#and her face was sometimes drawn with a blank expression

[daydreamerdrew]

The Avengers (1963) #29

[augustinewrites]

as soon as satoru comes home, you can tell that something’s troubling him.

he greets the three of you quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and telling you to start dinner without him.

when he turns away, you quickly catch his hand. “you haven’t eaten since lunch. just have a little—”

“i’m not hungry,” he excuses quickly, offering you a weak smile. “i’m just going to lie down for a bit.”

he gently pulls his hand from your grasp, heading toward the bedroom without another word.

“something’s wrong with him,” tsumiki murmurs, picking up her chopsticks as you and megumi watch him go.

“he’s just tired,” you assure her. “he’ll be okay.”

you hope they don’t notice the worry behind your easy expression. you know that satoru is strong and that he’s powerful beyond measure, but strength means nothing when you give someone a piece of your heart. the worry just never goes away.

he doesn’t get out of bed for the rest of the evening, and you don’t make him. after dinner’s been cleaned up and the kids are winding down for bed, you tiptoe into the bedroom to check on him.

the lights are off and the curtain is drawn, with satoru’s uniform dropped carelessly onto the floor. you quietly shut the door behind you, and once your eyes adjust to the dark, you see him laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“hey,” you whisper, laying next to him. you scoot closer, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and gently slotting yourself against him. “what’s going on?”

his answer comes quietly, so soft you almost miss it. “some stuff came up when i was talking to yaga today. about…suguru.”

you want him to say more, to elaborate, but the far away look in his eyes tells you that now’s not the time. it also tells you that there’s nothing you can say, because words don’t mean much when you miss someone.

so the two of you lay in silence. a comfortable one, where the need to talk just to fill space isn’t necessary when you’re close to someone.

“i was supposed to take tsumiki out to buy a gift for her friend,” he sighs lolling his head to the side to look at you. “but i…i just need a day.”

“it’s okay,” you nod, tracing mindless patterns across his chest. “i’ll take her.”

“thank you,” he murmurs, taking your hand and placing a kiss on each of your knuckles.

“don’t thank me yet,” you say, tapping the tip of his nose. “because that means you’re staying home with a moody preteen.”

_____

“mom says i’m not supposed to bother you.”

satoru peels one eye open to see megumi leaning over him, a blank look on the kid’s face.

“so what’s wrong with you?”

“nothing,” he grunts, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes to resume his wallowing. “go do your homework or something.”

megumi, naturally, doesn’t listen. instead, he grabs satoru’s ankles, shoving them off the couch so he can sit.

“hey!” he protests, sitting up. “what gives?”

“tsumiki says it’s good to talk about things,” he says matter-of-factly.

satoru shakes his head, blowing out a harsh breath. “not now, alright? i don’t want to talk about it.”

megumi looks over at him with an inquisitive expression, tapping his fingertips against the arm of the couch before tentatively saying,

“mom said you lost someone.”

sometimes he forgets that you and megumi talk.

“kind of,” he answers vaguely.

“did your friend die?”

sometimes he thinks suguru might as well have. “no, he didn’t. he left and…i guess he just doesn’t want to be found.”

megumi leans back into the couch with a sigh. “my dad is like that. he left a long time ago, and i guess he doesn’t want to be found either.”

there’s a lump in satoru’s throat, guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders. he can’t have this conversation. not now, not without tsumiki, and especially not without you.

he clears his throat, leaning forward to ruffle the kid’s hair. “well, i’m here.”

megumi swats at his hand, wrinkling his nose as he tries to fix the mess on his head. “yeah, i know.”

then, in a move that seems to take both of them by surprise, megumi closes the distance between them and wraps him in a hug.

satoru definitely does not tear up.

[hamsterclaw]

I want to say that ‘The Vows’ couple are my favourite. I keep reading it again and again. There is nothing better than this. I love them so much. Whenever I see any part of it on my dashboard I read it again along with some other parts. I just love it so much. The reader’s character of being bratty, misunderstood, and not evil is so perfectly balanced. And Yoongi accepts her not just tolerates her, this is my fav part of this fic. He is so much in love with her. And even though she makes him really mad he still loves her the same.

OH MY!!! 😭Thank you so much, this analysis is spot on and exactly why I love writing them and I am so so happy that you're enjoying them.

Here’s another little drabble for you because Min Yoongi has been wrecking me today.

Pairing: Vows! Yoongi x reader

Warnings: Sex, swearing, Seokjin

By now, you're pretty good at recognising when your husband is genuinely angry. He's often difficult to read, but you've been making an effort lately, and you're starting to recognise his tells.

When his mouth is in a straight line and his brow's slightly furrowed, he's bemused. It's the expression he had when you hid all his left shoes.

When his brows are drawn together and his mouth opens slightly, he's irritated. He gets like this sometimes when you and Seokjin are arguing.

When his expression goes completely blank, you look at his hands. When his hands are like they are now, loosely clenched, and he looks at you with heat in his gaze, he's angry. It doesn't happen often, but you're quite sure, that on this occasion, Yoongi is angry.

Scratch that. He looks pretty fucking mad.

You think frantically about all the things you've done lately, trying to remember if you've done anything especially provoking.

He’s looking straight at you across the room, and you can feel his eyes burning into you.

What have you done this time?

Your husband's still staring at you, and if he didn't look so damn irresistible in the sharp black suit he's wearing, you'd already be running.

His gaze flicks down over your body, blatantly looking you over in a way that's unusual for him.

Ahhhh fuck.

You stole his suit.

The last time Yoongi and you had to attend a public event together, you went all out. You'd picked up a vintage gown, had it altered to fit you like a second skin, had spent hours being primped and preened just so you could turn up on his arm looking like the most perfect version of you money could buy.

Yoongi had barely blinked. In fact, he'd grumbled something about you making him late to the event.

And so today, when you'd walked past the suit laid out for him in his wardrobe area on the way to the shower, an idea of immense brilliance had flashed into your mind.

You'd reached out, plucked the hanger off the rack, and marched to your room with it clutched in your hand.

You'd sent him some excuse about working late and had told him you'd meet him at the hotel, and then you'd put on his suit.

Crisp white shirt, a jacket with a subtle pinstripe, and a black tie that you'd had to ask Mrs Gye to help you tie. You'd forgone the suit trousers entirely, and the jacket on you is long enough to cover your ass.

Just about.

The piece de resistance though? The platinum collar bar connecting both ends of the collar, tucked under your tie.

You're not entirely sure how you're going to get it off without help, especially since the look on Yoongi's face makes it seem like he's unlikely to want to help you right now.

You like the suit he has on though, now that you can see it more clearly. It's almost identical to the one you have on.

Trust your husband to have a backup suit on standby.

He even has a collar bar like yours, and damn he looks so sexy you want to jump his bones.

Belatedly, you realise the reason you can see all the detail on his suit is that he's much closer than he was when you last checked.

Shit. He's heading straight towards you, face like thunder.

You squeak and back away, straight into the hard chest of Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin sighs wearily.

'At least tell me what panties you're wearing so I have something to jerk off to later,' he says.

'I'll give them to you if you help me get away,' you say quickly, seeing an opportunity.

'You're not going anywhere,' Yoongi says. His hand closes on your arm like a vice.

***

Yoongi’s driving, one hand curled loosely on the wheel, the other on the centre console of his car, close to your bare thigh.

‘Nice suit,’ he says, the first words he’s spoken to you since you left the event.

You smooth the wool over your thigh. ‘Thank you, it’s Valentino.’

Yoongi looks at you like he can’t quite believe your audacity.

‘It looks like the suit I was meant to wear tonight.’

‘Yeah?’ you ask, all innocence.

‘I didn’t know you could tie a tie that well, I should ask for your help next time.’

‘Mrs Gye helped,’ you offer nonchalantly.

‘Where are the pants?’ Yoongi asks. He glances in the rearview mirror, signals to turn.

‘They didn’t fit,’ you say, shrugging.

‘Because they were measured specifically for me,’ Yoongi points out.

You give him a sidelong look.

‘You don’t like me in womenswear or menswear it seems,’ you mutter.

Because you’re watching, you see Yoongi flick his eyes to you.

‘I like you in everything,’ he counters. There’s a pause before he says, ‘and nothing.’

He slows the car, and you look around curiously at the darkness around you.

Yoongi pulls to a complete stop.

‘Why did you steal my suit to wear tonight?’

You don’t have an answer, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to be waiting for one.

‘Is it because I don’t buy you enough beautiful clothes?’ he muses.

‘I buy my own clothes,’ you point out, defiant.

‘Is it because it wasn’t enough for you that I came so hard when you were wearing that ridiculous dress at the last event, I passed out?’

‘You liked that dress?’ you ask, inordinately pleased.

Yoongi glowers at you.

‘If you didn’t act like such a brat all the time, I’d compliment you more,’ he growls.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘You like it when I’m a brat, Yoongi.’

He doesn’t deny it. Instead he looks out the window.

‘How many times do I have to come inside you before you realise how stunning I think you are?’

He turns back to you.

‘Jagiya, I will always think you are beautiful.’

There’s no heat in his voice now, the words come out with a quiet simplicity that rings with honesty.

You’re still processing when he continues, ‘and I will always think you look irresistible in my clothes.’

‘Are you angry with me?’

‘For stealing my suit and leaving me to have a replacement delivered at short notice?’

You turn to him.

‘I’m not angry,’ he tells you. ‘But if I were, how would you make it up to me?’

You bite your lip, then slide your seat back.

‘May I kiss you, Yoongi?’

He’s staring at your lips. ‘Yes.’

You slip your hand down his chest, past his belt buckle, down to his lap.

‘Here?’ you ask, hand over his lap.

‘Fuck, jagiya, please,’ he breathes.

You lean over and undo his pants, slide his half-erect dick out.

Yoongi reaches out, wraps a hand around your (his) tie, loosely.

‘Hey,’ he says, just as your lips touch his cock.

‘Mmm?’

‘Tap me if I’m holding too tight, ok?’

He waits until you nod before he leans back in his seat. His perfectly coiffed hair flicks forward as the back of his head meets the headrest, and his thighs spread as you lick along his cock.

He’s quiet as you suck him to full erection, the only clues you have that he’s enjoying it are the erraticness of his breathing and the way he’s twitching over your tongue.

‘Fuck,’ he groans, fist tightening in your tie, tugging you down.

It’s making the tie tighten around your neck, but you like how it feels.

‘Fu— uh—- uk,’ he groans again, stuttering as you hollow your cheeks and take him all in, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat.

You swallow, and he slams a hand against the car window.

You reach under, cup his balls, and his hips jerk against your face.

He’s holding you so tight, filling your mouth with his cock so well you can barely breathe.

‘Gonna cum,’ he warns, ‘fuck, I’m gonna —-‘

He doesn’t finish his sentence, moaning long and deep as he shoots his release down your throat.

The tie tightens again, and then he lets go.

‘Jagi, are you ok?’

He’s tipping your chin up to see your face, and the concern in his expression makes you feel warm.

‘I’m ok, oppa.’

He pulls you up to kiss him.

‘Don’t ‘oppa’ me, brat.’

He’s undoing your tie deftly, unthreading the collar bar so he can unbutton your shirt.

‘Let me see,’ he grunts, unbuttoning your shirt rapidly, pulling the plackets apart to expose your lack of bra, the thin, sheer panties you slipped on.

He presses his thumb over your wetness, places his other hand over your exposed front.

‘What do you want, my love?’ he asks. He slides two fingers under your panties, tugs. ‘Want me to kiss you here?’

His knuckles nudge against your core, and he groans. ‘You’re wet, you like sucking my cock, don’t you, jagiya?’

His fingers slip inside you, stretching, scissoring, his movements fast and insistent.

‘Yoongi,’ you cry, and he laughs, thumb rocking back and forth over your clit, making you buck against his hand.

'You're so easy to please, my love,' he taunts.

A lock of hair's fallen over his forehead now, and he looks so good you could cry.

Yoongi cups your breast, squeezes. 'Your little pussy's so fucking tight, I can barely move my hand,' he tells you. 'Gonna come for me?'

You cry his name as your pleasure crests and you press your face into his neck.

Yoongi leaves his fingers inside you but wraps his other arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

The cool metal of his collar bar digs into your cheek.

'I'm gonna help you get re-dressed, ok, baby?' he says, voice low, rumbling in his chest.

'Then I'm going to take you home and we're going to do this again.'

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Silent comfort | {ShinoGiyuu}

Theme: Hurt/comfort?? 

Note: for no reason, i've suddenly been drawn back to ShinoGiyuu again-

×××

Shinobu sat in a panicked state, her back pressed against the wall of her room, her hand to her chest. Her breathing was heavy and she blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from forming in her eyes.

Calm down, calm down, calm down.

It was like a mantra as she repeated it over and over in her head. 

Nightmares are for children. Calm. Down.

That was a lie. But the worse she felt about it, the more she would will herself to stop having them.

Calm down, you can't let this keep happening, calm down.

It had happened time and time again. Sometimes, she was afraid to sleep. To dream. She would stay awake, staring at the curtains barely containing the midday sunlight from seeping through. 

Count to ten, she would tell herself. She wished she wasn't so childish. So idiotic. Why was she like this? She only had so much time to rest, why was she wasting it on panicking? God, how incompetent was she? 

She vaguely registered the click of a door opening, footsteps. 

She let out a shaky breath, her bangs slipping over her eyes. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and she sat there, curled up. She felt constricted, her ribcage closing around her heart, her lungs, and then-

A steady hand on her upper arm brought her to a lilting sense of reality. She blinked up at whoever it was. At first, their face glazed from her gaze and she didn't recognize them. But she caught the green and yellow hexgonal pattern printed upon fabric that brushed her leg as the hand moved up to her shoulder, tightening comfortingly. 

She blinked again, tears she was holding back blurring her vision. 

"T...Tomioka-San?" she mumbled, biting her lip to keep her emotions from spilling over. Why was he here?

"Kocho...," Giyuu murmured. He had knelt down in front of her, eyebrows creased in worry. It was the most emotion she had seen on his face before and it startled her. She forgot herself for a moment, until she felt a drop sliding down her cheek. 

She mentally cursed herself, waiting for the inevitable nag from Giyuu to pull herself together. Only it didn't come. Instead, his hand rested upon her jaw, thumb grazing her cheek. She held her breath, slowly raising her gaze to meet his.

Giyuu's eyes were intent, the blue dark from the lack of light. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly. His hand still rested on the side of her face, drawing circles on her cheek. 

"I... What're you...?" Her question trailed off, unsure where it was going. What was he doing here? What was he doing?

"You told me to come for a check-up. Aoi directed me here when I arrived," he said simply, gaze searching her face for an answer to his own un-asked question.

"I'm... sorry," Shinobu said, letting out a breath. She had forgotten about that. She was being stupid, now. Humiliating herself in front of him, making him comfort her.

"For?"

Her eyes flit down, not wanting to see his expression. It would be blank, no doubt. Uncaring. Or would it be mocking? Thinly-veiled disgust? She couldn't blame him. She was a Hashira, for god's sake. Yet here she was, crying over a stupid nightmare. Pathetic, that's hat she was.

"No... Nothing. Give me a minute, we can get to your check-up now," she mumbled, sucking in a shaky breath, trying to pull herself together.

There was movement, though she didn't know exactly what. Then Giyuu was sitting next to her, side by side. He took her hand, which had rested previously on her knee, cradling it. 

"Tomi... What?" she said, surprised. This wasn't the response she had expected.

She glanced at him, but he had drawn his knees up like she had, hands holding the one of hers tenderly. He entwined his hand with hers, clasping it gently.

She watched him, his face slack but soothing. She didn't understand. Why was he being so kind to her?

"You don't have to talk," he said quietly, noticing her staring at him. 

"Your... check-up?" she said meekly. 

He shook his head and said nothing more, his thumb circling on the back of her hand. It sparked a memory in Shinobu's mind, bringing her tears to the near edge.

Kanae, hugging her after their parents died. Kanae, telling her it would be alright before Final Selection. Kanae, holding her hand like this, comforting her after she had gotten injured. Kanae, her quite presence as her life slowly faded. 

Shinobu looked down, resting her forehead on her knees. Her breath was harsh again and she fought the urge to cry. She had embarrassed herself enough in front of Giyuu. 

Yet Giyuu seemed to notice this, lifting her hand so she turned her attention to him, pursing her lips together to contain herself. 

"You... don't have to hold back," he murmured. "It's okay."

And somehow, those words brought her to her limit, tears quivering as they slowly slipped down, creating crevices in the thinly layered make up she had put on earlier. 

Giyuu nodded then changed their positions carefully, scooting closer and drawing her onto his lap so she was curled up in his arms. He rubbed her back, resting his head against hers.

"It's okay," he repeated. "It's okay." 

She nodded to his words, silent sobs breaking through. And suddenly it wasn't because of her nightmares anymore. She didn't know what it was. But she felt safe there, for a moment. For once, after so long, she felt that he wasn't lying. The words didn't seem like an empty promise right now. 

His thumb, though hardened from the years of fighting, wiped her tears away so tenderly. She leaned her face into his palm, her eyes fluttering close. He led her through breathing, helping her calm herself. 

He breathed in carefully and she copied him, her breath stuttering with a hiccup. He rubbed her back, leading her through breathing out. In and out, in and out. 

She leaned against his body, his arms wrapping around her. 

"Thank you," she murmured. 

He didn't answer, instead placing his lips carefully on her forehead. It felt... right. She didn't know how, it just did. So she let him, let him hug her, let him comfort her. Let herself enjoy it, eyes closed.

"You should rest," he said softly.

She didn't protest, feeling somehow both emotionally and physically exhausted. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard him say something, though she couldn't be certain of it.

"It'll be fine," he whispered. "I love you."

×××

« Word count: 1144 » 

By far my favorite oneshot i have written recently :333

[nejis-desk]

Jack Jeanne Complete Collection - Interview with Terasaki Yuka (Kisa’s Voice Actor) Translation

This short cast interview is from the Jack Jeanne Complete Collection art book!

Ishida: What were your impressions when you first saw the setting of Jack Jeanne?

Terasaki: It’s a story about teenagers putting on plays together that’s drawn by the creator of Tokyo Ghoul, Ishida Sui-sensei. That information alone was all it took for me to be interested. I’m sure a lot of other people thought the same.

Since it’s a story that takes place in a theatre school, I found the way it's like a game meets theatre to be unique. I also found the aspect that the shows are put on by an all male cast to be really intriguing.

—

Ishida: When you were voicing Tachibana Kisa, were there any aspects of your performance that you had to be careful about?

Terasaki: Kisa is a character herself, but she is also the stand in for everyone that’s playing the game. That’s why I stuck to the initial impression of the script as much as possible without adding too much of my own flair. I wanted her to be ‘transparent’ like Quartz.

In the romantic scenes especially, I want the player to have their heart racing over what Kisa’s love interest is saying and focus on them. So during those scenes I made sure to act out Kisa’s emotions more subtly. I’d like for those playing to be able to decide their own colours for Kisa, so I left some of her canvas blank. I remember I would go into the recording sessions keeping that in mind.

—

Ishida: Were there any particular challenges you faced while working on Jack Jeanne?

Terasaki: The singing. When I first listened to the songs with the temporary vocals I was like ‘I’m going to be singing this!?’ and my anxiety quickly turned into terror! I had to reconstruct the way I’d been singing up until then from scratch. It was very difficult and I was unsure about a lot of things, but now thanks to Jack Jeanne I love singing even more than I did before.

—

Ishida: Other than Kisa, are there any other characters that are your favourite or that you took a liking to?

Terasaki: Tachibana Tsuki… He’s Kisa’s older brother, but there’s still a lot of unsolved mysteries surrounding him. I can’t help but be curious about him. I’d love to read a novel or something about Tsuki-nii when he was a student at Univeil. I’d like to see Fumi-san and the other third years when they weren’t upperclassmen too.

—

Ishida: Quartz, Onyx, Rhodonite, Amber. If you were to enrol at Univeil, which class would you like to be assigned to?

Terasaki: The relationships between the seniors and juniors are wonderful in every class, however I think I’d have to pick Quartz. Since I don’t think you can join the other three unless you’re already particularly skilled at singing, dancing or acting. So I’d like to find my own way to express my individuality in Quartz!

—

Ishida: You have some experience with stage acting, so were there any scenes or moments in the game that you could relate to?

Terasaki: Jack Jeanne has a lot of different choices and branches in the story. You can choose different lines to say during the plays too, but no matter which one you choose the show will still reach its conclusion. If another actor changes something then you have to change with them, and if you change something, then they have to change with you. Even though every performance of a show is supposed to have the same programme and script and movements, you go into it with a fresh mind each day and there are slight differences between the shows.

There are things you sometimes only realise on opening day when you see the audience walking in, so I could relate to the sense of tension actually putting on a show brings. I’d love for the players to see how each character's dialogue changes with each option, so please play through the shows multiple times!

—

Ishida: Every show in the game is quite different thematically, which one (setting, musical composition, etc) did you like best? Also, were there any shows that you’d like to try starring in in real life?

Terasaki: All of the shows are very different and I love all of them, but the one that I felt the most accomplished and happily tired after was the autumn performance. During auditions, the selection of lines from it were full of passion and tension, so I remember being excited to record for the autumn performance.

As for which one I’d like to try in real life, it would be Sissia of the Central Nation. When I recorded my lines for the whole show in one session, I started arranging how the stage set would look like in my mind. I’d think ‘this line would definitely be delivered from the top of the set, and this line would be said from the audience to the stage’. I’d read the lines whilst imagining what the show would look like and the performance that I could picture the clearest was Sissia of the Central Nation. So I ended up really wishing I could see it in person.

[jjkeremika]

My Tutor (pt2)

description: mikasa helps eren with his homework and he thinks they should strip for each question he gets right.

my tutor (pt1): mikasa tutors eren in math. eren asks to feel her boob if he gets a 100 on his final

NSFW

“Thanks for coming over, Mikasa. I could really use you,” Eren said as she walked through his front door.

She blushed at the phrasing. She knew he meant he needed her for his homework, but the thought of him dominating her was more appealing.

She shook her head to dismiss the thought. It lingered at the back of her mind.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s no problem.” She glanced around the familiar apartment, the last time she was here being when he showed her the final.

Eren led the way to his bedroom and went straight to his desk. Mikasa followed close behind, his pleasant cologne licking at her nose.

She remembered the last time she sat here, helping him study for his math final. Here she was again, helping him with his new math class’s homework. She briefly wondered if he’ll ask for some reward again. She wondered if she should offer one this time.

Eren stared at her expectantly, like now that they were at the desk, she was supposed to lead.

She squirmed in the chair under his watchful gaze. Having his eyes glued to her and scanning her face made her self-conscious, and she silently hoped he’d look away. She wondered what he was thinking. If he was thinking about the last time they were together like this, too.

They generally avoided being this close to each other since the whole… boob incident. So when they were sitting less than a finger’s distance away and his foot was brushing against hers, she could feel her heart start to pump a little faster and her face start to redden. Her body remembered how it felt in that moment. She wondered if he felt the same way.

“Uhh.. hm…” She was at a loss for words.

The unsettling feeling ran through her whole body—she was so nervous it was making her mouth dry. Her brain was blank and out of order, like every brain cell packed up and went home for the week. Was it hot in the room or just in her body?

She took her cardigan off in a hurry. Eren looked at her in surprise. “Sorry. It’s hot,” she said quickly.

He nodded off in thought, staring at the desk briefly before taking his sweatshirt off. Slowly. The sweatshirt pulled his shirt along with it, and Mikasa’s eyes immediately flocked to the exposed skin. The skin looked so soft, like it would bend under her touch, and so hard, like if she pressed hard enough the muscle would stop her.

She knew he worked out because sometimes he asked her for advice, but she didn’t know he was so… so… defined. Hand sculpted by the gods themselves.

The sweatshirt was tossed onto the floor and he corrected his shirt. Mikasa’s eyes immediately switched from his abs to the paper. They made a brief second of eye contact just before she shifted. His pupils were dilated.

The thought of him catching her ogling him turned her cheeks into a deep pink. Definitely visible. She told herself he didn’t see her drooling over him, that she’d looked away in time. Eren was smirking. Definitely not.

Mikasa was just about choking on air with each breath—it felt so thick around her, like there wasn’t enough breathable air around her. Every swallow felt forced, and each breath was slow and drawn out.

He was the first to speak. “Sorry.” He tilted his head to meet her gaze. The light and angle made his jawline angle made his jawline look unbelievably appealing and sharp, like she’d cut her tongue licking along it. She felt her eyes drop down to his mouth. She watched him lick his lips. “It’s hot.”

She swallowed tensely. "We should get started." She didn't mean it.

Eren leaned back in his chair and tapped his mechanical pencil against the desk. “I... was thinking we could make this more fun.”

He was eying her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction and anticipate her response.

Her expression didn’t change and Eren watched as her mouth opened and closed repeatedly, like she couldn’t settle on what to say. He thought about kissing her. Then she wouldn’t have to say anything. Neither of them would.

He still felt the rapid firing in his stomach, the nerves shaking in case she denied him, but he was 80% certain she was into him. She took her bra off for him six months ago after all.

He continued anyway: “Each question I get wrong, I’ll take something off.” She felt her body react; his smirk widened and the flame of desire sparked in his eyes. “I’ll even let you pick.”

He acted like he expected her to agree immediately. She hesitated.

“And if you get one right?” she asked cautiously.

“You take something off.” He raised his eyebrow. “My pick.”

It wasn’t a question. He was telling her.

And she liked it.

She took a deep breath, leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms across her chest and shrugged. “What makes you think I want you to take anything off?”

He paused for a second, smiling in a mix of amusement and amazement. He sat upright. “Are you telling me you don’t?”

She opened her mouth to protest, but said nothing as she watched Eren’s eyes flicker to her lips. He spoke before she had to.

“Alright.” He leaned in. “How about I just do whatever you say?”

Mikasa leaned towards him, remaining two inches apart. The urge to close the gap was overwhelming, like she was a celestial object approaching a black hole, just out of orbit, preparing itself to collapse in.

“Then you’ll do nothing,” she whispered, smirking, before sitting back in her chair.

Eren wanted to solve one question and then review it. Mikasa wanted him to finish the entire front page and then they’d review that. They settled on Eren solving a couple then reviewing, and so on.

He solved three problems before sliding the sheet across the desk to her.

She reviewed the problems. Two wrong, one right. Interestingly.

She handed it back. “One out of three. Not bad.”

“Soo… that means you’ll take something off?”

“What?” She had been so focused on what he had said about him removing his clothes, she completely forgot what he had said about her removing something.

He held his hands out. “Okay. I’ll compromise. We’ll alternate?” He chuckled awkwardly while asking; she wasn’t sure how serious he was. “I’ll go first. You pick.”

She felt a sudden pulse near her pelvis and she felt the muscles around her vagina loosen and tingle.

“One right answer, one article?” she asked, to which he nodded. “One sock.”

Eren rested against his hand, leaning against the table. He shrugged. “Don’t have any on. Pick again.”

She didn’t believe him, but she peeked and saw he was right. Definitely removed them before she came over.

Mikasa was flustered and was looking Eren up and down. Jeans. T-shirt. Probably boxers.

Did she want to draw that out?

“Hm…” She debated saying his necklace, but she knew where this escapade was heading and she really wanted to feel the cool metal against her skin while he pounded into her.

She slumped slightly in her seat at that thought. “Shirt,” she sighed—or at least attempted to. It was hard to not sound thrilled at seeing him shirtless. Especially after the preview.

The shirt was off in a second.

Three more on the front page. Her eyes were glued to his back. Smooth. Muscular. Bare. People wrote symphonies describing the way his body was built, the flats and sharps of his muscles mingling lively.

She wondered which divots in his muscles her fingernails would follow, or if her nails would carve their own paths, against the trails laid out by his back muscles.

The abrupt change from his back to his abs startled her out of her trance. He was smirking at her, she was blushing a deep shade of pink.

He looked confident sliding the page over. Two out of three.

Eren was looking at her in anticipation. He desperately wanted permission to ask her to remove something, but he was also fully content to remove something of her choice.

She nodded.

“Shirt.” She wiggled out of it, trying to be sexy like on tv but looked clumsy. She hit herself in the face with her elbow and her hair got tangled in the head hole. Eren liked the look of her disheveled, her hair sticking out and staticky.

She wasn’t ready for him to remove his pants yet. She hadn’t memorized his chest yet. “Before you get too eager, Im going to take my own sock off.”

Eren sighed dramatically, trying to make her laugh, trying to make her relax. She’s been tense the whole time. He took the paper back. “Next set.”

Her other sock, her tank top, and his jeans were removed. He was only in his boxers. She only had her bra and skirt. The time passed slowly as Eren worked on the problems. Mikasa tried not to be self-conscious, but she could see Eren glancing over at her periodically, and she could think of a million reasons why he shouldn’t like what he sees. He could think of a million and more reasons why she should.

The air felt ten times heavier when Eren slid his homework across the desk for the final time. She didn’t even want to look at it. She didn’t want to take her eyes off of him.

She leaned over the page. Eren’s stare felt hot, like a stage spotlight shining directly on her.

The spreading blush all over her body made it difficult to determine where the heat was concentrated. Her lips, her cleavage, her back, her skirt, her legs. It felt like he was looking everywhere at once.

She could barely swallow when she reviewed his solutions. She could feel her pelvic muscles loosen and release the first puddle onto her underwear. She could feel her heart beating in every vein in her body.

Three out of three.

She looked over at him. He had pushed his chair away from the desk, facing her. He was relaxed into the chair, legs parted. Her eyes kept trailing down his chest and ab’s to the obvious bulge in his briefs. She licked her lips.

His cheeks were red. He was wiping his palms against his thighs. His abs, blushed a slight pink, were just there, within an arm’s reach, begging to be touched. His biceps were so prominent. She wanted to rake her fingers over them. Despite being almost naked, looking so overtly sexual, his smile was so gentle, like he was melting under her gaze as his body held firm for her touch.

She was shaking. She wanted to touch him so bad. Her mouth was starting to salivate.

He waited until they made eye contact before lifting his right hand and motioning with his index and middle fingers for her to head over to him—and with what little distance there was, to sit on him.

She stood up and peeled her skirt off, wiggling slightly before dropping it and letting it fall to the floor.

His pupils dilated, and he reached his arms out and lightly placed his hands on her thighs. His touch was electric, she was paralyzed. When she didn’t push him away, he tightened his grip and pulled her in, onto his lap.

She complied and straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She let one hand dangle while the other wrapped into his soft dark hair.

His hands immediately slid to her butt, pulling her even closer. She could feel the heat from his bulge near her pelvis. She could feel herself pulsing for him, yearning for him.

He rested his forehead against her chest, between her breasts just above her bra clasp. She rested her chin against the top of his head.

His hot dry breath contrasted against his cold wet mouth. She gasped as he pressed light sloppy kisses around her cleavage, tracing the outline of her bra.

Eren’s hands tightened into her hips and ground her hastily onto his lap. His restrained erection rubbed against her inner thigh and he bit the thin skin of her breast. His hands rushed up her spine to grasp at her bra clip.

His needy groans synced with the rutting of her hips. “Ah, fuck,” he exclaimed with a rough upward thrust of his hips and a tug on the clasp. “You should just stop wearing these.”

His eyes sparkled as he glanced up at her as she airily laughed. “You should learn to take them off.”

The bra unclipped at his fingertips and his smirk widened, overtook his entire face. His fingernails scraped her shoulders and biceps as he excitedly yanked the straps down her arms.

“Oh, baby,” he tittered, one hand immediately cupping her boob, a reminiscent, fluttery feeling brewing in his gut, “you should tutor me.” There was a glint in his eyes.

She hopped twice, grinning as Eren’s face contorted in pleasure, as the apex of her thighs encased his bold erection.

One hand caressed her the top of her upper thigh, inching closer to where her blood was flooding, and the other surrounded her neck, holding her in place and pressing multiple kisses along her collarbones.

Mikasa shivered at the light grasp around her neck, gasping at the pleasant friction from the feeling, loving the cool feeling of the ring on his finger.

His hold around her neck tightened like a collar as he held her in place, as his lips roamed to her nipple and his hand slid to her crotch.

“Ah!” Mikasa gasped as his fingers graced against her smoothest, sensitive skin, pulling away slightly but restricted by his chokehold. “E-Eren!”

His finger blindly stroked until she sharply inhaled, and her hands grabbed onto the wrist around her neck.

“I still need to repay the favor,” he breathed out huskily, the breath tickling the usually untouched skin of her ribcage, “for this. For tutoring me.”

She wasn’t listening. Her attention was drawn to the pleasant throb at her pelvis and the metallic ring against her neck.

“For everything.” His hand dropped from her neck. She audibly whined. He immediately brought it back, let his large palm drape against her collarbones, lifted his lips to hers to follow. “You’re everything.”

[corpsebasil]

How do you think knight!nikolai would deal with someone flirting with reader? Bcs like I think he'd want to be very possessive but at the same time he doesn't want to cause rumors that will ruin you so he ends up just being a fuming mess in the background and probably make an excuse for you or the guy to leave

On the reader's end though it would be hard to do anything at all if someone flirts with nikolai though because there's literally no reason to care that much about his love life unless you're jealous

gnawing at the bars.

this would most likely happen before you got together (in secret, duh) because now that he knows you’re his there’s no reason for jealously on either of your parts.

but.

lets say a prince from another kingdom was visiting in hopes of winning you over. you were the future queen, obviously, so you’d need a king consort. and this prince is actually super good looking, even if you’ve had your eye on your guard for a little over a year now. but that was impossible and you knew Sir Nikolai would never he would go for you or break his oath so you gave the prince a shot.

and you actually got along with him! not romantically of course—too soon—but he was funny. and kind. and those two facts are what royally pissed Nikolai off the most. because the prince was kind of HARD to hate.

unfortunately in forbidden love, sometimes both options are good options. Not every guy that isn’t the main love interest is the devil.

so he’d simply fume in the background of your little dates, your strolls and trips to town, your dinners and even—ONE TIME—during the moment the prince casually reached out to tuck a strand of hand behind your ear.

OOOOOOOH. Nikolai was so mad he wanted to chop that guy’s hand off and feed it to the wolves and then dismember him and then have him drawn and quartered and then put oil and feathers on him and dump him in the river politely ask him not to touch his princess without her permission.

It didn’t work out with the prince. For reasons you still don’t know to this day he’d left abruptly one morning after an extremely rushed and awkward goodbye.

cough. sir nikolai’s fault. his fault.

you on the other hand also couldn’t do anything about jealousy. because the closer your guard and you grew, the more you wANTED him. And there was absolutely nothing to be done about it.

You were a bit more direct about your feelings, though.

you found yourself making snide comments about girls that openly flirted in front of you. you had once, when a maid stopped him in the hall to ask him something, been enraged when she placed a hand on his bicep. why do you need to touch him??? cant you see he’s uncomfortable???

he’d given you a quick glance, his typically stoic and blank expression suddenly pinching with slight confusion, and you schooled your features into neutrality. you realized you’d been openly glaring and if looks could kill, well.

“Miss.” You said sweetly, and she looked at you in surprise. you typically didn’t speak to the maids unless you needed something. “Please do me the favor of unhanding Sir Nikolai. Don’t you know it is improper to grope a knight?”

the maid’s face had gone red so quickly you would’ve thought you’d called her a thousand foul words, but maybe those were all written in your face. she mumbled a mortified apology and scurried off. when you crossed your arms, watching her go with an annoyed look, you heard a subtle cough. when you looked at Sir Nikolai he was smirking, but only a bit. his eyes though—filled with amusement.

“What?” You snapped, still annoyed, and he outright grinned. Your heart skipped a beat at that—gods he was gorgeous when he smiled fully at you.

“You’re—” he shook his head. the word he was thinking of was adorable. “—quite spirited this morning.”

“I am not.”

“She was hardly groping me.”

“I am the princess! If I say she was groping you then she was!”

“How kind of you—“

“Hold your tongue, Sir. I can have you punished for getting attitude with me.” You huffed and actually almost stamped your slippered foot.

but he still kept a smile on his face, amused with you, and you couldn’t fight the blush that rose when his eyes lingered. he didn’t say anything else—he didn’t need to.

you knew that he knew you were jealous.

[sensei-venus]

Headlights with a Red String (1/?)

(Unedited) (Soulmate Au!, Red String Au!, Mentions of past relationships Robby/Sam & Robby/Tory, Kinda angst because it’s Robby, Robby being negative as hell because of his mom.) (Will Cross-Post on AO3)

Robby Keene learned one thing as a young child, something that stuck to him his whole life. It was something small that only stuck to him because it worked. Most people didn’t even give it a second thought. But people like Robby needed that one thing to keep living. The one thing he could hold on to that always seemed to get him out of every situation.

Suck it up and smile like you mean it even when you don’t.

When Robby was six he watched his mom scratch at her pinky uncontrollably while sitting on their crappy couch. His tiny eyes followed her odd movements, watching her roll her eyes for a minute or two. Nails working on her pale skin until it was pink and red. She chewed on her lip as she almost seemed to claw at her skin. Her freshly manicured nails dig into the flesh of her finger like no tomorrow. It was almost like she was trying to rip away at something her could not see but she could.

“Mommy what are you doing? Does your finger hurt?” Robby said quickly as he rounded the corner of the couch and climbed up. Sitting next to him mom. She sighed before briefly stopping her assault on her digit. Looking over at him she gave only a half smile to him.

“Sometimes mommies finger hurts because of her red string is all.”

Robby blinked at her with his big hazel-green eyes. He has no idea what his mommy was talking about. He looked down at her finger and saw no such thing. No red string attached to her finger.

“Are you playing a game? I don’t see a string. I want to play!” His voice was filled with childlike wonder.

“No Sweety it’s not a game. Mommy has a red string attached to her finger that is attached to her soulmate. Only me and my soulmate can see it and feel it. When you turn ten you will get one too.”

“Mommy what’s a soulmate?” Robby asked in wonder. The word sounded so weird to him. It sounded cool, kinda funny too. Soulmate.

Shannon looked over to her son and watched as he looked up at her in glee. Blond locks pushed to the side behind her ear. Sighing she looked at the boy replying back in a slightly sad tone “ A soulmate is someone special. Someone who is made to be with you, a perfect match. They stick with you forever. They love you, care for you, trust you and forever support you. You can make a life with them.” Looking down at the hand she was previously scratching at.

A sad expression crossed her face “When you turn ten a red string will appear on your pinky. Only you will be able to see it along with your soulmate. It wraps around your finger and connects to your soulmate’s finger, somewhere out there is your soulmate. Your stings connect. When your close…there is a wonderful feeling and you will just know that person is close.”

Robby nodded as he looked at his own hands in awe. His eyes sparkled, his tiny hands where bare if any string at the moment. Now he was excited to get his very own string. He wanted a new friend! His mommy made it sound so good to have a “soulmate” and he wondered how he would meet them. How they where, would they like him, would he like them. So many questions flooded his mind all at once.

“Is daddy your soulmate mommy?” He said out loud wondering if that was why he was here. That had to be the case. If soulmates where made for each other then daddy had to be mommy’s soulmate!

“No honey he’s not… mommy just settled.” She spoke with no feeling. All emotion was void from her voice as she spoke. Her eyes where drawn away, staring at the wall like she was almost hypnotized by it. It was nothing but a blank scratched up wall in front of her.

Robby felt cold all of a sudden.

“Mommy never meet her soulmate. Sometimes you don’t meet your soulmate so you just settle like mommy did.”

That was the day he would look back on and remember randomly. It was something he never forgot and stuck to him. It was constantly at the back of his mind. Eating away at him as he started to grow older as time went by.

That’s why when he turned ten and his red string appeared, his mind was other places.

He never talked to his mom about it, ever. It was a closed away conversation that was never discussed between the two.

He was settled in the idea of just “settling” at some point.

Soulmates where overrated anyway.

At least that was what he felt like by the time he was in highschool. His dating life was average if not slightly lacking. He didn’t date until his senior year and so far that had been a nightmare. Sam wasn’t his soulmate by a long shot and she seemed to treasure her red string. He knew that even if they did stay together besides the whole Miguel thing that she would ultimately leave him. Her dream of finding her soulmate was way to big to let go of it for him.

She wasn’t willing to “settle” like he would for her.

Tory was the second girl he had ever dated, she was his backbone for the longest time. Their relationships was wonderful for months as they enjoyed each others time. They spent hours talking and hanging out. For a while it felt like they where a real couple. Tory made him feel so good, so cared about and loved. But soon enough after months of dating they both realized that they where better as friends.

They realized that the relationship was more of a friends with benefits. More best friends that occasionally fucked every now and then. It was a peaceful break up, both staying friends.

Tory didn’t care about strings just as much as Robby did. She was forced on settling as well. She said her string has been long for a while, she never felt it get tight or start to shrink. Unlike Robby she did think it was over all neat to read about. She told him all kind of facts about the red strings of fate attached to their fingers.

Some people said it burned when their soulmate was close. Some said they could see some kind of pulse go though the think thread.

“You know one chick, during WW2 said that she felt her soulmate get shot on the battlefield. Turns out she meet him because she was a field nurse. She claimed she knew he was a soldier at that very moment. Weird right.” Her voice was filled with skepticism as she read though a article on her phone. Her eyes trailing up and over to look at him

“Yeah sure I guess….” He didn’t bother to look over at her and kept scrolling though his own phone.

He had never felt anything like what Tory described. Maybe at some point he felt a small tug but that was all. Nothing serious enough to grab his attention ever happened so he just put it to the side. On rare occasions would look at the string. When he was awake at night laying in bed, to awake to fall asleep. Her would trace the thread with his index finger for a while. It felt a little warm at times, sometimes it was slightly cold. It swayed and moved in the wind when he was outside.

When he was younger he thought he could knot it up but he couldn’t. The red string magical unknotted itself and hung limp on his finger. Looping around the pinky in a vice but hanging gently in the air. Deep down in his heart he did wonder about the other person on the other end. Did they feel the same way he did about the stupid string? Did they try to find him? He didn’t try to find them.

He felt just a tad bit of guilt on that part. Maybe they WHERE looking for him by now. Most soulmates where the same age if not a few years younger or older then each other. It was rare to be decades apart.

He would throws his hand down onto his blanket and roll over. Stuffing his face into the pillow and try to simply not think to hard about it. Choosing to try and sleep to block out those thoughts. It was like a unending cycle for the Keene boy. Unending loneliness and a negative outlook on just about everything that came to mind with soulmates.

His attitude only changed a little when he talked to Daniel.

“You know I never thought I would meet Amanda you know. When I was younger I was so excited about dating just about anyone. I knew Ali wasn’t the one right off the bat but I liked her so much that it didn’t really matter. But then we broke up and I didn’t seem to matter anymore. It was sad but still, I fell back on the idea that there was still someone I was fated to be with out there. Then I meet Amanda and it was just different. I still to this day can’t describe how it felt when I first laid eyes on her. Our strings pulled us together and it was just like magic.” He said looking to the sunset outside the dojo fence.

They both sat on the deck of dojo, watching the Sun slowly set into the hills.

Robby felt strange in that moment and he couldn’t help but ask “ So in the long road, it was worth it not to settle?” His eyes looked in the same direction as Daniel’s.

Daniel raised a brow and a looks of sadness crossed his face for only a split second.

“It was definitely worth it Robby.”

They both sat there for a good hour just watching the sun go down.

Maybe just maybe he could wait a bit longer to see what happened.

He still had time to see if his soulmate every made a appearance.

[commander-krios]

A Safe Place

Fandom: Mass Effect Pairing: Female Shepard & Jeff "Joker" Moreau Rating: Teen Summary: Jeff Moreau is her best friend, her safe place in a galaxy full of war. And he'll always be there to catch her. Words: 2481 Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, Post-Akuze, Mild Gore, Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Disabled Character, Scars, Healing/Recovering Injury, Survivor's Guilt

Read on AO3

September 2177, Tiptree, St. Luke System, Llewyn Nebula

As Aurora Shepard pulled the shirt over her head, her eyes were drawn to the scars trailing down her back. Red puckered scar tissue several shades darker than her skin tone twisted in a gruesome design across her back. Thresher maw acid burned into tissue, muscle. Searing pain that made her claw at her skin. The accompanying sting when she rolled in the sandy dirt in an attempt to rid herself of the acid.

Shaking the memories from her mind, she braced her hands against the sink and watched the water swirl in the bowl. It’d only been a few weeks since Akuze, since fifty marines died in a sandy mass grave, and it still haunted her at every turn.

The sight of a suspiciously flat patch of ground. The howl of the wind. The tremble of the earth beneath her feet. 

She’d never be rid of the desperate fear, of the regret she felt every time she glimpsed her reflection, knowing that there were fifty men and women who’d never have the chance again. 

Why was she spared the same gruesome fate?

When Shepard glanced in the mirror, a blank expression stared back. Dull yellow light only deepened the dark circles under her eyes, the bruises on her chin. She may have survived the maw on Akuze, but there were far worse scars she carried. She could still hear Toombs’ screams as the maw pulled him beneath the sand, fingers bloody as he tried to pull himself out. Seeing his terror, hearing her name on his lips as the sand choked him-

Shuddering, she turned away from her reflection, letting the memories fade into nothing but wisps. She’d promised Anderson not to dwell on them, fearing that she might lose herself in the past and neglect the present. She tried to heed the advice, but the dark recesses of her mind called out, tempting her back into swallowing despair.

Tonight, there’d be no sleep.

So instead, she walked.

Tiptree was never quiet.

Aurora supposed the colony was comforting in its own way: the bugs chirping in the fields, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the cry of a wild animal in the distance. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. She’d never had the chance to enjoy the stillness of a summer night, not when the majority of her life was spent on space stations and starships. Not when she was shuttled between missions, a helmet on her head and a commander in her ear.

She’d never seen the stars planetside before. To her surprise, they looked the same from a viewport, but that didn’t make them any less beautiful. Bright, burning pinpoints of light she would never tire staring at. 

Shepard shivered, the summer wind blowing through her thin shirt. She wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers catching the edge of her raw scars and she flinched, nearly biting her tongue as the pain seared her nerves. She’d been shot, stabbed, burned before in different situations with an array of different weapons. They all hurt like hell, but the pain easily passed with some pills and medigel. Sometimes, she would need minor surgery to remove shrapnel, but the medical technology was the best it'd ever been. Most times it didn’t scar.

But thresher maws weren’t bullets or thermal burns. 

She’d have those scars for the rest of her life.

The porch swing was cool against her skin as she sat, goosebumps rising along her arms and legs. She didn’t rub them away, fearing more pain if she nudged her scars. Instead, she rested her elbows on her knees, her face settling in her hands as she fought the urge to cry.

Jeff was so kind. After she’d woken up on Arcturus Station, he was there by her hospital bed, willing to be the one to help her through the pain and trauma. 

I owe you, he’d said. For all the times you’ve helped me.

Aurora had wanted to argue with him, but she’d been in agony and beyond exhausted, afraid to sleep alone with no protection against the shadows that lurked around every corner. He’d barely left her side since the Alliance had rescued her, the least she could do was give him the opportunity to feel useful. If it meant something to him, then it did to her as well.

In the end, it didn’t change the fact that sleep still eluded her, the terror that clung to her since Akuze refused to release its claws and let her rest.

There’d been nowhere for her stay while she recovered. Hannah Shepard had long ago sold their apartment on Arcturus, the majority of her time spent aboard spaceships working. Daniel hadn’t returned to the space station since Elysium, preferring the company of his boyfriend and their small apartment in Vancouver. And Aurora…well, she hadn’t called anywhere home for some time. 

Mr. Moreau had offered to take her in, assuring her that she could rest in the quiet comfort of Tiptree, that he would make sure no one came knocking. His wife was a doctor if she was concerned about being a burden which was a preposterous thought to begin with.

Then there was Jeff, who didn’t even have to do much to convince her to come stay in his childhood home with his rambunctious kid sister. 

Now she was sitting outside of their home in the dark, the rest of the house asleep, while she dealt with the nightmares she saw whether she closed her eyes or not. She didn’t know how long a human could go without sleep, but she figured now was as good a time as any to find out.

Rubbing her eyes, she tried to imagine something else, anything to distract her, but the only thing that came to mind was the friend who wouldn’t give up on her, no matter what happened.

Jeff Moreau was the only person who didn’t care that her mother was Hannah Shepard, or that Admiral Steven Hackett was her stepfather, or that she was a biotic. He saw her for who she was, not what she was, and the more she thought about it, thought about him, the more she realized that she was just a scared girl who relied on those that were so much better than her.

You don’t deserve him, not as a friend, and certainly not as something more.

She roughly wiped a stray tear from her cheek and glanced up at the night sky once more, her fingers drifting to the crystal star dangling from the chain on her neck. It was nights like this when she’d think of her father, of when the two of them would stare out the enormous viewing windows on Arcturus and he’d tell her which solar system each pinprick of light came from. He’d visited some of them once, a long time before she and her brother were born. 

She remembered being afraid that he regretted his choice, to stay on the space station with her and Daniel, to relegate his research to a lab and not be out among the stars like their mother was. But he didn’t.

“You and Daniel are my greatest triumphs and most beloved treasures.”

Aurora wondered if he still felt the same. If, wherever he was, he looked at her accomplishments and was proud.

Someone should be proud of her, at least.

The creak of wood planks alerted her that she was no longer alone and she tensed, ready to fight if need be. The glow of the porch light illuminated Jeff in the dark as he leaned on his crutches, his hair a mess of ginger strands, shadows hiding his face but she knew, as she gazed at him in the dim light, that he couldn’t sleep either. She only hoped it wasn’t because of her.

Her heart pounded a painful beat in her chest when he silently sat beside her on the bench, a baggy hoodie keeping him warm in the chilly night. His hands were tucked into the pockets, his gaze on the sky above, the stars a sight to behold on solid ground. Silence stretched between them, comfortable and familiar, and they slipped into it with open arms, neither needing words to feel the connection between them. 

“You’re quiet.” He said eventually, breaking through the quiet before it turned awkward. His eyes were hidden from view when she glanced at him, ignoring the painful pull of her scars. “Something on your mind?”

So much. But there was too much pain to share at this point. Besides the fact that she didn’t know where to start, unburdening her worries would only add to the issues he had. With the smallest of grins on her face, something that was impossible not to have around him, she glanced sideways at him. “That’s what my therapist is for.”

He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, it’s the ‘best one in the Alliance’.”

“Oh, so you’ve met her too?” Aurora sighed, the anxiety untangling its vines slightly from around her lungs. She could breathe a little easier in Jeff’s presence.

“Alliance mandated therapy sessions after my run in with Nate Doyle all those years ago. That was fun.”

There was no missing the sarcasm. 

He bumped her good arm with his shoulder, soft enough that she barely moved but the touch was welcome, comforting… she didn’t realize how much she missed their easy comradery. “Come on. Spilling your guts to me won’t result in being discharged from the Navy.”

“I’m a Marine, Jeff.” 

“Hey, it’s all run by the same assholes. Just humor me. You wouldn’t believe the amount of people aboard the SSV Benjamin Davis that have no sense of humor… it’s an epidemic, Aurora.” 

“My mother commands that ship.” She said with a laugh. The sound was almost foreign to her ears, but the smile stayed.

He grinned at her in triumph. “I know.”

Rolling her eyes, she bumped him back, a bark of a laugh escaping her. It felt good to laugh, so good in fact that she felt guilty for doing so when there were fifty marines who couldn’t do the same anymore. Not when they were sinking into the sands of Akuze, nothing but putrid damaged bodies, nothing left worth recovering-

“Hey.”

Blinking back tears, Aurora realized Jeff was watching her, those green eyes she sought comfort in so many times studying every twitch of her eyes, every wrinkle in her brow, every gasp of breath between her lips.

“I’m here, Rori. You don’t have to do this alone.” He covered her shaking hands with one of his one, pressing down to help still the tremors. “We’re a team, remember?”

“Jeff, I-” She hastily wiped a tear before it could fall, hating how easy it was for her to hide behind the Shepard persona. The very one that her mother so diligently helped craft. Because if Hannah Shepard was anything, it was a woman who didn’t abide weakness in her children.

Life on Tiptree was different from life on Arcturus. It was peaceful, far from the politics of the Citadel or the Alliance military. Far from the horrors of war or death. It was tempting to consider the possibility of disappearing here. After everything with Elysium and then Akuze, she wondered if she’d get away with it… disappearing. 

She’d never do it, she knew that. Not when so much of her young life, service to the Systems Alliance had been drilled into her. Not when her father had sacrificed so much to give her a life worth living.

“I’m sorry.” 

The words slipped out before she even realized she’d said them. She flinched at how weak her voice sounded, how weak she was, even after years in the military. If her mother could see her now.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

But it was. She didn’t know how he didn’t see that. After everything he knew of her, Jeff still saw the best parts.

“Don’t argue with me. Just look up.” Jeff whispered, pointing to some distant thing in the sky. When her eyes followed his finger, she saw the tail end of a comet as it completed its arc. “Shut up and make a wish.”

She considered her options, knowing what her instincts were screaming at her to say. To wish happiness for the galaxy, for peace or some other platitude that Jeff would immediately wave away with a scoff and frown. He wasn’t looking for a serious answer. He was providing her with a distraction. One she desperately needed like a lifeline.

Tapping her chin with a finger, she watched as a smile curled his lips. Good, he was hooked already. “A wish isn’t something to just blurt out into the dark like this, Jeff. It needs to be considered carefully, mulled over.”

“God, you love making games boring, don’t you?”

“Take that back right now.”

“What are you going to do? It’s not like you can tickle me without breaking at least one of my bones.” He lifted his hands, wiggling his fingers mockingly. “And your fancy superpowers are off limits, freak.”

A surprised laugh escaped her and she found that, this time, it didn’t hurt so much. “Ouch. Not holding back tonight?”

“Make a wish, Shepard.”

Sighing, she glanced up at the sky again, realizing that this was what home was. Not the place, not really. But the people she carried with her. In her thoughts and in her heart. Her father: who was now resting after a lifetime of fighting. Her twin: who was out there fighting the same battles she was. And Jeff Moreau, her best friend… the first person she could count on when the shit hit the fan.

“I wish… to have more nights like this.” 

With you.

She couldn’t say it, not when it was mushy and Jeff didn’t do the touchy feely emotional shit. But she knew nothing would be the same without her best friend.

“Well, we can but you need to promise me one thing.”

She glanced at him, eyebrow raised curiously, knowing that whatever came out of his mouth was most likely going to be insulting. It wouldn’t be Jeff if it wasn’t. “What?”

“You need to stop trying to get yourself killed, Rori. I’m too young and beautiful for grey hair.”

She laughed, resisting the urge to shove him. He was terrible, but he made her feel normal, accepted, and alive. It was selfish, but she needed him to keep going, however long that was. “That’s a tall order, Moreau. Didn’t you say you wanted to fly my future ship? How are you going to keep your luscious hair doing that?”

“With me at your back, you can’t lose.”

Funnily enough, she trusted him so much that she believed him.

[fearnesbells]

oh HIIIIIII

jackie also writes fic sometimes

when i should have said something true | beauyasha | 4k

read it on ao3!!

Summary:

She shifts slightly where she sits, and her face comes alive with a sharp wince of pain. A single tear, lit by the fire, slips down her cheek.

It’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking right at her—if you could trust that if you looked away, she’d still be there.

Which Beau can’t. So she sees it.

Beau can’t look away. Yasha can’t hide anymore. So maybe some codes and creeds can be left behind in the meantime.

*****

Every time Yasha comes back, her features are never quite like what Beau remembers.

Her eyes are impossibly gray—more gray than a feeble human mind could ever conjure up. Her jaw is sharper than memory serves, her cheekbones more carved.

The shadows seem to collect over her expression like they’re drawn there. They find dark harbor in the hollows of her face.

Beau tries her best to commit these things to memory, every time she’s around, holding every dynamic part of her as still as she can in the noise of her mind—it never quite works.

“What are you looking at?” Nott asks over her shoulder, the complete opposite of discreet. Beau shoves her away with no real force, instantly feeling her face flush. She never used to be this absentminded.

“Nothing,” she mutters gruffly. “Just thinking.”

They’re all packed close around their dying fire for the night, having just eaten, pallets and canopies set up to rest for when the moon has risen higher.

They’re not in any immediate danger, and it’s a nice feeling. A rare feeling, she realizes, nowadays.

In their peace, no one else seems to have noticed Beau’s wandering attention. Caleb is poring over one of his texts with a devouring gaze. Jester is sitting flush against Fjord on a log. Molly is flicking cards at Nott’s head, which is hovering over Beau’s shoulder.

And Yasha is sitting directly across from Beau, staring blank-eyed at the horizon, mysterious shadows playing over her face like always.

She shifts slightly where she sits, and her face comes alive with a sharp wince of pain. A single tear, lit by the fire, slips down her cheek.

It’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking right at her—if you could trust that if you looked away, she’d still be there.

Which Beau can’t. So she sees it.

Beau is a hurt person. She has made camp with other hurt people before. She knows the old dance.

Tread lightly. Handle carefully.

Keep everything held inside of you until you inevitably tear open, embarrassingly, and then gather it all up to be stitched back inside yourself by your own shaking hand.

She knows the dance, she’s done this before. When Yasha winces, she should look the other way and pretend she saw nothing. Let her hurt be hers.

“You alright?” she blurts instead, thick-headed with ale from earlier and just general, trademark Beauregard idiocy. She bites down hard on her tongue like it can take the words back.

Yasha blinks, likely unmoored from the breach of protocol. Tread lightly, handle carefully.

My hurt is mine. Your hurt is yours.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I’m fine.”

She stands up then, less gracefully than normal, and lumbers back into the woods somewhere without another word.

“I think it was something you said,” Nott says sagely, now sitting at Beau’s side, and Beau thumps her hard on the head with her staff in lieu of a reply, eyes on the spot in the trees where Yasha disappeared to.

Guilt chews at her stomach, an unrelenting thing with too many teeth. Wasn’t her business, whatever was causing Yasha pain. She should’ve just left well enough alone.

Furious with herself, she stands up too, her own anger rendering her unable to stay still.

“Going for a walk,” she bites out, and heads into the woods in the opposite direction from Yasha.

She hears chatter immediately start up when she stands, protests from Jester and a low question from Caleb and some kind of concern from Fjord, but she listens to none of it as she storms off.

Her discomfort is a somatic thing, full-bodied and weighty, infecting her whole person.

She feels heavily restless and densely stupid and tearful.

She is so fucked. How did this happen—how did she become this weak?

Everything is changing, shifting beneath her very feet, it feels like. She never believed in the gods, even when she was young, but at least she could rely on herself, lean on her own fists and staff and unwavering soul to be her guide.

Now she’s losing herself in gazes off to nowhere and becoming a sentimental fool in front of someone she respects. She doesn’t know who she is anymore. She has nothing left to rely on.

Her eyes burn as tears well in them, unbidden and unwanted, and she gnashes her teeth.

“This isn’t who I am,” she hisses, takes her staff in both hands and slams it against a boulder. She’s found herself on a clearing that looks out at the horizon, now, and it seems to whirl around her in her anger and fear and disorientation.

Her staff spins through her fingers, moves with the jerking twists of her wrist as she whales on every tree in her line of sight, her staff making the flat sound of wood on wood with every hit.

The trees become old ghosts, old enemies, thugs from alleys long ago that left her bleeding and broken.

Beauregard, what will you have to show for yourself?

“I am not weak!” she shouts at the memory, voice gone reedy with tears. “I am as I have always been—I have made something of myself—I have—”

With every assertion, she’s bringing her staff down as hard as she can on the biggest tree overlooking the cliff.

On the last word, her staff snaps.

Her eyes fly wide. The terrible, tearful anger leaves her body like she’s been hit with a spell, and she sinks to the forest floor, unable to hold herself up anymore.

This is all Beauregard, firstborn should-be son of the Lionetts, has to show for herself. Two broken pieces of wood, in her two shaking hands, the product of her own thoughtless loss of control.

A hand touches her shoulder.

“Beau.”

Startled, Beau grabs for her staff, which isn’t there. Before she can brace with her fists, though, the voice registers as familiar, and the fight goes out of her.

At the moment that she should have something to say, nothing comes. For once, her mind feels silent where it is normally packed full of noise.

Yasha sits down carefully on the ground next to Beau, leans all the way back and props herself up with her elbows before angling her body towards the monk.

This is one of the things Beau forgets. Yasha is always more angular than Beau remembers, every time.

All angles, all tuned towards the thing she cares about for the moment with the utmost precision and clarity. Right now, that thing is Beau.

It is intoxicating to be the central, geometrical point on which all of Yasha’s angles focus. It’s making Beau’s head spin.

“This is a nice spot,” she says casually, as if mentioning the weather. She speaks as if there aren’t wet tear tracks on Beau’s face and fresh wounds on all the trees around them.

Beau’s throat tightens. Yasha is honoring the code, the same code that Beau so stupidly stepped all over before.

“I am sorry about earlier,” she continues quietly.

Or maybe not.

She says nothing further, though, just sits there, huge and unmoving and silent. A mountain of a person. Beau, by contrast, feels something like a pebble. Eroded and ground down into a smooth shell of her jagged old self.

In the core of her, though, the grain of sand around which the layers of stone form, she feels a truth ebbing, stringing itself together into words. She locks her gaze on the moonlit horizon like it can save her from herself.

“I’m sorry, too,” she responds, just as quiet. It feels clunky when she says it. She hasn’t apologized to anyone in longer than she’d care to admit.

“No,” Yasha says. Beau flinches at the harshness in her tone, especially when no other words follow it, and she pulls her knees up to her chest in a sort of unconscious defense. “I mean—no. Do not be sorry, not for what you said. No.”

Beau chances a look away from the horizon and finds bright silver eyes, twin moons staring at her. Yasha’s gaze is almost too much to bear with its intensity, but not painful. Never painful. Beau just can’t help but feel laid bare before it, a sensation she is unused to. It cuts right to the core of her pebble self.

The always-falterless gaze falters for a moment, though, and flickers with that same pain from before.

This time, with clear intention, Yasha holds Beau’s eyes, and she does not run.

Beau does not understand Yasha. She cannot remember her features when she is away for too long. There are things she will never know—that none of them will—about the barbarian that sits at her side.

But right now, overlooking the tree line, Beau understands that Yasha is asking her for help as much as she is able to. And Beau will give it to her. Beau will give her anything that she needs. She wants to give her everything.

“What’s wrong?” Beau whispers, and with the slightest movement, Yasha’s eyes look down to her chest, to her ribs. Even in the shadows, Beau can see how her chest isn’t rising and falling as it should, how her breath is stuttering on its way out and in.

“Aw, gods,” Beau huffs, maybe a little tactlessly. “Why didn’t you tell Jester? She loves to heal. Fucking thrives off it.”

Yasha doesn’t answer. Beau didn’t entirely expect her to.

“Sit up,” she commands. This is familiar. This she can do. “I have some bandages on me, some salve. I can make something to hold your ribs so you don’t pop a fuckin’ lung later.”

“Do you need my shirt off?”

The question is phrased in the same tone, flat and businesslike, but when Beau looks up Yasha is smirking a little bit.

“Asshole,” she mutters through a grin, and lobs the salve at Yasha to catch before she remembers that it probably isn’t a good idea to make the woman with the busted ribs try and reach for anything when Yasha winces at the catch. “Sorry,” she tacks on as an afterthought. Casual apologies. She’s getting this. “You were right before, though. Strip.”

Yasha’s smirk grows, and she arches an eyebrow. “Mm. All right.”

“Not like—I’m not—”

Beauregard Lionett, the monk who eats pussy for breakfast, does not stutter like this. Good gods above.

“Just take your shirt off,” she mumbles, blushing hard. “Apply the salve where it hurts worst. I’ll bandage you up.”

Yasha starts to pull at the hem of her shirt, and as Beau is rifling through her belt for the pouch she hears the familiar sound of a hiss of pain forced through teeth.

Once the bandages are in hand, Beau gets to her feet and brushes her knuckles lightly at Yasha’s elbow as a notification of her presence.

“Don’t kill yourself,” she admonishes, gently as her abrasive voice is able, and once Yasha relaxes her tensed body Beau is able to slip the shirt the rest of the way off.

Her pale skin is spotted with burns, sliced through with scars, mottled over with bruises from the day. An especially ugly one purples and darkens at the edge of the wrapping around her chest.

“Do they feel broken?” Beau asks quietly, kneeling carefully at Yasha’s side, folding the shirt beside her. She ghosts her fingertips over the worst of the bruising, and Yasha hisses again.

“I don’t know,” she responds.

“I’ll wrap it for tonight. Then tomorrow, you’re talking to Jester first thing before we get moving, soon as she can cast again. I’ll march you to her tent myself.”

Yasha smiles slightly over at her. It’s something Beau prides herself on, being able to tell when the other woman is smiling.

Nott likes to go on and on about how she can’t tell, whine about how the barbarian never cracks a grin, but Beau knows the secret. You can’t look at the mouth; you’ve got to watch the eyes.

When Yasha smiles, her eyes dance.

“Okay,” she acquiesces now, and her eyes set to dancing.

Something light and warm settles in Beau’s chest at that. She gets to work, then, unrolling the bandages and twisting them tightly around Yasha’s midsection, careful to wrap firmly, but with gentle hands. Allowing some flexion for later healing is important, she remembers.

“The last time I did this, the other person was unconscious, and we were in the back of a moving cart,” she tells Yasha without thinking. She doesn’t expect any response, but after a beat Yasha nudges her with her shoulder.

“Hey!” Beau yelps, since the movement messed up her wrapping and she has to go back and fix it. She scowls (without any real anger) up at Yasha, who is looking at her with an open and curious expression.

“What happened?” she asks, brow quirked.

Beau grins, a little surprised at the interest. “We were running away from some bootleggers in town once—we’d been taking their barrels from their stock and reselling them before they could, and they were pissed—and Tori decided it would be a good idea to jump from the bridge onto a cart below as an escape plan.”

“Tori?”

Beau feels her mouth twist, and is grateful for the fact that Yasha can’t see her expression now.

“An ex-girlfriend,” she says simply. She’s cutting a lot out. My first girlfriend, actually. She’s dead now, probably, but I’ll never really know. I look for her in every city I’m in.

“Ah.”

“She was a lot smarter than me, if you can believe it,” Beau jokes, concentrating intently on the wrapping.

“Smarter than you?”

Beau looks up. She’s smirking again.

“If your ribs weren’t fucking broken, I’d punch you right now,” Beau mumbles, smiling back. “Anyway. She jumped, I jumped after her. She landed hard in the back of this guy’s cart, and I landed on top of her and felt something kind of… I felt bone break under me. And then I sat up, right, all in a panic—” she sits back on her heels for a minute and tries to do an impression of her blind, young fear—“and I notice that she’s out cold. She had hit her head on something when she landed. We scared the shit out of the horse leading the cart, so it took off sprinting over the cobblestones. I had to set her ribs while all this was happening.”

“Did it work?” Yasha asks.

“Yeah, yeah, it worked,” Beau replies, nodding. “She was fine.”

“What happened? With her?”

“We got thrown in jail and I never saw her again,” Beau says shortly, and ties off the bandage. “I think I’m done. How does it feel?”

“Secure,” Yasha says with a nod. “I… thank you. You did not have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did,” Beau says offhandedly, shrugs. “No big.”

“I’m also sorry. About Tori.”

Beau nods. This time, she swallows hard as she stands up. “Yeah. Me too.”

She offers Yasha a hand to stand up, which she takes graciously, even though she does most of the actual work of standing up on her own. She takes a few steps, a few deep breaths, and her winces aren’t quite as piercing this time.

Her skin glows under the moon.

“Thank you,” she says again. “This was very good of you to do. You did not have to do it,” she repeats. She’s standing a few feet ahead of Beau, with her back turned to her.

“Gods, Yasha, stop saying—”

“What you saw at the fire was not because of… of this, though,” she continues, gesturing to Beau’s careful wrapping. “I was not thinking about this. Or it was not what made me cry.”

Beau stands there, hands useless at her sides. Her tongue feels overlarge and clumsy in her mouth, so she does not speak.

“Zuala died on this day.”

The silence returns, grows, until it has yawned too wide for too long—Yasha will not volunteer more without urging, and Beau cannot make her voice work to ask the question that will have her continue.

When Yasha finally cuts her moon-gaze back on Beau, it is filled with the unfamiliar shine of tears while also holding a painfully familiar yearning.

It’s the same look as before. When the need for help becomes so basal, so desperate, that it can’t be vocalized. When all you can do is look and hope that the other person can see.

Beau holds her gaze as she walks over to her, closer to the lip of the bluff, and bravely, stupidly, she takes the hand of the mountain at her side.

“Tell me,” she says, feeling scars under the skin she rubs a thumb over. This is not the prompting question she meant to ask. This is something else. This is permission, trust, given with the whole of herself.

Yasha looks at their joined hands, and a few tears that have been gathering in her eyes slip free to the shadows of her cheeks.

“She was my wife,” she says softly. “Zuala.”

A name, spoken as a prayer.

“Zuala,” Beau echoes. It isn’t cold, but a chill freezes its way over the back of her neck at speaking the name aloud.

“We were children together,” Yasha murmurs. “Both rescued from death by the clan. We trained side by side, took sacraments together, were sent into battle at each other’s side.”

A memory of Tori’s smile, aimed at Beau from across a tavern, rumbles in a low flash across her mind like heat lightning at Yasha’s words.

“She was calculated. And strong. And far braver than I ever was or can ever hope to be. We got married, in defiance of the Dolorav ways, and because of me, we were caught,” Yasha continues. Her words are becoming heavier as she goes on. “We went back. I wanted—the woman who raised me, I thought—I wanted her blessing,” she says, listless. “Stupid. Ill-calculated. Zuala knew it, too, but she followed me despite.”

“They killed her?”

“Yes.” That one word seems to hold what feels like all the pain in the realms. “So I killed them all.”

Without meaning to, Beau grasps at Yasha’s hand tighter. She has this unfounded fear that the woman will be sucked into the earth below them with all of this weight she carries.

“How many years has she been gone?”

“Too many. Not enough.”

Beau swallows.

“Grief is not good,” Yasha says inelegantly. “It has made me do bad things in her absence. So when this day comes, I do not just remember her. I remember what I have done—the terrible crimes I have committed—in her name.” Her massive, mountainous shoulders begin to quake. “Beau, she would be so ashamed of me.”

Beau stifles the instant no that rises in response. Who is she, to decide someone’s guilt? She knows that a dark past gnashes at your heels like an enormous direwolf. Some empty denial will do nothing to dull the sharpness of its teeth.

Instead of speaking, then, she moves so that she can stand facing Yasha, and takes her other hand in her own unoccupied one.

Owls warble in the trees.

“Everything is changing,” she tells her, quiet. “Including me. I’ve been trying like hell to pretend I’m not, but maybe I should let myself change.”

“I like you as you are,” Yasha says strongly, and the moment is still achingly serious but that makes Beau smile a little.

“I’m trying to say that nothing is permanent. For better, for worse, yeah? If you want to change for the better, to be someone that Zuala would be proud of, you can. Maybe you already are. It feels like you change every time I see you.”

Those eyes, again. Right to the core of her.

Yasha leans down, and touches her forehead to Beau’s.

It would be easy to close the gap—to fall into the heat of kissing her hard and melt away all of this heaviness—which is why Beau thinks she doesn’t do it.

She wants to do this right, for once in her goddamned life.

So she holds Yasha’s eyes, inches from her own, and just rests her forehead against the other woman’s, holds her hands in hers.

“You broke your staff,” Yasha whispers. Her breath is cold, like fog.

“Yeah,” Beau says roughly, and closes her eyes to stem the flow of memory that comes with all her old anger, the same old anger that snapped her staff in two. Tori’s face goes across her mind again, followed by the incensed features of her father.

The Lionett name and legacy is really just historical, ancestral anger, corked in a barrel of Lionett ale.

“What happened?”

“Grief is not good,” Beau murmurs, parroting Yasha’s turn of phrase with a humorless smile. “I’ve also done things I’m not proud of. And many people are ashamed of me.”

“Things are changing,” Yasha responds. “Someone wise told me that everything is.”

She steps away from the moment, slowly, like she’s giving Beau time to adjust to the loss, and picks up the two halves of the staff. They look tiny in her hands.

“Step back,” she commands, the power returned to her voice. It is objectively incredibly hot.

She stands closer to the edge of the cliff, stares into the clouds that cling to the edge of the moon. She slams the two pieces of the staff together, and a bolt of impossible lightning finds the barbarian’s body like it’s been called there.

White heat, white light, the pure sense of ozone that makes Beau’s teeth hot in her jaw, and when it fades Yasha holds out Beau’s staff, re-fused into one weapon.

“How in the seven hells—”

“I change every time you see me, you said,” Yasha tells her with the beginning of a smile. “Didn’t want to leave you without something new.”

Beau takes the staff with awe, but her ears catch on part of Yasha’s sentence.

“So you’re leaving again?”

“I must,” she says, not without regret. “It is part of the changing. Part of my atonement.” She must see the shift in Beau’s posture. “But I will not leave tonight.”

She takes Beau’s free hand again, and leftover lighting seems to crackle between them.

“Head back?” Beau asks, clearing her throat.

Yasha nods, and keeps holding her hand as they make their way up the outcropping back to the rest of the Nein.

My hurt is mine. My hurt is also yours.

A new code. A new creed.

Everything is changing, including the woman at Beau’s side, but they have torn themselves open in front of one another and trusted the other to stitch them back up.

Beau trusts now that if she looks away, Yasha will still be there when her glance returns. Often, the barbarian is looking right back.

Beauregard, what will you have to show for yourself?

Her father’s old words, spoken to her in that jail cell so long ago, rise into her mind again, always there no matter what she does, but they are quieter than they were before.

I have made something of myself, Beau thinks again, without the rage and desperation of earlier. She looks around the fire to her friends and feels a similar warmth in her chest, cranes her neck to see the full moon and thinks of dancing eyes.

I have made something of myself.

I am making something new.

[mask131]

The evolution of Wednesday Addams (1)

We did the mother and the grandmother, now we need to talk about the daughter. In this month leading up to an entire television series centered around her, we cannot ignore who became one of the favorites of the Addams fans: Wednesday Addams, the only daughter of Gomez and Morticia.

Wednesday’s original appearance in the cartoons of Charles Addams was iconic enough for it to never change across adaptations. A little girl dressed in a white-collared black dress that would be perfect for a funeral, with a thin body, pale face and sleek black hair. Note that while in all adaptations Wednesday has braids, here she does not: her hair simply parts and falls around her head neatly as if she had braids, even though she has not. Her appearance is very reminiscent, in miniature, of her mother’s - she inherited a pale complexion, black hair and a tight black dress, but all the morbid glamour of Morticia is gone to rather have a sort of mournful innocence with Wednesday. One unique trait however, which makes her stand out among the rest of her family, is the way her eyes are drawn. Two black dots, as if we were in a Belgian comic book. This makes her look much “cuter” and more “cartoony”, reinforcing again this sense of innocence and somehow setting her a bit apart from the rest of her grim-looking family... But we’ll come back to that later. 

It might surprise you to learn that Wednesday wasn’t originally a cold, stoic, cynical and emotionless girl. This is what the adaptations built through time but originally, Wednesday had... emotions! And not just quiet emotions, open and visible ones! In fact Wednesday smiled - and quite a lot. She showed through the cartoons a true childful glee and youthful energy in all her games and activites, be it wielding a crossbow, shooting the recreation hall monitor with arrows, or digging up bodies in the graveyard. Not only did she show joy, but she also showed anger: we have one notorious drawing of Wednesday screaming and kicking her bed due to being put on the roll of honor at school. Yes, in the original cartoons, Wednesday was able to throw a tantrum. She only shows in a few drawings a blank expression, but it seems to be usually in answer to things she doesn’t like much (such as being dressed up as an angel on Christmas). 

Wednesday is seen throughout Chas’ cartoons partaking in various typical childish or girlish activites, but always with a twist. She reads books - but the book turns out to be “A werewolf in Paris” and briefly turns HER into a werewolf. She cut paper dolls - but mysteriously one in the row has three legs. She keeps watch for a bird-house in the tree... except the bird-house is a miniature replica of the Addams house, and it doesn’t attract bird but bats. Her father pushes her not on a swing-tire ; but on a broom-swing. And she is often seen playing with her dollhouse, be it for putting skeletons in a small closet or decorating the house for a funeral - sometimes, you can even see actual miniature human people living INSIDE the dollhouse. Chas often depicts Wednesday’s private bedroom (well, what seems to be her private bedroom, even though Pugsley sometimes sleeps with her in bed) - a lovely little decrepit room with an octopus painted on the bed, a cobweb-filled window, a private staircase to the attic and a bizarre mural depicting some sort of... humanoid-bird-like-child being... chased by a weird friendly spiky lizard and a snake... on what seems to be a beach? There must be some reference I am missing.

Wednesday’s childhood however is far from being all gloomy sunsets and heavy rains, so to speak - she could be considered the least “lucky” of the family members. “Wednesday, child of woe”, and indeed in Charles Addams cartoons, instead of being a true predator like in future adaptations, Wednesday is often... a victim. She seems to be the “weak” link of the chain, a bit too soft and gentle for the habits of her own family. As seen in the tantrum cartoon, she gets on a roll of honor at school while her brother is a perfectly horrible brat. Several time she seems puzzled by her own abilities, such as the bizarre paper dolls. She is seen distinctively worried when Pugsley drives his toy car alongside the family’s car on the big road - while everybody else smiles and cheers. And Pugsley is seen actually trapping his sister alive behind a wall as part of his “games”... It shows that when Charles Addams did a grim parody of Mother Goose’s Nursery Rhymes (with Grandma Addams as the Mother Goose), Wednesday appeared as Miss Muffet, scared and distraught by the sudden apparition of a disturbing giant spider... She can’t even take a break on holiday, as a drawing of her on the beach shows her scared when a hand pops out of a seashell. It seems that poor little Wednesday is a magnet for weird, surprising and disturbing things.

Now, despite all of this, one shouldn’t think that Wednesday isn’t a happy child. Far from it: she seems to be showered in love by many members of the family. Her father is especially close to her: he plays with her on the broom-swing, he does creepy shadow-puppets before she goes to sleep ; he sings the “This little piggy” rhyme to her when she goes to bed (note: it is canon that in this incarnation Wednesday has six toes on one feet)... Wednesday’s relationship with her mother seems much more distant and cold. Beyond one drawing where she is seen eating with her mother at a restaurant only for Morticia to ask for the leftover meat (in order to feed the vultures), there isn’t really any intimate, playful or loving actions between her and Wednesday. In contrast to Wednesday’s closeness to her father, this is quite jarring - but again, Morticia was designed as a cold, aloof, stern mother locking her own children in a chest when they need to be punished. The coldness of Morticia is perfectly expressed in one specific drawing: Wednesday, who just has been poisoned by Pugsley, comes rushing to her mother, only for Morticia to answer “Well don’t come whining to me. Go tell him you’ll poison him right back!”. Again, we see here how Wednesday, with her mind “too soft”, doesn’t fit immediately within the deadly and morbid logic of the family.

When talking about Pugsley, Wednesday seems to have a conflictual relationship with him (as all brothers and sisters do). As seen above, Pugsley is a bit of a bully-brother towards her, poisoning her or walling her in without Wednesday being able to do anything. He also seems to mock her when she gets on the honor roll at scholl... But at the same time, they appear very close in many other drawings, companions in mischief. They sell together poisons at a lemonade stand. They are seen tripping together the mailman, and she helps Pugsley put on a fake shark suit to frighten swimmers. They are even seen playing together at Christmas - be it warming the fire to burn Santa Claus if he ever comes down the chimney, or playing together at beheading dolls on Christmas Eve. To complete the family portrait, Grandmama is seen telling Wednesday lovely fairytales and bedtime stories where the dragon gobbles up knights and princesses before living happy ever after. Wednesday even seems to be somehow close to Lurch, as in some drawings she is seen holding his hand - while no other member of the family has any physical contact with the butler. 

Charles Addams named Wednesday after the popular rhyme “Monday Child” that went as such:  “Monday’s child is fair of face, / Tuesday’s child is full of grace. / Wednesday’s child is full of woe, / Thursday’s child has far to go. / Friday’s child is loving and giving, / Saturday’s child works hard for a living. / And the child born on the Sabbath day / Is bonny and blithe, good and gay.”

As for the description he gave of her for the upcoming television series, here is what he had to say:

“Child of woe, is wan and delicate with her mother’s black hair and white complexion. Sensitive and on the quiet side, she loves the picnics and outings to the underground caverns often planned by Morticia and Gomez. She is a solemn child, prim in dress and, on the whole, pretty lost. Gomez is wild about her. Secretive and imaginative, poetic, seems underprivileged and given to occasional tantrums. Has six toes on one foot.”

A last interesting note: before Wednesday became the daughter of the “family”, she was originally conceived for a series of specific drawings about a little girl playing at jumping rope all alone in a city street - two drawings to be exact. One had the little girls completely exhausted, murmuring numbers beyond the two thousand as she kept jumping and jumping, with a passing by couple giving her worried looks. The other had the little girl jumping under a streetlight alone at night in an empty street, with a disturbed or distraught look on her face.

[anxso]

@ygoc-week Day 7 - AU

YU-GI-OH! 5D’S — RAIN ORICHALCUM

Clear Skies is a story that involves multiple timelines and a version of Z-ONE trapped, trying to find a solution to a time loop. This VERY mucH revolves around Rain and Kalin.

One timeline we get to see is a brief snapshot of an attempt where Z-ONE defeats Roman and is able to restore Rain’s memory prior to her awakening in the Satellite, so during the Team Satisfaction era she’s instead a murderer-menace.

Yet stilllll ends up in a relationship anyway and is facing a firing squad for the things she and Kalin have done. He sets off an explosion, and they manage to escape.

It gets cut off there in the main story BUT I honestly was so enamored with this timeline that I wrote out how they ended up warming up to each other. This one-shot is prettttty long, almost 4k words! but I’m happy I get to share it for OC Week! I originally wrote this for the Angstober prompt “Crimes of Passion” because oh, doesn’t that fit them perfectly?

WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE-SHOT: alcohol use, gun violence, a drinking game that gets. hot n heavy. implied/offscreen nsfw (nothing that would be an E rating on AO3, don’t worry~!)

full fic under the cut :3c

————————

Soft beeps filled the hospital room. Kalin Kessler had fallen asleep on his knees, his hand in Rain Orichalcum’s; she lay comatose on the bed. Z-ONE appeared in the visitation seats in a green flash wearing a blank expression.

“Again. Again,” Z-ONE whispered. “How many times have I been here?”

A swirl of violet flames birthed the figure of a Dark Signer, Ccapac Apu wearing Rain’s skin. Its black robes lined with blue drank in the noonday sunshine. Its drawn hood casted shadows over its dark eyes, but its grin was free and bright. “If it isn’t the worthless machine back again! What are we at now? Should I be celebrating three thousand?”

“When you are snuffed out,” Z-ONE said, “those taunts will vanish with you along with all the anguish you have woven into the universe.”

“Little old me?” It feigned surprise. “But I was happy to eat up one timeline! Here you are creating ever more for me to feast. Tell me, rusty bucket of bolts, do you ever consider how those timelines end up? Ever had one stick in the old brain?”

“What? No. It doesn’t… matter.”

“Oh, but it does. A tree fallen in the forest may go unheard by humanity yet makes sound enough to scatter the birds, and a timeline abandoned by your sorry self continues to spiral until ending up in my wondrous arms. Or are you a depressed solipsist?”

Z-ONE stared. “I go on. It is what I do.”

“The weight of it all must eat you up.” The wicked god hovered over Z-ONE, spittle flying with its words. “The decisions you’ve made and the sheer agony they’ve resulted in. I know you lie to me. They’re lodged in your brain as much as I continue to experience them—every timeline continuing on, every light for me to consume! You should try godhood sometime, but oh, no machine could process it. You would fall to pieces. I suppose it wouldn’t matter, since you’re already a heap of junk!”

Z-ONE’s fists balled. “I am no god. Nor am I a machine. The probability exists. I merely have to find its branch. Your days have been numbered from the start. As for the other branches…”

Z-ONE stood. “A god such as you exists simultaneously on every timeline, and so you will be eradicated everywhere; everywhen.”

“Eradicated!” The wicked god laughed and slapped its knee. “Funny! You aaare funny. You don’t like to talk about them, but I have my favorites! Timelines you’ve screwed up, that is.”

“I’m done talking.” Z-ONE’s bracelet shone emerald. “I defy your ending.”

The wicked god rolled its eyes. “Whatever, whatever, see you next time around.” It cleaned beneath its grimy fingernails and studied Kalin and Rain.

Its smile curled up.

/\/\/\/\/\/

One thousand three hundred and seventy-seven.

Z-ONE tampered with the game of gods by defeating Roman Godwin, possessed by Earthbound Immortal Uru. Uru had snatched Rain Orichalcum’s memories. She was left as a complacent girl with childlike naïvete. A chance run-in with Kalin Kessler netted her an opportunity to join Team Satisfaction and survive in the post-fallout wasteland known as the Satellite, an island used as garbage disposal for the nearby New Domino City.

The Rain Orichalcum who had her memories returned before any such meeting took place, before growing close to humans who showed her kindness and empathy, was a very different person indeed.

Smog intermingled with the gray clouds blanketing the overcast sky. Kalin Kessler strolled the grimy Satellite streets whistling a tune. He kicked a can as he went and periodically glanced up at the rooftops. He passed a pair of stray dogs fighting over a scrap of rotten food and tossed them a fresh granola bar. 

The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Wind swept through the streets, carrying litter and brushing the collar of his Team Satisfaction vest against his cheek. He spun on his heel, his focus locked on the rooftop of the building behind him.

A pale woman with long, black hair and blue eyes glared down at him. Her legs dangled over the building's edge. Kalin said, "Heyo, it's just the girl I'm looking for!"

She thinned her eyes.

"Oh, how I enjoy our long and eventful conversations. You know, they've started calling you the shadow. I don't think it fits so much. What about something more creative, like, Raven!"

She rolled her eyes. 

"Not your name, then." He sighed and made a show of slumping sadly. "One of these days, I'll find it out! Eh, I have a more, uh, pressing priority today. You got a hard number on how many Securities you've killed?"

Her head tilted, expression unchanging. She held up both hands and lifted one finger, two fingers, all the way to ten. Then she curled her fingers and shrugged. 

"So many you don't know?" 

She confirmed with a nod. 

"See! That's a problem for us. You, too. They're hiking up their numbers in the Satellite and making it worse for every one of us. It goes pretty counter to what I'm trying to do around here, which is to stay on the low to keep Security out of our hair. S'long as we got a nice, united Satellite, Security's the only fuckheads. Make sense?"

She stared.

"Come on. There's gotta be something I can do to convince you to leave them alone. Anything you want? I'll find it. Anything you wanna do to me? Hell, murder me instead for all I care. The rest of my team can take it from there."

"Your logic is flawed," she said, and he jumped. Words! From her mouth! "Every human is a fuckhead."

He couldn't help it; he laughed. "Ah, you got me there! Hey, you duel? How about a bet?"

"I'll take a bet," she said, "but we'll play my game."

"What game's that?"

She smiled in a very unpleasant way. "Drinking. You pass out first, and you never acknowledge my existence again. I pass out first, and you get your wish. I'll leave the guys in gray alone."

Very many a thought raced through Kalin's mind. If this was her game, she was surely better prepared than him. On the other hand, he had biology on his side considering his size over her. "You got yourself a deal."

She dropped onto the street before him, her boots stirring dust. Her loose-fitting black shirt, one arm missing the fabric, swayed with her stride. He followed her without word and with a wide berth. He'd heard enough stories to know even a perceived slight could end his life.

Yet there he went, following the Satellite's infamous murderer to who-knows-where. If he survived, Yusei and Crow would kill him. Jack would shoot him one of his more judgmental looks.

Perhaps he should rethink this.

Nahh. It was for the good of them all, so he had to. Plus, free drinks. They might end up being straight up poison, buuut-

"Here," she said.

Gray waves splashed up the high, craggy shoreline. Across the inlet, New Domino City caught rays of sunshine. The smog in this part of the Satellite, so close to the factories, blocked out the sun. She stood inside a control building connected to a now-defunct hydropower plant. The steel dam still stood, and trash floated on the disgusting green water behind it. 

Kalin followed her inside. She wound down a steel staircase. Their clanging footsteps echoed, testaments to how deep the plant stretched. She stopped three stories down. The emergency generators kept on the lights, and select rations lay scattered on the many control panels. In the corner lay a sleeping bag, an unlit lantern, and scattered bottles. 

She struck a match and lit the lantern. He studied the place. A few cockroach corpses rested here and there but nothing serious. He said, "Must stay pretty warm way down here in the winter."

She yanked down a large switch on the wall, and the humming overhead lights shut off. Screens and buttons provided minimal bright blue lighting. Most came from her lantern, a buttery orange glow. "Do you feel colder now?"

"Huh? Not really."

"The electricity here keeps the heat going," she said. "Since I don't need it, well. There it goes."

He kept a straight face, but it wasn't the greatest news to hear. They hadn't reached the snowy part of the year but the chill was enough to wake him up in the middle of the night. He'd worn only his typical red t-shirt, jeans, vest, and boots. His socks had more holes than he could count, so the cold found his feet first. "Not many places still get heat. How'd you find this?"

"I'm not here for small talk." She picked up two glass bottles of clear liquid and dropped into a rotating chair. I took the one beside her. The pair of tall bottles rested between various knobs and dials, and the lantern sat on the floor between us. The upward casting of shadows darkened her eyes and the hollows of his cheeks. She said, "Truth or dare's the game. If you pick truth, you drink."

The thought of what she might dare him to do skyrocketed his pulse. He said, "You should drink first. Y'know, so I'm sure you're not poisoning me."

She rolled her eyes and took a deep swig. "Guess I'm truth first."

"Your name!" he said. Uh. Surely there were better options, and yet.

"Rain," she answered. "Rain Orichalcum."

"Wow," he whispered. "Rain…"

"Don't- say it like that."

"Like what?"

She shook her head. "Your turn. Pick."

"Truth." He smelled the bottle. Fuck was it strong. He took a swig and coughed. Stuff almost came back up as vomit but he hit his fist against his chest and kept it down. The strength of it flooded his sinuses and lingered there. "Ugh, what the hell?"

She was laughing. He was too stunned to speak. She swiftly recovered her composure and swiped the bottle from him. "All the other stuff isn't strong enough."

"So you drink fucking rubbing alcohol?"

"Yes."

His brows shot up, and he studied the stuff with renewed interest. It'd hit him within seconds and he felt the urge to laugh even though nothing had happened. He rubbed his mouth and said, "Uh, your question?"

"What are you trying to do to this island? Conquer it?"

He blinked. "Kind of. I don't know. That doesn't sound like the right word. We're trying to, like- unite! Thaaat's the word. Yeah, so, right now it's split into a whole bunch of territories run by different gangs. They make life hell for anyone who's not in their gang, and lots of times, members of the gangs act like slaves to whoever the gang leader is. We're not like that. We wanna take them down and let everybody be free. We can make the Satellite as good a place to live as the City that way."

"Why do you believe that?" she said.

"Ha! I'm not drunk enough to fall for that. You gotta ask me next time."

"Fine." She drank. "Truth."

"Why do you keep killing people?"

She squinted and cleaned out her ear with a pinkie. "Do fuckheads deserve the lives they've been given if they use it only to abuse others? Take these other gangs, for example. Clearly you have a case of an individual with power who abuses it and takes advantage of those beneath the leader. Why should they continue to exist?"

He snorted. "Yeah, okay, they suck. Why does that mean you get to kill 'em? Like, why do you get to decide that?"

"I answered my question."

"Ugggh. How many in are we?"

"You've had two shots," she said. 

"What? No. I'm gonna fall out of the fucking chair! Whatever. I'll take a dare!"

Rain struck a match. A single strip of smoke rose up between them. "Your tongue. Five seconds."

"What the fuck?"

She arched an eyebrow. Psycho. Kalin opened his mouth. The heat started at the tip and slowly moved back inside his mouth, her fingers touching his lips. "One. Two. Three."

He shut his eyes tight against the searing pain. He smelled something burning. She dragged out her vowels: "Fooour…"

He clamped down his teeth, snatching the match and smothering it with his tongue. Her fingers came away wet, and she gaped at them. He grinned with the blackened match as his toothpick. "Five!"

She scowled and took a swig. "Truth."

"So boring!" A corner of his mouth quirked up. "How many shots does it take to get you to pass out?"

"To be determined."

He threw up his hands. The fact it didn't throw off his center of gravity was a good sign insofar. "Lemme ask a real one since you can't answer that. It's only fair." She nodded, so he said, "Why d'you hate people so much?"

A corner of her lip jumped with her snarl. "Because of what they did to me."

Hangups, eh. He considered the bottle. "Meh, do your worst. Dare again."

She giggled. He about fell into the floor hearing it. He deeefinitely had the lead. She said, "Really?"

"Yeah, really! What's the torture gonna be this time?"

She leveled an even stare at him. "Take off your shirt."

He busted out a laugh. Her expression didn't change. He said, "Oh, so I've caught the shadow's eye, huh?"

The chair spun behind Rain as she shot to her feet and gripped a fistful of his shirt. He grinned and held up his empty hands. She dropped him and sniffed. "I hope you freeze to death."

"Mhmm, that's it." He was too far gone to fear her snarl. He tossed off his vest and peeled off his shirt, stretching to leave his broad shoulders. She sat with the chair backwards, her chin resting on its cushioned back. The bottle dangled from her fingers. She kept her eyes locked with his. The cold raised bumps on his skin but the thundering pump of his blood kept him plenty warm. He smiled, saying, "I can tell you're trying sooo hard to keep your eyes up there."

Her expression soured. She downed three massive gulps, finishing the bottle, and tossed it aside. "Truth."

"Do I get three?"

"I'll ssstab you," she said. 

Her blinks were getting uneven, too. That with the slurring meant very good things for him. He nabbed the next bottle. "Are you really gonna follow through on our bet?"

She let her arms dangle over the chair, and her cheek pressed against the chair. "Mmm. I would still defend myshelf."

The lantern flickered yet the light was bright in his eyes–electric. "Myshelf?" 

"Shut up. You take three. You slowed down too fast for it to be fun."

He swallowed a trio of the nasty stuff. He stumbled and had to find his chair with a probing hand. "That answer works for me. I get a truth now, right?"

"Yeah." She stood up and swayed. A firm hand on the chair kept her upright. "What the hell is with your interest in me? You're always talking to me and wanted my name and- you've heard about me. You know what I've done."

There was a tremble to her that could've come from any number of things. Kalin chalked it up to the alcohol. "Suuure. I've got connections. I know the witnesses. Funny thing about all the stories is how all those kills were for the purpose of protecting a victim. Crazy stuff! There's always someone who was in danger and got away."

"That's not true," she hissed.

"Okay, take your sip and lemme ask you for the truth."

She grit her teeth and growled. "Dare."

"I get mine now? Finally!" He crossed his arms over the back of his chair. "Shirt off."

"What?" 

"Come on. You can't act that way when you made me do it."

Her inhale was sharp. Her focus rolled down his bare arms and abdomen. Her frown was a tight little thing as she threw off her black shirt. Loose gauze bound her chest. The lantern light caught on the light hairs surrounding her navel and trailing up her flat stomach to the white wrappings, the topmost loop of which was juuust open enough-

"Stop," she snapped.

"Yeah, yeah. The hell do I do? I think if I have another sip I'll, like, die." 

There was also the curve of her hips, how the lantern's flicker played its soft and warm light over her skin disappearing into her waistband-

"Dare," he managed.

"I dare you to claw out your own fucking eyes."

He blinked and stared at his hands. "Shit."

Rain doubled over laughing. She stumbled, hit the floor, and lay on her back still busting a gut. He started in with her. She said, "Dumbass."

"How'd you know the nickname my friends gave me?"

They broke down into a new fit. 

"I dare you to drink more," she said.

"Huh? That's gotta be against the rules!"

"Fuck your rules."

"Can't argue with that," he said, and he drank. He couldn't taste it anymore. Probably he was dying or something, but what a way to go. "Your turn."

She pushed up off the floor. "Dare."

The lantern was low and sputtering. He leaned into the dark and said, "Touch me."

Her eyes widened, the reflected spot of orange like a sunburst sky. He laughed and ran his hand through his hair. "No, that was stupid, I-"

But she was approaching him, cautious like a feral animal attracted to proffered food. He stood stock still. She studied him from his ice-blue locks long enough to fall in his face to his warm hazel eyes to his bare chest. Her fingertip pressed onto his sternum and traveled down, tracing the outline of his abs, leaving a hot touch in every trench. He realized he was hearing her breaths, loud and echoing, and he was holding his own without meaning to. She pressed her hand to his stomach, and he gasped, the incredible warmth of her enticing a shiver throughout all of him.

"You know," she whispered, her fingertips glancing up his chest to land on his shoulder, "I think it's your turn."

He could only remain upright and breathe.

"Kalin?" she said.

A shaky exhale left him. He laughed a little, and she squeezed his shoulder. "This is the greatest day of my life."

"Huh?"

"You said my name," he murmured, staring up at the ceiling. "And I've never heard it said better."

She clicked her tongue and turned away. "I can tell I'm drunk because that one kind of worked."

His arm looped around her waist. "How much?"

She shook him off, and he stepped back. She said, "Drink or don't. I'm still gonna win."

He took a swig. His vision went blurry for a few seconds but he managed to blink it away. "Ask away."

She met his eyes and said, "What do you want to do to me?"

His brows lifted and he had absolutely zero control over his stare landing on her chest, on the gauze-wrapped curves swelling and retreating with the rhythm of her breaths. She inched closer to him, licked her lips, and said, "Dare."

He pinched the end of the gauze above her cleavage and waited, the question in his eyes. Her fingers curled around his wrist and the smallest part of him, the still sober bit, expected his bones to snap. But she guided his hand to unwind the binding and free her bare skin. The white strips fell and curled around her feet. He stared at her and she at him, their exhales long and intermingling, the world silent outside the thrumming beats of their hearts.

She snuffed out the light with her bare fingertips and pressed her body to his. She kissed him and he tasted like bonfire smoke. He couldn't think beyond the need to be consumed by her heat like the damn match, left a burnt and useless nothing, and he didn't care. Her dark hair was silk through his fingers and he had to hold her ever closer. They fell onto the sleeping bag. The glow of the LED screens turned her eyes electric blue, and he grasped her face to brush his thumbs beneath them. She kissed him again and her fingers found his waistband. 

It's dark outside–a seemingly abrupt state but one that occurred gradually, the sunset a fleeting and dying beauty to behold.

/\/\/\/\/\/

"We can't keep running forever. What do we do?" Kalin slammed his fist into the alley wall, and his knuckles bled. The pouring rain filled the open wounds. "I don't know what the fuck to do!"

Rain sat slumped on the opposite side. The white roots of her hair showed on the crown of her head. The drizzle dripped down her face like stray tears. Blood mixed in the liquid from the cut on her cheek, the graze of a bullet. "The clothes factory?"

"Fucking Security knows about it, and about your power plant. The hideout, too. Shit. That explosion got you away from the firing squad but brought more of those fuckers out of the woodworks. Where do we go?"

"If I turn myself in-"

"Don't give me that shit. We go down, we go down together."

"I wouldn't be anybody without you!" she said. "You have to keep going, even if I-"

He took her hand between his. "You're everything, whether I'm there or not. Let's get going. Hard to hear with the rain, so we gotta stay on the move."

They climbed the rooftops. Flashlights attached to assault rifles cut through the storm. Shouts rang out but the downpour drowned them. Rain and Kalin ran from building to building, offering minimal exposure. Bullets fired. Glass shattered by them. They hit the deck and scrambled outside the back exit.

A horde of Securities awaited them. A pair filtered in from behind and jabbed them forward with their barrels. Rain followed Kalin's lead by holding up her empty hands. The Securities surrounding them were all poised and ready to fire their uncountable weapons. 

A voice crackled over their comms. The Security wearing a scarf clicked his radio, saying, "Roger."

All fronts fired at once. Rain screamed but the bullets whizzed past her and tore Kalin apart. The onslaught ceased. She dove to his side and gathered him in her arms but he was gone, gone. She roared and threw out her deck, touching every card. An army of monsters filled the sky. Dragons blasted Securities and blades stabbed clean through bulletproof vests. A panicked Security fired wildly, automatic weapon churning out bullet after bullet. Several Securities fell yet the attack of the enraged monsters did not end.

Scarlet blossomed from Rain's chest. She collapsed in a splash of water. The endless gray sky brought her back to that day so long ago it felt like decades past rather than months.

How love slows time.

Her breaths weakened, and her heartbeat slowed.

It doesn't have to end like this.

Violet blazed from both Rain and Kalin's forearms. The mark of the Giant glowed, and fuchsia flames ate away at their bodies until nothing remained.

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

(reminder I’m just a writer, artist credit in alt text!)

OC week has been so great!!! I’ve loved seeing and reading about all your blorbos <3 (and I’m in a few nice OC spaces if anyone wants in/ to add on discord, anx)

[sosohh]

@jilychallenge | Partner: @flowersgrowback​ | January 2023: Firsts, Promises and New Beginnings

Prompt: First date - “I want you so bad it hurts” / “Promise you’ll see me again?”

Read it on AO3

All and all can only fall (with a crashing but meaningless blow)

Lily Evans is not a religious person. Her faith in a God long ago discarded, scattered to the winds.

James Potter makes her want to have faith. He has helped her rediscover goodness in the world, in people, with random acts of kindness and delicate kneading away of pain and tension held on her shoulders.

If she is Atlas, holding the weight of a world which does not want her, in any capacity, then he is Hercules, offering to help carry a burden, trying to aid her. He could be her God.

Such big thoughts and world weary views often cross her mind, and she wants to scoff at them for the grandiose themes they suggest at. But Lily is a child of war, an angry woman, and she burns with the injustice dealt to her.

If there is a God, he has made a mockery of her. Dealt her twos and threes at a table of high flushes. If there is a God, his sleight of hand was to put her on this earth, at this moment in time, with a man whose heart is too good for hers to blacken. And yet, and yet, she desires it so much.

They are close now. There was a time when he was younger, that these current moments would seem far-fetched and impossible. But he has matured, and she has grown to appreciate, respect and hold him in high regard. He has grown very dear to her. And herein lies her current problem. She adores this man, this boy, this person who seeks her out first in a room, who waits for her at every door, who is currently laying his head in her lap, focusing on every word she says.

He is perceptive, and she does not realise how much he focuses on what she does not say as well.

‘Am I too late for you?’ She thinks, carding his hair. ‘I give myself to you willingly, without caveats,’ are the thoughts that tumble through his mind. But Lily does not know this yet, and if she guesses at these thoughts, they serve only to solidify a tentative plan which ruptures this evening.

Because she has heard about the proposition this afternoon and it confuses her, but although she questions it privately, she does not ask him. Lily reasons that if it’s true, he would be better off. For her, it would be preferable to keep him safe. Even if it means lying to herself, and clamping down on any emotion other than a frail happiness.

Suddenly a name rings out in the common room. Short and sharp in the melody of laughter and gossip, and their trance is broken. Her hand stills in his hair. He huffs a quick breath onto her wrist, and feeling her tense, rises to a seated position.

‘Lily, can I tell you about something that happened earlier?’

‘Please’ she asks softly.

And though she had already heard the rumours, with the confirmation comes a great stillness. Her features and mind blank, her breathing stopping. And out of the stillness arises clarity -  in a heartbeat she knows what she must do. How to save him and protect him from a life he does not deserve. He is too good, too pure for this world. And if there was a God, he would not have tried to drown him in these troubling waters. So she tries, she takes the blows to her armour, she smiles.

‘That’s great James. Did you say yes?’

He looks confused. Unthinkably so. It’s a short moment before he schools his expression to something more neutral. A boundary line being drawn for protection.

‘Do you think I should?’

Oh, but he must know, she thinks, tracing the tension lines on his face with her eyes. He must know how I ache for him. How every laugh is a wound reopening, gushing out love and admiration. A bruise on her heart from feelings unspoken. Sometimes Lily feels alone, beached on an island of her own making. Other times she thinks she catches an uninterrupted stare, an accidental touch which seemed intentional, a pulse of longing running through his speech. But she loves him too much to let him stake his position in a world where such decisions are death penalties.

‘I think’, she starts delicately, shrugs, ‘you should go’.

This is a test, she knows. But she knows that he does not know she is winning, not failing. She will keep him safe, and she can see that the road only narrows with her and he deserves space to roam.

Had she foreseen all those months ago that this would be where their paths ended up, she might have entered into the tentative friendship more cautiously, but the air has been growing thicker of late, and in the moment, past all the hurt and pain, she thinks she can see that this is how she saves him. His brows clear, lines smoothed out and a hardness sets his features.

Her shrug cost her a fortune, he tossed her like a penny.

…………….…….…….……..……..…………..……..…….…….……..…….…………

As she lies alone in her bed that night. She sheds her tears and curses God, all Gods again for their cruelty. After all, Hercules tricked Atlas into carrying the weight of the world again, and if she is bear this burden of hate, then she must bear it alone.

………..……..…….…….……..…….……..…….…….…….……..………….……..…

He haunts her dreams, though he is absent in reality. His friends throw glances her way, which she could spend hours deciphering if she chose to. She chooses not, however, and buries herself more in her work, her duties and responsibilities. She wishes, just for once, to be a normal teenager, with trivialities she has watched and read in popular media. The thought is fleeting – and unhelpful, she reprimands herself – but it sticks to her like shame, and makes her shadows grow longer.

She reminds herself of the holes she has teared in her past relationships due to her privilege. Her privilege and curse of being different. She’s being very dramatic and morbid and the self awareness of it all is almost enough to make her laugh. She does feel a bit like a prima-donna in this moment though, as she overhears another student in the library gossiping about James Potter and his upcoming date.

The words follow her around, and she pieces together a timeline of events from the days leading up to it and eventually the day of the date. And then the words suddenly stop.

The silence buzzes in her ears. She tries not to seem eager for an update on happenings, as that would favour only those not involved, but she is eager. She longs to know what has happened and she does not trust herself to stay away. So she places herself in self-imposed exile. She goes from her dorm, to classes, to the library, to the kitchens and repeats the cycle for nearly a week, until one day she opens the door to the kitchens and finds James sat at her table, opposite the chair she has made her own.

She falters, she does not know how to navigate these new waters. She does not even know at which depth she is swimming.

He looks away from her stood at the door and down to the plate in front of him, takes a knife to the cake and cuts it in half. Then nudges the plate towards her empty seat, an open invitation to join him.

………….…………..……..…….…….……..…….……..………….……..…….……..

Slowly they become close again, and slowly Lily unlearns to keep her biggest fears guarded and hidden from him. They talk about the world and the war outside, about her nightmares, about their dreams. Winter passes and spring arrives and one particular evening, they end up in the kitchens after their rounds have finished.

James is teasing her about something and she is trying to rile him up about something else. They are smiles and easy touches and warm voices. Most of their secrets are shared now. James knows she has tried to shield him with distance, Lily knows James will fight to remain close.

“Tell me about your worst first date?” Lily asks of him, knees up against her chest as she sits at their table, picking at the doughnuts they share on a plate in front of them.

“Demanding, aren’t you” James replies, pinching a doughnut from her fingers and taking a bite.

“It’s self serving, I’m looking to distract you from eating all my doughnuts.” She laughs, grabbing at his hand and taking back the sweet.

He grins appreciatively. “If I needed any proof that my mischievous ways have rubbed off on you, I think I’ve finally got it.”

“You didn’t need any proof you daft sod, my charmwork literally helped you last week with that ridiculous scheme you were all planning.”

He laughs, open and free, before sobering with thought.

“Do you remember that date I went on, last term?”

Lily quietens. Of all their shared secrets, this is still one she bears alone. She acknowledges and gestures for him to continue.

“That was my worst. My head was all over the place, and I did some things that I shouldn’t have.” He glances up at her, seeking permission or absolvement, something she can’t quite read.

“I told her I had feelings for someone else, and she was so upset. Rightfully so, I guess. But it wasn’t one of my finer moments. I’d barely been attentive all day and then there was a moment...” He pauses, lingers on the memory for a beat.

“A moment?” Lily prompts, gently.

“Yeah,” James shakes himself out of his reverie. “And then, well after, that’s when I told her and – it wasn’t fair. Or right. I tried to apologise but, she didn’t want to hear it.”

At this, Lily realises three things simultaneously. The first being that the splinters and cracks she had found in their friendship – relationship – were self inflicted. And varnished, or painted, they would remain until she properly addressed the areas.

‘James,’ she breathes, quick and rapid. Her anxiety in the moment making her words tumble over each other. ‘I’m so sorry, I should have told you not to go -’

‘But you didn’t Lily, that’s the thing. I wanted you to tell me not to, but you didn’t say that. I thought that meant you didn’t care.’

The second thing she realises is that his misery is her misery. His eyes are downcast, the tension he holds in his shoulders over this is painfully obvious. This, she can see, this weight he carries, she has been the one to give it to him.

‘God, James, I’m sorry. I thought it would be best for you to do it, to try and be happy elsewhere. It was selfish of me, I’m sorry.’

And lastly she realises that she knew, all those months ago that she loved him, but her fear was the catalyst for the hurt caused. She still fears for their safety, but a world without James at her side, is not a world she wants to life in. She cannot fully give him the love he deserves until she trusts that their love will withstand this.

‘I wanted so badly to protect you by keeping you away from me -’

‘But you know, don’t you, that it wouldn’t matter,’ he interrupts quickly. ‘Even by being your friend, by being Sirius’ and Remus’ friend, even Peter’s, I will never be what they want me to be. I’m okay with that, with all that brings.’ He paused, the question forming in his mouth before he pushes it out. ‘Are you?’

She brings his hand to her lips, kisses gently before releasing it to cup his face with her hands.

‘Yes. I trust you. I love you.’

Lily Evans does not believe in a God. But if there was one, she prays to him that this moment will never end, and if it must, it repeats itself in time immemorial. Their kiss is heavenly, and she will enter the gates of Eden with James Potter’s love keeping her safe.

[pjsk-writin]

Hello. I'd like to request Haruka and Rui with an s/o who's kind of blank-faced and icy, and comes across way colder/meaner than they intend to.

ooo sure, hope you like this!! <3

♡ BLANK-FACED - Haruka Kiritani and Rui Kamishiro x Reader

Haruka:

Haruka is naturally a very sweet, kind person who's very smiley. To say you're very different from her is an understatement

A lot of people wonder why Haruka decided to go out with you, you're the complete opposite of the idol after all

However, she knows that you can be very sweet underneath the blank face, and she's charmed by that

Sometimes, you'll say things in ways that make you seem incredibly cold/mean, but she'll be quick to assure you that she knows what you meant

She reads you very easily, which can be a surprise for some. She can tell when you mean to be cold and when you don't, which is very helpful in certain situations-

She doesn't try to force you to smile, but she does cherish every single moment that something she said or did makes your lips turn up slightly. You make her heart race in ways she's not used to <3

Rui:

I mentioned this in a request kind of similar to this one, but Rui's number one priority is making people smile. Sometimes, he wishes he can see yours more

Rui is full of grins and mischievous looks, while you barely blink at half of the things he does

He supposes that is one of the many reasons he's drawn to you; Your uncaring persona lets him get away with a lot of his plans

There are times where you say things in ways that feel incredibly cold/mean, and although he won't tell you, they make him feel very nervous

A small part of him fears that you'll leave him, that you had grown tired of him. But, those fears immediately leave him any time he sees you smile

It's a wonderful expression, one that he loves. And any time that you smile at him or your eyes sparkle, he's immediately reassured that you're not leaving any time soon. Those special actions were always saved for him alone after all <3

[ficsandgiggles]

Not Alone

So, these last couple days have been incredibly shitty for my mental health. Tonight I decided to write this to help get out my feelings. Please be warned that there is a mention of s*****e and it is a little depressing at the start. But there is a happy ending. Enjoy and stay strong friends. ❤️

Yelena watched as you once again walked right past her, heading straight to your room and slamming the door behind you, laying on your side on the bed and blankly staring at the wall ahead.

You had been shutting yourself away for quite a while now, you concluded that it was best for the entire compound if you just stayed away from them. They probably secretly hated you anyway, why wouldn’t they? You spent the last few days snacking on a few things you had in your room and only briefly leaving to use the bathroom, you always made sure that no one was around before you made that sneaky trip. You cursed to yourself when you came out the bathroom just now to see Yelena.

The two of you were on casual talking levels, but you never had chance to spend time with just the two of you together. You were quick to conclude that it was because she didn’t like you, and left it at that, so didn’t bother trying to be friends with her.

However, Yelena had a completely different opinion on you, her heart sunk when you walked past her as she was on her way to check in on you. She had wanted to be friends with you for a while now, but she had been so busy that she hadn’t had chance. She saw how sweet you were around her older sister Natasha, and wanted to join in on the action, but she knew you were anxious, so didn’t want to push things too far.

She decided to keep going on her mission, and followed you to your room, taking a small breath before knocking on the door, opening it a little.

“Y/N? Hey, it’s Yelena, can I come in?” She asked, her voice soft so she didn’t make you anxious. You simply shrugged in response, not looking away from the seemingly fascinating wall. The blonde didn’t take that as a no and entered the room, sitting on the floor next to you and putting a hand on your arm.

“How are you? I have not seen you in a couple days and we are all getting worried.” She told you, rubbing your arm gently as you rolled your eyes.

“Why? Because they haven’t had my cupcakes for a few days? I doubt anyone has missed my stupid company.” You responded dryly. You were a pretty good baker and everyone loved your cupcakes in particular, you assumed that was probably the only reason they tolerated you.

“You do make a pretty mean cupcake but everyone misses you as an actual human being, it is weirdly quiet without you, uncomfortable, even.” Yelena told you, but your blank expression told her that you didn’t believe her at all.

“That’s hilarious, Yelena. We have barely spoken before now and now you have probably drawn the short straw to come up and pretend to care about me. I bet you are all having a wonderful time without my stupid existence being a burden on you all.” You told her, sincerity in every word, you had a strong belief that everyone put up with you because Natasha had took you in after finding you almost dead in the HYDRA headquarters. Sometimes you wish you were left there to die, at least everyone would be happier.

“What? Nonono Y/N that’s not the case at all.” Yelena told you gently, now holding your hand and squeezing it gently. “Y/N everyone here loves you, and I haven’t tried to get to know you because I know that anxiety is a bitch and you already seem overwhelmed, I did not want to add to it.” The blonde Widow started as she gently brushed your hair out of your face so she could look you in the eyes.

“Not only that, but the vibe around here has been so different, and not in a good way. Your kind, funny and sweet presence has made this place numb, like a ray of sunshine has been whisked away. We’ve been trying to think of what to do for a while and after a lot of persuasion, they let me come up and work my charm on you.” Yelena explained, giving your side a gentle squeeze during the last few words.

Your gazed moved to Yelena as she spoke, you were able to tell that she meant what she was saying. You didn’t realise that you did actually bring something to the Avengers other than doom and gloom. The thought of it made you soften a little, nodding silently in response.

“Sweet Y/N, is there anything I can do to cheer you up? Cookies? Games? Hugs?” She offered, willing to do pretty much anything to help you feel better.

You thought for a moment, remembering the brief squeeze to the side Yelena gave you earlier. You were often the target for random tickle attacks around the compound, and you didn’t necessarily hate it. You saw Yelena get Kate and Peter a few times, and you’d be lying if you didn’t wish you were the one getting tickled by Yelena when you watched the wrecking.

Deciding it would cheer you up, you bit your lip and hesitantly held Yelena’s hand and put it on your side, hoping she would catch on.

Yelena smirked and raised her eyebrows, immediately understanding what you wanted as she started to spider up and down your side. “Oh? Is this what you wanted?” She asked with a teasing grin, jumping up to sit next to you on the bed, adding her other hand to squeeze just above your knee.

You immediately broke into hysterical giggles, nodding in response as you kicked and curled up, not realising that Yelena was always taking notes whenever Natasha or Steve tickled you, so she knew all your worst spots.

“Awww! There’s the giggly Y/N we all know and love!” Yelena teased, smiling brightly as she gently pulled you so you were laying on your back, she gently shook her fingers into your ribs and grinned.

“Ahahaha Yehehehehelenahahahah!” You cackled and arched your back, gently shoving at Yelena’s hands as you squirmed from side to side. The two of you knew that you weren’t using your full strength to try and push Yelena away, so she quickly moved to dig gently under your arms.

“Yessss? What is it little Y/N? Huh?” She asked teasingly, leaning down to blow a tiny raspberry onto your next as her nimble fingers moved to dance up and down your ribs, grinning proudly as she watched your face light up as your giggles continued to pour out.

“NAHAHAHAH RIHIHIHIBS!” You cackled out, squealing as you arched your back and kept kicking out. Yelena just smirked and shook her fingers in swiftly.

“Yes Y/N! I’m already at your ribs, you silly thing! I can go faster though.” Yelena smirked, shaking her fingers in between the bones and up and down them so every single part of your ribs got wrecked by Yelena’s mean fingers.

“OHOHOHOHOH SHUHUHUT UHUHUP!” You laugh, not appreciating her sarcasm as you thrashed around from side to side, squealing helplessly as you proceeded to cover your face with your hands to muffle your giggles and hide your bright smile.

Yelena paused, smirking fondly as she took one of your hands, then the other, grinning as she bit the bottom of your shirt to pull it up, revealing a strip of skin.

“You do not tell me to shut up.” She told you with an evil grin before blowing a huge raspberry on your belly, nuzzling her face in like she’s seen her sister do to you a million and one times.

You screeched with laughter and attempted to kick the blonde Widow away, which simply earned you another raspberry. You shook your head from side to side as you squirmed around in hopes your shirt would fall down over your belly. “YEHEHEHELENA I’M SOHOHOHOHORRY!” You screamed out in one last attempt to get her to stop before your laughter went silent, your body went weak and no longer pulled at Yelena’s gentle hold, which prompted her to let you go and pull you into a hug.

“I guess you are forgiven, young Y/N. You seem to have cheered up enough.” Yelena smiled and kissed your cheek, wrapping her arms around you even tighter and rocking you from side to side to help can you down.

You’re quick to relax into the feeling, loving Yelena’s comfort as you felt close to her for the very first time, and you felt like you could happily glue yourself to her arms forever.

“Thank you, Yelena… I don’t feel like a burden as much anymore.” You tell her quietly when you had recovered enough to be able to talk. The blonde gave you an extra squeeze as she kissed your head this time, rubbing your back gently.

“You aren’t a burden Y/N, ever. You know you can talk to any of us if you feel that way, okay? We all love you and want to be here for you.” Yelena reassured. “You’re not alone.”

Those three words put a small smile on your face, as for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel as alone. You melted into her touch as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence before eventually settling in your bed and cuddling each other until you fell into a deep sleep.

[cheralith]

‘vogue’ happened on my ‘for you’ page suddenly yesterday night, but only now i had the time to properly check it out and enjoy it. i’m a big fan of ‘the devil wears Prada’ too, so spotting the details and cameos you added in it was really fun for me, i smiled all the time while reading it! that’s how much i enjoyed reading it! <3

i’m not a person to leave such a long comment on a fic unless it’s ao3, and i didn’t want to cloak in or occupy your comment section with a bulky comment such as this TT so i figured that leaving this message here was the right choice. please bear with me (and you don’t have to answer! i’m already grateful if you read this comment, truly!) because i absolutely loved it. for the sake of being brief, i’ll focus on the last scene but everything of this work was truly a masterpiece that i’ll come back to —i’ll stay tune it since you say it will be a series!

It's so... fresh. Your glasses were hiding such a view, like curtains to a window that unveiled the utmost rare and breathtaking sights. […] Geto studies it like an artist to a blank canvas, devoid of anything yet holding just the perfect amount of space-wanting, waiting to be filled with anything and everything.

omg… the way i absolutely folded! ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝•༝•⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒ i loved the way you described here because —and maybe here is my sleepy head talking— the way is written really makes you understand just how focused geto is on y/n. the way he greedily yet patiently takes his time to study the face, the delicate way you described it… weak to my knees ! absolutely weak to my knees !

He eyes how you turn towards the building one more time, doing your usual adjustment of your glasses (it's a habit you often do in times of nervousness, he's picked up) […]

it’s kind of embarrassing how i was smirking here because sir… did you just implicitly affirmed that you do look at y/n?? it was such a nice detail to read because it implies that he does look at her enough time to link the action to a proper feeling, an expression of sorts. but maybe i’m just looking too much into it?? maybe i’m saying nonsense?? i don’t care, i’m delulu and sleepy!! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

i don’t want to take any more space (it’s just a sentence after all) but i absolutely loved the way you described how geto felt ‘irritated’ from the ‘hauting’ image of y/n’s face in his mind! it was a nice touch! now on my last point —and then i’ll disappear on thin air!

It’s instead, the person that’s wearing it. Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the model's face that he had drawn years ago...... somehow replicates your own face perfectly.

that was a very good cliffhanger. as a (somewhat) writer too i can only imagine and theorize the hard work you’re probably doing for this story —the behind of the scenes basically, and if you wanted readers to stand on their tiptoes and get curious about a possible plot twist (it’s called like this right? my first language isn’t english TT) … let me tell you, you absolutely nailed it! because i’m both standing on my tiptoes with my jaw on the floor.

i can’t wait to see what you have in store for this ff because you got me hooked. and the last part only further points to a possible connection between suguru and y/n which i can’t wait to discover more about! even though they both don’t seem to realize as of now —well, actually now geto does but just to a superficial extent, thanks to that sketch.

i’m sorry for the long comment because sometimes i feel like i’m saying nonsense and repeat myself over and over again so it might come off as annoying or rude TT god or whoever was on charge really didn’t blessed me with the power of synopsis, which i can only apologize for. just thank you for writing this, it was really good and i can’t wait to read more from you! thank you and take care of yourself!! i’ll patiently wait and, once you’ll feel ready to update a second part, i’ll be here reading it and enjoying it! (/genuine, no pressure! in this household we appreciate the hard work writers put in their works and respect their time ofc!)

have a good day/night ! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ 💗

one of the things i absolutely struggle with is just writing too much and on my end, it seems a little tricky and questionable, but for those on the other sides of things, it just means more cake for them and this very much applies to comments as well, so anonnie, NEVER apologize for long comments!!!! it shows your appreciation for the work and as someone who's on the receiving end for it, i hold so much love for comments like these!!! and your english is nothing less of wonderful!!!

i was praying someone would catch the little glasses bit! it's been the little motif i had incorporated in the first chapter as a symbol of the reader's shield from the new world of her work so i was pretty proud of blending it into the chapter. it also ties in with suguru finally noticing our little assistant for more than just a coatrack—just the first stepping stone of what i have planned for these two huehue •̀⩊•́

other than that, thank you again for enjoying my writing and i'll treasure ur kind comments dearly <33!