#fun fact this quilt was made specifically for him

[savethepinecones]

he loves his quilt

[mudandmire]

Solstice & Autumn Equinox

Azris Week - Day 7: Solstice & Autumn Equinox

~~~ aH. I promise I have the thing look see here it is. It's the last day of @azrisweek :(( (shhh pretend I got this out yesterday) and I'm literally gonna miss it so much. This was so fun, I know I keep saying that but I can't put into words the kind of vigor and excitement for writing this brought in me. I'm so grateful to everyone for this event, and especially for all the lovely, talented people participating. Now I actually have the time to read your things I'm so p u m p e d. Anyway, hope you enjoy lovelies <3 :D ~~~

Longest Night

There are ninety days between the Autumn Equinox and what is now the darkest day of the year, the Winter Solstice. This far north, in the wild steppes of Illyria, the sun doesn’t rise past the jagged peaks of the Illyrian mountains. It’s muted, golden light tinged blue with the ever-present darkness, and floods the fields and plains for only three hours. Before the moon and her necklace of beaded stars takes it’s place again.

Azriel sits in the dark, frost crawling up the pane of his little window. The same one he’d grown up with. He watches it from his place of the bed of pelts and quilts he’s nearly outgrown.

The journal Eris gave him years ago lays splayed open on his lap—the spine creased, the pages cleaved in half to reveal it’s thread-bare center, mirroring how Azriel’s feeling. Alone on the darkest and longest night of the year: a time for patience, remembrance, and wishes.

Wishes of a good harvest the coming year, plentiful enough to beat hunger back. Remembrance of the long nights past, when Azriel would curl up under the pelts, throw his pillow over his head and pretend that it was light outside and it was only his pillow that made it dark. Patience for whatever the stars give him; their blessings, no matter his circumstance, worked out in his good.

Azriel twirls his charcoal pencil in his fingers, fidgeting restlessly as he chases around a thought like a hound to a rabbit.

Wishes for Eris, maybe. Nothing specific—Azriel doesn’t know what he’d wish for in specifics, jotted out line by line in his head like some list he presents to the unfeeling sky to be fulfilled. Just health, happiness, his presence.

He doesn’t write any of it down, not in this journal. In fact he won’t ever write this down, too private and personal to ever be given life in the form of his harried, smudged strokes of writing.

Because there’s another wish—three in total, now—that has lied buried, dormant. With every look at the elegantly penned, quick, coiled lines of Eris’s writing, it grows teeth and a belly and hungers.

The charcoal pencil pauses between his middle and pointer finger and he lays down, careful of his folded wings behind him. Azriel swallows hard against the rising tide of want, burning like a thousand little stars in his chest. It’s not so much as a wish than a want, but for the sake of tonight he’ll combine the two.

Azriel’s hand, as if spurred on like a cattle prod to the flank, jolts where it was resting lazily on his stomach. It jumps, scars and calluses and all the ingrained lines of it, to the swell of his shoulder. Warm to the touch, nearly burning, the pads of his fingers trace it—trying not to think of how broad he’s gotten. How Eris had followed, but still remained lithe, his strength in his sinewy muscles, in the jut of his stubborn chin and the hardness of his amber eyes.

He fails miserably, his eyes fluttering closed as his touch trails across to his collarbone. One hand stays on the open pages of the journal, yearning scrawled silently between every word, and lets his breathlessness overcome him in the dark when he thinks of the pale hollow of Eris’s throat.

It’s a gentle thing—both his touch and his admiration—but he fears that the longer he stays away from Eris, and Eris from him, it’ll grow into something ravenous. If the faint tremble of his fingers haven’t crossed that line already. He won’t manage this delicate longing if the nights stretch on still and the days tick up to one hundred—two hundred, and on and on.

The pad of his thumb brushes the same hollow, the ridges of his scars an awkward sensation against the thundering of his pulse.

What he would give, what he would give, what he would give.

His lungs stutter, caught in the hold of his gripping desire and his hand moves quickly. As if knowing staying there will undo him completely: the seams of his journal, the tears against his sanity.

The hand moves up, tracing the line of his throat, and then curves against the angle of his jaw. Stubbled and coarse from days without shaving.

Eris has freckles here—he knows, he’s seen them. And there’s one, his fingers already following the path of his memory, that lies right behind his ear. Skin that has never been touched, never been kissed by the sun, so pale it’s nearly translucent. Azriel would find it, a dearly missed lover, and keep it a secret with his lips.

His head is a mess, the heavy pound of his heart against his sternum echoing up to his head. He can feel the blood pulse behind his eyes where they remain closed, content to bask in the water color paintings of his desires. Every strand of thought follows no continuous path—where his hands touch changes under his fingers till there’s freckles, moonlight-soaked skin, and the most dangerous tilt to pink lips.

The hand on his journal presses down. He knows the parchment is folding around the sweat of his palm, his fingers, and doesn’t quite care if anything gets smudged in response.

Eris had written to him earlier. Innocuous and simple—a wish of his own he shared to Azriel with the simplest of strokes of ink.

‘Tell me what the stars look like, tonight.’

Azriel’s head falls back, hair feathering over the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Warm air shudders from his lungs like it has no place to be held anymore as his calloused fingers brush against his lips.

There’s a pinch between his brows, mouth fallen open in night-drenched silence, when he thinks back:

You, they look like you.

It goes no further than his lips. Azriel’s touch knows his own bounds, presses no harder than the gentlest of kisses and though he aches something fierce, he stops it there. He wishes there was more shame when he brings his fingers away and they shine with the traces of his tongue. Yet there is nothing but the lingering, ever present longing, curled up like a slumbering beast with one eye open—aware of it all.

He watches the rise and fall of his stomach, gleaming in the moonlight, and sighs deeply to calm the racing of his heart. He may as well have just leaped off a cliff, he can see his pulse rabbit under the tender skin of his wrists.

When Azriel lifts his other hand from the journal, the parchment sticks to his palm before letting go and fluttering back down. He can feel a burn of something hot against the hinge of his jaw, the shell of his ears.

He sits up, his charcoal pencil buried under his thigh where he had dropped it in his mindless pursuit of touch. His fingers tremble slightly when he sets the blackened edge to the page, wincing at the smudges he sees on his previous words.

‘They’re beautiful, you should visit to see them sometime.’ The lingering tinge of his desire has slipped into his letters—Azriel can’t bring himself to care enough to dial it back. He wants, he knows he wants, he can’t go another ninety days without seeing the gleam of Eris’s amber eyes in person.

He waits for Eris’s response. Sitting up fully with his pillows behind him, against the sensitive membrane of his wings, and a quilt over his lap. The night stays constant as he moves around, shifting and resettling, it never wavers and never judges. It’s like he hadn’t indulged at all; and according to the moon’s indifferent gaze, he hadn’t.

Eris writes back a heartbeat after Azriel’s fully settled in bed.

‘Soon,’ he writes, pausing slightly, ‘I miss them.’

Azriel’s heart kicks against his ribs, a wild animal in a cage, and he has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep his grin contained.

His thumb brushes against Eris’s imprinted words; the perfect swirl of his penmanship, the slight hesitancy between his confession. Secret, wished, safe.

‘They miss you too, tatlım.’

~~///~~///~~///~~

Damn alright so. That's it I guess! Short for today, though I kinda prefer it that way. I tried to make it longer but all the ways I did just didn't fit right so, eh whatever I'm happy with it. If you can tell that this circles back around to my first post of azris week I'm literally in love with you thanks.

Thank you again for reading and the kind comments and reposts - you guys gave me the biggest smile and the most lovely experience, so thank you <3

[gothamslostboy]

TLB Characters Favorite Type Of Blanket

A/N: I have no idea what this is or why I made it but I haven’t posted anything creative in so long. Yall ever love something but the thought of actually doing it makes you stressed? That’s what writing has been for the past couple months ugh :[ I miss it sm but I never like anything I end up making and keep deleting my progress. Oh well, hopefully I stop doing that soon and enjoy this pointless headcanon

ALSO: yes most these characters sleep upside down from the ceiling, but I like to ignore that bc tbh I want to erase the fact they have those weird ass feet. To me those monstrosities don’t exist. If you like the fact they hang from the ceiling then these headcanons are just for sitting on the couch or cuddling. They also don’t really feel temperatures but again I’m ignoring it:]

————————————————————————

DAVID

Duvet

A big fluffy one filled with cotton

He’d never tell anyone, but it makes him feel safer

It’s similar to one his mother gave him in his human life

He rolls it up like a cocoon

He doesn’t even leave a hole for his face bc he doesn’t need to breathe

Paul and Marko use this to their advantage and prank him atleast 2 times a month

Dwayne shoos them away if he notices them trying to bother David when he’s asleep

MARKO

This man is weird ngl

He just sleeps with a sheet

He doesn’t mind using a different blanket when sharing

But if he’s alone it’s a sheet

He doesn’t like feeling any weight on him when he’s asleep

Might as well sleep with nothing

But he also likes to cover his eyes with it

It’s just soothing to him

PAUL

Weighted blanket

He LOVES to cuddle with ppl bc of their weight being on him

So when no one wants to sleep with him he pulls out this blanket

The boys and Star made him a custom blanket bc he wants it to be HEAVY heavy

If he was human this thing would crush him to death

He sleep walks/flys and this stops him

He needs help getting it off of him bc he’s usually still too groggy to put in the effort when he wakes up

STAR

Patchwork Crochet Quilt

She made it herself

Everytime she finishes a new project she added a new square made up of all the colors she used

Whenever David would see her adding a square he said something like “another square? That’s gonna be a big ass blanket”

She stopped the blanket when it reached 80x80 4 inch squares

She realized that that is, infact, a big ass blanket

She can’t even fit the thing on her bed

Most of it is just hanging off the side

She started a new one to give to Michael

But that one is gonna be smaller

After that she’s just gonna make one for each boy

MICHAEL

Normally shares with Star

She doesn’t even notice he’s using it most of the time

Once it gets big enough he uses the one she made specifically for him

Uses David’s blanket when laying with him

But the fluffiness makes him feel trapped sometimes

Just holds on to David for comfort

Can occasionally convince star and David to sleep in the same bed with him and they use Star’s blanket obviously

He and David sleep under the sheets when using Star‘s blanket tho bc it’s a lil itchy

But she doesn’t seems to notice the itch

DWAYNE

I’m just gonna insert a picture bc idk what it’s called

But this kind of blanket^ along with Satin sheets underneath

He’s like Marko where he doesn’t like as much weight

But really likes making fun of Marko’s sheet and doesn’t want to be a hypocrite

If he’s cuddling with someone he puts their head under his chin and wraps them up together tightly

When alone he keeps the blanket lose

Just in case something happens and he needs to get up quickly and protect the pack

————————————————————————

•TAGS•

@crustyboypix @britany1997

if you want to be added to the tag list just let me know

[blues824]

After reading the dorm leaders with a fem reader who's great at textile work made me wonder: How about the vice dormleaders? I'm sure Trey and Ruggie's families would adore her.

I loved writing the first one, so here’s the second part of this! I also rushed this, so I apologize if it’s not the best quality.

Trey Clover

He is happy that you found your hobby in Twisted Wonderland. Whenever he comes to give you some sweets you baked, you always have a gift for him. It’s become a thing between the two of you that he always looks forward to.

The most memorable thing that you have made him was a quilt you had designed. It had two birds with a heart in between them, and he found it adorable. Whenever he made his bed, he made sure to put the quilt on top of his duvet as a little decorative piece.

You both are artists in your own ways, so it’s an interesting experience when you both try each other’s arts. Neither might come out looking great, but it’s fun for the both of you. The amount of times you would get flustered when he put his hands on yours as he helps you with the rolling pin-

He probably set up an entire shelf in his room dedicated to the things you make for him. He gets embarrassed when you point it out, but you can’t help but be flattered by how he treasures the things you created. You wish you could do the same with his food, but alas: the things he bakes are perishable goods. (He has told his family about you, and they absolutely love you even though they haven’t met you yet)

Ruggie Bucchi

If you have a shop open, he will most definitely help you with the packing and shipping process if you need any assistance… just as long as he gets paid for his work. He is a hardworking hyena, and he needs compensation for it!

One day, after you closed up shop, you presented Ruggie with a donut plushie that you had made for him. He found it absolutely adorable, and he makes sure that he puts it in a place where he can view it everyday and be reminded of you.

He doesn’t have any free time, so he doesn’t have the opportunity to try his hand at the type of art you hold dear to your heart. If you gave him more things, he would absolutely cherish every single one of those items.

However, when you do, always make sure you praise him. Pet his ears and call him a good boy, your favorite, whatever. He just soaks. It. Up. He would walk around with a dopey grin all day because of it, alright? Make him feel appreciated. (He has also told his family about you, and they also absolutely adore you even though they haven’t met you yet)

Jade Leech

He finds this hobby of yours quite interesting. You would sit for hours at your sewing machine, just doing what you do best, and it was like you turned the fabric into something that was truly a wonder all on its own.

The item that you made for him that he holds dearest was a mushroom tapestry that you had created. He immediately went to put it up in his room, and he loves to see it whenever he wakes up. You really knew how to bring life to the things you made.

He also doesn’t have much free time, but when he does he has to take care of his plants. When he is finished with that, then he will sit and listen as you explain the current piece you were working on. He held onto each and every word you said.

He does get a bit jealous whenever you make something for someone else, but he knows that it's your way of showing friendly affection. Just make sure to give him attention and love later, otherwise he will ‘cry’ about how you neglected him all day.

Jamil Viper

He was glad that you weren’t out causing trouble. In fact, when he was younger, he remembers the seamstresses in the streets making rugs and fixing clothes. He always found it fascinating how the technique was all in the hands.

You once made him a dream catcher. He didn’t quite understand until you explained that the Ojibwe Tribe back home believed that these talismans, specifically the bead inside, were supposed to catch the bad dreams and nightmares drifting in the air. Sure, it was more for children, but the concept was adorable.

He most certainly doesn’t have free time, so you are mostly on your own. He wishes he could sit beside you and do some form of textile art as you gently guide his hands, but he simply can’t because he’s too busy being both the Vice Housewarden of Scarabia and a servant to Kalim.

Be sure to assure him that it’s alright. He feels so bad for not making time for you in his already hectic schedule. Just be there for him at night. Run your hands through his unbraided hair and talk to him in a gentle voice. It makes his heart flutter so much.

Rook Hunt

It was interesting because most of the Pomefiore dormitory also took interest in textile art, especially Vil. The poor hunter is always debating as to which is more beautiful. It’s a lot like the story of Athena and Arachne (a story that he himself is unfamiliar with since Greece doesn’t exist in Twisted Wonderland).

His favorite thing that you have made him is a tapestry with a deer as the subject. No, he does not use it as a target. It’s much too beautiful to destroy in such a harsh manner. He hangs it up in his room, just so he can admire it as he falls asleep.

He has some experience with sewing, but you may have to teach him more advanced things. Since his favorite art mediums include photography, he will teach you how to handle a camera in return. He always encourages you when you feel your art isn’t good enough, and you do the same for him.

A lot of Pomefiore students go to you to repair their dorm uniform because they are too scared to ask Vil. Rook knows about it, but doesn’t tell his Housewarden about it. After all, he goes to you as well. It’s not out of fear, but because he loves feeling your hands on him as you gather his measurements and how big the tear is.

Lilia Vanrouge

He finds it absolutely adorable. Whenever you are able to get your hands on a high-quality ball of yarn or spool of thread, you have this sparkle in your eye that makes the old fae absolutely swoon for you. He doesn’t recall a time where he had ever been this in love with someone before, let alone a human.

He loves everything you make for him, but if he had to choose it would be a plush bat. The irony was absolutely hilarious, so that’s why he likes it so much. He keeps it on his desk whenever he plays video games just so he can be reminded of you.

I feel like he has experience with almost every single medium, but he believes that his art could never compare to yours. Also, he makes you think that he needs help just so he could feel your hands against his; a reminder that you are here with him and this isn’t all a dream.

As the significant other of General Lilia Vanrouge, you are held in high respect around Diasomnia. Even Sebek has to set aside his pride. Both Malleus and Silver see you as their mom, so you might want to get used to being held on such a pedestal. You are probably one of those couples that sit by the fire as you are knitting and he is reading a book, just enjoying the feeling of being in each other’s presence.

[rosewaterandivy]

iv. hunger hurts, but starving works

summary: it’s all fun and games until the fall festival.

pairing: s.h. x witch!reader

w.c.: 4.7k

warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; vague allusions to magic and the like (tarot specifically), serial kisser steve, we get by with a little no help from our friends

a/n: sorry for the ouchies last week, hopefully, some meddling from everyone's favorite metalhead and space cadet will help.

series m.list | playlist | currently spinning:

The weeks pass all too slowly. Leaves turning fiery shades of orange, amber, red, and gold before falling gallantly to the ground; littering the streets and sidewalks only to be soaked with rain and snow. Tracy manned the shop, convincing you to take some time off and promising to oversee the rescheduled H & M appointment. But sulking around the aunt’s house did little to alleviate the hollow feeling in your chest.

Women, like clockwork, still came down the bluestone path at twilight seeking absolution and eternal devotion from their paramours through the aunt’s skill. They paid in cash and hardly ever heard a word of advice: “He’s no good for you, honey,” said to a woman sporting a bracelet of bruises around her wrists, “Darling, there are more people involved than you realize,” whispered to another who insisted on bagging the married principal of the high school, his expecting wife be damned.

“I don’t care, I have to have him,” was the perfunctory response. 

Kelly’s eyes easily found yours, cutting through the dark staircase where you sat huddled under a worn quilt. You don’t need to see this, her soothing alto sounds out in your mind. She jerks her head toward the door, Take a walk, we’ll call you for dinner.

It was no use arguing with her. With a heavy sigh, you stood from the stair and slunk off to change. There was a secluded stretch of beach just off the backyard of the property, one you were familiar with frequenting when things all became a bit too much. But, as of late, you’d preferred the quiet comfort of your bed. 

In fact, you couldn’t recall the last time you’d even left the house. Content to laze away your days in languid drips, sleeping through the waking hours only to haunt the witching ones. The family grimoire remained tightly shoved in your bookshelf, slowly worming its way out from between biographies and murder mystery paperbacks. You’d given it a good push back into the shelf a few days ago, but here it was, halfway from tumbling out again.

Throwing on an old college sweatshirt and fleece-lined leggings, you lace up your boots, and toss on a beanie and your father’s old work jacket. The scent has long since faded from it, but if you close your eyes and wish hard enough, the warm, pleasant scent of pipe tobacco and the spice from his cologne comes through. Taking a deep breath in, you revel in the closest thing you have to a hug from your dearly departed father.

Swiftly, you take the stairs two at a time and round the bannister just as Moira pricks the woman’s finger in the kitchen. Your aunt gives you a short smile as you close the backdoor with a soft click.

It would be one thing, if this time away from the shop was doing you any good. As it stands, you’re barely able to get any peace waking or dreaming because every thing hurtles you headlong back to him. And it hurts— alcohol is only capable of so much, after all, and you’re having more difficulty making yourself go cold than you’d anticipated.

As if you’re injured just by knowing him— his touch, his taste, the sounds he makes, how he looks sleep rumpled and barely awake. Numbing yourself with drink doesn’t chase away the dreams, it only makes them worse; though you’ve only kissed the carpenter, you could swear you’d been waking with lovebites on your neck and a soreness between your thighs.

It was infuriating and driving you batshit crazy.

Only in the sense that it made the waking all the more difficult. If you were a weaker woman, you wouldn’t be hitting snooze so much that your alarm clock had eventually given up the ghost and turned itself off. If you were a weaker woman, you would luxuriate in your dreams where his touch was warm and welcome. If you were a weaker woman, you wouldn’t be the walking wounded with a gaping cavern cleaving your heart in two.

But you weren’t that kind of woman; instead, you were stubborn as a mule, as everyone in your life liked to frequently remind you. Things would be better off this way; sure, people were hurt but at least they were alive; the Callahan curse stopped with you.

It had to.

The beach was deserted, as to be expected. The waves ebbing in and out, their white frothy peaks illuminated in the fading twilight. A chilly wind blew through as it pleased, making you wish for a scarf to bundle up with. Burrowing further into the collar of the coat, you shoved your hands into the large pockets to stave off the nip in the air.

Leaning on a nearby boulder, you let out a deep breath. The sea air tickled at your nostrils, briny and damp, as a light mist began to fall. It was coming on dusk now, the scant autumn light dipping below the horizon. Losing yourself to melancholy, you don’t even notice the jingling of a collar as a dog bounded toward you.

Thinking its found a new playmate, the dog breaks into a run, a streak of black in the coming night. Eyes adjusting to the scene, you quickly scramble up the boulder pressed against your back. The dog, undeterred, places its big paws on either side of your frame thinking you’re playing hard to get. 

Hands braced at your side against the boulder, you dig a heel into the sand beneath your feet and attempt to get some distance between the dog and yourself. In an unfortunate display of an utter lack of coordination, you end up cutting your hand on a particularly jagged section of rock just as the dog lands a long lick to the side of your face.

“Woah there!” You call out, bewildered.

The dog continues, unabated, as you fall with a plop to the cold sand, head knocking against the boulder in the comedown. Delighted that its new playmate is at a more accessible level, the dog yips and barks, jumping a bit here and there in its excitement.

“Lucy?” Another voice shouts out into the night, a masculine baritone. A figure comes into view not long after, bundled up much like yourself, with leash in hand. “Luce!” The dog, Lucy, turns quickly to regard her owner, ears at attention and head cocked. He whistles sharply followed by a snap of this fingers, and she trots away, but not before a final lick to your face.

Making to stand on your own two feet, you momentarily forget the cut on your palm, letting out a low hiss of pain as the sand makes contact with your skin. You wince at your own stupidity, it’s going to be even more of a bitch to clean now. Shifting your weight to the opposite side, you brace yourself against the rock to stand. 

But before you can fully rise, the sweet scent of freshly chopped wood and spice invades your senses. A warm puff of air, “Shit, I’m so sorry— she’s normally fine off-leash and I didn’t see you through the mist—”

“It’s fine,” You grouse, hating the skittering of heat beneath your skin at the sound of his voice.

Steve steps back, eyes concerned. “You’re hurt.” 

You want to laugh, cackle, at the absurdity that is your life; a regular comedy of errors. Instead, a bark of laughter slips from your throat as your eyes flutter shut. It would be very helpful if the ground could stop moving now. His hands come out to steady you as your vision tunnels and you sway to one side. 

“I’m fine,” You insist, though it is obvious you are anything but. 

And he’s warm, as always; you idly wonder what it’s like to be a living furnace, to have that much heat running through your veins. Must get annoying in the summer, that’s for sure. Like magma just surging over and over, cooking you from the inside out.

“Uh, it’s not that bad, actually.” Steve chuckles, trying to steady you on your feet.

Oh.

Had you been babbling this entire time? How embarrassing.

“No!” He’s quick to respond, “Not at all. You’re just uh—” Steve wraps his wrist with the slack from the leash with one hand, the other coming to wrap around your hip. “Did you hit your head, or something?”

You give him a slow blink in response.

“Right. Okay,” He sighs shortly and glances back up the hill at the aunt’s house. “Let’s get you back home and cleaned up, hmm?”

The last thing you recall before succumbing to the beckoning darkness behind your eyes lids is the brush of his cheek, rough and dusted a smattering of stubble, against your temple and the whistled tune of your favorite song.

The muted buzz of a conversation rouses you from slumber. Fuzzy at first, like static between stations on the radio, becoming clearer and clearer until—

“Are you sure she’s alright?”

One of the aunts tuts in reply, “Positive.” Ah, must be Kelly then, her low voice ebbs and flows throughout the room, “The cut looks worse than it is and she’s always been a quick healer.”

“We’re lucky you were there though!” Moira from farther off, the pantry maybe. “God knows how long she’d have been down there on her own.”

“I don’t know about that,” the man hedges uncomfortably. “It’s my fault that it happened. If Lucy hadn’t—“

“Now, now,” Kelly sounds closer now, “Don’t go blaming yourself for what amounted to a happy accident.”

Happy? You passed out from a knock to the head and sliced your hand on a rock, but no harm no foul— this was a lucky turn of events, apparently.

“Ugh.” Your tongue feels sluggish in your mouth, slow to maneuver at your whims. “What the—“

Your hand, the one not wrapped in gauze and medical tape, flops against the wood grain of the kitchen table. Fingers scoring along years of wear, knives thrown carelessly against its surface. 

Blinking is a struggle too, your lashes feel positively glued together. “Why am I on the table?”

“Better the table than the cold sandy beach.” Moira says with a wink to Steve. “Our neighbor was kind enough to escort you home.”

Kelly snorts, “Escort is a generous term.” 

Sitting up on your elbows, your head looks to the right, only to find Kelly nursing a margarita.

“Poor thing had to haul you up the hill and wrangle Lucy at the same time.”

“It’s not a big deal,” He demures, sounding far too close for comfort. “You kinda passed out and I just sorta—“ His cheeks are tinging pink under your slow owlish blinks. He brings his hands up in a mimicry or carrying something and icy realization washes over you.

“You had to carry me?!”

Kelly laughs from her perch against the hutch, “It’s not the end of the word peach.”

Moira picks up her cue with a wink, “Oh, woe is me! A big strong man had to carry me like a damsel and return me to my maiden aunts.”

Pushing yourself up fully, you swing your legs over the edge of the table, keeping your eyes straight ahead. Your feet find the ground easily enough and before a word can be spoken, you’ve left the kitchen to bound upstairs and shut yourself away.

In your absence, a hush falls in the kitchen, all save for Lucy snoring by the fire in the living room. Steve taps his fingers against the wooden table, walnut if he had to guess. The warm amber tone of the lumber popping against the darker grain— a beautiful and well-loved piece. He lets a nail trace a divot or two as the aunts prattle around the kitchen preparing dinner.

A hand grasps his shoulder, “Steve,” Kelly stands behind him, her empty margarita glass discarded on the countertop. “Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s the least we can do considering…” She nods her head, eyes looking upwards to where he can only assume your bedroom is.

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” He awkwardly fumbles for an excuse, something believable enough but not the outright truth of ‘I made out with and rescued your niece who wants nothing to do with me. Oh, and I’m also, maybe, in love with her.’

Moira closes the oven, having just checked on the roast. “Nonsense, we insist.”

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “I should really get going—”

“Now, I know you’re not going to spur two old biddies who have invited you to dinner.” Kelly’s voice is warning enough, her eyes light with mischief. An unspoken, you’ll stay if you know what’s good for you.

“So, what can I get you to drink?” Moria asks from across the kitchen.

“I’ll take a beer, if you have it.” Steve says from his spot leaning against the counter, his eyes glance up at the sound of footfalls upstairs. Your socked feet treading this way and that above him.

“Well, aren’t you in luck!” She crows, tugging the fridge open, “I just bought some today. Hope it’s to your liking,” She tosses him a can, that he catches with ease.

Eyeing the label, he gives her a small smile in thanks. “It’s my favorite, actually.”

“How do you like that?” Moira chimes in, setting the table for dinner. “Steve, would you be a dear and grab the pot behind you to place on the table?”

And Steve, for all his good intentions and attempts at a polite exit, finds himself settling own for dinner with your aunts. You stay upstairs throughout dinner and dessert, with only the occasional tread on the wood floor to signal your presence. And each time a creak or groan sounds from the floorboards, his eyes cast upwards wondering what you could possibly be doing up there, and how much you must hate him.

Lucy, however, has the time of her life at the Callahan house that evening. In lieu of her usual kibble, she is treated to a panoply of treats, hand served pot roast from the table, and luxuriating in affection from the aunts. Steve keeps an eye on her, and tries to prevent the aunts and their spoiling of her— “She’s a good girl, she deserves it,” “It’s just a treat Steven, no need to coddle.”

And if she’s aware of her role in the events that transpired this evening, she doesn’t show it. In her hard-won experience, sometimes people just needed a little push. And if that push came from her or through other means, well then, so be it.

Opting to skip out on dinner, you retreated to your bedroom and changed into some comfier clothes— a well-loved sweater and flannel pajama pants, a pair of cashmere socks from Moira several Christmases ago— and snuggled down in bed.

What a no good, very bad day you’d had.

Trying to avoid the very man who haunted your thoughts, only to get a rather enthusiastic greeting from his dog and injure yourself in the process. Just fucking great.

A soft knock sounds from your bedroom door, jarring you away from your thoughts. With a grumble that you were on your way, you reluctantly leave the warm cocoon of the bed and shuffle toward the door.

Turning the knob in your hand, you open the door only to come mouth to mouth with none other than Steve Harrington. It’s an unfortunate turn of events, he’d leaned forward to knock again and collided with you while trying to balance a plate from dinner.

It’s brief, but no less enticing than the kiss at the shop. It’s messy, teeth clacking awkwardly together, lips mismatched, mouths open to sprout apologies. It hurts like a kindness— he’s so warm and inviting, it would be easy to get lost in someone like Steve.

A breath of your name as he pulls away, flushed in embarrassment. ��Fuck, I didn’t mean—”

And it’s like he broke you with gentle hands, without even trying. You can feel your heart plummet to your stomach, quickly replaced by a roar of fury. How dare he? First the shop, and now this? 

“You can’t just go around kissing people Harrington!” You hiss, taking the plate from his grasp. “What is wrong with you?! Did you just get out of prison or something?” 

He rocks back on his feet, fiddling with his glasses for lack of something better to do. “I know, I know,” His voice is a low murmur, “And I didn’t mean to, I swear to god, your aunts just asked me to bring up a plate for you.”

The longer you look at him, the worse it gets; all bashful and pink in the cheeks, wire frames bringing the green of his hazel eyes into sharp relief. All compounded by the humiliating fact that you would kiss him again in a heartbeat.

At the mention of your aunts, you cast your gaze down to the base of the stairs, catching Kelly’s eye. Her smile immediately raises your suspicions, the last time you saw that smile, Moira won the election to become president of the PTA by unanimous vote. She gives you a languid wave and wink before turning away and into the parlor.

“I, uh, I should go.” Steve says backing toward the stairs, “I am really sorry about that, it won’t happen again.”

A roll of your eyes, “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it Romeo.”

Steve quickly thanks your aunts for their hospitality and readies Lucy for the walk home, you can hear his voice as it trails up from the parlor, pitched higher and softer for the snoozing pup downstairs. A smile lights on your face despite your best intentions. Setting the plate on your desk, you step toward the windows overlooking Willow Street. 

Porch lights illuminate the sidewalk and front garden of the house, and soon enough, a man and his dog appear too. Something being said about repairing the garden gates and a friendly wave to your aunts. He glances up to find your silhouette in the second storey windows, arms crossed and guarded. Steve ducks his head and turns toward home before he loses himself again; a full moon lighting his way back home.

You’d returned to the shop not long after, just long enough to let your hand heal up and recover your pride. Tracy was her usual self, for which you were grateful— she’d checked up on you a few times since the storm, not wanting to smother you. 

As a result of her running the business solo, you found yourself manning a booth at the fall festival. It was a town tradition and one you had managed to studiously avoid in your years of being a local business owner. Unfortunately, it was time to pay the piper.

And, as luck (or lack thereof) would have it, your booth just so happened to be right next to the H & M Construciton one. You hadn’t seen any sight of Harrington yet, but it was only a matter of time, you were sure of it. Tracy had signed the pair of you up offering tarot readings, nothing fancy, just a three card spread. 

“I can’t believe you,” You’d huffed when she shared the news, “You know I don’t like offering readings.”

“Well geez princess,” She said with a smirk, “If you’re gonna get your panties in a twist, I’ll do the readings.”

As it was, the booth was pulling in a fair amount of business already. Shop regulars stopping by to say hi and sign up for a reading, Tracy shuffling her worn tarot deck and dealing like she was at a blackjack table. 

Of course, once receiving their readings (scarily accurate), they were immediately besotted by the fortune-telling dog next door. To be fair, she was pretty damn cute in her little turban and lolling pink tongue. 

A cheery woman was seated alongside Lucy, bright blue eyes and blonde hair, while a dark and lanky man stood toward the back of the booth. Steve was nowhere to be found. 

“You should go an introduce yourself,” Tracy suggested as a teenage girl left the booth, a spring in her step from what the cards foretold. “They’re your neighbors after all.”

Considering you’d kissed their roommate twice now, you figured it would be impolite to dodge a formal introduction. Shoving your hands into your coat pockets, you ambled over to their booth, Lucy announcing your arrival with a soft woof and wagging tail.

“Hey Lucy,” You greeted with a pat to her head, and she nuzzled her head into the palm of your hand. A laugh slips up your throat at her antics, but she’s far too precious to be refused.

Two pairs of eyes are on you and you can feel their stares. “Hi,” You offer with a weak wave, “We’re neighbors, the uh, Callahan house down the street?”

The blonde’s mouth falls into an ‘o’ while the man behind her reveals a wicked grin. They look at each other for a split second, some shorthand ESP you can’t translate, before turning back to you.

“I’m Robin,” Says the blonde offering her hand, she jerks the other behind her to point at the man. “And that’s Eddie.”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Her hand is warm against yours, comforting. “We’re Steve’s roomates.”

“Right, of course.” You wave at Eddie and shove your hand back into your pocket. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” You rock back on your heels, “And, uh, thanks for the work on the built-ins, they look great.”

He steps forward wearing that same grin, “Not at all, happy to do it.” Eddie crosses his arms, ringed fingers grasping at his elbows. He inclines his head toward you, brows raised like he knows something you don’t. “Harrington was mum about why he couldn’t finish the job,” He says casually, “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, now would you?”

You attempt to school your features into a semblance of calm detachment. “Nope, no clue.” You give Lucy one last scratch behind the ears, “Anyway, thanks for taking care of it and I’ll see you around.”

“Sure, sure,” Eddie nods, “See you real soon.”

Turning back toward your booth, you’re startled to find Tracy shuffling the cards for none other than Steve Harrington himself. 

For as long as he can remember, Steve has had this recurring dream; not a nightly occurrence by any means, but it would crop up at least a couple of times a year. A seaside town, the turning of the season, the sound of trailing laughter and creaky floorboards in an old Victorian house.

Hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of it for years. That was, until he moved to a particular small town; yours, as it so happened. 

And now his nightmares are replaced with dreams and visions of you— dancing with your aunts through the kitchen, a margarita glass in hand, sleep-rumpled and bed-headed blinking owlishly from your bed, running along the sandy coastline Lucy hot on your tail, and, blessedly, the furrow of your sweat drenched brow, mouth falling open in a breathy pant while you tremble and shake above him.

Hadn’t been able to crack it until he stumbled into your shop that day. All it took was the sound of your voice and one look at you for Steve to know, deep in his bones, that he’d found the home he never quite had.

The love he felt for you coursing through him like a drug, was all-consuming. You called his name, and it whispered and roared like an orchestra. And all he can think is how you’d been wasted in the arms of everyone before him; and likewise, how he’d only been wasting time with every other girl back in Hawkins.

But life, like love, is rarely ever fair.

So your rejection, though not wholly expected, had been heard loud and clear. So much so that Steve’s not expecting you to give him a short smile and wave from where you stand at the cider stand. But it’s clear by your body language that you won’t return to the booth until he’s cleared off.

He shyly waves back.

“... this can’t be right.” With one hand Tracy scoops the cards up and shuffles them back into the deck. “We’ll just try again.” She says to Steve before calling out toward you, “Hey, babe?”

Three cups of cider in hand, you poke your head into the booth reluctantly, “Need somethin’?” Setting two cups on the table, you nudge one toward Steve, listening as Tracy mumbles something about making heads or tails of the three card spread.

She smiles, a small pull of her lips as you walk closer, ducking your head to hear her whispering. Tracy clears her throat and says, louder for his benefit, “Can you just hang out for a minute? I wanna make sure the last spread wasn’t a fluke.”

Steve leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest, reticent. Sure, Eddie’s ex had read his palm before, but tarot cards were beyond him entirely. He wasn’t sure what your presence had to do with the reading, but he wasn’t about to question it. Tracy instructed him to cut the deck again, his fingers approximating roughly half of the cards and set them to the right.

She shuffles them again, “So the first card is your past, the middle is your present, and the third is your future. Obviously,” she sets the first card down, “Tarot is an ancient storytelling system and a way of making sense of things.”

Tracy places the remaining two cards face side down next to the first and takes a breath. “Let’s see, shall we?”

The first card reveals a tower, the second a pair of cups reversed, and the final card—

A gust of wind blew a fourth card from the deck, landing next to the third card in the spread. Tracy drew in a steady breath, eyes cutting to you. “You do it. The energy’s off, I can’t—”

You back away raising both hands, “I don’t read for people, you know that.”

“But this—”

“Tracy, enough. It’s not gonna happen.”

Steve inspects the cards in question while the pair of you exchange furtive whispers. A tower, two of cups reversed, a wheel of some kind, and the lovers reversed. If the spread itself was anything to go by, it seemed that his future could go one of two ways as evidenced by the third and fourth cards.

“Well, if you’re not going to do anything helpful, you could at least talk to the aunts.”

You roll your eyes at that, “As if. Can you imagine? They’d have a field day with this.”

Tracy scoops up the cards once and for all, slotting them back into their silk pouch and drawing the strings. “Babe, I love you, but I’m beggin’ you to get your head out of your ass.” She nods toward Steve, “Talk to them. For him if not for yourself.”

“Fine,” You hiss turning tow to leave, “But I’m going to complain the entire time.” 

“Love you, mean it!” Tracys calls out as you walk away before winking at Steve.

Shoving some cash in the charity donations jar, he grabs the cup of cider and his jacket from the back of the chair before jogging to catch up with you. Impressively, you’d made some headway back toward the aunt’s house, muttering to yourself all the while. He falls into step beside you, taking quiet sips from the warm drink, the scent of cinnamon and apples wafting through the air. 

Too lost in your own world, you hardly notice his proximity— infuriating Tracy with her wily ways, stupid Steve with his soft smile and cozy-looking self, and your aunts who were no doubt cackling at this very moment watching you and “the nice carpenter” walk down Willow Street. It’s only when his hand accidentally brushes yours that your thoughts still. Taking a deep breath, you shake the thoughts loose and will yourself to shove your hand in your pocket. His brief touch searing you in its wake.

[hederasgarden]

Ivy m'dear I'm sorry you've been having a rough week, breakin a toe is definitely not fun (if it's any consolation I dropped a heavy bar of soap on mine this morning and it ended up bleeding).

I definitely know for a fact that Miles Miller is doing what he can to take care of your toe (his mom was a nurse and his dad a Navy corpsman so they taught him the ropes, maybe more than they probably should've, lol). He's making sure it gets plenty of ice, that you drink both water and at least half a thing of freezing cold milk every day to make sure the bone heals.

Miles is also running you a hot bath and throwing one of the little rose and lilac sachets in the water that you guys specifically save for the summer months along with the ones you use for aches and body pains (trust me, after helping his father herding and milking the cows all day long and getting the critters bedded down he definitely needs it, lol). He's helping you wash out your hair and all the hard to reach places, although you weren't exactly complaining when he started to playfully tease you with the washcloth between your legs.

Miles makes sure you're tucked into bed, the sheets and the summer duvets and quilts fresh and clean from being hung on the clothesline to dry. He makes sure that your shaggy sheepdog is in for the night and that the kitties aren't out to cause trouble, before he settles in beside you.

My sweet, I hope this makes you feel a little better. Foot injuries are the literal worst, but I promise you, one way or another you will get through what you are going through no matter what.

-Mary

Oh Mary!

This made my night! Miles would absolutely be such a good caretaker. 😭

I love how you’ve woven in his background to this little fic and how it would impact his knowledge and care for you.

This is beautiful, thank you!

[ssolessurvivor]

I think you should answer all the questions in the munday meme :)

@ttheagcd got to my completionism

Do you enjoy your interactions with the rp community? Generally speaking, yes, sometimes no, but being more selective and curating of my own space makes it something I love (on most days)

Have you made any friends since creating your blog? Yes! You included, I have made a few friends along the way (and hope to make more when life fucking slows down).

Have you ever done something embarrassing or made any mistakes that you can’t forget about? Hmmm, not a lot I don't think? Here or there stupid grammar mistakes or punctuation issues haunt me though after even reading a reply three or four times before posting it lol.

Are there any ships for your muse that you enjoy, or ships that you would like to see happen? I mean I love all his ships, I think having more angsty ships or ships with more 'evil' characters could be super fun.

What is something or someone you have always wanted to write with? i.e. a particular plot, a character, etc. Some more obscure characters, such as Maleficent (which I do have someone I'm starting to plot with when life doesn't get in the way lol), any studio ghibli muses could be super wholesome and fun. That's about it because some characters I'm learning are cursed that I shall never write with after bad experiences.

What are your biggest pet peeves when it comes to tumblr? The DMs are so broken for me personally for like two months they suck!! Some of the stigma behind 'oh I can't approach this person cause graphics and intimidation' can get a little exhausting but I know it can't be helped. Just the little things.

Is there anything you dislike about your muse? I don't think so? Maybe his aggression or that he suppresses some things until he explodes which clearly isn't healthy. (ooc is lack of content but hopefully more comes soon even though the creators for him are literally gone)

Do you have any insecurities about writing and/or interacting with other people? Sometimes I do get a little worried that my writing isn't good enough, like if I'm having an off day and things just don't flow quite right but I still post it anyways. Or if I feel like I don't send enough/too many memes, things like that.

What is your favourite thing about your muse? What he means to me, he's an incredibly personal creation of mine and I know this might be more abstract than the question calls for. But he is loved on many different levels for me and the fact I can try to bring awareness to not only veterans sacrifices and suffering, but also chronic pain and other little things, I'm glad to try and do that through a fleshed out character who I love.

Is there anyone who inspires you or that you look up to? I have some people here who inspire me, you being one of them and a couple other folks. Some writers inspire me and always have to write, like Adrienne Young, Brandon Mull, Grady Hendrix. I love their writing and their stories and it pushes me to try and improve my writing at any turn I can.

What time of day are you more inclined to write? During the week typically evening time is when I can sit down and get written out drafts typed and queued, but sometimes in the afternoon is when I find I get inspired, handwrite a few replies, and then type them up later. Usually on weekends it can vary from morning to afternoon, evenings are generally for other things.

What are some similarities between you and your muse? His love of handmade things. The fact Tegan quilts, I quilt myself and am amassing a collection of them. Melanie knits and crochets, which I also do, and that's where Logan gets his nice wooly socks from, scarves, and some homemade decor (specifically for fall). Otherwise I guess our other similarity is living with and learning to deal with chronic pain.

What are some differences between you and your muse? I am not a soldier or military member in any way, but a few of my family members are. So I learn from them how to portray him (learn meaning observing cause no way am I asking) and other shows how to portray his issues correctly and without diminishing it's importance or overembellishing it.

Do you have any pets? I do! An elderly, very round, cat we inherited from my husband's mom and recently passed father in law. Her name is kitty cause...she never really had a name. She currently has a bed on my desk so she's sitting right next to my laptop now purring away and I love her even when she gets grumpy and annoying lol.

Are there any pets you wish you could have? I would like to have a dog again given my last one passed away about two years ago now, I'm contemplating getting a memorial tattoo for her soon, but she will always be my first baby.

What are some of your favourite hobbies? Aside from the obvious that I talk about here all the time, I really do love reading though I'm currently in a bit of a slump because said hobbies take up the remainder of my down time right now. Otherwise I do like gaming, rebuilding my animal crossing island and trying to get it to five stars and dream addressed is my current goal after having the game since launch and never getting an island complete lol.

What is your current big obsession? Crocheting the cutest little ghostie plushies, I'm making three for my coworkers, one for mom, and I made the first one for me just to make sure I understood the pattern correctly. I'm also making Mickey pumpkin plushies too, one for me, one for mom, and two for my coworkers and I need to get the big puffy bows sewn together soon. I'm done with two so far.

Have you ever met an rp partner in real life? Would you like to? I have no met an rp partner in reality but I would love to! Would ideally be someone I consider a friend and am very close with, though.

Are you open for sharing social media with your rp partners? i.e. Skype, Discord, Messenger, etc? Yes I am!

Are you currently single or in a relationship? I am married.

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

Besides things you're making for gifts or to sell, is there a project you're excited to make for yourself soon?

A collection of wallhangings for my home!

One will be set up in my sewing room, set up for the area behind and above where I have the altar set up in there. There will be a block for Cernunnos, The Morrigan, Hel, Frigg, Freyja, Freyr, and Thor. So far I have a deer, crow, skull, sewing machine, cats, plant/harvest, and hammer in mind for these. There will be borders and sashing, handquilting, combination of items hand sewn to the wallhanging, like beads and buttons, and of course a sleeve on the back to help with hanging this.

I also intend to make a couple quilts for the bedroom. One will be a wallhanging for the head of the bed. That one will be a bookshelf quilt, and will be about as wide as the bed. The second quilt will be for the bed, and this one will be made with my husband in mind. I'm leaning towards finding a pattern with lotuses, but I wanna make it using Pittsburgh Steelers fabric because that's his fabric football team. That would put a very happy and silly smile on his face.

Then there's the curtains I intend to make. I wanna make at least three sets of green/white/orange for the dining room, and red/white/green for the kitchen. The kitchen is currently cherries and strawberries, but some variety for the year would be fantastic. The dining room has nothing, but I know what colors I want it to be.

Another goal is to make my own clothes, namely shorts and pants. I loooooooooove Hawaiian prints. OMG that fabric just fills me with unbelievable joy. I had pair of shorts and a tshirt made by my mom...when I was in 7th grade. Those were worn to death, and my mom had to toss them out because I was refusing to. Having more clothes that fit me, made using fabric I want, that would have me ecstatic. Y'all have no idea how much I love Hawaiian prints, okay? I cried the last time I got to hold fabric like that. When I have that money, I'll purchase from Hawaiian fabric and quilt shops, and make some absurdly colorful clothes.

Fun fact: my husband is gothic. Until me, he wore black, grey, and nearly-black blue. Now he enjoys wearing a splash of color and will, in fact, wear something to match what I'm wearing. It's adorable and never once does he complain.

Oh, and I do intend to make at least one quilt for him and one for the living room. We each have our own spaces, and his is full of his D&D stuff plus other stuff. So a toasty twin size quilt will be great for him. For the living room, I'm going with a panel quilt, and one panel I have is full of puns. Bought it specifically for that, because puns are awesome.

[emmyhem]

stormy fears & feelings (l.r.h)

a/n: hey everyone! here’s “stormy fears & feelings”, this is a nonfamous au with roommate!luke. (unedited as usual) this was really fun to write, i intended for it to be short and sweet but i ended up writing for longer than i had originally planned. anyway, i hope you enjoy and are having a great day/night/whatever. i appreciate any and all feedback, and as always my messages are always if you want to chat or anything :) thank youuuu - emmy <33

pairing: roommate!luke hemmings x fem!reader 

summary: a thunderstorm leaves you awake and scared, and going to your standoffish roommate, who you happen to have an extremely inconvenient crush on for comfort may be your only option to get a good night of sleep. 

warning(s): cursing, extremely minor injury, minor angst if you squint

word count: 5k

It really was an awful idea. In any other case it wouldn’t have even crossed your mind, but you had been on edge all week for no specific reason and thunderstorms had always spooked you. 

The storm had started unexpectedly. If you had known earlier you would have ran to the store to buy Nyquil before going to bed, but with it sneaking up on you, you were huddled under your blankets, eyes squeezed impossibly tight in hopes to drown out the loud crashes and blinding flares of light flooding your bedroom window. 

When the thought originally passed through your head it was more of an internal sarcastic remark than a possible solution. 

 I mean, you had been living with your roommate, Luke for over 4 months now, but you weren’t really friends. You would occasionally chat with him if you were both up and about around the apartment, which was pretty rare seeing as Luke seemed to avoid you for the most part. Hurrying out of a room when you entered, ending conversations quickly, and always being conveniently busy when you had attempted to make plans to get to know each other better. Your living arrangement had only come to be because you had heard through a friend he was looking for a roommate at the same time that you had happened to be on the lookout for a new place. Your relationship consisted mainly of half-hearted greetings and subtle avoidances of each other. So, going to him for comfort wasn’t a viable option to soothe your nerves. 

Even if you did, what would you expect him to do? 

Sit up with you? No, not when you knew he had to wake up early for work. 

Talk you down? He wouldn’t even know what to say in the first place, your typical conversations were made up of checking if there was still coffee, or deciding whose turn it was to do the dishes. 

Offer up a space in his bed? Absolutely not. That was the most unthinkable of them all. If it wasn’t for the fact that Luke had always seemed pretty adamant with his personal space, sometimes tensing up if you even sat too close to him on the couch. Your annoying and inconvenient crush that had started the day you moved in, just wouldn’t allow the two of you to be in such close quarters without your heart racing and your head dizzying.  

It was out of the question, end of discussion. 

With that being said it only took one more boom of thunder to have you shoot up from your bed and pad quietly into the hallway, with fuzzy sock clad feet and a large quilt wrapped tightly around your shoulders. 

You stared at his bedroom door hesitantly until the next strike, during which you knocked ever so lightly and muttered a soft,

 “Luke,”

After a minute and no reply you resorted to giving up on your plan and heading to the kitchen to drink a cup of tea, in hopes it may help. The idea was good enough, but you had failed to consider the noise that comes along with it. And as if the whistling of the kettle and clattering of the mugs wasn’t enough, the next roar of thunder sent you into a shock causing you to stub your toe on the corner of the cabinet and let out a pained yelp. You quickly slapped a hand over your mouth and sunk to the floor to assess the damage as you heard rustling and a door opening from the hall. 

Luke was in the kitchen in a matter of seconds, his long legs carrying him there within just a few steps. He hit a light switch, causing the kitchen to glow a dim yellow. 

“Y/n, you alright?” he grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he approached your crouched position on the floor. 

“Yea, yea I’m okay. Sorry, I woke you up.” you responded, mentally kicking yourself for causing such a disruption. 

“S’alright. What’s goin’ on? Why are you up?” he spoke, offering you a hand to pull yourself up. 

You accepted it, trying your hardest to ignore how warm it felt, and how easily it enveloped your own as you returned to your feet. 

“Uh, I just had a hankering for chamomile.” you lied. You really should’ve thought this through. Now that he was standing in front of you, admitting your fear of thunderstorms seemed daunting. You were an adult for chrissakes, an adult that was left shaking at the mere thought of a considerably common weather phenomenon.  

His eyebrows tugged in confusion as he glanced between you and the kettle. 

“Did you knock at my door a couple minutes ago?” he questioned as you watched the window over the sink nervously. 

Your eyebrows raised a bit at the inquiry.

“Thought I heard something, but then I figured I must’ve just imagined it. Y’know, woken myself up.” he continued. 

“Um, yep that was me.” you admitted, turning your back to him in hopes to hide your embarrassment. 

“So, was there a reason, or?” 

“Right, yea a reason.” you paused, searching for an excuse in your drowsy and distracted brain. “I wondered if you wanted a cup.” 

“In the middle of the night?” your subconscious deadpanned as your face scrunched in displeasure. 

You turned back around to face him, holding a mug out for him. 

Confusion and a glint of amusement was painted across his features as he spoke, 

“You wanted to know if I wanted a cup of tea,” he peeked at the clock behind you. “at 2:30 in the morning?” 

As you opened your mouth to defend your admittedly bad excuse another crash of thunder rumbled from the sky, causing your body to jump in fear and your hand to release its grip on the ceramic mug. Luke took a step back just in time as it shattered to pieces on the floor. 

You brought two shaky hands to your face and pressed yourself against the cabinet, cowering as far back as possible. 

“Hey, s’okay. It’s just thunder.” Luke said, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

You peeked out through your hands before dropping them from your face all together. 

Realization sparked on his face as your eyes met his. 

“Are you afraid of thunderstorms?” Despite his tone being soft, sweet even, you were sure he was making fun of you. 

“I-uh, no. No I’m not.” you rushed out, attempting to push past him and scurry into your bedroom. 

“Y/n, the glass.” he warned, his grip on your shoulder tightened, not allowing you to move. 

“Was that why you knocked earlier?” 

You nodded, hesitantly your eyes dropping to the floor. 

“I don’t know why, I just- thunderstorms have freaked me out since I was little and I normally would take something to help me fall asleep, but I didn’t have anything and...I shouldn’t even have tried to wake you up in the first place, there’s nothing you could do and we aren’t even friends or anything. Probably don’t even like me, I mean you can hardly even stand to be in the same room as me. Anyways I’ll be fine, lemme clean this up and then i’ll just head to my ro-” you rambled, not even pausing to take a breath. 

“You think I don’t like you?” he interrupted. 

Fuck. Was the scare so intense oxygen had been cut off from your brain? Why would you say all that? He didn’t need to know that you took notice of the fact that he avoided your company like the plague. 

Instead of responding you opted for grabbing the dustpan, the sooner the floor was clean the sooner you could get back to your room. Where you would sit awake in fear, by yourself for the rest of the night, no doubt replaying this embarrassing interaction over and over again. 

Luke stood seemingly frozen as you kneeled down beside him attempting to gather the broken shards, which was proving to be difficult with such shaky hands. 

With another bolt of lightening your hand shuddered and slipped from the brush, hitting a shard and slicing a thin cut on the pad of your pointer finger. 

“Shit” you hissed, dropping the dustpan to examine the tiny gash. 

Luke’s head snapped in your direction, eyes immediately filling with concern. 

“Ow” you whined quietly. 

He dropped down next to you and took the finger into his hands. 

“You should clean this out, I’ll finish this up.” he nodded to the remaining glass. 

“I can get it.” you protested. “You should get to bed, you have to work tomorrow.” you continued, making your way to the sink. 

“So do you.” he responded flatly, already finishing up cleaning as you looked around for a band aid. When you finally located the box of bandages Luke was behind you. 

“Lemme see.” he said, taking one from the box while he examined your finger. 

You watched his face intently as he carefully wrapped your cut with squinted eyes and a small pout. 

You had never seen Luke during the night. There was a certain softness to him that was completely foreign to you, one that made the thought of cuddling into him seem far too appealing for your liking. 

“I do like you, y/n.” he broke you out of your thoughts, uttering it so quietly you thought you may have imagined it. 

You nodded in acknowledgement, not knowing how to respond without further embarrassing yourself. 

“I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t” 

At this point he had finished bandaging you up which made the fact that he was still standing a mere inches apart from you with his hand wrapped around yours, all the more affecting. 

“M’sorry I even brought it up, I’m just tired cause of the storm, and apparently I lose a filter with no sleep.”

His hand lightly squeezed yours as you spoke, and the butterflies that erupted in your stomach as he did so told you it was time to go back to your room. You gingerly tugged your hand away, ignoring the way Luke’s expression faltered when you did. 

“I’m sorry again, about all of this. You should get some sleep.” 

“Will you be able to?”

“I’ll be fine, one night of lost sleep is hardly the end of the world.” you responded, taking a step towards the hallway. Luke caught your arm before you got far. 

“Yea, but you lose your filter when you're tired, you said it yourself.” A small grin grew on his face as he continued. “Can’t have you spilling all your secrets tomorrow.” 

Was he joking around with you? 

Before you could stop it, a pleased smile appeared on your face. This was new. You didn’t even know he had a sense of humor, he had never attempted to share it with you before. 

“I’m sure I can control myself.” you returned, attempting to go once more. Of course, his voice stopped your movements within a second. 

“Y/n, let me help. How can I help?” 

The plausible reasoning for his sudden generosity was that he was feeling guilty or maybe even embarrassed that you were under the impression he didn’t like you. But that didn’t stop your entire body to warm at the offer. 

“There’s really not much to do.” you started. “I think the only reason I knocked in the first place is because I’m used to having some company when I get scared. Big family, y’know there was never a shortage of beds I could crawl into.” 

“Company!” he repeated, eyes lit up. “I can do that. I have it on very good authority that I’m an excellent cuddler.” 

Your body froze at his words. He couldn’t be serious, right? There’s no way he had any interest in that, even if it was just for your sake. 

He must’ve noticed your tenseness at the proposition because before you got a chance to respond, a bright red blush overtook his cheeks and he squeaked out, 

“Or the floor, I could always take the floor. I mean company can be just my presence in the room, I guess. If you want.” 

“No. I mean-um, I could go for a cuddle.” you heart answered before your brain got the chance to interfere. 

He smiled at you warmly. 

“Alright then.” 

You had never been into Luke’s room before, I mean not really. Sometimes you would sit his laptop in there if he had left it out or lay a sweatshirt of his on the foot of the bed but you had never actually been inside. It was slightly messy, there was a pile of clean, unfolded laundry on a desk chair, and a few empty water bottles scattered around but for the most part it was clean. On his bed the blankets were strewn about from where he must’ve been sleeping earlier, a pile of pillows stacked high on the right side, and it could’ve just been how tired you were but you had never wanted to crawl into a bed more. 

“I like your room.” you whispered, as he spread the pillows out more evenly across the top of the mattress. 

“Why’re we whispering?” 

“It’s nighttime.” 

“Y/n, we’re the only people who live here and we’re both awake.” he teased, laughing while shaking his head. 

“Oh, right.”

He gestured a hand to the bed, “Ladies first.” 

Hesitantly you sat, your back pressed against the mound of pillows Luke had compiled for you, shortly after he took a seat next to you, leaving a few inches of space between your legs. You looked down to your lap, aware of how awkward of a position the two of you were in, neither knowing how to go about this. Luke spoke first, 

“Are you warm enough?” 

“Yea, thanks.” 

“Mhm,” he hummed in response. “Do you wanna watch something?” 

“M’pretty tired.” you replied. “We should probably just go to sleep.” 

“Yeah, right.” he nodded, watching you. 

It seemed he was waiting for you to get comfortable, like he didn’t want to push any boundaries that you weren’t ready to cross. 

Unsurely you scooted your body down in the bed till you were fully horizontal, took one more glance at Luke and then turned your back to him, pulling the duvet up over your shoulders. With his blanket pulled up just under your nose you subtly breathed in the pine and vanilla aroma that you recognized as his body wash. You’d never admit to it but occasionally you’d spend a little extra time in the shower inhaling the fresh scent. 

A dip in the mattress told you that Luke had laid down and within a few minutes you were sure he was sleeping again. You were feeling a bit more calm, trying your hardest to ignore every loud crash of thunder and instead focus on counting the seconds between each soft breath Luke exhaled. 

Just as a drowsy haze began to come over you, straining your eyelids and fogging up your brain a particularly alarming rumble broke the silence causing your body to jerk and your breath to catch. Luke grumbled quietly beside you and you could feel him rolling around. As you opened your mouth to apologize for waking him a warm hand slipped just under the hem of your shirt, rubbing soothing circles onto the bare skin of your hip. Your body tightened at the unexpected contact and you strained your neck to look at him over your shoulder. 

“Luke,”

“Go to sleep, m’right here.” he mumbled without even opening his eyes. 

You faced back around but placed a hand over his and removed it from your body. This must’ve worried Luke because he pushed himself up on his elbow, eyes blinking open as you turned to face him. 

“Was that not good? I’m sorry, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” he rambled through a defense. 

“No,” you shushed, pressing a hand to his chest to lightly push him back down. “s’good.” you assured while pulling his arm over your body as you tucked yourself into his chest. Your bodies were completely flush in this new position. “This is better.” you murmured, your nose bumping his chest as you made yourself comfortable. 

He hummed softly in agreement, his hand finding its way to your hair, cupping the back of your head. 

Sleep was sweeping over you fast like this, the sound of Luke’s heartbeat drowning out any daunting noise coming from outside. Not to mention that anytime your body so much as twitched Luke’s arms would tighten around you ever so slightly as if to assure he was still there with you. 

When the sun had risen you woke up to the sound of soft snores, and the feeling of tiny puffs of air on your forehead. As you tried to roll over and stretch your limbs you found your legs were tangled with someone else’s and your cheek was practically glued to the faded grey cotton that adorned your roommate’s chest. 

“Luke.” you called, using your hand to shake him awake.

“Shh” he whined, repositioning you both so your back was snug against his chest. 

“We have work.” you mumbled, trying to squirm out of his hold. It proved ineffective as he just tightened his arms around your stomach. 

He grumbled something incoherently that sounded an awful lot like “No, stay with me please. So warm.” but that couldn’t have been it. Right? 

Afraid he would dig himself further into this hole of sleepy deliriousness, you began to rouse him, prying yourself out of his arms and promising him a hot cup of coffee if he met you in the kitchen within ten minutes. 

You quickly washed your face, brushed your hair and teeth and made your way to the kitchen to fix two cups of coffee. Luke stumbled out of his bedroom just a few minutes later, his eyes squinted under the natural light flooding the windows and he seemed to almost glide across the tile until you and his coffee were in arm’s reach. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” you greeted in a teasing tone, pushing the mug across the counter to him. 

He hummed and took two large sips before turning his attention fully to you. 

“G’morning, did you sleep okay?” 

“Yeah, I actually did.” you affirmed. “Thank you for everything last night, Luke.” you rested your hand over his on the countertop, squeezing it once lightly to express your gratitude. 

When you pulled it away Luke’s eyes lingered over where your hand had previously been before he dragged his gaze up to meet your eyes. 

He released a deep sigh before speaking, “Happy to help, I’m honestly glad the storm happened.” 

“Happy to see me scared shitless, are we Hemmings?” 

He laughed through a denial, leaning forward to press his forehead on your shoulder where your loose fitting shirt had slipped. 

Your posture straightened as your stomach tied itself in knots, each one tightening with every exhale that brushed your bare skin. 

“No, I’m just glad that we can finally y’know, be-” 

“Friends.” you cut off. Because that’s what you would be, you had to remind yourself. You wouldn’t have Luke’s bed to crawl into every night. You wouldn’t have his firm chest under your palms each morning, or his hands tangled in your hair. Especially not in the way you really wanted them. 

Luke pulled off of you like he had been electrically shocked. 

“Friends” he repeated, and if you weren’t so busy pitying yourself you may have heard the subtle lilt in his voice that caused the word to come out as more of a question than a statement. 

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, and as the minutes passed this interaction was starting to feel more like the ones you typically had with Luke. 

“We should get ready for work, you have to go soon.” he spoke up, already walking away. 

“We should do something tonight.” you suggested. This is what you were afraid of, you had grown attached already. “Maybe watch something or, I don’t know.” Anything to be near you again. 

“I won’t be home.” he clipped, closing his bedroom door behind him. 

It really was an awful idea.

You hurried through your morning routine, carefully selecting any time you had to leave your bedroom to avoid bumping into Luke. What had gone wrong? Had the word friends spooked him? If that was the case, what would he have done if he found out what you really wanted to say? 

Either way you left feeling confused and rejected, so quickly you didn’t even realise you had forgotten your car keys until you were on the sidewalk outside your complex. 

“Shit.” you cursed, turning on your heel and storming back in the building. 

Once you had expertly made your way back inside the apartment and retrieved your keys, being as quiet as humanly possible to not alert Luke to the fact that you had re-entered, you were halfway out the door when the utterance of your name froze your movements. 

“She just left for work.” 

Luke must’ve been on the phone, but why was he talking about you? Curiosity got the best of you and you quietly shut the door with you on the inside, work could wait. 

“Because, Cal that’s not what she wants.” he sighed.

He was talking to Calum? The only friend you shared, and the connection through which you got a room here in the first place. 

“She wants to be my friend and I can’t do that. Not with her.” 

“Why not?” you whispered to yourself, taking a step further inside to hear him better. 

“No, it’s not better than nothing at all. I can’t be her friend ‘cause anytime she’s near me all I can think about is kissing her.” 

Your stomach dropped at his words and a small gasp escaped your mouth. All the dots began adding up in your head. The avoiding? Well he had just explained that, and honestly it was the best excuse you’d ever heard. His behavior last night? You had caught him with his guard down, he was forced to let you in. His sudden annoyance at the word friends this morning? You had shot him down and you hadn’t even realized it. You liked Luke, and he actually liked you back.

“Actually, avoiding does work.” he continued, breaking you from your thoughts. 

You could hear the mumble of Calum’s response but unfortunately couldn’t make out any of the words. 

“Last night was an exception, she was all cute and scared. There’s no way I could’ve turned her away. I’ll go right back to avoiding, and things’ll go back to normal. Suffer in silence, I’m telling you it works.” 

That’s not what you wanted, not at all. The creak of floorboards alerted you to Luke’s approaching and you hastily snuck out the front door, your mind running through possible solutions the whole way to your car. 

Luke hadn’t lied when he said he wouldn’t be home, which meant he was taking this whole avoiding thing seriously. It was 1:30 am and you were still up waiting for him, your seat at the dining room table was losing its appeal as your back cramped in pain. The original plan you had concocted in the hours you spent daydreaming about him at work was to wait up for him, lure him into a movie night and make a move while the two of you were cuddled up on the couch. You hadn’t planned for him to be out this late though, and in all honesty you were starting to worry. You hoped he was just crashing at a friend’s, you hoped he wasn’t alone, you really hoped he wasn’t with another girl. 

Discouraged, you moved your pity party into your bedroom, flopping onto your bed and groaning loudly into a pillow. You rolled onto your back, wasting time by counting the blades of the ceiling fan in each slow rotation. 

You were at 231 in your counting when you heard the front door open followed by the clambering of footsteps. You perked up and angled your ear towards the hall. 

“Please be alone. Please be alone. Please be alone.” you repeated quietly to yourself as the steps got closer. From the light protruding the crack under your bedroom door, you saw the shadow of a figure approach. You held your breath in anticipation of the knock you figured was coming. A few minutes passed, nothing came, and soon enough the shadow disappeared and Luke retreated to his bedroom. 

You stared out your window and for the first time in your life found yourself hoping for a storm. The sky was clear, hardly a cloud in sight, and the moonlight was warm and prominent. It would look so pretty on Luke’s face right now, all soft eyes and drowsy expressions. 

It seemed a shame to sleep by yourself, he was just across the hall, the promise of his warm embrace taunting you. 

You huffed in exasperation and jumped to your feet, “Here goes nothing.” 

You didn’t bother being quiet as you advanced to his door, leaving three heavy knocks on the worn oak. 

You could hear him shuffling inside and then the intimidating creak of the hinges, revealing him to you. 

“Are you okay?” he questioned sluggishly, his body slumping against the door frame.

“Can I sleep in here?” you asked instead of answering. No time to waste here. 

“Um, it’s not storming?” 

“I know. Can I?”

“Is there a reason?” he breathed, his heavy eyes drifting down your face to land unabashedly on your lips, which you were chewing in anxiousness.

“I have a crush on you.” you blurted, causing him to shoot up from his languid lean. 

“What?” 

“I have this big stupid crush on you. I have ever since I moved in but I thought you hated me because you always avoided me, but now I know that you like me too and I don’t see the point in us sleeping in separate beds anymore.” you continued, your eyes glued to a dip in the hardwood floor. 

“How did you ev-” 

“I heard you on the phone with Calum earlier.” you interrupted to explain, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I swear I wasn’t spying or anything, I forgot my keys.” 

Without saying a word Luke stepped to the side allowing you entrance. You shuffled past him but didn’t make it far before his hand caught your forearm and smoothly tugged you a mere inches from him. 

He spoke through heavy breaths, eyes flitting to your own as you faced him for the first time since your declaration. 

“You like me?” 

You could only nod, your brain completely fogged by the close proximity. 

His eyes fell from your eyes to your now bitten lips, “Can I?” he sighed as his hand found your chin, thumb brushing the skin timidly. 

“Y-yea” you agreed, leaning into his touch. 

He closed the gap between you with a gentle press of his lips, his hand slowly dragging up your arm leaving goosebumps in its wake until it was tangled in your hair. As you relaxed into his hold his movements became more fervent, his tongue begging for entrance which you allowed when your mouth fell open with a flustered sigh. 

Luke stumbled backward dragging you along with him until the back of his calves met the foot of the bed and he dropped to sit on the edge, you standing between his legs. You pulled apart to breath and he spoke raggedly, 

“My heart…” he trailed off catching his breath. 

“What?” you muttered. 

“Feel it.” he continued, taking your hand and pressing it to his heart which you could feel thumping rapidly through the warmth of his skin. 

You laid your forehead against the top of his head, moving both of your hands to your own chest. 

“Me too.”

He tugged on your sweatshirt until you were seated securely on his knee, his hands grasping at your waist. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” he drawled before he began alternating pecks, and light nibbles down your neck until he reached the spot he could feel your pulse thrumming from. He lets his lips rest there for a while and reveled in the fact that you were just as affected as him. He pulled away when you spoke up.

“Where were you tonight?”

“Moped around Calum’s place until he kicked me out, told me I needed to deal with my shit.” he answered, the hand he was resting on your upper thigh caressing the skin through your pajama pants.

“I heard you outside my door earlier.” you admitted leaning into his side. 

“I came home with every intention of telling you but I chickened out.”

“What would you have told me?” you wondered aloud. 

“That I like you, and that last night was amazing. That I don’t want to sleep without you again if I don’t have to.” 

Luke took notice of the fact that your eyelids were drooping as he talked and began to scoot you both back in the bed as he continued.

He watched in awe as you curled into his side. 

“Up for a breakfast date tomorrow, love?” he asked, pulling the blanket over you both. 

“Yes, please.” you agreed, laying your palm flat against the warmth radiating from his stomach. 

“So what should we do with your room?” Luke said drowsily, sleep beginning to creep up on him as well.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you won’t be needing it anymore since you’re moving in here.” he comments casually, pushing your hair out of your face with soft movements.

You laugh lightly but it’s drowned by the yawn that slips out when you respond. 

“In your dreams, Hemmings.” 

“If I’m lucky.” he replied, allowing his eyes to flutter shut. “Goodnight y/n.” 

“Night, Lu.” 

[katsukis-foxie6]

Ok, so I've been chatting with @tteokdoroki about this for a couple days now. So like let's talk about cottagecore/farmcore/generally folksy poly Kiribaku. Just bare with my, this is gonna be disorganized as hell.

So first of all, yall would be living in a cute quaint cottage/old farm house. Probably a little bigg r than average. Ya know gotta fit two giant men.

So I picture kiri as a wood worker/craftsman. He's probably customized everything in the house for the three of you. Builds you anything you may want/need. You mention you'd like a little table/desk for crafting? Give it a little time it's there. You say it'd be cool to refinish the wood built-ins that came with the house? That's the weekend project.

Continuing! So, imagine you guys got chickens. And probably at least 1-2 of those adorable fluffy cows. Kiri is gonna be attached to any and all animals you guys have but I can just imagine him loving the chickens in particular. Just picture the little baby chicks coming in the mail and he's holding one in the palm of his hand. And it just makes the chick look comically small. He's build a over the top coop. I found a pic of a chicknic table. Yea he'd be that extra I think.

On that note. Bakugou and most the farm critters have a tenuous relationship. The fluffy cows like to headbutt the back of his knees and he has fallen down more than once. One time he made the mistake of threatening to turn them into steaks. Kiri was inconsolable for a couple days.

Also, Bakugou runs a local farm to table type restaurant. Probably attracts hipsters from out of town. This was not his goal, he just wants to cook damn good food and he does.

What Bakugou cannot do is grow a plant for shit. You took over the garden after he glared too hard at the rasberry bush and it died. How he managed it is a mystery cause rasberries are generally unkillable.

So, with no plants too take care of and most the farm animals being iffy about him, Bakugou turns to getting a dog. I like to picture him with an american akita. Big fluffy protective doggo. And yes, Bakugou will sulk if the dog seems to favor anyone else more. Except when y'all have kids. He loves that.

Ok, so this is gonna be oddly specific. So prior to like the very late 1800s quilts were made from whatever scraps you could get your hands on. Clothes too worn out to wear being a go to. So imagine making quilts from the guys and your old clothes. So sentimental. And you know they'd eat it up! You gift each other them one and kiri will be over the moon. Bakugou also will be but we all know he won't directly say it. Also. Fun fact. Denim quilts are the bomb. Old timey weighted blankets.

Also, idk why this sticks out so much but just the image of you and kiri making/canning jam. And he'd totally be sneaking tastes when he doesn't think you're looking. You are looking. But usually you let it slide.

So yea. These are just a few of the things. Gonna make a separate post for pregnancy and baby headcanons. Also, I have spent hours on pinterest for this stuff. If you guys would like photos of what I picture maybe I'd throw something together.

[jjackrabbitt]

Ms. Peregrines, book 6, chapter 21-23:

unrelated to anything actually happening right now, but i don't believe that men cannot be ymbrynnes. that doesn't make sense from a biological standpoint and i think the ymbrynnes made that up. i don't know why, if it was just a misunderstanding or if it was for control reasons, but "men can't be ymbrynnes" sounds like a damn lie.

this is related to whats happening: i would like to give jack shaken baby disease for everything he's done, but particularly what he's done to the addicts.

woo guerilla warfare

while it's plenty amusing that Jacob can forget to speak human language in favour of hollow, it would be incredibly funny if he could use his human voice to speak through the hallows.

"he crashed into the roof, narrowly missing Emma and a contingent of home gaurds," (top of p. 436) three of the hallows heads whip around to face Emma and Jacobs voice comes out to say sorry :/

oh fuck off we're busy carrying a bloody 13 year old inside

hi Francesca :^)

WHERE is Mother Dust

Fiona said LETS EXPLODE THINGS

@finn-nito ya know what would have helped get through the quilt? millions of worms.

i really want to do some drawings of Myron's house cause it's a victorian house but it's a museum but it's a big machine and it's got rococco angels and many portraits of him on the ceiling and it looks enough like shit on the outside to be unnoticeable in Devils Acre and takes up like, an entire block.

hey if jack's goin to be in everyones brains, could it go both ways? could you talk back to him? tell him the entire plot of hannibal in detail? upload every episode of Bill Nye? fill his brain with chewing noises?

a sleepover isn't complete without intergenerational trauma and night terrors.

how many times do yall think Myron got mad at jack when they were kids and told Alma exactly how to get his short ass in trouble with Ms. Avocet?

Hi Nim :^)

i would like to give Nim fun sweaters and good food

Bold of Myron to assume there would not be some one (me) who would want to open the farting case Really Bad just to see if it smelled

aight so i know no one (barring the like, 40 people here) reads these books so what's it matter and Jacob isn't like, Jewish-jewish but maybe? don't have your jewish characters be descended from freakass monsters who are part of a Super Secret Group of Powerful People and these specific ones eat people? maybe don't do that? where the way for your jewish main character to become more powerful and closer to his ancestors is to drink souls? which in this book can be removed from a person as a blood-like substance? that doesn't look great :/

i'm 70% sure that wasn't intentional but :|

i still think someone should have gotten to paint stuff on Myrons portraits

how many times does Jacob have to do something he thinks is unforgivable and his friends only try to help him for him to figure out they're not going to leave him? even if he turns himself into a hallow and survives?

fun fact: when Noor eats all of jacks stolen souls, she gets all the power

"his wind had slowed to a breeze" alternatively, just keep him like that and anytime it gets hot out you'll have an angry little fan to sit around.

speaking of which, it's so disgustingly hot here, i'm fucking dying.

good night, babes <3

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 3

masterlist

AN: This took me so long because I wasn’t sure whether to split this chapter in half, I ended up doing it so I think it flows a bit better and hasn’t become a monster of a chapter. Things are starting to get a little juicy!!

----- 

The next two weeks flew by in a blur as Aelin settled in to her new normal. She had spent days debating how to arrange the furniture in her bedroom, enlisting Fenrys and Aedion multiple times to move her bed from one side of the room to the other and back again until she was satisfied with its placement.

She had managed to put her personality into the boring room, its brick walls spiced up by colourful wall hangings and the wooden beams of the ceiling offset by drapes of dangling plants across her shelves. She felt at home in the loft.

Her moving into the communal areas had been more of a struggle. Rowan and Lorcan protested her attempts to cover the sofa with her hand-made quilts but they had relented once Fenrys and Aedion had expressed their support.

“We don’t want it to be too much of a guys’ apartment,” Aedion had admitted.

When Lorcan had protested that it was a guys’ apartment with a not-so-subtle smirk at her she had lobbed one of her throws at his head. He had caught it and his smirk spread to a full blown grin, but he tucked it onto the arm of the couch, nonetheless. She supposed it was actually a progression of their relationship that she knew he was teasing. The past two weeks had shown her that most of his snarky comments were joking, whether or not their delivery seemed as such.

 She had learned many new things about all of the guys in the loft since moving in. She had thought she had known all there was to know about her cousin, and they had always got along, but she was delighted to find that they had quickly become as close as brother and sister. His eager personality paired him well with Aelin’s outgoing nature.

The only issue was the frequency that she had ended up sharing her breakfast with one of his visitors, always dressed in one of his shirts or their own dress from the night before. She didn’t judge the girls, she just didn’t need to think about her cousin in that way, although it had surprised her that he hadn’t made any comments to Aelin about Lysandra since their flirtations the day she moved in. In fact, she had expected him to ask for her friends number the next day; but the request never came.

She had watched the two of them on the first night she and Lysandra had visited the bar Rowan worked at. It had quickly become the spot she spent most of her evenings at, the rest of the loft joining too, on the nights Rowan was working.

The bar reminded her of Rowan; dark walls with old-fashioned lamps placed around the room to brighten up the space. The wooden panels around the bar were rustic and worn-looking without being shabby, and it had an easy mix of regular patrons and drop-in drinkers that felt homely and comfortable. Rowan’s attire of plaid shirts fit in as well and while they rotated in their colour they were a guaranteed feature, along with the rag he slung over his shoulder that made him look like such a typical bartender she hid her snigger in her drink.

It was during those nights at the bar that she had gotten to know Rowan the most. The bar was never particularly busy so he could spend most of his shifts talking to her, fixing her sweet cocktails without her even having to ask.

“What else would Aelin Galathynius drink?” He had teased her the first time she and Lysandra had paid the bar a visit. He had even tucked a pink umbrella into each of their glasses.

They had made easy small talk while he worked and she found it fascinating to watch him work, the way his hands would flow across the bar, steady and strong while he poured. He had an easy way of interacting with customers, polite but charming that helped to earn him the tips she spotted him receiving.

She herself had contributed to a large number of those tips, seeing as he hadn’t let her or Lysandra pay for a single drink any of the times they had visited. Aedion, Fenrys and Lorcan didn’t pay either, but none of them seemed inclined to tip, probably a result of having the routine down for years.

She sighed, longing to spend a chilled night in the bar now, but the summer was over and her first day back teaching high school history was upon her. She adjusted her blouse where it hung from her shoulders and slipped on her pumps.

She headed to the kitchen to fix her coffee and was met with Fenrys and Aedion in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Fenrys greeted her around his mouthful of cereal.

“Good morning,” She greeted in return. “You excited for today?”

“You know it,” He pointed his spoon at her, “Being the most liked teacher in the school really is fun.”

“Right,” She laughed as Aedion rolled his eyes.

“Fortunately, I have to get to my job where I’m also the most liked employee.” Aedion drawled sarcastically. He was the only male employee at a marketing company and he probably would have enjoyed it if any of the women there would have given him a second thought. Instead, to his dismay, he had ended up the little brother of the office.

“I’ll head down with you,” She said collecting her things and waving a goodbye to Fenrys as they headed out.

Once at her car she bid Aedion goodbye and started her drive to the school. From the new loft her school was now an hour drive, it had only been fifteen minutes from Arobynn’s place, but that was beside the point. She could put up with a longer commute if it meant not having to see that monster of a man ever again.

She arrived at the school and pulled into her allocated parking space, grabbing her things she headed into the morning teachers briefing. She smiled at the few teachers she knew as she took her seat, she didn’t have many friends at the school, most of the teachers had at least twenty years on her which made finding common ground tough, not impossible, but she wasn’t desperate to see them outside of the school.

“Morning everyone, welcome back.” The principal started and read the list of notices for the beginning of the school year. She zoned out, these notices were the same every year and she didn’t have any first year classes this semester, so she knew all of the kids she’d have and nearly all of them were great.

“Now, unfortunately I’ve saved the worst until last.” The principal’s voice cut in, interrupting her planning. “The district has let us know we need to make some budget cuts, and we’ll likely be looking to cut some staff in the larger departments.”

Her stomach sank. Shit. That didn’t bode well. History was one of the biggest departments and had one of the largest budgets for the number of trips the students went on to complement their studies. She also hadn’t been at the school for long either, only a couple of years since she qualified, so she’d likely be one of the ones to be cut.

“We recognise that this isn’t great timing but unfortunately the decision has come from the high-ups.” The principal’s apology mellowed her slightly, but she couldn’t fight the element of panic that was creeping in.

Once the principal had finished she left the meeting and traipsed to her classroom. She couldn’t fight the dread in her stomach, it was surely only a matter of time before the principal sent for her to break the bad news. She couldn’t believe the timing, at the start of the school year, just as she was beginning to feel settled in the loft it was all getting shaken up.

-----

The bar wasn’t busy, it never was on late Tuesday afternoons, but there were still a scattering of customers Rowan needed to serve in between chatting with Fenrys who was perched on a stool at the bar. Aedion and Lorcan would likely come through the doors soon, settling in their own stools until Rowan closed up.

It had become their place to hang out once Rowan had got the job there a couple of years ago. It was comfortable and Rowan’s boss didn’t mind him giving his friends a few drinks on the house, Rowan knew he was a valuable employee, he took it seriously, even if it was just bar work to some. It was also nice to spend some time together out of the loft, and he liked that Aelin had joined a few times since moving in, she slotted well into the dynamic.

He was wiping some spilled beer off the top when Fenrys’ question reached him.

“Have you decided who you’re bringing as your date for the weekend?”

His date? The weekend?

“What’s this weekend?”

Fenrys rolled his eyes, used to Rowan’s lack of organisation.

“Essar’s wedding remember, we RSVP’d months ago.” Fenrys’ tone was teasing.

“Right, that. I remember now.” This was something he must have buried deep inside his mind. He knew what Essar’s wedding would mean. All of their college friends would be reunited, himself, Aedion and Fenrys had all received an invitation which meant Lyria would have had one herself. Ah, the question of his date. “I hadn’t thought about it to be honest.”

The door swung open and Aedion slid through, loosening his tie, followed by Lorcan out of his uniform but still in a Rifthold City Police Department t-shirt. As they took their seats he filled their glasses.

“What’s the topic of conversation for tonight gentlemen.” Aedion’s voice was cheery.

“Essar’s wedding, or more specifically our dates.” Fenrys’ eyes sparkled.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, boyo,” Lorcan said to Fenrys, “If there’s an open bar one of you is taking me.”

“Since when!” Fenrys exclaimed.

“Since now,” Lorcan laughed.

“I can,” Rowan offered, but didn’t go any further when he caught Aedion and Fenrys share a look.

“No, my friend,” Fenrys grinned at him, leaning over the bar, “You will take a date. A female date. Someone who will show Lyria you’re over her.”

“Who? I’m not dating anyone and there isn’t long to start dating someone new.” Five days was not enough to find a date he could take as a plus one for a wedding. That was at least a second date activity.

“There’s plenty of time, and if not,” He didn’t like the grin building on Fenrys’ face, “You could always take a fake date.”

“No,” He shook his head, absolutely not. He wasn’t that pathetic. “Absolutely not. What are we? Fifteen?”

“You don’t have to be young to be desperate.” He was going to kill Fenrys.

“You could go alone and show Lyria that if you wanted.” Aedion knew his words would hit Rowan in the right place. “Or you could take a fake date.”

“Who would I even ask?”

Even Lorcan grinned, seemingly caught up on the joke Fenrys and Aedion were teasing him with. Rowan knew his resistance was somehow waning.

“How about Aelin’s friend Lysandra?” Fenrys’ suggestion came far too quickly.

“Stop it,” Rowan scolded him, he couldn’t be serious. He barely knew Lysandra, they had only met twice, and hadn’t ever spoken one on one. But she was an attractive woman, and Lyria would notice. Stop. He wasn’t seriously considering this.

“Maybe I’ll invite Lysandra then. You could always ask Aelin.” Aedion said, enjoying himself far too much.

“Aelin?” He repeated, Aedion had to be joking. He and Aelin were friends now. That would be weird.

Aedion’s response was interrupted by the arrival of Aelin herself, Rowan hissed at them to change the subject as Aelin slammed her bag down and plopped into her seat. Her golden hair was mussed, her ponytail pulling to one side and her cardigan hung off one of her shoulders. It was the most dishevelled he had seen her; she was normally far more put together.

“Pink wine, stat. Please.” Her manners seemed to be tacked on at the end as an afterthought.

“Everything okay?” He asked her, turning to the side to fetch her drink.

She let out a delirious laugh, “I lost my job today.”

The atmosphere at the bar changed immediately, Aedion hopped off his stool to slide onto the one next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Gods, are you okay? What happened?” His voice was full of concern.

“Nothing bad, I wasn’t fired or anything, but it’s budget cuts,” Her voice was thick, clearly more affected than she attempted to seem. He placed her glass in front of her.

“That’s rough, I’m sorry. Drinks on me though.” She offered him a tight smile. The others murmured their own commiserations.

“Thanks.”

“Ace I’m so sorry, is there anything we can do?” Aedion asked gently.

“No,” She leaned into his arm and raised her glass, “Just drink with me, distract me. What were you guys talking about before I arrived?” This brought a smile to Fenrys’ face again as he leaned forward.

“We were discussing our plans for the weekend. The wedding of a friend from college is coming up.” Aelin nodded along as he spoke, taking a large gulp of her wine. “Essar’s family is minted so we all get plus ones, meaning,” He seemed to pause, building his own tension. “Rowan needs a date to show Lyria he’s over her. And seeing as it’s Rowan he might need some help with that.”

He was going to kill Fenrys.

“I’m just going to suck it up. There’s not time to find a date.” He dismissed the idea, this ended now.

“Rowan,” She smiled at him, “Of course you can find a date by the weekend.”

She was being so nice, but all it was doing was adding fuel to the fire for Aedion and Fenrys.

“Thanks, Aelin, but—”

“Ace,” Aedion interrupted him, “Poor Rowan here, is useless at finding himself dates even without time pressure, so I suggested an easy solution to his problem.”

He was going to kill Aedion too.

“He takes you.” Aelin’s eyes snapped to him, her mouth dropping open. “A fake girlfriend, it’s perfect really.” At Aedion’s explanation something changed in her expression that he couldn’t decipher.

He stumbled to put her at ease, “You honestly don’t have to, it’s a stupid idea.” He ran a hand through his hair shakily. This was embarrassing.

“How bad will it be? Seeing Lyria?” She asked, tapping her fingers on the side of her wine glass. Surely she wasn’t seriously considering this.

He looked to the ceiling, hoping to draw some strength from somewhere. “Honestly, it could be pretty bad,” he admitted. There was no point in lying when nearly all of the cards were on the table. “But I would be fine, there’s no pressure.”

She took another sip of her wine, swilling it around her cheeks before carefully swallowing.

“Who doesn’t love a wedding?” She asked, sending him a sly smile. “I’ll show Lyria what she’s missing.”

“You’re sure about this?” He still wasn’t convinced this was a good idea. He ignored the grins he knew were likely already on his friends’ faces.

“Why not?” She shrugged at him. “I’m not buying my own drinks though.”

“Deal,” He returned her smile. He really wasn’t sure this was a good idea. Alcohol and playing Aelin’s boyfriend were definitely a dangerous combination.  

-----

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen​

@maybekindasortaace​

@slytheringalathynius​

@http-itsrebecca​

@morganofthewildfire​

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​

@fictional-horan​

@tottenhamboys20​

@dressedindustandshadows​

as always if I’ve missed anyone please let me know!

[alienslikedmyfantasy]

Okay, so I haven’t seen a show that I related to legit every character like, ever, and The Owl House hit me like a truck.

As I watched (and rewatched) how each character acts and develops, I look at them and feel a connection.

Luz, the ‘weird’ girl, the outsider, the overly positive, interested, distractible, oblivious, and big hearted character. I utterly love Luz Noceda. Like holy crap. We both find oddly specific things interesting be it a specific topic or the immersion into a fandom. We both make weird jokes and get into pun wars with people (I had one go on for about an hour once...it was glorious). For a person who’s pretty negative about myself, when other people are involved, I lift them up as high as possible, even with weak nerd arms. We both get distracted easily, or are at least oblivious. I didn’t know half of the things happening around me during school, and I honestly still don’t. I’ve watched movies 50 times and realized the actual point/blatantly obvious event during the 51st. I’ve had people like me before and I never noticed until someone told me then I struggled to believe it (”What is it she sees, in this cluster clump of me?”). (Honestly the entirety of ‘Ordinary’ called me out super hard). Luz also does crazy things for her friends with the best of intentions (even if it isn’t well thought out). Her heart is so big and she sees the best in everyone, it’s just amazing. Little things she does and has said, I’ve done too (especially the ‘cool’ scene).

Amity is often misread and quiet, struggling to talk to others. She also doesn’t like others to see her emotions very much, she bottles them up and has a need to be seen in a certain way. She has to be ‘perfect’ (a song which also called me out pretty hard). I feel that deep down in my soul my dudes. I always had to have perfect grades and I still have to be perfect at everything I do on the first try (I’m working on not doing that). I was always quiet, and honestly still am. I definitely bottle up my emotions rather than let others see what’s up and I have a hard time forming coherent sentences around crushes...well...around people in general. I always felt the need to be the straight A student and the rock in my loved one’s lives (which they never expected of me so I don’t know where that came from haha) and I still kinda do. Amity also sacrifices herself for her friends (Grom...sports....must I say more?). And though I may not have sacrificed my body, I’ve protected my friends hard core. No one messes with my buds.

Eda. Oh Eda. The wild witch who ran off to live in the woods because she didn’t like school and didn’t want to commit to one coven in life. The witch who is slow to pick up on things, is chaotic, and completely weird in the best possible way. I always liked school until I was about to graduate, then I realized how it can really mess with people (see Eda running around the school pointing out the strangeness of it all). All I feel that I really learned from school was to take a test. Creativity killer sadly. Eda has a strange sense of humor and is slow to get sarcasm or that it was a joke. Same Eda, same. I also cannot commit to one coven, well, career or job for the rest of my life. I like keeping my options open. Plus I would love to build a house out in the woods nearby and be a witch. I’ve always been weird and chaotic too, but I think Eda’s weird is way more fun than my own.

King is a goofy little dude who usually has weird jokes or points of view, but sometimes is super wise. I know that I have a strange sense of humor that it seems like most of my people don’t understand, and I have been known to be wise when I’m not thinking about it...on the other hand, when I try to be wise, I stumble and say something extremely weird. He struggles with public speaking/putting himself out there (Grom) and is nervous a while before getting comfortable with it. (I hate public speaking says the kid who did musicals for 13 years, writes songs, and thinks she wants to be an author, artist, actress, or musician). I also connect with King with the fact that I freakin’ love rubber ducky stuff. I legit have a rubber ducky bathrobe (of which one of my best friends gave me as a birthday gift...it’s a bit small but it’s sososo soft I love it), I made a ducky pillowcase today to practice sewing (it’s so cute I almost cried), I have a bunch of duckies stashed away throughout the house, and my Grandma made me a ducky baby quilt for the future. Ducks! Am I right? (I’m right.)

Willow is the shy, not-so-confident plant girl. I am too a shy, not-so-confident plant girl. I legit have about 14 or 15 plants (each have a name) that I care about a lot. I don’t really remember being bullied (I know I was at least once), but I’ve definitely had my heart hurt (honestly pretty badly) by people I considered friends at that time (I won’t get into that here). I’m also a shy person who’s been working on being more confident with themselves. Plus: plants!

Gus is fascinated by specific topics and is younger than everyone else, which may make him feel a bit childish. I feel this on a personal level. I’m the youngest child on my Mom’s side and the second youngest on my Dad’s. I was the baby and I don’t think I got to do much with the older kids (you’re too young so we don’t wanna play with you kinda thing, etc. [which is totally fine and I get 100%]) Though I may be older than all of my friends, I still feel like a child compared to nearly all of them. They’re all so smart and put together, and I’m not. I’m also fascinated by specific topics that others may not know or care to know much about (for Gus, it’s humans, for me, it’s a lot of things).

Edric and Emira are pretty similar to my sister and I. We aren’t twins, we didn’t always get along, and we rarely had shenanigans or pranked like these two do, but as we got older, we understood each other better and our relationship is basically being there for one another and really bad puns.

Hooty...well...I suppose we share the fact that we both make up songs and are bored a lot...definitely not that we’re both owl tubes.....*nervous laughter*

Owlbert and I share the quiet helpfulness trait...plus we’re both adorable.

(Some of these go deeper than others but the point is there’s still a connection).

Goodness gracious I love this show.

I haven’t laughed at a show this hard since Good Omens last year.

I love when I can connect with characters. It makes me happy.

[solalunar-eclipse]

Team Dark: A Holiday Special

Chapter Three: Rouge

One | Two

Word count: 5900 words

Warning: entomophagy again (more eating bugs)

Author’s Note: I believe it’s the winter solstice today, so happy winter solstice! I heard once that there used to be a holiday around this time called Saturnalia to celebrate this solstice (way cooler than my holiday name which definitely wasn’t borrowed from a game)

Thank you to everyone who read this fic, but in particular to @maddgirlzartz, @feliner, and @teamxdark for your wonderful comments! I always love to see what people have to say about my writing, and it was great to read what you thought of this little holiday story I wrote.

...

Rouge was the first person to wake up on the third morning, which was a surprise in and of itself. Normally, Shadow or Omega would have gotten up by now, but she figured that watching movies until late last night had made both of them need some extra time in bed (or at the outlet).

The bat crawled out of bed and flapped her wings, coming to hover silently above Shadow’s bed. She watched him sleep for a moment (and briefly entertained the notion that this might be creepy before deciding it was his fault for falling asleep in a room with her). All of the stress and worry that normally lined his expression was gone right now, making him look so much younger as he lay curled up underneath a thick quilt. 

She almost felt bad about what she was going to do.

Almost.

Folding her wings tightly against her back, she crashed onto Shadow’s suddenly no-longer-asleep form and screamed, “Happy Wintersday!”

Shadow gasped and flailed under the covers for a second, before realizing that it was just Rouge and they weren’t, in fact, under attack. He struggled to catch his breath, wheezing, “Why...the heck...would you...do…”

“Because it’s a holiday, hon!” she chirped, grinning wickedly down at him.

The hybrid resigned himself to being Rouge’s new bed. “...happy Wintersday.” he muttered, looking significantly less upset than he should.

Omega had powered on in a rush when Rouge had yelled, and he was now staring at the scene in front of him with something akin to resignation. “What in the name of Chaos are you two doing.” he said flatly, in a tone that suggested that he really didn’t want to know what they were doing.

“Happy Wintersday, Omega!” Rouge said brightly, deciding not to respond.

Shadow said the same, but his statement was rapidly followed by a very loud growling noise.

Omega looked slightly confused, but Shadow just sighed. “Rouge, that was you, wasn’t it.”

“What can I say, hon? It’s wintertime- time to eat!” she said a little too loudly, ignoring the spreading pink blush on her face.

“Sure.” Now it was Shadow’s turn to smirk. “You’re hungry because it’s wintertime.”

“Shut up!” she huffed, smacking his arm. “Anyway, we’re not ready for breakfast yet. I bought something for the two of you first.”

“I thought we were exchanging our presents tomorrow before the party.” Omega said skeptically.

Rouge grinned. “I know. This is something extra.”

She enjoyed their expressions of dread following this statement immensely.

…

A minute later, Rouge had dug out the crux of Operation: Festive from her suitcase, only to be met with decidedly unappreciative stares.

Omega was the first to realize what was going on. “Oh. Oh no. No way. There is a zero percent likelihood of me wearing that ever. I will not compromise my coolness.”

“What is that?” Shadow asked, using a tone that implied that he was looking at something disgusting, not Rouge’s awesome plan.

“That is what you are going to wear.” She smirked.

His eyes widened in horror. “No.”

“Come on...won’t you please just do this one thing for me?” Rouge asked, using her warmest, gentlest voice. She knew for a fact that neither of them could resist that.

Shadow trudged forward, accepting the offending item as Omega reluctantly snatched his from her hand. The bat felt just a tiny bit guilty, but not enough to make her regret this.

Specifically, buying the three of them matching ugly sweaters.

“Matching as a team can be cool, but never like this,” Omega sulked as he put his on (it had taken a miracle to get one in his size).

“It’s clashing with my stripes…” Shadow muttered unhappily.

Then they both began to glower at her, for some reason. “And yet you still manage to look decent in it somehow.” the hybrid grumbled.

Rouge glanced in the mirror. She supposed it wasn’t unflattering, per se, but it definitely didn’t complement her body type like most of the clothing she wore did.

“Come on…” she said, honestly pleading with them. “If you really hate it I won’t make you wear it, but I was looking forward to this…”

Both of them immediately looked anywhere except at her.

“I guess it’s warm enough.” Shadow conceded reluctantly.

“I will tolerate it for one day and no longer.” Omega informed her flatly.

“Yesss!” Rouge cheered, smiling brightly at them. “I so owe you guys.” 

“Don’t forget it.” the robot remarked.

…

Overall, the morning was really nice- although Rouge’s family was horrified when Shadow chose to eat his hot chocolate by alternating spoonfuls of cocoa mix and drinks of boiling water instead of out of a cup like everyone else. She loved seeing her family’s reactions to the various gifts she’d brought, since she’d spent quite a bit of time picking those out. Omega was the center of attention, as always, and every child was vying for his opinion on their specific gift.

As Rouge relaxed next to the fireplace, sipping her own steaming mug of hot chocolate (with the powder and water combined, thankyouverymuch), she felt someone tap on her shoulder.

The bat turned to see her mother sitting down next to her, looking very tentative.

“Honey?” she said softly. “I know I mentioned this yesterday, but...would you ever feel comfortable telling me about how you met your friends? I’m not asking because I’m judging them,” she added quickly, holding up her hands, “I just...want to know who they are to you. And you don’t have to do it right now, either, just maybe someday?” She’d begun to rush her words out at the end, clearly feeling at least a little nervous.

“Aw, Mom, you know I’ve been having fun telling stories this whole time!” Rouge got into a more comfortable position. “Oh, but these are some of the craziest ones I have. Promise not to freak out, okay?”

“I’ll do my best…” her mother said cautiously.

Rouge took a deep breath to get started. “Alright, so, I met Shadow when he was trying to blow up the planet with a giant cannon-”

“You what?!”

“You said you wouldn’t freak out!” Rouge protested good-naturedly.

“Yes- but- a giant cannon??” her mother gasped.

“Mom, seriously.”

“Fine…”

…

Rouge was halfway through her story about “that time with Infinite” when it happened. She was leaning extremely far forward- which didn’t happen unless she was truly invested in what she was saying- and holding her mug of cocoa off to the right to keep it out of her way.

Unfortunately, to the right was exactly where the fireplace was. 

And since she was wearing a dangling sweater… the end result was a lot of shrieking from both Rouge and her mother as she swatted furiously at her sleeve in an attempt to keep the fire from burning her arm. 

The younger bat frowned at the end result, though, which was a very scorched and blackened sleeve that did not match the green sweater at all.

Her mother looked rather frightened at this, but Rouge assured her that it was nothing bad, she’d been through far worse- hadn’t she just said as much?

Eventually, after some more questions along the lines of “are you sure you’re alright?”, the two calmed down enough for Rouge to resume her story.

Her mother was clearly fascinated (and slightly horrified) by her tales, although she seemed particularly sympathetic to her daughter’s predicament of “I’m the only one with a brain on this team so I’m holding everything together like ninety percent of the time”.

Once she was finished, though, Lila looked at her nervously. “You won’t be too busy with all this work to come visit us...and maybe call occasionally...will you?”

Rouge smiled warmly at her mom. “No way. I love hanging out with you guys! Just because I have Shadow and Omega now doesn’t mean I’m ditching you guys- it just means more family.”

The older bat looked relieved. “That’s good to hear...I love you, sweetie. And I’m so proud of you.”

“...thanks, Mom….” Rouge said, ignoring the tight feeling in the back of her throat.

They hugged again, of course.

…

When Rouge finally caught up with her other family, though, she found an absolutely hilarious sight.

Somehow, two of her uncles and several kids had managed to wrangle Omega into allowing himself to be decorated with tinsel and lights, so he looked less like a carefully engineered machine of destruction and more like a very expensive Wintersday decoration. Shadow was hiding in a corner, meanwhile, and growling at anyone who dared to come within ten feet of him with any decorations.

Which happened to be just about everyone.

Rouge was determined to see her friends properly decorated, however- and hopefully tease them in the process. She started the process by sticking a poinsettia plant on Omega’s head and draping a strand of lights over his shoulders. He glared at her, but refused to move, likely making sure not to drop the plant on any of the various young children swarming around him. “The pot’s plastic, but you’d better not move anyway.” she warned him, earning an even more intense and furious glower in return.

After that, she rushed upstairs to grab a couple of special items, including one for her makeup kit. She’d dismissed it as unusable and too childish before, but now? Now it was perfect.

Smearing a copious amount of both items on her hands, she walked into the living room (after stopping to grab one other thing from a box just outside the door) and made a beeline for Shadow. He hissed at her, his teeth bared.

“Stop right there.” he growled menacingly.

“Come on, hon!” she protested, fighting her ‘mischief smile’ down. “Do you see any decorations in my hands?”

“No…?” Shadow answered cautiously.

She frowned just the right amount, leaning in slightly to inspect his quills. “Hang on, Shadow, you’ve got something in your quills right there…” she said, trailing off as she began to brush at his uppermost quills.

“What? What is it?” he barked, and she struggled to keep from bursting into laughter.

“There, I think I got it.” she said. “Probably just a-”

Omega interrupted her, his eyes switching to their half-moon shape. “Shadow. You have been pranked most egregiously.”

He looked shocked. “Wh-wha-?” he stammered, reaching up to touch his quills.

The bat grinned the moment his hands came away sticky with glitter gel.

“Rouge…” he snarled, a murderous gleam appearing in his eyes.

She patted him on the head once, slipping a holly sprig out of her glove and tucking it next to his ear simultaneously. His expression morphed from furious to perplexed to- when he saw his reflection in the window- straight-up deathly angry. “There you go, all festive now!” she chirped in a manner she just knew would irritate him.

Five seconds later, a scream that was very much ultrasonic rang through the house, followed by a wild-eyed bat and a hedgehog blazing with chaos energy. A faint shriek of “not the carpets!” came not long after.

Eventually, though, Shadow settled down (after cornering Rouge on top of a bookcase and attempting to climb said bookcase for revenge). He accepted that ‘okay, maybe it doesn’t look completely terrible’, and at least allowed the bat to spread the glitter around evenly.

“None of those moronic hats.” he’d snapped at Omega, who was trying to put a pointed red hat with white trim on his head. “I don’t care if they’re historical or traditional or whatever, I have heard far too many comments regarding my quills and starfishes already in my lifetime.”

Rouge cackled. “Ahah- starfish. That’s too good!”

“Don’t you start-!”

...

Not long after, though, he seemed to have made peace with his fate, as Rouge caught him curled up like a cat in front of the offending fireplace from earlier, a blanket draped over him and his eyes closed peacefully.

She didn’t really want to disturb him, but by the time she’d walked over he was already up. “What now?”

“Lunch, then the video call.” she said.

“Oh right- I nearly forgot. You did pack the presents, right?” Shadow asked her.

“That was Omega’s job.” she said, before giggling at the flash of panic that appeared on his face. “Don’t worry, I made sure they came with us.”

“You’d better. I didn’t bring a Chaos Emerald and there’s no way I’m wearing myself out with a Chaos Control for Sonic and his sunshine crew.”

Rouge snickered again. “I’m sure Knuckles and sunshine have never ever been compared before in the history of this planet- he’ll punch you out if he ever hears that.”

Shadow rolled his eyes. “Fine. I know you’re trying to be more friendly with him, so I guess I’ll be decent so your sweet-talking doesn’t fail.”

“Good!” Rouge clapped her hands together once. “I still can’t believe Sonic was so impatient he insisted we do this a day before- we’ll all be exchanging presents at the party tomorrow anyway.”

“You can’t believe Sonic was impatient?” the hybrid scoffed. “Please. He’d fail the marshmallow test every day.”

The bat hid a grin behind her hand, before walking off. “Come on. Lunch.”

Shadow grumbled something about “but I’m warm here”, but followed her anyway.

…

Later, after some frantic rushing-upstairs and fumbling with phones after lunch ran just a little bit too long, the video finally clicked on.

“Hiiii!” Sonic called brightly once they could see each other. “Happy Wintersday!”

After the various exchangings (and re-exchangings when people got mixed up) of “Happy Wintersdays”, the blue blur got right down to business.

“So. Presents.” he said, rubbing his hands together with a broad grin.

“Oh, chaos, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through just trying to keep his hands off your gift.” Tails groaned, looking tired at the very thought.”

“He wouldn’t let me touch mine!” Sonic whined.

Knuckles sighed and rolled his eyes. “Sonic, you’re not supposed to touch them. It’ll ruin the surprise. You know, he’s spent at least an hour total staring at your present today, Shadow.”

The hybrid smirked. “Did he really.” 

“No!” Sonic shrieked through the connection, his face turning slightly pink.

“Yes.” Tails said smugly, clearly wishing for some revenge after dealing with the energetic hedgehog.

“Ugh, fine, whatever, now can we just open them already?” Sonic huffed.

“Yeah...but you can open yours last.” Knuckles added, earning a horrified look from the hero.

“I’ll go first, then~!” Rouge sang, tearing into hers. The bat let her eyes burn a mocking hole straight through the camera and into Sonic’s disappointed pout.

When she pulled out the present, though, her smirk faded as she gasped happily. “Knuckles! You didn’t!” It was a small white box with golden embossed letters spelling out the name of a well-known jewelry store.

She didn’t fail to notice how Knuckles averted his eyes, looking tense and...slightly upset?

But by then, she’d opened the box and her attention shifted again to the gorgeous diamond necklace inside. It was fixed onto a fine silver chain, and the diamond itself was held in a swirl of more silver.

“I mean...I guess it’s okay…” the echidna muttered weakly.

That was when Rouge noticed the little slip of paper inside the lid: 100% Cubic Zirconia.

So it wasn’t a real diamond- why should she care? It was beautiful and shimmery and a very thoughtful gift, which all counted for plenty in her books.

“It’s wonderful, hon!” she said cheerfully, putting it on.

“Sorry about, you know…” He sighed, his pride clearly wounded. “Guarding the Master Emerald’s a full-time job...and it doesn’t exactly get you the big bucks, you know?”

Rouge smiled warmly and reassuringly at him, making the echidna blush. “It’s nothing to be sorry for. I love it.”

“That’s good, then.” His shoulders sank slightly with relief.

“Now you open yours!” she insisted, changing the conversation. “It took me some serious work to find, so I want to see your reaction.”

Knuckles tore the paper and opened up the cardboard box….

His silence spoke volumes as his eyes widened considerably.

The echidna pulled out a pair of high-tech sunglasses, all points and cool colors. Then a sort of-necklace, made mostly out of metal. Some steel covers for his spikes. A pair of gloves with more steel woven into the fibers….and a long, thin crystal.

He put on all of the gear and grinned at Rouge. “Remind you of someone?”

“As a matter of fact…” she said, watching comprehension dawn on everyone else (except for Omega, who she knew would have some questions later), “...I do recall a certain echidna who saved me from a rather fiery doom…”

“And I,” he added, smirking now, “remember getting called a creep who just wanted to hold a specific bat’s hand.”

They both burst into laughter at the memories, looking back on them now with fondness and a touch of embarrassment.

“Is it my turn yet?” Omega asked impatiently, already holding his present.

Not waiting for an answer, he ripped open the long cylinder, revealing a cardboard tube with something inside. Shaking it out, he found...

...blueprints for a giant cannon. Specifically, a cannon to be installed in his chassis.

Omega’s eyes sparkled- literally, they turned into sparkles. “Yes.” he said, sounding pleased. “Yes yes yes. This will be very good.”

“It’s all ready, too!” Tails exclaimed. “I just need to wire it into you.”

“Do it tomorrow.” he insisted.

The kitsune seemed pleased with the reception of his present, but was all too eager to get to his own gift.

Opening the box a moment later, his eyes also widened to double their usual size. “Wh- what!? An antimatter injector? Some new chaos drives?  You can’t get those anymore! And- is that nanotech assembly gear?? Where did you find these?”

“Oh, you know.” Omega said nonchalantly, pretending to examine his steel fingers. “Places.”

“Very top-secret places.” Rouge said, her face hurting from grinning so much.

Sonic was the only one who looked even remotely distressed. “Isn’t...isn’t that illegal?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve become a G.U.N. sympathizer now, Sonic.” Shadow said teasingly.

The blue hedgehog scoffed. "As if! If it's G.U.N.’s stuff then it's totally fine." 

His pretense of sulking completely dropped when Shadow began to carefully unwrap his own present. The hybrid, unlike his friends siblings, tugged carefully at each corner of the box, making sure not to tear any of the (slightly crumpled) paper.

Once it was finally open, his expression became softer than usual. "You remembered."

"Of course I did!" Sonic chirped. "Can't leave a friend in the lurch, now can I?" he added with a wink, smiling.

Shadow lifted the box out of the paper to reveal a small makeup kit- no, make that two, Rouge realized. One had some eye shadow in several shades of black, silver, purple, and red, as well as a black eyeliner. The other, which she noticed he was hiding slightly, had what appeared to be some jewel-tone and pastel colors in eyeliner, not eye shadow. 

So that was what Shadow had meant by ‘you remembered’. Rouge remembered too- specifically, she remembered Shadow griping loudly because he wasn’t allowed to use her makeup kit when she needed it. It was hers first, after all.

Rouge smirked. "It looks great, hon! I might need to borrow that sometime…" She trailed off, her knowing grin growing to blatantly wicked proportions.

"No!!" Shadow and Sonic yelled simultaneously.

"Dude, I literally got him this so he wouldn't steal yours! Don't you dare!" Sonic gasped, looking more than a little frustrated.

"Relax, boys, it's alright." Rouge said calmly- which only served to rile Shadow up further. "I'm only teasing, you know."

The hybrid scowled and clutched the boxes possessively, making Rouge smile again. He could be such a little kid sometimes, but she preferred it infinitely to the grownup facade he liked to project.

"Alright, Sonic, now you can go." Tails sighed, with the air of someone who had almost given up trying to impose rules on a hyperactive toddler.

"Allllright!" the hero whooped, ripping into his gift with no mercy.

Once it was open, though, he frowned, seeing only a dark wooden box. "Uhhhh...what kind of present is this?"

Shadow leaned forward in anticipation. "Open it and find out."

Sonic flipped open the lid- and froze, eyes shining in shock and pure joy. "No way…" he breathed.

Tails's fur bristled. "Oh, no."

"What? What is it?" Rouge strained to see. "He didn't even tell us, what is it?"

Sonic grinned. "Candy!" he gasped, sounding like an excited little kid. "Loads of it!"

He turned the box around to reveal several rows of neatly stacked candy bars, including several 'extra large' ones. 

Knuckles's eyes widened, the echidna having just gotten his first good look at the contents of the box. "Oh chaos…Shadow, he'll be bouncing off the walls!"

"Yes, but that's your problem, not mine." Shadow sounded sarcastic, but Rouge could see the happiness in his own expression- clearly Sonic's joy was infectious.

"Hold up- why's the bottom so loose?" the hero asked suddenly.

Shadow's smile became almost predatory. "Open it and find out."

Sonic lifted the tray...and his smile grew to rival that of the sun’s rays themselves. “Bro! Dude! You did not!”

“What?” Rouge shrieked, feeling irritated and left out.

“Dude, there’s, like, so much chocolate in here! Where’d you get all this??”

Shadow looked like he was physically forcing down a grin by now. “Places. Also, there’s no dark chocolate, so I’d better get a great thank-you card considering that I decided to cater to your trashy tastes.”

“Yeeeee- wait.” Sonic frowned. “Hold up, I don’t trust you just yet…” he said, glowering at the box. Apparently he was talking to the object, not the hedgehog.

He rattled the tray.

“What the heck, man?” The hero stared into the camera. “How much more is there?”

“You know what I’m going to say.” Shadow answered, raising a brow and looking pleased with himself.

Sonic lifted the tray very cautiously this time, as though there were a bomb underneath.

“Yo! Yo! Yo! You got- you got it, how’d you find this, where’d you get it? I saw it, y’know, on TV, but I thought it was a scam!! Dude! Is this real life??”

“Apparently,” Shadow said, finally giving in and smiling as proudly as he could, “foot-long candy canes are in fact a product that you can buy. Consumer culture has truly come a long way.”

“A foot long?” Omega asked, looking far too interested to have any healthy thoughts about it. “Show us.”

Sonic reached into the box, mumbling something about how his face was starting to hurt, but he didn’t look upset in the slightest. He pulled out a candy cane that was as long as his leg, letting out a little giggle as he did so.

“Look at this! Holy chaos, it’s so big!” He held it up to the light and stared, his eyes bright. “What the- it’s literally, like, the same distance round as my arm!”

Rouge cackled. “I need to get some of that, hon!”

“No.” Sonic hissed, but he was still smiling. “Mine...all mine…” He began to pet the candy cane, cradling it in his arms, and Rouge heard a soft snicker to her right, where Shadow was.

The blue hero had clearly heard it as well, his head snapping around to the camera in time with Rouge’s to see Shadow hiding a laugh behind his hand.

The bat noticed that Sonic’s jokes were more effective than Shadow let on...

As it was, though, they had to say goodbye soon. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow for the party, right?” Sonic asked hopefully.

“Of course. We would not miss it.” Omega folded his arms. “How could you ever think so low of us.”

Tails giggled.

“Well…” Knuckles said reluctantly, “I...guess we’ve gotta go for now.”

“Us too,” Rouge muttered. “People are gonna start a search party if we don’t head down soon.”

“See you tomorrow, right?” Sonic added hopefully. 

“Yes.” Omega confirmed. “Tomorrow. When I will get a cannon.”

“I’ll make sure to do it ASAP!” Tails chirped.

“...happy Wintersweek.” Shadow said, far more warmly than usual.

After another round of well wishes, Rouge shut off the call.

Immediately, Shadow took his treasure and escaped into the bathroom, while Omega began to pore over his blueprints, probably processing (read: fantasizing about) how best to integrate the cannon into his fighting style.

Rouge flopped back onto the bed and sighed, a small smile remaining on her face as she played with her necklace. Shadow and Omega had both looked so happy...and she felt great, too.

Chaos, she was getting sentimental. A far cry from her early hardened days with G.U.N.

Far better than those times, too, she decided. Far better.

...

It was the Final Dinner Of The Family Reunion, and Rouge was so ready.

Everyone banded together in the kitchen throughout the afternoon, slicing, basting, cooking, and otherwise handling food to prepare a fantastic, show-stopping feast that all of the family would be talking about for weeks. Rouge had needed to fry, bake, and mash different kinds of potatoes and sweet potatoes, set up a casserole, make half the macaroni and cheese, prep some kind of gravy...and she got a light load.

The best part was when Omega was roped into helping and ended up wrist deep in a bowlful for crickets mixing them with seasoning, she had to admit.

Shadow didn’t give her any dirt at all (something she was still sulking about a little), just generally being quiet and going exactly where he was needed when he was wanted most, sometimes even showing up right before someone called for him.

Rouge groaned internally. It was some weird sort of Ultimate Lifeform stuff, she was sure. (His quiet, antisocial nature probably meant that he wanted attention to be called to himself as little as possible, too.)

But now, her mood took a sharp turn for the better, as the food was finally ready. She practically launched herself into the dining room, vaulting over the back of her chair to sit down.

This was the hardest part, though.

Now, the bat had to literally sit on her hands to keep herself from tearing into the food that was right in front of her. The smells of the various different dishes floated through the air, many of them were placed perfectly within reach, and they looked so good…

And she couldn’t touch any of it until every. Single. Person. Sat down at the table.

“Ugh…” she groaned, attempting to vocalize her discomfort to her companions.

Sadly, when your best friends/idiot brothers are a robot who doesn’t need to eat and a hedgehog who barely needs to eat, you get absolutely no sympathy from either of them. Immature and rude. She huffed quietly to herself.

Thankfully, the promise of a giant meal brought everyone together quickly, they all raised their glasses, and then-

Slamming her glass down, Rouge snatched a serving spoon millimeters from another bat’s fingers. Shadow and Omega watched, their faces morphing into something akin to an awestruck expression as the table exploded into chaos. Rouge filled her plate through sheer cunning and- in one case- a vicious staredown and tug-of-war for control of the meat knife (which she won).

“Remind me never to get between her and food, Omega.” Shadow whispered behind her back.

“Affirmative.” the robot muttered.

Several minutes later, Rouge’s plate was filled to her liking and she began to devour her food, as did the rest of her family. Some of the relatives who were significant others, not related by blood, watched with an equal mix of fascination, morbid curiosity, and horror as the bats at the table scarfed down the food as though there was no tomorrow.

Eventually, Shadow took some food, but Rouge didn’t look at what. She had more plans in mind for the other member of Team Dark.

When Omega turned his head for a couple of minutes to display the various hilarious robotic spinning motions he could perform, Rouge snagged several pieces of food and rapidly arranged them on his plate.

The robot returned to the table to discover a giggling Rouge, a smirking Shadow, and several slices of meat, some green beans, and artfully placed ketchup that, among other things, formed two circles on the top of the placement and an omega logo on the upper right part of one of the meat pieces.

Essentially, it was a food Omega.

Rouge had expected some irritation on his part, a shout of “THIS LOOKS NOTHING LIKE ME”, perhaps, but instead Omega took several pictures.

He fiddled with his phone for a few minutes (tiny phone + giant robot hands = lots of difficulty), before sliding it over to the bat.

All of his profile pictures, on every social media site and all of their group chats, were now displaying the same image as his plate.

“Yes! He appreciates art!” Rouge yelled, showing Shadow, who promptly snickered behind his hand.

“Excellent. Let’s go hang it in a museum.” he remarked dryly.

The rest of the dinner passed relatively without incident (although one of Rouge’s uncles and one of her aunts had to be pried off of the fruit platter after both refused to let go).

When dessert showed up, however...things changed.

The main creation that Rouge’s mothers had brought out was a three-layer chocolate cake made with lots of icing. Various other sweets surrounded it, and Rouge noticed several members of her family looking at it with a near-vicious gleam in their eyes.

She was definitely surprised- but pleased- to see Shadow’s reaction, though. 

He stared at the cake like it was a Chaos Emerald and he’d just fired a few hundred Chaos Spears without a break. Rouge grinned as she saw him lean forward slightly in his seat, never breaking eye contact with the sweet confectionery. 

“You like that, hon?”

Shadow jolted back to reality, clearly unaware that he’d just been eyeing the cake with an expression normally reserved for feral lions when they’d spotted a particularly plump zebra.

“It seems...well made.” he conceded.

“Okay, so in Shadow-speak that means ‘I want some and I want it now’.” Rouge corrected, smirking at his indignant expression even as she turned to her mom. “Hey Mom! Can Shadow have some cake over here? A big piece?”

Within seconds, a large slice of cake was handed over and Shadow was left speechless. He blinked, then picked up his fork and poked it once, as though he expected it to disappear. 

“Are you going to eat it? You can’t do that with your eyes, you know.” Omega remarked from Rouge’s other side.

Shadow glowered at him and stabbed the fork into the cake, bringing up a piece and shoving it contemptuously into his mouth. The glare faded the second he tasted it, though, his eyes widening again.

“What’s in this?” he asked, the moment he’d swallowed his slice. (Rouge cursed to herself again at the loss of teasing material. Maria had really taught this guy his manners when he was young...)

“It’s nothing much, honey.” Rouge’s mom said warmly. “It’s just a lot of chocolate and cocoa.”

“It’s amazing.” he said quickly, before turning his undivided attention back to the cake and scarfing it down in a manner that made Rouge proud.

Halfway through the piece, the younger bat grinned at him. “See? You’re practically related already.”

Shadow looked like he didn’t know whether to scowl or keep eating, so he settled for a rapid glare in between bites. 

Rouge laughed for a full five minutes after that.

…

Late at night, after her shower, Rouge walked back into their room only to see Shadow sitting upright, his silhouette framed by the rays of the moon. Omega was still awake, too, just two red circles of light showing and the rest of his body shrouded in darkness.

“You two okay?” she asked carefully.

“I’ve been thinking…” Shadow said quietly. “...about how much you’ve had to do for us. You single-handedly built this team up from the ground, even as Omega kept on going off to do his own thing and I dealt with...various issues. I wish there was some way I could express...how much...” He trailed off, clearly unable to find the right words.

Rouge felt a big smile grow on her face. “Awww…” she said gently. “I did this because I wanted to, don’t you know that? Sure, I wanted you two to stop fighting, and sure, I figured it just made sense at the time, but in the long run...we really work well together, you know?”

Omega spoke up next. “Regarding what you said yesterday, Rouge...I do believe that I am better off with you two than alone. Mostly because it enables me to achieve my-

“-actually, forget that. Never tell anyone else that I said what I am about to say. Or…or else. I have, for a while, had one goal: to destroy Eggman and his inferior creations. However...I have also had, for a somewhat shorter amount of time, a second goal: to...protect and...help, in whatever way they require, my...teammates, or friends, or siblings, whatever you call it.” 

He had trailed off into mumbling by the end of it, clearly disliking how much his little speech had contradicted his usual ‘big bad robot’ personality.

The only noise after that was a high-pitched ‘aaaaaaaa’ from Rouge.

Shadow smirked faintly at her reaction. “Do I need to make a dramatic announcement as well?”

“Shut up.” Omega muttered petulantly. If the robot could scowl, Rouge knew he’d be doing so.

“No, hon. Only if you want to.” Rouge said to Shadow, ignoring Omega’s comment.

“Then I suppose…” He clutched one inhibitor ring for a moment. “....I will simply say that I am...happy. Here. With both of you.”

After a couple minutes of comfortable silence, Rouge and Omega both made their way over to the middle of the room, where Shadow’s bed was. Somehow, they worked it out so that all three sat on the mattress and the bat and the hybrid each leaned against one of the robot’s sides, their arms meeting around the back of his metal casing.

It would have made a strange silhouette if anyone could have seen them then, a spiky head and a bat wing the only defining features next to the bulk of a giant robot. But they didn’t give a single thought to how anyone else viewed them.

They were good for each other, even if nobody else had the sense to realize it. All their rough edges and jagged pieces from their pasts just meant that they understood what it was like to go through difficult times and come out the other side.

All three had been alone at some point.

But none of them would have to go through that again.

And Rouge decided on something as she leaned against Omega, her hand on Shadow’s arm. 

The family you find is just as important, and just as real, as the one you’re born with. Many people have one but never the other, but Rouge realized that despite all the terrible things she’d been through…

...somehow she’d been lucky enough to have both.

[janekfan]

yeeeEEEESSSS I love your writing so much!!! I'm here with a prompt!! so i have a personal headcanon that Jon and Tim gave each other their spare apartment keys back when they were still in research, because neither of them know many people they trust for emergencies. so what if, idk. there was an emergency? :) (if you want a more specific prompt i could think of one!!!)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26740198

@taylortut This was great! I too have done what Jon did...we try so hard T_T

It wasn’t a surprise when Tim called out for the third time in a row, but Jon was getting worried. He was usually so hale that to be laid low like this was really out of the ordinary and Jon spent all day waffling between going to check up on him and minding his own business. They each had a key to each other’s flats for emergencies, considering they were, as Tim put it, two eligible bachelors living a lonely life.

This was an emergency?

Right?

Or something like one?

It was probably too late really to go back on his decision considering he was already on the train and he checked again on the contents in the bag despite having checked out front of the tesco immediately after their purchase. Lemsip, some sort of blue sports drink because he remembered Tim saying it was superior to all other colors, his favorite soup, popsicles for his throat if it was sore, tissues, crackers, tea, honey, lozenges...

Maybe it was too much.

Maybe he’d forgotten something.

Jon checked again as he stood shifting nervously from foot to foot outside the flat before knocking quietly and letting himself in.

“Tim?” He slipped off his shoes, glancing around the sitting room before locating him curled up on the bed seemingly caught in between hot and cold. Tucked up in a veritable mountain of blankets and quilts, he had one leg hanging off the bed. “Hey, Tim.”

“Nnnngh…”

“I thought as much.” Shivering and sweating, he looked absolutely godawful when Jon folded back the covers; sniffling and coughing and making pathetic little noises that Jon responded to sympathetically. “When’s the last time you had any medicine?” Tim shrugged with one shoulder, hair messy and sticking up in all directions, but he’d been sleeping for a little while and when Jon pressed the inside of one wrist against his blazing forehead he decided it had probably been long enough. He poured an electric glass of blue and handed Tim an open blister pack of pills, waiting until he’d downed both before tucking him back in and gently shushing his muttering.

Jon unpacked the rest of his supplies, leaving them where Tim would easily find them, now confident that he’d made the correct call before checking in on him one more time. Asleep and considerably less flushed, Jon felt alright leaving him, placing a note with instructions to call him should he need anything else underneath a glass of neon liquid and leaving the way he came.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise. Jon had been feeling out of sorts all weekend and coming into work certainly hadn't alleviated any symptoms. If anything, he felt worse and though Martin did what he could and made him tea and made him go home relatively on time, Tim was just angry; snapping at him when he blocked the narrow archive hallways, slow from still healing injuries and aches brought about by his cold and drawing attention to the fact that Jon was damaged goods. It wasn't a good feeling, especially when Sasha seemed to join in on the fun in her backhanded way. Or maybe not really at all? Maybe he was misinterpreting it, probably. They’d been so upset with him lately and his paranoia and he didn’t mean to, really he didn’t. Rather than think on it any longer, Jon let his head fall to his desk, closing his eyes against the thin line of hallway light because even that small amount was like looking into the depths of the sun.

Couldn’t record.

Couldn’t research.

Couldn’t ask anyone for help with either task.

Or for. Well. For help at all, really.

And he thought he might like a little help at the moment. Someone to bring him lunch knowing he wasn’t feeling well even though he wouldn’t be able to eat it. Checking in to see if he was set on medicine. Asking after him so he could deny feeling so poorly only for them to see past it and send him home.

He wished someone would just…see him.

He'd always had trouble accepting that his actions had consequences and learning those types of lessons never had been his strong suit.

Martin’s tea was the one bright spot in his day. He could and did look forward to that in the afternoon. Would just lay here until then. Waiting for a bit of perfectly steeped comfort. And he didn’t disappoint because if Martin was anything, he was reliable.

“Jon, you look dreadful.” Blessedly, the light was still off because Martin was smart like that, in the little ways that really mattered, and he was silhouetted against the door, blocking the beams just waiting to fall over him and dig the icepick deeper. When he opened his mouth to answer, nothing came out, lips forming around the shapes of the words he’d tried to say and quickly forgotten in mild surprise at how sore his throat was. He reached for the tea with trembling hands and when did that happen? Pulling it towards him across the desk and sipping from the rim without lifting it. Hot. Lovely. Full of honey and lemon and the noise he made was wholly unprofessional. Humming, he let his eyes close, taking another swallow. “I think you should go home early.” Large and cool against his skin, Jon leaned into the palm on his forehead. “Yeah, you’re burning up, you shouldn’t be here.” Sad at being scolded, Jon hid in his tea and Martin let him finish, pen scratching against a scrap of paper. “Can you make it on the train?” Probably? He made it here didn’t he?

“Y’yes, Martin.”

“Ah, there you are.”

“Thank you. For, for the tea.” Really.

“‘Course. Now, here.” He pressed the note into his hand, wrapping his scarf around his neck after he did so while Jon tried to parse the information. “You’re to stop off at the chemist, all right?” Jon nodded, the squiggles dancing in front of him and he knew Martin’s handwriting wasn’t that bad. “Give that to them, they’ll help you collect the medicine, alright?” A hand on his shoulder caught his attention. “Alright?” He nodded again. “I’d go with you, but, my mum.” And again. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own? I could ask Sasha or Tim--”

“No! No, no need to bother them. I’ll, I’ll be fine.” He could feel Martin looking him up and down, he could feel the weight of his disbelief.

“I’ll see you to the door.” Gently, he steered him through the archives, “I’ll be texting. You’ll be answering.” Nodding, he knew Martin was watching him as he set off towards the station.

By the time Jon staggered into the sitting room, he was ready to collapse. He was weighed down by several medications and the instructions on how to take them and he would make sure he took them. And drank water. Because Martin said and he’d been disappointing so many people lately that the thought of disappointing one more made tears sting the corners of his eyes. A buzzing woke him from where he’d fallen asleep on his couch.

Did you make it home? Oh. Yes. Martin did say. Jon stared at the screen before shoving himself up. He should take some medicine and go to bed. Bed, that sounded lovely. Laying down sounded lovely.

Yes, thank you, Martin.

Good, get some rest. DO NOT come in tomorrow.

Yes, Martin. He waited a few seconds before sending again, Thank you, Martin.

The next day passed in a blur of different medications, glasses and mugs of water, and shifting from bed, to couch, to overstuffed chair in his restlessness, sleeping hours wrapped up in each in between responding to Martin’s texts.

Martin was surprised, to say the least, at how well Jon was keeping in touch. He responded to each inquiry within a few hours, hopefully spending the time between resting, was taking medicine, and keeping himself hydrated. Martin was. Well, he was a little stunned, to be honest.

Got medicine. Even a glass of water. He’d included a blurry picture of said glass and it was so Not Jon, Martin’s laugh got away from him.

Doing fine, thank you, Martin. His standard response.

You don't have to keep checking on me. What Martin was sure was his guilty response.

I'm alright. There was more and more time in between these. More time, and fewer words, and worry settled heavy in his stomach.

tired Unnerving.

And then on Saturday, nothing at all.

Martin couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong and when Jon didn’t text back, or pick up the phone when he called on repeat, he rang Tim.

“Martin.” No. There was no way he was going over there. He’d sooner chuck the key into an open drain and walk into the next fear ritual voluntarily than check on him.

“Tim, I, I can’t, or I would. Please. Please, you have a key and I just know he’s in a bad way.” He sighed. Martin’s voice was shaking on the other end of the line and Tim knew that if he could have been there for Jon, he'd be there already. "Just, just a quick look. To make sure--to make sure."

Make sure.

"Please, Tim."

"I. Fine. Fine. Five minutes, that's all I'm wasting on him."

All told, Jon didn't live more than a few stops away and Tim thrust his hands into his pockets angrily, hunching into the collar of his coat and swearing under his breath. Jon was fine. He was ignoring Martin because that's what he did to people. At the door he stood waiting before finally rapping his fist sharply against it.

"Oi! Jon!" A few seconds of silence and he was counting down his promised minutes. Cheating he supposed because he had yet to see him, but whatever. "Open up! It's Tim!" Who else would it be, you miserable, paranoid, overblown librarian. He'd have to use his key and even touching it made his stomach flip. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be far away from here and he couldn't even do that. But for Martin, he twisted the key in its matching lock, shoving into a chilly sitting room strewn with half-empty mugs and glasses of water littering each flat surface. "Jon?" No sign of him yet, he could have stepped out. Tim picked up his phone, balanced on the edge of a scratched and worn table. A string of missed calls and increasingly panicked messages ending finally in threats to send Tim I know you have a key Stoker. "Christ." He wasn't in bed, the small thing practically hidden beneath every blanket in the place and he pushed into the bath, flicking on the light like he'd suddenly appear and gawping like a fish when he did.

Curled up on the freezing tile, shivering fit to fly apart and soaked through with sweat, lay one ailing Jonathan Sims.

"Jon?" Ashen and struggling to breathe, he didn't respond until Tim kneeled and shook one bony shoulder and even then it took far too long for him to become anything other than barely aware. Face twisting up, Jon blinked, pulling in a labored lungful of air and gearing up to use it.

“T’Tim? How…?” Fucking hell, even with a foot out the door--

“Enough with the paranoia!" The flinch was like a physical blow and Jon began hacking unproductively into his folded elbow.

“S’sorry...din’t…” Breathless and trying hard to catch it. Flooded with guilt, Tim dragged a hand down his face. Here he was in his flat, miserable and ill and now Tim was here out of nowhere shouting at him? “Sorry. D’you n'need somethin'?” He’d always been small, a subject of much contention when things used to be good, but his voice, small and tired--he was barely there, skin and bone, burning away into nothing if the flush high in his cheeks meant anything. He was just sick. Hit hard with a bad flu and trying his best to manage it alone. And how did that make him even angrier? There was medicine scattered around and he even had an empty glass on the floor with him--he'd been trying and instead of just asking for some damn help!

"Do I--no!" Yelling at a half naked man lying on the floor. Nice Tim. What energy Jon had was gone, and he was back to gasping between words, confused.

"Then… I, I don't… What--" He heaved for another gulp of air, like he couldn't get enough.

Multiple types of meds, some with overlapping ingredients. Idiot had probably overdosed himself on the different kinds, too disoriented to keep careful track.

"Jon, how much did you take?" Tim grabbed him now, fingers digging painfully into his hot, hot skin.

"Dose… the, the dose."

"How much?" He demanded and Jon whimpered, ducking his head.

"I, I--" Shaking harder now and crying silently, huge tears rolled down his face. He was scared of him, afraid and pushing himself off the tile in an attempt to put more distance between them only succeeding in bouncing his temple off the tub. With a hoarse cry he curled into himself, and he'd hate the comparison, but like a dying spider. Hunched forward and protecting his no doubt aching head with gangly too thin limbs. "Instructions… M’Martin said. Said water an’ an’..."

Tim was terrible at this. Barging in, yelling and shouting. Jon probably didn't know which way was up, let alone how much medication he took trying to get through this by himself with his only connection being the phone he'd left on the table. Clearly, he hadn't been well enough to retrieve it.

Damn it, Jon.

"Let me see." Another squeak, wretched and sneaking from his throat. "Jon." Stern, not angry, scooching forward and he could see one red rimmed and wary eye peeking between his fingers and the curls escaping from their tie. "Lemme take a look." Gently and after a moment's more scrutiny he was allowed to touch, to guide his trembling hands away, brush back the tangles to examine the forming bruise. It didn't look too bad. Certainly no more than either of them had experienced before. What was bad was the heat under his palm, the tiny shivers, the way his chest stuttered trying to pull each breath into his body. “Okay, the floor isn’t the place for you.”

“S’sorry. I--” Cut off by another fit, this one harder than the last, and it left him winded, apologies forced out by halves. “Been d’dizzy…”

“You don’t need to apologize for being ill, Jon.”

“M’sorry.” Tim sighed, reaching for him again and hating the way he shrank away. But he supposed just minutes ago he was shaking him.

“S’alright, boss.” Relieved by the way the old nickname relaxed him, he hefted him up and Jon was like a new colt trying out his legs for the first time, hands fisted in Tim’s shirt, inhale, exhale, shallow and fast.

Safely deposited on the bedside, Tim handed him an oversized shirt from the half-open drawer, recognizing it as his own, left behind sometime before. It would have been big on Jon back when they worked in research but now. The fight to yank off the sweat soaked tee took it out of him, evidenced by the way Jon had just tossed it on the floor and now he was bare chested, ribs beginning to show, all scarred skin and exhausted shaking. Tim hated it; this man was a stranger and he shouldn't be. He slipped his shirt over his head, leaving him to figure out how to get his arms through the sleeves.

“Lay down.” He’d arranged the pillows to keep him up off his back while breathing was still a chore. “Text Martin.” Tim pressed the phone into his hand, stepping away and returning with a cold compress, smoothing it over his forehead and checking to make sure he’d fired off a message. It was short and poorly spelled, but Tim knew it would put Martin at ease, especially when he followed up in a moment or two.

And he sat at the other end of the bed. Feet up and legs laid beside Jon’s.

Watching.

Watched.

Until even half out of his mind, Jon had to ask.

"Y’you’re staying?" Eyes barely open and just above a whisper.

"Well.” Tim crossed his ankles and took out his own phone to pass the time, settling into a comfortable position. “Since you went ahead and poisoned yourself, guess I have to." He nudged his blanketed thigh with a toe. “Go to sleep, Jon.”

[tobiosmilktea]

a simple romance — tsukishima kei

1.5k words | genre/s: fluff, 80s!au | warning/s: — | pairing: tsukishima x fem!reader

↪︎ in which you and tsukishima celebrate a simple anniversary for your simple romance

a/n: kinda plotless and just mindless word throw up because im a homeless romantic who’s whipped for tsukishima, plus it’s my 500 follower special ✋🏻😌

you and tsukishima always had quite the simple romance. the only factor that was not exactly simple was that it was tsukishima who confessed first one september day. it was early in the morning the moment the sky bled its onyx night sky into an orangey-dawn.

you had barely left the safe confines of your home when the tall blond that waited outside your door in the crisp autumn air had nonchalantly confessed. usually it was him and yamaguchi waiting for you, but you figured he made his best friend walk ahead in order to be alone with you.

it was quite surprising, really. you assumed that all you were to tsukishima was nothing but a friend, someone so annoyingly bearable that he only let you stick around because you made him bentos once in a while. and in a surprising turn of events, you accepted his feelings and the two of you have been dating primarily on the low.

having your relationship known wasn’t exactly your main priority and neither was tsukishima’s. especially considering that if his volleyball team found out, they wouldn’t leave you alone for a second without bombarding you about why you would end up with someone as salty as him. the funny thing was that you often asked yourself that as well, but with how simple your romance was, there was nothing more to answer that question besides the fact you liked being with him. so you digress.

granted, since your relationship was more or less a secret besides only yamaguchi being aware of this fact, you and tsukishima often had to see each other in away from the sight of others. most of the time is was behind closed doors, but sometimes, sometimes, very early in the mornings you two would have a sweet rendezvous somewhere behind the gym before spending the rest of the hours before school starts on the field.

with you being a member of the track team and tsukishima being in the volleyball club, the field seemed like the only plausible reason why the two of you would be there. every friday morning you two would come early just to run around the track with the cool morning breeze and the tweets of songbirds tweeted among the peaceful silence.

you and tsukishima walked upon school grounds with water bottles in hand and your walkmans in the other. you had recently gotten a new one for your birthday, the latest 1984 Sony Walkman that was progressively better in sound quality than your boyfriend’s old 1982 model, to which he stated, “how much better can it be when your music taste is trash?”

you rolled your eyes and ran ahead of him. he gets quite annoyed when you do that as he isn’t necessarily the fastest runner. the only reasons why he does these morning runs is to be with you, so you ditching made him put on that cute pout you can’t resist. besides, you would reward him with a heated make out session behind the gym or the storage closet in return.

ten laps around the track was all you two ran, occasionally making small talk on the most existential topics on whether or not aliens exist or the stupid hypothetical questions about a zombie apocalypse—to which tsukishima would tease you and say he would feed you to the zombies. but it wasn’t to say that sometimes waves of comfortable silence wouldn’t fall upon you two. you concluded that no matter what, you would always find yourself in this type of tranquil silence with tsukishima. you had even forgotten your boyfriend’s stares of admiration, rather, you didn’t actually know if his gazes were of malice, indifference, or adoration, but whatever it was you hoped it was something good.

despite dating for a year now, you still couldn’t tell the difference, but you knew deep inside your gut that was accompanied by the same butterflies that all he means is nothing but love. and you wished to show that love as today was your anniversary.

and to which tsukishima thought you couldn’t get more breathtaking than the last time you had been at each other’s companies just yesterday, it seemed he had been proven wrong. you were teeth stark against the moonlight, divulged in night torn howls of winds and slick with honor. even at your worst, with skin frayed with abrasions and scrapped knees, tsukishima still found light within your fondness. and right now, you were filled with ichor of charming homemade raptures. your boyfriend couldn’t fathom how beguiled he was for a girl he hadn’t thought of more than an add on to his friendship with yamaguchi.

after your run, you two found yourselves resting upon the bleachers near the baseball field. you rested your legs atop tsukishima’s as he fiddled with your walkman. your headphones were now rested over your boyfriend’s ears as he listened to your curated mixtape of songs you specifically listened to on your runs with tsukishima. the songs that you burned on it were special to you and him and to you and him only. the songs that reminded you two of your first date during the night when you breathed out against the late night’s mist, inhaling the stars as you and tsukishima walked hand in hand through the city—of his quips of banter, his wisecracks of pleasantries, even his annoyingly amiable witticisms that would often put you in your place of not being as clever as your boyfriend—had a special place in your heart.

your gaze, warm in admiration as you looked upon his handsome features, took him in like a breath of fresh air. he was bobbing his head lightly to the music. it made a smile melt upon your face as your thoughts were scattered by the wind (a mere light breeze) as you exhaled your silk promises. your bare knuckles grazed over his as your hand lifted to his face, running your hand through his messy blond hair.

within seconds, the mixtape clicked to an end to which tskushima kissed your palm messing at his hair as he sat up. “this is actually good,” he mutters. “perhaps your music taste isn’t as bad as i remembered.”

“that’s funny considering most of my past music taste was from you.” you jested with a smirk on your lips.

he scoffs playfully, pecking your lips quickly. “yeah right, the majority of your mixtapes were nothing but queen and abba.”

“please tell me you’re not trashing queen and abba,” you rolled your eyes and feigning offense, “they’re literally iconic.”

“if you added some mötley crüe or tears of fears, maybe it would be better.” tsukishima smirks, making you huff. “but it’s fine as since it is our anniversary today, i figured i would be nice.”

“do you want to give our gifts now?” 

tsukishima nods as he smiles, “so i can listen to it throughout the day.”

your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, “how’d you know i was going to give you a mixtape?”

“mere intuition,” your boyfriend jokes, causing you to shake your head as you reached into your backpack’s front pocket. “i actually burned you one too.” tsukishima did the same as the two of you faced each other once more with mixtapes in both your hands.

your fingers brushed each others briefly as you two traded gifts. and despite contact between the two of you hadn’t been scarce, there was still that same spark and radiating warmth that would consume you two.

both had cute notes attached to it as you had both read it.

FOR MY LOVE: the first mixtape of yours that isn’t complete rubbish and the first mixtape given to you for your new 1984 Sony Walkman that you won’t stop talking about. i don’t have to worry about you liking these songs because i know you will since i know you so well. i’ve also come to notice that you like to mix severely opposite genres on one tape i.e fleetwood mac and metallica like an absolute monster. so i did that on this tape for your sake. i love you, idiot.  —tsukishima kei

FOR MY BLONDIE: even though you hate listening to mainstream music, i couldn’t help but put on the latest from michael jackson, madonna, and some city pop because who else would i scream these songs until my throat is raw with? but besides that, i added some more of your favorites like twisted sister. i can’t wait for you to make fun of this mixtape because i know deep down it’s going to be one of your favorites because it came from me. i love you, dickhead.  — l/n y/n

you two sit in silence for bit, doing nothing more but being in each other’s presence and embrace. letting the world before you continue to move as you looked at the tape’s songs. you were immediately struck with the feeling of the nostalgic nights with tsukishima, laughing in the dark at two in the morning of messing around and reassuring pats on the back. you two were quilted blankets and moonless nights, of warm sunspots on a cloudy day, and cherry blossom petals falling upon your hair without noticing. you were tsukishima’s cure to boredom and lack of sleep. you two were each other’s everything.

it was your simple romance.