#but yeah.... i already have to save for stuff this month... i should be set for gaiden by november

[todayisafridaynight]

THANK U FOR THE MOVIES!!!! i would also like to mention. lad8 is currently preorderable but. the standard edition alone is 70$😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

of course !!!! i don't remember if i mentioned it on the doc, but i watched a bulk of those on kissasia. otherwise, i've put a link (provided by masu) where you can download the show/movie, or in the case of 47 Ronin in Debt, the site you can watch it

$70 for vidja game tho..... //falls to my knees//

[raineydays411]

My Fathers Daughter pt 11

Okay! so here's part 11 <3

It has been so busy in my life lately, I just started a new job so I'm getting used to that. I'm also thinking of starting a patron? But honestly I don't think I'm good enough to charge people to read my stuff plus I'd feel bad.Idk if thats something I should look into let me know.

Summary: This is basically set up for the more important chapters

You are going crazy.

Like literally insane. You might end up on the news honestly.

These people are driving you insane. And it's so boring! After the initial feeling of anger and resentment passed, and that awkward conversation with Dick you made a decision.

You were going to make the best of this situation. There was no point in wallowing in self pity when you were already there. Just like Jason said, you can let the anger consume you or you can make it work.

You're making it work.

You started out slowly. As much as the thought of just walking out and pretending like everything was normal amuses you, you realize that it may not be the best choice given that you have been surly most of your stay here. So you made a plan.

First you started by waking up early and offering to help Alfred with breakfast. Because of there was anyone you wanted to win over it was him. He was certainly surprised at the offer but didn't turn you down. He had you mixing the pancake batter because the one time he let you try, you ended up burning the pan and the pancake. Hey, you were still a rich kid no matter how independent you were. You also set the table, and while you were doing that everyone started waking up and coming down stairs.

No surprise that Christine was the first one down.

"Y/n!" She says in shock," Good morning! What..what are you doing? Is everything okay?"

You look up from the plates you were setting down, "Uh..yeah, I just..I just wanted to see if Alfred needed any help."

Christine, despite the common consensus, was not a dumb woman by any means. She knows that she has come on wayyy too strongly when it comes to mending her relationship with you. She really couldn't help it, the guilt has been eating her alive. But seeing you here, downstairs talking Alfreds ear off and setting the table, makes her want to take a step back and recalculate her approach. So, instead of loading you with questions and offers to have girl time woth you, she simply beams a bright, genuine smile and says

"I'm glad you did, Alfred tends to overwork himself even though he won't admit it." Smiling when she hears Alfred scoff from the kitchen, " Thank you."

You stare at her. Not really knowing what exactly to say, but you're saved from responding when Tim and Damian come stomping down the stairs, bickering.

"I am telling you only once Timothy, the next time you hog the shower-"

'Damian dude there are like five other bathrooms, why do you insist on using-" "You know that that shower has the best water pressure!"

The arguing ceases when they notice you downstairs.

"Oh, so you're taking to ruining our day before it even begins then" Damian says snidely.

"Oh yeah," You reply, " Nothing makes me get up faster in the morning than the thought of specifically ruining the day of a preschooler."

Damian just tsks and takes a seat. The glares of his mother and butler daring him to make another remark that might scare you off.

Tim just looks at the two of you and flashes you a soft smile saying a quick good morning and takes a seat. He really doesn't know what to do around you. He has a feeling that maybe the two of you can get along, but so far the hostility you harbor towards his mother figure has really put him off you. Logically of course he understands, the history the two of you have is enough to make anyone hate his mothers' actions. But despite that, Christine is his mother. And he's only known you for a few months. he also feels that even if there is bad blood between you and Christine, there is no reason to take it out on his brothers. They didn't directly have a hand in Christines actions. But again, your hard feelings make sense. It was a very complex situation.

Bruce was the last one to come down. He was already dressed in a nice suit and tie, kissing Christine on the cheek and mumbling a quick good morning to the boys. Upon seeing you at the table, he pauses, gives a soft smile and ruffles your hair with a "good morning Y/n, thank you for setting the table." Grabbing his quick breakfast and nodding goodbye.

It leaves you stunned. He acted so casually, as if you've been setting tables here you're whole life. But that might be the one thing you appreciate about Bruce you're entire stay here.

The rare times you would leave your room and be in his presence, he would treat you just as he treated his other children. There was no forced conversations or abrasive and demanding questions. No ill will towards you because of the circumstances. Just Bruce rolling and adapting with the punches.

You guessed that maybe him being Batman, he's probably deducted that you don't like the way everyone (Christine and Dick) has made such a big fuss over you being at the Manor. Or maybe he's just adopted enough kids to know what tactics work and what don't.

Who knows.

Breakfast goes by without too much conversation, except for a few snide remarks from Damian that everyone ignores. And the day goes by pretty slowly. Until night time.

Now, you knew coming to Gotham that it's basically the Crime Capital of America. But actually being in the city watching it from your living room is a whole other story.

Joker is loose in the city causing absolute mania. He has taken over the main hospital, lacing ivs with his poison, causing hundreds of patients to go insane. The screams and manic laughter can be heard from outside the hospital, that is being featured on the news. Just watching through your screen and knowing that you aren't able to get a first person POV is absolutely killing you.

The manor is silent all night. You go downstairs to ask Alfred some questions and he is nowhere to be found. Neither is Christine or Bruce. Damian gone. Tim? nowhere . Dick and Jason not there. The girls are missing as well.

Now, if you were anyone other than Tony Starks daughter, you would find the disappearance of the Wayne family during Jokers terrorist event to be pretty concerning. However you did manage to inherit some of your fathers smarts and managed to deduce that Bruce Wayne was the vigilante Batman and his sons were his sidekick Robin. Honestly you found out a long time ago when you were trying to hack into Wayne enterprises to pull a prank when your father came back from a gala annoyed. But now you were just getting stir crazy.

You were watching as all these innocent people were getting their minds turned on them in their most vulnerable moments. And it seems as if Batman is having a hard time creating an antidote as well as contain the hospital grounds. So you do what you do best and hack into the Batcomputer. You skim through files about previous interactions with the Joker and his venom, noting that this man has been basically let off the hook wayyyy to easily for the atrocities he commits but that none of your business.

You manage to find a pattern when it comes to the way that the Joker creates his venom and the additional components he adds to it to make it more potent. This most recent upgrade, he had to add a certain chemical that wouldn't burn the victims veins upon entry and would quickly affect their minds. There was one chemical that you knew about when you were researching Hydras mind controlling tactics back when you had first met Bucky and wanted to help him. Immediately you realize that it is the same chemical that the Joker must have put into the IVs and rush out to tell somebody.

Only, nobody's in the manor. Amd you have no idea how to reach them.

So, you figure that Bruce must have a "secret lair" of some sort and got exploring. You honestly get lost a couple of times, and come across a grandfather clock, noticing that the time is wrong. You move the hands, hearing a hiss and scraping. You turn and see the staircase behind a bookshelf.

Bingo.

You slowly walk to the door, heart pounding.

Despite being occasionally involved in your fathers infamous superhero lifestyle, you didn't know how Bruce and the others will react to you being upfront about your knowledge of their double life. So far, they have been content on ignoring the fact that you have hinted multiple times about you knowing their secret. Even Jason will redirect conversations if you mention the strange lack of vigilante activity that Gotham was to famous for. For the few months you have been in Gotham, it seems as if anything having to do with the Bat, whether its news articles or reports, has seemed to disappear. And you feel as if it was purposeful.

You were supposed to be laying low, and how can you do that if you throw yourself into the night life.

And now that you are truly seeing the cruelties of said nightlife first hand, you're glad you have been shelter from it. It was one thing to see it on a computer screen, it was another to see it in real time.

You finally reach the bottom of the staircase, slightly out of breath as it really was a long way down and you were rushing. You look around seeing a cave made of limestone. When entering the cave you noticed the musty air usual caves have was not there. Platforms connected to each other as water ran by the sides. You saw a....t rex and a giant penny? As well as many other what you assume is memorabilia from previous fights. Clear cases containing multiple versions of the Batman and robin suits. There were different gadgets and weapons' lining the walls, a training area, a replica hospital area, as well as a freaking platform for the Batmobile.

Honestly it blew your mind that Bruce has enough time ans the resources to make this cave so extravagant. But you guess that thats what rich people tend to--

"Y/n?!"

A panicked voice breaks your train of thought. You look up to see Christine rushing towards you in a panic, " What are you doing down here?! I told them I didn't want you to be in this!"

Excuse me?

"Excuse me? What do you mean you told them?" You said in shock anger starting to slowly simmer in your body.

Before an argument could start, Alfred gave a quick

"Miss Christine, perhaps this isn't the best moment for your overprotective mother routine."

Before he returned to the massive collections of screens that looked like a supercomputer. It was showing the first person povs of what looked like multiple people. And it was bad.

In one screen, someone was trying to pry off what looked like a crazed hospital patient from another one. In another screen, someone was trying to get the non infected patients and doctors safely out of the trashed hospital only to encounter men in clown makeup. The worst one was the screen that was obviously Bruce/Batman, being mercilessly taunted by non other than the Joker clad in a stereotypical doctors outfit. His cruel smile twisting and he menacingly loomed over a woman who was petrified. She was being held down by some of the Jokers' henchmen as he stalked towards her with a syringe filled with a clear unidentified liquid. Batman was fighting a hoard off Jokerfied hospital patients, all crazed with maniacal laughter that sent a chill down your spine. Wide crazed smiles filled every screen you looked at no matter who's point of view it was. It made you a little worried about little Damian. Even if he was a pain, he was a child. There is no way he should've been out there.

Christine pursed her lips at Alfreds remark and nodded, probably setting a mental reminder to lecture you later before heading to a smaller set of computers.

"What are you doing?" You ask following her, wanting to get away from the horrifying scene on the main one.

"I'm trying to find some sort of antidote. Every one we usually use seems to make this one stronger." Christine says grimly. You watched for a bit, wondering how someone could do this to innocent people.

"I think I can help with that." You say, but before you are able to continue your speech, Christine cut you off.

"No. No way. Y/n as your mother I cannot let you get involved in this. No way"

You frown, " What do you mean no? I don't think the lot of you have many options at this point Christine."

"I said no. I am not letting another one of my children get ducked up in this life. Go back upstairs." Christine demanded in a stern voice.

Honestly it made you more amused than scared. She really didn't have the same grip of fear Pepper had when she was angry with you.

"Christine if you would just list--"

"Y/n thats enough! Go back to your room and wait for me up there young lady."

"This isn't some parental disagreement this is life and death i can't stand by and let innocent people die just because you wanna play mommy." You say sternly.

Christine looks visibly hurt by your comment. But she looks back into the screen and says

"My family is out there risking their lives for those innocent people. If your father lets you run around unchecked during his mission then that's on him. I however will not let you endanger the lives of my children and husband as well as what seems like half the freaking population of Gotham. Now GO up stairs."

And with that she turns and heads back to the smaller set of computers and refuses to engage with you until you have no choice but to go back up the million flight of stairs back into the manor, then climb up the other flight leading back into your bedroom.

You were fuming.

You slammed the door upon entering your room and threw a pillow to harshly into the wall.

Hundreds of people might die or become permanently insane because of the stubbornness of one woman.

That's when you hear a chime go off from your desk. You look over to see your laptop.

The same laptop you happened to upgrade with protective features that allowed you to hack into hydra files.

The same laptop that you had used to hack into the Batcomputer. The same computer that was downstair...

With in a beat you wear sat in your desk, logging into your computer. You figured if the people downstair weren't going to listen to you, then maybe the ones in the field will.

You look around for what you think is a link to who you hope is bruce and say a small

"Hello?"

Whoever it was gave a pause, and then says

"Y/n? You finally decided to stop pretending you didn't know huh?

Taglist:

@loxbbg

[ancha-aus]

Ghosts & Medium AU Drabble - Sleepover

I am back with this little AU of mine :3 Becuase I had an idea and I of course have no self control.

What is the focus? Killer and Cross getting to see Dust's and Ash's apartment.

*-----------------*

Dust continues to stare through the front window. He is tired. And Not just physically.

"Come on Dusty! I want to explore my new body and I could use an extra set of hands~"

"It ISN'T your body!! Don't you fucking dare!"

Dust is way beyond his social quota. He has been for the last three weeks. With the last week being especially tiring.

Having Killer tag along as a ghost had been bad.

Killer now having a body?

Dust is used to waking up with a ghost hovering near. Ash does that all the time to wake him up. Seeing Killer instead had been a shock to his system and Dust had tried to hit the ghost. Not very effective because well, ghost. Even if a poltergeist is more physical than most ghosts he was still a ghost.

Well! Having an actual person near and hovering over him?! Yeah. Much more nerve wrecking and is ruining his already fragile and destroyed sleeping cycle.

It doesn't help that Cross is around. Pouting and grumbling all the time. Reminding Killer of what to do with his bdoy and what not to. Pestering Dust to solve it.

Dust doesn't even know what ritual Cross used! Dust had gone to Cross because he hadn't been able to get Killer to leave him. Yet now his problem is doubled.

Ash had offered that maybe they can go home. Get some rest and read some of his books for answers. Dust had figured it was fine. He still had some money from the last job. He would ahve to make every penny count and maybe just eat cheap rice for a while but he can make the money stretch a little longer.

So they got into his van and started going to his apartment.

Dust had considered leaving Killer in Cross's body behind somewhere. He got so close to just doing that. With Killer being stuck in Cross's body it would mean he would be free of him.

But well. Cross and him are still kinda friends. Cross is pretty much Dust's only kinda friend... even if Cross just treats him as any other customer.

Also it feels like a waiting disaster to leave a mobile Killer unsupervised.

So there are going back to his place. Even if Dust much prefers no one knowing where he lives but what can you do.

Ash floats by his shoulder "You sure you don't want to stop for coffee? You have been driving for seven hours now." Ash shoots him a disapproving look.

Dust shrugs "too expensive." he can get soo much rich for the price of one overpriced coffee.

God he misses coffee. Sadly it was one of the first things he stops buying once he gets into the lower amounts of money, same for cigarrettes. Which, with business being slow. He had been low on cash for the last seven months.

There is a reason he tried so hard with Killer's whole haunting thing. It had been the first job after anohter four months of no work or jobs. He needed the cash.

Not that it matters now. He got so many more problems now. At least Cross still has his own savings to keep his body alive while Killer inhibits it.

Dust remembers he should answer Ash "I am almost there." just two more hours. Maybe one and a half if he speeds a bit. That is one of the nice parts about having a ghost with you the whole time. Ash being near causes some electrics to shortcut.

Speedcameras count within those for some reason.

Works great for him.

Killer whines loudly "Dusty! Pay attention to me!"

"Don't distract him from driving Killer! YOu are going to get us killed!"

Killer gasps "OMG!"

Ash looks unimpressed "Did you just seriously say omg out loud? as just letters? as an actual reaction? In an actual conversation? seriously?"

Killer wiggles excited from side to side "We could be ghosts together! Haunt stuff together and-"

Ash rushes Killer and Killer yelps as Ash no doubt uses his own limited ghost ability power stuff to harm him now he is physical "If you ever even entertain the idea of my brother dying ever again I am killing you in this new host body myself. Am. I. understood?"

Cross looks panicked "Wait no! that is my body!"

Ash huffs "I am aware. But I am not risking Dust. Not for anything or anyone."

Killer pouts "Geez calm down. it was just an idea." he mutters unhappily "we wouldn't even be sure if it would work."

Dust just ignores the ghosts arguing. It is still a long drive.

Fuck he would kill for either a coffee or a cigarrette right about now. He would commit a war crime if he could get both.

--

It is late. Very late. But they are finally here!

Dust parks the van in an empty spot and grabs his bag as he walks towards the front door. He opens it with his key and has to hit it a few times before the door into the building opens.

Dust just nods to the door as he looks at Killer "Inside."

Killer has a hand on his, well cross's chest as he looks down at him. Damn Cross for being tall. "Oh? inviting me back home already? After just one date? I am scandalised and very interested." and he walks inside.

Ash makes a gaging sound and Dust rolls his eye lights before following after Killer. Once inside he pulls the door until it gets back stuck again and he locks it again. The doorhandle it broken so you need to force it in and out of place before keeping it shut with the lock itself.

Dust walks past the elevator that Killer is waiting by "don't use the elevator. it gets stuck and has the habit of dropping a few floors." and he walks towards the stairs. Fuck he hates the stairs.

Still he climbs the floors and eventually finally gets to floor eight and walks down the hallway. Door after door after door. There is his spot. 808.

He pulls out his key and tries it. Ugh. It is stuck again. He bonks his skull against the door "Ash?"

Ash floats through the door "on it."

a moment later he feels the key turn and he steps back as Ash forces the door open. He removes the key "Thanks." and he leads the other two inside as Ash closes the door and locks it again.

Dust stands in his room and ignores the very damning silence "Home sweet home." he throws the bag on the couch as he walks over to the window and opens it. Having to put the small wood board between some parts to keep it open.

Killer looks around the place as Cross looks a lot more alarmed "You live here?!"

Dust shrugs as he walks to his couch where he leavs a blanket and pillow "Euh. I live in my van. I only come here once in a while." Thinking that. He will probably need to get food. He never leaves food behind in his place. Makes the rats visit.

Cross looks so worried as he floats nearby "You enver said this was your place!"

Dust shrugs "It is fine."

Sure the enterance and living room and kitchen is one room... with the door hitting the couch... and the kitchen being one small fridge a counter and a electric little stove thing. and the place he eats is just one table with one chair. But it is a place! It has electricity kinda reliable and the water is mostly clean.

Dust blinks and shrugs "Rent is cheap." also the landlord does not pay attention to who pays and who doens't. Which is the only reason Dust still has this place and why he doesn't complain about everything being broken.

Dust looks at Killer and points at the couch "You can sleep here. That was Cross's body gets some rest. I will be in my room." and he turns and goes towards his own bedroom, after picking up his bag of course.

His room may have been an exaggeration. It is just his mattress on the floor with two different blankets and an old pillow. the room just barely fits the mattress and the small set of drawers for his clothes. He searches through it and finds a shirt some sweats and a beanie. This will have to do to sleep in.

He undressed and redresses. He will do all the stuff to clean up and stuff tomorrow. First sleep. It is like 4 am and he had been driving since they left Cross's chapel. at like 6ish... Dust thinks... maybe earlier?

It doesn't matter. Dust lets himself fall on his mattress and rolls up. Muttering a good night to Ash and getting one in return.

--

Someone is muttering stuff near him. Ugh. Can't he just sleep for a bit longer? He is tired.

He grumbles as he tries to curl more into his blanket but he is stuck. weird. did he get tangled with his blanket again? Would explain why it is so warm and... why... something... is moving...

Dust manages to open his sockets and freezes.

Cross, well Killer, is in bed with him. Killer pouts "You woke him-"

Dust just punched him in the face nad Killer rolls off the bed. Releasing him in the process. Dust glares at him "Why the fuck are you in my room." he rubs his sockets. no longer sleepy at all. what the actual fuck?!

Killer rubs his, well Cross's face "I wanted to get up close and comfortable. but then i realised that sleeping with you as very comfy. so i slept in your bed wiht you instead of the couch."

Dust looks around and spots Ash looking pissed. and Cross hiding his face nad looking beyond embarrassed "I am so sorry! I didn't know what to do and i thought he was asleep so i went to explore the building and when i came back he was well here and I couldn't convince him to leave as he was aslready asleep himself and well..."

Dust looks at Ash and Cross "wake me?!"

Ash grumbles unhappily "You need your sleep."

Cross sighs "also nothing we did could wake killer and it isn't like he listens."

...

What even is his life?

Okay. Fine.

Dust gets up and kicks Killer and he yelps. Dust just kicks him again "Out. I need to get dressed."

Killer grins and winks "I can assist-" Dust kicks him again. Killer pouts "okay fine fine fine!" and he leaves.

Dust gets dressed quickly and goes towards the living room. Time to look into some new options to get this situation wiht Killer and Cross sorted out.

First he needs to switch their places to get Cross his body back. And then a ritual to get Killer to leave him alone.

That is easy. That is just two rituals.

Dust grabs the first book and starts looking through the rituals.

There has to be something that can work... He could also try and summon something that can make the changes if he really needs to.

[paperweight91]

Like I’m Gonna Lose You

Part 1

Summary: your crush on your married lawyer friend gets a little out of control…

Warnings: smut, Daddy kink, infidelity

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader, mentions of Andy Barber x Laurie Barber

A/N: This is something inspired by the lovely @georgiapeach30513 ! If it wasn’t for her AMAZING fic Desperate Affairs I’m not sure this would exist.

If you would like to read more I am hoping to post the next part soon.

Autumn set in early this year, much earlier then you ever remembered it setting in before. Only the first week of September and you were already wearing your fall jacket to work. You always loved fall, but wish that summer could last just a little longer.

You locked up your apartment as you set out for work, earlier than usual so you could stop and get a nice warm coffee, heck maybe you’d even spring for one of the seasonal drinks since it was pay week.

As you walked into the little cafe and joined the line, which was already so long despite the early hour, you spotted him. ADA Andy Barber. The man you had secretly crushed on for months. It was embarrassing at this point. Mostly because he’s married. It was so hard though, he was always so kind and attentive. In those moments it was easy to forget why you shouldn’t be crushing on him.

“Hey!” Andy smiled at you, and your heart jumped into your throat. Why did he have to have such a nice smile? “I didn’t know you came here. It’s been a while.”

Yeah because I’m avoiding you.

“I don’t usually,” you tried to smile but it probably came out more like a grimace. “With how cool it’s been I wanted a warm treat and no better time than pay week.” Ugh, why? Why were you so awkward?

Andy made small talk as you both progressed through the line. It was wonderful, and so horrible at the same time. Once you placed your order, he quickly sidled up beside to place his own and pay for both.

“Andy! You don’t have to do that!” You look up at him pleadingly.

“My treat.” He says, and he has his courtroom voice on. “Maybe this means I’ll see you here again since you didn’t have to splurge today.” He winks at you.

He WINKED! That has to mean something. God you wish you were better at this.

“Thank you Andy. I really appreciate it.” You smile shyly. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow since it’s my day off and I can actually sit and enjoy a coffee for once.” You laugh at your own joke.

“I’ll be here same time, I’ll even save us a table.” Andy says as he reaches for both your cups from the barista saying a quick thanks.

“It’s a date!” You smack you forehead. What a stupid thing to say to a married man. Married, he’s married! “I uh I didn’t mean, you know date as in dating. Oh god. You know what I’m uh I have to go to work. Thanks again Andy.” Your face heats up as you speed walk to your car.

Stupid, stupid! How could you have said that out loud, to his face! He’s gonna think you’re crazy. Scratch that you are crazy. Pining after a man who’s married with a kid. Just ridiculous.

You look up hearing a tapping on your window - it’s Andy. You roll down your window, looking directly at your steering wheel, still too embarrassed to look at him, you can’t even ask him what he wants, it’s too much. He’s probably here to tell you to stay away from him.

“Hey sweetheart,” ugh the pet name is back. He always calls you this when you do something embarrassing. Usually it’s something small like tripping or dropping stuff. Nothing like proclaiming seeing him as a date.

“I’m so sorry Andy, that was so innapropriate. I should not have said that.” You speak barely above a whisper. Not even sure he heard you.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll see you tomorrow same time, okay? Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He reaches his hand through the open window and strokes your hair back from your face.

Huh. Andy’s always been affectionate with you, maybe he’s taking pity on your by now obvious crush on him.

“Th-thanks Andy. See you tomorrow.” You put the car and gear and drive away. God that man he did something to you.

Your day at work was mostly wasted as you spent most of your time thinking of how your date with Andy would go tomorrow. Coffee, he invited you for coffee. That doesn’t mean it’s a date. It’s true lots of friends just get coffee with each other.

Finally, your work day over you sign off and say good bye to your coworkers. Getting in your car, you decide to stop at the grocery store to pick up a few things since you planned to spend all of tomorrow reliving your date with Andy. Whatever, it’s in your own head. Enjoy the moments while you have them right?

Picking up your essentials for the week on autopilot, you barely realize when your back in the car and are halfway home before your brain comes back online. Oh well, at least it wasn’t far. Although you should probably stop day dreaming about Andy while driving. That was a sure fire way to get in an accident.

You spend most of the night tossing and turning, not sure what to think about tomorrow. You finally pull yourself out of bed at 5, knowing you won’t be getting any sleep. You shower and decide to wear one of your favourite fall outfits. A brown sweater dress that has always fit you well. Putting on some light make up, you look at the time and realize you’re running later than you thought and rush out the door.

Pulling up to the cafe you see Andy through the window. As promised sitting at a table, with two cups infront of him.

You take a breath and look at him closely before you walk in. He looked good when he’s not in a suit. He also looks good in a suit, but casual - in jeans and a sweater? This is new and fantastic.

“Andy!” You say as you walk over to the table. “I thought you might be working today?” You don’t mean it to come out as a question but it does anyways.

He laughs and smiles at you. “ I have to go by the courthouse later, but wanted to see you this morning.” His eyes sparkle at you. “I got you the same as yesterday, I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s great but you didn’t have to. I thought I was paying today.” You pout at him as you sit across from him. This kinda feels like a date, right? You can pretend at least.

“I know, I know. But how could I let you pay on our date?” His smile is mischievous. Like he knows he’s doing something he shouldn’t.

Your blush reaches your toes if possible.

“Oh God. Andy I’m so sorry, I know this isn’t a date, I can’t believe I said that, to your face!” You cover your face with your hands but not for long. Andy reaches across the table, and holds your hands in his.

“Andy?” You’re confused. Very confused. And maybe reading into the situation a little too much.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. There’s no reason to be embarrassed.” His smile is so warm on his beautiful face. And you’re not sure what to say so you take a sip of coffee.

“Did you order black?” You ask him and he nods. You quickly switch the cups and sigh at the sip of your over priced pumpkin spice whatever.

From there the conversation flows for more than an hour. You’ve never been able to speak to someone like this. Not friends or ex-boyfriends. Andy is such a great listener and so passionate when he speaks. You get lost staring at him while he tells you about a case he just wrapped up.

Watching how his eyes light up when he mentions something he was clearly proud of. How his neck flexes when he recalls something seedy the defence did. He’s just beautiful.

“Hey,” he waves a hand in front of your face. “Did I lose you for a minute?”

“N-no, of course not. You were talking about how Neil’s been trying to steal this case from you?” God you hope that’s right.

He sighs, wrong. Dammit.

“Laurie finds this stuff boring too. I’m used to it. We can talk about something else if you want.” You definitely don’t want that. He seems so sad, and put out by your obvious distraction, it’s natural when you reach across the table to cup his cheek.

“I’m sorry Andy. It’s not boring I promise. I just um…” you trail off, unsure of how to say what was actually happening.

“What sweetheart? You know you can tell me.” His face is a mix of confusion and worry. And you don’t like that so you know you have to tell him.

“Well I just was watching you while you spoke, and I know it sounds creepy. But Andy you’re so passionate and it shows throughout you. I really admire that about you.” There that wasn’t terrible. He won’t think the wrong thing, right?

The smile that spreads across his face makes your insides jump around. Beautiful.

“Thank you sweetheart. You want to get out of here?” Wait what? Isn’t that what the creepy dude you met at the bar asked you? It must have shown on your face because he quickly added, “I’d like to spend some more time with you, but I’m not gonna lie. These chairs? They’re killing my back.” He laughed.

You laughed too. “Would you want to come back to my apartment? I could make us a bite to eat?”

“That sounds great sweetheart. Text me your address, I’ll meet you there.”

You text him your address and start to gather your things. He walks you to your car with his hand on the small of your back the whole time. It’s not weird, friends do this. Right?

You race back to your apartment to do a quick tidy before Andy shows up. Just when you begin to think he isn’t showing up, there’s a knock at your door.

“Sorry! Couldn’t find parking” he must have parked pretty far away. You see the slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

“That’s alright, please come in. And excuse the mess I was planning to clean when I got back.”

His eyes take in your apartment and you squirm like he’s inspecting you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask. His silence is making you nervous, and you shuffle your feet.

“Oh sweetheart no, nothings wrong. Your place is wonderful. I was just trying to find this ‘mess’ you speak of.” He pulls you into his arms. And you giggle at his joke and the closeness. “ is this okay?” He asks wrapping one arm around your waist. The other has found it’s way to your face cupping your cheek and bringing you closer.

“Uh Andy what’s going on?” You’re nervous it’s obvious. He can’t be doing what you think he’s doing.

As leans in you can see his lips get closer before he whispers. “Please don’t tell me it’s all in my head. You want me, don’t you?”

Before you can respond he’s kissing you. Actually kissing you. And the world stops for a moment, because this? This is perfect, and wonderful and-he’s married.

You push him away. “Andy, you’re - you’re married. What about Laurie?” God it hurt to push him away. But you can’t do this right? Even if you’ve never felt like that kissing someone before.

Andy sighs and pulls away from you. And that hurts worse than stopping the kissing. He begins to pace around your living room, before he gathers his thoughts. He finally turns to you and places his hands on his hips.

“Just answer me. Do you want me?” He looks sad again, and that’s a look you don’t want to see on his face. And worse to know you put it there.

“Of course I do. But-“ he cuts you off.

“Sweetheart, things with Laurie they’re - complicated. And you, I feel so much more like myself around you. Please, if you don’t want this I will walk out that door, and never bother you again. But if you do…” he trails off. The most earnest look on his face.

Your body makes a decision before your brain can catch up and somehow you’re kissing him again. But this time it’s much more heated.

“You’re sure?” You mumble against his lips. His only answer is to wrap his hand around your thighs and lift. Blindly carrying you over to the couch. He trails kisses down your neck to the line of your sweater dress. His hands skimming up your thighs underneath your dress to your panties.

“Wanted you for so long.” He says between kisses to your collarbone. “Wanna see you sweetheart, can I?”

You nod bashfully and he gets up so you can pull your sweater dress off. There you are standing in front of Andy Barber in nothing but a nude lacy bra and panty set.

“Don’t hide from me sweetheart. You’re beautiful like this.” His hands reach out to you and you go into his embrace. And he’s kissing you again. Pushing you down to the couch he starts to grope at your breasts, before releasing the front clasp on your bra.

The groan Andy lets out when he sees your breasts spill out flips a switch in you. This man wants you so badly, he’s willing to cheat on his wife for you. You reach down to remove your panties, but Andy’s hand stops you.

“Want you to keep them on sweetheart. Gonna fuck you, then fill you up and then you’re gonna keep it in there all day till I tell you to clean up. Cause you’re my good girl right?” His pupils are blown wide as he looks down at you. And all you can do is moan and nod.

“Please Andy…” you’re writhing and mewling beneath him and he’s barely touched you. You reach down to pull at his fly and button to get his cock out.

“Such a good girl for me aren’t you sweetheart?” He starts to pinch on of your nipples, while massaging the other breast. “Want Daddy to take care of you? Get you all cockdrunk and full?”

“Please Daddy,” you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore as you slowly jack him off. “Want you so bad, always wanted you, only you.”

Andy groans and surges forward to kiss you again. His hands leave your breasts to line himself up with your core. He pulls your panties to the side with one and runs the head of his cock between your lips with the other.

“Look at you, drenched for me and I’ve barely even touched you. Tell me how bad you want it baby, and then I’ll give it to you.” You reach up to cup his cheek.

“Want you so bad Daddy. Need you. Feel like I’m gonna lose it if you’re not inside me soon.” You whine and whimper as he teases you with his cock.

Finally he starts to breach your pussy. It’s a stretch, he’s bigger than you have had before, and you reach up to his arms and squeeze.

“You’re doing so good for me baby. Just a little more. Daddy will take care of you, I promise.” He’s whispering as he leans his forehead against yours. His eyes staring straight into yours.

“You’re so big, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.” You whimper and he kisses your temple. Finally you feel his balls slap against your ass and he’s all the way in.

“Oh baby, gonna fuck you now. You ready?” His hips are already pulling back before you can answer and they snap forward roughly.

Your eyes roll back as he gets into a rhythm. No one has ever throughly ruined you like this before. He may have ruined you for other men.

Andy sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping into you fast and rough. His right hand cupping and playing with your breast and the left sneaking into your panties to rub circles on your clit.

“Daddy please ‘m close.” It’s building inside you and before you can warn him your screaming out your orgasm.

“That’s it, such a good girl for Daddy. I’m right behind you baby.” And somehow Andy’s pace picks up again. You didn’t think he could fuck you any faster or harder, but here he is railing you within an inch of your life.

“‘M close baby, almost there.” He groans his release and you feel his cum flooding into you.

He pants into your neck for a few moments as you stroke one hand through his hair. The other is shamelessly clinging to his ass.

“You did so good for me baby.” He leans over you to pepper kisses all over your face causing you to giggle.

“Andy!” He laughs and finally gives you a break. Looking down at where you’re both connected he slowly starts to pull out, causing you to shudder. He lets your panties snap back into place, and slides down to kiss over your covered mound.

“Remember baby keep it all inside until I tell you to clean up okay?” This is new. The sex you’ve had with men before was…meh at best. And now you’ve slept with a married man, who wants you to call him Daddy and keep his cum inside you all day.

“Uh Andy?” You’re not sure if you want to tell him this. But you probably should.

When he climbs back up your body and gazes into your eyes it’s to see a searching expression on his face.

“Yeah baby, what is it?” He’s so kind, so sweet.

“What does this mean?” You can’t look him in the eye. It’s too embarrassing.

Andy sighs before responding. “I want to do this with you. Get to know you, spend time with you, fucking ruin you for other men. I don’t know where it will god, but we’ll figure it out as we go. Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of you.”

And that’s how your affair with Andy Barber started.

After that it became a regular thing. When he could sneak away from Laurie he would text or call you to come over. There was nagging guilt building, but you always managed to push it away.

He was choosing you over her!

You let it carry on for months, trying all of Andy’s newest ideas to bring you both pleasure. After the first time, he didn’t linger around for very long after. Usually leaving as soon as he had you stuffed full of his cum. And you of course just kept falling for this unavailable man.

As you tidied up the house on your day off you heard your phone start ringing from the kitchen where you must have left it.

“Hang on!” You rush through the living room to answer, knowing that the only person who ever calls you is Andy.

“Hey Sweetheart,” ugh his voice. It got you every time.

“Hey Andy, what’s up?” That was casual right?

He laughs across the line, “I miss you sweetheart can I come see you?”

“Oh course! I was just tidy-“he cuts you off.

“Great I’ll be there in 20.” With that the line clicks off. You hum as you lose interest in tidying and decide to change, since you know what’s coming.

Slipping out of your pants and t-shirt, you decide on a floral dress with spaghetti straps. Andy always likes when you wear dresses for him.

15 minutes later you hear the knock at your apartment door that can only be him.

You smile as you open the door. “Hey, were you in the neighborhood?”

He doesn’t answer, just closes the door behind him, and pulls his jacket off. He goes to sit on your couch and gestures you to follow him.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him with a worried look on your face.

Andy’s face softens as he pulls you into his lap. “No sweetheart, I’m sorry. It’s not you. Just a bad day and I needed my good girl around to help me feel better.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle into his neck. Peppering kisses along the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry, can I do anything to help you feel better?”

His smile is watery as he turns his face to look at you. “Can I take you to bed baby? I just need to feel you.”

“Of course Daddy, always want to feel you.” You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders as he lifts you bridal style to take you to your bedroom.

He gently lowers you to your mattress, and himself above you. The kiss he plants on your lips is different from all the times he’s kissed you before. It’s slower, more passionate, like he’s trying to convey more without words.

You thread your fingers through his hair with one hand and use the other to start unbuttoning his shirt. Which he quickly shrugs out of. He moves to the zipper of your dress, normally something like this he’d barely undress you, but today something was different. Did he feel it too?

When you were both fully naked he cupped your cheek and stared into your eyes for a few moments, before slowly easing himself into you. Slowly he began to rut into you, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel the pleasure building, slowly, but in a delicious way you had never felt before.

Using one arm to brace himself he brought the other down to your clit and started rubbing figure eights.

“Oh Andy, please I’m close. Don’t stop.” You were panting.

“I know sweetheart, I’m close too. Come on, I want us to cum together.” He adds more pressure to his fingers and changes the angle of his hips so he’s hitting your g-spot with every thrust.

“Oh! Oh, right there, right-“ you cut yourself off with a loud moan as your orgasm tears through you. It almost feels like you black out for a moment, because the next thing you know Andy is collapsing beside you and pulling you into his chest.

Through the afterglow you manage to murmur a few words to Andy. “I love you…”

He stiffens underneath you, the slow strokes of his hand running up and down your arm stop immediately.

“Andy?” He starts to sit up, not looking at you. In that moment you realize how wrong you had gotten everything. He didn’t want more than the sex. That was it, and here you were falling in love with a married man.

“I have to go.” He quickly gathers his clothes, still not looking at you as he dresses himself. While you sit alone and naked on your bed, in shock. Once he’s dressed he spares you a glance before walking out your door.

As soon as the latch clicks into place it’s like the last few moments finally hit you. You told him you love him, and he left. You turn over and sob into your pillow, uncaring for your nakedness, or how cold your bedroom is. Still smelling his cologne there makes you sob harder, to the point you feel like you’re going to throw up. It’s too much. You gave him too much of yourself, and now what do you have to show for it?

The days seems to stretch on after that. Everything seems to be passing in a haze around you. You call in to work on Monday, because why bother.

On Monday night you get a text from Andy. To say you’re shocked is an understatement. You stare at the notification for a while, unsure if you want to see what he has to say.

Deciding that you pretty much already knew what it was going to say you decide to jump in the shower, since you can’t remember the last time you did that. Stepping out you see your phone taunting you from the counter. More notifications from Andy.

Hey Sweetheart, just wanted to check in. Can I call? Pffft yeah right.

I’m sorry Sweetheart, please just let me explain

Nope, not gonna work.

At least just let me know you’re okay? Why were you starting to feel guilty? Of course you weren’t okay. Of course you didn’t want to speak with him. Of course you were falling for it.

Before your brain catches up to what you are doing you’re phone is ringing to Andy.

“Hello?” His voice is rough, like he was sleeping. Maybe he’s as upset as you?

“Sweetheart? Are you there?”

“Hey, yup, sorry. What do you want Andy?” Ugh, why are you almost crying again.

“Can I come over and we talk? Please? I want to explain and I don’t want to do it over the phone or through text.” He’s pleading. Well good, he broke your heart.

“If you want to come over to make it clear that this was just sex to you, no need. You walking out the door after I told you I love you-“ your breath gets caught in your throat but you power through. “That made things pretty clear.”

“That’s not-“ this time you cut him off.

“No Andy. Unless you’re about to say ‘I’m leaving Laurie’ this conversation is over.” You pause waiting for him to say something, anything. After the longest moment of silence you’ve ever experienced in your life passes you hang up.

It’s like you have no more tears left. You stand there alone in your sad apartment feeling the worst you have in a long time. You decide you need to move on, avoid Andy at all costs and live your life like you used to before the tornado that he was, came blustering in.

[mixelation]

some of the reborn au stuff i was working on

context: tori has applied to an internal chunin promotion, and instead of just giving it to her, minato was like "nah, go do the next exam in kiri. it'll be good pr for konoha if you're in the tournament, which i want you to just win. oh, but do it using really obvious and flashy fuinjutsu. and don't melt anyone we don't want to seem scary. idk you should try to be, like, cool and charming for potential clients"

so tori has made herself EXTREMELY stressed over this because while everyone else in her life is like "yeah obviously tori could beat the shit out of any random genin" she habitually underestimates her self. what if there is a deidara or an itachi in the tournament. ever think of that???

anyway this is introducing the other konoha-nin involved

****

Tori arrived to her meeting spot near Konoha’s front gate with two minutes to spare, take-away latte in hand. The genin of Team 2 were already there, looking distinctly nervous. 

They are so small, Tori thought with some anxiety. What if the Kiri-nin metaphorically tried to eat them? Actual thirteen year olds were vicious things, but they were also delicate little babies. Would Tori have to save them? 

“Hey,” she greeted. “Team 2? I’m Tori, the other genin.” They stared at her, nonplussed. Oh no, they’re scared little babies, Tori thought with some trepidation. “Er– where is your sensei?”

“We just got word he has meningitis,” the girl of the team said, sounding upset. She had the cute round face and the orangey-red hair of an Akimichi, flowing over her shoulders in two braids. “The messenger said someone else would be assigned.”

Tori squinted at her. Okay, yeah, that sounded… bad. 

“Viral or bacterial?” Tori asked. All three genin stared blankly back at her. Had she slipped up? They had different and fewer pathogens here. Maybe they only had one type…?

Oh, no, maybe thirteen year olds just didn’t know the difference.

Tori had no idea how one recruited a Jounin for a mission this long, this last second. In theory Minato could command ninja to do whatever he wanted, but he also seemed to operate under the policy that better treated ninja got him better results. There weren't a lot of people who would just be okay with being told one morning they’d be in Kiri for over a month, plus travel time in both directions. She imagined they were about to be set up with some sort of weirdo from ANBU.  

They only had to wait another fifteen minutes for their replacement Jounin. 

Oh my God, Tori thought as she stared at him.

“I’m Uchiha Shisui!” Shisui aimed his introduction at the team of thirteen year olds. He beamed at them, flashing his teeth. Compared to the little genin, he looked more like an adult than a gangly teen. “I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you. Let’s all get along.”

He took a moment to eye Tori’s latte with what she assumed was regular Uchiha judgment. She tightened her grip on it. She needed this latte, okay? Lattes were the only thing keeping her sane nowadays. 

The kunoichi of the genin team was blushing as she stared shyly back at Shisui. Tori felt tempted to pick her up and shake her. 

“Why don’t you all introduce yourselves before we head out?” Shisui said. “Because this is so last minute, I didn’t get a chance to brief myself on any of your backgrounds. Have any of you run missions outside Fire Country before?”

Tori knew this question was aimed at the actual children, because Shisui obviously knew all about Team 4’s missions and where she’d grown up via Itachi. The wording that he assumed they all hadn’t still made her hackles rise. 

Team 2 hadn’t ever been out of the country for a mission, it turned out. Akimichi Himi, the blushing kunoichi, said she’d gone on a month-long trip with her parents last year to research cuisines in Rice Country. 

“That’s super cool, Himi-chan,” Tori said, perhaps too loudly and quickly. God knew Shisui wasn’t good at not dismissing the incredibly interesting and rich lives of young ladies. 

Himi looked at her like she wasn’t sure why she was talking. Tori shut her mouth.

The two boys on the team were Kato Tetsuro and Uchiha Shouten. Shouten also seemed flustered to be speaking with Shisui. Tori had no idea why. Weren’t they cousins?

“I’m Tori,” Tori said when her turn came. “I’ve been outside of Fire Country before. Um, let’s see, I’m running solo because my genin teammates were already promoted. I already took the exam once, so I’m happy to answer questions about it.”

“But you failed?” Shouten asked, raising his head to eye her in incredible judgment. 

Is every Uchiha an asshole? Tori wondered. 

“Failing a chunin exam is sometimes more about politics than a ninja’s quality,” Shisui said smoothly. Well, at least he wasn’t condescending every time he opened his mouth. 

“Is everyone ready to head out?” Shisui asked. “Don’t worry. We can take this trip slow and steady. I want you guys to tell me more about yourselves.” 

And slow and steady they did take it, walking out of the village at a casual pace and then keeping that pace up for the rest of the day. Itachi would be having a meltdown. 

Shisui quizzed them on their specialties as they walked, since he’d been filling in as their mentor for the exam. His attentions were focused more on the young genin team, which Tori didn’t mind. He spoke to them like they were about eight, and if he used that tone on her, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her tongue in check. 

When they breaked to make camp, Shisui went off on his own to scout the area. Himi immediately turned to Shouten. 

“Oh my gosh,” she gushed. “Shouten, your cousin is a total hottie.”

Shouten rolled his eyes. “He’s out of your league, Himi-chan,” he said. “Shisui-san is a genius. He’s one of the most decorated ninja in the clan, and he’s only seventeen.”

And too old for you! Tori nearly yelled at Himi. She knew it was normal for a kid to crush on older people, but… but!

“Do you think he could help you awaken your sharingan?” Tetsuro asked, and Shouten’s cheeks went red. 

“Never mind that!” Himi said. “Quick, tell me everything you know about Shisui-san. What are his favorite foods? The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, duh! Does he like girls with long hair or short?”

“I don’t know him that well,” Shouten griped, stretching his legs out in front of him. His face remained red. “The Uchiha clan is pretty big, and we’re not closely related. Plus, he’s like super famous. He’s the only one Itachi-sama ever hangs out with. He’s that good.”

What the hell is happening? Tori wondered as Tetsuro leaned back on his hands and started to wonder out loud what kind of training they could get from such a prestigious shinobi that the Uchiha Itachi would deign to be buddies with him. How do these random children know so much about Itachi?

“Oh yeah!” Himi said, turning to Tori. “Aren’t you the same age as Uchiha Itachi? Were you in his class?”

“Uh,” Tori said. 

“Why would she remember?” Shouten cut in. “He graduated in four months.”

“Really?” Tori asked, surprised. She thought he’d been in there a whole year… 

“Do you really not know?” Shisui asked, suddenly appearing behind her. Then he said, in a decidedly more authoritative voice than he’d used so far that day,  “Did none of you make any moves to set up camp?”

The conversation switched to splitting up tasks. Team 2 obviously already had their own system, and while Tori would usually be happy to just sit back and watch other people work, she felt self-conscious about doing it on their first night in front of Shisui. She was pretty sure Shisui saw her as full of herself and overconfident, and she wouldn’t give him more support for that theory. 

She ended up prepping ingredients for dinner under Himi’s command. She didn’t know how she ended up being bossed around by a little thirteen year old, but… well, what was she going to do? Tell an Akimichi how to cook? 

Over dinner, Shisui turned to Tori and asked, “How’s R&D?”

Tori was surprised that he’d both known her current station and also cared enough to ask. Did… did Itachi talk about her? She felt a flash of warmth at the idea. 

“It was a bit of an adjustment,” she said slowly, acutely aware of Team 2 also listening in. She wouldn’t go into why it was an adjustment, not with Shouten staring between her and Shisui that intently. “I’m going for promotion with the hopes of heading my own projects, actually.”

Shisui frowned slightly. “You couldn’t just get an internal promotion? Your mission record has got to be strong enough that you’d get one no problem.”

Shouten’s look was intensifying as he tried to unravel the conversation they were having. Shisui’s posture stayed loose and casual, like Shouten didn’t look like he was attempting to awaken his sharingan as he spoke. 

“I applied, but… um, Hokage-sama told me to do this instead,” Tori said. 

“Ah,” Shisui said, like that made total sense. “Yeah, okay. I thought it was weird he’d be taking you off R&D for a whole month…” Shisui suddenly straightened, flashing a smile at the rest of the genin. “The chunin exam is only a month-long commitment if you make it to the final stage. It’s no big deal if you don’t! Like I said, politics are a big part of these exams. Even your little hero Itachi failed his first exam.”

“No way,” Shouten exhaled. 

“Yep,” Shisui said with a wink. “By the way, Himi, this is really good.”

Himi preened. Tori considered tossing her dinner in Shisui’s face. She didn’t think Shisui was a slimeball who’d purposefully encourage a kid’s crush on him on, but also–!

The after-dinner talk turned into the other genin quizzing Shisui on missions he’d been on, and who the coolest ninja he’d worked with were. Shisui was incredibly vague in most of his answers, as ANBU missions tended to be super classified, but he had no problem dropping a handful of famous names, seemingly just to see the genin’s faces light up. ANBU operatives had tears of anonymity; basically everyone knew who Hatake Kakashi was and that he was a captain, for example. 

“Itachi is like a legend,” Himi babbled. “He’s two years above us, so he graduated before we started, but all the senior students talked about him.”

Shouten glared at his sandals as she talked, clearly… jealous, or something. Poor kid. 

“Oh yeah,” Shisui said, turning to Tori, who’s mostly been sitting out of this conversation. “How did you of all people not know Itachi graduated early?”

“Look, I knew he graduated early,” Tori said. “I just didn’t realize how early. Four months, seriously? You’re lucky he knows how to read.”

Apparently this was a disrespectful thing to say, as Team 2 all looked stricken and then turned to Shisui with wide eyes. Shisui just laughed good naturedly. 

“‘You of all people’….?” Himi repeated. Then she brightened. “Tori, are you a fan of Itachi?”

The tiniest smirk crossed Shisui’s lips.

“Yes,” he said. “The biggest fan.”

Fuck you, Tori thought. 

xXx

Tori did not bother to correct anyone on their assumptions about her and Itachi, mostly because she predicted that would turn the ten day trip even more awkward. Tori did not like the idea of anyone being impressed with her social connections, rather than Tori’s own accomplishments. She kept her mouth shut on her genin team. 

Himi did very smugly ask Tori for her crush list more than once. They were– technically– physically Himi was only a year younger than her. This would be a normal way to bond. But it also made Tori low-key want to scream. 

(Tori almost said Kakashi as a way to make Himi stop asking. He seemed like a normal target for a ninja celebrity crush, and she knew enough about him to have a conversation. But also, if that ever somehow got back to him, she would actually die.)

“How is Deidara not famous?” she did mutter to Shisui one evening while they were washing out cooking ware together. 

“I think they’re probably too young to be paying attention to the really interesting gossip,” Shisui replied. “Maybe you should hype him up. I’ll back you up that you’re a huge fangirl–”

Tori splashed water at him. “Oi!” she said. “Why did you even do that?”

Shisui flipped a pot over, pouring water back into the stream they were sitting on. 

“I thought you might not like them losing their minds,” he said. “I figured– like, if you didn’t like it, you could have just corrected me.”

This was… true. She did prefer it this way, if they had to talk about Itachi. But also: she still didn’t like it. 

“How is the entire world obsessed with him?” she wondered. 

“Beats me,” Shisui replied. 

They made it to Kiri midday of day ten, right on time. Kiri was surrounded by a thick, blue-gray stone wall. The individual stones were not uniformly cut, yet every irregular angle and nook fit perfectly into the neighboring stone. It was impressive. 

There was a guard outside the main gate, specifically for the Chunin Exam. Shisui chatted with her briefly and handed over their papers. Someone was called in to lead them to their accommodations, and while they waited for their tour guide, the guard lectured them on their rules of conduct for the stay. 

It was better than the rules they were given in Iwa. They could actually look around parts of the village, and they were getting an actual hotel room instead of abandoned dorms. No one patted them down for contraband. Shisui was handed a stack of food vouchers, good at any restaurant. 

Then something happened that Tori should have anticipated, but had been so stressed over other things that she hadn’t given it much thought. Kisame showed up to be their guide. 

“Really?” the guard asked, eyeing Kisame up and down dubiously. “Don’t they have better things for you to be doing?”

Kisame smiled, all friendly but showing off pointed teeth. Shisui straightened up, and the other genin shuffled nervously. Tori had no idea if a genin would recognize Kisame, but they’d definitely recognize he was a giant blue shark man. 

“I volunteered,” Kisame said. “I’ve met one of the entrants before. I was curious.”

Shisui’s eyes immediately shot to Tori, almost accusing. 

Oh, they really didn’t brief you, huh, Tori thought. She attempted to communicate this at him with her face. 

“Well, whatever,” the guard was saying. “Konoha, this is Hoshigaki Kisame. He’s one of our Seven Swordsmen. Be polite, or he’ll eat you.”

Team 2’s collective faces went pale, and Kisame laughed. 

He led them into the village, and Shisui stepped forward to lead the Konoha genin, walking at Kisame’s side. He introduced himself to Kisame, making small talk as they walked. Tori watched them, wondering how much Itachi had talked about Shisui to Kisame, before. Kisame was usually pretty easy to read, but he was also habitually polite. It was difficult to tell if he was being friendlier with Shisui than he would anyone else. 

“Iwa was an… interesting experience,” Kisame was saying, and then turned his head to flash his teeth at Tori over his shoulder. 

“Extremely interesting,” Tori agreed. “I hope this exam is comparatively boring.”

“With you here?” Kisame teased, and Tori felt her face go hot. 

“I’ll have you know that I’ve been explicitly ordered to be peppy,” she replied. 

“Peppy?” Shisui repeated, dubious. This was clearly news to him. 

“Are any other entrants here yet?” Tori asked, directing the conversation away from herself. 

“You’re on the earlier side,” Kisame replied, and then he made her work to get as much info on other teams as she could out of him. 

Kisame pointed out their hotel, and then took them on a walk around the surrounding neighborhoods they were allowed to wander freely. It was, as far as Tori could tell, a largely civilian part of town. But it was pretty and comfortable, she thought; she’d always liked all the greenery and little canals Kiri had running through it. The mood of the people they saw on the street was overall happier than when she’d last been here, eyes following them more with curiosity than disdain. Kisame had done a good job saving his village from civil war. 

The outskirts of the perimeter had some training grounds they were allowed to use, as they’d arrived two days before the start of the exam. 

Finally, Kisame said, “And then… well, technically it’s not inside the perimeter, but I could still show you…” 

Kisame had been largely directing his tour guide speech to Shisui, but now he turned to Tori, grinning down at her knowingly. 

“Have any of you genin been to a beach?” 

****

for anyone of you who picked up the moral inconsistency between tori being annoyed at shisui for potentially (though not intentionally) encouraging himi's crush and her own treatment of mangetsu....... yes <3

[obsidiancreates]

The Smartest Dumb Person She's Ever Met (Shules Shawn Genius Reveal Fic)

“Shawn, this is ridiculous.” Even as she says it, Jules knows her smile completely undercuts her protests as Shawn sets out more and more and more plates of food.

“Babe, I told you, we are finding our new go-to takeout spot tonight,” Shawn insists. “We’ll just dump all the leftovers on Gus! He’ll love it, maybe even more than he loves watching debates about rash cream side-effects.”

“I don’t think he loves watching those, Shawn.”

“Then why does he spend hours on it every few months?”

“Well, maybe, because he has a day job. We’re not all so lucky to be employed by spirits and whims,” Jules teases lightheartedly as Shawn sits down and starts putting together a sampler plate. “Speaking of which, we didn’t talk about what I should expect from living with a psychic.”

“Aside from constant swooning and daily hair updates?”

“Aside from those.”

“Well, Jules, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what to expect, because I don’t know either.” Shawn hands her the plate, and sniffs. “Truth be told, this is uh… this is the first time I’ve moved in with somebody.”

Jules smiles softer. “Mine too. But I just mean… how often do you have visions outside of cases? And what about your dreams, are those affected?”

“No, not as far as I know- but I have been told I talk in my sleep.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Because you know me.” He kisses her before dishing up his own plate. “But uh, yeah, no psychic vision dreams for the most part.. … Well, sometimes, but not usually. And I can control the visions at home, don’t even worry another second about it.”

“Really? Because I thought you were completely beholden to them at all times.”

“Ehhhh… more or less.”

“Shawn.”

“Alright, so maybe a minor one here and there- but I’ll save the big stuff for the cases. No dramatic psych-outs in the living room.”

“Thank you.” Jules takes a bite of one of the various dishes on her plate, and coughs. “Oh my god, they used so much black pepper!”

“Let me try- hck! Oh my- ekch! That is just stupid, how much there is-”

“Get some water-”

“On it, on it, holy-”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn doesn’t have psychic visions or dreams, just like he promised.

But he has something else going on.

Jules starts noticing it after the first few days of lovey-dovey, disgustingly happy mushiness finally starts to settle into domesticity. She sits at the table and Shawn has a big stack of toaster waffles already drenched in syrup ready for both of them, even though he’s not a natural early riser, because it’s a day they both have off and it’s more Brunch than Lunch, and Shawn… isn’t eating.

His head is tilted, his eyes narrowed, and that usually means he’s having a vision. But this morning he’s just barely reading the newspaper- Jules is sure he’s not actually reading it, his eyes aren’t moving right for that, in fact they’re barely moving at all. They’re narrows and still, taking the paper in as one whole picture, probably absorbing nothing.

And she starts to realize he gets that look a lot, with no visions following them. He gets it when the delivery guy drops off their food, he gets it when the news comes on, he gets it when Lassiter comes over to drop off something Jules left in his car during a stakeout, and again and again and again.

And then it just goes away, and he doesn’t say anything. And she assumes, well, it’s a minor vision. He has them a lot more often than she had previously thought, clearly. Small, apparently unimportant visions that he just brushes off.

And then he tells her that they should stop getting takeout from the place two blocks away because the delivery guy is about to quit from being overworked. There’s no fanfare, no hand to his head, no sharp inhale- just an offhand statement that slips out right after he closes the front door.

It’s not the first time she’s heard him make a random prediction, not even close. But something about the understated nature of it makes her pause, and after a second she asks, “What makes you say that?”

“You’ve seen the state of that car they have him driving, it's one rough road away from falling to pieces. Plus his shoes are completely tattered, and his jeans, basically everything that’s not given to him as part of the uniform, but they’re also all stiff still- he just bought them and they’re already wrecked because of how many deliveries he’s making. That’d piss anyone off enough to quit, especially at his age.”

She hadn’t noticed that- at least, not all of it. She knew the car was a piece of junk, and the clothes were tattered, but thinking back she sees what Shawn means by them still looking stiff and out-of-the-box new. And somehow, somehow, she feels like if she points out that she hadn’t caught onto all of that herself, something… big, would just… slip away.

“That’s a shame, I like him,” is all she says instead. “He has a nice smile.”

“He just got his braces off, he’d probably literally skip for joy if he heard you say that,” Shawn says, handing over her food. Again, no fanfare, no theatrics- he just says it, unthinkingly, almost distracted as he digs into his honey cashew shrimp and chicken. 

It’s different. 

It has to be a vision, but it’s different. 

And again, Jules gets a feeling that pointing that out would break… something, about this moment. So she makes a note, and tucks it away in her mind, and hopes she’s able to remember to follow up later.

“Good for him.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn talks in his sleep most nights, as it turns out. 

It’s not very comprehensible majority of the time- usually all she can make out, when she’s even awake to hear it, is Shawn mumbling something to or about Gus. At first it’s a little offensive, frankly, that her boyfriend dreams about his best friend constantly and she never hears her own name, but it quickly becomes just… normal. Like most of Shawn and Gus’s codependency. Some days she feels like she’s dating both of them, just a little bit. It bothers her less than it probably should, certainly less than she would expect if she was an outside observer. Gus was Shawn’s original rock, his strongest pillar, his tightest tether, and she knew she’d never truly be able to match that even before she and Shawn got together. 

She should probably ask Gus about some of Shawn’s more daily psychic dealings, actually- he’s known Shawn for their whole loves, so he must have lots of advice for her about how to deal with it. And how to deal with the rest of Shawn’s… quirks. Which she loves about him, she truly does, as messy and intrusive as some of those quirks are in their lives. Psychic visions, murder scene dates, fearing that Shawn’s going to get himself killed with his daily recklessness. She had kissed him on that Canadian overlook expecting all of it, thinking she had finally come to learn everything she needed to learn about him.

And then, all those months and years later, she’s laying in bed unable to sleep and reading a book to try and calm down when Shawn mumbles out something shockingly understandable about the case they’re both working.

She freezes, as though her silent eye movements while reading could somehow disturb the moment.

“Doesn’ ma’ s’nse,” Shawn mumbles in his sleep. “Th’ t’re tr’cks…”

Jules slowly lowers her book.

Shawn rolls over, facing her now, still fast asleep, lightly snoring. Jules watches him like a deer caught in headlights.

“T’res don’ ma’ch,” Shawn mumbles out. “Tr’d too w’de…” His brow pinches, his lips pursing a little. There’s a long beat of silence.

Jules holds her breath. Like with the delivery boy, something about this moment just feels… big. Important.

Shawn’s face smooths out. “M’gn’ts.”

Magnets. 

Jules thinks about the case that they’ve been working together all week, a hit-and-run. They’ve got one witness who got a whole license plate number, they’ve got the plate number matching a car of that exact description, and the only problem is they’ve also got  a suspect who vehemently denies ever driving that route in his entire life. And like always when things seem straightforward, Shawn had declared that he wasn’t convinced they had the right guy. 

But that doesn’t help her figure out what magnets have to do with anything. After a moment she doesn’t have to figure it out on her own, because Shawn makes a soft noise of sleep-laden realization.

“Th’ s’x an’ th’ n’ne.” His hand twitches, roughly tracing out the numbers on the sheets. “Fl’p ‘em…”

Magnets. 

License plate number magnets. Moveable, alterable plate numbers.

“S’me car m’ke, s’me num’er, diff’ren’ t’re.” There’s a note of satisfaction, even in the sleep-slurred mess that is Shawn’s voice. He smiles a little in his sleep, and moments later… he’s snoring.

Jules sits, book almost falling out of her nonexistent grip, stunned into silence.

Shawn just cracked the case. In his sleep. With logic and authentic detective deduction. 

… But that’s not possible.

Shawn doesn’t work like that. He doesn’t pay attention to clues, reason out possibilities, connect dots. He receives visions, he relays them, he makes connections with the help of his abilities. And maybe she’s seen some times that contradict tha belief, but- but it’s just not how he works. She would know.

… Maybe he does get psychic dreams. Maybe he just doesn’t know he gets them? But there was a thought process there, and a natural one for it to come to him so easily in sleep. She’d heard every step of the process, followed him on each conclusion.

… But the tire treads not matching? Jules relaxes, closing her book and turning off the lamp. That had to be psychic. No-one else noticed or said anything about tire treads through the investigation. How would he even pick out and remember that detail, anyway, without spiritual guidance? He’d seen only photos of the crime scene, and not great ones at that- darn trainees.

… Psychic dreams. Has to be.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jules, look at that.” Shawn smiles and points at the ducks in the pond they’re having a picnic by. “There’s a bunch of baby ducks over there.”

Jules gasps and looks over eagerly, but quickly frowns. “Where?”

“Right there, in those tall hot-dog looking things.”

“Um, the reeds?”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

Jules squints, searching for signs of ducklings. “Where are you seeing them?”

“Right there, look.” Shawn leans and points harder , like that will help somehow. “You can totally see the hotdogs moving.”

“I think that’s just the wind.”

“No, look, the moms are circling the hot dogs and luring the feeders over to them.”

“What?” Jules looks at the edges of the pond now, and realizes that, yes, the ducks are luring the people with the food towards the reeds- and finally, the ducklings swim out into view.

“Told ya.” Shawn takes a bite of an eclair. 

“How did you even see that movement from here?” Jules looks back at Shawn in awe. 

“You kidding? They were totally moving all over.”

“But it looked like the wind.”

“The wind is blowing the total opposite direction. Look, you can see it in the ripples.”

“Huh.” Jules looks back at the pond. “That’s really impressive, Shawn. I had no idea your eyesight was that good.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been asked to be studied by science for my eyesight, but they said it would drain all the color out of them, and then of course I’d have to become a supervillain.”

“Or a mysterious warning corpse in the basement of a haunted mansion.”

“Neither of which I felt up for.”

“Right.” Jules giggles, and looks back at the pond. 

She has no idea how he noticed that. Not unless it was psychic, somehow. And further, she has no idea why he’s acting like she should be able to notice it, too. And, like before with the delivery boy, it’s not the first time he’s done this. But it’s the first time it feels…

Like something she needs to pay attention to.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shawn?” Jules sets down the bowl of brownie batter when she realizes he’s stopped licking the spoon and is staring, eyes glazed, at the wall. It’s probably just a vision. She should just consider it a vision. There’s no real reason to think it’s not.

“Shawn,” she tries again, shaking his arm slightly. He startles, just a bit, and then clears his throat and puts the licked-”clean” spoon down on the counter. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” His eyes flick back to the wall. “... Jules, uh, does the wall look…” He pouts a little, shrugging. “Suspicious, to you?”

“Suspicious?” She looks at the same spot. “It’s… a wall.”

“Yeah… but there’s something a little off, isn’t there?” Shawn walks over to it, and taps his knuckles against the plaster. “... Sounds off, actually. Come here, listen.”

She obliges, leaning in close. Shawn taps one spot on the wall, and then the spot he said sounded strange.

“... What am I supposed to be hearing, Shawn?”

“It’s more hollow over here.” Shawn taps the first spot, and then taps the second. “Right here, it sounds more uh… almost like wet cardboard.”

She listens again. “Okay… I think I hear it now. But you didn’t hear the wall from over at the counter, did you? Was it a vision?”

“There’s a ring around this spot,” Shawn mumbles, like he didn’t hear her. He smacks his lips, and then jerks away from the wall as the focus suddenly drops away into his usual energy. “Man, we’ve got a leak in the walls! I knew that landlord was lying when he said it was all up to code.”

“A leak? Shawn, we tapped the wall a little bit, that doesn’t really tell us anything.”

“Yeah, maybe… but I’m calling someone, tomorrow, just- remind me in the morning.” His eyebrows twitch up, his mouth forming an ‘O’ as he realizes something. “If I play this card right I might be able to knock a bit off our rent.”

“Shawn, you are not blackmailing our landlord over a leak that might not even exist.”

“I’m not! Not yet! Just planning to, possibly. So we can have more money for date nights!”

“It’s illegal.”

“Alright, alright. …How illegal, exactly?”

“Shawn.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s trickery. It’s lying. It’s wrong.

But she had been sitting at her desk, reviewing the latest round of new Detective’s Exam scores, when she’d remembered Shawn saying years ago that he had taken the exam when he was 15, and got 100.

A perfect score.

And maybe that meant very little to her once, when Shawn was just the strange somewhat charming guy who came into her life only on occasion to make a case more interesting. But now, dating Shawn and seriously considering spending the rest of her life with him, now as soon as she had recalled that tidbit it began to haunt her. Every time she watched Shawn around the house, and even in the station. It echoed in her head while she watched him look over reports, scan crime scenes, even while he was just watching movies and predicting things about their endings. 

I got 100. … Why? What did you guys get?

He hadn’t even been bragging. 

So now she sits on the couch, a thick binder in front of her, guilt twisting in her stomach at what she’s about to do. 

She’s about to lie to her boyfriend, with the full intent of tricking him into the taking the exam again, just to see.

When he walks into the house, slightly out of breath and carrying something that looks suspiciously like the pineapple statue put into evidence during the last case, he startles upon seeing her and hides the statue behind his back. But his excuse dies in his gaping mouth when he sees how stressed she looks.

“Babe? Everything okay?” He sets the statue- it’s definitely the same one put into evidence- aside as he moves to sit next to her.

“Fine,” she sighs. “Just- Chief Vick asked me to help review the Detective’s Exam after someone complained there were errors in it.”

“Hmm. That person should either pass immediately, or be barred from detective status forever.”

She giggles softly. “That’s a little extreme. It’s just, this is going to take forever, and I was hoping to go out today and finally try that spa that opened up.”

“Well you totally should!” Shawn looks at the binder. “Just, leave it for another time, it can’t be that pressing. After all, Santa Barbara already has it’s best detective.”

She rolls her eyes fondly.

“And, she just so happens to be dating an equally awesome but more brunette psychic detective.” He kisses her on the cheek. “So she should go out and treat herself while her awesome boyfriend tries to divine if there’s actually a mistake.”

“Oh, the spirits know that kind of thing?”

“Some of them, some of them.”

“Well, let them know I’ll still have to check their work, so they better show it.” She gives him a kiss back and stands. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The guilt gnaws at her as she drives to the spa, as she picks her treatment, as she gets her facial and her massage and her body scrub. She knows she had to- she knows Shawn well enough to know he’d never retake the exam if she just asked him outright. He’d be suspicious why she was asking him to, and she’s not sure she can tell him without making him think she’s doubting him.

She’s not. He is psychic. 

But he might also be more.

And if he is, he’s hiding it- maybe not as much as he did when she would only see him at the station, or planned dates, but he’s still hiding it. She sees him seeing things, noticing details, making connections, and when he does he never seems to…

She’s not sure. She just knows that he treats these moments like they’re something a normal person can do when they can’t, or like they aren’t happening at all, or even…

Even like they’re psychic.

She takes the long way home, breathing deeply the whole time. Shawn lies to her every day- she’s not blind to that. Usually about a case, usually because he’s more than likely doing something she could get reprimanded for just knowing about. She doesn’t like it, but even though he lies he doesn’t trick her, at least as far as she knows. 

When she gets home, Shawn isn’t there. She finds a note on the coffee table, stuck to the binder. Gus called, be back soon, XOXO.

She smiles, takes a deep breath, and opens the binder.

There’s mostly Doodles. His artistic skill on display ranges from shockingly masterful to shockingly kindergarten-like, some doodles belonging in a gallery and some not even qualifying for the fridge under a free pizza place magnet. Aliens, dinosaurs, scenes from movies, random invention ideas…

No answers, at first, which disappoints her. Until she notices that one doodle seems to coordinate to one of the questions, and it’s like a Rosetta Stone.

Not all, but many of the doodles seem to relate to the answer to a question in some way, and where there’s not doodles there’s not-answers that show knowledge of the actual answer. There’s snark and quips and jokes that contain answers, and every once and a while she even finds something straightforward smushed among the almost deflective content of the pages.

Deflective.

He’s deflecting that he knows the answers. The more she flips through, the more she sees it. Shawn went out of his way to answer without answering, to show his knowledge without admitting he has it. He couldn’t just not answer, and he couldn’t just pretend not to know- but he couldn’t outright show it either.

“Oh my god.” Jules closes the binder and puts her face in her hands. “Of course. Henry.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jules finds Henry’s detective’s exam score a week later. It’s high- not perfect, but high. She finds Shawn’s score to compare. Like he’d said. It was perfect.

She goes digging through the file archives on her lunch break, and finds the actual exam itself- someone preserved it, because a fifteen year old got 100.

It’s not like the one Shawn did in their living room.

It’s still got doodles, tangents, signs of distractibility- but the answers are much more plain. Forthright. It reads like an actual potential detective, taking the exam seriously, trying his best.

And she’s pretty sure she knows who gave Shawn that exam.

Of course, of course. His dad was a cop, a revered one, of course Henry taught Shawn some skills- more than some! How did that never occur to her? It feels silly now, to think Shawn wouldn’t have at the very least picked up a few tricks of the trade, even if Henry hadn’t taught Shawn outright.

She puts the file back, smiling and satisfied with knowing she was right and Shawn does have genuine, non-psychic detective skills like she’d suspected.

… The smile fades when she starts to wonder why he pretends he doesn’t.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Carlton, can I ask you about something?”

Lassiter looks up from his paperwork and sets his pen aside. “Anything to save me from the banality of filling another report out.”

“You… met Shawn’s mom, right?”

Lassiter’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes going a little wide. “This isn’t anything about you and Spencer’s… relationship progress, is it?”

“What? … Oh, god, no! No, I’m not looking to propose or anything.”

He sags (well, relatively- Lassiter never truly sags or loosens up) with relief. “In that case, yes, she did my last psych eval.”

“Right. And you-you talked with her a lot?”

“As much as was required by the situation.”

“Was she… like Shawn, at all? It’s just that, well, even though she’s been in town three times now, I’ve never actually talked with her beyond some passing comments.” She’s barely involved with Shawn’s life- if Jules didn’t know how absent Madaline is from her son’s existence prior to dating, she’d have assumed Shawn’s mom hated her by how little they’ve actually interacted.

Lassiter thinks for a moment, looking out into the bullpen, and then looks down and picks his pen back up. “Not really, no. Closest she came was recognizing the Clint Eastwood movies I was telling her stories from. She was generally professional, somewhat soft-spoken, and somehow got me to open up without even half of the pressing nature of her son.”

Jules nods. “Did she… mention Shawn at all?”

“Only at the end, after I shared my innermost thoughts. … You know, I take it back. That was the most Spencer -like thing she did during our sessions.”

“Huh.” Jules looks down at her own paperwork. That answers nothing about why Shawn is pretending he isn’t a good detective. It can’t be his dad, Henry would be much softer and more proud if Shawn showed off that skillset, surely. Madaline seemed like a good lead…

“She was weird, though. Outside of the relation to Spencer. She didn’t even record our sessions, she claimed to have… dammit.” Lassiter frowns as he tries to remember. “Something about being able to remember everything she hears with almost perfect accuracy.”

Jules’s head snaps up. “What?”

“I thought she was bullcrapping, but I got ahold of the file and didn’t actually find any errors in the quotes she included- she must’ve tapped the room or something.”

“Carlton, go back. Perfect memory? Shawn’s mom?”

“See, I believed her about it until I learned that. With Henry’s recall, and a mom with perfect memory for sounds, there’s no way Spencer should be as airheaded as he is. Not unless his brain short-circuited from overwhelming competency it just wasn’t built for.”

“Oh my god.” Jules puts her face in her hands. “Carlton, what if that’s exactly what it is?”

“What? What are you on about?”

“Nothing, just- it’s nothing.” She fixes her ponytail and then stands up. “I’m taking my lunch break, I’ll bring you back a coffee.”

“Uh, and a danish.”

“And a danish.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Henry swings the door open with a readied scowl, but it drops away when he sees it’s Jules standing on his porch. “Oh, Detective O’Hara.”

“I’m here on a personal matter, actually.” Jules smiles a bit. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure, sure, come on in.” Henry steps aside. “I actually just grilled up a catch from this morning, if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you, that sounds great.”

Minutes later they’re both sitting at the table, Jules sees a little carving in the top of the old piece of furniture, a shaky scratching of Shawn and Gus Club right by her elbow. It makes her smile.

“So, ah, what is this about?” Henry gestures at her with his fork. “Shawn’s treating you right, isn’t he?”

“We’re great,” she assures. “I just wanted to ask a few questions about Shawn’s gift.”

Henry leans his head to the side, frowning. “I uh, can’t really help you there, Juliet.”

“Not the psychic one.”

Henry pauses, his frown deepening. He looks up at her with something… unreadable, in his eyes. “How do you mean?”

“I’m not doubting him,” Jules rushes to reassure, and it does seem to loosen something in Henry’s twisted expression, but not by much. “I just… I’ve always known Shawn was a little smarter than he let on, you know? But I’ve had reason to believe, since we moved in together, that it’s much more extreme of a mask than I thought.”

Henry puts his fork down entirely. “What’d he do?”

“Just… little things, that I used to think were maybe minor visions or feelings, but sometimes… sometimes he just says things that blow my mind. He notices way more little details than he used to let on, for example, and then today Carlton mentioned that his mom has an um…” She take sout her phone to look it up again.

“Eidetic tonal memory,” Henry fills in before she can even begin typing. “She does. I have a visual one.”

Jules looks at him, quickly tucking her phone away. “And then Carlton said that maybe Shawn struggled with handling that- well, he didn’t say it in those exact words-”

“Shawn does not struggle with his memory, except for when he wants to.” Henry’s mouth is puckered, like he’s eating a lemon dipped in sour dust. “You’re saying you think he’s faking visions.”

“Not all of them.” That’s just not possible, with everything he figures out. “But some of them, and I just- I just can’t figure out why he would fake them for some of the things he does. I mean, the other night he talked in his sleep and basically walked me through his process step-by step by accident, and then the next day he came into the station and pretended it just came to him when he reexamined the scene photos.”

“Shawn has always had an overenthusiasm for drama,” Henry starts, speaking quickly and with heavy exasperation. “He likes things to be public and dramatic as much as possible, especially when it’s an embarrassment to himself and to me.”

“That’s a little harsh, I think.”

“Trust me, it isn’t. Shawn has never wanted to embrace his full potential, Juliet- yes, he has both a visual and tonal eidetic memory, and on top of that I trained him to be a detective for his entire life. I knew, I knew he had the ability to be the best detective this department has ever seen, if he just-!” Henry stops himself and rubs one hand over his head. “But he likes living in a fantasy more. He likes slacking off, and refusing to apply himself, and avoiding responsibility, so he… indulged his psychicness, over his actual detective skills.”

“... I’m not sure he has,” Jules says carefully, watching for Henry’s reaction with a readiness to run. 

Henry laughs a little, bitterly, and looks up. “He’s not a real detective, Juliet. No matter how much I want him to be, or how much he insists he is.”

“Just because he’s not on the force, it doesn’t mean he’s not a detective.” 

“It might as well.”

“... You should be proud of your son, Henry. He’s helped solved a lot of cases we’d have had to let go cold without him.”

“I am proud.” He says it quickly, defensively- but not inauthentically. It occurs to Jules that this is the first time she’s heard Henry declade Pride in Shawn, in all seven years she’s known them both. “I am. Just not of his methods.”

“... Well, um, thank you, for the food, and-and the information.” Jules stands up. She’s starting to form a new theory about why Shawn hides his skills. “Do me a favor and, don’t tell Shawn about this? I just don’t want him to feel weird that I’m, well… investigating him.”

Henry shrugs and pretends to zip his mouth and throw away the key.

“Thanks.” She gives him a smile that has to be forced out, and leaves.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well I bet you can’t quote every line from The Breakfast Club without looking it up.” They’re playing a game of low-stakes wagers while they make baked mac ‘n cheese for dinner, and Shawn is losing badly- mostly because he’s only making bets that have Jules showing off her best skills.

Shawn looks at her, genuinely offended, before it smooths out into acceptance. “You’re right, I can’t. Not unless I’m given a big buzzing button, to replace the slurs.”

Jules nods. “Fair. How about you just point to me and I’ll make the noise for you?”

“Now that is a plan.”

She feels bad about tricking him again. She does. But she watches him run through the whole movie script, doing the dances, dramatically flailing around the room- and she sees something she’d been completely overlooking for years. 

She laughs as he finishes it off, sweating and panting but grinning at her. “How do you remember all of that but the other day you couldn’t tell me if you’d even locked the front door?”

Well I remember important things, Jules.”

“Home security is important, Shawn.”

“When you’re not a detective dating a psychic, maybe.”

“Ha-ha. I’d still rather not come home from a date to our TV missing.”

“... True. Fair. I’ll work on it.”

“Seriously though, Shawn, sometimes your memory makes no sense to me. Do you think ADHD medication would help with some of the… little details?”

“Uh, no.” Shawn shakes his head. “No can do, tried it once and swore it off forever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it uh… stuff filtered in but didn’t filter out, you know? Like Gus at a buffet.”

“Gross.”

“It was, it was gross. Both the meds and the buffet.”

“I can’t imagine. It would be awful, just… being unable to stop things sticking around in your head.” She watches him from the corner of her eye as she pulls the dish out of the oven.

Shawn’s posture tenses a little. His mouth parts and the tip of his tongue comes to touch the middle of his top lip. He shrugs, and nods. “Yeah. What a-” he interrupts himself with a chuckle that Jules can only tell is bitter and nervous because of how long she’s known him. “What a sucky thing that’d be!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shawn, this is too much,” Jules says as he leads her, his hands covering her eyes, somewhere for a date. 

“Are you kidding? You saved my life on this case, again, and you totally prevented a huge disaster with getting the detonator away from that guy.”

“And you are the one who noticed he had a detonator in the first place.”

“The spirits noticed, Jules. But I will take credit for this.” He moves his hands away from her eyes, and she gasps.

They’re in some kind of outdoor dining area, an archway of flowering vines set up above a table covered with a floral cloth and light-blue chinaware. As Shawn comes around to her line of vision she sees he’d hidden a nice suit under his usual jacket when he first told her he had a surprise planned, and his tie…

“Shawn, are you recreating the play?” It had been a particularly great date, for a variety of reasons- but mostly, because Shawn had actually managed to sit down, watch the play, and not turn it into a criminal investigation. He’d still kept up a running commentary and restless fidgeting of course- Jules would have been worried if he hadn’t- but otherwise it had been proof to her that he could take this seriously.

“Maybe.” He offers her his hand and leads her to the table. 

“Shawn, these plates are exactly like the ones from the date scene, how did you-”

“I may or may not have, solved a little case for the owner of the theatre and taken payment in the form of old props.”

Jules laughs, picking up the menu on the table. “Is this the actual menus too, then?”

“Unfortunately, no, but I think Gus- I mean, I, recreated them pretty well.”

“Mmm. Let me guess, you ‘managed’ the recreation, and Gus did the work on it?”

“I also turned on the printer.”

“Basically did the whole thing yourself.” She looks over the menu again- it had been held up briefly during the play, a larger version of it shown on a projection screen behind the actors, and she wouldn’t have remembered it if asked before this moment but now, seeing the recreation, she’s almost certain it’s exact.

It had been on stage for maybe one minute, maybe less.

“How did you even remember this?”

“Psychic recreation, Jules. I traveled back to the past in ethereal form. Your future self was there too- clearly, my gifts rub off on you fifty years from now.”

She laughs again, softer. He’s lying of course- he likes to lie for the humor, and the fun, and because no-one can truly call him out on his powers because even he doesn’t understand them as he often admits. But it feels different now.

He’s not lying entirely for fun. Partly for fun, sure- but he remembered the play, he remembered the menu, because he has an eidetic memory and can’t forget things and in the days since she spoke with Henry to confirm it that fact has been haunting her.

She has trouble sleeping some nights- it’s gotten better since Shawn moved in, having someone curled around her making sleep feel safer- because of the things she’s seen, experienced, endured. She still has nightmares about the clocktower, about sitting in a hospital bed waiting to hear if she has Thornburg, about desperately hunting down clues to Shawn’s whereabouts with Gus and having no idea if they’d even find him alive by the end. The images, the emotions, the sounds… they all stick with her, forgotten until the moment they strike.

What is that like for someone with Shawn’s memory? If her memories push in unwanted, what about his? The looks into the distance, the glaze over his eyes right before he reveals something, the visceral reactions when he remembers something he doesn’t like- it breaks her heart now, knowing that at least some of those are because his mind shoves near-perfect flashbacks at him. 

And with observation, she’s realized that it’s usually unwanted and not sought out- just like his visions. It’s hard to tell them apart from the outside, which just makes her even more concerned- does he even know the difference most of the time? Does it affect all of his thoughts, his imagination, the way he fills in blanks? Is that why sometimes his “visions” are so wrong, because he’s so used to them working the same way as the rest of his mind that he can’t tell what’s Him and what’s The Spirits?

“Hey.” She’s jolted out of her spiraling thoughts by Shawn reaching across the table and taking her hand. “Are you okay?”

She plasters on a smile. “Fine. Just- thinking about how lucky we are. To be here, after everything we’ve gone through.”

Shawn smiles back and pats her hand once before withdrawing his. “Lucky, or just awesome and unstoppable as a team? You, me, Gus, sometimes Lassie- we’re literally a dream team.”

“We are.” She tries to push her concerns about her boyfriend out of her mind, ordering food from a waiter wearing a costume clearly not sized for him- Shawn is always making seemingly impossible things happen, and Jules has no idea how he roped a real restaurant into this, aside from it being either a favor or a blackmail- but Shawn doesn’t blackmail people as far as she’s ever known, so probably a favor.

Shawn is impossible. More and more so every day. And the most impossible is his contradictions. She watches him fumble with his napkin, and remembers him leveling a gun with a steady confident hand on more than one occasion during a case. She listens to him recount a completely wrong story that she keeps correcting the details of, and looks at the perfect recreation of a scene from a play they saw once, months and months ago. She watches him exclaim in surprise over realizing the plates have a design of playing labradoodles at the edges, and thinks about how he saw the reeds moving in a different direction than the wind was blowing from almost impossibly far away to pick up on such a detail.

“Shawn.” She sets her fork down and interrupts his gushing about how cute the design of one of the puppies on the plate is. “I need to tell you something.”

His smiles drops, his mouth forming a small ‘o’ shape, eyes alight with panic. 

“I’m not breaking up with you.” The quick assurance makes Shawn sigh and slump in relief. “And-and I want you to know before I say this that I’m not doubting you either, or your psychic abilities.”

The tension in Shawn returns. “What?”

Jules bites her lower lip. “I just… can’t pretend not to know anymore, Shawn. Because it’s been just… awful watching you do everything you can to pretend you’re not intelligent.”

“... Jules, I-I don’t-”

“I talked to your dad.” She immediately wishes she’d started with anything else, the way Shawn shuts down and clams up. “No, that’s not what I- Shawn, I know you have an eidetic memory, and that you’re probably hyperobservant, on top of being psychic.”

Shawn’s mouth is tightly pursed, eyes searching, body language just withdrawn. Jules plows forwards, swallowing thickly.

“I’ve been seeing it since you moved in. You’re so smart, Shawn, and-and your detective skills are amazing. One night you solved a case in your sleep, and you mumbled the whole thing, and I was just blown away by how you were able to come to those conclusions and connect those dots.”

Shawn looks down, briefly licking his lips. “Chief Vick never asked you to review the detective’s exam, did she?”

“... No. And, you just proved my point. You made that connection so fast, Shawn.”

Shawn shrugs. “What-what is this? Why right now? On our date?”

“Because I love you.” She reaches over, pries his hands away from his sides and holds them. “And I want to understand why. Why do you pretend you’re not one of the best detectives I’ve ever seen? Your psychic visions are one thing, Shawn, but your skills… they’re genuinely incredible.”

Shawn won’t look her in the eye, traveling his sharp gaze around anything else around them. “You know me. I just uh, love putting on a show.”

“That’s what your dad said.” She feels his hands tense in hers. “But I don’t believe either of you. Well, I believe that’s part of it, but not the full thing. … Your dad said you’ve never really embraced it.”

“Of course he did.”

“But you do, embrace it. You do every day. I watch you get completely antsy and out of your mind without a case, and I used to think it was because you were just… chaotic, and-and bored, and maybe some kind of psychic restlessness but it’s not, right? It’s because you need to be able to solve something. Because you like being smart and solving cases, but you don’t like people knowing. Why?”

“Jules…”

“I’m not asking you to bring me in on your process, or to admit to anyone else when you solve instead of divine. I’m just… trying to understand you, Shawn, because I want us to work. And for us, this, to last… we have to know each other, and I feel like I’m just learning about you all over again.”

Shawn is silent for a moment, and then takes a deep breath and meets her eyes, reluctantly. “Gus knows,” he admits. “You probably figured that, but, he does.”

Jules nods. 

“Did my dad… talk about uh…”

“... He mentioned he trained you since you were young.”

“... Yeah. … I don’t know how to, uh…”

She waits. He seems… lost.

“... I learned how to properly stalk a perp through a hideout before I learned how people get sick from each other,” he says. Jules blinks in confusion until he continues, “I learned most things about being a cop before I learned everything else. And it wasn’t… he’s not proud of me, you know? When I was a kid I wanted to be just like him, and I couldn’t be, and he was disappointed in me. Eight years old, I could close my eyes and tell you the clothes anyone in the room was wearing, could tell you who was married and who wasn’t, how… how many hats, were in the room, and it didn’t matter. It was…” He scoffs. “Adequate. That’s it.”

Jules rubs her thumb along the back of his hand. “You got bitter about it.”

“Bitter’s a strong word.” It’s not- it’s just right. It’s in his voice, his eyes, his posture. But he doesn’t like these words, she knows that about him. He doesn’t like these words and these feelings, and he likes to pretend they don’t exist, and he doesn’t experience them. And how hadn’t she realized that was a problem before now? How had that just settled in her perception of him without setting off alarms that maybe something wasn’t okay?

“Shawn, you’re more than adequate. Your dad said so himself, he told me he is proud of you.”

“... He-he did?” The genuine surprise, it makes Jules’s heart shatter all over again.

“And more importantly, we’re all proud of you. Me, Gus, Carlton is even if he won’t admit it either- The Chief, she’s so proud of you and the work you do! Even when you mess it up or cause major problems, she still defends you and knows you do good work.”

Shawn’s mouth finally untightens, slightly, one corner twitching up for a brief smile. But it fades all too quick. 

“What’s the rest of the reason, Shawn? It can’t just be because your dad didn’t give you the credit you deserved. You’ve been doing this for years.”

“Well, like I said Jules, it’s not as fun. You know? You-you solve something psychically and everyone is in awe! Throw in some jokes, make a scene, plus the bad guys always seem to confess way faster when they think I divined certain things, it’s just better!”

“You could do the same with your deductions! I mean it, Shawn, they’re amazing, the way you solved that case with the hit-and-run was incredible. I don’t even know how you came up with the magnets.”

He puts a finger by his temple and gives her a somewhat prodding, questioning look. She frowns at him and raises an eyebrow, and he puts his hand back down with a defeated nod.

“... I don’t want to be my dad.” Shawn shrugs. “I don’t want to be my dad, and as amazing as he is I don’t want to be Gus, and I don’t want to be Lassie, or even-even some… ideal, me. I want to be… me, Jules.”

“I’m not asking you to not be you.”

“Not on purpose, but- this is me, Jules, this is who I am. I can’t live my life with everyone expecting me to remember everything completely perfectly no matter what, or asking me about every little detail of everything all the time, or saying I should know things or be smarter than what I did or-or have to be better than that-”

It’s like when the last piece of a case finally fits into place.

“Oh.” Jules squeezes his hand, and he cuts himself off to look at her with pinched brows and still parted lips. “Shawn… that kind of pressure is insane to put on a child. I’m so sorry.”

He blinks, frozen, and Jules stands up to come to his side and kiss his forehead. She crouches down by his chair. “You, are more than a detective,” she assures. “You are funny, and fun, and sometimes you’re so stupid and reckless that it literally hurts to watch, but that doesn’t mean that what you do right doesn’t matter. You don’t have to match your stupidity to your intelligence just to balance them out.”

“That’s not what I do.”

“Isn’t it? … Oh, my god, and after-after Yin you started going more overboard-”

“Jules-”

“-because he called you out and you had to hide even more-”

“Jules.” She looks into Shawn’s eyes and they’re… glassy. Red. Watering.

“You, being good at what you do, did not put me in danger,” she says softly, reaching up to brush her thumb over his cheek. “You being intelligent will not push me away, or change what I expect of you, or make you lose anyone you care about. But it might make us lose you, if you keep trying to bury it and compensate for it.”

“... I-I…”

“You know you’ve gone too far the opposite direction a lot these last few years, don’t you?”

He’s silent.

“... I understand these feelings run very deep, and all the back to your childhood. I understand that you probably resent what made your dad tain you just as much as you resent him and his training.”

“I don’t resent-”

“Shawn.”

“... I’m… working on not resenting him. Especially after he got shot.”

“I know. But you’re not working on how you feel about yourself because of him, are you?”

“... This is… very uncomfortable.”

“I know.” She wipes away an escaped tear. “You don’t like people being able to really know you, do you?”

“I like you knowing me. And Gus.”

“Do you? Because I had to figure all of this out on my own. Shawn, are you so used to hiding what you could be to be what you want to that you don’t even know how not to hide anymore?”

He flounders, opening and moving his mouth with no words, looking at the ground to her side. “I-I don’t know,” he finally gets out.

Jules nods. “And that’s okay.” Has he ever heard that before, in response to him not knowing something? Maybe. She won’t know unless they keep talking about this. She hopes they keep talking about this.

“... But you uh…” He presses his wrist, sleeves pulled down and gripped in his palm, to his nose for just a second, and sniffs. “You’re not saying you don’t believe I’m psychic anymore?”

“No, I’m not.”

He nods. “... You know, uh… Lassie is the whole reason I even got started, on the psychic detective thing.”

“Really?”

“Really. We still have this uh, table and everything for a few more hours, if you want to hear the story.”

She recognizes it for what it is. You know now, I’m uncomfortable with it, but I’ll try to not be, for you. So she sits back in her seat and listens to Shawn describe how he figured out a case through watching the news, and when Lassie didn’t believe him about it he claimed it was a psychic vision, and then he realized that works.

It recontextualizes even more things for Jules, even more of what Shawn must feel and think, and she wonders if she’ll ever fully figure him out. 

She’ll just have to spend her entire life with him, she supposes.

[lalovi]

nice story but can you make dark cacao vs affogato x male affogato's priest reader but in original universe like reader meet affogato again outside kingdom during mission

also add against and injured ( not too much )

AN: So, I kinda forgot a lot of the crk kingdom lore, but I think I got this! Been procrastinating on this one, sorry. In Affogato's wiki, it says that after his banishment, he practiced magic and stuff, so I mentioned that in the story. Um, and I tried to find out where he went after the banishment, but I couldn't find anything so I'm just assuming he's just in a small camp or set. Idk man. If things aren't right in this, please just lmk and I can make some edits or maybe just another story. I SWEAR IM TRYING. Also I'm calling reader the prince since him and Dark Cacao are dating

Dark Cacao vs Affogato x Male! Affogato Priest's Reader

Oneshot

Warnings: Mild Injury, not proof read

-Unpleasant-

A radiant, pure, and glistening snow. It covered the ground, and trees... everything. A beautiful sight to behold, and luckily for you, you were experiencing the light snowfall firsthand!

You were recently sent out on a mission to survey a certain area in the woods. Nothing too difficult. In fact, it was very simple. Survey, collect data, and then return to the kingdom, and with the light snowfall, it should have been that hard.

Well, the snow used to be light. You don't know what caused such a sudden change, but it was now practically a blizzard. If you didn't retreat to somewhere more warm, you were going to freeze to death!

The only problem is... where would you go? Everything was all forest as far as the eyes could see.

"Feeling cold doll? Looks like you could use some help.." said a voice. You couldn't see who it was through all of the snow, but... you couldn't shake the feeling that you knew them.

"Oh, yeah! Is there anywhere we can go get out of the blizzard..?"

You could hear a subtle chuckle.

"Of course there is." A bright light would flash and you were now in a completely different area.

A nice, warm, and cozy cabin. A fireplace was lit in the corner, but.... you could also now see them.

"Affogato Cookie?" You'd shout in bewilderment as you took a step back.

"Yes. Did you miss me~?" He'd take a step closer to you and take hold of your chin, forcing you to look at him.

Immediately, you swatted away his hand and sent him a glare.

"Do not touch me," you would hiss.

"Ahaha, you've still got that vicious personality, I see! But... this is no way to treat the person who has just saved your life, is it?"

He stared at you with those cold and uncaring eyes, still weilding that sly smile he always had all those months ago.

"Fine then. Thank you for saving me," you would say half-heartedly. You were grateful, just a bit on edge since it was Affogato who had saved you.

"So doll, how have you been? Is the king doing well?" He would ask. You only nod your head.

"How... unpleasant."

Affogato would swirl around his staff, and a pain would shoot through your body.

You knew exactly what this was. It was the poison he would use on his enemies... but he's improved.

"Ah, I've missed you're charming little expressions! This is why you've always been my favorite little doll~" He would pinch your cheeks while giving you that taunting smile.

"It hurts, doesn't it? I can make it stop," said Affogato Cookie.

"Then stop it," you would say with a glare.

"Of course! Under one condition though. You have to bring me to meet Dark Cacao Cookie. This is something you can do... yes?"

Oh. He was planning something for sure, but... all you could think about was the venom running through your blood.

"Fine! Just cut it out already."

He'd flick his staff once more, and the pain would lessen. Of course, poison cannot be cured so easily.

"The burning sensation will only last for a little while. Anyway, I'm glad we could come to an agreement! Now then, shall we head there now?"

That scowl never left your face, but you would nod your head all the same. It's not like you could take Affogato in a fight anyway.

《☆》

As Affogato and you walked into the gates of the kingdom, some guards would immediately ready their weapons.

"Prince, what is that traitor doing with you?!" They would ask in a panic.

You took a look at Affogato, who had never looked so calm and collected before.

"Stand down. I'm bringing him to the king," You'd order. Afgogato would chuckle before giving a viscious side eye towards the guards.

They looked shocked, but ultimately followed your lead since going against you was like going against the king himself.

"Yes sir." They said with a bow.

You started walking towards the castle, getting scared looks from the normal citizens.

The dizziness from before has also yet to fade.

"This kingdom looks the same as last time.. though, you are looking as darling as ever," Affogato would say with a grin.

"I don't want to hear it from you."

Affogato only hums, not bothering to push much farther.

It did not take long before you had reached the king's chambers.

Dark Cacao noticed Affogago instantly.

"What is he doing here?" Dark Cacao would ask with a booming voice. His blade was already at the ready.

"Ah ah ah, I wouldn't be so hasty to attack. You're little lover here might get hurt,"

Affogato would snicker before waving his staff, and that dark bubble would come back to consume you.

"You-" Dark Cacao would grit his teeth while glaring daggers into Affogato.

"Hand over the kingdom, and I'll stop the curse on him."

Dark Cacao's eyes darkened, and in an instant, he'd dash over to Affogato and strike him.

The blade would barely graze Affogato's shoulder, but it still drew blood. In a panic, Affogato would fall to the ground and start backing away.

"Ah, this isn't how the plan was supposed to turn out-"

Dark Cacao pointed the Swords edge at his neck.

"Stop the spell and leave. Next time you come here, I won't hesitate to take your life," said Dark Cacao.

He laughed nervously before swiftly undoing the curse. He flicked the staff once more again and teleported to who knows where.

Dark Cacao rushed to your side quickly.

"Are you alright?" He'd ask, holding you up.

"Yeah..." you began to cough a bit before looking at him with weary eyes.

"Here, let's get you some rest..."

《☆》 Fin

[dailycass-cain]

Birds of Prey #7-8 is a neat little two-issue arc that had a lot of cute Cass stuff sprinkled throughout. So here are my thoughts (at last for #7) on the two issues.

I gotta say one surprising improvement is well, everyone gets more moments sprinkled throughout the two issues.

Then say one per issue. That and we get the members who came back with this issue bonding/training Sin/Megaera. That's where Cass comes in...

I love that the introduction for Cass is side by side with Barda (since their growing bond has been a major fun selling point of the series).

This is the (outside of Batman: Wayne Family Adventures and Batgirls) that Cass does normal things like going laser questing.

It's obvious everyone is having fun here, but also trying to gauge Sin's skills both as a combatant and in her new powerset.

I do like that writer Kelly Thompson brings back Cass being a fighting teacher.

It's something Batgirls gave us (though not the first with Cass teaching Steph), but then the little Nightwing backup again gave us it with Cass training with Dick.

I always love this aspect of Cass helping her comrades get better and her being a teacher. Just makes that moment in Scott Snyder/James Tynion IV JL run all the sweeter. That folks SHOULD come to Cass for help in their fighting prowess.

If there's any nitpick, I kind of want for Thompson to bring up Sin being raised to be the next Shiva. Like, technically it's an aspect somewhat overlooked in the run so far surprisingly (save in Cass joining the cause).

But I get "the why" Thompson hasn't dug into it yet. This is a two-issue arc, and it's gotta introduce our newest members, Vixen and Babs. And it's just that a "nit-pick".

I just hope Thompson is given the chance to eventually dig into that aspect.

Though in a way, she already is as all three ladies were born to be weapons but chose a different path. The fact they're just having fun but also being mentors to Sin is neat.

But yeah the other section for Cass this issue leads us to the moment me and others have been using and gushing over the last month. Mari gives Cass choices on wearing lingerie (if you're very very quiet you can hear Stephanie Brown still crying not appearing here and instead in another book.).

This moment really feels like Thompson course-correcting an aged badly moment from Batgirl Vol. 1 #39 with Babs accidentally making Cass wear a one-piece and she feels bad.

I think the fault isn't on Horrocks more per se the "product of the time" and WHO was slowly coming into power at DC around then.

Plus the actual end message in Batgirl #41 works quite well. With Cass figuring things out thanks to Kon (and aliens).

The moment over in BoP is just a page but artist Javier Pina captures SOOO much in the exchanges between Mari and Cass.

Just between the glances, you can tell Mari fully understands more and is more open to figuring out the common ground link that'll work for Cass.

I mean just look at these reactions. They say so many things and are just perfect moments for Cass (which is why I will be using these like crazy).

And of course, the piece Mari picks for Cass is just absolutely stunning and yeah perfectly works for the character.

I would love a creator's commentary on this how they chose each look for each Bird.

So yeah #7 was a great continuation of the plot with #8 wrapping the arc up, but setting it up for the next big thing for our Birds.

#8 began with bringing back someone I thought we'd never see with Batgirls ending last June, Detective Brooks.

I mean he isn't fully name-dropped but those who read Batgirls are in "the know" and it's nice continuity by Thompson in Brooks continuing his partnership with Oracle.

Even though I didn't notice him really doing much after the intro.

So let's get to the crux of this issue with it pertains to Cass.

Cass somehow flying around throwing batarangs (I'm not even gonna wanna answer where she was storing those) and fighting in high heels (just again doing a better job of it than in Batgirl #45).

I know everyone's eyes were on Barda in the fight, but you know where mine were. So yeah it was an interesting detail of Cass doing that, along with being the only Bird keeping her mask on.

Again this is a nice little touch because it shows Cass maturing and actually keeping a dual identity. Something that was quite a problem for her in Batgirl Vol. 1 at times (and some can say Tynion's Tec Knights run too).

If there's any negative (but I digress again minor nitpick) is how quickly Babs is ensnared by the mysterious force trying to end her (but #7 did showcase how easily Mari was swayed).

Anyhoot this was a fun little two-part arc and I'm really curious where the comic goes from here. Each Bird got a good moment and really the only downside was my minor nitpicks.

Birds of Prey continues to be a REAL fun series and I really do enjoy Thompson's Cass. I'm really curious given what we'll get with the character in the upcoming issues given the premise seems to be in the mind of each Bird.

[narzissenkreuz-ordo]

i guess i need some. advice? encouragement? about some stuff thats been happening recently so suicide/violence cw under the cut

i won't go into detail but i had. a very huge emotional/physical/mental breakdown today. where i was just. basically screaming and howling about how suicidal ive been lately. I haven't said anything out loud/via text on the internet abt it because i know saying i want to kms so often is bad for my own well being and ultimately makes other uncomfortable as well

so yeah i've just been. holding all that in. i knew the thoughts were coming in and out the past few months but was just shrugging it off as just being stressed abt the nightmare year i had. but i really was just. lying to myself and others because i didnt want to worry anyone/didn't want to admit how horrible i was doing after a couple years of good progress. but as it stands things are heading into a really bad direction for me rn. its not normal to go to sleep suicidal and immediately be suicidal upon waking up.

I don't really know what i can really do harm reduction wise. i'm unable to have regular visits with a psychiatrist/therapist bc of availability issues + i tend to just. lie. because its easier to say im fine than it is to advocate for myself and get actual help. and even then medication will not save me and coping skills can only go so far if im so deep in it im unable to take care of myself/feed myself/clean myself/eat/etc so none of it is effective enough in the moment. i know it CAN be effective and some of the skills ive learned can help during situational issues but this is really deep rooted improperly treated mental illness and i need a stronger foundation to be able to use any of the skills

i use a means of self isolation to punish myself, because i'm so upset with myself for not being able to pick myself up on my own. people can say im not a burden over and over but theres always gonna be a catch in the end. i freak out because what if this is one of my last meltdowns before they decide enoughs enough and i just get abandoned. again.

I feel like maybe being so Online is making things worse?? but i don't know??? my concentration is completely gone even when trying to use dnd/closing discord completely and im just constantly refreshing social media every 10 seconds and just stew in the bad feelings.

I don't know if just. leaving the internet cold turkey for a bit would do more harm than good.....i dont want to be alone and caught up in my thoughts. but i have a hard time doing things in 'moderation' and don't know how to even begin to roll back my internet/screen time usage

fandom is fun and great. but i dont think i should be using video games as pure escapism or playing them 24/7. im already getting bored and unenthusiastic about the things i like because its ALL i do.... I want to have at least SOME time away from screens. i hate having the impulse the check social media or refresh even 30 seconds (im even doing it NOW) but i just dont know where to begin in cultivating non-screentime hobbies and have the ability to focus on things more long term without having than doing 1000 things all at once to keep myself busy. i play video games muted most of the time, have a yt video playing, sometimes i'll stop mid video game and pull out my ipad while still having the games open, and im always on discord

there's books i still want to read, i eventually want to pick up sewing again. im considering getting a craft set for making those beaded bracelets (my brother gets them from concerts all the time and thinks it would be fun to make them too) but that all requires money

and i just. idk where im going with this rn but. any advice or suggestions or just. words of encouragement would be. really nice rn

[gffa]

i lost my dad a decade ago and it was the worst six months or so of my life. all the practical stuff that has to be dealt with after a parent dies feels so impossible. you definitely deserve All the back pats

I'm so sorry you had to go through all that, even though I hope you're in a better space now. And, yeah, it's exhausting, because there were some upsides to my situation--this had been coming for a very long time despite that he wasn't really that old he'd had this stuff his entire adult life just about, it was something of a relief that he was no longer suffering so much, I have wanted to clean like this for years, I had a lot of stuff already planned out, re: paperwork and goals--there are other downsides, mostly that my dad was a hoarder. He'd made a lot of progress on going through stuff over the last couple of years, but there's still just. So. Much. And it all needs a decision, because sure okay the food packaging boxes he liked to save to store things in, those can all go, but why throw a perfectly good flashlight even if he had 30 of them? They're little ones! They glow in the dark! I like them, too! They store nicely! (I struggle with hoarding as well, as you can see.) And that's just one thing. Okay, now about the tools. You should have a good set of the basics, you can always use a good screwdriver. But which ones to keep? Okay, now here's another stack of paperwork that he saved, how many bank statements do I need to save? Okay time to talk to the insurance agent make sure you have the original policy paperwork to send in, okay time to talk to social security, oh they don't put the instructions on there correctly and it has to be redone and sent in with another death certificate, okay time to talk to the bank to transfer his account, okay time to decide if mom wants to keep the cable because it's expensive and she really only watches just the one channel, okay time to decide how many pairs of gloves do we need, because there have been times they come in handy (defrosting the freezer needs a pair of gloves oh my god), okay time to decide which of these desk fans to keep and which to throw, okay time to decide do you need this rolly table that is perfectly good it's just kind of ugly and you don't really have an idea for it, other than the one in the laundry area that you store the clothes basket on while you do laundry, okay time to decide if you want to keep this radio in case the power goes out and you want to hear the local updates, okay time to decide if you should save the backup garden hose (not the ones outside, this one is in the house) it's perfectly good but do you need a backup?, okay where did those copies of the death certificate go, okay it's started snowing so is it still time to call the thrift store to come pick up this dresser that's finally empty and can be taken away or should I wait until the second one is empty and they can take both at the same time, okay time to figure out which of these bottles still has cleaner in it and which he kept just in case he could use the bottle, okay time to decide-- And that's on top of the dishes need to be put away, the laundry is still going, and there is so. much. dust. It gives me something to do, which I'm thankful for, but also it's so many decisions. Anyone going through this or has gone through it in the past, line up with me, we're getting some back pats for this RIGHT NOW. ;)

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Sweet Dreams--Part 9

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted. 

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

CW: Smut (dry humping) in this part. Mentions of using sex to numb feelings. Please read with caution and skip if need be.

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

________________________________

There are certain messages Calum’s used to seeing--ones about meetings that have gotten pushed back, good morning texts from you, one from his parents about some sort of article they came across and wanted to send to him, thinking it would be good for him. There’s the texts from Michael or Luke or Ashton about bullshit--videos, memes, a bad selfie in their thread. There’s the text messages about a cute dog or cat that someone’s spotted in public. Then there are text messages that Calum is not prepared for. Ones that he hopes he never gets accustomed to receiving, that are bearing the bad news. 

However, seeing, If I asked to borrow the back garden or some kind of back yard area to tie dye socks, would that be an immediate no? is the type of text that Calum thinks he would never want to brace himself for. There would be no fun in being prepared for spontaneity. Calum laughs, dragging the towel over his face to wipe away some of the sweat pouring from his hairline. Even with the heat of the summer fading, the long hours on the weekend with the shed still causes a sweat to break out. 

Yes, you could use whatever you needed, baby. 

Excellent, because I may already be here. Are you working on the shed?

Calum taps the icon for a call. It rings, once then twice against his ear. “Hi, love,” you answer. The pet name never fails to send a jolt of desire down his spine. You always say it so softly, like you’re trying to savor the taste of every syllable on your tongue. Sometimes, Calum’s tempted to ask what it tastes like. Does it taste sweet like cotton candy when he calls you baby?

“Hi, baby. Now what is this about needing to dye some socks?

“Charlie wants tie dye socks. The ones in the store don’t have color combinations that he likes. I’ve got some dye from when I had to recolor some shirts that were starting to fade and helping roommates out with stuff. The apartment’s been overtaken because Josie’s invited friends over, which I knew would be happening so it’s not a problem. But I know I have free time and can’t sit still to save my life. You don’t have to say it. Hence why I’m asking to borrow space for a little bit.”

“There’s always space here. Do you need help setting up somewhere? Put you closer to the laundry room--wouldn’t you need that for dying?”

“Yes, I should say, the socks would have to stay there for at least today and then if I could stay the night, I’d rinse them in the morning and take them with me.”

Calum nods, though you can’t see it. “Yeah, that’s okay. Whatever you need.”

Faintly in the background, voices arise from your side of the phone. “You’re supposed to be gone. You can’t tease us like this,” someone hollers. 

Calum just makes out the words but catches your laughter as you respond, “I am a ghost. You do not see me.”

“That’s it, I’m dead. Dead,” the person laughs. 

“Are you still using the service entrance? I have let the guards at the main entrances know about you. You literally can just walk into the front door,” Calum states through his laughter. 

“If I’m honest, my brain just went on autopilot mode and hadn’t realized I’d missed the turn for the main entrance until I was already past it.”

“Habit, huh?”

“You know they say they die hard.”

“It’s alright. Next time, you’ll get it. I’m shocked the codes are still the same for you.”

“I don’t think it’s been deactivated yet. Part of me wonders if Janet’s ever going to deactivate it.”

“She may not.” It shouldn’t shock Calum if Janet decided not too. Though, he does think it might be a tough sale to security. They could win the battle if need be, but Calum worries about that for another day--should it ever come up. “But what do you need for this tie dying venture? A table or something, I’m sure.”

“I can get all that, don’t worry.”

“You sure? At least let me get you a table out from storage, baby.” Calum figures that it might be a mute point, that you might already have the table, but he’s still going to offer. The last thing he’ll do is not attempt to help. After throwing a quick warning back over his shoulder to the guys assisting him, he starts towards the doors. He doubts he can beat you to wherever you’re headed if it’s not directly outside. 

“You’d have to come all the way through the back when I’m already inside to grab it,” you counter. 

You are right. The curse to the size of the castle and its grounds is that sometimes it’s much too big for its own good. Getting anywhere in the residential wing is a bit of a chore--long hallways, limited number of doors. Calum’s sure it’s all due to safety, someone somewhere had a reason for the pain, but that’s not going to stop Calum from trying. Not when he knows it’s for your brother. The last thing he wants to do is get in the way of that relationship. 

“I can at least try,” Calum quips back. He’s never considered himself a track star, but he’s glad for the years he did football. 

“Don’t wind yourself out, love.”

“Is that a challenge I hear?”

Your laughter echoes, skips for just a moment but then your voice filters back in through the speakers. “I wouldn’t dare dream of such a thing. But seriously, I’ve already got a table. You better turn yourself back around.”

Calum continues on, just as he gets to the door, a bit more huffy than he would ever like to admit, he spies you rounding the corner from the hallway storage is on. “Hi baby,” he calls out once you make it closer to him.  

“You’re hardheaded, you know?”

“Only….everyday though.”

You pause in the doorway, table in your grip--it’s a smaller one, but taller so you don’t have to bend down so much with it. “Yet, somehow, I still find myself attracted to it.”

“It’s the boyish charm. Need anything else?”

“Boyish charm,” you laugh, leaning into him a little. “We can call it that.”

Calum meets you, a quick kiss before you continue on through the door he’s holding open. It’s a silly thought, Calum tells himself, as he watches you carry on through the garden. You’re careful as you go, keeping the table a good six inches away from the ground as you go. But something does feel a little different. Your smiles at him melt a little bit more, feel a little bit warmer than before. To see you comfortable enough to ask for a kiss--even a peck as it was--in public made his stomach flutter yesterday. 

The party was about you, so Calum withheld any conversation about it. The thing his parents did teach him was to be mindful of the time and place in addressing certain conversations. But for you to think, well before asking, that the castle would be free to you feels like further confirmation. You are changing, or maybe it’s a bit more like you’re unraveling. Though you and Calum walked in the early stages, you’d never mentioned your siblings. Now with that bit of information revealed Calum seems just how much you care about them--enough to dye socks so they have what they want. 

He can’t say much about your dating life prior. He assumes you might’ve had some experience prior. Calum can say for certainty that building the relationship with him has been slow with you. Worry and concern are the biggest culprits for that. But that seems to be falling slowly to the wayside. Calum won’t take any credit for this. He just watches, carries with him the tiny pieces of how you’d opened up. He does not consider himself a poet; he’s much too meticulous with when and how he shares anything. But if love is watching someone blossom into something more magnificent than they’d ever been before, then he thinks he’d ought to give it a shot to capture the feeling of being witness to it. It’s pride without arrogance, awe without jealousy. An emotion sure pure he’s sure he’s never felt it once since he left his childhood. But he feels it now, watching you pause at tomato plants. 

If all Calum gets to do is watch you grow and evolve, then it will still be a life well lived. 

“You’ll let flies in, Your Highness,” Janet teases passing back the doors. 

“Just put me on fly duty,” Calum laughs, but does move to let the door close behind him. There’s no embarrassment as Calum catches up behind you at being caught staring. “See anything else ready to be picked?”

“Oh, that’s still well beyond my wheelhouse. But I don’t think so.”

“You know more than me.” Calum means it sincerely. That you do know more about the garden than he does. But he thinks too that there’s a kind of life that you’ve lived that Calum had only once thought would be his. It’s a great honor to serve, take on his duty as expected. But there’s a little bit of life, a certain kind of living that he’d never really do. There’s a certain kind of wisdom he didn’t have. Not that Calum would ever want to romanticize your struggle and your suffering. But he knows that your experience gives you a perspective different than his--a perspective that Calum’s glad you’re willing to share with him. 

“I’m sure your mother could teach both of us a thing or two about gardening. How’s the shed coming along?”

The new one fades out of view, leaving the current restoration project bare in front of the two of you as you walk closer to it. “It’s going,” Calum returns. “There’s some shelving we’re working on now and the bench. A little behind schedule, but we anticipated that much from the start.”

“Looks good though. A fresh coat of paint?”

It’s the same blue as before, just not chipping anymore. “Yeah, a little birdie suggested it.”

“One smart bird.”

Calum helps you get set up--from getting the table stable to getting the dye into the more appropriate squeezable bottles, and once you’ve sworn up and down at least three times that you’ve got it from there, he ventures back over to the shed. The group doesn’t say much, but the smiles passed around them tell Calum everything he needs to do. He’ll never live this down. 

“It’s not a crime to be in love,” he laughs. 

“No one said it was. But to think, the same man just a year ago was swearing off love now following his partner like a puppy--it’s quite the sight,” Vance returns, looking up from his measuring where he works on the last few pieces of the built-in bench before they’ll start installing it. Getting power to the shed set them back longer than anticipated and when Vance’s gout flared, there were a few days that a lot of the light work went into place--like the painting and verifying the shelving design. This weekend is hopefully one of the last two big pushes to get the main structures in place. From there Calum will work on getting the table ordered, chairs, and the final furnishings. 

“I guess a lot changes in a year,” Calum answers. 

“I guess it does. Now c’mon lover boy, you’ve got a bench to install.”

It’s easy to get lost in the pop of the staple gun, in the measuring and re-measuring. Calum finds himself waiting for the click of each piece slotting in together; it’s a satisfying sound. It doesn’t take too long with Vance’s help to get the skeleton of the bench installed. Though it does take a little bit of finesse to get the paneling up over the skeleton. By the time the sun starts to dip just a hair down in the sky, but not quite touching the horizon, the bench is fully nearly assembled. The top isn’t bolted in yet and won’t be until the cushion is fashioned to the top, so the lid is resting on the structure for the time being. 

“Give it a test,” Vance suggests. “Make sure it’s up there sturdy.”

Calum’s weight seems to make no difference to the unit. There’s no creaks, no sagging. With a bit more courage, Calum swings his legs up and stretches out over the item. His feet hang off just a little, but that’s little to be concerned about. Given the space of the shed in total square feet, there was no way to make the bench as tall as him. But it’s solid beneath them. 

“It’s good,” Calum states, pushing up from the bench. 

“You’ll need these for tomorrow,” Vance calls out, pulling out a bag of metal hardware from his belt. Calum catches it with ease and notices the black hinges and screws assembled into the bag. Tomorrow Tamara comes by to help get the bench upholstered, though Calum suspects she’s always going to want to get Calum to finish buying the furnishings tomorrow too. Vance is taking the day to spend with his wife for their anniversary so it’s nice to be able to switch off to other aspects in the meantime. 

“Have fun tomorrow.” The guys laugh just a little at Calum’s statement. Even though Vance called Calum out about Calum’s own behavior, Vance was just as guilty. Every chirp of Vance’s phone made him pause to see if it was his wife. Albeit, Calum suspects there’s more going on at home over the last few weeks. Vance was talking more and more now about wanting to be a dad. It’s not his place to put out information that wasn’t ready, but Calum holds the suspicion close to his chest. 

Vance flips them off but his own laughter bubbles. “Your minds are absolutely in the fucking gutter, man. 

“Might be, but we already know exactly what’s going to happen tonight,” Parker pipes in from the opened door of the shed. 

“And you can’t even get your dick wet, so I don’t want to hear it,” Vance huffs. 

Parker was behind Calum in age by about a year and a half, but the two of them shared more in common than initially suspected. Parker’s highschool sweetheart hadn’t called it off before leaving for college. It left Parker behind, his family unable to afford the costs. Parker had taken courses with the community college before moving to vocational school to learn welding and HVAC. According to Parker, he’d gone for a trade so that he could have money saved up for a wedding when his love returned. Yet, Parker was left heartbroken instead. Parker’s partner returned for spring break of his sophomore year and called it off, admitting to emotional cheating. Not necessarily out of a desire to hurt Parker but out of loneliness, being on campus by himself and having a hard time in the first semester making friends because he was so homesick. It happened slowly--just as a friendship, someone to confide in about loneliness, hangout on the weekends and show him around the strange new town. But it was becoming clearer more and more as time went that there was someone else to Parker.  Calum, over a few beers, had gotten the story in the initial days of renovations. 

That was five years ago, but Parker hadn’t found anyone else. Not for the lack of trying. Parker always seemed to have a string of dates, stories to tell about who he was seeing, but they rotated out nearly weekly. Each weekend meeting for the renovations started with a hot gossip hour--Parker’s latest string of dates, Vance’s home life about his wife and two dogs, Tamara occasionally joining with stories of her dating life, Logan chimed in with updates about his new partner too, and Calum always carried up the rear in their circle. But Parker is the one that Calum worries about sometimes--the way he laughs at the jokes the other cracks but it sounds a little bit like it’s being forced. 

“Hey, at least he’s trying,” Calum interjects between the laughter. 

Parker is a decent guy, but possibly still too scorned from his first love to really let anyone in. Calum can’t say he doesn't get it. It’s a shitty box to be in, to know that you have so much love to give but someone hurting you so deeply that it makes you want to hide that love away. Whether or not the pain was caused intentionally never really undoes the fact that it cuts so deeply. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve got the stories to back up his efforts,” Vance agrees easily. “Soon, he’ll settle down with a good guy. I know he will. But I think we’re at a good stopping point for today, yeah?”

The lot agrees. Calum takes survey of the progress--Logan and Paul have been working on the shelves while Calum and Vance focused on the bench.  Only the foundations and arches of the unit exist based on the work done today. But it did take a little trial and error to get the arches to match. It’s clear though the shape it’s taking on. Once all the shelves are in and attached, they’ll paint it. Thankfully the paneling for the bench is a dark brown and matches the color for the rest of the furniture so there’s little to do in terms of staining the unit. 

The wood and tools are all moved inside. Though Calum’s positive there’s no rain in the forecast, he knows that could change on a dime. Rather than trying to replace expensive equipment, he houses it inside of the shed now that the roof is fixed. The guys give their goodbyes as Calum turns the key on the bolt to lock the doors. Everyone on the project has a key should any one of them get here before the others, but Calum’s most often the first one there and the last one to leave. 

“Thanks for that,” Parker states. Calum looks to his left, a little startled that Parker was still around. “For sticking up to Vance like that. I know he doesn’t mean any harm with those jokes, but they do get a little old. So I just wanted to say I appreciate you saying something.”

“Of course, man. Anytime,” Calum returns. “I get it. You know that.”

Parker’s nod is soft. “Yeah, I do. But still, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow for a couple hours at least. I don’t think we’ve got much left to do now.”

“No, it is shaping up nicely. I still appreciate your help with all this. Even though this is pretty far from HVAC.”

Parker laughs. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not exactly the ports on an AC unit, but I’ve got a few more skills than that too. Have a great night.”

“You too,” Calum calls out as Parker heads back for the doors. 

Calum’s not sure why he expects that you’re still working on the socks. But all he finds instead is the empty spot that you once had a station up at. There’s not even indentations in the grace to show where you stood. 

“Done already?”

Calum spins to see you walking out from where the new shed stands. “I was wondering where you’d gone,” he laughs, though his heart is still thundering in his chest. 

“Joy asked for a spare hand.” Looking down, Calum can see the patch on your knees from the grass. Maybe not quite a full on stain, but it’s clear where you’d been working with the dirt too with the dark brown spots. 

“You want to borrow something of mine and I do need to do laundry once we get back from drinks, I can throw everything in at once.” 

“A shirt at the least. I think I have some spare pants in your room and I do have an overnight bag too.”

Calum nods, reaching out for your hand. He tries to remember if you do. He knows you took most of the stuff out a couple weeks ago, but he can’t recall if you came back with anything more. You could’ve and the time’s just slipped from his memory. But the trek back instead passes in an exchange about the work done--there’s a pause at the laundry on the first floor for Calum to take in the sight of the socks still contained away to allow the dye to set and settle into the fibers. 

“They look good,” Calum compliments with a squeeze to your hand. 

“Thanks, tomorrow’s the true test to see how the colors did.”

“I’m sure they’ll turn out well.” The two of you continue on up to Calum’s room. The squeak of your shoes as you two climb the stairs. Though the elevators are a faster way up, you head for the stairs and Calum follows behind. But it is a relief to hit the residential hallways. The work from earlier and Calum’s earlier work out are catching up with the burn of the stairs. The echo of slightly labored breathing softens as the two of you push closer and closer to his room. 

“We’re never taking those stairs again,” Calum huffs, pushing his door open for you to enter through. 

“You might not, but I think I’ll take them again.” Your own retort is stuttered as your breath comes and goes with big inhales and exhales. 

“Yeah, right,” Calum laughs, shuffling past you as you paused at his drawers. On your side of the bed, resting on the floor, is the bag you mentioned earlier. It’s a silent shuffle in the room, the opening and closing of drawers, the zipper being opened to your bag. 

“Do you want to shower first?” Calum offers. He’s still contemplating what to wear but given your ease to pull his yellow button down out from the closet and your fresh jeans from the drawer, you seem to have him beat. Though time’s not really an issue, Calum isn’t fond of being late when not necessary. 

“Do you want help and we can shower together? You know, saving water and what not?” you laugh, slipping behind him. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re suggesting something there,” he teases. 

“Do you trust me?” It’s a soft question. 

“I do.” It’s an easy answer to an easy question. 

“Then trust it’s nothing more than that. I just wanted to be close to you is all.”

That--that’s the kind of confession that makes Calum’s toes curl. “Then please help before we are half an hour late because I can’t decide.”

You press a kiss to his shoulder, though Calum’s sure he’s covered in sawdust and sweat--the conway studio’s T-shirt he’d gotten from Michael as a gift when Michael worked there for an artist on their debut album is a little unforgiving in some areas with the sweatstains that show up. “Of course. Where’s your casual meter? How do you normally meet the boys?”

“It never matters that much, if I’m honest,” Calum returns. Your arms wind around his midsection and Calum’s hold on the hangers slackens so that he can trace over the skin of your forearm with the tips of his fingers. 

Your hum vibrates your shoulder but you tap his stomach before pulling away. Calum watches you shuffle back over to his drawers. You browse through the drawer only for a moment or two before unearthing a t-shirt, white with red trim at the neck and sleeves. His taste tester t-shirt. “We can start here,” you offer. 

It doesn’t sound like a full on question, but there’s just enough lilt in the tone that Calum reassures you with a nod. He pushes his shirts off to one side of the closet before focusing on his bottoms. There’s some comfort when you’re next to him, watching over his shoulder at the selections. It’s less about the clothes and more about the fact that Calum wants you to know he needs you, cares about having you there for even the little things. Passing on his black jeans, Calum settles for some black trousers. You pick a black belt with a big silver Western buckle to top it off. 

“Looks good to me,” Calum affirms. 

“Well, let’s giddy up cowboy.” It falls with a teasing laugh, but Calum wouldn’t take it any other way. 

The water is warm, hitting nearly like mist over Calum’s shoulder until he gets just enough water to get the pressure right. Once the shower roars, he lets you into the stream first. You only take a moment to get your face wet before you’re moving for his shampoo. 

“Is there something in my hair?” he asks. There wasn’t any checking in the mirror before getting into the shower, which might’ve been his first mistake. 

“Yeah, there’s some dust.”

“I can do it,” Calum comments, reaching out for the bottle, but you tuck it behind your back. This shower though it comfortably fits the two of you is not the best place to attempt to out muscle someone. Calum soaks his hair and turns as you direct him. The friction of your fingertips over Calum’s scalp is firm but not overbearing. It’s enough to make his eyes flutter close as you work. The kind of tenderness and care that makes his innards melt. So lost in the sensation, Calum nearly misses your directive for him to rinse the shampoo. Your work is swift to comb the conditioner through. 

Calum goes to rinse it when you’re done, but you catch him by his elbow. “Not so fast,” you laugh. “Let it sit for another minute. Scooch to where I am.”

“I’ve never let my conditioner sit this long before,” Calum returns, but lets you stand in front of the stream from the shower head. 

“And you’ll thank me later when you see the difference another minute or two makes,” you laugh. Calum can only watch. The water dripping down over your skin traces every line, every divot. Calum is no artist but he’d carve you into stone like the water is doing--highlight tautness of your muscles as you flex them, carrying over the curve of your butt. You are art work in a way that Calum thinks he understands finally the need to capture it in something so permanent. He knows he’d like to take his time to get every detail right. His memory is fallible. It’ll fail him eventually, but if he carved you into marble he’d always be able to remember the scars, the mole; every cell would hold to eternity in the rock. 

“You can rinse now,” you direct after letting the water wash away the soap from your legs after your final scrub down of them. 

Calum rubs his styling pomade over his palms--post shower and dressed, the only final touches are his hair. The extra time with the conditioner did soften it a little bit more than he’s used to this being. But that was information he was willing to give out easily. Though as he slips his fingers through his hair to hold the work of the blow dryer down, he is impressed. You watch from behind, fastening the button on your jeans into place. 

“You don’t have to admit it, but your face says it all,” you laugh. 

“Shut up. You don’t get to be right all the time,” Calum huffs. He wants to keep it together, be able to deliver the sarcasm with a straight face, but he ultimately cracks. His smile lifts his cheeks and he giggles when you shake your head at the antic. 

“I’m only right some of the time,” you answer. 

“Some, all, it’s all the same difference. Is Teagan okay by the way? You mentioned yesterday being worried about her.”

“I hope so. I really hope so. I don’t--I don’t want to assume anything right now, so it might be just a one off thing.”

“Well, I’m here for you and her. When you’re ready to say more just let me know. If there’s anything I can do in the meantime, just let me know too.” It’s clear the way you waltz around what happened that you don’t really want to say too much about it. Though it does make a small batch of worry stir in Calum’s stomach, he’s not going to force you to discuss something you’re not ready to discuss. He hopes it’s nothing. Hopes that maybe this is extra fret for ultimately nothing. But in the event that’s it’s more, he knows he’ll do whatever he needs to help you out. 

“Thanks, love. I appreciate it.” Your arms slip under his and you smooth a small fly away. “Ready?”

“Born ready.”

Calum’s quick to direct you to the elevators on the way down to his car. He can still feel the slight quake in his thighs from the effort earlier when he squats down to get into the driver seat. It doesn’t help that just a couple days ago it was leg day in his gym routine. Yet, each time he forgets how long the recovery is from the torturous routine. The radio turns out immediately from the last time he was in the car, but Calum lowers the volume just a smidge. 

“Is there anything I should know before meeting your friends? Any subjects off limits?” you ask after a few minutes of being on the road. 

“You already know that Michael’s a producer. Luke’s got his hand in music, solo work. Ashton’s got jobs on jobs. Between his work to start a wellness app, he’s got a candle company. He’s working with Luke I think on some instrumental music. But they’re a cool group. Micheal’s married. Luke’s engaged. Ashton’s newly single so that might be a little bit of a tough spot, but if I’m honest, Violet wasn’t good for him so none of the guys are that torn up about her. We’re there for Ashton of course.”

“So a politician, a producer, a singer, and a hippie walk into a bar,” you start and Calum snorts. “And one of them says to the bartender, I need a drink that’ll help me through the day I’ve just had, with no major side effects and if I saw purple elephant at the end of the cup I wouldn’t be that made either, can you guess who ordered?”

“It was a group order,” Calum returns. 

“Correct.”

“And I wouldn’t say Ashton’s a hippie. He’d gotten into school on some scholarships, dude’s practically a whizz, but definitely tends to lean more spiritual and philosophical than not.”

“I’ll give him a fair shake, promise. It’s just--wellness app? Do you know the focus of it?”

Calum hadn’t gotten all the specifics. Ashton mentioned it during one of their last hangouts and by the time that it really sunk in what Ashton was doing, the conversation gravitated to something else--there were jokes, teases, and before Calum could digest in his slight alcoholic haze the idea, the topic was long lost. 

“We’ll find out more today I’m pretty sure though. He can go a mile a minute if you let him.”

“I’m excited to meet them then. See what kind of mischief you get up to.” Though Calum wouldn’t call it mischief himself, he’s excited too. 

____________________________________

The thing about first impressions is that you’ll never know if you’re landing them well. There are no do overs. Only ever grace and more grace. But as you follow the half step behind Calum into the bar, you’re hoping you won’t need too much grace. It’s not packed for a Saturday, not yet anyway. Though you think that it might be too early to make such judgment at only 8 in the evening. The night is still young and you’re sure that as the hours crept by more and more people would crop up. 

“Calum!” 

You hear the voice before you spot two men waving with grins on their face. They sit next to each other at the table for what appears to be situated for six. One has blond hair that faintly curls at the top. The other man has a shaggier cut with pink dyed ends underneath a beanie. Calum laughs as he greets them, hugs and pats on the back. They reach out for you too, unphased by your addition to the outing. The man with the beanie introduces himself as Michael and faintly curly haired blond introduces himself as Luke. 

Calum doubles down on such introductions, clearly missing the quiet exchanges but no one corrects him before you two settle down opposite of Michael and Luke. Calum pulls out your chair and you cut your eyes up with a soft smile. “Don’t,” Calum commands with a laugh. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you telling me he’s not pulling your chair out all the time? I raised you better than this,” Michael jokes. 

“I am a gentleman,” Calum counters, “at all times.”

Luke joins in on the ragging with a tsk falling into the air from the suck of his teeth. “Then tell me why I don’t believe you, son. Just doesn’t seem right over here.”

The banter falls between them easily. You know it’s the years, all the time they spent together. And just as quickly as it starts, it stops even though Calum squawks to your left that he is the picture perfect partner to you. “Yeah, but we’ve learned not to trust you.” Michael turns to you at the end of the sentence. “So, let’s hear your thoughts. On a scale of zero to ten where is Calum falling on being a gentleman? Pretend he isn’t here. Which I know is hard since he’s so loud right now,” Michael cuts in over Calum’s muttered huffs. 

You ponder the question, even as Calum slips his hand into yours, sliding a menu left behind closer to you, though one’s right in front of you. “Eight and a half. But he’s closing in on the 9.”

“I’d ask when I haven’t been a gentleman, but I fear the answer,” he snorts. 

“I have to give you room to grow. Don’t want you to get too comfortable,” you tease. 

Michael’s laughter echoes, even in the thump of the bass overhead. You hear his crackle. “I like you already. I’ve heard through the grapevine though that you’re starting a new job Monday?”

“Would the grapevine be about 6’2?” you ask. “But yes, Monday is my first day.”

“Are you nervous at all?” Luke questions. 

You shrug, playing at the corner of the menu Calum slid your way. “A job’s a job. The people seem nice so far, so not terribly nervous. I’m a bit more used to first days at new jobs though,” you answer. From what you gathered, there’s a strong likelihood that they don’t share a background like yours. You could be wrong of course. But given what they’re doing now, you’re not sure what kind of background they could have. 

“Sorry I’m late,” a scruffier voice calls out. “Sup, Cal.” They laugh and you look up over your shoulder to a man with almost shoulder length hair. There’s a slight wave to the warm brown strands. He smiles at you big and bright, the action making the sunglasses bounce just a little on his face. “I’m Ashton,” he greets, holding out a hand. 

You shake it in return, offering your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same, same. Again, apologies for my tardiness. Not the kind of first impression I want to give.”

But grace, but grace, but grace. “Consider the tardiness excused. Better late than never.”

His laughter is soft as he nods. “Right, right on.”

“I was about another ten minutes from putting together a search party,” Michael relays to Ashton as he settles to your right. 

“Nah, you can put the dogs back and let them free in the backyard. Though I don’t think South would dare get his paws dirty.”

“You have dogs?” you ask Michael. 

He nods. “Two. South and Moose.” Before you can even ask to see pictures, he’s pulling out his phone. There on the table, the screen lights up your face as you swipe through the gallery Michael pulled up. “South has the golden coat--very much a diva.”

“Last time I petsit him, he acted like he didn’t even know me,” Calum huffs. “Until it was time for him to go and then he didn’t want to go.”

“A diva,” Michael concludes. 

“They’re precious,” you coo, handing the device back after two more swipes. 

“Do you have any pets by chance?” Luke tacks on. 

“No, but I’m open to the idea. Just wasn’t feasible for a while.” There’s a nod of understanding but it leads down a tangent about Luke and his dog Petunia. It’s nice for the conversation to flow naturally. By the time you order your first round of drinks and some appetizers for the table, you learn about Luke’s older brothers, Ashton’s younger siblings, the way Michael, Luke, and Calum found each other in middle school thanks to band class. Luke’s mother used to teach Ashton as he is older than the rest of the group, resting right in the same age bracket as you. But even still, he’d been reached out by Michael in a string of bizarre fated events to guest drum for a gig they’d landed. 

Though the band didn’t live long, given Calum’s trip off to football camp in Brazil and an unfortunately timed injury to Ashton’s wrist, they still kept close. It floors you for a minute to learn that in addition to school Ashton had taken a job at a KFC. He’d been doing it to bring in extra cash for his family and thankfully through the gigs, he’d managed to worm his way into the music world. He didn’t let the job go fully until he was met with a do or die moment. To say Ashton did is an understatement, but there’s something still modest in the well worn leather jacket and faded t-shirt. You’re sure if you saw the brand’s name etched into either one of the items, it still might give you a heart attack, but something in the ensemble lets you know that Ashton is not overly frivolous. The items stay in rotation until they’re unable to be saved. 

“I’ll be right back,” Calum announces, pushing in a little closer to you. His lips press gingerly to your cheek before he stands. “No one scare them off while I’m gone.”

“Oh, we’ll behave,” Ashton giggled from behind his bottle. For a man who was newly single according to Calum, he was keeping his wits about him. He asked you questions, cracked jokes with Michael and Luke. Now without the sunglasses on his face, you spot the bright eyes to match his bright smile. 

“Calum tells us you paint,” Luke offers up before sucking the ranch off his fingers. “Working on anything new?”

“Oh, I’m almost finished with this painting for him. So, nothing new really. I should’ve been done ages ago, but something about it doesn’t feel finished just yet. We’ll see if it ever jumps out at me.”

“I’m sure it will soon,” Luke smiles.

“Would you ever consider doing art full time?” Michael questions. He goes in for another sip of his cocktail. 

“I much prefer it as a hobby, if I’m honest. I think I could see myself maybe taking it more seriously in the future, but I don’t know if it’s my next career move or not.”

“So you enjoy the restaurant life?” Ashton asks. “Or is that just where you prefer to stay in as your career?”

“A little bit of both, I guess,” you contemplate. “The industry is deadly  and I don’t want to be a linecook forever, but I think for right now, I prefer to say that this industry is where I make my money. When I leave work, I leave it--none of it comes back home with me.”

“Except for Calum,” Luke snorts. 

“I mean it’s not smart to shit where you eat, but so far it’s yet to blow up in my face so I’m hoping it never does. And technically, Calum’s not been to my place yet, so work has never actually come home with me. Can’t say the same for him.”

The boys cackle at your correction. “Fair,” Luke snickers. “I’m just happy to see him doing well again after everything that happened.”

The air feels sucked out of the room. Ashton and Michael’s smiles fall like bricks from their faces, clattering to the table beneath you all. You’re not aware of anything before, but now that it’s out there it sits on the table within arm’s reach like the wings and fries in front of you. Yet you don’t know if you should touch it. Don’t know if you should follow up on Luke’s line of conversation or pocket it for later. 

You reach for a fry instead, dipping into your side bowl of ketchup. “You sure know how to drop a bomb Luke. How’s the music going though?” 

You’re curious. What had happened to Calum before? As far as you were aware, he’d not been dating anymore, not seriously before you. Well, not that you knew of while you worked in the kitchen of course. The almost two years had been pretty quiet on the gossip train about Calum until you two got involved. But there’s plenty of time prior to that that you couldn’t account for. 

“So, you-you don’t know?” Michael questions. It cuts right under the question you asked to Luke. 

“No, no I don’t know.” It’s a simple sentence. Because you don’t. And you’re too tired to panic about what you don’t know. The worry of Teagan and Charlie outweighs whatever information you haven’t been given from Calum. 

“It’s a good thing,” Michael clarifies. “There’s been a really good change in Calum because of you. It’s not my place to tell you. But I do want you to know it isn’t bad.”

Luke sets his bottle down and pushes it with the tips of his fingers a couple more inches from his reach. “I’m sorry. Definitely should’ve been more careful about that kind of stuff. But it is good, like Michael says.”

Ashton scoots the bottle Luke pushed away closer to him. “Yeah, buddy, let me just hold onto that for you.”

It’s not fun to know that Calum’s withheld information. But you know that people will always play certain things close to their chest. You kept Teagan and Charlie close for so long. You kept your family drama close. Though it is a jolt, a shock to your system, you think it’s only fair that Calum has the things he wants to keep close too. Everyone has their demons. Perhaps the signs were always there. But there is always a reason. 

“So, everyone here is in music somehow. Who wants to go first about their current project? And please one at a time, or I will have to break out the talking stick, or rather talking bottle,” you tease. 

“Talking bottle?” Michael laughs. 

“Well, it’s a talking stick originally. Whomever has the stick speaks. Everyone else stays quiet and then it goes around person to person and back and forth between people if need be.” Your empty bottle of beer stares back at you and you lift a few inches off from the table. “But when in a bar, you improvise.”

“Are you saying we talk over each other?” Luke laughs with a bit of a squeal to his voice at the same time Ashton states, “I don’t really think we need to go that far.”

“If the boot fits,” you laugh. The fries have gone cold due to the time you’ve all spent talking, less focused on the actual drinks and food. But you reach for another couple as the boys bicker for a moment. They’re more like brothers than they are friends, as you watch them, reminding you of the way Teagan and Charlie interact with each other. It’s a playful banter, a quip always at the ready with them. 

“You okay?” 

You turn to the question, though you don’t need to. Calum’s scooted in a little closer to you. You can feel his warmth seeping into your back through his shirt on your body. “I’m okay. I like your friends.”

Calum’s lips are soft on your cheek. “Good. I think they like you too.”

“Try love them,” Michael corrects and no sooner than he makes the statement, he’s sucked back into Ashton’s claims that a band, you didn’t catch the name, is overrated. Ashton quickly reasserts he doesn’t mean it negatively. 

“They’re just too derivative of a derivative and ultimately aren’t producing anything cutting,” Ashton further explains. 

“We’re not talking about fucking algebra,” Michael quips. “We’re so far from the origins of the soundscapes for most genres. It’s all going to sound derivative, because it is. But it’s not about new, or shiny. It’s about saying it in a way that no one else has.”

It’s like Luke’s early faux pas didn’t even happen. Ashton and Michael verbally circle each other all the while Luke watches like one does a tennis match--Ashton then Michael. Michael then Ashton--back and forth for all it to end in a deuce. You wonder if either will ever get the two points to win. But the waitress comes by again and the collection take stalk of the table. There’s a few bottles scattered and you help her collect those, and order up on more drinks--some water, some sodas, a few more cocktails and alcoholic drinks thrown into the mix. 

“Would you ever take commissions? Even on the side?” Luke ponders. “Like one off projects and such?”

“Possibily,” you answer with a shrug. The majority of your work went to to a couple local places--the local children’s hospital enjoyed having your work on display as the children loved it. You’d gifted Teagan and Charlie small paintings after they begged for them. “Again, don’t want to make it my career, but you know if someone wanted to pay me to do something for them, I’d entertain the thought.”

“An original painting could do wonders at the local charity circuit,” Ashton pipes in. The comment isn’t for you and you peer over your shoulder to Calum. 

He stares wide eyed over his first beer that he’s yet to finish. “It could. But I-if it’s not your thing, you don’t have to do it.”

“Do what?” you question. There’s been no conversation about anything for charity in your presence. 

“In December, I have-I have a charity banquet to attend. There’s stuff that people auction off to raise money for the connected charities. I mentioned the the guys that it’d be nice to auction off something more meaningful. But I wasn’t sure if it was even appropriate to ask you about it. You’d only have two months and some change to finish it. There’s a website that goes up in the last week of November, a week and a half before the event so people can see the options.”

“Which charities?” You’d heard of the event, watched clips of the auction with more curiosity than true interest to watch rich people flaunt their philanthropy. 

“I think this year is focusing on women’s rights, especially the efforts on pushing law enforcement to investigate those missing. The deadline to submit proposals is in two weeks though. Which is like, not great planning on my end I know.”

“What do you normally auction off?”

“Volunteer time.” 

“How comfortable are you with volunteer time?” You’d at least think about it. It might be more than you could handle, but you’d chew the thought over. Especially since you did still have questions about whatever Luke alluded to earlier. 

“I like it; I don’t mind volunteering. It’s a nice change of pace honestly. Just--I think others should see your talents too.”

The blush that creeps up on his cheeks nearly melts you. Though your gut initially wants to dismiss it as the flush of alcohol, you know the truth. When Calum casts his gaze down and picks at his nails, you know that he’s a little shy in the confession. You take his hand gingerly on top of the table and the action is enough for him to look up. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

At the very end when the check hits the table, all four boys reach it, cards and cash in hand. Ashton ends up footing the bill but the rest of the boys hand over cash or tap at their screens to ensure Ashton’s paid for their portions. “How much do I owe Calum?” you ask, noticing the bill’s being split four ways instead of five. 

He shakes his head. “I got you, baby. Don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

“More than sure.”

“I’ll pay next time.” It’s not fully a suggestion, but you still offer it softly. 

Calum takes a squeeze at your hand after slipping his phone into his pocket. “Okay.” It’s easy, simple. He smiles at you and the group pushes up from the table. Michael, Luke, and Ashton all give you hugs as you leave. 

“You’ll come next time too, right?” Luke asks. “We bring all the partners. Be a nice time, I think.”

“I’d be happy to see you all again,” you agree. The agreement leads to another round of hugs, the group spilling out into the outdoors. The night is darker, a little cooler than you first left it. Calum’s hold around your hand tightens for only a moment and you squeeze in return at the action. 

You know there’s always a better time, a better place. The parking lot of this bar definitely does not feel like the right time. But you’re not sure when it will be. “Luke mentioned something when you stepped away to the restroom. And-and I’d like to ask you about it.”

The tension thickens. Calum’s shoulders become rigid under the t-shirt. “It doesn’t sound like a good thing.”

Not a shut down, only a phish for more information. One you’re happy to supply. “It is good in a way. The group seems to be really happy that you’re in a good relationship. But the way Luke said it, it made me think there’s definitely something, or someone before.”

“I don’t want anyone else if that’s what you’re wondering. That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I’m-I’m not worried about that. I’m not really worried about anything. I just--whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened before, I’d like to know.”

You think that’s going to be the end of the conversation. You wouldn’t fault it at all. Perhaps, you’d been all too blinded by Calum choosing you that you hadn’t fully wondered what was going on in his past. You didn’t think the stories of Calum’s childhood could be a smoke screen. They were real. They were all a part of what made Calum Calum. But Luke’s comment cracks open the possibility that you’d been blinded. As hungry as you were to have Calum to yourself the reality of it all is that he’s not to be consumed. 

“I just--there’s stuff I haven’t asked you, you know? I want the bad stuff too. So I know how to be there for you. So I know how to love you.” The words fall, buzzing on your lips and tongue. You’d want to pick them up after they’ve fallen, but you know it's wasted energy. They’re out there now. You can’t do anything but watch Calum’s back. The tension has dropped. He doesn’t look ready to run. 

“Part of it feels ridiculous,” Calum admits. He tugs your hand, closing the gap between the two of you. “There’s so much worse that’s happening to other people. And my hurt just starts to feel small.”

“It’s not a competition of pain. Your hurt isn’t smaller than someone else’s.” You’re slotted against Calum’s chest. There’s no brim of a hat, no glasses to hide him away. There’s just the fear--plain as day on his face. “If I ever made this feel like a competition, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you didn’t make it feel like a competition. I think,” he pauses with a sigh. “It’s totally different. I feel like I want to love again. With you. It wasn’t always like that.”

Your fingertips ache. You want to cup his jaw, ask him to explain to you from the top what it was like before. You don’t, thinking a camera lens could be pointed at you right now. Perhaps there would always be and now it’s less about them and more about Calum. With caution, you trace at his jaw, trailing up until your palm rests against his full cheek. “I’m glad it’s better now.”

Calum’s eyes shut, lashes nearly brushing the top of his cheeks. Like babies root to touch, Calum turns into your hold, lips pressing to your palm with a kiss. “But it was bad. And you should know.”

“Only when you’re ready,” you whisper. You’re glad there’s no breeze, lest your words have gotten swept up in it. 

“Can I tell you on the drive?”

Your answer is only a nod. You want to do more, kiss him. Let him know you’re there. You think if it could be done, you’d crawl into his chest, whisper to his heart that you don’t have plans on breaking it. But this is not a fairytale. You know strife always comes. The only solace one can have is that they don’t cause too much of it. 

It’s quiet at first, as Calum pulls out of the parking lot and onto the streets. You watch the signs for the highway, watch Calum take the entrance ramp, spending up so that he can merge. You’re not headed back to the palace. You’re actually going in the opposite direction. You don’t know what could be out there, what Calum has up his sleeve. But you don’t question it. 

“Her name is Nora,” Calum starts. 

You know of a Nora-- a princess fit to inherit within the next three years. Her particular people believed in a matriarch. Though Queens took husbands, they almost always never turned over power. “Like Princess Nora or the girl next door to the palace Nora?” 

“The princess,” Calum answers, but he does grin for a brief moment taking a look at your face. 

There are no girls next door--you know that. But somehow the truth still unsettles. You don’t remember murmurs about Nora from the kitchen. The kitchen staff passed time in gossip. You knew more about the royal family you worked for and others merely because the gossip seemingly made the seconds fly by. You’d never cared for it before and didn’t care for it when you worked there. You let the others do the talking. 

“We dated back in college for two and half years.”

That’s well before you would’ve even been considering working for the palace. No wonder it hadn’t come up around you. “I’m guessing it wasn’t amicable.”

Calum shrugs. “I don’t know if amicable is remotely close. But it didn’t end badly. Just rough. When we broke up, I spent a year wallowing. I wanted to pretend I was okay, but she was my first love in a way. I’d dated before in high school, but they’d only lasted a few months. Not nearly enough time to mean anything in comparison.”

“I think your training in Brazil ruined you,” you tease, watching through the front windshield as the dark asphalt and street lights whizz around you. 

“I know, I know. Not a competition. But the crushes in high school were just that--crushes. We dated, held hands, kissed, but Nora was my first serious relationship. I’d been looking at rings.”

Rings-- the word bites at your veins. Calum doesn’t say it with ease, his hands clutching the wheel so hard his knuckles are paling. They’d been deep into the relationship--enough so that marriage was potentially on the line. Your fingers twitch to soothe his, but you restrain yourself given his work at the wheel. 

“Sounds like you never made the purchase?” you probe, hoping it’s as gentle as it can be. You are curious. You want Calum to know that you are listening too. 

“Never had the opportunity, thankfully so, I guess. Nora graduated in December and I graduated in May. She’d taken some summer classes to help get ahead and done some work in high school to get a head start. Nora asked me at the start of winter break, right after she graduated, if I intended on marrying her. I was honest. I told her that I would like to, after we both had a couple years out from school. There would be a lot of logistics involved.”

“Politcs,” you point out. “She’s a part of a matriarch. You’re in a patriarchal system.” The quip about you being lower class, how much easier it is to date someone with no political ties, burns at your tongue. But you know Calum. It won’t go well at all; he’ll beg you to stop the self deprecation, tell you that he loves you for you. It’s all things you know.  

Calum winces at the phrasing. “I mean that’s what it was. But at the time, I didn’t see it like that. I was idealistic about it, toxically optimistically probably. Not that I’m not the same now, but I hope not nearly as much.”

He risks a glance, like he poised a question. You only shrug at first, but then add on, "Optimistic, yes. Toxic, no. You know when you admit you’re wrong.”

“Improvement then, I guess, from then. Nora didn’t want to turn over her right to rule. I didn’t want to turn over my right to rule. And even if I told her she wouldn’t be, she didn’t see it that way. I thought she was being nitpicky. No one would care at the end of the day because her politics would still stand. I wouldn’t interfere with her work. But ultimately, it was--it was crumbling. The second I answered that we could rule separately but still be together and she looked at me with confusion--it was over. Rock meet glass house.”

You can imagine it--the strong brow on Nora furrowing as Calum spoke. The way she might’ve shaken her head and spoke firmly, black hair spilling over her shoulder as it always did in her press speeches. Nora is a force--fierce with seemingly little fear about the perception from others. Where Calum played a careful game, Nora played the explosive kind. She’s smart, by no means did her passion outshine her intelligence, but she was always speaking out first about things. She was one of the people rallying others. It’s easy to see how with Nora it became all or nothing 

Calum continues on, signaling as he speaks to take an exit. “I tried to date, but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t want to be dating if I’m honest. I’d told myself that I’d just be single. I’d take on the throne and settle into that- give it five, seven, ten years before I married. It really wouldn’t matter. Luke was trying to set me up on dates. But they never went anywhere. Didn’t even want sex if I’m honest. I refused it a couple times and both girls and guys  thought I was crazy. Sometimes, I don’t know. Sometimes I did it anyway because it was a distraction. Nothing really numbed the pain though. There was just this constant ache I had. I’d envisioned myself a dad--playing sports in the back garden, or in ballet recitals for daddy and daughter dance classes. I’d always pictured myself on the throne, working in the Cabinet. Those weren’t things I’d want to give up, even for Nora. That’s what made it scary. She had her way of thinking. Her people rule the way they do and that’s fine. But I always knew I was going to be King. I knew even if I didn’t always want it that I wouldn’t give up on the responsibility.”

You can hear what’s between those words, what still causes Calum pain.  “But it meant giving up Nora, right? If you were always going to take your throne and she was always going to take hers, then the only thing left is what happened.” It doesn’t shock you to hear how much Calum dreamed of his future. You don’t worry that he still wants it—those things could all be worked out eventually. But you know that Calum’s so caught up on making things work for the best possible outcome that he doesn’t always remember that life is not always about the best. 

“Yeah,” Calum sighs. It’s heavy and comes deep from within his chest, “but I wanted it all. You know. I wanted her and I wanted to follow through on my duties. I wanted it fucking all and at the time, it felt like I’d lost everything. We knew after that conversation it wouldn’t be compatible. Nora and I’s relationship required sacrifices that we were too young and too driven to make. Nora deserves where she’s at. She deserves to rule. And I don’t think she could’ve been happy any other way.”

“Do you think you could’ve been happy any other way? As little as I actually know about her--and I reserve the right to absolutely be wrong about it--it was your relationship too.”

The roads are narrowing. You watch now as the dark asphalt lightens, there’s a few more bumps along the way. You round the bend and the ocean opens up in front of you. You know the beach is closed but it doesn’t seem to stop Calum as he pulls to a stop in the parking lot. The lights stuff off from the car, leaving you surrounded in the thick mass of the night. The sun’s long gone. The lights are off in the truck too. The engine knocks just a little as the vehicle settles. 

“I might’ve been, but if I’m honest I didn’t spend 4 years in college and 4 years under my father’s immediate wings for nothing. I’d been putting time into my own aspirations and I don’t think long term that relationship would’ve been good for me,” Calum answers as he turns to you. The seatbelt clanks against the plastic interior. “I hope the beach is okay.”

“The beach is fine.” You undo your seatbelt as well, listening to the way it winds back up into place. “Making the right choices sometimes isn’t easy,” you admit. Like the right choice to change jobs. Like the right choice to stay for Teagan and Charlie. Like the right choice for Calum to let Nora go. 

“Yeah,” Calum agrees. “Sometimes it’s not.”

You find Calum’s hand, threading your fingers through his. “I hope your choices next time are easier.”

“They’ve gotten easier,” he confesses. “Talking to you was easy. You always treated me like a person.”

“Because you are one.” It’s a simple answer, but you know it to be true. Calum’s just a person. Though he had politics about him, though he was in a world foreign to you at all times and even overwhelming, he was just a person like you. “You’re human like the rest of us.”

“Doesn’t always feel like it.” 

You don’t want to imagine the pressure on Calum’s shoulder, a pressure so unsustainable. But the wheel must spin. The cruelty of it all is that someone has to win and someone has to lose. 

“What’s the relationship like now with Nora? Is it still tense?”

“Not as much as before. It’s professional at this point, as much as it can be.” 

“Two and a half years is a long time though. Makes sense.”

“We tried to make it work. Six months we kept trying to keep pushing and find a solution. But we only sort of grew to resent each other. We were always fighting. Nora called it off, ultimately. She was the one that saw we were crashing and burning. I didn’t want to admit it even if I noticed it too. So to say it was amicable, not quite. It was mutual though.”

You know Calum even in the dark. You know the squint of his eyes, the way his cheeks meld to your hold. You know the catch of his breath when you brush your fingers over the veins on his neck. His veins thump under your touch and then you drag the touch up to his jaw. “Thank you for telling me. That wasn’t easy for you, I can see.”

“I don’t particularly like thinking about it,” Calum admits. His throat seizes. You feel the small quake under your fingers. “I didn’t talk about it. Not even with the boys for a long time.”

“If there’s anyone that understands, it’s me. There’s nasty things in life sometimes. Stuff that we don’t want to talk about, don’t want to deal with. Thing’s we’d prefer to swallow down and never pull back up. I get it,” you assure. 

Something warm hits your fingers. It’s only a few drops--tears you assume. Pushing up, you find his lips, a kiss soft and sweet. Calum’s quick to grapple you, encase you in his arms and tug. You’re pulled as far as you can over the console. And you let yourself go. It’s awkward, your back hurts just a little. But Calum exhales into your mouth, shaky as he breathes. 

“Scoot the seat all back. You’re going to break my back,” you tease after the hug lasts longer than you anticipate.

“That’s now how I imagined doing it,” Calum teases, his breath ghosting over your lips. He reaches down to pull the lever and push the driver seat back. 

Settled onto Calum’s lap, you pull him back into your chest. His fingers are buried--under the shirt--pressing into your flesh like his digits can burrow deeper into your, pass the muscle and fat, into the hollows of blood and organs. You don’t stop him, just press a kiss to his forehead as you cradle his head. His body tremors and there’s the occasional sniffle. The tears are hot on your thumbs, but you wipe them away, slow and steady. 

“It’s okay, Calum. You can let it all out now,” you encourage. You know you can’t fix anything. You can’t change the past. But you let him release it. The thing about carrying things that are buried is that they tend to come back when you don’t want them too--like wild animals fed, the things that get buried only ever come back. 

Your stroke along his neck, over his shoulders. Your words are soft. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. You’re safe to let it out.”

The tremors cease after a long stretch of time, 10 or so minutes,--Calum’s crying reduced now to just the sniffles, just the remnant of tears that trail down his cheeks. With one deep inhale, Calum brings his face out of your hands and rests his head down on your shoulder. His lips brush at your neck, in what are nearly kisses. Your knees ache, you’re sure that when you finally sit your toes are going to tingle due to the lack of blood for the time being. But this is all temporary, not something you need to worry about when you can still hear the shuddery exhales of Calum. 

“Haven’t had someone in a long time tell me I was safe,” he whispers against your skin. His voice is thick with the tears and emotion he’s split. His arms constrict again around your back, arms locked as if attempting to cage you in. You know better. You know it’s for comfort. 

“Well you are; you’re safe with me.”

“Thank you.” The phrase is followed by a kiss this time to your neck. He follows the line to your throat with more gratitude on his tongue. He paints your skin with the phrase. You wonder when you shower again if the words will show up as tattoos on your throat. His forehead is firm in your sternum but you don’t mind the pressure when he falls back into the shelter of your body. 

“You’re welcome,” you return to Calum. 

His voice rumbles through your chest, you catch something that sounds like smell but you can’t fully place it. You thread your fingers around the back of his neck and squeeze. It’s not enough pressure to cause pain but it coaxes his head back. “I said you smell good,” he laughs. 

“Thank you,” you laugh. 

The dark doesn’t make it easy, but you imagine that his cheeks might be flushed, that there might be a little bit of pink to them. There’s some light due to the tall streetlights in the parking lot, but you two are far enough at the edge of the beacon of one and the end of the parking lot so it leaves the truck in the glow of a light and not fully lit. His eyes glisten though as he watches you. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you huff, pressing at his shoulders. 

“Look at you like what?”

“Like you can’t help but love me.” 

“I do love you.”

It’s wrong to say what’s pressing at your teeth, do you love me enough for sacrifice. You know it given what Calum had just confessed. Maybe the two of you were still too young and too stubborn for the kind of love that required sacrifice. Perhaps it’s the kind of love that you had to mature into with each other. Calum wouldn’t have much to sacrifice, save for a few comments, a few sneers. You’d always have something to sacrifice. 

“What’s going on? You can talk to me,” Calum coaxes, hands moving from your hips to your cheeks, thumbs swiping right under your eyes. There are no tears. 

“It’s not a fair question,” you return. “It’s not the right time to ask it.”

“Will you ask it when it’s the right time?” Calum questions. It falls out quietly. You can hear it land into your lap, soft and fragile like the first snow. For a moment, you hope that this winter gives a fresh and deep dusting. The summer was warm and thick. You want winter to be cold. 

“If the right time comes up.”

“No, no not if, when. When it’s the right time to ask, you’ll ask, right?”

It’s a promise that will make you a liar. You know it. “Do you want to make me a liar?”

“Just this once,” Calum answers. 

“What if it’s never a fair question?” What if it’s just insecurity that you’re letting get the best of you?  

“This,” Calum returns, a hand waving between the two of your bodies. “This is not a glass house we’re building. It doesn’t always have to be a fair question. Just as long as it can be made into an honest conversation.”

A conversation--a much more fair objective. You bring your forehead to his--the beer’s a  faint ghost on his breath. All you can smell is Calum--the pomade in his hair, the cologne he sprayed on his throat and wrist that smells like expensive leather with a hint of sandalwood and something sweet like vanilla. You trace the veins in his neck, a steady thumping of his heart under your gentle press. 

“I’m not sure of many things in my life,” you start. “I never had the chance to live with certainty. I always keep that voice in the back of my head fed, that tells me you’ll grow bored. You’ll want someone with less baggage. You’ll need something more suited for the life you have. Because you’re a fucking Prince. I’m a fucking cook. It’s all I ever had--the cooking and a little bit of art to keep me going. But I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I like you. I love you too. But I wonder how far this can go. How far do you want to take it, you know? I don’t need announcements on social media or anything like that. I just--I keep the voice in the back of my head fed because what if all this leaves me.”

Calum’s lips are soft. His mouth sealing around yours in a kiss. His hands are warm on your face. The tears are hot on your cheek--yours this time. What if you lose it all? What if it all goes away? You cannot consume him. But you wish you could. 

“We never know what life’s going to bring, baby.” The silver bracelet Calum slipped on dazzles just a little in the glint of the faint light coming in through the car window. “I know I want to be with you. I know I want to wake up next to you. I want to take you on dates, even if it’s just picnics in the park. I want to show you off to my friends. I want to have a relationship with Teagan and Charlie too. I want to take you all out, have them crash some bumper cars, feed them too much fucking candy and make your parents hate me just a little because I always drop their two youngest off on a sugar high. I want to watch you paint and talk about our days together. I want,” he pauses. You watch his eyes flicker from your face to the space around the car. He’s searching. You don’t know for what though you do hope it’s the words.

You squeeze his face. “You want what?” You just want to hear the words: that Calum wants you. You know it’s true. You just need to hear it. 

He continues on. “I just want you,” Calum laughs, squeezing at your hips. “I want to adopt a dog with you. I miss my boy, Duke, so fucking much. He’s a hole in my heart but I know that I still have love to give. I know it’s not always going to be easy with me. I know it’s scary. But I don’t want these things with anyone else, baby. If I had the opportunity to beg life for anything, I’d beg for you; that you get to stay with me so that you can teach me things, so I can teach you things. You’ll have to stop feeding that voice. It’s a hungry bastard, but starve it.” His arms are trembling. The emotion rocks his voice. 

“Starve it,” he whispers. “I want you to starve that voice so that you can enjoy this too, so that you don’t keep waiting for the bad and start to enjoy the good thing in front of you. We’ll never know what life’s going to bring. I certainly didn’t think life would bring me you. And yet, it did. I’m so happy it did.”

It’s a rush, the surge in the centimeters between the two of you to seal Calum’s mouth in a kiss. I just want you. It’s terrifying to want. Here, especially with Calum. Wanting things didn’t mean you needed them. Wanting things didn’t mean you’d get them either. But you are lying if you say you don’t want Calun. You’re lying if you say you don’t want him to want you. And you’ve always known it. But knowing how far he was with Nora, a part of you just needs reassurance. 

Reassurance comes when Calum kisses back. It comes when he pants into your skin how much he waits for calls. It comes when he squeezes at your hips, rocks you over his pelvis. Reassurance comes when hands are deftly teasing skin under shirts. When you don’t waste time with either of you fully undressing, and you watch the fog creep up on the windows, you feel reassured. Reassurance comes when the gratitude Calum painted you in earlier turns into desire, when he tattoos into your skin I love you over and over with his lips and tongue. 

You need that reassurance like you need the graze of his teeth over your collar bone. Need the curl of his fingers into your flesh. You need the shuddered moans of your steady rhythm as your pelvis rocks up and down his. You need him. You crave him. You want him. You want Calum in every sense of phrase--you want to tell Calum about your day. You want to hear about his day. You want the dog too. You want Diana and Melvin to be pissed at the sight of you and Calum because they know there’s about to be too much sugar involved. You want to paint for Calum, want him to ask you about each color and each stroke. 

“I think you might be the death of me,” you whisper against his jaw. The tension in your stomach tightens as Calum bucks up against your clothed pelvis. You gasp at the feeling. You know the stretch of him, how well he treats you on his cock and tongue. His truck may not be the best place for it, but the thought crosses your mind to beg for it. That is until Calum responds to your statement. 

“No,” Calum groans, “No, I want you to live for me.” His hands slide up your back. The tug pulls you in with ease--your chest pressed into his. “Can you do that for me? Can you live for me?”

I want you to live for me. Another gasp leaves you. Body teetering on the edge of release but the shock pulls you far enough from the edge. You don’t want a glass house with Calum either. You want something real. Perhaps, you want something to live for too--needed it without really knowing you needed that kind of direction. 

You know you can’t live for Calum long-term. You’ll need something else eventually. But Calum’s the best start. You nod before Calum presses you down onto his bulge again. “I can.”

“Good,” he grins. “Now, c’mere.”

The rumble in his voice makes your stomach liquid. Your skin buzzes as you kiss him again. Your orgasm rockets through you as Calum’s tongue pants your mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, body quaking with the fire of your desire consuming you. “That’s it, fuck, baby,” Calum whispers against your mouth, his voice tight. 

Calum won’t be far behind you. You let your hand graze over his nipple, up to his throat. The hold is featherlight. But it’s enough for his eyes to flutter for a moment. You grin. “Make a mess for me,” you command, pressing harder into Calum. 

They say fire only needs oxygen--it takes one gulp and then bursts into flames, an inferno of a single spark. Calum only needs the command, the light press of your fingers at the sides of his throat before his body goes rigid. His gasp falls choked before you pull yourself in close, swiping your tongue over his parted lips. The ghost of his breath, the huff of air as he comes down from his orgasm fans over your face. You revel in it, grinning as you listen to his raggedy breathing. 

Calum laughs, head falling into the rest. You curl into his chest though there’s dampness from your own orgasms and Calum’s creeping in through the denim. “All that’s missing now is the handprint on the window,” he teases. Calum’s fingers are gentle over your back, tracing the length of your spine. 

You reach out to touch the driver side window. “Done.” The scent of leather swells your nose, long after you’ve slipped back into the passenger seat. Calum’s cologne is signed onto the hairs in your nose. The dampness of your jeans turns into a coolness as it starts to dry. Calum’s hand is warm on your knee. I want you to live for me. Insecurity is a useless emotion, yet it still reared it’s ugly head. You were glad to hear Calum’s reassurance. But his demand that you live for him; that you starve the voice in your mind that keeps waiting for the bad, is dizzying. When your entire world has been set in hiding, never being heard or seen, it’s unsettling to have someone draw you out. Calum wants to draw you. He wants you to live in a life that you’d been content with. You hope the spotlight doesn’t burn you.

[disfrutalakia]

Biter anon back! For the last time of the week! Yes, it is Sunday, it is the curse of ao3 authors and I didn't even post shit.

Anyway, I bring today not dark 4halo, but 4ever stonkcraft trivia and themes because I somehow watched all the two seasons between the kia post about it and now! And gods... now I understand him more somehow??? Even if his character isn't directly tied to that one but still make my brain worms wiggle.

Because! 4ever themes in both seasons is fucking, rats. He literally picked the focus on the rat mod in the second one lmao, but also funny thing, he calls it rat, but he had a pet Tasmanian devil!(can you imagine him saying that he already dealt with demons before to bad and he gets his rackles raised because what the hell no you deal only with mE-) he also tried to make it the mayor. It did not work but it was funny to watch.

He did at one time sell everything he owned including the love pairing shirt which fuck God he has a historic with messy breakups. Including bribing the guy, brumin didn't accept of course but like... God's the precedent setting.

Surprisingly for me, but forever is as much as bird coded as grian in the first stonkcraft! With the flying around, nesting, attracting macaws and whatnot, makes my brain wiggles and think about griffs and whatnot kk.

Talking about hermitcraft. My dude really gone to doc build with cyborg mods, which I'm now headcannoing that he covered the scars of that adventure with tattoos on his arm and should and belly and gut, what is the themes of the tattoos? I'll get to you if my brain isn't mush.

Also fun fact, he also had an history of fucking hidden warpstones in loved one bases, brummin is suffering the first season with that and the motorcycle kkkk

Also fucking, head in HANDS both seasons 4ever involved himself so much with elections and who is in charge, he also made a voting system in first season... it didn't cause one discord and you could walk back the votes you got, how this is better than that time in qsmp. HOW-

And it is in season two that he goes deeper into character things, and God's the choice of making his character have so many anger issues is mwau! Adore it I want more more more, my guy literally sold his body and blood to brummin to get stronger for a fight over stealing things kkkkkkkkk

And his fucking determination and Lazer focus to get stronger, to get back, to bite back onto the hand that hits, adore it adore it, he is such a fucking fucked up guy, his home was destroyed and he decided to never be normal about anything again.

Also the fucking kidnapping is much more fucked up than I thought???? 4ever pretended to be afk for a whole irl day, can you imagine that in minecraft realism terms. 4ever playing statue as a revolution mocked him and brummin biting him until agony was what his blood was, and doing all of that knowing he was "standing sleeping"? Sooooo fucked my cubito must have the most twisted sense of boundaries ever kkk.

Also yeah, 4ever planted bombs all over the server and made it a bit to threaten people with nuclear fallout, no biggy and all, and his ending did show him going to the moon to save his first pet rat, I choose to believe he did activate all of them in canon and taking that qsmp is mostly directly after stonkscraft that is part his whole complex of seeing himself as a monster and better be shot down and binded than be let rampage free <3333

Thanks for hearing my 4ever ramblings, goodnight until the next week!

Biter Anon!!!

If I tell you that to this day I haven't watched stonkscraft would you believe me? Would I be a fake Forever fan lmao

But also, I'm almost sure he confirmed that his character backstory is tied to both stonkscraft and Forever mapa. So you can get so so much stuff to analyze his character from there.

God maybe that's what I should do on this one month he will be away, binge watch stonks craft so I can truly study him with a microscope.

I love all the trivia you got from it, and yeah his past experiece in there with politics, revolution and violence defintely explains A LOT of his qsmp character.

Biter anon you remain the best one out of all of us. Have a goodnight see you next week <3

[lucky-clover-gazette]

gaylight savings

vio x shadow | pure comfort | 2252 words

“Part of the Hylian condition is change,” Vio says, tenderly tucking hair behind Shadow’s ear. “There are good parts about the winter months, I promise you.” 

“Like what?” 

“Well I happen to find it very cozy, bundling up when it’s cold outside. Reading, especially with a cat on my chest or you in my arms.”

read it on ao3 or under the cut:

Shadow cannot believe it’s pitch-black outside at 4:00 PM. 

Back in the day, he would have relished this seasonal change, as he had only been able to go outside comfortably in the dark. But now, half a year after returning from the void, he is completely human—and really, really annoyed. 

“I’m home,” he calls into the cottage, thankful to feel the fireplace’s warmth. He strips off Vio’s peacoat, kicks off his own heavy boots, and pads his way into the heart of their home.

Vio sits in the den reading a book as usual, glancing up at Shadow with a knowing smile. Their cat Pinecone, a tripod tortie who they rescued about a month ago, wakes from her deep slumber on Vio’s chest. She hops down to greet Shadow, rubbing against his legs and accepting his pets. She sits on the floor beside him, waiting loyally for his next move.

“Did you wear my coat to the market?” Vio teases Shadow from the couch. 

“Sounds like you already know the answer to that question.” 

“Yeah, but I thought you’d deny it.” Vio places his book aside and shifts his body to make room. “Get over here.” 

Shadow plops down beside him and crosses his arms over his chest. He hates when he gets like this, stupidly annoyed for a reason he can’t even name. He’s not even genuinely upset—it’s a toothless and aimless sort of displeasure. 

Vio releases a small laugh beside him. “What?” Shadow asks sharply, meeting his deep purple eyes. 

“You’re just… pouting,” Vio says, motioning to Shadow’s entire posture. Shadow uncrosses his arms. “No, it’s cute, don’t—” 

“Why is it dark right now?” Shadow asks abruptly, glancing at Vio’s book. “That must be something you know.” 

Vio considers the question, opening his arms for Shadow in the meantime. Shadow allows himself to be embraced with an unnecessarily dramatic sigh. Pinecone hops up and tucks herself in Shadow’s lap, completing their Matroyoshka of domestic bliss. 

“So we’re on a planet right now,” Vio begins, and Shadow can already feel his frustration melting away. It’s hard for him to be truly annoyed when he’s laying in his partner’s arms. “The planet orbits around a sun, you know, in space. That’s what makes it daytime. Following me?”

It could all be a fairy tale, a conspiracy created by the historians of Hyrule past, but Shadow nods anyway. It’s just as reasonable as anything he’d guess—and besides, Vio usually knows what he’s talking about with this kind of stuff.

“So we’re in the Northern Hemisphere of the planet, which tilts towards the sun in the summer months—that is, the majority of the time we’ve spent here together. But in the winter months, which we’re just entering now, the Northern Hemisphere faces away from the sun. This results in fewer hours of sunshine and shorter days.”

“It happened so fast, though,” Shadow says, covering up a huge yawn. “I feel like yesterday the sun was setting at 5:00, or even later.” 

Something occurs to Vio. “Oh!” he exclaims, “of course!” 

“What is it, genius?” 

“There’s this thing called daylight savings, where everyone turns back their clocks an hour when the seasons start to turn. It must have just happened. I can’t believe I didn’t notice.” 

“Why would anyone want to do that?” Shadow asks, about to get pouty again but not wanting to give Vio the satisfaction. 

“I think it was originally meant to give farmers more early-morning light,” Vio says, “but at this point, it’s just something people do. You should ask Zelda next time we see her.” 

“This is her decree?” 

“I guess, or at least she upholds it. I must say, I’m a little worried that it’s bothering you so much. It’s only an hour.” 

Shadow blows his bangs out of his face. “I’m fiiiiiine,” he groans, “it’s just annoying. And stupid. And it makes me feel really tired, like I need an hour-long nap just to get on with the rest of my evening.” 

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with naps.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t need them before.” 

“Part of the Hylian condition is change,” Vio says, tenderly tucking hair behind Shadow’s ear. “There are good parts about the winter months, I promise you.” 

“Like what?” 

“Well I happen to find it very cozy, bundling up when it’s cold outside. Reading, especially with a cat on my chest or you in my arms.”

It gives Shadow chills, to hear Vio say it so plainly. He loves Shadow, and Shadow loves him. He looks at Vio’s face and sees uncertainty—he must have surprised himself with the admission. As long as Shadow lives, he is determined to show Vio how much he is loved. He leans up for a kiss on the lips and it’s obviously the right choice. Vio pulls him in closer by the hair—gently, of course—and it’s like they’re the only ones in the universe when they’re together like this. 

Pinecone jumps off Shadow’s lap and they both begin to laugh. Shadow and Vio are at it again with the forehead bonk, nuzzling against each other as they watch Pinecone curl up by the fire. 

Vio reaches for the blanket Red had knitted them a few weeks back and drapes it over them both, further demonstrating the benefits of a chilly winter night. And Shadow has to admit… it’s not a bad feeling at all. 

“Did you find the tea you wanted at the market?” Vio asks, idly playing with Shadow’s hands.

Shadow snorts. “Yeah, but I left it in your jacket pocket.”

“That’s always nice in the cold too. A warm beverage, especially one made by an expert such as yourself…” 

“Sure,” Shadow says, stiffening slightly, “but the cold’s not really the problem.”

“It isn’t?” 

“It’s… the darkness.” 

And as soon as the words leave Shadow’s mouth, he knows the real reason this whole daylight savings situation bothers him. “Look at me,” he says, “used to be scared of the light, and now I’m scared of the dark.” 

Vio cocks his head. “Can you elaborate? I mean, I can guess what you mean, but I want to really understand it.” 

Fuck, Shadow loves him so much. 

“I don’t do well with reminders of the Dark World,” Shadow says slowly, as though confirming the truth of each word as it leaves his lips. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that.” 

Vio nods. 

“When I broke the mirror I ended up there again, but it was… different. I’ve always described it as a void. In the Dark World, there’s tangible darkness in the absence of light—nature, people, sounds, smells, you get it. But in the void, where I ended up, there’s just… nothing at all. No darkness, no light, just me. I would have been stuck there forever if you hadn’t pulled me out.” 

“But you’ve enjoyed the nighttime since coming back,” Vio counters, analytical rather than argumentative. “What’s the difference now?” 

“There’s something about these early sunsets, and the cold combined with the darkness, that just reminds me of the void. Nighttime in summer is still warm, and loud with animals, but the woods during my walk home were nearly silent. I’m not used to them being like that.” 

“That makes a lot of sense, and I can see how it’s jarring.”

“I’m fine,” Shadow half-heartedly insists, “but… yeah. I guess the idea of staring down the next six months dealing with this whole winter situation isn’t the most appealing to me.” 

“I know how much you love nature,” Vio says, “how much you’ve come to appreciate it. It must be hard seeing all the plants die, and the animals going into hibernation. Of course you know they’ll come back, you’re not stupid, but… I can see how it’s upsetting.” 

Shadow rolls his eyes. “Now you’re just making me sound sentimental.” 

“Am I wrong?” 

“No, but I still have some pride to maintain.”

“You should be proud,” Vio says, disentangling his hands so he can cup Shadow’s face. As always Shadow melts, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. “You’ve had a busy six months.” 

And that much is true—since his resurrection, Shadow has worked tirelessly to learn about the world, his friends, and even himself. He’s done so much to make amends for his various crimes against Hyrule and its people. He’s fallen in love with nature, and cooking, and his little life with Vio and Pinecone in their cottage full of stolen furniture and evil root beer. 

What if, one day, it all disappeared? And nothing took its place? 

“Thank you,” Shadow says, kissing the side of Vio’s hand. 

“For what?” 

“All of it.” 

Smoke billows from the chimney of their cottage, mixing with a cold breeze passing through the woods. The sky is overcast and darker than seems possible for this world of light. Crows call out as they pass overhead, foxes burrow in their dens, and the fuzzy creatures of the forest evaluate their hoards of nuts and berries. 

There’s a window in the den of their cottage, with a chair specifically for Pinecone placed beneath it. Like Shadow, she will be disappointed by the disappearance of most birds for the next several months. Unlike Shadow, she is unburdened by the knowledge of space and time. Nature’s many surprises are innate to her. 

There are some upsides, though, to surprises. 

“Holy shit, Vio,” Shadow says, eyes locked on the window. “Something’s happening out there.” 

Vio looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Yeah, Shadow, it’s snow.” 

“Snow?’ Shadow asks, tossing off the blanket and leaving Vio’s lap. 

“Hey, wait—” 

Shadow runs to the front door, not even bothering to grab a jacket, and steps out into the woods. Something is falling from the sky—kind of like rain, but pure white and almost flaky, reminding him of ash in the volcano’s air. He reaches out and a piece of it lands on his hand. On closer inspection, Shadow is shocked by its beautiful intricacy, and then just like that it’s gone, melted by the warmth of his skin. 

“You’ve never seen snow?” Vio asks, all bundled up in his peacoat. He offers Shadow his own jacket, which Shadow sheepishly accepts and shrugs on. 

“Never,” Shadow says, watching his own breath leave his mouth. It’s like magic. He exhales to see it again, and Vio chuckles. 

“When the air temperature gets below freezing, precipitation freezes too,” Vio tells Shadow. “That’s how we get snow, or hail, or slush.” 

“This is snow, right?” Shadow asks, eyes large. “I love it.” 

“It is. It’s perfect, too. Great texture, really lucky for the first snowfall of the season.” 

Vio motions to the sheer white blanket forming on the path to their front door. It looks like powdered sugar, and Shadow wants to lick it very badly, but he suspects that would be a painful mistake. “By tomorrow there could be inches of it,” Vio continues. “We can have snowball fights, make sculptures, combine it with maple syrup to make candy…” 

Shadow looks at Vio, watches the impossibly delicate crystals adorning his eyelashes, redness spreading on his nose and cheeks, his warm breath materializing in the freezing air… and despite the temperature, his heart melts. 

“I love it,” Shadow says, “the snow, the winter, you. I would have never imagined I could feel this way, especially back when I…”

Vio takes his hand and squeezes it. “You’re here now.”

Shadow can’t put into words the intensity of his feelings, brought about by this truly mundane act of nature. Maybe he doesn’t have to. Maybe the simple sight of snow in the winter sky, like flecks of light in an endless black void, says enough. 

Vio places something in Shadow’s hand—the bag of tea leaves from the market. It’s an unspoken request that he is more than happy to fulfill.

But first…

“You should go back inside,” Shadow tells Vio. “Warm up the kettle, if it’s not too much trouble. I’m just going to… watch, for a minute.” 

“Take all the time you need,” Vio says, planting a quick kiss on Shadow’s equally red nose. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

Eyes locked on the sky, Shadow hears Vio’s footsteps fade and the door close behind him. Left alone in the winter night, he relishes the absence of noise. The snow seems to act as a heavy blanket, silencing the world’s everlasting cacophony.

Shadow has felt wonder in every season he’s experienced so far, relishing the fresh green of springtime, deep aqua of ocean waves, and bright red fall foliage. But winter, he knows now, is his favorite of them all. 

Most superficial observers would say the winter sky is black and the snow is white, that the season is colorless and empty like the void. But if Shadow looks, really looks, imagines the palette of a painter hoping to capture the beauty of this moment, he begins to see it all: the varying tones of the cloudy sky, crystalline snowflakes refracting microscopic hues, tiny flowers peeking out from the forest brush… 

Winter is a color he’d know anywhere. It is vibrant in its silence, and to Shadow it feels just like home. It’s a painter’s palette, covered with lilac and lavender and indigo and, yes, violet. It promises peace, and wonder, and rebirth on the horizon. Shadow wants to experience it all, every single thing Vio praised about the season, over and over again. 

And it’s only 4:30 PM. 

[cinematicnomad]

Hi! This is about the saved tag post. Yeah. They've not existed for me since the summer 2023. It really bugs me, because I have very long, but specific tags i use, or rather, USED to use for certain things i reblog. Since the search feature in my blogs seems not to work at all, combined with the absence of saved tags, I have no access to certain older posts I have in my blog, unless I literally scroll years back. Tumblr really dropped the ball here.

thank you! glad to hear confirmation about the summer 2023 timeline and that it's making the use of tumblr equally frustrating.

a tidbit to help make your blog searchable: if you go into your blog settings there's an option to set a custom theme.

if you enable this option then you'll get a specific tumblr domain for your blog (for example, mine is cinematicnomad.tumblr.com) instead of just the default tumblr domain www.tumblr.com/cinematicnomad that lets people view your blog within the dashboard. once you have a custom domain, you can search your blog for any tag.

so for example, if i wanted to look at all my past asks, i would type into the url: cinematicnomad.tumblr.com/tagged/ask. this would pull up all prior posts with the tag #ask

or, if i was trying to find a post but couldn't remember the specific tag but say, hey, i knew i talked about london, i could type in the url: cinematicnomad.tumblr.com/search/london. this should ideally pull up all posts that mention the word london—this is similar to the search feature that's already on your blog right now, it's not great and definitely misses some stuff.

you can search related words by adding a +. so if i were looking for posts where i mentioned london, and sherlock, for example i'd type in the url: cinematicnomad.tumblr.com/search/london+sherlock and voila.

LAST, with a custom theme, if you can't remember the tag, or even what you said, but you CAN remember the date you can always search the day. it'll always be formatted /day/year/month/date. so for example if i wanted to look up this day last month, i'd type in the url: cinematicnomad.tumblr.com/day/2023/12/23.

anyway this got long but thanks for letting me know saved tags don't work for you, and i hope you enable a custom theme so you have an easier time searching for past posts!

[dark-academia-quotes]

NaNoWriMo survival tips

NaNoWriMo has officially started! I am sooo excited to start writing, and as a special celebration post, I will be sharing my top 10 survival tips for participating writers! If you're scrolling through this on Instagram, this will be part 1/2, so stay tuned for the remaining tips that are to come!

1.F*ck the traditional word count (if you want)

Yeah, you heard me right. You should totally not strive for 50k if that doesn't serve you! Set your own word count goal according to what is realistic to YOU. That could be 15k, 30k, or 100k! An ideal word count should push you to your limits without completely overstraining you. Should it be a challenge? Absolutely! That much of a challenge that you have burnout and writer's block for the next 2 months? Probably not.

2. Don't edit during NaNo

Seriously, just don't. It will slow you down, you will get frustrated and it will take your focus off of what should matter most this month: writing! If you want to, you can look at it from a scientific angle: Writing is done by the right side of the brain, which is responsible for creative processes, whilst editing is done by the left side of the brain, which is responsible for rational thinking. You can't write well while in editing mode, which is why you should totally keep those two processes separate, and save the editing for the months to come.

3. Stock up on snacks

Don't walk, RUN to the nearest supermarket if you haven't stocked up on your favourite snacks yet. For me, that is chocolate, tea, bread, and whatever salty thing I can get my hands on. Because you know what is stressful? Writing 50k words in a month. But you know what is even more stressful (and honestly downright impossible)? Doing so without SNACKS!

4. Create a space that inspires you

Inspiration is always important, but even more during NaNoWriMo, because that is one of the times where writing can feel like actual hard work, and doing hard work without some sort of inspiration or motivation will most likely lead to failure. Some ways that you can create that space are:

digital:

build a pinterest board for your WIP or your characters

create a YouTube playlist with author's interviews or dark academia videos

find some good writing/dark academia atmosphere on Ambient Mixer

browse through Social Media to find posts related to writing (like this one) to inspire you. Just make sure that doesn't become your main activity.

watch NaNoWriMo content on YouTube

make a Spotify playlist for your WIP

analogue:

light some candles

put on fairy lights

go for a walk regularly

decorate your room in a way that reminds you of writing (I have a looot of sticky notes on my wall)

5. Tidy up your space

To be fair, this is more of a Preptober thing, but if you haven't already, you should totally tidy up and organise your writing space in a way that is efficient to you. This way you can avoid disrupting your flow while writing, as you won't need to search for your stuff. This may include sorting already existing documents, going through your notebook drawer to eliminate the chaos in there or just giving your desk a deep clean.

6. Get your family on board

This is a very important thing for me this year, as I am staying with my family in Argentina, which means working under unideal conditions. I live with two children (7 and 11 years old), fights between them as well as between my cousin and her husband are common, I don't really have my own room and having a quiet space is rare due to the presence of five pets (thank god for the invention of noise cancelling headphones. They are cute though).

One way to make things easier, especially if you live in a familiar situation that is similar (or worse), is to get people on board. Tell them what you are about to do, put a sign on your door when you work, bribe your little brother with snacks to leave you alone when you write. I promise you it makes a difference. I realise not everyone has the option to do this, and if you are a writer (or any kind of artist really) that lives among people who aren't supportive of your dreams, know that I am with you and that I wish you all the best.

7. Reward yourself

I personally like to reward myself every 10k words I write during NaNo, and I make a list of the rewards I want to give myself beforehand. That way, when you're writing that one slow, complicated or just emotionally draining scene that just doesn't seem to end, you have other things to look forward to besides just winning. You can also give yourself small rewards every day you hit your word count - or do both!

8. Take care of your health

That obviously includes physical health: make sure to move your body every once in a while, don't use writing positions that could injure your back and make sure to eat full meals even when you are busy. That being sad, I want to put a special emphasis on mental health here. Don't stress yourself too much with your project, you aren't here to get a burnout. Be mindful and realistic about the goals you set. And remember, your mental health comes first. If you have to choose between maintaining it and finishing NaNo, your word count should never be the priority.

9. Have a reason

Now, that sounds pretty plain, but it can actually be pretty helpful once you start! Ideally, you should have a note/paper/document somewhere that lists exactly that: why you are doing NaNo, and why you are writing in general. Maybe you really have this story that you just have to tell to find your inner peace, maybe you want to choose writing as a career path, or maybe it just gives you joy to create stories. Maybe it is a coping mechanism. Whatever it is - write it down. That way you can come back to it when you feel like quitting.

10. Be kind to yourself

I know this kind of falls under 8., but I wanted to give this a special mention. Don't be harsh on yourself when you feel like you aren't going to hit your word count on the 15th. Keep writing. 30k/50k are better than quitting after 7k, and you will be glad you continued. You can get the rest of the words in in December.

If you get writer's block at some point, punching the Laptop and drowning yourself in negative thoughts are probably not going to make it better. Take a deep breath, acknowledge that the frustration is there, watch your favourite Disney movie, dedicate yourself to finding inspiration and then get back to writing. It is very likely that you will at some point be frustrated with this process, so having a frustration escape plan can really do wonders.

Anyway, that is it! If you enjoyed reading through this, kindly consider supporting me by commenting, liking, saving or sharing this post! And if you are interested in more writing and dark academia content, a follow is of course appreciated. That being said, have fun writing and make the best out of this year's NaNo!!

[mcwritingblog]

Pairing: Javier Pena x AFAB reader

Summary: Javi and Y/N need to have a talk

Rating: G

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort

Author’s note: Sorry guys for the late update! The writer’s block has been real

Word count: 1.5K

As you pass all the town businesses, the summer air flows into Javier’s truck. Then, finally, he pulls into a parking spot, his door facing the sidewalk.

“Thank you for dropping me off. You know I could've just biked to work?” you ask him, closing his door. You circle to the driver's side, leaning on his open window. 

“I like driving you to work. Dinner tonight?”, He suggests.

“I could go for some wine-ing and dining,” you play with the thought. Unfortunately, Maria’s been on vacation for the last week, so you’ve taken care of the shop yourself. 

“Ok, I’ll pick you up at closing.” he leans his head out the window to connect his lips with yours.

“I love you,” you say, pecking his lips once more, then turning away from him to walk to the shop's door.

“I love you more,” he says quickly, rolling up his window. Then, before you can retort, he drives off. 

It's corny, but you both argue about who loves who more. He’s so frustrating.

You snort, unlocking the door and stepping inside. 

Today’s going to be different. You can feel it.

----

Javi

“Did you pick it up?” I ask Steve.

“Yes.” Steve throws the ring box at me.

“How did you get all that money past the misses?”

“Told her I lost a bet to you.”

Steve snorts. “So today is the day? The day Javier Pena settles down. We really should have cake.”

“I am so nervous.”, I say, bracing my head with my hand.

-

For the last month, Javier Pena has been driving himself absolutely nuts. Should he propose? Should he not? There are so many things he has to take into consideration. He’s never felt this way about a woman before. This week, she’s been covering for her boss and the empty hours without her has brought him to snoop around her stuff. He has read approximately 5 of her books. Fantasy books about men in flowy white shirts on ships, some hot and heavy scenes that would make a nun pass out. But they all ended up with the man saving the woman and passionately kissing her. Demanding she marry him.

 One day he was so invested that he forgot the time. Y/N was unlocking the door and he nearly tripped on the carpet putting the book back on the bookshelf.

Grabbing the dictionary, he barely reached the couch before she got inside. 

“Honey! Im home”, she shouts out.

Acting surprised, he lifts his head, “Oh! Hi! You’re off earlier.”

She walked in clutching four paper bags, clearly struggling. “Yeah, the cafe was super dead so I locked up early. The weather was nice so I thought I might walk.”

He hopped up in a flash. “Let me help you with those”

She twisted away in rejection. “You need to take it easy. The doctor said no heavy lifting. Anyways, so I remember we needed bread so I dropped by the grocery store and I was shopping hungry. So, now im making chicken alfredo for dinner.”

“I wouldn't call bread and milk ‘heavy’ but”, you put up his hands in surrender, “you’re the boss”

“Can you set the table”, she shouts back, making her way to the kitchen. “Did you feed Avery!?”

“Once this morning, and a little bit before you got here,” he says placing the dictionary back on the shelf.

“You hear that, little girl? You’re dad already fed you. Hey! Don’t yell at me, young lady!”. She’s yelling at the cat again, he thinks. Javi laughs to himself. I couldn’t love her more than I love her, right here, right now. He feels for the ring in his pocket. It’s gotta be today.

----

Y/N

You’re faking a positive attitude for him. You’ve been running yourself ragged all day. You had multiple wrong orders. Lemon tea in espresso, mistaking heavy cream with half and half. So when the midday rush clears, you decide to close up early. Some fresh air will do you good. It’s been a long week without Maria and you are bone tired. Cooking might be the stress relief you need right now.

Javi was acting weird. He’s been different since the accident. You can blame it on some kind of PTSD but that doesn't seem like the only thing circling his brain. Whatever it is im sure you guys can figure it out. Unless he breaks up with you. 

Oh no, he’s breaking up with me.

 “I found this red wine at the store and I thought I could try it out”, you pour two glasses of wine. Taking a sip, you cringe at how bitter it is. The longer you spend cooking the more the nasty thoughts get to you. 

He realizes he wants better than you can give him. You down the glass.

He found someone else. You pour another glass.

He knows your secret. You down the second glass. 

You start to feel woozy. 

“Corizón”, he walks in. “You ok?”. He looks you in the face, searching for an answer.

“Yeah!”, you enthusiastically breathe out, “Im good!”. You give him a half-baked thumbs up.

“Here.” He comes around behind you, grabs you under the elbows, and leads you out of the kitchen and to the table. “I’ll finish dinner, you just sit there and look pretty”

You're spiraling. Javi accidentally burned his finger testing the sauce, “FUCK!”, he yells out, sucking on his digit. 

He’s mad. We’re breaking up. He knows.

You try some calming breaths. In and Out. Inhale, Exhale. Now you’re tearing up. You hold your face in your hands, sobbing.

He comes walking out, just then looking up at you “Hey do you know where th-   What happened? Honey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Kneeling, he turns your body to face him, “Heyyy…” he croons, “What’s going on?”, he’s rubbing your knee.

“It's just..” you sniffled, trying to collect yourself. “It’s been a long week and you've just been kind of distant. And I thought maybe you were mad at me for something”

He’s scanning the hurt on your face. “My love, Im not mad. I wasn’t mad. What made you feel like this?” He starts brushing circles on the backs of your hand.

You just sob a little bit more, shrugging.

“I love you… so much. In fact”, he starts patting his pockets, he’s shifting onto one knee. It's much worse, he’s proposing. TELL HIM

“Wait. Wait.”, you stretch your arms out in protest, shaking your head. “We need to talk”

Pain crosses his face. “Ok.”, he swallows, “Let’s talk”

---

“Haha, very funny. You’re a vampire”

“Immortal. None of that blood stuff”

“Immortal, who’s been living since the 1800s”

“Correct.”

“You’re pulling my leg”, he scoffs. “I get it. Big joke on the doofus”

“Im not joking.”

“I don’t believe you”

“Okay.”, you lift a single finger, running off to find the box under your bed with things you've collected over the years. One reallllllyyy old picture of you. The only one you have to remember your old life by. She looks so lively...

You hand it to Javi. He looks at it closely.

“So you have an ancestor you look exactly like”

“That’s me, in the summer of 1901. There was a giant storm on St. Simon’s beach, I was pulled under by an undertow.”

He flipped the picture, writing on the back says “The Day of the Big Storm”. 

“I drowned, Javi. But before I could cross over, I was pulled out, dragged onto the sand, and resuscitated. I was”, you measure an inch between your pointer finger and thumb, “close to dying. I was 20. That’s the day my life changed. After that, I didn't age a day. I have been 20 for 74 years.”

“Do you remember who pulled you out?”

“No idea. Do you believe me?”

“I do. Just give me time. Have you been keeping this from me the whole year we’ve been dating?”, he speaks softly.

Tears start running down your face again. You’re shaking. 

“I didn’t know how to tell you… I’ve never told anyone before. I usually move town before I could get close to anyone”

He’s squeezing his temples.

“This is a lot to process.”

“I know. I’d understand if you left right now”

“Goddamit. Hold your horses for two seconds.”, he gets up from the couch, pacing. “I’m not going anywhere. I just need a fucking moment.”

“Javier”, you can barely recognize your voice as it escapes your mouth. “You were going to propose weren’t you?”

He stalls. He shakes his head and utters, “Yeah” he slides his hand down his jaw. “Yes, yes I was”

“And you’re having second thoughts?”

“Yes. No. It’s not like that. Just give me a day to process this. Would you have said yes?” His brows furrow.

“I think we both need time to think about this. “, You stand up and kiss his cheek. “Hey”, you place your hand on his cheek, “We’re gonna be fine. I have to clean up at the shop anyways. I’ll see you in the morning, ok?”

You grab your coat and walk out.