#cause rabbits circle each other when they’re happy to see each other and i wanted to use that

[mothfables]

♡ Bunny Flops ♡ - Part Three

Here we are at the end! I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I loved writing it <3

The third time it happens, they’ve found themselves in the Veteran’s home era. Several hours of walking mixed with dodging knights (making Sky and Warriors scowl) later and everyone is all too eager to crash at Legend’s house with its’ numerous soft blankets and pillows that the Vet insists he has no use for but keeps around anyway. Warriors teases him for being a hoarder but they all know how soft the seasoned hero is inside.

(Warriors also has the suspicion it also helps with Legend’s chronic pain and bad joints, but Legend would literally rather be hit over the head with a moblin club than admit such a thing. That’s fine. He’ll just ask Ravio.)

Finally, the house is in sight and Legend speeds up as much as his aching joints will allow. He can’t wait to see his orchard and his garden, to coo to Sheerow and talk with Ravio, to lay in his own bed and drink his own tea, to get up when he wants and not some ungodly hour of the morning, and and and-

And the door is opening and Ravio is there, dark curls catching the afternoon sun as he turns to see who’s coming up the road. Legend’s speedwalk turns into a half-hop, half-jog as he hurries towards his partner. Ravio gives a shout of delighted surprise and copies him.

(Legend is sure it must look very odd, to anyone who isn’t them, but they’ve always done this - since they first began to like each other as people, since they became actual friends, since they agreed to be partners, not just best friends.)

Ravi likes to joke that it’s just another bit of proof they’re each other’s mirror. ‘Rabbits in a burrow,’ he’d tease as Legend pouted.

Then Ravio is reaching for him, checking him over and tutting as he notices the newest accumulation of injuries and overall exhaustion. Legend simply leans into him, relishing in the sensation of his partner’s care. After a moment he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the group still coming up the road behind him.

“Got room for eight more, Rav?” He smirks tiredly. Ravio titters, gently taking his arm and waving to the Chain as they make their way towards the couple.

“We’ll just be inside! You know where things are; make yourselves at home,” he calls. Then, more quietly, “Come on, bunny. Let’s get you off your feet, yeah?” Legend gives a token grumble for the show of it but follows Ravio’s lead as his partner tugs him through the door and into the house.

Once inside, Ravio leads him over to one of the plush chairs by the fireplace, waiting until Legend lowers himself into it before busying himself with lighting the fire and setting their beat-up old kettle on the stove. He pulls down Legend’s favourite mug: a slightly misshapen thing painted with apple blossoms. It had been a gift, given to him years ago, and something he treasures to this day. As the water boils, Ravio comes back over to check on his partner. Legend greets him with a tired smile before glancing at the fire, then at Ravio, hoping he’ll get the hint. He does; giving a dramatic sigh, the merchant gathers an armful of pillows and blankets and arranges them into a small - but cozy - nest before the fire.

The kettle whistles and Ravio scurries back to the kitchen, leaving Legend to drag himself out of the chair with a drawn-out groan. His limbs shake from the effort but before he can collapse Sky swoops over and catches him. The other hero helps him stumble over to the nest and down into it, then not-unkindly swats his hands away from where they fumble at the laces of his boots.

Once his boots are off Legend moves to get comfortable, rearranging the blankets to his liking as he scoots closer to the fire. At the same time, the rest of the Chain scatter around the living room as they finish settling in. Sky and Warriors sit near the nest, sharing a smile when their tired younger brother accepts their presence with nothing more than a glance and a roll of his eyes.

It doesn’t take long before Ravio reappears from the kitchen with a now-steaming mug in his hands. He hands it to Legend - making sure the other boy can hold it without trouble - before circling the nest a few times. He fluffs pillows and readjusts blankets before giving a happy hum and toes off his shoes to join Legend in the center of it.

Legend immediately leans into him, giving a contented hum of his own at the extra warmth. Ravio presses a kiss to his hair and the Vet’s eyes slip shut. “Ah ah, drink your tea first, love,” Ravio chides. Legend gives a tired whine, the sound pulling on Sky’s heartstrings. “I know, but it’ll help your joints. Come on, bunny, no falling asleep just yet.” Legend huffs grumpily at the order but complies.

Sky can see the stress and exhaustion leaving his little brother’s body as he sips at his tea. As he drinks, his eyes droop and he leans more and more heavily into Ravio. For his part, the merchant bears the added weight with ease, as if this is something that’s happened many times before. Sky gets the feeling it has.

His ear flicks at the sound of Wind’s pictobox. He turns to shoot a Look at the Sailor, who has the grace to look sheepish at his actions. (Sky will be getting a copy of that picture later, but now is not the time. He doesn’t want Legend getting embarrassed and forcing his aching joints to move because of it.) Luckily, the Vet doesn’t seem to notice. He’s done with his tea by now, barely holding onto his mug as he inches closer to sleep with every second.

Ravio reaches to grab it but Wars beats him to it. Gently taking the cup from limp hands, he gives the merchant a warm smile. “I’ll take care of it, you just let him sleep, yeah?” After a moment Ravio nods before turning back to the sleepy hero on his shoulder, leaving Warriors to stand and make his way to the kitchen unimpeded. He glances at the mug in his hands as he walks; it’s a simple thing that’s easy to hold and decorated in lovely pink blossoms. Apple blossoms, if he remembers correctly. It’s something that’s obviously been used and loved for a long time. The thought brings a smile to his face.

Returning to the living room, Wars is just in time to see Legend sliding off of Ravio’s shoulder to land face first in the mass of blankets, where he squirms for a moment to get comfortable before relaxing again. Ravio gives a fond sigh, slipping off the hero’s hat and placing it to the side to press a kiss to strawberry-blonde locks.

Legend purrs quietly at the action, and Ravio’s cheeks glow softly in the firelight as he beams. Turning to Sky, he whispers, amazed and proud, “Link almost never lets himself get so relaxed. He must really trust you.”

And if that doesn’t hit Sky like a shock arrow to the heart. From the sudden intakes of breath and muffled sniffling behind him, he’s not alone.

Warriors retakes his seat beside Sky with a thump. “We will do our utmost best to continue to deserve that trust,” he swears solemnly, and Sky catches the glisten in his eye. Ravio glances at him, startled, before catching his gaze, suddenly serious. The Captain holds it calmly. For a moment neither moves before the merchant nods and looks away.

Sky lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The matter settled, Ravio stretches his arms over his head with a sudden jaw-cracking yawn. He adjusts the blankets around them one final time before curling over- no, on top of his partner. Legend’s purring gets marginally louder at that; after a moment a second, deeper one joins in. A few minutes later both boys are fully relaxed, comfortable and warm and appearing near-boneless as they fall asleep curled up together.

The house is warm, and safe, and Sky lets himself drift off in the knowledge that his brothers are right where they need to be.

Click! goes the sound of Wind’s pictobox.

<<<<First : <<Previous

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 11 second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Absurdity) 

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Message from the Lan Clan

After dinner the Yunmeng bros go to talk to Jiang Fengmian in his study. They're quiet and respectful here, with no shoulder-shoving or arguing. This scene has such Brady Bunch energy, where Dad's Study is the Man Place where boys come to talk about Serious Things.

The boys tell Dad Jiang about the Yin Iron and he says yeah, I know. This is probably why he let them run off on their road trip without punishing them, but he could have, like, shared data with them so they might have actually achieved something related to the Yin Iron, rather than just wandering around the countryside bonding with Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang.

He shows them a letter from the Lans that basically says the Lan Clan is in the shit, and he tells them they've got to go to the Wen indoctrination because otherwise they will also be in the shit. 

He gives the boys a warning about the Yin Iron, which is that 

1. it can be refined and 

2. if you refine it carefully, it will not control you. 

Awesome tip, will definitely use, thanks pop.

(more behind the cut)

Jiang Cheng wants to argue about going to the Wen party, but Wei Wuxian vocally gets on board, not leaving any opportunity for whining. 

Wei Wuxian is only sucking up a little bit in this scene. He obviously has a lot of affection for Jiang Fengmian, but WWX doesn't play up to his favoritism nearly as much as he could. Compare, for example, how he leans into Yanli's preferential treatment of him.  

Fight Outside the Cold Cave

Over on the Gusu side of the country province township, the disciples have gathered outside the cold cave that previously none of them knew about, and Su She is freaking out. 

Most of the acting in The Untamed is naturalistic, but then there are occasional characters who are portrayed with a much more theatrical, broad style. Su She's villainy is not given a lot of layers; he's playing a type, more than a person.

Many of the villains in The Untamed are played this way, but not all. Wen Zhuliu, for example, is a genuinely horrifying bad guy while also conveying depth and ambivalence--despite having hardly any lines. And JGY is a masterpiece of a performance. For Su She, the directors or the actor have opted for "sniveling backstabber" as a type, which is unfortunate, because it robs his final scenes of emotional impact.

Lan Qiren tells the disciples to get to safety. He rushes forward, gamely getting his ass kicked by human cuisinart Wen Xu.  He's not as effective a warrior as either of his nephews but he's a brave S.O.B.

Hanguang Jun to the Rescue

Before things can go completely pear-shaped, Lan Wangji sails in with his guqin.

The Blue Steel technique of the Lan Clan

Like many gifted learners, Lan Wangji's musical abilities are more advanced than his social skills. Here he musically makes the ground literally explode, almost as if it had been specially rigged with incendiary charges.  

Lan Wangji is very pretty when he's worried, and his affection and concern for his uncle is touching. He's 100% not interested, as we will see, in Lan Qiren's whole "lets all die for the future of the Lan Clan while my nephews hide" agenda. He's on his own agenda of smiting the wicked and protecting the weak.

Notice how Su She is standing right next to Lan Qiren here, even holding his arm? The next thing that Lan Qiren says is to tell all the disciples to keep up as they run into the cave. Somehow Su She totally does not keep up, and he gets caught outside along with a bunch of other disciples.

Giving Up

Wen Xu and his men kill most of the other caught disciples, and then threaten Su She, asking him how to get into the cave. In fear for his life, he tells them. Not cool, Su She, but possibly forgivable. Although when you voluntarily join a, you know, battle cult, physical courage is kind of an important qualifier.

But this shit here...

They didn't fucking ask about the books, douchebag.  

Su She was there in Lan Qiren's house when the two heads of his clan knelt to each other, each claiming the right to be the one to stay behind and die. And he heard Lan Qiren say that the ancient books are the foundation of the clan and that only if LXC and the books survive, will the clan continue. By giving up both men, and pointing out the book situation, Su She has totally earned his expulsion. 

Lan Wangji Takes a Stand

Lan Wangji decides, for the first but not last time, to openly defy his uncle...and it's got nothing to do with Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji is a hero, who follows the dictates of his conscience. His conscience is extremely filial and extremely orthodox, but he’s got a growing open-minded streak.  This is going to cause a whole lot of conflicts for him over the next few years.

This time, however, he manages to skate out from under the whole disobedient, unfilial thing by citing Lan Yi's directive, which means Lan Qiren has to accept it because she's his predecessor and elder relative (She is probably not a literal ancestor, since she spent her life in a cave putting fucking headbands on fucking rabbits which probably didn’t leave time for having babies).

This is a pretty extraordinary moment for Lan Wangji and for Lan Qiren, because Lan Wangji just asserted his own form of authority to do the exact opposite of what Lan Qiren wanted, and Lan Qiren just sucked it up and let him.

It's also very different from western stories involving a holy McGuffin such as the Yin Iron. Lan Wangji's solution of "fuck it, just let the bad guys have it, it's not worth so many people dying for" is refreshing and surprising to me, a westerner raised on The One Ring, the Grail, the Death Star Plans, etc.

Lan Wangji steps out of the cave and uses a sword blast to save Su She, the ungrateful bastard, from getting stabbed by Wen Xu. Then he surrenders, and they break his leg to slow him down. This does not actually incapacitate him, because he is Lan Fucking Wangji, already a BAMF at like 17 years old. When they whack his leg, his chunk of Yin Iron falls out onto the ground.

That thing was in a magic bag of holding before. So...it just falls out when you whack him? If they whack him again will his guqin fall on the ground? What about candy?

Archery Practice at Lotus Pier

Meanwhile, back at Lotus Pier, the brothers are enjoying some quality time together before they head to the hostage-taking indoctrination.

Wei Wuxian is such a great cultivator that he can hit a distant target even when he jerks his bow upwards as he releases the arrow.

Jiang Cheng seems fairly pleased, and proud of his brother. He's competitive and fundamentally grumpy but not, at least here, a sore loser.

Club Ruohan

We go over to Da Club, where Wen Ruohan is yelling at Wen Qing for letting Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian go. He names them both, so they're becoming more and more known to their enemies. Which is not a good thing.

He menaces her with the zombie mosh crew, having them kill a dude in front of her and then saying her baby brother will be next in the circle of zombies if she tries any more stunts. Neither of them can imagine how much zombie ass her baby brother is going to kick, later in his (un)life.

Side note: What is up with WRH’s hair? Why bother pulling your hair up over your ears if you're going to leave an enormous curtain of it over your face? It's because he knows there's a wind machine next to his throne, isn’t it?

Leaving Lotus Pier

Jiang Cheng: when I ran off earlier in the year on my road trip you didn't pack a goddamn thing.

Wen Indoctrination

Is it even possible to stand next to this much active volcanic shit and not, uh, die? I live in the tornado part of the US so I don't know much about lava (yet. 2020 still has 2 months to go). But it seems like it would be hard to breathe the air. Also they appear to build houses on lava piles, which seems imprudent.  I say that even as someone who plays The Elder Scrolls Online, which is full of lava towns and nonsense like “ash farming.”

Nie Huaisang is adorable at all times, but particularly here, when he's so happy to see his friend who *didn't* fuck his gege and then abandon him without an explanation. 

Nie Huaisang: I'm so glad I can count on Wei-Xiong to be consistent and not vanish for months, or become a traumatized shell of his former self, or, like, horribly die.

Jin Zixuan isn't quite as happy to see Wei Wuxian.

Wen Chao enjoys the sound of his own voice way too much, and is malevolent and boring. On the plus side, he likes to stand with his hand stuck out in the air, which is fun for your resident photoshopper.

Nie Huaisang is so miserable every time he's holding a sword, or blade, or whichever we're supposed to call this. He's got his fan tucked into his belt, which is sweet. He is happy to give up his sword but don't you dare try to take his fan.

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian is worried about Lan Wangji, and Jiang Cheng isn't.

Lan Wangji shows up under guard, and takes his position at the front of the line, but without any extra disciples. The Wens let him change into snowy white robes after breaking his leg which will go well with arterial blood spray. He's focused and is determined not to interact with Wei Wuxian in this public context.

When I was little, I would sit near my best friend at church on Sunday, but not be allowed to talk to her until church was over, and it was exactly like this. She was good at churching and I was hyper and hated church. We are still best friends and these things are still true.

This interaction is like a thumbnail for the whole dynamic of these three boys: Lan Wangji outwardly ignoring Wei Wuxian while having many interior feelings about him; Wei Wuxian demanding attention and creating a bit of a scene, due to his very genuine caring; Jiang Cheng telling him to leave that boy alone for fuck's sake.

Lan Wangji: Stop trying to talk to me Wei Ying, I’m busy composing a song in my head about the two of us and our love for each other. 

[siren-virus]

For the Luck Boy AU: How does his dynamic change with everybofy here? Gwen, Kevin, Rook,etc.

Oh my- this might be a big one- gotta get them brain juices pumping.

So... there's two dynamics per character- secret identity and what-not-

Ben is still a loose- happy go lucky guy- but with a little more self confidence (cause he doesn't have the reliance on the omnitrix).

Gwen is a straight-laced by the books character. Almost like Rook when he started, but still with the Tennyson flare.

Gwen (a): A little similar to no-watch Ben and Gwen's dynamic, a bit distant from each other, but tolerates each others existence. -In this AU Ben, unfortunately didn't get to join Gwen and Max on the summer trip, so there was really no drive for them to get close. Gwen gets the watch and excels at her classes and moves up grades, etc. Gwen intentionally makes this distance between them wider, due to the fact she has the Omnitrix, and like a starving mosquito, danger will follow.

Kevin (a): Because there was no meeting in the OG summer trip between Kevin and Ben, there is... no redemption arc- at least not yet. Kevin stuck to his criminal ways and continues to sell illegal alien tech. He hangs more on the sidelines though, not really wanting to face the Rath of Gwen. As for the dynamic between Ben and Kevin, there is none. They never met- Well Kevin's never met Ben. But Ben's met Kevin a fair few times.

Rook (a): Similar to Kevin, Ben never met Rook. Rook is still affiliated with the plumbers, but is super Lawful good. He follows it to the T. Which can be super frustrating. Occasionally he partners up with Gwen, they work very well together, but Rook is a rookie to this whole thing, so it doesn't happen often, but normally he's patrolling, what little of an Undertown there is.

Max (a): Ben and Max's relationship is pretty good, not as close as the other iterations. But Ben will still look to Max for guidance and support where his parents can't. Max will invite Ben to the plumbers base several times a week for a nice dinner- Ben politely declines most times. But if he does go he brings his own food. "I... love you're food and all, but the tentacles.... they're just- not my thing, y'know?" His bold face lies always get him a nice serving of a wormy looking stew.

Now: second part.

Ben's a vigilante, that means his cousin and grandpa don't know of this. Ben's sure he'd get in a shit tone of trouble if they found out.

Gwen (b): A whole lot more sibling-like banter is exchanged between these two. Gwen hates to admit it, but when she and Ben have to team up to defeat and extra hard opponent they work really well together. Ben's focus is more on the attack rather than the defense, but can still do that if needed, it's not a very strong shield. Outside of teaming up Gwen is always trying to hunt down Ben, his vigilantism is great for the safety of the planet, however there's a big push on the plumbers end to have him unmasked. So Her fights with Ben are normally very frustrating. The man's like a goddamn rabbit, bouncing everywhere and always escaping her clutches last minute with a well timed mangenta smoke bomb.

Kevin (b): Kevin is very annoyed by Ben's appearances, always getting in the way of a big sale. The more dangerous the weapon, the more likely Ben appears. He's more often than not prepared, several high tech weapons and traps set up to prevent Ben from coming close. Which are more often than not foiled. Kevin would say he borderline despises Ben, but can't help but enjoy their banter. Keeps Kevin on his toes, which he very much appreciates. Cause the next time Ben appears, he'll be one step closer to getting rid of; "That damn, neon-cat weirdo."

Rook (b): Rook sees Ben as nothing more than a tackily dressed villain. Sometimes Rook will go against his code of honour (of being a good boy plumber) and do some night stakeouts to see if he can spot the glowing vigilante. It's harder than you thing when you live in the city. There are a whole lot of magenta glowing signs out there. Rook has found himself running head-on towards strip bars more than once. Mortified the poor guy is to even find out that strip bars are a thing.

On the few occasions he has come face to face with Ben he has been mocked, to his face, about his little knowledge of the outside world. And how lawful he is. Ben can't help but really stir the pot with this guy, he's fun, and easy to annoy. So Ben takes every chance he gets. Poor Rook is a victim to Ben's bullying.

Max (b): Max, the great man he is quite fond of Bens actions, although most plumbers and higher ranking officers would disregard Ben as nothing more than a menace to society. (that's media manipulation for you- but the plumbers are very much responsible for that too) Although they've never met face to face, Max silently cheers Ben on knowing full well that the kid has nothing more than the peoples safety at heart. Max wishes that the plumbers were a lot more like that.

My favourite thing hero vs "villain" trope is when the dynamics are fun and the villain is able to run circles around the hero without it being a life or death situation. We all love a little bit of those silly shenanigans.

This whole thing is off the top of my head, but hey... That's how I come up with most of my ideas.

[strawberryaziraphale]

reddie + kids

“Have you ever thought about having kids?”

Richie glanced at Eddie, watching him fiddle absently with the cigarette they were sharing. It was a glorious summer night in ‘93 and the two of them were sitting on the roof of Richie’s newly acquired car, enjoying their last few days before college. Richie took the cigarette back, taking a long drag as he considered the question.

“What, like, babies, screaming, dirty diapers, runny noses, attitude and temper tantrums? No way.”

Eddie chuckled, titling his head back to look at the stars, “yeah. And the germs,” he shuddered dramatically, shaking his head dismissively, “I wouldn’t make a very good dad.”

“Are you kidding?” Richie’s tone of voice caused Eddie to look at him. He looked shocked, the cigarette hanging neglected from his fingers, “you’d be a great dad,” when Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes, Richie flicked away the cigarette and added, “I mean it, Eds. I can picture you wearing one of those baby backpack things, singing them a little song, waiting for your husband to finish work?”

“Whoa, why am I the stay-at-home mom? What is this, the 1950s?”

He wasn’t actually pissed, more playfully teasing, but Richie still shrugged, smirking himself, “being a big time comedian pays more than whatever you’re gonna do, dude.”

“A doctor?” Eddie said pointedly, folding his arms as Richie scratched his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he sighed.

“Okay, I’ll stay at home with the kid,” he stared off into the distance, imagining the fake scenario they’d created. A slight smile spread across Richie’s face, “we can learn to bake together. You know, cakes and stuff. And maybe we’ll have matching dad/kid aprons.”

Eddie groaned theatrically, running a hand over his face, “God, I’m gonna come home to a filthy kitchen every night.”

“Nah, we’ll clean up, Spaghetti, don’t you worry,” Richie winked playfully, even if he wasn’t sure if this was still pretend or not, “I’ll even rock baby to sleep early so we can spend the rest of the night together.”

Eddie looked at Richie properly, unable to stop the soft smile from settling on his face. Their fake life was so wonderfully domestic, he couldn’t help but long for it. It was perfect. He shuffled closer to Richie, instinctively resting his head on his shoulder. Richie wound an arm around him, holding him in place protectively.

“That sounds nice,” Eddie murmured into the night. In a few days, they’d be in separate states, furthering their education. He didn’t want to think about that right now. He looked up at Richie, “I’m gonna miss you, Rich.”

“Eds, I’m not gonna give you a chance to miss me,” he declared dramatically, kissing the top of Eddie’s head briefly, “seriously, you’re gonna be fucking sick of me.”

He wished he could record the sound of Eddie’s laughter and take it with him everywhere, just to keep him sane. It wasn’t going to be easy, but they were going to get through this.

-

Going on tour was getting harder and harder every year. He missed his small family terribly but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he saw them again. Richie carried their photo around in his pocket on stage; they were never far from him. He wrapped a day earlier than expected and was on a flight home before Steve could even congratulate him. He refrained from texting Eddie, wanting to surprise him. Only a few more hours and he’d be home.

The lights were on despite it being very late. He stepped onto the porch and quietly opened the front door; the lounge was empty and Richie could hear voices coming from upstairs. He tiptoed inside and dropped his bag by the door, gently creeping upstairs. He could hear Eddie gently speaking to their two children.

“You can’t stay up until daddy gets home, April,” he was saying to their six-year-old, trying to tuck her into bed, “you’ve marked the calendar, haven’t you? That means only one more sleep and he’ll be home.”

“I miss Daddy,” she pouted, snuggling her fluffy toy rabbit. She was rubbing her tired eyes with her fists, determined to stay awake. Richie peered down the hall, knowing it was likely her little brother, Harry, was already asleep. Eddie smiled.

“I miss him, too. One more sleep,” he kissed her forehead, “love you, sweetie.”

“Love you, dada,” she said through a yawn, already closing her eyes against her will. Eddie switched off her light and closed her door. He almost jumped a mile when he heard a voice behind him.

"Do I get one, too, Mr. T?”

To his credit, Eddie managed not to squeal but he did throw himself at Richie, circling his arms around him in happiness. How they didn’t tumble down the stairs, he didn’t know but Richie wasn’t about to let his husband go. When Eddie finally did pull back, he was wiping away tears of happiness.

"When you call me that, I feel like I’m in the fucking A-Team.”

"What about the D-Team?” He replied with a flirtatious smirk. Eddie just rolled his eyes, leading him along to their bedroom to avoid waking the kids.

“I still can’t believe you get paid to make jokes,” he hugged Richie properly, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth, melting into the touch, “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. And the kids.”

"They’re gonna be so happy to see you.”

Richie kissed Eddie properly, resting his forehead against his, “I can’t wait. But right now, I just want to hold you.”

Before long, they were cuddled up in bed, fingers entwined and whispering nothings to each other. In the morning, Richie would be rudely awaken by a happy little girl who’d spotted his tour bag in the doorway, leaping on the bed and refusing to let go of him. But for now, he just held the love of his life in the peaceful silence, knowing he was the luckiest man in the world.

[bangtan-madi]

Year of the Rabbit — Six: Flower

Pairing — Jungkook x Reader, Hoseok x Yoongi, Taehyung x Jimin

Tags — best friend!Jungkook, non-idol au, flower shop au, gym au, florist!MC, gym owner!Jungkook, brother!Namjoon, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 2k

Summary — Blame it on the storm or the secret feelings or the snow-in, but one thing is for sure: a lot can happen to two best friends when they're confined to their stores overnight.

Warnings — language

Part — 6 / 7

Previous — Next

After the fireworks trickle off in numbers, you and Jungkook still remain cuddled under the blanket. The darkness and chill tempt you to stay this way forever. His arms wrapped around your center, your back pressed against his chest, his chin on your shoulder: it's given you an immense sense of comfort. All this, despite the smoke and exhaustion rolling over you.

Eventually, Jungkook pulls himself away from you, putting a little bit of space between you. Knowing what he's going to suggest before he opens his mouth, you let your eyes close and enjoy the last seconds of his closeness.

"It's gotta be after midnight," he whispers. "The fireworks have stopped. I still don't think it's safe to go home yet. Even though the storm has stopped, the snow is over a foot at least."

You give a non-committal noise, just enough to let him know you heard him.

The man behind you rubs the tops of your arms over the blanket still wrapped around you. "You're falling asleep, Flower. Maybe we should get you to sleep."

"Where the hell am I going to sleep in that supermarket?" you chuckle, finally opening your eyes as you turn on your heel to face him. "Or maybe we can freeze in the shop."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "For once, can you just...not fight me? Too much to ask?"

You give a single, firm nod. "Yep!"

"Well...too bad."

"Not gonna ha—Hey! What are you doing?"

Instead of standing there and arguing, Jungkook sweeps an arm under your knees, placing the other behind you. Knocking you off your feet, you settle easily into his arms, and he slides you around so that you're slumped against his back. An arm under each of your thighs, yours instinctively circle his neck.

"I'm tired, and I'm even more tired of fighting you," he huffs, already trudging towards the attic door. "Even if I have to tie you up, we're going to sleep. Got it?"

You snicker at his hyperbole and rest your cheek against his mid-back. "Kinky."

"Really?"

"Yes. And did you seriously call me 'Flower' just a minute ago?"

Jungkook's shoulders shrug under your weight, and he's careful to take one step at a time as he descends down the ladder into the supermarket supply closet. "What if I did? Do you not like it?"

Your arms tighten around his neck. As you shake your head, your cheek rubs against the hem of his jacket. "I like it...a lot, actually."

Your best friend doesn't try to hide his amusement as he hikes you up further on his back, fingers gripping your jean-covered thighs. "Add that one to the pet-name collection, then."

Once you're back in the supermarket, Jungkook walks quietly towards the area where you were before. The sofa with propped pillows and throw blankets is a welcome sight, as is the view of the snowy streets through the storefront. He's quick to settle you both down on the cushions, keeping you close to him as he rests you both on your sides.

"We're cold and tired and here overnight," he murmurs, burying his face into the crook of your neck, arms winding around your midsection. "Just get some sleep."

Forcing the butterflies down, you circle your arms around his shoulders and back, cradling him to your chest. Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief, nuzzles further into you, and moments later, he's out like a light.

It takes you a little longer to fall asleep, but the warmth of the night and of the person lying next to you eventually lulls you into dreamland. 

You dream of the feelings you won't say.

When you awaken a few hours later, the first light of daybreak is slowly starting to stream across the horizon, through the buildings, and onto your face. Eyes narrowed at the minimal light, you stir and hide your face in the fluffy thing nearest your face. A blanket, a pillow, who knows. Groaning to yourself, you move your arms, anticipating Jungkook to be next to you. The space is empty, and it prompts you to peek one eye open.

Jungkook isn't anywhere to be seen. Not on the sofa next to you, nor on the sitting area where you ate dinner. Looking over your shoulder, you don't see him anywhere in the near vicinity.

As you pull yourself up into a seated position, your phone illuminates. Your gaze flickers to it, and you see your partners' names on his new messages. Out of curiosity, you pick up the device. A sense of relief floods through you; your connection must have been restored while you were sleeping.

But when you read the messages on the screen, it's clear that this phone is not yours. It's Jungkook's. However, you were not mistaken on the identities of the messengers; Yoongi and Hoseok's names are as clear as day.

The latter's reply is connected to a message Jungkook sent about an hour ago, that much you can tell even from the home screen. His original message reads, "If I tell [Y/n], if I'm honest, I'll lose my best friend. For sure. One-hundred percent. Every conversation I play over in my head, they always end the same damn way. I lose her."

Hoseok's reply is simple. "You can't let that stop you, Jungkook-ah. You deserve to be happy. It may take time, but she will come around."

Yoongi agrees, "It may surprise her, but I guarantee you won't lose your best friend. Things will change, but it's bound to happen eventually."

A thousand thoughts and emotions flicker across your mind as you reread those words. Despite having little context, your heart hurts at the sentiment in your best friend's concern. I'll lose my best friend. For sure. One-hundred percent. What could be so horrible about this person that he's in love with that it would cause him to lose you? What about them would make your long friendship come to an end? What could possibly come above the love and connection and history you have together?

As the minute ticks by, and the sunlight pours over the buildings with greater strength, your heartbeat quickens and your palms sweat. The ball of nerves in your stomach grows deeper and darker with each moment, and you feel as if you might be sick. Jungkook has been your longest companion; he's the one true thing that you've always relied on. Never in a million years did you think any event, any argument, or any lover could come between you and him.

But could you be wrong about that? Have you overestimated the love you have for each other? Surely he knows how much you do...even if you have kept the nature of that shifting love a secret.

Was that also a mistake?

Jungkook appears from the storage closet, in his grasp are several breakfast bars and bottled cold brew. He smiles brightly at you, but as he sees your expression, it falls away. "Hey, are you okay? I brought breakfast..."

Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes and push his phone off your lap. "I saw a couple of texts by accident, sorry."

"From who?"

"Yoongi and Hoseok."

Your best friend visibly swallows, then sets down the breakfast goodies on the end of the sofa. You gnaw on your lower lip with anxiety, and he takes a cross-armed position in front of you.

"I didn't mean to," you defend softly. "I had just woken up, saw the names, thought it was my phone. Didn't read any but the new ones." As he remains silent, you turn your gaze upwards, gathering the courage to ask once again. However, this time the question feels heavier. "Who is she?"

Jungkook is hesitant to show any form of emotion, give anything away, on his face. "She?"

"The girl you love. Or is it not a girl...is that why you're so standoff-ish? Is that why you're so certain you'll lose me?"

He lets out a soft, breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "No, that's not it."

"Then who is she? Who is she that she will come between us and end our friendship?" Jungkook begins to look visibly uncomfortable; he's running a hand through his wavy hair, clenching his jaw, shuffling where he stands as if he wants to run. "I—I'm not trying to give you an ultimatum, Bunny. I'd never do that, ask you to choose between me and someone else, but we've been friends for so fucking long. To throw all that away...what are you so scared of?"

He closes his eyes, heaving a sound of frustration. "It's not like that. It's not what you think. You only read a couple texts, out of context. That's not the entire conversation."

You perch up on your knees, giving yourself a bit more height on the sofa, and reach for his hand. "Then explain it to me, Kookie." Your fingers graze his, barely touching tip to tip. "Don't leave me in the dark."

After a moment of silence, Jungkook pulls his hand back. "Nothing's going to change, [Y/n]. You gotta trust me on this."

The pit of anxiety in your stomach begins to grow at his hollow words. "But you told Yoongi and Ho—"

"—That every conversation ends with me losing my best friend?" he finishes, and you nod once. Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek. "That's because once you know...you're going to feel differently about me. And I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"You know me better than that," you assure, voice strengthening with resolve. "I'm not going to cut you off because of who you love."

"You don't know that."

You attempt to keep your expression and tone calm and tender, but his concern is sharp and deep, going to the foundation of your care. "I do! What kind of friend do you take me for?"

Jungkook's brown eyes meet yours, and his gaze shifts back and forth between them, as if trying to find any fault with your truth. You don't waiver; you hold his line of sight until he breaks it, looking past you, towards the snow piled up outside.

"Okay," he breathes, voice barely a whisper, barely held together in its shakiness. He scoops up his cellphone. "Fine. You want me to call her? I will."

Taken back by his words, you blink in surprise as he quickly dials a number by memory. Your chest tightens with guilt, and you start to say, "Kookie, you don't have to—"

"—No, I want to. You...You deserve to know. It's been a long time coming, and I—I need to get this off my chest." His fingers hover over the dial button. “Might change things...Aish, who cares. Here goes nothing."

The moment he selects the number and raises the device to his ear, the device in your pocket begins to vibrate. Jungkook's signature ringtone gets louder as the seconds pass; a lofi version of "Yellow" begins to play. For the first few seconds, you stare blankly at the boy in front of you. His chocolate eyes flicker back and forth between yours, waiting with bated breath for your reaction. In those moments, an inhale turns into a shaky exhale.

And then it clicks into place.

You fish your phone from your pocket as quickly as you can, only having to glance at the screen for half a second to see Jungkook's name flashing against the white background.

Taglist — @kooala​

[lassieposting]

wow

I think you're the only person in the entire fandom shipping Mevolent / Vile.

do you have some NSFW headcanons ??? 👀

Do I have any smutty headcanons...oh nonnie my sweet summer child I have smutty headcanons for every single ship i have

Anyway I spent ages trying to figure out wtf counted as sufficiently smutty so have an askmeme

Top/Bottom. Do they have a preference?

Top Mevolent/Power Bottom Vile.

Vile is actually versatile, but Mevolent isn't really into bottoming.

Dom/Sub. Do they have a preference?

Mevolent doesn't have a submissive bone in his body. He's the Brat Tamer sort of dom - he prefers cheeky, stubborn, feisty partners who'll act out and give him a power struggle but ultimately melt for him.

With...pretty much anyone else, Vile would actually be the dom. He is what Mevolent affectionately refers to as "a handful", which is probably the understatement of the century, and at the start of their relationship it's an all-out battle for control - they have the kind of sex that's half a fight, they overturn furniture, they leave marks, they draw blood.

But at one point, Vile was Skulduggery, and Skug was versatile with very obvious subby tendencies, so there's a little residual part of Vile that's very into dom!Mevolent. Over time, as they build trust and get closer, he gets more comfortable ultimately letting that part win out. Not that he makes it easy most of the time - he's fiery, he likes making Mevolent overpower him because the power struggle is half the fun, and he's still terrible for trying to top from the bottom, but he does settle down from "genuinely determined to dom Mevolent" to more just...being a brat for shits and giggles.

How long can they go?

There is a definite difference lmfao. Mevolent likes younger men. Vile is like four or five centuries younger than he is, and his last sexual partner - Serpine - is also around Vile's age. So unless Mevolent tires Vile out before getting off himself, Vile will be raring to go again long before poor Mev is done recovering.

Sexual fantasies?

Mevolent is pretty into the idea of corrupting heroic resistance leader Skulduggery into changing sides to fight for him (via sex rather than torture). He doesn't look too closely at this one, doesn't look at it at all tbh beyond "corruption kink is hot", but there's a part of him that actually feels responsible for all of Vile's trauma - he sent Serpine after Skulduggery in the first place, he authorised the torture and the eventual execution...when Vile has night terrors and wakes up lashing out and panicking, he feels like he caused that. He lowkey loves the idea that they could've ended up together under different, happier circumstances. He knows Vile well enough to keep this particular fantasy to himself, though: Vile's past is a touchy subject.

In the same vein, "naive inexperienced temple-born Vile" hits all of Mevolent's religious/virginity kink buttons. With the added bonus that Vile will actually indulge him on this one occasionally.

Any sexual fantasies/kinks they’re ashamed of?

So, Mevolent is religious and deeply so, which means he is essentially a ball of guilt and religious hangups, but he's also not Eliza Scorn levels of devout, meaning he'll commit certain sins and then feel bad about them later. This entire relationship is a huge source of internal conflict for him. On the one hand, he loves Vile. Vile makes him happy, is cuddly in the mornings, and gives fantastic head. On the other, Vile is a heretic. Long-term committed relationship aside, even sleeping with a heretic is taboo - are you truly devoted to the gods if you're willing to sully your body, their vessel when they return to this world, by rutting with heathens? And while most of his inner circle - who also commit sins of varying degrees of severity - are willing to turn a blind eye to his choice of paramour, and while he ultimately considers the relationship worth the guilt and the anxiety, sometimes he thinks about what will happen to him - the punishment he'll receive - when the Faceless Ones return and feels sick inside.

Vile will get off on Mevolent manhandling/overpowering him, and then feel kind of weird and dirty and dissociated afterwards. He drops hard, and sometimes he wants to be left alone and other times he gets as close as he can and it's still not enough, he wants to crawl inside Mev's skin with him and maybe then he'll feel like he really exists. He doesn't have the emotional awareness to realise that he's using Mevolent - someone he trusts not to hurt him - to try and take his agency back by recreating how he felt when Serpine was torturing him, but with a different outcome (where feeling helpless/exposed/vulnerable etc leads to pleasure and praise and being taken care of by someone who loves him, instead of, you know, agony and death). All he really knows is that he gets off on it at the time and then feels guilty about it after. They both need therapy, but Mevolent knows him well enough to be pretty good at aftercare.

Are they loud/vocal, or do they stay quiet?

Vile makes being quiet into an artform, but Mevolent takes that as a challenge. He can get little gasps and moans out of Vile if he puts his mind to it, but he really has to work for them.

Mevolent is? Normal levels of loud, usually, but he keeps it down as much as possible while they're fucking around in secret.

Favourite position?

They actually agree on this one - riding/Vile-on-top. Mevolent gets to lay back and let his much younger lover do most of the work, he has a great view, he can touch as much as he likes, he gets to watch Vile fall apart. Vile gets to be in control and tease and drag it out as long as he likes, and when he's done in and keels over, he can chill out on Mev's chest until he gets his breath back.

Clothes off or on during sex?

Vile prefers either clothes on or lights off. He very much enjoys looking at Mevolent naked, but he doesn't like being looked at himself. He used to be very pretty and he knew it, but now when he looks at himself in the mirror all he can see is his scars, a canvas painted by Serpine. Underneath the fake body is even worse - unlike Skug, Vile's been using necromancy to pretend he isn't a bag of bones for the past couple centuries; he hasn't actually processed it at all.

Mevolent on the other hand is a clothes off, lights on person. Even during their mostly-clothed up-against-the-wall angry hookups, he'll be tugging Vile's collar out of the way to get at skin; neck or chest or collarbone. He doesn't give a rat's ass about the scars, he has plenty of his own.

They mostly compromise with candlelight or a fire in the grate. Soft, low light hides a multitude of sins, which makes Vile more comfortable, and turns his hair to burnished copper, which Mevolent loves.

Do they like to cuddle after sex?

They do! It takes a while for them to figure that out - at first they hook up and then Vile gets dressed and leaves and that's how they like it. Serpine was very much desperate for any scrap of affection from Mevolent, so it's a refreshing change to have someone who's after the same thing as Mevolent - a quick fuck with no emotions or strings attached.

But eventually they start spending longer together, lazing and talking or dozing in between going at it like rabbits, and they realise that? It's nice to hold and be held, to pet and be pet without the expectation of it going anywhere. Vile has freckles and Mevolent likes making patterns out of them (he's adamant he's found the Faceless circles/his own crest on Vile's ass cheek), and Mevolent will doze off to Vile idly stroking up and down his spine. Vile likes having his hair played with. Mevolent likes to prop his cheek on Vile's head to read. They become a pretty cuddly couple tbh.

Do they like having sex outside of the bedroom? If yes, where?

Mevolent's throne is a favourite, after the throne room has cleared out. Usually it's Vile getting in his lap after all his audiences are done and the throne room has cleared out. Occasionally, if he's feeling particularly sentimental, Mevolent will let Vile try the throne out and go down on him while he's sitting in it, his own version of all the sorcerers who bend the knee to him. It's his way of pointing out his feelings - pretty much everyone in the world kneels to Mevolent, but he only kneels to two things: his gods, and his lover. They're not great at expressing their feelings, so giving Vile that power trip is one of the ways he says I love you.

Once they're able to be together publicly, Mevolent's favourite is getting Vile alone on a balcony or in an empty hallway behind some columns somewhere for a fumble during a party - anywhere he can get the thrill of "we might get caught" with the certainty that they probably won't. He likes the thought that they might be seen, but he also knows he needs to mind his reputation, so he prefers knowing that the chances are very small.

Are they affectionate during sex?

When it's the sappy romo kind, they are; they're worldbreakers in the eyes of most, but to each other they're just Mevolent and Vile, they're like any other couple. They laugh and bicker and make out and leave possessive little marks on each other and playfight. No one looking at them would think of either of them being capable of that kind of softness. Vile also has a praise kink like woah so Mevolent lavishes him with it. But when they're really going at it it's all teeth and nails and they leave the cuddliness for later.

[12timetraveler]

The Quiet Cabin

The other user I have the privilege of writing for is @charlessmithhasmyheart

For this piece, I decided to write about Hosea/f!reader getting away from camp to enjoy the winter holiday together. 

Enjoy!

@rdr-secret-santa

You carefully placed another log in the fireplace, making sure not to smother the fire as you quickly dropped it and pulled your hand back. You watched as it settled, satisfied when the burned logs underneath it didn’t collapse under the weight of the new addition, and soon the log was darkening as flames lapped at it. 

You sat back on your heels, looking around the cozy little cabin you and Hosea were inhabiting for the week. Hosea had surprised you one morning, urging you to pack a bag for a week and follow him. He was vague about who the cabin belonged to, and how he’d gotten his hands on it for the week, but he assured you there was absolutely no chance of the two of you being disturbed.

Neither of you were the church-going type. Christmas didn’t hold much religious meaning for either of you. But you were more than glad to take a week away from the chaos of your little gang and celebrate the season together, just the two of you. No Dutch constantly bothering Hosea, no Grimshaw nagging you to bring in money or get to doing camp chores. No fights to break up, cons to plan, or jobs to worry over. Just the two of you in a cozy little cabin, tucked somewhere in the mountains.

You glanced over to the plush armchair that Hosea was currently sitting in, nose in his book as he relaxed into the soft chair, seeming to sink into it more and more with every minute. The firelight cast his face in sharp glow and shadow, emphasizing his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. The light caused his silver hair to shimmer and sparkle like the falling snow that you could see through the window. 

He looked so peaceful sitting there, you almost felt bad disturbing him. But, well, neither of you were under any assumption that this week wasn’t designed for the two of you to wear each other out on every surface in the cabin. It was so rare that the two of you got to make love, with the lack of privacy your living conditions offered. The two of you slept under the open canopy that was usually shared with one of the other camp members. No you were going to spend the week like rabbits. 

You couldn’t wait to show Hosea the little surprise you’d bought him. On the ride up here, Silver Dollar had thrown a shoe, so you’d taken a detour into a little town. While Hosea was in the stable, getting both of your horses re-shoed, you went to the general store for some last minute supplies. While browsing the catalog, you’d seen it and knew immediately Hosea would love it. 

You shrugged off your jacket, discarding it on the rug in front of the fire, leaving you in only your warm traveling dress. Slowly you crawled across the floor toward Hosea, eyes locked on him. He didn’t look up from his book, but you did catch a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, signaling that he saw you and knew exactly what you were up to. 

You placed your hands on his knees, slowly sliding them up his thighs to his hips. You ducked your head under his arms, coming up between him and his book, grinning at him devilishly. He chuckled, trying and failing to give you a stern look. 

“And just what are you doing, you little vixen?” He asked. You reached behind you and gently took the book from his hands, tucking his bookmark inside and setting it on the table next to the chair. “You feeling neglected?” He cooed. You put on your best pouty face and nodded. Hosea grabbed your hips and guided you to sit on his lap, knees on either side of his hips. 

You carded your fingers through his snowy hair and leaned down to press your lips to his. He met your kiss happily, tugging your skirt free from where it was trapped between you so that you could sit flush against him. You couldn’t resist grinding down on him, just a little. You could feel his member growing hot and hard underneath you. You let out a proud little pur sound, knowing you were the only one who still got the older man hot and bothered. 

Hosea hummed contently, one arm around your waist to help you keep your balance on his lap while the other found the hem of your skirt and slid underneath it. He began gently stroking your knees and the back of your calves, gradually moving up your thighs, higher and higher until...

“Since when do you wear lace garters?” He asked, breaking the kiss and gazing up at you in surprise. You grinned. Most of your garters, which you wore mostly to keep knives or guns tucked in, were old and weathered satin, a far cry from the crisp, starched, lacy pieces currently hugging your thighs. 

“You like them? They’re new.” You teased, dipping your head down to kiss his jawline. You loved the feel of his skin against yours, a few sparse hairs here and there, but Hosea had never quite been able to grow a respectable beard, and so he kept his face clean and trimmed. 

Hosea fingered the lace garters on your thighs, his breathing growing heavy as you smothered his neck and jaw with affection, kissing and nipping at his soft skin. 

“Where on earth did you get them?” He said, his voice shaking slightly, either with humor or with pleasure. Maybe both.

“Saint Nicholas brought them for you,” You joked. Hosea huffed out a laugh. “He brought you a few things actually.” 

“Did he now?” Hosea asked. You pulled back and nodded, biting your lips slightly. “Well, unfortunately, you’re not supposed to open your present until Christmas morning, which is still two days from now.” He said, removing his hand. “I guess I’ll have to wait.” You let out a little whimper. 

“Saint Nick said you could open this one early.” You urged quickly, hips slowly rutting down against his.

“And since when have you and Dear Old Saint Nick been such close acquaintances?” Hosea teased.

“I met him on the road. Well... I say met, I tried to rob him,” You said, mimicking the way Hosea often told his stories. Hosea narrowed his eyes playfully for a moment, not missing the small jab. He slapped your thigh lightly. 

“Well, I suppose it’s alright then.” He chuckled. You felt the neckline of your dress loosen before you registered his deft fingers working open the buttons on your dress. He pulled down the neckline, exposing your clavicle to his hot breath as he leaned forward and began showering you with the same affection. You sighed and wrapped an arm lightly around his head, holding him to you as he pressed warm kisses across your chest. 

Hosea’s fingers worked their way over more buttons on your dress, and you heard him hum appreciatively as he caught sight of your red corset. You grinned as he quickly finished unbuttoning your dress and pushed it down off your shoulders, so it was gathered around your waist. 

You wore a red, silky showgirls corset with white lace trim over your regular thin white chemise. Matching short red drawers with white lace hugged your hips and upper thighs. Just a few inches down from your drawers, matching red satin garters with white lace overlay brought the outfit together. 

Hosea hummed in appreciation as he took in the sight of you, and he quickly pulled your dress up over your head so it was no longer in the way. The cups of the corset pressed your breasts together more than your usual corset did, giving Hosea a wonderful view of your bosom. His hands trailed up and down your body for a minute, feeling the soft lingerie beneath his fingers as he took you in. 

“I must have been a good boy this year,” Hosea mused, and you snorted out a laugh. 

“Must have done,” you replied, unable to hide the amusement in your voice. “You like it?” 

“Oh my darling,” Hosea sighed, hands resting on your thighs, fingers slipping under your drawers. “I love it. I love you,” He smiled and tilted his head upward. You grinned and granted him a kiss. “Although, if you want me to make it to next winter, you’ll need to stop surprising an old man like this,” He teased, grabbing your hand and placing it over his chest. You could feel his heart beating against your hand. You chuckled and took his hand, bringing it up to feel your own, which was beating just as fast. 

“You feel pretty healthy to me,” You mused, grinding your hips down on his once more, the split crotch of your drawers opening just enough to grant you friction against the large bulge in Hosea’s trousers. Hosea moaned, hand slipping into the cup of your corset to cup your breast in his hand, head dipping forward to shower the other one in kisses. 

You sighed, tilting your head back to give him better access as he worshiped your breasts. His tongue occasionally slipped between your cleavage, licking as far as he could. You shivered every time he did, imagining that tongue going to work somewhere else. Hosea’s lips turned upward into a smug smile each time. Bastard knew exactly what he did to you. 

Your hands braced against his shoulders and pushed him back, pinning him to the back of the chair. Your lips surged forward to meet his, kissing him fiercely as your hands trailed down his front. You made quick work of unbuttoning his vest and shirt, your fingers just as light and skilled as his. You slowly traced your hands over his chest, fingers carding through the curly chest hairs that covered his front. Slowly your hands slid down his ribcage, circling where his waistband sat on his waist. His skin jumped against your touch lightly, just a little ticklish. 

Your fingers slid down to the buttons of his trousers, and you quickly undid them. You slipped your hand underneath the waistband of his drawers, slowly caressing his hips, avoiding his center for a moment, just happy to touch him, feel him underneath you. 

Hosea’s lips moved more hungrily against you, silently begging you for more. After another moment or two of teasing him, just rubbing your thumbs in small circles over the v of his hips, you conceded, slipping one hand into the curls at the base of his cock. He sucked in a breath against your lips as your hand slowly circled his member, staying at the base as you teased it. 

Your other hand slowly began working his drawers and trousers down his body. Hosea lifted his hips, helping you push them down his thighs and letting the fabric pool at his ankles. You felt him shift underneath you, and heard two thunks as he kicked his boots off and shimmied out of his trousers completely. 

His long, thin cock stood to attention, ready and waiting for your command, for your pleasure. You sighed excitedly, looking down at it. He was long and thin, perfect for hitting deep inside of you. God you’d missed feeling him. You gave him a few strokes, and his hips bucked up against your hand. A strangled moan came from his lips. Clearly he’d missed your touch just as much. 

“You alright, there?” You asked, trying to suppress a small laugh. Hosea huffed in irritation. 

“I’m acting like a teenager,” He grumbled. “Nearly came apart just then.” You giggled and leaned forward, cupping his face in your hands. “You’re too much for me, sweetheart.” He murmured, meeting your kiss. You hovered over him, not touching his cock, giving him a few minutes to compose himself while you kissed. 

Hosea’s fingers caressed your thighs, thumb dipping between your legs, finding the open seam of your drawers. He hummed appreciatively. 

“I thought I spied an open seam,” He purred against your lips. You hummed. 

“Thought you’d like that,” You chuckled. You tended to wear closed seam drawers, which were the newer style. It made horse riding more comfortable. But you knew Hosea would enjoy these. 

“Very much,” He murmured, fingers dipping into your warm, heat. “My dear. So wet for me already.” He remarked, fingers making a lewd wet sound as they fiddled lightly with your folds. Your core burned with need. You needed to feel that wonderful stretch, that strange proding feeling of him inside, that wonderful connection with him. You lifted your hips.

“I’m ready,” You murmured, “I just need to feel you inside of me,” You cooed. He growled and lined himself up, fingers carefully parting the opening in your drawers, his hips moving up to meet you as you lowered yourself down on him. You let out a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan and a squeak as he sheathed himself completely inside of you. 

“Now, wasn’t that the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard,” Hosea cooed, hand coming up to stroke your cheek for a moment. You whimpered and nuzzled your face into his neck. It had been too damn long since you felt him. The feeling of him inside was almost overwhelming. Hosea seemed to feel the same, his arms holding your waist tightly to him as the two of you took a moment to adjust to each other. 

“Goddamn,” You sighed in his ear, voice breathy and high as you rolled your hips against him. You whimpered as your clit ground against his pelvis. You rolled your hips again, and this time Hosea rolled his hips up against yours, drawing a long moan from you. 

Slowly the two of you fell into a rhythm, Hosea’s hips moving up to meet you with every roll of your hips down to him. You braced your hands on the back of the armchair, leaning over him. Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt pleasure beginning to fill your core. You began moving faster, chasing that warm heat in your belly.

You felt a wool fabric brush against your wrist. You lifted your head and met Hosea’s gaze. He’d grabbed his scarf from where he’d draped it over the back of the chair. He held your gaze in silent question, gently tickling your wrists with his scarf. You nodded, granting him permission, and leaned back, taking him in deeper while you brought your wrists together in front of you. 

Hosea grinned brightly, seeming more pleased by this than the sight of you in lingerie. He wrapped his scarf around your wrists multiple times before tying it off in a tight knot. He tugged at the fabric slightly, and you nodded, looping your arms around his neck, bound hands behind his head, and kissed him once more. 

Hosea sat up straighter, taking charge. He held your hips and guided you up and down on his cock, setting the pace of your movements. You rested your cheek against his, panting into his ear as he picked the pace up. Hosea kissed your neck and jaw as he continued moving you. 

You whimpered as you felt your orgasm approaching, legs hugging his thighs tighter as you moved harder against him. With a firm grip on your hips, Hosea stopped you. You whined in protest, and you didn’t miss the way his chest shook with silent chuckles as his hands came down under your ass and he picked you up, laying you down on the rug in front of the fireplace, his cock still inside of you.

Your bound hands fumbled with his shirt and vest, which hung open around his body. He shed the last of his clothes, revealing his slender body to you. For an older man, he was still in incredible shape. His skin was a little loose with age, but you could still see the outline of his muscles underneath, kept toned from a hard life. The glow from the firelight had the silver hairs over his body shimmering above you. 

You couldn’t resist leaning up and pressing your lips to his nipple, teasing it with your tongue as he began to pick up the pace once more. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the cabin as his hips began to move against you fervently. You moaned as his long cock dragged along your walls, bringing you closer to your pleasure. 

“Not gonna last too long,” Hosea warned, voice trembling slightly. You released his nipple, laying back on the rug. He leaned over you, supporting his weight on his elbows, face hovering just above yours. You whimpered as he picked up the pace. 

“Me either,” You mewled, bound arms still wrapped around him. He moaned as he felt your insides squeezing around him. You had all week to drag things out. Right now, you both needed each other badly. 

“Ladies first,” Hosea grunted, adjusting his angle just so, bringing you over the edge. You wailed his name as your orgasm washed over you, legs shaking, body twitching, insides pulsing. You managed to twist one of your bound hands just enough to tug at Hosea’s hair. Hosea sucked a spot on your throat while it was exposed, your head tilted back against the floor in pleasure. You whimpered and mewled as the tremors of your orgasm slowly subsided.

Hosea was grunting and panting in your ear, chasing his own release while dragging out the sweet aftershocks of yours. With one long, beautiful moan, he spilled himself inside of you, buried to the hilt inside of you. Your insides still pulsed occasionally from your own orgasm, milking his own and making him whine slightly. 

Hosea let his body press against yours, pinning you to the floor beneath him while supporting some of his weight on his knees and elbows. You turned your head toward his, pressing tender kisses along his face. He breathed out a shuddering breath, slowly coming back to himself. He pushed himself up just enough that he could look at you properly. 

His face glowed with warmth, flushed and skin damp. His neat hair was slightly ruffled, and his lips swollen from your kisses. Looking at your beloved hovering over you, you desperately wanted to hold him tightly against you. You tugged at your restrained hands, and whined, unhooking them from over Hosea’s head. 

“Hosea,” You whined. He quickly undid the knot, removing the scarf from your wrists. He moved to grab them and rub feeling back into them, assuming they’d been hurting you. Instead, your arms folded tightly around him and pulled him down on top of you, holding him close. 

“I love you,” You whispered, pressing kisses wherever you could reach. Hosea chuckled and wrapped his arms under your body, pressing you even closer to him. 

“I love you too, my dearest,” He murmured, pressing kisses across your face. He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so that the two of you were still holding each other close. You could feel his spend dribbling between your legs, slipping out around Hosea’s softening cock, which was still inside of you. 

Hosea propped himself up on his elbow and gently brushed your hair out of your face before his hand trailed down your body, resting on your thigh just below the silky hem of your drawers. He chuckled. 

“You shouldn’t have wasted this beautiful getup on this old man,” He sighed, looking you up and down once more, appreciating the way the silky corset hugged your curves, the swell of your hip as you lay on your side. 

“Who else would I show it to?” You scoffed. No matter how long you were together, Hosea couldn’t seem to help but let out these casual remarks about how he was practically decrepit, and you should be with someone else. You narrowed your eyes up at him, and he lifted one hand in surrender. 

“Sorry,” He chuckled, knowing how much you hated that little habit of his. He could be just as bad as Arthur sometimes, always putting himself down. “That didn’t come out right. I only meant that, outfits like this are meant for young men, but I’m very glad you wore it for me.” he said, his hand returning to your thigh, gently stroking up and down your side. You nuzzled your face against his chest, holding him close. 

“This is only for you, Hosea,” You reminded him firmly. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start that again.” He said. You hummed in satisfaction and began pressing lazy kisses across his chest. After a moment, you looked up to see him watching you tenderly. 

“What?” you asked, giving him a crooked smile. 

“Just thinking on how angelic you look right now, my dear,” He sighed, tilting your head up even more. “The firelight glows off your skin in ways that even the most poetic man couldn’t describe. You look... ethereal.” He sighed. You grinned and kissed his chin. 

“I was thinking the same about you.” You chuckled, twirling your finger once more in his silver chest hairs. You sighed and snuggled against him, as if you weren’t already pressed wholly against him. “Thank you for this, Hosea. There’s no other way I wanted to spend my winter holiday. Just you and me alone, it’s perfect.” You sighed. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you felt yourself drifting off, the warmth of the fireplace at your back, the warmth of your lover at your front. 

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Friends Forged in Fire and Chardonnay

Summary: Belle and Gold have shared a strange little friendship ever since she first came to town. When the library is threatened with closure, Gold offers to help Belle fight back, and discovers that perhaps the feelings run a little deeper, after all.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling October non-smut prompt: “Is there any reason as to why you’re getting drunk on a Tuesday afternoon?”

Rated: T

Friends Forged in Fire and Chardonnay

“Is there any reason as to why you’re getting drunk on a Tuesday afternoon?”

Although he tried to keep his tone light, Gold would admit to being slightly worried about Belle French. When he had come into the Rabbit Hole to collect the rent, it being the first day of the month and therefore rent day, he had certainly not expected to find her there, and he had certainly not expected to find her sitting at the bar with her chin pillowed on her arms, staring into the depths of a large, half-drunk glass of white wine.

From the empties on the bar beside her, it was clear that this was not the first such glass of wine that had received such a treatment this afternoon. 

He slipped onto the bar stool next to her as she gave an emphatic groan, burying her face in her arms and attempting to ignore him. That was all right. He could wait. Belle would tell him her problems in her own time. He had plenty of time, after all. Despite it being the first of the month and therefore rent day, and despite the fact that Gold had come to the Rabbit Hole on the first day of the month to collect the rent ever since he had owned it, the management of the establishment always seemed taken aback by his appearance, and there was now, as there was always, a last ditch scramble to get the rent money together and present it to him. 

As Belle continued to drown her sorrows, Gold reflected on his friendship with her. She was a comparative newcomer to the town, and as such she had not had time to become acquainted with his sometimes true, sometimes erroneous reputation before the two of them had met in person for the first time. It had been nice to get to know someone with a clean slate, as it were, and as the library, and Belle’s home above it, were among the few places in the town which did not have his name on the title deed, there was an ease to their strange little friendship that he did not have with most of the rest of Storybrooke’s residents. He was glad that they had continued to be friends despite everyone else of Belle’s acquaintance trying to warn her against him.

As such, he had developed something of a soft spot for her, one of very few true friends that he had, and certainly the only one that he saw on a regular basis. Naturally, when he found her in such a despondent mood, so different from her usual chirpy demeanour, he was concerned. 

Eventually, Belle lifted her head up out of her arms and looked over at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, although it did not look like she had been crying, more that she had been incandescently angry and now all the fight had gone out of her. 

“Since my entire world is falling down around my ears, I figured why not.” She took a large swallow of wine and then rummaged around in her purse, pulling out a dog-eared letter in an even more dog-eared envelope. “This came this morning.”

It was quite a feat for the paper to have become quite so crumpled in quite such a short space of time, but Gold knew that for all her usual happy-go-lucky demeanour, Belle had a fierce and fiery side when it mattered. He was surprised that the letter wasn’t in pieces. He took it and skimmed over the text. 

It was a letter from the town hall informing Belle that the library would be closing at the end of the month and she would be required to leave the premises. It was an eviction notice in all but name, and there were no reasons given for this sudden swerve in the council’s direction concerning public services. Certainly, the library was not at all lucrative in a financial way, but it was one of the town’s most beloved and most frequented community hubs. It provided so much more than just books, and everyone, the council included, knew that. Closing the library would leave a huge hole in Storybrooke’s social life. 

“Well, we can’t have this,” Gold said. Belle just looked at him, one eyebrow raised in incredulity. 

“There’s not really a lot that we can do about it,” she pointed out. “The council’s decision is final, and they don’t normally go back on their word.”

Gold waved aside her concerns. “Politicians go back on their word all the time, and that’s all the council is, at a small and parochial level maybe, but still politicians at heart. Don’t lose heart, Belle. You can fight against this.”

She shook her head, going back to staring at her wine glass. “What can I do? I’m just one person and they’re a faceless phalanx of bureaucrats determined to suck the joy out of everything in the name of profits.” She paused. “You know, a lot of people in town would describe you that way.”

Gold laughed; he supposed that it was true in a way. “At least I’m not a faceless phalanx. There’s only one of me and everyone knows what I look like. Which is a shame - they can always see me coming and run away.”

That raised a smile from her, and Gold was glad to see it. 

“Still,” he pressed on, determined to bring her out of her low mood. “You can still fight it. When it comes down to it, you’re more than just one person. Once the rest of the town finds out what’s happening, they’ll all rally to your aid. There’ll be protests outside the town hall in less than twenty-four hours. Placards and slogans and everything.”

Belle just raised an eyebrow, unconvinced and unimpressed.

“Right.”

“I mean it, and I didn’t mean to sound patronising. People will stand with you, Belle. Everyone loves the library; it would be a terrible thing if it closed down. But more than that, everyone loves you. You have so many friends in this town, so many people willing to back you up. Just ask anyone.”

Belle looked away, twisting the stem of her empty wine glass between her fingers with a sigh. 

“Are you sure?” It pained him to see her so small and unsure of herself, when Belle had never been anything but outgoing and confident in all she did. 

“I know it. And no matter what the rest of the town might do, you’ll always have me behind you.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smile, and she focussed her gaze back on him. 

“Thank you. That means a lot, you know. And I know that whatever the rest of the town might think, you’re not determined to suck the joy out of everything in the name of profits.”

Gold scoffed. “Evidently I need to work on my reputation.”

Belle shook her head with a little laugh. “No, I don’t think so. I think that once everyone sees that you’re backing our attempt to save the library, your reputation will be completely and utterly ruined.”

At that point, the Rabbit Hole’s rent arrived, and Gold used the excuse of counting it to cover his abstraction. His thoughts were wholly preoccupied with his reputation, coming full circle to the notion that Belle had never really known his reputation before knowing him. It was something that he had come to wear as armour, always reasoning that he didn’t care what people thought of him, and that if they feared and despised him, then so much the better for increasing his power within the town. He had worn it for so long that he didn’t want to let go of it, but at the same time, perhaps it would be nice if people could see him in the same way that Belle saw him. 

On the other hand, he didn’t really care how people saw him as long as Belle continued to see him in the light that she did. Her approval and friendship was inordinately important to him, and it had been for as long as they had known each other. 

Ultimately, he knew that he would be willing to sacrifice the reputation that kept him aloof if it served to help Belle out of her current predicament. Who knew? Maybe it would bring even more people to their cause. The enemy of my enemy, and all that. If Gold was allying with Belle and fighting against something, then the something must be bad indeed. 

“Thank you.”

Belle’s words brought him out of his cycle of thought, and he looked up at her, stowing the rent money in his inside pocket. She was smiling once more, a genuine smile with soft eyes, and for a moment it completely bowled him over.

“For what?”

“Thank you for having my back. The big, bad Mr Gold. You’re not as big and bad as you think, you know. And I like that. I like you.”

“Are you sure that’s not the wine talking?” Gold teased. 

“Maybe. But what the wine says is true. I really like you.”

There was a long pause. Whilst Gold didn’t think that Belle was drunk enough not to be in control of her faculties, she was definitely tipsy enough for her inhibitions to have been lowered. He had to wonder if she’d regret her words once she sobered up, but for now, he chose to believe her. They were friends, after all; they had always been friends even without a few glasses of Chardonnay. 

“I really like you too, and I’ll always have your back.”

Belle’s grin was positively luminous. 

“Perfect. Give me a while to dry out, and then tomorrow morning, operation ‘save the library’ can commence.”

Gold laughed, offering Belle an arm as she slipped off her bar stool and they both made their way to the exit. He had no doubt that they would succeed in their mission, and if it brought them even closer together, well, then he would have to thank the council for enabling it. 

And possibly thank the wine, too.

[yuzuriha-sayori]

Hey hun💕 Could I please request a SFW Benimaru x Reader firework festival one shot, where Benimaru tries to win the giant rabbit plushie at one of the game stalls for reader? Love you 😊

I got way too carried away with this 😭 be it my first request, btw THANK YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS 💕💕💕 but I really hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Shinmon Benimaru x Reader SFW where Benimaru tries to win a giant rabbit plushie for x reader!

Watashi no Usagi

"Waka, it seems the kids have brought a guest." Konro began as he entered through the noren of Company 7's Guardhouse, using the back of his hand to push it out of the way. Orange light pierced in through where he entered, indicating night was just a few hours upon them.

"Aah?"

Lazy crimson eyes darted to the entrance where the tall Lieutenant appeared, but he had moved himself to his right in order to make way for incoming. The captain sat on the genkan step with furrowed brows and pursed lips. "Tch, what did these little rugrats drag in this time?"

Laughter and squeals bubbled loudly with their fast approach as the twins, Hika and Hina came running in, pulling another person in each hand right through the cloth entrance.

The young girl stumbled in, surprised in the strength of these two kids that she had no time to react well. She wore a thick silk deep blue kimono with sleeves long enough to potentially graze the ground. A light purple juban could be seen and was matched with a similar colored obi, with blue wisteria decorating the sash.  Slightly disoriented, she struggled to catch her footing and teetered side to side a bit before righting herself looking up and taking in her surroundings.

'Oh no,' she thought. These youngsters dragged her right into the den of the beast. The Destroyer of Asakusa. While he had a good reputation among the townspeople as the Captain of Company 7, he was also known to be rowdy at bars, and very ill mouthed.

"S-S-Sumimasen!" She quickly blurted out, bowing unnecessarily low. Her [h/c] spilled over her shoulders as she did so. After quite some silence, she cautiously glanced up, her big [e/c] eyes meeting his slightly displeased ones. One eye a crimson circle, the other with a crimson X. 'He's quite handsome...' She could feel the heat of embarrassment on the tip of her ears.

"Hika. Hina." The raven captain spoke very blunt, not taking his eyes off the stranger that was dragged into the guardhouse. The sudden words made the stranger's shoulders jump. "What did you two bring in here?"

"Ahaha.." Hina sheepishly laughed while both the twins ran to jump on his shoulders. "Hika and Hina brought a friend for tonight!" Hika exclaimed, dangling from his left shoulder, while Hina was climbing up the right.

"For tonight?" The young man's eyebrow twitched in confusion and seemingly slight exhaustion. These kids really knew how to be a handful. The girl, still bowing, uprighted herself. She began to speak, her lips barely parting open before being interrupted by the very tall man standing to her left.

"The festival tonight. The one you promised the girls you'd take them to." The Lieutenant spoke. He then turned to the girl with a gentle smile, and a wink after saying, "I'm assuming they brought a friend in case our young master decided to ditch." The girl gave a small giggle, visibly relaxing just a smidge.

"I'm Sagamiya Konro, the Lieutenant of Company 7. That brazen young man over there is our captain, Shinmon Benimaru. Forgive him for his rudeness, he lacks a bit of tact. What is your name young miss?"

"M-My name is [l/n] [f/n]." She said softly, giving a more proper and curt bow than the one she did earlier. Konro's eyes lit in realization, "Ah is that so? You're [l/n] Shiyou's daughter correct?" She nodded in response.

"The girls started visiting for mother's cooking whenever she makes yakitori for the hikeshi. She doesn't like to stay home during the rebuilding, so she rides with father and cooks for the men during their breaks." The girl gave a small smile to the man in front of her, but he still didn't seem to understand.

"Who the hell is [l/n]?" Benimaru, still sitting on the genkan steps, grumbled. Something told him maybe he should know, but he didn't really care too much about it. It was clearly evident with how he ignored how proper the young girl was dressed.

"Waka," Konro said sternly, eyes locked on the shorter male, "it would do you well to at least be courteous with the young miss. After all, her father runs the business that keeps us supplied with materials. You know, the ones needed to rebuild homes and the shops of our town after they're demolished every other day."

Ack, well this was going to be one hell of an evening. He didn't care much for respect, but Shinmon Benimaru was going to have to do at least some tongue biting. "I guess it would be...rude not to escort the old man's daughter around during a festival. After all..." He looked away and let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his head with mild irritation, "I do owe that old fart quite a lot."

----

"Yaaaaaay! Festival time! Festival time! Hika and Hina are gonna eat all the candy!" The twins chimed while jumping up and down off the sleeves of Benimaru's yukata. The sun was beginning to set and they were making their way to the festival. The lights could be seen glowing over rooftops of Asakusa just a few blocks away.

"Oi, don't tug on the sleeves, they might tear with all the weight you two have eaten in snacks already." The captain complained and he pried them off of the navy blue cotton sleeves. Konro, walking behind him, wore one of matching color.

Hina puffed her cheeks, "Not our fault you take forever getting ready."

"We got hungry!" Hika stuck her tongue out. "No candy for you then!"

"I don't like sweets anyways." Benimaru retorted. "Konro, where did the brat say she was going to meet us?"

Konro let out a deep sigh, "By the mask stall if I remember correctly." He'd mainly came along to make sure his captain didn't lose the kids but he was more concerned with Benimaru causing problems with [y/n].

"I guess your memory isn't going just yet," Benimaru joked while pointing in front of him. The joke earned a smack to the back by his Lieutenant but Konro looked in the direction his captain was pointing in and spotted [y/n] waiting patiently. She was standing in front of a mask stall at the beginning to one of the entrances set up for the festival.

"I wonder how long we've kept the poor girl waiting." Konro jest, walking up beside Benimaru and giving him a slightly disapproving frown.

"Tch. I got it, I got it." Benimaru made his way over to the young lady waiting. "Sorry..." He managed to get out, "I took too long finding my yukata."

She gave a small yet soft smile, something that was becoming usual for her, he noticed. "It's okay. I wasn't waiting long. Besides, I'm glad you were able to find it. It looks good on you." She hadn't realized how that could come off and she immediately flushed red after understanding their positions.

Benimaru however seemed unfazed. Though, he did give her outfit a scan and noticed it was fairly...appealing? She wore her [h/c] hair up in a loose bun, a mahogany wooden hairstick with a glass lotus at the end of it with jewels dangling. Her yukata was a light pink decorated with darker pink lotus and tied with a similar color sash. He had to avert his gaze after noticing he was staring rather long.

"Lets go." He said and pursed his lips, walking onto festival grounds. [Y/n] followed along after grabbing both Hika and Hina's hands. They had ran up to her with hands out to her. Konro felt as if it was going go be a looong evening for him.

The beginning of the festival was filled with much food consumption. Mainly by the twins. They made it a point to stop at almost every food stall they could.

"[Y/n] try this! They only have these during festivals!" Hina had a small brown puff on a toothpick. What appeared to be an octopus appendage stuck out in the cooked dough. [Y/n] bent down and opened her mouth for Hina to feed her was was delighted and the sweet and savory ball of goodness.

"Mmm it's delicious! This isn't a flavor from here is it?" [Y/n] gushed, her cheeks pink in pure happiness.

Benimaru had been watching the whole thing, and while the girls droned on about food, he kept watching her. The way her lips closed around the takoyaki and the way her cheeks puffed up as she chew. She kinda resembled...a rabbit. When [y/n] looked up at him, to ask if he wanted to try one too, he jerked his head away.

She looked slightly downcast but he didn't want her to see his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Just for being caught staring. It was impolite to stare, he told himself. He didn't want to acknowledge the real reason for it. 'I'm too grown to be acting like a teenager.' Had Konro heard those words, he'd have probably shot the sake he was gingerly sipping on right out his mouth.

"Shinmon-sama, won't you try one?"

Benimaru's head snapped back. [Y/n] was looking up at him with her big [e/c] eyes while holding a takoyaki up to his mouth. Not close enough to threaten his personal space, but just close enough that it was too inviting not to eat. Especially from her.

"Tch, fine." He said while opening his mouth and taking the small streetfood into his mouth. [Y/n] beamed. She thought maybe he didn't like her, but that feeling was slowly going away.

"[Y/n] look, look! Toys!" Hika and Hina chimed, tugging on the taller girl's sleeves. The [h/c] haired girl looked up and saw a booth that had toys lined up in several shelves. People were walking away with all sorts of arrangement of toys. The two younger girls darted for the booth and the three adults followed before someone tried to grab them. For the safety of whoever would try to, the two males hoped no one would dare.

"Step right up. Step right up. You have 3 chances to hit your target. Who would like to go first?" The stall owner boasted loudly.

Hika and Hina almost exploded in excitement but Konro stopped them. "This is [g/n]'s first time to an Asakusa festival. You should let her try first. Afterwards, I'll let you two try as many times as you can in 10 minutes." 

"Okay!" The twins exclaimed, fire in their eyes.

"I guess I'll go first." [Y/n] said nervously while stepping up and dropping a few coins into the older stall keeper's hands. He handed her three white balls. They weren't that heavy and probably wouldn't knock down the giant pink bunny plushie she'd been eyeing. "I still have to give it a shot..." She mumbled.

Pklunk. "Darn it." Pklunk. "For the love of..."  Pklunk. "Hmmmm...." [Y/n] hummed loudly in slight frustration. She'd hit her targets. But the balls didn't have enough force to even make the giant plush move one bit.

"Sorry missy, better luck nex--" [y/n]  slapped more money into his hand as he tried to shrug in a 'sorry' gesture. She was not leaving without that plush. Benimaru, who had given up hiding the fact he'd been eyeing her, let out of 'hmmph' of amusement.

Again, she didn't make any knock the pink bunny down. Paying for another round, she furiously threw two out of the three balls at it and they just bounced off and to the ground. "Son of a fuck--"

"Ah our little 'Oujo-sama' can have a potty mouth." Benimaru mused at [y/n].

[Y/n] shook a little before turning to glare at the man a good bit taller than her, the bottom rim of her eyes slightly red from tearing up and cheeks puffed from holding ber breath in frustration. "Pffffttt" He couldn't hold back laughing and [y/n] was so close to smacking him had he not slipped his fingers into her hands and gently pry the last white ball from her fingers. This action caught her so off guard, she almost really did stop breathing.

"The pink rabbit right?"

[Y/n] nodded in defeat and watched as Benimaru lined the ball up. Holding it like a marble ready to shoot. With an audible flick, it shot from his hand, right into the pink rabbit's face.  He knocked it over with so much force, a normal person might've had whiplash...or a very ugly bruise.

Eyes wide in surprise, [Y/n] squealed. Once handed the plush, she burried her face on the top of it's head and spun around. It was a little more then half her height. After letting out most of her excitement, she looked up and smiled warm up at Benimaru. "Thank so much, Shinmon-sama."

A blush began creeping up his neck as he looked away again, "I didn't want you to start crying and scaring all the kids away." He proclaimed. [Y/n] was beginning to feel that his rudeness quite often times might be a little misunderstood. She hoped at least. "Oh, and you can call me by my first name."

"Benimaru-sama?" She said taken by surprise. She wasn't the only one though. The crimson eyed man wasn't ready for her to use his first name so quickly that he couldn't hide the instant unsettling blush on his face. He stormed off down the street in confusion.

"W-Wait!" [Y/n] exclaimed. She turned to Konro and the twins. The lieutenant gave a gentle flick of his hand, as if signaling for her to make her way after his captain. "I have to help these girls carry all the toys they're about to siphon out this poor man." [Y/n] gave a confused expression but turned and darted after Benimaru.

"Hehehe. Hina and Hika are gonna take all these toys!" They dropped all their money on the counter and collected as many balls that could sit on the counter. The sounds of toy after toy hitting the ground echoed past several neighboring stalls as the twins windmilled ball after ball at the wall of toys. The poor stall keeper huddled in the corner shaking in fear, for these balls came flying with more force then he'd ever seen in his life. 

Konro gave a tired and strained smile. He was going to have a lot of carrying to do.

----

"Please wait up!" [Y/n] called out. Benimaru turned to glance at her before continuing to make his way away from the lights and crowd of people. "Then hurry up, the fireworks are about to start soon."

[Y/n] faltered in her dash towards him. A smile spread on her face. "O-Oh okay!" She followed him towards a hill with not quite so many trees. One with a clear view of the sky. He sat down with his legs crossed, not waiting for her to sit down first. [Y/n] smoothed the fabric of her yukata behind her and sat next to him, still clutching her overly large rabbit. Her face burried in it's head.

The first pop of a firecracker shot up in several colors. A basic round one in colors of red, blue, and green. There where sparkles of excitement in [Y/n]'s eyes that Benimaru couldn't keep his eyes away from. She turned to look at him and smiled.

"I think I'll name him Bunnymaru." She giggled and turned back to the fireworks that started coming in more frequent succession. She turned just in time to miss his eyes go wide in surprise, his neck, ears, and face a red so bright that he thought he might actually overheat.

"Tch. Whatever."

As much as he wanted to focus on the fireworks, he kept stealing glances at [Y/n]'s excited face. She was much more like a rabbit herself. In one day, he had noticed she was nervous, skittish, but really bubbly. A bubbly he didn't hate that much.

"My rabbit." He mumbled just as more fireworks sounded off, masking his words. Much to his relief. He didn't mean to say 'my' and he nearly choked in realization. He glanced at [y/n] again, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed in his usual expression as he watched her enjoy the display in the sky.

'Ah what the hell,' he sighed inwardly, 'It won't hurt if she was...'

[marumafan]

Hi! I’ve been reading your KKM analyses, and I absolutely love them, most especially the YUURAM ones! Can you do some detailed ones on Love Letters and Crossheart too? Please, please?!

Hi @celinelean​!

Of course! I'm having a day and may not be drawing, so why not?

Also to everyone who likes analyses/discussions, you can always leave some questions/requests in my mailbox if there's anything you're interested in. I'll try my best.

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Love Letter

"Love Letter" was Takabayashi-sensei's first new short story in about 6 years. The first part features Yuuri and Wolfram writing sweet stuff about one another.

The excuse of being 'from Greta's point of view for her homework' gave them both the excuse to express their true feelings.

(Now a cultural point here: The more I live in Japan the more I notice people never tell you the truth about anything. They either don't say anything and let you know 'in some way' or you never find out. A fan of maruma I once met, who could speak English, thanked me for continuing to talk about a topic even after we had disagreed at some point about something. She said people who disagree in Japan simply drop the topic XDD . True story. XD They avoid talking about 'truths' in general. So I feel like this whole keeping your true feelings hidden is a very Japanese thing (which is the target audience for maruma, don't forget). So in this story, both Yuuri and Wolf can express their feelings for one another.)

As for the things they like about each other:

The first thing Yuuri sees that Wolf has written in the cards was some compliment about his awesome black hair. But when Yuuri asks if he should write about Wolf's appearance "How good looking he is" " How his green eyes are like gemstones", "How even his eyelashes are blonde", Wolf's like "Of course not, that's not something Greta cares about".  (Wolfie, never change. XD)

Wolf also writes: "How well he gets along with his spouse" which really shows along with his entire demeanor during this story, that even though there's no official title, he really thinks of himself as already married to Yuuri.

Yuuri then writes:  "He never abandons his PARTNER" Again, this is a word you use for people you're romantically involved with, but in a more 'earthly' slang. This reminded me of the Seisa arc when, during the bed scene, Yuuri mentions how happy he is to have Wolf there.

He writes another 12 good things about Wolfram, and he mentions that "his left cheek was hot due to the flames of the fire" , implying his right cheek was blushed due to what he was writing. So he's putting in there things that make him blush.

Yuuri asks then if they will get these cards back, and Wolfram assures him that yes they will. Yuuri:"So that we can read them many times and remember how much Greta likes us."

Wolfram: "Of course"

Meaning: Yuuri:  "So that I can read many times all the wonderful things you really think about me?" Wolf: "Of course"

However, Yuuri tells Wolf about the futility of having the cards, when you have the other person right there living with you. Yuuri says" Even without something like this, I'm sure that the feelings would be conveyed, "  (XDD see this is what I'm talking about! This Japanese mentality of ‘expressing in some way without words’ what you feel)

BUT! this is when Wolf says that in that case, the cards would be more useful to remember people who live apart from you.

So Yuuri's 20th thing he likes about Wolfram is " He tells me things straight to the point".

This means, it's Wolfram who pretty much tells Yuuri to go visit Conrad and have him write stuff about him, cuz he's not living in the castle and so that Yuuri won't miss him.

Wolfram asks if Yuuri's going out. Yuuri says yes. Wolfram's last card says: How honest he is. Yuuri's last card says: How kind he is.

And I mean, damn! If this isn't yuuram af, I don't know what is.

Second part is what was introduced in the first part, Yuuri goes to visit Conrad, he's living above Jozak's bar in a cold, dirty room. And Conrad writes and gives him the card about Yuuri, and it 'warms Yuuri's heart'.

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

Comments on Love Letter: I used to think this was a lot more conyuu than it is, but re-reading it and seeing that it was all Wolfram's idea to begin with (and Yuuri knows it was Wolfram's idea), it really shows that strong relationship between Wolfram and Yuuri and includes Conrad's current situation (not living in the castle) as a trigger for getting in a little conyuu in the story and making those fans happy.

You see this 'conyuu afterthought to please the fans' in the first two stories she wrote after the break "Love Letter" and "Lame star Wars". After that, they're all yuuram centric stories. And before the break, they were very much so as well.

It's very clear in everything Takabayashi sensei writes, that she really likes her main couple, and had always planned for them to end up together.

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

Crossheart 

This is an older story (2010ish), even if it was only published as an extra for the omnibus release in July 2013, and it was also used as part of drama cd 70 released in January 2013. But the contents of this story are the origin of another story published in 2011, so it must have been written before that. (EDIT: I found the original information at Ray Clover: CROSSHEART IS FROM APRIL 2006! (file: asuka1302). It was published as a mobile story, and republished as an extra in the omnibus re-release! )

The title: Although it could be a combination of crossword and heart, like hearts crossing/intertwining; or crossword and the last word of the puzzle" kokoro->heart",   I like to think that sensei, knowing a bit of English based it on the phrase: "Cross my heart and hope to die"; as in 'a promise' -> which is the topic of this story. 

Then the intro line starts with "That day, there was a strong wind blowing since morning, so I couldn't really go outside."  This line, much like the title of novel 4, has the concept of 'wind blowing' that makes reference to the proverb 「明日は明日の風が吹く」`Ashita ha ashita no kaze ga fuku'. Tomorrow, tomorrow's wind will blow. Which means something like "there's no point in thinking ahead" or "What comes next is up to life". Whenever sensei writes that enigmatic first line, it usually carries a lot of meaning and foreshadows what is to come.

The story starts with Yuuri and Wolfram alone at the office. Some event is taking place and everyone but them is busy. Yuuri is doing a crossword and struggling. Wolfram finally gets closer to see what's bothering him.

The first hint for the crossword, is 'a pet name for children'. Wolfram then remembers his mother used to call him Honey-chan (Hachimitsu chan). Yuuri immediately likes the name and says "Maybe I too will start calling you that from now on, honey-chan."

(Additional info: In MisePan2, 2011, Wolfram gets angry at being called honey-chan, because "Yuuri is younger than him" so he has no right to call him something that older people call younger people. Clearly, "Crossheart" where Yuuri discovers Wolfram's pet name comes chronologically before Misepan2. So we can pinpoint that Crossheart was written before 2011, maybe it was even a failed attempt at Misepan2. Misepan 2 came out with the last DVD box, which was delayed a year due to circumstances with Takabayashi sensei. We know this because in the afterword of Misepan2 , the author says: "I really can't apologize enough for this.... I honestly apologize to all of you for keeping you waiting. I'm really sorry for the inconveniences I caused to all the parties I kept waiting for this." So sensei apologizes and blames herself for the delay of the last DVD box. This might have been due to her health issues, which she only mentioned once, in 2010. EDIT: I found the original information at Ray Clover: CROSSHEART IS FROM APRIL 2006! (file: asuka1302). It was published as a mobile story, and republished as an extra in the omnibus re-release!)

The second hint for his crossword was the name of a famous mouse, so of course Yuuri is thinking Micky, since the last letters are cky. But it turns out to be "Rocky" a famous mouse character. So there's a legend that small animals, like mice, squirls, rabbits and even birds can see spirits. And this particular mouse is said to deliver messages from the dead to their families.

This triggers Yuuri to ask a question to Wolf: "What would you do, if I never returned?". Wolfram asks him to clarify what he meant. And Yuuri asks: Would you cry? To which Wolf says: I wouldn't. At first Yuuri is a little hurt by the cold answer, like you wouldn't miss me? But Wolfram explains, of course he'd miss Yuuri but he wouldn't cry. Because if he did, Yuuri wouldn't be able to live a happy life back on earth. Wolfram's promise of not crying so Yuuri could be happy, left Yuuri speechless and then he noticed the word that was formed vertically in the crossword.

The hint for that word: "What you use to share your feelings with your partner."

The word is never specifically said, but in the drama cd it's "ko-ko-ro" -> heart. Which would also circle back to the "heart" in crossheart.

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

Comment on Crossheart:  This story as well as its natural continuation, Misepan2, are very yuuram oriented.  Do you want an exorcism, another contemporary story of these two, is also largely yuuram. And the same goes for all of sensei’s work including the very last doujinshi. 

I also want to point out the pet name she chose: Hachimitsuchan. Again, I may be over reaching, but she has enough English knowledge to know “Honey” is something you call children AND your significant other. The fact that Wolfram eventually gets angry at it, adds to the comedy of errors, which is one of the underlying tropes in maruma. Yuuri’s sweet words are generally misinterpreted by Wolfram.

I've been saying this for years. Takabayashi-sensei has liked this couple from the very beginning and has been building their relationship for novels on end. Every story she's written, shows them happy and together. The very last one even has them married with Wolfram wondering if Yuuri would want more 'wives' (as in, what about the other ships?) and Yuuri assuring Wolf he only wants him (no other ships are sailing from this port).

People who ship Yuuri with other characters aren't basing themselves on novel canon, which is fine, of course! But the novel canon is yuuram. Note: I use yuuram as a word to denote the relationship between Yuuri and Wolfram, also because it’s shorter than royal couple. I’m NOT talking about ‘who’s top’ in the relationship. I feel like this whole ‘top’ bottom’ talk is so 90s, we should get over it, much like Takabayashi-sensei herself has expressed she doesn’t care about that whole ‘top’ ‘bottom’ thing. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

Personal Demon (Indruck)

@pantstacular requested: 58 Is such my entire jam I’d pretty much die if you did it with Indruck.  “I’m a demon, you’re a witch, we’re enemies but when I show up to kill you, you’re crying and I really don’t know what to do now.” SFW

A talented, young warlock will employ the most complex, innovative, and powerful wards on their home. 

A seasoned warlock who was never that excited about all this in the first place will employ straightforward but deeply aggravating wards on their home. 

Indrid’s nemesis is in that second category. His wards are never fancy, but they’re durable and reliable, an utter pain in his tail to break down. Some cannot be broken by spells at all, and even a demon of his skill could burn through all his power trying to destroy them.

Which is why Indrid simply pays a passing human twenty dollars to kick a gap in the salt barrier, grits his teeth passing through the Rowan trees while his skin feels like he’s getting a full-body tattoo, and uses an oven mitt to open the iron door knob (the door is lined with iron, so he cannot slip as a shadow beneath it), hissing in pain all the while. 

“Duck Newton…” He lilts, certain the warlock will be terrified to hear his voice in his strong hold, “it is time to end things once and for all, dearest enemy.”

He keeps his eyes on the present, not wanting to spoil the fun for himself by peeking at the futures. He glides into the human’s bedroom, plants his feet on the floor, “your worthless soul is mine.” 

“Ughhhh” a muffled sound, Indrid flicking on the lights to find the human face-down on his bed, “are you fuckin serious? Now?”

“Yes, Duck Newton, now” dark energy crackles in his fingertips. 

Thwump

“Ack!” He shakes his head, Duck now sitting up, preparing to throw another pillow at him. 

“Get out.” Duck glowers, voice flat. 

“You dare to order me-”

Thwump

“Get!” Duck’s eyes are wet, red-rimmed, and Indrid notices he’s in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt that’s damp in patches. 

“Have you been crying?” 

Thwump and his glasses are knocked askew. 

“How many of those blasted things do you have?” 

Two hovering pillows turn to four and all collide with him at once.

“Clearly you are, ow, in no mindset to, ow, duel me as I, ack, see fit. I shall return!”

He dissolves into shadow and speeds out the door, materializing on the sidewalk and paying a passerby ten dollars to fix the salt ring. 

Not willing to let a plan go to waste, he repeats this process the next night. This time, Duck is laying in the darkened living room. 

“Now, my greatest adversary, it is time to meet your end--why are you still crying?” He cocks his head as Duck magics the light on. 

“Because I’m in my own fuckin’ house and can do whatever I want.”

“But you seem upset.”

“No fuckin shit, sherlock.” Duck raises a throw pillow and Indrid covers his face far faster than he’d ever admit in public.

“I merely mean that, ah, perhaps a duel would be a welcome change of pace?”

“I look like I’m in the headspace to duel to you?” 

“Not at the moment, but that could change, yes? I do wish to destroy you, is that sufficient motivation to shake off this fog of misery that’s hanging about your soul like stale cologne?”

Duck groans, but straightens, reaching over the far arm of the couch. Indrid perks up, approaches at a safe distance, certain he will see a familiar sword or spell in a moment. 

What he gets is misted with holy water.

He hisses, wiping his face in a hurry. His power is so great that the diluted mixture doesn’t harm him, but it’s as if someone is squirting him in the face with lemon juice. 

“I banished you worse ways than this, demon, but I’m fuckin tired and you ain’t worth the goddamn energy and you don’t wanna end up straight back below. So get.” He raises the spray bottle, spritzes him again and Indrid backs away, spluttering and hissing. 

“You, you think you can threaten me, shoo me out like OW some common ghost GAh that was in my nose that time fine, fine I am going.” He stumbles over the threshold, falling on his ass on the pavement as Duck slams the door. 

Perhaps a new plan is in order. 

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

“You wanna know Ducks’ what?” Aubrey taps her spoon on the edge of the potion she’s mixing. 

“His favorite food. I wish to cheer him up. Unless of course, you wish to simply tell me what is troubling him.” Indrid grins at the witch.

“You know the rules, Cold; I don’t trade information between sides. And, like, even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you what’s going on with him. It’s...personal, okay?”

Indrid sighs. He expected that answer. Aubrey is the child of a witch of the light and a witch of the shadows, giving her a rare balance of powers. It also means entities of all moral alignments will come to her for aid. Her rules are simple; no fighting in her house and no getting her in the middle of major conflicts.

For all that, Indrid still has never told her his true name. She calls him ‘Cold,’ as everyone does. 

“French Onion Soup. That’s his favorite thing, from the Wolfe Grill downtown.”

“He likes that coffee fudge too, the one Barclay makes” Dani, Aubrey’s wife, adds from her spot spinning fur off a massive angora rabbit. 

Barclay is a kitchen witch, one with whom Indrid has a shaky truce (he egged on a fight in the restaurant, needing some quick points with the higher demons. It’s not his fault one of the humans knocked over a candle). He can probably manage to buy fudge without being scolded.

Duck’s added more fortifications since yesterday, and Indrid only needs a few moments anyway. He finds a sliver in a plane that lets him slip into Duck’s mirror, knowing the human is getting ready for bed. 

The human senses him, looks up from the sink, toothbrush still in his mouth. He blinks once, to tired to even count as annoyance.

“ ‘wat ‘ow?”

“I have brought you food.” Indrid waits until Duck spits into the sink to pass the two bags out of the mirror. 

“Why-”

“It will cheer you up. It is your favorite. Then you will have your fight back, and be ready to face me.”

Duck takes the bags, then several steps back, “y’know, most demons would see this is a chance to get me while I’m down.”

“Well” Indrid sniffs haughtily, “I am not most demons. Besides, what good is claiming your soul if it was like stepping on an ant?”

The warlock looks at the food, then at Indrid, “I ain’t gonna eat this.”

“Bu-wha-I got it specifically to please you!”

“And it could be poisoned or cursed or some shit.”

Indrid growls in frustration, “fine, wallow in your misery.” Then he’s out on the street again, ready to cause some evil. Or to go back to the bakery and drown his aggravation in a caramel eggnog latte.

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

Duck stares at the bags, still sitting on his kitchen counter. If he’s not going to bed any time soon, he should at least eat something. Not that though. Even if it’s his favorite. How the fuck did the demon know that?

Cold has never quite been like other demons Duck’s run across. When he’d yanked him out of Boyd (because Ned decided to read the inscription on a new artifact for the Cryptonomica), he hadn’t taken it personally, but proceeded to try and tempt Duck for two days solid with everything he could think of. Then he decided he liked Kepler and could do plenty of demonic work in it, which had Duck worried. The demon is powerful, he can feel it when they fight. But, while he still worries, Cold sticks to being a mid-level threat at best even if he keeps promising to destroy him.

God that soup smells good. 

He picks up a piece of amethyst, runs it over and over the air around the bag. No trace of anything dangerous. 

Fuck it.

Twenty minutes later his belly is full, he actually feels kinda sorta almost borderline happy, and he hasn’t turned into a frog or been transported to the underworld. 

When Cold inevitably shows up again a few days later, Duck doesn’t even look up from the model ship he’s working on . 

“Thanks for, uh, for dinner.” 

“How did you know I was here?” The silver-haired man steps out of the hall, red eyes glowing behind redder glasses. 

“I may not be able to sense auras or souls or shit, but you and I been dancin around each other for long enough that I can tell when the hair on my neck is standin up thanks to you.”

“Then you are prepared to fight?”

“No. Look, I dunno now how it is for demons, but takes more than nice food to make a fella get over somethin serious.”

“I see…” Cold looks around the room, “are you certain you are not interested in even a small bit of conflict?”

“Nope. Busy.”

“Well I am not!”

“Can’t you just go find another warlock to bother?””

“No! Well, yes, but I do not wish to. You are my adversary, the one I devote most of my time to tormenting.”

“That’s kinda an exaggeration. And it don’t change that I’m workin on this.” He points to the model, “so I’m just gonna ignore you until you leave.”

There’s a huff, followed by the fluttering of his mail as the demon knocks it onto the floor. He glances up and notices that Cold’s tail is now visible and twitching with agitation. When Duck does nothing else, he knocks the remaining mail on the ground. 

“That ain’t changin my mind.”

A roll of glass on tile, Cold pushing a water glass towards the edge of the counter with his finger. 

“Y’won’t like what happens if you do that.”

The glass tips over. As water spills onto the floor, Duck summons a towel with one hand and a dish of salt with the other. Before the demon can stop him, he draws a salt circle, trapping him in a small spot by the table. 

“Erase that this instant.”

“Nope. You been poppin in and out the last two weeks and not leavin when I ask nicely, so now you’re gonna stay right here until I decide you can leave.”

The demon drops down onto the floor, arms crossed and tail thrashing, “I just do not see what is so severe it makes you uninterested in anything but work, sleep, and making ships that cannot go anywhere.”

“Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Yes, but you also will not tell me so how can you know if-” a future flickers into vision, “your romantic partner left you.”

“That’s cheatin’.”

“That is what has upset you so?”

“Yeah, because we were together for six fuckin years, and she watched me grow up since I was eighteen and was my mentor and it feels like a big constant in my life is just fuckin gone.” He leaves out the part where he'd felt it going for awhile, where part of him knew it needed to but the rest wanted things to stay as they were. 

The demon cocks his head in that way of his, smirks but says nothing.

“Nevermind. You’re a demon, love ain’t somethin you got a concept of.” He stands, retrieving another bottle of adhesive from the too-empty living room. 

As he picks up the next piece, Cold murmurs, “It is not so foreign a concept as you might think.”

Duck shoots him an incredulous look. 

“I was a creature of the divine once, beings capable of great love, even if many of them do not utilize that capacity. Even if I was not supposed to in my role. But more than the memory of that feeling, I have moments in which I suspect I can feel it still.”

“Like when you see someone do somethin real wicked?” 

The demon doesn’t rise to the paltry bait, “When I go sit in a park, or those woods you like, and draw and watch people coming and going in a thousand little moments of mundanity, I feel something more than mere tranquility. Sometimes I will go to movies or to concerts, to feel the swell of joy and excitement, and it almost seems as if I love those around me.”

It’s the last thing Duck expects him to say, and so all he can do is stare at him a moment before returning to his work. The demon, content with the silence, watches cross-legged. When Duck grabs a packet of cookies from the kitchen he pauses, then hands one to Cold. 

The demon sniffs it, proceeds to nibble on the edge before making a delighted sound and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. 

“You never had Girl Scout cookies before?”

“No. I do not need to eat, and often only do so when temptation requires it. Or when Barclay makes something with eggnog in it.  Which is a pity; I really enjoy human food, you come up with such interesting things. Now it is my turn for a question. Why are you making those?”

Duck looks at the near-complete model, “I dunno. Helps me relax, nice to just be able to focus on one thing rather than worryin’ about work or warlock stuff or dyin’ alone or if you’re gonna randomly turn up in my goddamn bedroom without warnin’.”

“Knocking is not exactly demonic.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, the smile on his face oddly honest, that Duck cracks up. Giggles spill out of him as he rests his face in his hands. His elbows slip on the shiny tabletop, collapsing him forward, laughing loud enough to startle the cat from her hiding place. 

“Yeah” he sniffs, finally sitting up while wiping away tears and still chuckling, “guess it ain’t.”

The demon is smiling again, softer than his usual grin that glints like a knife in the dark. 

“Will you show me more of your ships?”

“You ain’t gettin outta that circle that easy.”

“I am aware. But you could bring them where I could see.” He seems genuinely excited at the idea. 

Duck stands, hands him the packet of Thin Mints, “I could do that, yeah. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

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

Duck picks up to the two reusable grocery bags, locking doors and throwing up extra wards behind him as he walks to his car. 

He slides into the drivers seat, sets the bags in back behind him. Turns around and finds the passenger seat occupied. 

“Venturing forth at last, I see.”

“I ventured forth plenty.”

“That was only for work. You have been the picture of a hermit since you were dumped, Duck Newton.” Cold adjusts his glasses in the rear-view mirror. 

“Have not. And it was mutual.”

“Shall we get out of the car so I can destroy you?”

“We could do that. Or…” he points at the bags, the demon peering into them curiously, “we could take these two bags of snacks to a concert in the park.”

Cold bites his lip. Duck holds his breath, already gearing up his spells in case the demon says no.

A seatbelt clicks, “very well.”

They find a spot under some trees, far back from the crowd. Cold is in his human disguise, but Duck would rather not risk being seen if his tail or horns make an appearance. The concert is all movie soundtracks that Duck doesn’t pay attention to. He’s too busy watching the demon gleefully explore the food he brought (he chose the weirdest desserts and snacks he could find, wanting to give him a taste of things he’d never had) and talking with him about more or less everything.

As they’re getting into the car under the light of the half moon, Cold sighs happily, “we should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, we could. Just uh, don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

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

Duck is up to his elbows in the pieces of an IKEA dresser when Cold’s voice comes through the mirror.

“I need to be let in right now please and thank you.”

He sounds pained, so Duck hurries out to the front yard and opens the circle, allowing the demon to pass through. He’s hunched at an odd angle, clutching at his back. Once they’re inside he strips off his coat, revealing a splinter at the base of his neck. 

“Shit, what happened?”

“I materialized in the house of a well-prepared witch and was immediately backed into a Hawthorne bush. Lucky I am not a vampire, but gracious it stings.”

“Why come to me?” Duck is already guiding him to the couch.

“I thought you might be able to help. Also it is movie night.”

Duck examines the injury; it’s a small splinter, but the skin is already looking sickly. 

“Should be an easy fix. Lemme get my tools and I can get to work.”

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

Indrid waits patiently for Duck to return, tries not to hiss at him too loudly when he pulls the splinter free. The human works quickly, and soon a tingling salve coats the sore spot. 

Rather than pull away, Duck smooths his hands down Indrid’s back, “damn, you’re all knotted up.”

“I was trying not to move too much and aggravate it.”

Duck’s thumbs rub small circles along his back, “here, I can fix that real easy.”

Indrid foresees where his fingers will touch next and let’s his desire overtake his caution. When Ducks hands come down again, he whimpers and wiggles happily. 

“Uhhhhh”

“It is my wings. In a way. They exist on another plane when not manifested here, and where you are touching is the place where it feels as you are stroking them.”

“That a good thing?”

“Yes, but you do not need to continue if you do not waAAhnnnt” he gasps as Duck slowly, steadily, runs his fingers over the spot again and again. 

The human leans forward, giggling, and whispers in his ear, “you’re purrin’.”

“I am awarerrrrrrrr.” His tail and horns appear, seeming to understand there is no need to hide here.  One of Duck’s hands skates up to his head, petting his hair and stroking his horns.

He whines, pushes his head into Duck’s hand for more. 

“Is this-”

“No Duck Newton, it is not sexual. It can be, but at the moment it simply feels comforting and pleasurable.” He purrs louder as Duck rubs the base of one horn. 

“That’s a good, uh, good demon? Bein’ so patient while I patch him up.” Duck coos. 

“Yes.” Indrid whimpers. 

“Lookit you, goin all mushy on me, so goddamn cute. Who knew you had it in you.”

“Duck.” Something is coiling through his veins, warm and ecstatic, as the human keeps up his stream of praise.

“Right here, demon of mine, just relax, lemme tend to you, there we go, you’re bein so good, such a charmin demon.”

Tears prick his eyes; he can’t, he can’t handle Duck speaking this way but speaking as if Indrid could be changed out for any one of his kind. He wants to know he means those words for him, he must, the feelings flooding him are incomplete without it and if they remain so he will wither away.

“Indrid, please, call me that.”

“Indrid.” It sounds joyous in that drawl as Duck adds a hint of pressure to his touches, “Indrid, you oughta stop gettin into trouble, oughta just stay here and put your head in my lap.”  The human is getting carried away, the fantasies becoming more elaborate, interspersed with his name, until the name itself becomes the litany. 

Indrid cries out, the energy in his veins enveloping him utterly for a moment, wings of absolute darkness flashing into view for an instant

He collapses forward, shaking, hoping the thanks pouring from his mouth are intelligible. 

“You, uh, you doin’ okay--Oh FUCK!”

Indrid whirls, finds Duck staring at his arm. There are glowing markings on it, blue and black light fading into a facsimile of ink on his skin. 

“What did you do?”

“What did I do? What makes you think this has anything to do with me?”

“Because this wasn’t there a minute ago! And you got one too!”

“I…” Indrid gapes at his forearm, where a matching symbol is setting in his skin. “Oh dear.”

“What?”

“It is, ah, well, it is a soul bond.”

“How in the everlovin’ fuck did that happen--wait, fuck, is Indrid your true name?”

“Yes.” 

“Shit! I thought you gave me another false one, or I never woulda kept saying it. I ain’t that kind of warlock, I don’t want a personal demon.”

“I am not exactly thrilled either. I cannot return to the underworld, and for the first few days of the bond I will need to stay very close to you. All the same, that was rash of me and I am sorry.”

Duck rubs his forehead, takes a deep breath, “we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, all I wanna do is sleep.”

“I as well. I suspect that took a lot of energy from both of us.”

The human stands, heading off towards the bedroom. As soon as he’s out of sight, pangs pulse through Indrid’s chest.

“Ah, Duck?”

A groan, “yeah, I feel it too. Get in here.”

Indrid hurries to the bed, finds Duck down to his boxers as he turns over the covers. 

“I, ah, I can sleep on the floor, or get a blanket for that chair, or lay by your feet.”

Duck pats the bed, “sleepin next to you ain’t nothin’ compared to bein’ soul bonded. Bed feels too big anyway. And none of that by my feet talk; you’re my equal, not my fuckin pet, even if you are a pain in my ass sometimes.”

Indrid crawls in beside him, lays stiffly on his back as the lights go out. After so much contact, his body aches to touch Duck again. 

A hand rests in the space between them, and Indrid takes it.

“Duck? I, ah, I am glad that if this had to happen to me, it was you who it happened with. I cannot think of another warlock I would actually enjoy being linked too.”

“Feelin’s mutual.” Duck squeezes his hand, voice gentle.

Indrid rolls to face him, and in the dark he can just make out the slight smile on the warlock’s face. 

“Goodnight, Duck.”

A yawn, then, “sleep tight, Indrid.”

[melon-kiss]

Screaming, Pt 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Link to the part on AO3

____________________________

I hear voices over the black fog of my unconsciousness but I can’t be sure they’re real. I think it’s the doctors. They try to revive me. I hear that I have a stable pulse and I breathe. Good. Or whatever.

When I open my eyes, I’m sweaty and frightened. My T-shirt is so wet it changed its colour to dark grey. My hair is sticking to my face. My eyeballs go from one side to another in an utter madness. I notice it’s already dark outside. Doctor Mike lights up a small lamp on my nightstand. I think he suspects me of being scared of darkness. I’ve never been. Now he’s right. He says comforting things, like: “You’re safe now” or “I can see you’ve been tortured”. But “torture” doesn’t even cover it. I’ve been through a vivisection. Sherlock gutted me out and now I  know for sure he did it on purpose.

I fight insomnia for very long hours. When I manage to fall asleep, I hardly find any rest in it.

I toss and turn endlessly. It never gets better. The bed sheet is too hot or too cold. The dreams I have are horrifying. All the memories I’ve kept safely tamed resurface and haunt me. Suffocate me with their weight. They’re my burden now.

They burn me out. They wreak havoc. I feel every cell in my body ache as I remember the pain of all the words unsaid, all the moments not lived. I see the bright blue eyes, always looking through. I hear the voice. It lies to me. Does it, though? It says: I... I love you. And again, quieter: I love you. It hurts because I’m sure it’s insincere. It couldn’t be any other way. He’ll never love me like I want to be loved. He can’t give me safety and protection. He can’t support me. He can’t be with me. He can’t be with me. He can’t be with me.

I scream. The hot air rips my lungs into shreds. My voice is hoarse and piercing at the same time, it echoes in the entire building. I scream as though being cut in two; a primal shriek finds its way out of me. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane - otherwise the pain would be unbearable. I want to be dead. I scream so loud the night staff comes to my room every fifteen minutes to wake me and assure me I’m safe but it doesn’t take long for the circle to go around again. They finally give up and inject something into my arm. The dangerous mix of fear and pain is numb now. It doesn’t vanish; it’s covered with a warm fluff of the meds. It’s there. He’ll never love me the way I want to be loved.

My eyes are stuck on one point on the ceiling. I want to scream but I can’t.

 * * *

 The cold late-autumn air lashes my face when I place my foot outside the door. I wrap the scarf tighter around my neck. It’s difficult to keep yourself warm when there’s not much of the fat tissue in your body.

My therapist says it’ll get better. I don’t know. I don’t think he tries to lie to me. I choose to believe him. He also says that I’ll never fully recover. My psyche is broken beyond repair. LSD killed me and didn’t do it at all. All I can do is to try to make the best of it. “Regaining your memory was the most important part,” he said once. “And you’ve succeeded in it.” I think he hopes that there’s a chance for me to get back to my old self in that. I’ve lived with my missing memories for over six months and today is the first day I feel good enough to leave the house. I’m going to face death. Many deaths.

I walk down the London streets and the air soaks up in my lungs. It’s cold but in a pleasant way. The hot air gets out of me with carbon dioxide. I breathe in the chill oxygenium with my eyes closed. I relish the moment. I never know when my brain will snap and turn everything into endless sadness. I don’t have fury attacks anymore but instead, I wake up in the middle of every night, screaming. The scream eventually turns into cry. I curl up in my bed and wait for the pain to let go. It never really does but its level decreases to the point I’m able to live with.

Being yourself. What does it even mean? Whatever I do, I’m me. I’m me when I walk down the London streets, heading to work. I’m me when I jump out of my bed and choke someone. I’m me when I throw up because my body cannot contain the anxiety caused by my fugue. I’m me when I scream my head off in the middle of a night. I’m me when I kiss someone I love. I’m me when I cry because I couldn’t be more broken. I’ve learned to simply accept whatever comes to me. This is who I am. A mess. Fixing me is a job for a lifetime.

I’ve been missing the lab. I throw myself into work because it helps me soothe the suffering. The relief is temporary but whatever works, right? I love the sound of the glasses clinking against each other. I love how my brain focuses entirely on bringing out my scientific knowledge and it almost resembles the mind I used to have. These are the moments when I know the old Molly Hooper is still there. She didn’t die because she always wins.

 It’s almost dark outside when I turn off the lights. I take a short look around to make sure I’ve cleaned everything up. I push the door open and fix the handbag on my shoulder. I walk out into the corridor, pale-y lightened with the cold hospital lamps. I raise my head up and freeze.

He freezes as well. He’s changed; weaker, sadder. His blue eyes widen and I can see his breathing stops. His mouth are open in an utter shock. He’s speechless but doesn’t look away. He swallows with difficulty.

“Molly.”

The soft whisper fills out the space of the corridor. I begin to get dizzy and my heart rate quickens rapidly. I take a small step back and cling to the door behind me. I’m close to hyperventilate. He makes a move towards me but I start visibly shivering in response.

“Molly...”

He’s filled with guilt which adds a fair weight to his movements. His eyes, usually cold and focused on looking through his mind palace, are mild, even glossy. His eyebrows frown in worry. I’m sure he pities me. I don’t need his pity. I slide down the door and sit on the floor with my legs pulled to my chest. I see his coat getting closer with a corner of my eye. My body trembles strongly. I let out the tears.

“Leave me alone,” I whisper.

He stands in place for a while and walks off eventually. When he’s no longer in the range of my eyesight, I curl up on the floor and cry. He can’t be with me.

 * * *

 I’m slightly cheerful on my days off. The winter is pretty ugly this year; it doesn’t look like the ones I remember. No fluffy snow and colourful lights. But maybe I’ve just gotten too old to see them? I think it’s sad. We become adults and forget all the beauty we’ve had as children. We forget that the key to happiness is not only in winning the jackpot but also in seeing the little things and enjoying them. In finding a four-leaf clover and thinking: “Today I’m going to be lucky”. In hearing your mum is going to make your favourite biscuits because she loves you so much she could do anything to see a smile on your face. I sound like The Little Prince, don’t I? When your brain tries to find its way back to sanity, you happen to have a lot thoughts. Trust me.

I deliberately step into every grey, muddy-snowy-watery puddle and smile. My shoes will get soaked up for a while but I enjoy this childish activity until I can. I just hope my groceries won’t slip out of my shopping bag to fall into one of these snowy monsters. I think about the small but pleasant stuff: like ordering a pizza and watching a film. My brain loves turning into tapioca. Well, it doesn’t, I do. I also bought brownies and can’t wait to stuff my stomach with them after the pizza box is empty. For a moment I think of the poor person who would have to go through my stomach content if I killed myself tonight, and then shake it off. I don’t want to die but I don’t have much of a will to live as well. I’ve learned not to joke about suicide around other people, though. It turns out death is a difficult matter for normal human beings. I wouldn’t know, I’ve always been very practical about it. It doesn’t scare me that much. Well, maybe a little because I’ve never been through this. They say I have but I don’t remember a shred from this moment. I’ve regained a memory of being strongly hit in a head in my house but then... it’s all darkness. The next thing was the hospital ceiling and the conversation The Three Horsemen of Madness had in my room.

I’ve loved watching trash telly (and not only this) because it keeps my sadness and insanity at bay. I’m well aware of that. My therapist didn’t have to tell me this but he did it anyway. He even asked if I wanted to do anything about it. I didn’t but he says (because the matter obviously wasn’t dropped) it would work out for the best because a broken heart cannot be mended by watching stories about other hearts being healed. I thought he was supposed to help me keep my post-LSD psyche under control but it seems I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I look back at the memories I’ve retrieved, I can’t help but think... maybe this craziness has always been with me? The way I sewed my happiness with his skin, desperately, utterly, unconditionally, obsessively... Omnipresent but invisible. Courageous - with a rabbit heart. The smallest spark of hope I’ve ever seen kept me by his side. Maybe LSD only sped up what was inevitable: a nervous breakdown. Although I wasn’t really weak. My heart just popped, heavy from all the sorrow it has carried for five years.

Now, after being completely broken, I’m learning to live in a world without him. I don’t blame him - after all, it was me who asked him to leave me alone. I thought he would fight for me but I’m glad he didn’t. My insanity would feed on the scraps he would throw me, reliving the annealed wounds with a red-hot steel. He doesn’t come to Bart’s or maybe he does but he’s good at avoiding people. And sometimes, when everything seems fine and I’m home alone (which is always), I fill out the silence with singing. I choose the saddest songs I know and sing. I bet my neighbours have had to call an ambulance to save their bleeding ears at least once but I’m a psycho. I can do whatever I want because I don’t care.

I’ve recently watched Eclipse and I sing a song from its soundtrack under my nose when I unlock the door. The door clicks and I enter my completely dark house. I don’t turn on the lights and enjoy the fact that it’s already dim outside but it’s too early for the street lights to turn on and shine into my kitchen. I stand in the entrance room and soak in the emptiness. It fills me out and seeps into my bones. This is where my body find its way to the state of default. I put my shopping bag away on the floor and untangle my winter shoes. After that I move the groceries into the kitchen, almost tiptoeing, as though afraid of waking someone up.

I take off my coat and scarf, putting them down on the kitchen counter. I start unloading my shopping bag, thinking about the pizza I’m going to order. I’ve gained some weight, maybe a little too much but that’s all right. I couldn’t care less about my body. If I had to worry about my appearance as well, I would definitely kill myself.

“My love has concrete feet, my love’s an iron ball, wrapped around your ankles, over the waterfall...”

“If I didn’t know better, I would think it was on purpose.”

A glass bottle of a carrot juice slips out of my palm as I jump in a complete horror. My socks soak in the sticky liquid but I can barely seem bothered by this. I turn on the heel and look at the utter darkness in my living room. The same moment the street lights turn on and a beam of weak light falls on his face as well. I feel my body trembling. I want to back out but there is no escape - he could catch me any time. Not that he would but the fear takes over my mind.

“You... you broke into my house?” I ask, panting. A panic attack is around the corner.

“I entered your house without your knowledge,” he replies, utterly steady. “There’s a difference-“

“What are you doing here?” I put on a tough act but we both know it’s a ruse. I don’t care. I don’t want him to break me again. I might never recover.

“I came to see you.”

I scoff.

“You could do it the normal way.”

“Would you meet me, then?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

I’m pressed against the refrigerator and I feel a pain in my back as the metallic door resists to my spinal bones. He makes three steps forward. He takes off his gloves and shoves them into his coat pockets. He takes if off as well, with no rush, and throws it away on my couch. Without unlocking our eyes, he approaches me. I’m sure I’ll tip over the refrigerator in a second because he’s so close there can’t be more than a foot between us. He stops. My head is dizzy and I feel like throwing up but then he squats and begins to collect the shreds of glass bottle from the floor. I’m sweaty but relieved. The tension leaves my body and I exhale loudly.

It catches his attention. He looks up at me.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

I scoff again.

“It doesn’t matter.”

I turn around to face the kitchen counter and find paper towels but they’re on the opposite side. I glare down and see that the juice is everywhere but my socks are completely soaked up, so it wouldn’t be smart of me to walk off to the bathroom for a mop. Besides, I could step into the cracks and that was not the point of his help.

He finishes and throws the glass away. He remembers very well where my bin is. After that, he wordlessly goes to my bedroom and comes back with a pair of dry socks. I can see that he spread a bit of the juice on the floor but his gesture successfully disables my frustration. He sticks out his arms towards me. I hesitate. What is he planning to do? I slowly reach out to his arms but he slides them under my armpits and lifts me up over the juice, placing me on my small kitchen island. Then he disappears in the bathroom and comes back with the mop. He wipes out the floor. Not a word slips out of his lips.

I slowly take off my wet socks, watching his every move. I put the dirty socks away next to me and reach out for the paper towel. I dry my feet out while Sherlock cleans up my kitchen floor. Even my old self would say that only a lunatic would find it possible. Cheers to all of us, crazies. I put away the used paper towel as well and put on my new socks. I start to swing my legs a little bit as Sherlock finishes the cleanup. He walks off to the bathroom to rinse off the mop for the last time and comes back to me. I can’t look away somehow.

“Thank you,” I say in a hoarse voice. I clear my throat.

“I’m sorry,” he replies. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, nor be an intruder.”

I shrug.

“It was just a carrot juice. I’ll drink more water, then.”

My legs swing more and more intensively. I know what it means and so does he, so I force myself to stop because a smirk crawls up on his face. I feel my cheeks burning up and I instantly regret tangling my hair into a pony tail. This is probably the most normal thing that happened to me in about nine months.

He places his hand next to my left thigh and leans on. I feel his perfume and something in me shivers. My heart rate goes wild but I cannot force myself to look away. He puts his palm really gently on my right cheek and his face is so close I can see every pore on his skin. I give in and let out a quiet exhale. I close my eyes and my body is fulfilled with warmth as his lips lock with mine. He moves a little to stand fully in front of me and takes my face in both of his hands. His lips open more and more eagerly as he doesn’t see any objection on my side. My legs clench around his waist, I throw my arms around his neck. I pull him closer but it’s difficult to say whether I’m motivated by the kiss or the simple need of a hug.

I feel awaken. My body’s warm, pulsing with every beat my heart does. For the first time in many months I feel alive and I relish this moment because I know that in a minute, everything will end.

And it does.

I push him away a little too hard. He has to take a step back to prevent a fall. The passionate fire turns into anger.

“Don’t do it.”

I feel a twinge in my chest seeing pain in his eyes. He looks as if I just crushed his last hope. His blue eyes are tired, miss their old spark. I hate myself for pushing him away and feeling the way I feel.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” I hiss through my teeth.

“What doesn’t?”

“Us.”

He winces and shifts nervously.

“What?”

I clench my palm into a fist and press it against my forehead, leaned forward. A forgotten suffering comes back to me. I’ve buried it so deep inside I was certain it was gone but it’s been waiting for me. A battle I didn’t want to fight starts right here and right now. And I, again, want to be dead and dead only. I close my eyes so tightly it almost hurts as does every cell in my body.

“We don’t make sense,” I utter after anticipating a less painful moment.

He starts breathing quicker. He’s as lost as he’s never been before. I imagine that’s how he looked like calling me to save me. Helpless in the face of the truth.

“How could you have fallen in love with me, then? ” he asks, hopelessness taking over him. “Despite all the pain I’ve caused you, all the things I’ve said...”

“I suppose love is a kind of madness,” I say, my unseeing eyes focused on one irrelevant point.

“Your love is illogical, since I’ve always been an utter cock.”

“Not always,” I reply, smirking weakly. “But we don’t love for the logical reasons. We love despite all the illogical ones.”

We fall silent. I enjoy my most sane moment for several minutes. It can disappear anytime.

“I love you.”

I raise my head up. It feels like my heart skips a beat.

His eyes gaze at me with pain I’ve never seen on his face. He almost pants, his arms are unfolded. He’s like a living target. He’s just showed me where to shoot and I stretch my bow, aiming for his chest.

“But you cannot give me the love I want,” I reply, my voice stifled. I finally sigh in exasperation. “We’re far two different. It would be a disaster of a relationship. Can you imagine yourself cleaning our flat every Saturday, planning our wedding, putting our children to sleep? Because this is want I want. But it would only hurt us more.”

“I can change,” he says.

I scoff.

“And that’s the point,” I respond. “I don’t want you to change. I love you the way you are. I love every part of you. But you cannot love me. You couldn’t have loved me before and you can’t do it now.”

“I think I’ve loved you long before,” he says in a weak voice.

I am... sorry. Forgive me.

You can see me.

You do count.

I’ve always trusted you.

Thank you.

The one person who mattered the most.

I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper.

You look well.

I’m worried about you, Molly.

I love you.

I gaze at him almost breathless. I blink and make myself utter a response:

“I love you, too,” I whisper. My eyes fill with tears. “But you cannot make me happy... Sherlock.”

His name tastes sweet in my mouth. I’ve missed saying it. Now I glance at his lips and think about the moments we shared a few minutes ago and back then in the hospital. I could share them with him forever. I would never get bored of him. But there would be times when he would forget about my presence in our flat, when he wouldn’t listen to me, chasing a lead. When he would be lost and I couldn’t find him.

And now... me with my mood swings and moments of insanity striking when the least expected. With my broken mind. Unfixable. Fucked up.

He suffers and this time, I’m the one to blame. I’ve broken the unbreakable man.

“I’ve turned you into something you’ve always hated,” I say. “You’re weak, you’re an easy target. You’re emotional and vulnerable.”

“As I’ve always been,” he replies. “You’re my strength.”

I wince.

“Strength? Sherlock-“

“You’re my strength because you’ve helped me understand myself better than anyone. I’ve never had to pretend with you. And... and back then in Sherrinford, when I realised how much pain I’ve caused you... no one ever has made me realise so much of me with so little words as you have. You are the reflection of my sensitivity. With you, I’m no longer myself.”

He begins to slowly get closer.

“But... But this is my point!” I protest. “It’s not a good thing becau-“

“It is a good thing because... what does it really mean - being myself?” He stops at less than a foot from me and scoffs. “I am myself in every minute of my life. I won’t miss my old self, though. I was a completely blind moron, who couldn’t appreciate people around him. And you’ve managed to look behind this curtain and see the man I am now. You’ve taught me to be who I am now.”

He smiles, lifting only one corner of his lips but he knows. I try to back out and escape his look but I feel that I don’t want to. My body is slowly giving in. It is so warm. It feels so good. I love him so much.

“But the old Molly may be no longer there. I’m a mess now,” I mumble, trying to avoid his gaze.

He cups my face in his palms again and places our foreheads together. I can’t resist. I don’t want to resist. I lose control over my head and I’m not even worried. A pleasant wave of chemicals floods my body and they’re better than any of the antipsychotics I’ve taken in the past nine months. I’m still a mess. I know that Sherlock will regret his decision one day when a switch in my brain goes off and I’ll stand at a rooftop (flashbacks will kill him, though). But I’m tired of trying to be normal.

“So am I. When I found out that Eurus had attacked you... I was both furious and hurt. I was torn. I still feel guilty over the fact that I couldn’t have prevented this and that she could have killed you. I was ready to bring hell on Earth. Maybe you’re a mess... but you’re also somehow a piece of puzzle that’s missing from my messy life.”

I feel the warmth of his breath on my face, the softness of his hands on my cheeks. His curls tickle my eyelids. I so weak.

“Oh, come on,” he whispers, “just give in already.”

I giggle and lose myself completely. I want to scream... but everything I do speaks louder than words.

[my-one-true-l]

Wammy's boys being comforted by their s/o after a nightmare (microfics or hcs - whichever you prefer). Please take care and don't overwork yourself ❤

Oh, Dear Anon, I love this. Thank you… 🖤

L

Crimson runs in streams across the floor towards me. It’s pouring from her abdomen.

Bloody words are coughed from her mouth.

“Run.”

But I’m not fast enough.

“Fight.”

But I’m too small.

There were no more instructions for me.

…She would never give me an instruction again…

A large unfamiliar hand grabs me by the collar.

I close my eyes.Tightly.

“Please don’t hurt me…”

With a hard gasp, L startled awake. His chair swiveled beneath him as he looked about HQ, desperately trying to find his bearings.

“Again?” They said to him with empathy as they put what they were reading on the end table.

His eyes land on them and he nods.

They held outstretched arms towards him. He got up and crawled over the arm of the couch and across the cushions, then sprawled himself on top of them before tucking his legs up against his chest. They wrap their arms around the ball of a detective that had just buried his face into their neck.

“I should have woken you. You so rarely get sleep and you’re so quiet sometimes when you have a nightmare. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” They kissed the top of his head, nuzzling their face into his soft black mane.

“It’s not your responsibility to know when I’m having a nightmare.” The muffled words absorbed into their neck. “You never fail me when I need you afterwards.”

“Was it…”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not now, please. I just want to be here in the moment with you until it fades.”

Near

L stands before me with his hands shoved into his pockets, staring me down with heavily shadowed eyes.

He slowly fades from existence.  

Matt steps up to take his place. His goggles are fogged over and I can’t see if he is looking at me.  

He slowly fades from existence.  

Mello is now where Matt had been. There is no mistaking that he is, in fact, glaring at me.

He slowly fades from existence.  

Roger?

No answer.

Rester?No answer.

Gevanni?

No answer.

An invisible crushing weight pushes me to the floor. I take solace in my usual thinking crouch, trying to brunt all of it on my back.

…Just as it flattens me.

Near opens his eyes and is greeted with the familiar glow from the wall of screens that line his HQ. He let a heavy sigh escape his lungs. He hates when he falls asleep in HQ. That’s when the dreams visit him. He stands up and stretches his arms over his head in a v shape before straightening his pj top so the buttons were facing forward again. He heads down the corridor to their room, dragging his feet the whole way.

He carefully opens the door and stood at the foot of the bed. It was only moments before his Love opens their eyes to see Near staring at them while they sleep.

“Uh, oh. You alright?” They ask, used to him behaving this way when his sleep was disturbed.

“Yes. Dreams cannot cause you harm.”

They lift the side of the blanket. “Come on. Get in.”

Near didn’t hesitate to curl up next to them. They tucked the blanket close around him in an attempt to make him feel secure.

“It’s going to be ok. I promise.”

“I know.” He twirled his finger in his hair unusually hard before asking, “Can we get Bunsy and read the next story in ‘What Men Live By and Other Tales’?”

They smiled kindly at him and grabbed the stuffed rabbit and the Tolstoy from the nightstand.

“Here you go.” They handed him Bunsy and he cuddled it close to his chest as they open to where they left off, “In the town of Surat, in India, was a coffee-house where many travellers and foreigners from all parts of the world met and conversed.”

Near closed his eyes and drifted to the sound of their voice, soothed in the thought that he didn’t have to bear the weight of being L completely alone after all.

Mello

It’s foggy.

No.

It’s smoky.

I can’t see what’s around me. I can’t see a way out.

Is there a way out?

It’s hot. Very hot. The flames touch me.

I can’t feel them.

They’re too hot.

I’m outside. I don’t remember how I got here.

How did I get here?

My skin feels wrong.

No.

I can’t feel my skin at all.

It’s raining. I’m wet.

No.

I’m…

Mello awoke with a gasp. His body was drenched in a sweat that only panic can bring on. He ran his hand through his hair, removing the dampened strands that clung to his face.

The sheets were soaked. He was soaked. He rubbed his face and groaned as he peeled himself off the mattress.

“Melly, you ok, Honey?” They turned over to look at him.

“Yeah. Freaking dreams again, but I’m fine.” He was sorry he woke them. He didn’t like looking weak and having nightmares was something little kids suffer from.

“You want to talk to me?”

“Nope. I’m gonna shower, though. I feel nasty.”

Knowing Mello as well as they do, they knew not to push it, but there were other ways to care for him after an episode like this. They got up and listened for the water to start running.  Quickly, they stripped the mattress and put fresh sheets on. No one wanted to get back into a sweat-dampened bed. Aside from it being uncomfortable, it would just remind Mello of his dreams.

They went to the kitchen and got him a glass of water for his nightstand. He was going to be thirsty when he calmed down. They opened the top drawer of their dresser and grabbed a king-size chocolate bar and put it with the water. Then they quietly got back into bed as though they had been there the whole time.

Mello knew better.  He slinked up next to them and spooned them, making him feel like the protector, even though it was really making him feel safe.

“Thank you.” Was all he said.

“Anytime, Melly.  Anytime.”

Matt

Everything is bigger than me.

Everything.

She isn’t moving.

Why isn’t she moving?

A cigarette burns in the ashtray.

Suddenly I’m driving. No one can catch me. I’m no longer small.

I look in my rearview. No one is chasing me. I look forward.

Mello.

I slam on the breaks, but I can’t stop.

He bounces up onto the hood. His rigid body cracks the windshield.

Blood. Everywhere.

I get out.

“I always knew you’d end me one day.” The bloody figure that use to be Mello taunts me.

“And I always knew I’d let you down.”

Matt wakes silently. He carefully sits up and dangles his legs over the side of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees as he buries his face into his hands.

He feels a soft hand on each shoulder. “It’s ok. Whatever it is, it’s ok.”

“I was quiet. How do you always know?”

“Just do.” They lean forward and kiss the back of his neck. “Your mother or Mello?”

“Both.”

“That sucks. Do you want to talk about it?”

Matt turns and sits up in bed, knees bent towards his chest with his arms hugging his knees. “Yeah, I would.”

They sit next to him and wrap a blanket around the both of them.

“So tell me all about it.”

“I could see her plain as day, like she was sitting right in front of me…”

Beyond Birthday

3, 2, 1……

She’s gone.

Lonliness…white walls and hardwood, happy kids everywhere, happier than me anyway.

L.

No one wants B…Backup to L…They all want L. They all wish I was L.  

The mirror doesn’t look like me. Sleep-deprived eyes and messy dark hair speak from the reflection. “Even you prefer me to yourself.” My fist shatters the glass making a thousand shards, each piece containing  L…

“FUCK!” Beyond sat up violently in their bed, sweat running down his forehead. He violently thrashes at the sheets that tangled themselves around him, restraining him from escaping the thoughts that torment him.

“It’s ok, I got you.” They sit up and rub gentle circles between his shoulder blades. “I’ve always got you.” They wipe the sweat from his forehead then caress the side of his face.

“I need to pace. I need to outrun it.” Beyond stands up and puts a t-shirt on as he heads out of their bedroom.

His Love grabs a sweater and puts it on over their pajamas before following him. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk. You choose where.”

“What are you doing?” He looks at them with confusion.

“You think I’m going to leave you alone? You’re wrong.” They slip their hand into his and together they roam the dark city streets at 4am until he feels better.

🖤 🖤 🖤 This has been one of my favorites 🖤 🖤 🖤 

[calamariimpossible]

Magicians on the internet, crypto, and the email that broke me.

This is a continuation of a twitter thread that Muz (@mzkrx) started to write out in his car but then when he plotted out his thoughts, it made more sense to him to put it down in a blog format rather than a thread. You'll find out why as you read through.

Stuck in the car for half an hour so I'm gonna do a thread (Editor's note: Now a whole-ass blog post) about a strange email I got recently.

So I was casually watching magic tricks on YouTube. the funnest part of which to me is reading the comments. YouTube commenters love explaining how they think the trick is done and it's fun to read through their theories and connect dots between similar tricks, etc.

And then one time as I was scrolling I noticed a comment that didn't make sense. It was a string of an almost sentence. Intelligible enough to not be random words but odd enough to read like a trigger phrase for something.

The closest I can describe it as is like the string Zemo used to wake up the Winter Soldier, but with some syntax to it. Like "many thermos wiggle throughout exotic harbinger of circle ascending fuchsia entrapment".

Initially I thought nothing of it, but then I kept seeing them in these magic trick video comment sections. They're never the same string, and it's always under magic trick videos. from different channels even.

Hmmm.

The profiles that posted these comments are also always blank accounts with zero videos and no profile pic. Just their name. I felt like it was too much of a coincidence for these comments to only be under magic trick videos.

I also knew that the world of performance magic is thick with secrets. That is to say, there is deliberate obfuscation of information whenever you try to go online to find out how a trick works.

Magicians get together online and share information with each other just like performers of every other sort as well but the amount of code and doublespeak they use is an order of magnitude more annoying to decipher compared to say, an engineering message board or a gamedev forum.

Knowing that, I thought maybe this almost parsable gibberish I keep seeing everywhere was also some kind of code these people were using to talk to each other.

So I started investigating.

First things first, let's just Google one of the phrases. Maybe that's enough?

And it sorta was.

Pasting them onto the search bar lent me to only 1 result (wild!) and it was a website that looked really dank. Like geocities dank. Annoying neon colours and badly margined jpegs of tarot card images everywhere and a big bold header text that said something to the effect of:

"Congratulations, you've found our hidden message. This portal is only for those seeking knowledge beyond what is on the surface. Continue below."

* * *

I haven't been doing well. I feel like I say that too much. I say it on Patreon, on my personal podcast, whenever any of my friends ask me how I'm doing, pretty much everywhere. I feel very heavy. I understand I'm not the only one feeling like this during a pandemic.

Duh.

But I have this other version of worry that I can't quite articulate until right now: I'm scared I won't be funny anymore. Anwar and Farid can attest that even during our recordings I don't feel up to being funny. I question my jokes a lot. I barely enjoy telling them. I'm worried I'm letting everyone down.

To me, silliness and absurdism as virtues only make sense when the world has trace amounts of injustice and wrongness that training ourselves to see it in our everyday helps us remind ourselves of what is just and fair. The more we consume silliness, the more we are able to recognize silly and point it out. So we don't ignore it when things go wrong, so we talk about it, manage it. So we can take care of each other.

Maybe I can't be sure if we're all up for taking care of each other right now.

* * *

"Continue below" seems instructive, but it wasn't. Like I mentioned, the margins were haphazard and the CSS was all over the place. Some jpegs were straight up cropped off.

Meaning I can't be sure what "below" meant. But there were clickable images and text so I was readily intrigued.

It was tantalizing. Did I stumble into some secret order of Extremely Online Magicians? Maybe I'll finally find out why there aren't many female magicians out there. Maybe it's some sort of secret initiation to a secret message board full of secrety secrets. Secretly.

Y'all.

I didn't click on any of the linked images or anything. I closed the tab. That was the end of that.

An earlier version of myself would gladly run headlong into this rabbit hole to find out more and sink hours into some goddessforsaken labyrinth of links. But the current version of me recognizes this for what it almost certainly is: an abandoned roleplaying game.

Back in the early 00s when the internet was the realm of nerds and nerds only, it was full of people who loved sharing things for sharing's sake. It used to be punk rock to maintain a blog that only talked about snails or have a lo-fi YouTube channel that uploads biweekly 3-minute news about your house, or manage a little message board where people roleplay as wizards who rummage around the net looking for clues.

That last part was a thing I remember being actively involved in. In '03, a group of online friends and I wrote up a scavenger hunt of sorts where we sent people through various blog pages that we have where the goal is to just dick around and have fun. We wasted each other's time for sure. Hundreds of hours of it for literally no gain at all but for some laughs and fun memories.

The internet isn't like that anymore. People don't share something online for sharing anymore. Not really. There's this idea that if you put stuff out there, you want people's attention because numbers are good. You get a lotta reblogs and RTs and Likes which means people Like you.

If you don't have a lotta numbers, you don't matter. If you do, everyone has to talk about what you said or did because it's 'News' now.

Isn't that kinda gross, you think? That we need people to interact through an app to be sure that we're Liked? I say "we" but I mean me. I've successfully poisoned my brain to believe this to a certain extent too and it's not good.

I felt myself physically react when I closed that geocities magician website tab. I shuddered because my brain went from "this is cool" to "I gotta let people know I found this" to "this'll get me hella RTs" to "ew Muz why did you think that" within 3 seconds and I was disgusted with myself.

As a dude who started my online presence on YouTube and parlayed it into my real life comedy/writing career, I've believed for a long time that doing good work and putting it out there is what it takes for a working creative to make it because that's what I did. So there's this idea that making stuff and having it be seen is some kind of virtuous.

But it's not anymore. People pick fights with children for clout. Newspapers post about people's tweets as if its important. People are investing in crypto, a thing that literally only exists as electrical waste on a grand scale. We're boiling the oceans to yell at each other over nothing and exchange bits of code everyone agrees has ever-rising value but doesn't. Everyone is making and eating junk, it feels like.

So am I making junk? Have I just been making useless junk for literally over a decade now? Is that what I've been good for this entire time?

* * *

So the email.

It was a response from a company I applied to for a job. I applied as a creative writer and they're an advertising agency.

Receiving emails from a prospective employer when you're in need of a job is exciting! So soon after I applied, too. Wonderful. Here's what it said:

We just received your application today but would love to extend the opportunity for you to participate in the Case Competition as a prerequisite of your job application for Creative Writer position with [REDACTED] and stand a chance to be a winner for cash awards up to a total worth of RM1,800.

Yea.

They want me to enter a competition where I compete with other candidates to get a chance of being hired.

This company saw how many people applied for a job with them, and decided to dangle some cash and throw it over the fence to see which candidate will fight for it the most.

I didn't expect to feel vomitous after reading an email but that did it. I almost dry heaved. That's where we are now.

Recruiters see a glut of applicants and decided to play Fall Guys. These people watch Istana Takeshi and think Takeshi is the good guy. It hurts. It hurt me. That email caused me pain.

I can't at all empathise with recruiters who think this was okay to do. They really believed that creative writers will do a little dance for them just for money.

Look, I know we all need to eat. But I can also hate that people undervalue the work of creatives to this painful extent.

I don't give a shit about earning a lot of dough. I just wanna make things that tickle people. I want you to smile more.

That's the whole point of that weird little YouTube comment that led to the quirky website. That's the whole idea of making silly videos and dumb tweets and memes. We just want you to laugh.

But it seems people think so little of joy that they'll do whatever they can to avoid legitimately supporting and paying for stuff that gets them through the day. So much so that they want free work from us for the potential of maybe being able to get paid for more work. It breaks me, man.

I hate that I cannot make a living just trying my best to make people happy.

That's the best way I know to take care of you.

I know I don't just 'make junk' for a living. People have messaged me personally that my work has helped them get through tough times in school, in their relationships, at the office and I am eternally grateful that they took the time to tell me that.

I just also wish my feelings about my work aren't easily brought down by the majority of people who insist its worthless. Even if sometimes those people is me.

So forgive me if I won't be funny for a while. I'm gonna need some time to process this. Thank you for reading. I love you.

[ericsonclan]

Heading to Bed

Summary: Clementine and Louis get ready to sleep and talk about the adjustments they've made with the loss of Clem's leg and Louis' added responsibilities.

Notes: I love these two so much <3

Read on A03: 

“Home at last,” Clementine exclaimed as she and Louis strolled into their room as night deepened outside the window. With a deep sigh, she collapsed spread eagled on the bed. Louis laughed as he looked down at her.

“Not wasting any time, I see,”

“You know it. Now, if I could just muster the strength to get this off…” Clem lazily shifted her stump, her prosthetic dangling precariously on the edge of the bed.

“Allow me the honor,” Louis lifted both her legs to place them in his lap as he took a seat on the bed. Bending over, he began the process of undoing the leather straps that kept it in place. As he eased the limb off, Clementine let out a soft hiss of pain. Louis shot her a concerned glance.

“Is it sore?”

“Very. It’s been a while since I kept it on that long,” Usually, Clementine split up her time between the crutches and the prosthetic as she tried to build up endurance. Today had been her first attempt at hunting though, so she had needed to keep the prosthetic on for most of the day while she was outside the walls. Overall it had been a successful outing, with four rabbits and a squirrel caught between archery and the traps. 

She was glad she had chosen to go with Aasim. Though Louis had been instrumental in giving her the encouragement and support needed to get back on her feet, she was sure hunting with him would have been a complete nightmare, with him hovering behind her and cheering her on with every step when silence was needed to hunt prey. Aasim had kept a respectable, detached attitude throughout the trip, giving Clementine her space, but being close enough that on the few occasions when she stumbled he was there to break her fall.

Of course, AJ had wanted to tag along as well to protect her, but Clementine had stringently objected. She couldn’t have the stress of keeping an eye on AJ and figuring out how to hunt again for the first time, no matter how capable the 6 year old was. Neither Louis or A.J. was happy with the arrangement, but they respected her wishes. As soon as she and Aasim were in sight of the school, both boys had barreled out of the gates and literally carried her back into the front yard. She doubted they had gotten much of anything done while she was gone. They’d hovered over her incessantly throughout dinner, asking her questions on what she and Aasim had done and seen in excruciating detail.

Once dinner was over, Ruby had mercifully pulled A.J. away for a while, asking him to help her with something in the greenhouse. Clem had given her a grateful smile then headed toward the dorms with Louis, using all of her willpower to keep from limping as they made their way inside. Now that the day was done, Clementine could finally bask in the pride of a job well done. Things couldn’t have gone better. Now she was home in the comfort of her bed with her boyfriend gently massaging the blood flow back into her leg.

A sudden stabbing pain up her leg caused Clementine to gasp.

“Sorry, sorry!” Louis exclaimed, pulling his hands back. “Was that too hard? I can stop,”

“No, it’s OK. It’s just more tender than usual. It still feels good,”

Hesitantly, Louis reached for her leg again and began to gently massage around the base, thumbs rolling soft circles into her aching stump. Clem moaned appreciatively.

“Yeah, right there. That’s sooo much better,”

“Y’know, I’ve become quite good at this if I do say so myself,” Louis smirked playfully at Clementine. “It must be because I’m so talented with my fingers,” It took a second for his own words to sink in. “Oh shit, wait, not like that! I meant because of my piano playing…” He lowered his face in shame, hiding behind his dreadlocks.

Clem giggled. “Smooth, Louis. Very smooth,”

After the awkwardness had faded, they settled into a comfortable silence, Louis continuing to absentmindedly rub Clementine’s leg as she lay with eyes closed, savoring the moment. She felt like she could drift off to sleep at any second, but she didn’t want to quite yet. She wanted to spend more time with Louis. “So…” she began, “What did you do today?”

“Ah, nothing too interesting. A.J. and I did patrol together and checked the wall for any weak points. Then I spent some time with Violet tanning some of the rabbit hides. I know they’re great for keeping warm in the winter but man do those things stink!”

“Yeah, I don’t envy you that job,” Clementine had been stuck doing inside work for the last several months as her leg had healed. Though she and Violet had found ways to keep themselves entertained in spite of the mind-numbing tasks, Clementine had felt the boredom slowly eating away at her soul. Who knew that homemaking could feel worse that living on the road?

“Anyway, after that Ruby had me haul a ton of water from the creek since ever since we started doing laundry she’s convinced it must be a weekly task,”

“You have to admit, there haven’t been any more lice outbreaks since she started her cleaning regimen,”

Louis shuddered. “Don’t remind me,”

“So that was it then?”

“Well, once I finished with the water I tried to sneak off to get some music time in, but Omar cornered me by the tables and had me chopping veggies for dinner. A.J. helped out since he was waiting for you to come home. We finished prep shortly before you returned and you know the rest up until this very moment,”

“Sounds like quite the day,”

“That it was. Thank God I’m usually much better at shirking than today would suggest,” He lifted her right leg to remove her boot, then began to massage her foot, humming a little tune to himself as he continued.

Clementine watched him thoughtfully. Despite Louis’ well-known history of avoiding work, when she thought back on the last few days, he’d really been running himself ragged. Hell, she couldn’t think of a time in the past couple months when she’d seen him slacking off, except for stolen moments with her. 

When she had arrived at Ericson, Louis would spend hours at the piano every day, practicing or composing to his heart’s content. But thinking over the last week, Clementine couldn’t remember if she’d even heard the piano being played. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she reached forward to brush Louis’ dreadlocks away from his face.

“Something wrong?” 

She could see that the area under his eyes had darkened, and there were stress lines around the corners of his eyes as well. How long had those been there? “Are you eating OK? Sleeping?”

Louis chuckled. “Wow, are those maternal instincts turning on me since A.J. is out of the room? Relax, I’m fine,”

Clementine gave him her best unconvinced staredown. Louis squirmed under her eyes. “You know it’s not bad to take time for yourself. No one would fault you for setting aside some time to practice your music,”

“I know… but there’s just so much to be done around here, what with hunting for food and checking the walls and prepping for meals…”

“There is such a thing as asking for help,”

“Nah, that wouldn’t be right. Everyone’s pulling their weight around here. No reason I shouldn’t do the same,”

“Louis!” Clementine exclaimed, taking his face in her hands. “Look at you! You’re worn out! Clearly you’ve been going above and beyond lately. There’s no reason to feel guilty!”

Louis wouldn’t look at her. Instead his eyes were trained on the bed, as if afraid to meet her eyes.

“What is it?”

“I didn’t get hurt,”

“That night, when we attacked the raiders’ ship… I didn’t get hurt. Violet did. You did. And every time I think back to what happened that night…” He choked on his words, tears beginning to run down his face.

“Louis…” Clementine gently brushed the tears aside, but more came. “Louis, none of that is your fault. You couldn’t have prevented what happened. And Violet and I – we’re fine! I mean, sure, things are different, but that hasn’t stopped us from doing what needs to be done. I mean, I went hunting today. I can take outside shifts again. It doesn’t always have to be you and Aasim.

“No,” Louis shook his head firmly. “No, I don’t want you to take that on!”

“Louis, I like hunting,”

“No, I can’t take it! I couldn’t focus on anything today – not patrol or the rabbit hides or those stupid veggies! All I could think about was you outside the walls and how the last time I left you outside-”

He was breathing too hard, his breath coming out in short, tight gasps. Clementine wasn’t sure what to do. Desperately, she wrapped him in her arms, holding him tightly. Louis buried his face against her neck and Clem ran her hand up and down his back, trying to calm him down. She wasn’t sure how many minutes it took, but finally Louis’ breathing slowed and he went slack against her, body limp. Clementine ran her fingers gently through his hair.

“I won’t do anything stupid that’ll get me killed. You know me. I could never do that to A.J. or to you,”

“It doesn’t have to be stupid to get you killed,” Louis murmured. “Mitch died saving Tenn. Tenn died ‘cause he couldn’t turn his back on Minnie. Marlon died….” He sighed shakily. “Things are different than the days where I used to while away the hours in the music room. It was wrong of me to waste time back then. It’d be even worse doing it now,”

Clementine sighed in exasperation and pushed Louis back from her. She took his chin in one hand so he would look her in the eyes. “Louis, I love you, but you’re being a fool right now,”

Louis’ brow quirked in confusion.

“Listen to you! How can you talk about music this way, like it’s nothing? Music is your passion. I don’t want you to give that up for anything,” She reached down and took his hands in her own. “I hear what you’re saying. We lost so many people back then in those days and things did change. But we’re a family, Louis! We all look out for each other! Not a single one of us would want our happiness to come at the cost of yours. When Violet and I were hurt, you carried us through that time. Now it’s our turn, OK?”

Louis mutely nodded.

“OK?” “

OK, OK!” Louis looked up at her, his eyes still wet, but calm now. Warm. 

“Clem…. You’re amazing,”

Clem smiled, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his lips. “You are too,” She wrapped her arms around him once more, pulling him toward her until they had both collapsed on the bed. She inched forward until her nose was brushing against his. “This is what we’re going to do. Tomorrow, you and I are going to the music room. And we’re going to spend the entire morning in there. We’ll lock the door so no one can bother us and then you can play me that song you wrote me. Or try to teach me how to play again – that is, if you have the patience,”

“I would love that,” Louis whispered.

Clementine reached out to grab Louis’ arm, draping it over her waist, pulling him closer. He was so warm and she was so tired. It wouldn’t be long till she was asleep. She looked into Louis’ eyes, so close to her own. “Promise me something?”

“Mm?”

“Promise me that you’ll tell me next time you’re feeling worn out. I count on you for so much. I want you to count on me too,”

Louis was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. “I promise,”

“Good. Love you,”

“Love you too,” Louis breathed, resting his forehead against hers. 

After a few minutes in each others’ warm embrace, sleep overcame the couple and they both took their well-deserved rest.

[darker-soft-starker]

I just thought of cult leader!tony and his willing to a fault follower!peter send help

GIRRLLLLLLLL I hope you don’t mind that I publish this ask cause D A M N I need this one like breathing.

Ok, so, let’s say Peter and Aunt May have moved to a new, small town after Uncle Bens death. They’re both looking for a fresh start, both still deeply grieving, getting used to an entirely new way of life after moving away from a big city.

May throws herself into her new job, tries to be an active member of society, wants to impress the locals and really acclimate into this new town. Wants to move on and up, so she finds herself clubs to meet at, neighbours to befriend, places to be. It’s a new life, she reiterates. 

Peter starts at the local community college but struggles with making new friends. He misses his old ones a lot. It’s hard to keep in contact with Ned and MJ though, they’re busy with college and their social lives on top of being on the other side of the country.

He finds himself increasingly isolated. Being witness to Ben’s death has led to anxiety attacks, prone to melancholy, Peter finds himself agitated at the smallest thing. He’s tries to focus on study but it’s not enough. 

May notices that Peter is becoming more withdrawn, quieter than before, if that were even possible, sees the way his hands tremble sometimes, how he stares out into nothingness for long periods of time. She worries, even as she is starting to feel more like herself again after the trauma. So she suggests he join a local group, find a therapist maybe. She’s heard great things about some guy who runs meditation workshops from his estate two hours up north. 

Peter, although wary, takes her up on the latter, books himself in for an initial consultation. He meets with the guy - guru? - call me Tony - who is warm, charismatic and effortlessly charming. His eyes are soft and he doesn’t speak to Peter like he’s broken or stupid, he smiles a lot and says to Peter, we can work this out, I’m going to help you.

He runs a spiritual retreat, some people come and go, others stay there long-term. Everyone seems to work hard. If you follow the rules, you’ll get rewards. No phones, no internet, first and foremost. The first step to healing is detaching from the outside world that wants to commodify you, to brainwash you. Second, report any misbehaviour from others but most importantly: treat each other with love and respect.

It’s a family business, Tony says. Everyone here is part of the family.

Peter starts going to weekend retreats. On his first one, he’s nervous, but he gets along okay with everyone, mostly keeping to himself between workshops and meals. Being without his smartphone is like having a missing limb, but, like getting into the meditations, is something he gets used to.

He can see what Tony means, though, by family. He see how the man is surrounded by people who treat him with love and respect because he does the same for them, always reaching for a hug, providing for those who put in the effort and giving out praise when deserved. When Tony’s not in a session he’s always surrounded, always seems to be far away - but never far away enough to not catch Peter’s eye and give him a wink and warm smile, a half hug or a hand shake. 

After a few weekends Peter is starting to feel a little better, feels more separated from his old life as he latches onto the new philosophies he’s been studying. The grief no longer swallows him whole and he doesn’t think about all the bygones that used to ache.

He starts to look forward to his new one-on-ones with Tony who repeats his class mantra. You are loved. You are capable. You are an integral part of a network who support you. You are needed. Peter finds it easier to believe what the man is saying, feels the vice around his heart starting to ease off. Similarly he finds himself becoming closer to Tony and it makes him feel included, worthy, for the first time in a long time.

He somehow must have proven some kind of worthiness because he starts to get invited to lunches, dinners, drinks with some of Tony’s inner circle and Tony himself at his personal compound, surrounded by good food and laughter. The others marvel at how far Peter has come and Peter can only catch Tony’s fond gaze and think, it’s because of him, this perfect person, this good man and his heart swells so much that his ribs feel like they’re going to crack with the strain.

Peter keeps studying, stays longer at the retreats each time, helps out where he can. 

They get close enough that one night after dinner it’s just Peter and Tony, curled up on the couch and Peter, overcome with such affection for the man, presses a courageous kiss to the mans bearded cheek. Tony looks at him, eyes soft with the firelight glow, and presses his palm to Peters cheek, leans in to catch Peters lip in a sweet kiss.

It’s different after that, better. His stays become longer, and the longer he is gone, the worse he feels. He begins to understand the outside world less and less, feels disconnected from May, from the texts his friends send when he gets his phone back. It’s like this is all a dream and the retreat is the real world.

Eventually Peter moves in to the compound at the retreat completely. He misses May but he’s allowed one phone call a week with her on the communal retreat phone. It’s enough. She worries about him, about him being so cut off from the world. But when she hears how happy she doesn’t say more, just makes him promise to see her every now and then.

Two months after moving into the compound, two policemen show up at the estate gates, asking after some woman. It’s a name that Peter vaguely recognises as one of the first people he’d met at the retreat but hadn’t seen in a while - he figured she was done with the program and had left. Apparently she’d gone missing.

Peter feels bad that he hadn’t known - there is only one TV in the compound and it’s used for their weekly movie nights. No one needs to see the endless cycle of death, rape and destruction, Tony and the other senior members had said, it was that kind of narrative kept everyone down the rabbit hole, from true healing, and Peter believed it. After all this time he didn’t miss his phone or his laptop, not when he had a whole community and other ways to fill his time, not when he had Tony in his life. Anyway, the police didn’t have a warrant and didn’t get further than the closed gates.

That night when Tony slips out of bed Peter sees him get angry for the first time ever. From the slight opening of the bedroom door he sees Tony getting up in Rogers face with a snarl, whispering furiously about not being careful and making mistakes. But Tony comes back to bed not long after, cuddling up to Peter from behind and burying his nose at the nape of his neck, body wrought with tension. Tony whispers to him, tells him don’t worry, i’m always going to keep you safe, I’ll look after our people. 

He turns around in Tony’s arms and smooths his hands down the mans bare back. Peter has never felt more secure and cared for in his whole life and he wants Tony to feel the same.

The next time that he speaks to May she mentions that a policeman came around to the house, asking what she knew of Tony and about Peter and if there was any connection to the missing woman. Peter plays dumb, says he has no idea who she is, which isn’t too far a stretch from the truth. May seems to buy it. It’s the last he hears of it for a while.

When he tells Tony about it later the man smiles and kisses him fiercely, tells Peter he loves him and that he’s family - and Peter honestly feels like it, helping in the gardens everyday, teaching some of the kids of the families that stay here, helping out with chores. He’s never felt more part of a community in his whole life, not back in Queens, not like before. He’s never felt more desired than when Tony reaches for him, sits with him at breakfast in front of everybody, only takes him to bed. Like a normal family, not everyone gets along perfectly and there are arguments, scuffles, personality clashes, but for the most part it works. Everyone looks up to and defers to Tony in the end. 

A month after his conversation with May, Peter finds a shallow grave in the outer fields. He’d been digging up soil to start planting some trees for the coming seasons as a surprise to Tony. Frozen, Peter had instantly recognized the cheap, beaded bracelet on the decomposing body, mind flashing back to his first weekend here. 

He looks over some ways away to the chapel where he knows Tony is reading aloud to a group, knows the sermon off by heart. You are loved. You are capable. You are an integral part of a network who support you. You are needed. 

Gingerly, Peter places the soil back above the corpse, looking around to make sure no one has noticed him. On his way back to the compound he thinks about asking Tony to build a concrete outdoor space instead.

When he tells Tony precisely where they should build it, the mans eyes crinkle around the sides and says, good idea Pete, this is why you’re my best boy.

Yeah, Peter thinks, he’s home.