiar existence—because Jaehee cares deeply for you (almost immediately), and she recognizes the look you get in your eyes when you talk about him. She may not understand him (or even want to)—but she understands about love.

Jaehee and Saeyoung are never going to be best friends. But in this timeline, Jaehee is one of your dearest friends—and for you, they will both try. Jaehee will make honey butter cookies for his birthday, and she’ll smile softly when she sees the look of utter delight on his face. He’ll ask her to bring him her laptop, and she’ll complain as he sweeps it from her hands—but when he returns it to her working ten times better than it ever did before, she’ll clasp his hands in hers, her eyes shining.

If she ever gets around to opening her cafe in this timeline—and I’d like to believe that she does—you and Saeyoung will go in often. He’ll annoy her by doodling cat faces on all the napkins—but he’ll always tip her 200% of the bill.

Zen

In this timeline, Zen immediately takes you in as a sort of younger sibling (yes, even if you’re older than him), and he's ready to go to battle for you, if he needs to. Like Jaehee, he feels almost instantly that you are someone special. He doesn’t quite understand why—but he knows that he wants to keep you safe.

A consequence of this protectiveness, of course, is that he becomes very suspicious of Saeyoung. He’s never trusted him (and for good reason: Saeyoung may be trustworthy, but 707 is anything but). Zen is worried that you won’t be safe with Saeyoung—and he’s not entirely wrong.

But: when Saeyoung reveals his real name, Zen is one of the first to use it—and he uses it repeatedly. Every time I play the Secret Ends, and the Vday DLC, I am hyper-aware that Zen is making a massive effort to call Saeyoung by the right name. And this speaks volumes to me.

If you let Zen in—even just a little—he will accept all of you (and he’ll do it with his whole heart). Zen understands what it means to feel like you don’t belong anywhere—to hide your true self behind a mask of pretense and positivity—to become someone else so you don’t have to look too closely at who you really are.

No matter which timeline we’re in, Zen’s success is going to skyrocket—so he’s not going to be around all the time. But when he is, it’s a party: these are the times that the whole RFA gets together again (and if you listen closely, you’ll hear the way he speaks to Saeyoung now—like he actually admires him. The feeling is mutual).

Jumin

This timeline is one of the roughest for Jumin, without a doubt.

The game doesn’t show us how deeply he is grieving—but he is. He has lost the two people who have ever made him feel comfortable in his own skin, and he no longer has anyone he can turn to. I’m not gonna sugar-coat it and say that everybody’s happy in this ending: they’re not, and even months (years) later, Jumin is suffering.

But here’s the thing: Jumin’s not the only one who loved Jihyun.

It takes Saeyoung time to sort through the complicated feelings he has for Jihyun, after everything that’s happened. He doesn’t forgive him right away—and even as he mourns him, he’s angry, too. But time passes.

I imagine that there comes a day—weeks or months or even years later—that Saeyoung and Jumin find themselves talking to each other about the person they both loved. Perhaps they are in Jihyun’s apartment, sorting through his things—or they find themselves alone together at a group event and—at last—one of them acknowledges the grief that permeates the negative space between them.

Jihyun leaves a gaping hole in both of their lives that nothing can fill. But I’d like to think that an understanding develops between them: they may never completely get one another, and it’s okay that they don’t. There is a deep and unwavering affection there—the kind of mysterious and unbreakable bond you only feel for someone who has become your family.

Vanderwood

In my personal post-SE timeline, Vanderwood sticks around for a while to help the twins deal with their father. I’ve written about it a bit (in my Human Again series): if they are able to find the records Jihyun was keeping about Saejoong, it would not be too difficult for them to take him down in this timeline. He has no leverage, here. With the brothers working together, they can expose him—and then, of course, they can really be free.

But Vanderwood doesn’t stick around forever—they wouldn’t want to. They have a whole life outside of taking care of Saeyoung; they have a hometown, and possibly even people there who are waiting for them.

But at least once a year—and never with any notice—Vanderwood shows up at your home. "Just wanted to see with my own eyes that the kid actually managed to keep himself alive,” they’ll say—and they’ll grunt and roll their eyes and maybe blush a little when you throw your arms around them and thank them for being the reason he stayed alive as long as he did.

Vanderwood really respects you, because when you tell Saeyoung to be quiet or sit down or clean up after himself, he does it. They respect you, too, for your bravery and your strength and your resilience.

Neither one of them will ever admit it, but for a long time, Saeyoung and Vanderwood really did only have each other.

You’ll invite them to your wedding, of course. They won’t RSVP—but they’ll be there.

Saeran

I could write a literal novel about their relationship in this timeline and how it develops (and ummm maybe eventually I will), but I’ll try and keep this brief.

SE Saeran is so very tired. It takes time—so much time, exponentially more than the game shows us—for him to even begin to feel comfortable living in his brother’s home. He is physically sick, for a long time, as a result of the drugs he was being fed and the torture he was enduring. There isn’t enough space for forgiveness: there is barely enough space for living at all.

There’s no one moment when the two of them start to feel like brothers again: love and hate are so much more complicated than that. And Saeran has had no agency in his life; every choice has been made for him—his newfound “freedom” doesn’t feel like freedom at all. He feels he has been shuffled from one cage to another: his brother’s horrible, windowless home is no different.

But it is the small things: walking in the grass outside the bunker and feeling the sun on his skin; the way you speak to him, like you trust him; the annoying way Saeyoung follows him around, wide-eyed, trying far too hard to win him over—gradually, he begins to feel that he has a home, after all.

In this timeline, I do believe that all three of you keep on living together for the rest of your lives. You certainly don’t stay in the bunker forever—but when you move, you do it together.

And what’s most important here, of course, is that Saeran chooses this. It is perhaps one of the first choices that he makes for himself—and it sneaks up on him, taking him by surprise one day: he wants to keep on living together.

And this—living with his brother in a home that’s warm and full of love—is the only thing Saeyoung has ever wished for.

[alegzandryan]

Prepping for a Ritual

So since I am doing these things as we speak I thought I would go through some ritual things that I find useful, for anyone that feels overwhelmed or unprepared for ritual work. I know tumblr and tiktok have pushed a lot of easy jar spells on us, but there really is something more to a ritual setting, even a simple one. And as it goes without saying, this is my personal idea of a guide and everyone is entitled to their own opinion and practice.

Get your supplies ready the day before the ritual. ESPECIALLY if you are going outside/somewhere outside your home. Collect all the things you will need and put them together. This will give you a day to remember all the things you forgot before it's time, instead of in the middle of your ritual

Choose what you are going to wear the day before, too. Some people take aesthetic very seriously but others dont. Either way, give some thought to what you are wearing. Is that crystal necklace good for what you are doing? Are those pants comfortable enough to sit for 30 minutes in? Comfortability is just as important as presentation for ritual, so dont wear that corset that hurts you after 15 minutes. You will need to focus on more important things.

Foot wear is also super underrated. Are you hiking 10 minutes into the forest to find a ritual spot? Wear boots. Are you in your house and want to go barefoot? Make absolutely sure you are not going to step on a ritual tool and make yourself bleed, or curse to some gods about the existence of legos in the middle of your ritual

Make some stuff for a cleansing/power bath. I usually assemble ingredients and things day before, then go to bed, and do a quick ritual bath before the actual ritual. Steep a hair rinse or charm a fancy body wash before hand so you dont have to focus on that spell, too.

Do a tarot reading/your preferred divination, before bed the day before you do a ritual. It can be quick or extensive, it doesnt matter. But it can be good to get some guidance before you are gearing up for a spell or ritual, and have some time to think about it before you are minutes away from it.

Prepare food and water, once again especially if you are going outside. Rituals can take a lot out of you depending on what you are doing, and food and drink are very easy and quick ways to help ground yourself if you are shaky or need help coming back to a relaxed state. If you are struggling, boiling pasta or microwaving stuff is the last thing on your mind, or maybe even your ability. So have some fruit snacks or granola bars or cookies or something-- easy to take and easy to eat-- with you. Trust me, this is more important than a lot of people realize. It's a good after-ritual practice and one you should be ready for

Think about your intent and purpose. Set aside some time day-before to do this, maybe 30 min to 1 hr I would say. Maybe make an entry in your BOS if you are the journaling type. This serves 2 functions: one is to charge your intent before the spell. It will give you more oomph and precision in your spell casting, or more prepared behavior if you are speaking to gods. Think about what you want to ask them, what you want them to know, how much respect you should give them, or what they may ask of you. What are you willing to do for them, and what are you not?

The second function is that it gives you time to back out of something. Not all spells are meant to be cast, and especially not if you are in a high emotion before it. Give yourself a day to prepare, an hour to think over, why am I doing this? SHOULD I be doing this even? There is nothing wrong with changing your mind. Doing things impulsively in magic isn't typically beneficial to the caster most of the time. Think through potential consequences, too. How could it back fire? How could it go right but in the wrong way? Is there a better way to get what you want? Can you add a caveat, or a time limit on the spell? Are you using parts of a closed practice and not really thought about it before now?

If you are doing spell work in the out-of-your-house-space-land, even if it is just like, in your appartment parking lot, the park down the street or even your own backyard, make sure someone somewhere knows about it. I know not everyone is out of the broom closet, but even if you just have to tell your friends you are stargazing or something, make sure SOMEONE knows and has a check in time for you. There are creeps and terrible people everywhere, and not to spook anybody, but doing magic can often attract animals or any assortment of beings who want to watch/investigate you. I have been given a heart attack by a baby antelope at dawn before. I have also been given a heart attack by a forest spirit asking wtf I was doing there. I know it doesnt exactly feel witchy to have your cellphone crammed in your waistband, but trust me, better safe than sorry. Be it humans or otherwise, doing magic in the dark in total secret is just not realistic to your safety. Take someone with you and have them wait in the car or around the corner if you can. Once again, make sure someone, somewhere, has a set time to call or come get you in, incase you get kidnapped or fae-napped. Your wellbeing is a much higher priority than any magic spell.

Also familiarize yourself with nearby wildlife. Even if you are in the city, check out what raccoon eyes look like in flashlight, or maybe if your suburb is prone to stray cats or dogs. Check out a rabies registry as well, so you know what kind of risk you are looking at around such animals. Rabid animals are actually more prone to being unafraid of human contact and will readily let a person touch them. Do NOT interact with wild animals. No, they are not a sign or a gift from your god. Most animals are curious about magic in general, but that doesnt make them not wild. Do not interact. If you are in a less populated space, you should also check out what kind of wild life is native to your area and how dangerous they are. Deer will startle themselves into you like getting hit by a BMW and bears and cougars can be active day or night, as well as Bobcats, snakes, or coyotes. Check out your local wildlife center for advice on how to handle what lives in your area

(Last outdoors advice, I promise) also check out what kind of myths and legends existed on the land you are on, ESPECIALLY if you live in north america. Knowing who's land you are on should be important to your practice anyway, and knowing what kind of creatures may be out there may save you some distress later. Indigenous cultures should be respected, and their tales can tell you what's around your area. And I dont care where the hell you live, if you hear whistling in the darkness/forests, it is one of several things coming to get you and none of them are good. Get gone and DONT whistle back. Or at all. No whistling guys. Bad.

For indoor rituals, make sure you wont be disturbed. Much like meditation, rituals are very dependent on focus and intent. Interruptions can mess with your outcome.

More indoor advice, checkout your lighting and ventilation well before you do your ritual. For instance, my altar is in a walk in closet-- there is no way in hell I am burning 4 candles and an incense in that room. I would have to do it in my living room or bedroom where there are windows, or find a way to eliminate the candles. Is the room dark enough to fit your ritual? Is it light enough that you can read your notes? (also make notes/write up a copy of the spell, it helps so much) Make sure you have enough light to see what you are doing properly.

I am a big advocate of "do not over cleanse your life, stop over cleansing" however, if that is something you do a lot of, make sure all your tools and whatnot are cleansed and prepared day before. You can shave a 2hr ritual down to 30 min if you get all of your prep work done day before, which is nice. And it once again gives you time to say "shit I forgot that one thing I need to cleanse" an hour later and still not interrupt your ritual because it is day before.

If you are an of-legal-age type person and doing some drug/alcohol part of your magic, make double sure you have food, water, and a buddy system. You may not need a designated driver if you aren't going out of your house, but you still need a designated sober person to make sure you dont like, astral travel out of your body and get replaced with a pod person, or get hurt trying to cast a circle with a ritual knife while high. Know your limits well before you use them in ritual and, I cannot emphasize this enough, have a friend to keep you under scrutiny incase something goes wrong and you need help.

If you are having the OTHER kind of must-be-of-age type of ritual, be sure your partner is well informed. Maybe have a dress rehearsal so you are both on the same page about mechanics and consent. Speed run through the general timing and motions, and talk about what each of you expect to get out of the ritual. Is it for bonding? Or are you using the energy to try to charge something? Is it for fertility? Are you both good to have ritualized sex (I know that seems like an obvious question, but you would be surprised by how many partners clam up about sexual things to try to not disappoint their partner). If you are a witch and your partner is not, be sure they know what to expect, and that they 100% want to do it even though it's not necessarily their practice and not just to be a people pleaser. If you havent done anything like this before either, tell them that, too. Honestly is 100% required here

And lastly, keep your cool. It's easy to get over excited or over anxious about this kind of thing, but honestly with a little prep time you have a high change of doing awesome. And even if you dont? That's okay too. Everyone makes mistakes, we all learn from those mistakes, and every single experience you acquire will level you up until you are the best at being you. Do what feels right, trust your gut, do some reading, and keep calm and witchy on.

[chibimyumi]

Kuromyu 2021 - First Review

So, yesterday 05-03-2021 was the First Day Performance of Kuromyu 2021, “The Secret of the Boarding School”. It is no secret that I am no fan of the Boarding School Arc, but even so I was very, very curious to see this arc being translated to a stage media.

This review shall not be without spoilers. Not just the story itself, because I think by now most people know how the story unfolds. I mean the execution of the stage play itself.

I shall not lie and admit that my review WILL contain my opinions, meaning it is by no means objective and might influence your opinions. For people who wish to experience the production entirely objectively for themselves, I recommend NOT clicking “keep reading” to reveal the spoiler section.

For now, I shall give my spoiler-free rating per category.

Faithful to canon: ⭐⭐⭐⭐★

Script:       ⭐⭐ ★★★

Acting:      ⭐ ★★★★

Singing:    ⭐ ⭐★★★

Music:       ⭐⭐⭐★★

Dancing:   ⭐⭐ ★★★

Stage & Costume:  ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Hereunder I shall give the spoiler-section first preceded by “First Impression”, and then followed by the categories listed here above.

First Impression

The stream started, and seeing the Kuromyu logo in present day again after three years really was very exciting. Since 2010 on as always, Kuromyu opened with the contract scene, and I was positively surprised to see the stage set being quite elaborate! This set was the largest and most elaborate one so far without TOHO’s help.

After the contract scene the prologue gave a very quick recap of the Jack the Ripper, Circus, and the Campania Arc. I am not sure whether it was necessary to show the Jack the Ripper and Circus Arc as they provide no information needed to understand Weston Arc. But I think it was mainly inserted to speak to the nostalgia in Kuromyu fans, and as a Kuromyu fan myself, I have to say it did work. It did not take much time, I think maybe 1 minute per arc, so it was fine.

The recap of the Campania Arc was important as it served to equip the audience with the information that there’s a reaper who creates zombies. Undertaker was shown as the main antagonist of the Campania Arc and responsible for the bizarre dolls.

There was a short brawl between Undertaker and Sebastian, which is in fact a very good choice in my opinion to showcase the dynamic between these two supernatural powers...............except that only 10 minutes in, and the musical already MASSIVELY screwed up by portraying the fight as though Sebastian beat Undertaker. The ONLY reason Sebas is still alive is because Undertaker decided so. Normally I wouldn’t care that much about errors in a recap, but this time it serves as the exposition of Undertaker and Sebastian’s dynamic: It should have shown that Undertaker is an incredibly dangerous foe and that Sebas is scared shitless because of that. Especially because this ties in with how this arc was concluded.

“But okay, fine. Maybe the script has other plans, so I shall let it be,” I thought. Moving on. But it did “plant a seed” in me that this musical is either going to contradict itself, or that it is going to defy canon. That was the first impression.

The prologue transitions into the setup of the case quite smoothly, and I have to say it was skillful. You very quickly see Ciel change into the Weston uniform and the admission ceremony was swiftly started. Immediately you get introduced to Agares, the prefects and their fags, and the musical does a good job defining the atmosphere as: “something is off here”.

Faithful to canon: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ ★

The overall musical was really quite faithful to canon. Most plot points were as they were in the manga, and enough so that I would recommend anybody who doesn’t understand Japanese to first re-read the arc as homework. If you have the arc fresh in your memory, it is very easy to trace every action back to the canon.

There are some details that were omitted or changed, probably done so in consideration for the stage medium or run-time, and done reasonably so. Unlike the previous Kuromyus, 2021 adds very little new elements that were not there in the manga. No added extra depth, but also no unnecessary additions.

There were a few things that were very off-canon, namely the characters. But I think that falls under the “acting” header, rather than this header.

Script:       ⭐⭐ ★ ★ ★

The script was a real disappointment. You might wonder how faithfulness to canon can be 4/5, and yet the script only a 2/5 in my opinion. WELL, most dialogue was based on the text in the manga, but told as dry as possible. It was also as though the script writers didn’t trust its audience intelligent enough to understand things on their own, or even remember something that was said literally 5 minutes ago.

Exposition Ad Nauseam

There was a tremendous amount of exposition, exposition, exposition, ad nauseam. There was exposition about who Ciel is and what the Queen’s Watchdog is and what his job entails, and that is entirely fine. That’s necessary background information for spectators unfamiliar with Black Butler. However, there was also a lot of exposition that could easily have been left out, or concluded through context. For example, there were quite many expositions about the history and status of the Weston College. In my opinion, a competent script writer could have let the audience known that the Weston College is really important just by giving the information that the blood relative of the QUEEN attends the school, and by showing the Red House, since their entrance is based on social status.

In this post I wrote about my following concern:

Unlike tennis, cricket is a very foreign sport to most people. Cricket cannot be shown without explaining the rules. So if Kuromyu were to happen, these expositions that were dry in the manga to begin with, are going to be even dryer on stage. Does an actor narrate the rules? Do we want Sebastian to sing us the rules??? Or do we want the kids to sing us the rules themselves while they are batting the balls? 

And alas, true to my fear, Sebas indeed narrates the rules to us...  But even worse, he also explains cricket by using baseball analogy... This is an incredibly ineffective and time-wasting method, because:

it takes the audience out of the moment,

it assumes the audience knows enough about baseball to let it help understand cricket,

and it assumes the audience actually cares about the name of every single strike....

Repetition Ad Nauseam

Then there is the problem where many info-dumps sounded like: “LIKE I JUST SAIDDDDD, DON’T FORGET!!!”. The script for Sebas is the biggest offender. There were many moments Sebas was just saying the same thing twice. At times he repeated the same information, and there were some moments where he regurgitated already given information. (Sorry I’m just being nasty here, but that’s what it felt like (;;≽▽≼;;) )

Sebastian has this obsession with constantly proclaiming himself an omnipotent, one hell of a butler, which makes him capable of doing anything... and after a while it just gets a bit tedious. I have the feeling the scriptwriter really has the hots for him, and therefore can’t shut up about how powerful he is.

While Sebas is the biggest offender, he is by far not the only one. This musical is guilty of doing a lot of very unnatural lines that no person would ever say. Soma for example, seems incapable of saying anything without shouting that he is the Prince of India and Ciel’s BFF. First time, FINE. But the entire time? My god....

Characterisation

Then there is the characterisation of characters in the script. Of course in great part the characterisation is dependent on the actors too, but no matter how amazing an actor is, you do as the script demands.

As discussed above, Sebas is done dirtiest by the script. This script also makes him incredibly arrogant and a bit too happy to be in his master’s service. Similarly, Ciel is also written entirely dependent on Sebastian, and equally happy that Sebas is happy to serve. In the first song between Ciel and Sebastian, without any prompt Sebastian asks his master for his orders, as though that’s what Sebas is looking forward to all day. And the first thing Ciel says in response is: “can you take on this reaper [Undertaker] and the large number of moving corpses?” to which Sebas responds: “Leave everything to me, because I am the Phantomhive butler.” ........and then he proceeds to defeat Undertaker effortlessly.........!?!?!?!?!?! When fighting Undertaker, Sebas also says: “what a bother” as though it’s just a bit of an unpleasant chore rather than a life-threatening fight.  And just before Undertaker disappeared all the way at the finale of the arc, Sebas seriously says: “I really don’t get along with you”. SERIOUSLY, WHO WROTE THIS?!

Myu!Ciel is CLEARLY the master of this Sebastian as he seems to be on a permanent power trip. He “it’s an order”s Sebastian for the most trivial of things. At the beginning when Sebas was fighting intruders already, Ciel “it’s an order”s Sebas to take down the intruders.... HE’S ALREADY AT IT!!!

In chapter 70 where Sebas and Ciel simultaneously think of Soma, Ciel doesn’t give Sebas an official order. This shows the audience that there is a certain level of trust between master and servant that they’re on the same page AND that Sebas has come to a stage where he will actually do what’s necessary.

In the musical however, Ciel gives a full “Sebastian, it’s an order, get the procedures done to get him here, to the Weston College.”

This is also an example of how unnatural and repetitive the script is. Who would EVER say “get the procedures done to get him here, to the Weston College”???? Of course procedures need to happen first! And “here” alone would have sufficed, scriptwriters. We KNOW where “here” is! We didn’t forget since 5 seconds ago!

Lyrics

The lyrics are technically not the script, but they are ridden with the same problem as the script itself, so I shall take the liberty of discussing these under the same paragraph.

There is a LOT of repetition in the lyrics as well. The P4 especially sing “Weston” and “tradition” like the ENTIRE time. One song literally goes: “this is Weston, Weston, Weston, Weston, at Weston we uphold our traditions, traditions, traditions, traditions.” The other song is: “It’s cricket, it’s cricket, it’s cricket,” and another “I am Ciel’s BFF, BFF, BFF, Ciel, lord Ciel, lord Ciel, lord Ciel’s BFF.”...... *shudders* ((ﾟﾟ((Д))ﾟﾟ)) AAAAHHHH!!!!

Acting:      ⭐ ★ ★ ★ ★

The acting was by far the most abominable in the musical safe for two gems: Chesslock and Derek. There are too many characters to discuss, so I shall keep it to the main/noteworthy ones.

The gems

Chesslock has this tremendous energy and something very wild about him, and his jumps are so incredibly precise it’s amazing! Derek has but a very small role, but the moment he showed up as the zombie you already immediately saw there was something “off” about him. It was very subtle, but still clearly unhinged. When he was acting living-Derek, you also clearly saw what type of prick he was. Amazing! These two were the brightest stars of the show.

The....... not gems

The most unwatchable ones were Soma and Harcourt. Soma doesn’t have a big role, but he bothered me so much he is ironically the most memorable one. It’s like Okada saw “loud and obnoxious (in a good way)” in the manga, turned it up to 12, and gave the worst portrayal possible. As said above, the script making him repeat “Indian prince” and “BFF” the entire time doesn’t help, but blaming just the script would be letting Okada off too easily.

Harcourt...... gave me so much secondhand embarrassment I literally got a cramp looking at him. When the diarrhea happened he was screaming like a pig about to be raped and slaughtered... and I am NOT making a rape-joke here. I would never. He really did sound like he was unwillingly aroused and terrified at the same time.

Sebastian

Let’s start with the good things: Tateishi’s Sebas did have his presence and his movements were fairly neat. He was never just standing there. He is quite elegant, and not swaggering or pulling spasms on stage unlike a CERTAIN someoneeeeee. He could work a BIT on the coordination of his extremities, but that’s only when I’m nitpicking.

But otherwise.... he was a bit underwhelming to be honest. The main problem is not necessarily Tateishi’s acting-skill maybe, but his interpretation I think... but I can’t say his acting was amazing even at knife-point. The way he acts Sebas makes him look like a complete fanboy of Ciel... which is just not Sebas. He is incredibly eager and at times I could almost see a puppy tail wagging. Whenever he is getting an order from his master he is just beaming. And with Undertaker there was not a single hint that Sebas is scared of the only foe who managed to mortally wound him.

His interaction with Ciel was also very SebaCiel heavy. In the manga where Ciel challenges Sebas why he didn’t go after Undertaker, Sebas is clearly emphasising the importance of the contract, and half-threatening his master not to dare “it’s an order” him to go after Undertaker.

In the musical however, Sebas is all UWU, as though saying: “I couldn’t let the big baddy hurt you... uwu”. Without exaggerating, Sebas caresses Ciel’s face THREE times and then embraces him.

Ciel

Ciel was very unbearable to watch in my opinion. Not as bad as Soma and Harcourt, but otherwise an “honourable” third place after them. In the manga it was a bit cringey to begin with because he is supposed to fake being (*ÓωÒ*), but seeing a 20 year old man do that... and play it up to 11 was just jarring. Ciel is like “tehe” very often, but never actively skipping like a forest fairy.

This Ciel also has tremendous mood-swings! He is either UWU or actively a ice-cold diva... and at times he is also being UWU when he’s not around others???? There was also not a single moment where I could see him cooking up a plan. No hint of intelligence or cunningness to be found.

Unlike with Tateishi I can’t really come up with anything good to say about him.

Undertaker

Undertaker was the best among the main three (not that the bar is very high). He is making efforts to tease-threaten Sebas, which I think is a very nice added detail (it’s just that Sebas reacts to none of them... sad.) and even though his role is pathetically small (he doesn’t show up as the principal), he still managed to present himself in the spotlights.

P4

Greenhill had his energy, he was funny, and something really funnily militaristic about him. Though, I was missing nuance in his acting because at not a single point could you see Greenhill might have a trauma for killing people.

Redmond was Viscount of Druitt light and he had a very strong emphasis on the BL aspect with Maurice......which was just personally not my cup of tea. But I have to admit that aspect was played up too in the manga. So I guess he was faithful to canon.

Violet was quite charming and eccentric. He did play up the gothicness of the Violet house, which was actually kinda nice! He also had a deep friendship with Chesslock, which I really liked. When Violet didn’t do shit during the tournament Chesslock was really miffed about that, and challenged him. And then Violet showed Chesslock a portrait he drew of him, saying: “you just looked so cool I had to capture that.” That was amazing! He is a bit bitchier and sassier than in the manga, but I really don’t mind. 

Bluer.... William light. He was the least memorable of all of them.

Singing:    ⭐ ⭐ ★ ★ ★

Nobody really hurt my ears, but also nobody quite hit the notes... and the notes weren’t that hard.

Music:       ⭐⭐⭐ ★ ★

Eehhhhhhhhhhhh I’d say the songwriter played most songs a BIT too much on the safe side. Not a single song was memorable, but they didn’t offend me either. The main theme was fairly nice actually, but only when just the instrumentals played. I think it might have been the singing just being too chaotic for me to actually hear the music.

Dancing:   ⭐⭐ ★ ★ ★

Chesslock is an tremendously good dancer, his movements were precise and energetic. But otherwise.... nobody really popped out, but there was nobody who looked like a noodle on stage either.

The main problem is choreography; with some exceptions they were very underwhelming and messy. There were a lot of group dances, but often enough people were just a bit out of sync and messy.

Stage & Costume:  ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Stage Set

The stage set was VERY good. It was well made and mobile; they could be moved around and functioned as different props. Examples include the cellar in which Derek and his gang were committing crimes, and the boat of the parade even. The set also had this really magical aesthetic about it which communicated the glamour of the Weston College well.

Costumes

The costumes were well made. The logo on the uniforms for example were actually embroidered rather than those iron-on plastic things. The wigs were .... very messy after jumping around a bit and they looked very greasy. But that’s fine. They did their job and I realise I’m just spoiled. TOHO makes their wigs using real human hair, and that’d be an astronomical sum for any normal 2.5D company.

My ONLY problem is Ciel’s “lord costume”. This photoshoot photo underneath is doable, but trust me, on stage it is a nightmare. There are no clear photos of this costume on stage, and I think I understand why.

It was glittery velvet which just SCREAMS cheap Halloween costume, it was ill-fitted, almost like it was 2 sizes too large. The costume makers didn’t take stage-lighting into account, so the fabric and details glistened all over the place. Under the limelight the “golden” aiguillettes were PISS yellow. And the suddenly black sock suspenders protruding from his white boots were just...... distracting.

BUT, this was just one costume and he only wears it in the prologue and the finale of the show. Even though it’s God-awful, the rest were well made enough to compensate for this abomination.

Conclusion

So now finally the conclusion! The musical was..... fairly faithful to canon, but the execution leaves quite a lot to be desired. The interpretation/acting of the characters were the most disappointing one, while the stage/costumes were the most charming.

Do I recommend buying the stream/DVD/BD?

Stream: Yes.

I personally do recommend buying the stream as it’s only 3800 yen, especially if you like the Weston Arc itself, and/or are curious to see how they did it. Even though I myself really hate the Weston Arc in and of itself, I was very curious to see how it’d be translated to a stage medium. Despite my mostly negative opinion of the musical, I don’t regret buying the stream at all!

The best reason in my opinion to buy the stream though; it’s a very good and legal way to get a “preview” to see if you want to spend approximately 10000 yen on the proshot.

DVD/BD: Depends on you.

I myself have decided not to buy the DVD because I don’t think I’ll be rewatching it after the stream-archive period is over. The DVD/BD are the most expensive so far, and to me the final product is just not worth that amount of money.

But if you like the Weston Arc, or the performers, or you think you will be rewatching it and you are a collector, I think it is a very nice addition to your shelve.

[damn-stark]

To new friends

Chapter 6 of Different Light

A/N- So I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I am going to have some events from the books in this series, just to add more angst and more fun. So if you read parts that don’t show up in the movie, it’s becaue it’s either what I wrote, or something that happened in the books 👍🏽 hope you guys like the chapter and don’t be afraid to leave your thoughts!

Warning- Angst, SLOWBURN.

Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader, Fred Weasley x Malfoy!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

As the blissful daze of the Yule ball night passed, the last few free days passed swiftly, taking the memory of Fred’s kiss on your lips with it. Leaving nothing behind but the mental memory of such a delightful moment.

Albeit it was also a moment that wasn’t talked about any day after, classes started again and days would get busier for both Fred and you. Of course you didn’t want to force him into talking about it, you wanted the topic to come out, just effortlessly. Fred treated you kinder; that’s something you noticed, he was way more touchy than before. Usually before when you would sit next to each other, there was no contact whatsoever—sure your arms, or thighs brushed against each other’s, but that was it.

Now when Fred sat next to you in the great hall, or really anywhere else, he would place his hand on top of yours, or hook his pinky fingers with yours; sometimes he would place his arm on top the seat you were sitting on, but that was about it. Fred didn’t try and repeat what happened that night, or try and gloat about it. He simply just didn’t talk about it.

Which led you to think; what did he intend with that kiss?

You want to ask him, but then again you fear the answer he could give.

It’s not like you could ask George. One, because he was Fred’s twin brother and two, you didn’t want to put George in that position. It’d be better if he wasn’t in the middle, things would just flow much easier that way.

You still wanted help, but from who? Narcissa? You could specifically leave Fred’s name out and just ask for advice, but as you further thought about it, asking your mother wasn’t the best option; yet.

That left you with the lingering question of, who then?

“Y/N.”

At the sound of the small, sweet voice calling to you, you’re thrown from your train of thought and left to look over your shoulder and notice, Hermione Granger, striding towards you. At first you don’t know what to do, you’re actually utterly confused on what to do and why she has called you. But realization hits you as she finally falls by your side and offers you a small sweet smile—you had helped her that night of the Yule ball. She said words you’d never forget.

Regardless you didn’t really think you helping her that night was enough for her to reach out to you now. Maybe just simple “hellos” when you passed by the halls, but you didn’t think she’d actually call your name and hurry to reach you. That gesture was still so unfamiliar and new to you.

You smile and greet her however, regardless of how your thoughts churn. “Hello.”

“I saw you pass just now and thought it’d be nice to walk with you to Arithmancy.” Hermione explained kindly. “Is that alright with you?”

Of course!

You smile shyly and nod. “Yeah that's alright.” You feel your cheeks burn and a need to just walk in silence, but you also were desperate to make friends who weren’t just Fred and George—“I never got the chance to ask, did you enjoy the Yule ball? Before everything went down I mean.”

Hermione smiles wider and nods. “Yes it was absolutely great. I had a lot of fun. What about you? Fred mentioned he was going with you, how was that?”

“Oh well,” you smile shyly at the memory of that night. “It was amazing, Fred was a good partner.”

A new thought then invades your mind—you could ask her for help. Even ask her if she heard anything Fred mentioned of that night. After all they were part of the same house. She’s got to know a thing or two, right?

“Do—”

“Fred said you were a great partner too,” Hermione mentions as if she has read your mind. “He said he enjoyed that night with you.”

At the sound of her comment, you feel your cheeks burn increasingly hotter. You’re left stunned for a moment, left giddy and speechless, left trying to collect your thoughts and like you could explode from the inside—you had heard him say he enjoyed that night, but hearing that he had said that to other people just made it seem even more special. The knowledge of what he said made you smile wider. It made you want to know more.“Did he say anything else?” You turn your head to look at her and you see her shake her head.

“No, I’m sorry. He and his friends moved away before I could hear more.”

You hum softly and assure her. “It’s okay, thank you for telling me what he said though.”

Hermione just smiles as response before she changes the subject, not giving you the chance to ask for her help in your still troubled dilema. “What are you reading?”

You look down to the Daily Prophet in your hand and shrug. With all your running thoughts, you didn’t have time to read what you had in your hand. “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to read what,” you lift the newspaper and scoff, “Rita Skeeter wrote it, probably just rubbish anyway.”

Just as you’re about to shove it in between your books, Hermione stops you before snatching the paper from your hand. “Wait, what does this evil witch have to say now.”

Out of new grown curiosity, you look over her shoulder as she begins to read the paper outloud; “DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE

Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening."

'I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything—”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your brother's name and anything else read after that just tunes out. The news of Hagrid being a half giant doesn’t even bug you, or register in your mind as someone dangerous (because he wasn’t). All you focused on was what lies your, weasel of a little brother had to say. It makes your furious, feel steam come out of your ears and feel your fists shake. The news on the paper even makes Hermione upset; albeit her reasons differed from yours.

Clearly—“how-how did she find out!” Before you could give your opinion, Hermione quietly seemed to ramble to herself, only raising her voice at specific points. “Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxine at the ball—but no, they would have seen her, she’s not even...” her voice goes quiet again and you’re left looking at her bewildered and still taken back yourself. As well as intrigued by what she had to say. Surprised by her suddenly asking you a probing question. “Did you see Rita Skeeter that day of the ball?”

You blink out of surprise, but manage to shake your head. “No, I didn’t. But maybe she was hiding in some bushes, like an odd-ball.”

Hermione bites her lip and shrugs before giving an opinion herself. “Maybe she has some type of invisibility cloak?”

You shrug, “maybe. I mean to get such a scoop on people, she’s got to have something up her sleeve.”

Hermione's eyes narrow and she seems to go into deep thinking before she comes up with a suggestion that surprised you even more. “We should try and figure it out. You’re smart, I’m sure if we got together, we’d figure it out.”

You scoff lightheartedly and stop before entering your intended class. “Why the need to get the scoop on her?”

“Because,” Hermione blurted passionately, “it’s not the first time she’s done something like this. Mysteriously getting news on people. She’s wicked and needs to be stopped.”

You smirk at her fiery spirit and can’t help but give in without much need of further convincing. “Alright, I’ll help. It sounds like fun.”

——

The day of the second game came and you couldn’t be dreading this one more. It was too cold and what was the point of having an audience? The players were going to be underwater and if they somehow have a way for you and the rest of the students to look in the depths of the lake without having to go in along with the players, then what was the point?

You were just going to unnecessarily freeze to basically watch players dive.

“ANY BETS! ANY BETS!”

“PLACE YOUR BETS!” George and Fred shouted in a booming voice to the passing students.

Yet with all you’re complaining, here you were, still teamed up with the twins trying to take bets from students.

“THREE LADS!”

“ONE LADY!”

“FOUR ARE GOING DOWN!”

You would’ve joined into their tactics, but you didn’t feel like screaming, so instead you held onto the box for them, watching them as you moved up and the students moved down towards the boats. Stopping only when their sister shoved past them and stopped to remark their rude persuading screams. “Don’t be so mean.”

The twins and you looked back to Ginny and you couldn’t help but agree, but the twins on the other hand turned back around and continued screaming to try and convince others to place bets. Stopping only minutes before the last boat could leave the dock.

“Finally,” you groan as you close the box and shove it in George’s hands. “I thought we’d never finish.”

Fred scoffs, “come on, you’ve got to admit that doing this makes the games more fun.”

“Hardly.” You retort as you shove your hands in your jackets pockets, “freezing to watch water is something I would hardly call fun.”

“You’re in luck then.” George assures you, “the game should be an hour long.”

You groan one last time before you reach the boats, looking to Fred as he pointed for you to get on first. “Ladies first.” He smirks before he follows after you, waiting lastly for George to go on before the person driving the boat began its short trip to the already packed and rowdy stands.

Luckily not having to wait too long for the game to start and beginning to watch with much more anticipation and stress than you intended after you watched Harry clumsily fall into the lake. While Draco, who was two people away from you laughed and pointed at Harry’s clumsy fall, causing you to shoot him a side glare. One he didn’t catch, but you meant with a burning dedication. He only shut up when Harry shot up after his worrying fall into the water, causing an uproar from the students rooting for his win. Albeit seconds after he splashed in, everyone, including yourself were filled with stomach twisting anticipation for anyone’s resurface from the water with their special lost thing.

You were also left with waiting, and endless waiting, growing colder as time ticked.

“Cold?” Fred asked you.

You looked to him and shivered slightly at the feeling of the bitter wind hitting your face. “what do you think?”

A half, smug smile tugged on his lips and he shrugs. “No, I don’t think you are.”

“Then there's your answer.” You cross your arms over your chest and look out to the lake, feeling your shoulders jump slightly moments later when Fred wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

“Better?”

You feel your cheeks burn and your heart skip a beat. It’s hard to think of what to say at the flustered feeling you got at the interaction, but you somehow manage to respond. Albeit stammering and sounding like you were terrified. “Y-yes, much better.”

You didn’t see but Fred grinned at your response. Choosing to stay quiet for the remainder of the game until the first contestant surfaced from the water; Cedric Diggory and Cho—you clapped, but didn’t feel much excitement like others did. Instead you felt as if your stomach twisted tighter knowing that the game was close to over and Harry hadn’t surfaced yet.

Krum and...Hermione surfaced and you clapped excitedly for her, but you were still left with the increasing worrying, glancing repeatedly at the time and waiting as others did. Hearing whispers and the excitement for the game dwindled the more time passed and Harry showed no sign.

The worry now surrounding the crowd was replaced by short relief when Ron and a little girl surfaced, but that was short lived since Harry’s presence was lacking. It made you part from Fred’s side and grip onto the railing to look down into the water to watch and wait—and yes he was just a boy you hardly knew, hardly talked to and just thought of as cute and nice, a bit clumsy and dorky, but...you couldn’t help but worry and—

Before you could get deeper into your thoughts, Harry Potter shot up from the water and finally relieved the worry and stress that had grown increasingly higher those past few minutes. Making you push yourself off the railing to finally clap and cheer, turning to celebrate the win with the twins for a brief moment before you’re interrupted by Dumbledore's booming voice. “Attention! The winner is Mr. Diggory!”

The crowd for Cedric erupted with claps and cheering for him and his win. All them were forced to quiet down though as Dumbledore continued. “Who showed the need to command of the bubble head charm. However seeing as Mr.Potter would have finished first, should it not been for his determination to rescue not only Mr. Weasley, but the others as well, we’ve agreed to award him second place! For outstanding moral fiber!”

Again the crowd erupted into a roaring cheering, causing the twins to five each other and you in a form to celebrate. Ignoring as Draco, bitterly stormed off after the announcement of his rival's achievement. While the three didn’t waste a second for the twins and you to push through the crowd to walk down to where Harry, and the other contestants and the people they saved were.

The twins rushed first, greeting Harry with loud congratulating cheers and a tight hug that they backed from after feeling Harry all wet; letting them turn to their brother and in their own foolish way, worry over his well-being. Letting you be face to face with Harry and instantly feel a hotter heat crawl onto your face before and while you found the words to talk to him.

“That was amazing Harry! You did great!” You grinned, stepping into wrap your arms around him, but stopping as you took in his soaked figure.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “I wouldn’t, I’m soaked.” A timid and wobbly smile tugged on his lips and he continued. “Thank you though, y/n.”

You offer him another warm smile and last lingering stare before you rip your eyes away and turn your attention to Herimone next to him.

——

“Right on, all that moral fiber, eh?” George teased Harry as he walked onto the deck.

“That’s great.” Fred chuckled.

You smirk and tag along with the teasing. “All that moral fiber.”

“Blimey, even if you go wrong it turns out right.” Ron voiced with a slight smile.

“Well done, moral fiber.” Fred teased before lightly pushing Harry and then walking off with his brothers, Hermione and you, leaving Harry behind.

You wanted to look back, but before you could Fred’s hand on your arm interrupted your attempts before you could accomplish them. “So, y/n, I was thinking,” he began to say in a soft voice that was rare for him to speak in and off putting for you to hear. “How about we go to Hogsmeade together?”

You blink and begin to fall behind from the group, parting your lips to speak, but coming out with nothing but a breath of air. Proceeding to instead gently rub your arm nervously and letting your eyes flicker from the ground to Fred before managing to speak just as nervously. “Like George, you and I?”

Fred chuckles and shakes his head. “No you goof, just you and I.”

Your cheeks burn again and you giggle and whisper, “oh,” before smiling warmly and nodding. “Sure I like the sound of that, when?”

Fred shrugged, trying to hide his cocky smile. “I’ll let you know, alright?”

You nod, “okay.” Before you both catch up to the group you had been with, picking up your pace smoothly, so you could catch up with a grinning Hermione that already knew by the smile on Fred and your faces what had gone on.

In that moment letting a thought begin to unroll in the back of your mind. Not one having to do with Fred, nor George or Harry. But about Hermione. Odd thing especially after getting asked out by Fred, but it was a thought that just grew; even if Hermione and you had just started talking and a friendship was beginning to develop. It still felt refreshing, assuring and exciting that you had someone else as a friend. Someone who could relate to you in other ways Fred, or George couldn’t. You felt happy that you were beginning to be her friend, that she viewed you like hers and not like the other girls would in Durmstrang. She viewed you like a friend now. She viewed you differently.

——

“HARRY POTTER IN A BURNING LOVE TRIANGLE

A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would suffer through a trouble bigger than any he has faced, choosing who to love and who to leave behind broken hearted.

In the recent events of the Triwizard tournament, Harry has been spotted in the arms of new transfer student to Hogwarts, Y/N Malfoy. At first it had seemed that it was nothing but platonic, but their affectionate embrace and caring and lovable words told us otherwise. Yet as loving as they are, Harry is still caught in the middle between Herimone Granger, who is not innocent as she portrays to be.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl."

However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.

"She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it."

Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potters well-wishers must hope that he opens his eyes and sets his heart upon his Slytherin lover.

No. No. No. This can’t be happening. No. Your father...your mother….your father. He’s going to kill you before disowning you. No. This isn’t what you wanted. Even if it was false information when it came to your part of the paper, it was still going to get to your parents before you had the chance to explain. You’ve done good to hide the truth of your friendships from them when Draco snitches, but this...this can ruin everything and take you back to Durmstrang.

“If that’s the best Rita can do, she’s losing her touch,” Herimone says, beginning to giggle and causing you to snap your head from the paper to look at her with a perplexed, widened gaze. “What a pile of old rubbish.” She proceeds to take the paper from your hands and throws the paper into an empty chair. The action leaving you shocked and speechless—wasn’t she worried to?

On how Rita Skeeter found out about the obvious private conversation that went on between her and Krum? Why wasn’t she worried like you?

“Why-why are you so calm?” You manage to ask with your perplexed and widened gaze.

Hermione looks over to a group of Slytherins to see if they’d be upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and turned back to pretend to focus on the parchment in front of the both of you to finally talk without giving your question an answer. “There’s something funny though, how could Rita Skeeter have known?” Her face went red and she pressed her quil to her chin. “How did she know Viktor asked me to visit him in the summer?”

You shrug and push your worry aside for now, “maybe someone’s her spy?”

Herimone shakes her head, “no, couldn’t be, he pulled me away from the judges after we got our blankets and we were in a spot surrounded by his friends. They’d never do anything to Viktor.” Her face grew increasingly more red and her eyebrows furrowed deeper as she mindlessly pressed her quil on the parchment now. “But how could Rita have heard. She wasn’t there...or was she? Maybe she’s got an invisibility cloak?”

“Perhaps,” you muse along with her, “but there were too many people on that platform, someone would have bumped into her and found her out.” You tap your fingers on the tabletop as you begin to brainstorm a possibility, muttering to Hermione as you did so. “What exactly happened after Krum and you got out of the water?”

Herimone began to explain every exact detail of the events after Krum got her out of the water. Every single detail from climbing onto the platform, to mentioning that Krum flicked a beetle off her wet hair and lastly the moment you had finally come along.

“Hmm,” you rest your elbow on the table and rest your head on your hand as you continue to think and throw out ideas that came to your mind. “Well there wasn’t much room for her to hide at all. She couldn’t be under the water, and it’s doubtful she used polyjuice.”

“You’re right.” Hermione agrees.

At a incoming thought you begin to snicker, “maybe she temporarily transformed into your towel.”

Suddenly Hermione shoots up and her eyes gleam with what seems to be excitement. She steps towards you and manages to pull you off your chair to hold your hands in hers and basically shout out. “I’ve got it!”

“Hermione Granger and Miss Malfoy, please be quiet unless you both want detention!” The professor scolds you, making Herimone quietly apologize before she pulls you back to your seat and continues quietly. Disregarding the warning you both had just gotten.

“She couldn’t have turned into a towel, or risked using polyjuice, but she could have transformed into something else. Something smaller and easy to blend in and be disregarded by any person.”

You blink in astonishment by her quick thinking and fast investigating skills. You don’t say anything, just listen completely mesmerized.

“Rita Skeeter was the beetle in my hair,” Herimone whispers in a loud excited whisper, “of course I thought nothing of it before because it was just a bug, but now it all makes sense; how she can catch all the scoop and hide without without being seen. She’s an animagus.”

You smirk and squeeze in your own thoughts. “Probably an unregistered one too, or else Dumblrdore would have taken extra precautions to keep her off the castle grounds.”

“Yes!” Hermione exclaims with a joyful and yet mischievous grin, “she kept her secret well until now. I’m going to make sure that she doesn’t have another chance to spread any more cruel, dishonest stories.”

“What do you mean?” You gasp with a deeply puzzled and slightly fearful face.

“I’m going to make sure she doesn’t write any more stories from here until the tournament ends. I’m going to catch Rita.” She explains in a loud whisper once again with a dangerous mischievous look still painted in her eyes. “Do you want to catch her with me?”

“I,” you pause to think before you have the chance to abruptly answer. Beginning to go over the fact in your head, that Rita didn’t also make a lie about Hermione, but one about you. One that could cost you heavily. And the days before Herimone asked about helping her, you were down to pair up with Hermione because you didn’t want to lose a friend. Now you were doing it because, well you didn’t want to lose a friend and two, you had motivation of your own.

A smirk creeps onto your face and you meet Herimone’s gaze to share that same dangerous mischievous gaze. “I’m going to catch Rita with you.”

Even if you knew you were still going to get hell from your parents….especially your father.

.

.

.

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Tagged- @peter-laufeyson , @swiftlymoniquesblog , @spideyyypeter , @gsvshsjsbs, @accio-prozac , @cherriesanwine , @kokomaesadie , @april-14-blog , @prettypinkpeachh , @pest-ill-ence , @ilovespideyyy

[get-it-together-lucifer]

Self Care

This came from a convo my friends and I had a couple hours ago.

Pairing(s): Lucifer x reader x Diavolo

Genre: Fluff

You were up relatively early, at least in your opinion. You were on breakfast duty this morning and knowing Beel, you had to get up pretty early in order to make enough for not only him, but everyone else as well. 

As you stood at the stove, you heard footsteps approaching, and you knew it was Lucifer. He was in there every morning that you were, it became routine that if you were in a room, Lucifer would “casually” appear not long after, and this included early mornings. 

You felt him looming next to you, looking over your shoulder, “Omelets?” He asked and you nodded, “Beel mentioned wanting them yesterday so I got up earlier than usual to run to the store to grab ingredients since we didn’t have them.” He paused, “You went out alone?” He asked and you nodded. 

Lucifer sighed, “You should have waited for me to go with you, you know it’s dangerous to go out alone.” He scolded as he wrapped his arms around you, “Lucifer, I’ve been married to you and Diavolo for almost three years. Anybody who tries to attack me is either very stupid or has a death wish.” You told him as he rested his chin on your shoulder, “I know, but I still worry about you.” He sighed again.

A crash sounded out in the hall followed by a couple of yells which sounded like Levi and Mammon, and Lucifer huffed, “I’ll go check on it.” He pecked your cheek, letting go of you and disappearing around the corner.

~~~~~~~~~

You sat with Diavolo, drinking tea, and discussing how things had been going at RAD and the house.

“Lucifer’s been looking rather off, have you noticed?” He asked you, and you nodded, “I’ve noticed but he actually showed up to bed last night, pretty late, but he showed up.” You told him, and he nodded, his eyes drifting off in a different direction as he thought about something before looking back at you, “Keep an eye on him okay? I don’t know if you know this, but before you showed up he would always overwork himself. It took days of convincing just to get him to rest a few hours.” He said.

“I have noticed that he works a lot. If this is him working less, I can only imagine how it was before.” You sighed, setting down your cup.

“You’re on dinner duty tonight right? Try and make sure he shows up. When he’s working he tends to ignore his own needs.” Diavolo told you, and you promised you would.

~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone sat at the table that night for dinner. Everyone except for Lucifer. You set down the last plate of food, and just when you decided that you should go get him, the man in question appeared.

“Apologies for being a bit late, I was busy.” He said as he sat down, “You promised to help me make dinner Lucifer, since we’re celebrating Mammon passing his exams.” You said, scolding him lightly as you took the seat next to him, “Sorry dear, I’ll help you next time you’re on dinner duty alright?” He replied apologetically, grabbing your hand and squeezing it gently. You nodded and the two of you began eating with everyone else.

Later that night Lucifer hadn’t come to bed. You went to his office and heard soft music playing, and when you opened the door and peeked in, he was in the middle of signing documents, “Lucifer.” You called, your voice relatively quiet, not wanting to ruin the somewhat peaceful environment. “Somewhat” being because you could feel his stress from the doorway.

He looked up briefly and saw you standing there, “Oh, hello Y/n.” He greeted, looking back down at the papers. You approached him, moving around his desk and resting a hand on his shoulder, “You need to sleep.” You stated, and he sighed, “I will in a few minutes dear.” He replied, not looking up at you as he took another paper off the stack to his left.

“No, you need to sleep now.” You said firmly and he shrugged you off, “Love I know you just want to take care of me, but I promise you don’t need to. Go back to bed, I’ll be there soon.” He promised, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to it. You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t budge. He let go of your hand and you left his office, heading back to bed.

He didn’t show up that night.    

~~~~~~~~~

Four days passed, and Lucifer didn’t show up any of the meals. He didn’t even show up when you were on cooking duty that morning, and he also didn’t seem to be coming to bed. If he was, he went to sleep after you did, and got up before you woke up. If you didn’t have Diavolo visiting, you would have felt much more lonely than you did currently. Yeah you also had the brothers, but you missed your husband, and while they were also somewhat worried about him, none of them could compete with you and Diavolo’s.

One day, you had enough. Knocking on his office door, you went in without waiting. Lucifer seemed surprised by your sudden entrance, but settled once he realized it was you.

“Lucifer.” You said, firmly, “Yes?” He replied and you approached him. You took the pen out of his hand, setting it on the desk. He looked up at you, eyes wide, staring at you incredulously, as if he was amazed that you would dare do such a thing. You ignored this, however, and wrapped you hands around his wrist and began tugging on his arm, trying to pull him out of his seat. You didn’t care that he was a demon, or that he was much stronger and heavier than you, you were dragging him to bed if it was the last thing you did.

He watched you tugging on his arm. He looked absolutely exhausted, his hair was messy from running his hands through it constantly, his tie was undone and part of his shirt unbuttoned, and he wasn’t wearing his coat, vest, or gloves. Normally you would have stopped to look at his hands seeing as they were always covered and you only ever saw them when you were about to go to bed, assuming he showed up, but you could do that later. Right now, all that mattered was getting him to bed so he could sleep, and you could make him food and make sure he actually ate it. 

His eyes showed exhaustion, but also amusement as he watched you try to pull him from his chair, “Lucifer, I swear, you need to rest.” You said, begging him to get up.

He chuckled softly then sighed, “Dear I love how much you care, but I need to finish my work. I promise I’ll be done soon.” He told you and you groaned, “You said that last week Lucifer. If you don’t stop and take a break right now, I’m calling Diavolo.” You said in a somewhat threatening tone.

“You and I both know he’s just as busy as I am Y/n.” He said and you rolled your eyes, “And you and I also know that he would drop everything for the both of us.” You said, pulling out your D.D.D, scrolling to his contact and calling him.

“I’m fine Y/n, you don’t need to worry about me.” Lucifer told you as he picked up his pen, seeing as you let go of his arm, “Don’t tell me and our husband what to do.” You huffed, as Diavolo picked up.

“Hello?” His cheery voice said, and you looked at Lucifer, “Hey Dia I need your help, Luci’s not taking care of himself again.” You said, making direct eye contact with Lucifer as you did, “I see, I’m on my way.” Diavolo said, and immediately hung up. You looked at Lucifer, who raised an eyebrow in return.

Within ten minutes, Diavolo burst into the room, briefly startling the both of you.

“Lucifer!” He said, approaching the desk, “Y/n says you aren’t taking care of yourself again. I was wondering why you hadn’t stopped me from planning my next prank. The amount of time I had was too suspicious.” His voice somewhat stern, and Lucifer sighed, “Apologies, I’ve just been busy. I promise I’ll take better care of myself.” He said, continuing to write his report. This time it was Diavolo who took his pen, tossing it onto the chair behind him. Lucifer looked offended for a moment, then sat back in his chair, “And what do you plan to do exactly?” He asked.

You made eye contact with Diavolo for a brief moment, and you both nodded. Before Lucifer could react, Diavolo ran around the desk and picked up Lucifer, tossing him over his shoulder, causing the demon to let out an uncharacteristic yell, and a lot of protesting.

You opened his office door, and the two of you ran down the hall to his room, passing Satan in the process who did nothing other than laugh at Lucifer’s predicament which earned him a glare in return.

Storming into Lucifer’s room, you shut the door as Diavolo plopped Lucifer down on the bed then followed after him, laying next to him, and holding him down as you laid on the other side.

“Self care is letting your spouses aggressively cuddle you into taking a break.” You said, laying your head on Lucifer’s chest as Diavolo laid his head on his stomach.

“Yep, and then afterwards we’re gonna make sure you eat.” Diavolo said in agreement.

Lucifer sighed, “And when do you plan on letting me work again?” He asked which made Diavolo look up at him, “Not any time soon. I had Barbatos enchant your office door to make sure you didn’t try to sneak in before we said so.” He replied before laying back down. Lucifer rolled his eyes, but looked amused, and began to relax. Wrapping one around your waist, and running his hand through Diavolo’s hair, he sighed again, but this time it was a content one. 

After a while both you and Diavolo fell asleep, and as Lucifer watched the both of you, he felt his own eyelids getting heavier, and he ended up drifting off with you, finally getting some much needed sleep.     

[curiosi-tea-writes]

Ice Cream

Pairing: Din Djarin / Cobb Vanth

Modern AU

Summary: The very beginning of Din and Cobb’s relationship. It all started with an astronomy class, ice cream, and hockey.

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

"Look, its not my fault you don't pay attention in class, Cowboy," Din laughed as he flipped the page of his notebook.

'Actually, it is,' Cobb thought with a light scoff.

And it really was as far as Cobb was concerned. It was entirely his fault for wearing that dorky NASA hoodie to every astronomy class every day. It was his fault for the way he pushed up his glasses every time he asked a question even if they weren't falling down. It was entirely his fault for deciding to be his partner that first week of class when he could have gone with any other person. It was most definitely his fault for making Cobb enjoy a class he was only taking for science credits.

 All the little things he caught out of the corner of his eye - little smiles, quick glances he couldn’t help give in response. All the times he realized that Din’s chair was slightly closer than it was the class before. All the times he caught himself double checking the mirror before he left his apartment. That was all Din’s fault.

The professor’s voice drew him out of his thoughts. He was always almost upset when someone interrupted his thoughts, especially when his thoughts were about Din. If he were being honest, most of his thoughts these days were about Din. 

“Hey, Cowboy,” Din whispered with a nudge, still looking at the professor. Anybody else wouldn’t have even realized he had said anything at all. Cobb glanced at him quickly with a soft hum. “Did you want to get ice cream after?”

Cobb wished he could claim he didn’t stutter out his answer, but he did. All he could do after was lower his head to hide the red of his face. Din was glad for that - it meant Cobb couldn’t see the small smirk he couldn’t help at getting the answer he had wanted. 

After class, Din and Cobb sat on a bench, eating their strawberry and peach ice cream. Din happily jumped right into his explanations of what they had learned in class that day. Cobb listened as intently as he could, trying hard to not allow his mind to wander. He wondered if Din knew how soothing his voice was or if he was completely oblivious to the way his voice made Cobb feel. He was so focused on Din’s voice that it took Cobb a good twenty minutes to realize that this ice cream date was a study session. 

“Din?” he cut him off in the middle of a sentence he hadn’t really heard the words of. “Why are you helping me?”

Din ran a hand through his already messy dark hair and chuckled. “Well, you need help, right? I mean, I know you’ve been struggling with the class.”

“So, you feel sorry for me?” Cobb scoffed. He slouched a bit in his seat and huffed out a sigh, surprising himself at how he went from drastically happy to be with Din to being drastically upset.

“No,” Din said a little too quickly. He shifted on the bench, tucking one of his legs under his other, tossing his arm over the back of the bench so he could fully face Cobb. He sighed, realizing he had actually offended him. “Look, you’re a hockey player, right?”

Cobb nodded, still not really wanting to look at him.

“So, you’ve already made it clear you’re taking the class just for credits. But I actually really enjoy astronomy. Why not let me help you actually try to pass it?”

With a sigh Cobb turned and mirrored Din’s position. “Alright,” he sighed with a nod. “Yeah, fine. You’re right.”

With a smile, Din continued. And surprisingly to himself, Cobb actually began to retain the information.

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

As the semester passed, the ice cream dates continued. As Cobb’s grade in the class slowly became acceptable, they stopped being about studying and instead became just about each other. Cobb learned about Din’s son and Din listened to Cobb’s recounts of hockey games. 

“I’ve never actually been to a hockey game before,” Din laughed, taking another bite of his ice cream.

Cobb perked up with a smile. “You should come to the next one. We’re having a party afterwards since it’s the last one of the semester, you could come to that too.”

“I thought you didn’t like your teammates,” Din questioned.

“I don’t, but I’m expected to go to these parties.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Din reasoned. 

And think about it he did. The entire week leading up to the game. He sent far too many texts to his friends asking for their opinions, each of whom sent him messages back which stated something along the lines of “just do it.” So on Saturday evening he threw on his hoodie, grabbed his messenger bag, and headed out the door, calling out a “thank you” to Peli for babysitting on his way out.

He sat at the top of the bleachers, bundled up in his hoodie, wishing he had brought another jacket. He couldn’t help his smile when Cobb came out on the ice and he continued smiling the entire time, his eyes following Cobb closely. He understood nothing about the game, only really half understanding the terms Cobb had dropped when they would get ice cream. 

At the first break he watched as Cobb glanced around the seats before skating over towards him, waving his hand for Din to come down. Din chuckled and did as he asked and joined him at one of the doors leading onto the ice as Cobb took off his helmet.

“Enjoying the game?” 

“It’s cold,” Din remarked, forcing a chuckle from Cobb which in turn caused one from himself.

“Well yeah, it’s ice!” Cobb gave him a small look of pity before holding up a finger and skating away, leaving Din standing alone awkwardly. He was glancing around and hardly noticed when Cobb had returned, a black leather jacket and scarf in hand. “Here, now you won’t freeze to death.” He opened the door and handed the jacket to Din who took it thankfully.

He quickly put it on over his hoodie, pushing his hands deep into the pockets with a huff.

“Better?” Cobb asked with a laugh.

“Much, thank you.” Din attempted to ignore the new warmth on his face. 

“Here,” Cobb said quickly as he unfolded the red scarf and wrapped it around Din’s neck. “Now you’ll really be warm.”

They stood there for a long moment, both just basking in the moment. Din opened his mouth to say something else, not really knowing himself what he wanted to say. Well, he knew what he wanted to say, but he didn’t think that it was something Cobb wanted to hear. He was saved, however, when one of Cobb’s teammates called for him to rejoin the team. Cobb just gave a bright smile and a small wave as he turned and skated back.

The rest of the game passed much more comfortably. Din really tried to ignore the amount of Cobb’s cologne he could smell in the scarf. He more than once caught himself with his nose deep in the scarf before telling himself that it wasn’t right and he straightened his back and tried to focus on the game. He smiled brightly when there was down time in the game and Cobb would catch his eye and gave a small wave. 

When the game had ended Din waited outside as everyone cleared out of the rink, jacket and scarf in hand, leaning against a light pole near the curb. Cobb came outside, turned around talking to two of his teammates. He was in the middle of a laugh when he turned and saw Din. His loud laugh quickly turned soft along with his eyes and he gave the darker haired man a large grin. He excused himself from his group and made his way over to him.

“How was the game?”

“You just played it,” Din pointed out with a laugh. At Cobb’s glare he nodded, “I enjoyed it. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming,” Cobb returned easily. 

There was another moment of silence much like inside the rink. Neither really cared about the chill of the air or the late hour. They just wanted to stay there, staring into each other’s eyes.

At the sound of a car honking, Cobb jumped and turned towards the source to see his teammates in the car waiting for him. “I should-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Din said. “You go. You have a party to go to.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Cobb asked as Din handed him back his scarf and jacket.

“I’m sure. Parties aren’t really my scene. Plus Grogu is at home, I should get back to him.”

Cobb nodded and they said their goodbyes. “I’ll call you later,” Cobb shouted back to him as he got in the car. Din just nodded with a grin and waved him off before heading back to his apartment.

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

Din was woken up by his phone ringing loudly. He had fallen asleep on the sofa after having fought to get Grogu to bed. He was still in his jeans and hoodie, and still just as exhausted as when he had sat down. He shushed his phone in a panic, knowing it would do nothing to actually help, just not wanting Grogu to wake up. He glanced at Cobb’s name across his screen.

“When people say ‘I’ll call you later,’ they typically mean at least the next day,” he grumbled when he picked.

He heard Cobb’s chuckle on the other end. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you. And technically it is the next day.” He sounded almost as exhausted as Din felt.

Din hummed. “What time is it?” He glanced at the clock in the kitchen but his eyes were too blurry from sleep to read it. 

“It’s 1 am. I’m really sorry.” And he sounded really sorry too, which broke Din’s heart.

“It’s alright. Are you alright?” he asked in a hurry, finally awake enough to realize Cobb wouldn’t be calling so late unless he needed to.

“I’m alright.” Din sighed in relief. “But I do have a big favor to ask.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Is there any way you could come get me? Or call somebody to come get me?”

“What happened?” Din was back on edge. He could hear the frustration in Cobb’s voice.

“I just,” he sighed again, “I’ve had too much to drink to walk home, I don’t like the idea of asking someone here for a ride, and if I stay here any longer than I have to somebody is getting punched.”

Din was already up putting on his shoes. “What’s the address?”

The next few minutes passed in a blur. He quickly woke Grogu up enough to get his jacket and shoes on and get him into the car. The kid was out again seconds after his father buckled him in. Din drove as steadily as he could, trying not to panic or speed and failing at both. When he finally got to the house, he pulled up front and checked on Grogu before getting out and locking the doors, deciding he couldn’t and shouldn’t take him with him to the door. 

He rang the door bell and the door was quickly answered by a disheveled looking college student. “I’m here to get Cobb.”

The man looked him up and down and chuckled. He turned his head over his shoulder and called out, “Vanth, your boyfriend is here!” 

“Oh, no,” Din said quickly. “I’m just here to pick him up.”

“Hey, Darlin’,” Cobb slurred as he came to the door, wrapping his scarf around his neck. 

There were whistles from the other hockey players inside the house and Cobb just rolled his eyes and he pushed past the player at the door and throwing he arm over Din’s shoulders and he pulls him towards the car. 

Once they were inside and Din was pulling away, Cobb cleared his throat. “Thank you for getting me,” he whispered. He turned and glanced at Grogu still asleep in his car seat behind his dad. “I’m sorry, sometimes I forget you’ve got a little one.”

“It’s alright, he’s sleeping through it. He won’t even remember this in the morning,” Din answered honestly. They were silent for a moment before he pulled over and parked the car at a random curb. He turned and looked at Cobb who was looking extremely confused. “Did you tell your team we were dating?” 

“No, why?”

“Because they think we are,” Din spoke pointedly.

Cobb stuttered for a moment. “Aren’t we?” Din froze. When he received no answer, Cobb continued, “Weren’t all those ice cream study sessions dates?” 

“I-,” he paused and took a breath. “I didn’t think they were dates, did you think they were dates?”

“Well, yeah.” 

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for the first time ever. Neither knew what to say. Grogu made a frustrated sound behind them and they both turned towards him, concern on both their faces. Realizing he was still asleep, Din relaxed. He locked eyes with Cobb and chuckled. 

“So,” Cobb spoke softly, officially breaking the tension. “Since those apparently weren’t dates, would you like to get ice cream on Tuesday? 2:00?”

“As a date?”

“Yes, Din,” Cobb laughed, “as a date.”

Din hummed and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

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

Tuesday afternoon he spent hours pacing his apartment. Peli had taken Grogu around 1:00 to allow Din time to get ready. He had traded his NASA hoodie, which he realized Cobb had never not seen him in before, for a simple button down and a jacket. He kept going back to his hair, trying to make it perfect but the fluff wouldn’t settle down the way he wanted. 

Really what filled his mind was thoughts of Cobb. They hadn’t talked much since the night of the party. Din couldn’t help the thought that kept racing around his head, “Cobb was drunk when he asked him out.” 

He didn’t believe that Cobb, even drunk, would say something like that to him and not mean it. But he couldn’t help the doubt.

He sat on the sofa, his elbows on his knees, watching the time tick by. 

At 2:10, he felt his heart drop. He was seconds away from picking up his phone to call Peli when he heard a knock.

He opened the door to see a very out of breath Cobb standing in front of him. 

“Sorry, I know I’m late, I had to deal with something.” And by ‘something’ he meant he was also attempting to get his hair perfect. He looked Din over and smiled sadly. “You’re not wearing your hoodie.”

Din looked down at himself. “It’s a date. Aren’t you supposed to look nice for dates?”

“Well yeah, but,” Cobb paused and chuckled, “you just look so cute in your hoodie.”

“I can go put it on if you really want me to,” Din said with a laugh and a nod towards his room. 

“Nah,” Cobb shook his head, “you look really nice, just making me feel underdressed, is all.”

Din laughed and stepped out into the hallway, pulling his door shut and locking it. “Come on, Cowboy. Let’s go get ice cream.” 

He let Cobb toss his arm over his shoulders as they walked and all Din could think was how glad he was that the school required everyone to take a science class.

[averykedavra]

Are We There Yet

Hey look it’s losleep that might be *knocks on wood* actually somewhat short? I’m doing these prompts way out of order because I’ve accepted that I won’t finish them so I’m just doing the ones that call my name.

(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! You can find this fic on Ao3 here.)

Prompt: The temperature of your chest gets hotter when you are closer to your soulmate and colder when you move further away.


Pairing: QPR Losleep.

Words: 6856

Warnings: self-deprecation, food mention, arson mention, death mention, sleep deprivation, minor injury, swearing, hypothermia kind of, and this whole thing could be read as a metaphor for touch starvation

Remy is not clingy.

Okay? Okay.

He doesn’t need anybody. Sure, it’s nice when Logan holds his hand, pretty cool when Logan kisses his cheek, but if no? Remy’s fine with that. He made it like twenty-something years without the boi, after all. Besides, physical affection is ew. He only puts up with it ‘cause Logan likes it.

And if sometimes he flops into Logan’s lap and whines about work until Logan plays with his hair, that’s to annoy his babe. Not because he likes it.

And if he always sticks close to Logan? It’s because Logan drives the cold away.

Which is also not a problem. Remy likes being cold. He’s a frozen dream-come-true, a cool and collected boi, a chill and fabulous being. He’s got his jacket if things get too bad.

Besides, again, he made it twenty years without warmth.

(Twenty pretty fucking terrible years, if he’s honest, but just because he’s half-delirious sometimes from the feeling of being warm doesn’t mean he needs to be desperate about it.)

He’s not desperate. He’s not clingy. He does what he wants and his stupid partner doesn’t control him.

Remy’s not clingy, and Logan’s going away this week, and it’s fine.

“I’ll be back soon,” Logan promises for the fifth time. “You can call me if you need anything, and there’s extra groceries in the fridge, and the keys are by the door--”

“Babe, I’ll be fine.” Remy rolls his eyes. “Tbh, I think you’re more nervous about this than I am.”

“I’m not nervous,” Logan argues, although the way his eyes flicker around says otherwise. “Remember to turn off the stove, and--”

“Darling.” Remy gives Logan a kiss on the nose and enjoys the way Logan flushes and wrinkles his nose. One year of being partners and Logan still stammers under affection. Clearly, Remy needs to give him more.

(It’s just for the reaction, though. It’d be fine if Logan didn’t want kisses. Remy wouldn't sulk.)

“Starlight,” Remy says, placing another kiss on Logan’s cheek for good measure, “my good bitch, I’m capable of managing one week without burning the house down.”

“I know, I know.” Logan gives him a small smile. “I’m just--I wish you could come with me.”

“Plane tickets are fucking expensive,” Remy says, “and I’d rather go broke buying espresso than flying in some tin death trap, ‘kay? Go do your conference thing. It’ll be fine--I’ll hold down the fort.”

Logan frowns. “What fort?”

“Expression, honey.” Remy gives Logan one more kiss because he can’t help himself (but he’ll be fine without these for a week, of course.) “Good luck, show those assholes what you’re made of.”

“They’re hardly assholes.” Logan touches his forehead to Remy’s and Remy does his best not to melt in the warmth. “You’ll really be okay without me?”

“Of course,” Remy says, grinning. “My life will go on without you. I’m not that clingy.”

Something flashes over Logan’s face, but it’s gone before Remy can parse it. Logan gives him a final kiss and grabs his suitcases, pulling on a blazer that makes him look fucking stunning, in Remy’s opinion. Goddammit. Logan’s wasting his hella fine looks on some conference assholes when he could be here with Remy, sipping coffee and making fun of every episode of Gilmore Girls.

Well. What the hell does Remy care? He really does get that Logan needs to go to that conference, since Mr. Serious Professor is the only real income-giver in the household. Remy’s just a layabout who pays meager rent only on months when the coffee shop doesn’t fully fail.

He has no idea why Logan chose Remy, of all people, because he figured professor-types ought to stick together.

(He knows why. They’re soulmates. Without each other, they’re cold as ice, and tbh, Remy gets it. Logan would rather be with a mess than freezing to death. Fair enough. Still, it hurts, knowing you could be replaced with a fucking space heater.)

Logan gives Remy a little wave, and Remy gives him a cocky smile in return, adjusting his sunglasses and already planning the five-shot espresso he’s gonna use to drown his feelings.

Just one week.

This is gonna be fine.

Remy circles the end of the week on his calendar, once, twice, three times. Just so he’s not surprised. Sometimes time slips away around him and he’d like to be clothed when his partner shows up again.

He spends the rest of the evening watching TV. He heats up some macaroni, burns his tongue on it, and eats two brownies because why the hell not? It’s only like nine when he’s done, but the apartment is eerily empty. Logan’s usually busy with grading these evenings, face lit by his laptop, and Remy teases him and passes him some coffee and pulls him to bed when he’s really wrapped up.

Remy runs his hand idly over the spot where Logan usually sits.

Ugh. This is setting him on edge. He doesn’t like empty places and he has the urge to yell just to fill up the pockets of silence.

Remy makes himself one coffee. He shouldn’t. If Logan were here, he’d chide Remy and say Remy needs to sleep soon. Remy dangles his coffee mug in midair but Logan doesn’t catch it. ‘Cause Logan’s not here.

Duh, Remy, what’d you expect?

Remy chugs the coffee, tosses the mug in the sink, and tells himself he’ll clean it tomorrow.

He curls up in bed and stays on his phone until midnight. As the night wears on, he grows colder and colder. He pictures Logan flying on a plane to somewhere else, maybe sleeping with some stupid sleep mask on, his hair all messy and his glasses in his hands.

Remy’s phone vibrates.

If you’re still up, go to sleep.

Logan signs the text with a blue heart. He always does. Remy has done his goddamn best to teach Logan how emojis actually work, but Logan insists that words are “a highly more productive and lucid way of communicating.”

He always adds a heart though. Says it’s a quick way to remind Remy that he loves him.

Logan’s such a fucking sap sometimes.

(Remy ignores the fact that he’s smiling at his phone like it’s his firstborn child.)

lol hypocrite smh, he decides to write back.

I, at least, have the excuse of jet lag. Get some sleep, dear, we can talk tomorrow.

Remy sighs and doesn’t ask him to stay. He really is tired. And he’s not desperate.

He tosses his phone onto the nightstand and pulls his blankets up to his shoulders.

He’s cold.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he wakes up and he’s still cold. Damn, the universe is a bitch.

Rubbing his arms and swearing, Remy stumbles into the kitchen and fumbles for the espresso machine. He tosses a good morning behind him and then remembers Logan’s not here. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes himself.

He’s not gonna think about Logan right now.

Besides, Remy could use this alone time! Right? He’s always complained about Logan getting in his personal space.

(It’s a joke. It’s a joke and Logan always sees right through it, and Remy hates it.)

Remy nods to himself. He gets dressed in his usual jacket and pulls it tighter around him, as if clothes can get rid of the cold in his chest.

He takes a sip of coffee, pulls on his sunglasses, and gets ready to face the day.

His first shift goes okay. A bunch of couples come in, giggling and blushing, and Remy can tell the newest ones from the way they cling to each other’s arms. He fucking hates the universe sometimes. Depending on how sensitive a soul is, the cold can mess with people good. Some people never find their soulmate and freeze inside and out, unable to fix it, suffering from a cold that physically doesn’t exist. It’s all in their head, or their soul, to be sentimental about it.

Soulmates are bullshit if they hurt someone for not being there enough.

And being forced to be with someone...there are problems. Remy’s heard the stories. Seen the tears. Soulmates might be “made for each other” but sometimes shit happens, and the problem is nobody can leave that mess, because soulmates and because going from warm to cold is terrifying.

(Even for the relationships that work out--like Remy’s--there’s always the undercurrent of doubt. That it’s all about the temperature, the destiny, the expectations. And not about real love. Remy tries not to think about that.)

Still, watching the younger couples trade coffees and smile, Remy gets why everyone falls in love with the idea.

He spends his lunch break staring at his phone and hoping Logan will text him. Logan’s probably asleep--time zones, right? Plus the babe always gets conked out after plane rides.

Remy could text Logan, just to know. But it hasn’t been a day yet. He’s not gonna be needy.

He does his second shift, downs two espressos, and pretends the caffeine rush eclipses the cold settling into his bones.

He only grabbed a bun for lunch, so for dinner he cooks up some chicken. Then he watches more TV. Without realizing it, he grabs several blankets and pulls them around himself until he’s a blanket burrito. It’s warm. He almost falls asleep right there but manages to drag himself to bed, because an annoying voice in the back of his brain told him Logan would be mad if Remy stayed on the couch all night.

What does it matter, though? Logan isn’t here.

Remy still goes to bed.

He piles a quilt on top of his shoulders. The weight drowns him and he drifts off to sleep.

He only wakes up once.

Logan is texting him. Remy fumbles for the phone, ridiculously excited.

I hope you are well. Talk to you tomorrow morning, if you are willing.

Remy swallows and texts back sure.

Too quick? Too desperate? Nah, Logan likes punctuality, and anyway, it says he hasn’t read the text. He probably sent it, turned his phone off, and went to sleep. Logan’s responsible like that.

Remy watches his phone for a few more seconds, sighs, and turns it over. It takes a while for him to go back to sleep.

Day two and day three are a blur. He crosses the days off on the calendar, resolving to burn it before Logan sees. He’s run out of espresso so he makes a quick trip to the grocery store. They’ve turned the air conditioning on, even though it’s fall. Remy shivers his way through the aisles. He buys Logan’s favorite ice cream without thinking and sticks it in the back of the freezer. He’ll be here in four days, after all.

Remy bites his lip, pulls on his jacket, and goes back outside.

He goes to Logan’s favorite bookshop. The door tinkles when he opens it. At least this place isn’t air conditioned, though Remy still shivers, remembering all the afternoons when Logan dragged him here. He heads for the astronomy books and runs his fingers down the shelves. He has no idea what book to get. Logan’s the smart one. Remy’s just the bitch.

He buys a few books. They have space on the cover so Remy figures Logan’ll tolerate them. It costs like twice his week’s paycheck. Remy tries not to be salty about it. It’s not like Logan’s forcing him to buy this stuff. He did it himself.

Why, he’s not sure.

It’s only when he’s walking home with a bag of books and swilling the dregs of his coffee around when he realizes he’s gonna have to find a why. He’ll have to explain to Logan why he impulse-brought the babe some books. And he’ll have to make it somehow sound not-pathetic.

Well, that’s a problem for Future Remy.

Present Remy sticks the books in a closet--is that where books go? He usually just reads cafe menus--and cooks up some fried rice for dinner. All boxed, of course. It tastes like crap. He wonders if he should buy takeout tomorrow, but he just spent a bunch of money on fucking books, so maybe not.

He takes the books back out of the closet. He slips them into place on Logan’s shelves. They’re probably out of order. Logan has a wack organization system. But they look at home on the shelf, and none of the titles seem to be repeats, so that’s cool.

Remy takes a deep breath. They smell like paper, duh. Paper and leather and Logan, just a bit. Or maybe Logan smells like books.

Okay, now that’s pathetic. Remy backs away from the bookshelf. Why’d he even buy those stupid things?

(Because he can imagine Logan did. Because that bookstore reminded him of Logan and he feels like he could summon Logan with his favorite things. Like Logan is a demon or something. Well, tbh, he is a demon if his ability to recite the periodic table is any indication. Also, demons are pretty. And Logan is unfairly pretty, with fluffy hair and dark eyes and a little scar on his cheek and a dip in his chin.)

Remy sighs and watches a bit of TV. He turns it off soon enough because the words slip through his brain and leave no trace behind. Then he grabs the vacuum and turns it up.

He never vacuums. Logan does the cleaning and the cooking. Remy does the...lounging about? And the complaining. Logan also fixes anything that’s broken. Remy--well, maybe he does the errands? He does the errands. It’s not much, though, and it suddenly hits him how much Logan does every day. He’s got a full-time job teaching some college babies how to spell, and he still cooks dinner every night.

Remy narrows his eyes, rolls up his sleeves, and vacuums.

It’s loud. Plus he can’t remember which attachment goes on the carpet and which on the floor. So he might be doing more damage than help here. But fuck it.

When he’s done, he shoves the vacuum back into the closet. Then he grabs the laundry basket and does the laundry. He gets detergent on his jacket, which is not cool, and then he has to fold the fucking laundry. Remy looks up how to fold stuff. He’s pretty sure he’s made everything wrinkly, and some of the clothes didn’t fit in the drawer so he had to smush them.

As an apology, he washes the sink. It’s not bad. Then he washes the mirror--not bad--and the bathtub--worse--and the toilet--hell on earth. By the end of it, he feels like every bit of slime and muck has been transported onto his skin.

He takes a warm shower. He keeps turning the heat up because he forgets the cold inside doesn’t match his actual temperature, and he can’t help it because for a second, it’s like he’s actually warm.

The air is freezing when he steps out. He wraps himself in three towels, stumbles into his bedroom, and throws on two pajama shirts and some extra-fluffy socks. He feels like shit. He has no idea how Logan manages to do all this stuff.

His phone vibrates as he’s collapsing into bed.

If I’m not disturbing you, would you like to talk?

Remy snorts to cover up his huge smile.

hey babe

Greetings. how was your day?

p cool.

Remy pauses before adding: did some chores.

Really? That wasn’t necessary.

im still in this apartment so ye, it was.

That reminds me. Are the groceries running out?

Something twitches in Remy’s stomach. He doesn’t know why. What, did he expect Logan to comment? To thank him? To come flying back home because Remy cleaned the sink?

(Yes. Maybe. Hopefully. It isn’t about Logan’s approval--except it is. Remy wants to know he’s not a screwup. That he did something right. That Logan can ease up because Remy can help out more. And maybe it would make the cold in his chest go away, just a bit.)

Remy sighs.

course not. it’s been like three days

I was just checking. What are you having for lunch?

already had it. it’s like midnight over here

Oh. Apologies. I’ll let you get some sleep.

Remy could say no. He could say stay with me. He could say nah, I’m bored, let’s chat.

He’s not clingy, though.

night babe

Goodnight.

Remy doesn’t even bother putting his phone away. He plugs it in and holds it next to him. It’s warm. And with the many blankets piled up on top of him, he can almost pretend Logan’s there, a fire that sears him inside and out.

He barely sleeps.

Day four is rainy. Remy usually asks Logan to drive him to work, so today he dashes down the sidewalk with an umbrella and curses wildly every time a drop of rain lands on his jacket. All the customers leave puddles on the floor. Remy has to mop them up.

He’s pissed. Pissed at nothing in particular, pissed at the customers who are all a little bit rude, pissed at the cold rattling in his chest.

(He’s more than halfway through the week and he’s barely managed to get this far. Pathetic.)

He chugs coffee right from the pot. It’s blistering hot and he can feel it trickle through him. He’s burning warm now and yet so, so cold. He bets he could burn to death and still feel freezing.

Goddammit.

Fucking soulmates.

Remy is cold. Remy is annoyed. Remy would like very much to go home.

And he gets his wish--because he slips on a puddle by the front door and his ankle skews out in a direction ankles should not go.

He’d try to stay and do his job, but his manager insists he should go home. He asks Remy if anyone’s picking him up. Remy shakes his head.

Remy should stick it out and get paid. Instead, he limps home.

His ankle isn’t swollen much, but it hurts like fuck to walk on, so he props it up on a table and watches TV. Maybe he should be doing more. He just got the afternoon off, after all. But he doesn’t fucking feel like it. So Logan can fight him.

Logan’s not here to fight him.

Ugh. Fuck Logan. Fuck soulmates. Fuck Remy’s stupid twisted ankle. Everything hurts and he wants to commit arson.

Maybe that’d warm him up.

He stays up most of the night. Logan doesn’t text him, or maybe he does and Remy doesn’t hear it over the TV. He doesn’t check. Fuck Logan. Fuck everything in the whole fucking world.

By the time it’s three in the morning, his ankle is still throbbing and he’s about to punch something.

He groans and burrows deeper into his mass of blankets. He’s still really, really cold. He wishes he wasn’t so fucking sensitive--some people feel the temperature super acutely, and Remy’s one of them. Usually he likes being acute, or, more accurately, a-cute piece of ass. This, though? This fucking blows.

Remy drifts in and out of a doze for the rest of the night. He dreams he’s sinking into a frozen lake and nobody’s there to help. He wakes up to the credits playing and his ankle sparkling with hot pain.

Hot pain that he almost doesn’t mind at this point, since it’s a respite from the cold.

Fucking soulmates.

Remy hopes Logan never comes back. He’ll just freeze to death sad and alone and that’d serve Logan right.

(He doesn’t mean that. He never does. Logan would probably be sad if Remy died. And Remy likes being alive. He’s just...he’s just unraveling right now, a snarled mess of red-hot wire in his head, burning his thoughts but never warming the rest of him.)

Remy pulls a pillow out of his head.

He feels like shit, everything’s on fire except cold, and morning is a long way away.

When morning comes, he calls in sick. Because he still feels like shit. Except the special kind of shit he always feels like after pulling an all-nighter. His back is stiff and his ankle throbs dully and his eyes itch. The TV stayed on all night. Remy wonders if that contributes to the electricity bill--Logan always handles that kind of thing.

Logan always handles everything.

Can Logan handle Remy? Well, so far, he’s done alright.

Remy’s hard to handle sometimes, though.

Like now. He’s pretty sure if Logan saw him right now, he’d finally give up on the idea of soulmates.

Remy eats some chips for breakfast, binges a few shows, and eats more chips for lunch. He’s still hungry. Apparently chips aren’t that filling. Bullshit. Chips should count as food.

He nods off mid-afternoon and sleeps through dinner. His stomach is growling when he wakes up. He barely notices, though. It’s the cold that he really feels. It’s like he woke up made of ice, and any movement will shatter his joints and send him crashing to the ground in a pile of frozen splinters.

Dramatic? Yes. Justified? Also yes.

He feels like he’s on fucking fire. Except it’s cold instead of warm and there’s no way to put the fire out.

It’s supposed to be just the chest, but it feels like his whole body. From the tips of his toes to his hair follicles to his eyelashes to his chipped nails. Every blood vessel in his body is frozen, every patch of skin is icy, and when he blinks, he’s surprised no frost comes off of his eyelids.

Fuck, it hurts.

Why does he have to be so sensitive? Why can’t he last one week without his soulmate? Why did the universe look at Remy and decide hey, that’s the bitch we should saddle with super fucking sensitivity to this soulmate shit, so he becomes a clingy bitch and drags everyone else down with him?

Remy works his way into a sitting position and grabs for his phone. An unanswered text from Logan lights up.

How are you doing?

I’m chilling, Remy writes back.

Which is technically true.

(And besides, no need to worry Logan. He can’t do anything about the situation right now, so whining about it would only make Remy look like a mess. Besides, Logan would probably be annoyed--annoyed that his soulmate can’t handle it, that his soulmate won’t shut up, that his soulmate is Remy who’s just entirely wrong for him in every single fucking way.)

Logan doesn’t answer the text. He’s probably busy or asleep.

Remy feels so, so cold.

He frantically searches up solutions for soulmate-induced chills. He has flashbacks to middle and high school, back before he found Logan, cold every morning. People complained he was faking it, that there was no way it felt that bad, and eventually Remy learned to stop talking about it. Later the doctors told him he was abnormally sensitive, and even later he found out that Logan lived miles and miles away.

It had all been kind of justified. But that didn’t make him feel any better.

And today it just makes him feel worse. Great. Five days without his soulmate and he’s slipping back into old habits. Five days without his soulmate and he’s curled up on the couch and trying to find a way to make the cold leave.

Needy? Yes. Desperate? Yes. Justified? Yes, but also, not really.

All the tips involve stuff Remy can’t muster up the urge to go and find. He settles for rubbing at his skin, his wrists, his sides and his knees. For a second there’s a bit of relief, and then gone. It’s like itchy mosquito bites--the moment he warms one patch of skin, another starts aching with cold.

And he’s still hungry. And his ankle still hurts.

Remy curls deeper in the blankets and imagines Logan, Logan pressing a kiss to his hairline, Logan running a hand down his side, Logan close to him and Logan warm, like a bonfire Remy can never touch. Logan is the fucking sun and Remy is a cold, distant planet, trying his damn hardest to get close but knowing he’s just a blip on the radar. Logan can light up the world on his own. Without Logan, Remy can’t do jack-shit.

Remy is spinning through the universe, and it is dark and cold and really, really lonely.

He tugs a blanket over his head and tries to sleep.

When he wakes up again, it’s day six, and his eyelids are stuck together and he wishes fervently for coffee.

He fumbles for his phone. Logan’s texted him. Remy can’t muster up a smile.

It’s a long text. A paragraph. Logan’s walking Remy through his day? Cute. Logan’s so cute.

Remy tries to read it, but his eyes slip closed again and his stomach rumbles and his ankle stings and maybe he’ll just sleep until Logan gets here again, maybe he’ll enter hibernation--

He should answer Logan’s text.

He should call a friend. He’s pretty sure he has some, though he can’t remember why.

He should--maybe he should call 911.

But nah.

Remy’s not clingy, right?

He’s fine.

The phone slips from his hand as he falls back asleep.

Remy’s heard, somewhere, that having hypothermia means you get really warm right before you die. The cold kills you without you even feeling it.

And he can’t die from this. But he does wake up warm and that’s probably not a good sign.

Remy grabs his phone and checks the time. It’s...twelve. Twelve on the day Logan’s returning--and he’s returning at three.

Fuck, shit, fuck--

Remy scrambles to his feet, every bone in his body groaning in complaint. He feels like he got run over by a truck and he probably looks that way, too. His stomach is growling and his hands are shaking and his ankle doesn’t hurt anymore but it also won’t move the way it’s supposed to. He grabs his sunglasses and pulls them on, checking his phone’s texts.

A few texts from his manager. Because yeah, he just missed two extra days of work without even calling the guy. Fuck. Remy’ll have to work overtime or it’ll come down to Logan to pay the bills, and Remy doesn’t want to be even more useless.

One text from Logan.

I’m on the plane. I can’t wait to see you!

Remy wishes the feeling was mutual.

He pulls on his jacket and takes a look around. The living room is a mess of blankets that drown the couch and spill out onto the floor. The TV is blinking--Remy must have sat on the remote. He thwaps the side a few times until it turns off. Maybe he broke it. Well, problem for Future Remy.

Remy bundles up most of the blankets and shoves them haphazardly into the closet. Then he grabs the chip bags and throws them out. He’s starving--he pulls out a yogurt cup and downs it, then makes himself a triple-shot espresso. It’s scalding hot and he almost feels warm drinking it.

He doesn’t feel warm.

He doesn’t feel cold, either.

He feels--well, he’s not sure how he feels. Better, maybe? He’s definitely less of a lump. But everything’s kind of numb and lukewarm and hazy, and his hands won’t stop trembling.

He makes himself another coffee, just for good measure.

The sun streams through the window. Standing in it usually warms Remy up--today it makes him feel cold. He steps into the shadows and they skate over him comfortably. Chilly and numbing and safe, and this is very worrying, and maybe he should call a doctor.

Eh, Logan’ll be back soon. So it’s fine.

Remy tries to remember everything he should do. He was gonna explain to Logan why he bought those books. And what happened to his ankle. And why he hasn’t texted back. And how shitty everything’s been--well, no, not that last one.

Right! Right. The calendar. Throw it out so Remy doesn’t look desperate.

Remy stumbles over to the calendar and tears it down. It’s only marked halfway to today, because he’d given up on crossing off the days, but it’s still irritating to see.

Logan will be here soon.

Remy’s phone vibrates.

Logan’s in the airport. He’s driving home.

For some reason, Remy’s heart starts to race.

(Because the apartment is a mess. Because there are more astronomy books than there used to be. Because Remy looks like a dead rat. Because he hasn’t gone to work. Because Logan will see this mess and realize what a mess Remy is without him.)

Probably, the coffee didn’t help. Remy still takes a sip of it because the familiar taste helps ground him.

Okay. Logan’s getting here soon. And Remy will be warm. And everything will be fine. Everything will be fine and Remy can explain things later, when he’s warm.

He can feel Logan in his chest. Maybe that's why he woke up so warm--because Logan’s near. Logan’s near, and Logan’s close, and this should be enough.

It’s not.

Remy’s still numb in his extremities and trembling in his hands. He’s growing warmer but not fast enough. Logan’s not here yet and it hurts.

(Desperate.)

Yeah, he’s fucking desperate.

He paces back and forth across the kitchen. Back and forth. Back and forth. The exercise sends little tingles up his legs. He’s lukewarm right now. And it’s almost as painful as the cold, being so close to warmth but not quite there, hanging in limbo.

Remy checks his phone again and again and again.

He doesn’t text Logan, though. That’d be really needy.

Time ticks on and Remy wonders if the world has frozen instead of him.

He wants to scream. He wants to throw open the door and run to wherever Logan is and collapse in his arms and never leave. He wants to be near Logan. He wants to be with Logan. He wants Logan to never leave.

He wants.

Remy paces and back and forth and wants, more than he’s ever let himself before.

He probably looks so pathetic.

Maybe Logan’s late. Maybe Logan’s stopping to get groceries. Maybe Logan got mugged, or maybe Logan just isn’t here yet because it isn’t time yet, and Remy’s waiting--

A key turns in the lock.

Remy almost drops his coffee. He scrambles for it and manages to slam it on the counter. Then he puts his arm next to it, stares at the window, and tries to look nonchalant.

The door opens.

Logan.

Logan, his partner, his starlight.

Remy wants to run to him and tackle him and never let him go.

“Oh, hey, babes,” he says instead, glancing at Logan. “Back already? Time flies.”

“Don’t mention flying,” Logan complains, closing the door behind him and rubbing his eyes. “My flight back was a nightmare.”

“Really? Spill the tea, babe!” Remy casually grabs one of Logan’s suitcases. “I’ll cut a bitch if they fucked with you.”

“It was a baby,” Logan complains.

“Oh, damn, can’t kill it, can I?” Remy leans in to give Logan a quick kiss on the cheek and veers away just as quickly. Logan is a furnace. Remy’s melting in the proximity and he wants to get far away and he wants to burrow into the center of the warmth and let it envelop him.

Logan gives Remy an odd look. Remy grins and takes another sip of coffee.

“How are you?” Logan asks, peeling off his jacket. “You didn’t text me back. Were you busy?”

Remy shrugs. “Busy, bingeing Riverdale, what’s the difference?”

“Riverdale is a ridiculous show.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Logan rolls his eyes and leans in to press a kiss to Remy’s forehead. “I’m glad to be back, dear.”

And Remy almost shoves him away.

He realizes the instant he’s done so that he’s made a mistake. Logan’s staring at him in open confusion and--oh no--a bit of hurt.

“Is something wrong?” Logan asks. His voice is way too soft.

(He’s too close. He’s too far. Remy is going to burn up from the pure kindness in Logan’s eyes because fuck is he clingy.)

“Remy?” Logan asks.

Remy’s gone too long without talking.

“’Course I’m fine, babe.” Remy laughs. “You must be tired, right? Jet-lag and all that jazz. C’mon, let’s put your stuff away.”

Logan gives Remy a searching look. “We don’t have to right away. We can...watch a movie? Or cuddle, if you’d like.”

“Nah, you’re probably exhausted.” Remy tosses his coffee into the sink and waves at Logan to follow him. “I’ll get your stuff and you can go to bed, it’s fine--”

“Remy,” Logan says.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Remy looks back. Logan’s eyebrows are pulled together and he’s almost glowing in the afternoon sun. He’s tired. Remy can tell. Bags are smudged under his eyes and his hair is rumpled up. (Remy would reach out and rumple it more if he dared to get any closer.)

So why is he still here?

“Lo,” Remy says, and it comes out softer than he wanted. “Talk later. Sleep now.”

“Talk now, thank you.” Logan steps closer and Remy steps back. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Remy protests.

“Are you?” Logan reaches for his hand and Remy pulls it towards his chest. “I--I apologize if I’m overstepping, I promise I didn’t mean to alarm you--”

Remy takes another step back. Logan’s too close and too warm and too--

His twisted ankle slips.

He falls towards the kitchen floor and braces himself.

Warm.

Searing warmth around his chest.

Logan caught him.

Logan caught him and is holding him upright, eyes wide, face inches from Remy’s own. Where his skin meets Remy’s skin? Fire. Explosions of fireworks and the warmth of a hot bath and Remy’s missed this. Fuck, he’s missed this.

“Are you alright?” Logan asks.

Remy opens his mouth to say something and doesn’t.

“I--” Logan moves to step back. “Apologies, I didn’t want you to fall--”

No.

Maybe Remy’s clingy, but no, Logan is not moving away.

Remy throws his arms around Logan’s shoulders and curls into him.

Logan makes a small noise before returning the hug, hand coming up to cup Remy’s neck. It sears his skin and Remy should be in pain. He’s not. He actually whines, turning his face into Logan’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Dear,” Logan whispers. His hand rubs down Remy’s side and Remy shudders. “Could you tell me what’s going on?”

Remy looks up, and his whole body is warm, and he realizes far too late that he’s starting to cry.

“Oh." Logan looks absolutely terrified. “Remy, what’s wrong?”

Remy doesn’t know how to say absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. So he settles for clinging to Logan’s shirt and disappearing into the warmth again, letting Logan hold him, knowing soon he’ll have to pull away but unwilling to let soon be now.

“Remy, dearest.” Logan brushes a kiss over Remy’s forehead and Remy whines again, goddammit. “Please, I can’t help you unless you talk to me. Or if you’re not ready, at least--at least signal to me what I can do?”

Don’t let go.

Fuck, Logan, don’t let go.

“Sorry,” Remy mutters, and tries to force himself to move out of Logan’s arms. “I--sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Logan sounds even more confused and upset. “Remy, I’m very confused right now.”

“I--” Remy manages to scoot a little bit away from Logan. The cold hits him like a blast and he shivers. “Don’t mind me.”

Logan reaches out and catches Remy’s hand. He folds it in his own. Remy stares at it and looks up, and he realizes his vision is blurring. Shit. He’s crying over held hands--he really is pathetic.

“Remy.”

Remy almost gasps as Logan presses their hands to his chest. Remy can feel Logan’s heartbeat, fluttering under his fingers.

“Remy, please,” Logan insists. “I’m worried.”

“I--you--” Remy tries to roll his eyes. “I’ve just...missed you, is all.”

“Oh?”

“And it’s--” Remy shrinks into himself, looking away. “I’m not trying to be needy or anything. But it’s--y’know. It’s been kinda cold without you.”

“Oh.”

Remy stares at his feet, eyes stinging.

“Remy, dearest, please look at me.” Logan’s voice is unexpectedly soft. “You’re cold?”

Remy nods.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“You couldn’t have done anything about it,” Remy points out.

“I still would have liked to know.” Logan places two fingers under Remy’s chin and tilts it up. Remy’s eyes meet Logan’s--Logan is so pretty, with those dark eyes and that ruffled hair and such a concerned look on his face. (Remy doesn’t deserve him.)

“Would you like to cuddle now?” Logan asks. “It will probably help.”

Remy shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t--” Remy waves a hand. “You’re tired.”

“I’m not, and even if I was, you’re more important.” Logan sighs. “We can even cuddle in bed and I can sleep, if it’s that necessary for you.”

“No thanks,” Remy says, trying to wipe away his tears surreptitiously. “I don’t need that.”

“But you want it,” Logan says. “Don’t you?”

Remy presses his lips together.

“Remy. Dearest.” Logan looks pained. “Why aren’t you letting yourself get what you want?”

Something stabs into Remy’s heart and stays there.

“I love you,” Logan pleads. “You’re cold. I--I’m afraid I don’t see what the problem is--”

“Because you don’t want to!” Remy bursts out.

“I don’t--what?” Logan looks utterly bewildered. “Of course I want you to be happy and warm!”

“But you don’t want--you can’t want--” Remy waves an arm at the kitchen, then at himself. “I’m just being clingy, it’s fine--”

“Clingy?” Logan repeats. And now he looks heartbroken.

“Yeah, needy, desperate, whatever.” Remy shrugs. “I’m just sensitive, it’s really fine.”

“Remy. Remy, please.” Logan shakes his head. “Remy, I love you.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Logan asks. “I love you and I want you to be happy and I treasure your company. It’s not a burden on me to support you.”

“But you always support me!” Remy fires back. “You do all the work and I just lounge around! I don’t--you’re just stuck with me ‘cause I’m your fucking soulmate!”

There’s a long, frozen silence.

“I’m sorry,” Remy whispers. “Really am, starlight.”

“No.” Logan squares his shoulders. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I ever made you think you weren’t good enough for me.”

“What?” Remy asks.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you believe I felt ‘stuck’ with you. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you didn’t contribute anything to this relationship. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel needy for wanting comfort.”

Remy swallows.

“I’m sorry if--” Logan shakes his head. “Do you remember the time I got a flat tire and you singlehandledly convinced several different people to drive us, in small increments, to a repair shop?”

“Yes?” Remy blinks a few times. “What’s this have to do with--”

“Do you remember the time one of my students almost dropped out and I cried because I thought I’d failed them, and you helped me reach out to them? They graduated, dearest. With a solid B minus.”

“I know, but--”

“Do you remember all the times you send me to bed for sleeping late?” Logan continues. “Do you remember all the afternoons you flopped on my lap and watched TV with me? Do you remember how you always let me talk about whatever I’d like and you always listen?”

Remy stares at Logan.

“I love you,” Logan says desperately, “and you have helped me so much, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. Soulmate or no, I love you. And I will always support you, without hesitation, just as much as you’ve supported me.”

Logan opens his arms. “So...if you’d like to, I think you might like a hug?”

Remy presses a hand to his mouth. “I--”

“It’s okay,” Logan says. “You’re not desperate. You just need help right now.”

Remy chokes back a sob and collapses into Logan’s arms.

“Shh,” Logan whispers as Remy starts to cry. “Shh, I’ve got you, I’m here.”

“I missed you,” Remy confesses.

“I know. I missed you too.”

“I love you.” Remy suddenly feels he needs to say it. “I love you so much, starlight.”

“I know.” Remy can hear the trace of a smile in Logan’s voice. “And I’m all the better for it.”

They stand there a long time, Remy sinking into the warmth, head on Logan’s shoulder and arms tucked around his waist. There are things they could be doing. Logan still needs sleep and Remy hasn’t eaten much and they’ve got jobs and lives and a million little things to put back in order.

For now, though, it’s just them in an empty kitchen.

Remy feels like his chest is on fire.

It’s not uncomfortable, though. It’s like the flame of a hearth, guiding him home. Telling him he’s right where he needs to be. And so is Logan.

Together. In each other’s arms. Smiling.

And fuck, Remy feels like he could touch the sun.

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[rosykims]

space in a room.

mind blind – ambrose kim x f!button (gracie wiseman). | rated general. 1462 words. pre relationship. denial. fluff.

He can’t recall the last time he’s been so relieved to say the words, “Class dismissed.”

Ambrose watches the group visibly brighten at the announcement of their freedom, and fights a roll of his eyes as a few of them all but spring up from their seats from sheer, unfiltered enthusiasm. It hasn’t been a bad day, nor has it been an exceptionally good day; all he knows is that watching Gracie Wiseman zoning in and out of reality has inspired in him nothing but the greatest mental fatigue in recent memory.

Just as he’s come to expect of her at the end of each day since her first, Wiseman turns to risk a cursory glance in his direction. She stiffens in surprise when she meets his eye, but flickers away a moment later to blink at a classmate who abruptly cut in front of her, making a near comical beeline for the exit.

Despite the rudeness, he’s glad to halt her quick retreat from the room. “Wiseman,” he snaps, and then nods for her to stay behind. “A moment.”

He waits wordlessly for the last few sluggish students to amble from the room, all the while gauging the brunette girl’s response to the resulting silence. Silence, he’s found, is a deceptively good (if not volatile) tool to use in conversation. Most people can’t stand it – which in turn makes them all the more eager to fill it.

Gracie Wiseman does not seem to fall into this majority, and rides out the quiet between them like it were no more unpleasant than an empty elevator.

When the room at last is privy only to them, Ambrose takes a seat at his desk and regards her candidly.

“You knew the answer to every question I raised today, and yet you said nothing. Why?”

Wiseman blinks at him, dark brows pulling together in confusion. “Well, that’s not true.”

“Do explain, then. Were you tapping out your answers in Morse Code, or did you think it best to rely on old fashioned telepathy, instead?”

“No, I meant …” She hesitates, dark eyes darting between him and the empty chair in front of his desk. After a moment – and with only the most well concealed hint of reluctance – she takes a seat. “I didn’t know the answer to every question, sir.”

If this were anybody else, he might have assumed she was fucking with him. And yet this isn’t anybody else. Wiseman remains polite and serious as ever, not one sardonic bone present in her well-shaped face; perhaps it’s that honest, earnest demeanor which causes him to glare even harder.

Neither his silence nor his intimidation seems to have much visible effect on her. After meeting his stare head on for a long, thoughtful moment, she shrugs with the same put together air of someone a little too well versed in conflict resolution. “I don’t like to take up space in a room, if I can help it. That’s all.”

“I see. So you – what? – intended to breeze through the next four years, safe and secure in your comfort zone? Is that it?”

She at least has the decency to purse her lips at that. In the weeks he’s known her, he’s seen little of anything in her expression besides of a sort of passive friendliness; absently approachable like a high-end real estate agent or a helpful-but-otherwise-vacant receptionist. Disapproval looks decidedly more fitting on her features than vacancy, he thinks.

Objectively speaking, of course.

“Not at all.” Wiseman’s words are a little rushed, giving her annoyance away. She bites down a self-deprecating tut as she reigns her emotions back in and continues. “I just … I had an unpleasant experience, a long time ago. In school. I’m a little less quick to give my opinion when it’s not needed, now.”

Ambrose bites his tongue to hold back a sigh. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. The last thing he could possibly want right now is another childhood sob story from another chronically maladjusted student. For reasons he can’t quite name but which make him decidedly uncomfortable nonetheless, he doesn’t cut her off with an eye roll as he would to any other pupil game enough to seek out his sympathy. Instead, he merely tents his fingers and leans back in his chair, preparing himself for the microcosmic melodrama she’s about to inflict upon him.

“Go on.”

She surprises him again by shaking her head. “I’ll spare you the details. It was a long time ago, like I said. My teacher asked a question, I answered, and he and the students got a decent laugh out of it at my expense. It happens. Most likely the response was a bit too … pretentious, probably.” Gracie – Wiseman – throws him a sheepishly self-aware smile. “I do think they were right to laugh, though. Embarrassment aside, it was a good lesson to learn in the long run; do I answer a question for the question’s sake, or do I answer a question to hear myself talk? I think sometimes it’s better to say … less.”

Ambrose dismisses an unexpected rush of true annoyance directed at Wiseman’s faceless former teacher, leaning forwards to frown at her once again. “I disagree completely,” he retorts. “I’m not interested in the philosophy of this, Cadet. Assessing your personal psychology for every question-answer scenario wastes mine and everybody else’s time. If a question is going unanswered, then answer the question.”

“And deny everyone else the choice to think it out for themselves?”

“Optimistic of you to assume your classmates are thinking much of anything during my lessons.”

Gracie – no, Wiseman – had smiled at his weak attempt at humour, once; he feels impressively foolish to have expected her to do so again. “That hardly seems fair,” she presses with a slight frown. “They’re all brilliant, from what I’ve seen.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes. He likes these first-years, for the most part. Some of them more than others. “But brilliant minds make for very lazy students, I’ve found. You aren’t exempt from that observation, either, Wiseman.”

This time, she does smile. Ambrose smiles too – briefly, but not quite brief enough – before adding, “Speak up in class more. A juvenile fear of taking up too much space in a room isn’t a good enough excuse, and it won’t work on me. Any room is better with you in it.”

The brunette’s brow creases, her lips parting for just a moment before she presses them into a tight line and glances away. An uncomfortable bout of silence – the same traitorous silence he’s usually so unaffected by – seeps between them until the echo of his words come back to laugh in his face and call him Idiot.

He can’t clear his throat fast enough. “Meaning,” he amends, “I will never discourage relevant and intelligent dialogue in my classes. Your contribution is as valuable as anybody else’s. So – contribute.”

She sighs – or, it’s almost a sigh; a deep inhale, with a short nod in the place of a weary breath out. “Yes, sir,” she murmurs. “I’ll work on it.”

“Good. That’s all, then.” As Gracie rises to her feet, smoothing out the non-existent creases of her uniform, Ambrose feels suddenly compelled to straighten up in his chair and look away entirely.

“Of course. Have a good afternoon, Instructor Kim.”

“Likewise, Cadet.”

He stares – unseeing, unblinking – into the blue ink mess of his paperwork, listening anxiously for her retreating footsteps. Just before she disappears back into nonthreatening hallway territory, Ambrose stifles a groan.

“Wiseman?”

Her footfalls halt near instantly. “Sir?”

“Just one more thing.”

“Oh – of course. What is it?”

“Your teacher shouldn’t have laughed at you. Not if your answer was correct. You were correct, weren’t you?”

He barely notices that he’s wound up looking at her again until he finds himself uneasy and self-conscious under the weight of her rueful smile. "Yes,” she replies honestly, all white teeth and dimples. “I usually am. More often than not, at least.”

He laughs, genuinely, although it’s lessened by a steadily growing sensation of inexplicable dread in the pit of his stomach. Anyone else might call it butterflies. “I don’t doubt that – but I do expect you to prove it. Take care, Wiseman.”

“Thank you, sir. You, too.”

Gracie offers a small, terribly affectionate smile in parting before closing the door behind her with a click that echoes ominously around the emptied room. Ambrose lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and then begins to think very fondly and in great detail about the cold shower waiting for him at home.