#before fully coming out and transitioning at around seven

[fullscoreshenanigans]

What if a little, very little, part of Don blamed Ray for have waited Connie's shipment to put his plan in motion. What if he wondered why didn't Ray do it at the previous one? He tries to reason himself, thinking that two months wouldn't have been enough (they had more time between Connie and Ray), that it still wound't be fair for this kid shipped before Connie, but this little part of him poison his mind and he can't stop to wonder:"why couldn't he start his plan soonner".

Ray has not need to know that, because he blames himself enough like that about it. Even if he knows that he couldn't have done more. He still needed a reward to finish his anti-trackers thing, he couldn't have set his plan in motion during the previous shipment.

At a point, they probably spoke geniunely about it together. Because keeping that for themself isn't good aniyway.

I fully subscribe to them talking this out during their search for the Seven Walls with the many months they spend trekking around together (and this is why I can never forgive Shirai for that timeskip; all the bonding moments I was robbed of seeing </3)

Also very serendipitous that @sepiamestus wrote a one-shot titled Beautiful (and a little sad) featuring this topic, although the trigger is Ray asking Don if he blames him instead of the other way around.

A wonderful showcase not only of Don’s nuances and quirks, but also his cordial nature and how he seamlessly integrates the former into the latter, perfectly displaying his aptitude in assessing people’s emotional needs and acumen in easing them toward where they need to be in a way that comes to him as naturally as breathing. Very easy to hear his voice in this with the dialogue.

There is acknowledgment of the anger Don still feels regarding the subject, which is very reasonable given everything that's happened and that he's ten.

But it's acknowledged only after Don has established the intrinsic value of Ray as a person and beloved member of his family, in addition to creating a safe atmosphere where it's clear he's open and receptive to everything Ray has to say and is feeling by getting him to open up about a topic he's knowledgeable about and interested in before transitioning them back to the main topic at hand. He's able to easily discern how the subject has been plaguing Ray’s mind for months, so to immediately start off by expounding upon the full breadth of his complicated array of emotions regarding Conny's death would be in bad form. By establishing that sense of safety and trust, Don is able to honestly talk about his own feelings with a reassurance Ray can genuinely believe: that nothing Don says is meant to be accusatory. Excellent display of his emotional intelligence.

And how that leads into this 𝕆𝕌𝔾ℍ; the beautiful poignancy of ending the main scene with this and how it acts as foreshadowing to Ray’s declaration in chapter 119 to Norman and everyone else present in the room, with Don being an important factor in helping him reach that point.

Love a boy beaten down by circumstances beyond his control resulting in such a thorough self-loathing and sense of helplessness being treated with such gentle kindness and being afforded the time to heal at his own pace. <3

[bungalowbear]

eleven.

ranger!nanami kento x psychic gym leader!reader, pokemon au, wc: 615

these next three parts are for the one who inspired this series, the lovely @likelilacwine 💜

The loud wail Satoru lets loose startles the birds perched in the trees. The sound of ruffling feathers is followed by the sight of an entire flock flying closer toward the horizon. Dusk falls onto the battle court where your Gothitelle stands victorious and Gojo’s Mightyena lays defeated on his side with a dazed look in his eyes. 

“Mightyena, return.”

The red beam recalls the fallen Pokémon, and Satoru stares at the Poké Ball in his hand with a frown. Suddenly, he turns and dashes toward his strawberry haired friend. She nearly topples over from the force in which he flings his long arms around her shoulders with, but she manages to stop teetering and steady them both.

“It’s alright, Satoru.” She consoles him with a pat on the back. Her eyes look at you over his shoulder, lips parted in shock. Her next words come out as if she can’t believe she’s about to say them. “You just…lost. That’s all.”

“But I’ve been training for this.” He’s practically draping himself over her, head of pure white hair hung backward in dramatic fashion. “Now she’s ahead.”

She looks at you for an explanation. “Ahead?”

“Sometimes he wins, sometimes I win.” Shrugging, you walk to stand beside Gothitelle and place a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been training my Pokémon to withstand attacks from ghost and dark types. I never know when Satoru will come knocking on my door again, so I make sure we’re always prepared.”

“Wow,” she murmurs. “I didn’t think anyone could beat him in a battle.”

You wink, raising your hand to hide your mouth and faux whisper to her, “It’ll be our little secret.”

“Stop picking on me.” Satoru sags even further onto the woman trapped beneath his limbs. “It’s bad enough I lost in front of her.”

“You did well,” she assures sweetly.

“You almost had us.” You send your friend a consoling look. “Better luck next time, Satoru.”

He turns his chin up and away from you, ever the gracious loser, with a pout and a hmph.

“Best out of seven,” he challenges. “I’ll win next time.”

You smirk, responding, “You know where to find me.”

The sunset is in its final moments before it fully disappears newly the horizon. The orange and red hues are now mosaics of purple and blue across the partial cloudy sky. The transition occurs every night but never fails to take your breath away. The moon is high and mirrored on the lake, a shimmering reflection that captures your gaze and lights up your eyes. The lampposts on the edges of the court come to life, starting a chain reaction to light up the rest of grounds.

“It’s beautiful here,” she says.

You turn your attention back to the pair to find Satoru is no longer pouting. His expression is smoothed out into something more gentle as he gazes down at his dear friend crouched near the ground. She’s inspecting a patch of flowers. Holding a delicate petal between two fingers, she is unaware of the fondness her companion reveres her with. Like there is nothing more precious in this world than the person before him.

“Thank you.” A genuine smile lifts the corners of your mouth. “Now, it’s getting late. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping tonight. And, please, feel free to stay as long as you’d like.”

“We couldn’t impose,” she objects, standing up.

“Okay!” he accepts.

They speak at the same time and a laugh bubbles up your throat at the looks they exchange. You and Gothitelle lead your guests into the gym, a warmth blooming in your chest at the opportunity to host another pair of travelers.

series masterlist

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[shadowofahope]

Eucalyptus || 002

Warnings: Swearing, abandonment, hybrids are only considered as pets, mentions of pre-heat and scent triggers, mentions of medication

Premise: A sugar glider hybrid with a broken past. Seven men convinced they can give her the life she’s always wanted. Sometimes destiny has a funny way of finding you, and sometimes it smells like Eucalyptus.

WC: 3.6K

Masterlist || 001 || 002 || 2.5

Your body vibrating with anxiety as you stare at the wooden apartment door. Your heat had finally let up a few days ago, but you had stayed a little longer to try to adapt to being human, learning to cope with the smell that had triggered your heat. The hybrid shelter had brought you items from your owners to help soothe the transition, however one scent in particular continued to make your mouth drool. You had managed to keep a steady rhythm around it now, and you felt it safe to finally return. This time as a human.

You grip tighter at the bag in your arms, exhaling a deep breath as you slowly reach up, allowing yourself to knock on the door. You can hear muffled voices from the other side, your breath hitches as you make out who’s voice is who’s, footsteps coming to greet the wood separator. 

A breeze rushes out as the door is opened, a heavy air of scents from all seven men. Two pairs of eyes stare down at you. A shy smile creeps onto your lips, fighting off tears. Tears of joy? Anxiety? You weren’t even sure.

“Hi, uumm, it’s me…Snow, I uh- I’m-” You stutter out, not sure which one to look at. Still overtly aware of the other men inside the apartment. 

“You’re home” Jimin’s soft voice breathes out. 

“Yea,” Nodding, you can feel the tears rush down your cheeks. “I’m home.”

Arms pull you through the door way, you drop the bag as warmth wraps around you. 

“Thank god you’re home. We thought we were going to go crazy without you.” Taehyung’’s voice breaks through his shuddered breath. You can feel your heart beating like crazy in your chest, but not caring you snuggle into them more. You inhale as deeply as you can, basking in their comforting scents. Arms slacken around you, Jimin pulling you by the hand into the apartment. 

“Guys! Snow came home!” Taehyung cheered from behind you. 

Nerves getting the better of you, you use Jimins hand like a lifeline keeping you grounded as you stare at his feet. Silence overtakes the once busy room, slowly you look up to find 5 stunned figures around the room. 

You hear a choked noise come from the kitchen, glancing over you see Jin standing there eyes unblinking as he takes you in.The tears begin to fall again. 

“Snow?” His voice cracks. Watching him, he takes a couple of tentative steps towards you. His scent stronger now, the same sugary scent as before.

“Nn.” You launch yourself at him, uncaring of all your insecurities screaming at you about being a terrible mannered pet. Your arms wrapping around his waist and his around your shoulders. “It’s me.” 

His firm arms hold onto you tighter. Like he’s afraid if he let’s go you’ll disappear again, but you’re here. In human form, something they were prepared for you to never do infront of them. The traumas of your past having a large probability of you never fully trusting. Yet you were in his arms, finally home where you belonged. 

You breathe in his scent again, his being one of your favourites. Maybe you were biased because he was the one who found you, the first one you felt comfortable with. Before you know it, his arms have loosened and he’s turning you around pushing you towards Yoongi, Jungkook and Hoseok who are further in the living room. All three men not hesitating to swarm you in a group hug. 

You can feel your own body and mind relax in unison. You would have never had guessed in a million years that having so many different scents bombard you at once, that you would feel the most at ease. However, even in the midst of the pharemone party one smell lingered in the back of your throat. It was almost like you could taste it on your tongue, like you accidentally licked the source and now your mouth was coated with it. 

One figure still remained stunned in place. Namjoon more concerned for your state of mind  then anything else. 

“How are you feeling now? Better?” He sounded hopeful. That was a good thing right?

“Alot better.” 

He holds his arms out as he takes a step towards you, catching you in what probably wont be your last hug of the day, knowing these men. You hurriedly step into him, thankful for it. You hear the voices behind you but you are too distracted enjoying the hug until too much movement happens at once and you choke. The intoxicating scent catches in your lungs, you’ve taken too deep a breath. Shallow breathes made it easier to not be affected. Deep ones allowed it to fill much of the empty space within you. You take a step back to cough, seeing them all circled around you. 

“I’m ok. It’s just a bit much.” You try to cover your coughs in the sleeves of your sweater. 

“Right, is the scent bothering you?” Jin rushes to you, hand rubbing your back as he ushers you to the open patio door. The outside air, fills your lungs and the stickiness in your air passage dissipates. 

“I’m really ok, I promise.” You smiile brightly at him. 

“We understand you don’t want us to know which one of our scents it is, but how can we help you?” Jin pleads, eyes begging for a way to help, hand still rubbing slow circles on your back. 

“I’ll get used to it.” Is all you can manage, reassurance comes out as a meak promise. You were determined to get used to it, you had to. You wouldnt risk finally having a home for this. Not this.

------

You stayed human for a few days getting not only yourself, but the members a chance to figure out the dynamics of it all. Nights you spent back in animal form, tucked away in your hutch in Jin’s room, it being the easiest when it came to space for sleeping arrangements. That and you always felt yourself gravitate back towards it. The safety of being engulfed in his scent for the start satiated the tremors of anxiety within you. 

During the days however, depending on your mood and who was home you’d spend a decent amount of time in human form. But days like today you had opted for glider form to snuggle into the abundance of citrus and cream that was Hoseoks comforter. 

“Snow!” Jins voice calls from the open door and down the hallway moments before his head pops in the frame. “There you are! Food is ready, do you think you could go get Namjoon? He said he was going to take a rest.”

You chirp happily back at him, unfirling your tail and limbs following the need to stretch along your body. You shake off the last of the grogginess before leaving the delicious scent behind, his and Jimins lavender and lemongrass lingering on your fur. You scuttle down the bed, gliding to the floor, cheerfully tutting your way further down the hall to Namjoons jarred open door. 

His room lit only by the sunlight breaking through his partially parted curtains. Sun patches dance on the floor, leading to his bed and the body lying in it. Deep slumbered snores come from the cozy nest he’s in. 

You bark a few times trying to get his attention near the foot of the bed, when that doesn’t seem to be working you march over to the side of the bed he’s lying on. Climbing up his bedside table you leap the small gap onto his bed, landing on his pillow. Which turns out to be a terrible idea.

The scent coming from his skin is pervasively intoxicating. Something in your animal nature reacts, compelling you to inch closer until you’re lightly nibble on his cheek. Your mind slips into a mild haze, too late realizing what’s happened. Nakedly hovering over him, but not close enough to touch, you’ve shifted into your human form.

“AAAAAHHHHHH!” The scream leaves you before you can stop yourself. You shoot backwards to get away from him, falling off the bed for the second time as a naked human. Colliding with the cold hardwood floor on your warmed skin, you schriek before shifting back to glider form. Panic overwhelms you, forcing you instinctively to seek shelter in the quickest place you can. Under his bed. 

The thudding from feet alert you, as well as the shifting on the bed now above you that everyone had reacted to your…. Not so quiet incident. However, thankfully sleepy Namjoon was the slowest person to react in a crisis, so you could almost guarantee yourself that he had no idea what just unfolded. 

“What happened?” You hear Namjoons deep dazed voice come from above you, the same time as his door swing all the way open with bang.

“We heard her scream!” Hoseok pants, he probably just came home when he heard the noise. You had been waiting for him to return in his room. 

“Snow?” Jin shouts, he’s definitely using his Hyung voice on the younger. He only ever did that when he was either really panicked or someone was hurt. “I sent her in here to wake you up, did you squash her Kim Namjoon?!” 

“No!” You hear shuffling on the bed, you watch it bow slightly from his movements. When it stops you give a hesitant chirp, loud enough for them to hear but without any backbone to it. 

You didn’t want them to fight and to know that you were ok, but you were absolutely not coming out just yet. Your body shaking from your minds inability to understand what you had just done. 

“Snow?” 

At the edge of the bed, you see Jin peak under to you. “Are you ok?” 

You chirp to them, trying to reassure him that you were infact physically ok. Mentally frazzled, but ok for the most part.

“Can you come out and tell us what happened?” He tries coaxing you out. 

You take a sheltered step back, until your backside is against the far wall. Even in the dim lighting he can make out your shaking head. He gives a heavy sigh before standing back up.

“I think we should give her a minute, Namjoon come eat with us.” Jin demands of his members. If anyone can read you in animal form it was Jin, we had this enate ability to just know what you needed without you using words. 

Eventually 3 pairs of feet leave the room door closing behind them. That’s when you realize just how long you’ve been holding your breath, dizziness overwhelms you as your chest inflates. Too much all too soon, the scent coating your lungs. This milder scent doesn’t send the itch to shift through your instincts, but it does leave an odd sensation behind. A heaviness you’d never felt before. 

Once the need to hide subsides and you unhurriedly step out from under the bed. You listen intently for the faint sound of their voices in the dining room, feeling as though it’s safe you shift again….this time on purpose. 

You quickly change into the set of emergency clothes he has stashed away for you. Each of the boys room having their own set, just in case you had a shift that none of you were ready for. It was Yoongi’s brilliant idea and you could never be as thankful as you felt right now. Covering your bear skin, your mind fizzles with what the hell you were gonna tell them. How the hell you were going to explain that away. 

From the fact that you had managed to scream it was obvious you had turned human, for what ever reason, and then proceeded to get so scared you turned glider and hid. 

Your mind scrambles as you make your way into the kitchen, 3 sets of concerned eyes turning to you immediately. You try not to flinch as you smile at them. 

“I’m really sorry about that.” Was all you manage. 

“What happened?” Jin demanded, he was never angry with you only stern. It only ever happened when you inadvertently hurt yourself. 

But right now you needed an answer, a viable one. If there was ever a time you needed to rely on your wit it would be now. So before you can overthink anything you let your mouth take the lead.

“I climbed onto the bookshelf under the window to glide onto your bed like I usually do, but when I got up there there was this huge bird. And I’ve seen birds before but this one looked mean, and we had this stare down and then it lept at me and i fell backwards. And I must have shifted when I was falling because I didn’t even realize it until I heard myself scream. I didn’t mean to worry anyone! I’m really sorry!” You ramble, pouting innocently, head held low, peering up at them sneakily to see if the story had stuck. 

“Well I’m glad you’re ok.” Hoseok rushes over to you, smiling brightly. Arms wrapping around you he lets out a giggle at your cuteness. 

‘One down.’

Namjoon calmly walks over, large hand patting your head tenderly. A now very awake chuckle comes from him, you peer over Hoseoks shoulder at him to give him a weak smile.

“You gave us all a heartattack. Maybe we can find you a safer way onto my bed? I’ll look into some options.” He says before walking away to the kitchen.

‘Two down.’

You watch him as he leaves, but a pair of carefully trained eyes catches your attention. Hoseok lets go of you, sheepishly you look at the floor. 

Jin saunters over to you, eyes not looking away from your slumping body. You try to make yourself appear smaller, but you know he’s already caught you in a lie. 

“Birds?” 

You scrunch your nose up in minor annoyance, looking up to him he just shakes his head and laughs at you. You whine at him that it was a bird, but you know it’s all for nothing. He’s too intune with you to let this go.

Three failed.

‘Birds?’ You mock yourself, he wasn’t the only one who didn’t buy it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to.

----

Sitting outside on the balcony as the members are out for the night, you decided to drag a blanket outside to sit on one of the sofas. You let yourself muddle through your insecurities, you were used to dealing with your issues alone. 

“Namjoon, huh?” Startling you from your thoughts, eyes widening as Jin sits down on the sofa with you.

“That easy?” Eyebrow raising in dramatic question as he gestures to who’s blanket you have curled around your body.

“Only for me. I don’t think the others have put it together.” 

Neither of you say anything for what feels like a millenia, before the gravity of the situation weighs down on you. The suffocation of your mind makes it hard not to want to rely on Jin. The one who saved you, gave you a home. Gave you a choice. Forcing your walls down, you reach over to him. Hands gently finding his, he doesn’t hesitate to intertwine his fingers with yours. 

An immeasurable sadness washes over you.

“If the center found out….they’d ask about relinquishing your adoption rights.” You stare down at your hands. “I’m a pet Jin, A pet and that’s all I can ever be.”

“Snow-” 

“No! Listen please. I’m ok with that. I want to stay with all of you. I want to stay by all of your sides, please don’t make me leave.” Tears uncontrollably rush from your eyes, coating your cheeks and dripping onto your intertwined hands. The sheer panic in your body starts you shaking like an earthquake. He’s never seen you like this before, but like always he knows what you need.

“Shh, shhhh.” He pulls you into a tight hug, your body wracked with hysterics of thinking that you might loose them. “No ones making you leave. You belong with us. We’ll figure this out together, I promise.” 

More than anything else in your life, past trauma, inability to shift, the pain of all your lonely years, you believed in nothing more than his words.

------

A few nights has passed when you had finally worked up the courage to pull Jin aside and tell him you were ready to call the vet from the shelter. You trusted him enough to ask him questions but not enough to expose yourself.

So when it was just the two of you, agreed to be given space by the rest of the group, you sat down and called the number of his business card.

You explained the necessities but left out the major issues. Issues that could get you removed from the home. It wasn’t unheard of for a pet and owner to have a physical relationship, some hybrids were bought for that purpose. Some sick need the humans might carry. But then again some would argue hybrids are still part human. But you felt more animal then human most days, almost every day, even with being able to shift now.

You didn’t want someone to be with you because of pity, or guilt or even obligation. 

If you had to do it alone, then so be it.

‘No chance of a heat partner?’ The vet questioned calmly from the other end. He had listened silently as you explained your new heats and how bad they were and how you needed help.

“I can’t even stomach the idea of it.” You feel the nausea bubble up, but you push it down. Jins warm hand over yours a warm reassurance. 

“Count that as not an option.” Jin states, you smile at him. Grateful for all he’s already done for you.

‘I understand.’ The voice comes through again

“Is there anything I can take, some sort of stronger suppressant or -idk… anything?” Rocking back in forth in small motions in your seat, bottom lip becoming increasingly painful as you chewed relentlessly on it.

‘There is something.’ He hesitates. ‘I haven’t prescribed it myself but I have had colleagues give it and it has worked to suppress heats to an almost indecernable amount.’

“Really? What is it?” You can’t stop the excitement from appearing in your tone. Your fingers tighten with Jins. 

‘I want to be transparent with you Snow, the side affects can be…. Unpredictable. I’d have to look into everything that could go wrong, not to mention because you are a small rodent I’d have to trial the correct dosage for you.’  A deep exhale cuts through the line. ‘What I’m trying to say is, it will take me some time to figure this out and feel like I’m not putting you in danger by giving this to you.’ 

“I trust you.” And you mean it. 

‘I appreciate your trust in me. How about this, I will look into it and do my own research, run some tests and then I will get back to you and we can discuss it.’ He still sounds unsure, but the tone in his voice is stern. ‘I do request all owners to be present for the conversation. Will that be alright with you, I will not delve into any details that you don’t want me to’

“That would be greatly appreciated doctor.” Jin responds for you. Hand over your mouth to stop from gleefully screaming at the possibilities.

Your almost bouncing in your seat as the prospects of almost not having a heat. You wouldn’t carry any extra burdens with you that they’d need to shoulder. Your hand squeezes his in excitement. 

‘Alright, I’ll get back to you when I can. Good bye.’ 

“Good bye!” You shout a little too eagerly, the sound of the vet laughing was cut off by the end of the call.

“There could be something…” You felt like you were on a cliff, teetering on the edge, so high the altitude causing shallow breathes. One part of you wanting to jump, soar through the clouds, the exhilaration carrying you on the wind of hope. But the other….. Was terrified. Jumping ment plummeting, it didn’t mean landing, it meant detonating what was left of a pipe dream.

“There could be something…” The words come out in a chocked whisper. Your eyes bubbling with fresh tears. Your body is wracked with uncontrollable sobs, heavy fear you didn’t realize how deep it was breaks you down.

“Yes, there could be. Snow I don’t want you to get your hopes up if you can’t take it.” Jin wipes away the tears from your face. “If you can’t, we are all open to helping you any way we can. We all love you so so much.”

“I love you all too…but any of you would feel so guilty if it was you, I don’t want anyone to blame themselves.” You sniffle. “I need it to work Jin. I need this. I can’t- I can’t go through this again.”

“I know it’s hard for you to talk about right now, but I promise you when you’re ready we’re all hear to listen.” 

You snuggle into his warm embrace, his hands rubbing circles in your back. You had caused so much turmoil since being here. The guilt was eating you alive.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell them about the pain, the discomfort. Nothing, it wasn’t anyones fault but your own. This was your fault, and you wouldn’t drag anyone down with you. You could already see the heartbreak on Pretty’s face when he put it all together. 

You’d take the medicine, it would work.

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[butyou-callmewhenyourebored]

This Must Be My Dream - Ross MacDonald - Part 2

Summary: The aftermath of meeting Ross at a wedding and the starts of your relationship.

Warnings: None really. A few swear words. References to past smutty relations between the characters.

Authors Note: First part goes into main character's relationship with Matty and a look at the dynamics of their friendship. Then we head into cute Ross territory.

3.4k words

Part One

You had known Matty and his family your entire life; what with Matty only being a year older than you and his mum and dad being your God parents, you were always around each other’s houses for tea or together at family functions growing up. Always sat together at the kids tables, which used to make the pair of you roll your eyes, as you itched to be sat with the grown ups especially as you transitioned into teenagers.

Matty had always been musical, you remembered him learning to play the drums as a kid, even though he wasn’t bad you were forever grateful he had met George at school and invited him to be in the band because how different life might have been if he hadn’t.

You were as close as two kids could be considering your families forced you together from a young age, even though you had moved out of Wilmslow pretty early in life at the age of six, granted it was only fifteen minutes up the road to Hale but you didn’t get to see him as much as you liked and maybe if your family hadn’t had moved, you would have been more involved with Ross, Adam and George by now but you knew Auntie Denise and Uncle Tim were never far for you go visit and you could always be found in their living room whether it was annoying Matty or looking after his brother Louis.

As life moved on and you both started to grow up, you tried to stay in contact as much as possible but with the band becoming an international sensation at the release of their debut album. The two of you pretty much didn’t see each other like you would have liked for roughly seven years as The 1975 became his entire life and you started your own career in fashion. You were always the first call for Denise whenever she needed help for an event or photoshoot, which you were always grateful for, always looking after you even as an adult. At this point in your life you were pretty sure you had seen Denise more times in the past two weeks than you had Matty in five years.

Which is funny because despite being as close as brother and sister, you had never formally met his band mates properly apart from George. When you were both eighteen, you drunkly made out with the drummer at a house party over twelve years ago but that hardly counted for knowing him. Especially since you could count on one hand how many times you had spoke to him over the phone in the past twelve years since that moment.

You had of course been to several shows over the years from the tiny dingy venues in Manchester at the beginning of their career, where they were always swept away in the mania of the fans, so you always settled for a quick ‘congratulatory text’ or when they started selling out arenas but you were swept away in an emergency or simply didn’t have time for more than a hug and a smacker to Matty’s cheek as you proclaimed ‘you were super proud of him’ before leaving just as quickly as you arrived.

So you wanted to make sure that now you had Ross in your life, the little fucker included you and invited you to gigs, events and as many birthdays celebrations as possible, that allowed you to fully love on him and his bandmates, especially the bassist! Because they deserved it and you had coming up ten years of unclaimed love for them to soak up!

You personally wanted to soak up the serotonin that ran through your veins whilst you were in Ross’ company; which unfortunately you hadn’t had the privilege of after the morning after the wedding. 

After your kiss in the late summer air, the handsome brunette pulled you along with him through the corridors of the wedding venue, giggling as you reached your rooms. But ever the perfect gentleman, Ross didn’t take it any further than a heavy make out session on your hotel room bed. God you really wanted to! But you didn’t want him to think you were always that easy and he promised a proper date before he took you to bed.

But that isn’t to say you didn’t enjoy yourself! When you say “heavy make out session”, youre totally lying, what you really meant to say was there was a lot of touching and the thought of how his cock felt in your hand and how his hands felt on you, is what kept you awake at night whilst he was on tour in the US. 

Thankfully you had work whilst they were away and on the run up to Christmas, now you and the band were all back in Cheshire, it was like music for your ears. When you had got wind from Denise that Matty was home, you jumped straight in your car and drove the fifteen minutes back to Wilmslow to get to the little shit!

Upon letting yourself into the house, you found him lounging in his mother’s living room with his feet tucked underneath him and a cuppa in his hand. Ohh how very rock n’ roll! Taking off in an almost sprint, Matty barely had time to put his mug down before you were jumping on top of him to roughly pull him into a hug like you always did when you were kids. Matty’s arm immediately around your middle as he returned your affection, the sound of the shutter of his mum’s iPhone alerted you to the fact you knew that picture was ending up on the internet later.

Pulling away from the embrace, you punched Matthew in the arm without even flinching. The older man rushing to grab hold of the wounded area. “The fuck was that for?” He hissed at you.

“That is for keeping Ross away from me for nearly twenty years! You dickhead!”

“So you needed to punch me?” Matty rubbed his arm, rolling his eyes at you.

“I mean, I’m sure you’ve done something else that warranted it but mainly the Ross thing.”  You shrugged; moving to get your own personal space back as you settled next to him, Denise brought you your own cuppa and placing it on the coffee table in front of you with a warm knowing smile before making herself busy in the other room .

“When are you going to shag him anyway? Sick of him moping about and hearing him wank on the tour bus like a teenager to be honest.” His tone annoyingly nonchalant, sipping his brew as he peered over the mug at you, like he didn’t just say something completely crude to you.

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as you registered what he said. You absolutely weren’t going to divulge that you were on the other end of the phone during those moments because as much as Ross was a gentleman. He had needs and you absolutely had needs too, especially when it came to the sexy bassist in Matty’s band.

“We’re going on a date next Tuesday, actually. We’re heading into Manchester to see Wicked and to grab some dinner!” You couldn’t help but smile thinking about him. Matty reciprocated your smile, genuinely happy that his two best friends were happy and with one another. 

“You gonna shag him?”

“Why do you care so much about our sex life?” You sent him your least threatening glare. “That’s a little weird even for you Healy! But to shut you up. No! I don’t sleep with guys on the first date!”

Matty scoffed. You glared. He changed the subject very quickly to when you were were coming to see them on tour. 

“Manchester. Obviously! Can’t really have you guys smashing your hometown gig without me. Can I?” You grinned.

“Yeah, you want smashing alright!” He mumbled.

But not quiet enough because Matty shot you a glare, when your foot shot out to kick him and he had to stop himself from spilling his brew all down his front!

Your date with Ross the next week felt like a dream. You went to a fancy restaurant, sat in a secluded booth near the back, ate delicious food, drank incredible wine and giggled like school kids as you spoke in hushed whispers. Sneaking kisses to the scruff of his beard just to see him blush and see that smile of his creep slyly onto his face.

He paid for the bill, much to your protest before holding out his hand for you to take before setting off for the theatre, where you walked hand in hand the entire way. Once you had taken your seat, his hand settled easily on your thigh as you snuggled into his side to watch the show. Your hand resting over his muscular thigh, neither of you moving for the entirety of the time you were inside the theatre before leaving and kissing you on your doorstep and a promise of seeing you soon.

You had never been so enamoured by someone before, he made you feel dizzy and you hadn’t even explored every avenue of your relationship yet but you knew when you did. Ross Macdonald was going to ruin the concept of every single other man for and you didn’t mind one bit whatsoever!

Since your first official date just after Christmas, during that limbo week where nobody knows what the fuck is going on, you hadn’t managed to actually go on a second date or really hang out casually because you had headed straight back to work and so had he and then before you knew it, they were on their UK tour and bringing out Taylor Swift. (Honestly the audacity when Matty knew you weren’t able to make it to London!) But honestly now that you knew you were only a few hours away from seeing your boys. You couldn’t contain the excitement that was bubbling inside you.

Walking backstage before their Manchester show; hand firmly in Ross’ you made effort say to hello to everyone backstage as he guided you towards the green room they were all chilling in. A bright smile on Adam’s face was the first thing you saw as he sat with his wife Carly and jumped up to greet you. As the guitarist hugged you, your eyes flitted across the room to see who else was here when you landed on your Uncle Tim, Louis and Matty in a corner before spotting the gorgeous Charli XCX sat next to George who was already jumping up with a mischievous look etched on his face, a look that you definitely didn’t like the look of!

“There she is!”  He hollered. Holding his arms out for you hug him. “The one who got away!”  He proclaimed boisterously just as your arms wrapped around his middle. George so tall you had to lean back so you could look up at the giant properly and rolled your eyes at him. 

“Get over yourself! We made out whilst drunk like fourteen years ago G! Let it go!”  

You pretended to scowl at him before smiling brightly at his girlfriend. “It’s lovely to meet you! I’m unfortunately related to Matty! And you’re unfortunately with idiot here!” You joked, reaching out to greet Charli with a hug and kiss to the cheek.

“I wouldn’t let it go if I made out with you either to be fair!” She grinned.

“I like you!” You laughed loudly, turning over your shoulder to catch George and Ross’ gaze. “Entertain yourselves boys!” To which you only received a smirk from George, Ross immediately by your side before venturing off to say hello to your Uncle Tim and the other guests before you headed to your seats just before the lights went out.

After making your way to your seats which were in fact on Ross’ side of the stage, near enough you could sneak good video’s of him to show him later. Or well for you to look over later! Your heart swelled with pride as you watched the four of them, including the rest of their touring band perform their latest record. A performance you knew came straight from the depths of your weird little mate’s mind. You just couldn’t believe that all of these people were here because of your Matty and the boys. 

You beamed as you saw Carly come on stage to sing, Matty hyping her up as they sung together and looking fondly up at Hann. You let out a wolf whistle as he kissed his wife before she left the stage as they continued part one of the show.

Your heart ached as you watched Ross kiss the top of Matty’s head as he left for intermission. Sending a quick text to your man for him during his brief break as they changed up the stage ready for the hits. 

The bassist in my fave band is so hot! Going to have to leave you for him! X

Go for it! Heard you’re in with a shot! Xx

Giggling at his response, you felt like you didn’t have time to get over your flushed cheeks as George was back onstage doing a bit and then Charli was running on stage too! Quick to record her and post it to your instagram story.

‘Obsessed with u @charlixcx Leave your bf for me! @bedforddanes75’

You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself knowing that George would have something sarcastic to say when he saw your post. Tempted to post something else, your attention was promptly brought back to the stage as the boys were back. Ross dressed in all black had literally stopped you in your tracks as you took him in. Bringing your phone back up, you zoomed in on him as they launched into ‘Too Shy’ Already knowing what you’d caption it if you were to post it online. And it definitely wasn’t PG!

You were honestly having the time of your life, not that you had any doubts you would have a great evening. You always did, no matter the venue or how big the audience was. Matty and the boys always delivered a high quality performance worthy of all the love they were currently receiving.

They were in then middle of their ‘Greatest Hits’ section of the show when Matty addressed the crowd. “How are you all doing?” Twenty two thousand people now just screaming back, making you chuckle. “I mean you just screamed. That is literally just noise!”  He laughed. “Our next song, we don’t really do but Ross is trying to impress someone!”

You gasped at his words. Matty clearly trying to embarrass the both of you. A mixture of ‘Ohhhhss’ and cheers echoed around the arena as Ross tried not show any reaction to the comment but his eyes scanned the section you were in, catching your gaze for a millisecond before looking at his feet.

“Not that she needs impressing. I mean look at him.” Matty gestured to Ross. “Plus I’ve known her my entire life. This one’s for you dickhead!”  He grinned just as the stage illuminated in a soft green and pink. 

Your jaw dropped as soon as he finished his little shoutout. I mean I guess the sentiment was kind of sweet even if he did call you a dickhead but you love that Ross remembered that you’ve always loved Menswear. That he got Matty to pop it back on the setlist for you. Now this was one you didn’t mind screaming the lyrics out dramatically too whilst nobody knew who you were! It was a vibe! A memory you were actually apart of and you loved that the hardcore fans were obsessed too!

As the set started to come to a close. You took your phone out to record Hann’s incredible guitar solo during The Sound and the audience’s reaction as they jumped around. The hype the fans gave him, honestly warmed your heart so much.

But it was during Give Yourself A Try whilst they were all giving it some proper welly, that you gulped, most likely audible in the moment you tried to catch on camera. The soft ‘Holy shit!’ Captured as you tried not to shake too much. When they all took their moment to soak up the love and say thank you to the fans. 

Ross pulled out the bobble that was holding his hair up, throwing it into the crowd before running his hand through his hair as he silently said thank you to the fans. Feeling like you were literally going to drool as the naughty thoughts rushed through your head. You had to rub your legs together, to try and release some of the tension as heat rushed between your legs and decided you weren’t going to wait any longer. You needed out of this crowd and you needed Ross now.

The band’s afterparty was at the venue this evening, just a chilled evening with most of their families in the audience tonight. You were giggling in the corner with Charli and Carly when the boys all arrived, nice and refreshed as they said hello to all their family and friends. The three of you stuck together as they made the rounds, agreeing to make a ‘The 1975 Baes’ chat that consisted of the three of you, when Hann arrived; sweeping in to kiss his wife and place a soft kiss on both yours and Charli’s cheeks. Asking if you had enjoyed the show, when George appeared next and copying Adam’s actions.

Matty was someone you knew would take forever to get to you but that was okay, you’d had a lifetime of time with him. Everyone else could have their turn. But as the boys all started to congregate around you girls, you looked around the room for Ross, landing on him saying goodbye to a pal he caught your gaze and smiled brightly at you as he made his way over.

You had anything but pleasantries on your mind though, you were so hot for him you actually don’t think you’d had minded him taking you right there and then in front of everybody. Passing Charli your glass of wine, a soft ‘excuse me’ on your lips, you took several strides to meet him in the middle, grabbing his hand without a word and pulling him to a corner nobody was in for some privacy.

Once you were mainly out of the way of everybody else; you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down to meet his lips. His hands found your hips quickly as you kissed him as filthy as you could, the growl that left his throat as you tugged the hair rooted at the back of his neck egged you on more as his hands moved down to hold on to your ass as you tried to get as physically close to him as possible.

“Did…You.. Enjoy… The…Show”  He managed to mumble out in between kisses.

“I did. ” You told him, finally pulling away to look at his beautiful eyes. “I loved the surprise by the way. I can’t believe you remembered that it’s my fave!”  You pecked his lips again. “Didn’t love being called a dickhead in front of 22,000 people but we move!”  You smiled softly at him.

“God you’re so hot!”  You sighed; playing with the chain hanging round his neck, before moving you hands further down his chest.

“Have you seen yourself darling?”

“Hmmm.” You hummed. “Had to check how flustered I was as soon as I got back here. Needed to look semi put together in front of other people.” 

“We’re still in front of everyone!” Ross cocked an eyebrow; smirking at your now disheveled look.

“And it’s taking everything in me not to fuck you right here MacDonald!” You challenged him, raising your own eyebrow.

“What happened to your three date rule? We’ve only officially been on one you know!”

“I’d count the wedding and tonight if want to?”  You shrugged. “Plus pretty sure we’re past formalities when I had your cock in my mouth within twenty four hours of meeting you my love.”  

“You have me there, sweetheart!” Ross chuckled.

“Would have let you have me at the wedding too if I wasn’t so desperate for you to think I was a good girl and not an easy shag!” You laughed. “You think they’re gonna miss us if we sneak out?”

“Nahh I think they’ll manage!” He teased; pulling you back in by your belt loops.

“Come on then MacDonald, you ready to rock my world!” You grinned, pressing a kiss to his handsome face before pulling him back out of the event room to find literally anywhere for a piece of privacy so you could have your way with him.

The only acknowledgement of your absence upon your return thirty minutes later was the smirk from George, who raised his bottle of beer at you from where he was seated on a sofa and the fact when you looked at your phone you had a notification off @trumanblack An instagram story of the two of you mid kiss, booty grab and all and a cute little “That’s my bestie!” sticker. Simply captioned.

Consider her impressed! 

[moonshine-nightlight]

Finally Woken: Part Six

Working for the family business of traveling trade caravans, means you‘ve always accepted having to put up with a lot from your family, especially your dad. He finally goes to far when he tries to sell your prized possessions to make up for his own business failings. You’re proud of yourself for making a stand, but he’s not wrong when he says you don’t have any real connections outside the family–but he’s not completely right either.

Your closest friend happens to live in the city you’re stopped at so you decide to see if you can stay at his place until you can figure out what you’re going to. You’ve never come by the city this early, but he’s probably fully woken up from the naga’s traditional bout of hibernation by now, right?

Fantasy, friends to lovers, naga, male monster x female reader, M/F, Part 6 of 8

Story Status: Complete

AO3: Finally Woken Chapter 6

[Part One [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] Part Six [Part Seven] [Part Eight - NSFW]

Taiga seems to have no trouble with the fully loaded up cart, although even you’re surprised by how many things you seem to have packed. You set out for your apartment with Heshi at a good clip.

You stop once on the way and buy your loaned movers food, which Michi only half-heartedly protests before they all gratefully accept. Conversation flows much easier as you all snack on skewers. Sasha and Aleks finally figure out how to open the long window in the cart so they can keep you and Michi company. Since both of them are far more extroverted than you or Michi, it's simple to pass the time listening to the cousins banter. It helps to make everything, yourself included, start to feel normal again.

Once you get back up to the apartment, you direct them where to put everything in the storage area, meat delivery included, per your conversation with Heshi last night. You send them on their way with a smile, a wave, and your thanks.

You survey the large storage area with your hands on your hips. It's technically more for Heshi’s business than for his personal possessions, but since he shuts down for hibernation, there’s plenty of space for your things. 

After checking that nothing broke in transit, you take an extra box and pick out what you want to bring upstairs right now. Some books, some clothes, and a few other bits fill up the box quicker than you expect. Deciding that’s plenty for now, you head up to put those away in your room and start thinking about dinner. You’re not too hungry after the street food you had, but Heshi’s due to start eating something more than water, berries, and alcohol. Since he shouldn’t be up for another two hours at least, so that should work out well for timing dinner.

All these thoughts stop when you get upstairs and a sound from the kitchen catches your attention. You frown and slowly put the box down. There shouldn’t be any sound in the house except for you. Did one of the kids forget something? Or is it something else? Nell had said some people might try to take advantage of Heshi’s hibernating state, but surely there’d been enough activity at the apartment today to dissuade anyone, right? And Heshi has good security for this very reason. 

Bracing yourself to feel either very foolish for overreacting or very scared if there’s actually a burglar, you walk around the corner holding the pole to hang a lamp from. It takes you a couple seconds to fix on the large shape moving through the room and another few heart-pounding seconds to identify them. Your grip slacks on the pole as you say, “Heshi? What are you doing out of your nest?”

Sure enough, it's a disheveled looking Heshi who’s in the kitchen, trying to set a kettle on. At the sound of your voice, he whips around, lighting up when he sees you and calling out your name. He slithers over to you with a speed you don’t expect from the sleepy naga. He doesn’t stop until he’s pulled you into a fierce hug. “You’re okay,” he says into your hair. “You’re home.”

You blink in surprise even as you set the pole against the wall and return his surprisingly firm hug. You certainly don’t mind, but you don’t understand what’s happening. “Of course, I’m home.” What is going on? As far as you knew, he shouldn’t be awake this early in the day, let alone out of his nest at all. Part of hibernation involved shutting down a lot of his internal systems which had to slowly wake back up or else they could get damaged. Heat especially, something already a bit hard to manage for nagas, is especially hard hit and is why their nests are so important. 

You can feel it too, he’s shivering even though he had the sense to at least put on a shawl and tie a blanket around his waist. You rub your hands up and down his exposed arms, ignoring the way his muscles feel as best you can. “But really, what are you doing up already?” 

“I was worried about you,” he says plaintively, his eyes large and beseeching. “Is everything okay? Was your family mean? I woke up and you weren’t back home yet.”

“Oh, Heshi, I’m fine.” He’d expressed some worry about you getting your things and your dad in particular giving you a hard time, but you hadn’t thought he was this worried. It's as endearing as it is concerning. It also makes your heart beat a little faster, to hear him call the apartment your home. Going back to your parents and then coming here, it had accentuated that already, only a few days later, it did feel more like home–both the place and being with Heshi. 

You try to shake those thoughts off and focus on Heshi. You know he’s a bit hazy with coming out of hibernation, but you hadn’t thought about how that might affect him if he was worried. It seems to have exacerbated his concern. “It’s still early, that’s why I didn’t check on you. Come on, you’re freezing.” 

You hurry him over to the couch since it has a giant red blanket draped over it. You don’t hesitate to bundle Heshi up, throwing it around his shoulders. “Why are you awake so early?”

 He blinks blearily at you as he tugs you closer and wraps the blanket around you both. You tell yourself it really is a faster way to warm him up, not just because you like being up against him—well, not only that. “Is it normal for you to start waking up earlier in the day?”

“Hm,” he asks, clearly distracted by your warmth. “I don’t know, I never really pay attention to the time when I’m waking up. Usually it's hard to convince myself to get out of my nest at all—Nell threw water on the whole thing one time.”

You laugh, easily able to picture a frustrated Nell doing exactly that. He sighs at the sound, snuggling closer. “More reason to leave it with you here. Or not here.”

He’s so sweet. “Nothing would have happened. My dad might have hurt my feelings or argued about some of my things, but that’s all that would have happened.”

Heshi harrumphed. “Yes, precisely. I care about your feelings, darling.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You never do when Heshi expresses his feelings so clearly when you’re more used to talking around something. You take a page out of his book and bury your nose in the crook of his neck. “It was fine,” you mumble against his skin. “Dad was still himself, but my mom was fine and my brother was… better than I expected.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Not that I thought he would be, well, anything really. But he got the name of the pawn shop—I’m gonna go tomorrow to see if I can get my flute back.” He makes a happy noise at that news, stroking his fingers through your hair in a supremely distracting manner. “And he said he would have helped, if I needed it. And…” you pull back with a smile, wanting to see his reaction, “he has the lingonberries now.”

Heshi blinks at you, clearly trying to follow along. “He does?” Heshi sounds hopeful and excited, just like you wanted.

“Yup,” you reply. “So he’ll be by once I tell him you're awake again to trade with you.”

“Good,” Heshi says with a smile that turns into a smirk. “I’ve been wanting to meet him. I hope he understands that I traded very generously with you because you're my friend and that he might not get such indulgent terms.”

You roll your eyes and nudge him. “Don’t be mean.” He hums noncommittally in response, not making any promises. You can’t really bring yourself to push the issue now though, too comfortable in his arms after your long day. 

Your concern for him weighs out in the end because he still feels far cooler than he usually does when not hibernating and even cooler than he has these days. “You should head back to bed,” you point out reluctantly, pulling back slightly, even though you want to do anything but that. “I’ll make some stew with what Nell gave us, yeah?” you offer, remembering your conversation the other night where he talked a bit more about food. “The broth should be good for you even if you’re not ready for solids yet. And if you are, then you can have some of that too.”

“Sounds delicious,” he sighs in your ear.

“Good,” you say, glad to have a plan going forward. “I’ll cook that up and bring it to you in your nest.”

“Hm, no, stay with you,” he says, sounding sleepy enough you’re surprised he’s upright.

“I need to cook, Heshi,” you say, trying to sound stern. “I can’t do that if you’re hanging all over me and you need to go back to the warmth of your nest. I can tell even with this blanket, you’re cold.”

“Rather have you,” he says, adjusting his grip on you.

“Heshi…” He doesn’t respond, seemingly asleep against you. You nibble at your bottom lip as you try to decide what to do next. You take a step away, but Heshi moves with you. “You have to go back to bed.”

“Don’t wanna,” he mumbles, his breath warm against your skin. 

The heat from his breath seems to spread further than it should and you need a second to refocus your thoughts, which keep straying to how his touch, his embrace would feel if far fewer clothing was involved. You shake your head. “Gotta though.” 

He pushes away from you, just enough to meet your eyes. “Please? I’m fine.”

“Heshi, you’re still shivering,” you remind him. When he only stares at you with wide, beseeching brown eyes, you sigh. You know you shouldn’t like how much he seems to want to be near you, but after dealing with your family, even if it wasn’t as bad as you expected, it’s really nice. “Alright, how about this? Let me get the food from downstairs and you put on some actually warm clothes and one of the heated blankets. Then you can hang out in the kitchen while I cook.”

He grins, looking thrilled with your suggestion. “Okay, yeah.” He gives a vigorous nod. “I can do that.” He lets go of you with some reluctance before gently pushing you towards the stairs back down. “Hurry back.”

You smile as you shake your head, going back down to grab the necessary groceries. Luckily, Nell had labeled everything, including what order was likely best. Cracking open the first box reveals some of the pre-prepared and frozen meals. You quickly find the stew blend and head back up.

Heshi’s still not back yet, which you hope means he’s taking the time to find adequate warm clothing, so you set about starting the fire. Once that’s going, you begin portioning off enough stew for the two of you to have for dinner. 

You’re glad you hear Heshi moving across the floor because he doesn’t say anything before wrapping around you once more. “Heshi!” you try to scold, but your giggle ruins it. While you lean over the pot you’re sliding the stew mix into, Heshi has carefully wound his arms so as not to hamper your movements. His right arm drapes over your shoulder and down you front while his left slides around your waist. With your back firmly to his chest, it's like wearing a very odd cross-body satchel. “Really?”

At least you can see the long sleeves of his white kurta, so he did put on some proper layers. He doesn’t respond to your half-hearted protests, moving easily with you as you go over to hang the pot over the fire—although he doesn’t help carry it either.

As you situate it properly and start to stir it, he just tightens his grip around your middle—luckily not tight enough to cause discomfort, but certainly enough that you can’t forget he’s holding you like this. “You’re so soft,” Heshi sighs from his favorite place, the crook of your neck.

You blame the fire’s heat for the red in your face. Normally, you’d be more self-conscious about such a comment, but he sounds so sincere, you can’t find it in you to contradict him. You settle for just muttering, “shut up," and not taking your eyes off the slowly heating up stew. He chuckles in response and nestles closer.

You work in a comfortable silence before you're confident enough to shuffle over to the water pump, Heshi at your heels the entire way, to get you both a drink. He downs his remarkably fast. When he even deigns to let go of you for his refill, it's enough to stir up your concern all over again. He seems warmer now, he certainly has more layers on, but the fact that he’s up at all can’t be good, nor can how worried he’s been. You hadn’t meant to stress him out by bringing him into all of your family nonsense.

When he refills his cup for a third time and only sips at it, you scoot the two of you back over to the stew and the fire, wanting to keep him as warm as possible. Once the food is done, you’ll have to make sure you convince him to let you take it back to his room so he can slide back into his nest. You place your hand over his and trace along the veins and bones you can feel. Is he too thin? You’ve never seen him so soon after he’s woken up and he doesn’t seem anywhere close to starvation thin.

If he starts to drift off after you’ve eaten, you should just call it a night and stay if he asks. Maybe tomorrow at the library, you should look into—

“’M sorry,” Heshi says against your skin, sounding almost shy.

“What are you talking about?” Had he said something while you were worrying?

“That I’m being so clingy,” he says, subdued, and you realize he’s not just burrowed as tight against you because he wants to, like usual. He’s hiding because he’s embarrassed. “I’m not normally like this, even waking up from hibernation. I don’t mean to be both—”

“Whoa, no,” you hurry to correct. “You are not bothering me. Hey, hey,” you slide a hand under his chin and try to encourage him to meet your eyes. He does so with great reluctance, but soon his sheepish eyes are locking on your own. “If you were bothering me, I’d have said so. I promise.”

“Really?” 

“Look, I know I’m more easy to compromise than some other people I know,” you shoot him a teasing smirk that he returns, “but if something pisses me off or annoys me—especially if it happens all the time—I speak up, okay?” He nods, but he’s biting his lip, still obviously a little unsure of his welcome. “Do I ever have any trouble telling you when you’re being annoying otherwise?”

That gets him to laugh and shake his head. “No.”

“Exactly.” 

This time when he tugs out of your grip on his chin, you let him. He pulls back a little, only to raise up to his more usual height, a few inches taller than you, and turns you around for a proper embrace. You melt against him easily. There’s nothing quite like getting a hug from a naga. His arms wrap around you firmly as he bends over to press a kiss to the top of your head. You swear, he must do things like that just to make you blush and heat up. His tail too, wraps around both of you, thick and strong, keeping you pressed against him.

“Have I told you how glad I am that you’re here?” Heshi asks, his voice low and warm. It feels more intimate than usual, the way he’s murmuring into your hair, as entwined as he can get with you while you’re both still standing. It also feels different because it's not in his nest, its own secret world, but in your now shared kitchen, while the last rays of daylight still filter through the window.

“You might have mentioned it,” you allow, too comfortable and warm and happy for your usual self-consciousness. “Once or twice.”

[Part Seven]

[theredhavendelegate]

Iss. 3:

Mysteries Beneath The Rubble!

Census workers from the mayor's office continue to aid in rescue and recovery efforts following The Great Transit, cataloguing the losses and tearfully reuniting the survivors.

The work is difficult, and while it has been getting physically easier as the days go on, the emotional toll only grows higher by the hour.

Most of the casualties have been due to crushing, blood loss, and sudden trauma, but unusual cases have gradually begun to bubble up. Though the offices of the mortician and mayor have refused to make statements on the matter, an anonymous Blue Coalition volunteer has come forward with a startling report... ---

The red bricks and colorful awnings, the copper roofs and cobbled roads, smashed and shattered and tossed and mixed, have combined to form a dusty, deathly grey, a beach with no waterline: an ossuary.

Alessa's soft nose and thin lips are covered with a hand-sewn mask. She and half-a-dozen others, each with a band of blue fabric on their upper arms, crawl over the debris with shovels and picks.

One of them calls out, voice echoing over the ruins: "Found one!"

There is a pause, tinted painfully with hope. The voice calls again, slightly grey now: "They're gone."

Another volunteer shuffles over with tools and a canvas bag.

Alessa carries on, clears the doorway to a house whose roof has collapsed, knocks in the window to a shop, shouts, "Hello? We're here to help, just make a sound, anything!" Her tone is not frightened or desperate. It isn't even protective per se. It is purposeful and sure, unfazed as a lighthouse amidst a storm.

Despite the softness of her features, her hands are calloused and scarred and her body subtly muscled. She breaks off ahead of her group, leaving blue fabric flags on any building that's held together well enough to have preserved those inside, until she spots the hole.

It's vast, an entire block seemingly sucked into the ground. It runs a hundred feet across and fifty feet at its deepest. Steep walls rise on every side and water, gas, and sewer lines jut out of them like rough, toothy needles.

"Sinkhole, maybe?" Alessa wonders, then something catches her eye. All around the edge of the hole are red signs, marked with the feather of Redhaven and the phrase 'Danger, Do Not Enter!'

Alessa glower's at the nearest one, daring it to stop her, then glances back down into the chasm. There are all the components of the street within: bent and curling lampposts, shattered windows, cobbles and curbs. No victims, though.

She waits a minute longer and, just as she goes to heft her tool bag back onto her shoulder, there is a sound: a scrape, then another, then a series of rasping coughs. A man tumbles out from beneath a shaded overhang and crumples to the floor, where he lies, wheezing.

Alessa drops her tools into the hole, down the shallowest of the slopes, then navigates herself down as well. Despite the desperate condition of her target, she moves comfortably, testing each step with almost half of her body weight before taking it fully, knocking away loose ground and rubble with kicks and nudges as she goes.

Her feet hit the basin floor and she scoops up her bag, preemptively fishing for the first aid kit as she makes her way over, though she stops searching for it once the man comes clearer into sight.

He is disheveled, dusty, bloody, and his breathing is shallow. There is a splinter, reflective, like blue-ish glass, sticking out of his neck. Several more protrude from his head. Each is six or seven inches long and noticeably barbed. He rolls over as Alessa approaches, and he gurgles, "...Others...help...", even as his eyes grow glassy and still.

Alessa stares at him for a moment, her soft brown eyes growing slightly dim and her brows sinking just a hair.

She glances up and away, beneath the overhang and into a terrible darkness that lies behind the man. There is an open doorway made of cut stone, the entrance to a basement or underground utility tunnel that slopes away gently and into the earth.

Alessa takes a look back up at the red warning signs, watching her from way above like curious angels, waiting, hoping, judging.

She shakes her head, hangs a blue flag by the doorway, and enters, lighting up an large, clunky flashlight. Its flickering yellow beam barely cuts through the gloom and the buzz it emits seems to barely cover an audible aura about the place.

Alessa proceeds down the tunnel, only slightly bothered by the atmosphere. She follows a trail of blood, barely present this far in but growing thicker. More glassy barbs appear, some stuck into walls, cut right into the stone, others discarded on the floor and stained partly red.

The tunnel goes on for too long, and without any of the usual furniture of a cellar. No barrels, no shelves, just more damage and evenly spaced, unlit bulbs of a newer style. There are holes in the walls and floor at odd intervals, a foot or two in diameter and organically shaped like ant burrows. Many are scorched, sprayed with black soot and reeking of kerosene.

The tunnel turns into a hall quite suddenly, lined with steel, linoleum, and occasionally, human bodies. Each is dressed like anyone might be, in vests, suspenders, shirts, blouses, skirts and slacks. A few wear long white coats that display unfamiliar insignia. Some are gnawed, filled with spines, or missing chunks. Some bear stranger afflictions still.

Alessa closes in on one that's huddled the corner of an intersection, a middle aged woman with strawberry blond hair tied back in a bun. Half of her face and skull has turned mostly transparent and hard, like smoked glass, to reveal her brain and optical nerves. The hair on that side of the head has fallen cleanly out and onto the floor. Her expression is locked, forever more, with eyes wide and mouth agape.

For the first time this week, Alessa recoils, though she recovers herself quickly.

In the grim quiet, a sound starts to echo out, ringing down one of the corridors and bounding through the crossroads. It is heavy, thunking and shifting. Alessa darts down another hall and rounds a corner, then extinguishes her light. She is cast in total darkness.

The sound draws near at an anxious, uneven pace. It pauses. There is muffled conversation and then clanking, a heavy click, then a thick wooshing sound. Bright light carries itself down the hallway and around the corner, then comes a wave of heat, and finally, the smell, sour and sharp like rotten eggs and vomit, and kerosene too.

Alessa reaches into her shirt, lays a palm on the handle of a revolver, and leaves it there.

The thunking movement begins again, draws close to the intersection behind the dimness of flashlights. The source of the sound grows visible now, two figures dressed from head to toe in thick white suits, like enormous anthropomorphic marshmallows. Alessa cracks a slight grin.

One of them is wearing a heavy tank on their back and carrying a sort of pump connected to it via hose. A little candle of a flame glows near its tip. The other wields a pump action shotgun, something sturdy and reliable, and clearly well used. Both have lamps mounted to the shoulders of their suits.

Alessa pulls herself back around the corner. One of the men begins to speak, voice muffled, yet still clear enough to read as uncertain. "That's it for this section. Let's get out of here and seal off the northern tunnel."

The other nods affirmatively and takes half a step, then stops. He tilts his gun up and into the darkness.

A sound begins. Clicking and chirping, harsh and organic, insectoid, like from summer cicadas. Darker though, harder.

Closer.

The man pulls the trigger.

The sound is deafening. Alessa's ears ring. The flash is what matters more though, as the whole space lights up for just a fraction of a second. The hallway she'd originally come from is now filled with chitinous things. Many armed and legged, constructed like armored, pincered ponies, slick and clinging to the walls and ceiling and packed in as if a single mass.

The man with the flamethrower lets loose, the man with the shotgun racks another round, and both start screaming in sync. A racket of scraping, cackling, clattering chitin fills the air. Alessa turns on her flashlight again and bolts away from the action. The hallways are all nearly identical, some are lined with doors, some turn off into narrow, dead-end alleys, while others feature thick, valved pipes and wall access panels of unknown purpose.

Even as the frenzied sounds fade away, absorbed by tile and steel and stone, twisted and choked by the labyrinth, Alessa runs. She pounds the ground with her boot-clad feet until she's blue in the face and her lungs ache, until she rounds a corner into another long, straight hall that slopes mercifully upwards.

She crashes against the wall, slumping into it and breathing heavily. Her knuckles hurt. She pulls her hand, finally, out of her shirt, fingers white and bloodless, joints aching to return to the shape of the revolver's grip. She stretches out her hand and starts up the slope.

There's daylight at the end, misty and grey, and relief floods the volunteer like cold water. As her senses return, a gaze burns into the her neck, a presence. She doesn't face it. She only whispers, "If you want to kill me, you'd better do it now, while I'm too tired to fight back."

Nothing attacks her, and as she reaches the end of the hall, which is set into the mouth of a cave in the semi-familiar outskirts of the city, she glances back. Only darkness stares back.

Only darkness.

---

First Prev Next

[wyattxabhrams]

PRESENTING . . . WYATT ABHRAMS

full name: wyatt henry abhrams

age: thirty-seven

date of birth: may 20, 1986

hometown: covington, georgia

gender: cis male

pronouns: he/him/his

sexuality: heterosexual

occupation: political consultant

family: benjamin theodore abhrams (father), delilah mary abhrams (mother), theresa jane abhrams (sister), liam abhrams (brother), georgia mae abhrams (sister)

living arrangements: at the abhrams estate in avonlea terrace

IN A NUTSHELL. . .

wyatt was born in covington to a family with a political legacy in covington. from the time it was founded, the abhrams family had always held the post of mayor at one point or another. his father was the mayor for a little over ten years when he lost and that loss devastated him. he began to take out his frustrations on the family and wyatt specifically. as soon as he turned eighteen, he left for harvard and completed both undergrad and grad school there. he moved to d.c. where he worked at a law firm practicing election law for a few years before transitioning fully into a political consultant role, working on campaigns for any candidate that wanted him. he gained traction and notoriety in the space and he was fully entrenched in that career path. right at the height of the campaign for his current candidate, he received a call from his mother that his father had disappeared. begrudgingly, and because he still has loyalty to his family, just not his father, wyatt came back to covington to figure out where he went. he has no intention of staying too long. a few wanted connections here

IN THE WEEDS. . .

TW: child abuse mention

It is said that as long as the Covington Square has been around, the Abhrams family has been in the City Hall. Each generation continued in the footsteps of Henry Abhrams who was the first in the family to defeat the incumbent mayor at the time to take the position. From that point forward, if the Abhrams name appeared on a ballot, they touted that it was a guaranteed victory. On a bright May afternoon, Delilah and Benjamin Abhrams welcomed the first of four to their family: Wyatt Henry Abhrams. Benjamin, like his own father, grandfather, and on, was biding time for his inevitable campaign. Wyatt grew up around a number of political advisors and campaign slogans. After all, his father took the legacy very seriously. The job and the campaign kept him too occupied to think too much about his family. The few times he did spend time with them, it was only to emphasize that they would have to follow in the footsteps of their father. Especially Wyatt. For the majority of his childhood, Wyatt was an ideal student and son. He was a great older brother and despite Benjamin’s absence, Wyatt still looked up to his father. Accompanying him around town for campaigns, he reveled in the exhilaration of a campaign and more than that, in the exhilaration of the wins.

Yet after nearly a decade of service, when Wyatt was eleven years old, his father lost for the first time, tarnishing the Abhrams claim that their name was synonymous with victory. He won the following year, leading him to think the year before had been a fluke. Nonetheless, the stress got to him, and he began to hyper-fixate on every single detail. Which was why two years later, he lost once again in a loss that he could not come back from, proving that the Abhrams family perhaps was no longer in line with the views of the townspeople, or maybe they were tired of Benjamin’s focus on campaigning and less on working for the people. Whatever the reason, the patriarch of the family took the loss poorly. With no idea what to do with the rest of his life, he began to take out his frustrations on his family. For a few years, it was absolute chaos in their household and Wyatt’s own temper began to flare as he got older. As a result, Benjamin targeted Wyatt who got the brunt of the rage, ranging from verbal to physical lashings. And though Wyatt had initially intended to stay close to home, his goal once he began applying to college was to get as far away from his father and this hell as he could.

Cambridge, Massachusetts was his new home for the next eight years after he enrolled in Harvard. Starting as an undergraduate student, he worked for a year before going straight to Harvard Law School, completing a joint degree in the Kennedy School. Despite hating what his father had become, Wyatt still ended up following the in his father’s footsteps. Following graduation, Wyatt went to D.C. almost immediately. Starting his career off in a law firm, focusing primarily on election law, he transitioned a few years later into working exclusively on campaigns. And for the next decade, his life was absolutely perfect. His name spread on the campaign circuits as the man who could ensure victory. In his own way, Wyatt was continuing the Abhrams legacy. He had found the woman that was the perfect companion for his career, supporting him every step of the way. Yet he was bound to repeat the patterns of the past, no matter how much he tried not to. With time and as the campaigns he was on went to the national stage, Wyatt was absent. This conversation was constantly postponed, and when she asked him for commitment, he was an expert at deflecting. After putting up with his inability to prioritize her and their relationship for years, she finally left him.

It was a sunny May morning, thirty-seventh birthday, when he received a call from his mother who was inconsolable. His father had disappeared, and she did not know what happened to him. No one was able to find him and he was forced to put his life on hold to return home and take care of the issue. After all, the reason he had abandoned his family in the first place was no longer around. And apparently it was his job to try and find him.

[ramblersaccount]

18

In 2020, like much of the world, I experienced a lot of change. However, it felt somewhat less disruptive for me personally than for many others. Yes, the global pandemic turned our world upside down in a matter of days, but it was also the year I turned 18 and was supposed to transition into a young adult – Aaliah, version 2.0, with newfound independence and cooler vibes. I had anticipated a grand transformation in the way people perceived and treated me. I imagined myself becoming more sociable, attending parties, and embracing a more carefree lifestyle, no longer reliant on my parents for permission. Well, as it turned out, that's not quite how things played out. *Cue the sad trombone*

But that's perfectly okay; I could undertake the "Aaliah transformation" right from the comfort of my own home. TikTok had already gained considerable popularity as a social media platform before the pandemic, and I had recently created an account. The platform was rampant with self-proclaimed "self-care" gurus offering advice on how to take care of yourself during lockdown. They covered everything from skincare routines and dietary tips to picking up new hobbies. These content creators were there to both entertain and educate the masses. I found myself saving videos on the best recipes for weight loss, effective at-home skincare remedies, and guides on discovering my personal "aesthetic." Before I knew it, I was comparing myself to the people I saw on the app, wondering why I couldn't look more like them. Unfortunately, this remains a habit I struggle with to this day.

At that time, I weighed 115 pounds and really only had one proper meal a day. Even before the pandemic, I rarely had breakfast or dinner but would grab a sandwich or a snack after school and before my sports practices. Now that I was spending my entire day at home, my eating habits started to change, and I developed a fear of becoming "too big." I was a self-conscious teenager, plagued by worries about whether I was good enough.

My school was relatively small and predominantly Hispanic. In my grade, I could only recall about seven Black students, with me and one of the boys having the darkest skin tones. I also had a bit of a tomboyish style. This combination of factors made me feel somewhat less attractive than my peers. Additionally, I sometimes felt as though I was pigeonholed into the category of the "angry dark-skinned social justice warrior." 

I had never been in a relationship, and it seemed like no one had ever shown genuine interest in me, so I felt the need to reinvent myself. Despite my best efforts, I began gaining weight, and to my surprise, I actually liked it. I had always had curves, but now they were more pronounced, making me appear older and healthier, and I thought it suited me. I started experimenting with makeup and trying out new hairstyles and clothing, and I had mixed feelings about the whole process. Each new style I tried seemed to meet with resistance from my parents, making me feel like nothing ever looked quite right on me.

My excitement soared when I received acceptance to Lincoln University. Located in Pennsylvania, it meant I would be on my own, and being an HBCU (Historically Black Colleges and Universities) meant I'd finally get to experience being around more Black people than I ever had in my previous schools, truly immersing myself in American Black culture. I knew I'd never fully grasp it, coming from a West Indian household, but I was thrilled to be around people who looked like me.

When I moved into my dorm, the pandemic was still ongoing, so we had to quarantine for about a week. But after that initial period, college life began to unfold just as I had envisioned, at least for the first week. I hung out with a random group of people initially, only to never talk to them again, as it turned out. However, I embraced the clothing I wanted to wear and felt confident, albeit with a sense of artificial confidence. Strangely, every time I stepped out of my room, I felt a subtle tightness in my chest. Were my hand movements awkward? Why did I make eye contact with that person? They probably think I look out of place. These thoughts weighed on me with every step I took.

In time, I found myself leaving my room only to eat and occasionally get some fresh air. Surprisingly my anxiety about people had nothing to do with COVID and everything to do with my self-esteem. Luckily my room never felt like a prison; it was simply my sanctuary. I oddly never felt lonely, even though I spent most of my time by myself. I would read, watch TikToks, practice my dancing, paint, and do anything I wanted. I even tried out new recipes using a little toaster I definitely wasn't supposed to have. I felt free and content in my self-imposed solitude.

The only thing missing was my family, the food I loved, and the familiarity of my city. Lincoln was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by farms. There were only fake Italian restaurants and Domino's for dining options. The cafeteria's ethnic food could only hold me over for so long. I missed my mom's pelau and the ability to buy doubles. I longed for visits to the deli and taking the train. Living by myself made me happy, but I wished I could do it back home. 

Reflecting on it now, I regret missing out on the opportunity to socialize, but I am grateful for the time I had to be with myself. In hindsight, I see that it was essential for my personal growth. During that time alone, I discovered a deeper understanding of myself and learned to appreciate the journey of self-discovery. In moments of self-reflection and solitude, we often uncover our true selves, which can grow and flourish as we become more self-aware. Life's paradox is that while we seek connections with others, we must also connect with our inner selves. This inner journey helps us become more complete and better at forming meaningful connections with the world. 

[uncanny-tranny]

Hello :) I've followed you for a long time now, and before I start I just wanted to say that it's an absolute pleasure every time you are on my dash. You made me feel much less alone as a confused teen.

Now onto my sorta question/problem. I've known that I am trans since I was 14. Of course, there have been ups and downs, moments where I am less sure of myself, but I always come back to it. Since cutting my hair and presenting mostly masculine, I've never wanted to go back. I'm 18 now and just finished my first semester of college. I had originally planned to come out to my mom sometime between the 3 days of her dropping me off at college and classes beginning. Instead, I woke up the first day after she dropped me off absolutely petrified to tell her, and wasn't able to calm down until I decided to hold off until later. But now that I've finished my first semester, I still feel very unsure. She's not liberal, but not outwardly conservative either. It's more under the surface. Definitely does not understand/fully respect trans people. Her relatives are much worse and openly transphobic/homophobic. I'm incredibly close to her, she's really the only family I feel loves and respects me. I'm just so scared that coming out will ruin our relationship. Like if she rejects me, I'm worried I'll like implode or something. But dysphoria has been getting worse, I feel like I can't really put myself out there at college because I'm using the wrong name and being gendered incorrectly. It's why I've barely made any friends, and haven't had any sort of romantic prospects. I constantly find myself wishing I had a button that would have made me born male just so I don't have to gamble my relationship with her to be myself. I don't really have much of a question, just kind of wanted to get it off my chest to another trans person because I unfortunately don't have many of those in my life.

I'm going to preface this by saying that I was in a very similar situation as you are when I was a bit younger. My family is also the same way, but they're very religious and conservative. I prioritized my relationship with my dad, so despite most of my family being judgemental to this day, I personally don't care about them much if this is the straw that breaks their back.

When I came out to my dad, he was definitely in the same place it seems you mother is in. He didn't understand much of anything, and I was really scared to come out to him for the same reasons you did. I told him in-person, but I also wrote many letters, because I found that it's much easier when you're able to edit what you say before you say it. He's absolutely not been a perfect supportive parent, and it took years of conversation before he could get to where he is now.

I think what I'm getting at is that our parents also mature. My dad seven years ago is not the same person he was. He's matured a lot since I've come out and I've grown on my own, but he's also matured since my brothers have grown, too. I can't predict what your mother is like, but I hope she is willing to grow with you. The beautiful thing about transition is that it doesn't just affect you; you aren't the only person who grows and changes. The people around you also tend to grow and change when they see just how much you blossom.

So I hope she allows herself to grow with you. You are her child, yes, but you are also a person, and it's so beautiful to see people grow and change and develop. I know this whole process is truly daunting. I have no idea how I even had the ability to come out. But I also know just how much a relationship can flourish after, even if there are major bumps or heartaches at first.

[emeraldgreaves]

Infamous asks! Band name, baby, tattoo, fame for whichever or both of your MCs?

i can write quick answers to these, i naively said about the new OCs before proceeding to do short paragraphs for each.

｡°✩ Infamous MC ask game ✩°｡⋆

Band name: How did they and the others come up with the band name? Has the name changed since it was founded?

Accounts vary as to how and when Stopwatch became Stop The Clock; Tatiana thinks it was Rowan, Rowan thinks it was Iris, Iris thinks it was Seven, and Seven is no longer around to settle the argument. Everyone largely agrees that it was sometime during spring semester of senior year, when the prospect of being an adult started feeling very, very real. Lina and the Seven Sparks was what Lina scribbled in cursive on the call sheet. The cursive led to Luna and the Seven Sparks (yes, they were aware there weren't seven of them). When Seven dropped out, they tried out Luna and the Sparx before someone pointed out the resemblance to Spanx. Under Orion's guidance they switched to SPVRKS to go along with the genre shift. There's some grumbling about it feeling too mainstream, but they're in the BOTB, so they're not complaining too much.

Baby: How do they feel about Jazzy leaving? How are they coping? What are their plans to stay in touch?

Tatiana was accepting of it on the surface; she's chasing fame, but not everyone is, and if Jazzy wants a more normal life then that's her decision. It does prod at the gnawing insecurity she's had since Seven left, the idea that a slow crumble is just as effective as an explosive breakup. But that's not going to stop her from texting her Jazzy a selfie from each city. Lina was understanding but privately devastated; I think Jazzy was the one who best understood some of her anxieties about how things have played out as they moved upwards. But on the flip side, I think she was one of Jazzy and Chris's biggest supporters in the early days; there's definitely a love song inspired by their relationship somewhere in her notebook that she'll ask their permission to include on the next album.

Tattoo: Did they keep the tattoo with Seven’s initials? Why/why not? What was that decision/execution process like? (Bonus: What do they think of Seven keeping their tattoo?)

Tatiana kept it. I think on some level she knows that seeing Seven's initials every day is keeping her from moving on, but she can't quite bring herself to get it covered permanently. Tour might be the last straw depending on how things play out. (Seeing that Seven hasn't removed it threw her for a loop; she fully expected it to be covered by now. Either way, a leather cuff bracelet is now permanently part of her stage outfit. Let's see how Seven likes wondering about her for a change.) Lina kept it because she's too chicken to go through the removal process, lol. Sitting in a chair and willingly getting poked with needles was already her ultimate sign of love for her best friend. She was surprised to see Seven's still intact, but fully expects them to pretend that the LXV on their wrist just means that 65 is their favorite number.

Fame: Do you think your character will enjoy fame? Do they think they will? What elements do you think they might struggle with? Do you think they’ll be happy at the end of this road?

Tatiana will. It's going to be a harder transition for her than she thinks, almost a second coming of age; proximity to Maya in particular will really hammer home that she's becoming a role model for a group of kids who are probably feeling as vulnerable as she used to be. She'll love it, though. So much of her preteen identity was tied up in being a Misfit Alley bandom kid that making it big will finally give her a way to give back to the community basically that raised her. If Lina stops chanting to herself that she's doing it for the music, she'll probably have a breakdown. Going mainstream means a bigger audience, but it that comes with more pressure and more eyes, most of which she wasn't comfortable with in the first place, especially as primary songwriter. She's acutely aware that having creative control also means putting her friends' futures in her hands, and that she's going to have to put her big girl pants on and deal with it if they're going to last. Whether she'll make it remains to be seen.

[lovexsulli]

—— now look who’s joining the infinite tour! only MAE ‘SULLI’ ILSU, who is the MANAGER OF SOLOIST 2. i’ve heard whispers that the 28 year old is pretty ALTRUISTIC but lowkey APPREHENSIVE. also, she remind you of LEE HI?

hola, hola. so, here is ilsu again! ♥ i was lacking some muse for her since i had a lack of plots with her and just- didn’t set her up for success development wise. but, i took a little bit this morning to find some energy in her backstory with some meaningful plots in mind for her! some things did change, but mostly things were tweaked and added to give her some more depth.

BEFORE IDOL YEARS

ilsu comes from money. her household cherished the idea of maintaining public appearance, as well as always putting your best foot forward. often times though, they took the idea to extremes resulting in having strict values in general. her parents work for the government, (her mother a former judge, and her father a head of a police academy) so it really isn’t surprising that they raised their children with the authoritarian type of parenting. (ilsu is the youngest out of three, she has two older brothers)

ilsu was definitely the younger sibling that really had the obligation of being more obedient? at least- in her own perspective. so, traditionally, she grew up kind of being dictated and just non-opinionated. (lowkey, her parents weren’t bad? they just.. didn’t like the sensation of not having control.) this ultimately led to her mother going over board when she actually expressed interest in something. which was, being known or acknowledged for her creativity. acting was what was decided.

so at seven, she began her training to be a child actor & because of her mothers connections, was able to debut on TV series and movies around eight. (usually just cameos of being a neighbors child in the background.) it wasn’t until her bread and butter became known for being the hero characters child flashback or child in hit dramas did her career truly start to pick up. (probably at the expense of her mother still, who knows.)

for seven years she barely managed to maintain film life, and schooling. her growth in the acting world declined due to her mother dictating what roles and projects ilsu could take. because her older brothers were doing such good things that lifted the mae household, she wanted to keep ilsu’s image pure & sweet no matter if that’s not what sulli wanted.

around the age of fifteen, she kind of shifted gears since she began to find solstice in music. so, her mother reluctantly let her transition into music- but under the condition that if she flopped, her mother got to choose her next occupation. (which would probably be being a judge, or lowkey- just the idea of marrying into a close family with high status)

in spite of her parents not completely convinced, she debuted at around the age of eighteen as a soloist. her name was stage name was officially, DULCET. it brings a huge influx of attention and clout, and her schedule kicks into hyperdrive. (even acting started to pick up since it went hand in hand in promoting)

CAREER BACKGROUND

ilsu around the age nineteen was probably on her way to being a household name with her history on tv, and new music. but, with a big title- comes great responsivity and stress. her mother often emphasized that to stay relevant, ilsu had to work hard and make sure her performances were perfect. (around this time, she starts to get really overwhelmed with herself but also- all of the critics talking in her ear.)

this led ilsu to be a workaholic in very unhealthy ways. her paranoia induced by her parents probably had a bigger hold on her than her rationality at this time in her life. so, ilsu definitely over worked her body, and continuously ignored her limits for the sake of feeling like she wasn’t meeting everyone’s expectations. this ultimately led to a lot of medical issues that eventually couldn’t be fully reversed. (she suffered a lot of knee and joint issues, as well as developing asthma due to serious panic attacks & respiratory issues)

her last time she was active in the industry was her last performance four years ago. ilsu had an episode on stage that resulted in her health being in question. ilsu stepped up deciding to retire as an idol to recover her health, and herself in general. she took a full year to herself before thinking about being a manager.

became an assistant manager at the age twenty three. she managed the former group her current idol started with. (kaiso!) and eventually followed him as he started a solo career as his main manager. so, she’s been managing for three years!

PERSONALITY & FACTS

even though she didn’t grow up in a family with constant love and affection, ilsu has so much love to give. like, she will take that extra mile to show her love- and there is nothing you can do about it. NOTHING.

ilsu is definitely one of those ladies that felt like she was 30 at 18. but, also at the same time- can be as childish as a child when she’s comfortable. she gives off very wholesome noona vibes, even though she’s probably shorter than most of the people she nags & she is overprotective of.

used to call the psych boys her lil’ chickens, and is diligently still looking for an embarrassing nickname for kai.

is the type pf person who would purposely cook too much on purpose so then she actually has a reason to feed people. has candies in her purse always. will sacrifice her fav flavor to you.

is super organized. she makes it her business to have everything planned and journaled out on her ipad.

probably gives some of the best hugs???

has a bit of paranoia? singing and dancing in front of others is terrifying. like, completely. music is always with her, but she won’t ever do it with an audience ever again.

actually has some health issues still. asthma & she gets muscle strains and joint pain when she is active for too long. (usually doesn’t effect her work /everyday life) sometimes concerning headaches.

is left handed, with very neat handwriting.

[oasislake76]

I’m starting a new au called World Rocker and ofc it’s about Dream but this time with Captain Sparklez and I have so much lore because I’ve been thinking about this Au for AGES.

So the whole basic thing about this Au that it starts with The Academy of Admins where ridiculously smart and wealthy young kids join to learn and become Admins to help serve Notch since Minecraft, a complete multiverse surrounding the first ever world created with the capitol known as Orion which is where the Academy is located, is constantly growing. It’s hard to get in and a lot of the time parents pay for their kids to be in the academy. The Academy is a whole section in itself so I’ll talk about that later.

Dream starts out human and enters the arena where the first test is taken place at around 12-13 years old. This is insanely early as most students that enter the testing grounds are around 17-18. So college level. It takes around 8 years to graduate so the students can fully mature before going out into the world. King Sparklez catches sight of such a small and going little kid, he couldn’t make out if Dream was a girl or a boy because he was just starting to transition with what he had on hand, and requested Dreams file. Astonished with how much the kid had already accomplished.

He noted that Dream came from a very dirty and poor city in one of the lesser known back water planets. The same planet and town he, Sky, and the majority of Team Crafted and a lot of other Original Players had come from. Immediately sensing great and high potential in the child as Dream graduated the top of his highschool with straight A’s, even though from the notes from his teachers it seemed like they were purposely holding him back as much as they could. Seto is amused and curious because Sparklez had never reacted like this to a potential student and even the sorcerer couldn’t deny that something was off with Dream.

Notch refused to let Dream pass the exams and tests without actually taking them and demanding Sparklez take his excitement down a peg. He was actually scared by the glint in his Nephews eyes and it only increased as Dream came out in the top 20 during the first part of the written exam. He struggled a lot during the physical tests since everyone around him purposely pushed him, blocked his way, or straight up openly sabotaged the young blond. Unknowing that Death, Notch, Sparklez, and Seto were watching the whole thing.

There’s no real rules during the physical exam as they want to see everyone at their best and worst and so that’s also why infinite lives was coded into the arena incase something bad happened. Luckily no one died but quite a few ended up with scraped skin and even broken bones. Of course they were healed before everyone was sent to their scheduled rooms. During this time the four talked about every candidate that passed the written part of the exams, about 40% so around 2,000 young adults and Dream, and Sparklez didn’t even try and hide the fact that he personally wanted to take Dream under his wings. Something in the kid had seriously drawn the Mob King to him and Sparklez isn’t one to let things like this slip through his hands.

Notch had actually wanted to veto Dream completely, even though he completed the course on time and kept up with the much older and experienced contenders despite being three times smaller and seven times weaker, but Death was interested in him as well. Allowing Sparklez the possibility to teach Dream on one condition; he has to teach a full class of students. Sparklez obviously objected to this, stating that having more kids to pay attention to will be detrimental to Dream because he might not reach is full potential if Sparklez’s attention is split between thirty or so students.

Death actually conceded to the point but raised one about Dream not being around kids his age and growing up mentally stable. They don’t want another repeat with several of the Original Players, this is when Notch excused himself as Aphmau was his daughter and had been extremely toxic before she was ultimately killed by her own friend Kaitlyn since she got to power hungry like Sky did, so Death and Sparklez settled down on having around 6 students plus Dream. She already has a few possible students in mind.

This is where Dream meets his classmates! But I’ll explain them in another post ;)

[envysnest]

Snakeskin (Sephiroth/Reader) (ch. 3/?)

AO3 / Pillowfort

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13

Tags: First Time, Reader-Insert, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Frank Discussions of Past Rape/Abuse, Everyone is Queer, Canon-Compliant (if you squint), Pre-Crisis-Core Seph, Slow Burn, i continue to disappoint my friends and family, sephiroth is a virgin and in this essay i will, Reader is a Cis Woman, fluffy sex, Praise Kink, Gratuitous Biochemistry

Summary:

You are a young biologist, fresh out of graduate school, working in Shinra's R&D Division under Professor Hojo. You had long since given up on finding a partner and starting a family, preferring instead the company of your cell samples and your scientific instruments.

As the conflict in Wutai worsens, you strike up an unexpected friendship with a First Class SOLDIER.

(Sephiroth/Reader Slow Burn)

No TW's apply for this chapter.

---

It was only a matter of time before someone approached Marcie about the SOLDIER fan clubs. She spent your lunch hour next to your cubicle, busily narrating her observations to a (less-than-enthused) Hammond. You tucked into your sandwich and tried not to look like an eavesdropper. It was challenging, considering your cubicles shared a wall.

“There’s dozens,” she gasped as she scrolled through her tablet. “I’m not even sure where to begin. Should I just join all of them?”

“Say goodbye to your inbox if you do,” groaned Hammond. “It’s impossible to unsubscribe.”

You were curious. Sure, you passed on joining the clubs when you were hired; shyness had gotten the best of you. You thought joining a fan club for an employee was odd. Even so, you wanted to know what they spoke about. It was as if the SOLDIERs were celebrities on Page Seven of the Midgar Chronicle.

Marcie rolled back in her chair to look in on you. “Which ones are you a part of, Professor?”

You stopped mid-chew and looked up at Hammond, who leaned against Marcie’s cubicle. He made a cutting motion at his throat and shook his head. Marcie beamed at you expectantly.

“None of them,” you said around your food.

Marcie's eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? Not even one?”

You looked from Hammond to Marcie and back again. You shook your head slowly.

Hammond pointed at you. “Good. Keep it that way.”

Marcie looked up at Hammond. “I would've thought Silver Elite."

You choked on your sandwich. “The Sephiroth one? What for?”

Hammond leaned back and pursed his lips. “Even I’ve gotta admit, that’s the best one.”

Marcie shoved her tablet at you. “The level of research they do is, like, insane. It has to be someone who knows him, like, personally.” She pointed to Hammond. “We have our theories.”

Hammond rubbed his temple with his fingers. “It’s going to be someone random, Marce. Like, the janitor or the guy who does his laundry.

You hesitantly took the tablet from Marcie. While your research assistants bickered between themselves, you looked over the e-mail open on Marcie's screen:

NO ONE AT HOME? Dear members of the Silver Elite, We hope, as always, that you are staying sane as we transition into winter. Here’s a little something to keep you warm: Our sources have notified us that Sephiroth has his very own apartment near the top of the SOLDIER barracks. These apartments come fully furnished, with their own fully-stocked kitchen and a private bathroom! Despite having floor-to-ceiling windows, they are one-way, allowing Sephiroth his privacy at home. No word on whether or not our king shares his living space with a special someone. What do you think?

You squinted at the message. So Sephiroth lived alone? That didn’t mean there wasn't a revolving door of partners at his disposal; you wouldn’t doubt it, given how popular he was. No doubt people had to take a number.

It’s sad, I know.

You swallowed and handed the tablet back to Marcie. “It’s a little, uh…”

“Detailed?” Hammond raised his eyebrows at you.

Marcie clutched the tablet to her chest. “You think so?”

Not like you hadn’t been a part of some fan clubs in your time; you didn’t exactly have room to talk. Once, when you were small, you sent a gushing letter to some minor TV actor you had a crush on. When his autograph came in the mail, you had screamed to high heaven. Your parents waited a few days before informing you that everyone, no matter what they wrote, also received an autograph.

You looked up and saw Hojo approaching your cubicle. You hastily shoved your sandwich back into its bag. “You join whichever one you want, Marcie,” you said. “Don’t let Hammond peer-pressure you into anything.”

Marcie turned to Hammond with a triumphant See?! just as Hojo reached your desks.

“Doctor,” he said. “I see you’re socializing. I assume you're ready for this afternoon’s meeting?”

You stood and dusted off your pants. “One, right?” It was 12:45; just like Hojo to make sure you never got a moment’s rest. Whoever invented afternoon meetings must not have had friends.

Hojo grinned. You could see your reflection off of his glasses. “It never hurts to be punctual. Would you like to go together?”

The thought of being alone with Hojo, even in a glass elevator, was terrifying. Even Marcie and Hammond had shut up. When you turned to them for support, Hammond was already slinking back to his desk, and Marcie had become very interested in her inbox.

“Can you give me a minute?” you lied. “Just, uh, going to get a fresh coffee beforehand.”

“All of that caffeine can’t be good for you,” he sing-songed. He turned away and waved a hand. “A little friendly advice from someone who’s been around the block a few times.”

You exhaled as Hojo moved out of earshot. Marcie peeked at you from above the shared cubicle wall.

“Is he always like that?” she whispered.

Your shoulders sagged. Marcie would learn, eventually. “He is."

---

This particular meeting was department-wide, meaning it corralled Lazard, Hojo, and all of the high-level research staff under Hojo's control. Research assistants were barred from such a high-level meeting. You usually left your laptop behind in favor of a simple notebook so you wouldn't nod off, but it was still hard to stay awake. Many of the topics presented were outside of your project— hell, outside of your interest, if you were honest, but appearances mattered. It wouldn't look good to surf the web.

You crammed yourself into the back of the elevator. A few months ago, Hammond had gotten you a mug that said “WORLD’S OKAYEST BIOCHEMIST,” and you two joked that you should’ve fired him for it. Nevertheless, the gift touched you, and it became a crutch you happily leaned on when you had to perform. The black coffee inside sloshed around as the elevator climbed to the 67th floor.

Instead of room numbers, some executive had had the bright idea to name the 67th floor conference rooms after planets and stars. You still struggled to find the proper room, even after months of attending meetings. Hojo had chosen Betelgeuse, a cavernous room with only a handful of chairs around a long conference table. Judging by the babble inside, it was already full. God forbid you had to stand.

You shouldered the door open. Lazard and Hojo were beside each other, already deep in conversation. Another scientist, a great big bear of a man named Yun, fiddled with the projector. You and Yun usually sat together, but it looked like he had already taken the seat next to Hojo. There were a handful of SOLDIERs here, too: high-ranking ones, some Second Classes you didn’t recognize. Sully sat opposite Yun, snapping her gum and talking a mile a minute at Lukas, a chemist who specialized in the numerous organic compounds found in mako. If Sully was in this meeting, it was likely about sample collection and the limits of their experiments.

But sitting alone in one corner of the table, near the back wall, was Sephiroth. You hesitated in the doorway. It was as if everyone had shrunk away from him, leaving the chairs next to him empty. Some scientists and SOLDIERs had even lined up against the back wall, leaving the two chairs beside him empty. He didn’t seem to mind as he typed furiously on his tablet, leaning back in his chair.

You couldn’t recall if you’d seen him these meetings. Perhaps it was something to do with what they were about to discuss; perhaps this was the only time he hadn’t been on a mission.

You chewed on your bottom lip and scanned the room. Yes, you could sit on Lazard's left: it was probably the most strategic move, as you could show how dedicated you were to even the driest of topics. But sitting next to Lazard meant you had to be alert during the entire meeting; no wonder no one had taken that seat. You kept looking: there was a free spot next to Lukas. They were friendly enough, but if Sully got them going on cricket, you’d be in this meeting for the next five hours while they duked it out with Hojo. You didn’t want to be anywhere near this conference room when that happened. The rest of the room was already packed, and judging by the time, you weren't going to be the last one in the room. You certainly didn't want to stand.

You looked back to Sephiroth. He flicked his hair out of his face and studied whatever was on his tablet screen.

You steeled yourself.

You scurried over to the chair against the back wall. You set your coffee down first, followed by your notebook. You withdrew your pen and set that next to the notebook, too.

When you sat down in the chair beside Sephiroth, the conversation in the room died. You looked up; everyone, save for Sephiroth, was staring at you. Hojo crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. A rock formed in the pit of your stomach, but you willed yourself to stay there. Evidently, you had broken some rule.

After a lull, Sephiroth looked up. He followed everyone’s gaze to you. The corner of his mouth twitched.

You cleared your throat and addressed the room. “Is this seat taken?”

Lazard was the first to break the silence. He shook his head. “No, Professor. Looks like it’s yours now.”

The smile on Sephiroth’s face widened, ever-so-slightly. When you looked up at him to meet his eyes, he turned back to his tablet. Everyone returned to their conversations.

Your shoulders slumped in relief. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Sephiroth carefully, but he rested his cheek on his fist, hiding his expression from you.

More stragglers entered the room after that: lab managers, animal technicians, one or two other scientists. They took the remaining seats you had rejected, but the seat to Sephiroth’s left remained empty, even as people leaned against the walls. You resisted the urge to address Sephiroth; after all, you didn’t want to bother him, and he seemed focused on something. You settled instead for reviewing your notes.

Hojo clapped twice, and the room settled. “As we all know, it’s Professor Yun’s turn to present this quarter. Afterwards, Director Lazard and I will be requesting updates from team leaders on their progress.” He turned to Yun and nodded. “Please, Doctor.”

Sully rushed over to the lights and dimmed them. You took a generous swig of coffee.

Yun’s work oversaw the medical side of SOLDIER: designing meal plans, tabulating performance in the field, organizing clinical trials. This was a presentation you could afford to tune out; your work was closely inter-related, and you didn’t need as many of the relevant medical terms and background explained to you. Nevertheless, you took basic notes throughout Yun’s introduction, if only to stay focused; at least he was a talented researcher, and an engaging presenter to boot. Maybe he had feedback on the mako feeding experiments you had asked him for.

Yun was in the middle of describing the gallbladder when you felt something nudge your foot.

You glanced at Sephiroth. He was turned away from you, hand to his mouth as he watched Yun’s presentation.

Something nudged your foot again.

You felt heat creeping up your neck. You looked down at your notes, where you had paused in drawing a diagram of mako’s route through the liver.

Sephiroth was nudging your foot, like a bored undergrad in a lecture.

You swallowed hard, staring at the unfinished gallbladder on the notebook page. No one was looking in your direction, and the back wall was empty. Even so, you were fairly sure your cheeks glowed like neon in the dim lighting.

Tentatively, you reached out your left foot. You feebly nudged him back.

Even under his hand, you saw Sephiroth smile.

You ducked your head, feeling both mortified and fuzzy for reasons you didn’t understand. He didn’t touch you again as Yun moved on to reviewing old results from past presentations. You finished your diagram, refusing to look up at Sephiroth as you worked. You weren't some kid anymore; this was your work, and you wouldn't let him distract you again.

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket. You made it a point not to bring your electronics into meetings, but the cell phone was a necessary evil. You kept it on you just in case something went south in the lab, but you normally silenced it during meetings.

You slid a hand into your pocket. You didn’t need any more distractions.

You woke it up under the table, about to hit the “Silence” button, when you saw the message on the Home screen. It was from an unknown number, but it had been sent via Shinra’s instant messaging system. It had to be from someone in the company.

>> You’re better than okay. You should give yourself more credit.

You narrowed your eyes. You scanned the table, but everyone was paying fast attention to Yun’s presentation.

You looked back down at the message and opened the reply box.

>> Sorry, but who is this??

Sephiroth’s tablet screen lit up.

You blanched.

Without looking away from the projector screen, he swept his tablet under the table. You watched in horror as he opened up a message box and began typing, looking for all the world like he was simply taking notes on Yun’s work.

Your phone lit up. You looked down at the new message.

>> I apologize. This is Sephiroth. I should have been more specific.

You looked away and rubbed your eyes. Sephiroth leaned back in his chair, tablet still in his hands. You typed out a quick reply.

>> It was a gift from an RA.

Sephiroth was quick to reply:

>> Even so, they couldn’t get you something more flattering?

You leaned forward and scribbled a quick note to yourself about Yun’s current slide. You returned to your phone:

>> Come on. It’s a joke. Do they let you make those in soldier?

Shinra's autocorrect kicked in, correcting "soldier" to “SOLDIER” before it sent your reply.

When Sephiroth looked down at his screen, his expression was unreadable. Yun switched to a figure he was planning on putting in his next paper.

Your phone lit up under the table.

>> Ha. But really, you are a dedicated researcher. Perhaps “world’s best” is more suitable.

You scoffed.

Heads swiveled to you. A chill went through you.

Yun piped up from the front of the room. “Did you have a question, Professor?”

You pocketed your phone and waved your hands. Not Yun, of all people; that man was smarter than you, and nice to boot. “Oh, no, Yun, I’m sorry. Just had something in my throat! It’s okay!”

Yun nodded in reply, a relieved smile on his face. Everyone turned back to the front of the room, but Hojo’s gaze lingered on you.

As you returned Hojo's gaze, his lip curled. He resettled in his chair and turned back to the projection screen.

Sephiroth gently nudged your foot. An apology, you realized, for distracting you. Very slowly, you pulled out your phone and opened the instant message window.

>> You’re making me look bad. :(

>> I apologize. It won’t happen again.

You read the reply over and over. Sephiroth could have easily thrown you under the bus, or simply not bothered to apologize; any other employee would have done the same, especially after the look Hojo gave you. It wouldn't be right to scold Sephiroth for trying to cheer you up.

You typed out a single reply:

>> It’s fine!!! Really. Don't worry about it.

You pocketed your phone. When it buzzed again, you ignored it.

---

You opened the lid to the cryogenic storage tank. Billows of nitrogen smoke pooled around you, licking at your exposed ankles. Here, cell culture lines were stored within metal racks, which slotted like drawers into a metal cylinder running the length of the storage tank. A steady feed of liquid nitrogen maintained the cultures at -150 degrees: cold enough to keep the cells sleeping in glycerol solution until they were needed again, and certainly cold enough to give you frostbite. Heavy, padded welder's gloves were needed to handle anything inside. You brushed the snow off of your personal metal shelf, where your cell cultures sat frozen in hard lumps at the bottom of tubes.

You paged through your samples for specimen 029. Their liver cells, predictably, hadn't survived the high dose of mako you had subjected them to, and it was time to culture another line. You placed the tube of cells into an ice bucket off to the side and moved to re-shelve your samples.

One of the shelves below yours was partially open. From what little you could see, the caps were purple, rather than clear. You hesitated.

You had only seen purple-capped tubes in the dusty recesses of old cabinets. Clearly, Shinra had stopped buying this brand years ago. These had to be extremely old; it was doubtful that the cell lines within were viable. At any rate, it was a sin to throw out someone else's work, even if it was too old to use.

But you had organized this storage cylinder with several other scientists just a week ago. Why had you never seen this sample set before?

You reshelved your samples. You hooked one finger around the mystery drawer's pull and, with one mighty yank, dragged the rack out into view. Chunks of ice fell to the bottom of the storage tank.

Rows and rows of the same purple-capped tubes greeted you. There weren’t any labels or marking on their caps, and a heavy layer of snow and ice fused them to the rack. You gently wiggled a single tube out and brushed the snow off of its side.

In hastily-scribbled pen was a sample ID:

J - 180 - L - 9177

You squinted. That was Hojo’s handwriting. From what you knew, Hojo didn’t use the cell culture room here; he instead preferred the higher-clearance labs, away from the rank and file of his subordinates. Why were his old samples moved here?

What were these?

You lifted the tube to your eye level. The clump of cells within was a sickly gray, so unlike the human cell cultures in the racks surrounding it. You narrowed your eyes. Whatever these were, they certainly weren’t alive anymore.

But Hojo was as protective over his work as you were with yours. You wouldn’t hear the end of it if you disposed of his samples. You needed hard evidence before you presented your case to Hojo: if you could prove the cells were no longer viable, you could argue that they needed to be thrown out. The easiest way to test viability was to plate them and watch them grow.

You placed J - 180 - L - 9177 in your ice bucket. First things first: 029 had to be plated. If the cells thawed completely, it could compromise their integrity, and you would have to gather fresh samples from specimen 029. It was work-- and money-- that didn't need to be wasted because you had gotten curious.

You closed the storage tank. The nitrogen valve beside it hissed angrily as it pumped liquid nitrogen into the tank, cooling the inside  back to -150 degrees. You removed the heavy gloves and set them atop the tank.

In the fume hood, you filled two Petri dishes with warm liquid media. After that, a scrape of 029 went into the first dish; J - 180 - L - 9177 went into the second. You gently tipped each plate back and forth, allowing the sleeping cells to spread evenly across the surface.

You picked up your marker to label the plates. J - 180 - L - 9177: if these were Hojo’s samples, and if he was using this cell culture room, he would surely recognize his own sample name. But if you didn’t label these plates properly, it would be impossible to tell which was which, even if J - 180 - L - 9177 failed to grow like you expected. Hojo could just as easily argue that you mishandled 029’s cells, and then you would get punished for touching his work without permission. Worse yet, you could waste precious resources assuming 029's cells weren't viable.

You finally labeled the plate 029-1. Even to Hojo, this would appear as if you modified 029’s cell culture, as was normal for your work. Hopefully, he wouldn’t suspect a thing.

---

There were no kindnesses for you; there were only traps and bait. You had always been easy prey.

You wrapped your hands around the neck of the snake and guided its fangs to your throat.

---

Snow came down in heavy droves when you left Shinra HQ. The mako reactors reflected off of the dark sky, bathing the city in green. Sometime during the day, workers had installed lights on the giant Shinra ad near your apartment. You stopped in front of it, peered up at it with narrowed eyes.

Always looking out for you and your family, said the poster.

There was hardly anyone around at this time of night. You shivered and kicked the slush around your dress shoes. It was time to break out your winter boots, you thought. You checked your phone for the time.

The unread message from Sephiroth still blinked on your Home screen:

>>You can tell me if it isn't fine, and I do worry about it.

You scowled and shoved your phone back into your pocket. 

When you looked up at the poster again, the mistake hit you all at once. Your lips parted.

The poster artist had given Sephiroth blue eyes with round pupils.

Go to next chapter >>>

[atlanticcanada]

Carbon tax countdown: reprieve unlikely for big jump at the pumps

It seems unlikely Nova Scotians will be getting a last-minute reprieve from the federal carbon tax, set to take effect on Saturday.

Waiting for her husband at a north end gas station Monday, Andrea Hay couldn't help but notice the current price of gas around here, and balk at the idea it will be at least 12 cents higher Saturday morning.

"Pretty concerned, especially when you're driving a V-6," said Hay.

"The gas prices have been pretty atrocious, especially when you're trying to get back and forth to work."

The federal charge is expected to impact Nova Scotians far more than its maritime neighbours, but the government and opposition have very different views on how to ease the burden for residents.

"This will be the biggest jump anywhere in the country," said N.S. Liberal Environment & Climate Change Shadow Minister, Iain Rankin.

"Previously we negotiated the cap and trade system that limited the cost the pump to one cent a litre, while bringing in revenue to fight climate change, while everywhere else had the backstop, so six or seven cents a litre, and then they've increased to about ten cents, so you're going to see about a four cent increase, whereas here, we're going to see almost the full 14 cents," said Rankin.

"So, it'll be a 13 cent to 14 cent increase here."

Prices in New Brunswick and P.E.I. are only expected to rise about three cents.

The steep hike in Nova Scotia was also predicted by the Canadian Taxpayers Federation last week.

Concerned about a disproportionate impact around here, the four Atlantic Premiers wrote to the Prime Minister last week, requesting an urgent meeting and a delay in implementing the tax because of ongoing high inflation and an apparent discrepancy in the expected costs.

CTV News reached out to the Prime Minister's office to confirm receipt of the letter and inquire whether a meeting was being arranged.

There was no response before deadline.

"It's a bad thing. It will punish Nova Scotians unnecessarily," said N.S. Premier Tim Houston from his office in Pictou.

"The price of gas will go up. Diesel will go up, [and] Home heating. And that means that the price of everything will go up. Everything that needs to be moved from where it's produced or grown to a market is going to cost more," said Houston, noting none of the Atlantic premiers dispute the climate is changing and action does need to be taken.

"We don't believe a carbon tax is necessary. We put forward a plan to the Federal government that is actually better for the environment and certainly more affordable for Nova Scotians, but that plan was rejected because it didn't include a carbon tax," said Houston.

But Rankin says the PC plan had other shortcomings.

"I think time is up for them to come up with a plan that's commensurate with the federal guidelines. I think it's just politics at this point, the last few days before it takes effect."

Houston argues the carbon tax concept simply doesn't fit in the maritime region.

"The carbon tax is meant to deter behaviours. Put a tax on it and maybe people won't do what we don't want them to do. But in this province, a very rural province, we have to drive to work. Public transit? Not an option for most Nova Scotians. Walking to work? Not an option for most Nova Scotians. Biking to work? Not an option. We still have to drive, we still have to heat our homes. So the carbon tax makes things more expensive, but it won't modify behaviour, therefore it doesn't improve the planet," he said.

Even with quarterly rebates as the tax is fully phased-in over the next seven years, federal officials estimate Nova Scotians will be shelling out $635 more, with P.E.I. at $569 and New Brunswick at $501.

But, there are options to provide relief, say the opposition Liberals.

"There's a number of different things under the provincial control. One of them is the gas tax. Another one would be income tax," said Rankin.

But the Premier dismissed the idea.

"We're running a deficit. That means we're investing more in Nova Scotians than we're collecting. So to hear the opposition suggest that we reduce healthcare spending, just so we can send more money to Ottawa, it doesn't make any sense to me," said Houston.

"This Carbon tax is unnecessary. It will punish people, and any suggestion that we should roll over and accept that, and reduce healthcare spending, and reduce investments in housing, and reduce investments in roads and poverty, it doesn't make sense why they would take that position."

Hay says she's not considering a different vehicle yet, but acknowledges fuel prices are painful.

"Even if you live close to your job or further away, it still impacts family. Your ability to make money to pay for the gas," she said.

For the latest Nova Scotia news, visit our dedicated provincial page.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/daizJ6f

[mt-musings]

Bluebell

Chapter 44

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

44. Wave of Mutilation

Spencer looked up from his book at the knock at the door, tossing it onto the coffee table without bothering to mark his page. He’d already read it twice, anyway. He crossed to the door and pulled it open, grinning as he spotted Cassie on the other side. She was bowed under the weight of her backpack, her hair tumbling out of its bun, her glasses slightly askew. She was still wearing her clothes from work—she must have come straight from her consult. 

“Sorry for being late, I know we agreed on seven-thirty,” she said quickly, offering him a paper shopping bag from his favorite bakery Downtown. He knew it was meant as an apology she didn’t owe him.

“I already told you before, it’s fine—it’s not like movie night can’t wait an hour or two. How’d it go?” He said, ushering her inside. She dropped her bag in the chair by the door, rooting around in it for her phone charger, shoulders slumped. 

“They brought in this forensic epidemiologist from Yale who was about three steps away from re-extolling phrenology before we’d even finished the reconstruction, and then he just looked at it and asked for tissue samples. From fully skeletonized remains. So I spent three and a half hours putting this fucking skull back together so he can take a look at the new growth bone on the floor of the maxillary sinus and tell me whether it’s indicative of meningitis or some modern form of sinusitis and he looked at me like I had three heads. ‘How am I supposed to tell from just looking at the bone?’ Idiot.”

“Why would he fly in for a consult on something he doesn’t know how to do? I mean, he knew it was from the forensic anthropology department, right?” Spencer asked, shaking his head. 

“I don’t know, it was a huge waste of time. He probably just wanted to be able to say he’d consulted for the Smithsonian.”

“So what do you think it is?”

“Viral meningitis, which was why I requested the consult, because the pitting is atypical.”

“Hopefully whoever you get in next will at least know what they’re looking at. Of course, you almost need someone who’s specialty is archeological epidemiology instead of forensic, which I’d guess is a very small pool to pull from.”

“Are you in the market for a fourth doctorate, Boy Genius?”

He hid his smile, pretending to think about it. “You know, I’ve been wondering what to do with my mountains of free time and extremely consistent schedule.”

She huffed a laugh, just staring at him with a soft smile. “I guess that’s fair.”

He wrapped his arms around her and she melted, closing her eyes as she laid her head on his chest, knotting her hands in the back of his shirt. 

“Tired?” He asked, already knowing the answer. She nodded. 

“Alright, go change into something comfy and I’ll set everything up, okay?” He said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He smirked at the way it made her flush before she crossed to his bedroom. He clicked through the settings on the TV, flipping on the DVD player before turning back towards the bedroom door.

“Did you eat?” He called.

“Did you?”

“You’re deflecting, so no,” he called back, picturing the grumpy, scrunched up face he knew she was making. It made him laugh. He peered into the fridge, looking for something he could whip up, but it was mostly empty—he hadn’t managed to go grocery shopping since they’d returned from their last case three days ago. All he had were some leftover chicken wings and half a jar of chunky peanut butter—and he knew for a fact he didn’t have bread. 

He grabbed his cell, dialing the familiar number for Mario’s and ordering a large Secret Garden with no mushrooms and broccoli on only half. Spencer didn’t think broccoli belonged on pizza. Cassie told him he was wrong.

It was his favorite argument.

“I ordered pizza,” he said as she emerged wearing an oversized t shirt and sleep shorts. She hadn’t been bothering to cover up her scars as much around him anymore, something that left a warm feeling in his chest. 

“With broccoli?”

“On half.”

“Thank you,” she said, standing on her tip toes to press a kiss to his lips. She pulled him toward the couch, fingers interlaced with his. He flopped down, pulling her so she lay across his chest as he pressed play on the remote. She idly traced her fingers across his ribs as the movie began, brow furrowed as they watched the opening sequence. He could feel the tension coiled in her muscles, even if she seemed utterly unaware.

He knew she wasn’t really watching, her mind no doubt still ruminating on the implications of the possible viral meningitis. He knew if it hadn’t been for their plans she’d still be at the lab trying to puzzle it out, that she didn’t seem to have the ability to turn that part of her brain off. 

He’d noticed it more since her graduation, since she’d taken on a larger role at the lab—she’d worked it out with Hotch that days they worked at Quantico she’d work seven to three before heading back to DC to work at the lab until seven, though it was more often than not eight or nine if they didn’t have prior plans. It was a grueling workload, but she barely seemed to blink at it. In fact, most of the time she was wired after finishing at the lab. 

“Sweet girl,” he said softly, watching her face carefully as she looked up at him. “You’re all knots. Sit up.”

She hesitated for a moment before doing as he asked. He followed suit, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her neck before digging his thumbs into the knots in her shoulders. They were worse than he’d expected, her left rhomboid major in full spasm. She let out a shaky breath as he eased the tension from them. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. 

“Of course. I like taking care of you, Cass. You make it a challenge.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “I know. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

She was quiet for a long time, long enough for it to spark a bubble of anxiety. 

“Cassie? Is everything okay? I didn’t mean to imply anything—“

“No, I was just—I was thinking about love.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was thinking about my mom and dad.”

“Oh, Cass—“

“Not—not what happened. Not really. Just before. The whole dancing in the kitchen, reading poetry to each other every night kind of thing. How happy they made each other. You know?”

“I don’t,” he said, thinking back in a childhood of arguments that always bled through the closed bedroom door, of how easy it was for his dad to walk out on him and his mom and never look back. “My parents didn’t love each other. Not like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

“You didn’t know. It’s not like I talk about it. My parents got divorced when I was nine, it was just me and my mom after that, and she was sick, so there weren’t a lot of Hallmark moments.”

They sat in silence for a moment before he pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“What was it like?” He asked, trying not to let the longing seep into his voice. He knew all the statistics on happy, stable childhoods, could rattle off decades of peer-reviewed research in the area, but couldn’t quite wrap his head around what it really meant. 

She stood and crossed to her bag, pulling out her computer. She clicked through a few pages before setting it on the counter. Soft music filled the apartment as she gave him a small, almost contemplative smile.

'Feels like I’m standing in a timeless dream…’

She walked to the couch and grabbed his hands, drawing him back to the open floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips as she pulled him into a simple dance, little more than swaying back and forth in a circle. She grinned up him, tucking a stray curl behind his ear.

“Like this. That warm, almost giddy feeling in your chest. Like always being excited for what came next, never afraid,” she said, taking the opportunity to take his hand and spin him. She had to stand on her tip toes to do it and he laughed, focussing on the feeling she described, the warmth in his chest, the anticipation without anxiety. He surprised her by dipping her back and she shrieked, though the sound was quickly overwhelmed by giggles. 

“There was always music, and laughter, and the sound of turning pages. Nightmares weren’t real, and they were solved with a hug and a glass of water. The world wasn’t frightening, it was endless and exciting and safe.” She spoke wistfully, unconsciously stepping closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist tighter. She lay her head on his chest, fingers toying with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“If you’re not careful I could get used to this,” he said, meaning for it to come out teasingly, but instead only as hushed longing. 

“Promise?” She asked, her voice vibrating through his chest. 

The wail of a cell phone cut through the moment before he could reply. It was Cassie’s, the siren-like ringtone the one she set for BAU recalls. She sighed, dropping her arms and crossed to answer, listening intently on the other end. 

“Of course—yes, I’ll tell him. Text the address, we’ll be there in twenty.”

---

Cassie stared at the familiar apartment without really seeing it, eyes locked on the blood staining the sheets. She didn’t look at the woman’s face—she’d known from her quick glance that it was Sarah, known from the grey tinge to her face that she was dead, that she had been for at least an hour and a half. She knew she should confirm, begin collecting environmental data that could be crucial in making sure there was no doubt that Gideon played no part in the horror. 

But she just stood and stared, the sheets morphing into pine boards, the heavy copper smell of the blood drowning her. She could feel the bite of hempen rope at her wrists, the sting of the lacerations being pulled wider as she struggled—she turned as quietly as she could on her heel, digging her nails into the heel of her palm to ground herself enough to make it out the front door and down the two flights of stairs. She crossed to the rear of the building and crouched down behind a bush, emptying what little she had in her stomach. 

She didn’t know how many minutes she spent retching, dry-heaving when there was nothing left to throw up. She didn’t care. All she could think of was the smell of all the blood, of the terror she knew Sarah felt as she was brutally murdered, the pain, of the fact that he’d done it in Gideon’s bed. 

She hadn’t known Sarah, really. She’d met her in passing once at a museum opening and she’d been kind and clever. But she was more taken by the way she made Gideon smile—really smile. He’d talked about her a handful of times, mostly when they’d been out in the Monongahela bird-watching. About how the timing had always been wrong, about how he’d adored her in college, how she challenged him. 

And now she was dead—dead in one of the worst ways you could be. 

She hated Frank, hated him with the same vehemence she’d only ever hated Hadeon and Tobias. She wished she’d simply put a bullet between his eyes when she’d had the chance, wished she could have, and not risked the lives of the twenty or so third graders he’d kidnapped. She wished they’d come up with some way to tail them, someway to go back on Gideon’s deal. She wished he’d died in the desert, died a miserable death from dehydration only to be picked apart by carrion birds and gila monsters. 

She sighed, pushing herself back to her feet, ignoring the way she shook. She should know better than to waste time on wishes. She rinsed her mouth out in the lobby bathroom before making her way back to the stairs, hoping that no one noticed how long she’d been. 

No one but Spencer gave her a second glance when she returned, too focused on their discussion. She tried to listen, but the words sounded muddled, as if from underwater. She could still smell nothing but the overwhelming stench of copper, the smell alone enough to set her heart pounding against her ribs. She shallowed her breaths as much as she was able, hoping it would limit its potency enough that she could at least act as if she wasn’t falling to pieces.

She couldn’t imagine how Gideon was feeling.

Or rather, she could vividly imagine exactly what he was feeling. It rose another wave of nausea in her.

“Hey, Cass and I are going to see which buildings nearby have security cameras, see if we can put together a list for Penelope. Then we’ll at least know what direction to head,” Spencer said, crossing to the door as Hotch nodded his assent. He subtly grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her out of the apartment. 

“It—it would probably be best to start with the corner stores on either side of the block. He’d have to pass by one of them. Then there’s the traffic cams on Third and Hollis, that would give us an idea of where he might be heading,” she said, rattling off the familiar landmarks. Spencer nodded, searching her face. 

He let his hand slip down to grasp hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re going to stop him.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He let go of her hand and motioned toward the nearest convenience store so they could start gathering Frank’s movements. 

---

“What’s that?”

“It’s his murder book,” Hotch said.

“Murder book?” Pretiss asked, brows furrowed. 

“When he opens it to the first page it reminds him why he does what he does,” Hotch replied.

“It’s a list of all the people he’s ever saved. Names, dates, personal details,” Spencer chimed in. Cassie couldn’t help but glance over at him. Gideon had never told her about the notebook. 

“And now Frank has the list.”

“Frank said ‘I’ll kill them all.’ That’s who he’s going after,” Spencer said. Cassie stared blankly ahead, mind whirring. 

“At least the ones he can get to, the ones that are nearby.”

If Frank had that list—was her apartment on that list? Her name, the one she’d gone by for the past fourteen years? Her job at the Bureau, the Smithsonian? Who else was on the list, how many names from the files before she’d started, the people she’d helped to save since joining? 

They’d already been put through hell, survived it and now—now they’d have Frank to contend with. It wasn’t fair, they were supposed to be free, supposed to be able to move on with their lives, as best as they were able. 

They were supposed to be safe.

“Cassie, come on. We’ve got to narrow down the specific victim pool,” Spencer said, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah—yeah of course.”

---

Cassie was off. She had been since they’d gotten the call from Hotch. 

Spencer didn’t blame her—he too was still reeling from the fact that Frank had resurfaced, that he’d killed Gideon’s girlfriend in Gideon’s apartment.That Gideon was now hiding out from the local cops while they tried to track down Frank. They were all on edge, all looking for the quickest way to finally get Frank behind bars, ensure his sick fascination with Gideon went no further.

The others didn’t seem to notice anything was off, which wasn’t surprising, considering how well Cassie masked emotion. It wasn’t unusual for her to duck in and out of a crime scene when they first arrived to collect samples and data and whatever else she needed, wasn’t unusual for her to be quiet, especially in the initial stage of an investigation. She’d never been one to present theories before she’d had the chance to properly flesh them out, until she had some sort of backing evidence. 

He glanced across the table to where she was busy pouring over files—there was nothing on her face that indicated anything was amiss, not a clenched jaw or furrowed brow that was different from any other case. But her hand gave her away, the left one, which had been intermittently clenched in a fist since they’d arrived at Gideon’s apartment, clenched in a way that allowed her to dig her nails into the meat of her palm. He’d seen the livid red indentations, the small flecks of blood on her sleeve, but she’d brushed it off when he’d tried to bring it up. He’d let her, considering that they had Frank to contend with, though it didn’t stop him from worrying, didn’t stop him from remembering how rattled she’d been the first time they’d had to deal with him out in Nevada, the first time he’d seen her have an anxiety attack after they’d rescued George. 

It had been the fresh blood, she’d said, and he knew she hadn’t been lying—he saw it now during her examinations of victims, noticed the split-second hesitation before getting started, the slight wrinkling of her nose at the smell, the way all of her muscles would tense slightly, as if fighting her brain’s decision to move forward. 

It was more than that, though. He’d seen Cassie investigate dozens of crime scenes, conduct dozens of autopsies and he’d never seen her knocked off-kilter like she had been by the Winnebago in Gloconda. Sure, he’d seen her upset after the fact, after she’d done her job and had a moment to breathe, but he’d never seen her winded like that from a scene, like she’d been punched in the gut. 

It was hard to grapple with the fact that Cassie was most likely scared, that she could be. He knew it was a stupid thing to think, knew everyone got scared, but Cassie never seemed to blink at all the horror. He’d hated that about her, hated that it all seemed so easy for her to deal with.

Now he hated that she was afraid.

There must have been some sort of parallel between Frank’s crimes and what had happened to her, something dredging up all the memories of her torture. She’d told him enough and he’d seen enough of the evidence on her skin to know the extreme level of sadism in the wounds, that whoever had done that to her had done it with the express intent of hurting her as much as possible for as long as possible. Frank too, got off on the terror, the pain, just with an expedited timeline. 

Cassie looked up at him, a deep furrow between her brows. “Is that the last of the files?”

“I believe so.”

“That leaves us with nine potential victims within the radius then. That’s too many for us to cover—“

“Let’s just go tell the rest of the team. We’ll see what Hotch says. If we call in locals too, we should be able to keep an eye on all of them.”

“He has almost three hours head start on us, and he’s devolving. It’s not even really about the sadism anymore, it’s about the killing, it’s about punishing us,” she said, running her hands over her eyes. Spencer grabbed the stack of files and gave her shoulder a brief, reassuring squeeze before setting off to the conference room.

Cassie would follow, he knew, but she was right—Frank was spiraling wildly out of control and they’d be lucky to limit the amount of bodies he racked up before they cornered him. 

---

Cassie couldn’t make herself go into Rebecca’s room. She could smell the blood from outside the door, knew what she would see on the other side of the door and she couldn’t make herself do it. Not after seeing Sarah, not after seeing Gideon’s apartment soaked in crimson, not after knowing what Rebecca had already survived. 

It wasn’t fair. 

It was supposed to be over, she was supposed to be able to move on, to have her happily-as-it-would-ever-get-afters. She was supposed to have suffered enough. She’d read her case, back when she’d first joined the BAU—she’d very nearly been burned alive, held captive for two years, and now she carved up and dead in the bed she’d thought was safe. 

How many more would they fail, before they found Frank?

She stepped back into the hall and leaned against the wall as the rest of the team went in, letting her gun fall slack to her side. She’d tucked three extra magazines in the inside of her coat pocket, double-checked all three of her weapons before they’d left the BAU, but it didn’t make her feel any better. 

All the guns in the world wouldn’t matter if you got dosed with the amount of ketamine Frank worked with.

She could hear the others talking in the other room, knew she should be listening, but she couldn’t get her heart to stop racing, her blood to stop rushing in her ears. All she could keep thinking about was the blood—all the blood. Soaking the sheets, the floor, the walls, splattered across the ceiling. It would stain the floorboards, the paint—it’d never properly come out. They’d have to paint over it, cover it up, but it would always still be there, lurking, just under the surface—

She dug her nails into her arm, hoping the pain would halt the train of thought. The last thing she needed now was to have a full-blown panic attack in front of Hotch and the rest of the team. She’d assured him her case didn’t effect the others she worked, wouldn’t effect the others.

“Distal, middle, proximal, metacarpal, trapezium—“

“Cass? JJ’s got a lead on Jane, we have to—Cass, come on, come on, come on,” Spencer said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her from the apartment building. 

She tried to focus on the feeling of his fingers around her wrist, on the fact that she could feel the cool night air, on the damp edge of it, but the thought of dampness only circled back to the crimson that painted the walls, that soaked into every surface it touched, tainting it—

“Cassie, it’s okay. Take deep breaths.”

She swore, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to steady her breaths. She could feel bile rising in her throat, know if she wasn’t carful she’d be sick all over the sidewalk.

Just like the last time. 

“Sorry. Sorry—“

“Just breathe. Was it the blood?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She had to focus on finding Frank, not on her own bullshit, especially when it was not only pulling her off the investigation, but Spencer, too. 

And they needed him, needed his brain and his eidetic memory and he was out here with her because she just couldn’t compartmentalize properly. 

She had to get a hold of herself. 

Gideon had been the one to recommend her to the BAU, had pushed for her appointment and now she was fundamentally failing him when he needed her most. 

“We have to find the others, we have to save them.”

“We’re going to. Just—are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be fine. We just have to focus on tracking down the bastard.”

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