#anyway no i was just having an idle thought with fathers day coming up

[todayisafridaynight]

if i think bout ichi going to jiro kasuga's grave and arakawa accompanying him Maybe At Least Once i just might explode

[kairiscorner]

i saw your miguel requests are open!! Yay!

Could you write a Miguel x f!reader where reader is a stubborn, confident daughter of a crime lord and Miguel is required to be her bodyguard even though she doesn't want anything to do with her father's work?

HI DEARRRRR OFC OFC !! sorry if the climax seemed so sudden, i just wanted to do something related to the third image on the header bc it looked so cute rgh ... anyway, hoping you like this !!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

bodyguard!miguel o'hara x fem!reader

the guy your father hired to protect you was... a real piece of work.

first of all, he was worse than your dad; he refused to let you do anything by yourself or go anywhere all alone, even in the most private of places. he sits close by you, or across you, while eating–he stands outside of the comfort room, standing all menacingly by your stall door and glaring down at anybody who walked by, and he'd decline invitations to anywhere fun and exciting for you in fear that you'd 'get all rebellious' on your father. "do you not know how to have fun? i'm starting to think you were, what, synthesized in a lab, never experienced wanting to have some excitement in your life?" you asked him sarcastically as he drove you home, with you at the front seat–your arms folded over your chest as you narrowed your eyes at your stoic-faced bodyguard.

miguel didn't budge and kept his eyes on the road; expertly driving without flinching or looking away one bit from the road ahead of you two. you raised an eyebrow and sighed, slumping further into your seat. "you're like the terminator, like, i don't even know if you kill people, but you're like him–a mindless robot that can only follow orders." you said with a huff. he finally spoke soon enough as you two hit a red light. "your father's paying me to follow orders, not to do anything else, let alone have idle chit-chat with his daughter." he said pretty bluntly and monotonously, making you groan exaggeratedly. "of course he would never pay for me to have a friend. he did when i was seven years old, though, that went to shit after a while, however." you blabbed as miguel looked at you from the corner of his eye.

"wait, of course, you don't wanna hear it." "no, no, keep talking, ma'am." miguel then blurted out himself. "that is... if you wish to keep talking." he added, distancing himself from you while still getting a little closer than ever before. you were surprised at how miguel was taking the initiative to talk to you, and you figured that since you had nothing better to do, why not tell this man your whole life story, thoughts, problems, and... just everything you've been keeping to yourself all this time. "fuck, i wanna leave home." you confessed to him as miguel slowed the car down, coming to a turn. "...and why's that?" he asked you, making you immediately shrug in response. "well, my dad wants to protect me and all, which, i'm grateful for, but... i don't wanna have a part in everything he does, i don't want... i don't want to do what he does, and i'm scared that, one day... i will end up like him." you confessed, tears streaming down your cheeks without you realizing. this has happened multiple times while you were alone, but never with anyone else–you'd sometimes cry without you realizing and mask it up, switch your emotions like flicking a switch on and off.

miguel, for the first time in a long while, turned his head to look at you and away from the road for a bit. he slowed down his driving and just... looked onto your scared, worried eyes that reflected just how fearful you were of becoming like your father. you were always so daring, rebellious, and confident to boot–you never showed fear unless it was a real, tangible fear you felt like it might come true one day if you weren't careful. he cleared his throat and looked up ahead, back on the road. "it's not my place to say anything regarding this matter, i'm not the most well-equipped person to have anything remotely helpful to say about any of this, but, um... you don't know that." he whispered those last few words in a small, creaking voice, not even sure why he's saying what he's saying; gulping back the already spoken words and shirking back in the driver's seat silently.

you sniffled back the tears you didn't realize you were holding in and looked at him quizzically. "...don't know what?" you asked him with a gentle voice, prompting him to finish his thought. miguel sighed and pulled up to the driveway, cutting through the dark evening with the bright lights illuminating from the luxurious car miguel drove you in and shut off the ignition, shifting in his seat as anxiety and nervousness filled his mind. "you... you don't know if you'll really be like him. you're not your father, you might not even become your father; you're... you. and, i like you for who you are, for all your snarkiness, cheekiness, you giving me a hard time all the time, i... i appreciate you as you are now." he finished, feeling his face get all flustered as he saw the way your eyes shone in the dark, how your tears from earlier glistened as the moon shone above and let light pour down upon your twinkling face. he got out of the car and went over to your door as usual to escort you out, but when he got close to your door, you left the window open and—as he got nearer towards you—you grabbed him gently by his tie, pulled him in close, and pressed your plush lips against his. you didn't know what you just did or why you even did what you did—but something about his words stuck to you and compelled you to... do some things you'd keep to yourself.

"i, um... thank you. you're... not as emotionless as i thought you'd be, i-i suppose..." you murmured silently as you pulled away from him and let his tie slip from your hands as you scooched out of the passenger and driver's seat, exiting out the door miguel left through; watching him stare at you with widened eyes and a bashful, surprised look on his face that made him think and ask himself, 'was that... real?' he merely nodded and kept clearing his throat as he stumbled away from the car, but fumbling the keys in his hands to lock the doors once he realized he forgot to do so. you swore you heard him mutter how 'soft your lips felt, how 'if your dad learned about that... there was no telling what'd happen to him', but most of all—you swore that he seemed softer, kinder, and a lot more vulnerable than before you kissed him.

he seemed so much warmer now, somehow...

this wasn't stopping you totally from overthinking all the time, though, it was good to know that he respected you as a person as opposed to some girl he was going to protect at all costs. but the reason why you kissed him... it sent your face to a furious fluster and made your brain short-circuit even remembering it all, made you weak in the knees and stutter a whole lot while thinking about it, looking forward to the next time you'd see him, for once.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

[analogwriting]

Childhood Crush

Chapter 3: Carbon

Killer x gn!reader

word count: 2.8k

a/n: straight up just naming chapter titles after metals frfr next

Ever since that day, it didn’t seem like those Delmark boys and their friends gave your brother any more trouble. Seemed like your message was delivered and well received. You knew nothing too much could come from them anyway. They just seemed like a bunch of spoiled brats anyway. And their ‘father’ didn’t come after you either. 

Your brother didn’t stay out of fights, however. He still showed up beaten and bruised, but not as bad as that day. It seemed your sparring matches helped him hold his own in fights better. You also knew that you couldn’t just keep fighting his battles. When he’d come home with some kind of injury you just sighed and grabbed the first aid kit. You’d patch him up as good as new. Killer as well. They both seemed to be quite the shitheads with the way they were always getting into fights. 

“Bigs!” You looked up from the book you were currently reading on human anatomy. You had taken more and more of an interest in how the human body worked. You switched to working at the local hospital and lab to help develop some medicines. You currently had been working on a salve that you wanted to test out, but your brother had been out more and more lately so you hadn’t been able to use him as your guinea pig as you often did.

“I’m in my room!” You called, rolling off your bed to meet him at your door, pausing as you heard not the usual two voices but four.

Eustass was in your door, supporting a kid that looked familiar. He seemed rather worse for wear. “Tungsten, what the fuck?”

“They’re new friends of ours, can you help them?” You looked out the door, seeing Killer supporting another one. Then it dawned on you. 

“Wait, they were the two with the shitheads a beat up like a year ago. Get them at the kitchen table, I’ll grab my tools.” Luckily, now that you had been working at the hospital, you could do more than just patch up some scratches and your stitching also improved.

The two nodded, toting the other two into the small table in the kitchen while you rummaged for your tools. You headed back into the kitchen. The two boys seemed to barely be awake. “What happened?” You asked, focusing on the task at hand.

“Well, we were supposed to meet them but we just found them like this,” Eustass said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

You thought for a moment. “I wonder if the Delmark brothers found out they were hanging around you now.”

“Huh?”

“When I went to fight, they were there. I wonder if they were errand boys for the Nathan kid.” You shook your head as you cleaned up their wounds carefully. “They scattered after I told them to. If I had to guess, Nathan found out they were hanging with you now and weren’t happy about it and jumped them.”

It was unfortunate but it’s how things like this worked. You couldn’t just leave a gang and join up with another, not that your brother necessarily had a gang right now. Not only did they leave, but they joined up with someone who had gotten their asses kicked, so just sour mood all around.

Eustass frowned and you looked at him. “It’s not your fault, so don’t blame yourself.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Mhm. Anyway, what are their names?” 

“That one is Heat and that one is Wire.”

You nodded, turning to look at Killer. “I have some leftovers in the fridge, would you mind getting them all cooked up? I’m sure they’re going to be hungry when they wake up.” He blinked, nodding before doing as you asked.

You focused on the task at hand. “Oh, tungsten, grab me the little tin on the desk in my room and bring it to me, will ya?” You didn’t look up from the stitching you were currently doing. “It’s a salve from work.” He nodded, disappearing for a moment before bringing it back.

You were quiet as you worked, listening to the idle conversations of Eustass and Killer. It was nice to have some background noise while you worked.

By the time you finished patching up the two, dinner was almost done. “What is that stuff anyway, Bigs?” you heard your brother say as you started to apply the salve. “Something I’ve been working on at work. It’s an ointment that should heal cuts and scratches way faster than usual. Only drawback is it makes you really hungry since it puts your body into hyper healing mode.

Silence came from your brother and you looked at him. He seemed to be processing. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Probably gave up on trying to really understand it. 

“Anyway, that’s why I had Killer make dinner - I know they’re going to be hungry by the time they wake up. Which should be soon.”

The three of you sat down at the table to eat next to your new, bloodied friends. It wasn’t long before they began to stir. “Wh-” 

“Don’t move too much, you’re still healing and the salve is taking up much of your stamina, so you need to rest. However, you should eat.” 

The two looked at you and seemed to process what was going on. “Wait…aren’t you…?” You watched as their eyes widened. “Wait! You are!” one chimed. “You saved us that one day!” the other chimed. You blinked, squirming slightly.

“I don’t know if I’d say that,” you grumbled, turning your attention back to the food before you. 

They turned their attention to the other two boys. “You guys know them? That’s so cool!”

Eustass’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “They’re literally related to me. Of course I know them,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

The eyes of the two widened so much you thought their eyes would pop out of their skull. “What?!”

“I’m pretty sure it was mentioned when I beat the shit outta Nathan.” You shrugged as you finished up your food. “But you guys were terrified outta your minds by the looks of it, so I wouldn’t be surprised if ya missed it.” You chuckled softly, taking your plate and beginning to start on the dishes.

“Now, the two of you need to eat and rest so you can heal up.” You looked at the other two. “And you two, keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t strain themselves.” You dried your hands, walking over to the injured boys, checking their wounds and making some mental notes. 

Seemed that the salve you created was working like a charm.

After a moment, you thought. “Tungsten?” 

“Yeah, Bigs?”

You turned from your position at the sink. “Are you gonna kick Nathan’s ass along with his goons?” You idly dried a pot as you looked at him.

“Fuck yeah, no one messes with my crew.” 

The corner of your mouth lifted in amusement. Good, seems you taught him well. “Do you think you can take them?”

“Are you offering, Bigs?” 

“Absolutely not. This is your fight. If you’re gonna lead, you gotta take care of it yourself.”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re so good at fighting! And you enjoyed it from what I saw,” he said with a smirk and you couldn’t help but tense. You didn’t like to think about that because it went a little further than just enjoying it. You were bloodthirsty. 

“I did not.”

“Did too”

“Did not!”

Eustass just laughed and you felt your eye twitch. You could really beat the shit outta him sometimes and this time you just might. Now that you knew your salve worked, it’d be fine.

You lunged at your brother, who didn’t stop laughing, only to feel arms under your own and you were lifted on the ground, being held like some grumpy cat. “What the fuck!” You blinked, looking behind you. “Killi, what the fuck?” Your brother was still laughing and you shot him a glare. Fucker.

He sets you down and you straighten yourself out, your face turning red. “I…don’t really know. I saw you lunge and wanted to deescalate the situation.”

“So you picked me up?”

He shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You glared at him and sighed. “It worked.” You looked to the others. “Now, Heat, Wire, eat up so you can get some rest. I’ve gotta run to the lab and get some work done.” You also just needed out of the house.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” you shouted over your shoulder as you headed out.

--

Turns out the salve you had created worked better than you thought. Heat and Wire’s wounds healed within a few days as if nothing happened, barely leaving scars. The only setback was fatigue and they were famished almost constantly. Other than that, it seemed to work better than you had hoped. It was definitely going to come in handy.

Especially with how often Eustass and his friends came home with new cuts and bruises. None of them were that bad, but you tended to them nonetheless. You wished your brother wouldn’t fight, but you also knew that there was no fighting it. It was just in your blood. He fought enough for the both of you - you just happened to be better at it, though you stayed away from fighting.

You also realized that they were all growing exponentially more than you and soon enough they all seemed to tower over you. However, you didn’t lose your authority just because they all outgrew you. They all still listened to you and your presence would be enough to make them cower if you were pissed off enough.

As time passed, you noticed your brother and his friends being out for days at a time. They had probably found some kind of hideout. Since your brother was hardly home these days, you worked more at the lab and the smithy. You were always worried about him, but he always left a note whenever he stopped by the house. Give you a small peace of mind but not much. 

Today, they were all at the house. “Thanks, Bigs!” Eustass said as you finished patching him up. Of course, they had come home because they had a rather rough scuffle with some other gang. They were victorious, but they were still hurt in the process.

“I wish you wouldn’t fight,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes as he stood up. “Who’s next?” Heat sat down. “Injuries?” He lifted his shirt, revealing a cut in his side and you started to get to work. “I should really start charging you. People are gonna think I’m a hospital here pretty soon.” You snorted as you patched him up. 

“You’re good. Next.” Wire sat down, taking off his hat to show you a cut on his head. You started working on him. “What’s the point of all this, tungsten?” It felt pointless, just fighting. Over and over for nothing.

“You wouldn’t understand, Bigs. You refuse to fight with us, but we do it to gain respect. People challenge us and we accept. Display our strength as a crew,” Eustass said, putting his hands on his hips. “There are other ways to gain respect, Eus,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “Other forms of strength.”

“Says the one who 1 v 4’d an entire gang.” Eustass scoffed, rolling his eyes and leaning against the table. You turned to look at him. “That was different, tungsten, and you know it.” You glared at him before turning back to look over Wire once more before waving him off, soon replaced with Killer.

“It was also years ago and we were all kids.” You rolled your eyes, turning your attention to your new patient as he presented his hands to you. His knuckles were all bloodied and bruised. Maybe you’d fashion him up some brass knuckles. You sighed, quickly getting to work by cleaning him up first.

“I bet you could do it again.” Eustass grinned at you. “Mighty mouse,” Killer commented and you gave him a deadpan expression while Eustass laughed.

“Not sure about that one.” You shook your head.

At this point, everyone was used to the two of you bickering, so they stayed quiet or made their own idle conversation while the two of you argued.

“You should join us, Bigs! We could use someone like you with us.”

“I am already on your side, I just don’t go out finding trouble. Someone has to pay the bills around here.” You rolled your eyes. It wasn’t really a dig at Eustass. You weren’t struggling in the least to pay for everything and, luckily, he knew that. 

“C’mooon. You have to be bored. All you do is work and go home every day to study.” Eustass folded his arms across his chest and you just shook your head.

“I’m perfectly fine with the life I have. You bring enough excitement when you show up bloodied and bruised and then I have to patch you up. Not boring.” 

“That’s not the fuckin’ same.” He was grumbling and pouting and you just shook your head. He plopped down in the chair next to the table. You just rolled your eyes again, focusing on your task at hand, soon enough wrapping up Killer’s hands.

“I just…” Your voice was a tad softer as you sighed. “I just hate seeing you guys hurt. It’s one thing for you to show up like this and I tend to your wounds, but it’s another thing entirely if I have to watch it happen.” You shook your head. “I can’t promise what would happen if I witnessed something like that.” You’d probably kill everyone in your path, honestly.

You ran a hand through your hair and groaned. “Every day you don’t come home, I expect someone to turn up at my fuckin’ door telling me you died in some stupid ass fight and I…” You stopped right before your voice cracked, knowing it was coming. You took a deep breath, shaking your head and pushing those thoughts away.

“We’ll be just fine, Bigs. Promise. We’re always gonna win. We’re pros at fighting now thanks to our dope ass teacher.” Eustass grinned at you and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“You’re still a shithead though…” You started getting lost in your thoughts but a squeeze of your hand brought you back quick enough. Right, you were bandaging Killer. “Sorry,” you mumbled, sniffling and finishing up. You let him go, standing up.

“Right, anyway. Who’s hungry?”

--

“There, that’s the last one.” Carefully, you set the latest weapon you had created on the rack. You had decided to make weapons for the boys since they just seemed to get into their fights more and more. They had their own weapons, but they were just random pipes and such they found. You wanted to give them proper means of defense.

You had fashioned weapons that seemed to fit each of the boys. They had no idea you were working on this and they’d been gone a few days at this point, so it made it easier to work on the surprise.

“Y/N!” You heard a panicked voice from outside your shop. You rushed outside, seeing both Heat and Wire. They looked pretty banged up, but that’s not what worried you most.

“Where are my brother and Killer?” Panic started to swell in your chest. All four of them were always together at this point. At least when they visited the house. Also, the panicked expressions of the two boys before you didn’t help either.

“W-We-” Both of them were stuttering, still freaked out from whatever happened before. You swallowed your own worry, walking over to the two and putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “Calm down and tell me what happened.”

The boys looked at each other before looking at you. “We were jumped. We took care of it, however…” Heat trailed off only for Wire to pick it back up. “The Delmark brothers showed up with their gang when we were already pretty banged up.”

Hearing that name only pissed you off and you grimaced, clenching your jaw. Were those fuckers really back? Why after all this time? Were they secretly gathering numbers? Or was it because you weren’t in the scene so they thought they could get away with this? Rage was slowly consuming you and you were ready to kick some ass.

“Take me to them, then. We can’t just leave them.”

“B-But what if you get hurt?” 

You tilted your head to the side as you grabbed your trusty baseball bat from the side of your workshop. “Why the hell else would you have come to get me if not to kick some ass? Let’s fucking go already.”

[felicitysmoaksx]

Conner and Sarah fake dating for the holidays for x reason. But it becomes a little too real.

For the advent writing calendar

See, it started like this, Connor needed someone to go to the annual hospital charity event with him to get his father off of his back after the fallout with Robin and because Sarah was the only one single at the moment, Ava offered her up. It was one event, Sarah didn’t mind. In fact, the brunette probably owed him one. For everything he did for Robert. (The fact that he was a psychopath notwithstanding.) Then one event turned into two and two, three. You see where she was going with this. Until Sarah looked up and she was four months deep into fake dating Connor Rhodes. 

Sarah didn’t mind though. She wasn’t trying to date right now anyway and Connor kept everyone who hit on her away because the whole hospital, except for a few friends, thought they were together. As evidenced by Dr. Bardovi’s subtle mean-girl act last week when Sarah and Connor had been eating lunch in the cafeteria.

So that brought them to now, where she was leaning against the nurse’s station, as she bickered with everyone’s favorite charge nurse. 

“You worked last Christmas, Sarah.” Maggie shook her head as she sorted files and handed them off to various doctors and nurses. “You shouldn’t be on the roster to work this year. It’s a year-on, year-off basis. You know this.” 

The brunette sighed and she continued writing her notes on a surgical psych evaluation. “It usually is. But I volunteer to work it every year so someone who actually celebrates it can be with their families.” 

“Who actually celebrates it?” Maggie raised an incredulous eyebrow at her friend, “Sarah, you love Christmas! I’ve seen you the day after Thanksgiving practically with bells on and positively floating through the day! Even before Thanksgiving now that I think about it.”

Another holiday she offered to work every year. 

But the charge nurse wasn’t wrong. Sarah loved Christmas and celebrated it all season long. Though admittedly with the Robert situation, it was certainly more subdued this year. But wasn’t it ironic that a person who absolutely adored Christmas didn’t have anyone to spend it with?

Sarah shrugged while a smile that looked more like a grimace overtook her lips. “I’m just saying, I don’t have anyone to spend the holiday with because I don’t speak to my mother, I haven’t since I told her I went into psychiatry over two years ago. Not that I ever spent it with her, to begin with. So I volunteer to work because what else am I going to do on that day? Why not give it to someone who has a family to spend it with?” 

“But you could’ve had someone to spend it with if you told us. You know that if Will, Ethan, April, Ava, or I had known you were by yourself every Christmas, we would’ve offered for you to come with one of us to our celebrations.” Maggie argued, before the ED phone rang. An incoming trauma, which meant Connor rushed to meet the paramedics to take the case, before Maggie could assign it. 

It had been a slow day for him and Connor didn't idle well. Her cheeks warmed when he caught her eye and winked as he ran. Her friend caught the movement and nodded in the direction of the surgeon. “What is he doing for Christmas?” 

“Spending it with his dad and sister.” Sarah shrugged her shoulders. Maggie raised an eyebrow, “And you’re not spending it with him because?” 

“I didn’t want to intrude. And you know why that’s not exactly an option anyway because he and I aren’t actually together.” Sarah said, because Maggie was one of those few who knew it was all fake.

Just like the charge nurse knew how Connor looked at Sarah when he thought the brunette wasn’t looking. It may have started out fake but Maggie was willing to bet that’s not how he felt now. The brunette continued shaking her head, “Besides, I’m fine. I celebrate during the month and that’s enough.” 

It wasn’t fine though and it was sad that her friend thought or pretended like it was. The charge nurse pursed her lips together before she offered, “At least, come with me to my-”

“Maggie, no. Christmas is a family holiday and I don’t want any of your family to feel bad when I don’t have any gifts because you brought an extra person. I’m fine.” 

[LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] [LINE BREAK] 

She was in the cafeteria line with a thought of splurging on another peppermint mocha, when strong arms snaked around her waist and drew her in close. Sarah tensed briefly before the warm citrus scent filled her nose. Then she relaxed in his grasp. 

“Getting lunch?” he mused quietly in her ear. She squirmed slightly at the fuzzy feeling that ran down her spine and made her shiver at his words. 

“No, I was thinking about another peppermint mocha.” She told him and was met with a disapproving look, “What exactly have you eaten today?”

“Pro-”

“And don’t you say just those protein bars you’re so fond of. They aren’t big enough to sustain you all day.” Connor shook his head at her. Before the brunette could say anything, the line was moving and his hand was placed on the small of her back to propel her forwards gently. 

After ordering her peppermint mocha, in addition to a coffee for Connor and two wraps, one vegetarian and the other chicken, (that Connor wouldn’t let her pay for and waved away any of her attempts of trying to pay him back)  fake boyfriend led them to a table. While she picked and munched on pieces of tortilla, Connor sipped on his own coffee and watched her. 

“What?” Sarah finally asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had nowhere to go for Christmas? That you work every year because of it and spend it by yourself?” 

“Maggie,” she grumbled more to herself than anything as she shook her head. Then she shrugged and told him quietly, “Because I didn’t want to intrude on anyone. Or anybody’s Christmas.”

“Can you get out of it?” He asked, shaking his head. 

“I’m not sure. I’d have to talk to Ms. Goodwin. Why?” 

“Because I’m making plans and it would be better if you didn’t work that day.” 

“Connor, I’m fine-”

“Sarah, you’re not spending another holiday by yourself. Especially not one you love so much. Not when you have me.”

But she didn’t have him, not really.

[lapinbunwrites]

Title: A Lost Memory

Rating: Gen

Warnings: None

Fandoms: Fire Emblem Fates

Relationships: Xander & Felicia, Xander & Camilla

Characters: Xander, Felicia, Camilla

Additional Tags: Fluff, Angst, Post-Canon

Word Count: 1,918

Ao3 Link

Xander exhaled a loud groan as he tossed and turned in his bed. As he sat up, he yawned and stretched, releasing a sigh and scratching the back of his head. Knowing he wasn’t going to enjoy the day, the crown prince contemplated sneaking into his office and working so he wouldn’t have to take a day off.

He shook his head as he forced himself to get out of bed, washing up and changing clothes before leaving his room. Walking around the castle, he kept a lookout for his knights and his sister so they wouldn’t catch him going to his office. Once no one was around, he opened the door to his office, letting out a sigh of relief when he found it empty.

As Xander began to work, he heard footsteps, every pace drawing his attention to the door until they passed. Growing more irritated, he rubbed his face and slouched back into his chair. Thanks to the many knights walking past his office, his focus had dissolved. He sighed and decided his time would be better spent doing something else.

Xander rubbed his neck as he walked around the castle, wandering in idle thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he truly rested and relaxed. Maybe it was in his childhood. Or was it when she was…

He stopped walking when he saw the edges of a picture frame come into view, scowling as he looked up at the painting. It was of his father and…

The crown prince shook his head as he continued walking, eventually finding himself in the kitchen. Since he was here, he could at least make something to eat. He was a little hungry anyway. He rummaged through the pantry and the fridge, grabbing several ingredients. After assembling the food on the counter, he took out a Dutch oven, placing a liberal amount of butter into the pot as it heated up on the stove.

While Xander took to cutting the vegetables, he blanked out, staring off into space as memories started to flood his mind. He remembered running into the kitchen with a big smile on his face. He approached the counter, watching a woman in the midst of cooking. Moments later he was picked up by her, and Xander recalled clutching to her arms as she started to hum. Her presence was calming. Warm.

She stopped humming and placed his hands on the wooden spoon to help stir what she was cooking, and he could hear her voice telling him to watch the Dutch oven. As they waited, she would go to the spacious part of the kitchen and begin to sing and dance with him.

Xander put the knife down and clutched the edge of the counter, feeling the tears roll down his cheeks. He took one big breath and wiped the tears from his face before picking up the knife again. The more he cooked, the more he started falling back on old memories, and there were some he wished he could forget.

He snapped back to reality when he heard a loud crash in the next room over, putting the knife in the sink and washing his hands before investigating the commotion. It was no surprise that it was Felicia who dropped an entire tray of teacups and a teapot. The poor girl was being scolded by some random noblewoman. Xander sighed as he walked over to her, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” He asked, glaring at the noblewoman.

“M-My lord,” Felicia spoke, startled by his presence.

“Your Majesty!” The woman scowled. “This terrible maid crashed into me and spilled hot tea on my beautiful dress!”

Xander glanced down at Felicia. “Is that true?”

“N-No! I promise i-it wasn't me this time!” Felicia stuttered as she left his grasp. “I had all the-the dirty dishes and-and,” she gasped for air.

“Felicia, please,” Xander pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I was just trying to take these dirty dishes back to the kitchen. I saw her so I moved to the side and stood still so I wouldn’t crash into her. But she walked right into me. I didn’t realize that the tea kettle still had some tea in it,” she said hurriedly.

“That is not true!” The woman yelled. “She is a notoriously bad maid and a klutz! She saw me coming and purposely tripped, spilling the tea to ruin my dress and burn me!”

Xander sighed. “I understand that Felicia isn’t the best maid and that she is a klutz, but she is not one to lie. You, however, are.”

“How dare you!” She accused, storming off.

Felicia took a few deep breaths before picking up the dishes. “Thank you, my lord.”

“It’s nothing special,” he reassured her as he helped collect the broken pieces. “Are you unharmed?”

“Y-Yes. I am fine. I’m just a little shaken up.” She stood, holding out the tray for him to put the broken pieces on.

“Why don’t you help me in the kitchen?” He suggested. “I’m making some stew.”

“Are you sure?” Felicia asked, a touch anxious.

“Yes, I’m certain. Cooking always helped me calm down as a child,” he said, letting the words slip out.

“Really?” She giggled, dumping the broken dishes into the trash bin.

“Yes,” he replied.

Felicia smiled as she walked over to the counter, observing as Xander worked.

“Why are you staring at me?” He asked as he stopped cutting the meat.

“Just watching you.” She said, softly.

“Well, if you want something to do, you can always clean the table and dishes.”

“Of course!” She exclaimed, skipping over to a cupboard to grab a dishcloth.

As he cooked the stew, he watched her clean the table; the longer he did so, the more memories came to his mind. Xander remembered the woman who would watch him scurry over to the table to clean it, recalling how she ruffled his hair because he did such a good job. Together they would set the table, and she would wear such a big smile as he ate the food she had made.

“My lord?” Felicia softly said, glancing back at him. “Was there something that you wanted?”

“Oh,” he released the breath he had been holding, realizing his arm was outstretched to her. “I just wanted to learn about your responsibilities as a maid.”

“Really?” She laughed, clapping her hands.

“Yes,” he lied. He didn’t really want to, but he couldn’t say what was truly on his mind.

Felicia’s smile grew as she walked over to him. “We can start with making tea!”

Xander nodded as she began to instruct him. Trying—and failing—to absorb all of Felicia’s many tea instructions, he watched her as she moved around the kitchen, his eyes following her as she stared attentively at the teapot.

“My lord,” Felicia asked, bending down to meet his gaze. “Are you paying attention?”

“Yes,” he lied once more as his eyes found hers.

“Hmph, then why don’t you be a maid for a little bit,” she giggled.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes!”

A loud groan left his lips as she took his hand, carefully receiving the platter from her.

“Why don’t you try walking to the table?” Felicia said with a huge smile. “You saw me do it—now it’s your turn!”

Xander rolled his eyes as he made his way over to the table. After placing all the silverware, cups, plates, and napkins, he looked over to Felicia with a faint smile.

“Wow, amazing! I have never seen anyone do that so gracefully! Not even Jakob,” she praised, her mouth agape.

Xander said nothing and scratched the back of his head.

“Is everything alright?” Felicia asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, everything is fine,” he reassured her.

“Are you sure? You keep staring off into space.”

“I assure you I am fine,” he doubled down. “Now let’s get back to this whole maid thing.”

Felicia smiled and dragged him back to the counter. He smiled politely as she talked his ear off, and watched her walk over to the table to show him how to pour tea. Xander laughed a little as she crashed into the table, taking the teapot, teacups, tablecloth, and table down with her.

“I’m so sorry King Xander, I didn’t mean to break everything!” Felicia apologized, moving the broken dishes off of her.

“Are you alright?” He asked, holding out his hand. “I’m surprised you didn’t scream when you spilled the tea.”

“Yes, I am fine,” she reassured him, taking his hand. “I dress in extra layers so I don’t feel how the tea burns.”

“That’s…something,” he remarked, handing her a towel, to which she began to clean herself off with.

“Oh please, when you spill tea all the time, you figure out ways to protect yourself. Anyways, I should change.”

Left alone once more, Xander tended to the stew. It had been a long time since he saw and heard dishes crashing against the floor. After adding some extra spices, he grabbed a broom and a pan to clean up the mess, placing the table back onto its legs before sweeping up the broken dishes. As he tidied up, he fell back on his memories again. He remembered being a child and crying because he broke many plates, as well as a gentle hand held out to him and being held in a comforting pair of arms. Xander remembered her placing his head to her chest to feel the vibrations of her humming.

“Hush now child, please don’t cry,” he began to sing as he cleaned. “The sun will come out again.”

As he continued to sing, he cleaned up the broken dishes. Afterward, he stayed by the stove to keep an eye on the stew. More tears began to roll down his face.

“Let the sun shine…”

Xander grabbed a bowl, filled it to the top with stew, and walked over to the table. He looked out the window and sparsely ate his food.

“Let the sun shine,” he sang as he heard footsteps.

“Oh, there you are,” Camilla smiled. “Mm, it smells like her stew.”

“That’s because it is,” he said, looking over to her. “Pray it tastes the same as it did back then.”

She walked over to him, arms wrapping around him in a hug. “I miss her too.”

“I hope she is looking over us,” he sighed.

“She is, and I know she is proud of you,” she reassured him.

He nodded. “I just wish she were here.”

“I do too, but…” she trailed off, matching his silence.

“Why don’t I get everyone and we can enjoy the stew together,” she smiled. “I know Elise has been dying to try this since she was a child.”

“You told her all about it, didn’t you,” Xander chuckled.

“Yes,” she sighed. “I ran out of bedtime stories to tell, so I told her about your mother’s homemade recipes.”

“Heh,” he smiled.

“What?” She chuckled. “You have your mother’s cooking skills.”

“That I do, and I’m glad to be at least a little bit like her,” he affirmed. “Go get everyone and I will set the table.”

“Gladly,” Camilla agreed.

As she left, he rose from his seat and began to prepare the table for his siblings’ arrival. It wasn’t long before everyone shuffled into the kitchen. He faintly smiled as everyone ate the stew and laughed, a warm familiarity growing in his heart as they ate.

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

I finally get to share my piece for the Xander zine that I was in! It was a blast writing about him and him remembering his mother with the stress of Felicia, whom I care for very much. He gives me so many feels.

Leftovers are open so you can buy your stuff here.

[flower-seeks-the-moon]

Your Move (IV. Allegretto: A Counterplay)

fandom: our life: beginnings and always

relationships: main character/baxter ward

characters: main character, baxter ward, side characters appearing

words: 5046

Read on AO3 (must be logged in) or below the cut.

“I must be a mermaid, Rango. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.”

- Anais Nin

The heat of the summer sun beats down on the quiet neighborhood street, ushering outsiders to spend the day indoors or come to the waterside to cool off. 

Baxter rings the doorbell twice, 1:00 pm on the dot as they agreed upon. As the door swings open, he greets the elder Blanc sister who blinks back at him with a jovial curve of his lip. No charming girlfriend in sight, he laments to himself as he lifts his hand in a wave. So it appears that Wisteria is still inside her room, though she did give him fair warning. “A pleasant morning to you, Elizabeth. May I come up to Wisteria’s room?” 

“Morning.” To his inward surprise, Elizabeth does not pounce upon this opportunity to tease. She gives him a nod, turning her back to him. “She’s been waiting for you.”

He follows her inside, where she wanders over to the couch. A laptop perched on the coffee table, along with a stack of notebooks and some scattered papers, answers his silent question. Elizabeth is an architecture student, he recalls learning during the dinner last Friday. Leaving the elder sister to her work, he strides towards the stairs.

It’s the last door on the right side, at the end of the hall.

There it is. 

This is not the first time that he’s been invited to someone’s room, no. But he pauses before the innocuous threshold, anyway. A touch of uncertainty bids him to idle before it. Perhaps the fact that this is not that kind of social call, the one he’s grown more and more used to even more since entering university, is what makes the occasion foreign? 

He raps his fist against the wood twice, then three times, before someone answers him. It’s muffled behind the wood, but a stilted voice rings out.

“Come in!”

Turning the knob, he pushes the door open and slips inside to meet the argent eyes already seeking him out. His grin softens as her customary placid regard of him. “Good afternoon, Wisteria. I must tell you again how touched I am by your thoughtfulness. You weren’t obliged to open your door and play the hostess even before our scheduled meetup.”

Her brows lift higher as he continues, “Truthfully, I am taking the fact that I am invited here to be a most fortunate sign. A neighbor at the most would’ve been at home in the living room, if they were welcome into said home in the first place.”

By the end of his spiel, Wisteria’s feet have taken her to standing in front of him. Her lips are pursed as she cocks her head. “Yes, well… That’s one hell of a greeting. Of course you’re welcome, you’re not just a neighbor.” 

A rush of warmth pools in his cheeks as he looks at her through half-lidded eyes, but he chooses not to reply. He instead takes in the rest of her room, impressing upon memory all the little details that he could gather from the inner sanctum where she keeps her dearest belongings. It’s a minimalistic space, the main highlights instead being the tall bookshelf and the chessboard perched atop a low desk that doubles as a cabinet.

One cursory look at the volumes stuffed within the shelves tells him that she’s an avid novel reader. He catches some of the titles: an awful lot of romance, Jane Austen titles lined up neat and tidy. Interesting how right below that shelf is a section dedicated to chess tactics and openings, some of which he could recognize due to many such tomes making up a part of his father’s study. He doubts that the man has even read them cover to cover, the way they looked brand new in comparison to the wear and tear clear on the spines of this girl’s collection.

“You have a very charming room,” he praises as she steps back in front of him in a deliberate motion, obstructing his view of her reading preferences. “The shades of red are nice.”

“Thanks, I like how I decorated it, too.” 

Directing his gaze back on her, he is about to make a quip of some sort when he happens to truly take her appearance in. He stops short and forces himself to meet her eyes. 

“Did I perhaps arrive… early?” Baxter keeps his voice light, an indirect nod to her current state of undress. Perhaps that is too strong a word, for she is wearing what clearly constitutes sleepwear. Beams of sunlight, from the window behind her, cast a golden tinge to her bare shoulders. One strap of her cherry print camisole is a precarious inch away from falling off. He does not follow it down to see plush thighs clad in pajama shorts. “It is my mistake, truly.”

A flicker of befuddlement crosses her face, but it’s quick to clear away as she glances down at herself. In growing despair mingled with great amusement, he realizes that this is going to happen a lot this summer. 

She coughs. “No, you’re just on time… Hm, sorry about this.” Wisteria does not sound sorry, in particular, when she looks back up at him. “You aren’t dressed, either.”

Ah. Yes, that.

He lifts his chin. “No, I can assure you that I am quite ready. While I am certainly quite eager to enjoy an afternoon on the beach with all of you, I will not be getting into the ocean.” Raking a hand through his fringe, he barely notices how it’s left messier than before. “And what if I get a sunburn?”

Wisteria blinks at him, nonplussed. “A sunburn.” Her attention lingers on his face before it lowers to his arms. “Yeah, that can happen.”

“We’re likely to spend several hours there. I’m not risking a worse situation by exposing my entire chest and legs to the sun.” This is the least of his worries, but regardless is something he has rehearsed the night before: a good excuse to stay out of the water. One that won’t make him sound like he doesn’t want to spend time with his newfound friends. It’s perfect.

Pale gray stares at him unblinking. His smile doesn’t fray at the edges, but he wills himself not to wilt as she breathes out. 

She reaches up and sets a hand on his shoulder, tugging him downwards. Baxter follows the pull, this time the flummoxed one of the pair. With a softer smile, Wisteria tilts her head. “Look. I’m not used to people being bothered that much about the beach, but it’s nothing to be pushy about. You’re fine. This is definitely not a friendship breaker, much less a relationship breaker… If that’s what you’re worried about.”

How?

He expects to be teased for his half-assed tourism. After all, what’s the point of vacationing in Sunset Bird if not to take advantage of the accessible coast?

“Oh.” This is all he can get out, before the tension melts out of his shoulders. “Thank you, Wisteria. Your kindness is truly welcome.” Her brow creases at his words, and he laughs, helpless to the concern he could see in her countenance. “I confess, I haven’t swum in the ocean. At any point or to any degree.”

“Hoh, really… Never?” 

“Never.” He watches the wheels turn behind her eyes, unsurprised at the brief confusion. For someone who’s lived so close to the sea her entire life, her family has probably spent countless days under the sun. Appreciating the waves. It will always be a part of her, much the same that an endless stretch of autumn leaves resides within his heart of hearts.

And here he is, shying away from something so intrinsic to her; something that molded the person she is today.

Her hand is still on his shoulder. It moves up to poke his cheek with an index finger; Baxter blinks down at her, cocking his head. His cheek butts into her hand. Wisteria giggles, before a determined glint appears in her eye. “Tell you what. Change into a swimsuit, just in case you change your plans.” A crooked smirk tilts her lip as she lowers her voice. Smooth as silk, she sets down an offer — and it’s one he could hardly refuse. “But mostly, so you can also see me in one. Does that please you, my dear Sir Ward?”

When she looks at him like that, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, she could get him to do anything. This is indeed a truly concerning fact.

None of his inner turmoil shows on his visage, of course. Matching the devious curve of her lips, he acquiesces. “Then in that case, I apologize for misunderstanding you so completely. Ignore what I said previously; I’ll certainly wear a swimsuit.”

“Still worried about getting a sunburn, huh?”

For someone whose cheeks and ears are such a fetching shade of crimson at the moment, his girlfriend certainly is one to run her mouth with such bald confidence. It’s almost admirable. Baxter raises a brow as she lowers the same red shades he first saw her wear on the day they met in her neighborhood, obscuring her eyes. Curious. He adjusts the single top layer he picked out, an unbuttoned white shirt. 

“Yes.” He smirks down at her, wondering just where that gaze is aimed underneath those shades. “This is just an added precaution, same as your shawl.”

“Should be fine, if you’ve got good sunscreen.”

He chuckles at her attempt. “That part won’t be a problem, though sometimes I do worry that no sunscreen is strong enough for someone like me. Perhaps you could help me reapply some to my back, later?”

Of course, he’s merely jesting… Or is he?

As Cove splutters beside her, Wisteria lifts her sunglasses with two fingers. Flickering argent meets darkened amber, a silent challenge sparking between them. “Only if you help me reapply mine.” A beat passes, where the only sound is her childhood friend’s embarrassed mutters. “Okay, let’s have some mercy for my poor bestfriend here and not send him to an early grave. We just graduated, he has a bright future ahead of him - and I expect to reap the benefits when he’s rich and famous.”

The deadpan delivery diffuses the tension, as even her friend is forced to snicker.

Her seafoam-haired friend shoots her a scowl in between his chuckles, torn between amusement and mortification. Wisteria just looks up at him, unrepentant, until he rolls his eyes. Cove then sighs, eager to move on. “So I was thinking... until Wisteria Blanc happened, that we could get settled at the beach now while waiting for Terri and Miranda to catch us there. You could show him around, Ria.”

“That’s exactly what I mean to do, yes.”

She turns around, as if to walk ahead while Cove fishes his phone out of his bag. No doubt to message their other two friends. Baxter pauses when he realizes that she’s looking over her shoulder; despite her sunglasses being back in place, he could feel her attention on him. 

“Come on.”

He doesn’t need a second reminder, quick to catch up to her alongside her friend. They flank her on either side in silent agreement. With their longer legs, they’re the ones who have to keep a more sedate pace. It still feels rather like she’s the one leading the pack, however; the two taller boys are merely slaves to her whim, the short tyrant that she is. Baxter entertains this notion for a brief second before he snorts, prompting two curious looks sent his way.

“What’s so funny?” La petite reine asks, raising a brow. 

“Merely admiring the effortlessness of your taking charge, nothing so scandalous.”

“... Are you calling me bossy, Baxter Ward?”

“If the shoe fits, Ria.” A snort comes from her other side, Cove warming up to something he said for the first time. They share a look over her head; for a single glorious, harmonious moment, there are no barriers between them. Not when it comes to having fun at the expense of the woman currently scowling at him.

It doesn’t take long until the paved street makes way for soft white sand. The scent of the sea is even more overpowering here, carried from the endless depths by a fine breeze. He has to admit that it’s pleasant: the balmy summer afternoon is beyond ideal. It’s wonderful. If only his pulse doesn’t quicken, uneasy, at the ocean’s swell in the distance. The sea is calm today - Miranda would not have invited them if she didn’t think that it would be a good day for swimming. It still doesn’t serve to make him feel any more secure.

The two Sunset Bird locals waste no time in making themselves at home on the sand, Cove throwing his towel down some distance away. Wisteria lays out a white beach towel, bending over to place her trusty satchel on top of the white fabric.

She happens to look up and catch his eye as she straightens. A crease appears in her brow, but before she could speak, he shifts closer to her spot. Following the two locals, he lays his belongings out on the soft white sand. At least his black towel looks quite nice, spread out beside hers. He lowers himself onto the spot he staked out, leans back on his palms and draws his gaze towards her in silent invitation.

The frown threatening around the corners of her mouth gives way to an amused huff. She settles down on top of her own towel. 

“Go on, take a look. The view’s gorgeous today.”

But it’s not the only gorgeous sight here at present. 

Something holds him back from sharing this. The look in her eye, perhaps. It’s equal parts inquiring, and equal parts another emotion he doesn’t dare probe deeper into, in this very moment.

So he instead casts his gaze towards the ocean, drawing the salt-crusted air deep into his lungs. 

The tide swells and crashes against the shore; the ebb and flow as much of a given as the sun that rises and sets in the horizon, come dawn and dusk. It’s a perfectly stunning shade of azure, picturesque enough to draw any tourist with a discerning eye. To Wisteria and Cove, it’s merely an everyday fixture that they have come to love, judging by the enthusiasm brimming within the latter’s eyes when Baxter catches him staring. 

His summer fling, on the other hand, cocks her head at him and speaks not a word.

“So what do you wanna do, for starters?”

Realizing that Cove has directed the question towards him is a pleasant surprise. He’s aware of how reticent Wisteria’s best friend is, around him, ever since that first meeting. “Oh? I was running on the assumption that you all had plans in mind. Whatever they are will work for me.”

“We don’t,” Wisteria says, matter-of-fact. “These outings just tend to be whatever we feel like doing.”

Her bestfriend hums in agreement. “Uh huh. No plans, we just do what feels good.”

“Hmm.” The implication that it’s up to him as the guest does not exactly go unnoticed, no. In a careful manner, he sets out his proposal. “Truthfully, I’d prefer to remain as dry as possible. We can take a stroll, or simply stay here and enjoy the scenic view. That would make for a perfect afternoon, in my book. But my wants shouldn’t interfere with yours; I won’t stop anyone from having fun in the water. We’re at the shore, and I’m not heartless.”

Wisteria and Cove share another look, a conversation running unspoken between them. To not be a part of it is… Well. I’m an outsider. The latter snickers, looking back at Baxter. “I guess you’re not gonna make use of that swimsuit.”

“It’s already served me quite well, I think.” Baxter raises a brow at the ombre-haired girl. She flushes a delightful pink, but returns his stare.

Much like earlier: Baxter has to commend her odd mix of hardheadedness and that fumbling, doe-eyed surprise.

In a rather telling motion, she turns toward Cove. “A stroll sounds nice. Let’s do that, shall we?” 

He lets her have this moment. “Really? That’s wonderful.” Unlike her, he’s not in as much of a hurry to get to his feet.

“Don’t be too surprised.” She mutters in a cool tone, loosening the knot that ties her shawl together at her hip. It slips free with a flick of her hand, baring a black bikini bottom with white edges. His breath catches. This is a calculated play, a masterful turnabout. And yet she doesn’t acknowledge anything about it. Her next movements are purposeful as she gathers the shawl into a ball, chucking it with careless abandon on top of her beach towel. “This beach is one of my favorite places to walk and explore.”

“Wanna look for a new shell?” Asks Cove, not picking up on the silence from the sole tourist of the group.

“Maybe. It’s been a while since I’ve picked some up, the last few were by accident.” She tilts her head at Baxter, and asks, “Now, why don’t we look for something you can take home? That necklace I got you is one thing, but a piece of this beach is another. Come on…”

“That’s Baxter.”

Miranda Eckert is the last of the motley crew that he meets. A short, adorable young woman with rich brown hair in soft curls, her purple eyes look uncertain as she greets the tourist her friends have spoken to her of. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

Courtesy demands that he hold out his hand; he only considers pulling back a short moment later when she looks confused at her friends. “I can assure you, I’m harmless.”

He recognizes now that this fourth friend is the most socially self-conscious of the group: Cove and Wisteria are similarly blunt, though his girlfriend is more or less the assertive one between the two of them. There are brief glimpses he’s caught of her acting more her age, and ever since the family dinner he’s tickled inside to see another, gentler side to her that calls to mind the words mother hen. This duo who lives near the seaside is a contrast to Terri and Miranda, somehow.

A certain piercing gray stare bores into the side of his head as Miranda shakes his hand. He has no moment to spare wondering about this, as his newest friend replies.

“Thanks for coming to meet us here today.”

“It’s my pleasure.” A brief pat of his other hand on the back of hers, then he pulls back. 

Terri is the next to greet him with much more enthusiasm, the same overbrimming energy he’s seen since their first meeting. “The B-man is actually here! Can’t believe it took us this long to get together, guys.”

“You say that as if it hasn’t been a mere few days since I told you the news.” Wisteria cocks a brow. “You were even yelling about it in the group chat, unless you forgot the whole ‘Oh Wisteria, I beg of you, despite your newfound love life, please do not return to us a changed woman with diction beyond our mortal ken!’ sappy voicemail you sent me? ” The abrupt change in her tone to a sarcastic falsetto breaks out a round of laughter from her friends. 

“Do that impression again!” Terri cackles, clapping. “You got your impression of me spot on, as always!”

Wisteria rolls her eyes, but her lips tug up at the corners.

She places a hand on her hip, jutting it out. “So what’s new with you two? I assure you, the biggest happening for me is, well-” She gestures at Baxter. “... and Cove and I have been volunteering with ORCA, as you know.”

He tries to calm the racing of his heart, giddy as a child’s, when she had brought him up as the most notable part of her summer so far.

It’s only been a short time, but he’s already down bad, as one of his roommates would put it in a cruder fashion. This… is bearable.

They spend the first half of their outing walking along the beach, as agreed upon.

Baxter watches as she skirts closer to the part of the sand that’s wet. She flinches when a sudden wave rushes up and hugs the shore, coming up to her ankles; by the next second, she relaxes and continues at a regular pace. The footprints she leaves in the sand are wiped away by the water, almost as soon as they first appear. Impermanence, made physical. This outing may remain in their memories, but he’s once again reminded of how quick any marks will soon pass.

Just like him, of course.

Her friends are much less reserved about enjoying the ocean; more daring as they walk with the water up to their calves, farther out. He can see that Cove is resisting the urge to dive directly into the water, egged on by Terri’s taunting.

As for himself, he steers clear of the water. The distance between him and Wisteria isn’t much, all things considered. But he still feels a pang, wistful, as she frolics in the water without him, looking for shells and pieces of seaglass with her cohort.

“Open your palm.”

She stops him short, departing from the damp part of the shore to stand in front of him. There’s an expectant air to her as she cups something in her hands. 

“Oh? Do you have something for me?” He complies with her, spreading open one palm between them. There’s a seriousness to her countenance that demands him to keep quiet, even after his initial attempt at playing coy.

Instead of replying, Wisteria drops a seashell in his hand. He nearly drops it when her hands clasp his, her fingers cold against his skin. When he looks down, he sees a deep brown conch shell. Its sides are interspersed with lighter shades, like the different hues that tree barks can take, even if they are from the same father forest. “It’s the color of your eyes.”

What merits does unremarkable earth hold against the light of celestial bodies coalesced into a pair of gray eyes? What charm do decaying leaves have when you set them against a torrential summer storm?

He smiles down at her. “Thank you, this is a wonderful gesture.”

“You don’t think it’s a nice color,” she murmurs, cutting to the heart of the matter. As always, whenever that hawklike gaze catches him. His lips curve upward further, but she presses on before he can deny her words. “Well, keep it safe in your pocket. I have plans for it after this outing.”

Baxter sighs, lovelorn and fond, and tucks the shell into the pocket of his swimsuit. “I look forward to it, Ria.”

“Oi! You pair of lovebirds, hurry up!”

“We weren’t doing anything particularly lovey-dovey, Terri Brook! Shut it!”

“There’s a reason why I’ve never gone in the ocean before.”

The words hang in the air between them as he plucks some grains of sand off of his thigh. There’s no point in stalling this further, not when he had dangled this piece of information in front of her earlier. So as she turns her head, he lets out a muted sigh. 

“It seems endlessly deep and unpredictable, with powerful waves and rapid currents.” As if to punctuate his point further, the waves have gotten higher, though not the heights he’s seen and cringed at in photos and videos. Her friends have already withdrawn from their carousing within the water. “There are also creatures lurking underneath, some of them dwarfing me. It’s…” 

He lowers his gaze to his legs, stretched out on his towel. “Unfathomable. You mustn’t play with something like that.” How laughable it must be, to her and her friends, who see this sight everyday and not fear it. A poser tourist. He’s heard Terri mention that she’s a lifeguard; he wonders if behind that gregarious smile lurks a quiet scorn for the tourist who couldn’t even appreciate the waters she presides over. “If I enter that water, I’ll never return from it. The ocean will swallow me whole; that’s what I believe.”

Much like she will, along with the memories she leaves him with, once the summer is over. And yet he dares to dip his feet in, because the sea is much like the affection that he’s always craved. Unfathomable, unknowable, for him, except for brief times where he tries the shallowest parts. Never satisfied, but at least, never losing anything of himself. There is so little left of him to entrust in the hands of others. 

And yet, you always regret it afterwards.

Her hand reaches out for him, coming up to his shoulder. “Say…”

In the very next moment, Miranda screeches; a glance shows that her hard-earned efforts giving Terri a burial in the sand have just been upended. Wisteria snorts at the sight, shaking her head. 

Before he can breathe easy, she mutters, “You might not see it, but we do have a healthy fear and respect of the ocean. My mothers have taught me to respect it, even if it’s not as dangerous as the coasts in other parts of the world.” 

Her hand curls around the fabric of her towel, bunching part of it tight in one white-knuckled fist. The next words to come out of her mouth are the awful sort of casual that he’s grown accustomed to, the tone that the mature crowd his parents prefer would use to deliver morbid news. 

“Oh, and I almost drowned as a child.” 

Baxter stops breathing. 

“It was a riptide, and I’m… Hm. Despite my constitution, not a terrible swimmer. None of us expected it. And yet I’m still here .” She breathes out, slow and thoughtful. Not once does she look away from the swell of the tides, the water that nearly took her from her loved ones. One small misstep in the spheres of fate they exist in, and she never would have been the girl who took his hand that summer. “My heart rate still goes a little funny, true. When I go into deeper water, I can’t forget how easy it is to just disappear .”

What does it mean, to disappear? To sink under those dark blue depths, arm outstretched for help that may or may not come? An unheard scream in your throat as you’re forgotten by the world above you. To disappear is to be forgotten, to leave not a trace of yourself. 

And that’s what you want.  

It's as easy as breathing to slip off into the woods and never be found, if you know where to walk. 

It’s a choice.  

Drowning seems much more terrifying, a surrender wrested out of you, to forces you cannot control.

He’d rather disappear in the woods.

This time, her hand finds his wrist. He remembers to unclench his hand, remembers the steps to the social dance, if a little off-pace. But he cannot smile as easily, not for her experience. Before he can stop himself, his fingers intertwine with hers. “I, for one, am relieved that you didn’t.”

“Well, that’s good,” she chuckles. “To finish this tangent. I still love the sea. I never want to grow to hate it, not when there’s so many memories. I’m not gonna let that experience take it away from me.”

She lets go of him to stand up. “Would you want to try going in, just a little? I’ll be right there with you.”

A step into the ocean, in exchange for a tale. He still feels a falter in his carefully crafted mask. 

Of course, she notices this. “You don’t have to go swimming. Let’s just get our feet wet, feel the waves around our ankles.”

A step into the shallows. It’s well-suited for you.

“Well, I suppose I can manage that.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“Let’s.”

Wisteria gets ahead of him, leading him out into the shore with a surety in her step that’s more noticeable compared to how she is on the ground. She turns around to watch him, the sunlight glinting off the sand around her feet. He follows her, the danseuse to her danseur, trying not to swallow as the soles of his feet touch the wet sand. 

The seawater rushes forward, sun-warmed against his skin.

She moves towards him, holding out an arm. “Take my hand, and stay close to me.”

He is the one being asked to dance, this time. When he thinks about it this way, it gets easier to breathe. Her fingers are cool against his when they intertwine. She remains still as a picture. It takes a few beats for him to find his breath and release it, and then he squeezes her. Wisteria returns the gesture, her lips curving up, sweet and quiet. Latching on to her like this, he allows himself to inch further until the water is up to their calves.

It tickles, almost. 

“You know, this is rather nice.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Mm. But this is as far as I’d go. I’m positive on that point.”

“Right here’s perfect, if you ask me. I’m just glad this wasn’t terrible for you.” 

“As am I.”

They remain there for some time, just watching the waves. This is the closest he has ever been to them, the first time he’s allowed them to touch him. The absence of fear in his breast is almost dizzying in its unexpectedness. He thinks that his heart is beating fast for entirely different reasons, whenever her fingers tighten around his. 

“Would you like to waltz with me, right here, right now, my suitor for a season?”

“If you would have me —” in all my fear and vulnerability in unknown waters  “— it would be my pleasure.”

It is not quite a waltz, but the steps are familiar, if on foreign and uncharted territory. Until her friends interrupt them with their antics, Wisteria Blanc leads Baxter Ward in a dance as water laps at their ankles.

Author's Comment: I split the Hangout story into two chapters, so the upcoming chapter would be focused on the ice cream + sprinklers adventure and the fireworks moment.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

may 17, 2021 10:30 p.m. grant's house

grant says his final goodbyes to shannon at the front door when colm comes by to take her home, though it won't be long until he sees her again, given that she would not cease insisting upon accompanying him to see his doctors tomorrow afternoon.

he unlocks the door and slips in the house, and well...

unpacking his things feels like an impossibility. grant is running on empty–not that he had much energy in the first place–and his ability to power through crippling levels of pain collapses as soon as he enters his own home. rushing as best he can, he leaves his suitcase just outside the bedroom door–promising himself to attend to it later, when päivi isn't inhabiting the room–and puts in the freezer the numerous tupperware containers of food his grandmother sent along with him.

and when he’s done?

grant idles in the kitchen, dwelling on the fact that his only task left for the night is to limp down the stairs to the basement and force himself to curl up on the couch he’s much too tall to sleep on.

not that he’ll be blessed with sleep anyway.

he glances around the dimly lit kitchen and weighs his other options.

he'd do well not to smoke anymore, though the unopened pack of cigarettes hiding in the glovebox of his car is quite enticing. he replaced that fix with vaping, sure, but there's no fun to be had in that. most of all, he shouldn’t touch the liquor at the back of the fridge. buying it last week for the sole purpose of getting blitzed and engulfing his feelings was a mistake.

in fact...

grant cracks open the refrigerator and blindly fishes out the bottle of vodka. it’s tantalizing–it is, it surely is–but he makes a beeline for the trash can and tosses the bottle in before he gives it any more of his time and attention.

he won’t do it. he won’t drink it. he won't change his mind on a sudden notion and he won’t dig it out tomorrow after the dawn of a new day. he won’t drink it, if only so his grandparents will never find out he played with fire again.

he won’t touch the alcohol–won’t even glance in its direction. he won’t lumber outside and fetch his old cigarettes. he won’t go pilfering in päivi’s locked medication drawer again. he won’t plunge head-first into his old fatal vices. he won’t do it.

he won't disappoint his grandparents. he won't allow this relapse to spiral out of control. he won't wreak further horrors on his already ailing body.

god only knows he's in agony now, and he cannot risk upsetting the razor thin margins controlling his incurable disease, not after–

his train of thought comes to a screeching halt as the sound of running water slices through his consciousness. he startles, gasping out of sheer instinct. when he looks up, his heartbeat ringing in his ears, stands päivi at the sink, pouring herself a glass of water.

she must have heard him react. she glances over her shoulder at him, frowning.

“you don’t have to act like you’re scared of me,” she comments as she turns off the sink, “i apologized for how i acted before.”

don't make things worse. you can't trust her anymore but–

“i get nervous every time anyone sneaks up on me. PTSD stuff. i'm sorry.”

päivi takes a long sip from her water. “okay? all i did was walk into a room. there’s really no need for you to react like i stabbed you or something.”

the tone in her voice is suddenly unfriendly and ice cold, but more than anything, too familiar. too intimately familiar. it's just the way his mother spoke to him, like a snake waiting out its prey, venom seething at its teeth.

“again, i'm sorry.”

he can't help but shy away, fawning at the first sign of resistance. but then remembers his earlier conversation with his father and shudders from head to toe.

grant has fought tooth and nail to escape his fate, to avoid turning out anything like the fools who raised him, and yet–

fuck. you really are just like him. you’re just as spineless as the old bastard himself. just roll over and play dead, will you?

“whatever.” päivi rolls her eyes and marches towards the bedroom. “i already apologized to you a thousand times. for everything. you won't even hear me out anymore.”

don’t let other people decide your fate.

don’t let other people decide your fate.

don't let her talk to you like this.

don't be like your father and back down like a coward.

fear overwhelms him but the words find his tongue, so he commits.

“i don’t owe you forgiveness.”

furious, päivi stops on a dime and spins on her heels to face him. she looks to say something, her lips quivering, but whatever it is, she abandons the thought. her eyes fill with tears, and then she’s gone in a flash, disappearing behind the wall and leaving her water behind to break her silence.

the glass meets the hardwood floors and explodes like a bomb.

grant could confront her. he could run after her, trying to avoid the millions of broken shards of glass certainly blocking the one exit out of the kitchen. he could yell for her to come back.

he considers it, but his stomach is already churning and he's shaking like a kicked puppy. a tsunami of panic swallows him whole, and the thought of fighting back a second time makes him wish for death.

but he’ll never be able to clean up the glass by himself. not when his vision is blown out. not like this, not when his pain is spiking into unmanageable levels. he'll never be able to.

but he can’t leave it. the water will corrode the flooring.

grant gives up.

he stands there, trapped in the prison of his own anxiety, and waits for a solution to materialize in his brain.

just as he begins to relax at last, after what seems like a millennium, päivi emerges from the void, reappearing in the haze of his vision.

“grant–” her voice has changed again, now soft and shaky, weighed down by a blanket of emotion. “wait, i–”

the fear and the fury return in tandem.

goddamn it. he'll do what his father never could do. he'll do what his mother would loathe.

he'll end it. right here. right now.

never. again.

don’t let other people decide your fate.

he didn't stand up to his mother to cower in fear again and again.

no, he's come too far in life to trap himself back in the patterns that traumatized him decades ago.

finally, he breaks.

grant interrupts her mid-sentence. “don't fucking bother. i don't care. be mad at me all you want that i'm uncomfortable around you after everything you did. you cheated on me, and then you lashed out when i dared to get upset. be mad, but you're not going to act like this. i'm done! i should have said that last time but no, i'm done. i will not stand here and let you treat me like this. clean the glass up and then get the fuck out of my house! you can stay until you have a place to go, but as soon as you do, get out.”

päivi sobs. “grant, please–”

he turns his back on her and vanishes down the stairs at the rear of the kitchen to the basement.

the moment he slams the door behind him, he bursts out in tears, grieving what could have been.

[montcumbry-gaytor]

Nepenthe. chapter 01

act one : tacenda

THIS IS A OC INTEGRATION FOR THE WITCHER, IT IS NOT A X READER FIC.

- another rewrite , blurghh idk if I'm gonna post this one or if I'm gonna keep writing it until I consider it perfect, anyways I have nothing better to do so!! yah!

tw for : mentions of cheating, canon typical violence, geralt is a bit OOC, angst, brief sex scene but not smut, mentions of scars.

(n.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence.

I can smell the rain in the air, it's heavy and carries an uncomfortable humidity with it, I can feel it soaking into my clothes and run down my silver blade, droplets running down onto another's skin.

But how did we get here? perhaps the beginning can explain.

I am Kael of Tossaint, a Witcher of the school of the Viper, I am currently eighty-two in this point of time, but this feud begins in my younger years.

I loved him then, sometimes I think I still do, the wolves were like family, and Geralt was more than a lover, but a friend.

My times at Kaer Morhen never felt out of place, thanks to Vesemir, maybe our ways of the Witcher "Lifestyle" were in some ways strayed, but Vesemir assured that not even witchers can be alone.

He was correct then, but now I'd like to think he'd be wrong, but hes not.

Geralt was a slow burn, taking time before he even chose to speak to me.

"You're going at it wrong."

He sighed, his arms crossed as he was watches me attempt ( and fail ) the wolves course, I hiss out a remark, staring him down as he progresses in doing it himself.

He's smooth, he's done it a hundred times before, From his head to his feet, everything is coordinated like a dancer, I thought he looked handsome when he was focused.

Time passes, we are now close friends, I climb the old, worn out tower to meet him, his arms crossed loosely as I pull myself up, wiping sweat from my brow.

Idle chatter meshes into that of frivolous flirting, and that into a cheeky peck on the lips of which I gave him, that he returned with fervor.

We are now lovers, we return to Kaer Morhen every winter, recovering and enjoying each others presence, occasionally traversing into the woods to hunt with each other, never a dull moment.

I stick an arrow into a large buck's thigh, it squeals before bolting off, I draw my arrow, and release as it curls around trees, piercing the animals nape.

"Impressive."

He says, raising from his crouched position behind shrubbery, he looks dashing even in the dirt and grime, i watch him as he skillfully wraps up the kill and straps it to his horse, it was Vesemir's turn to cook.

Old stories chattered across the tables, Geralt reminds me he'll be leaving in the morn' for the spring.

"I know, I'll see you in winter, My love."

I reply, resting my head on his shoulder, the food sits warm in my stomach.

It's summer, I hear from an employer that Geralt is in town, working with a court witch, I have decided to find him and pay him a visit before I'm on my way, he's in a inn on the outskirts of town.

Her voice meets my ears first, before the familiar grunts of Geralt follow, and I realize that they are moans, breathy and calling out my lovers name.

I am furious, but I do not pursue those feelings and turn my back on the wooden door, her moaning Geralts name doesn't let up in my mind.

I come to Kaer Morhen in the fall, I've done successful works and made good coin, but the dread of summer still wells in my stomach.

I tell Vesemir I will not be returning to Kaer Morhen, that I've appreciated this home and love he's provided, he is like a father to me, one I can never truly have.

I have not returned to Kaer Morhen since that day, it's been half a decade, I am deep in a tavern as I scout out a man I've been asked to formally take out, he leaves his table to pay his tab, before promptly grabbing his items and rushing out.

He knows his time has come.

I follow him in the shadows, slithering just where I can fit, not even my breathing makes noise.

Which is why I notice heavy footsteps tailing me, stalking in the moonlight as if I am the prey.

I cannot take my victim's life if I am the victim, I will find him later, I will just have to make up for the lost time.

I round the corner, and then another, I can feel it's gaze on me like wildfire, burning through the back of my head.

And when I turn that last corner, I am gone, I am the shadows, When he turns I know exactly who he is, it's not like I could forget.

It's quick when my foot plants into the center of his back, he has no choice but to tumble onto his rear, propped up by his hands as my shortsword grazes his chin.

"Geralt."

I hiss and I feel it begin to rain, quickly becoming a downpour, but I do not let my sword budge, watching as his golden eyes narrow underneath his furrowed brows.

"Kael."

He replies, it's a mix of anger and relief, he attempts to push my blade away, but I nick his fingers as I resist.

"Where have you been?"

He asks, his thumb running over the pads of his fingers, the blood running with the rain.

"Far enough from you, Is what I thought."

I answer, tilting my sword back and forth, forcing him to let me gaze at his features, he hasn't changed a bit, if he has grey hairs it's not like i would be able to tell.

"But why, Kael?"

He speaks once more, his Adams apple bobbing as he takes a short, uncertain glance at my sword, watching me pull it away and sheath it behind my back.

"Why would your lover disappear for five years, and admit to avoiding you.. hm, no clue."

I say, it's obvious he never knew, you'd have to find Vesemir one day and thank him for his disclosure.

"Kael."

Geralt growls, he's growing impatient, though he has no right to be.

"Don't do that Geralt, may I remind you I'm the one that kicked you on your ass."

I spit, I have to brush my dark hair away in order to see him clearer, I can feel his eyes gloss over my features.

"I'm shocked you didn't even notice I was there, Was sensing other witchers not in your mutation?"

I add, straightening my posture as Geralt begins to stand, he dusts off his leggings before broadening his shoulders, squaring off a stare that's one of confusion and a glare.

"What are you talking about?"

He growls, stepping towards me with frustration, he places his hands on my shoulders, a move he did often when he was worried for the one he did it to.

"Triss? was it?"

I say, I can feel the hurt burn in my chest, searing into me as I cannot deny it, his jaw clench as he now knows what this is about, I can see he's unsure where to start, I do it for him.

"In Mortara, I had heard you'd been around, Sought you out myself, but I'm right in saying I wasn't the only one doing so."

He squeezes his eyes tight, and opens them as if he was no longer supposed to be here, as if this was as one awful dream.

"Discretion goes a long way considering you never sought me out."

I add, I run a light finger over the scar that rests on the bridge of my nose, waiting for his reply.

"It was one time, Kael, I don't love her."

Geralt says, his head lowering to meet my gaze, as if searching to see if his words stuck.

"One time is enough to break someone you do, though."

I say, brushing his hands off my shoulders and turning, letting out a quivering breath before meeting Geralts gaze again.

"And it's funny that I can't keep you off my mind, because I hate you, so much."

I continue, my voice barely above a whisper as I have seemed to have forgotten exactly where this encounter came from, my hand snaking up to cup Geralts cheek, he leans into it and I retract.

"I'm sorry, Kael."

"You'd better fucking be."

I snap, I can feel the grit in my teeth, he drags his tongue over his dry lips, his eyes wolfishly dragging over me, he's hungry, and I can't decide whether to let him starve or feed him until he swells up and explodes.

And I crave him too, the uncanny warmth he brings is a burning desire, hes has left me broken, so why do I want him more?

That question lingers as I bring myself up to press my lips to his, he reciprocates it, his hands crawling up my figure, his palm cupping my jaw, pulling me closer to him.

There's a feverish hate boiling in my stomach, I cannot help but love him despite his wrongdoings, an error in my judgment, I can't help but sway with his movements.

When we pull away, He goes first, and I open my eyes to scan his face, my brows are furrowed and I let out rapid breaths, almost in disbelief.

"Shit, I hate you."

I sigh, rutting my nose to his forehead as my eyes close again, it reminds me of when we were younger.

It's wintertime, I've been in kaer morhen since late fall, Geralt is arriving on his tall horse, when I see him I dash out, He hops off his horse to embrace me, it's a familiar warmth I've missed, He tilts his head down, and I rut my nose into his forehead, It was a mesh of the greetings between your schools.

Geralt doesn't reply to my remark, he just holds me close to his chest and lets out a deep breath before he looks down again, his eyes glancing in the direction of the inn I was at before.

I can tell what he means and nod, following him closely as we make our way back, he keeps an eye on me like I'll disappear, I dislike it but find it endearing anyhow.

When we get into the inn, Geralt ignores the staring, he always seems to do that, he simply grabs my hand and pulls me to his room, he's quick to shut it behind me and lock it.

His hand brushes my hair away from my neck, his fingers play with the strands of grey, his lips kiss just where they can reach, before his other hand pulls the collar of my sweater away to kiss down further.

When he tires of leaving kisses, he unlatches the belts holding my pauldrons on, he doesn't toss them, but he doesn't gently sit them aside either.

He makes quick work of the leather belt that rests on my stomach, tossing it away.

He's more gentle with the swords, He knows i would be with his, he sits them by the foot of the bed, and doesn't make any further movements.

He's waiting, he's asking, he wants to know if I'm not caught up in the moment or if this is something I truly want.

It takes me some time to answer, I finger the hem of my sweater with uncertainty, but in the end I pull it clean over my head, it reveals a forest of scars, ones of fire, barbs, claws, swords, and arrows, deep in my skin.

He takes his time to kiss and run his fingers over each one, he whispers their origins under his breath, though I couldn't care for his dragging.

"Geralt."

I rasp, He understands, and makes quicker work of his own armor and clothes, his muscles flex as he pulls clothing away, left in just his leggings and not much for the imagination.

He tries to take my hand, but I slip it up his shoulder and guide him to the bed, which he lays into, resting his weight on his elbows.

I pull my trousers away, the braies hug my hips as they're untied and pulled down as well, Geralt eyes me with something I can't describe entirely.

The sex is quick, my mind is filled with uncertainty which makes it drift away at times, Geralt notices but keeps silent, rutting into me nonetheless.

In the end I find myself held close to him, but my back faces his chest, my mind slowly eases into sleep as I can't help but stare into a wall, my thoughts running absentmindedly.

In the morning, I'm the first to wake, and I slither away from the witchers grasp, though he wakes in the process, watching as I dress.

"Sorry to wake you."

I say, pulling my trousers up and pulling the drawstring taut before tying it back into a small bow.

"Where will you be going to next?"

I ask, slipping into my boots as I wrap the leather strap around my lower legs

"Posada, In Aedirn."

Geralt said, rolling on his side, his medallion dangles from his neck as morning light that spilled in from the windows bounces off of it, I stay silent for a moment, in consideration.

"I will ride with you."

I say, fastening the belt tightly around my waist before strapping my pauldrons and swords to me, and then my hip bag and dagger to my right thigh.

"Hmm.."

Geralt hums, before rolling onto his back once more, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, I take the moment of silence to hold the end of the leather strap in my teeth while I wrap the other end around my lower arm.

"I wasn't asking."

I say firmly as I pull the ends of the leather taut, assuring they would stay in place.

"Kael."

Geralt says, he's now behind me, seems to have snuck up while I was distracted, he rests his chin on the padding of my left shoulder, I can feel him unclothed behind me, and smack his hip.

"Get dressed."

I hiss, he knows it's not hateful, but does as told, the silence holding us in a fond embrace, I have not forgiven him, but there's always time to consider it before we reach Posada.

GOLLY I loveee how I wrote this >:) I'm saying this waayy before I even post this that way I don't just delete my work and re-write it all, and just proof-read and touch up my writing.

I'll most likely post this once I have the second and third chapter in the barrel 🤷

[rozphorus]

There's something about finally graduating to me that feels so deeply surreal. (CW: Depression, Sh/Sui)

Like - my experience with college is very much not the 'typical' experience. I spent six years working on a bachelor's degree. I spent two years of that in a dissociative haze, one of which was also spent doing ROTC due to pressure from bio family. I got academically dismissed at the end of that for another semester.

Getting kicked out for grades managed to finally intermittently break that dissociation - right into suicidal depression, instead. I was like a zombie before that, mostly, with there being one, concrete, 'expected' goal for me, from all of that family and extended family - getting a degree. Nothing else mattered.

Be a doctor. Be a lawyer. Be an engineer. Implicitly, anything less was a failure. I have half-sisters, none of whom completed a degree. The gossip of that 'failure state' would always come whispering whenever extended family got involved.

Was this cultural? To some extent, yes. I'm mixed-race, Asian-American, and my father was an immigrant from the Philippines, and his father emigrated from China.

Did that make it have less of an impact on me? No, not really.

I've held jobs nearly the entire time. I still ran out of money, and found it more preferable to try to live out of my car over returning to that house.

I ended up having to, anyways. The atmosphere had somehow gotten worse.

I started to piece things back together when the pandemic hit. The change in the way school was taught made it so much easier for me to deal with - everything became asynchronous, I didn't have to face the immense social anxiety I had over just -going to class-, I didn't have to deal with the dysphoria I'd get when looking at myself in the mirror before leaving. I could just, take my time, and learn the way that I needed to learn.

(Two years later, I'd learn that I have ADHD. Oops.)

This didn't fix the depression, though. I still wanted to die. There was still a churning void where a -me- should be. I was still very much an empty thing, with a singular goal of - well, getting a degree.

Eventually, this came to a head. Eventually, I nearly acted on that. When things started to open back up and I had to go back to classes in-person, every day that I walked through campus, I'd glance longingly at the top of buildings and parking garages. My mind would fill itself with idle daydreams of how to get through the fence that was installed at the top of the latter, what tools I'd need, how much it'd cost, how quickly I could get up and over so I could do what comes next.

Daily, for years by that point, I would be incapacitated by these feelings. I'd curl up in bed, thoughts filled with self-hatred, with what felt like something sharp and spiked stuck in my chest. It burned, like a flame, for maybe an hour, maybe two, maybe the rest of the night. Eventually, it'd pass, I'd get up, pretend that it didn't happen, and get back to work. After all -- I still had a goal, right? All I had to do was keep going, no matter how empty I was.

One day, that stopped working. By this point, the daily feelings were worsening. It had gone from this burning hot spike to a vacant cold. My mind no longer raced with all of the reasons I was worthless - instead, there was only the thought of not wanting to be here anymore. I would bite and scratch at myself - mind wandering towards blades, only stopped by some part of me feeling like that, once I used one, it would be the only time I used one.

I was getting ready to head into an electronics lab. I was already being consumed by those feelings, again - but I couldn't afford to miss the lab. I had run out of absences. I couldn't just -lose points-. I kept trying to get out of the apartment but would freeze every time I touched the doorknob.

I then caught a glance of the bathroom mirror. I didn't know what the thing looking back at me was. It wasn't me. It wanted me dead. I curled up on the floor. I remember sitting in the bathroom with a razor. I remember using it. I remember wanting to climb into the tub and use it more. I almost did. A friend (now partner) was messaging me by that point, and I ended up in a clinic for a while.

(When I woke up the next day, the first thought in my brain was that I had schoolwork to do. There was a midterm that day. I couldn't miss my midterm, obviously.)

Things got better. Quickly, then slowly; recovery is nonlinear, and did I ever experience that. I can confidently say that it was an inflection point, though.

Over the two years since, I've lived more than I ever had before. I found out who I am more and more. I found out who -we- were. I experienced emotions that I thought were permanently lost to me. I've found love several times over.

And, now - here I am. I have that degree.

I don't know what to feel about it. It had stopped being the sole focus of my life a while ago, for the most part, but I haven't had much time to think about what comes next - because of everything before, I had packed a lot of stressful classes into these last few semesters, and they were all-consuming in terms of energy and focus.

But, no matter where things go, I do have things to be here for. I want to change things around me. I want to make things better. I want to grow and be with those I love and help those around me.

For so many years, this was an endpoint for me. But, really - I think I'm just getting started.

[omegaverse-seinfeld]

Opening scene of yang fic I’m working on

to dream a dream of spring. 

Yang dreams and Raven schemes.

Yang Xiao Long did not dream. Not of her mother or her sister or her father or her team. Not even of dark city streets and Grimm hordes and blades and broken bones and lost limbs. After the battle for Beacon, when she didn’t eat or sleep or laugh or train or yell, her father once asked her about dreams. Do you want to talk about them, he had asked. Talk; it seemed the older she got the more her father wanted to talk and discuss and sympathize. She wouldn’t have it, she decided. Taiyang Xiao Long was many things but a doting nanny was not one of them. So she told him she didn’t dream about her injury - no, Adam Taurus was a nightmare of the waking world and so in the waking world her thoughts of him would remain. 

When Yang thought about dreams and dreamers she thought of her sister. You don’t dream at all, like ever?! Ruby was scandalized, eyes wide and jaw dropped, the first time she asked Yang about dreams just weeks after they first arrived at Beacon. It was funny, Yang grew up hearing Ruby’s own fantastical retellings of her own dreams - full of monsters and heroes and family and planets made of chocolate and chewing gum - but people didn’t tend to ask Yang about her dreams. Ruby was more than enough dreamer for one family, she supposed. 

Her uncle Qrow seemed to be the only one who understood her dreamless existence. Just like your mother, he had once said. Summer Rose was her mother, Yang was quick to remind him. Regardless, according to Qrow, he and Raven both had never been ones for dreams or fantasies. Not much to dream about in the Tribe, he reasoned. Spending time in the world of what-ifs and maybes was a death sentence in the life of a raider and outlaw. Not much changed during their school years; Taiyang and Summer both tended to sleep well past what even the most idle and listless teenager would call a reasonable hour but Qrow and his sister usually only slept the absolute minimum amount of time necessary to maintain bodily functions and awareness, and never at the same time. Even in the safety of Beacon’s walls, the Branwen twins would remain alert and ready for action. The life of  a spy was even less sympathetic to flights of fancy than an outlaw, he told her. Of course, he only told Yang all that after she had found out they were spies from the woman she met for the first time when she was already well on her way to being a woman grown and not from the man who had taught her to fight and hunt as “a fierce little tyke,” as her father and uncle were fond of her calling in those days. So much for trust. 

Whatever. Yang wasn’t angry at her uncle for hiding everything from her for so long, not anymore. She couldn’t be, she’d had so many other things to be mad about over the years. 

Speaking of past baggage and resentments that were definitely conquered, Yang’s thoughts drifted to Blake. Her… teammate? Partner? Girlfriend? Words never seemed able to describe Yang and Blake. That was fine by Yang, she never was one to prefer words over actions. She told herself that, anyway, but couldn’t help the weight in her chest whenever Blake refused to define their relationship when Ruby or Weiss broached the topic. Bless their hearts, those two were romantics beyond help. 

All that to say while Yang may not have preferred words, Blake was outright terrible at them. She had to remember this when Blake broached that old, headache-inducing topic one cold Atlas night in their shared guest room at the Schnee Estate. 

“How come you never have nightmares?” Blake tilted her head, staring into Yang’s eyes, their faces inches apart on the bed. 

“How come I what?” Yang responded, her eyelids beginning to drop as sleep threatened to claim her. 

“Nightmares. I’ve just noticed you don’t seem to have them, despite everything that’s happened these few months,” Blake said, expression unmoving. 

“I don’t really know how to answer that. I’ve never really had dreams or nightmares, even when I was a kid,” Yang replied, finally closing her eyes. 

“I can’t even imagine that.” Blake turned on her back, eyes glancing up at the black chandelier that seemed to consume the midnight blue walls surrounding them. “I’ve always had nightmares. I can’t seem to stop having them,” she finished, softly. 

“White Fang stuff?” Yang asked, her eyes still closed but sleep evading her for the moment. 

“Sometimes, but it isn’t always. Sometimes I dream about my parents back in Menagerie being in danger. Sometimes I dream about our team being hurt. Sometimes it’s just fear.” Blake still couldn’t pry her eyes from the chandelier. “Anyway, it just seems crazy to me that you don’t have nightmares about stuff. Not even about Adam?” 

“Nightmares? No, but I do like to remember beating his ass when I’m awake, to be honest.” Could it be? Was that a giggle Yang heard coming from her partner’s lips?

“I just would have thought, considering, you know,” Blake said, her eyes reaching Yang’s bright yellow robotic appendage, as creaky and heavy as ever, draped across her midsection. 

“What? The sick ass metal arm?” Yang grinned, finally reopening her eyes. “Sure he did a real number on me, but whenever I start down that road I remember the little yelp he made when I hit him with my motorcycle and I feel better.”

Blake glared at her and pouted, turning her eyes from the chandelier and back to her bedmate. “I’m trying to be serious with you, Yang. I just,” she said, her Faunus ears dropping in a motion low enough that Yang was sure it should defy some law of nature. 

“So am I.” Yang held Blake’s eyes in her own, “I just don’t have dreams or nightmares. Part of living in the moment, you know. You’re safe Blake, and so am I. Whatever comes next, we face it together.” 

Yang placed a small kiss on Blake’s forehead and could swear she heard her purr. Not that she would ever say that out loud, of course. “Let’s get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“If you say so.” Blake closed her eyes, but if Yang’s words really got through to her then it didn’t show on her face. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Yang replied, barely able to get the words out before losing consciousness. 

That night, for the first time she could remember, Yang dreamed.

--

[skvaderarts]

Petrichor chapter 28: Benefaction

Chapter 28: Benefaction

Note: So I made V in Elden Ring. Might write some little funny story about that and post it on here if some point if any of you are interested in reading that. Just for shits and giggles. LMK if you’d like to check that out. I’m only doing it because a few of you thought it would be cool on Tumblr. Anyway, on to the chapter!

(-~-)

The station had been crowded and exceedingly noisy, an unfortunate but expected result of holiday travel. It seemed that everyone in the region was heading elsewhere, tickets leaving the area being something of a commodity at the moment, and they had prices to match. Scalpers had bought tickets to lines they did not plan to ride reselling them for egregious prices, and every phone booth had a line. Simply getting to the concession stands was an impossibility at this point. And the help desk? A distant memory. The diluted ideas of a madman who knew only Insanity. 

But unfortunately, due to the fact that he was going to have to ride a public train in order to get to his destination, climbing on the top or in one of the cargo compartments wasn't in the cards this time around. He was going to have to pay his way on or find another route, so begrudgingly he paid the money for a somewhat overpriced ticket as he cursed himself under his breath and made his way onto the old locomotive, Capulet nothing more than a distant glimmer upon the horizon of his mind's eye.

It was fortunate indeed that he had managed to find his cloak exactly where he'd left it before leaving the library and the town for good. There were far too many people around to potentially recognize him for his liking. It wasn't as though any of these people were actively searching for him or probably even paying attention to him but the fewer people who could possibly recognize him, the better. He liked to be something of a ghost, unnoticed, or at the very least, unidentifiable. Unmemorable. 

There was simply no good to be had with being remembered, and aside from being able to say that he was the strange man who wore a coat with a cloak over it everywhere, he didn't want anyone to be able to identify him. And at least the cloak gave him plausible deniability. It was easy enough to hide should he need to, but after the train attendant had checked his ticket, he couldn't see any further reason why anyone would wish to speak with him or ask any further questions. It should just be smooth sailing unless something unsavory were to happen, and he was hoping that for once nothing would. He had his mind set on a goal, and he was not interested in compromising on it we're adding anything to his itinerary.

No, he would attempt to make himself as comfortable as possible and by his time until he reached his stop. It would be several hours, but he should be able to make it there by the end of the day.

As he settled in, he watched a menagerie of travelers make small talk on the train and eat snacks, children traveling with their parents and grandparents, completely oblivious to the horrors of loneliness and abandonment. To the demons that haunted every step that he took. A strange part of him envied them, another equally strong part of himself loathing the notion and proclaiming himself a pathetic sycophant, too stuck in the past to accomplish his goals. Undeserving of the love he saw displayed. 

Perhaps this was why his father had disappeared in the first place? To escape him and the disappointment he was probably shaping up to be? And why his mother had not come to his aid that day? Had she taken notice of this quality within him and found it undesirable? No. He would not go down this road again. It led to nothing but suffering and listlessness in the face of the answers he would never receive firsthand. It was a distraction. The manifestation of an idle mind gripped by suffering. Nothing more. And suffering was a weakness. He was not weak. He refused to wallow. To grieve. To think of these offenses any longer. He would push them down again until they inevitably resurfaced, his denial never allowing them to fully surface.

Besides, neither his brother nor his mother had escaped that fire. He had lost them both that day. He was the only survivor. He had to carry on for both of them. For his entire family. For his family's legacy. He was all there was left of his bloodline, especially if he couldn't find his father. He was alone now, and that's all he was ever going to be.

… Or perhaps not?

He was getting ahead of himself again. What was he thinking? He knew nothing. That was why he sought answers in the first place!

He forced those thoughts from his mind. A part of him knew that they were simply toxic portions of the subconscious making themself known, but although he would never admit it, there was a tiny part of him that wondered if there was truth to it all. And the fact that he could never get a concrete answer ate away at him, poisoning every aspect of his life. It was all so very much to cope with, especially when none of the fruit causes were ever addressed, but he needed to be strong. He was strong. He would become stronger. No one would ever do this to him again. But that was a matter for another day. He had affairs to attend to.

As his thoughts returned to something less catastrophic, he pondered something. When he looked at those children, what did he see that they had that he was so uncomfortable with? What could a child have to offer that he did not possess? He did not seek to take something from them, but perhaps a small part of himself wished he was them? That his own blissful ignorance and innocence could be returned to him as suddenly as it had been stolen away? Or perhaps he was simply tired. Tired of all this traveling and tired of all the searching. Perhaps he needed a break, and perhaps this trip would provide that for him. One could only hope, not that he was prone to doing that. But perhaps he could humor himself just this once and allow the luxury of hope to seep into his impenetrable facade?

Or perhaps his solitude was making him brash and susceptible to foolishness. He would find out soon enough either way. It was too early to say in either case. For now, he needed to focus on the task at hand. He was not normally prone to a wandering mind, but it seemed that might be the case on this specific occasion. Try as he might, his mind simply didn’t work in the same way when he was around him. He’d been utterly bewitched, and he felt helpless to amend it. 

Oh no.

(-~-)

The sun was nearly down by the time the train finally reached the station, several delays causing their locomotive to be pushed further back in the queue. He had disembarked as soon as the doors had opened, leaving the station with a speed that would probably alarm the average passerby, perhaps invoking thoughts of a missed appointment or something similar. And they would not be incorrect, but they would also not be entirely on the money, either. After all, he was neither late nor early. You could be neither when you were not expected in the first place.

He could not imagine that she expected him to track her down at her new address. Something told him that the young woman from the shop probably hadn't even told her yet that he'd called, things at the shop taking precedence over the act of making small talk with her boss during business hours. And even still, she had no way of knowing that he had made the decision to head to Capulet that very day. She probably assumed she had a bit more leeway than that. How fortunate for him. Perhaps he could maintain some element of surprise.

As he rounded the corner and turned onto the block that bore the cross streets given to him by the young woman who had spoken with him on the phone, he felt a strange uneasiness settle into the pit of his stomach. He did not doubt that Kat had given him the correct address, but there was just something that made him apprehensive despite everything. His pace slowed slightly as he approached the residence directly next to hers, his mind still lingering on how strange this turn of events was for him. He didn’t do this sort of thing. Why was he here? What did he hope to gain by disturbing this young woman at her new home? Why did he feel so utterly compelled to be around her? There was only one idea that came to mind, but it was too outlandish to possibly be the truth.

But as he pondered this notion and attempted to face something that he once thought impossible as a reality, he came to a sudden stop just a few feet shy of her doorstep. The front door had just opened.

She managed to push the door shut as she made her way down a few of the front steps that led from her front stoop down to the street, a large stack of boxes carried in her outstretched arms. They were empty and didn’t look very heavy, but they were certainly awkward, and the windy weather was doing quite literally nothing in regards to helping her keep her balance. This was apparent in how slow and infrequent her steps were, the young woman attempting to keep her balance on the slippery steps. And without giving it much thought, Vergil sighed and took a few steps forward. She was going to end up laying on her back on the sidewalk if she kept this up. He’d made a similar mistake himself once before. It was humiliating.

“You seem to have your hands full at the moment. Should I come back later?”

With a speed that Vergil actually found somewhat surprising, she snapped her head around to see who was talking to her and looked directly at him, taking a few moments to realize that he was actually standing there due to an anemic little tree blocking her direct line of sight. And the second she realized it was actually him, her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, her arms going limp as the stack of boxes tumbled down the steps and landed in the gutter with a wet thud. And although he did his level best not to show it, something about how genuinely flabbergasted she now seemed was actually quite funny to him. He hadn’t been sure how she would react to seeing him again, but that certainly hadn’t been on his list.

At least she didn’t seem upset. People normally were when he came calling.

"Oh my- you actually came!" She said, clearly excited to see him. She looked as though she was on the verge of tears, her eyes glossy as she blinked more than she usually did. The cold winter air stung them as she looked at him, but her resolve was more than enough to withstand the discomfort. The young woman stumbled down the stairs towards him as she navigated the icy environment she was presented with. It seemed that regardless of how eager she was to get closer to him, she hadn’t managed to overlook the fact that the entire street was coated in a thick layer of black ice. "I remember leaving that note with my new address on it but… I didn't think you were going to come back. I hoped that you would, but I wasn't optimistic. You didn’t have a reason to."

Reaching the bottom of the steps, she rushed over, the slight heal in her boots causing her to slip slightly. She managed to recover almost instantly before hurrying over to stand before him, her intent to hug him evident. But before she threw her arms around him, the ever so subtly alarmed look on his face seemed to signal to her that perhaps it was not the best idea for her to do that. So instead she came to a stop and wrapped her arms around herself. It seemed that she was trying to appear colder than she probably was despite the very cold weather. Or maybe she actually was that cold and hadn’t noticed until that moment as a result of her excitement.

Without a word, he stepped forward and handed her the record, his pathetic attempt at concealing it inside of the bag that he had received from the store he purchased it from only serving to make it that much more obvious what might actually be inside. An oversight on his part that he’d only noticed after it was far too late to stop and attempt to find a store that was selling gift bags that didn’t cost stupid amounts of money and didn’t have lines out the door. 

“I did,” he said simply, waiting for her long fingers to wrap around the bag and gain a firm grip on it before he released it. The last thing he wanted her to do was to drop it. Not after the trouble he’d gone through to procure it for her. She held it for a moment, clearly about to open the bag before stopping. She seemed perplexed, thinking better of her decision to go snooping through his belongings. He simply looked at her, unsure as to what to do now. “I… had a reason to return.”

"What is this?” She asked with a small smile, her eyes still burning from the air. There was curiosity within them, that same welcoming softness returning that he’d come to miss during his time away from her. She glanced over at the boxes she’d accidentally dropped in the street, cringing slightly as she realized that they’d landed next to the trash can but obviously not in it. It was probably best that she take care of that sooner rather than later. No one wanted to be fined by the city council for littering.

"A gift. Something I thought you might appreciate." Vergil said as he followed her eyes over to the boxes, realizing quickly that she was probably considering putting them away. Some part of himself found that amusing as he took a few steps closer to them before grabbing them and opening the lid of the streetside trashcan, tossing them inside. Now he could hopefully maintain her undivided attention. And as he turned his attention back to her, he was met with a look of wonderment. She seemed genuinely shocked by something.

"You got me a gift? Oh, you didn't have to do that!" She exclaimed with an excited smile, a wide-eyed joy encompassing her entire tiny frame that reminded him of holidays with his own family as a small child. His parents had to practically fend Dante off with a broom when they were children, his desire to peek at their holiday gifts exceedingly powerful. It was like trying to keep a feral beast away from prime rib.

"I also cannot return it. And I won't tell you where I purchased it." Vergil said, admittedly somewhat amused with himself. There would be no returning this gift. Not if he had anything to say about it. And he did since he’d just given it to her and… well, it was rather self-explanatory, wasn’t it?

Clearly eager to see what he’d found for her, she opened the bag and stuck her hand inside, the cold plastic making contact with her now red and freezing hands. She’d clearly only planned to be outside for a few minutes, so her lack of gloves had been an unfortunate oversight. But as she pulled the record from the bag and took a look at it, a look of utterly overwhelmed joy came across her face as she realized in an instant that he’d remembered their conversation and had taken the time out of his day to track down this song for her. She held her hand up to her face to cover her mouth as a few stray tears ran down her now red cheeks, her eyes blinking away silent tears as she felt her breaths become deep and uneven. She was in utter disbelief. To see him again and to now have this… 

"But this is… where in the world did you manage to…” She stopped as she saw the strange look that came across her companion’s face, the man with the white hair taking a moment to realize that she was crying from joy and not despair. In truth, Vergil wasn’t sure he’d even done that before. It was not something he could say he’d ever experienced. “Thank you. It's wonderful… Though I think getting to see you again might be an even better gift. So now I have two amazing presents!"

Vergil watched as she turned an even darker shade of red, clearly embarrassed to some degree by the fact that she’d just said that out loud. And perhaps out of second-hand embarrassment or simply being charmed by her bashfulness, he felt himself grow ever so slightly red in the face, something that was amplified considerably the second that he realized that he’d done this. Neither of them could even look at one another until after what felt like a lifetime but was, in reality, only a few seconds, she broke the ice again.

"It's the middle of winter… Aren't you cold?"

"... Somewhat." He replied awkwardly, unsure as to what else he could say. It was the truth, after all. He wasn’t freezing by any means, but the type of clothing he was wearing was not exactly warm. But upon saying this, he glanced up at her and she pointed towards her front door. Perhaps she had something in mind.

“You know what would fix that? A cup of hot chocolate.” She said softly, taking her hands and sticking them in her coat pockets. There was a small smile on her face. And in that instant, they both knew he was going to say yet. “Let’s go inside. It’s been too long since I shared a warm drink with you and had a nice conversation.”

(-~-)

IDKW but this chapter put a big smile on my face hehe! Poor teenage Vergil. You'll understand one day. I hope you liked it, too! I’ll see you in the comment section, and hopefully on Friday. I have some stuff going on this week, so if I’m busy on Friday, I’ll leave you all a note and continue next week on Wednesday. But I’m not sure yet so I’ll keep you posted. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter and that you’ve had a wonderful week so far! Talk to you soon!

[endlessnumberedthoughts]

How did I get here?

You’re 27 years old on the first Monday of April. Your neck is eternally sore from crashing on your parents’ overstuffed couch in their studio apartment in the city. You roll out of bed to start your day, but you’d rather be back in it. Fatigued and empty, you want nothing more than to sleep all day. That’s what you do on weekends, sometimes. Yesterday, you woke up to eat lunch – greasy takeout that gurgled acid back into your gullet – and went back to bed shortly thereafter, to sleep a cumulative total of 16 hours. Now, the morning air is fresh and cool. You think to yourself hazily that you should wake up early to walk to the beach and watch the sun rise, knowing fully well you never will. You’ve been in the bathroom all of 10 minutes and your mother is already knocking at the door asking when you’ll be out. Your father woke you up twice, first when he boiled the kettle for hot water right when you were on the brink of sleep and again when he was getting ready for work as a cabbie. While he was in the bathroom with the door open and the light on, sounding like he was hacking his lungs up into the porcelain sink, you fantasized about ripping his throat off. An easy way to get the electric chair.

You pull out your individual serving French press to prepare your morning coffee, one of the few luxuries you can afford. Idle thoughts of self sabotage provide some food for thought in the background. Cancel your trip to the UK, your friends hate you anyway, my brain tells me. What’s the point? You’ll just have to come back here. Back to the trauma. Back to the hate. Back to all the bad feelings.

My friends have been talking about me. The kind of talk they have when they’re afraid to tell me what they’re thinking. I don’t tell them anything anymore – there’s not much to say these days other than the same thing over and over. It turns out it’s hard to have friends when you’re barely a person. I’m not fun anymore. I’m just surviving. Their worry is becoming grating, and the more they voice it the more I resent them. What do they know? I don’t say anything. They keep telling me I’m like this because I’m in a bad situation. What does that mean? Am I incapable of acting rationally because of where I am, somehow? Am I no longer myself? What do they know?

Instead, I angrily tell them to back off and toe the line. The line I’ve drawn in the sand between who I was with them and who I am now. I’ve reforged myself in fire and the soft tissue has been cauterized. I was so tired I didn’t realize the kettle wasn’t on and my coffee, though weak, is icy cold with the addition of milk. It is not an unwelcome refreshment, paired with the coolness of this Singapore morning. I am not unhappy. I still think of cancelling my tickets. I have been thinking of cancelling my tickets from the moment I booked the trip. I wonder why? No, I know why. I remember when I booked the tickets I could still feel love. I felt love for my friends and I felt what it is to miss. I cannot remember what that feels like anymore. Worse still, a part of me knows when I go, I will feel happiness again, and I know it will be a fatal kind of pain knowing I have to return to this feeling. Better not to go at all. Perhaps better still to go, and know joy, and …. I could. If I wanted to, really wanted to, I think I could. Part of me wonders if there was ever a choice, if this was a predetermined cataclysm towards which I was always running.

When I was 17, I had such halcyon dreams of when I would be 27. If I could go back and tell myself what happens, would I tell myself to live?

[containatrocity]

Il nome di Dio || Absinthe

Fuck, Again, I want to be a man, but I love all the sin, and the cigarette ash. Black lips, Amen. I want to be a saint, but I love all the darkness, lights just burn my skin.

tw Religious imagery, suicidal ideation, Violence, brief mention of cults, child abuse.

He remembers the stories. Those who looked upon Angels at their truest driven mad. What of those, instead, that look upon the face of God?

In some small part he is thankful to have forgone the flamboyancy of the rest of the week- sunburn. A sunburn had sent him back to his typical garb, and now, sat in the darkness of the fire station, with Hell howling outside the windows- Absinthe sits in a quiet corner- his rosary lit by the thin orange flame of his lighter. The Messiah sits crucified in miniature, glittering blue stone once a comfort now feels... a mockery. That, high above, was not what he had been taught- but something so grand could be nothing but a God.

His eyes screw shut, and he unshoulders his shotgun, blue eyes combing ornate carvings, silver and ivory blended by the skilled hands of an artisan. fingers trace the familiar, his ears trying to pick voices from outside between the wailing of the storm. For a tick, their fingers idle on the trigger, the barrels of the sawed-off facing them.

Click.

Empty. As he'd always kept it.

It's not like it could kill them anyway. It's not even that they particularly want to die. There's a lot to leave behind, isn't there?

a flock of prattling sinners convinced they're righteous? A shitty bed in a group home, the prying eyes and uncertainty, they don't know us. you don't know us.

No. There's plenty, plenty to stay on the level for. Even if that thing is little more than Joei. He spares a glance to her, asleep, despite it all.

They suck their teeth, pushing to their feet to watch the rest of the people sheltering alongside them with silent interest. His head aches, heavy, sick, the humidity already sticky against sun-scorched pale skin.

Click.

He turns his shotgun in his hands again. The weight of the shotgun shells in his pocket is more than the gun itself, now. But among the ache in his skull, the isolation finds something else. A memory.

"Abel, it may hurt now, but one day, you will be tested, these are to ensure you are ready." The platitude falls on deaf ears, a boy sobbing out that the needles to skin hurt his spine- that the grip of the other priests on too-thin limbs hurts to bruising. "One day God will call upon you, you will know when that time comes."

And then they are tumbling- a spigot turned on and spilling freely- Oh, now he remembers. "Yeah. Well, Fulci's 'god's chosen' or whatever it is Father Savini insists on. I thought His servants were supposed to be humble."

"His servants are. Fulci's not exactly Godly, right, Abel? Caught him in the cathouse almost as often as I've seen him in a pew. Wandering eyes. Hunger for the sins of the flesh. God was looking the other way when the devil tucked him into Savini's prodigial cradle."

"Can you two stop nattering on, I'm trying to pray... Transport A, report status, we're approaching the former limits of Huntsville."

"Communication seems completely stable, clearing the city limits and then turning offroad."

"Copy. Myself, Esposito and De Luca are en-route... Have you two had your fun at my expense? We do have an assignment."

"Sure, whatever. Just drop the high and mighty shit, Abel, God'll take the rest of us before He has any sort of special calling for you."

Absinthe laughs. The sound sudden, odd- cutting the silence slightly. He holds up hands for a moment, to insist he's alright as eyes shift his way. God certainly did take the rest of you, didn't he Esposito? He turns the shotgun in his grasp again.

"FULCI OPEN THIS DOOR."

"Don't- Abel- Abel leave it. You know the sigils the the the- THE ONES ON THE DOORS ON THE DRIVE IN- YOU KNOW IT."

"I suppose I do." One hand holds the bloodied back of his head- fingers sticky- De Luca holds a splintered off table leg, staring with horror as metal teeth easily puncture the flesh of Abel's left hand- a sigil scrawled in wobbly fingers on the entry door. "That was terribly rude of you, Father De Luca." He murmurs. "I know as much as you do about what's happening." The screams for aide, to be allowed in go quiet- slick sounds of blood and offal grinding against each other replacing them. "And you would kill me?"

"A-Abel."

"Manda a Dio i miei saluti, Padre De Luca." The report of his shotgun is sharp and sudden- And when the sun crests the sky once more, those once numbering fourteen now sits at one. There's only one mess to clean up, Father De Luca thrown into the cellar of a house long-abandoned, stripped of his supplies, belongings- And when the survivor of the night's massacre is found, it will be in the jacket emblazoned with the number eight, the one he'd worn since his ascension, emblazoned with a seventeen, burned to ash. And it will be on the edges of life, blood-loss and head trauma greedily stripping away neurons and memories in the quiet of that empty house.

Abel Fulci will die here. But like rot, like a virus, he'll spread in whatever surfaces to host him.

It's what the Brothers taught.

Those who looked upon the angels were driven mad. Killed in their foolishness. He who mocked the messenger lay rotten under a house reduced to urban legend.

Absinthe had seen the visage of God, twisted and awesome- and he had not been driven mad.

"Father Capone." He's torn from his reverie by the voice of one of the townspeople, hushing them gently as they motion to Joei asleep beside them. "Sorry- Um. could... could we pray together?"

"Of course. Come- sit." The change is subtle, oh, it's barely there. He leads the prayer as he always has.

His words reach now to a different God.

And he realizes just the same, if she still lives-

He has questions for Miss Buckley.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Daddy Issues | Draco Malfoy

Wow I’m sorry I didn’t mean to disappear like that Lovelies! Sometimes I forget depression and writers block are a thing until they punch me in the face and force me to go MIA for a hundred years! I guess I’m back? I hope? Fingers crossed? Anyway, I’m sorry this isn’t a TVD fic but I figured Y’all would appreciate something over nothing. I missed you all more than I can say! I hope you enjoy, I love you all!

Description: Draco and y/n are best friends until Draco’s father threatens y/n. She avoids Draco until he confronts her.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: Like none, it’s kinda sad but not really, the only flaw is bad writing

Word count: 3.4k

Tags: Angst, FLUFF

(not my gif, I just love it lol)

Your heart stings from across the courtyard, the gap between you and the blonde boy tangible. For a second you don't know whether or not your heart is even in your chest anymore or if it’s in his hands. In that case your heart is sitting on a bench, sandwiched between Blaise Zabini and Vincent Crabbe. Maybe he isn’t holding your heart, though, maybe he is your heart, in which case you’re avoiding your heart’s piercing gaze. 

Your hands twitch at your sides, itching to grab his or to twist through his silky hair or do anything other than lay idle when he is only mere steps away from you. Your hands ache to touch him and usually you would be doing just that: clinging to his robes or twisting the rings around on his fingers or simply tangling your own fingers with his slender ones. Your hands feel painfully empty without him to hold on to. 

That makes sense though, he’s your best friend after all. You’re rarely ever spotted less than five feet away from each other. Everyone at Hogwarts can see how utterly entwined you are, every part of him wrapped around your finger and every part of you sitting precisely in the palm of his hand. You orbit each other, drawn in by a gravity that the rest of the student body can’t deny.

Right now, though, that gravity is being tested and everyone feels a little bit like they’re floating away. 

Draco sits exactly seventeen feet and four inches away from you. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head, like lasers, searing into your black and gold jumper and refusing to look away. It burns but you embrace it, taking any contact, even imagined, that you can get from him. Even if it hurts. You would gladly burn for the blonde Slytherin if it made him happy. This doesn’t make him happy, though, being ignored by the girl that commands his entire life. You know that, but you also know that it’s for the best. 

You run your hands through your hair, tugging on the strands relentlessly and closing your eyes. You see his father, the tall, grim man, and replay the conversation you had in your head. 

“He has a bright future ahead of him, y/n.” 

Lucious had backed you into a corner, both metaphorically and literally, the stone of the castle biting harshly into your skin, “I know that, sir.”

He stood tall, menacingly, like he was bigger than the castle itself, “he doesn’t have time for nonsense, y/n.”

Your hands trembled, the cold of the dungeon nipping at them fiercely, “he’s very bright, Mr. Malfoy, I don’t think I’m slowing him down.”

The neutral, if not cold, expression on his face switched then to one of red hot anger, “did I ask what you think? It’s time the two of you separate. He is to be married next year and not to some silly Hufflepuff girl.”

“We’re just friends, sir,” your eyes had long since found the floor.

“Don’t be daft, my son is infatuated with you. If I catch you near him from this day on I will not hesitate to destroy you, do you understand me? Do not speak to him again.”

That was two weeks ago and you haven’t dared to go near him since, spending every waking moment of your spare time in the Hufflepuff common room. You aren’t brave, you didn’t march up to your best friend and tell him that his father threatened to destroy you. You would be lying if you said you even thought about it. The reality of it is that you’re a coward and have iced Draco out in fear of having his father hurt either of you.  

His father’s words still ring in your head. Don’t be daft, my son is infatuated with you. Your heart flutters hard in your chest, your rib cage the only barrier keeping it from finding him across the courtyard. Draco is infatuated with you. Apparently. He hasn’t said so, only his father. Still, you can’t help but hope that it’s true.

But then that makes your chest burn and palms sting again. You aren’t allowed to hope that Draco wants you. You aren’t even allowed to hope that he wants to be your friend. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, let alone allowed to kiss him. Would he even kiss you? Probably not. You tug even harder on your hair, as if pulling each strand out will somehow take the pain away. Don’t be daft.

“Y/n,” gentle hands wrap around your tight fists, “you’re hurting yourself.”

You forgot Luna was there, sitting next to you on the bench, the bench that is seventeen feet and four inches away from Draco. You let the airy Ravenclaw unravel your fingers and hold one of your hands, rubbing circles on the back of your palm. It doesn’t feel the same, her grip is too soft, her fingers too short. Draco’s fingers are longer. 

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of him from your senses, “sorry, I know I’m not the best company right now.”

Luna only smiles at you and rolls her eyes gently, “I know it’s hard for you right now.”

Of course you told her. You weren’t able to tell Draco so you turned to Luna, your other best friend. You nod your head at the blonde girl, too tired to speak. 

“I think you should tell him though, he looks bloody miserable without you,” your eyes widen as if on their own accord.

You feel dizzy at the thought and not the good kind like when Draco spins you around. No, this is the bad kind of ‘I’m definitely going to throw up’ dizzy. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears rapidly. Thump, thump, thump. It almost sounds like footsteps, angry ones, pounding towards you. That can’t be right.

“I can’t tell him, Luna, you know that.”

A hand lands on your shoulder, warmth spreading through your jumper. You open your mouth, ready to thank Luna for relentlessly comforting you, but close it quickly when a thought hits you. You glance down to your lap, just to double check. There, on your lap rests your hand carefully wrapped up in both of Luna’s. Crap. 

“What can’t you tell me?” It takes everything in you to not let his familiar voice curl around you and pull you further into his touch.

You shift out of his hold, not turning to look at him yet, afraid to see the expression on his face. Would it be anger? Sadness? Disgust? The last one makes your heart drop, the thought of the blonde boy being repulsed by you causing you to curl into yourself slightly. You would take anything from him but that.

You stand curtly, turning to face Draco, all too aware of the lack of space between you and him. Six inches at the most, every breath he takes makes his chest brush yours. You still don’t look up at him, not anywhere ready to meet the eyes of the boy you’ve been avoiding. 

You lock your eyes on his silver and green tie, mumbling to it instead of him, “What makes you think I was talking about you, Draco?”

You finally glance up at him and wish you hadn’t. His eyes, usually a bright blue, are dull and rimmed with red. The bruises under his eyes stand out against his cheeks. He’s always had dark circles but this is extreme. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he hasn’t eaten in days. It’s almost garish, but then again nothing could ever make the Slytherin Prince look anything less than perfect. He looks destroyed, almost as if his father had gotten to him too. You have to stop yourself from reaching out, choosing instead to look away again.

“Are you serious right now? Tell me this is all a joke y/n!” The courtyard goes silent when Draco raises his voice.

You squeeze your fists, the tone of his voice a punch in the gut. He never shouts at you. Draco is never anything but soft around you. Right now, however, he’s seething. No one around you dares to make a sound.

You close your eyes, trying desperately to stop a traitorous flood of tears, “Draco, please don’t do this right now.”

Draco takes a step back, as if your words had shoved him, “if not now then when? You’ve given me no choice! You run every time you see me, you don’t answer my notes. Do you even read them anymore? Can you just explain why you bloody hate me?”

His voice cracks when he says hate, like its acid in his mouth. In any way it’s acid to your ears. You could never hate Draco, it’s very much the opposite actually. You’re painfully in love with him.

“I don’t,” you have to pause to clear your throat, trying to rid the lump, “I could never hate you.”

His hand grasps you chin gently, his rings cold against your skin as he pulls your face up to meet his eyes, “then tell me what’s going on. Please.”

You squeeze your eyes close, sinking into the warmth of his palm for a moment. You can’t remember a time you’ve gone this long without the blonde boy touching you. You can’t stop the tears from trailing down your cheeks and into his palm. You can feel the hitch in his breath as if it had come from your own lungs. You wrap your own hands around his, squeezing his fingers gently before pulling them away from you.

“I can’t, Dra. We can’t do this anymore. I’m,” your voice trembles, your eyes still closed, his hand still locked in yours, “I’m not good for you. We can’t be friends.”

You release his hand, taking a few steps back from the love of your life. This time, though, he doesn’t let you get as far, taking two steps towards you for every step you take away from him. It doesn’t take him long before he’s in front of you again, closer and even more determined. His eyes burn into yours, his hands restless. You know he wants to touch you. At least, you hope he does. You want to.

“Don’t say that,” there’s a strength behind his words, one you have yet to hear until now, “don’t you dare say that! Tell me what’s going on y/n, you need to tell me! I can fix it. I can make it better whatever it is just please tell me. Please, love.”

Love. That’s new. Your heart cracks even more when he says it and maybe that’s because you know you won’t get to hear it again. You wish you could grab the word from his lips and hold on to it. You want to put it in your pocket so at least you can have a part of him, the very best part of him, for when he walked away. But you can’t, so there’s no use in trying. 

“You can’t fix it this time, Draco,” you take another step back and your back hits the rough surface of a tree.

He fills the space between the two of you once more and this time you’re stuck. Your palms continue to sting, reminding you relentlessly how much you need to touch him. You scrunch the hem of your jumper, trying desperately to quell the pain. Your wrists feel like they’re on fire, something you’ve come to realise that means you’re about to have a panic attack. He can't see that happen, you refuse to fall apart in front of him. 

Of course he notices, though. That’s your Draco, he notices everything about you. That’s his job. 

He grabs your face again, stopping you from frantically looking everywhere but him, “of course I can. When have I not fixed your problems? Remember when those Ravenclaws’ were messing with you? I took care of that, didn’t I? And Parkinson? Zabini? I took care of them too. Remember when Snape wouldn’t let you hand in your assignment because you had the flu? And the time you passed out in the stairwell? I fixed those too because I can. Because I wanted to and I do what I want. Now, all I’ve wanted for days is you so if someone said something to you I need you to tell me so I can sort them out and get my best friend back. Now.”

He stares into your eyes the entire time, daring you to turn away. You feel like you can’t breathe, your hands once again wrapped around his but this time clinging for dear life. You’ve been terrified for two weeks and the exhaustion hits you in one, whopping punch to your stomach, the second punch of the day. Without warning your legs give out, all of your weight falling into the blonde who seems to expect it. His arms wrap around you, holding you against his chest for the first time in what feels like ages.

You don’t realise that you’re sobbing until you try to speak, “Dra, I’m so scared. I’m tired,” you grip his robes in your fists, your head falling against his chest, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, I feel like I’m falling apart.”

He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against him. You can feel the sigh of relief he releases and his heartbeat slowing as if it’s your own. Maybe that’s because yours does the same. For the first time in weeks you’re engulfed in Draco and you cling to him, circling your arms around his waist and pulling yourself impossibly close. He wastes no time either, wrapping his cloak around you and burying his face in your neck. 

Your body shakes furiously in his arms, everything you’ve been bottling up comes pouring out in a torrent of sobs and hiccups. Draco presses closer to you, towering over you and shielding you from the rest of the world. You let his peppermint scent engulf you completely,

“For Salazar’s sake y/n I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I need to fix it, love. Please tell me,” his voice is low and choked.

He’s right, you know he’s right. You squeeze your eyes tighter and grip his back, savouring the muscles under his dress shirt for a few more seconds before you know you’ll have to let go.

“Your father told me we couldn’t see each other anymore. He told me,” you pull out of his arms, leaning back against the tree, “he said, well, it doesn’t matter what he said. We just can’t be together.” Draco’s eyes widen and your cheeks heat up, your words ringing through your ears, “I mean we can’t be friends.”

Draco steps closer to you, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. He mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear but you’re almost positive that it’s a curse. When he opens his eyes, your heart stops. His blue eyes burn into yours, glassy and angry but with something else too, something hot and fierce. Your heart restarts when he places his arms against the tree, caging you between it and him. You can’t resist placing your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up as well.

“What did my father say, y/n.” He isn’t asking you, he’s telling you.

You lower your eyes, not bothering to fight him anymore, “he told me he would destroy me if I kept being friends with you. He said you were getting married and that you could never marry a Hufflepuff and that he would destroy me if he had to.”

He staggers back with each word, like each one shoves him more than the last. He squeezes his fists before straightening his fingers, shoving them once more through his hair. His shoulders are tense, his back straight. His eyes are screwed shut again. 

“Bloody hell,” he pulls at his hair, biting his lip, “he’s lost his damn mind.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, tugging at your jumper, suddenly hot all over. Now is not the time to be getting riled up over Draco but you can’t help it, he looks exquisite. Messy hair and an un-tucked shirt, the veins in his hand prominent and his rings glittering in the afternoon sun. He’s absolutely and undeniably perfect.

“It’s ok, Dra, you’ll be ok,” you try your best to comfort him but he snaps his eyes open, looking at you like you’ve gone mad as well.

“My dad threatened to kill you! No I am not okay!”

This time you walk to him, pulling him into your chest again and wrapping your arms around his neck. He sweeps his arms around your waist, pulling you so close that you have to stand on your tiptoes to keep your arms around him. His hands grasp your hips tight and you immediately know what he wants. You oblige, wanting it just as much if not more, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his stomach. You tuck your face into his neck this time, breathing in the slightest hint of apples, green ones. 

You don’t speak, practically feeling the words bubbling in his chest, “My dad told you he was going to kill you, love. He threatened you and he didn’t even tell me. I am definitely not okay. I need to do something. I need to talk to him. And he told you I was getting married? He’s lucky he isn’t here. I don’t care if he’s my father, nobody talks to my girl like that.”

He’s rambling, something he does when he’s at his end. His words wrap around you, tangling with every part of you and sinking into your skin. They lull you into a daze of sorts, almost nodding off on your best friends shoulder. You don’t realise how tired you are until you’re in his arms, safe. And then it hits you, and you’re wide awake again.

“Your girl?”

You cut him off mid sentence, squeezing your legs tighter around him to bring his attention back to you.

“What did you say, love?” Draco hikes you further up his body, readjusting his grip on you.

Your cheeks flame, your neck hot. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something that you’re not quite sure you’re ready to give. His lips are so close to yours, his breath hitting your lips with every exhale. The courtyard around you fades away and Hogwarts itself holds its breath.

“Did you call me your girl, Draco?”

He doesn’t blush like you thought he would, “yes, I did. That’s what you are. Mine. And Merlin help my father for trying to take you away from me.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, letting his words sink into your flesh. They curl around your bones, laying down a warmth that you’ve been craving for longer than you can remember. He’s right. Of course he’s right, he’s Draco. You are his and you always have been. His arm around your back tightens, jostling you enough to make you cling harder to him. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair. He leans his head back, giving in to your touch willingly. 

He holds your gaze as your fingers weave through his silky hair, capturing you with his eyes and refusing to let go, “I’m yours, Draco. Please don’t let me go.”

He leans his forehead against yours, “never, love.”

Hogwarts releases the breath it had been holding, the noise of the courtyard once more fluttering around you. You go to get down from Draco but he stops you, tightening his arms. You only shake your head and smile, letting the sunshine warm your face.

Your heart aches slightly still though, “what are we going to do about your father, Dra?

He starts walking, the sudden movement causing you to tug his hair a little harder.

His voice is strained when he finally answers, leaning down to rub his cheek against your head, “just let me handle that, ok?” 

You give in, for now, laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes for the final time, “where are we going, Dra?”

“We, my love, are going to take a very much needed nap.” 

[violettelueur]

— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE ELEVEN || NARROW-MINDED

↳ featuring : fushiguro megumi + nanami kento + ieiri shoko (mention of itadori yuji + kugisaki nobara + gojo satoru + roymen sukuna + zenin maki + inumaki toge + panda + mahito) from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 12 march

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 2.0k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ previous episode : idle transfiguration

↳ next episode : to you, someday

↳ barista’s notes : welcome nanamin kento to the series everyone ╲ʕ·ᴥ·　╲ʔ he’s finally in the series and i am so excited to write about him again since it has been a while ʕ￫ᴥ￩　ʔ i hope you enjoy today’s episode and for the fushiguro x y/n shippers, enjoy this little interaction between them...

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. the whole story belongs to Gege Akutami and the credits go to them and them only.

2. the spell curses used belong to Tite Kubo due to them being the ‘Kidos’ being used on the manga and anime ‘Bleach’ - but none is mentioned in this chapter.

2.5 for the ‘cursed spells’/kidos (bleach) i will link this video here and tell you the time stamp to check out what i am intending to show - remember i add a few twist here and there by adding the katana to link with Y/N’s cursed technique

no cursed spells used this episode..

3. if you are confused on anything, please don’t hesitate to message me since i know this whole thing is so confusing.

“No reason, just worried about you,” Fushiguro mentioned, hiding his real intention of why he questioned your wellbeing, as continued to look at what was in front of him to avoid making eye contact with you since he could feel your eyes peering at him with curiosity filling them.

Sighing once again, you slap the back of his head causing him to groan since you put more strength than you intended to. “You shouldn’t worry about me Fushiguro, be selfish,” you commented before walking faster to be ahead of him, leaving him confused about what you had just mentioned to him.

“Be selfish?” Fushiguro muttered in confusion leading you to turn back to look over your shoulder before smiling at him.

“You were going to take me there right?” you asked, as you halted your movement causing the shikigami user to finally catch up to you while you had a lingering question in the back of your mind.

‘What was that dream?’

                                              ꕥ

“Didn’t I say you can head back to the track field, we’re literally a few steps away?” you asked, as you stood in front of the metal door leading inside to the infirmary while looking at your classmate with a fed-up look since he wasn’t listening to you once again.

“I said, I was going to take you here and now I’m going to wait for you here,” Fushiguro mentioned as he processed to lean against the wall, causing you to let out a sigh of frustration since you didn’t have the slightest clue on his sudden behaviour of him keeping an eye on you.

“If you’re still worried about my wellbeing, I’m okay Fushiguro,” you voice out trying to ease his worries, before turning your head to look at the door in front of you as you then entered the infirmary room the second the metal door slid open. “Thank you for waiting for me,” you quietly muttered to the shikigami sorcerer as the entrance that was going to block you both, slowly began to close leaving him on the other side, no knowing what was going on inside of where you were now.

Once you had entered the room, you quickly noticed that Ieiri was there twirling a strand of her brown lock with her ibex finger as she greeted you with a small smile, while another person - who you assumed was another sorcerer - who was beside her sitting on the metal bench while holding the side of his hip to lessen the blood loss from his wound.

From what you could observe, the male that was currently injured right now had bright blonde locks, which was strange since it was rare or uncommon for a Japanese person to have naturally light hair (since it didn’t seem dyed) causing you to assume the man had some European heritage. He also seemed to be on the older side compared to Gojo since he had somewhat of a more mature look to the strongest sorcerer that you had come to know but his outfit consisted of a blue dress-shirt with beige suit trousers as well as the professional dress shoes - what seemed to be missing was a blazer to complete the outfit.

“So you're the daughter that Gojo has been talking about lately,” the man mentioned, causing you to tilt your head in confusion since you had no idea who the man was, but he seemed to know who you were.

“Pardon?” you questioned politely since you were still in a state of perplexion, causing your mentor to giggle slightly before informing you that your teacher has been running around announcing his daughter after “keeping it a secret for 5 years” leading you to turn your head to the side and sigh once again in annoyance since you weren’t surprised that the playful sorcerer was parading your name around the facility but still it seemed a little creepy to you - just imagine him skipping around while telling everyone about you just seemed off...weirdly off.

‘What a drag…’

“Ah! I’ll heal you now since we don’t want to leave the wound open any longer,” you mentioned, as you made your way towards the sorcerer before placing your hands just above his wound while concentrating to allow your negative cursed energy to become positive which became easier over time as you kept practising leading Ieiri to be surprised on how much you had improved for the past few weeks.

“Gojo Y/N correct? I’m Nanami Kento, I would bow to be polite but that’s a bit difficult to do right now,” Nanami introduced himself, causing you to smile slightly before greeting him back.

‘So this is Nanami Kento? Shoko-san wasn’t kidding when she said he was a grade one, he does seem to be extremely skilled’

“Y/N, your theory was right about the technique used on those bodies, Kento mentioned that the technique reshapes the soul rather than the body of what we first thought,” Ieiri revealed to you, leading you to look up at the doctor with widen eyes as you hands managed to continue the healing process of Nanami’s wounds.

“Is there any way to stop the transfiguration of any sorts? Is there some kind of weakness to it?” you questioned, as you turned to the grade one sorcerer, leading him to nod as he turned to look at you.

“The use of cursed energy to protect your body is one way, but it will still cause some damage, besides that’s just a temporary solution since if we get hit more by this special grade curse, then that’s when our soul gets hit no matter how much cursed energy you put to protect yourself,” Nanami explained which lead you to look at him with a deadpan expression before you looked down to think of a solution to avoid any more casualties from this curse.

‘The only thing I can think of is Ryomen Sukuna...but Itadori is dead and there is no way that Sukuna can be inhibiting his body now anyways…my cursed spell could be a way to protect myself if it comes to the day I have to face him’

“Do you have a description of what the curse looked like?” you asked curiously since you didn’t know if you were even allowed to have any information on his mission - but you knew you had a chance since you and Ieiri examined the transfigured bodies from Kinema Cinema.

“The curse was human looking like, had patchwork around his face like it he was sewed together, he can transfigure is own body to how he likes to give him an advantage in battle,” Nanami explained leading a shiver to go up to your spine as you didn’t expect the curse’s description to be so human-like after Sukuna since you were completely used to other curses you had faced in the past, looking like what people feared - like the ocean animals, mountains, volcanos or even nature itself.

Steadily, you moved your hands away before asking Nanami to lift his shirt so you could examine his wound leading Ieiri to observe as well since she needed to make sure that your technique had been perfected as well as to make sure his wound was healed properly.

“Good job, I think you have nearly perfected it,” the doctor stated with a smile, leading you to turn to her with a bright smile on your face as you were delighted to have her approval leading her to mention that she will report your progress to Gojo since he wanted to know how you were doing with your training.

“You don’t call Gojo your father?” Nanami questioned since he had come to know from his senior that you have been his daughter for approximately five years now leading him to question why you didn’t call him as his parental figure position.

“I refuse,” you looked at him with a straight face as a slight hint of a ‘fed-up’ tone could be heard in your speech, leading Nanami to internally find the comment funny.

“Thank you for the treatment, but I must quickly head off to resume work,” Nanami declared as he slowly got up from his seat causing him to be surprised at how much your technique had actually repaired not only his wound by somewhat his whole body as well leaning him to peer at you for a second before walking out to head whatever he needed to be.

“Y/N, you can go now, if I need you, I’ll call you next time okay?” Ieiri stated to you, leading you to nod your head before announcing your departure as you processed to stand in front of the metal door, waiting for it to open as you then walked across the gap once it revealed the other side to you.

“You’re done?” someone asked, causing you to look to the side to notice that Fushiguro was still leading against the wall that he was waiting before you had entered into the infirmary to which you were surprised about since you thought he didn’t have the patience to even wait for you.

“You’re still here? Did you wait long?” you questioned, as you both began to walk back to the track field where Kugisaki and the second-years were waiting for you.

“Not really, it was actually quicker than I thought it was going to be,” Fushiguro mentioned causing you to nod along and you both became silent as you both didn’t know what else to say to each other.

However, that didn’t really bother you right now, what was bothering you was what happened before you even came here.

‘Why? Why was I dreaming that in the first place?’ you thought, as you looked down to the ground as if the answer was there for you to collect. However, you knew you would never get the answer if you didn’t make the effort to find it yourself, yet you didn’t want to.

You didn’t want to know the meaning behind it. You just wanted to forget everything that happened in that dream. 

‘There’s no point in holding on to it, it would never happen’

“You okay?” Fushiguro asked, causing you to snap out of your thoughts before realising the shikigami user was no longer beside you but rather in front of you with a stern look on his face as if he was confronting you for somewhat giving him a white-lie.

‘He’s not going to let that question go huh?’

“I’m okay Fushiguro, how many times I got to answer,” you commented before moving to the side to continue walking, only for the erratic-haired sorcerer to block your pathway once again leading a flame of annoyance to be lit up in your stomach. “What’s wrong?” you asked, as you looked up to meet him eye to eye, only to discover a worried look on his face.

“There’s something bothering you,” Fushiguro muttered causing you to scoff internally before moving to the other side again, only for him to block you once again. 

“Fushiguro, I’m fine, it was just something silly that happened with Gojo-sensei that annoyed me, I’m genuinely fine,” you answered before suddenly grabbing his wrist - catching him by surprise - to pull him towards the direction needed to go back to the track field for training, as you didn’t want a full-blown argument happening between you and him. Also, you weren’t bothered to shout at him since you were still trying to comprehend what you had just experienced.

However, before you could pull Fushiguro further to where you both needed to be, you felt him halt his movement causing you to stagger back slightly since it was really unexpected. Turning your head, you looked at the sorcerer with slight confusion displayed on your face before noticing a hand coming towards you as a small flick made a light impact on your forehead leaving you frozen in shock.

“You can rely on me anytime L/N,” Fushiguro mentioned to you nonchalantly as he retreated his hand back.

“Dear, rely on me a bit more, I’ll always be here with you and sorry for flicking your forehead, does it hurt?” 

“You drag, don’t copy me!” you argued, before slapping his forehead causing him to groan in pain while you continued to pull him along to get back to training.

‘I want to, but I don’t want to be lied to again Fushiguro…’

© violettelueur 2021 : written and published by violettelueur - do not steal or repost

[atlabeth]

everything happens for a reason part 6 - zuko x fem!reader

The thing about forever is that it's a fucking lie

part 5 | masterlist | part 7

a/n: you all know whats coming lmao i got nothing to say for myself

wc: 3.5k

warning(s): pakku's usual sexism, typical siege of the north stuff, mostly angst but a lil bit of fluff in there

chapter title comes from forever is a lie by bea miller!

“I can’t believe that your tribe doesn’t teach waterbending to women!” Katara fumed, the snow beneath her feet packed tightly from her continuous pacing. “I mean, how can they even do that? Master Pakku’s all about ‘his culture and his teachings’ but his teachings are completely sexist!”

Y/N just nodded along as she listened to Katara — Master Pakku had refused to teach Katara, and after a disappointing healing lesson she had found Y/N to rant. “Yep. It’s unfair, but there’s not much we can do about it.”

Katara frowned and stopped in her tracks. “Don’t you want to learn how to fight too? I love being able to heal and help people, don’t get me wrong, but healing isn’t all I want to do.”

A shaky sigh fell from her lips and she shrugged, adjusting her position on the platform of ice she had made to sit on. “Well… yeah, I guess. I know a couple of martial moves, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know more. But Katara, I—”

Y/N was silent for a moment as flashes of the past played behind her eyelids. “I’m not like you. I’m not the kind of person to challenge the rules. Not anymore.”

Katara shook her head, already back to her pacing. “I think you’re selling yourself short. I saw your healing during your class — you’re really talented, Y/N, and I know that skill will transfer over to fighting.”

“Thank you, but— but it doesn’t matter how good we are. Master Pakku is just as stubborn as he is talented, and I think he’d rather die than be a decent person. It’s a shame though. I’d really like to see someone knock some sense into him.”

“Yeah…” Katara sighed. “Hopefully Aang is having a better time than I am.” She looked up at the sky then fixed Y/N with a wry smile. “Speaking of Aang, I should probably get back to him and my brother. Sorry for talking your ear off the whole night.”

Y/N waved her hand around nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it. You have my permission to rant to me any time you want while you’re here.”

Katara grinned and offered her hand, which Y/N took with a small smile as she got up from her ice platform. With a slight movement of her hand she bent it back into the ground, and the two girls began their walk back to the city. “I just wish I knew how to get Pakku to let up.”

“You’ll think of something,” Y/N reassured.

-

Katara did indeed think of something. Y/N’s wish of Pakku getting some sense knocked into him was granted when Katara challenged him to a fight, which was quite possibly the best thing that Y/N had ever witnessed. Though she ultimately lost, he still decided to take her on as a student — and in a move that Y/N would forever be grateful for, Katara had gotten Pakku to take her on as well. Katara made history that day, and she felt a shining sense of admiration for the girl for shaking things up.

And now, her days consisted of early mornings spent training, afternoons in classes, and nights doing homework, as well as fitting in time to hang out with Yue — it was a miracle she had any free time at all.

Lately though, it seemed like all Yue could talk about was Sokka. She liked him just as much as he liked her, but Yue was good — no matter how much she cared for someone, her tribe would always come first.

(“Did I hear that you and Sokka have a date later tonight?” she teased. “Aren’t you moving a little too fast?” Yue was silent at her attempt at humor and Y/N frowned. “Yue, are you okay?”

Silence lingered in the air for so long that Y/N almost thought she didn’t hear her, but finally the princess spoke as she pulled down the collar of her jacket to reveal an engagement necklace. Y/N gasped.

“It’s from Hahn,” she said quietly. “He proposed an hour ago, and I accepted.”

“You what?” Y/N cried, prompting a slight grimace from Yue. “Hahn— you can’t stand him!”

“Y/N, please,” Yue sighed. “He’s not that bad — he’s handsome, I guess. And he’s the son of a noble, and he’ll be really good for the tribe.”

“Yue, you’re the one who has to deal with him. He proposed to you, not the tribe — Spirits, half the boys in this tribe like you, why him?”

“It’s best for the tribe,” she repeated, her words an attempt to convince Y/N as much as herself.

“But what’s best for you?” Y/N countered.

Yue hadn’t answered, and had made up some half-baked excuse that she had to be somewhere. She had watched her go sadly, hoping that she would figure something out with Sokka.)

And it’s not like she wasn’t happy that her friend had found someone, it was just…

Y/N was upset that someone wasn’t her. And she didn’t know how to deal with that revelation.

But one morning, while making idle conversation with Katara as their lesson came to an end, a matter much more pressing came to hand.

Black snow. Soot raining down from the sky, tarnishing everything it touched.

A feeling all too familiar brewed in her chest as she met her friend’s eyes, and one thing was clear.

The Fire Nation was coming.

-

The air was even more frigid than usual with the knowledge of an imminent invasion, and Y/N had parted ways with her friends once they reached the town hall to be with her grandparents. The tension in the air was thick as Chief Arnook stepped up to address the people.

“The day we have feared for so long has arrived — the Fire Nation is on our doorstep. It is with great sadness I call my family here before me, knowing well that some of these faces are about to vanish from our tribe, but they will never vanish from our hearts. Now, as we approach the battle for our existence, I call upon the great spirits. Spirit of the Ocean! Spirit of the Moon! Be with us! I'm going to need volunteers for a dangerous mission.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Sokka stood up. “Count me in.”

Her eyes widened as she met Katara’s from across the room, and she looked equally surprised. “Sokka…”

“Be warned: many of you will not return.” Several other men stood up after Sokka, including her grandfather. Despite his age he was a skilled fighter, but that was no comfort to Y/N. She reached up for his hand and shook her head almost desperately, but he smiled sadly and squeezed her hand, a sentiment to express words unsaid. “Come forward to receive my mark, if you accept the task.”

As he walked forward to join the line, she found the only solace she could in her grandmother’s open arms, burying her face in the fur of her jacket. “He will be okay,” she soothed. “He’s just as strong as he is brave. You have to have faith.”

She hoped that her grandmother was right. She couldn’t handle another loss.

Once all the men had received their marks, they left to confer about the battle plan. Y/N found her way up to the stage where a tearful Yue sat. It pained Y/N to see her in such a way, and when she sat down and offered her hand the princess immediately took it.

“I saw that your grandfather volunteered,” she said after a beat of silence. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. For Sokka.” Y/N adjusted her position so their shoulders were touching, and she sighed heavily. “I can’t stop thinking about my village. My father.” She met Yue’s eyes, her own beginning to tear up.

“What if it happens again?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I can’t— I can’t do it again.”

Yue let go of her hand to wrap the girl in a hug, the warmth of the embrace managing to chip away at some of their hopelessness. “You won’t have to do it again,” she stated, the reassurance seeming like the truth when coming from her. “You’re not alone this time.”

She finally pulled away from the hug as she wiped the tears off her face, and Y/N nodded. Yue somehow always knew exactly what to say. “What would I do without you?” she asked, her voice slightly watery.

“You’re never going to know,” the princess smiled. “Because whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.” That got a laugh out of Y/N and the two of them stood up as Yue gestured outside with her head. “I think I saw Aang and my father out there. It’ll help to talk with them — I think you need some fresh air anyways.”

Y/N nodded and the two girls walked out hand in hand, a small reprieve from carrying the weight of the world.

-

Things were so much worse than she had been anticipating.

After a short talk outside the hall with Katara, Aang, and the Chief, Yue had been transported somewhere safer as Y/N steeled herself for the front lines. After all, as a student of Master Pakku, she could fight damn well — it was just a matter of putting it into action.

But a line of warriors and children alike were no match for the strength of the Fire Nation from afar, and the first few fireballs had done their job at disrupting both the fighters and the wall — Seeing her home get destroyed hurt nearly as much as constantly getting thrown around.

After Aang had taken off on Appa and Chief Arnook took a section of his soldiers off for a different plan, the work on the ground began. The fleet of ships seemed endless , and the same went for their artillery — the fight went long into the day as Y/N worked with various other waterbenders to stop fireballs and repair broken parts of the city’s infrastructure, but just as the full moon began to show, the attacks stopped coming. Limbs heavy with exhaustion from their work in the field, Y/N and Katara met up with the princess back at the balcony of the palace.

“They’ve stopped firing,” Yue noted as they all gazed off into the distance.

“Thank the spirits,” Y/N muttered as she worked out a knot in her shoulder. “I don’t know how much longer I could’ve kept going.”

Just then, Appa came into view and a grin spread across Katara’s face. “Aang!”

He landed below them and the three girls hurried down to meet him. Aang landed on the ground, exhaustion clear in every part of him. “I can’t do it,” he muttered as he placed his head in his hands. “I can’t do it.”

“What happened?” Katara asked as she ran up to him, Yue and Y/N close behind.

“I must’ve taken out a dozen Fire Navy ships, but there’s just too many of them!” His large grey eyes were full of hopelessness, and Y/N’s heart ached for the boy. “I can’t fight them all.”

“But— you have to!” Yue pleaded. “You’re the Avatar.”

“I’m just one kid,” Aang countered wearily. He buried his face in his arms and Katara kneeled next to him in an attempt to comfort him. Y/N could almost forget about the pain in her body at that moment, feeling an odd responsibility to this boy as she looked down at him.

“Aang,” she muttered, following Katara’s example and kneeling next to him. “You’ve already done so much for us. Just by being here, you’ve inspired hundreds of people — you’re a beacon of hope all on your own! We don’t expect you to take out this whole navy by yourself. As long as you’re here, fighting with us? You’re helping us more than you know.”

He managed a slight smile at that and he took her outstretched hand, getting pulled back to his feet with her help.

“We’ll have a better view from up there,” Katara noted, pointing back up to the balcony. “You can help us keep watch, Aang — in case they start attacking again.”

He nodded and the four of them began the walk, the Avatar in slightly better spirits.

“The legends say the moon was the first waterbender,” Yue said once they had reached the balcony, all of them gazing at the sky. “Our ancestors saw how it pushed and pulled the tides and learned how to do it themselves.”

“I’ve always noticed my waterbending is stronger at night,” Katara mused, causing Y/N to hum in agreement.

“Our strength from the spirit of the moon, our life from the spirit of the ocean,” she said. “They work together to keep balance.

Aang’s expression brightened at her words as he popped up from the ground. “The spirits! Maybe I can find them and get their help!”

“How can you do that?” Y/N questioned.

“The Avatar is the bridge between our world and the Spirit World,” Katara explained excitedly. “Aang can talk to them!”

“Maybe they’ll give you the wisdom to win this battle!” Yue exclaimed.

“Or maybe they'll unleash a crazy amazing spirit attack on the Fire Nation!” At that, all three girls met him with strange looks. Aang coughed and straightened his posture. “Or wisdom. That's good, too.”

“The only problem is, last time you got to the Spirit World by accident,” Katara said with a frown. “How are you going to get there this time?”

Yue’s eyes lit up and she looked at them with a smile. “I have an idea. Follow me.”

-

A few minutes later, they were standing in the Spirit Oasis, the most spiritual place in all of the North. Yue, Y/N, and Katara all shed their coats as Aang walked around, marvelling at the beauty.

“I can feel… something,” Aang said as he sat down, getting into a meditating position. “It’s so tranquil.”

Soon enough, after a few moments of silence, Aang’s eyes as well as the arrow on his head began to glow.

“Is he okay?” Yue gasped.

“He’s crossing into the Spirit World,” Katara reassured. “He’ll be fine as long as we don’t move his body. That’s his way back to the physical world.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Y/N whispered, astonishment etched into her face. For as much as she had been taught about the ocean spirits, she wasn’t well-versed in the Spirit World as a whole — she was thoroughly fascinated by every part of this.

“Maybe we should get some help,” Yue suggested, still on edge as she took a few steps away from the gate.

“No, he’s my friend. I’m perfectly capable of protecting him. Besides, I already have some help here.” She smiled at Y/N, a sentiment that she returned happily.

A deep voice, almost mocking, broke the silence as it echoed throughout the oasis. “Well, aren’t you a big girl now? Even got yourself a little student.”

The three girls all whipped around to find the source of the voice, and Katara’s whole body stiffened. “No…”

“Yes. Hand him over and I don’t have to hurt you.”

Y/N immediately eased into a bending stance along with Katara as the princess fled to get help, but her confidence faltered when she took the time to focus on their assailant.

She almost didn’t recognize him — it had been nearly four years since she had last set eyes upon the boy, but it was as if he had become a completely different person. His head was shaved completely save for a ponytail, and blues and reds marked his skin in various cuts and bruises. His eyes held an anger she had never seen before, an expression only heightened with the addition of a large red scar across his left eye.

“Zuko?” she breathed, her chest tightening up beneath the weight of the revelation. Katara stared at her in bewilderment — she had no idea that Y/N knew the prince that had chased them halfway across the world, but Katara supposed that she had no reason to ever suspect she did.

His eyes flashed with recognition as they ran over her, and it seemed as if he had a similar epiphany as he staggered backwards. “I… I thought you were dead.”

“You’re with them,” she muttered, blood turning to ice. “Your nation is invading, and you’re helping them— you’re after the Avatar? What are you doing, Zuko?!”

The momentary surprise was replaced by steely determination as he shifted his weight forward and kicked up his leg, sending a blast of fire that she barely managed to dodge. “You know nothing!”

Y/N fell back into position next to Katara, but the newfound knowledge was like a fog over her mind. “Whoever he was when you knew him, that’s not him anymore!” Katara yelled as she bent water out of the pond and blocked his following attacks. “He won’t hesitate to hurt you, so you can’t either!”

“O-okay!” she stammered. This was the moment she had been waiting for, wasn’t it? After training with both Katara and Pakku, her martial skill had increased tenfold, and she was desperate to try it out — she only wished her first opponent didn’t have to be him. But another fire blast snapped her out of her paralysis, and she jumped into action.

The two girls worked impossibly well together, one stepping forward when the other fell back, the bending between them nearly seamless. Any fire that the prince sent their way was quickly extinguished, and with two against one on home turf, Y/N and Katara were able to hold him off with relative ease.

Y/N bent another jet of water up from the oasis and shot it at Zuko, the force of which knocked him several feet back. Katara took the opening and froze his feet to the ground, then began to move her arms about as she formed a ball of water around him — one more movement and it was frozen solid.

“You little peasant,” he growled. “You’ve found a master, haven’t you?”

The orb of ice began to glow, the air around them becoming hotter and hotter until it melted around him. Blasts of fire were flying at them as soon as Zuko hit the ground, and they were forced to retreat back towards the oasis as they grew more intense.

Y/N drew up a shield of water, extinguishing the flames on impact. Zuko dodged around them, his fingers inches away from Aang’s collar. Y/N propelled the water already at her fingertips towards Zuko with a grunt of effort, which sent him flying into the shallows on the other side of the oasis. She conjured up a large wave and sent it towards the prince, sending him up the side of the wall and trapping him once Katara froze it.

She breathed a sigh of relief and let her arms fall, a part of her wondering how they were still connected after the tediousness of the earlier battle. But this, one on one in a fight with real stakes? It was as exhilarating as it was nerve wracking, and she had never been so thankful that Katara had gotten her in with Master Pakku. Y/N felt intensely guilty over the pain she had inflicted on Zuko, but she tried her best to push it out of her mind — like Katara said, he would’ve done worse if she hadn’t fought back.

“You fought well,” Katara smiled. “I told you that you were talented.”

She chuckled and shrugged, cheeks heating up slightly at the praise. “It’s not exactly my first fight, just… the most intense.” It reminded her of the early mornings and late nights spent sparring with Zuko, a memory that only twisted the dagger in her heart even more.

The two girls smiled at each other as they began to walk back over to Aang — it seemed the boy was undisturbed by the fight by virtue of his glowing tattoos and closed eyes — when Y/N found herself squinting from the rays of light filtering in.

“Huh,” she mumbled. “The sun’s out. The sun’s out— Katara!”

Y/N turned to find the prince free from the ice, and the pair barely had time to draw water from the pond to shield themselves from the impending flames. But it was too little too late, and the power of the blast sent them back several feet. They slammed into either side of the gate, the force of it immediately knocking Katara out.

Y/N gasped in pain as she tried to push herself up, but the fight combined with the impact of her landing had taken a toll on her and she collapsed once more against the gate. When the smoke from the fire cleared, Zuko was there with Aang’s collar in his grasp.

“You rise with the moon,” he muttered, his face tinged with the slightest bit of guilt as he met her eyes. “I rise with the sun.”

The last thing she saw before her consciousness faded out was the boy she loved escaping with the Avatar.

-

why did i make yue and y/n like this when i KNOW what i have to write next omg i hate myself

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