#ah FUCK AO3 is gonna be so depressing for MONTHS

[spacemarinewithastick]

I

I’m

I

I’m about to start crying

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

I WAS IN NO WAY PREPARED FOR ANY OF THAT I CABDHWIWJHDHWJEVEHEJHREJRJJRJRJRJRJRJE

I I can’t say more right now, I would never forgive myself if I spoiled that episode for people but just…….. I NEED EPISODE 8 RIGHT THE FUCK NOW BEFORE I DIE OF A HEART ATTACK

[geuwon]

pairing: zoro x sanji / zosan (one piece)

genre: fluff, idiocy, getting together, mutual pining

warnings: none, just headache inducing dumbassery from the two of them

ao3

sanji never liked books. he thinks they're too unrealistic to entertain him. the only ones he can stand are those with recipes.

that was until robin introduced him to a "stupid" romance novel, one that he liked quite a lot.

since then, he's become a bookworm and bonds more with robin over their shared interests. he has also been comparing a certain marimo to the books he enjoys.

about how unpredictable the novels that robin recommended to him are, just like the seaweed. how he enjoys watching zoro's day-to-day routine, just like how the books entertain him. how he thinks he knows where the story is going but then it takes a huge turn- just like zoro, who surprises him with every move he does.

a plot twist, an enigma, that's what zoro is. zoro is like a book to sanji, maybe that's what got him hooked to books in the first place- which he never liked from the start, zoro, yes that's it. he likes books like how he likes zoro.

but of course, the marimo doesn't need to know that.

just like in books, he's gonna be watching from afar, silently watching zoro until he gets his own lover and reaches a happy ending. then that's where his cue to stop is going to come.

books are entertaining and this should be as well, right? he's gonna stay as an outsider from zoro's romance story, like how he reads books. he's gonna root for zoro, the main lead, and his love interest, he would want them to get together, for his own enjoyment as well.

so why the hell does it hurt?

guess that's the difference between books and reality.

the other gives you little pangs of pain whenever the main couple have misunderstandings, the other.. well, makes you suffer in silence. much worse that being kicked by blackleg sanji himself, the very own sanji bets.

'whatever', the blonde brushes it off. these stupid feelings will go away soon anyway. he's too busy to fall inlove, it won't do him any good in finding the All Blue. 'it's just a little crush because zoro is so cool and hot- nothing serious.'

is what he'd like to say if this "stupid little crush" hasn't been here for the past 6 months already.

okay- so he might be slightly inlove with the marimo BUT it's sure to go away soon. he swears.

while he was having an internal conflict about his dumbass feelings, zoro casted him a look, and gave a gut-wrenching (positive) smile that made him want to rip out his beating heart in an instant.

it's times like these that sanji falls harder for the goddamn marimo. a smile so so small while he's working out and the blonde relaxing a few inches away, a pat on the head after zoro finishes his dinner as a praise for sanji's (usual) great food, zoro hearing him out when a sudden depressive episode hits him while they're on night watch, god fucking damn it.

he IS head over heels for zoro, fine. fuck you if you somehow get the balls to mention all of this information to the dumbass.

he has no clue about sanji's feelings, and it shall stay that way because he's not kidding when he says he's gonna throw himself out of the ship, in the middle of this huge ass sea, if god forbid his feelings reached the ears of the seaweed.

zoro suddenly stopped lifting his weights and looked at sanji for a second and said, "hey cook, the dessert earlier was amazing. you remembered that i don't like sweets, thanks."

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

A RARE COMPLIMENT FROM ZORO HE'S GOING TO ACTUALLY DIE.

"ah.. it's nothing. what kind if cook am i if i don't please my customers, yeah?" sanji managed to reply normally despite malfunctioning like crazy on the inside.

he fucking hates this side of zoro.

the rare, soft, gentle, zoro who you might mistake for the man of your dreams if it weren't for the fact that this side of him is the complete opposite of the real zoro who is a brute, stupid, no-table-manners, swordsman.

the soft zoro who always manages to catch sanji off-guard and makes him wanna throw himself to outer space and never come back because of how much his heart was beating for the marimo.

he is exaggerating but he can't help it he's head over heels for the swordsman- not that he actually wants to admit to it.

despite sanji's brain going into ruins he failed to miss the smile that zoro- again- gave him.

this is the worst.

he only wanted to relax in this fine afternoon after the exhaustion of which feeding the bottomless pit that is luffy's stomach gave him, not fall inlove harder with this crewmate!

it doesn't help that their other friends are out enjoying themselves and left only the two of them to guard the ship.

yes, that's right, guard the ship AND NOT UNDRESS THE MARIMO WITH HIS EYES.

this is the worst, oh god- this is the first time he turned to the guy above whom everyone worships and it is shameless to ask but- sanji wishes for a sea king to just appear and swallow him, never to be found, never to come back aboard on the ship with the man he loves.

well apparently god hates non-worshippers because the marimo just had to talk to him again- now with a slight blush on his face.

huh? a blush? what? why-

"cook, are you dating someone?" zoro asked with a voice so quiet it makes it seem like he didn't want to speak in the first place.

sanji, confused, and quite frankly tired of running around in his own mind just because his crush did something cute, replied with a raised voice, "HUH?" which seem to have startled zoro a bit, he's used with the cook yelling all the damn time but he didn't really expect that the blonde would take offense from the question.

zoro slightly panicking, took his question back "shit. should i have not asked? sorry cook, i was curious and robin told me to ju-" but he was cut off when sanji gave a reply.

"no no no just wait you goddamn marimo- i'm not dating someone. and what do you mean you were curious?!" sanji replied with a blush that you can never miss, even if you were the dumbest seaweed on earth.

zoro returned the blush, equally flustered as the other because his motive was just exposed to the chef, "yeah- uh- i was curious, it's like i know everything about you but not if you have a lover or something.. i asked robin and she told me to just ask you directly and i did. is that weird?"

shit. zoro's actions makes it seem like he likes him back.

wait.

like.. him.. back?

"w-why were you curious in the first place anyway? i'm pretty sure you don't have a single romantic bone in you... the question isn't weird but now it is because it came from you!" sanji asked- more like demanded to know to be honest- the blush still not going away from his face.

zoro gave him a dumbfounded look, like sanji was THE dumb one, "why would you ask that? i thought you knew...?" he said with genuine confusion.

before sanji could ask- yell 'what the hell does that mean marimo?!' zoro spoke again, the most unbelievable sentence so far.

"i like you, cook."

for the love of everything holy.

sanji bursted out laughing, though not genuine, "no- haha, i must be dreaming! i read too many romance novels and now i'm projecting on my dreams that the stupid marimo actually likes me back! yeah that's it- that's what's happening here. this isn't real." he nervously laughed it off, after all it's impossible that the roronoa zoro has romantic feelings for someone, let anyone sanji himself.

the chef was proven wrong when zoro's reaction turned into one of concern, "the hell do you mean cook? this is real life. i'm being genuine here and you just laughed it off, just say so if you feel the same way, i can actually take rejections you know." after he uttered the last bit, zoro's expression turned into just genuine sadness, definitely a reaction you wouldn't expect from the man himself.

"no, god no, it's not like that you dumbass marimo! didn't you hear what i just said? i said i like you but i never expected for you to return the feelings- hell, i didn't even expect you to know your own feelings! it just feels like a dream, you know? i've been fighting my feelings for 6 months already and i swore to never let you know but here you are, confessing. i even compared you to the romance novels that robin gave me- said i would've been okay with just watching you from afar getting all happy and soft with your lover even if i knew it was a lie but then you went ahead and said all this. of course i wouldn't believe it!" sanji was practically rambling but he didn't really care, as long as the message gets through zoro's thick skull.

"what? 6 months? i never noticed!"

sanji lit up a cigarette to hide his embarrassment, "told ya' you're stupid." then he blew out a smoke.

zoro frowned at his response, "i could say the same thing to you shit cook. i've been flirting with you for 9 months already and you never noticed."

the chef choked on his own smoke, "what the hell?! how long have you liked me!?" sanji yelled while coughing slightly and zoro replied with the same volume, "since arlong park you dumbass!"

"then why the fuck did you not tell me!?"

"you're always flirting with women, who would?"

sanji looked over at zoro who he didn't notice scooted near him and stopped working out completely, and if he wasn't observant enough he would've missed the pout-y expression that zoro was making, though he was amazing at hiding it.

"yeah, my bad. we're just both idiots huh?" the cook extinguished his cigarette and grinned, zoro shortly returned the face, "yeah. you're worse though. dense as hell love cook."

"even the most intelligent person wouldn't know if you're flirting you idiot! you're always glaring at me and picking a fight, how the hell would i catch the hint? it's not like i can rea-"

"shut up and kiss me, shit cook."

they spent the whole afternoon making out (gross) and cuddling, when the crew came back they sneakily went back to doing their own thing as if nothing romantic happened in the first place.

the crew could tell though. the first fight that broke out between them after the others arrived back from their little trip was practically filled with hearts and flowers all over the both of them.

oh and a certain someone was definitely spying on them, congratulating sanji for making the scenes in his favorite romance novels come to life, albeit not as romantic.

though it is quite obvious that the cook wouldn't have his own romance any other way.

[oriley42]

BUCKLE IN, LOML, THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG ONE.

hi !! i'm bea, aka meekspeeks on AO3, and i have only recently managed to properly sink my teeth into House MD, being exam free and all. and, akin to any other Normal, Sane person, i immedietly went onto ao3 to cure my bone rattling depression by immersing myself in fics. any kind, people, any kind. and then i found yours.

and my GOD.

you, my dear, dear, sweet friend, are the best writer . ever, dare i say? i have downloaded your books onto my phone for easy reading when i'm... actually, when i'm doing anything. just woke up? ah, yes, the sound of birdsong and an oriley42 fic to sweeten the summer morning. about to go to bed? well, why not get comfy with an oriley42 classic. i highlight them. i seriously, seriously consider getting them tattooed to the inside of my eyelids. all of them. i am not kidding.

in fact, if i was a tech savvy bastard, which i am not (sometimes i Glance, i Peek, i even bloody Breathe in the direction of my ipad, and it restarts. same goes for my phone. and my computer), i would have made an entire new collection on my ao3 account, simply yet perfectly dubbed "oriley42: The Saga", and thus announced to the entirety of the internet my undying love for you, of which there is A LOT. you are amazing and sometimes i wonder if you're even real and not some kind of... demigod?

(i love your fics so much that i get a little e-mail every single time you upload. that's my level of devotion.)

i have never ever laughed harder at anything than i do your fics. when i add said fics to my hilson collection, i make sure that i have a section devoted to a portion of the bits i've highlighted that made me Lose My Shit. i love randomly quoting phrases to my baffled, non-house-loving friends, and even they giggle. you are a riot, my good lord, and i owe you my life.

i'm a true oriley42 expert, i've read them all. no one knows oriley42 like i know oriley42, apart from you, oriley42.

it's a fun name to type. oriley42.

anyway! this is long. my sincerest apologies. but, coming from a frazzled kid who's just finished her a levels, you kept me going through all the horrid, hasty revision that i had to conjure up out of Thin Fucking Air, by making me laugh when no one else could. thank you so much, and i look forward to any other fics that are Brewing in that Lovely Head Of Yours !!!

have a great... day, week, month, year, life !! i love you !!! <3

my buddy, my pal, my dear new bff, thank you so very much! it means the world to hear this, and I'm so deeply touched that my stories could be companion to you, especially as you fight your way through what sounds like a very difficult bit of schooling (wishing you all the success there btw!!)

to give someone Real Feelings, and most of all a Real Laugh, is my greatest aim in sharing my writing--thank you for making me feel like the frankly terrifying vulnerability of posting these stories up where any old Tom, Dickhead, or Harasser can make jackass comments is worth it, because of the chance that my words will cross paths with a kind reader like you <3

your own writing voice just here in this ask is charming and clever, and makes me once again grateful for the incredible talent and kindness the internet allows us all to connect to and enjoy (cheesy, I know, but I really do get teary thinking of all the wonderful people who draw and write and comment and reblog and contribute to these magnificently silly fictional worlds we weave together!)

I hereby grant you a Master's Degree in ORiley42 studies from the University of Internet Friends--much like my own advanced degree, it will not get you a job anywhere, but hey, it's about the joy of learning ;)

Thank you for stopping by, I hope to see you on the digital streets of House MD fan-land again!

xoxo

PS - I have soooo many hilson WIPs brewing, too many to keep straight, but I'm hoping to pick one, focus, and get it posted in the next week or two...stay tuned! 💖

[aliasrocket]

I wanted to say something for an anonymous comment about feeling less embarrassed of having feelings for Rocket. I must say I totally understand that.

A month ago, when GOTG VOL 3 was released, I went to see it at the cinema with my mother, I spent the whole movie very excited for Rocket, but right in that scene where he is on the verge of death and he meets Lylla again, SOMETHING INSIDE IT CHANGED ABOUT ME, because when they were hugging I realized I was JEALOUS, and in my mind I thought "OH NO, IT'S HAPPENING TO ME AGAIN", because I always fall for characters that might be unconventional or weird to other people , then I start looking for fics and I realize that there are not many for the same reason, or there are many where it is more platonic and I think "IT IS NOT ENOUGH" And it's more complicated for me because my first language is not English and in my language there is NOTHING. So meeting people who write Rocket the way I imagined really makes me very happy. I'm even thinking about writing some one shots myself but it's hard, I've never written NSFW and I find it kind of funny that I want to start with Rocket.

Oh my god this was absolutely sweet.

Yes!! Everyone IT IS OKAY TO LIKE UNCONVENTIONAL CHARACTERS. LITERALLY, IT IS NOT A BIG DEAL!! JUST BE YOU!!!

And I’m really sorry there isn’t much fics in your language, but on the bright side I’m really happy that you’re at least able to read and write in english even if it isn’t your first language!

Also, yeah, in my experience, besides sighing the whole goddamn movie (except for the first 10 mins, I will give myself that,) I remember leaving the theatre in a sigh and going on ao3 like “ah shit, here we go again” bc this is the 1982838th time I’ve visited ao3 for some really obscure ship or an x reader fic for a very underrated character.

And about that Rocket smut, I understand how can it be daunting and I’d really love to help you!

Ykw, let me make a quick guide for anyone who’s scared of writing Rocket smut!! But for those of you who wouldn’t wanna read some real ugly/stupid stuff, don’t press the ‘keep reading’ line, haha.

a quick (and definitely unhinged) guide to writing Rocket smut XD

OBVIOUS NSFW WARNING!!! It gets ugly guys please THIS IS YOUR WARNING I’M NOT JOKING!!

If you’re uncomfortable with heavy nsfw please turn away now!!

written by aliasrocket (89P13 on ao3 hehe)

Suitable for any smut involving Rocket! (Looking at you guys, roquill shippers. Don’t worry, I welcome all ships on my blog <3)

This is supposed to be a writing smut guide specifically meant for Rocket so I’m not gonna go into the basics of writing smut, but if you’re a total beginner, here’s some pointers to help :

the genitals, legs, muscles, brain : main places that tend to be the most stimulated, exhausted or absolutely wiped. That being said, you can use these as a starting point for describing the feelings the characters or the reader may feel in the moment.

besides the main thing, you could try to set the mood by maybe mentioning how the moans sounded like, (screams, squeals, cries etc.) and other things the characters were doing to ground them in the moment, like gripping the sheets, gripping the other person’s shoulder or hips, etc.

Okay, so, about Rocket in particular …

Yeah, of course writing smut about a fucking Raccoon isn’t going to be fucking easy. But don’t worry, as someone who has studied all 3 gotg films and slowed down quite possibly every single Rocket clip in existence (enough to know Rocket … is genuinely CANONICALLY is very particular/skilled with his fingers, he knows where he’s putting them and knows EXACTLY which buttons to press on any tech, so … definitely good at using his fingers if you catch my drift) I think I might have gotten the hang of it to help some of you guys out.

So first off, when I write Rocket smut I always imagine he’s his comic height instead of his mcu height (don’t search it up, you’re just gonna be depressed about it trust me) so all you have to know is that if he pressed you up against a wall his head would be around your shoulder blade area. For missionary, he’s probably around your collarbone.

Rocket canonically has sharp and absolutely grown out nails. No, they’re not retractible. I’ve done research on this, but if you’d like to write him fingering someone, Rocket can have his nails trimmed.

It would hurt if Rocket bit you. Like, it would fucking bleed. So I’m sorry to say to those biting kink girlies (those are me hi) but Rocket can only afford to give you or someone else some nibbles on the skin unless you guys want some serious bloodplay on your hands. This is because he has protruding fangs on both his upper and lower row of teeth, his lower ones more prominent than the top.

Rocket can, however, eat you out. Don’t wanna get too into depth with this but basically his tongue can stick out his muzzle pretty well and his nose makes for a good clit-stimulator HAHAHAH

!!! : (this is going to be a description of the average raccoon penis so skip this if you don’t wanna know about this because you can DEFINITELY write Rocket smut without having to know this so please be free) I had to research this for a very specific request (pls ily shameless anon/pos) and I almost cried out of the loss of my sanity but anyway, raccoons have a baculum bone which is basically a bone in their penis that helps with copulation, its average length is about 4 inches but can be longer if you catch my drift. The genital itself is a like a rod with a ‘spiky’ end (it’s not actually spiky but it looks that way) compared to human genitalia, kind of like a cat’s but much longer and it is a very dark shade of brown or just plain black. Feel free to use any of these for a possible description if ever you need it, though I never really talk about it in fics, especially the whole ‘spiky’ thing. That being said, Rocket should not have an issue with size, as the the average human male genitalia is about five inches, meaning he can hit anyone’s g-spot just fine.

I might add more points if I have any more but this is all I got right now. I really hope this somehow encouraged you to write that nsfw fic you wanted, and just know everyone’s got interests, it’s fine if not a lot of people irl are into Rocket that way, because that’s literally what the internet is for!

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Masterlist

AH I can't believe this is finally happening: welcome to my first CM novel-length multi-chapter fic!

A Gift For: @degrassi-fanatic because I wouldn't have started or finished this fic without her.

Summary: When Spencer is shot in the knee and Hotch's whole family comes under attack, the depression that's been slowly creeping up on him over the last couple of months takes over, shrouding him in a dark cloud he can't escape.

Hotch finally realises what's going on, but before he can say anything Spencer leaves the BAU. He throws himself into the life of the younger man, desperate to make him happy again, but will their budding new relationship actually blossom? And is Spencer's relationship with the team broken forever?

TLDR; A Hotchreid-centric recovery fic centering on season five, heavily featuring Penelope Garcia. As it should.

Tags: angst with a happy ending, depression, recovery, getting together, season 5 fix-it, hurt/comfort, the team fuck up, and then they make it up to him

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid; Side Penemily

Word Count: 80.5k over 16 chapters (+2 bonus smut chapters)

READ ON AO3 // Main Masterlist

Below the Cut: an excerpt, trigger warnings, more info, posting schedule, the chapter list

Excerpt:

"He doesn’t really understand how he’s gone from being a genuinely happy person, thick as thieves with everybody on the team, to this. It’s almost as though somebody’s cut the rope tying him to the others and now he’s drifting away, sinking without everyone else’s buoyancy to keep him afloat. He can see them all still tied together, barely seeming to notice their drowning team member, clearly not missing his presence."

TRIGGER WARNINGS

grief, GSWs, the foyet arc, suicidal ideation, serious depression, anxiety, isolation/loneliness, disordered thinking, serious mental health issues, people dismissing others' mental health issues - if you spot one I'm missing, please point it out!

Some Things I'd Like to Say:

Spencer deals with some heavy shit in this fic, folks, and if you think that's gonna trigger you, turn away now

This is based on a mixture of personal experience and research to fill in any knowledge gaps: that being said, nothing in this fic should be taken as the gospel truth

If you'd like to know anything more about the triggers in this fic please message me and I'll be happy to elaborate!

I'll be posting every Saturday evening! The chapters start out at around 3k words each but quickly escalate to an average of 5-6k. It's written in alternating 3rd person POV, starting with Spencer in ch1. Title from Simon Van Booy's quote: "For lonely people, rain is a chance to be touched."

Smut is in separate chapters and will be posted on my nsfw blog so anyone who wants a clean read can avoid it!

Finally, if you're not already familiar with me/my work, I live in England. Anything specific to America is liable to be wrong - and you're just gonna have to put up with the different spellings etc :)

Chapters:

Chapter One: this arid world has turned my deep heart dry

Chapter Two: hell is empty, and all the devils are here

Chapter Three: even the stars choose destruction over life

Chapter Four: what you can do with what there is

Chapter Five: it's a lonely thing, protecting a breakable heart

Chapter Six: it leaves me cold

Chapter Seven: a poem begins in the lump in the throat

Chapter Eight: my heart is so full of you I can hardly call it my own

Chapter Nine: only the sun has come this close

Chapter Ten: I'm never not thinking of you

Chapter Eleven: the beginning and end of everything

Chapter Twelve: let it hurt, let it bleed, let it heal, let it go

Chapter Thirteen: the distant and impossible

Chapter Fourteen: look at this ruin and my two guilty hands

Chapter Fifteen: if we cannot find the light, we will always make our own

Chapter Sixteen: you are too well tangled in my soul

[gladiatortale]

My DEPRESSION BEATING, fandom obsessing, shit-tastic FANTASTIC year in review!

TL;DR: I’m fixing my mental health and figuring out WHO THE FUCK I AM one fandom filled day at a time! Thank you to everyone who’s been there for me along the way. xoxo

what’s up HEATHENS.

stating the goddamn obvious here, it’s been a HELLUVA YEAR. One emotional rollercoaster after another but we’re ALMOST DONE. I know things aren’t gonna magically get better the second it flips to 00:01 on January first, but I’m excited to put this year behind me, and (SHOCKINGLY) a bit sad to see it go.

It was a year where the whole world completely stopped, we realized what is really important, what is really worth fighting for, and took a GODDAMN SECOND to just breathe.

For me personally, the year (which I’m counting off from November 1st) started out UNBELIEVABLY SHIT. I had just been kicked out of the country I called home for the last four years (thank you Brexit), I had ZERO job prospects, my depression was the WORST it had ever been, and I just didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. And in the beginning, the pandemic felt like salt in the wound, an extra kick in the teeth to my early twenties that had already “failed to launch.”

But I tried to embrace the madness, really take advantage of the world (that I always thought moved to fast) properly slowing down, and take time to try and become myself again. I wanted to figure out what I loved and try and become a bit more like the person I was before my depression got so bad.

I often say I became that Manic Trash Planet Lady™ you see in sci-fi adventure films; a bit zany to say the least, with a million ideas and a very eclectic fashion sense, but embracing the insanity as it comes...

*cough cough* audrey, get to the goddamn point!

Right. lol. THE POINT IS! 

I’m not 100% “healed”, I’m not sure if I think depression is a “oh look you’re officially cured! hooray!” type of disease, but this year I let myself ENJOY SHIT for the first time in god knows how long. I still don’t know “wHaT i WaNt To dO WiTh mY LiFe”, but I’ve got a better idea and I’m heading in (what feels like) the right direction. And most of all, I can look back and say I am better than where I was a year ago.

So I wanted to say T H A N K Y O U to the mad lads on this website that introduced me to the fandoms, shows, movies, fics... THE SHIT that made me happy this year and were there to be one (BIG) piece in my healing journey.

AND SO, with out further rambling ADO! Here are the highlights of the year marked by my ridiculous hyper-fixations and OBSESSIONS. Thanks for putting up with me ya fiends, xoxox

November 2019  The Arcana (Visual Novel)

I had just gotten home and I was in a LOOOOOOW place. Randomly decided to download this app when it came up and it proceeded to ruin my life (and my bank account...) for pretty much the rest of the year. It was exactly what I needed to get me through a tough time and I was thoroughly, horse-blinders-up-to-the-rest-of-the-world, OBSESSED. These gorgeous magical fiends ruined me and all I could say was thank you.

Joined the fandom: November 2019 Obsession peaked: Late November Obsession faded: December 2019; I started a new job AND my bank statement came in and I realized I had accidentally spent over SIXTY BUCKS on this stupid app. No ragrets, but I definitely started to phase out at that point. Fandom friends: Velma, (@lanavxds on insta) miss you girlie xx Fanfics you NEED to read: ‘Second Mistake’ by DeathBelle on AO3, because DAAAAAYUM SON. Favourite moments: Basically the whole of the Julian arc. That gangly himbo OWNED my ass for a month.

December 2019 Hazbin Hotel (TV Series)

Y’ALL okay here me out. Am I proud of this one? No. Is the show crass as hell? OOOOOOOOHHHH YEAH. Did my angsty ass love it at the end of last year? DAMN STRAIGHT IT DID. Goes without saying, but this is NOT FOR EVERYBODY, but it definitely helped me along the way to becoming more comfortable with myself and being open about being the massive geek that I always was, and watching things I enjoy regardless of what people say about it.

Joined the fandom: December 2019 Obsession peaked: Shortly there after. Fandom friends: None. Dipped one toe in fandom discourse and then promptly YEETED the fuck outta there. Obsession faded: January 2019. Still curious to see the full series if A24 actually ever does produce the whole thing, but I have def moved away from it. Fanfics you NEED to read: Haven’t read any. Maybe I’m a pussy baby piece-o-shit, but I DID NOT want to go down that rabbit hole, NO MA’AM. Favourite moments:

Discovering the Hunicast podcast. These guys are a riot and Ashley is a flustered GEM. Even if you don’t watch the show, go watch an episode of these fucking LADS just dicking about and your day will get better.

Watching the first episode with my partner and watching him realize his girlfriend is a total freak.

January 2020 Lore Olympus (Webtoon Comic)

*Officially* discovered this one thanksgiving weekend in 2019, but my Arcana phase was still raging pretty strong at that point so I didn’t really get in to it until later. EVERYBODY AND THEIR MOTHER NEEDS TO READ IT. It has everything and handles the reality sexual assault and it’s aftermath EXTREMELY well.

Joined the fandom: Late November 2019 Obsession peaked: January 2020 Fandom friends: KELLEY. MA GIRL XOXOXO Obsession faded: June-ish 2020. I’m like 10 chapters behind now, but I still love this story so much. Fanfics you NEED to read: SO MANY ON MY ‘MARKED FOR LATER’ LIST AAAAAH. I have to get to that... NEW YEARS RESOLUTION lol Favourite moments: Having a drunk conversation on New Years Eve in 2019 with one of my oldest friends from high school about how much she loved it too. Helped me see how popular fandom and fandoms, are especially after feeling like I needed to hide my enthusiasm through high school and uni. (THAT WAS A MISTAKE BUT I’LL GET THERE IN A MINUTE).

February 2020 Versailles (TV Series)

SO FUCKING GAY Y’ALL. Oh my god everyone in this show is so gay. Even when they’re not they still are a little bit. AND BEST OF ALL!! it’s very historically accurate (except for the demon satanic nonsense in season 3, what was that???)

Joined the fandom: February 2020 Obsession peaked: Like??? The SECOND I finished episode one. Fandom friends: none... WHERE ARE ALL OF YOU??? Obsession faded: March 2020. It was a fast and passionate love affair, what can I say? Fanfics you NEED to read: IF YOU HAVE RECS, GIVE ‘EM TO MEEEEE. Favourite moments: 

Showing the first episode to a friend of mine and the *ungodly GASP* that came out of her throat was... PRICELESS.

The ENTIRE throuple(???) relationship between the Chevalier, Philipe, and Palatine. PLATONIC/ ROMANTIC LOVE G O A L S.

March 2020 Yuri!!! On Ice (TV Series)

*deep breath* ...y’all knew this one was coming.

Was I ready for this show to ruin my fucking life? No.  Am I so glad it happened??? FUCK YEAH.

NEVER IN MY LIFE have I fallen off the deep end so quickly with a fandom. HOLY SHIT. This blog didn’t have much of an “identity” before, but I you said that this is a Yuri On Ice blog now I wouldn’t even be mad (nor could I really defend myself to the contrary... bc??? like??? just go LOOK at my archive). Craziest thing is I watched the first two episodes like?? a solid TWO YEARS ago, but I didn’t continue watching because I was just not in the right head space for all the love and silliness and positivity.

I could do a whole separate post about how much this show and how this fandom has changed my life (DON’T TEMPT ME I JUST MIGHT). But I’ll stick with the highlights for now ;)

Joined the fandom: March 2020  Obsession peaked: Has it peaked?? Went straight up and it still going lol Fandom friends: Sandra, my mentor, my queen @aeriamamaduck, my fandom ride-or-die. Thank you for taking this internet bby under your wing. RACHEL @idancewiththefairies I TRAPPED YOU HERE. MUAHAHAHA xxx Obsession faded: ON GOING. CAN’T STOP, WON’T STOP. Fanfics you NEED to read: jfc, SO MANY.

‘Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches’ and ‘Of Bright Stars and Burning Hearts’ by Reiya @kazliin​ -- Rivals AU companion pieces. Longest fics I’ve ever read and JESUS CHRIST these two fucking SENT ME. Most popular YOI fics on AO3 for a REASON.

‘Tell Me Where Your Love Lies’ by @aeriamamaduck -- Royalty AU, trope-breaking ABO. Ah sweet, TMWYLL, how you’ve killed me over and over again. This BEAUTIFUL wip has SUCH amazing world-building idk where to start (Congrats on passing 50,000 hits!) EVERYONE GO READ IT.

‘Blackbird’ by sixpences -- WWII/Coldwar Spy Fic. I don’t have enough words to describe how amazing this is. It’s elevated to a higher plane beyond fanfic. Just go read it. Thank me later.

‘Zanka’ by rinsled05 @dreaming-fireflies -- The geisha fic that ruined me. *deep breath* AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH *gasp* I’m fine. lol I sooooo not ready for this fic. Holy hell, Aoyagi had my heart in his hands from the first chapter. “’Please’ [...] ‘Don’t give me hope.’“ FUUUUCK.

‘Echoes’ by Reiya @kazliin -- Future fic. First fic I cried at... BOI. I was NOT ready for this. Shouldn’t be surprised given the author, but MAN. “‘A love like that, a love like what they had together, it never leaves completely.’ Yuri spoke again, eyes still staring out onto the ice, lost in memory. ‘There are always echoes.’” JUST FUCK ME UP.

Favourite moments: Oh good lord, where do I begin??

Having two (count ‘em TWO) main characters with mental health issues (Yuuri and his anxiety and Victor with burn out and depression) and NOT MAKING IT THE ONLY ASPECT OF THEIR PERSONALITY. CLAPS FOR KUBO AND YAMAMOTO!!

Everything about Yurio (ESPECIALLY HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH YUUKO AND HIS GRANDPA), that tsundere motherfucker is too pure for this world.

THE KISS. THE PROPOSAL. MY HEART WASN’T READY. AAAAAH!!

This fandom *properly* introducing me to smut on AO3...

Thinking I was going to get Rachel to like the show... NOT being prepared for her to fall off the deep end and START LIKING REAL SKATING TOO!!

Staying up waaaaaay too late waaaaaay too often to plan out plot points for TMWYLL with Sandra. Love ya dearie.

The warm fuzzy feeling I get every time I think about Victor and Yuuri.

April 2020 Bungou Stray Dogs (TV Series)

I had a hunch I was gonna like this show considering ALL of the characters are based off of famous classic authors from around the world... what I was NOT prepared for was just HOW MUCH I was going to love it. HOLY SHIT. The art style? Love it. The plot?? Bonkers, but so fun. THE VOICE CAST??? AMAZING. Highly recommend to anyone who wants to get in to anime, great place to start.

Joined the fandom: April 2020 Obsession peaked: Probably this summer? But we have DEF plateaued in a VERY high place. Fandom friends: FIJI. MA BOIIIII @lil-1nsane  Obsession faded: Hasn’t. Hope it doesn’t Fanfics you NEED to read: So so so many. The smut in this fandom is *chef’s kiss*, but here are a few...

‘He Works Hard For the Money’ by CataclysmicEvent @cataclysmicevent2019​ -- Sugar Daddy AU. FUCK MAN. I was not expecting to like this one, but bloody hell. This fic grabbed me by the throat and WOULD NOT let me go. Praying for chapter 16! But the author is working on another STELLAR fic so I’m okay for now.

‘Everything or Nothing’ by CataclysmicEvent @cataclysmicevent2019​ -- University AU. FUCK THIS FIC. Started reading it as I was waiting for HWHFTM to update and BOI, this fic ROCKS. The alternating POV fits so well with the enemies/idiots-to-lovers vibe. Solid 10 outta 10.

‘The City Where Wind Blows’ by @raven-rein​ -- Cancer Death fic. *pained shriek* AAAAAAGUUUUUUUHHHH *gasp* aaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHHH, FUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKK MEEEEE. THIS FIC. Only the second fic I’ve ever cried to but I BAWLED MY GODDAMN EYES OUT. FUUUUUUUCK. I was not ready, never would have been ready. This is so tremendously well done, it killed me so beautifully, 

‘Haunted by Hatred’ by DeathBelle -- Canon compliant Soukoku. It is a CRIME that DeathBelle doesn’t have more BSD fics on her page, but this one is still brilliant.

Favourite moments:

THE CHUUYA-DAZAI MAFIA REUNION TEAM UP WHEN THEY FIGHT LOVECRAFT. Ooof. BOI. We love it.

The first three episodes. Soooo many break neck plot twists.

Every insane hypothetical conversation with Fiji.

Every time Atsushi or Tanizaki is on screen bc I LOVE THESE LIL BEANS.

June 2020 Trash Taste (Podcast)

Goddamn I love these chaotic lads so much.

As I became more and more comfortable with myself and my love for anime I stumbled upon these three goons, -- Joey, Connor, and Garnt, -- best known for there SUPER successful (mostly) anime YouTube channels. Even if you don’t watch anime, WATCH/LISTEN TO THIS PODCAST. The focus is mostly on their lives and the overall expat/immigrant experience, with a bit of anecdotal anime references sprinkled in. 

This show is both wholesome and heathenous in equal measure, and after having lived abroad for a significant portion of my (admittedly still quite short) life, it was such a breath of fresh air to hear people talk so openly about how living outside your home country is both wonderful and terrifying. They’re wonderfully candid about the fact that even if you love a place dearly, no where is perfect, and you WILL hate somethings about your new home even if the majority of the experience is fantastic. I cannot rate this show highly enough.

Joined the fandom: June 5th 2020, loved it from the first episode. Obsession peaked: July maybe? I was RELIGIOUS about watching the episodes as soon as they came out. Still watch every week, but less “on time.” Fandom friends: None :( but I have tricked my partner in to listening several times :) Obsession faded: It’s dimmed from where it was, but still going strong. Fanfics you NEED to read: NONE. NEVER PLAN TO. Hard and fast rule, I don’t read fics about real people. Characters played by real people, even that’s a maybe for me. But real-real people? FUCK NO. (some of my) Favourite moments:

Any time Garnt and Connor get into a big-brain-monkey-brain argument and Joey is just LOSING his GODDAMN MIND in the corner.

Bringing a retired Japanese porn star in the show for an honest conversation about consensual sex work and showing people can have more than one career in life.

Everything about the, ‘Are Online Friends Real Friends?’ episode. GO WATCH IT, it’s brilliant.

Garnt making “chotto-THE-FUCKING-matte” an expression

August 2020 Great Pretender (TV Series)

Spent most of the summer marinating in my BSD and YOI bubbles, until THIS BAD BOI came up on my Netflix recommendations. HOOOO BOI. This is some Anime Of The Year shit right here. Has a pretty original concept (Catch Me If You Can by way of Oceans 11-ish) but generally starts out like most other shounen (sans the super powers). AND THEN EPISODE FIVE HAPPENS. Not gonna spoil it but they TOOK THAT SHIT UP A NOTCH. Brilliant, even with a bit of an insane ending. GO WATCH THIS ONE.

Joined the fandom: August 2020 Obsession peaked: Pretty much as soon as I started watching it. Fandom friends: What’s up Fiji ;) @lil-1nsane Obsession faded: Naturally faded, but so glad I watched Fanfics you NEED to read: None so far! Little scared about this one, heard mixed reviews, but maybe someday. Favourite moments:

Edamame’s “madness arc” at the end of season 2. HOOOO BOY.

Laurent getting fucking WRECKED when Edamame punches him mid way through season 2, kills me every time.

Introducing my partner to anime with this show.

October 2020 Attack on Titan (TV Series)

RETURN OF THE KING. lol

In my quest to find an anime that I can watch with my partner, I turned on season 1 of this bad boi. Holy hell I forgot how much I loved this show, NO WONDER everyone lost their goddamn minds when this show first aired. I NEED to catch up before all the season four spoilers come to get me...

Joined the fandom: Winter 2016 Obsession peaked: Basically as soon as I started watching it. Fandom friends: None yet, but I know you’re out there... Obsession faded: 2017, JUST BEFORE SEASON TWO... I should have stuck around longer I know, but it’s slowly coming back. Reeeeeally need to catch up on seasons two, three, and four. Fanfics you NEED to read: GIVE ME YOUR RECS HEATHENS. Favourite moments:

Watching my partner FREAK OUT about Eren’s “death.”

EVERYTHING ABOUT POTATO GORL! lol

Getting in a conversation with a die hard fan after I hadn’t watched it in three years and saying... “Who’s that blond bitch that cries all the time?”/ “Armin?”/ “THAT’S THE ONE!”

November 2020... kind of. Figure Skating (Sport)

Okay this one is a bit hard to explain. 

I have been a DIE HARD figure skating for A LOOOOOONG time. My grandmother got me a hat from the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City and I remember watching even then. But I first became consciously aware of different skaters, my faves, etc. from about 2010. I vividly remember watching Plushenko skating in 2014 while on a school trip to Hawaii, and my friends laughing at me as I yelled at the TV.

But I didn’t TRULY get involved in the fandom side of it until this year. I had all this knowledge bottled up, but didn’t have any skating friends to talk to... UNTIL NOW. Super ironic that this happened in a year with almost NO skating, but I’ll take what I can get ;) Also did I stay up until FOUR-GODDAMN-THIRTY IN THE MORNING a few nights ago to stream Japanese Nationals on my phone??? YOU BET I DID.

Joined the fandom: Three times; 2002, 2010, and 2020. Obsession peaked: 2014? 2018? Idk it peaks any time someone does something amazing. Fandom friends: Rachel, my girl @idancewiththefairies​, WHY DIDN’T I INTRODUCE YOU TO THIS SOONER??? Obsession faded: Hasn’t. Won’t. lol Fanfics you NEED to read: NOPE. NONE. NOT GONNA HAPPEN. No fanfics about real people. Never gonna change that. (some of my) Favourite moments:

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir doing THAT routine at the 2018 Olympics.

Rachel​ sheepishly admitting to me that Shoma may have replaced Yuzu as her favourite, and me being SO DAMN PROUD of her for growing and developing her own skating opinions apart from me.

Yuzu’s 2012 ‘Romeo and Juliet’ routine and Worlds. THE RAW FUCKING POWER OF THAT SKATE.

Plushenko, cheeky bastard, changing his 2014 Team Event routine AS IT WAS HAPPENING.

The worlds friendliest rivalry between Yuzu and Nathan.

Any thing the Shibutani’s do, and all they do to break up the stereotype that all of Ice Dancing has to be rOmAnTiC and SeNsUaL to be good.

Watching my early faves become coaches and the D R A M A.

Honorable Mentions:

Coco (Film): I watched this the weekend I came home and I owe this movie a lot. It is so sweet an heartwarming, and it a roundabout way it brought me back to Tumblr (needed somewhere to vent my feelings considering I watched the movie a solid THREE YEARS after it came out, Tumblr seemed like the place to go lol). Watched in again in 2020 and it’s just as amazing.

Jekyll and Hyde (All media): Loved this book from the first time I read it in my first year of uni. But in December 2019, my fandom understanding reached its PEAK. The musical?? The comic?? YOOOOOO.

Dear Evan Hansen (Musical): I have BARELY engaged in fandom discourse, but the MUSIC. She fucking SLAPS.

Sirius the Jaeger (TV Series): This show is such an underrated gem. It literally has so much; "dead” family drama? Eclectic international group of monster hunters? Cowboys and vampires?? Yes, yes, and YES. And the main character has the same Japanese voice actor as Atsushi from BSD!

Studio Ghilbi (Films): My love affair with Ghibli goes back to when I was about 5 and BEGGED my mom to take me to the library so we could rent Kiki’s Delivery Service on DVD. But that love has been FULLY rejuvenated this year when I went to the Ghibli Film Festival in New York City (ironically in the last week in February). If you haven’t seen them, go watch From Up On Poppy Hill, Whisper of the Heart, and The Wind Rises. Spoilers, you’re probably gonna cry.

If you’ve made it this far, THANK YOU FOR READING! 

And thank you to all the amazing people that made my 2020 not so horrible. Good riddance 2020, don’t let the door hit you on the way out!

[solesurvivorpaigeargot]

I absolutely LOVE Sketchy Saturdays and I always look forward to them!! As for my question(s)? What made you decide to start doing it(I'm glad you do but I was just curious!)?

Hoooo boi the Sketchy Saturday Origin Story: I suppose there's two versions.

The short version reads " Moving stress, deployment depression, and isolation VS. my utter determination to DO SOMETHING whilst trapped in my home " -- Sketchy Saturday was the result of that title fight, so I guess the fandom won in the end? XD

The long version, however... Well, buckle up, cause this is gonna be a ride.

It may surprise y'all to know that two years I was eyeballs-deep in the South Park fandom. The blog still exists; my mainblog, JustCallMeButtlord, built to interact with the audience of my fanfictions-- the New Kid Stories, called NKS for short [gonna be porting those to Ao3 soon, just gotta figure out what robo-reader I'm gonna use to make a quick n dirty podfic out of the series as well as help me hunt down typos my eyes galze over]. The first 'season' of stories had ended, 8 completed fics, and I was puttering about with a bonus holiday story that was several months out of season. Not that I CARED because I was on GUAM where seasons don't exist and my time blindness gets even worse becasue without seasons changing it feels like time never progrsses even after being on the island for three cocksucking years.

I don't hate Guam, I am just not built for constant heat. I am a snow creature; I like below-freezing temperatures so I can layer up in fuzzy, fluffy things and drink hot drinks and cuddle loved ones and/or furry animals. It's a lovely island, I adored my first week there... I just wasn't made to live there.

HIlariously, NKS started out of the stress of moving to Guam. Two years and 8 fics later, the place we were renting was no longer within our price range and my hubby and I were forced to move onto base. Under the leader whom I refuse to name, military pay was given a precentage raise... but it was ripped out of bonuses and OCONUS pay. OCONUS is what a military member is paid when they're stationed Outisde the CONtinental United States. This usually means overseas bases like Japan, but it also means Hawaii, aaaaaand... GUAM. So that percentage pay increase for the military at large meant belt-tightening for every service member abroad, and we were forced to move onto base.

In case y'all haven't noticed by now, I'm a raging socialist with some issued with authority. I DO NOT LIKE EXISTING ON BASE. I do not like existing in a place where the national anthem plays twice a day, every day, at 6 AM and then again whenever the hell sundown is that day. And there's an unspoken rule no one tells you that when it plays you're supposed to stop what you're doing, face the nearest set of speakers playing the song, and stare in that direction with your hand over your heart until its over. That, if you're driving, you have to put on your emergency flashers and pull over. No one tells you this. NO ONE TELLS YOU THIS.

And then, before we had secured a place on base but we had set a move out date for the rental house, the Pandemic happened. While we were between homes. The base is talking full lockdown, Guam authorities want to shut down the island but businesses are terrified of not getting the tourist season business, we don't even know if we'll be allowed to move on to base.

Surprise, I stopped writing for a while... but I picked Fallout 4 back up again. I had been forced into the series years earlier by a toxic relationship, but the game itself hadn't been bad-- just the way I'd been forced to play it by someone who was firmly not in my life anymore. When confronted with character creation, I wasn't sure whom I wanted to make... but decided to go back to an old character. A VERY old character, whom I hadn't thought of since I'd finished ME3 at least 4 years prior, and a character I first conceived of when I was 14-ish... which is now about 15 years ago.

Paige.

I've talked before about how well Paige's story maps onto Fo4, but this was before I knew that. I knew the opening, her losing her kid, and that fit with her-- but something clicked while I was playing and the part of my brain that likes to create started wandering off. Soon enough I've got a couple chapters of a ficlet that I'm TOTALLY just writing as a personal one-shot to de-stress, no way I'm publishing this, I don't wanna get distracted from NKS, I got a whole 'nother season to write! Who cares if no one is reading it anymore because South Park Fandom doesn't like continuous plots.... right?

I was burnt out as hell, the move was looming, the Pandemic was getting worse and everything was getting scarier.

Then the news came through that hubby would be deploying again.

He wasn't supposed to, but the Navy decided the safest place for their sailors was the middle of the ocean, so if you WERENT in quarantine you were going on the boat and you were living there. Didn't matter if your spouse would be alone, unpacking a whole home by themselves.

I had a friend on base. We hung out. I met with my DND group on weekends; we all lived on base now, so we could meet up in like five minutes... and then restrictions tightened. You could be fined up to 5 grand for gathering in groups greater than 5, even outdoors, and detained if suspected of going to a home that wasn't yours. I still met 2 of my friends once a week for walks; get outside, be active, talk to other humans, but besides that? I was locked up alone in a new house in a place that I did NOT like existing in.... with a fresh new hyperfixation developing.

I think it was about a week into the new house that I made the new blog. At first I tried to run it side by side with the South Park stuff, but it wasn't long before all my attention was here... aaaand it also wasn't long before I was confronted with a lot of my own despair; of lockdown, of isolation, of watching a broken system crumble and not being able to DO anything about it, and I started to kinda lose my shit. I fuss-- I can't leave things alone, and I couldn't leave this feeling alone; of being fully and entirely helpless and hopeless.

And then I sketched a thing for a friend, and it made them happy. They were having a rough time, too, and I put something together because I couldn't think of anything else. And it helped. It lifted them up, and it lifted me up, too. Someone else had recently reblogged one of those pallet challenges that floats around Tumblr, and I decided FUCK IT LET'S DO THIS THING AND CALL IT SKETCHY SATURDAY!

Little secret, the very first Sketchy Saturday request? Was me. I was so scared no one would noticed the event, I sent myself the very first request, back when the event still took anons. Soon as that first picture was up:

BANG, suddenly four more; some people off anon. I met people that day, talked to them after the very first Sketchy weekend was over, chatted about the games and characters and art and writing and just... felt human for the first time in a really long while.

I figured I'd hold on to Sketchy Saturday until the deployment was over-- once hubby was back, I'd decide whether I was keeping it or not... but he came back, and I was still super into it, and he was supportive, sooooo I kept going! And then we did Sketchy Secret Santa, and people loved it, and my volunteers are excited about being Sketchy Elves and Secret Helpers and just OH MY GOD I DID A THING GUYS. I DID A THING-- that was just me all December and January long lmafo.

AND JANUARY! Because AH HECK, WE MOVING AGAIN! Because hubby finally got orders, and OH MY GOD we're going back to WA... but it's still a move half-way around the globe, and I was SURE I'd have to shut down the event for a month while we got our shit in order and NOPE, because here come the volunteers from Sketchy Secret Santa, and they wanna fill in all month long! Like... I didn't even ask for that shit, guys. They offered it so the event wouldn't have to take a gap.

Jesus I'm getting teary just remembering it.

So yeah. Sketchy Saturday is here because I got really lonely and stressed out while Fallout 4 provided me with some... catharsis for my situation, and then a pandemic happened.

And then y'all happened, and I'm still here. :D

[shinsousbedroom]

Stars and their Distance

Daiya no Ace misawa FWB AU, 1/10 chapters

Miyuki Kazuya, a depressed, workaholic catcher in the NPB, and Sawamura Eijun, a frustrated influencer who just got dumped, are both looking for temporary distraction. The casual, no-strings-attached friends with benefits thing they stumble into is exactly that.

Well, it would be if either of them knew how to do casual.

[Read on AO3.]

Chapter 1: Spinning

Excerpt from “Ace of Hearts: a blog about when love comes outta left field!; Q&A: Bad Break-Up Blues”

“[…] Think of relationships like this. You’re a pitcher on the mound and there’s a line up of batters waiting to knock your ball outta the park. These are your dating prospects. When you’ve gotten hurt pitching before—tore a tendon, drilled the batter, balked, whatever it was—you might not wanna pitch again, right? But the only surefire way to lose the game is to not throw the ball at all. 

“You might be thinking, ‘But Eijun, if the batter hits a home run off your pitch, aren’t you losing the game?’ Well, if you think the point of the game is to win, sure. But to me, the point of baseball isn’t victory. It’s playing the best game you can with the best players you can. The same can be said for love. Some batters will foul out early, and some runners will never make it all the way home. But when you make that connection, when that bat slams the ball out of the park and the whole field feels the electric rush of a phenomenal play that you helped make—isn’t that a beautiful moment to chase after? Isn’t that feeling worth the risk that comes with love?

“So no matter how unlikely a batter steps up to your plate—and there will be batters you didn’t anticipate—throw the pitch! I promise, every strikeout and home run just makes you a better pitcher and brings you a step closer to a beautiful game. […]”

***

“Did you have to move right after the end of the season?” Kuramochi wiped off the sweat from his face with the bottom of his blue shirt. The whole thing was already drenched dark, consistently doused with water the whole day through as Kuramochi drained bottles over his head to beat back the unseasonably hot September day. “Take a fucking break first, Miyuki.”

Kazuya spat out a handful of screws. The bitter, metallic aftertaste clung to his mouth. “Why delay?” he said, tossing the instruction manual for his shelf to the side in frustration. It skittered across the hardwood floor and into Chris’ calf. 

Chris plucked the booklet up and thumbed through the pages of mildly helpful pictograms, eyeing them warily against Kazuya’s clear lack of progress. “Yeah, Miyuki. Why delay?”

Kazuya shot Chris a sour look and flopped back onto the ground with a groan, defeated. “Not like we’re busy during postseason this year.” 

They sighed in unison, united in the bitterness of loss. 

At least Chris’ team had been only one out from the Climax Series. The Swallows hadn’t come close, and even though it was expected from a rebuild year, the loss still rankled. Small mercies, though: Kazuya could rub in the fact that the Swallows hadn’t been last place in their league unlike the Mariners. 

Suck it, Kuramochi. He’d take his victories where he could.

Kazuya stuck his hand into the air, spreading his fingers wide as the overhead lights filtered between them. “Anyway. Moving is work, and you all banned me from working for the next four months. So really, I’m being responsible here.” His hand flopped down next to him with a hard thunk. 

Kuramochi trudged over, heavy steps echoing through the empty apartment, until his head popped into Kazuya’s vision, arms crossed and scowl fierce. “If you wanna try to fight this again, just give me a fucking reason to pin you into a headlock until you’re crying for mercy.”

Kazuya grabbed at his ankle, rolling onto his stomach for a second swipe as Kuramochi danced out of reach. 

“You can’t pull a fast one on the cheet—AH!” 

His ankles caught the edge of the shelf boards, knocking Kuramochi onto his ass. The wooden slats scraped across each other as they slid out of their neat stacks, thumping and scratching the floor until they were criss-crossed between Kazuya cackling into the floor on his stomach and Kuramochi, shocked and sprawled across the debris.

“Fucking build your furniture, Miyuki!” He cradled his foot in his hands, holding it up to inspect as he twisted it every which way. “We’re not doing the same thing as last time, when it took you a full year to finally put all your shit together.”

The weight of apathy slid back into Kazuya’s limbs, edging out the laughter that had given him a moment of relief. “What if I just didn’t?”

“Is that what you want?” Chris replied evenly.

He lolled his head towards Chris. Despite the heat, Chris had spent all day in a black turtleneck, never once hinting he was even mildly uncomfortable even at the peak of the day’s heat, lugging in heavy boxes from the sun-warmed streets. Now sitting on the floor among bubble wrap and crumpled paper, legs kicked out in front of him and waves of brown bangs framing his face, he still looked as wholly put together as ever. 

Even when Kazuya knew beyond a doubt Chris was the epitome of keeping a stone face even when he was going through the worst of it, he still couldn’t help but be jealous. 

Kazuya went back to staring at the unfamiliar gray tiles on his new ceiling. “It would be pretty funny to leave my apartment unfurnished to spite Kuramochi.”

“Finish the shelf.” Chris tossed the manual back. 

“Kominato’s the one who left the task half-done,” Kazuya said, closing his eyes, overwhelmed in a sudden wash of fury and helplessness. 

He opened his eyes to see Kuramochi and Chris hovering above him again. Both their brows were furrowed, Kuramochi’s fist clenched at his collar, Chris frowning mildly. 

“I’m fine,” Kazuya said brusquely.

They glanced at each other, then back at Kazuya. 

He sat up, forcing the other two to reel back to avoid knocking their heads together. “I’m 27, not 7,” he said, testily. “I don’t need to be put under a watch, I’m a grown ass adult.”

“We aren’t gonna—we can’t sit to the side and watch you nearly kill yourself from overwork again this off-season.” 

“Don’t exaggerate—“

“You said you had it together last year, but you didn’t. So you’re getting strict rules this year,” Kuramochi tugged at his hair, a frustrated sneer on his face. “The Swallows and your agent both know not to let you pile on more than your bare minimum until preseason. And the rest of us are going to check on you regularly because we care about your health, even when you don’t. Got it?”

“It’s not overwork,” he said, falling into the same argument that had been chipping away at him for a year now. 

“Then what is it?”

The only coping mechanism that works. The only way I can pretend to feel anything off the diamond. The only thing that makes me tired enough to sleep at night without baseball 24/7.

He settled on: “It’s just work. Making a living, some might say.”

“Hard to do that when you’re stuck in a hospital bed.”

“That won’t happen again. I was just stressed and tired and a bad day caught me off guard.”

“Yeah, it won’t again because we’re gonna help make sure the off-season doesn’t wreck you again after a long history of hiding your fucking problems until they explode.”

“At least you can’t take conditioning away from me.”

“Follow the plan your trainers set for you.” Chris’ voice cut into Kazuya’s stubbornness. “Please don’t joke about this with me.”

After a moment, Kazuya nodded his head, brusque.

Kuramochi rubbed the back of his neck, trying to break the awkward air that had sprung up between them. “Isn’t exercise supposed to help depressed people? Boost your serotonin up or some shit like that?”

“Just my luck it doesn’t,” Kazuya muttered. He cleared his throat. “Can we go back to harassing me about how bad I am at unpacking?”

“We wouldn’t harass you if you just did it.” Kuramochi stood back up and kicked at a box as he went back to sweeping the floors. “Unpack before the season starts up again. You have nearly five months. If you’re feeling feisty, try decorating your apartment, too.”

“My entire personality is baseball. I don’t care about interior design. Or anything else, for that matter.”

“You used to. Pick up your old hobbies. Bring out that telescope you had at back at Waseda. Read a memoir. All the shit you can’t do during the season, drag ‘em out into the open again.”

The wrong answer, he knew, was to reiterate that he didn’t care about any of that anymore. Seriously. “You two are busy-bodies.”

Chris handed him the power drill then returned to the pile of securely wrapped glass kitchenware. “It’s called friendship,” he said, bubble wrap crinkling.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Just try, Miyuki. Please.”

“Sure,” he said, flippantly, knowing the lie didn’t pass unnoticed from the sag in Kuramochi’s shoulders. He thumbed through the instructions, pushing aside the guilt welling into his throat. Kazuya needed this conversation to be over. “Chris-senpai, where’d you put the drill bits?”

***

“Hjnhbgfgvbhnjmknjbhgvfdbghnjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj” wasn’t the most eloquent start to Eijun’s next blog post. Of course, Eijun normally didn’t start his articles by rolling his face across the keyboard in frustration, but considering how little he’d written in the past week, this was as good a draft as any.

Eijun’s eyes flung open as the laptop shifted from under his face, tipping his head off to thunk into the table. He rubbed at his forehead, and blinked up to find Harucchi tapping delicately at the keyboard while the other hand balanced the device in the air. “Eijun-kun,” said Harucchi, peering from around the screen, “not your finest work.”

Eijun sat up and scowled, the lines of his face scrunching against the keyboard indents on his skin. “What would you know about it?” 

“I’ve been editing your posts for years,” Harucchi said. He settled the laptop in front of Eijun, then settled into the chair across from him. “If you’d like me to stop now, I can happily use that time in other ways.”

The dishes rattled when Eijun slammed his palm onto the table. “You’re not allowed to ditch me like that!” 

Harucchi raised his eyebrows. “Says the man who’s been avoiding me.”

A double blow of panic and then confusion struck him. He frowned and swiveled his head around. Snaking line at the counter, coffee scenting the air, a low hum of incomprehensible chatter: this was definitely the coffee shop he’d just discovered this morning and came to by himself and didn’t tell Harucchi about. “How’d you find me?”

“You should stop posting your location on Instagram if you don’t want to be found,” he offered with a gentle smile.

“You don’t live anywhere near here.”

“A teammate just moved to the neighborhood. It was pure luck I happened to be there while you happened to be here.” He ran his fingers against the edge of a plate by Eijun’s elbow, empty of all but crumbs. “It’s a cute shop. New haunt for you?” he asked, a touch too casual.

Eijun averted his eyes, lips pinching. He knew what Harucchi was really asking. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

“I’m doing fine,” Eijun insisted. “Really.”

“I’m glad you stopped feeling obligated to go to the other cafe.” His voice was barely loud enough to reach Eijun, covered by the clatter and call of employees, and a particularly rowdy group of seven students packed at a four person table next to his little corner.

“The old place got too many baristas who sucked,” Eijun lied. As if Harucchi didn’t already know that he’d only just shoved his pride aside enough to accept he’d lost his favorite coffee shop to the break-up. “Had to find a new one.”

Harucchi pried open the plastic lid to his coffee, blowing at the steam rising from the cup. He drew in a long, slow slip of his drink. “Maybe a fresh start here means a fresh start with the blog. Talk about grinding new beans, or something…?” Eijun blanched, well aware that Harucchi’s innocent reputation was a front. 

“If you think I am going to subject my loyal followers to love advice using bean grinding as the topic—”

“You’ll have to excuse me if you had an idea in mind already. I’d thought from the keysmashing that you hadn’t.” Eijun aimed a kick at his shin under the table. Without looking, Harucchi crossed his legs, as if he’d planned on it for that exact moment all along instead of the attempt to dodge Eijun’s ire that it really was. “Is there a reason you can’t find an appropriate topic for your next post?”

Eijun cheeks puffed out, determined for two whole seconds not to tell Harucchi the truth, before blurting out, “I promised Wakana we’d wait a few months before officially announcing we broke up.” And yep—there it was, that classic Kominato passively skeptical look that circled past nonjudgmental so thoroughly that it ended up aggressively intimidating. The one that meant Harucchi was seconds away from bulldozing through all the nonsense he was seeing ahead of him. Eijun lived in terror of it. “She wanted to give us a chance to recuperate in private first,” he muttered, defensive. 

“Eijun-kun.”

“I know, I know! A smart idea for people like Wakana, but I don’t…like wallowing like this. I can’t keep sitting here thinking about how much she doesn’t want me, and it’s all I want to write about. But I can’t post any of it. It’s been nearly two months, and I haven’t moved on. I’ve just gotten madder.”

“You two didn’t consider posting a small announcement saying you were over but you needed time? Space?”

“I couldn’t ask her.” Eijun subsided, spinning his teacup in its saucer with a single finger hooked through its tiny handle. “I owe her, Harucchi. The only reason I started lifestyle and romance blogging was because Wakana got me into it. I made my start on her profiles with her followers. Talking about her now? Why we broke up? Even if I want to, it sounds like betraying her. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m trying to talk shit about her, when we’re both in the same influencer circles.”

Harucchi tilted his head, and when Eijun didn't continue on after several seconds, he prompted, “There’s more.”

So much for the dumb jock stereotype.

“If I write it, then I feel like I’m giving up on her. On us ever being something together, again.” He crossed his arms onto the table, elbows shoving the dishes and laptop uncomfortably close to the edge of the small table, and laid his head on his forearms. He closed his eyes, and said quietly into his chest, “I still love her, Harucchi.”

“I know, Eijun-kun.” A warm hand squeezed his elbow. Between their silence, the monstrous table of college students packed up and left, and suddenly the shop settled into a calm Eijun needed. 

He poked his head up from the comfort of his arms to stare at Harucchi. He was steadily sipping his coffee, one hand resting on Eijun’s elbow. His pink hair had pulled out of the bun at his nape and fell into windswept wisps framing his face and neck. He’d long since stopped wearing Ryou-san’s hand-me-downs in favor of softer, luxe sweaters and slacks, the only true expense he indulged in despite his lucrative status as a rising star for the Swallows.

Altogether, he looked gentle, dangerously so. On the diamond or off, it was easy to be lulled into a sense of security right before he whacked an unpleasant truth out of the park. 

Harucchi pulled his hand back and apologized with a glance. Eijun wasn’t sure why…until he started speaking. “You make a living off of posting about your life—and romance, in particular. You’ve never hidden your past relationship troubles from your followers, however difficult it was to express. It’s part of your brand at this point.”

Eijun’s mouth twisted as he sat up. “Wakana isn’t a branding tool.”

“No one is saying that,” Harucchi said patiently. “What I am saying: you underestimate how much of your own work goes into your success. Aotsuki was certainly helpful—but your personality and your words are why people stay. People trust you.

“You’re good at what you do, Eijun-kun. You’re honest and kind in your observations, to yourself, to your partners, to strangers, despite how difficult and personal love is. When the time comes, whatever you post about Aotsuki will be the same.” Harucchi shrugged. “Also, I’ll edit out anything that makes you sound insensitive.”

Eijun let out a heavy sigh, stretching his arms into the air and shaking off the melancholy. “Thanks for not letting me fall on my own sword.”

“What are friends for?”

For all that he felt better, though, Eijun was still stuck staring at a blinking cursor at the end of a line of drivel. “That still doesn’t solve my problem. I don’t have a clue what to post next. The schedule I followed is trash now without personal updates of me and Wakana. I haven’t been able to binge any of the manga or shows I wanted to review, either. All I got left is the advice column, but if I keep that up with nothing else, I might as well change the blog name to Dear Eijun instead of Ace of Hearts.”

Harucchi stared at him, calculating out something as he took in Sawamura’s restlessness. “You don’t have to keep writing about romance.”

“That’s what I started the blog for.”

“But that’s not why you started writing and recording back at Seidou. You’ve had success with your baseball analysis and tutorials on YouTube and Instagram. You could even say you’ve been neglecting them to chase after romance.”

Eijun groaned, loud and theatrical enough to make the meek businessman behind him jump in shock. “Maybe if I got as much engagement talking about how stupid the idea of celebrity athletes are when it’s a team sport—”

“See?” he cut in, tilting his cup toward Eijun. “You already have a topic to post about.”

“Baseball is my hobby, not my job,” he said mulishly, jaw jutting out. “My dad wrecked his love of music that way! I’m not gonna risk hating baseball after he spent my whole life yelling at me not to ‘monetize my interests’ while holding me in a headlock. That’s asking for the biggest lecture of my life!”

“You can always stop if it’s not the direction you want to go. You’re not getting married to the idea.”

“Don’t bring up marriage, I just got dumped!”

Harucchi pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Fine, don’t think of it as a marriage,” he said. From Harucchi, the sliver of impatience he let free was the equivalent of hauling Eijun by the collar and shaking him down. “Flirt with baseball. Go on a few dates. Get a benefit or two out of it. Does the metaphor suffice now?”

Eijun gasped. “Harucchi! You’re too innocent for that sort of talk!”

“My brother is Kominato Ryousuke, and my best friend writes a blog about romance and sex that I edit,” he said, even as his quiet voice went squeaky and his face mottled bright red from embarrassment. 

“Maybe I should change my blog to save you the embarrassment.”

“I also admit I have a request of you,” Harucchi said sheepishly, pressing a hand to his cheek. “The Swallows want me to get more heavily involved in PR this offseason, and I could use your help figuring out what I’d actually like to do instead of going along with every idea they propose. I’ve seen what they make the other players do, and I’m not interested in doing the exact type of promo they’ve done the past few seasons.”

Eijun crossed his arms and leaned back, chin tilting up defensively. “If you’re trying to convince me by pretending you need help—”

Harucchi shook his head, bangs bouncing across his forehead. “I hope you’ll find value or inspiration in it, too, but I was going to ask, regardless.” He grimaced into his cup. “The players who carry most of the strain of Swallows marketing are…otherwise occupied this offseason. I was volunteered to step in; management’s been wanting me to raise my profile for a while. I can’t really say no, so I may as well make the most of it.”

“I don’t want a pity job.”

“Please, be reasonable.” Harucchi smiled the shy, dreamy, polished smile the Swallows had been trying to splash across their advertising since he joined the team. “It’s a pity favor.”

Eijun snorted, relaxing into his chair again. “Fine,” he said, pulling open a clean document on his laptop. “Let’s brainstorm.”

[hydra-collector]

love & death & kisses

AO3

Pairings: Anxceit, platonic Analogical

Characters: Virgil Sanders, Janus Sanders, Logan Sanders, Roman Sanders (mentioned), Remus Sanders (mentioned)

TW: suicide attempts, self-harm, cursing, panic attacks, v v v slightly implied sexual content, food

Words: 4,153

Summary: Virgil meets someone.

Note: Human AU, I’m bad at naming, bad at summaries, Janus is ooc, i swear this is one of my better fics

Rain seeped into Virgil’s clothes, making him even colder than he already was. He’d forgotten his umbrella at work, so he’d have to get it tomorrow. Funny how things work that way. You put things off to the side for a rainy day, but when you need them they’re not there.

A tall, slim man stood beside him. He would usually avoid other people at the train station as much as he could, but he didn’t care at this point. He was cold, tired, in a depressive episode, and frankly too out of it to care.

The other man didn’t have an umbrella either, but seemed much less bothered by it. He checked his phone occasionally, but only typed something once or twice, aside from a seemingly frustrating venture on Google Maps from what Virgil could see. He was more on edge by whatever he was seeing on his phone than the weather.

“Excuse me, do you know where the nearest hotel is?”

The first thing he noticed was that the man was absolutely beautiful.

The second was his scar.

A wide scar, seemingly a burn mark, covered the entirety of the left side of his face. It traveled down his neck and past his shirt where Virgil couldn’t see it. His left hand had it as well, a pair of gloves stuffed in his pocket. His eyes were also heterochromatic, one much paler than the dark brown of the other.

Virgil didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially after the earlier events of the day, but he tried his best. He subtly hugged his side to provide pressure comfort.

“I think there’s one a couple blocks from Edwards Station. I don’t remember if it’s south or north. I can check.”

Virgil pulled out his own phone and found that it was half a mile north. Logan had sent him a text asking him why he was so late. He didn’t want to explain that he had to spend an hour on a bench in the pouring rain, trying to calm down from a panic attack. The stranger confirmed and checked his phone again, sighing when he didn’t find what he wanted.

Virgil could see his screen slightly. He’d been talking to a contact named April, both of them using a lot of cursewords angrily at each other. It looked like a pretty bad breakup. He figured he’d been kicked out.

The train arrived a few minutes after that. Virgil was never going to be comfortable with the thought of a big, heavy object rocketing in his general direction, but he wasn’t attempting suicide or anything at the moment. He learned to deal with it.

“Sorry, Logan, I’m here now.”

Logan had been Virgil’s roommate for almost three years now. He’d been his best friend even longer. He was the one there for him when he needed it most.

“What happened?”

Logan was making dinner for the two of them, which Virgil was disappointed to find out. The rule was they could make each other meals, but whoever made it got to choose what it was, and Virgil has never known Logan to make anything junkier than chili. Virgil had got him to eat macaroni and cheese a few times, so he counted that as a win.

“I… had a pretty bad panic attack.”

“Is there anything I can do to help now?”

“I think I’ll be okay. You don’t give bad hugs, though.”

Logan smiled slightly and hugged his friend firmly. He’d looked up the best ways to comfort people physically and figured out what was best for Virgil.

“Thanks, L. What’s for dinner?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to make it yourself.”

“Hey, you have plenty! You’re using two pans!”

“You hate fish, Virgil.”

“That’s fish? Ew.”

“What did you think it was?”

Virgil shrugged.

“Go get dry clothes.”

Virgil changed into another, softer hoodie and sweatpants. He figured he’d get something to eat later. He could go a couple hours scrolling on Tumblr or something before he’d be really hungry.

When he turned his phone on, it was still open to the hotel directions.

I hope that guy’s alright.

He’d seen him a few times before, he realized. The unmistakable bleached hair against the man’s dark clothing he recognized had never been put to a face, but he’d been at the train station a few times before. Virgil vaguely wondered if he got off work at the same time as he did and it was a coincidence seeing him today since his whole thing with April, or whoever.

You don’t know what happened, shut up.

Virgil squeezed his arm with his fingernails, hoping to make his self-hate go away.

Today was exhausting.

He didn’t want to go to work the next day.

~~

He’d had another bad day. His boss complained about the quality of his work again. It seemed he was fucking everything up lately. He’d gotten Roman angry at him for an insult accidentally personal, and Logan angry at him because he’d started cutting again. Who could blame him, though? It was just so much easier to cope by hurting than actually trying to help himself. At least he was still showering.

At least it wasn’t raining.

It felt like it, though. There was weight on his shoulders and chest, and he needed to cry. He wished he could afford a therapist. Then again, did he even deserve help?

Stop.

His inner voice was right. He should stop being so self-deprecating, it was annoying, he’d always been an attention seek-

Stop.

Virgil exhaled, rubbing his forehead and sitting down on the bench instead of standing for the train.

“Didn’t get to thank you. For the directions.”

“Hm?”

It was the man again. This was the first time he’d seen him in the few days since then.

“I needed a place to stay, thanks for telling me where it was. I tried looking it up, then texting my girlfriend to ask her if… I ran out of data, I wouldn’t have been able to get there if you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh. You’re welcome. Glad you found the hotel.”

He half-wished he didn’t have to talk to anyone right now, but something drew him towards this man.

And then he initiated a conversation. For once in his life.

“You just get off work?”

“Yeah. I work at the zoo. Reptile house.”

“Wow. I just have a boring tech job. I’m assuming you like reptiles, which one’s your favorite?”

“It’s basic, but I’ve always liked snakes. I have three.”

“I could never handle snakes. I know they probably won’t hurt me, but I’m anxious about everything.”

Am I oversharing? Should I be talking about my anxiety? Is that weird?

“I have a deathly fear of spiders, so that’s valid.”

Virgil would have said something else, but the train came, and it was difficult to talk onboard. It was weird how easy it was to talk to this person, even though he’d just met him.

~~

They’d got to talking about snakes.

Big breeds, small breeds, the most dangerous, the least dangerous kinds of snakes. Virgil swore he was being converted to like reptiles by this man. He talked about them with so much excitement, more than he showed any other time. Mostly he was calm and collected, a bit like Logan.

“I never got your name.”

“Oh, it’s Janus.”

Like, Janice?

“As in the Roman god, not like suburban mom.”

“Ah. Virgil.”

Neither of them smiled often, so whenever someone who knew them saw the smile, it always made them a bit happier as well. It was already happening with them, even a week or two into knowing each other.

“What kind of snakes do you have?”

“I’ve got a green tree python, a corn snake, and a ball python. Diana, Mercury, Liber.”

“All Roman names, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a nerd.”

“It’s fitting.”

It was so easy to talk to him. More so than any other stranger. Usually he’d get anxious and all his energy would be expended (he usually had a mental breakdown if it was a lot of people). Something about him, the way he talks, moves, looks at Virgil. He’s like a reptile.

Don’t get a crush on him. He’s probably straight.

Maybe he isn’t, though. He could be bi or pan or something.

The train interrupted their conversation, but Virgil kept glancing over at Janus throughout. He was looking down at his phone, he must’ve gotten more service. Virgil got off after him, but it gave him time to consider Janus before he got home.

“Logan, I’m getting a crush on a straight guy and I just found out his name today.”

“You’re odd, Virgil.”

“He’s hot. And he likes snakes.”

“You hate snakes. Wouldn’t someone with an interest in spiders be more akin to you?”

“...He’s scared of spiders.”

“Virgil…”

~~

And he did get a crush on Janus.

They talked every day they saw each other, finally remembering they could exchange numbers. They spent months getting to know each other with pretty limited interactions, as neither of them texted or called much anyway. It wasn’t exactly a good thing, though, because he either spent his time at work thinking about Janus, panicking because his boss was mad at him because he wasn’t doing his work (because he was thinking about Janus), or completely depressed because he was angry at her for giving him a panic attack. And the cycle would continue.

It turned out April was his girlfriend, and they’d been in an unhappy relationship for a year or so. He was glad she’d broke it off, but was left without a house for a while. He’d managed to share an apartment with his friend Remus and that was going okay. Virgil didn’t tell him about his depression, but was open enough about his anxiety. Luckily for Virgil, he mentioned an ex-boyfriend.

He was not straight. Maybe he had a chance.

Are you kidding? He’s not gonna want to date you, worthless bitch. You can’t make him deal with your mental health, and he probably hates you anyway.

Their interactions were mostly limited to the train station, but that only meant Virgil appreciated them even more.

Still, he wished he could be happy.

The only times he was were, well, when he was talking to Janus and when Logan gave him hugs. Talking to Logan was enjoyable, but he kept reminding himself about everything going on, everything wrong with himself, how he kept fucking up, and cutting and wanting to kill himself. With Janus, he forgot. It was so easy to smile and laugh at sarcastic jokes and the cute things he did, like blush when he laughed and stick out his tongue unintentionally.

Time flew by when they were together. There wasn’t enough time before the train came to talk nearly as long as Virgil would have liked. Still, every interaction was worth it. His love for Janus grew the more he talked about what he does, and he actually seemed interested in Virgil’s job, even though he swore it must be the most boring on the planet.

“I think you’ve conquered my fear of snakes, Janus.”

“What’s this? I’ve shown my little ball of anxiety the ways of the snake with my own love for him and reptiles.”

My little ball of anxiety? And did he just say he loved me?

Was he thinking about this too much?

One corner of his mouth was raised in a smile and Virgil couldn’t help but blush, however much he wanted to ignore it. Janus chuckled slightly and picked up the conversation again, mentioning how Diana had gotten out and managed to get herself on the couch. Virgil proceeded as well, debating whether it meant anything or not.

~~

Virgil felt sick.

He felt all things horrible. Depressed, anxious, angry, hopeless, and worthless.

Over and over it repeated.

“I’m afraid someone as unstable as you isn’t fit to work here.”

Unstable.

Unhealthy.

Worthless.

Useless.

What was he going to do? He wouldn’t have money to keep living with Logan, he had to go through the stress of finding another job, people would judge him, he wouldn’t even be able to eat.

There was nothing he could do.

He trembled as he made his way to the train station. He was going to have a panic attack. Hell, maybe he was already having a panic attack. He wanted to cry but he wouldn’t cry. He had to go home and explain to Logan and he’d just have to live until-

No you don’t.

Of course he didn’t.

He was going to the train station, goddamnit.

He rubbed his hands on his face, static buzzing in his ears as tears almost came. This was going to be okay. It was all going to be okay. Finally.

He went up a different set of stairs, avoiding Janus. As he walked, the static slowly faded and was replaced with silence. Chosen silence, that is. He could hear the cars and the wind and the rain that had just begun to fall.

Fitting.

The train was early today, thank God. Its rumbling was familiar from the distance.

He took his last few steps to the edge of the platform, ignoring the tiny bit of anxiety that came with jumping down. He vaguely heard his name called over and over by the deep voice he knew well by now. He ignored it as well, starting with a slow walk, letting the raindrops soak into his hoodie. The walk sped up, and the rain got heavier, blurring out the train’s lights in a pretty way. He forced the muffled sound of his name out again, but it was getting louder.

There’s nothing you can do.

The walk got faster and turned into a run. He needed to catch the train before it slowed down.

Funny. Catching the train.

His ears pounded with the silence. So many things to distract him, things he loved. The awful sound of rain, knowing you’re going to get wet, but reveling in it anyway. The patter of feet on ground, now wood and gravel. And his voice, his beautiful voice.

The screech from the train stopped all other sounds, even splitting the silence in the bubble he created. It was warm, he hoped it was blood, so warm, so wonderfully warm.

Janus had never hugged Virgil.

He’d assumed he wasn’t one for being touchy-feely. He was tall and handsome, like the stereotypical distant, sexy man. But he wasn’t distant. He was there when Virgil needed him, even if he didn’t always know it. He put a hand on his shoulder or took Virgil’s hands in his to calm him down. He wished he’d gotten to know what kind of embrace he would have. Was it soft? Was it firm like Logan’s? Was it too tight? Was it always awkward like some people’s?

More than that, he wanted to know how his kisses were.

He imagined them soft, then passionate. Like something Virgil had always needed, the sweet feeling of pure love. He imagined he was the type to give solemn forehead kisses when a moment was serious, and short nose ones when the moments were playful. He imagined he’d kiss wherever he could on someone’s face, on his cheeks and chin, nose, lips, neck. They’d all be perfect for the occasion. There was a difference between a peck on someone’s cheek and smushing his lips against someone’s face. A slow kiss to the jaw was different from a badly-aimed one. Every subtle difference in position would say something new.

“I love you.”

“Shut up.”

“I need you right now.”

“You need me.”

He wished he’d learned every message. He wished he’d kissed Janus before today. He wished he’d at least told him and got rejected like he knew he would. He wished he could have everything. A hug and a kiss saying ‘it’s going to be okay. Nothing’s gonna happen to you. It’s-’

“-going to be okay.”

The sound of the rain hit the stones sharply, akin to the feeling on his back. Voices shouting, his voice, and a new sound.

His heart.

Virgil let himself sink into the rhythm and the feeling of warmth that encompassed him. Something was soft through the damp fabric, moving slightly every now and then. It was the pressure of something, a body-

-Janus.

He opened his eyes to see the blurry outline of blond hair covering Janus’s face. He raised his arm slowly to push it away, just then noticing the arms wrapped tightly around him, using the most of their surface area.

Janus’s eyes were beautiful and sad, was he- crying? Virgil couldn’t tell if it was the rain or tears until he sobbed, hugging Virgil even tighter, burying his face in his shoulder and muttering words Virgil couldn’t hear.

Virgil realized he was crying too. Of course he was crying, he was… alive.

He was alive.

“I’m sorry, Virgil. Please, please know I’m here for you.”

Virgil said nothing, still mute from shock. So many things happened just then, and now he was being hugged. And it was perfect, despite the rain.

“I could’ve- should’ve died.”

“No, Virgil, you shouldn’t have. You couldn’t have, I’d never let you.”

Did he really care?

“I need to- I need to tell you something.”

This could go horribly wrong.

I don’t care anymore. I’ve made the most impulsive decision of my life today, might as well make another.

Virgil took his hand to push Janus’s chin up, thumb tracing the scar closer to his lips.

“Can I-”

“Can I kiss you, Jan?”

He let his head drop towards Virgil’s, lips so close now. He would have smiled his snake smile if he could have felt an ounce of a smile.

Virgil pressed his parted lips to Janus’s, hand resting on the back of his neck. He pulled his fingers through his wet hair, feeling its softness even now.

It was everything he had imagined.

At first it was soft and tender, but Janus deepened it, hand wriggling out from under Virgil to hold his face. The raindrops drowned out that moment from the outside world. Janus’s heart quickened, as did Virgil’s, but they both relaxed into it. The scar was rough against Virgil’s face sometimes, but it only made him want him more. All either of them could hear were the raindrops contrasting with their hearts.

Virgil wanted to kiss him longer, hold this forever. When they did break, Janus laid his burned cheek against Virgil’s.

“Do you need to go home?”

He thought of Logan and how upset he was when Virgil cut, how hard he tried and how bad he felt for him. And how bad Virgil felt for hurting him.

“Can we go to your place? It’s... closer.”

“Oh- I suppose we could. I doubt Remus will be there.”

They avoided the people trying to help Virgil, weaving through the few scattered onlookers, Janus’s arm resting around Virgil’s waist. Virgil was scared he would have a panic attack again and tried to focus on Janus.

He called a cab as he wasn’t about to take the train after that, and sat in the backseat with Virgil, not letting him go for a second. It was expensive and Virgil tried to get Janus to let him pay, but he didn’t have much of an argument. Janus half-carried Virgil up the stairs and into his apartment.

It was clean, which Virgil guessed was Janus’s doing given what he’d said about Remus, and fairly dark. It wasn’t the kind of dark that made you feel uneasy, but rather as in lighted only with soft ambient light. He didn’t get a good look at their living room before Janus pulled him into his bedroom. It was painted a pretty yellow and lit with a color changing lamp, which Janus turned to purple.

He sat Virgil down on the bed, who was still rather dazed from the day. Janus rummaged through his clothing drawers until he found a shirt smaller than the others and an old-looking pair of sweatpants.

“Here, you can change into this.”

Janus grabbed some clothes for himself and left the room for a moment, allowing him privacy. Virgil removed his soaked hoodie and Evanescence t-shirt, putting on the soft purple one Janus had found. It had short sleeves, but he didn’t have anything to lose at this point. He put on the sweatpants, soft and warm and opened the door for Janus. He was changed into a big hoodie that Virgil would kill to wear.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah, I- I think so. Sorry about the, the cuts.”

“It’s okay, Virgil. If you want me to get you something with long sleeves-”

“I think I’ll just end up stealing your hoodie at some point. Otherwise… it’s fine.”

“Okay.”

Virgil sat down on the bed again, craving the soft blankets. Janus took his spot beside him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders.

“Thanks, Jan. It- I’m, I’m alive because of you. I don’t know how I could repay that.”

“Tell me when this happens, and I’d die happy.”

Virgil smiled, leaning against Janus. He pushed himself against the wall, pulling Virgil along with him. He heaved the thick blanket around him and Virgil, but mostly Virgil. He snuggled into the weight and comfort, still sitting against Janus as if he were the only thing keeping him balanced.

“What happened today?”

“I got… fired. ‘Cause I’m too depressed to work. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“I can help you find a job, V. It doesn’t have to be the end.”

“Sometimes it just… feels that way. Like you’re never going to get out of this pit of loneliness and you’re sure everyone hates you, and you’re so scared something will go wrong all the time even though you don’t really care.”

“I don’t hate you. And I know you can end this the healthy way. Shall we start with some ice cream?”

“Ice cream’s not exactly healthy, Janus.”

“Ssshh.”

He left for a moment and returned with two tubs of chocolate ice cream and a spoon for each of them.

“No bowls? And two whole tubs?”

“Mhm. It’s better that way. And you could have both of them if you asked.”

“Nah, you deserve some ice cream too. I probably hurt you a lot by doing that.”

“Mm-mm, Virgil. You’re hurting, not me. Self-care rule number one: you’re better than everyone for a while, put your feelings first.”

“I’m not.”

“Pretend. Now, what would you like to do?”

Virgil considered the question for a moment. It might be nice to listen to music, or to distract himself with a game or movie, but he didn’t really want that.

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I… want to kiss you.”

Janus turned pink for a moment, before smiling his smile with one corner of his mouth.

Before he could say anything that he wanted to, Virgil kissed that smile. He wondered what it would be like to do so many times, so he wasn’t going to miss his opportunity. He put his ice cream down to hold Janus’s face with cold fingers, savoring the feeling of the little half-smile turning surprised and then into a giddy smile that began to kiss back. Virgil grinned when it ended, looking back into Janus’s eyes.

“So you’re going to surprise kiss me now?”

“Yep-”

Janus, just as quickly as Virgil had, kissed him quick on the nose, eliciting a blush from Virgil this time.

“Unfair, Janus.”

“Nah.”

“I’m gonna pout and eat my ice cream now.”

“Is there anything else we can do while eating ice cream?”

“I suppose we could watch a movie.”

“Lion King?”

“...Lion King? I mean, yeah, sure, okay!”

He smiled as Janus put the movie on, his familiar excitement seeping through. Virgil managed to wrestle the soft hoodie from him, revealing that one, he had no shirt, and two, that Virgil would cuddle Janus’s burn marks and he appreciated that. As Virgil fell asleep next to him, he pressed his lips to his forehead, who was just awake enough to feel.

And one by one, the messages were unlocked to him. Once, after a dance, came the desperate, passionate kiss that told him “I need to kiss you.” One Disney marathon he came to feel the peppered kisses on his cheeks that said “You’re adorable.” After a weekend trip alone he got the long cheek kiss that said ‘I missed you.’ When he finally got a job, he was given the messy kiss, cheeks held tight that said “I’m so proud of you.” One tired night he blushed at the kisses on his jaw and neck that said “You’re hot and I’m bored.”

And again and again and again, the tender forehead kisses that said “I’m here for you. I love you.”

[my-happy-little-bean]

Rooftop Reassurance

words: 1851 pairing: logince warnings: talks about committing suicide (though no one dies), alcohol consumption, depression, swearing, breakups summary: logan finds a stranger one night sitting on balcony rails in tears, a thousand feet above the city below; then find roman six months later, standing on a table singing with a bright grin. both occurrences confuse him, but he decides to chat with him for both. based on the prompt: you saw him on the rooftop twice; once at a party, and the other when he was sitting on the ledge.

a/n - pt. 3 of ‘let’s indulge bean in their slightly low quality, very personal fics’ ~ (a real series now on ao3 oops–)

this time, this was all inspired by one of my deep dives on tik tok at 3 am. yes, i’m actually writing based off a tik tok. this is where i’m at now (there’s funny people there alright–)

anyway here’s hoping that this all makes sense and is good enough to justify me posting it, heh :’)

enjoy!

read on ao3~

---

“Holy shit.”

Virgil lowered his drink. “What?”

Logan didn’t give Virgil a response, instead moving past him in the direction his eyes were set on. He didn’t even look back when Virgil made an attempt to further question him. 

He knocked into a few drunk shoulders in his haste, making his way to the rooftop entrance. 

Logan had been to Patton’s apartment a few times and for some strange reason, there was always a party happening. Maybe that was because, for an even stranger reason, Patton always had something to celebrate. 

The day he found him was after Patton’s almost-birthday party. 

Streamers weaved themselves through the balcony railing, the sign reading “Happy Birthday (for real this time)!” now lopsided and close to the floor. Logan’s eyes scanned the entire scene until he saw

A man, sitting on the rails of the balcony, with his legs dangling over the edge and in the air.

Roman, standing on a table, holding his drink high in the air with a big grin. 

Logan slowly approached him, afraid that if he made any sudden movements, the ghost of him would disappear in an instant.

However, when he got close enough to the man,  he realized this was no ghost. 

In fact, Roman was already responding to him, hopping off the table and waving a few friends off before going in his direction. 

Logan felt a chill run down his spine. 

“Hey!” Roman said brightly, holding his arms up for what appeared to be a hug. Logan, still stiff from surprise, simply let it happen. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Logan echoed incredulously. “You’re standing on a table.”

“Are you alright?”

Roman blinked. “I’m fine!”

“ Totally fine.” 

Logan felt a smile drift onto his face, one of a foreign kind of relief he wasn’t expecting. 

“It’s...well, it is really good to see you,” Logan said, pushing up his glasses. He could smell the beer off of Roman’s pearly grin. Oh well. 

“You look...good,” Logan hesitantly added. 

The man laughed so hard, but didn’t turn around. He doubled over in his hysterics, and Logan’s breath hitched.

“Why thank you, Microsoft nerd!” Roman chirped, still laughing as he reached over to grab Logan’s hand. The contact made Logan’s head spin. 

“So are you going to dance with me?” 

“Because no one danced with me tonight.”

Logan blinked.

“Dance?” 

“This is a party, bro-chacho!” Roman let go of his hand to swing his arm around Logan’s still-tense shoulder. “We gotta dance! Besides, it’s the least I can do for

the man who’s gonna save my life,” the man laughed again. “Is that who you’re gonna be?” 

Logan paused. “It is unreasonable of me to assume I could save your life, but I can get you standing next to me, which would be a good start.” 

He outstretched his hand to the man who wasn’t even looking at him. 

“Please, 

Roman, you don’t have to repay me for anything,” Logan said slowly. “I haven’t talked to you in so long;I am just glad to see you.”

The man turned his head slightly. Against the forgotten fairy lights’ hues, Logan could see streaks of black mascara trailing down his cheeks. Then, he turned his head back, facing away from him once more. 

“I’m glad to see you too,” Roman said; more softer, more vulnerable this time. “Sorry, I’m not like, keeping you from anything am I? I kinda just saw you and went for it, heh. I can let you go back to whatever you’re doing...?” 

“No no,” Logan hummed. 

“I’m going to sit with you.” 

Roman nodded readily with that glowing smile again, taking Logan’s hand once more and leading them to a quiet corner of the balcony, next to the rails

Logan did his best to climb over, shakily settling himself a thousand feet above the ground. 

“You should get off,” the man said darkly. 

“You should as well.” 

“How have you been doing?” Logan asked as he and Roman sat on a couch next to each other. Roman smiled, almost sheepishly. 

“Better, actually,” he admitted. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Logan felt the words "already?" sit on his tongue, but he decided to actively practice this 'empathy' Patton had mentioned to him once.

“Ah really?”

“Yeah.” Roman’s smile only grew. “His name is Dr. Picani. He's really good at his job.”

“I got dumped,” the man groaned, seemingly giving up on getting Logan to leave him alone. His grasp on the rails tightened, which Logan was secretly thankful for. “I know it’s a stupid reason for being this upset and an even stupider reason to be sitting on a balcony because it was never really a good relationship to begin with, but fuck I loved him and he was the only familiar thing in my life keeping me…” 

He lifted one hand to wave it around, wobbling ever so slightly. He seemed to be struggling to find words because he finished by saying, “You know?”

“Please be careful–”

“I just don’t fucking get it,” the man cut him off. He motioned over to the city below them, barely buzzing as the late night simmered into early morning. “Isn’t this the part in life where everything clicks? When you’re 28 with someone you love and a job you don’t hate? Isn’t this the part where you stare out at the world you live in and smile because you got past the bad shit and now you’re here?”

Logan sighed. 

“I...I don’t think that part ever comes.” 

“This is the worst rooftop reassurance ever.”

“Oh." Logan chuckled. "Well, he sounds like a very positive presence in your life.”

“You know, you can just say you’re happy for me,” Roman teased, nudging him slightly, “you know, like a normal person?” 

Logan blushed. “I am happy for you.” 

“When’s the part where I’m happy, then?” the man continued. New tears seemed to run across dried ones. “If that part never comes, is there at least a part where I’m just...okay?”

“Of course there is.” Against his better caution, he lifted his own hand and rested it against the stranger’s knee. “There are plenty of moments; better moments. There is no singular part in which your life changes for the better and stays that way forever, but there is a continuous stream of...of better moments.” 

“I never got to formally thank you for that night,” Roman said once some silence had passed. He giggled again, all light and airy. “Well, never got to thank you properly. I was too drunk when I said thank you that night, so that doesn’t count.” 

“You are also drunk now.”

“...that’s besides the point.” Roman cleared his throat. “So to make up for it, I– Roman Prince– would like to say

“I’m sorry,” the man said. He laughed again, all dark and heavy. “I know it’s probably not a great look, to be drunk and sitting on the edge of a balcony that’s waaaay too high above the ground–"

“Glad we are finally addressing that.”

“–but I appreciate the fact that you stayed. Really, I do.”

Logan nodded. “Of course, Roman.” 

A beat of silence. 

“I...I wasn’t going to jump.” Roman cleared his throat. “Obviously.”

Logan gulped, suddenly afraid. “Obviously.” 

“I just needed to clear my head.”

“Understandable.”

“But– and now this is going to sound concerning but it’s not–”

“Not a great way to preface this–”

“But imagine if I did fall?” The man tilted his head upwards at the moving clouds above them. “All those feelings, rushing through you one by one as gravity pulls you down, down, down…”

Logan, for a moment, let himself stare at the stranger as he talked. After all, he didn’t have the words to respond to his ramble, so he decided to listen. 

Roman must have decided to move on from their seemingly sentimental conversation because he spontaneously launched into a subject Logan knew nothing about. Still, Logan did his best to listen. 

Roman’s eyes seem to light up like lightning  without the thunder that kept the storm alive. 

He waved his hands so animatedly, which Logan never understood; no human had to express themselves with that much physicality, yet when he was still, he didn’t seem to be human at all. 

And he was beautiful, Logan couldn’t help but think.

Why didn’t he see that?

“Hey!” Logan jumped as Roman snapped his fingers in front of his face. “You okay?”

“You’ve been quiet for a while,” the man said, snapping Logan out of his trance. “Did I go too far?”

“No, no you didn’t.” Logan shakily pushed up his glasses. “It’s just…”

He sighed. 

“The way you talk alone is something worth staying alive for.” Logan took a deep breath and lifted his gaze to meet him. “I know this isn’t the happiest story but… but you need to tell everyone your stories, no matter what kind. Everyone needs to hear you, at least once.”

“I’m okay,” Logan said, pushing up his glasses and straightening up. “Sorry, I was just...thinking.”

“Thinking?” “About–

the way this stranger smiled

–that night.”

Roman stiffened at the words, and Logan hastily went to pick them back up, adding, “Um, we do not need to talk about it anymore if you so desire–”

“Nah, it’s okay!” Roman, to his surprise, blushed. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just don’t want your impression of me to forever be tainted by that night.”

Logan shook his head softly. “You are much more to me than a moment of sadness.”

“It’s not all sad, though,” the man said through sniffles. “I mean...I just attended a really great party.”

“Even if the party was for a made up occasion?”

“All occasions are made up.”

“...touché.”

“Plus, I kinda made a friend.” His voice seemed much quieter than the louder, more thunderous one that painfully struck with every word it spoke. “And that makes me feel a lot better.”

“It does?” Logan frowned. “But I didn’t solve anything. I just...said things.”

“Yeah.” The lightning in his eye seemed to fade into a small twinkle. “Sometimes that’s all someone needs.” A pause. “Does...does that sound stupid? I probably sound stupid.”

“Hey,” Roman suddenly said, “I know this is rather forward of me–”

“I feel as though nothing is quite too forward for you–”

“–but could I maybe grab some drinks with you sometime?” Roman blushed. “It can be coffee, heh. Don’t want to always be drunk and stupid around you.”

“You’re not stupid.” 

“That would perhaps be a wise choice,” Logan said with a small laugh. Roman grinned at the sound. 

“I just want to get to know you,” Roman said, leaning in closely; close enough that Logan was blinking so hard trying to focus on him properly. “And...and I want to have a better moment with you.”

Logan smiled. 

“I’m glad I could be here for you…”

“Roman,” the man– Roman– said. “I’ll shake your hand when we’re down from up here and you can tell me yours, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Logan finally said. “I’d like that.”

---

reblogs/likes/whatever would be lovely ~

[thepersephonecabin]

Legacy and Bullshit Mindfuckery (fic)

Summary: Luvander has two things for the Adamo’s first child: a gift and a wish.

Please see full tags and warnings AO3

Note: So... How did we get here? Well, basically, when I was writing A Very Adamo Christmas for @foxesonstilts for the @festivebastion exchange I meant to put in a short bit about a Luvander giving Laure and Adamo’s first child a very special gift, but forgot until after finishing FestiveBastion. So I told myself I was gonna write a small addition, and then my latent need to see the airmen recover after the war took over and suddenly I had a 4k+ luvander character study on my hands. And also about halfway through my if-i-dont-write-this-right-now-i-will-never-sleep craze a tiny part of my brain was like “you should make luvander a trans man for absolutely no reason” and I did and actually really liked the way it fit into the story.

So anyway, I hope you enjoy!

-

A day and a half following the birth of Rory Adamo, Luvander found himself on the doorstep of the Greylace Estate once again. Wrapped in one arm, he cradles a soft drawstring bag, cream in color with a light pink ribbon around the top.

He didn’t bother knocking as he shouldered his way through the doorway. Even though he still primarily lived out of the apartment above the hat shop, this place was dragon territory, and therefore as far as he was concerned, it was his home as well.

“Hello?” he called out, slipping his shoes off at the door. Maybe if he was really lucky, Rook would come in and pitch a fit about like he would in the good old days.

Balfour emerged from the lounge with a book cracked open in his hands and questioning eyes. “Oh, Luvander. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Luvander confirmed. “Where’s the chief and his young lady love? I had something I wanted to bring to them.”

“They’re in their bedroom, I think,” Balfour said before quickly amending, “Oh, no, not like that! I think it was just time to change her.”

“Ah,” Luvander said. “How is the not-so-little tyke anyway?”

Balfour smiled and began leading him up the stairs to Laure and Owen’s room as if Luvander hadn’t been there not two days ago. “Oh, you know. She sleeps and eats and poops and cries. Lucky the three of us don’t room up in the same area of the house as Chief Sergeant and Airlady Adamo or I’m sure we’d all be knackered already.

The three of us. Luvander knew he meant the three Second Wavers outside of Laure of course. Luvander felt a sick little spark of jealousy flare up in his stomach and not for the first time at their mention before he stamped it out with the guilt of it all.

Balfour continued, “Mom and Dad are still smitten with her though. I wager that by the sixth week in they might be out of the honeymoon stage.”

“Sixth? I don’t know if I could make it to the second,” Luvander said. Of course, he was happy to have a little niece to dote on, but Luvander had never seen much draw in the idea of having a baby you couldn’t return to its rightful owners when it began to shit itself.

Balfour laughed good-naturedly, “I think Adamo’s a bit more levelheaded than you, however.”

Luvander shrugged. “Maybe so, but I’ll stick to my instinct and take you up on that bet.”

They’d reached the Adamo bedroom now, and throught the door Luvander thought he could hear the baby’s wordless vocalization (Did most newborns make this much noise when they weren’t crying or was this one just especially talkative, he wondered) paired with Laure’s laugh and the low tenor of Adamo’s voice.

Balfour turned to him, touching Luvander’s elbow softly through his coat. Balfour wasn’t wearing his gloves today, Luvander observed. Good, he thought, he shouldn’t feel like he needed to hide them, especially not here, not with family.

“Before you go in…” Balfour began, “I wanted to ask how you were doing. I know Ghislain sailed out.”

Luvander resisted the urge to grimace. He liked to tell himself he did an okay job of deflecting everyone else’s attention away from his persistent problems with loneliness. On the good days he cracked enough jokes and sarcastic witticisms to keep the people around him too entertained to notice. On the bad days he threw himself into overworking, holed up in his workroom with little sleep and becoming overly perfectionistic about whatever he was working on until he felt like tearing it all apart again. But on the best days Ghislain was home, in this place Ghislain didn’t even think of as his home, but the place Luvander was, which in Luvander’s mind designated it as Ghislain’s home nonetheless.

Balfour, however had always been the one he couldn’t fool, and it was a fact that needled at him constantly. He didn’t enjoy it when others looked past the mask he’d so carefully crafted for himself like one of his custom hats.

Not that Luvander had anyone but himself to blame for that. Balfour always suspected Luvander’s yearning for affection and attention and approval had been more than the average loneliness, but then Luvander just had to go and fuck it up even further.

It had been at least a year and a half or maybe even two when it happened. He, Raphael, Balfour, and Rook had been drinking (because of course they had) in Balfour’s room at the Greylace Estate. These rooms were a damn sight bigger and nicer than the ones in the Old Airman, a fact that Luvander could never parse out about whether he appreciated or was annoyed by. As such, Balfour had set up a couch and a few chairs to fill the space between his bed and the opposite wall. Ever since Raphael turned up again, they’d started having little get togethers one or twice a month, alternating whose place hosted.

Then Thom’d been offered a job as a professor (a real one this time) at the ‘Versity and Rook had come back to Thremedon bitching and complaining the whole way back from whatever adventure they’d been on when they received the letter. Apparently Thom had already begun writing a letter back declining the offer when Rook found out and through some well-intentioned bullying and ripping of half-finished correspondence got Thom to accept. From Luvander’s understanding, Thom had decided immediately to pass on the job in order to continue looking after his older brother, knowing that Rook had very important reasons for staying away from Thremedon. He couldn’t ask Rook to go back there, and he didn’t feel comfortable letting Rook travel alone without eventually winding up dead in a ditch from asphyxiating from his own vomit either. According to him, Rook’s mental health had markedly approved once the Dragonsoul was destroyed and th’Esar’s plans thwarted. He’d finally been able to properly grieve, Thom said, but that didn’t mean he was ready to part ways and risk Rook relapsing without him to drag him out of it.

Rook found all this out and stubbornly refused to go along with that “bullshit mindfuckery” Thom was always practicing on account of the fact that teaching at the University had always been Thom’s dream job, and he would be damned if his little brother threw it away for his sorry ass. After all, while the ‘Versity had improved in regards to letting in more students from poorer walks of life since Thom had been awarded for his work with the Airmen, the same improvement hadn’t come in regards to hiring choices. For all any of them knew, this might be the last time a mollyrat was offered a job at the Empire’s highest learning institution in a long, long time. So, back to Thremedon they came, and Luvander, Balfour and Raphael’s little survivor’s club had expanded from three to four members. (There had always been an open invitation to Adamo as well, but he only rarely took them up on it.)

So, anyway, they’d been drinking thoroughly and Luvander more thoroughly than the rest. It’d been months since Ghislain had come to port- not his fault, some jobs simply took longer than expected- and Luvander was in the pits. That said, he’d been holding it together pretty admirably that night, and it had all been fine until Rook and Raphael left. Raphael said he had Royal Guard duty the next day- it was a job offer Luvander, Ghislain and Raphael had all received from the Esarina herself after she’d almost died by her own guards that night when they’d had to rescue the Adamos. Raphael had been the only one to accept.

But so when Raphael stood up to leave and appropriate one of the Estate’s carriages Rook also decided to leave “before the Professor starts hyperventilating over me” and figured it would just be easier to go back in one carriage. It was, in sober retrospect, a suspiciously sensical thing to come out of Rook Molly’s mouth, but who knew anymore. Luvander didn’t know what kind of bullshit mindfuckery Thom had exposed that man too while they were travelling, but Rook’d been all kinds of weird since they’d come back and by “weird” Luvander meant “vaguely decent.”

The two of them took their leave and after that the details grew fuzzy, but he did remember drunkenly confessing his depression about missing Ghislain to Balfour and Balfour being nothing but supportive as understanding.

“You’re so sweet,” Luvander had told him, slurring his words and cupping the other man’s cheek. “You know that? You’ve always been so sweet, Balfour. Sometimes I wonder how someone as sweet as you got mixed up with all of us selfish ingrates. You always deserved so much better than us. Hell, if you’d never met us assholes, you’d still have your hands.”

Balfour blushed and looked away. “My hands weren’t your guys fault, and even if I don’t have them, I have my girl and all of you. Besides, I’m not so inno-“

And that had been as far as he’d gotten before Luvander launched himself into Balfour’s lap and shoved their mouths together.

Now, it’s important to note that Luvander had always been a touchy drunk. He’s sure he’d made passes at all thirteen of the other airmen more times than he could count while trashed out of his mind. He even had one absolutely disastrous incident with Adamo that had gotten a very stern talking to about appropriate relationships between a superior officer and his subordinates the next morning. Luvander had deeply respected the things Adamo said to him at the time despite the massive hangover he was fighting his way through as he said it and the urge he had to hang himself rather than have this conversation at all. That didn’t mean he hadn’t brought up the irony of it in his speech at Laure and Adamo’s wedding, though.

Which was all to say that Luvander was no stranger to make-out sessions with his friends after a few too many drinks. In fact, drunken fooling around had been the bedrock upon which his entire relationship with Ghislain was founded. Even after Luvander and Ghislain were “official” they’d kept the relationship fairly open because Luvander wasn’t the sort to abstain from sex for months at a time while his lover was at sea. It had simply come with the condition that if anything that strayed from the “casual sex” territory and into the “feelings” territory had be to discussed- Ghislain wasn’t jealous about Luvander being with other people physically, but he was jealous about having to share Luvander’s heart and overprotective at times about the idea of someone taking advantage of Luvander’s emotions.

This had been different though. This kiss with Balfour hadn’t been borne of happy delirium or playfulness like most of his less-than-sober escapades were. This had been borne of deep, deep sorrow. A desperate effort to patch a leak in a dam ready to burst. The other reason it was different was because Balfour had only had had two drinks that night, and Luvander had had at least five times that.

On the bright side, if one had to have such a mortifying experience in their lives, Luvander could think of very few people better to have it with than Balfour Vallet.

The epitome of gentlemanly behavior, Balfour had gently broken off the kiss and softly and without malice told him that they couldn’t do this, not when Luvander was so intoxicated. Luvander had nodded and understood, but then broken into wracking sobs as he blubbered about how fucking alone he felt all the time. Balfour let him cling to him like a security blanket even though Luvander was still straddling him and repeatedly assured him that he didn’t care if Luvander covered his shirt with snot and tears.

Then Luvander woke up the next morning on Balfour’s couch with a blanket draped over him. His clothes were all intact with the exception of his shoes and his binder which he had a bad habit of sleeping in and Balfour knew it. Balfour must have peeled it off once Luvander had passed out along with the boots and then buttoned Luvander’s shirt back up and even replaced his signature scarf. Both binder and boots were now neatly laid out on the coffee table with care.

There were still a few bottles of alcohol too, and ordinarily he might have been tempted to drink them. This time though, he reckoned he’d done enough damage under the influence for one day.

That was about when Balfour appeared, already dressed for the day and carrying a tray of water and coffee. “Oh, you’re awake,” he’d said, kicking the door shut behind him. He sat next to Luvander on the couch and set the tray on the table. “I hope you don’t mind that I took off your…” he said awkwardly, wringing his hands like he always did.

It took Luvander a moment to understand he was talking about the binder. “Oh. Oh no, it’s- Balfour, I know you’d never do anything to me or go further than protecting my ribs from some rather tragic pain in the morning. And it’s not anything you haven’t seen in the showers before. If anything I think when it comes to invasions of peoples’ personal boundaries, I should be the one apologizing to you right now. What happened last night… the way I just went after like that was unconscionable and I promise it will never happen again. In fact, I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest if you never wanted to see me again.”

Balfour looked shocked. “Of course, I don’t want that. What happened last night wasn’t ideal, obviously, but you were plastered and having a rough day. I get it.”

Luvander could’ve both laughed and cry at that. “But it wasn’t just a bad day. It was… Bal, I think I have a problem.” He could practically feel the bile coming up just from saying those words out loud, but he told himself that if there was ever the time to admit it to anyone, this was it so he continued: “I think maybe I always had. Even before Xi’an it was like this, just not as intense or constant. I don’t know how to be alone. I don’t know how to feel unimportant or like I’m not the center of attention without letting it control me. When there were fourteen of us I could ignore it, right? Because there was always someone around, but now…” He wiped away tears with his scarf and adjusted it anxiously. “And, like, the way this place just fucking tossed all of us out like yesterday’s trash the second they didn’t need us anymore and that blasted medal ceremony was over didn’t exactly help.”

Balfour nodded slowly. “I think I know the feeling or at least a fraction of it. I felt so isolated and broken at the end of the war, but even before that I… well, I suppose I always felt like I was second to Amery.”

Luvander felt another pang of guilt. None of them had been sure how to react when Balfour replaced his brother in the Corps, but Rook more than anyone. Before Amery died he’d been the one of them that Rook was closest to, so Balfour’s presence was anything but welcome to him. So, whenever Rook had a problem, Balfour was usually who he took it out on. And Luvander had always just let him. Because sometimes crossing Rook was like crossing god in that house, but it didn’t excuse how cowardly he’d been.

 “Got feminine parts between his legs, airman’s honor.”

That’s what Rook had said about Balfour when he’d tried to be kind to Thom that first day when the Professor had them do introductions. Even then, Luvander, the real one with “feminine parts” among them was sitting right there, and he hadn’t said shit to stop Rook.

(Luvander had always felt Rook didn’t mind trans men as much as he minded trans women. Something about the way trying to be more masculine was seen as noble, while trying to be more feminine made you a Mary in a world where women were always seen as lesser. But he also felt like Rook’s somewhat backwards and begrudging acceptance of Luvander’s presence was conditional, like it was something that he was able to revoke at the barest hint of insubordination. Luvander was tolerated as long as he fought well and shut up and was cruel like him, but that didn’t mean it was real. At least Thom had seemed to have trained some of that out of Rook over the years, but it was still a nagging fear for Luvander.)

Luvander didn’t say any of that. He just said, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix it.” I don’t know how to fix me.

Balfour escorted him to the ‘Versity after that and made him talk to Thom about it. Thom being Thom, of course, looked at it as the academic he was. He talked about all kinds of fancy words like ‘schizoid’ and ‘histrionic’ and ‘dependent personality’. Basically, Thom said he couldn’t be sure exactly what the problem was without examining further. But he assured Luvander that there were coping mechanism they could try and that he had colleagues from the ‘Versity that he could ask for more medically focused advice as compared to Thom’s social theory perspectives.

Bullshit mindfuckery, Luvander remembered. As much as he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of Thom “examining” his psyche, he was significantly less thrilled about a perfect stranger doing it. At least he could trust Thom. At least Thom knew jackshit about how the airmen worked beyond the court gossip and bards’ song and those fucking statues that made them war heroes and not real people anymore. At least Thom was there when he woke up on an infirmary bed unable to talk for how deep his throat had been slit only to find out that four out of fourteen of them had come back. Even if Thom had been beside himself with grief, unaware that number five, Rook, was still breathing somewhere out there, at least Thom had borne witness for himself what they’d gone through, and Luvander wasn’t about to have to hash all of that to someone new.

But he couldn’t sit on his hands and not accept help when it was offered. Because he’d made Balfour a promise. He’d promised that he would never kiss Balfour again without fair and honest consent, plastered or not, and he’d meant it. He had so few friends left in this world. He wasn’t about to lose another due to his own selfishness and stupidity.

And so, he gave himself into the bullshit mindfuckery. He’d been meeting with Thom once every one or two weeks (or more than that if something set him off and crisis called for it). It was helping, Luvander thought. Slowly but surely.

Back in the present, Luvander shrugged at Balfour noncommittally. “It sucks, but I’m seeing the Professor tomorrow. And I guess now if I need someone to keep me company I could come and let the baby keep me busy so Mom and Dad can have some alone time.”

Balfour smiled at him. “You could have come over anyway. Well, I won’t push for specifics, but if you want to talk later…”

“I know where to find you,” Luvander confirmed.

Balfour gave him a bigger smile now. “Okay. I’ll let you talk to them then,” he said, and began descending the stairs, leaving Luvander at the at the door to the Adamo’s room.

He knocked briskly on the door and heard the Chief say, “Come in,” from the other side.

When Luvander opened the door, he found Laure on the bed over the covers cradling not-so-little Rory and making faces at her. Adamo was over by the radiator holding a bottle over the heat.

“Ah, I thought I heard someone out there talking to Balfour,” Laure said. “I didn’t know you were coming over today, but then again, I don’t think the pregnancy brain is totally out of my system yet.”

Laved waved moved to sit on the bed at her feet and waved her off with a hand. “It was unannounced. I had a gift for the baby and thought I’d bring it over.”

“Oh, that was thoughtful of you,” Adamo remarked walking over. To his credit, he only let a sliver of the wariness of a man who put up with thirteen uncontrollable ever-pranking monsters with dubious respect for authority for Regina even knows how long it’s been slip into his voice.

Luvander took the drawstring bag from the crook of his elbow and held it in his lap. “Well, I started working on this once you announced she was on her way. I guess I could have given it to you earlier, but it just felt like I should wait to give it to Rory in person. And of course, I didn’t exactly know you would choose to go into labor in a blizzard, so I didn’t have it on me the other night.”

He had a million things to say, a million possible preambles he could make, but he figured it was best to just show them. So, he pulled open the drawstrings, reached in, and pulled the carefully constructed figure of silver-grey fabric and held it up for inspection.

Adamo looked too shocked to say anything. Laure’s mouth had dropped into a soft “o” shape. But Rory had caught sight of her new toy and vocalized with one hand in her mouth and the other reaching out toward him with demanding hands. Bossy, he thought, Like her dad.

“I’m not sure I got all the details right since I was working off memory, plus she never really let me get that close to her anyway, but… Here she is,” Luvander said, because in his hands was a very small plush dragon.

“Is that…” Laure began.

“Proudmouth,” Adamo breathed. “Can I see her?”

“Of course,” Luvander said.

Adamo took it from him as if squeezing too hard would make it turn to nothing in his hands, turning it from side to side to see all the craftsmanship Luvander had put into it. Embroidered patterns where Proudmouth’s metal had been engraved, carefully cut and stabilized fabric made to take the shape of gears, a brass-colored ribbon where brass-colored brass reigns would’ve been. Every detail down to the shape of her claws had taken hours to craft and even more hours of meditating and sifting through bittersweet memories to recover. And here were the fruits of his labor all pieced together. Finally, Adamo let out a breath and said, “Looks just like her.”

“Well when you two starting talking about having kids, I wanted think of something special I could pass down to them, and eventually thought, well, every Adamo needs a dragon, right?” Luvander said. “So, I settled myself of making a different for each of your kids, if you have more that is. And it felt important that Rory got Proudmouth as your firstborn. I think… I think if things had turned out differently than they did Proudmouth could have been her birthright what with the way Anastasia picked two Vallets in a row to ride her.”

Adamo’s face as always was had to read, but somehow with a dragon in his hands, he looked years younger, and Luvander could tell whatever he was feeling he was feeling a lot of it.

Then Adamo smiled and said, “Thank you. It’s perfect, Luvander, really. I guess we should give Rory her girl and see if they choose each other.”

He passed the dragon to his daughter’s grasping hands, and they all watched as Rory immediately pulled Proudmouth to her chest.

“I think that’s your answer,” Laure laughed, dabbing at her eyes.

And in that moment, it seemed to Luvander that the world shone brighter. Welcoming a new generation was always hard, especially when the old one had lost so much, but it felt nice to be able to give the Airmen a proper legacy- one that wasn’t bronzed in statues, written in theses, or whispered behind hands at palace balls. But one that was simple- from father to daughter. And wrapped up in that gifted legacy was a wish, the most powerful wish Luvander had ever made, sewn into every stitch and seam: I wish that the ones who come after us won’t need our bullshit mindfuckery in the first place.

And then, Rook ruined the moment when they all heard a loud bang of the front door opened way too forcefully, followed by “BASTION FUCKING DAMNIT, WHO LEFT THEIR BOOTS IN THE DAMNED DOORWAY, I THOUGHT I DIDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS SHIT ANYMORE!”

Laure, Owen, and Luvander all looked at each other, and all at once they burst into laughter.

[villainqueen]

The Marriage of Heaven and Hell - Chapter 2

V X Fem!Reader fanfiction, set after the events of Devil may Cry 5.

Prologue / Chapter 1 // Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

Ao3 [Link]

Chapter 2

There is no mistake so great as the mistake of not going on

August 1st 11:00 am

The clicking of Nico's lighter could be heard while she lightened her next cigarette. It broke an awkward silence in the Van as she drove it to the destination of their next job. Normally they would have at least talked but thanks to the new guest who accompanied them on this road trip, Nero didn't seem to be in the mood. She couldn't really blame him; he sure must have been surprised to see V standing in Dante's office as they received their next Mission. It was strange for Dante to give them a job and not doing it himself but who could've thought they would see V again and even team up with him like they did before. After the initial: "How can you even be here!", "There is Urizen?" and "What the hell happened to Vergil?" was sorted out, they welcomed V on board. Well, at least the gunsmith did and Neo? It seemed like he needed some time to collect his own thoughts on that matter. Nico looked over to her partner in the passenger seat next to her. Lost in thoughts and grumpy, usual Nero. Sometimes she wished he would be more open to her and not eating up all his emotions. In these situations, only Kyrie could really get through to him, but she was left behind at home. And as for the other member of their team. V sat in the back, eyes closed and slouched over his cane, but not fooling anyone. Nico doubted that that guy was really sleeping, with her driving ability and the condition of the road, there was just no way.

"So… Nero what do you think about this job?" began Nico to break this awful silence.

"Go to some place, kill demons. Sounds like a normal Tuesday, if you ask me." He replied without really getting invested in a possible conversation.

"Ah, fuck this crap, can you both stop makin' this weird. Nero, I know you're glad V is back, don't try to play hot'n cold with us. And you V, you're not sleeping, can you at least say somthin' or bring out that talking chickn'. Everything is better than this shitty atmosphere here. Can't work like that!"

"Nico, just-"

"Don’t Nico me, Nero. Don't you have a book to give back?"

With that Nero reached out to the book of poems with the golden letter V on its cover, he hesitated a few seconds before he spoke up again: "V. I don't know if you want it back or if I should give it to Vergil, I mean the real one. Shit, that sounds wrong, I mean, you know what I mean..."

"I would appreciate it." Said V, as he received his beloved book back. After he stared at it for a good minute, he continued: "Nero I am not your father, you don't have to act so stiff around me. I only have very selective memory that I share with him. Our childhood, some nightmares and the past few months in Red Grave City."

"So you don't know anything about my mother?"

"No, I've never met her…"

"Ah great, the ice is broken, thought the silence never gonna end. So awkward!" Nico chimed in to change the heavy topic, now in a much better mood.

"V, can tell us something more about this job?" questioned Nero as he felt pressured by Nico to at least try to have a normal, non-depressing conversation.

"I don't have much more knowledge about the place. It's an old castle, solitary in the mountains. A magic seal got broken and now demons have claimed it."

"Okay? It's really that simple, just slaying demons again, no Urizen, no hidden surprises?" Nero could help himself but doubting V's words, well knowing what happened the last time he told them about a "simple job".

"No, I have concerns as well. That is why I accompany you on this. However even I don't know what's behind all this. I am not the client this time after all."

"Guess we just have to figure it out on our own." Nero said casually as he stretched his arms out like he was getting ready for what was waiting for them.

"Hey guys, looks like we're there soon. You can already see that old place over there. Better buckle up, this small mountain road could be a bit bumpy." Nicoletta laughed as she made a sharp right turn on to a small road that lead upwards directly to the castle.

"Are you certain you want to use this road? It doesn't look like it's safe."

"No backseat drivin' here V, I got this, I can get this baby to any place, ya should know that by now!"

"Nico, the question here is not if we'll arrive, it’s more about if we'll survive!" Nero shouted while grabbing his seat. The road was narrow and not some everyday concrete path, needless to mention that their Van was not made for off road driving. Something Nico frankly never cared about.

August 1st 11:45 am

With a loud bang Nero closed the car door behind him. Standing now in front of the large gate that separated the outside from their destination.

"It looks we are not the first ones to arrive." mentioned V as he gestured with his cane to other vehicles parked on the outside nearby them.  A group of four, soldier looking, guys stood beside an army jeep near them, all dressed in protective gear that made them look like they were ready to go to war.

"Great, G.I. Joe and his buddies are here too." frowned Nero while gearing up. His trusty sword Red Queen on his back and his revolver Blue Rose by his side. V had less weight to carry, only his simple cane and the book he ever so often sunken his nose into.

Nico meanwhile was tapping the ash of her cigarette out of the car window while instructing both men: "Yo guys, I'm gonna wait here, can't drive that van in a castle after all, come back if ya find some nice demon parts, got it!"

"Yeah, yeah you don’t have to tell us that…" Nero said as he saw one of the soldier guys approaching them. He had no hair, sunglasses and a scarred face. The perfect caricature of a though soldier guy. "Whattya kids doing here? Go home to ya mamas, this place is dangerous!"

"Whatever sergeant dickhead, why don’t you mind your own business?" answered Nero in his usual standoffish manner. This did not set well with the unknown man as he grabbed Nero by the color and growled in the young devil hunters face: "Ya better watch yaself, that place is full of monsters and no human came back from it yet, would be a shame if ya end up like em!"

"Thank you for the kind warning!" said V politely but with a grim expression as he held his cane to the man’s neck. Nero wasn't one to let that slide either, his revolver in silent motion pressed against his aggressors’ body, ready to pull the trigger.

The bald guy released Nero from his grip as he proceeds to walk back while shouting: "Let yaself get killed kids, if that’s whattya after! Just don't get in the way!"

"What an asshole!" Nero muttered but before he could antagonize the soldier any further V changed the topic: "Let's see that this is all about, we didn't come to fight humans!"

Both men went off to the castle, passing the front gate that led them to the front court. It looked like it was well maintained even through it was supposed to be untouched for a long time. Yet, no birds were to hear, giving the place an awful ominous feeling despite the bright midday sun. They could hear rustling between the bushes that began slowly to surround them as they made their way towards the front door.

"Do you see that?" V asks pointing is cane towards some lifeless bodies a few feet in front of them.

"Looks like we're not the first but really dying before even getting in that place, that sucks. Good thing the pest-control is here now!" And in no time Nero took his Red Queen from his back, letting its engine roar. This was the sign for around twenty to thirty Msira, little monkey like demons, to crawl out of the surrounding woodwork. Those Msira, who are unlike their size would suggest, quite an opponent, especially in numbers.

"Very well, let us see if my powers are enough to deal with these vermin!" remarked V while pointing is cane up summoning on of his demon familiars.

"About time, Shakespeare! Thought you wanted to deal with them yourself. Not that I’d recommend that…" The demon bird Griffon materialized itself and wasted no time to open it's cheeky beak: "Let’s deal with them quick, you're still a wimp, you know! Doubt you can keep me up for long!"

We a slight smirk on his face V stated: "The true method of knowledge is an experiment. Now go and destroy them."

"I don't get what you mean by that, but the last part, that’s my jam!" Nero responded even though he was not addressed and all three of them started to slash through the Msira. It didnIt took them long, a few minutes at most and every demon defused into air. However, Griffon was also at its limit.

"That's it V, told ya that you can't sustain me for long. See ya later!" With that the demon bird became a puddle of black mud before it completely vanished.

"I've reached my limit faster than expected. I need to gain more power." V whispered to himself while marching onward to the front gate of the castle. Not wasting any time, Nero pushed the heavy door open, which led them into a grand, dim light, entrance hall. It had a heavy atmosphere to it, almost like they just entered a haunted mansion. At the end between two staircases that led to the upper floors was a statue of an angel holding a sun and a moon in its hands. The light from the outside was hardly illuminating the room as the stained-glass windows kept most of the light outside, instead several big chandeliers with countless candles gave light to the place. A few bodies could be seen on the floor and gave the demon hunters a clear indication that demons entered the castle as well.

"Man, this place gives me the creeps…" said Nero, as he looked around.

"It sure has an interesting architecture, while I personally would resign from decorating it with corpses." V answered and after a quick look around he continued: "Did you notice Nero? This castle is still in such a perfect condition, even after hundreds of years untouched."

"Now that you mention it, even the candles are still burning… it's almost as if time stopped for it."

"Exactly!" V had come to the same conclusion. The castle wasn't just sealed to prevent entrance, it was frozen in time till the moment those demons broke the barrier.

"And this guy must have been the owner!" Nero claimed, pointing to a portrait of a middle-aged man with a stern expression. Under it was a golden nameplate mounted to the wall.

"Count Caius the first, well isn't that a nice fellow..." Nero joked but was quickly brought back to the task at hand as he heard human screams coming from the westside of the castle.

"Sadly, admiring the art has to wait." chuckled V in response.

"Sure, wasn’t my taste anyways, let's finish this and get out of this place."

And with that both men hurried to the west wing of the castle towards the inner courtyard.

[cescalr]

ME would like to suggest some fluffy willoughby/don

Don had invited Will over for Christmas.

Their year at Whitewater College, a boarding school purely for sixth-form students, had been fine. so much as any year after what happened at Slaughter could be fine. And it was fine because Clemise was in some other country, and Don had taken a few months, but he did get over their break-up. And it was fine because Don felt somewhat - he wouldn’t say traumatised by the events of that night, but… he wouldn’t say he didn’t feel in some way terrible about them, even now, if he reminisced too long on what happened.

But. That’s that, really. Don doesn’t dwell too much. You just got’t’deal with this sort’ve thing, y’know? Deal, and move forward.

Anyway. It’s Christmas. There’s no point bringing down the holiday cheer by thinking on that.

[Fic continued under break, or you can read it on Ao3; my profile is linked on my blog!! I’d put it here but tumblr is stupid and external links break tags.]

Don looked over from his place lying down to where Will was, still fast asleep on the mattress they’d set out for him. It was early morning, still – the light coming through the blinds in lines, brightening up parts of the room and, unfortunately, shining straight into Don’s eyes.

“Fuck,” Don muttered to himself, as he sat up in order to get away from the too-bright sunlight. “Too early. Shit.”

Well. Not that early; the sun didn’t rise until it was actually morning in winter, unlike the bullshit you got during summer – but still. Regardless, Don hadn’t been quiet enough, it seemed, because Will stirred.

After he blinked away sleep, Will seemed to register what day it was.

“Merry Christmas, Ducky,” He said, as he sat up. Don had tried to get him to use the proper bed and let Don sleep on the mattress instead, but Will had refused.

Truthfully, he wasn’t so bothered about that. It meant no springs digging into his back while he tried to sleep, after all.

“Merry Chris’mas,” Don replied, “Or, It would be, if y’d stop callin’ me Ducky.”

“We’ve had this argument for over a year, Ducky.” Will smiled. “You’re too late, it’s stuck.”

Don grumbled lightly and without heat as he scooted to the end of the bed then stood (so he didn’t end up standing on Will – Don’s bedroom isn’t very big), stretched and moved out of the room.

Once he was back from the bathroom, Will was dressed.

“Y’ever ‘eard of a ‘lazy day’?” Don asked, dryly. “Y’know… what Chris’mas is t’mos’ people?”

“I have,” Will said, plainly.

“Alrigh’ then,” Don rolled his eyes. “C’mon. Breakfast.”

They were home for Christmas, of course, but that didn’t mean the teens at Whitewater didn’t throw a week-long event – mostly drinking and partying in the art department’s basement, thrown by the drama club, because of course – in preparation.

“Donnie!” A girl, rather drunk, called out. “Blakey, Donnie! Over here!”

“Lauren,” Don replied. Will greeted in kind, and the two made their way through the crowd to the girl and the rest of the group.

“Neither of you are drunk yet, and it’s five somewhere!” She exclaimed, shoving two plastic cups of some alcoholic beverage into their hands. “Also, Danny got his sister to cough up the you-know-what, so we’ve got some brownies if you want any!”

“They only just arrived, Lauren, stop trying to get our friends addicted to pot,” Sam said, sighing, as he rolled his eyes. He was sat on a free stool, a book in one hand, and a water bottle gripped tightly and protectively in the other.

“Chill, Sam,” Lauren said, loud enough to be heard over the pounding of whatever EDM mess the ‘DJ’ had decided to play.

“I’ll chill when you stop trying to spike my drink, bestie,” Sam said, dryly.

“You know I love you!” Lauren sing-songed, then grinned. “Oh, my girl’s over there – Sammy, dear, show these lot where the food an’ shit is, yeah?” And with that, she was off – Don lost her in the crowd mere seconds after she’d entered it.

Sam rolled his eyes. “C’mon then,” Sam said, standing. “Food’s on the other side.”

As they walked, Don spotted various different people he’d met over his first year at Whitewater. There was Alex, Lillian, Sabrina, Derek – to name a few.

(Of course, there was Jesse, Zak, Michael – but… well, they didn’t really count as much. Though, Zak was talking with Alex; his cousin. Maybe he’d end up a better person in the new year? Only time would tell, Don supposed.)

“Y’ gotta have fun!” Lillian said, grinning. Sabrina slung her arms around their shoulders. “An’ us homosexuals have to stick together,” She added, swinging them around to face the drinks table instead of the buffet. “meaning - I need some money; buy my wares.”

“I recommend the ecstasy,” Lillian chimed in.

“You would,” Will said, smiling, as he carefully extracted himself from Sabrina’s grip. Don stepped away, and walked over to the table. “Five o’clock somewhere,” He said, shrugging.

“Right on,” Derek grinned, appearing out of nowhere. “I heard drugs.”

“Wanker,” Sabrina rolled her eyes. “I thought you were off with your mates?”

“And miss my main friendos?” He laughed, loudly. “No-way, broseph! I’m tryin’ t’ be a bit more sportsmanly, y’know? More of a team player.”

“They’re not gonna let you on the lacrosse team, Derek,” Lillian said, “Not after last time.”

Derek shrugged. “I can try,” He said, solemnly, and then was gone again.

“Jesus Christ,” Sabrina muttered, rubbing at her forehead. “Anyone else get a headache from his sheer presence?”

“I’m still trying to figure out his species,” Sam said. “I’ve figured Alien, but what kind…” He mused.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lillian dismissed. “Drink! Food! Illicit substances to fuel our various addictions, be they basic-bitch or hardcore asshat! Let’s go!”

Don rolled his eyes, and downed his drink.

And that had been the main theme of it.

So. Don had been home for a fair few days, now; Whitewater let you home for the week before, of, and after Christmas, and Don had made the most of it. It’d been a real long time since he’d seen what few mates he’d had back home – what with Slaughterhouse and then joining Whitewater after being cooped up at home for his mandated week-long ‘recovery’ period, after which he was supposedly supposed to be all better now, off you trot, and then the Christmas he’d spent at home with his mum as the actual ‘recovery’ period, according to her, and then another whole few months before summer, but then his mates had been out of the country, so then it was another couple months until now but - whatever. He’d hung out with what mates he had left, that first week, meaning Josh and Terri and James – Josh’s girlfriend and brother respectively. They played video games and smoked in the empty park and pretty much did exactly the same sort of shit they’d been doing when his mum had been wholly convinced that he was ‘depressed’.

Then Josh and Terri and James went off to Ireland for Christmas, and – Will came to stay. For Christmas week.

And then Will got a phone call, and now he was just going to stay until college started up again, and go back to Whitewater with Don. Logically. Practically.

Don – didn’t really need to ask.

Anyway.

“Ah hope you boys are ‘ungry,” His mum said, plating them and herself a full English. “Chris’mas is the only time ah bother, so you both better enjoy it!”

“Thanks, mum,” Don said, and she smiled and squeezed his shoulder lightly as she walked past. “Thank you,” Will said.

(“Thank you for having me over, M-“ Will started.

Babs’ smile dimmed. “Babs is fine, don’t you worry yourself with formality,” She said, warmly. “Come on in, it’s freezing!”)

“Eat up,” Babs encouraged. “You’re both growing boys, and we’ve presents to open!” She smiled, conspiratorially; they’d gone out Christmas shopping with her individually, and so she knew what they’d gotten each other, and appeared to be having the time of her life with this knowledge.

Don ate his breakfast.

“So. This one of the posh twats you replaced your old mates with, then, eh Don?”

“Josh,” Don greeted. “Bit of a dickhead but the right sort.” He told Will. “Will, Josh.” Don gestured.

“Willoughby Blake,” Will said, “And not too much of a twat, I wouldn’t say. You?”

“Josh Blythe, and I ain’t no dickhead to good people, y’ prat,” Josh said, scowling a little at Don. He fished a pack of smokes out of his pocket. “Fag?”

Will smirked. “Yes;” He said, “I also, do indeed, smoke.”

“Cool,” Josh said, tossing him one. “Terri’s my girl, now, by the way.” He told Don.

“Terri… Blythe?” Don cracked a smile. “That’s a bit awkward, innit?”

“Oi, sod off,” Josh flipped him the bird, then set about lighting his own cig. “Blythe’s a plenty common name.”

“I wonder why…” Will trailed off, leaning against the low stone wall.  

“Yeah yeah,” Josh rolled his eyes. “Nothin’ James hasn’t said yet.” He scowled slightly. “Fucken’ incest jokes… made by my own goddamn brother…”

“How’s everythin’ at St. Dunstan’s anyway?” Don asked, changing the topic.

“David’s still a right prat,” Josh said, thankful for the change in track. “Ah heard George is expectin’, but she could just have the flu. Maybe she’s dyin, ah don’ fucken’ kno’. We never talk, do we? Fucken – anyway, Muhammad got into that right fancy college, so he fucked off, along with his family, and jus’ about ev’ryone else ‘as gone t’ some other sixth-form. Yanno, ‘cept me, ma brother and Terri. There are some new arseholes, but they stick to each other.”

“Dunstan’s was always a shithole anyway,” Don said.

“Damn right,” Josh stood, dropped his cigarette to the floor and put it out with the heel of his trainer. “You gotten rusty at Halo since ya fucked off t’ the posh south or what?”

“I did better than you las’ week, y’ dick’ead,” Don said, dropping off of the wall. “C’mon. Y’ever played Halo, Will?”

“It’s fucking freezing.” Will said. “Why are we walking around the town centre?”

“’Cause we got nothin’ else t’do, obviously,” Don said, stomping through the snow. “An ah wan’t’ get an idea of wha’ ah wan’t’ get for my friends, you twat.”

“Should have done this earlier on, then,” Will said, glancing around. “Most places are closed.”

“’Course they’re fuckin’ closed, it’s a Sunday,” Don said, rolling his eyes. “Doesn’ mean there ain’t shit in the windows, y’ twat.”

“Of course,” Will said, glancing around again. “What’s that?” He pointed.

“Fuckin expensive piece of shit, that’s what tha’ is,” Don said, but he walked over to the shop Will was pointing at anway. “Never been inside – ah think they’d chase me off.” He said, dryly. “Smell the fuckin working class on me or some shit, like fuckin’ bloodhounds.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ducky,” Will said.

“There’s fuckin’ diamonds on those ten-thousand pound and up watches, Willoughby, I ain’t going anywhere near that shit.”

“Come on.” Will said, “It’s the only place that’s open.”

“The fuckin’ Macdonalds is open, Willoughby – oh, for fuck’s sake, fine.”

Don walked after Will, who’d already entered the store.

Don looked around, as he caught up with his friend.

“There’s perfectly fuckin’ good watches elsewhere, Will,” Don said. “What a fuckin waste of ten grand, Christ on a bike…”

“I’ve seen better watches,” Will agreed. “But we’re looking at the ones with price tags, which is stupid. Come on. They usually put the better things near the back.”

“The ones with – Willoughby,” Don said, “What –“

“Here we are.” Will said, satisfied.

The watches did not have diamonds on them, which was preferable – but they didn’t have price tags, which was worrying.

“Why the fuck would you look at the ones without price tags?” Don asked.

“Because you can look at them.” Will said, pointing to the fact that they weren’t hidden behind what seemed like five hundred layers of glass and security measures. “And they’re not particularly garish, are they Ducky?”

“No,” Don said, warily, squinting at the watches. “Ah guess not. But this is pointless, I’m – prob’ly jus’ goin’t’ get a watch where ah got my last one, I mean, it lasted a good while.”

“It lasted a year Ducky, that’s terrible,” Will said. “Mine broke the year before last, but I’d had it for nearly nine by that point, and it broke because I broke it.”

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” Don said. “Perfectly good fuckin’ watch.”

“I am aware of that, yes.” Will frowned at the watches. “Do you like any of them?” He asked.

“Can’t fuckin’ afford any of this shit, can I?” Don asked. “Humour me,” Will said.

Don rolled his eyes and huffed, but did take a proper look at each of the watches in turn.

“That one,” Don said, pointing at a simple black-leather and silver with a white clockface and normal, black numerals and clock hands. “Most normal fuckin’ watch here.”

“Man of simple tastes,” Will smiled. Don elbowed him. “Fuck off. Not all of us are fancy posh twats – hell, I think y’d like a pocket-watch, fuckin – I know you would, you’re like that.”

“Like what?” Will asked.

“A posh, sentimental git, obviously.” Don said. “C’mon, let’s go.” He said.

“My cover’s been blown,” Will said, smiling, and Don rolled his eyes. “Fuck off,” He said, good-naturedly, grinning as they left the store.

Previous Summer:

“How are ya this fine mornin’?”

Don glanced over at Terri. “Not bad,” He said. “You’ll be off t’ Ireland tomorrow, righ’?”

“Nail on the head,” Terri said, dropping down onto the floor beside him. “Josh’s scramblin’, try’na pack all his crap. James is off, prob’ly somewhere with George.”

“Thought she had the flu,” Don said.

(George nearly always ‘had the flu’.)

“Those bitches are getting fucking married, y’know tha’,” Terri snorted. “Or haven’t ya seen the loving couple? No fuckin’ flu or baby rumours are gonna keep ‘em off each other’s backs.”

“Guess not,” Don said. “Smoke?”

“Nah.” Terri waved a hand. “Try’na quit.”

Don snorted. “Bet Josh loved that.”

“He’s a dick’ead, but you knew tha’,” She laughed. “God. Love ‘im tho’.”

“Yeah.” Don said.

“You ‘ave a girl?” Terri glanced at him.

“Did,” Don said. “Clemsie.”

“Clemsie?” Terri shook her head. “Posh fuckin’ princess?”

“Don’t,” Don said, shortly. “She had to move country, with ‘er fam’ly. We broke up ‘cause o’ tha’.”

“Shit, Don, sorry.” Terri sighed. She clapped him on the shoulder, then leaned over to look him in the eye. “Still. Better to be friends than to lose everythin’ over a long-distance piece of shit relationship, righ’?”

Don thought of Meredith and Audrey, and winced.

“Definitely,” He said. “We video call. It’s – not that… we didn’ get t’be together very long. Tha’elps, ah guess.”

“Helps a lot.” Terri shook her head, then flopped back against the wall. “’Elps a fucking lot.”

“Yeah,” Don said.

“Y’make any friends at those posh schools o’ yours?” Terri asked. “Other than that Clemsie chick?”

“Kay, Will.” Don said. “Lauren, Sam, Sabrina, Lillian, Derek, Daniel-“

“See, fuckin’ knew you’d thrive there,” She said, shoving him in the shoulder and grinning. “Always though’ y’ deserved better than fuckin St Dunstan’s.”

“So do you lot,” Don protested. “It’s a shithole, nobody deserves that.”

“Victims of fuckin’ circumstance, the lot of us,” She said, slumping back. “But I mean it.” She turned her head and looked at him. “Y’ the best o’ all o’ us, y’ prat. Accept it. Well. I mean, Muhammad’s a medical fuckin’ genius, but that’s a whole different ballpark and he’s a hopeless twat mostly, so I don’t count him If I did, he’d be the best no question – but yanno. I’m comfortin’ you, ‘ere.”

“Thanks,” Don said, dryly.

“No problem.” She grinned, and shoved him lightly in the shoulder again. “C’mon. Dad recently fixed up an old foosball table o’ his fam’ly’s, an’ I wan’na see if you’re any better than Josh or his bro,” She clapped him on the shoulder. “An’ maybe you can tell me all ‘bout your new friends, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Don said. “Sure.”

“Terri?” Don asked.

“Yeah? Oh, Don,” She unlatched the door and opened it. “Come inside, it’s fucking cold. God, I hate winter,” She slammed the door shut behind him.

“Do you know anywhere I could get a pocket watch?” Don asked.

“At an affordable price? Yes, of course, never doubt me,” She spun on her heel. “Or, rather, never doubt my dad. Dad!” She yelled.

“Wha’?” A voice boomed back.

“Y’know where we could find a custom watchmaker’s that ain’t damn expensive?”

“Yeah. I’ll drive yeh. Say ‘hello’ t’ Don for meh!”

“How the fuck does he know?” Don shook his head.

“The man has magic, I swear to god. It fuckin’ annoys me I got mum’s genes in that matter.” Terri grumbled, and walked into the living room. She dropped onto the couch, and Don followed suit.

“Is this for that boy o’ yours?” Terri asked, grinning lazily as she leaned back on the couch.

“He’s – why d’y’ have t’put it like tha’?” Don leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

“’Cause I like to make people question things,” She said, “Obviously.” Terri stood and moved into the kitchen, then returned with two cokes. “Here,” She tossed him a can. “It’s shit but mum’s addicted me to it, damn the woman.”

Terri dropped onto the beanbag. “Here’s to a very fuckin’ Merry Christmas, y’ prat,” She grinned as she lifted the can in imitation of a toast.

“Hear hear,” Don opened the drink and returned the toast.

“Dad’ll be done in a few minutes,” Terri said, “But – in all seriousness, is this your prezzie for Willoughby or what?”

“Yeah,” Don said. “Fuckin’ git’s as fancy and sentimental as it gets, so…”

“Y’ sentimental y’self, ya prat,” She said, fondly. “Which is why we’re goin’ the whole nine fuckin’ yards, ‘cause a custom one’s a better fuckin’ gift than any stock shit. Better quality, usually, too, ‘cause the maker actually cares about the fuckin' end product.”

“I’m not fuckin’ sentimental, much,” Don said.

“No, y’ just sappy, y’ fuckin prat,” Terri sunk down into the beanbag chair. “Don’ lie to me, Don, I’ve known ya for nearly our whole lives, mate. And I’m older, so I win.”

“If I’m sappy y’re twelve,” Don put the coke can down on the floor, unfinished.

“And proud of it,” She grinned at him. “Only way I can win arguments, I ain’t no good with words.”

“How’d you do in English?” Don asked.

Terri pursed her lips and sighed. “Fuckin failed it, didn’t ah?” She glowered at nothing. “Good fuckin’ thing I can drop out ah sixth form and jus’ go for a level four apprenticeship, huh? Or was it three…” She trailed off, frowning as she thought.

“Eh, whatever.” She chucked her empty coke can into the bin. “Score,” She grinned. “Anway,” Terri turned her attention back to Don. “You’re a total sap, I’ve got evidence. Point is, I’m strong-arming you to go the whole nine-fuckin’ yards, because even tho’ I can trust you to do it on yer own, without me you’ll totally get scammed out o’ your money.”

“Terri,” Don said, flatly.

“What? Who out’a the two of us knows trade, huh? Not you, y’git.” She grinned. “Also I wanna know exactly what inscription y’ put on the fuckin’ thing.”

“Fuck off,” Don said, leaning back onto the couch. “Thanks.”

“Mixed messages, there, oh Donald,” Terri grinned, and dodged the cushion he threw at her. She picked it up and put it under her head, her grin turning self-satisfied. “I always win,” She reminded him.

“No you don’t,” Don said. “Remember the trip to Wales, in year eight?”

“We never talk about the trip to Wales in year eight,” Terri said, automatically. “That’s the first rule of our friendship. Right above ‘we don’t talk about Alex Connors.’”

“Noted,” Don said, sitting up. “Which is above ‘there was never a Chase Johnson’.”

“See, he gets it,” Terri grinned at Don. “We keep each others' dirty little secrets, we get along.”

“Blackmail is the only reason we’re friends,” Don said, dryly.

“And don’t you forget it!” She grinned, laughing, and fell backwards onto the beanbag.

“You two. Got t’ get goin’ now.” Her dad said, suddenly appearing at the doorway. How the six-foot-five craftsman managed this had always been and always would remain a mystery.

Don’s started to believe the story that he killed a strange looking wasp that had holed up alone in it’s hive in the attic of a customer’s house and that’s what gave him his strange abilities a lot more since the events at Slaughterhouse.

After all – Meredith’s not dead, and neither is the dog. The dog which looks exactly like the one in the paintings… of a dog that had lived hundreds of years prior.

“We’re ready, come on,” Terri said, standing, and Don followed the two Blythes out of the house.

“Ah, Terri Blythe, it’s been a long time.”

“Heyo, Uncle Terrance,” Terri said, stepping up to the counter. “Ma friend ‘ere – Don, y’ remember? – needs to get a prezzie for his boy.”

“Terri,” Don said, sighing.

“What?” She looked at him. “Fuck off, you idiot. Ah’ve squinted at your act for a week, bitch, I know exactly how you feel about him. Or do we need to talk about Alex?”

“Fuck off,” Don said. “Hullo, Mr. Connolly.”

“Donald Wallace,” The man said, surprised, as he removed his glasses to quickly clean them, then replaced them on his face, mostly all the way down his nose, in order to squint at Don as if he wasn’t sure Don was actually what he was seeing. “My my, it’s been – how long?”

“’Bout a decade, Uncle Terry,” Terri said.

“Indeed.” The man replaced his lens cleaning cloth back into his pocket, like some old-timey handkerchief. “So what brings you both here?”

“Like ah said,” Terri stated, slowly, “He needs to get a present for his friend for Christmas.”

“My dear boy, it’s only four days away!” The elderly man said, agitated, as he went about retrieving various designs and sheets for pricings. “I can make it in that time, of course, and as always you will get the family discount – but you’ve left yourself very little time to plan!”

“Ah only came up with the idea yesterday.” Don winced.

“That’s even worse!” The man came to a stop, the desk that served as the counter piled high with various pieces of paper. “You’ll need to make the decision today, but you can ask for the inscription upon completion, thank the lord above,” The man narrowed his eyes at Don. “And next time, son, figure things out before the deadline!”

“Righ’,” Don said. “Will do.”

“Good.” The man sighed, relieved. “Now. Take a look,” He gestured to the pile, “And tell me which parts of which designs suit best. And remember – family and Christmas discount, so don’t say no for no good reason.”

Don nodded, somewhat awkwardly, as he started rifling through the papers. Terri wandered off, to browse through the clocks, which included watches - pocket and otherwise – lining the walls and displayed, lovingly, across tables.

“Eight years old,” The elderly man shook his head as he muttered. “And now – you’ll be graduating soon, I imagine?”

“There was an incident,” Don said, “At the firs’ sixth-form ah went t’. After tha’, we ‘ad t’ repeat lower sixth at a new place. So, uh. One more year.”

“I see,” The elderly man inspected a watch hung on the wall and frowned, then set about buffing out an invisible scuff mark. “Where did you go?”

“Slaughterhouse School,” Don said, and the man froze.

“In Slaughter,” The man – stated. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Don said. “The School –“

“Blew up, yes, I heard.” The elderly man pursed his lips. “A right shamble. Still, at least you got out safely.” The man turned away from the watch on the wall, then cleaned his glasses – avoided eye contact. “… What really happened?”

Don looked blankly at him.

“I may be old, Donald, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know things.” Terrance squinted at him, then put his glasses back on. “Fracking doesn’t usually cause that sort of damage.”

“Well,” Don said. “They weren’ very –“

“Responsible Frackers, I know,” The man’s nostrils flared. “They give it a bad name, that company. No, what I mean is – stories spread. Legends… an old clockmaker hears things.” The man sighed, and looked at the pictures of his customers on the wall behind the counter.

In a few of them, there was a familiar dog.

“Big fuck off mole rats,” Don said. “We had to blow it up.”

“We?” The man’s head snapped over to Don. “How many people killed them?”

“… Dunno,” Don said. “Mr. ‘Ouseman killed one, mostly, then we beat it the rest o’ the way dead. Then – I used Will’s snuffbox to get another, an’ the lighter Will’d been bequeathed to blow up the school – usin’ the gas,” Don explained. “Clemsie killed a li’le one.”

“I see.” The man paused. “Well. I suppose we’ll see how that turns out eventually.”

“Wha’ d’y’ mean?” Don asked.

“Here.” The man said, instead, handing Don a stack of designs. “Find your friend a pocket watch. And think up an inscription, while you’re at it! Don’t leave that as last minute as you left this! I need to talk to my niece. If you’ll excuse me…” And with that, the old man had bustled him off and walked away, over to Terri who was poking a stuffed cat.

“Merlin died then?” Don heard.

“Not all pets can live forever,” The man sighed. “It’s a burden some must face alone.”

Don looked back up at the pictures.

1891

1912

1925

1956

1993

2001

2014…

Don frowned, then shrugged, and looked down at the designs.

Design 3048: Forever.

Design 246: Eternal.

Design 13: Infinite…

Don raised his eyebrows, then shrugged, and started picking out parts of the designs he thought Will might like.

Previous Summer:

“The Johnsons moved to America?”

“No Idea where they go’ the money either, mate,” James said, leaning back on the couch. Terri, from her place on a cushion on the floor, chuckled. “Inheritance, got’t’ be,” She said, as she dispatched of a few grunts. James nodded as he circle-strafed around a hunter.

“No wonder I ah’ven’ seen Mikey ‘round.” Don said.

“They didn’ tell nobody,” Terri scowled. “Fucken’ Lillian didn’ even bother tellin’ her bes’ friend, the wanker.”

“Lisa cry on your shoulder ‘bout it?” Don asked.

Terri grimaced as she picked up an energy sword, then started running around hitting elites with it. “Yes.” She said, glowering at the TV. “There was snot and everything. Fucken’ wan’ed t’ punch Lil’ for tha’.”

“Can imagine,” Don said.

“’Course y’ could, y’ sap,” James said, and Don elbowed him, which caused him to fail in circle-strafing and get shot.

“Bastard,” James said, elbowing Don back, and Terri laughed, finding an enemy-less corner so James could respawn.

 “Willoughby Blake,” Terri said. “Don kno’ yer ‘ere?”

“I have it under good authority that you’ve known him for a very long time,” Will said, “And I was wondering if you could distract him for a – short while, while I go get his Christmas present?”

“Fucken’ell, mate, what’s with posh bastards and waitin’ ‘til the las’ minute?” Terri grumbled, but she stepped inside, and left the door open. Will hesitated before following, and stayed at the door while she put on her boots. “Relax, y’ twit,” She waved a hand, before she started doing up the laces. “I don’ bite.”

“Alright,” Will said, and moved to lean against the wall.

“Da’, I’m off! Seeing the Wallaces!” Terri shouted, as she stood. Terri grabbed her coat off of the stairs, at the end of the bannister, and threw it on. “Fucken’ cold out, innit?” She said, as she walked out of the house. Will followed. “Yes,” He said. “Quite.”

“Post twat,” She said. “You be good to Don, y’ ‘ear meh?”

“I-“

“Don’ even,” Terri warned. “I ‘ate liars. Now go ge’im somethin’ fucken’ nice, and don’ le’im say ‘no’ ‘cause ya spent money on it, ya hear me?”

“Roger that.” Will said, “Ma’am.”

Terri snorted. “Ge’ the fuck out’t’ ‘ere, y’ posh bastard. An’ I expec’ somethin’ nice enough, too, for the good fucken’ advice ah give ya both, y’ blind twits.”

-

“Initiation’s simple, bitches.” Terri slammed a crate of beer onto the table. “Drink me under, an’ ah’ll respect ya fer life.”

“Y’ for real about this, Terri?” Don asked.

“Well, no, bu’ it’ll ‘elp,” Terri said. “Wha’, col’ feet already, Wallace?”

“No,” He rolled his eyes and gestured with the beer he’d already picked up. “Jus’ remember when Mikey drank you under the table?”

“Not my best momen’, bu’ I’m tryin’ t’ recover from tha’, ‘ere. Whoever ‘andles their drink bes’ wins.”

“Ah know who’s gonna fucken’ lose ‘ere, then.” Don said.

“Fuck off, Ducky,” Will said. Terri grinned.

“Fuck’s sake, Willoughby,” Don downed some of his drink.

“Don, Donald, Duck, Ducky. Ah ge’ it, tha’s cute,” Terri grinned, leaning back on her beanbag. She downed a beer, then slammed the empty can down on the floor. “Pacing’s for wimps,” She announced to the ceiling.

“If y’ say so,” Don said. “’S no’ fuckin’ cute.”

“I’m older, what I say goes, it’s cute,” Terri said. “Get me drunk enough, Blake, mate, an’ I’ll tell ya stories about ‘ow much of a sap ‘e is.”

“Fuck off,” Don said. “Or I’ll bring up Cha-“

“Two can play at tha’ game, Donald Wallace,” Terri said, interrupting, as she reached over for another can.

“I have to say, I am curious,” Will said, supressing a smile of amusement. He was onto his second can.

“Ah-ah,” Terri waved a hand at him. “Y’ get t’ know Don’s embarrassing shit, but ah jus’ met ya. Which means y’ don’ get t’ kno’ mine… problem ‘ere is if ya ‘ear Don’s from me, ‘e’ll tell ya about mine. So, yanno, that ain’ ‘appenin’.”

“Shame,” Don said, downing his drink. “Really.”

Lunchtime on Christmas Eve saw a small get-together, with the two Blythe families and the Wallaces.

“Lisa’s still fuckin’ angry at Lil’, an’ she’s over at her gran’s for the yearly fam’ly gatherin’, so she ain’ showin’ up this year. Jus’ us lot, Mrs. Wallace,” Terri said. The two families would be leaving later on, to be in Ireland for the next day. Cutting it a bit close – but then, that was the Blythes, for you. Both sets of them.

Babs smiled at the two sets of Blythes as she stood aside and let them in. “It’s Babs, Terri,” She reminded the girl, like she’d been doing for years. “Come on. Group photo – Don, grab the camera, I’ll go get Dad.”

“Mum-“ Don started, but she was already gone. He sighed, shook his head. “He’s fine where he is,” Don mumbled, but he went to go get the camera anyway.

“Ev’ryones ‘ere,” Don said to Will. “Terri, James, Josh, David; ah, Terri’s dad, an’ Mr. and Mrs. Blythe.”

“So all the Blythes, then,” Will said. “Christmas eve dinner?”

“Fucken’ lunch, mate,” Don said. “Dinner’s later.”

“Ah, but it’s breakfast, dinner, and supper or tea.” Will said.

“Fuck off,” Don said. “We’re doin’ a fuckin’ group photo. Mum’s gettin’ dad’s urn. Let’s go.”

Will nodded, and followed Don into the living room. It wasn’t too cramped, but it was a fair bit cramped. Babs placed the urn on the mantlepiece of the electric fire. “Ev’ry one, gather round, I’ll jus’ set up the camera.” She said, taking it from Don. “Found out a remote activation method, bloody handy,” She explained as she went. The Blythes used the urn as a dividing line, and made sure to leave enough space for the three remaining individuals. “C’mon,” Terri said, gesturing. Don walked over and stood next to his dad, and Will, being tall, went on the back row, between and behind Terri and Don. “There we go,” Mrs. Blythe muttered, then smiled at them. There was space on the other side of the urn for Don’s mum, though it was a bit of a squeeze, and as Babs set up the camera, she asked everyone to move a bit closer in, so they were all in frame, and posed properly. Babs then quickly squeezed into place, and they all smiled at the camera as the flash went off a few times.

“Great!” Babs smiled, and Mr. Blythe – Josh’s dad – clapped his hands. “What’s for Lunch, eh Babs?” He asked.

“Sunday roast,” She grinned. “Wen’ all out for it, so be grateful it’s not sandwiches. Le’s go eat!”

"Present time!" Babs said, clapping her hands once after she'd received confirmation that they'd finished eating. "I'm gon' go grab somethin' while you two start - go on, go on!" She gestured, herding them into the living room before absconding up the staircase. 

"Camera," Don said, knowingly, then flopped down onto the couch. 

Presents from their friends had been coming in since the Christmas holidays started - Don's not entirely sure how Lauren knew to send Will's here, or how or why she'd convinced Sam and the others to do the same, but he hadn't paid much attention to that. Will had brought ones that Clemsie and Smudger and Kay and Hargreaves and Wootton had sent - after all, if it does anything, living through what happened at Slaughterhouse at least makes you a permanent entry on the Christmas shopping list - and Don's had arrived last week. The various Blythes' presents were also under the tree, a couple joint presents; Josh's family got Don and Will and Babs one present each, so that made three presents from the four Blythes, and David got Don and Babs - the Wallaces - some chocolate, but Terri gave Don and Will and Babs a present each - so four from the two Blythes. 

Trying to figure out which bag of presents had been from which Blythe family had been somewhat futile. Thankfully, the individual presents were a bit more obvious. 

(Both families were - bad at tagging, still, though.)

"Alright, which first?" Will said. Don sat up, stood up, and walked over. "Let's get the Blythes over and done with," He said, "Can' fuckin' figure out which is which for them, an' it's bugging me."

"Indeed," Will said, picking up one that had 'Will' on it in sharpie. Don picked up his, and dropped back onto the couch. He opened it, and a note fell out - Terri's, then; she always wrote little notes that she stuck inside the packaging, instead of on it. 

Told him you like him yet, dickhead?

- T. 

Don resisted the urge to facepalm and hid the message amongst the wrapping paper. "Who's your from?" He asked. Will was struggling with an overly sellotaped lump of a present. He found a place he could rip it from, though, and quickly did so. "Terri," He said, frowning slightly at a message written on paper with, of course, sharpie. It bled through, but Don didn't try to read it via the back of the paper. Will scoffed, lightly, and dropped the message, which disappeared into the wrapping paper. "Your friend has an interesting sense of humour," Will said. 

"She's like tha'," Don said. "Always 'as been."

Don grinned at the copy of a Halo game he didn't yet have - a present that was as much for him as for her, likely since co-op was the only way she ever accepted anyone play Halo - and placed it down on the couch next to himself. "What'd she get you?" Don asked.

"A - puzzle box." Will frowned at it. He shook it, and there was something inside it, but how to get in there was - well, a puzzle. "... Interesting choice."

"She got me a cardboard box once," Don said. "And a coat hanger."

"Why?" Will blinked at him. "No' sure," Don shrugged. "She got 'er own boyfriend - b'fore they were t'gether, obviously - a keytar once. Tha' was mem'rable." 

"... Alright, then." Will said, for lack of a better response. Don wasn't sure what you could say to that, anyway. 

They made their way through the rest of the presents, and on the fifth Babs entered the room. 

"Candid." She said, grinning, and Don sighed. "Mul'iple, actu'ly."

"Mum," Don sighed, and she laughed. "Come on, Don, grab Dad, would you? ;E's still in the dinin' room." Well. The kitchen/diner, since it was one room with a table crammed in the corner. 

"Alright," Don said, standing. "Yeah, I'll get him."

Don left the room, and Babs sat down on the couch. 

"See, I've known Don for a very long time, bein' 'is mum an' all," Babs said. She turned and smiled at Will, "An' I knew 'e liked tha' Clemsie girl from the momen' 'e saw 'er - an' ah can tel when he's grown t' like someone, too."

Will didn't reply.

"My boy's go' a big 'eart, and 'e cares abou' you," Babs said, plainly. "An' I'm no' gon' warn y' abou' no' 'urtin' 'im, b'cause ah kno' y're no' the type," She said. "So jus' let y'self be 'appy, Will. Y're a good kid; y' deserve it."

Babs stood and set up the camera as Don entered the room. "Will, be a dear and take the photo, wou'd y' please?" Babs asked. "Don, bring y' father over 'ere." A few flashes later, the photos were taken. "Ah've got' go take a few presents round to our Jackie's," She said, "So ah'll be back soon enough. You two carry on with the presents, don' wait for me." And with that, Babs was gone. 

Don shook his head slightly, and moved to the tree. "Which next?" He asked.

"Ah - why not the Lawrences?" Will asked.

"Then the other 'slaugh'erians'" Don grinned. "Sure." Don tossed Will his present from Smudger - customary, generic; they hadn't really gotten to know each other, after all, Smudger and the rest of the group, since after the events of Slaughterhouse and everyone went home from that police station, well, the Lawrences moved country, so. Don put the riculously expensive chocolate - the same as what Will had gotten from the male Lawrence - aside, and then grabbed Clemsie's presents for them both. He handed Will his, then opened his own. 

Don, a letter read, Merry Christmas! It's been such a long time - we should all really meet up in the new year. Kay will be back in England in the summer, and we'll be visiting family then, so I could pull some strings. It'd be nice, to see everyone again. Staying friends after everything that happened - well. It feels like a good idea to me. 

I hope you and Will have had a good time at that new college - I keep getting letters from Wootton, bless him, about the place his mother sent him to this time. At least Hargreaves is keeping an eye on the poor boy; much like you, they were lucky enough to get sent to the same place. I'm pretty sure if they could, the Hargreaves would have adopted Wootton already, but - well. Given how often he's with his actual family, he might as well already be Isaac's little brother. 

We really should all speak more. It's not like we have phones and skype or email or anything... certainly, we have a lot better than letters. I mean. Really.

See you both in the new year!

Signed,

Clemsie. 

"Got a letter," Don said. "You?" "Yes," Will nodded. "Something about getting the gang back together, as it were."

"'S no' a bad idea," Don said. "Ah mean. We 'aven' spoken in around a year. Tha's a while."

"True," Will said. 

"Guess we'll see if Smudger's therapist thinks it's a good idea," Don said, because though they didn't all keep in much contact, they did say the important things occasionally - usually on gift-giving days. Really, they did need to keep in better contact.

Ah well. That'll be a new years resolution, then. 

Don turned to the present, which was a simple photo album. I heard you take photography, now, some paper masking-taped to the inside cover read. Here's a place to store it all. :)

Signed, Clemsie.

Signed, Smudger. 

"Huh." Don shrugged and put down the album. "Alright."

Will put down his present from Clemsie and ostensibly from Smudger - obviously the presents were from Clemsie, but Smudger had signed the notes masking-taped onto both, if not the letters. 

Don took the present from Kay Will handed over to him and opened it. 

Clemency's gotten it into her head we're going to catch up in the summer. I'll see what I can do, since I will be back in dreary old England, but in the meantime - I heard you take maths. 

You might want to train up your logic if that's the case, so I've given you a 'how to' book on chess, free of charge. I usually make people pay for this since I wrote it, but. We're friends, and it's Christmas, so.

Just try and fucking beat me next time we meet, I dare you, Wallace.

Signed,

Kay. 

Don shook his head and held up the book in response to Will's identical copy. They grinned, slightly, at each other, then reached for the next presents. Hargreaves sent them both identical copies of dungeons and dragons, which he'd presumably sent everyone, and Wootton had sent them fudge. After that, it was Babs' presents - a scarf for Will and a camera for Don (who attempted not to think about how much that cost; most of the Christmas shopping budget, probably) - and then it was time for the presents they'd gotten each other. 

"You first," Will said, handing over his present to Don. Don took it - internally thankful his present didn't go first, for a multitude of reasons - and opened it. 

After the cardboard box and the wrapping paper had been put aside, Don looked at the watch - repackaged, likely, so Don couldn't see the price just from looking at its original box. It's the one he'd pointed out as the one he'd liked best, simple and sleek and fucking expensive, probably, and completely out of his range. 

"Will-" Don started but - "Just take the present, Ducky," Will said. 

Don tried to read his expression, for a moment, but gave up and nodded, slowly. "Well? Go on then, Willoughby, open yours," Don said, gesturing, as he finished removing the protective wrap from the watch and put it on. 

Don waited as Will unwrapped the pocket watch, and waited as Will took a moment to look at it. 

"I..." "Just take the present, Duck," Don said. Will smiled at him, and Don smiled back. 

"There's an inscription," Don said, gesturing. "On th'back."

Will closed and turned over the pocket watch. 

Bequeathed. 

Don watched his face, quitely - Will's reaction was immediate. Many feelings were quickly telegraphed across his face, but Don only caught a few - wonder, surprise, but chief among all - 

Panic. 

Ah. Shit. 

Will stood and walked out. Don hesitated, but this was much less life-threatening than the last time he'd hesitated to go after Will - so, he went. It didn't feel much less nerve-wracking, though, but Don didn't focus on that part. 

Don had heard the front door close, and sure enough - when he opened it, Will was there, out on the cold, snow-covered pavement. 

"Y'kno', if y'ate the gift, y' can jus' tell meh - y' don' 'ave to leave the 'ouse y' dramatic git," Don said. It was cold, and he was still in his pyjamas, and the posh twit currently stood outside his house was probably the most interesting thing to have happened to his little council estate street in years, but at that moment Don didn't rightly care much what Mrs. Johnson saw from between her half-closed curtains, or what Clara-Anne Jenkins could spy on from behind her blinds.

"It isn't that I hate it - It's more - I -" Will stopped, mid-sentence, frustrated enough to start pacing, back and forth, crunching a short path into the snow.  "'S'more wha', Willoughby?"

Will didn't reply immediately, just let out a breath that clouded in the cold air. 

"It doesn't matter, Ducky." Will said.

"'Course it fuckin' matters, or y' wouldn' 'ave left th'fuckin' 'ouse." Don pointed out, reasonably. 

"Donald." 

"Willoughby." Don walked over, mindless of the cold and the snow, and frowned at the other eighteen-year-old. "I don' wan't' renact a fuckin' soap-opera, jus' tell me wha' the fuck is wrong."

"Nothing's - wrong," Will said. "I just - I didn't... No-one's ever thought I or... anything about me was worth remembering. Especially not - something like that. Something that..."

"Important?" Don asked, quietly. 

Will nodded. 

"Well. I do." Don said. "Fuckin' 'ell, Duck, o'course I do."

Will stared down at him, for just a moment - and then, carefully, a move you could almost call furtive - leaned forward, and pressed his lips (cold, chapped - but soft, softer than he'd have thought) to Don's. 

Somewhere far away, a door slammed shut, and Will moved back. 

Before he could get the wrong idea, Don caught Will's hand with his own. "Y' kno', Will, I kno' yer cold-blooded an' that, but I'm fuckin' freezin' out 'ere."

Will laughed. He let himself be led back inside the house. Don dropped his hand and closed the door, then turned to look at Will again. Before he could say anything, of course, the door opened. 

"Candid." Babs said, grinning. "Tha' was a beau'iful momen', really; one for the scrapbook."

Don sighed.

"First've all," Don said, "Mum, what the fuck, d'y' think y're doin'?"

Will grinned. "I, for one, think it's sweet. I should like our moments together to be captured."

"Ah, shut up, ya sentimental git." Don rolled his eyes. "Mum, 's weird, y' really don' need to."

"Actu'ly, Don, ah do," She said, frankly. "Mem'ries're precious thin's. Bes'to capture 'em so they're no' forgo'en." 

"Alrigh', alrigh'-" 

"Great!" Babs clapped her hands. "Now. Who wants lunch?"

[dr-gloom]

To Join You By Your Side

For Halloween! Day 31 of @sanderssidesspook‘s Spook Month!

Prompt: The Big Spook

Fandom: Sander’s Sides

Pairing: Sleepxiety

Words: 3,193

Summary: This was by far the scariest thing Virgil has ever done in his life. He’s planned for this day for months, put up with things he never would have before, just to see this day happen. All for Remy. 

Tags/Warnings: flashbacks, cute nerds, self deprecation, halloween festivities, I’m trying to tag this without giving anything away, Human AU

Enjoy!

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Virgil was scared. No, scratch that, he was terrified. The walls were closing in, looming high above him. Shadows were slithering from every corner and crevice to swallow him up. He pulls at the cuffs of his costume - because that’s all this was, a costume - nervously. He’d been planning this for months. Dozens of phone calls, meetings, and compromises to make this happen. All the near-heart-attacks from listening to the phone ring just to hear it be answered and that split second of silence that made his breathing stop.

Virgil paced his living room anxiously, wearing a path into the old, dingy carpet. He listened to the sound of the phone ringing, heart beating a little too quickly and his anxiety ratcheting up with every pause between ringing. Finally, finally- the call was answered. There was silence for a split second, and then-

“Jack and Jill’s Flower Garden, how may I help you?”

Virgil swallowed nervously. “Ah, yeah, I uh- I need to order two dozen bouquets of uh…” He looks at the small list in his hand, the paper crumpled from his anxious fidgeting. “Double Orange Begonias, Orange Ranunculus Victoria, and Eggplant Calla Lilies.”

“Can I get an address for delivery?”

Virgil gives them the address and hangs up, his heart hammering in his chest. God, he hated phone calls. He has to sit on the carpet and practice his breathing exercise for a few minutes before he’s calm enough.

He must’ve just debated cancelling this whole thing a dozen times, but it wasn’t about him, and he would never do that. Not to Remy, who’d been looking forward to this so much (if it wasn’t for the fact that he was so busy, he’d be the one planning this).

Because today wasn’t just about him. Today was about the both of them. Virgil had searched for the perfect place to pull this off for months, searched for just the right things to make sure this went perfectly. Practicing his lines over and over and over again until he could recite them in his sleep. Then he worried that he had said them in his sleep and ruined everything. Ruined the surprise. Someone knocked on the door and he jumped, his heart skipping a beat. Patton opened the door sheepishly and smiled at Virgil. “Hey kiddo, you ready?”

Patton was wearing a nice black suit and light blue tie, fangs just barely poking past his lips, only really visible when he smiled.

Virgil nodded, tugging on his cuffs one last time before leaving his impromptu dressing room and taking his place. He looked around the room. Bouquets are placed strategically around the room (Logan had been adamant about finding the perfect balance). Spider’s webs are draped over every piece of furniture. Orange and black accents are placed around the room, ribbon running along the walkway. This was going to be the scariest thing he’d ever done.

Today was Virgil’s wedding.

He stood at the front of the church (he’d been hesitant about having their wedding in a church since neither of them were religious, but Remy promised it was ironic as hell, especially since their wedding was on Halloween) next to the minister, anxiously playing with the cufflinks on his jacket. He was never one for suits, because he didn’t like how constricting they felt, but he and Remy had spent a week making little changes to their outfits as a sort of compromise. Virgil was sort of a Frankenstein’s monster kind of thing (closer to Sally, really), with purple plaid patches sewn onto the suit and the odd bunch of fake leaves sticking out between seams and folds in the fabric. He used liquid latex and fake stitching to make it look like he was sewn together. Remy was supposed to be a zombie.

Patton, Logan, Roman, sat in the front row, giving Virgil the odd encouraging smile or nod when he’d glance their way. He gives them a shaky smile, adjusting a fake leaf that keeps tickling his neck. Declan, who stands next to him as his best man, squeezes his shoulder. A more suspenseful version of The Wedding March starts up, and Virgil stiffens. Shit, it’s starting. Shit shit shit shit. Virgil stands at attention, looking over towards the doors. Everyone stands and looks as well.

Remy enters in his torn and dirtied suit, face makeup making his skin look dead and decaying, one lense of his (spare) shades shattered to reveal a sunken-in eye. Virgil had to hand it to Remy, he really knew his makeup. He briefly lost himself in his fiancé, forgetting that he was supposed to be scared out of his mind. It wasn’t until Remy was almost next to him that he remembered that this was a wedding and he was getting married oh god what was Remy doing marrying him?

The music stops, everyone sits, and the minister smiles kindly at the room. “Hello all. Shall we begin?” With a slightly jerky nod from Virgil and a smirk from Remy, he starts. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union between two souls in a bond of holy matrimony...”

Virgil looks over Remy’s face, taking in the liquid latex deforming his features and making him look dead and decayed. He thinks about the first time they met.

Virgil liked to come to the park at night when he was feeling overwhelmed. It was calm, quiet, and it held a strange air of other-worldness that made you feel like you were the only living being left. He liked that feeling when the world has become too much (the rest of the time? Not so much). He was sitting on one of the park’s benches, facing the empty soccer fields with his headphones over his ears, listening to Twenty One Pilots. In his opinion, they perfectly captured that feeling you got from witnessing an abandoned swing set. The perfect mood music for when your mind was spiralling and you needed it to stop. He pulled himself out of his thoughts to focus on the lyrics.

“Though I'm weak

Beaten down

I'll slip away

Into the sound

The ghost of you

Is close to me

I'm inside out

You're underneath”

Virgil saw something out of the corner of his eye and tensed up. Oh god, figures. On the one night he just wanted to be alone he’d been found by a park-going serial killer. He was gonna die. They were gonna kill him and he wouldn’t be found until morning and he’d ruin some poor kid’s memory of parks forever. That kid was going to need so much thera-

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped, screaming and ripping his headphones off.

The man puts his hands up, a clear Starbucks cup in one hand. “Whoa, babe, calm-”

“I- I am no one’s babe, fuck you!”

The man takes a step back. “Ooookaaayyyy. Let’s take a deep breath, yeah? I just wanted to ask if you knew where we are right now, because I sure don’t.”

Virgil blinks, going lax and staring at the man with complete confusion. “I… What?”

“I’m so lost right now.”

“You and me both, buddy.”

The man shakes his head. “No, I mean, I have no clue where we are. What park is this?” Virgil looks around. Was this a prank?

“Uh…. Richmont.”

The man just stares at him.

“...By the Cleaver Mall?”

Nothing.

“Do you even live in Randsy?”

The man sighs. “Nope. Treeling.”

Okay, that wasn’t too far, actually, but… “How the hell did you get all the way here without knowing where you’re going?”

He laughs lightly. “I have no idea.”

“...wrote their own vows. Mr. Nocturn will be sharing his first.”

Virgil blinks, bringing himself back to the present moment. Remy smiles, knowing exactly what had just happened. His smile warps the decaying flesh on his face a bit, though he doesn’t seem to notice or care. Virgil smiles back, one of his small, secretive smiles, and Remy finally begins speaking.

“Virge, I never thought that I’d ever meet someone like you. Having you in my life has made me so much happier.” He laughs lightly, taking Virgil’s hands. “You know I get lost a lot, but now I’ll only get lost in you, baby. You’re the ice to my latte, the steam to my green tea, the spice to my pumpkin. I couldn’t live without you, even if I wanted to, and I’m so happy that you said yes, babe.” His voice gets softer, his eyes a little misty. “I want to grow old with you. I want to share the covers on winter nights, be your heater when you get cold, have sappy romantic Lady and the Tramp moments with spaghetti dinners, and watch Nightmare before Christmas every night of October. I want to work with you, to grow with you, to laugh and cry with you, because you’re the reason I try. You’re the reason I can laugh and smile, and see the beauty in the world, as well as the dark. Because even if you consider yourself dark and gloomy, you need the darkness to appreciate the light. You complete me, and I can’t wait to finally start living life with you.”

Remy had tears in his eyes, and he was smiling, but he refused to cry. As he would tell Virgil on any given day, crying would totally ruin his mascara. Virgil didn’t know how he did it; he was certain he’d start crying any second. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was happy or scared, though.

“Are you… Are you sure?”

Remy laughed lightly. “Why would I have asked you to marry me if I wasn’t sure?”

Virgil frowns. “Because I’m… Me.”

“I’m not sure I follow, babe.”

Virgil sighs. “I just… Are you sure you wanna be stuck with me for the rest of our lives? I mean…. I’m gloomy. Depressing. I talk about creepy and weird and depressing shit and I’m always in a crappy mood and half the time I don’t even want to talk or leave the house.”

Remy smiles at him sadly. “Babe, I love you because of your faults, not in spite of them.”

“But… how?” How could Remy love the parts of him that even he didn’t like? The parts he wished he could change, or just get rid of? It didn’t make any sense.

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Remy said, as if he was reading Virgil’s mind. “Feelings hardly ever really make sense, Virge. You taught me that, remember? You don’t have to understand where they come from or why they’re there to be able to accept them. Just like I don’t need to understand my love for you to know that it’s real.”

Virgil could feel the tears building on his lashes. He loved Remy so much, but he was afraid of trapping the other in a marriage he would regret. Virgil knew he wasn’t an easy person to get along with. He knew that eventually Remy would get sick of him, and he couldn’t stand the thought of that. But god, he was selfish. He wanted to know what it’d be like to wake up next to the man he loved and be able to say “my husband” when talking to friends or co-workers. Even if it hurt them both in the long run, he desperately wanted something to hold on to.

Virgil blinked the memory from his vision, the perfect, smiling face of his fiancé being replaced with the grey and decaying version with tears in his eyes. Virgil blinked again and twin tears fell down his cheeks. He hurried to wipe them away, giving a weak, shaky laugh. Their friends watch on with loving smiles as Remy takes his hands and kisses his cheeks where his tears once sat. Virgil takes a few deep breaths, the first one shaky, and looks up at Remy. Remy nods, giving him an encouraging smile. Virgil swallows.

This wasn’t about just him, this was for Remy, too.

“Remy, you’re the only person who doesn’t talk over me or ignore me or get mad and persistent when I disagree. I love that we can talk about anything without losing our love. You appreciate me and I appreciate you, too. I want to spend my life taking care of you and loving you and making you happy, you adorable, fabulous cutie. Thank you for loving me.”

To someone outside of the relationship, Virgil’s vows might sound lackluster. They might sound like he really didn’t care. But Remy knew better. He knew Virgil, and he knew all the things that went unsaid in the way his voice shook and the shine in his eyes. Remy knew just how much love went unspoken behind those words, because his Virgil had never been one for long, rambling soliloquies. Virgil was a man of few words, and if you didn’t know him, you might miss the real meaning.

Thank you for always being there for me, for listening to me. Thank you for always trying to understand me, even when you don’t. Thank you for trying. For never giving up. Thank you for trusting me the way I trust you. I love you, so much, more than words can say, and it means so much to me that you feel the same. I want to always be there for you, to take care of you and love you and hold you when you need me, or even when you don’t but you still want me. I’d do anything to make you happy, just the way you’ve made me happy. I want to make you the happiest man in the world, because that’s what you deserve. Thank you, for everything.

Remy’s tears finally spilled over, pooling in the crevices of the latex on his skin. He was always one for preserving your makeup, but this was his special day and if anyone expected him not to cry then they could shove it where the sun don’t shine. Remy’s smile grew and he squeezed Virgil’s hands, letting his love know that he got the message. He understood, and he loved him, so very much.

The priest smiled warmly, looking to Remy once again. "Remington Bartholomew Nocturn-” Virgil snorted. Remy grimaced. Why did they include his middle name? So old-school. “-do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"  

Remy nods, looking right into Virgil’s eyes with rarely-seen seriousness. “I do.”

The priest nods and looks at Virgil. “And do you, Virgil Andrew Shae, take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

Virgil nods emphatically, more tears falling. His voice cracks as he says, “I do.” He gives Remy a shaky smile, squeezing his hands.

The priest looks at Remy. “Repeat after me.” Remy nods.  “I, Remy, take you, Virgil,”

Remy smiles, feeling a little silly. He quickly schools his expression. “I, Remy, take you, Virgil.”

“To be my husband,”

“To be my husband,” A small laugh escapes him. This was really happening. He was really marrying the love of his life.

“To have and to hold,”

“To have and to hold,”

“From this day forward,”

“From this day forward,”

“For better, for worse,”

“For better, for worse,”

“For richer, for poorer,”

“For richer, for poorer,”

“In sickness and in health,”

“In sickness and in health,”

“To love and to cherish,”

“To love and to cherish,”

“Till death do us part.”

“Til death do us part.” Remy grinned broadly. Virgil rolled his eyes.

The priest has Virgil repeat the vows. “I, Virgil, take you, Remy,”

Virgil bites his lip. “I, Virgil, take you, Remy,”

“To be my husband,”

“To be my husband,”

“To have and to hold,”

“To have and to hold,”

“From this day forward,”

“From this day forward,”

“For better, for worse,”

“For better, for worse,”

“For richer, for poorer,”

“For richer, for poorer,”

“In sickness and in health,”

“In sickness and in health,” God, Remy always was the worst bitcher when he got a cold though.

“To love and to cherish,”

“To love and to cherish,”

“Till death do us part.”

“Til death do us part.” Virgil’s voice comes out choked. Old doubts reared their head; what if he woke up tomorrow and realized this was all a mistake? Or in a year? Five years? Ten?

Remy squeezed his hands, pulling him out of his mind. Virgil looks up at him and sees him mouth ‘I love you’. Virgil smiles and mouths it back, wishing he could just kiss this dumb nerd’s face already. God, he really didn’t deserve him.

“Now, can whomever has the rings step forward and present them to the couple?”

Declan moves forward with the small pillow, holding it out for the pair. Virgil and Declan share a smile, Virgil’s eyes tracing over the sloppily-wrapped, dingy bandages covering his friend from head to foot. Of course he’d be a mummy, why not. He turns back to Remy, fingering the ring in his hand. The metal feels cold, weighted, oppressive-

No. It felt like a promise. A promise to always be there, to always love one another. Virgil smiles.

“Now, Remy, please place the ring on Virgil’s left ring finger and repeat after me: I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love."

Remy grins, taking Virgil’s left hand and slipping the plain silver band onto his ring finger, making eye contact with him and saying, "I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love."

“Now Virgil. Place the ring on Remy’s left ring finger and repeat after me: I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love."

Virgil took Remy’s left hand in his own shaky one, slipping a plain gold band onto his ring finger and saying, "I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love."

The priest nods. “Please join hands.” Remy and Virgil take each other’s hands, smiling widely. They know what comes next. "By virtue of the authority vested in me under the laws of the State of Florida, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss.”

Remy pulls Virgil close, kissing him deeply. Virgil closes his eyes and melts into it as his friends and family shoot to their feet, all clapping (and in Patton’s case, cheering loudly. Very loudly). They finally pull away after a few seconds, turning to face their loved ones with joined hands. The priest holds his arms out, smiling broadly.

“May I now present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mr. Shae-Nocturn.”

The reason I wrote a wedding is because, let’s be honest, getting married is one of the scariest things you can do. Also, this is a tribute to mine and my hubby’s Halloween wedding today! He’s the Virgil to my Remy. I love him so much <3

Their vows are actually the vows we wrote, so I had a lot of fun with all of this haha. I hope you all enjoyed this just as much as me. Though October may be over, the adventure never will be. Keep checking in to see what other cool stuff I’m working on! Thank you all so much for the support <3

[beetlesacquired]

Klance Fanfic Rec List

I’ve currently got 118 Klance Ao3 links saved and I wanted to share some of my favorites so here ya go: (There’s a Shklance at the bottom btw)

He Who Fights Monsters by magisterpavis

Words: 64,888 Smut: yes Completed: yes

This is a really slow burn fic with a captivating plot and guys.  Dragons.  There’s so many dragons.  This author is also one of my favorites btw I love them.

Summary:  In a world where monstrous dragons terrorize humanity daily, the Garrison trains valiant Knights to slay the evil beasts and defend Earth. But when Knight cadet Lance Espinosa is kidnapped by a strange red dragon who kills its own kind, certain truths are revealed...and so are the true monsters.

Dirty Laundry by Anonymous

Words: 85,042 Smut: there’s a heated makeout scene or two but no actual smut Completed: yes

If you haven’t read this do you even ship Klance?  It’s the fake dating fic to top all fake dating fics.  It’s so sweet and feely you’ll cry buckets and it’s also incredibly funny.  I’ve probably read it like 5 times.  Kinda slow burn kinda not?  Internalized homophobia and homophobia from family warnings.

Summary: "Two whole months of free laundry in exchange for two weeks of being my fake boyfriend. Deal?” Keith hesitated for a moment. Was this really worth it? Hardly. Lance was an asshole, and he wasn’t sure what fake dating would entail. But, free laundry was free laundry, right? “Alright, it’s a deal.”  Or: Lance makes the mistake of telling his Mom he has a boyfriend coming home with him for Christmas. Keith makes the mistake of agreeing to be Lance's 'fake boyfriend'.

Ignorance is Bliss by YouAreInAComaWakeUp (Nikanaiko)

Words: 172,675 Smut: no Completed: yes

This is probably the number one most emotional fic I’m gonna list here.  There’s ghosts guys and that means characters I hold dear to my heart are dead so warning there.  Pretty sure I was sobbing through multiple chapters.  Real slow burn, but the build up is so worth it especially with how amazing the plot is.  I’ve got quotes from this fic hanging on my wall rn that’s how fantastic the writing is.  Suicide and internalized homophobia warnings.

Summary:As it turns out, learning that your house is haunted makes the ghosts a lot more aggressive. Who knew?  Ah, well. At least one of them is hot. And he's the less-evil one, too, so that's always a plus.

The Message by shipstiel

Words: 132,787 Smut: no Completed: yes

This is kinda a texting fic?  So lots of bants and comedy, mostly Lance cracking jokes and Keith being done with his life.  It’s a really cute fluffy thing.  Depression, car crash, nightmares, and mentions of suicide warnings

Summary: (4:07) okay, but considr this, and hear me out here (4:08) so like, a photobooth u can do with ur pets like there’ll be lil costumes that u can dress them up in, and u can do liek, period costumes and shit with them (4:09) omg, can u imagine, u and ur cat/dog, and theyre in a lil 1800s dress and one of those lace umbrella things omg so cute(4:15) Why the FUCK are you texting me at four in the morning with this— Keith is texted by accident by some idiot one day, and honestly he's not even sure why he responds. Or why he keeps responding. Yet somehow he finds himself drawn in, and okay, so maybe this fool is mildly entertaining after all. Who would've thought.

True Love or Something by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee

Words: 188,626 Smut: no Completed: kinda??

This is more of a collection of short stories based around Keith, Lance, and the gang than an actual plot filled fic and normally I don’t like that sort of thing, but I’m in love with this because it’s so funny and cute and despite it having 37 parts and counting, it doesn’t get boring or tedious at all.  There’s a couple angsty parts especially regarding Keith’s Tragic Backstory but it’s all around just amazing.  

Summary: “So that was…” “If you say painless I’m shoving you into another snowdrift.” “Okay, that’s fair. But you got a lollipop!” “That you stole from pediatrics.” “I’m a very good date.”  Lance accidentally crashes into his new neighbor in front of their mailboxes and somehow ends the night with a very attractive (and slightly concussed) date.

Mistakes were made (Skinny band nerd takes it up the ass from the beefcake football captain) by Lynn1998

Words: 50,727 Smut: yes Completed: no Last Update: Jan 31 2017

I normally wouldn’t recommend unfinished fics, especially ones that haven’t been updated in over a year but I honestly just really like this one.  The smut is top notch and there’s plot, fluff, and angst in there as well.  I really like it. 

Summary:  Lance can't stand the captain of the football team…so why is he having sex with him?

I Swear to You by AlyxRae

Words: 123,991 Smut: no Completed: yes

Bodyguard AU!!!  Altean Prince Lance with Galra Bodyguard Keith is literally my favorite thing ever I love it.  This fic gave me whiplash with the amount of times everything went from nice and happy to death and destruction in a heart beat it’s crazy.  Least to say, lots of angst.

Summary: With the destruction of their home planet, the remaining Galra are forced to take refuge with the kind Alteans. Much darker plans begin to take shape and a young Galra solider is made the bodyguard of the Altean Prince, with orders to kill him when the time is right. However, the charming prince manages to capture the Galra's heart and ends up being captivated by the solider in return.The prince and the bodyguard are thrown into perilous adventures, all the while trying to stay together and keep each other safe.

Shadow of the Past and Ghost of the Future by wittyy_name and Zizzani

Words: 75,120 (GoF) 83,198 (SoP) Smut: no Completed: no Last Update: Feb 22 2018

These two fics are mirror fics, which is so cool.  Basically Lance gets sent one year into the future and future Lance gets sent back one year.  SoP is from Lance’s POV while he’s in the future and GoF is from Keith’s POV while future Lance is in the past with him.  I really love this fic and I’m always checking in for updates, which come in pairs (one for each fic).  It doesn’t matter which order you read them btw.

Summary: (SoP) When Lance is thrown through time, he finds himself one year in the future, in place of the Lance that should be here.He finds his team to be remarkably familiar, yet distinctly different. They have more scars, a better grip on the whole saving the universe thing, and over a year’s worth of teamwork to bind them together. But the weirdest part? Keith seems to be a lot more touchy with him. Not that he’s complaining… much.The team must try and work out how to reverse the two Lance’s places and restore them to their original timelines. But despite the fact that they’re still his friends, Lance can’t help but feel a little out of place among a team that’s been through so much with a Lance that just isn’t him. And it doesn’t help that the team is on edge around him, refusing to tell him anything for fear of influencing and changing the past. Things get even more complicated when they have to rely on the team in the past to complete the switch, leaving Lance to little more than sit, wait, and attempt to fill in his future self’s shoes. 

(GoF) When Lance is thrown through time, his future self from one year ahead is transported to the past in his place.This Lance is faster, stronger, and markedly more mature. Not only that, but he's distinctly more intuitive about his teammates and A LOT more touchy with Keith.The team must try and work out how to reverse the two Lance's places and restore them to their original timelines. Things only get more complicated when the Future Lance can't seem to remember where he was when the switch happened, and he refuses to reveal anything about his own time for fear of influencing the team's decisions.

The Hurricane In His Veins by magisterpavus

Words: 249,189 Smut: yes Completed: yes

So this is actually Shklance because I don’t have enough recs for this ship to make it it’s own post and this fic is honestly just really really good.  It’s probably my favorite out of everything here.  It’s a vampire AU and I love it so much.  The plot is incredible (the author should publish a book tbh it’s that good I’d buy it), there are some really cute moments, and it’s goddamn hilarious.  There’s the perfect combination of angst, smut, and fluff and I’ve read this about 10 times since I discovered it a couple months ago.  I suggest it even if you don’t ship Shklance tbh it’s that good.

Summary: It’s the summer after high school graduation, and Lance, Hunk, and Pidge are spending three months together in Pidge’s sleepy California hometown, Rosewood, before they all go their separate ways in life. It’s supposed to be fun and relaxing, filled with long days at the beach and even longer nights playing video games; a last hurrah with Lance’s best friends.But when one of Pidge’s ridiculous cryptid searches leads the trio to a mysterious pair of vampires in the woods and the web of magic and murder that they’re entangled in, the summer gets a lot more complicated…and more dangerous than they could’ve imagined.

Like I said, I’ve got 118 bookmarks so if you guys wanna pop into my asks or messages and see if I’ve got something specific, please do!

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

A New Lease on Life - #59

         WELL. It's been about a donkey's age since I've been able to update this. Normally I'd apologize for the wait…but…well, honestly, I've been beating myself up enough as it is and it's not like it happened out of the blue. Kinda-brief update for anyone wondering:            I've warned about an impending grief hiatus since my uncle Bob's cancer diagnosis, and the hiatus came to pass in December. Uncle Bob finally lost his fight to cancer after two years of treatment and fading. The end came on rather suddenly but after the deathwatch he went peacefully and without pain. His death really messed me up, especially since I was already suffering from depression. Our first Christmas without Bob was also our last Christmas with Granny Chance, his mother and my grandmother…she suffered a massive stroke in January and died soon afterward. In the space of a month, my family and I lost two members, one right after the other. In a word, the whole situation has been FUCKED and it's still not completely over. There are good days, and bad days…and, to quote a certain Del Toro film, "Then there are the really bad days." Between those, we're all slowly working our way through the fallout and healing process.            This chapter is the first I've been able to finish since SEPTEMBER, largely because all of my stories are currently in plot-required angsty-dramatic phases and I CANNOT WRITE SAD SCENES when I'm depressed. It's entirely IMPOSSIBLE, they always come out farcical or they just don't flow. It SUCKS. TBH, I don't know for certain if I'm going to be able to catch up to my previous writing abilities or pace anytime soon but I'm certainly going to try. Also, quick note if you're reading this on Tumblr – they recently enacted a WORDBLOCK LIMIT on text posts of 100 blocks. Yeah. We're now limited to 100 paragraphs including the title. If the chapter's low dialogue and has no notes, that's fine, but if not? Well, we're just screwed because THIS ONE ran 86 ¶s WITHOUT the notes, glossary, and pre-story stuffs. I'm not sure yet how I'll be handling that limit for good, whether that means posting links to sites without the bullshit limits, posting long chapters in pieces, or linking to the separate posts with the notes and glossary, but I'll figure it out in time. For now, I’ll be including the NOTES at the end and you can find the GLOSSARY at FFnet or AO3.  Check out Spotify for a playlist centered on this arc - features suggested listening for this chapter and the next few, and much, much more.         Lastly, I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for their patience and understanding, and give a shout-out to some wonderful people who've made this new chapter possible. This chapter is dedicated to Wolf, Newt, and Ihlni for their invaluable support and kind words – to my hubby Cold for letting me ugly-cry on him without complaint and never failing to remind me that life has to go on – to my ma-in-law for teasing me about earning a nasty hangover instead of acknowledging that I looked like death-on-the-rocks and was obviously crying before I answered the door – to my mother for being a bloody SAINT and to my father for intentionally being an asshole when someone to fight with was just what I needed – to Wanda Farmer on AO3 and vbt22220 on FFnet for their encouragement in reviews, the folks on Tumblr who offered kind words when I needed them most, and to all you wonderful people who've stuck by me, read my stories, and are still reading after all this time. Above all, though, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of Granny Chance and Uncle Bob – may they ever rest in peace.

Suggested Listening: Fuel "Hemorrhage [In My Hands]," Paramore "The Only Exception," Prince "Purple Rain," Survivor "I Never Stopped Loving You" 

 59: A Matter of Honor

The Lair, November 19th - around noon

Donatello wasn't known for being a fool; regardless, he felt rather foolish anytime the obvious failed to register until it was staring him in the face. This was just such a time. He didn't recall sequestering himself in the lab much less falling asleep at his workbench, but the proof was self-evident: a crick in his neck, a strand of insulated wire still stuck to his drool-sticky cheek, and sweat-smeared glasses half off his face. It took a moment of tired lip-smacking and searching to comprehend the facts—ah, right, he pulled an all-nighter to complete the vital signs monitor for Kimber's visit. From what he could see, the device was, indeed, completed. Too tired to consider the absurd picture he must make, he peeled the wire trimming off his cheek and set it aside.

What woke him? He searched his memory, found nothing, then turned to more closely examine his surroundings. A plate of now-cold PopTarts and a cup of coffee (helpfully covered with a cracked saucer) waited a safe distance from his elbow. Right - it was Saturday. This time last year he easily lost track of the days between all-nighters and the sleeping-binges that always followed them. Now he had a weekly reminder in the form of too-sweet coffee and half-burned pastries, courtesy of the confusing woman whose scent still clung to his skin. How blessed he felt in this moment…

The moment ended with a familiar sound—a sleep-slurred phrase he could recognize anywhere but never quite understood. Ya been away too long he got, and he recognized the terms sook, e'en, and nip though he wasn't fully certain of their context.* Beyond that the half-Celt tucked into the cot may as well have been speaking Greek for all he knew. The oft-repeated tease fell short in a particularly nasal snore. Donnie hoisted himself out of his chair with a chorus of protesting joints and slowly rounded the workbench. Silently, he regarded his sleeping woman, soaking in all the silly little details that caught his eyes—the freckles spattered across her skin, the flash of faded ink peeking up over her drooping neckline, the stubborn silver cowlicks sticking up at odd angles from her loosely bound hair—anything to remind himself she was still alive.

He shook his head in weary defeat. A full week after their desperate flight from Willsdale and every time he woke he still half-expected to find Amber cold to the touch, lifeless and painted in blood. Perhaps, he considered as he gathered her in his arms and made his way to their bedroom, this was one scar which would only be healed with time. Perhaps, he considered as he lay her across the neatly tucked quilt and curled up behind her, he could only conquer his fear of Amber's death by focusing on her life. Even as he tugged her flush against his plastron and groin and nuzzled into her neck, he couldn't erase the memory of her: bruised, bloody, and broken, and rapidly fading in his arms. He shuddered and sucked in a steadying breath of her scent.

She wasn't dead, she was alive now…it was enough…right?

Red Fern Florist, Noon

Normally, Red Fern Florist was a calm place – a quiet and classy establishment that just so happened to be run by people who didn't care about being quiet or classy. This, alas, was not a normal day, not even in the slightest.

Abilene Whitaker manned the register, eyes focused somewhere beyond the neon-streaked pages of her textbook and not registering a word. The backroom echoed with near-constant racket—crashes, curses, objects falling or being thrown… Abby sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and dragged herself off of the barstool to investigate. Sure enough, Mercy was stocking the shelves a tad too roughly…if by roughly one meant throwing the bags of supplies around like a spandex-clad steroid junkie at a WWE grudge-match smackdown.

"Alright, that's enough," Abby snapped at her blonde subordinate; Mercy froze, embarrassed grey-blue eyes meeting Abby's over a lean, hunched shoulder. "You've been stomping around and slamming things all afternoon. What on earth could be so horrible you've gotta torture the mulch?" Mercy cringed, fixing guilty eyes on the bag of mulch in her grip. Caught. "Well?" The blonde uttered a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, snorted, then slid the bag onto its shelf with more care than necessary.

"My man's ex is comin' by tonight," she admitted under her breath. "She's stayin' a few days."~

"WHAT?!" Abby squawked in protest. "He's bringing his ex over?! Aw, Hell naw! Girl, you drop that boy before I find him and punch him in the man-fritters!" Man-fritters?** Mercy couldn't help it – she sniggered at the visual – but her laughter faded into regret when she registered the rest of Abby's threat.

"No can do," she sighed, "it's kinda unavoidable." Abby crossed her arms, scrunched her lips into an almost exact replica of Leo's 'pissy leader pout,' and waited for an explanation. Mercy rolled her eyes, spearing her fingers into her hair and yanking. "Kimber…well, she's like me an' Amber," she explained under her breath. "Remember I told ya Amber…uh…went home for a few days? Well, she almost…um…didn't come back. Bitch-nipple's comin' over to see how long any of us can stay home without that happening. She invited herself, we voted, Raph lost, she won." Abby took a moment to let that sink in.

"Your guy tried to vote her off the island?" A grim nod from Mercy. "They broke up before she left, right?"

"…and she left before he an' I met," Mercy added even as she rolled her eyes.~ All the code-talk really got on her nerves but they had to be mindful of the security cameras. Abby leaned against the doorframe, lean shoulders at a sharp slant, and hazel eyes puzzled behind her fuchsia-streaked hair.

"You think she wants him back?" she asked quietly. "He won't…" She sucked in a nervous breath. "What if she tries to win him back?"

"You're kiddin', right?" Mercy scoffed. "He dumped her! He's been angsty as fuck over breakin' her heart, yeah, but I know'im—she could make all the moves she wants, he ain't gonna budge."~ Not to mention Kimber's still dead she added in her own head then shook it. After all, she was dead, too. The whole situation stank like a crappy soap opera. "I trust'im, Abbs," she added under her breath. "Raph chose me, not the Jersey-Devil-wannabe…jealousy's pointless when I already know the end result, an' that end result is he's with me."

Abby watched her a moment, scrutinizing and studying; just as suddenly as she issued the threat against Raph's genitals, she smiled. "You're a strong woman," the neon-haired clerk remarked lightly. "I ever heard one of Cherie's exes asking to stay, I'd bash the twat's teeth in. You need anything, you give me a call, alright?" Mercy nodded, halfway between a cringe and a grateful smile, and went back to the stocking. "So how are things going between you two, anyway?" Abby added taking up her share of the lifting. "You never bring him by, you never tell me much about him…how's he treating you?"

Mercy paused, brow furrowed, and scrambled for an answer that didn't make her sound like an absolute sap. She couldn't find one. "He makes me wanna listen to Faith Hill, watch him sleep, an' punch his ex in the teeth," she grumbled. The heat in her cheeks went nuclear at Abby's excited squeal.

"Oh-em-GEE!" the younger practically shrieked. "You love him!" Mercy shot her a sour glare.

"Woman," she groused, "shut yer ass – the bullshit's leakin' out."

The Lair, shortly after dusk   -   00:00:00  

Two weeks ago, Kimber Bryant faced down Leonardo and demanded the opportunity to make right the trouble she caused his family. Now she stood in the hallway, practically quaking in her mud-stained canvas sneakers, unsure how to proceed. It didn't exactly help that Leo was still glaring at her from behind and her other escort, Donatello, kept fiddling with the tablet strapped to his left forearm.

"Now remember, you've gotta keep the leads from getting tangled," the genius rambled without ever once looking at her. "A little perspiration shouldn't cause any unwanted interference—I insulated the outer casing well to deter any outside condensation or humidity finding its way into the monitor's internal components but there are limits." Kimber rolled her bottle green eyes over at Leo in hope of rescue from Donnie's babbling but received only a glare. "It's not fully water-tight," the genius continued with a shrug and 'meh' expression, still without even glancing her way, "so we'll need to cover it with a water-resistant dressing when it comes to bathing but other than that it—"

"Today, Donnie," Leo grumbled. The younger startled out of his thoughts, fingertips still poised on the holographic chart projected over his tech-tab. He blinked a few times in rapid succession as though refreshing his memory then turned to Kimber in question. From the looks of it, she seemed ready to chew her ankle off to escape the lecture. She really was so very different from Amber…how could they possibly be the same person underneath it all? Could a person's history and past choices really have that big an impact on their personality and attitude?

"Uh…right," he uttered with a wince. "Anyway, it's natural for your core temperature to fluctuate a certain amount over the day but if it drops too low, I'll get an alert. We may not have much time to get you back…so…" he trailed off in hopes she'd pick up the slack.

"Don't get comfy," she finished sourly. "Yeah, I got it. Git lawst."~ He crinkled his nose at her demand but said nothing; instead, he rolled his eyes in defeat and took off toward the lab.

"Remember our agreement," the eldest warned under his breath as he shouldered past her. "You have one chance, and you're to stay—"

"I got it, I got it," Kimber snapped in response. "Go dig t'at stick out'a ya ass before it gets stuck up t'ere."~ Other than a deep-chested growl of warning, Leonardo said nothing—he just stormed past her to some destination she didn't care to know. Rolling her eyes at his attitude, she made her way toward the light at the end of the hallway. The closer she came the more clearly she heard a familiar voice—a voice that still haunted her fondest dreams and worst nightmares.

Familiar laughter led her into the living area where two people were cuddled up on a lumpy sofa. The larger wore a familiar boyish grin that stole the breath right from her lungs. In her grip, the duffle-bag strap slid loose—sweaty palms, she realized. A fluttering, weightless sensation filled her veins—oh, no… 'Gawd dammit…why've I gotta still love'im?'~ She choked around the damned butterflies doing barrel-rolls in her gullet. Steeling her nerves, she shook off her mushy thoughts and turned the corner. 'It don't change nothin'—dead's dead, an' he never chose me anyway. It's better t'is way.'

Raphael…he looked so much the same and yet so different. His eyes shone with laughter where they once burned with distrust; his posture was relaxed where he always kept up a front before. Tucked into his side and 'narrating' the boxing match with absurd faked voice-overs was a tall, lean woman with short messy blonde hair. Kimber's lip ached to curl in a sneer as the blonde loosed a raucous laugh but she fought it back—Raph wasn't hers. If this…this woman in his arms was enough for him…well, she'd respect that. She only ever wanted to see him happy and by God, she'd do so, no matter how much it hurt.

One moment, everything in Mercy's world was perfect. There was a decent match on TV, Raph had 'bullied her' into not-cuddling with him, and for the moment they had no other obligations. As it always seemed to, though, everything fell apart in a single breath…a breath that carried a perfume of vanilla, sugar, and musk. The smell wasn't entirely unpleasant but it was strong enough to make her sinuses burn and her head hurt. Why must so many people marinate themselves in perfume and cologne?

As Mercy and Raphael turned to greet the newcomer in unison the arm around her waist slackened—bright golden hazel eyes widened—full, scarred lips fell slack in dismay. Those lips formed a single word—a name Mercy spent hours cursing that afternoon—but no sound came forth. Torn, she held her silence, eyes darting from Raphael to the stranger and back again almost desperately. She knew this moment would come, she just didn't realize how much she'd want to scream obscenities when it did.

The stranger broke the stare first, bottle-green eyes flustered behind their impeccable smoky eyeliner. She reached up to her modest neckline, grabbed at the pair of worn metal dog-tags at her chest, took a deep breath, then looked up again with a weak smile. "'ey, Raphie," she murmured in a voice still thick with smog. "Long time no see, huh?" The hulking mutant couldn't even get out a single word; he just nodded, his chin and lips unnaturally stiff. Even as he stared down Kimber Bryant he clenched his fingers even tighter to Mercy's waistband. Mercy glanced down at the sight of his three-fingered hand anchoring her in place by a belt-loop. Just that morning, she woke up with that hand tangled in the hem of her nightgown anchoring it at mid-thigh. She had nothing to fear.

She pried Raph's fingers loose, stretched an imaginary crick from her neck, and rolled off the sofa to her feet. "I'll catch up later," Mercy remarked with an entirely faked smile and made her way to the side door. "Compost prob'ly needs a turnin' 'bout now."~ On the way past, she silently took in what details she could, mentally comparing them. The other woman was her height but beyond thin and into skinny. Her hair was coarse—naturally red from the looks of it but with a texture similar to unraveled jute twine. A sharp glance told Mercy the other had practically no ass; no competition there. She rolled her eyes, punched in the security code to pass through, then let the door drift shut behind her.

Before she could get anywhere a pair of large, powerful hands snatched her by the shoulders, spun her about, and pinned her to the tunnel wall. "Why you leavin'?" Raph demanded sharply. His voice was barely below a shout but as so often before, Mercy saw underneath that posturing—she saw the suspicious shimmering in his eyes, the nervous tic in his jaw, the vulnerable hunching of his shoulders, and the lurching of his throat and plastron from frantic heaving breaths. Fear was the one thing he really had no reason to feel in this case but it was written all over him. She cupped his squared jaw, thumb tracing the scar splitting his lip.

"I ain't leavin', ya meathead," she corrected as he covered her hand with his in a frantic grip. "You were friends, right? Ya never got to say goodbye. I've seen how this's been tearin' you apart an' I'm sick of watchin' it."~ Her lips curled in a tease but it was entirely true—she was beyond sick of having another woman in their relationship, even a dead one. "Ya need closure, I get that—I'm backin' off so you can get it. Got it?" Raphael said nothing—he just stared back, visibly searching her words for subtext. When he finally spoke, what he asked made no sense.

"Why?" he demanded in a near-deadpan. Mercy wrinkled her nose but before she could speak, he continued. "Why're ya testin' me like dis? What've I done ta deserve dat?"~

"Testin' you?" Mercy shook her head and scoffed. "I'm not testin' ya, Red," she promised. "I know you and I trust you—you're not about to cheat on me with anyone, much less a dead chick, right?" He shook his head in agreement and his eyes softened; he belatedly released her hand, choosing instead to cup her cheek.

"I wouldn't do dat to ya," he confirmed gruffly. "I'd never…I promised not ta hurt ya an' I meant it…but…" He faltered, flustered and struggling to find the right words. "Dis ain't right…ya ought'a be pissed at me fer even lettin' 'er come here…heck, if dis happened to any other guy, he'd get slapped fer lettin' it happen!"

"You're not any other guy," Mercy reminded shortly, "an' I'm not any other gal. Jealousy won't help anything, it ain't healthy, and you weren't too keen on her comin' over, to begin with. I've got no reason to be mad at'cha, an' especially no reason to hit ya."~ Her eyes drifted back toward the side door, now closed, and she sighed. "I don't like it," she admitted as her hand drifted down to his thick neck, "but I know you need closure an' I trust you enough to not interfere."

Raphael said nothing—what could he possibly say?—instead, he took a step back, eyes wide. This wasn't the first time she professed her trust in him, nor would it be the last, but this utterance seemed the most improbable of all. Wait…no, there was one other moment even more unexpected—a recent moment, the moment he first witnessed Mercy Ross fall apart at the seams, right there in his arms.#

Tousled blonde hair spilled across his pillow like scattered straw. Unpainted lips, swollen from friction, panted around gasping breaths. Work-roughened fingertips clawed at the equally tough skin of his bare scalp and shoulders as he unleashed all his pent-up frustration on her finally bared skin.

   "I trust you," she'd promised only moments before. "When are ya gonna start trustin' yourself?"  

   "Ya shouldn't trust me," he'd blustered, but despite his denials, he caved to her temptation. He knew from the first breath it would take weeks to clear her pheromones from his lungs; he'd never forget the taste of her or her keening cries of completion. When the madness left her eyes and the fire dulled in his blood, Raphael knew he'd never be able to see his Mercy the same, nor would he ever cease to be humbled by her seemingly unshakable faith in him—trust he couldn't recall doing a damn thing to earn.  

That July, Raphael took a chance on happiness in the middle of an open rooftop—a single kiss followed by countless more, all sound-tracked with heavy metal. Ever since then, anytime he fell to the temptation of Mercy's lips, he lost himself completely. He wanted her—he needed her—he craved her—she was the air he breathed, vital to his very survival and responsible for every beat of his heart. Far below the filthy streets, in a dark passage forgotten by the world in general, he stole her lips and breathed her in reverence.

He loved her—loved her beyond the limits of his fears and follies—and that was why she knew he wouldn't let her down.

"So you two, huh?" Raphael ducked his head to avoid Kimber's eyes, hoping she couldn't see the traces of stickiness at his lips or the tenting of his patched trousers. She said nothing, choosing instead to examine the worn red tweed of the sofa arm she perched on.

"What of it?" he retorted slumping onto the seat at the opposite end of the couch.

"Looks like ya found a good one, 'at's all," she shrugged. He studied her silently a moment, searching for signs of deceit. In his heart, he knew this stranger was Kimber—his Kimber, the friend he threw away over his insecurities and fears—but her appearance was largely unfamiliar. Kimber was always on the chunky side of curvaceous but with an undeniable sex appeal. This new body was built like a scarecrow - all long limbs and frizzy hair - but underneath he could see the same sensual confidence Kimber had before she died. That sensuality was all Kimber - Amber lacked it completely, always coming across somewhere between odd and awkward. This woman, though visually unfamiliar, was definitely Kimber. Something in her eyes spoke of mischief…and regret. "Fer Gawd's sake," she swore under her breath and turned an acidic glare on him. He refused to meet it, locking his eyes on one padded and splayed knee. "I know t'a drill—I'm dead, not stoopid."

"Ya were never stupid, Kim, jus' stubborn an' naive," he protested but she waved him off.

"T'en quit lookin' at me like t'at." After a moment of resistance, he finally bit the bullet—he met her eyes. "Yeah, like t'at," the redhead grumbled, "like I'm gonna jump ya if ya take yer eyes off'a me or somethin'. I may be livin' in a homewrecker but t'at don't make me a homewrecker." This time, she was the one to hide her eyes.

A long, tense silence filled the room, broken only by the occasional sound from the Lab or utility room. In this unexpected but overdue moment, despite the drastically different appearance, Raphael saw Kimber as she was when they first met—not the over-confident temptress with the venomous smile and devil-may-care attitude but the lost, lonely, frightened runaway searching for her place in the world. Her new body was thirty-five if it was a year old, but she'd never looked more like a child to him than she did now. The night she turned Lefty and Northpaw over to the police and fell apart, Raph let the wrong head do the thinking and her heart suffered for it. So much heartache came from that one bad call—Kimber's death, too, was a result—how could he ever make it right?

"Rah-fay-el." The quiet – almost reverent – utterance of his name startled him from his brooding. Kimber faced the far wall but her eyes were locked on his askance. "Tell me t'a truth…did ya ever love me?" He blanched; she scoffed and picked at the faded red tweed covering the sofa. "I know we was close," she clarified in a soft tone void of accusation, "friends to be sure, but did ya ever love me like I loved you?"

He didn't answer—he couldn't answer, not around the painful lump in his throat. For so long, he wondered the very same. Loving Kimber, after all, would have made his betrayal a crime of passion rather than a bad move made in paranoid self-defense. Despite all his brooding introspection, though, he always came up with the same answer: he could have loved her, but he didn't…if he'd kept his head, maybe, someday, he could have loved her, but he didn't. "Exactly." Kimber's near-whisper broke his train of thought. "I knew ya didn't love me," she admitted even as her shoulders drew tight and her painted lips stretched in a sort of sneer. "I always knew it, I just t'ought…eh, no matter. I'm not gonna fuck up yer life again."

"I think ya got dat backwards," Raph pointed out dryly. "I fucked up yer life—I'm why yer…" He faltered, his throat clenching around the word as though to prevent him from voicing it. "Ya know," he settled for with a weak half-shrug, "like dis." Kimber watched him silently, eyes sharp enough to cut away his protective façade.

"Say it," she challenged. He flinched; she slid off the armrest and stalked over to face him, arms crossed in defiance. "Say it, Raph," she ordered, "ya know what I am—ya know t'a word, so use it. I'm…" She trailed off, one eyebrow cocked in expectance.

Raphael cringed. Of all the times he wished it was possible to completely withdraw into his shell, this was one of the worst so far. Weary hazel eyes drifted from Kimber's dirty canvas sneakers up her faded jeans and cotton blouse, up to her unimpressed eyes. "Yer…dead," he whispered as if confessing some great sin.

"Exactly," Kimber harrumphed and jabbed him between the eyes with one clear-lacquered fingernail. "Dead folks an' live folks jus' don't mix, ya muck-brained mawron.~ It wouldn't work an' I ain't about to waste my time tryin' ta make it work. Capiche?" He nodded, glaring up at her retreating back.

"Den why'd ya come back?" he asked, letting his hand fall back to his knee. "Dere had to be anutha way to test Don's theory, so why'd ya volunteer?"~ Kimber stilled in her pacing, carefully arranging her words before they could all spill out without concern for her feelings.

"I never got ta say goodbye," she admitted in a near-whisper, "not ta you, not ta Daron or Lefty, not ta anyone who mattered…but I've neva been t'at big on goodbyes anyhow, ya know?" Her voice cracked on the last words and she took a moment to compose herself. When she spoke again, she turned to the side as though watching him over her shoulder but her eyes remained hidden. "I made a lotta mistakes, Red—a lotta stoopid decisions t'at hurt a lotta people—an' much as I wanted to just stay dead, I lived ta regret every one'a t'ose decisions. T'at's why I came back…t'a fix t'a shit I broke an' atone for my sins. If t'at means stayin' here fer t'ree days while you an' Blondie play suck-face, so be it."

"Ya know you're puttin' yer life at risk, right?" Raph reminded, ignoring the suck-face comment. "Donnie ain't sure about da timing on dis thing, ya know. He an' the braided nutcase passed five days in her world but they weren't gone a whole three days, here. Who's to say ya'll have a full three days here? Who's ta say ya won't drop dead in an hour, or three hours, or even a minute from now?" He shuddered at the thought, his mind helpfully supplying several months' worth of nightmares to choose from, most of which ended with Kimber dying in his arms. "Ya froze, Kim, an' dat ain't an easy way to go; are ya really willing to risk goin' through it all over again?"

"It's my choice," she reminded with a stern expression reminiscent of an unimpressed schoolmarm. "No one asked me ta make t'at choice. Besides, see t'is?" She tugged her neckline aside to show him the small plastic device hung from her neck and the line of wire trailing down to her armpit. "T'is lil' t'ing's monitoring my core temp—we've got t'is covered. Trust me?"

Raph considered the plea a moment—for it was, indeed, a plea in every sense of the word—then gave a slow, reluctant nod. "I don't like it," he admitted in a throaty rumble, "but it ain't my job ta like it." There was much more to say, but for the moment, he hadn't words.

"Nope," Kimber agreed with a sly grin. "It's yer job ta help me give Daron a heart attack. What say we give'im a visit from t'a Livin' Dead Girl?" It was just a tease—just another excuse to ignore the elephant in the room—but for the moment, Kimber didn't care. She had more important tasks to focus on—messes to clean up, mistakes to correct, sins to atone for, and honor to regain. For now, the rest could wait.

  The Lair   -   00:35:00 and counting

Time stops for no man, people often said, and the same could be said for women. Never mind that Amber's cantankerous counterpart was staying in the Lair for the weekend…lurking around every corner…stinking up the place with her perfume…just waiting for a chance to bitch-slap Amber back into her place at the bottom of the food chain…

Amber shuddered at the thought and firmly shoved it into the back of her mind. Kimber Bryant made Amber all kinds of nervous but her presence didn't excuse Amber from her chores. There was too much to do—laundry to put away, studying to do, dinner to prepare— Something soft and furry brushed against her calf, startling her from her thoughts. "Right," she muttered as Kirk bypassed the laundry basket at her feet and hopped up onto Donnie's bed. "Gotta clean the litterboxes an' feed Kirkland too." After a mrrruhl of warning and a superfluous butt-wiggle said feline launched himself right into a pile of folded undergarments and began viciously mauling a sock big enough to double as an oven mitt. As he lay on his side, wrapped around the sock and kicking like a homicidal kangaroo, Amber sighed and shook her head in whimsical defeat. After how much she'd missed him she couldn't really be upset with the little murder-machine; cats, after all, would be cats, and socks could be darned.

"It's inevitable, Kirk," she teased as she hung a pair of patched canvas trousers in the frame-and-fabric 'closet.' "You're just gonna have to get used to sharing me with Donnie. I know I'm Mom but he's mine - you can't resent him forever." With an adorable cotton-muffled urrrr, Kirk glared at her over a mouthful of beige knit as if to say watch me. Ah, the jealousy of spoiled cats.

"Honestly, I'm lucky to have Donnie," she added to herself, doubts and worries filling her thoughts between wire hangers. Back before the dream connection was confirmed—before Donatello confronted her with his old Tonfa and confessed the name of her dead classmate—Amber could fool herself he wasn't the same Donnie she grew up with. She could tell herself that he didn't know all her dirty little secrets. He didn't watch her fall apart over the last few years of her life, partly from illness and her and partly from depression and apathy. He never heard how her poor choices in college may have led to the death of a classmate. He never knew she routinely slaked her carnal needs in impersonal encounters so her time with him in dreams could be focused on more important things than her hormones. If this Donnie wasn't her Donnie, then the mistakes of her past were only a secret to keep.

The problem was…now she knew this was her Donnie…and by the sounds of it, he remembered everything. Amber paused, fondling a strip of worn purple fabric. Even after countless washings, every one of those masks smelled strongly of his oddly comforting blend of coffee, machinery, musky exertion, and spice. "How can he even look at me, Kirk?" Amber murmured into the sweet-smelling fabric. "I screwed up with him so many times…I gave up on him, I – I gave myself up to other guys…how doesn't he hate me by now?"

This last question seemed the most perplexing. Sure, the purpose of those impersonal booty-calls was to shut up her hormones so her scant time with Donnie could be put to better use, but she always regretted them afterward. Regret, though, didn't count if a person intentionally committed the same crime over and over again, and she was guilty—guilty of closing her eyes, mentally replacing the other men with Donnie, and crying herself to sleep after they left. Regret was a weak word, really; what she felt wasn't weak. After all the time she spent hating herself for the infidelity, the idea that Donnie didn't hate her for it made no sense.

The dead silence tore her from her ruminations; odd, considering Kirk had a habit of 'answering' her every time she spoke.## After a quick glance at the bed, it was all she could do to keep from laughing. The little furball was out cold, wrapped around her favorite bra and snoring into one generous cup. The battered sock sprawled on the floor half under the bed—the enemy was vanquished. Chuckling at the absurdity, Amber crouched to retrieve the sock but paused when she noticed something wedged between the mattress and box spring. A warped silver wire binding, traces of green beyond the rings…surely she was mistaken, but it wouldn't hurt to check…right?

Amber tugged the notebook loose and promptly cringed in recognition. It was her journal, the one she hadn't written in for months then misplaced. Why was it jammed under the mattress like a nudie magazine? Curiosity drove her to investigate and she quickly discovered the litany of notes scribbled upside-down in the back. She quickly lost herself in the writing—questions and memories, hopes and fears Donatello couldn't bring himself to share with her, all centered around their years apart. Though she didn't dig too deeply, there wasn't a single word of blame or judgment anywhere—nothing that indicated resentment or disgust. Amber almost missed the sheet of loose-leaf that slipped out and fluttered to the floor—almost. The pencil-scribbled contents might have made her stumble if she hadn't already seated herself before. "I met my lover in a dream," she whispered in recognition.^ "That poem…I thought I lost it...I guess Donnie found it?" Soon enough, she hit the final lines:

Mibbe someday he will see –     Someday the truth I'll tell. For now, I've only memories,     And dreams I shot tae Hell.

Or, rather, those should have been the final lines—they were the last she wrote. Someone, however, clearly thought the poem wasn't finished and added their own verse…in pen…neatly printed by a familiar hand straddling the border between calculating and persnickety. "No way," Amber muttered thickly as she scanned the added verse, wide-eyed and breathless. "Naw fookin' way!"~ No matter how she protested, the words remained clear, impossible yet obvious. Still marveling at their presence—and at the subtext—she never heard the soft ticking of a distant clock, or the even softer inhale accompanying.

Dreams can sometimes fall apart,     And memories can fade. The truth you shared can't change my heart…     Your lover-friend I've stayed…

I'll see you in our dreams.  

There was no stopping it, no holding back: Amber crushed the paper to her pounding heart in elation. He remembered. He understood. He loved. Perhaps, even…he forgave?

Sometimes emotions are too powerful for words; fortunately for Amber, squealing unintelligibly required none.

UP NEXT: (Currently in-progress)

Chapter List

- The vital signs monitor – At first I wasn't quite sure if such a device was on the public market, at least aside from 'smart' devices like FitBit and such, so I did what I do best: I researched the fuck out of it for funzies. Turns out there are more varieties out there than I expected, each monitoring different signs in different fashions and to different accuracy levels. Since Donnie's never been the sort to simply COPY others' ideas, we can safely assume he's combined the best of several devices. The result is a small electronic monitor [about the size of a 9-volt battery] hung from the neck by a lanyard, which measures core body temp by way of leads attached to an adhesive-backed electrode stuck in the armpit. We can also assume fitting the device on Kimber was incredibly awkward because she intentionally MADE IT awkward.

* Full statement including what Amber's snoring cut off: "Ya be'n 'way too long 'gain, ya sook—nae be'n by fer a nip'er a bosie. Wha's a lass ta think?" – This little bit of Scotchness is a routine in-dream tease from Amber. You've been gone [from our dreams] too long again, you old softy—you haven't even come by for a kiss or cuddle. What's a woman to think?

** Man-Fritters – Alas, I cannot claim authorship of this little snigger-inducing euphemism. That honor belongs to author Mimi Jean Pampfiloff in her Accidentally Yours series. While the first two books were pretty recipe [if you know what I mean] they were HILARIOUS recipes. I'm not ashamed to admit that the scene in the first one where the heroine belts out 80's pop hits to keep sane made me laugh so hard I spewed my tea, CHOKED ON IT, then spent the rest of the day CROAKING. It was WORTH IT. (That said, the author also used a lovely little nonsense-word coined by my IRL friend Autumn back when we were in high school but didn't notate it. I'd encourage Autumn to stop starting word trends without first seeking a copyright but that'd mean I'd have to pay her every time I stole her stuff, heh.)

Also: Abby has no accent. She's intentionally warping the Oh, Hell no! in hopes of showing Mercy just how upset the news makes her.

# Implied smut – The encounter referenced here didn't make it to in-story occurrence BUT it took place during the Absolutes arc, which took up too much time-and-space for the intended back-and-forth between worlds. It's written up and included in the "Gallery of Memories" as The Blonde and the Beefcake and it can be found HERE.) It's almost entirely lemon, BTW. ;P

## Kirk tends to 'answer' Amber every time she talks to him – I am SO not basing this on our cat Heiferlump. Nope, not at all! …fine. Yes. Heifer responds to EVERYTHING she hears, no matter who says it, and it's rare to find someone she can't bait into answering back. She's particularly adept at getting my father to argue with her and routinely tries to argue with the microwave beeper. O_o It's awesome.

^ The Poem, "Dream Lovers" – I've not posted the entirety of the poem in any chapters or even the GoM installment of the same name. NOW, however, you can find the entire poem in comic format HERE, on this story's Here on Tumblr, OR on DeviantArt. The comic includes Donnie's additions and a small blurb of backstory leading to this scene, and the Tumblr/AO3 posts include a glossary for the many odd words used in the poem. For convenience's sake, I've included the translation of the included verse below.

Again, since Tumblr’s decided to be an ass about wordblock limits, see FFnet or AO3 for the glossary if anything throws you off.