#and this isn’t an apology I’m demanding you accept either

[sheriffslop]

Lop’s Shipping Discourse Statement !! ✨ ( TW ; Uncensored Mentions of Gr**ming / P*dophilia )

Just releasing this now, so there is less misconceptions about what I have said due to discourse lately. I’m in no way, calling anyone a predator for their ships, however, we have to understand that sometimes media imported from Japan is problematic in a sense, and I know, I know, I know that sometimes there are characters from various mangas, shows, games, etc. where the characters look young but they are legal adults.

I am a baby faced adult, however, I can fully say with confidence that while you personally aren’t a weird, disgusting creep, that doesn’t mean there aren’t any out there that do get drawn to media, using the reason that the character is legal to be creepy about certain aspects. I personally have been fetishized for looking young, even when I was a minor, and y’all have no idea how frequently I have heard statements such as “ I can’t wait until you’re legal “ - I literally had one of the men that groomed / assaulted me reach out not even two weeks after I turned eighteen, trying to get me to visit him states away without my family, that’s when I realized that it was over all an extremely wrong concept, especially since he still mentioned that I was pretty, asked if I still had braces ( something commonly worn on teenagers ). I don’t know what he was planning, but I know it wasn’t good. He wasn’t the only one to act this way towards myself as well. I’ve even had strange men approach me in public and immediately go with pickup lines talking about how “ young “ and “ innocent “ I look, and I know this sounds extreme and maybe even false, but I just want to explain why I have a stance that I do on this issue.

What I am saying is that when the age isn’t confirmed, and a lot of media from Japan has banked off of this concept, it’s a very dicey territory. You guys out there saying Yuma is a legal adult is whatever, it’s fine, for the most part, I’ve been joking, however, I can under that might not have seemed clear due to not using tone tags or being more explicit in the way I was speaking, and tone is always extremely hard to get across using text. For this, I apologize and I never wanted to make anyone feel uncomfortable in the fandom or make anyone feel as if I was directly calling them a predator. That was aggressive and uncalled for on my behalf, and I promise, I’m genuinely not a very hateful person, and those actions absolutely contradict with who I am. I want everyone to have fun here, enjoy being a part of the fandom on the internet, however, I also have my own boundaries concerning this sort of stuff, and I would like for us to reach a mutual understanding.

Just for my personal boundaries, I ask that nobody sends any ships involving Yuma and a confirmed adult in my inbox because it makes me uncomfortable personally, considering that I view him as a minor, and the game already puts him in situations and has him having discussions I find to be a bit icky already. This is more so because I have trauma relating to this sort of stuff and I would like my boundaries respected. I apologize again if I have violated or bullied anybody else over their views.

I’m definitely not saying to stop creating content, I still find the memes to be hilarious and everyone!s artwork thus far has been pretty good, and I’m glad to see people creating or consuming content that they enjoy, because that’s what being a fan is all about !! If your interpretation of Yuma is different than my own, then please, see it that way.

My issue isn’t with you, it’s with Kodaka, it’s with loli / shota bait, it’s with the passive sexualization of characterization belonging to minors, because I believe that it passively promotes the idea to objectify a minor in a light they don’t need to be objectified in. I hope you understand, just as I’m trying to be a bit more understanding with you all.

Regardless !! I appreciate the support and the feedback, I’ve had a ton of fun discussions and seen a lot of enjoyable content thus far. I don’t want anyone to give up, because this is basically the birthing stage of a fandom. Enjoy yourself, have fun, create and enjoy to your heart’s content. 💕✨🥂

[lavenderarts]

LRB I’m being so deadass when I say I’m happier and safer and more secure in my relationships for deciding to live by the idea that things that weren’t said to me outright were not said and are therefore not my damn problem. For the first time in my 28 years of life I know people I have never had an argument with, EVER, because when something is going on we talk about it instead and it doesn’t become emotionally heated and hurtful. Like I try to look back and think of a time my best friend hurt my feelings and there just. isn’t one. For the first time, I have no laundry list of grievances I can never address because all the people in my life refuse to tell me when I’ve upset them and expect me to never get upset with them and lash out at me if I ever need something.

I’ve spent my life going from one abuser to the next with no one to truly support or look out for me or tell me I deserved more, I felt like an emotional dairy cow — I was always expected to lavish care and attention onto my ‘friends’ and never get mad at them and just accept it when they lashed out at me for things beyond my control or mistakes they never told me about. I was supposed to take it and continue to nurture, to solve all their problems unendingly, because they were going through a hard time or struggling with unmedicated mental health issues or simply didn’t know how to behave yet so it wasn’t their fault; and if I ever had a need in return I was tossed in the garbage because I was not allowed to want support or care. Do you know how crazy it feels to go from 2 decades of that to suddenly being faced with someone who is proud of you for setting boundaries? To someone who earnestly celebrates your accomplishments instead of getting bitterly jealous that you’re better at something than they are? To someone who defends you when you’re not around and won’t allow people in their life to disrespect you for the sake of keeping peace? To someone who you know, without a doubt, will be in your life forever instead of feeling your grip on a relationship slowly slipping away and everything spiraling out of control around you because your usefulness has run out and you didn’t get the memo you were no longer wanted?

It’s insane. You can just decide, anytime you like, to stop doing the emotional labor of divining other people’s feelings via magic. You can set a standard that people either tell you when an issue has come up so you can properly apologize and work out a solution together or they can solve it themselves, but you won’t be taken to task for problems you weren’t informed existed. And you can simply remove people who don’t follow that from your life. Obviously you can’t be mean and uncompromising — you have to hold yourself to the same standard you’re demanding, and you have to be honest without being insulting or manipulative. You’re being honest for the health of the relationship, not to be unkind. You can still intuit; if I think I might’ve hurt someone’s feelings you can literally just ask. You can say “Hey, I feel like I might have upset you earlier, did I? If so I’d really like to apologize and talk about it a little bit” and that’s not inappropriate. You’ll come across people who REALLY do not fucking like that and will try to make you feel like you’re demanding or dramatic or weird for it — I did, and getting told that I’m “too much” for expressing my opinions confidently and wanting honest communication in my relationships almost broke me — but you aren’t. You’re making a choice that is right for you. People aren’t obligated to stick around if they can’t understand and respect that choice.

I don’t act like this because I don’t trust people, it’s the opposite: I trust other adults to handle their emotions like adults and be able to assess if my friendship with them is worth the discomfort of an open conversation every now and again. I trust my loved ones to tell me if I hurt them and allow me the opportunity to apologize and modify my behavior. It’s because I trust people that I require this level of frankness, and if that trust is broken and I’m not confident it can be repaired, we go our separate ways. Easy.

You can just do all this. You’ll find people who fuck with it. Stop being a fucking doormat and find people who love you, not just how you serve them.

I can’t thank my friends enough for loving me and being willing to be honest with me. I never want to go back to how alone I felt, and being supported and cared for by you makes me sure I’ll never have to.

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 19: Northern Lights

Author's Note

Word count: 8.2k

Read the rest here!

Operating on autopilot, you brush your teeth while a sense of existential dread settles just under your sternum. It's heavy, asphyxiating. Today was gonna be hard. Largely because you weren’t allowed to have a hard day since it’d been Damiano that had a crisis: relapse. He needed your support and you’re pondering the extent of this responsibility when the drug test on the back of the toilet catches your eye. Somehow, you’d forgotten about it.

Negative for everything. Except marijuana, which Dami had already disclosed. Overwhelmed, you slide down to the floor with your back against the wall. You didn’t feel anything. Not relief, nor anger. Not even disappointment. Stranger than numbness was the urge to cry when your eyes won’t even tear up. Standing upright then spitting out the foamy toothpaste, you stare at your reflection. Cry. If you’re gonna do it, do it. Because after this you need to be strong. So cry. Fucking cry. The tears don’t come. Your dry eyes burn, and despite sleeping relatively well, you look drained of life force.

In the name of coping mechanisms, you devote an extra five minutes to a makeup look that always makes you feel put together and pretty. Today it comes off as clownish. The blush is too intense and the eye shadow garish. There isn’t enough time to take it off and start again so you avoid looking in the mirror and shift focus to getting dressed. One thing at a time. Pairing this mantra with caffeine will likely be the only force propelling you through today. One thing at a time still feels like more than you could handle, but not functioning wasn’t an option, either. Your chest tightens.

“Hey, goodmorning.” Damiano’s voice startles you. He typically got up around when you left for work.

“Shit! What time is it?”

“It’s 8:07, don’t worry.” Dami harshly clears his throat twice, trying to get rid of his gravelly morning voice. It's almost an accurate replication of normalcy, except he won’t look at you. Damiano begins making espresso and his eyes briefly dart in your direction.

“What do you want for breakfast?” The moment’s cognitive dissonance is truly formidable. 

“I –” Obviously he was trying to make last night up to you. Should you accept? Do you even want to?

“I – no! No. You – we’re not just gonna skip to this part.” He looks so fucking wounded, a kind of woundedness that can only be achieved when you’re not expecting the pain. Only visible for a second, then he hides it. Still, you’re in agony.

“You – I need…I – don’t do that! Don’t make that fucking face at me. It’s been less than 12 hours and we were sleeping most of them. How can you reasonably expect me to have processed last night in less than 12 hours?”

“You’re right, it's not fair. I guess that I –”

“If you know it's not fair then why are you so fucking destroyed over it!? I can’t –” You stare out the window, thanking whatever cosmic entity may be that you can’t cry right now.

“I’m sorry.”

“No!” Your voice comes out high pitched and guttural in anguish. “No, don’t –” You stamp your foot. It was a childhood habit that you loathed, but still made an appearance in moments of emotionally charged exasperation.

“I’m sorry. I was just, I was just…” He trails off, staring at the floor. You stomp across the apartment and briefly strangle him in a hug. Dami is so surprised that by the time he embraces in return, you’re pulling away, keeping your gaze fixed on the chipped corner of the kitchen cabinets. Because meeting his eyes up close, even for a millisecond, might be more than you can bear. With a large step back, you attempt verbal communication.

“Don’t apologize for having an emotional reaction.”

“I’m sorry for relapsing.”

“That you can apologize for.” Next you stare at the catch all basket by the door and feel your face heat up. “I just can’t take you looking so devastated over me not wanting to play house right now.” Had you not demanded last night that he disclose the hardship of Substance Abuse Disorder to you? This morning he does so for all of two nanoseconds and you react like this. 

“No, I’m sorry. I take it back.” Of what you can see out of the corner of your eye, Dami’s expression is perplexed.

“You take what back?”

“That reaction. I want to know what you’re genuinely feeling right now. I want to support you through this.” You steel yourself before meeting his eyes, but Dami is, again, intent on staring at the ground. He presses his lips together while rapidly shaking his head.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be, ugh…” Damiano sighs heavily. In the background, the water boils audibly. He returns to his task of making espresso while crafting a sentence. One hand is braced against the counter. It's the same hand that caressed the bare skin of your stomach last night. What the fuck had you been thinking? Even while disparaging yourself, you can feel how sturdy and reassuring and loving Damiano’s body was as it lay behind you. He couldn’t have pulled you any closer without undressing. And it felt so natural.

“You shouldn’t be consoling me. I’m the only one that should be apologizing, even if you’re angry, if you yell at me, whatever. And you don’t, ugh…” Dami uses the hand not bracing to gesticulate. “Supporting me through relapse doesn’t mean not being pissed at me. I – that reaction,“ he points towards the bathroom, “was perfectly fine. It was fine. I just wasn’t sure how to acknowledge what happened and be like ‘oh, hey! Sorry I relapsed. Can I make you breakfast? Not in I’m-making-amends-through-this-gesture-and-if-you-accept-I-will-expect-it-to-count-towards-my-forgiveness kinda way, but in a I’m-up-and-want-to-do-something-nice- for-you kind of way.” You take a beat to think and settle on meeting him in the middle.

“I will take an omelet and a double, please.”

“Okay.” He sighs in relief and sort of smiles. Also inhaling deeply for the first time since probably yesterday, you return your focus to getting ready. When selecting a pair of shoes, the safe at the bottom of the closet is a reminder to give Dami back his phone and keys. The memory of the night before comes crashing down; his suicidal ideation, how tortured he was by self-hatred. You end up on all fours, studying the scratched floor of your closet while weathering this rat’s nest of emotions.

You’d let Dami back into your life knowing relapse was inevitable and deciding it was an inevitability you were prepared for. However, he’d been so even keel since coming home that it made yesterday jarring as a reality check. 

“Hey, um,” he knocks on your bedroom door, tone uncertain.

“Come in.” You don’t feel short of breath until your voice comes out as such. Dami slowly opens the door, holding your plate and espresso.

“You okay?” 

“Just getting your stuff out of the safe.”

“Oh.” Awkwardly, he steps out of the room and turns his back. You’re so caught up that, on the first try, you enter in the wrong code. The safe beeps abrasively and a small light at the top of the keypad flashes red. On the second try you make a point not to be frantic and get it right. 

“Okay, here you go.” The metal door of the safe slams shut. Your nervous system is so fried that you jump, heartbeat skipping.

“Right.” Damiano swivels, both hands occupied with your breakfast just as both of your own hands are occupied with his belongings. In disjointed gestures you try to exchange the items before realizing it's physically impossible.

“Let's set it on the dining room table.”

“Right, yes. Good idea.” You cringe at the silence following Damiano putting the dishes down. “Um…okay, so now you will be late if you don’t leave soon, actually,” he calls from the kitchen.

“Shit!” You pull on your most well-worn pair of boots. Even scurrying around the apartment, they omit a sophisticated click each time the sole collides with the flooring. Upon making it to the door, you look back to see Dami sitting at the table and eating. In front of your empty chair is the untouched omelet and full cup of espresso he’d so tenderly made for you. The scene was reminiscent of a date night. As if he’d cooked dinner for two, then been stood up. So Damiano was left to eventually eat his meal all alone, after accepting you wouldn’t show. Cold food and wondering what he’d done wrong.

Dami isn’t reading into the moment at all. His down-turned eyes are preoccupied with his phone, but his words from last night are still fresher than a wound needing stitches. The phrase “do you a favor and throw myself off the roof” is running through your head on repeat, even when you try to direct your thoughts elsewhere. In fact, Damiano was standing almost exactly where you are now when he’d said it. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Your voice comes out frail and shaking, so much so that Dami’s head snaps up.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll be fine.” Sweetheart. He misses the slip-up because he’s preoccupied by concern, setting his fork down to examine you. “I’m just gonna treat it like any other day: eat this, work out, go to treatment.” Unable to feel your face, but aware that this is an appropriate time to nod, you consciously perform the gesture. “I mean, obviously, I don’t feel good right now, but I’ll be okay. A lot of rehab was focused on getting back on the wagon, so to speak.”

“‘Kay.” 

“Like, I hate myself right now, but I’m not gonna throw my sobriety away and go on a bender or something. Because I know that ultimately I’ll end up feeling so much shittier. Try not to worry.” He smiles in good humor: knowing, gentle, calm. “I’m sure you will anyways, but you don’t need to.” The difference in Damiano’s temperament since devoting himself to treatment is suddenly so evident. His chest isn’t puffed out with bravado, speaking from the perspective that he’s less fallible than your typical mortal. He’s not manic, you realize.

“You’re sure?” Dami’s conciliatory expression is brimming with empathy. 

“Yes, my love,” he placates, then catches himself. “Erm – y/n, sorry. Basically, I…I’ve examined my behavior a lot. Not just in the sense of hurting people, but also – I’m totally springing this on you, so I’ll skip to the point. As a person, I am done behaving that way, okay? So you’ll go to work; I’ll go to therapy where they’ll probably treat me like a pipe bomb. Then we’ll complain about how shitty our days were while eating takeout.” After the alarming way he’d spoken last night, it was a relief to hear Damiano genuinely sound like himself. The steady, resilient version of himself that predated addiction and the omnipresent hysteria.

You’d been holding out for it, gazing into the sky every night as if searching for the Northern Lights. Damiano acting like the man you fell in love with again – despite the incognizance with which he did so – was worthy of exactly this display. Opulent shades of violet and greens so electric they become yellow hurtling across a midnight canvas with the abandon of a child first learning to dance.

“Are you okay?” You’re about to say yes, out of habit, then realize that you could choose honesty over politeness and admit that the answer is no. But what’s the result? Being late for work and, in the process, interrupting Damiano’s routine. He needed the control and predictability his schedule offered, now more than ever. Allowing him to expend even an ounce of this precious resilience on comforting you was downright irresponsible. Dangerous, even, because you had no idea how much tranquility the day’s events would require. 

But it wasn’t that simple. Concealing your emotions had previously fueled communication failures which contributed to breaking up. Logically, mending things meant doing the opposite. Damiano’s simple question left you to choose between his sobriety and your relationship. The choice was obvious. You’d made it before. It was the exact choice presented to you at the time of the breakup. An event from which you feel so far removed, that it might have happened in a past life. Simultaneously, in this moment, the pain is fresh enough to sting, as if it was merely yesterday that your heart was mercilessly cleaved in two.  You want to scream, out loud, how the fuck did we end up here again? 

“Y/n?” He cocks his head then his eyebrows furrow. You remind yourself that Damiao is not your boyfriend. You cannot expect him to provide the level of comfort and support a primary partner would. If you needed it, then too fucking bad, you’d have to get it elsewhere. This was a decision you made, a boundary you’d set. Because a stronger version of the fragile girl quivering by the front door knew that Damiano solely focusing on his own wellbeing was necessary for his sobriety. So you try to pull it together and decide on reaching out to Sam during lunch break. They had the wisdom of someone twice their age with the inner serenity to match.

“Hey.” Damiano stands upright, rounding the corner of the table. The sound of the chair legs against the floor makes you flinch, breaking your train of thought. Holding a hand out, you stop Dami from approaching.

“I feel guilty for not having time to eat  the breakfast that you made me. I really don’t want to start out today with you feeling rejected or lonely and end up reaching for substances to cope.”

“I don’t feel rejected and just the thought of liquor makes me nauseous, right now.”

“Liquor…you know liquor isn’t the only thing I’m worried about.”

“Well, frankly, the other stuff is a lot harder to get, especially if you’re not willing to poison yourself. It's also fucking expensive in Rome, so I’d have to be carrying around a fuck ton of cash and look." Damiano picks his wallet up from the table and opens it. The only currency that falls out are some coins and a two dollar bill Victoria gave him for good luck. “The fuck am I gonna get with this?” He holds it up, almost grinning until he examines your features and realizes that this has been the opposite of reassuring. Dami immediately picks up on turmoil brewing beneath the surface, but little does he know that it’s more like a cataclysm. 

“You’re thinking about it.” It's a struggle to force the words out, like your body doesn’t want them to be true.

“Last night I was, yeah.” He admits it quietly, but his whole demeanor changes. Dami felt triumphant a moment ago, for not using drugs, not giving himself the means to acquire drugs. Instead of validating his achievement, you’d disregarded his triumph and replaced it with a profound feeling of defeat. It was quite literally the worst thing you could have done.

“And I know it – that I, um…” Dami sighs, nervously switching his weight back forth. “God damn it. So last night was one of my lowest moments and I really, really fucking wish you weren’t there to see it because it's not representative of who I am or how I feel. What I – baby, those were just thoughts. They were just thoughts, I promise.” His voice is so fond that your heart hurts. “I don’t ever plan on acting on them. I’m not gonna hurt myself. I know I really scared you when I said –”

“Mm mm!” You gesture for him to stop talking while squeezing your eyes shut and turning away. The urge to cry creates pressure in your throat, but the tears won’t come. So it feels like you might choke or be sick. 

“Take a deep breath,” Damiano coaches after falling silent for a moment. You comply, grounding yourself via powerful inhales through your nose, exhaling out of your mouth. It was adjacent to a breathing technique you’d learned in yoga. The feeling mostly passes.

“Okay. I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Of course.”

“I want to talk about it. I will talk about it. I just need…”

“Time to process.” He finishes your thought after observing several seconds of you staring at the ceiling, searching for the right words.

“Yes. All I want in the entire world right now is for you to focus on yourself. Get stable, do things that make you happy. Don’t worry about me.”

“...okay.” Damiano scrunches his nose up while slowly turning away, as if he’s biting back the words he’d like to say.

“Okay.” You pick up your keys and double check that you haven’t forgotten your phone. “So, I’ll see you –”

“I am worried. About you, I am worried.” The silence hangs over your heads like a noose. “You’ve got so much going on internally that I can’t read you. We’ve been together for so long that it’s really unsettling.” You’re at a loss for how to respond. “You used to be so forthright with me. Like absolutely transparent until…until things started going downhill.” Dami shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders raised in a defensive gesture. “And I want to take things at your speed. I want to fucking – to be transparent with you. But you, you…” He sighs heavily and relaxes, turning his gaze towards the window where morning light is seeping in.  

“What?” 

“I know we said we would wait until things weren’t so in flux, which –” he laughs bitterly.. “Which, god damn, I somehow made worse last night.” Damiano’s eyes return to the floor, where the big toe of his right foot is nervously tracing the seams. “I think, for my sanity, we need to look at the R.A.S. again and really talk.” R.A.S. is an abbreviation for what has been dubbed the Relationship Anarchist Smorgosboard – essentially a map of all possible relationship components. Often, polyamorous folks – yourselves included – used it as a tool to precisely define everyone’s desires and expectations. For you and Dami, the topic of non-monogamy actually resulted from discussions about relationship anarchy. So the request isn’t the issue. It's productive and healthy, even considering the metric ton of emotional labor. The strain with which Dami says “for my sanity” however, makes you nervous.

“Yeah, okay, uh…”

“Fuck me,” he groans, rubbing his face harshly. “Maybe I don’t wanna do this now. After yesterday I – you’re not gonna – I just destroyed all fucking progress!”

“I, I…I don’t know how I feel, Damia. But, obviously we don’t have to have this big heavy talk if you’re not ready for it.”

“That's not what I’m saying,” he snaps. Your left hand starts to shake at the agitation in his voice. If he gets upset, it’ll interrupt the routine keeping him intact. What will he use to deescalate then? 

“Have you taken your meds?”

“Y/n, I –” Dami’s tone is venomous and biting, but he stops himself from lashing out mid-sentence. He goes into the bathroom and takes his lithium, hands gripping onto the edge of the counter as he swallows painfully. He takes a second to manage his anger, meaning that exactly what you were trying to avoid is happening. He’s burning through that precious resilience for your sake. Each second that you watch the sharp outline of his clenched jaw, you wonder if this was the moment that Damiano dips into reserves that he needed for later in the day. 

What if he drinks again? Or worse, uses coke? Heroin? What if he goes on a bender then we don’t talk again for three months? What if he OD’s and permanently damages himself? What if he dies? It will be my fault. What if the resilience that could have prevented it is being used up this very second, right before my eyes? What if I’m signing his death sentence with my mere presence? 

“The reason I want to renegotiate isn’t really because I need to renegotiate.” Damiano speaks while still standing in the bathroom. Out of something adjacent to survival instincts, your mind has plunged you into disassociation. He may sound steadfast, but his voice barely cuts through the mental fog.

“It’s more that I want to clarify exactly where the boundaries are. So I know what I can ask because…” Dami pauses to rinse his face. The sound of water landing on the porcelain is eerily distorted from the disassociation. “Sometimes we are so connected. Like last night, not just when we were cuddling, but when you were genuinely pissed at me. I could feel your anger. You let me feel it, but then this morning you’re so far away. I don’t know what planet you’re on and we were never like that before, ever. Even at the very end, you were more present than you sometimes are now. I’m not trying to criticize you, I’m really not, but…” You force your eyes to focus when Dami goes quiet. He’s just brushing his teeth. He’s okay. 

“But I just want you to let me in and I don’t know if I can ask that as a nesting partner. Even when you’re submitting, there's like 15% you’re holding back. And I get that it's a trust issue, but when we were on the bed,” the faucet is running again. The sound is still detached from reality. “With just a vibrator between us, you let me in completely and it was amazing. Not just because of the sex! There’s other moments where we’re intimate emotionally and then this wall just comes up. It's so sudden that I don’t think you’re doing it intentionally. But I don’t know, you tell me.” Silence. Your chest hurts. “Sorry that I’m making you late for work.” Work? The anxiety of obligation yanks from inside your ribcage. Work!

You try to get a grip on reality, but have to compromise for a grip on the countertop. As soon as you begin coming back into your body, the necessity for air is overwhelming. But you can’t breathe and you’re so fucking dizzy that you can’t even focus on sustaining the most basic of bodily functions. So you try to grab the countertop again and miss again.

“Y/n?” He knows you wouldn’t just leave, unannounced. So Dami pauses his morning routine to check if you’re out of ear shot or giving him the silent treatment. Upon seeing your blanched face and restricted breathing, he feels like a dumbass for not considering the obvious third option: panic attack.  

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay, baby.” Damiano throws distinctions between boyfriend and nesting partner to the wind while taking you into his embrace. “You’re gonna be fine, piccola mia. Come here. C’mere, baby.” He hugs you loosely, but the arms around your middle are snug as Dami pulls you onto his lap, perched on the edge of the couch. For a few seconds the dissociation lingers and you don’t have control of your limbs. What follows is much worse. There's deep, intrusive stabbing pains in your chest as you fight for air. 

“You can breathe, baby. You can breathe, your body just forgot how for a second.” His tone is so calm and even, having perfected this skill over the years.

“Can’t.” Your ironclad grip on your purse finally fails and the sound of its contents hitting the floor then scattering is so that loud you shudder. “Can’t!”

“Yes, you can, piccola mia.” Finally, you regain control of your limbs, wrapping your arms around Dami while pressing your face against his shoulder. This isn’t close enough, so you turn chest to chest and wrap your legs around him too. He gives you just enough space to readjust, no communication necessary since Dami predicted this reaction. Panic attacks made you clingy when they made others claustrophobic.

“My little koala bear,” he coos. For a moment, it feels like someone’s lodged a dagger in your lungs and you cry out, intending to say his name. But, for days, you were forced to constantly implement life or death boundaries when doing so is in direct conflict with your very nature. The resulting strain morphed into blinding fear that, in holding power, you’d destroy what you loved most. What you needed as an animal, amongst a world constantly delivering over-stimulating levels of novel information. So the name – or more accurately the plea – that comes out, at 8:31 AM, is his honorific.

“Did you say ‘Daddy?’” He barely misses a beat. You nod, all the color returning to your cheeks as a blush. “Awe, do you need Daddy to help you calm down? Well, I’m right here, topolina.” He runs a hand up your spine and under your hair to firmly grasp the back of your neck. It wasn’t restricting anything, the gesture was about control. Specifically, to indicate that you had none.

“Listen to me.” His tone of voice makes you shiver. It’s just as firm as the grasp of his warm, muscular hand. “No, keep breathing. I didn’t tell you to hold your breath.” You gasp for air, hyperventilating. Damiano tsks, tucking your hair back so he can put his mouth directly to the shell of your ear. “Piccola mia, listen to me.” He dips into a baritone while whispering, breath fluttering against your eardrum. “Feel this?” Dami squeezes the back of your neck. “Mine. I decide how you breathe.” 

Oxygen. It's the first and last thing most humans have control of and he just rips that away, wholesale. Your mind is so relieved that it finally lets you cry, feel. Dami softens, slowly rocking back and forth, the same way you soothe a cholicky baby.

“Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here.” He repeats the phrase in a sing-song voice between counting the pace of your breath out loud. “We’re gonna start with four. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.” 

“Daddy,” you croak, twisting the fabric of his shirt around your fingers. It's an ugly sound, revealing just how desperate you feel. Desperate to do right by him. Desperate to keep him sober, even though you know that, ultimately, it was out of your control. But it couldn’t be out of control because you couldn’t lose him again now that you’d remembered how much you needed him. Now that you stopped subsisting on scraps in the form of memories. During the split, it had been heartbreaking to recall the dysfunctionality. Even more heartbreaking, however, were reminders of a joy more potent than you’d ever felt in your adult life.   

“Daddy, I…” need you. I’m ready to admit that you are an essential piece to the ever changing puzzle that is my life. But you can’t get the words out before the urge to sob takes over, so end up omitting a wounded whine, like when you trip over an excited dog and accidentally step on its tail.

“Oh, piccolo mia,” he laments. Apparently the noise was just as painful to hear as it was to make. You tighten your legs around Dami’s hips, knowing full well it's probably too much. He throws caution to the wind and pulls up the back of your blouse, untucking it from your pants. His hand is clammy from nerves when it touches your back.

“I’m right here. Daddy is right here, giving you all his attention. And the only thing you need to do is breathe with me.” With the movement of Dami’s hand on your skin, you begin falling into his rhythm. There's no penalty when you choke up or make a mistake. Damiano rubs circles on your back at the exact same pace with which he counts. You’re grateful that he knows not to set it on your butt or flank today. Once you’re calmer, he moves up to six counts, then eight. 

“I love you.” It’s the first thing you say when the eight counts feel manageable. “I – I need you.”

“You need me?” Dami is so pleased that his voice sounds like a warm blanket. He readjusts the position so your eyes can meet. Realizing this moment has to end, you begin clawing your way to the surface. The further you are out of subspace, the less his leaving will hurt. Damiano’s face visibly falls.

“There. You just did it. You were totally present with me then you put a wall up.”

“Don’t let go of my neck!” The words are so rushed they’re barely discernible.

“Topolina, I will never discipline you like that.” Your bottom lip trembles, but you keep your eyes on him because it's grounding. “I will never ever be callous with my sweetest Little Girl.” His words and the earnestness which accompanies them unlock a vault in your mind. It’s so well concealed that you’d hidden it from yourself, and for good reason, apparently. Every notable memory of submission to Dami comes rushing back, all at once. The hand on your neck shifts, almost negligible.

“Not ready!”

“And I’m not letting go,” he responds in his softest voice, overflowing with affection. “I’m just kissing your forehead, silly goose.” Damiano uses his grip to pull you a couple centimeters closer and tilt your head down. “Mwah! Mwah, mwah. See?” He makes theatrical noises as his lips meet your skin. It's an effort to make this stressful moment lighthearted, but your hands continue clenching the fabric of his t-shirt. When Dami moves to kiss your cheeks, he ends up wiping a couple stray tears away. You hadn’t felt them fall.

“Undo your fists. I’m not going anywhere.” Uncurling your hands takes some effort. You splay them across Damiano’s back to feel his heartbeat. Again, you’re stuck between states: being Little and functional adulthood. Correction: calling what you could reasonably achieve today “functional” was probably too generous.

“I can see you fighting it so hard, topolina. You don’t have to. I’m right here.” He thinks you’re battling subspace because of all the times you’d coped with sub-drop alone during the breakup. It’s certainly a factor, but more worrying is the fact that your brain is sabotaging both your mornings. It didn’t feel like a safe time to slip into submission. 

“I – work! Gotta, gotta…” You couldn’t afford to become non-verbal. 

“No.” Both his tone and expression were stern. “What you’re going to do is allow yourself to be 100% present with me for a few more minutes. Non-negotiable.”

“I can breathe though.”

“You’re so afraid you’re trembling,” he deadpans. Even with faltering interoception, you can sense that it’s true.

“Why’d my brain just, just…”

“It's adrenaline.” What you’d intended to ask is why in the fresh hell did my brain launch me into headspace. Damiano wraps an arm around your lower back and pulls you flush against his body, so close your noses are touching. “I need you to feel how steady I am.” For a second, the shaking gets worse as your emotions intensify, but then it lessens. With your entire being, you wanted to believe that Dami was steady, that today’s events couldn’t compromise his sobriety. His gaze is so intense that you’re both drawn in and fighting the urge to look away.

“I am okay. You are okay. Our relationship is okay. And you can get back to reality without putting five football fields of space between us. That’s what I’ve been doing a piss poor job of communicating all morning.” Embarrassed for reacting so drastically, you nod, then try to avert your eyes. Damiano doesn’t allow that. He grabs your chin and uses it to turn your face back in his direction. For a second, the urge to fawn almost takes over completely. 

“Now there she is,” he coos. “There’s my perfect Little Girl.” Your cunt throbs so you collapse forward with a dramatic groan. 

“Why you gotta say the sexiest shit when I’m trying to pull myself together?!” Damiano breaks character and laughs right in your ear, so loud that it organically brings you to the surface.

“Okay, okay. Scene over?”

“Mhm.” He begins taking his hand away which earns an agonized whine. Dami freezes.

“Scene not over?”

“No, it’s just…sudden.” You sit up which turns out to be a horrible idea because your gaze falls to Dami’s lips. Your logical mind knows not to kiss him right now. But your submissive side wants to give him everything you have and more, especially since a hand on the back of your neck is exactly the gesture he’d use to pull you in for a makeout. So you stare at his lips again before consciously tearing your eyes away.

  “This is doing wonders for my ego, watching you fight the urge to kiss me.” That earns him an eye roll. “Oh, the sass is back! So we’re feeling better then.”

“Yeah.” You look at the floor and this time he doesn’t stop you.

“Okay, I’m actually gonna take my hand away.” You brace for it, but the air is still cold and bitter against your neck. Plus, what feels like the weight of the world resumes its resting place on your shoulders. Damiano moves his hand up a few inches, onto the back of your head instead of taking it away from the area entirely. He watches for subdrop, eyes pained after seeing how crestfallen you are. Needing a respite from the intensity of this unexpected moment, you decide to let work know that you’re going to be late. The tears in your voice are recent enough to pull off a very convincing performance about your sick grandfather being in the hospital with a mystery illness.

The veteran secretary who answers the phone finds your project manager right away. She offers to give you the whole morning off, visibly piquing Dami’s interest. Based on his expression, he expects you to take it, and if not for coinciding with his treatment schedule, you would. Instead, you promise to be there within an hour.

“You didn’t want the morning off?”

“I think that we’ll both do better keeping our schedules today.” He considers this for a moment then accepts it. Dami sets both palms on your mid-thigh to indicate that this was now an adult interaction between equals.

“We need to have a tough conversation or two…or five.” He tries to make you smile, but your stomach flips instead. “Obviously not right this moment, but we both need to find space in the next couple days. It’s time.”

“You’re right. I know it, I’m just, well, scared, as per usual.”

“Yeah, me too.” You look up in surprise. Damiano was the most courageous person you knew. He was the one to call it, even though it was obvious to both of you that avoiding a discussion for any longer would be counterproductive.

“Scared about what?” He looks at you wide-eyed and sputters while gesturing to the door. “Damia, I told you not to promise me perfection because I knew it wasn’t realistic. My expectation is that you try your absolute best to stay sober and when relapse happens, you fight like hell. And I don’t want to impede your ability to do that by making you spend all your inner resources on me.” Anxiety concealed as exasperation creeps into your voice. “Which is why I didn’t take the morning off. Because I didn’t want to interrupt your routine, when that routine helps you be sober. I didn’t want to create a demand for emotional labor, when –”

“What, by having emotions?” he interrupts sharply. 

“I – yeah. You’re used to having these peaceful quiet mornings and I just…”

“Existed? Experienced things? Was a human being with needs?” 

“Yes, but I – I mean, yeah because I – You, you’re still at risk of like, like…It's more important! Your sobriety is more important.”

“Than your emotions?” He narrows his eyes as if that's an unhinged beleif.

“Yes! It's more important than my emotions. It's more important than me. It's more important than everything!” 

“No!”

“Yes!” You push his hands away and stand up, pacing to the other side of the living room.

“I am the only one that can prioritize my sobriety above all else, and I do! Despite last night, I fucking do! My sobriety can’t be your priority.”

“Why?” you snap and whip around, shooting daggers with your eyes.

“Because it's my life.”

“Ditto. I can prioritize whatever I want.”

“You have to prioritize yourself. You can’t live for somebody else!”

“Prioritizing your sobriety is living for myself because I would never be okay if you died from an overdose and you fucking know that. So I’m not sure why we’re fighting about this.”

“Because only I can keep myself sober,” he implores. 

“I fucking know that!!” you screech through gritted teeth. It's a fact that haunts all my waking hours and several of my slumbering ones. “I don’t live in some fairytale land where I control your decisions. Nor do I want to, whatsoever. But I can make your sobriety easier, so I’m damn well going, too. Today of all days!”

“It's not your responsibility!” He stands up and gestures in frustration.

“Did I say it was!?” Doubt starts to creep in as to why Damiano is hellbent on whatever point he’s making.

“You’re –”

“Am I annoying you when I try to help with your sobriety? Is that what it is?” 

“Wha – no. No.” His tone changes completely, all the wind gone from his sails.

“Fuck,” you sigh and bite the inside of your lip. “Sorry, I just did that thing where I get insecure and you have to be nice to me instead of having your feelings.”

“That’s not what just happened.”

“Seems…” You’re about to say that it seems like Damiano has to bottle up his feelings instead of getting to resolve them. And that it felt like he started to avoid fights with you pre-breakup, since you’d get all pathetic like this. Dami was so empathetic and didn’t want to deal with your occasional bouts of middle school level self-confidence, which became more numerous as things fell apart. It was the only bit of jealousy, in terms of his other partners, that had staying power: confidence. Glowing, radiant, unshakable, sexy confidence. The opposite of your insecurity, which was so powerful that it could totally warp your sense of reality, as it probably was now.

“There! That! Tell me, just fucking tell me.” Damiano’s pointing at you, so you look down at yourself, startled. “It started with you hiding your anger from me, but it's become this. Like you won’t take a single step without considering how it might impact my sobriety. You edit out everything that could possibly trigger...I don’t even know what! Like, I’ve started playing a guessing game where I try to think of anything you could plausibly say in a situation that would jeopardize my sobriety. And besides that last night, there was never anything I couldn’t handle.”

“I…” your brain feels like sludge. “A second ago was just classic insecurity, but generally…yeah. Yeah, I’ve been walking on eggshells a lot, if I’m honest.” Dami sighs in relief and approaches.

“You hold me down. You keep me sane. Not just sunshine you, but scatterbrained, insecure, anxious you. Keeps-an-extra-pair-of-pants-in-her-car-since-she-always-spills-her-coffee-driving you. Veterinarian in a past life, too competitive for board game nights, can’t stick to the grocery list, maker of near disaster via spontaneous hugs in the kitchen at the least opportune moment you. Scowls at men, but smiles at every child, and they always smile back. Picks the restaurant, but can’t pick what to order, then insists on tipping too much at bad service. All music is dancing music, borderline delusional optimist, empathy for the socially invisible, never finishes a book before starting another because she hates endings. Believes in love instead of god because she can find something to love in everyone she meets. Everyone has beauty and purpose and fascinating complexity.”

“Dami…”

“Calls me out on my bullshit when all the others are too intimidated. Remembers who I am when I forget. Understands my art when the public doesn’t, but believes that anyone can be an artist. Believes that the world is full of magic, in the form of human possible connection.” Damiano backs you against a wall, bodies barely brushing. “I could keep going,” he whispers. “You don’t have to try. Just be.”

“But I want to be sure that I’m not jeopardizing your sobriety.”

“On the off chance that moment ever comes, I will tell you. I won’t let you compromise my sobriety.” Some of that weight lifts. “The way things were when we broke up, they’re never going to be that way again. I am prioritizing my sobriety and I've got a small army of physicians helping me. You don’t need to prioritize my sobriety anymore.” He sets a hand on your ribcage, still speaking in a whisper. The moment is extremely intimate.  “It's taken care of, my love. It's time for you to be taken care of. And I know we’re gonna have this same conversation again and that's okay.” 

You loosely wrap your arms around Dami, to keep him close and extend the moment. Just based on your body language, he can tell that you’ve finally internalized what he’s been trying to say.

“I’ve been anxious about coming home and you’re gone.”

“Not going to happen. No surprises, no disappearing acts.”

“Okay.” You cast your eyes anywhere by his face. Damiano takes your jaw in his hand, coaxing you to look at him, but not demanding it as he did minutes ago. You take a couple seconds to corral your emotions first, since you can’t gauge if your reaction is gonna be more tears, hyperventilating, smiles, giddiness, or feeling lovesick. He sees this effort and presses your body into the wall using his own.

“Let me in,” he demands. You stop intentionally directing your features into an expression and wait for thoughts to come up organically. Except they don’t, so you try to recall how this worked when transparency was your first instinct with Damiano. Unfortunately, the only thing discernable is your sense of smell informing you that Dami is delicious. You’d braced for the stench of booze coming from his pores this morning, but it's not because he barely drank. So he still smells like home, plus a tiny bit sweaty from getting too hot in his sleep. That was only perceptible up close though. His skin would be salty if you licked it. You can also tell that he brushed his teeth while you were getting dressed, but that should be obvious. He wouldn’t have gotten in your space like this otherwise. 

So the urge to kiss him returns with a vengeance. You attempt to see around the obstacle to identify something of your innermost thoughts. What do I feel? How do I feel? Horny, obviously, which wasn’t exactly news. More like your resting state. It’s as if your mind is a shaken snow globe. So you’re squinting your eyes to see the miniature winter wonderland below. But all you can perceive is the mental permafrost that is wanting to ride Damiano until you collapse and this fucking blizzard obscuring your vision. 

“Y/n –”

“I genuinely can’t figure out what I’m thinking. I’m trying, I swear.” 

“Can I take a guess?” he smiles. “You’re horny.” After the initial embarrassment, you get flustered, consider hiding it, decide not to, and end up aroused. Damiano’s gaze devouring your blush certainly inspires confidence, as well.

“Actually it was way more specific than that, but sure.” You can see the progression of Dami’s emotions: aroused, realizing your transparency, excitement, even more aroused. 

“Why do you torture me?” He boxes you in with his arms and uses his pelvis to keep you pinned against the wall. When his cock twitches you smirk and raise an eyebrow, but a more serious answer crosses your mind. “Tell me, tell me,” Damiano chants.

“I don’t want to jerk you around, with the physicality stuff. Because on a couple days it’s been…I wake up feeling really steady and so do you. Then I come home and you’re reading a book on the couch and you’ve done all the laundry and I just want to fucking…slip my panties off and grind on the crotch of your jeans while we makeout until I’m sore. And then maybe you – anyways, then some –

“No, no. Finish that thought first.”.

“Your tongue can be really, really gentle,” you admit, feeling a tiny bit perverse. “Soft, soothing, so when I’m sore it's – it's, um, nice.”

“What’s my tongue doing?” He leans down and speaks directly into your ear again.

“You go down on me.” Your voice starts to climb in pitch from the anticipation.

“Right there on the couch?”

“Mhm.”

“We don’t even make it to the bedroom?”

“I, um – It’s just in my head.”

“But just in your head, we don’t make it off the couch.” His lips barely brush your neck. Was it an accident? 

“No.”

“Why? Cause you’re too desperate?”

“Hng, I –” He boldly nips at the base of your neck.

“This okay?” he murmurs. As Dami speaks, his breath hits the spot of saliva his mouth left on your skin and you’re so keyed up that it evokes a full body shiver.

“Mhm!”

“So are you desperate because you need to cum? Or desperate because you got carried humping me since you were too horny to stop yourself?” Somehow, one of the arms that had been around Dami’s waist is now clutching his shoulders as he licks your neck. You don’t remember it happening.

“What…was I just talking, um –” Thankfully, Dami raises face to look at you which makes thinking easier.

“Anyways, then some.”

“Huh?”

“That's how your next thought started: ‘anyways, then some.’”

“Oh, um…then, I don’t know, maybe I have a bad anxiety day or I talk to my therapist or something reminds me of a painful memory and I don’t want sexual touch.”

“But do you always want physical touch of some kind, like cuddling?”

“Well, I came climbing into bed with you last night, didn’t I?” He smiles wide and looks over the couch for a moment.

“Yeah, that's true…and very good to know. If all days are good physical touch days, you are about to get very sick of me.” Now you’re both smiling like fools and the gravitational pull of chemistry has your noses nearly brushing while Dami slips an arm between the wall and the small of your back. It occurs to you that this is the same move he made in the shower, when encouraging you to grind against his leg.

“I just don’t want you to feel rejected or misled if you touch me in a certain way and I’m not into it, even though I was yesterday. Because it's so momentous since we were broken up for a while.”

“Well, you can just tell me that and I’ll understand.” You nod, but the fact that it isn’t so simple occurs to you. Damiano sees it and raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay, I forgot how fucking inconvenient this mind reading thing is but –” he bursts into joyful laughter, head thrown back. You rest your other arm on Dami’s shoulder as well. In return, he pulls you body to body, resting his other hand on the top of your ass with a watchful expression. It’s exactly the point you were making.

“Obviously, I wasn’t feeling like jumping your bones today. The way you placed your hands over there,” you nod towards the couch, “I really appreciated, because it was exactly the right thing. Like it was so conscientious and considerate and nurturing,” even saying the word made your pussy throb, “that I’m pretty sure it turned me on. So fuck if I know how this works!” Again, Dami is filled with boisterous laughter that's infectious. As you giggle along, you wonder if he was right about just letting your organic connection do its thing. “My brain was like ‘Wow. He’s so nuanced about doing this in exactly the way I need. He’s so respectful about the fact that this is totally non-sexual for me that it's making me wet. Oh, wait.’”

“Okay. So sex is never a –”

“Sexual contact,” you clarify. “I still don’t feel ready for proper love making, I’m sorry.” Dami’s face is the most offended it's been all morning.

“Sorry? What do you mean ‘sorry?’” 

“I know, I know,” you brush him off with an eye roll. 

“For fucks sake, don’t apologize. Why would –”

“Stop, you’re so dramatic!” You jostle Damiano while speaking and he almost delivers a retort before changing course in an effort to make you laugh. Effusive, he gasps and brings a hand to his sternum in scandal.

“Who, me? Dramatic?? Never!” You’re filled with a yearning that originates in your mind, but starts in your cunt. This time you don’t fight it off as it travels upwards to envelope you. “I would –”

“Kiss me,” you interrupt, so giddy that you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet. Caught off guard, Dami stops speaking. “Kiss me, kiss mmm –”

Notes: It's a good one! Thank you for waiting for this update and for reading this fic. I hope the holiday season is at least bearable for y'all. And if its not, me and my Masterlist are here for you!

-XOXO Eden

✧ The Sun is the Center of Everything Table of Contents

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[dollarstoreartsupplies]

For the Drabble/doodle prompt:

Fem!Reddie But I’m a Cheerleader AU

ohhhh babey hell yeah

me and @haaawaiianshirt actually discussed this au like a million years ago but I genuinely can't remember who was who, so after like a full forty five minutes of staring at a wall, thinking about Them, I reengineered it to make eddie megan... except she still gets to be a little butch

ficlet below cut:

i haven't written these babies in so long so I sincerely apologize if im rusty but have some Eddie-specific, non-canon scene, but i'm a cheerleader vibes:

Eddie… didn’t quite see it working out like this.

Which to be perfectly fair, isn’t, like out of the picture. The past almost two months have been exclusively didn’t quite see it working out like this. 

Being accused of lesbianism, being sent to conversion therapy, and, goddamnit, especially not the accusation being right.

But when she’d been sitting outside the office, panic coursing through her nervous system, waiting, Eddie had genuinely thought that she was going to lie. She was fully prepared to pretend she was straight, to say that none of it had ever happened. That she’d never loved Richie Tozier and she was so, horribly, incredibly excited to graduate into a dull, mind-numbingly pink life of heterosexuality.

Richie was going to look at her with huge, betrayed eyes. Richie was going to get kicked out. She’d already carved out a place in her brain for the guilt.

Eddie was a good girl, Eddie was a catholic girl, Eddie was her mother’s perfect daughter, Eddie was a fucking cheerleader. Richie was the brave, snarky, proud-to-be-a-dyke one, not her.

But for some fucking reason, staring her mother down as tears and snot dripped down her face, demanding she reconsider, while Robert fucking Gray in neat little blue suit grinned at her and told her she could have a second chance, she couldn’t do it. Fuck that, she’d thought, considering a life of boyfriends and a raised ranch in the suburbs and two and a half kids, Fuck that.

Richie had said she was braver than she fucking thought that night, her hand slid under her skirt in the back of the Cocksucker, her voice all soft and smiley and genuine. She hadn’t really realized that she’d meant it comparatively. That Eddie was brave because Richie wasn’t.

Maybe that wasn’t fair. Eddie just… doesn’t know how to feel fair right now. 

She was supposed to leave with her and she hadn’t.

(The spot in her head she’d reserved for betraying-Richie guilt has been instead taken up with the image of Richie herself, pale and crying and more quiet than she’d ever seen her be, mouthing silent ‘I’m so sorry’s. With the words, ‘It’s been decided, then. Richie will do the simulation with Connor. Edith, you can go.’)

Adrien and Don had told her to take her time with the whole thing. Stan had rolled their eyes and told her that she’d get over it. She doesn’t think either of them are fucking right.

Not when she’s so fucking mad and confused, and every time she closes her eyes she pictures Conner fucking Bowers, sleazy, gay Conner Bowers, simulating sex that she knows Richie doesn’t want to have. 

She stares hard at the ceiling of her new bedroom. It’s smaller than her one at home, the walls painted a bright, angry red, and self-help books and dyke memoirs and magazines she knows you can’t buy in the grocery stores unsubtly sitting on the bedside table. 

It’s a weird, hands off sort of acceptance she’s not used to. And it’s better than her Mother’s cloying need to have control, but it almost makes her uncomfortable.

She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing, in general and as a fucking lesbian and… god, maybe it’s selfish but she almost wishes Richie were here just so she could tell her the steps. 

Richie was the same age as her, sure, but she had more experience with this whole thing. She’d kissed girls, she knew what fucking… scissoring meant, she was good at it, she had the fucking training hours and everything that Eddie specifically lacked. 

(Though, she realizes, maybe that's the difference.

Richie knew. Richie came into this whole thing well aware she was a lesbian. From what she’d whispered, hidden in the dark corners of New Horizons, when they’d stopped making out just long enough to talk, it’d been one of the openly apparent things everyone around her knew and hated since she was thirteen. 

All her sex talk and bold sexuality shit that Eddie’d been so intimidated by at first, that she kind of longs for now, was just a defense mechanism that could be easily broken down and manipulated. 

Eddie… had honestly just never considered the idea before her mom sent her away.

Having sex with Conner would have grossed her out before, probably. She’d never even wanted to kiss Myran when they were dating, and now that she knew why, she wasn’t about to back down.

Somehow, Richie having more time to figure everything out made it even more complicated.

Christ, it’s not like any of this shit feels simple for Eddie, though.)

Without thinking about it she kicks herself off her bed and slams into the bathroom. 

‘Sweetheart, don’t worry about being a perfect lesbian,’ Adrian had soothed when she’d shown up, crying with suitcases, ‘Just worry about being yourself.’

It’d probably been good advice. If she’d known who the fuck she was.

She knew she was a cheerleader, that one had just been a fact.

She knew she was a lesbian, she’d figured that one out fast and then let it sink it incredibly slowly. 

She knew she was angry and she knew she was sad, and she knew that Richie might have had a point about her being brave. And that one had been after doing something impulsive and maybe stupid. 

She doesn’t really have time to recreate the first two, slowly burned life changes, but she can probably do the impulsive stupid one again. 

The least she could do was try, she thinks, digging in one of the drawers under the sink until she finds what she’s looking for. 

Her hair falls in clumps as she hacks at it with dull, bathroom cabinet scissors, uneven and probably ugly and she’s gonna have to get someone to fix it. Suddenly, though, she doesn’t think she gives a shit. 

She wonders if it’s a cliche, a dyke with short hair. She’s not necessarily sure she cares any more. Her head feels lighter than it ever has. 

She wonders why the fuck she hadn’t done this earlier, short hair would be so much easier for cheer than a fucking hair-sprayed stiff blow out. 

She wonders if Richie would like it. 

Richie. 

Fuck.

(Mother fucker… well, impulsive and stupid worked twice, right?)

She slams into Stan’s bedroom, the sudden plan shaking its way out of her skin too hard to take anything slow. They blink up from their book and look her over, cocking an eyebrow, “Nice hair.”

“Thank you,” She grins, feeling hot all over and shaky and kind of like she’s gonna pass out. Just, in a good way, somehow, “Wanna go crash the graduation tomorrow?”

[sonofthedunes]

Happy Dilf Luke Friday!!!🫶🏻

Recently I've been thinking how I definitely wouldn't mind him being somewhat mean or grumpy towards me as long as he makes up for it afterwards. I'm sure he'd find a good way to apologize👀👀

and a happy dilf luke friday to you as well, anon! :3

i think i see what you mean here-like he’s extremely demanding of you during your training, or he’s irritated with you if you’re too cheerful first thing in the morning, and later on he finds you as you’re taking a quiet moment and-shocking even himself-mumbles an apology. “sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “been a while. i’m still getting used to the whole…’having human contact again’ thing.”

“apology accepted, master,” you reply, still taken aback by his honesty. “this”-motioning to the cliffs of ahch-to looming around you-“isn’t exactly my normal either.”

luke nods, settling beside you where you’re reclining in the grass. “believe it or not, i am trying.”

“to…?”

“help you feel more…comfortable? is that the word? if you really insist on learning from me, it won’t do us any good if you’re tense all the time,” he clarifies.

you see the wisdom in his words. “i’d say i’m pretty comfortable right now,” you muse. idly your fingers brush over the back of his mechanical hand. “anyone ever told you you have that effect on people? when you’re near something in me just relaxes. i’m not sure if it’s your presence in the force or…”

luke fixes you with a knowing, exasperated stare, eyebrow cocked. “and has anyone ever told you that flattery will get you nowhere, my young apprentice?”

“what do you mean, master?” you smile, a sunset blush flooding your cheeks as you subtly stress the title. luke catches your emphasis, and he doesn’t dislike it, but he ignores it for now.

“i mean,” he continues, “that if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask.”

“……..oh.” even after all the months you’ve spent here, even after all the times you’ve slept with him (which very much hadn’t been part of the plan initially), luke can still steal the very breath from you with one sentence. quickly shedding your jacket, you press up against him; his growing excitement is evident as he places both hands on your waist.

he regards you for a moment with blue eyes unclouded by age but haunted with the past. it’s beautiful and sad all at once, like always. “oh, and one more thing,” he murmurs as he leans toward you.

despite how your speech has stuck in your throat, you manage a “hm?” as your fingers tangle in his greying hair.

“right now…i think i want to be luke. just luke.”

and it is this, more anything else, that proves to you how sorry he is. he’s never allowed you to simply refer to him by his name before. “alright, luke,” you whisper against his lips, reverent as a prayer, before they meet yours and the inadequacies of verbal language become wholly unnecessary.

[tea-with-eleni]

Captured Outside the Amber Temple

Things are looking grim for Ireena Kolyana. An hour ago, she and the party were on their way to the amber temple. Upon arriving, Strahd and almost everyone who is anyone from Castle Ravenloft were waiting out front. They threatened to kill Ismark Kolyanovich and anyone else Ireena cared about unless she did the sensible thing, accepted their hospitality, and left with them. She gave the sunsword to the party rogue and felt she had no choice but to agree.

You feel like throwing up. You hate that he can manipulate you like this. You wish you could do anything else, but Ismark is the only family you have left. You cannot let him die.

You do not let yourself look back at your companions, at the people who have literally traveled your soul. You do not let yourself look back where Doru still hides. You cannot be the reason that he is hurt again. You suspect you have already been the reason why he was hurt at all. You suspect you are the reason why this entire country is hurting. Why? What did you do, in a part life? You must have done something horrible, to deserve this. Or perhaps the gods are cruel.

Perhaps, nothing — you know the gods are cruel. The vampire with the horns, the deranged one who likes demons, smiles when you reach her. She is hard to see in the dim light of early evening, especially backlit by the eerie glow of the amber statues. She puts an arm around your shoulders. “Thank you for being reasonable, sweetness,” she says. Her tone is different than you remember, from either the dinner or the tense negotiations of a few minutes ago. It’s like a mask has slipped away. “We would never want to hurt you. Can you ride?”

She nods to the horse. You want to scream at the question. Strahd dismounts and kisses the vampire. There is something strange about that, too — you do not want his affection, you have never wanted his affection, but he has kissed you before. This isn’t just strange. This is… wrong. He turns towards you, one arm still around the vampire woman, and cups your cheek in his hand. His hand feels wrong. He smiles. “It’s easier to teleport from the gatehouse,” he says. “Although we don’t have to, if you don’t want to ride.”

You would rather stab his stupid nightmare horse with Sergei’s sword. You no longer have Sergei’s sword. You wish you did. It would have been nice to sense the blade’s fury at your hip. “Don’t touch me!” you yell. Strahd steps back, eyes wide. The vampiress with the horns raises an eyebrow. Her hand slides off your shoulder, down your arm. In another context, it would be a comforting gesture. You refuse to acknowledge that. “You didn’t want me to go in the temple. Fine. You threaten my brother. Fine. I will listen to you, I will go with you, in this matter I will agree to your demands. But please, milord, do not touch me. Give me this one thing, ladies take you.” You’re almost panting. You can’t quite look at him. You don’t want to look at him. You know all too well what his face will look like. You can picture the rage. You have seen it before, although you can’t precisely recall the circumstances. You have likely caused it before.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Have you ever heard him apologize before?

You take the deepest breath you can in the icy air. You force yourself to look up at him, to really look up at him. He looks shocked, but the lines of the shock are wrong. The expression doesn’t sit right. Something is wrong. This… this isn’t Strahd. You inhale, too sharply, and the shock of cold in your lungs makes you cough. “Who are you?” you choke out.

“It doesn’t matter,” the horned vampire says, crisply. She pats your arm, then sets off to where Rahadin has your brother. “It’s time to go!” she calls. “We need to get Ireena and Burgomaster Kolyanovich somewhere warm. A meal would also be a good idea.” You see Rahadin bow slightly and wince at how easily he is able to pick up your brother. He asks if you’ll be returning to the guardhouse or making the trip from here. “We won’t ride anywhere,” the vampire says. “Ireena doesn’t want to ride and I don’t want to cause her any additional distress. It’s been a long few weeks for everyone. Can you make a fire while I draw the circle?”

Rahadin keeps his distance from you, almost respectfully, as he leads you back towards the trees. Strahd and the horned vampire clear the snow from the ancient roadway. You try not to enjoy the warmth too much as you sit near the fire the horrible dusk elf builds. The horned vampire draws an arcane circle on the roadway in chalk. She pays little attention to the golden fabric of her skirts. Its hem picks up all manner of grime and dirt. You would be appalled to let something so pretty fall into such shape. Strahd fidgets as he watches her, standing alone on the far side of the circle. Some detached part of you recognizes it as a teleportation circle. You have seen similar before, in a bedroom that was once yours.

You’re glad you reclaimed your hidden letters before the Wachter boys burned your old house down. It’s nice to think that, at least once, at least for a little while, you were happy in love.

The dark haired vampire spawn, whatever her name was, the one in the red dress that the bard keeps calling “pretty lady”, shouts a warning from the temple doors. Wind blows through your hair and you turn back to the fire. Strahd materializes on the other side of the flames.

This time, you know it is him. Your pulse spikes. You aren’t sure how the false Strahd near the circle fooled you before when the true one looks so different. He looks the same, but his expression is sharper. His stands straighter. His eyes have a fire that the false Strahd’s lacked. His smile towards you is cold. Feral.

“Thank you for joining us, my dear,” he says. “I am sorry your friends did not see reason, but that is a problem for them, not you. You made a wise choice.”

You look away, back towards the horned vampire an the false Strahd. Whatever illusion he’s using, it’s still in place. You can’t quite see through it. The magic is just a shade too powerful. You refuse to look at the real Strahd. Your mind and heart race.

Your anger couldn’t last against the false Strahd, not without the real one there to hate, and now all you feel is terror. He could kill you. You can still feel the icy pain of his fangs if you let yourself remember.

The false Strahd looks at you with a very different and much stranger smile. He seems to vanish, then reappears a few feet from you. “We will not hurt you,” he says, echoing what the horned woman said earlier. “We will protect you.” He offers a hand. He does not step any closer. He seems to be respectful of your outburst earlier. You do not take it, but he nods anyways and lets his hand fall back to his side.

“You could ask for the moon and stars and we would at least try to give it to you,” the false Strahd says. “Ask Strahd.” You would not want to give him the satisfaction, but you hear him laugh behind you.

“You are the moon and stars, dearest,” Strahd says. Your spine stiffens. Your head aches. Your jaw clenches. You feel as if you’ve heard him say those words before.

“I am not your moon or stars,” you grind out. He only laughs again. The person who pretended to be Strahd only shakes his head. If not for the amused smile on his face… he almost looks like Sergei, with that expression. You frown. You hadn’t entirely seen the family resemblance until now.

Your hand goes to your hip, to where you had, until an hour ago, belted what remained of Sergei’s crystal sword. You close your eyes and shake your head. It is useless to protest against him now. It has been useless for centuries. But this time might be different. This time, even without the sword, you can feel the echo of Sergei’s teachings from when the sun still shone. You can feel the echoes of the arcane magic you practiced with Vaclav in the attic of Vallakovich mansion. You can feel Ismark’s training in your muscles. You have been loved, truly and deeply, by friends and family who actually knew the meaning of the words.

Your traveling companions might help you, or they might die. You will most likely die, as you have died time and time again. You are literally surrounded by vampires who would drain you dry and a dusk elf who has killed countless innocents. You’re doomed and you don’t even know why. The mists will almost certainly reclaim you as they have so many times before.

You hate him.

You want to kill him.

The intensity of the sentiment is almost shocking. You pray to anything that is listening that you get the chance to do just that.

You do not know if anything hears you.

Something hears you.

[skyler10fic]

Arrangements

By Skyler10

Summary:

Princess Daisy has been matched with a suitor who can help her achieve her goal of peace between the natural magic and acquired magic realms.

Words: 1,805

Read on Ao3

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As if it wasn’t humiliating enough being the daughter of the queen of the natural magic realm and the “mad” prince consort, Daisy now had to meet the match that had been arranged for her.

The interview with the matchmaker had not gone well. Lady May was in no way sympathetic to Queen Jiaying’s insistence that Princess Daisy was forbidden from marrying outside the natural magic realm. Both the queen and Lady May were proud, stubborn women, and Daisy had to admit that Lady May standing up to the queen had impressed her. Daisy’s personal questions for the matchmaker went unanswered, but the princess just might have won Lady May over by the end of the skills demonstration. The day might have been a success in the end if it weren’t for the explosive rage of her father destroying some priceless pottery when he heard of the queen’s demand. It felt like a personal insult to him, as he was not of natural magic descent, but rather of the acquired magic realm.

Though Daisy knew that not so long ago, the mightiest heroes of the natural magic and acquired magic worlds often fought monsters together and were even great friends, she didn’t see a point in debating her parents about it again. Part of her resented both of her parents for their ideals. Acquired magic had violently damaged her father in his pursuit of power—always out of love and protection for his baby girl, he assured. And her mother’s prejudice, as well as that of the rest of the natural magic community, didn’t earn Daisy’s affection either. She wished there was a place where she could live in harmony with both parts of herself, and she told the matchmaker as much.

Though Lady May hardly seemed concerned with Daisy’s confessions, they must have landed on attentive ears, because Daisy now had a first meeting match lined up with someone from the acquired magic realm. The eldest niece of King Fury, of the Kingdom of Sword and Shield, in fact. Lady May explained these bare facts as she led Daisy up the palace path and into the expertly manicured garden where the other princess would be waiting.

“I get a girl?” Daisy asked Lady May, face lighting up with hope that it would at least not be some patriarchal man baby. Though a capable hot gentleman prince would have been equally pleasing, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t fantasized about it, plenty of princesses and duchesses had appeared in her imaginings as well.

“Not just any girl,” Lady May reproached as she opened the garden gate. “You’ll have to earn this one. She’s not going to be easy. But worth it, if you’re up for the challenge.”

“Are you daring me to fall in love, Lady May?” Daisy teased this woman who was quickly becoming her idol.

“I don’t create romance; I make matches for compatibility. And you two are probably the only people who could stand being married to each other. In fact, I might get in trouble for putting you two together. You might like each other too much.”

Daisy saw the quirk of a smile in Lady May’s expression. “Maybe this arrangement thing isn’t as bad as I thought. I’m sorry for yelling so much the first time we met.”

Lady May smiled properly this time, if only for a second. “Apology accepted, though your outburst was useful in the end. That’s how I knew you’d be the right fit. She’s still not thrilled, either.”

Daisy fidgeted with her hands as they walked and tried to steady her shaky breath. She knew this match was vital for the peace between the natural magic and acquired magic worlds. Her mother was lost in her prejudices, and her father to his rage and ramblings. But she paid attention to the news of the outside world and rumors among the citizens. Factions were developing into hatred, and hatred into violence. Skirmishes and isolated incidents were turning into border walls being built and talk of educating youth in combat magic earlier in their training. Even on their journey here to the winter palace through idyllic countryside, defenses were being fortified in both kingdoms. Without a series of prudent matches uniting the border kingdoms politically, war seemed certain.

Suffice it to say, this peace effort was not Queen Jiaying’s plan for her daughter’s political usefulness. A strong “pure” natural magic marriage that would produce an even stronger heir was key to the queen’s agenda. But with Lady May in charge of matchmaking, there was little Queen Jiaying could do short of outright forbidding it and escalating tensions too quickly.

So Daisy explored her options, partly out of duty and partly out of curiosity. Mostly out of desperation to find a path forward that didn’t involve being a pawn in war games between the realms.

There had to be more to life.

At the end of the path, Daisy walked under an archway and into a lush garden, and there she was—a blonde girl her age, pacing the garden as if she’d rather be anywhere else. Lady May stopped walking but gestured for Daisy to continue. Too late to have second thoughts now.

The other princess noticed Daisy approaching and froze. She gaped as she took in the sight of Daisy: pink dress with a deep V-neck, sparkling jewelry, and dark eyes already amused at her match’s surprise.

“You’re… Oh.” The princess stuck out a hand and Daisy shook it, careful not to laugh at the awkward gesture. “I wasn’t expecting you to be, well, you.”

“Let me guess, you thought you’d be meeting a meathead prince who thinks too much of himself and wants you as a trophy wife? Or were you more afraid of a sickly princess who can’t get out a sentence without apologizing? Yeah, I’ve been to court too. Dating sucks.”

That served to break the ice and they both relaxed.

“I’m Carol.” The blonde smiled and curtsied. Daisy noticed her narrow “skirt” was really a cleverly tailored pair of trousers. Intriguing.

“Just Carol?” Daisy asked.

“Ugh, okay, Lady Carol Susan Jane Danvers, princess of Shield and Sword, avenger of the skies, blah blah blah.”

Daisy curtsied back. “Lady Daisy Skye Johnson, princess of Lai Shi, um, quake-er of earth? What is an avenger of the skies, anyway?”

Carol demonstrated, glowing slightly as she lifted off the ground with minimal effort, floating above Daisy and holding fire in her palms brighter than any Daisy had ever seen.

“And you?” Carol returned, floating back to Daisy’s side. “Quake-er?”

“Yeah, I don’t really have a cool title. I just do this.” Daisy extended her hand and focused on a citrus tree across the garden. She picked one far away and in a grove, just to show off her precision and control. The branches shook as bright orange fruit fell to the ground.

“Handy.” Carol cocked an eyebrow. Daisy took this as a challenge, just as May had said impressing Carol would be.

“Fine, but this is on you.” Daisy stood on a stone bench to see over the garden walls. She picked an uninhabited hill, just rocks and trees and mud. She breathed in and sensed the vibrations of the hillside, then extended just one finger. A thin line of the hillside turned to calamity as rocks and trees tumbled down, echoing throughout the valley. Birds relocated with a commotion, annoyed that their resting place had just become a snowless ski run. Daisy didn’t stop there, though. She picked a nice round boulder and rolled it around the grassy valley, dancing it in circles until Carol laughed and admitted Daisy’s powers were impressive.

“I don’t just roll rocks around, though.” Daisy shrugged and jumped down from the bench. “Just didn’t want to mess up anything in here.”

Carol glanced around the garden. “Yeah, not exactly helping world peace to destroy a shared palace.”

“I was thinking more that it’s so beautiful, but sure, yes, that too.” Daisy winked and then sombered. “So I guess you know what this is really about?”

Carol sighed and frowned. “King Fury thinks it would be the best route to peace. But he’s not forcing me. I said I wanted to help, and he said you’d be the one to understand.”

“I met him, a long time ago,” Daisy affirmed. “Still fresh out of training, in my first year of really being an adult at court and in meetings and all of that. He seems like a cool guy.”

“He is.” Carol stared off into the distance. “He just has some hard decisions to make right now. We really can’t afford a war, not with all the monsters of the north.”

Daisy sat up straighter. “Wait, what? I thought all that lived up north were like, bears and deer. Maybe wolves and stuff, but monsters?”

Carol huffed out a laugh. “Ice monsters. I started a magic forge with my light powers for weapons, and we have our best firepower users at the front, but the younger monsters are evolving to become fire retardant, and now our southern borders are fighting with natural magic users from your kingdom, and Uncle— I mean, King Fury isn’t as young as he once was so now our council of advisors is competing for the most blatant power grab and they all want to marry me and my cousin Princess Maria off to their sons so they can control us. So we’ve got that going for us. Really attractive match here, right?”

Carol’s tone by the end was bitter in its self-deprecation. She wasn’t holding back. This desperation was as real for her as it was for Daisy.

“That sucks, I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the north. If it helps, my dad’s literally crazy and my mom, well, you know.” Daisy shrugged. “Perfectly manageable amount of sea monsters and cave trolls though! And a few dragons, but we’ve mostly worked out a deal with them.”

“Dragons? Really?” Carol blinked and then tilted her head in thought. “Do you think they can fly in freezing temperatures? And maybe enjoy melting some evil snowmen? Though by snowmen, I mean sentient icicle creatures taller than a barn.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Daisy assured with laugh. “And as far as the dragons go, they might! They fly in the snowy mountains all the time. We could ask.”

Just as Daisy was about to clarify that by “we” she was implying Carol come home with her to explain the situation, Lady May reappeared.

“The tea is ready in the sunroom. This way.” Lady May turned and returned down the path, not waiting for the princesses to join her. They exchanged glances and hurried after their matchmaker, already planning on ways to bring peace to their kingdoms together.

[nobodysdaydreams]

People are wondering if Nathaniel and Nicholas’ sister is their older, triplet, or younger sister. All are good possibilities, all are hilarious possibilities, and my brain has generated these scenarios (all of which involve the kidnapped SQ theory) that play on their potential sibling dynamics please enjoy:

In a universe where Nathaniel/Nicholas have an older sister:

Their Sister: Well if it isn’t my baby brothers all grown up. Hello Nicky. Hello Natty.

Nathaniel (disgusted): Natty?

Their Sister: Yes. It’s what I used to call you. I had a slight speech impairment as a child and the “th” in your name was too difficult to say, so I called you Natty. Though I suppose you wouldn’t remember that.

Nicholas: Unfortunately no, and I’m afraid our brother doesn’t do nicknames.

Their Sister: What a shame. But surely he’ll make an exception for his favorite big sister, especially after I spent all this time trying to find him again, won’t you little Natty?

Nathaniel: I certainly will not. Where is my son?

Nicholas (turns to Nathaniel in surprise): …Your… son?

Nathaniel (glances at Nicholas, then turns back to their sister): Where is he?

Their Sister (sighs): You’re still so impatient after all these years. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You were a particularly demanding baby. Couldn’t shut you up. Always whining for attention.

Their Sister (turns to Nicholas): I can understand why you left him. And why our nephew wants nothing to do with him. Hopefully Natty doesn’t take it too personally, he always was rather… sensitive.

Nathaniel (trying to hold himself together): Alright, you’ve had your fun, and now you are going to answer me: Where. Is. My. Son.

Their Sister (smirks): Oh I wouldn’t worry too much about your son. After all, “the missing aren’t missing, they’re only departed”.

Nicholas (turns to their sister in surprise, still a little stunned/in shock from the nephew reveal): you… you know that Nathaniel created the emergency?

Their Sister: Nicky, I’m your older sister. I know everything. And I’m actually quite impressed with what you and Natty have accomplished: the society, the emergency, the happiness revolution, the worldview wash, really watching you play your little game of chess was quite entertaining.

Nathaniel: So why are we here? I assume you want something from us.

Their Sister: All I want is to be a family again. After all, I did promise that I would find you, didn't I? Though of course, you don't remember that.

Their Sister (glances at Nicky): And what kind of a sibling would I be if I didn’t keep such an important promise? I do apologize for the delay, I’m afraid my life circumstances haven’t been quite as pleasant and fortuitous as either of yours. But now that we’re finally together again I can offer you both a marvelous opportunity.

Nicholas: An opportunity? … What are you offering?

Their Sister (smiling): Why exactly what I promised you all those years ago of course. A way to be a family again. A chance to join me. And I hope you both accept. It's true, I enjoy giving you two a hard time, most siblings do I suppose, and I did miss it, but I also really did miss you. I’d hate for us to be enemies.

Nathaniel: If you don't want us to be enemies, then you should let my son go.

Their Sister: I'm sorry Natty, I just assumed that kidnappings were your preferred method of contact given your history. Besides, I need to make sure neither of you objects to my plans, considering the two of you might be the only ones who could actually try to stop me.

Nicholas: Well, I most certainly do object. This is absurd.

Their Sister (sighs): Very well Nicky. But you should understand that Natty might not feel the same given his position.

Their Sister (glances at Nathaniel): I would certainly hate for anything to have to happen to my nephew. He's a very talented young man, and I've started to grow rather fond of him. I think it's good that he's finally in an environment where he's valued and encouraged, as I understand you have a rather strained and distant relationship at the moment. Even if I were to let him go, I get the impression he wouldn’t be very happy to see you.

Nathaniel (surprised by how badly her words are affecting him, really trying to hide his guilt and not have a narcoleptic attack now, struggling to get his words out): No... I- … don't … … don't talk about my son.

Nicholas (surprised by and worried about his brother's sudden break in composure, he’s never seen him like this): …Nathaniel?

Their Sister (also looking genuinely surprised by Nathaniel's sudden emotional turn from anger to vulnerability and for a brief second, almost looking regretful/empathetic, as if she realizes something she said did more damage than she intended and wants to comfort him like she used to do): …

Their Sister: (quickly shaking off the feeling, turning back to Nicholas, and regaining her previous tone and control of the conversation): You might want to reconsider my offer especially since there's so little you remember about our past. It's hardly your fault, you were so young. But aren't you curious? Haven't you wondered who our parents were, how we became orphans, how we got separated? There's so much I could tell you.

Nathaniel (regaining his composure): So we "join you" and you give us answers and my son back, is that your offer?

Their Sister: Technically yes. But we'd get something much more valuable than that. We'd have our family back. And together, we could finally get something else that I promised myself and my baby brothers so many years ago on the night our lives fell apart.

Nicholas: What else did you promise us?

Their Sister (leans forward and smiles): Revenge.

In a universe where Nathaniel/Nicholas have a triplet sister:*

Their Sister: … and that was when I found out about the two of you. Obviously, my life hasn't exactly been easy, I'm sure you can understand, but I've managed to make quite a name for myself, as have the two of you from what I've read. And it's so lovely to finally be back together again. Please, sit down, have some refreshment. I know this is a lot to digest, and I would love to hear more about you.

Nathaniel: No thank you. Now enough with the pleasantries. I assure you, I am not someone you want as an enemy, and I have no interest in having any more idle conversations with you until this situation is resolved. As I am who we can assume by personality and intellect to be the oldest triplet, it's only fitting that I make the decisions here. And I demand our immediate release as well as the release of our children and associates.

Their Sister: mmm… yes….small problem with that. I found our hospital records. I’m the oldest. You’re the youngest.

Nathaniel: I- the youngest? That's impossible. Let me see that.

Nicholas (looks at the document and gasps): Nathaniel look, after all these years of thinking you were the older twin- or well I suppose it's triplet now- here you are: my baby brother! 🥰🥰🥰

Nathaniel (mortified): Do not call me that.

Their Sister (to Nicholas): Nathaniel makes a fair point. Technically he’s our baby brother.

Nathaniel (scoffs): Younger by 2-3 minutes, and I hardly think that matters.

Their Sister: Hmm… actually I believe you just said it does. And since you insist on skipping the pleasantries, I'll get to the point: as the verified oldest triplet, I demand that my brothers do exactly what I want or their children are going to face the consequences. Understood?

*Side Note: the triplet birth order is a lose/lose/lose situation for Nathaniel because if he was the oldest triplet, his siblings would mock him for making an ego-trip out of it and if he was the middle triplet, it “explains why he needs so much attention”. I made him the youngest triplet here because that’s the scenario that would devastate him the most.

In a universe where Nathaniel/Nicholas have a younger sister:

Their Sister: I always wondered why no one from my family came looking for me. Why they’d abandoned me. I spent years wondering where I came from, looking for what family I had out there, and when I found out I had older siblings who hadn’t been searching for me, hadn’t remembered me, hadn't even wondered or checked if I existed- well, I won’t lie I was more than disappointed, especially after everything I’d been through. They say older brothers are supposed to protect their younger sisters, but you two clearly had other priorities. No hard feelings of course. In hindsight, I’m glad things happened the way they did. Being alone, being unwanted: it was a good thing. It fueled me.

Nicholas (turns to Nathaniel): Ah… well, Nathaniel, this seems like your department.

Nathaniel (nods at Nicky and turns to their sister): I too learned at a young age what it was like to be abandoned by someone close to me. Betrayed, cast aside, left to rot, torn to pieces, thrown away like garbage, stabbed through the heart,

Nicholas (to Nathaniel): Ok I think you’ve made your point…

Nathaniel (ignoring Nicholas and keeping eye contact with their sister): But then I realized that while I could not change the past, I could control my future. And so I made a choice. I left my past behind. I chose happiness.

Nathaniel (making his voice even more comforting/empathetic): I don't want to see my little sister so miserable. I want you to be happy. And I know you want to be happy. So let me help you. We all have the power deep within us to reach the happiness you so desperately desire. The happiness you deserve. Let us seize that power together. Make a choice. Choose happiness.

Their Sister (looking at Nathaniel hopefully and starting to smile): A-Are you...

Nathaniel (staring at her in anticipation, smiling): Yes?

Their Sister (looking at Nathaniel like he's an idiot): Are you seriously trying to use your happiness revolution technique on me? Did you really think I would fall for that?

Nicholas (horrified): What? Nathaniel! We can’t put our little sister under your artificial happiness! You know how dangerous it is, did you even think of what horrible brothers we’d be if something serious happened to her! I’m sure our sister isn’t so bad that we need to resort that, if we simply talk through the situation—

Nathaniel (growing frustrated): Nicky, please, I have to do this, just stay out of my way.

Nicholas (surprised his brother is snapping at him): … Nathaniel?

Their Sister: Oh don’t blame him too much for being so desperate. I did take his son after all.

Nicholas (turns to Nathaniel in shock): His… your… YOU HAVE A SON?

Nathaniel (sighs): Not now Nicky.

Nicholas (bursting with shock and joy): I HAVE A NEPHEW!? I- Oh- well this is wonderful! First a little sister and now a nephew… surprising obviously, not a fan of the whole kidnapping thing of course, never have been, but still, a sister and a nephew… *proceeds to ramble for several minutes*

Their Sister: Alright, enough!

Their Sister (turns to Nathaniel): Is he always like this?

Nathaniel (ignoring the question): I’m not wasting anymore time. What do you want with my son?

Their Sister: I don’t want anything with him. He’ll be released soon enough. Right now I’m keeping him as a guarantee of sorts.

Nicholas: Guarantee?

Their Sister: I have a vision for the future. A future that has been delayed and denied to me for far too long. I need to guarantee my estranged family doesn’t stand in the way of that future given their…reputations. And, as long as you don’t, your nephew will be back home safe and sound.

Nathaniel: And if we were to stand in your way?

Their Sister: Ah… well, that would be very bad for your son. And we wouldn’t want that, would we big brother? Because I'd imagine you'd find that very upsetting. And I don't want to see my big brother so miserable. I want you to be happy. So choose happiness. By staying out of my way.

And that’s what I got! Let me know what your favorite was.

As a side note this was so fun to write, especially writing the power dynamic shift between the sister/Nathaniel from her as the older sister teasing him with nicknames, to them as equals fighting over where they are in triplet birth order, to Nathaniel as the older brother being like “I bet I could brainwash her. She’s just my little sister. If I could do it to Nicky how hard could this be? Also Nicholas as the protective older brother being like “we can’t brainwash our baby sister just because she’s evil Nathaniel” and as the innocent little brother that’s like “oh I’ll kindly inform my evil sister that my brother hates nicknames. That will get her to stop and not encourage her in any way I’m sure”. Plus Nicholas/Nathaniel taking control of the conversation from the younger sister for a little bit, but struggling to do so with their older sister. Plus the older sister having fun messing with them, but then having a moment where she realizes she went too far and for a brief second wants to comfort them again like she used to. And Nathaniel’s distress and break in composure being a shock to all three of them, Nathaniel included, and making them want to come together again (…foreshadowing?).

Also side note for anyone who draws fan art: A picture of a 7-year-old sister playing with 3-year-old “Nicky and Natty” while little Nathaniel gets fussy and upset and Nicholas is the happiest toddler would be so cute. As would a picture of the 3-year-old twins playing with their baby sister. Fan art of them as triplets would be nice too. And ooo… fan art of them as adults contrasted to them as kids? With some emotional trauma sprinkled in? Very nice. Sadly, I can’t draw, but if you can draw, drew these scenarios, tagged this post, and it showed up on my timeline it would be a wonderful Christmas present 👀

[ziltoidcoffee]

Drabble: Sith Terry and Padawan Daniel

(No one asked, but I delivered? Don’t super need to know Star wars to get this drabble. I’m not even that confident in writing the world either. P But I did it anyway. Might make this a drabble series.)

“Excuse me.”

The unfamiliar voice pulls Daniel from his trance, dark eyes fluttering open. The world around him slowly comes back into view, but he’s not met with the vibrant green foliage and trickling streams of the meditation garden

Standing over him is a man, a stranger with wide shoulders, blue eyes, and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. His height is imposing, practically looming over him, but Daniel’s not intimidated nor is he scared. The dark robes the stranger is wearing are those of a Jedi Master. Though this alone does not calm Daniel. It is the stranger’s soothing force that brings him peace of mind. He is not at all concerned by his presence. They are in the Jedi Temple, after all. But even Padawans like himself know it’s rude to interrupt a meditation.

“Master Miyagi?” he speaks again, and Daniel turns to his master sitting cross-legged beside him in the grass. He opens his eyes and tips his head back to stare up at the other Jedi though he says nothing.

“I’m sorry for my rudeness. But I wanted to introduce myself,” the stranger says and bows similar to those of Master Miyagi’s home planet. “My name is Terry Silver. My master was Kim San Jang of Malachor. My master sends his respects. Master Kreese—or Darth Kai—was my Master’s first Padawan.”  

Daniel’s eyes widen, stunned by the man’s mention of Master Kreese. The former Jedi attacked his own student at the dorms after he lost to Daniel in the Apprentice Tournament. He revealed his true allegiance to the sith and demanded Padawan Lawrence come with him or meet the end of his saber. Luckily for Daniel and the other padawans, Master Miyagi reached them in time and defeated him. While Master Kreese lost an arm in battle, he was spared his life and taken to the containment cells. Padawan Lawrence was assigned a new master and taken on a mission to the outer rim.  That was the last Daniel he heard of the Sith, now going by the name Darth Kai. 

“Word about what happened didn't reach Malachor until now,” Terry explains. “My master apologizes for his student’s betrayal and dishonorable actions.”

When Master Miyagi stands, Daniel joins him on his feet, coming up to Master Silver’s shoulders. “Accept…apology,” his master declares. “Not…your master fault.”

Master Silver nods. “I know,” he agrees. “But my master and I feel responsible. Master Kreese confessed he was struggling with the force. But we did not treat this admission with enough gravity and brushed off his concerns, which is why I am here now. To bring Darth Kai back to the light.”

Daniel smiles, impressed by Master Silver’s ambition. There have been many failed attempts to convert a sith back to a Jedi.

“Hope you can be successful,” Master Miyagi tells him.

“Unfortunately, I arrived too late,” he declares with a frown. “Darth Kai will be buried as a Sith tonight.”

“He’s dead? What happened?” Daniel blurts, and Master Silver turns to look at him, sending heat to his cheeks. This isn’t the first time he’s spoken out of term to those ranked above him. But his master is forgiving, unlike some Jedi at the temple. 

Though Master Silver doesn’t look angry either. For a second, he swears the Jedi’s eyes almost sharpen and the edge of his lips curl up. But then his sullen expression returns as he answers, “Yes, cardiac arrest.”

Master Miyagi rubs his chin. “I sensed disturbance in force. Not long ago. Could be reason.”

Daniel nods. “I felt it too,” he admits. His master may be stronger in wielding the force, but he’s always been very sensitive to shifts and changes.

“I felt his passing as well,“ Terry announces, and his gaze stays on the Padawan. “He left us moments before we were supposed to meet.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Daniel whispers, and Terry smiles a little bit.

“When I was a Padawan, I looked up to Master Kreese,” he explains, “He was an excellent Jedi then. But after losing his first student, it just broke his heart. He was never the same. Grief does something to a man.”

Though his master doesn’t look surprised, Daniel is floored by this news. He had no idea Master Kreese had a Padawan before Johnny or that they died. “Understand,” Master Miyagi says but doesn’t elaborate, not that Daniel’s surprised. His master doesn’t speak often and sometimes in riddles, but he’s still the best teacher. He would even call the older man a friend.

Terry smiles and lets his gaze sweep over Daniel. “Is this your Padawan? The champion?” he asks suddenly. 

A rush of self-consciousness comes over Daniel at the attention. “Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles

“Our apologies to you too,” Terry tells him, but Daniel just shrugs.

“It’s okay, really. It’s just a shame to lose another Jedi to the dark,” he says, repeating what Master Miyagi said the other day.

Instead of replying, Terry stares at him a moment, and Daniel can’t help himself, reaching out with the force to read the Jedi Master’s mind. It’s a bad habit he picked up ever since he learned how to control his telepathy. But this gift earned him a spot among the Padawans in the first place. At first, Master Miyagi and the other masters were impressed, considering his age and experience. But most days, they were annoyed and yelling at him to stop. Though he doesn’t usually last very long. 

They sense his presence quickly and immediately start to shield, giving him seconds to pick up anything. But Terry’s mind is like a steel trap, stronger than even the Jedi on the council. He can’t get even a single tendril inside. Then as Daniel tries to leave, he feels what must be Terry’s force take hold of his own. 

His heart thunders in his chest. He’s been caught. But instead of reprimanding him, Terry’s mouth quirks up at the corners.

“Hello there,” Daniel hears in the back of his mind, and as fast and hard as he can, he pulls the tendrils away.

Thankfully, Terry lets him go and turns to Master Miyagi. “Again. I'm sorry to interrupt your meditation,” he declares, acting like nothing happened between them, as if two strangers connecting through the force wasn’t a rare occurrence.

“Thank you,” is all his master says. 

Daniel takes a second to gather his composure to speak, feeling strange after his brush with Terry’s force. “I’m sorry about Master Kreese,” he manages to get out.

“Thank you, Padawan,” Terry replies, and something about his tone sends a chill down Daniel’s spine. 

As the Jedi Master leaves the garden, Master Miyagi turns to him. “Come, we continue meditation.”.

He follows his master’s command and returns to the grass, shutting his eyes. But for the rest of his meditation, Daniel struggles to push away any thoughts of Master Silver.

[nothereoranywhere]

Hi! Can I please request dating headcanons for Camilo from Encanto?

Having Camilo Madrigal as a S/O

I got this request from SEVERAL people so... let's go! (Also, there are like no Camilo gifs)

This is also gender neutral! 

Pre-dating:

-You and your family had just moved to a new town. You didn’t hate the move, but you also didn’t love it either. Because you didn’t know anyone, you opted to doing things that didn’t involve people. Examples of things you did included cleaning the house, drawing, reading, and painting. 

-One day, your mother got sick of you staying inside all the time and demanded you get some fresh air. You decided, in order to satisfy your displeased mother, just to sit outside and read. You didn’t want to talk to anyone so best to look busy. However, this single action caught the eye of a certain someone.

“Hey, I’ve never seen you in town before.”

You would look up from your book to see a boy around your age on stone fence above you. He rested his chin on his hand while looking at his nails, almost like he was trying to appear “cool” and “mysterious”. His mannerisms confused you.

“My family just moved here two weeks ago,” you said before returning to your book.

“Cool... cool... hey, didn’t catch your name- WOAH!” The boy somehow slipped on something and fell onto the muddy ground.

You placed down your book and walked over to help him out. “Ouch, are you okay?” You gave him your hand and helped him get up.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Thanks...”

The boy smiled and gazed at you for a few seconds.

“Uh... you good there, buddy?” 

He immediately snapped out of his trace. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for that.” The boy stood up and put out his right hand. “I’m Camilo. Camilo Madrigal.”

“(Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n).” You hesitantly shook his hand. 

-After that, the two of you started hanging a lot. You invited him into your life and he’s here to stay. What did you expect?

-Camilo teases you a lot and jokes around. He likes scaring you and playing pranks but he never takes it too far. And if he does, he is always quick to apologize. When you two start dating, this does take a slight turn but that will be discussed later.

-Speaking of dating, Camilo’s family, and your family, are quick to find out about you two’s little “friendship”. Cue Camilo’s sister and cousins constantly teasing him about having a crush. This leaves him mortified. You, too, are met with teasing from your family and even people around town.

-You’re most likely the one who asks Camilo out first since, even though he seems sly, he is truly and utterly weak and a nervous mess when it comes to you. Of course, when you finally ask him out, he is in shock but excited and immediately accepts.

Dating:

-Despite how often you two hung out, you had never actually met Camilo’s family as a whole. Maybe a hi or hello from his sister or cousins but that was it. You were worried about meeting his mom but, when you two first met each other at the Madrigal’s front door, she was ecstatic and immediately determined, after examining your face and asking you a bunch of questions, that you were perfect for her son!

-Like his cousin Isabela, Camilo’s flirtatious comments are sweet and somewhat cheesy. Unlike Isabela, he isn’t the best at pulling them off. 

“Do you have a map?”

“No? Why do you need a map?” “Because I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

This always earns a laugh from the both of you.

-Camilo still teases and plays pranks on you but now you have started to tease him back. He usually doesn’t expect this and it almost always leaves him in a flustered mess.  

-Camilo also likes giving you very short and unexpected kisses. Mostly to tease you. You’ll simply be reading and Camilo will come out of nowhere and peck you on the cheek. Before he can scurry away, you drag him back and give him a real kiss.

-Camilo’s mom is almost like a second mom to you. She looks out for you and you help her out and calm her down whenever she gets agitated or stressed out. Camilo’s dad is also your second dad that you never knew you needed. You can she where Camilo got a lot of his mischievous from. Dolores is very sweet to you. I mean she kinda did help Camilo court you. And Antonio is like a little brother to you. Pretty much all of the Madrigals love and respect you.

-And finally, Camilo’s Abuela approves of you dating, and someday marrying, her grandson. Yay!

[adelheidvonschicksal]

I could do a scenario where reader loves to mess with megumi's hair, but suddenly she stops because she thinks she's bothering him.

The first time you notice how soft his hair is was when you were returning to school after a long mission.

You were riding in a car with the entire first-year gang. Nobara sat in the front seat next to Ijichi while you were placed in the back between Yuji and Megumi. The ride back was a long one. After an exhausting day of exorcising curses, you were all tired. Nobara and Yuji ended up falling asleep minutes into the ride, leaving Megumi to watch the sights passing through the window and you shyly trying to make conversation with him.

It's hard considering the strong crush you have on your fellow classmate. He was intelligent, kinder than he really let on, and fairly mature (at least compared to the people you’re usually around). His good looks were the cherry on top of the entire package. Everyone knew Megumi was a pretty boy and often teased him about it. He had fair skin, long, thick eyelashes, and your favorite being his dark hair. It looked so soft whenever your teacher would pat his head, flattening out the black tresses and ruffling them, much to Megumi’s chagrin. But you really wished you could feel as well.

You were the type of person to show your fondness for others through touch. Some people liked it, and some didn’t. For example, Yuji normally had no problem with you touching him, even welcomed it. You weren’t brave enough to ask someone like Megumi for the same sort of relationship, so you kept your hand to yourself when it came to him. At least until Megumi fell asleep, leaning against the car door for support. It’s then you saw your chance and carefully reached to touch one of the longer spikes.

The little black point wavered at your poking, lightly curling around your index finger as you swirled it around. You giggled to yourself about it. It’s thicker and fluffier than you imagined and also incredibly soft, proving Kugisaki’s theory about a ton of hairspray wrong.

Suddenly, a bump in the road cut your touching short, and you quickly jumped away when Megumi’s eyes began to flutter open.

Suspicious, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you said calmly despite your heart thumping under his gaze, but he dropped his interrogation as you all pulled into the school’s parking lot.

That was three months ago.

Now, the two of you were dating, and you saw that as permission to continue your physical intimacy with your more introverted boyfriend.

“Good morning, guys,” you greet your classmates and teacher with a wave, saving your happier actions for Megumi as your hand immediately goes towards his head to ruffle his hair. You pull your hand away but not before letting your fingers clasp your favorite cowlick. Giving a gentle tug, you let it bounce back into place with a smile.

Megumi groans softly, his mouth pursed into a slight frown as he goes to fix his hair back into its normal disarray.

Gojo claps, bringing your attention towards him. “Well now that everyone’s here, let’s go shopping.”

With that, the five of you head to the shopping district despite the heat bearing down on the city. You spend about an hour walking around before deciding to take a break so Nobara and Gojo can catch their breath in the shade while you return some clothes you bought a few weeks earlier across the street. Megumi and Yuji go to buy all five of you drinks, but it isn’t long before you hear Yuji yelling from outside the store.

“Sensei! Kugisaki! Fushiguro is getting hit on! We have to protect (L/Name)’s relationship!”

Before you could even stop them, they’re already up and running in Fushiguro’s direction. Sighing, you grab your card from the store owner and run to catch up with your group.

When you arrive, Kugisaki and Itadori are already clinging to him and ranting something about being in love with him before Gojo saunters up in his best casual wear to challenge them. You have to stifle back a laugh as he goes on about music practice and homewrecking before the event ends with Megumi smacking Yuji in the head as Nobara and Gojo stalk off, defeated.

Hearing your laughter, Yuji cowers behind you with tearful chibi eyes. “Do you see that, (Name)? Fushiguro is so mean. I was only trying to help him and that's the treatment I get .”

“You didn’t help at all. You were nothing short of embarrassing.”

You giggle at the two before reaching out to your silently fuming boyfriend. “No need to be so grumpy, Megumi-kun, or did Gojo give you too much violin homework,” you sing out teasingly, earning a growl about how it isn’t funny as you playfully scramble his hairstyle.

“And that! Will you stop with that?” Megumi demands and forcefully shoves your hand away. “It’s so annoying. You don’t see me petting you all day like some damn pet.”

“Oh,” you say, stepping back from him in your shock. This is the first time Megumi has brought up how you chose to dote on him. Yes, he’d quietly grumble about it from time to time like most things, but he never yelled at you about how you chose to display your affection. You guess you never really realized how much it truly bothered him. Biting back the hurt in your voice, you apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Megumi grunts softly in response, and Yuji decides it’s probably best to ask Gojo to take you all home for today.

It isn’t long after that Megumi begins to notice your interactions with him starting to change. He apologized for yelling at you soon after the event, but you were still much less touchy with him even after accepting his apology.

Normally, you’d grab onto his hand without so much as asking or surprise him with kisses on his cheek. Now, you only hold his pinky from time to time and only if he asks. You also stop your go-to of rubbing his head when you’d greet him or playing with the ends of his hair when you were bored.

Megumi thought maybe something was bothering you, but then he noticed how you’d still laugh and joke around with Yuji and Nobara, your hand gripping onto their shoulder when they’d tell an extra funny joke or affectionately patting them on the back. That wasn’t the worst though. The worst was when you’d absentmindedly sweep Yuji’s hair back into place when it got messy from training. The jealousy it sparked in Megumi was the last straw that makes him decide to ask you what was wrong.

You’re surprised when he tugs on your sleeve, interrupting your conversation with Itadori and Kugisaki. “Hey, can we talk?”

“Sure,” you say, nodding off to Itadori and Kugisaki before following Megumi to the waterspouts outside. You both sat together on the brick square surrounding the structure. It’s a few quiet seconds of you staring at Megumi as he folds his hands in front of him and lazily taps his foot. Dark blue eyes stare at you before dropping back to the ground.

“Are you still mad at me for yelling at you the other week?”

You shake your head. “I told you it’s fine. I’m not mad at you about that.”

“Then, it’s something else,” he decides, and he desperately tries to rack his brain for what else he could have possibly done wrong, “I’m sure I didn’t forget your birthday or anything. Do you not like me anymore or something?”

Gasping, you deny his claim, “Of course I like you, why would you think I don’t?”

“Because you’re not so friendly with me anymore like the way you are with the others, so either you’re upset with me, or you don’t have the same feelings for me as you do with them.”

“It’s neither of those things. With Yuji and Nobara, they’re both sociable people, but you aren’t like them. You don’t like all that kind of stuff, and I don’t want to annoy you by doing things you don’t like.”

Megumi scowls at your confession, sighing because he remembers exactly why you must be talking like this so suddenly. He specifically called your touches annoying, and he inwardly curses at himself for it. “You’re wrong. It’s not that I don’t like it…” he begins unsurely then pauses.

“Then, what?”

Megumi groans softly, an embarrassed heat starting to build in his cheeks as he quietly croaks out, “Feels good.”

“What’s that?” you ask, scooting closer so you can hear him better.

Megumi blushes lightly and cranks his head to look away from your cutely confused blinking. “It feels good when you do it,” he repeats robotically.

“When I do what?”

“When you play with my hair,” he hesitantly explains in more detail, “When Gojo does it, it’s aggravating, but I don't mind so much with you.”

Hesitantly, you ask, “So is it okay if I do it now?”

Megumi nods. “If you want.”

Cautiously, you lift your hand, pulling back in doubt a few times before ultimately sliding your fingers through his hair and rubbing. Megumi groans softly at your touch, and you realize that all those rushed noises of aggravation were actually him moaning from how light and comforting your touch was. You move your hand forward and backward some more, massaging his head until his head starts nodding and his eyes flutter a bit.

You giggle at him. “Are you falling asleep? You’re such a kid.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”

You laugh louder as he scoffs to hide his embarrassment.

“In that case, you can sleepover with me tonight, and we can do this if you want,” you offer sweetly, and Megumi glances at you, thinking it over. As your smile grows and your hand hits that sweet spot right at the nape of his neck, he couldn’t deny that he liked the idea of falling asleep with you playing with his hair.

“I’d like that.”

[sukirichi]

A Feral Naoya.

A rare cute feral side and the everyday mean feral side.

I was going to write about Naoya but what about your baby who got his Naoya's attitude of hissing and attacking people who is not you or his father. Super intimidating and demanding too.

# soft hours with daddy! naoya

# part of the trophy wife collection 

# anon, thank you sm for this, i super enjoyed writing about this and i’m soft byeeee

There’s something about the way in seeing you swell with his kid that makes Naoya on edge; possessive and feral.

He’s always been possessive, if his manners of staring down anyone who even glances your way and always proudly holds your hand whenever, wherever, with no regards to the apparent frowns on his elders’ faces. This side, you’re very much familiar with, but ever since it’s been announced that you’re going to be parents soon, it’s like a switch has been flipped in your husband.

Naoya’s refused to leave your side since, spending less and less time working or coming home earlier than before because ‘he needs to check on you and the baby.’ It’s cute, really, but there’s no need for him to breathe down your neck when he’s already barking to the resident doctors to watch an eye on you every time he’s not around.

Along with the announcement of the newest addition to the Zen’in estate, rumors have spread like wildfire, the chatters between the servants growing louder with each passing days.

Others speculate that your baby might be just like Naoya-sama, a spoiled young boy… but there are also a hopeful bunch who’ve claimed that as long as you’re there, there’s hope for children in this god-forsaken clan, the heir will grow up right. You voice no opinions on it despite the fact you wished to defend your baby and your husband, focusing on your health instead to deliver a healthy baby boy that the clan celebrated, which, to no one’s surprise, really did turn up to be the spitting image of his daddy.

Little Naori, as much as he was an angel in yours and Naoya’s lives, was also a troublemaker.

The amount of times you’ve been called to his school because he made girls cry from claiming they had cooties has been horrendous. It doesn’t help that his nannies aren’t able to calm him down either, for little Naori only preferred his parents and refused to settle down unless he’s seen his mommy or daddy, which brings you and your husband driving to his daycare with worried looks on your faces.

Naori is already there, grumbling with his little, chubby hands that no one was allowed to touch him. His teacher, a poor soul named Yuuta, is grimacing as he speaks to your toddler in the most soothing voice. “Naori, hey, your mommy and daddy is coming—”

“Do not speak to me!”

“Naori!” you scolded, your husband in tow with a stern expression on his face. Upon seeing you, Naori stops baring his teeth and hissing at his pale teacher who seems drained. Instead, the little boy wobbles on his short legs to climb up to his dad who is already carrying him with one arm, flicking his nose that makes the boy giggle.

“Daddy here!”

“Naori, you were mean to your teacher,” you tell him with a stern expression, though you make sure to keep your voice leveled and soft as to not make him cry. “What do we say?”

“Nooooo…”

“Naori,” Naoya speaks up this time, using his naturally authoritative voice that makes your son just his lower lip out in a pout. “Your mother is telling you to apologize. Now, go and say sorry.”

“But Daddy doesn’t say sorry when he’s being mean!”

At your son’s statement, you flash your husband a glare, to which he scoffs that the tables shouldn’t be turned and he’s not the one at fault. Boys, really, they’re such a pain in the ass. Thankfully, Naoya is smart enough to understand your unspoken thoughts and turns to Yuuta, his jaw clenched and voice almost choking while Naori buries his head in his dad’s shoulder.

“We’re really sorry about that. Thank you for looking after my son.”

“I-it’s no matter, sir, I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Now, Naori,” Naoya pats his son’s back, “What do we say?”

Little Naori’s reaction is immediate. Quivering lips, eyes turning glossy and chubby fingers curling into a fist – if you and Naoya aren’t here, he’d have thrown a fit already. You step forward and cup his cheeks in your hand, soft as you pat his hair that matches his dad’s. “Naori, we need to apologize when we’re wrong, okay? You don’t want to be on the naughty list this year, do you?”

“Naori not naughty,” he sniffles back, “Naori good!”

“I know you are, baby, so be a good boy and apologize to Yuuta, okay?” After some convincing, Naori finally looks up to his teacher but ducks his head once more, fiddling with his fingers as he mumbles out a weak I’m sorry. Yuuta beams at the boy’s apology and even ruffles his hair, which sends Naori into a flushed mess.

“Apology accepted, though be nicer to the girls next time, okay? See you tomorrow!”

Naori is already asleep in your lap as Naoya drives you home, and you’re not an exclusion from the exhaustion of it all. Pressing a kiss at your son’s forehead, you lean back to the seat and sigh. You’re about to sleep when Naoya’s hands that are previously on the steering wheel snakes to your thigh for a light squeeze, his smile soft and intimate.

“Thank you.”

You blink back. As much as you love him, hearing those two words such as I’m sorry was rare. “For what?”

“For everything,” he nods to your son, “For marrying me, accepting me, loving me and always being patient with me but not tolerating my bad sides either. You’ve given me the whole world and more, so I promise I’ll be better to you from now on.”

“Better?” you echo with a silent laugh as to not wake up a drooling Naori, “You talk as if you’re awful to me, my love, which I assure you’re not.”

“I know but just,” he pauses with a slight furrow of his brows, “I think I need to be a better person…so I can be better a husband to you, and a good role model as a father for Naori. Maybe I should start apologizing and being nicer to people.”

Naoya, being nice to others that isn’t you or your son? While it seems unlikely of him, the thought is definitely welcomed.

Love and affection for this man completely bursts through you that you can’t help but lean over the console to kiss his cheeks, giggling when your lips meet heated skin. Even after years of marriage, Naoya is still just as affected by your presence from the first time he saw you, and you too keep falling and falling for him each day.

“I’ll be a good wife and a mom to our son too, Naoya, I promise you that.”

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

Okay soo some more psycho sun au. 

* Sun is very wishy-washy with his brother as mentioned before. Sometimes he’s like, super affectionate and really happy with him and sometimes he will randomly dig brutally at like a major insecurity of his.

* So they are playing blocks or whatever, and Moon is actually calm for once since Sun is finally acting somewhat normal even if he is a bit too violent, and then out of nowhere Sun he makes a dig by mockingly innocently asking him why be still bothers going on his patrols since he’s so useless in actually protecting anyone.

* Sun is insanely emotionally abusive instead of being physically intimidating, though he does that too. He loves seeing how utterly distraught Moon looks when Sun cuts him down like that, it’s better then any physical pain can cause. 

* This isn’t helping his emotional instability, and despite no one knowing him very well the other robots noticed how massively unstable he is emotionally. Like Monty asked if he was alright, and he slammed his head against the wall to keep himself from crying and then answered “Yeah I’m fine.” He is not fine. 

* He does this a lot. He doesn’t want to cry infront of anyone, especially not Sun since he knows thats what this bastard wants, so he smacks himself or hits his head against the wall to distract him long enough to settle down his emotions. Either that or some other most likely unhealthy way to cope like pulling the wires in his wrists. Like an animatronic version of nail picking/hair pulling.

* He gets enough charge to work, Sun doesn’t want him to turn off so he still lets him get everything done he needs so he can continue harassing him. But emotionally? He is utterly drained.

* Sun once found him out on the balcony and started making jokes poking fun at him, but then he noticed that Moon was legit devastated and Sun didn’t know how to feel. It’s like how whenever Sun gets hurt, Moon despite the virus watches over him because of that bit of paternal personality kicks in. When Moon cries or shows genuine emotional distress, it makes a bit of Sun’s programming kick back in. Though Moon isn’t nearly as happy or accepting of these moments of genuine care as Sun is. While it gives Sun hope, Moon just demands Sun leave and stop playing with him because he doesn’t believe he actually cares after everything he does.

* By the time Sun was set back to normal, the relationship between the two of them was rather raw and Sun was oblivious to it. Moon was just relieved to have him back, but Sun could immediately tell that his brother wasn’t entirely alright. He was happy, but speaking really quietly even for Moon and while the excitement and relief felt genuine it also felt like he was penting up a lot of emotions. It was stilted and felt like it was wavering.  Moon didn’t want to tell Sun what he had done while infected, insisting that it didn’t matter because he was back now and that’s all he cares about now. But Sun is stubborn, and after pushing enough Moon eventually broke down and started crying and told him. 

* Sun apologized over 100 times in the next hour, he felt AWFUL about hurting his brother so much. Moon was relieved to finally get all his emotions out, although regret telling Sun so bluntly “You were acting like some demented toddler that wouldn’t leave me alone and hearing you make fun of me all the time was emotionally devastating.” 

[whosscruffylooking]

Bad Bounty Chapter One: Reunion

Sergeant Hunter x Fem! Bounty Hunter

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Maybe mutual pining? Nothing too gross.

A/N: hunter was already attractive in season 7, but i managed to suppress my feelings for an ANIMATED character. alas, the bad batch has cursed me and i have finally accepted that he is my latest comfort character.

“You hold onto friends by keeping your heart a little softer than your head.”

“Clone Force 99. Welcome back, ” Commander Cody extends a hand to Hunter who firmly shakes it.

“Apologies for showing up late, we-”

“Got stuck handling some unexpected complications during a mission. I understand Sergeant Hunter,” Cody winks.

“What have you got for us this time Commander?” Crosshair mumbles, twisting his toothpick around between his teeth.

“This one is going to be a bit different boys. It’s not exactly…sanctioned by the GAR. Let’s call it a favor for an old friend of mine.”

Crosshair straightens up, suspicious of Cody’s statement, “We may bend the rules from time to time, but we don’t do favors.”

“This is an efficient mission that ultimately will aid us in the war, provide you some easy target practice…and helps me relieve an old debt I have to pay.”

“Is there a reason you can’t do this yourself?” Hunter questions.

“We’ve been called into battle. Besides, this separatist encampment is one we have failed to infiltrate time and time again,” Cody responds.

Hunter shifts, struggling to comprehend where this is going, “What does attacking a separatist encampment have to do with repaying a debt?”

“There is a Senator stationed on Drahgor III…a corrupt senator at that. One who has a significant bounty on his head. My dear old friend is a bounty hunter I met on Ord Mantell. Your job will be to take out the clankers and retrieve any data you can from the main database. Meanwhile, my bounty hunter friend will secure the bounty and you’ll go your separate ways.”

“Who is this Bounty Hunter?” Crosshair inquires.

“Glad you asked,” Cody exclaims, “Y/N!”

The clone troopers twirl around to see you approaching them. Your manner is conservative yet confident. One thing you have become an expert at is never striving for attention. Instead, your presence demands it.

You nod at the troopers, “Clone Force 99, it is a pleasure to be working with you.”

Surveying the team, your eyes first fall on Crosshair. His distrusting look reaffirms the defense you raised long before wandering onto the landing platform.

Gotta keep an eye on that one.

Next, you glance over to Wrecker. A massive lug of a man, but he has the noticeable demeanor of a gentle giant. Something about him reminds you of a plush toy you once owned as a child.

Tech catches your attention next. He is clearly the intuitive one. He will either be a pain to deal with, or a beneficial asset.

At last, your eyes meet Hunter’s. Such a tiny gesture of nothingness feels like you’ve just been thrust into a timeless world of something far more significant. You quickly dismiss your gaze, but soon find your eyes wandering back to him. His eyes are already on you.

Tech quickly picks up on your silent interaction and nudges Hunter to break him of his trance. Hunter quickly snaps out of it and clears his throat. He is dumbstruck by his response. His heart beats recklessly.

Taking note of his counterpart’s vitals, Tech is left unsettled by the quickening of Hunter’s heart rate. “Hunter, I need you to focus on your breathing. Your heart rate is abnormally high.”

Setting your sight once more on the rugged clone trooper, you catch the ever-changing hue of his cheek…the one that isn’t covered in dark ink. A hint of red paints his untouched skin.

He clears his throat, “Erm-thank you for alerting me Tech. I’ll be aboard the ship.”

Cody shrugs his shoulders at you, “I guess you’ll brief them on the ship. Have a safe trip.”

“Thank you Cody, ” you clap him on the shoulder and follow the rogue crews lead onto their ship.

++++

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚊𝚢

“Where are we going to go? We need somewhere we can set up camp that isn’t easily tracked, ” Echo declares.

“There is one place I can think of, but I’m not sure that Hunter will be a fan of the location, ” Tech announces apprehensively.

Hunter lets out a groan and tightens his fist.

Wrecker laughs, “Hunter doesn’t like this idea! Which means I like it even more!”

Glaring at Wrecker, Hunter abruptly stands and stomps off into the cockpit.

“Where is it?” Echo inquires. He leans in, intrigued by the atmosphere that has suddenly befallen the Marauder.

“Let’s just say…we’d have to get help from an old friend.”

“Ha! An old friend!?” Wrecker blurts out, “Try an old fla-”

“That’s enough, ” Hunter commands, having regained his composure, “We will attempt to make contact this evening and if we have no response by the morning, we will seek out other options.”

++++

All night Hunter stayed up, much to the dismay of his crewmates, awaiting an incoming communication. His mind told him that it would never come through; his heart made him believe…or at least hope otherwise.

He stretches his arms into the air, releasing a hardy yawn. Tech enters the cockpit, “Anything?”

“Nothing, ” Hunter responds with a hint of despair clouding his words.

Just then, a muffled echo transmits through the comms unit. Hunter nearly falls out of the captain’s chair as he scrambles to the commlink.

“This is Phoenix 178095 trying to contact Clone Force 99. I repeat, this is Phoenix 1780-“

“Copy Phoenix 178095, this is Clone Force 99,” Hunter announces almost frantically.

The only response is silence…until, “Hunter? Hunter, is that you?”

The rugged clones grasp on the comlink tightens, and he touches it to his forehead. His eyes are locked shut, his breath unsteady.

“Yes. It’s me.”

You hear his guttural voice and suddenly, your memories which you’ve strived to suppress come flooding back, knocking the wind out of you.

Attempting to swallow the lump that insists on crowding your throat, you press down the transmitter button, but fail to express your thoughts.

“What?” A menacing voice echoes out, “Lothcat got your tongue?”

You chuckle, pressing the comlink to your forehead, “well if it isn’t my favorite piston head.” Piston head, a nickname you have used to refer to Crosshair for as long as you can remember. You find it fitting because term is in reference to a droid, similar to the droid-like manner in which Crosshair carries himself.

“So!” Shouts a third, brooding and somewhat childish voice, “Are we bunking with you or what?”

“Yes Wrecker, you are more than welcome to stay here.”

“Thank you, ” Hunter softly says into the comm’s mic. His voice still brings warmth to your soul, although the communicator slightly alters it.

“Get here safely.”

“Always do.”

“I know, ” you affirm and disconnect the commlink.

Looking around at the empty room, which mere seconds ago was filled with the sound of your closest friends’ voices, you feel once again plagued by loneliness.

It has been nearly three years since you last spoke to them. Choosing to once again shove your feelings down deep inside you, rather than let the pain consume you, you prepare for their arrival.

++++

“Maybe one day we will meet again, when all of this is over. Perhaps then we will have the freedom to say all that we have long held in, ” you exhaust yourself in the effort to fight back the words that are bottled up inside of you.

A void and emotionless, expression spans across his face as he finally acknowledges the weight of the moment. A single tear threatens to spill over, and he clenches his fist to fight back the giant hole that is forming in his heart.

“Y/N, ” he utters, “I-”

“Hunter! It’s time for us to go, ” Tech calls out.

++++

Your entire body jerks to a standstill when you hear the hum of their ship landing.

Hunter feels a sudden sickening sensation throughout his body.

“Deep breaths, brother. You don’t want your little reunion to be overruled by sweaty palms and rosy cheeks, ” Crosshair teases.

Hunter groans, “We are here for a short period of time until we can safely get back to Kamino. Until then, this is strictly business as usual.”

“Whatever you say Hunter,” he flicks his toothpick into the garbage receptacle with perfect aim.

The leader of the clone force, known for being courageous, daring, and valiant has abruptly shifted to a timid and uncertain man. But that’s just it. He felt like a man. A feeling only familiar when around you. Every other day of the rotation, he is merely a defective clone—a misfit who despite his enhanced abilities, is thrown into combat, aware of the fact that he is completely dispensable. Because he is merely one of hundreds of thousands of others just like him, he feels like he is just another carbon copy dispersed off of a factory line. Yet, around you, he never felt that way.

He watches out the cockpit window and sees you emerge from your homestead. His heart somersaults.

“Shall we disembark Hunter?” Tech asks.

He nods.

You are so lost in your thoughts that you hardly notice the troopers exiting their ship. It isn’t until Wrecker has scooped you up into his arms that you are jostled back to reality.

“Wreck!” You cry out in excitement as you wrap your arms around him.

Crosshair lends you a wink that you flirtatiously mirror. It’s always fun seeing him fight back a cheeky grin.

Tech is clearly holding back, so you eagerly close the distance between you two and envelope him in your arms. Initially, he hesitates but rapidly works up the bravery to reciprocate.

Chuckling at his hold on you, you tease, “I don’t know who gives the stronger hugs! You, or Wrecker.” He quickly releases you and straightens his glasses.

“Who’s this?” You motion towards the pale, almost sickly-looking clone. In fact, he looks more like a machine than a clone.

“I’m Echo, ” he extends his hand to you. Accepting it, you introduce yourself in return.

Hunter appears from behind the group. Suddenly, you lose the ability to think straight, let alone speak. His eyes meet yours and you share a somber smile. Each taking a step toward each other, you close the distance between you. Unable to resist any longer, you throw your arms around him, drawing him tightly to you.

For a moment, he stands frozen. Hunter has imagined the feeling of taking you into his arms again more than he would like to admit. At last, he pushes his thoughts aside and encircles your waist with his strong embrace.

You can feel his heartbeat slowly accelerate; at least your heart isn’t the only one threatening to beat out of your chest. You seemingly melt into each other. His hands softly tracing circles on your lower back.

Knowing that this moment cannot last as long as you’d both like, you hesitantly pull away from him. His hands grip at your hips as if he is begging you to not stray from his grasp. Your heart yearns to pull him back into your embrace and to stay there with him forever.

Becoming aware of the world around you once again, you feel your face flush into a crimson red.

“Why are they just standing there like that?” Wrecker leans down to whisper to Tech.

“Sometimes, the most important messages do not need to be said with words,” he responds softly.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Move Heaven to Make Hell Pay {2}

Title: Move Heaven to Make Hell Pay {2}

Lewis Tan x Tissandra Hudson AU (Alternate Universe)

Warning: Angst, TW: Cancer talk, Plot Heavy

Words: 3.9k

Summary: Coming Soon.

Note: We’ve got a Lewis Tan AU! He isn’t an actor in this one and this one’s genre has a lot of fantasy elements in it. I’ve been reluctant to share this one because it will also incorporate some Asian culture (because I am in love with it like legit obsessed) and I don’t want to offend anyone if I mix and mash things together for my own purposes. I plan to do just that but will remain true to the culture. I’m nervous to share it but I hope you guys enjoy it.

Note II: This chapter has a little mandarin in it. I’ve added a glossary.

If you enjoyed this LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG.

As always, thank you for reading!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Chapter Two: A Twist of Fate

“Uh he-llo!”

You snapped your head in the opposite direction from where you stood with your back turned to the client staring at a sequined jumpsuit.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been calling you for two whole minutes,” the socialite whined.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed down any annoyance her voice caused then replied.

“I apologize, I was looking for a few selections for you and I am sure that this--,”

You hurried back over to the rack where the sequined jumpsuit rested, grabbed it then hurried back to her holding it up for her to assess.

“This is going to be your favorite party item for the season.”

She, Evelyn Rappaport, daughter of Melinda and Sebastian Rappaport one of the most known socialites in the city closely examined the garment with one eyebrow raised. The item wasn’t spectacular, but it was a hot item. It had just got in that morning, and you’d fielded a lot of calls from the city’s best-dressed women demanding that one be placed to the side for them.

“Hmm,” Evelyn began as she tapped her perfectly manicured red nail to her bottom lip painted the same red. A few more seconds passed with her scanning every inch of the garment before she looked at you and a devious look entered her eyes.

“Do I look like a woman who would wear something off the rack? Yes, this looks acceptable but only for the likes of you. My eye can see the flaws in it.”

Clenching your jaw, you swallowed the venom rising. This was still a job you needed.

“Maybe you are okay wearing flawed items,” she began giving your frame a quick once over with her critical eye. “But I require more.”

With that, she turned her back and walked closer to the floor-length mirror to look at the pieced together outfit you’d styled an hour ago. You turned your back, rolled your eyes then placed the jumpsuit back on the rack. All the stylists in the store knew Evelyn Rappaport enjoyed belittling anyone who wasn’t on her level. If your family’s net worth was less than hers, she tormented you relentlessly. So, if you were a service worker why would she spare you?

“Girl,” she addressed knowing damn well that wasn’t your name or title.

Again, you gritted your teeth and approached her with one thought in mind, you needed this job.

“Ms. Rappaport.”

“I’ll take this and six others in the dressing room. Are you sure it was you who put these together this week?”

With dead eyes, you nodded.

“Interesting. I was for sure it was someone more experienced, chicer.”

You balled your fists trying to override the urge to pull back her disgusting extension blonde and grey low light hair. The woman was insufferable.

“I’m pleased you liked the selections this week. I’ll make note of it for next week.”

The look on her face said she was either impressed she hadn’t gotten a rise out of you, or she was confused why she hadn’t. You’d seen plenty of stylists fired because of her antics. She liked to rile everyone up, disrespect them, and when she’d pushed them to their limits where they talked back, they were gone the next day. You’d known many women like her and none of them had ever broken you. She had no idea who she was messing with.

“I want to try on that blazer again, bring it here,” Evelyn ordered.

You nodded then walked back to the dressing room where she’d left her things. You took up the blazer and saw the little pins that had been stuck in the item to secure it to the silk hanger. Your mouth twitched with a smirk and before thinking about it you took up a few of the pins and arranged them throughout the blazer then returned. She had her arms held out as if she expected you to put the thing on her like she was some queen.

“Tissandra, a word please?”

To the right, you saw Sonja Oratuse, your boss and owner of the company, signaling you over.

“Excuse me a moment,” you said, hooking it onto the rack beside the mirror. You knew she would tire of waiting and put it on herself. It was what you were counting on.

You scurried toward Sonja and waited for the shriek you knew would come.

“How are the selections?”

“She likes them and will be taking them.”

Sonja smiled and nodded her approval etched across her face.

“Well done, Tissandra. I knew when I hired you that you would be an asset to the company. I have not had one client dissatisfied with your stylings.

You smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

Taking a sly glance back you saw the limit of Evelyn’s patience and as she grabbed the blazer, she released an entitled huff then slipped it on. Almost instantly, she shrieked out and the most delicious sense of satisfaction filled you.

“Oh my god!”

You ran back to her with every single ounce of concern laced in your features.

“Ms. Rappaport. Is everything all right?”

Evelyn shrieked again then wiggled but you knew that every move she made would only prompt the pins to attack her more. Sure enough, she continued to shriek.

“There’s—there is something in—aah!”

She tried to shake off the blazer, but it looked to be a struggle. Sonja stepped in and helped her at the same time you did.

“Oh, my goodness,” you said faux shock in your voice. You raised the blazer closer to your face.

“Ms. Rappaport, did you forget to take the pins off of the blazer as I instructed and cautioned?”

Sonja looked at the blazer then sighed.

“Ms. Rappaport it looks like you forgot to,” she added.

“Why must I? It is your job as the clothes girl to take them off!”

Sonja sighed again then pointed to the sign with clear caution words in bolded lettering.

Please Check Clothing For Pins Before Putting Them On

“In order to keep the items in pristine condition to be worthy of your heavenly gaze, we pin them.”

Evelyn looked as if she were ready to pounce. She stepped forward to you with her hand raised and like a premonition you saw the actions she was about to take. You watched her hand lower to your cheek, heard the loud snap as her hand connected with your face, felt the sharp sting against your flesh a product of her hand and the diamond ring she’d intentionally turned around, so the bauble added to your discomfort. You then saw her shove you to the ground before you’d even gotten a chance to react.

It all played out for you in a matter stretched of seconds in a slow-motion reel. At the corner of your eye, an impeccably dressed man in a black suit and a white tie caught your eye. His stance was pure power. You couldn’t see his face because of the grey smoke from the cigar he puffed that hid it, but behind him, you swore you saw a radiating red dragon emblem as if it were shadowing him or shielding him. Then he was gone.

Bringing your attention back in front of you, you saw Evelyn raise her hand as before. A chilling sense of DeJa'Vu washed over you but before you could dwell on it, Evelyn made her move. As she dropped her hand toward your face, you dipped then stepped to the left avoiding her hand. The rest of her actions followed what you’d seen. She moved as if to push you, but because of the suddenness of your movement she hadn’t processed them, and the momentum sent her forward stumbling over her own two feet into the rack of jumpsuits she claimed were flawed.

“Oh my,” Sonja gasped, “Ms. Rappaport there is no need for violence.”

Evelyn turned around rage on her face but before she could do or say anything else laughter rang out around you. Her shrieks had brought an audience and her antics had kept them fully engaged.

“Evelyn?”

Evelyn blanched as she straightened up. “T— Taosaka?”

The tall woman with curly jet-black hair looked surprised but also slightly smug. The two other women she was with looked amused while one held her phone up like she was recording.

“Did I just see correctly? Were you trying to assault yet another person?”

Evelyn looked around then giggled uncomfortably.

“Me? I don’t know what you are talking about. I’ve never assaulted anyone?”

It was a lie. She was most recently in the tabloids for doing just that to her fourth personal assistant and this time this personal assistant filed charges. They were later brushed under the rug though. Everyone suspected she’d been paid off very handsomely. Still, it caused a lot of bad press for the Rappaports.

“I just recorded the whole thing, Evie. It’s a good thing she’s quick on her feet or you’d have more charges. You’re turning into quite the delinquent. I think I’ll hang on to this never know when it’ll come in handy and for whom,” the woman with the phone said as she gave you a sly look as if to imply she’d give you the footage.

The three women snickered as Evelyn turned red again but this time it looked from embarrassment. Serves her right you thought. Evelyn rushed past everyone and ran toward the exit leaving behind the styled outfits and her own clothes she’d worn in. Sonja sighed and pressed her palm to her forehead. Evelyn had caused her quite a few headaches and she knew this was the latest one.

“What a mess,” she said.

“Don’t worry about her. As long as we have this footage, she won’t cause any problems.”

Sonja smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Tsu.”

She dressed like a socialite, talked like a socialite, and looked like one too, but you didn’t recognize her.

“No need to thank me. She’s always been on her high horse thinking she’s God herself thinking her family is better because their money is clean as snow. Little does she know her family is as dirty as they come, hell even dirtier than the devil himself.”

Her eyes flitted to you as she gave you a once over.

“I will say that your style sense is spot on. You could almost not tell that viper was masquerading as a guttersnipe.”

You snorted but immediately stopped yourself.

“Well anytime you’d like an outfit I’m here,” you offered with a kind smile.

“ Taosaka Tsu. I’ll be in touch Sonja.”

She walked away with her team leaving you and Sonja to clean up the mess leftover.

After you’d cleaned up and when all was quiet again you went to one of the desks and typed in Taosaka’s name. Sonja kept a profile of every client. There was usually information on their preferred style, chosen designers, and spending habits listed there and, any other piece of information that would help in styling them. This could be their likes, hobbies, favorites, prized vacation locations, and even preference in men.

Sonja always said you can tell a lot about a woman’s style by the men she’s attracted to. Who a woman chooses to spend their time with said more about her than the people around her. Evelyn had always been seen around with sons of billionaires who had their share of scandals that always revolved around womanizing. You never knew how she could stomach it.

Finding Taosaka’s information, you read through the sparse file. There was information about her style, designers, favorite restaurants, music, and men she paraded on her arm as well as spending habits. The woman loved luxury and loved to burn through cash. Everything in here said she had more money than Evelyn which was interesting because Evelyn was always on her high horse about her wealth. If Taosaka was wealthier what did her family do?

The more you looked the more your curiosity was piqued. There was no information about her family in there or net worth. It was like she just got her wealth from thin air. At the thought of wealth coming from thin air, you thought about yourself. It had been a week since you’d acquired over fifty thousand dollars. A week since you’d tucked away that giftbox on the highest shelf of your closet behind old clothes and shoes so it would be difficult to reach. A week since the knowledge of it had driven you crazy.

You hadn’t used not one crisp hundred note. You’d pretended it wasn’t there even though half of you screamed at you every day to just use it. No one had come to request it back, no one had sent any threatening letters to demand it back or else everything had been quiet. Part of you had accepted it was yours to do with as you chose but the other half was worried that it was some sort of trap though, for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out who would want to trap you or why.

The week you’d been sitting on the money you’d gone about your life as normal. Worked, went to visit your father, ate then slept. Each day you went to see him there was no improvement in his condition. Each night you came home from visiting him you stared at your closet thinking you had the means to help him right there, but you were sitting on it unable to bring yourself to pull the trigger.

At the end of your shift, you decided to go by the hospital to see your father but the minute you stepped onto his floor you saw the scurry of activity and wondered what was happening. Three nurses ran past you making you press your back to the wall to give them maximum space to do their job. Two nurses ran into the room that belonged to your father and that was when your panic began.

As if floating you drifted down the hall and into your father’s room to see three nurses working on him. One was doing CPR, the other held the defibrillator paddles while the third was monitoring the monitors beside his bed. You watched as the nurse in purple pressed the paddles to his chest and his torso lifted off the bed. She did it once, then twice and each time your heart stopped.

“We have a pulse!”

That was when two other nurses came and ushered you out of the room. Though their lips were moving you heard no words just the sound of your heart beating. You sat down on the seat that was right outside of the room and replayed everything that just happened. You’d almost lost him. He was gone, flatlined, deceased but now he was back. You’d been alone in the world for a few short minutes, and you felt like you’d been having an out-of-body experience like this wasn’t your reality and it had nearly given you a mental breakdown.

“Tissandra?”

You looked up, eyes filled with tears into the friendly and handsome face of Dr. Massey.

“Dr. Massey.”

You abruptly stood preparing for the worst. Dr. Massey looked sympathetic and slightly helpless. Without thinking you lunged to him and pressed your face to his chest and wept. It took several moments but Dr. Massey wrapped his arms around you and allowed you a few moments. Your emotions poured from you like water from a faucet.

All your frustrations of the present and past week, the uncertainty of the future, fears, and very real worries flowed out of you. You felt Dr. Massey’s arms tighten around you and his scent overpowered you. something inside of your psyche flared and sent ripples of alarm and trepidation through you as if this lone action was forbidden or some sort of betrayal. That was when you came back to your senses.

Pulling from him you sniffled and used the backs of your hands to dry your tears.

“Em—I’m sorry,” you quietly said.

“No, it’s all right. I understand. We all need someone sometimes.”

You took a breath then looked at him again. Every time you spoke up until now his eyes had been masked, now they seemed clear, and his meaning shone brightly. Was he offering himself as your someone?

Shaking the thought off, you spoke, “How—how is he?”

“We were able to resuscitate him. I’ve checked his vitals; they don’t look to be impacted. He wasn’t down for long. He is now stable.”

“Oh thank god. What happened?”

“Complications. His situation is getting worse. I’ve been trying different things this week to keep the new symptoms at bay but--,” he sighed and dropped his head defeated. “I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.”

Again, your tears welled. You tried to keep them at bay by focusing on swallowing the lump in your throat. That was it, you thought. Decision made.

“The clinical trial—is that still an option for him?”

Dr. Massey studied you then nodded slowly.

“Yes, he is still a good candidate, because of the seriousness of his condition the parameters of the trial are actually better suited for him.”

“If we get him in how soon would we start?”

“Within thirty-six hours but preparations begin immediately.”

You took a deep breath then slowly released it.

“Let’s do it. Let’s do the trail,” you declared with all the determination you’d grown up with. You refused to lose your father when you had the means to help him. You’d worry about any consequences later knowing that they would be worth it.

~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Massey wasn’t kidding when he said the preparations would begin immediately. Once you’d returned from your house with the amount of money needed stuffed on your body rather than in your purse because you worried someone would snatch your purse, you paid the fees and did everything to get the process started. Dr. Massey did his part with all the paperwork and communications between the trial leaders and began everything taking the worries from you.

He thoroughly explained the trial and what to expect in very clear and graphic detail. His reasoning he wanted you to know what you were in store for and didn’t want there to be any surprises. He’d said it would be intense for him and he’d take an immediate turn for the better if his system accepted the process. He warned that many patients experienced immediate positive results, then a sharp decline before a balance out. By the time he’d finished explaining everything, you’d been in his office for nearly two hours. You left the hospital with a feeling of newfound hope that perhaps tomorrow would be a better day.

A week later your father was in the middle of the first week of the trial and he was then hooked up to more wires than he had been before. The first sight of him made you waver and wonder if you’d made the wrong decision but after some reassurance from Dr. Massey, you steeled yourself and prepared for the road ahead.

Another week passed and this week brought the eighty-seven thousand dollars you’d used for your father’s clinical trial acceptance and fees back to you. According to the billing department, the fees and costs were taken care of by the hospital’s grant they received every quarter for difficult cases that came from donors to the hospital. You didn’t understand how something like that could be real. It didn’t seem to be a thing two weeks ago but now miraculously the amount had been taken care of. How could you have been that lucky when your entire life thus far had been riddled with misfortune.

That now left you with the full sum that had been left on your stoop. Ninety thousand dollars. That was the week you decided to stick to your guns. You found all the overdue, past due, and collections mail you’d received over the years which totaled well over two hundred thousand and made arrangements to either pay them all off or pay portions. The overdue hospital bills took the majority of the money leaving just enough to keep the gas and electricity on and turn back on the cable.

By the third week of the trial, you’d been informed again that the cost and fees of the next month and the two rounds for that month had been taken care of. When they informed you that all of it would be taken care of moving forward you nearly passed out from the shock. That was when you began to believe maybe your luck had turned around.

-One Month Later-

The sound of your doorbell echoed through the house starling you. From your seat in the living room, you stared out into the hallway that led to it not wanting to get up just yet. After a minute, the bell rang again. Recollection rang through you, and you waited again wondering if the bell would again ring. Slowly, you rose from your seat and walked to the door. You then pressed your back to the wall where the screen was and looked into it. Your stoop was empty but there was another neatly wrapped box sitting there. You brought your eyes closer and closer until there was barely any room between your eyes and the screen. You didn’t want to miss anything.

Long moments passed with the house cloaked in silence and darkness as you used all of your senses to monitor the screen. Nothing was happening. There was no one out there except that large black luxury SUV parked in the same place as the previous time. The doorbell rang again, and you gasped in horror. No one approached the door, no one pressed the bell, no one was on the screen. You grabbed the knob and yanked the door open pretty much jumping on your stoop hoping to see someone. You ran down your steps to look up and down the sidewalk, but no one was in sight.

“What the hell?!”

Your eyes fell on the box on your stoop and Lotus was right there beside it looking at the SUV. Something in you said to walk across to it. You took a few steps toward the street but the moment you stepped into it you stopped as if hitting a wall. There was nothing in front of you. Reaching forward your fingers sliced through the air without restriction but yet you still couldn’t move forward.

“Go back. It isn’t time yet. When it is. I will be there.”

The words were spoken in your head, but the voice wasn’t your own. It wasn’t a voice you’d heard before, but you felt as if you knew it. Intense confusion hit you and you tried to continue to push forward still being met by restriction. Your stubbornness reached peak levels and you did not only try to push forward physically but also mentally. How could you feel like you knew the voice but know you didn’t? You tried to focus on that voice pushing whatever restraint was on your mind.

“Bǎobèi.”

The word echoed in a haunting way that made goosebumps prickle your skin. On the last echo, you saw a pair of eyes, hypnotizing hazel eyes that held secrets, pain, questions, and answers. A loud honk behind you made you jump. When you turned you were blinded by the harsh glare of light. You were caught in bright headlights and a shout to get out of the street. You staggered back to the sidewalk you’d just stepped off of unsure what had just happened. Slowly, you walked up the steps back to the box, gathered it then walked inside. Before closing the door you looked across to the SUV.

“Soon,” the voice hissed again before you closed it.

A few minutes later, you sat before the opened box that was filled with stacks of cash, and you were consumed with the same questions as before.

What the hell was going on?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glossary:

Bǎobèi: Treasure

~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged, please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!! ***

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TagList:

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[books-and-catears]

Im actually unsure if ive sent a request already (if i did im sorry i have1 terrible memory T-T;;)

But if not would it be okay to request for an GN! MC who the brothers realize was a big idol back in the human world but they never said that to them? Like maybe they found through magazines or internet or smth?

Hope this is okay and have a good day!!

Awww honey don't apologize! Also thank you so much for the request! You have an amazing day too!

This is such a interesting and hilarious ask!This is going to be super fun to write hehehe :3

(Oh and just a general fact for anyone who comes across my blog I try to always make my MC gender neutral unless a specific gender is requested.)

Lucifer

Lucifer: For some reason there have been a lot of attempts to summon me from the human realm.

MC: Oh? That really works?

Lucifer: Well not always but we occasionally they get it right. But that's the not the issue here.

MC: Oh did they ask for something weird?

Lucifer: I got 22 summons. 18 of them had your name in their demands. And I checked their identities, they are not related to you, in any way. Mind explaining what's going on?

MC: *embarassed* I was slightly drunk on stage one day and might have told the people as a joke that if I ever went missing, they could try asking the devil for me.

Lucifer: Your people? Do you have cult up there?

MC: Well cult is a strong word. Fanbase is the more commonly used term...

Lucifer: How many people?

MC: Um...

Lucifer: How many more times will I be summoned MC?

MC: Um a few million times?

Lucifer: *exasperated dad noises*

Mammon

Mammon: MC what is net worth?

MC: Eh I'm not sure but maybe sum of assets or something

Mammon: YOU HAVE 20 MILLION WORTH OF ASSETS?

MC: Ah well I don't really accept it as mine cause there's a lot of people involved so I signed it over to my parents anyway.

Mammon: BUT HOW DO YOU HAVE THE ASSETS?

MC: 5 years worth of good record and merch sells are enough for it suppose?

Mammon: Records...MC you were a famous singer in the human world?!

MC: Ah well idol is what they called us. We had to dance a lot too.

Mammon: HOW COME NONE OF US KNEW THIS?! MC THIS IS HUGE WE CAN EVEN MARKET YOUR SKILLS HERE AND WE WILL BE RICH!

MC: *sigh*....this is why none of you knew.

Leviathan

Levi: MC can I tell you something strange?

MC: How strange are we talking?

Levi: Like when I saw you for the first time, you looked awfully familiar.

MC: Ah do I resemble some character you like?

Levi: An idol actually. There was this human world group that was a big hit for five years! But then they disbanded two years ago. You look like my favourite one. *Pointing to old poster*

MC: *looks at themself in ridiculous blue hair* Ahahhaa thanks Levi although I gotta admit that is my least favourite look.

Levi: You even have the same name as them it's almost uncanny- wait. Did you say 'MY least favourite look'?

MC: Guilty as charged....

Levi: YOU'RE ACTUALLY MC! THE MC! THE IDOL MC! *falls on the ground*

MC: Levi you okay?! Calm down it's-

Levi: MC IS IN MY ROOM!? MC IS SITTING NEXT TO ME?! MC IS LIVING IN THE SAME HOUSE AS ME!? MC GOES TO MY SCHOOL!? MC IS MY BEST FRIEND?!

MC: Yes Levi...Yes to all of them now calm down please! You're going to have heart attack!

Satan

Satan: MC come here for a minute would you?

MC: Yes, Satan?

Satan: So I tried to procure some human world magazines for Asmo and ended up going through them myself and *flips to a page and pointing towards an old picture of you* by any chance is this you?

MC: Haha didn't expect you to recognize me with that get up.

Satan: So when were you going to tell us you're about your fame in the human world?

MC: Does it even matter? It has been two years since I've last been on stage I'm sure people have forgotten now.

Satan: The recent article disagrees. *Reads from magazine* "MC hasn't been active in any of their social media accounts recently. While they did tend to go on long breaks of inactivity, this hiatus has been stretching for 5 months. They haven't even appeared in any of their fellow member's pictures either. An interview with one of the members said, 'They haven't even been answering texts nor calls. Their parents tell us they've gone away for a while but won't tell us where."

MC: Jesus I leave for six months and they make a whole mystery novel about me.

Satan: Well it's rather fun to keep the people on their toes. I can think of ways to fuel this fire.

MC: Satan no-

Asmodeus

Asmo: *comes running into your room* MC! How could you not tell me!?

MC: Eh? Tell you what?

Asmo: That you had a partner in the human world already?! And that you both are a FAMOUS POWER COUPLE!?

MC: Eh? Who said I was-

Asmo: Don't you lie to me! *holds up an edit playing on his phone* Look at these two people under the same umbrella! You're the one holding it aren't you!? Who are they MC? Do you love them more than me?!

MC: *sigh* No Asmo, they're just a friend who liked to screw with the paparazzi. And the paparazzi was over eager with us cause a lot of people loved shipping us.

Asmo: And why were you shipped with them?! I'm clearly a better match!

MC: *scratches head* Ah probably I used to pull too many pranks with them on stage and we were given a lot of duets and dances together.

Asmo: Stage? Duets? Dances? MC ...were you an IDOL?!

MC: ....yes?

Asmo: *squealing* WAIT TILL I MAKE YOU BECOME AN IDOL HERE TOO ALONG WITH ME SO PEOPLE WILL SHIP US INSTEAD!

Beelzebub

Beel: MC I heard from the others that you used to be a famous idol.

MC: Ah they told you too? Atleast your reaction is much calmer.

Beel: I heard famous people get lots of gifts from fans! Including snacks and candy!

MC: Haha we did. Only we weren't allowed to eat them.

Beel: ...but it's your gift. Of course you're allowed to eat them?!

MC: *sigh* Being in a idol group meant having to maintain your looks at all times. And weight was a big issue. I remember during tours we only had to live off apples, cucumbers and pea soup for a week.

Beel: That doesn't sound nice at all. *sad Beel noises* Here MC. *gives you half his sandwich* You can eat as much as you like here!

MC: Thank you so much, Beel.

Belphegor

Belphie: Did you get enough sleep being an idol and all? Beel told me you used to be one.

MC: Between late night practices and early morning workouts? I managed on three hours of sleep.

Belphie: That's less than half the ideal amount for humans.

MC: Ah well all of us needed to be perfect with the performance or we'd be screamed at or worse suspended.

Belphie: Performance for people who only need to see your face to start screaming. So much wasted energy. It's good that you left. Adoration from a bunch of strangers isn't worth losing sleep.

MC: I know right? It is nice to have a lot of people love you maybe but if I can't even be awake enough to appreciate them... what's the point?

Belphie: Come here. *wraps you up in his blanket* I help you catch up on the years of sleep you've missed.

MC; Thanks, Belphie.