#get there that doesn’t involve fleecing the people i care about

[fingertipsmp3]

Okay hear me out: should I buy a car

[ahb-writes]

Book Review: ‘My Youth Romantic Comedy...#14′

My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong, As I Expected, Vol. 14 by Wataru Watari My rating: 5 of 5 stars The end is the beginning is the end. And for Hachiman Hikigaya, every awkward and fidgety breath he takes in the final weeks of the semester drags him ever closer toward resolution. Whether that resolution bends to the ephemeral will of a youth gone terribly awry or the oversimplified yearning of a burgeoning adulthood that thrives on indecision, Hikigaya knows this: the nebulous, triangular affection between he and Yuigahama and Yukinoshita must be made real, lest it be increasingly, if not eternally, bent out of shape. MY YOUTH ROMANTIC COMEDY v14 capably fulfills the novel series' enduring promise of delivering a character drama among selfish people who are consistently too stubborn to believe the truth about themselves. Yukino Yukinoshita must overcome her mother's withering glare and her elder sister's insufferable pretentiousness to prove she's capable of governing her own future. She'll never succeed if she keeps bowing her head and taking the easy way out. Yui Yuigahama is overloaded with kind-heartedness but never ventures beyond a careful, cheerful, appeasable smile. She'll choke on her own charm if she's not careful. Hachiman Hikigaya detests in others what he sees reflected in himself; he is rotten, hopeless, and friendless. And yet, somehow, his reliability and persistence, however dark, have proved endearing. Now is not the time to be idle. The prom event that was so masterfully called into being by Hikigaya and his bespectacled allies in the previous volume comes to full fruition. This end-of-year celebration required intense and roundabout haggling that kept Hikigaya on his toes. But the event is here. Will things go smoothly? Will the event meet senior students' expectations? Will the event meet the expectations of worried teachers and meddling parents? Funnily enough, the prom itself is of little concern or consequence to the narrative. More critical to note are the dramatics rummaging about in the shadows. Yukinoshita is under pressure to validate her capacity as a business woman and problem-solver extraordinaire. Yukinoshita is also trying to figure out why she's so comfortable letting Hikigaya get so close, to help her with her problems, and to bolster her position in her most arduous, personal fights. But she cares for that rotten-eyed boy with the messy hair. What would happen if she left him behind? Would she be stronger for it? Or would she suffer her loneliness all the more? Unresolved loneliness is a recurring theme in MY YOUTH ROMANTIC COMEDY v14. The turning over of winter into spring, and the changing over of the academic year, parallel and cradle these thematic notes. People come and go, but loneliness and separation permeate every adult's lived experience. One requires courage and affection and steadfastness to fill these gaps and endure their turbulence. And that's when Hikigaya functions at his best (worst). The young man feels Yukinoshita and Yuigahama slipping away. He doesn't want to lose them; they don't want to lose him; and the girls don't want to lose each other. The tenderness of their bonds varies, but the realness of their relationship is so new and so tenuous that to dismiss it and move on would be a colossal mistake. So Hikigaya hatches a plan. And it's a doozy. It involves that fake, joint-prom from before. It involves deliberately drawing Mrs. Yukinoshita's icy gaze (and then fleecing the woman of her own expectations). It involves shedding the skin of presumption in allying with the idiots at Kaihin Makuhari High School. It involves backing person after person into a corner, leaving them only one way out, and then tagging them on the back as they flee. If readers learn one thing from MY YOUTH ROMANTIC COMEDY v14, it's that Hikigaya will rake everyone over the coals for the sake one, fragile relationship with one, fragile girl. And it'll take all of this guy's guile, resilience, and self-inflicted buffoonery to make it out alive. But if it works, if his plan succeeds, even in the slightest, then the young man will have finally bargained with his inner idiot to confess how he truly feels to the young woman who pushes him the most. Best-case scenario: He will have successfully bartered a sheepish acknowledgment from the source of his affection as to how she truly feels about him. In short, Hachiman Hikigaya manufactures a literal crash-course of human emotions. Yukinoshita feels so worn down that she falters in the face of honesty ("I knew my expression was abnormal, poorly executed, and awkward, but nevertheless, I would have to get better at smiling from the next day onward," p. 57). Yuigahama sobs because her sweetness is a poison to her heart and her heart alone ("I wish I could have hated her," p. 107). And Ms. Hiratsuka, in another grand flirtation with off-brand maturity, reminds readers that human relations, as with life, are hard, because they wouldn't be worth it otherwise ("The answer is inside you. You just don't know how to get it out [..] If understanding came so easily, there'd be no suffering," pp. 198, 200). What does one say when "I love you" clearly isn't enough? Why would one willingly burden oneself with the emotional frailties of another? How many tears must one shed to replenish a heart constantly running on empty? In the end, we learn that romance at the heart of youth only exists when one wants it to. This is paradoxical and inconvenient, and also entirely true. Which is why, once more, Hachiman Hikigaya gambles with his own emotions. But this time, it actually pays off: "It was so arrogant to hope for something unbreakable and real, so I had to use everything in my power to twist it, smash it, hurt it -- test it, or I wouldn't be able to believe it really existed" (p. 238). Structurally, MY YOUTH ROMANTIC COMEDY v14 feels like multiple stories in one. A story with multiple twists and turns, multiple climaxes, and multiple shifts in the emotional latitude the author is willing to reveal about his characters. For example, early in the novel, the author uses rapid-fire exposure to the three Yukinoshita women to draw a definitive, compare-and-contrast calibration of the family's professional-grade loneliness. That is to say, the Yukinoshita women are consistently beset with aloneness, but it's how they respond to it that differentiates them: haughtiness (Mrs. Yukinoshita), bitterness (Haruno), and comradeship (Yukino). As the novel progresses, readers, as well as the protagonist, unintentionally peel away the layers of egotism, shortsightedness, and pity, respectively, which denote and decorate these women's lives. But the journey is worth it. By the time a certain character bashfully chirps, "I love you, Hikigaya" (p. 336), the reader feels just as awed and unready as the narrator. And the peaceful, complicated, meaningful dynamics that enter the fray are a hassle. Such a ridiculous hassle. But it's not unexpected.

Light-Novel Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter five

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn't expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rated: E (drug use and emotional abuse)

ao3 link

*

As the rest of the day ticked by, Beca kept replaying the events at Sarah’s coffee shop over and over, unable to pinpoint what she could have said to make Chloe bolt like that. She managed to focus on her tasks at hand over the afternoon and headed home around 6, groaning as soon as she stepped inside when she remembered she had promised Sarah to cook her dinner. 

She pondered on canceling for half a minute because all she felt like doing was taking a long shower and eating pizza in bed, but she already felt guilty about a lot of things these past couple of days. 

So she took a quick shower instead and put on some comfy jeans and a plaid shirt, tossing her blow-dried hair in a messy bun atop her head. With one of her favorite blues records playing throughout her home, Beca set to work to make creamy salmon pasta with spinach, nursing a much-needed glass of wine as she cooked. 

“Babe?” 

“In the kitchen,” Beca called out over the music, lowering the heat on the boiling water and dropping a handful of spaghetti in. She smiled as Sarah brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Hey.” 

“Hello you,” Sarah murmured, squeezing her hip as she walked past her to set a bottle of wine on the counter. “Smells delicious.” 

“Hopefully it tastes good, too.” Not that Beca was worried; she had been making this dish for a few years. “Wine?” 

Sarah hopped onto the counter next, humming. “Yes, please.” 

Beca opened the fridge and took the bottle out, reaching on the tip of her toes (shhh) for a glass in the cabinet over her head. She poured some wine in and handed it to Sarah. “Sorry I disappeared earlier.”

After Chloe had left, Beca wasn’t in the mood to eat or finish her coffee, leaving a $20 on the table on her way out. 

“Was that the friend you told me about yesterday?” 

Beca puffed out a sigh. “Yeah. She’s…” It’s complicated, Beca was about to say, but she figured she owed Sarah some details after what happened at her workplace. “She’s in a bad place. And I wanna help her, but she doesn’t seem to want any help. I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

Sarah covered Beca’s hand with her own, the pad of her thumb stroking her skin back and forth. “Has it been a long time since you last saw each other?” 

“Over six years. We fell out of touch about five years ago. Well, she cut us all out of her life nearly overnight.” 

Sarah tilted her head to the side. “Us?” 

“The Bellas, from college. Chloe and I were co-captains.” Beca swallowed around the lump forming in her throat as a wave of nostalgia hit her with full force. “She just… she was my best friend.” 

“I’m sorry, baby. Maybe give her some time and she’ll come around?” 

Beca doubted that, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah, maybe.” She shook her head, squeezing Sarah’s hand as she mustered a smile. “Enough about me. How was your day?” 

As the next week ticked by, Beca started to lose hope. In true Beca Mitchell fashion, she threw herself into work to avoid dealing with her emotions, staying at the office until midnight most days. 

A knock on her open-door one night made her jolt. She had lost herself in the view and her own thoughts, unaware someone was still at the office. 

Beca spun her chair around to face the door, finding Luke in the doorway. “Why are you here so late?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Luke pointed out, inviting himself in. He set a sheet of paper in front of Beca, then plopped down in the seat on the other side of her desk. “This is incredible. You’ve got to record it.” 

Beca glanced down at her own handwriting, heavily regretting showing Luke that song she wrote a few days ago. “I don’t know, man.” 

“What?” Luke asked, incredulous. “Becky, you haven’t been able to write a lyric for the past three years and now that you’ve got a platinum record worthy song, you don’t want to use it?”

Beca nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “It feels too personal, I’m not sure I feel like sharing it with the world.” She glared at him next. “And stop calling me Becky, this is getting old.” 

“I’m serious, this might be your best work yet,” Luke insisted. “Think about it?”

“I will. Now get out of my office,” Beca muttered.

“You got it, Becky,” Luke teased, easily catching the stress ball Beca tossed at his head, chuckling at her poor attempt. “You should go home and get some sleep.” 

“Yeah. Night.” 

“Goodnight.” 

*

It turned out Sarah had been right. 

When Beca wasn’t expecting it anymore, Chloe called. And she sounded like Chloe. Hope flared within her once more, but she tried not to let it engulf her whole being. While Chloe reaching out was an enormous step, Beca threaded carefully, knowing a lot could happen in five days. 

She wished she had been wrong, but as it pushed 1 pm that Thursday afternoon, it was pretty clear Chloe wouldn’t show. Beca didn’t have her phone number or any other way to contact her. Her heart felt heavy as she headed back to BMLJ for her meeting with Jesse regarding his movie score, and her head was too full of thoughts to completely focus on work. 

“Earth to Beca.” 

Beca hummed, snapping out of her daze. Jesse was staring at her in a mix of concern and curiosity. “Sorry.” 

“Do you wanna do this another time?” 

“No, no,” Beca insisted, straightening up. “I’m okay.” She hated how well Jesse knew her, and heaved a sigh when he gave her that look. “It’s Chloe.” 

“Chloe Beale?” Jesse asked. “She’s in New York?” 

“Yeah. I found her a couple of weeks ago. She’s a stripper at some hyped club in Times Square.” 

“Holy shit, seriously?” 

Beca proceeded to tell him everything over the next ten minutes, Jesse hanging onto every word. “Am I stupid? Trying so hard to help someone who clearly doesn’t want to be helped?” 

“No, you’re not stupid. You’re a softie under that tough exterior and you care deeply about the people you love. Especially Chloe. I was in the front row, remember?” 

Beca grimaced, some of that decade-old guilt surfacing. “Dude…” 

“It’s fine. I’m definitely over all of that, but we both know Chloe is too important for you to just give up. And from how you described her, and that phone call? It sounds like she still cares, but she lost herself along the way and is now in so deep she has trouble coming back on her own. Maybe she just needs to hear that asking for help isn’t giving up, but rather refusing to give up.” 

Those words echoed deep within Beca, and she found herself nodding, filled with newfound energy to fight for this. “I need to go by the club. Tonight. Her boss might kick me out if I show up inside, but maybe I can wait by the back door?” 

“I’ll come with you.” 

“You don’t have to, man. It might be hours before we see her.” 

“That guy sounds creepy, you shouldn’t go on your own.” 

Beca sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll pick you up around ten.” 

*

Beca felt like they were on a stake-out as they waited in her car hours later, parked across the back alley of the club. Winter had definitely settled in in NYC and waiting in the cold for hours in freezing temperatures didn’t seem like a great plan. 

She texted back and forth with Aubrey, who once more offered to come down, but Beca was concerned Chloe might think they were ambushing her. 

It was pushing midnight by the time a familiar figure stepped out of the building through the side door. Chloe was on her own. 

Beca slapped Jesse’s arm to wake him up. “She’s here.” 

They both stepped out of the car and crossed the street when it was clear, Beca telling Jesse to wait by the corner as she tentatively approached Chloe, slipping her gloved hands inside the pockets of her dark grey wool trench coat. 

She was smoking a cigarette, clad in her glitter dress under an open fleece jacket. Her gaze flickered to Beca when she spotted her, her posture turning rigid. “What are you doing here?” 

There was no bite to her tone but soft curiosity, which reassured Beca further. 

“Can we talk?” 

Chloe glanced over her shoulder towards the door as she nibbled on her lower lip. “Five minutes, then I have to go back inside.”

She met Beca on the other side of the alley, the orange glow of the lamp post over their heads allowing Beca to trace her features. “You didn’t show earlier.” 

Chloe dragged on her cigarette. “I changed my mind.”

“Is that the truth or did someone tell you not to?” She wasn’t dumb; after meeting Chloe’s boss and knowing she was his favorite, she had an inkling the two were somehow involved. And that guy just gave off a crazy possessive vibe. Chloe’s silence was her answer. “Chlo…” 

“It’s more complicated than you think,” Chloe murmured, licking her lips. 

“Then explain it to me,” she demanded, a desperate edge to her tone. 

“Why are you doing this?” Chloe croaked out. “Why won’t you leave me alone?” 

Her question took Beca by surprise, and her mouth moved wordlessly for a few beats. “Because I care about you. And you’re not okay, Chlo. I want to help.” 

“Beca…” 

She thought back on Jesse’s words. “Asking for help is not giving up, Chloe. It’s refusing to give up. And I’m here. You just have to say the word, I’ve got you.” 

Chloe shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. “I’m not--” Her eyes were filled with so much sadness when they found Beca’s that Beca had to remind herself to breathe. “I’m not worth it.” 

Those four words felt like a knife lodging itself inside Beca’s heart. They stole all the air from her lungs and brought tears to her eyes. “What?” She whispered, her voice nowhere within reach as a huge lump formed in her throat. “That’s not true,” she said, with more forcefulness this time around. “It’s not, you hear me?” 

Chloe kept shaking her head. “You don’t know me anymore.” 

“Maybe I don’t know this version of you, but I know Chloe Beale is still in there, somewhere. I heard her on the phone the other day, remember? And I can see her now, under all those layers of sadness and lack of self-worth triggered by outside factors. I know her soul hasn’t changed, deep down. It couldn’t have, because you are the purest, kindest human being there is, and that has to still be somewhere in there.” 

“I’m broken, Bec,” Chloe cried, her eyes filled to the rim with tears threatening to spill over. “I’m a crack addict. I don’t--” A sob spilled from her throat. “I spend all my money on coke and all I know how to do anymore is show my breasts for money.” 

A tear rolled down Beca’s cheek as she reached for Chloe’s hand. “Then I’ll help put you back together. Piece by piece, for however long it takes. Whatever it takes, Chlo. I promise.” 

“Chloe?” 

Both their heads snapped towards the open door, where Marco stood. His features hardened when he saw Beca there, and Beca released Chloe’s hand, looking over her shoulder towards Jesse, who made his way over. 

“What is she doing here?” He spat out as he climbed down the set of steps. 

Chloe visibly swallowed, her fear radiating off her. “She’s just leaving.” 

“No, I’m not,” Beca stated, loud and clear as her eyes shone fiercely. “I’m not going anywhere without Chloe.” 

“You fucking homewrecker,” he muttered, crossing the alley in quick strides. Chloe stepped in front of Beca, as though to shield her with her own body. The anger swirling in his eyes shot a chill down Beca’s spine. “Move, Chloe.” 

Chloe shook her head. “You should go back inside, Marco. Please don’t make a scene, it’s not worth it.” 

Beca had never understood the expression ‘to see red’ until now; until she witnessed Marco backhanding Chloe with so much force she staggered back with a cry. 

Unparalleled rage filled her, the kind of rage she couldn’t control. She stepped forward and raised her fist, clocking him in the face with a mean right hook. She wasn’t sure if the cracking sound came from her knuckle or his nose breaking, the pain in her hand muffled by the adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

Marco stumbled a few steps backward with a grunt, his eyes screwed shut as he covered his nose with his hand. But Beca wasn’t done, taking advantage of his dizzy state and stepping forward to knee him in the balls as hard as she could so he couldn’t walk until they were all safely inside the car. 

“You guys get into the car,” Jesse ushered them, keeping an eye on Marco as he doubled over in pain. 

“Chloe, come on,” Beca coaxed urgently, grabbing her hand and pulling. To her surprise, Chloe didn’t fight her. She seemed absolutely shell-shocked, even once they reached the car, as though her legs were carrying her on their own accord and her brain was miles behind. “Get inside, Chlo.” 

Jesse jogged over a few seconds later and slid behind the wheel without Beca having to ask him, and she climbed in the backseat beside Chloe, relief washing over as the doors locked behind them and the car pulled onto the road towards safety. 

[lazyevaluationranch]

I was wondering if you would be willing to share the titles of your resilience-inspiring lesbian farm books? My google search led me to a book titled “Attack of the Lesbian Farmers” which, while certainly inspiring, is not exactly what I was looking for.

Here are two very different books in the Farm Lesbians Write Honestly About What Went Wrong And How They Got Through It genre. Hopefully at least one is to your taste.

It's nearly fifty years old now, and can be hard to find, but Country Women: A Handbook for the New Farmer is deeply important to me. Country Women was a black and white xeroxed magazine written by a collective of woman-run farms in California in the 1960s. (There are some issues scanned at the Lesbian Poetry Archive). Each issue was half articles about feminism and half articles about small-scale farming. In the 1970s, the how-to articles on farming were expanded and organized to make the book, along with some scattered journal entries, lovely hippie-style line drawings and poetry about wood splitting, bees, and gazing at one's beloved while fixing the tractor on a summer day. The contributors have names like Jean and Ruth Mountaingrove, Ellen Chanterelle, and Sam♀ Thomas. 

It's written in an informal and pragmatic style, mostly organic hippie farming, but using pesticides or conventional medications when necessary.

This afternoon the Anderson brothers began teaching me how to graft fruit trees - the careful joining of life with life. Even more than I loved gaining a new skill, I loved learning from two old men who have so very much to teach me. I admire the audacity of eighty-three-year-old men setting grafts that will not bear fruit for years: the total involvement in a process they love. Those trees will stand and live; I doubt whether Jake or Fred even stop to wonder if they'll pick the fruit. I want to live my life with that kind of harmony and purpose. I want to be planting seeds the day I die.

The first lamb was born today. Premature and dead. Olivia, the mother, seems to be all right though. I had a dream a few weeks ago that the lambs were born tiny (like mice) and pink. And that I struggled to save them, but they were too small to feed. The lamb today was small and pink, its fleece plastered against its body, thin and sparse. For a moment it was nightmareishly like my dream... This is my first animal death. The beginning of a long cycle. It seems even harder to have death come before life, than to have an old one die giving birth. Hopes for the future stillborn.

Driving home today, I suddenly realized that this really is going to be a sheep ranch, that I have done, and am doing, and will do it. That I'm making my livelihood from the land. The canyon is fenced now. There are  sheep out there on pastures that were open hillsides two years ago. 

The very act of building this place, the simple actions of tamping dirt, stretching wire, dumping hay in feeders, has profoundly changed my sense of self. I'm doing things I never dreamed I could do, and I'm doing them easily without even considering whether I really can. Last night I was talking with Susan about fencing the front meadow for feeder calves, and I realized that I could say that realistically, no fantasizing, no bragging: I can fence the front meadow as soon as I get done with the hay barn and get a little more money.

Like almost every other farmer in America today, I'm in debt and hoping for a good season. I'm only at the beginning now, and I know there are many struggles to come and overcome and come again: Someday I too, like my neighbours, will be counting carcasses killed by a marauding dog or watching the spring oats be wash away in an "unheard of" late storm. No matter how prepared I am, there us always that vulnerability - to the weather, other animals, disease - that seems to strike when things are finally going smoothly. But inside me there is also this incredible joy: This life is real and good, and it has made me strong and real and good too. 

I gotta stop or I'll type the whole book into this post. One more: 

My father is here this week ... working on the truck whose engine has been alien to me. I am learning now what I could have learned at 7, 11, 15. Beneath my truck, side by side, lie his seven-year-old son and his twenty-five-year-old daughter, both of us learning for the first time how bearings fit together, how to remove pistons. And here beneath this truck the patriarchy stops: he has passed his knowledge to his daughter, and from me  it will pass to sisters, from sister to sister to sister. 

That's this book. The things women weren't supposed to know in the sixties. They found people to teach them; they taught each other; they learned through bitter loss. The book says: we have gone before you and you are not alone. Here is what we have learned, and here is how we have learned it. We have failed, and we have wept, and we have gotten up and gone on, and it was alright. Here is the fire, passed from hand to hand to hand. Here is the light that will never be put out. 

The week after we first got goats, we received a package in the mail from my coolest relative, a veterinarian who was the first woman to graduate with a specialization in large animal medicine at her school. People thought that women just weren't physically capable of handling large animals. (Hint: the bull weights 1100 kilograms. It doesn't much matter if the veterinarian weighs 50 kilograms or 150 kilograms.) I remember staying with her a child, in summer, laying on the stainless steel operating table in the barn; it always felt cool when the heat was unbearable.

The package, of course, contained Country Women. An old well-loved copy, with notes on long-ago calving dates penciled in the margins, and random scraps of paper with sketches of possible gardens and goat sheds as bookmarks.  A light passed from hand to hand, a light that will not go out. It was like receiving a video game quest artifact.

Country Women is rooted in second wave feminism, which is not everyone's cup of tea. For something more modern and story-focussed, consider Hit By A Farm or Sheepish by Catherine Friend. These are collections of short, funny autobiographical essays about farming and relationships. Their tone is honest and wry, self-deprecating. You can see Catherine Friend's blog here and decide if you like her writing style. She wanted to call Hit By A Farm "Sheep Sex and Other Disasters" but her editor didn't think it would sell. 

In Hit By A Farm, Catherine - a professional writer - goes along with her partner Melissa's lifelong desire to ranch sheep, and describes the results from the perspective of the slightly reluctant farmer's wife as they start a farm in Minnesota.  Sheepish is written fifteen years later, when they're thinking about quitting the farm, after all the shiny newness of farming and the relationship has worn off. There are different mistakes then, different sorrows, and new joys. 

From Sheepish: 

We rarely pay attention to middles. Perhaps we ignore them because they're problematic. The middles of our beds often sag. The middles of our bodies sag. The middle of a long story told by your brother-in-law is likely to sag, and so you'll need another beer to stay focused. Everyone needs a reason to keep going when they're in the middle. 

And:

Don't expect a farm to fix your life, for once the romance dims, you must still muck out the barn and stack hay bales and give that sick goat an enema...Although there are tons of stories about starting something new, there just aren't that many about how to keep doing something, about how to slog through the middle when the going gets tough.

The quotes are all from Sheepish; I can't find our copy of Hit By A Farm:

My spinning wheel continues to torture and confound me. I realize I'm not interested enough in the craft to really commit to learning it. After a few more tries, I tuck the wheel into a corner of our living room and turn it into what Melissa likes to call a Dust Accumulation Research Project. Clearly our wool market will continue to be the wildly unlucrative wholesale warehouse.

The patron saint of spinners is, interestingly enough, Saint Catherine. She was a Christian martyr in Alexandria. In 307 AD, she was condemned to be torn apart by the spokes of the wheel.

Well. No wonder.

Spoiler: things get pretty rough, there’s illness and hard winters and financial issues, but they do not, in fact, give up the farm or each other. 

The book says: We made it. You will too.

[ameliarating]

Who would have Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen become if Xue Yang had been taken to Baoshan Sanren’s mountain and Xiao Xingchen had grown up on the streets?

Featuring: a (slightly) more righteous Xue Yang, a (much) more angry Xiao Xingchen, and a long suffering (but much happier) Song Lan who did not sign up for these people in his life.

(an AU brought to you by a conversation I had with @paradife-loft)

So Xue Yang, who was brilliant and resourceful, and possessed of a strong golden core was taken to the mountain and brought up as Baoshan Sanren’s youngest disciple. This does not make him magically and suddenly able to match up the pain and suffering of others with his own. If pressed, he knows that just one of his fingers (of which he has ten!) is worth fifty lives or more, because his fingers are his own and the lives are of others.

But he’s grown up now in a secure environment that fosters and encourages senses of justice and wellbeing. He understands that everyone else in the room has their own sense of self-importance, of being a fully realized person, even if he can’t really get his head around it for others. He also understands that the code by which they live, which values caring for other’s needs and seeing the other as as valuable as the self, (and even to tear down the separations between other and self) has provided him and others with a good, fair life. 

People often thrive on the mountain. He’s thriving. So even though Xue Yang doesn’t really possess an intuitive comprehension of how others have worth and feelings that might even be equal to his own, he can focus on the abstract and philosophical principles that guide him to behave in a manner that suggests he does comprehend it. Even if he doesn’t.

The outwardly imposed sense of ethics takes the place of inner morality.

Now for Xiao Xingchen - he’s not nearly so trusting as he is in canon. He doesn’t possess as bright and clear a sense of right and wrong either. He does try to do what’s right, but it’s more complicated. He absolutely uses his cultivation to steal food and money for himself, to eat and survive. But he also shares more with the other street kids than he can maybe afford.

It marks him out as weak to people who think they can take advantage of him but Xiao Xingchen is naturally strong with a brilliant core (how is he cultivating it? sshhh, it’s pretend) and people don’t tend to think they can take advantage of him more than once. (Especially not since his own hand got run over and many of the people he’d been helping to feed disappeared on him when he needed help. He lost a finger, to the equivalent of the Chang Clan wherever he was, and he stopped being quite as quick to help people.)

At some point as a teenager he’s recruited to be a minor disciple of a cultivation clan, and he took advantage of that to learn and train and he even gets a sword of his own, but it doesn’t take long before he leaves in disgust. He can’t stand the hypocrisy involved. Maybe he even pulls a Mianmian and dramatically removes a sash!

Besides, he’s far less interested in hunts and adventure. He’s more drawn helping spirits and ghosts move on, because he has more of an understanding of why they might be so resentful in the first place. There have been many times in his life where, if he died right then, he would have stuck around to haunt the ones responsible.

Xue Yang is still sharp, is still cruel, is still prone to disproportionate retaliation, but it’s tempered by the philosophy with which he grew up. Xiao Xingchen is still sweet, is still overwhelmingly generous with himself, but he’s much less patient, has more sharp edges.

Xue Yang has a sense of place and security. Not only does he know he matters, but others around him have validated that. They tell him he matters too.

Xiao Xingchen has no place and no security. Even when people in power take an interest in him, he is not just disinterested in politics, he despises it. He feels betrayed by the sects for allowing people to have grown up the way he did. For letting clans like the Chang trample the fingers of disposable children.

So Song Lan has temporarily left Baixue Temple to travel around, to do what he can to help people, to make sure he doesn’t grow used to a state of permanence and place and he runs into Xiao Xingchen who is laying some ghosts to rest with a level of respect and tenderness he doesn’t usually see in cultivators. Especially when they’re the ghosts of nobodies.

He’s taken aback. He impressed. He’s a little smitten.

And he joins in the effort without a word of introduction, and Xiao Xingchen is equally surprised by Song Lan, who is kind and patient and dives into the work that other cultivators don’t bother to do at all. He’s taken aback and impressed and a little smitten as well.

They start traveling together. Song Lan restrains Xiao Xingchen from some of his less legal impulses. He keeps him from making messes of situations that will bring harsh things down on them both. Xiao Xingchen shows Song Lan how so much more of the world works. They introduce each other to new places and new manners of cultivation. They spar together and study together.

Song Lan improves Xiao Xingchen’s literacy and Xiao Xingchen teaches Song Lan how to fight without a sword. They go back to Baixue for a bit and Xiao Xingchen gets some more formal training.

Xue Yang, meanwhile, is bored. There’s a world down there full of things he has only heard about secondhand and he’s a firsthand knowledge kind of guy. Curiosity gets the best of him eventually and he leaves with a beautiful sword (but there’s something just a little off about the sword, not that anyone says anything, Baoshan Sanren gave it to him, after all) and a lot of hunger.

He runs into Xiao Xingchen first. He likes him. He’s angry, and Xue Yang is starting to see that there’s a lot to be angry about. He’s also inherently compassionate and Xue Yang kind of wishes he himself were compassionate person too. 

And Xiao Xingchen is fascinated by Xue Yang. He’s from a completely different world! He still has a cruel streak, and it’s used against everyone, but Xue Yang is traveling around, doing a lot of good, not for himself, not for glory, but just because Xue Yang is convinced that’s what he should be doing in and of itself. It’s what he’s been taught to do. Xiao Xingchen can respect that.

Besides, Xue Yang shares with him a deep disdain for how the world is being run, and between the two of them, there’s an urge to tear that down.

Xue Yang does not like Song Lan. Song Lan is boring, he’s grown up with a far more orthodox interpretation of Daoist philosophy than he has, and he plays by the rules more than Xiao Xingchen does. Worst of all, Xiao Xingchen likes Song Lan too much.

Song Lan does not like Xue Yang. He clocks that cruel streak, he clocks the way he looks at Xiao Xingchen. Xue Yang is cold and doesn’t actually care about the people they’re helping, and sometimes he’s one comment away from hurting the people around them. Hurting them badly. 

Xiao Xingchen likes them both very, very much.

War breaks out, of course. All three of them get out of the way. 

Xue Yang doesn’t care, it’s all a bunch of worldly bullshit. Nothing will change when the next sect rises to power and starts the same cycle of abuse all over again. Baoshan Sanren has warned all her disciples about that.

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t care. All the sects are the same to him and innocent people are getting caught in the middle and that’s the greatest crime. He wouldn’t fight for any of those sects, though sometimes he wants to fight against them all.

Song Lan doesn’t care. It’s not for him to want to change the way the world is run, it’s for him to try and improve upon the lives of as many people as possible in as many small ways as he can. People need him, and he won’t be able to help them if he gets distracted by things like war.

They all get as far away as possible because by this point they’ve all made names for themselves, and many in the sects want them on their side or want them out of the way. They get so far away that they barely notice when the war is over and they start trading dreams about starting their own... something

Song Lan wants to call it a sect.

Xiao Xingchen does not. 

Xue Yang doesn’t have an opinion but he takes Xiao Xingchen’s side because it’s funny what that does to Song Lan.

Whatever it is, their first disciple (not a disciple, she’s a child, she’s a little sister, okay, but we could still call her a disciple, no we could not) is a sharp-tongued girl who they’re all pretty sure isn’t blind? Honestly, it’s hard to say. Xiao Xingchen catches her trying to fleece them. 

She’s going to be the best student ever.

[sage-nebula]

Because where I work is considered essential (and because IT in particular is considered essential, and I work in IT), I’ve already received both doses of the Covid-19 vaccine. I thought I would share my experiences with the vaccine here in case anyone wants to hear about it from a regular person on a personal blog rather than a big media outlet or other professional source.

TL;DR: Get the vaccine, please get the vaccine, it is worth it. 

Longer version:

As you may or may not know, I am a hermit, so I’m basically in my house any time when I’m not forced to be out of my house, meaning quarantine didn’t really disrupt my normal life at all. In fact, it let me work from home which I considered to be an improvement. I bring this up because it means that at no point did I ever get Covid. What this means is that when it came to the first round of the vaccine, here’s what happened:

1st Round Side-Effects: None! Aside from the standard sore arm at injection point.

My body had never seen Covid before, so it didn’t know what to expect and had no reaction at first except for, well, something along the lines of this:

Vaccine: [arrives with Covid protein] Immune System: “Oh, I don’t like that. I don’t like that you brought that in here. I’m going to make preparations so you can’t do that again.”

So then a couple weeks passed and I got the second vaccine. When I got the second vaccine, the nurse who gave me the shot pointed to a free sheet I could take that listed all the side-effects to expect, as well as a sticker (similar to an “I Voted” sticker, but this time it’s an “I Got the Covid-19 Vaccine” sticker). I took the sticker but left the informational sheet, because I didn’t have side-effects the first time and figured that I wouldn’t have any the second time.

This was a mistake.

Because you see, this time my body recognized the Covid protein, and so the response was basically:

Vaccine: [arrives with Covid protein] Immune System: “I think the fuck NOT you trick-ass bitch!! Get the FUCK out of my house this goddamn INSTANT, I am firing up the BAZOOKAS, you are NOT WELCOME HERE!!”

And as a result, I have experienced the following side-effects:

— Body Aches: General muscle pain, which I have all the time anyway, but also random stabbing pains all over my body. These were sharp enough to wake me up from sleep yesterday morning.

— Headache: Honestly I have nearly daily headaches anyway due to a car accident I had like a decade ago (apparently this kind of trauma stays with you), but it’s been more pronounced as through my entire head than normal, plus with the addition of the aforementioned spiky pains up there. 

— Nausea: The nausea also woke up at like 6am yesterday, and I took some Pepto Bismol to try to get rid of it, but it didn’t work. The nausea persisted along with the pain.

— Vomiting: I threw up once at 8am yesterday as a result of the aforementioned nausea. Thankfully I have not experienced either nausea or vomiting since. However, that may be because . . .

— Loss of Appetite: I haven’t wanted to eat anything since yesterday! I’ve tried, oh how I’ve tried. Yesterday I had half a cup of chicken noodle soup and two pieces of sourdough bread with butter on them. Today so far I’ve had half a cup of broccoli cheddar soup with two pieces of sourdough bread dipped in. I’m also now having a milkshake to try to get some calories in me. It’s been a struggle.

— Allodynia: This might be more of a “me” thing than a side-effect thing because I don’t see this listed with normal Covid-19 vaccine side-effects, BUT it happens when I get sick. Essentially, since yesterday morning my skin has been very painful to the touch. On my scalp especially, but also down my arms, legs, chest, back — you name it, it hurts when I touch it, like having a bad sunburn or millions of papercuts all over my body. Sucks, man.

— Fever + Chills: I’ve had a fever, and as a result I’ve had chills! Ever wonder what it’s like waking up under a fleece weighted blanket, drenched in sweat but also still cold? It’s not fun. Don’t recommend it. (But my solution was still to put on heavier clothes and get under the blanket to sleep some more . . . I mean I wasn’t cold the next time I woke up but I don’t know if this was the smart solution.)

— Extreme Fatigue: Speaks for itself.

Yesterday was definitely worse than today. (For reference, I got the vaccine on Thursday, yesterday was Friday, today is Saturday. So this is Day 2.) Yesterday I was operating at 10% capacity at my best. Most of the day it was like 3% - 5%. Today it’s more like 40% - 50%. Definitely much better, but I still feel sick. I don’t count it as a real illness because I don’t actually have the Covid-19 virus in my body. It’s more that there’s a protein or something specific to Covid-19 that’s in the vaccine, and my immune system recognized it and decided to launch into ass-kicking mode. Unfortunately, the way the human body’s immune system works is that it doesn’t just 1v1 the virus. Instead it’s like, you know how people joke that they’re going to burn the house down to get rid of the spider when they find a spider in the living room? That’s what the immune system does. The immune system doesn’t grab a newspaper to smash the virus, the immune system sets fire to the body to kill the virus, and that’s what a fever is. And it sucks for all involved, but ultimately it’s worth it as long as you don’t die first. (Which is always a risk, but the immune system doesn’t care about that. The immune system just wants the spider / virus gone.) 

Anyway, I write all of this out so that you can a.) know what to be prepared for and stock up accordingly, and b.) know that it’s still NOWHERE NEAR AS BAD as actually getting Covid-19. My best friend got Covid-19, and she was hospitalized and on oxygen for a week. She had cognitive issues, like memory problems, for longer. She is still sneezing up blood clots from what the oxygen did to her, among other things. And she’s one of the lucky ones. The side-effects remind me of when I got the flu back in 2018, except still not as bad because I’m getting over them much, much more quickly than I did the flu. However much these side effects suck, I’ve been managing them with the following:

— Gatorade: I’m one of those people that doesn’t like drinking water because it’s bland, so I had a Postmate bring me three big bottles of Glacier Freeze Gatorade and I’ve been chugging them. Gatorade is basically flavored sugar water so it replenishes your electrolytes and gets you hydrated. Is it as healthy as water? Due to the high sugar content, probably not. Does that matter when you’re at risk of dehydration because you’ve puked and are sweating out a fever? Nope! I’ve drank Gatorade whenever I get sick / dehydrated ever since childhood because my pediatrician recommended it to me back then. If you don’t like water, stock up on this in preparation.

— Advil: I always have Advil on hand because as I mentioned before, I get near daily headaches regardless. But Advil has helped not only with the muscle pains, but also with the fever reduction and the allodynia. These things have all come back when the Advil wears off, but it helps in the meantime. Other medicines, like Tylenol, can probably help too. 

— Sleep: I had to work yesterday (from home), but any time I wasn’t answering an email or on the phone I was dozing off. When I ended my shift at 5:30pm I slept until 2am. I woke up long enough to drink some more Gatorade, take some more Advil, and let my dog out, and then I went back to sleep until 12:30pm. I think this is why I feel so much better tbh. Sleep is very healing. If you’re an adult who works, plan to take time off after your second vaccination if you can. You will thank yourself for it.

I did these same things when I had the flu, but it still took me two weeks to get to where I am now in two days. The second vaccine hits hard because your immune system takes things from 0 to 100, but it’s still not as bad as an actual virus, and definitely not as bad as being in the hospital on oxygen or, god help you, a ventilator. (Because my next-door neighbor, who was a nurse, told me that by the time you’re on a ventilator you only have a 30% chance of surviving. So you really do not want to get to that point.)

All in all, please get the vaccine. Yes, the side-effects suck. Trust me, I know! I couldn’t even really read an email yesterday because my brain kept fuzzing out over it. I went back to sleep at 2am because my eyes hurt too much looking at anything, so lying in the dark felt better. But I’m sure that in another day or two I’ll be back up at 100%. And in two weeks I’ll be fully protected. And that is so, so much better than being in the hospital on a ventilator.

So please, please, please get the vaccine when you can. For yourself, and for those who are immunocompromised who can’t. Stock up on Gatorade and painkillers / fever reducers and get the vaccine. It’s worth it. 

[silvormoon]

My Hero

A little vignette set in my superhero universe. Juudai’s been giving his all to being a good hero. Sometimes, he just needs someone to give a little something back.

It wasn’t easy, being the most powerful super in the world.

That sounded trite. Worse, it sounded self-congratulatory, a way of boasting that he, Yuuki Juudai, had much grander and more important problems than the humdrum things mere mortals had to deal with. It conjured up images of some movie star or millionaire lounging on their sofa sipping champagne while they talked about how stressful their life was.

And the point was that it wasn’t easy for Juudai, and he didn’t even get the champagne to make up for it. Granted, his life did tend to involve a lot of sofas, but mainly in the, “Can I crash here tonight?” kind of way. The hardest part was that he knew he could change that if he wanted to. He could make himself famous overnight. He could have as much money as he wanted. People would line up for miles to get the kind of treatment he could provide. He could make the world his oyster, if he wanted to, or crush it under his heel, and no one would be able to stop him. That was the whole reason why he worked in the dark, kept his name out of the papers, and slept in a tent or on friends’ sofas and spare beds, earned money doing odd jobs when he had any money at all, and spent a lot of time second-guessing himself.

But he wasn’t doing any second-guessing tonight. Tonight, he had found the hideout of a gang of criminals who had been peddling a bogus drug they claimed would give people temporary superpowers. What it did was to give the user a sense of euphoria, a feeling that they were all-powerful and omniscient. Several people had died from jumping off buildings or doing other equally risky things under the influence of the drug, and Juudai had decided someone needed to put a stop to it.

Just now, he was waiting near the front door of the lab. Yubel was standing over the collection of about a dozen men they’d captured together and was giving them all vicious glares if any of them so much as breathed too loudly. Juudai was aware of a few more who had fled out the back door, but he and Yubel had managed to capture the three ringleaders, so he doubted the operation would be starting up again any time soon. They had been using some specific know-how blended with the application of some unique superpowers to synthesize the drug, and those powers were gone now. It was a shame, really. A power to synthesize chemicals like that would have been invaluable to the medical community. Perhaps if this man learned his lesson, Juudai would let him have it back someday.

For now, he watched as a number of police officers warily approached the building.

“It’s okay!” Juudai called out to them. “My partner and I have things pretty well nailed down here.”

The lead officer edged a little closer. He was eyeing Juudai warily, and Juudai didn’t blame him. Most supers at least tried to look like superheroes when they were on the job. Juudai was wearing ragged jeans, hiking boots, a fleece-lined brown leather jacket that had obviously seen a great deal of life, and a T-shirt advertising a band called Sugar Snow. He looked more like a college student out for a beer than a superhero.

“Doing a little spur-of-the-moment heroing, are you?” asked the officer suspiciously. “Care to show me your license?”

Juudai produced his ID card and flicked it towards the officer, who caught it neatly out of the air.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and ran it through a scanner at his waist. He looked at the results. His eyebrows rose. He scrolled rapidly through the rest of the file, then looked back at Juudai.

“You’re the Haou?” he asked.

Juudai shrugged. “Apparently. I mean, I didn’t come up with the name, but it’s sort of stuck to me now so I figured I might as well own it.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I didn’t think you were real,” said the officer, handing his card back.

Juudai shoved the ID back in his pocket. “Yeah, well, I like to keep a low profile.”

“I can certainly understand that, sir,” said the officer, a bit more respectfully. “But I would like to see some proof, if you don’t mind. May I...?”

“Huh? Oh, sure,” said Juudai, who had been through this song and dance before. There were ways that a villain could disguise themselves as a hero, many of them quite hard to detect. S-levels, though, tended to stay stable, so one way of proving a person was who they said they were was to test their blood and see if their S-levels matched what was printed on their ID card. It wasn’t foolproof, since it was possible for two people to have the same S-levels, even if the odds of any two people matching were one in several hundred. Nobody, however, had levels like Juudai. He offered his finger to be pricked, and watched as the numbers on the little scanner lit up. It showed 9999, just as it always did.

“You are him,” said the officer. He was visibly impressed now.

“Yeah, that’s me,” said Juudai uneasily. “Look, we’ve got these guys all tied up in the back, so if you wanna...?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said the officer.

Uniformed men poured into the building and started doing official things. Juudai watched a little while to make sure everything was going as it should, then quietly slipped away when no one was looking.

“I wish they wouldn’t always do that,” he complained, woefully regarding his finger. “Just because I’m famous doesn’t give people the right to punch me full of holes.”

“You don’t have to let them do it,” said Yubel.

“I know,” he said. “It’s just not fair. If I had a normal power like flying or punching holes in walls or laser vision, no one would ever ask if I am who I say I am. They’d just go, ‘oh, you’re Wonder Guy, can I have your autograph?’”

Yubel gave him a knowing look. “And you’d want that, would you?”

“Not really,” Juudai admitted. “Well, maybe a little.”

“Do you know what your problem is?”

Juudai smirked. “I’m sure you have a list.

Through all he’d done in the years since he’d left school, Yubel had been his constant companion. Juudai had promised, after all, that they would stay together once they had found each other, and Yubel took him at his word. Through rain and snow, through train delays and cancelled flights, through cheap motels and leaky tents, gang wars and monster battles and helping lost children find their parents, whatever Juudai did, Yubel did too. Even on those days when everything went wrong and they were both feeling thoroughly sick of each other, Juudai was always thankful that he didn’t have to do all this alone.

“I think,” said Yubel, “that you’re burned out.”

“What do you mean, burned out?” said Juudai. “It’s not like I do very much. Mostly we just travel.”

“That still counts as doing things,” Yubel pointed out. “Anyway, you know what I mean. I’ve been watching you. You’re all give and no get. You do all these wonderful things but you don’t stick around to enjoy the thanks, because you’re afraid it will go to your head. Sooner or later, you’re bound to run out of give.”

Juudai scowled. “You know...”

“I know why you do things the way you do. You don’t want the whole world beating a path to your door demanding you give them all godlike superpowers, or take the powers away from people you don’t like,” said Yubel. “I’m just saying, it might be time for a vacation.”

Juudai knew his laugh sounded forced. “I don’t exactly have money for a tropical vacation.”

“Then ask one of your friends. Any one of them would let you stay with them for a while.” Yubel smiled. “It wouldn’t hurt to relive your school days for a while. Do you remember all the fun we had? The annual snowball fight, staying up late telling ghost stories, eating popcorn and watching movies in the common room...”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Juudai. He smiled a little. “Those were the good old days. Man, I’d give a lot to have another go at some of those games we used to play in Chronos’s class. Remember the time you got tangled up in that net so bad they had to cut you loose?”

Yubel huffed. “I could have gotten out if I’d wanted to.”

“I know,” said Juudai. He took out his phone and poked at it for a moment. “Hey, you know, there’s a gym close by that has those reinforced training rooms for playing capture the flag and stuff. We could see if we could scrape up a team. And then we could, I dunno, grab a pizza or some ramen or something, and then maybe catch a movie? And tomorrow I’ll call around and see if any of our friends mind having a couple of house guests for a few days.”

Yubel grinned. “Now you’ve got the idea.”

Juudai grinned back. “Knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

Yubel reached for his hand. “You keep me around for a lot of reasons.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Juudai. “Come on. Mission ‘Have Some Fun For A Change’ is officially under way.”

They began making their way towards their destination. Somewhere in the distance, Juudai could hear sirens. There was always something going on in a big city like this, and a part of him itched to be part of the action, but he knew Yubel was right. Sometimes, the person he needed to protect was himself. He was lucky he had someone by his side to remind him of that.

It doesn’t matter how strong I am, he thought. Sometimes I still need a hero, too. He was glad he’d found one.

“So, Yubel, what movie do you want to see?”

“I don’t know. What’s playing?”

“Well, there’s one about this secret agent who...”

“I am not sitting through another movie full of cars exploding. Pick something else!”

“I didn’t say I wanted to see that one!”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

Laughing and bantering with each other, they walked away, hand in hand.

[ciriceart]

OC profiles: the Lawson family

From the now-defunct semi-interactive comic/creative writing projects, “Hunger, Nevada”, “Far From Any Road”, and “Saudade”.

The plot of these three stories cover topics and conflicts such as learning to relate to those around you, breaking toxic cycles, smalltown stagnation and the isolation of close-knit communities, and metaphorical (sometimes literal) body horror monsters that slowly poison towns and families. I wrote these stories from the ages of 14 to 21, and they're all very much a reflection of myself and my perspectives/outlook at those times. I still go back and revisit certain areas, but can't see myself rewriting them in full any time soon. I feel like that would be a disservice to my past self - I used these to sort out and explore my own feelings and hangups, and they served their purpose, but I still draw and talk about the boys more often than I expected I would when I drew my first doodle of Ellis and Lawrence in 8th grade detention. This post is just an infodump about the family of the main characters. I'm not getting into plot details just yet. Though it is worth noting, this was at the height of my Silent Hill hyperfixation, and Ellis and Lawrence began life as the protags of my imaginary Silent Hill fangame for which I made an entire gamefaqs walkthrough because I did not know how to write or draw too well. That doesn't really matter too much now, I just think it's fun.

The Lawson family consists of Francis (or Frank) and Amalia Lawson, and their two sons, Ellis and Lawrence.

Frank is a large man, about 6’3 with green eyes, short auburn hair,  and a beard. His skin is somewhat pale but has a minor farmer’s tan from working outdoors, and there’s a spatter of freckles across his entire face. He sometimes wears rectangular half-frame glasses and uses a walking stick.

Amalia is about 5’4 and stocky, with dark brown, almost black hair cut in the patented Mom Bob(tm) with bangs and dark eyes. Her face is somewhat oblong with round, soft features and her skin is a warm mid-to-light brown.

Ellis ranges in age from 17 to 26 across plots. His facial structure favors his father. He’s about 5’10,  has very light brown skin, freckles on his face, arms, chest and shoulders, dark eyes and auburn hair. As a teenager, his hair reaches to about his jaw with an off-center part, and he keeps it short and parted on the side as he gets older. He usually at least attempts to comb his hair back but half of it just falls back in front of his face anyway. Sometimes sports various non-serious injuries such as scratches and bruises. He’s rough-and-tumble.

As a teen, most of his outfits consist of torn up jeans, skater shoes, and a plethora of graphic or band tees. Sometimes an old flannel stolen from dad, or black canvas jacket. As an adult, he wears mostly intact but faded black work pants, black or brown work boots, a plain T-shirt and often an unbuttoned overshirt with either short sleeves or the sleeves rolled up.

Lawrence also ranges in age across stories, from 9 to 17. His facial structure favors his mother. He has pale skin, freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, green eyes, and auburn hair in a short, choppy buzzcut that he later grows out to reach past his shoulders as he gets into his teens. As a child, he’s very short and scrappy, and then becomes gangly and awkward as a teenager.

As a child, his wardrobe is typically all childish graphic tees and cargo shorts or jeans, all picked out by his parents. As he gets older, he becomes introverted and shy, always covering himself up in an absurd number of layers – he's often seen wearing a short-sleeved shirt with long sleeves underneath, either a flannel or sweater, and a massively oversized forest green jacket with a red fleece collar. He usually sticks to plain, slightly baggy jeans and sneakers.

--

Frank and Amalia married in their mid to late 20’s and moved to Frank’s hometown of Ansley, [state redacted].

Frank works in a hardware store and as a repairman. Some years ago, Frank suffered a spinal injury, resulting in chronic pain and his use of a walking stick. He still works at the hardware store and takes repair jobs, though he’s unable to work as often or for as long as he used to.

Ellis drops out of high school in the second quarter of 11th grade to work full-time at the hardware store and begins picking up smaller repair jobs around town. Lawrence, being much younger, is not employed but occasionally does smaller tasks such as sweeping up or organizing shelves after closing hours, or tagging along with his brother or dad on repair jobs to help where he can.

Amalia works at a packing and shipping facility in the city. She works overnight, six days a week with Mondays off. She’s usually home about an hour before her sons have to get up for school. Amalia’s pack a day smoking habit and Frank’s temper are the subjects of most conflicts, but they never progress past passive aggressive remarks or heated discussions. The family occasionally relies on financial help from a man named Mike, whose family has been friends with Frank’s for several years, to make ends meet. He’s often the reason that their heat and water stay on.

The Lawsons are a practicing family of Amicists. They regularly attend service at The First Church of the Shoal United in the next town over. More on Amicism at a later date.

Ellis has a lot of pent up resentment toward authority figures and “grown-ups” in general, even into his own adulthood, due to Backstory Reasons I won’t get into here.

James, Marie, Robin, and Brian are Ellis’ friends from high school. They mostly sit around smoking pot and watching bad movies, sneak out to drink at the park after curfew, and attempt to skate in vacant parking lots.

James was held back in middle school and is one or two years older than the rest of the group. Most parents in town still call him Jimmy and think he’s a very nice boy. If asked to describe him, his long line of ex-girlfriends would say “he’s so nice, but GOD he’s so dumb.” Marie was closer to Robin and James than she was to Ellis, so they didn’t hang out outside of the group at all. She thought Ellis was kinda weird, but not a “bad weird” so she never mentioned it or complained. Robin is that sort of midwestern emo girl in everyone’s math class who’s an artist, but all she draws is semi realistic eyes with elaborate eyeliner in her English notes. She regularly gets into arguments with Ellis and James on what genre different bands count as. Brian is the obvious stoner friend who would be kinda chill to hang out with if he weren’t so loud and annoying about how his parents totally don’t even care and just like, totally let him do whatever he wants.

Dropping out of high school to work a fulltime job, having no interest in college, minimal relationship experience, and staying in such a small and rural town leads to Ellis becoming socially isolated and unable to fully relate with people his own age. He slowly falls out of touch with his friends and people he knew from school, preferring surface level interactions with older coworkers, relatives and friends of the family.

Lawrence, as a result of his older brother’s attempt at parenting while Frank and Amalia are working, learns to be untrusting and uncooperative as well. He picks up a smoking habit by age 14, often stealing them from Ellis or from their mom's purse when she’s home, and sneaks out of his and Ellis’ shared bedroom through the window at night.

Lawrence is a nice kid, but struggles to make friends. Throughout all of middle school and into high school, he only manages to befriend two others named Catherine and Donnie.

Donnie is Brian’s little brother. He and Lawrence aren’t actually friends, but they tend to tag along when Ellis and Brian hang out at each other’s houses. Catherine has known Lawrence since they were in third grade, but they never hung out until they got put in the same advanced math class in middle school.

As he gets older, Lawrence begins to neglect his few friendships and social life in favor of fiction; most notably stories and unfiction focusing on the occult and supernatural, as well as a video game series called Sprout Friends, a puzzle game involving farming and anthropomorphic fruits and vegetables. If he isn’t hiding out on the rooftop of the house at night, he’s locked in the bedroom playing one of multiple Sprout Friends titles, or hunting for strange occurrences around town during the night.

--

Fun fact: Ellis' middle name is Layne, and Lawrence's middle name is Elijah. I thought it would be cute if their middle names had the same first letters as each other's firsts.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For the one word asks - Peter + "drift"

CW: Whump involving a minor (character is 16) - although no direct physical harm is done to him during the drabble. Sickness, isolation, referenced shock collar. Captor bonding. Referenced abuse at the end.

There was an ache that settled into the boy’s bones and resolutely refused to leave. It dug itself into the marrow and lived there, a pounding, throbbing pain that was with him whether he was shuffling through the hallways with a handler at his side or curled up in his room praying to fall asleep just so he didn’t have to feel it hurt any longer.

He went to training, and the scrubber and broom seemed to fall out of his hands, and he kept missing when he tried to pick them up. They punished him for it, in all the ways they punished the ones like the boy, with their black sticks and the shock collar around his neck and with their hands at his hips and his face pressed into the floor, but the pain inside his bones was worse, after a while, than the pain they could inflict on him.

Eventually, they left him in his room.

He was dragged out to the bathroom and the showers, but left otherwise to lay on the cold tile shivering in his thin white shirt and black shorts, curled in around himself as tightly as he could get to stay warm. 

Handler Todd was the first one to care that he was sick.

Todd had been gone for two weeks, on vacation with his daughters - he told the boy all about it, they took a trip to Yosemite National Park, and the boy didn’t know what that was any longer but the words sounded sort of familiar, anyway. The boy got sicker and sicker and while he was sick, he thought about Todd, and how much he missed a kind touch and a nice voice, and he hoped Todd would show him photos when he got back, the way he’d shown him photos of Disneyland.

When he heard the soft beeping and the ssshhhh-click of his door unlocking and opening up, the boy didn’t move. He didn’t look up - the white light hurt his eyes now, and he kept one arm over his face all the time, desperate to find some kind of darkness to hide in. 

“435689, you up?”

It didn’t matter. When handlers spoke, you were awake, whether you actually were or not. The boy made a soft sound that he’d meant to be words but the words didn’t come, and stirred a little, keeping his hand shading his eyes as he slowly looked up, wincing at the sharp stab of pain in his head. 

“Oh, shit. You okay, kiddo?” Todd glanced over his shoulder, then shut the door behind him, dropping down into a crouch near the boy. “You look like hell.”

Did he? The boy hadn’t seen a mirror since he’d been brought into the Facility. He didn’t know what he looked like any longer. His eyes felt like sandpaper and he knew he’d been sweating, off and on, sick-sweat smell that needed another shower but he’d already had his shower, he wouldn’t get another one for a couple more days.

When Todd took his hand and slowly moved it away, the boy’s fingertips dropped onto the cold tile, and he sighed in relief at the press of Todd’s hand to his head.

Oh, sweetie, you’re burning up. No school for you mister, it’s cartoons on the couch and some good old-fashioned chicken noodle soup. Get the Tylenol, Greg-

He groaned at the spike of pain in his head. 

“Kiddo?” 

“Mom, I don’t feel good,” The boy said, softly. His voice sounded weirdly far away to him, as if hearing himself from a distance. “I think I’m sick.”

There was a silence, and Todd withdrew his hand.

The boy whimpered and tried to grab at it, to pull it back. No one had touched him in days because he might be contagious, and he was alone in his tiny white room until they used the catch-pole to make him go to the showers or the bathroom and he just, he missed it so much, he just missed someone touching him even just a little bit.

Even the ways that hurt would be better than being alone in here hurting by himself. 

“Stay right here, kiddo. I will be right back, I promise. I promise you.”

Todd pushed to his feet and was gone, and the boy’s pleas for him to stay were ignored and then unheard.

The boy drifted, for a while. The world was flat white light and white floor, white walls. He was sweaty but he shivered at a cold that would not cease, drying sweat on his skin only for it to grow clammy and gross again moments later. His hair stuck to his forehead, flopped around in greasy clumps. He couldn’t curl up tightly enough to be warm. He couldn’t cover his eyes well enough to make it dark. He couldn’t sleep or stay awake, and all he could do was drift.

Don’t you worry. I’ve already called the doctor, we’ll get you in by noon. I’m sure this is just some kind of flu or something, honey, I’m sure of it. But you have to eat something.

When was the last time the boy ate? He had no idea. He’d started throwing up the Facility shakes and they’d stopped giving them to him. All he got now was water. At least the water stayed down.

He had no idea how long Todd was gone.

He was pretty sure Todd was probably just him seeing things from the fever, anyway.

But then there was the ssshhhh-click again, and Todd came in with a bag in one hand and something big rolled up in the other. He let both hit the floor and dropped back into his crouch. “Okay, kiddo. Can you sit up for me, please?” He reached out, hands on the boy’s shoulders, and with effort they got him back up, leaning his back against the wall, tears running down the boy’s face from how much it hurt to move. 

Greg, I think he needs the ER, he’s really badly off. What’s our copay?

“Mom, I n-need a doctor,” He groaned, and cool hands settled his head back a little bit, let it rest against the wall. “I’m so sick.”

“I know you are, kiddo,” A voice sound, not his mother’s voice. He remembered her smell and her voice and her hands, but he couldn’t remember her face. “I know. Look, medicine first, yeah? Just drink what’s in this little cup.”

He drank. It tasted like flat grape soda made thick into syrup and he nearly gagged on it, but the hands gave him water to wash it down with. Then he was dipped forwards again, and he cried more at the ache, but something infinitely soft and warm wrapped around him and then was pulled together at his front, and he managed to crack his eyes to look down.

A blanket, soft fleece, and already he felt warmer in the chill air in the white room. The boy ran his fingers back and forth over it, looked slowly up through eyes bleary and blurry with tears and the ache, and saw Handler Todd watching him with concern and what the boy thought must be real affection on his face. “I can have this?”

He’d never had a blanket before.

Never been good long enough to earn one.

“Sure you can, kiddo. Just til you heal up. Now, you’ve got medicine - that’ll take down your fever in a little bit. Then I brought you what I give my little girls when they’re sick.” He pulled a six-pack of something out of a bag, and the boy stared at the little blue bottles. “It’s not… great, but these have a bunch of vitamins and shit, you need that. Technically it’s kind of a nutrient shake for toddlers who won’t eat, but hey, food is food. And also, this.” He pulled out another six-pack, and the boy knew Gatorade even though he couldn’t remember having had any in his whole life. He felt a thin smile find its way onto his face.

“You brought so much for me,” He whispered. “Is it, is this just for me?”

“Just for you, kiddo. I ran home and picked it up from our food stash in the house.”

“Cool. Th-thank you,” The boy said, and took the Gatorade the man offered him, drinking its cool sugar-sweet flavor in little sips that somehow, miraculously, stayed down like water. “Can… can I see a doctor?”

Todd sighed and sat down next to him. “I asked, they said no. Not sick enough.”

The boy blinked at him, still sipping the Gatorade, holding it in both hands like it was precious. “If I… if I get sicker I’ll be dead,” He said, softly.

“No you won’t, you’re probably past the worst of it by now.” Todd shrugged. “Just keep hydrated, and try to drink two of those little Pediagrow things each day. I’ll get you some peanut crackers once your appetite’s back. Just takes time, this flu is all over the place in the Facility right now.”

The boy wanted to argue, but he’d used up all his energy in the words he had already said. Instead, he pulled his blanket closer and leaned sideways until his head rested on Handler Todd’s arm. 

They sat there like that for a while, until Todd said, “Want to see my pictures from Yosemite?”

The boy smiled and looked up at him, grateful Todd had come back, that he cared that he was sick, that he had had fun on his vacation with his family. The boy didn’t have one any longer. It was nice that someone else got to.

“This is what you do for your kids when they’re sick?” He asked.

Todd laughed, pulling up a photo of the sunrise over mountains. “Sort of. My babies lay on the couch watching cartoons all day.”

“I think I got to do that, before,” The boy said.

Todd glanced at him and then shrugged. “Maybe. But you don’t remember any of that, right?”

There was a warning in his voice, an edge. Todd was still a handler, and memories weren’t allowed. The boy quickly shook his head, and settled in to look at the photos Todd had taken of places that looked so terribly familiar but the boy could not remember ever having seen.

***

Later, when he is sick - the whole first year he was sick all the time - he’ll lay on his mattress on the floor in the tiny little room he calls his own, and Dex will be the one who sits with him. 

The room isn’t any bigger, but it stays dark when he needs it to, and it’s his own. The sickness lasts just as long, but there is medicine right from the start, and there are other people who care.

Peter knows to be grateful for this, even when being sick doesn’t stop her from leaving bruises on her bad days.

When Peter cries for Todd in his sleep, Dex holds his hand and knows it is a handler he is calling for. It is Dex who combs his hair back from his forehead and lays the blanket over him when he kicks it off. It’s Dex who tips the little cup of syrupy liquid to his lips. It’s Dex who feeds him Gatorade and saltine crackers and Sebastian makes him chicken noodle soup to sip from coffee mugs he can barely hold in shaking hands.

Still, he cries for Todd, in his sleep.

He can’t remember if there was ever anyone who cared before him.

[stydiaeverafter]

She spotted a way into our hearts

Pairing: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand

Characters: TK Strand, Carlos Reyes, Owen Strand, Judd Ryder, Paul Strickland, Marjan Marwani, Mateo Chavez. 

Tags: animals, mentions of cancer, family feels, fluff, established relationship. 

Words: 2K | Rating: G | On AO3

Summary: TK didn’t know how it happened. One moment he was out on a crazy call putting a fire out, and the next moment he was returning back to Firehouse 126 with a Dalmatian.

When I found out there was going to be a dog on 911 Lone Star, I immediately got excited. If you haven't noticed, I love writing animals into my fics. This will be my own adaptation of how the story will go with the dog.

My good friend Stef inspired this idea and helped me out with it, so thank you, hun!! I appreciate it. I'm always inspired by your passion for writing and your strength! This fic is for you: @bellakitse  Thanks as always to my Junkyard Family for their support and love! Ya'll are the best! 

She spotted a way into our hearts

TK didn’t know how it happened. One moment he was out on a crazy call putting a fire out, and the next moment he was returning back to Firehouse 126 with a Dalmatian.

“A dog?” his father questioned with a raised brow, “Did you even put out the fire?”

“Yes, of course. I did in record speed too, I might add,” TK replied. “But the dog just sort of followed me around.”

Owen laughed in the way he did, which didn’t involve much humor, “And you thought ‘hey, why not take someone’s dog home with me?’”

“I asked around, they said it was a stray. Every time they tried to take it to the shelter, it would run and hide. It wouldn’t get up close to anyone. Really timid they said. But she wasn’t like that with me.” He looked down at the dog. “Clearly.”

“Hmmm…” The Captain looked around at the others that had been on the scene with TK, “Is this true?”

“Sure is, Cap,” Mateo replied with a cheesy grin. It was clear he already loved the dog. He was an adorable puppy himself practically jumping up and down.

“So what exactly are you saying here, TK?” His father asked as he looked down at the Dalmatian who was now lying down next to their firetruck.

TK winked, “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“We’re not adopting a firehouse dog. I’m sorry, but no. We have so many other obligations and things to do. How can we add this dog to the list as well?” He paused and gave the Dad Look, “You couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive when you were younger. Lasted what, two days?”

“Three actually, and it was not my fault. I thought Goldie would like to watch tv next to me and eat chips. If anything, I was being a good big brother.”

Owen ignored his humor and turned to walk away. TK decided to say it, “The dog might be sick. Might not have much time left….”

This stopped Owen in his tracks.

TK knew he had won the argument. The dog was here to stay.

***

The neighbors had told TK that they had thought the dog was sick, because of how it was acting. Sure enough, the dog had cancer. Broke each one of their hearts when they found out. TK knew that his father was even more bonded to the dog now, even though he would never admit to it. The doctors were going to operate on the tumor, but they were hopeful; to everyone’s happiness.

Life with the dog meant something a little different to everyone.

Owen tried to act like he didn’t care too much, but he always left his door wide open and TK observed that one day there was a nice big fleece bed in there for the dog. His father said it was nothing; TK knew otherwise.

Mateo would be silly with the dog and they’d play around in the water coming from the hose. It was actually a very sweet sight to see. Childlike and innocent.

Paul and Marjan had a new workout buddy. Sometimes the dog would put her paw on their stomachs when they were trying to do sit-ups, or nudge to the weight they were contemplating trying to do.

Judd was indifferent at first. TK knew that to be Judd though. He was always hesitant to let someone new into his life; the man had been through a lot after all, and TK assumed he was scared of losing her to the disease.

However, over time something beautiful between them developed. TK hadn’t meant to walk by the kitchen late one night, but as he did he heard crying. Judd was sitting on the floor by the refrigerator. His tears were falling right on the dog’s head, which she didn’t seem to mind. She just rested her head on his lap. It was touching to witness, and TK quietly went back up to bed.

When Michelle would visit the house, she always brought a special treat for her and gave her a few snuggles before going on her way.

Everyone seemed attached in one way or the other.

The funny thing about the dog was, it didn’t seem all that close to TK, nor interested… yet he was the one who had found her. And she was the one who had followed him around like a love-sick puppy. Yet, she spent her time with all the others. TK didn’t understand it.

One day Carlos unexpectedly stopped by 126. The police were trying to work out a case on what could’ve been motive for someone starting a fire. So Carlos was trying to get all the information he could from them.

He didn’t often visit him at work, so TK couldn’t help his heart starting to beat faster when they made eye contact from across the room.

After some time, Carlos was making his way over to talk to TK when all of a sudden, the dog went bounding over to his man.

Carlos bent over, “Well hello there, mi amor!” He looked back up at TK, “You got a dog? You didn’t tell me that!”

“Long story... She’s a favorite around here. Even though she seems to not love me too much.”

“That couldn’t possibly be true, now could it, Peca?”

“Peca?”

“It means freckle in Spanish,” Carlos replied as he rubbed the dog’s spotted ears. She seemed so content and happy. It must be Carlos’ magic touch.

TK smiled down at Carlos, “I like that. Peca. It suits her.” He looked up and called out to his team, “Just wanted to let everyone know, our dog’s name is now Peca!”

“I love that,” Marjan yelled from her yoga mat.

“Absolutely,” Mateo answered; Paul nodding from behind him with a thumbs-up.

Carlos laughed, “Well I’m glad I could help out.”

“You always do,” TK assured him, rubbing his hand softly.

Carlos grabbed his hand tightly and bit his lip, “You told me that same thing last night.”

“Hey! Not in front of Peca.”

His boy just shrugged with that beautiful smile of his, “So she’s here to stay?”

“Yea, but she’s a bit sick. Has cancer.” When Carlos’ face fell, TK shook his head reassuringly, “No, she’s a fighter, babe. She’s here for the long haul.”

“I’ll bet my badge on that!”

***

The day of the surgery came faster than TK had anticipated. In just a short time, they’d all become extremely attached. Even though Peca seemed to still be a little withdrawn from TK, she seemed comfortable and happy at Firehouse 126.

They were all there waiting in the waiting room at the local Austin Animal Hospital. They were whispering stories about things Peca had done that had made them laugh, a smile plastered to every one of their faces. But TK could feel the tension in that small room.

He wished Carlos could’ve been there. But his boyfriend had been on a call of his own and unfortunately couldn’t make it. Carlos was like the tether that always kept him grounded, and TK could feel the anxiety spiking within him.

TK felt like they were all holding their breath. Every time the doors would open, they would all look startled looking up quickly.

TK didn’t want to imagine hearing the worst from the doctor. He didn’t know if his heart could take anymore. He was already on edge with father; he didn’t want to say goodbye to her. It hit too close to home.

For all of them.

He looked around at his brothers and sister. These people had all touched his life in such a short time, just like Peca had. He was so grateful to each one of them.

Peca had only brought them together even closer.

When doors opened, TK quickly looked up. But it wasn’t the veterinarian. It was Carlos.

“Baby!” TK said with a small smile as he quickly stood up, “What are you doing here?”

“We got done with the call, and I wanted to be here for our girl.” Yes, she was just as much Carlos’ girl as the rest of theirs. She loved Carlos probably the most. Just like TK did. The man was easy to love. They hugged for a long moment, then Carlos pulled away, “Any word?”

“Not yet,” TK replied, holding on to Carlos’ strong hand.

“She’s a fighter, don’t you forget it.”

“You bet your badge on it,” TK reminded him with a wink.

“Exactly.”

This time when the doors opened, it was the doctor. They all formed a circle around him.

It felt like waiting forever, but then he spoke, “Peca is going to be just fine.”

They all exhaled loudly and started hugging each other. TK couldn’t help the tears forming in his eyes. Carlos rubbed his back softly.

“I got the tumors out successfully. She is as healthy as a horse otherwise. We’ll need to see her for routine check-ups, but I think the worst is behind us.” The doctor looked around, “She’s still slowly coming to. Maybe one of you could come to sit in there with her. I don’t want her to get startled.”

And wouldn’t you know it, they all looked at him. “Who me? She doesn’t even care for me.”

“She followed you that day, TK. Peca obviously did that for a reason, brother,” Paul replied with a reassuring shrug.

His father nodded, “Go on, son.”

For some reason, they knew he needed this moment with her.

TK started walking and looked back to see Carlos looking at him with a look of incredible love. He was so lucky to have someone like Carlos in his messed up life.

He walked down the white long hallway into a small animal recovery room. Everything smelled too sterile for TK’s liking. Reminded him of the times he woke up in the hospital. Not something he wanted to remember at that moment.

And there she was. Peca. She seemed so small on the large table. He felt a bit awkward as he bent down over the bed. A nurse brought him a stool to sit on and he wanted to kick himself for looking stupid as he hesitated.

The truth was, maybe he was holding his heart back. Maybe he was the reason Peca didn’t let him in. He wasn’t letting her. Unconsciously of course.

“Hey, girl,” he whispered. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

He looked towards the door. Maybe this was a mistake. They should’ve let Mateo, Marjan or even Judd into the room over him.

But he turned his focus on her and looked at her breathing slowly. It was almost hypnotic.

Then he let out a deep breath, one he had been holding in for far too long, “It’s not you. It’s me. Yea, I know that’s so cliche to say, but it’s the truth, girl. See, if I’m gonna be honest for a moment, I think you remind me of my dad being sick. And I… see I can’t lose my dad. We’ve been through so much together. Too much.” He looked down as his hands shakily moved to her soft spotted fur. TK stroked slowly, ignoring the annoying tears forming in his eyes. “But hey, maybe you’re the hope I needed. You’re a sign my dad will be alright, too.”

He exhaled sharply again thinking about the last few months and letting the fear in. It nearly knocked him off the stool. “Please be a sign….”

Grace would probably call this a sign from God, but at that exact moment, he felt something wet lick his hand. He looked over and saw Peca staring up at him. She stretched and licked his hand again. “Welcome back, girl.”

She moved closer and rested her head on his other hand as if she wanted to be near him even more. As he rubbed her ears, he felt a moment of peace wash over him like the waves of an ocean. This was what he needed. Exactly what he needed.

***

After that life went back to normal, but then again not really. Peca had changed all their lives for the better.

They all had a connection with the dog in an unspoken way. It was unique and beautiful.

Often she would ride on the firetruck with them; her presence soothing them before they rushed into danger. And she’d be there for the aftermath for cuddles and kisses. She joined them for dinners, especially Sunday night dinners, which had become the real deal. Movie nights and even game nights. Judd insisted she was a good luck charm when they played cards. Whenever you needed her, she was there. She completed the missing part of who they were. And they were there for her, too. They gave her a family. The Fire Fam. She'd never be alone again.

TK had bonded with her the day he had let his guard down; the day he had opened that door completely was the day their bond had started to form. Often he wondered if she was here to teach him a lesson. A lesson of living in the present moment and not taking people or moments, even the hard ones, for granted. And that sometimes we wouldn’t have the answers to the hard questions. Instead, we just live. Life had a funny way of teaching you these things.

These were the thoughts he had as he curled up next to Peca and Carlos in bed. He would often take her home with him; sometimes he just needed it. Tonight was one of those nights. He smiled softly being near to his loved ones.

His heart, like their bed, was full.

[nari-writes]

Why not a Marco/Ace, pre-MAS in the One Piece World, where Ace and Marco are a thing. They met Sabo who's still amnesiac. Follow up the reunion (at your discretion) and Marco realizing, that the brothers appeared to be a package deal and he can't find in himself to be against that.

Ace has been camped out by Sabo’s bedside for two days before Marco can gather up enough courage to go see him. Them.

The events at Dressrosa had been…off-putting. Had involved a lot of arguing, and Marco was still getting over being turned into a plush toy and forgotten. It wasn’t Ace’s fault that Marco needed time, nor that there was a niggle of fear in the back of his head that when he stepped through the door, Ace would turn from Sabo, look at him with blank eyes, and say “who?“

Instead, Ace says, “I’m not leaving him,” and crosses his arms. With his glare aimed at Sabo, Marco could almost pretend Ace was mad at his best friend instead of his boyfriend. Instead of his crew, the people who’ve spent days worrying about him, but who’ve also spent the time trying to convince him to leave Sabo’s side.

Marco shuts the door. “I don’t expect you to,” he says softly, and sets a tray down by Ace’s side. Ace’s sharp posture relaxes incrementally, but he doesn’t look over at Marco’s offering. On the bedside table is the tray from breakfast, still half-full and carefully sectioned to one side of the plate. The side closest to Sabo’s unconscious form. Marco shifts the plate away, carefully, and places the tray in Ace’s lap. “Eat,” he says. “All of it.”

“I’m not hungry-”

“Eat,” Marco says, stern this time, and when Ace looks like he’s going to protest, Marco takes his chin and makes Ace look at him. “Thatch has about a hundred meals on standby for when he wakes up. I’m here for his injuries. Pops is already excited to say hello. Trust us.”

Ace pauses, a second, two seconds too long. His fingers tighten in his shorts. “I do.”

“Then let us take care of you. Of him.”

“I’m not-” Ace says, soft, and his eyes slide away, guilty and sad. “I’m not…used to that.”

Marco forces a grin, tugging gently on Ace’s hair to make Ace swat at his hand and to try and coax a smile onto Ace’s face. “With how this crew spoils you, you’d think you’d be used to being taken care of.”

Ace doesn’t smile at the tease. His mouth curls even further down. “No. No, not- not you guys taking care of me.” His face slips from between Marco’s fingers, turning his head to look at Sabo like he can’t bear to take his eyes off Sabo’s body. “At…anybody else taking care of him. It was always just…us.”

He reaches out, hand shaking as he lets his fingertips run down the side of Sabo’s scar, passing over his cheekbone, and then-

Stops, just at the corner of Sabo’s lips, like he’s too afraid to touch there. Too afraid to go further. Sabo frowns and makes a pained noise, tilting against Ace’s touch, and Ace yanks his hand away, startled.

“I’m sorry,” Ace whispers, and Marco doesn’t know if Ace is saying it to Sabo, or to him. For a moment, his heart squeezes.

In the back of his head, Marco had always been…jealous, of Sabo. Unfortunately so, considering that Sabo was dead, and being jealous of a dead man generally made people worried, but the thing was - when Ace had first told Marco about his brothers, he hadn’t mentioned anything about Sabo being dead.

And with the way Ace slipped Sabo into stories - I figure Sabo would’ve said this, or Luffy pretended Sabo was his imaginary friend for a whole month when he was fourteen - Marco had always assumed Sabo was out there, somewhere, and that Ace was just settling. Settling for kind enough, strong enough, kept a secret well enough, and that, perhaps, Ace didn’t realise he loved Sabo because they’d been so close, and Ace had nothing to compare it to.

That when he did have something to compare, when Marco had given Ace everything he had, that Ace would realise actually, he was in love with his childhood best friend, and thanks for the help in realising it, Marco, but if it’s all alright, Ace would just be going back along to the first person who’d made him feel like he was worth something.

Finding out Sabo was dead (supposed to be dead) had….eased that, somewhat. Of course Marco was second-best to a ghost; ghosts weren’t anything like the living. You could make them into whatever you wanted, whatever you needed, and Ace needed someone to love him unconditionally. Someone who had his back, who knew every trick, who cornered sheep to fleece them out of their money and knowledge and whatever else the two of them wanted. If Marco was second-best to that, he didn’t mind losing the competition.

And then two nights ago he hadn’t even been part of the competition. He’d been taken from everyone’s memories, forgotten by everyone he’d ever cared about, and watched Ace risk his life for a facsimile of the mera mera. Watched him meet Sabo, trade jokes and barbs like they were rehearsed, and wear a frown that got deeper with every word - right up until the explosion at the SMILE factory caught Sabo like a wrecking ball and realisation hit Ace at the same time. 

A realisation that Marco didn’t share. He was not supposed to be the one caught flat-foot when it came to information about Ace, and yet-

Ace ignored Marco entirely to drag Sabo’s body close, burying his tear-streaked face into Sabo’s coat and bawling like he’d just lost something important. (Found something important was probably more accurate-) Especially after Ace said, Luffy and I were so worried about you, and then, like a confessional, I wanted to die, before he braced himself and gathered Sabo into his arms, carrying him back to the ship.

Ten minutes into knowing Sabo, and two days into Ace hovering by Sabo’s side, Marco could already tell; they were Ace-and-Sabo, Sabo-and-Ace, linked names like knots in a bracelet, like animal codependency. One without the other was asking for desert dwellers to drown, or mermaids to fly.

But being forgotten still hurt, being ignored had left his chest aching, and logistics didn’t make him feel better about Ace spending two days by Sabo’s bedside.

Ace leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and letting out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I’m sorry I’ve just been- here, with him. I’ve just been-” Ace trailed off.

“Worried,” Marco supplied, and Ace nodded.

“What if he’s- different? He didn’t seem like he had memories of us.”

Marco looked away when Ace began to blink rapidly, but stepped closer just in case. Ace hated to be seen crying, no matter how many times the crew said it didn’t make him weak, but Marco couldn’t leave him.

There was a gentle thunk as Ace plonked his head against Marco’s hip, taking the comfort offered by refusing to unwind from his stiff position. “If he doesn’t remember-” Ace stopped, grip tightening on his biceps before he managed to let go. “If he didn’t remember us, would that have been-” Ace reaches out again, hand hovering over Sabo’s skin. “Would that have been better?” Ace’s voice dropped, hollow and blank. “He wouldn’t know me.”

“And what did you think, as soon as you’d gotten back memories of me?” Marco asked, carefully pushing down the part of him that wanted a proper answer, wanted more from Ace than to use this trauma as ammunition, but-

Ace looks at him, finally, so pained that Marco’s heart tightens. He holds out his hand, searching, and wraps fingers around Marco’s palm, pulling him in close. “It hurt,” he said. “It hurt to realise I’d forgotten you. That I’d been hurting you because I wasn’t- I don’t want to hurt him. If I leave-”

“How do you think you’d feel, if you found out I’d left you?”

“He knows more about me than you do,” Ace says, and Marco ignores the sting in his heart. Jealous of a dead man, but the dead man’s still breathing, picking Ace away from him bit by bit, like peeling fingers off a cliff face.

“If he knows more,” Marco says, trying to sound like he knows what he’s talking about, “then to have lost it would hurt more.”

Ace gives a short, sharp laugh. “And what if-”

“Stop,” Marco snaps. “Stop with the what-ifs and apologies and the idea that the man you care so much about, who cares so much about you, will be so irredeemably different. We won’t know until he wakes up. Also, if you say anything about him not waking up, I’m taking that as a slight on my skills as one of the best doctors in the world, and I will not be pleased about it.”

Finally, a smile comes to Ace’s lips. “Bit arrogant, aren’t you?”

Marco sniffs haughtily, relief spreading over him like a blanket. “I have every right to be,” he says, trying not to let contentment sneak into his tone as well. “And, look, Ace- I can’t say he won’t be different. He did look like he’d had pretty severe head trauma as a child, and you don’t know what he’s been doing for the past twelve years. But I can say for certain that he loves you. Probably as much as I do.”

The tiniest flush crept onto Ace’s cheeks, and Marco smiled to see it, a small painful thing.

“And, all of this-” Marco says, and watches guilt flash across Ace’s face, heavy in the downturn of his mouth, and Marco sighs. “It was hard,” he says, picking the words as carefully as one might sew stitches. “Being…forgotten. Watching you go through that and knowing I couldn’t help. My powers were…they’re meant to be useful, and I couldn’t do anything. I know you want to take care of him yourself. I know that’s what you’re used to, but I- “ 

Marco paused, then carefully reached out to touch Ace’s cheek; curve down the bone, his jaw, stopped at the corner of his lips. “You have me, now. And if that’s not what you want any more, that’s fine.” Ace jolts, eyes wide, and Marco presses his fingertip against Ace’s lips so he can finish speaking without interruption. “But I’d help, if that was what you needed. Wanted.”

“Marco,” Ace breathes, and then he’s up and out of the chair, warm hands on Marco’s cheeks, their foreheads pressed together. “I’m not used to it. Not used to not being alone.”

“You’re a package deal. I’m not complaining.” A wicked smirk curves up Marco’s face. “I can think of quite a few crew members who are going to be real pissed at me for being close to both of you.”

Ace’s blush deepens further. Marco’s grin gets wider.

“Why Ace,” he says, and he knows Ace has caught his tone when Ace starts yelling, shut up shut up shut up! “What are you thinking about?”

As Ace yells at him for the innuendo, spluttering as he tries to defend himself and his feelings, Marco lets his smirk fade into something fond. Sabo hadn’t seemed soft, before he’d fainted, and he’d made Ace cry (more than once, Marco’s colder side whispered,) but to get to know the man who’d saved Ace’s life, who’d kept Ace safe, and even being able to see the crew’s faces when Marco first cracked a two-for-one joke and got to show off how happy Ace was-

Well.

It wouldn’t make up for being forgotten, but Ace isn’t setting him aside - and he’s looking forward to the new memories they'll make together.

[missjosie27]

Year 3 Part 5- To Hogsmeade

Hey, guys! Another chapter is here! Hope you like it

True to her word, Professor McGonagall granted him access to Hogsmeade upon learning of his marks in charms.

“You have kept your end of the deal, Mr. Grant. With your permission slip, I will allow you to join your classmates this weekend in Hogsmeade.”

She said this with a limited smile, a rarity for the strict Transfiguration master though David privately thought she still didn’t look thrilled by the idea. He wondered if Dumbledore had been involved in this whole situation. Still, he wasn’t one to push his luck…most of the time.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” he said.

“And Mr. Grant. Do try to enjoy yourself as opposed to finding more trouble.”

They had gone in a group- Rowan, Ben, Charlie, Penny, Chiara, Tonks, and himself. Some of the Ravenclaws were just in front of them while the Slytherins, predictably, were way behind.

 “You did it,” Rowan told him excitedly. “You’re going to Hogsmeade and all the bells and whistles that come with it.”

“And you’re brother too,” Ben added.

“Perfect excuse. We need to take a visit to the Three Broomsticks anyway. You have got to try butterbeer, Ben. First one is on me.”

David was still a bit miffed at McGonagall’s parting remark, but it didn’t dampen his spirits too much. His immediate mission was accomplished and now he could spend a day goofing off and find out more about Jacob. It was a win-win.

“Personally, I can’t wait to check out Zonkos,” Tonks said with a rather mischievous smirk on her face.

“What’s Zonkos?” Chiara asked.

“Only the finest supplier of prank and gag items known to wizardkind,” she responded excitedly. “And exactly what I need to surprise a certain librarian and a certain caretaker.”

“There’s also Honeydukes!” Penny pipped up. “My mom took me once when I was little. I’ve always wanted to come back and try their strawberry chocolates.”

“What do you reckon we should do first, Dave?” Rowan asked. “I know you need to talk to Madam Rosmerta. Do you have a preference?”

Up until now, David hadn’t spoken as he was mulling over that same question. They had until sundown to return to the castle which was plenty of time to both explore and talk to Rosmerta. He didn’t have to meet Hagrid until just after lunch.

“Let’s go visit some of the shops,” he said at last. “I don’t have to go to the Three Broomsticks right away. It’s pretty packed in there right now anyway.”

“I like the way you think, Dave!” Tonks grinned. “Let’s go!”

For older students such as Bill (who was with a couple of friends in his year) the novelty had worn off a bit. For those making their first visitations or only been once before, it was a wonderland. Though the day was windy, it was also bright and sunny, and those days were going to be few and far between in the highlands of Scotland as the year went deeper into Autumn.

The village itself wasn’t all that different in appearance than a standard muggle one, however there was one key difference and that was magic. Only witches and wizards lived here and it livened up the atmosphere considerably. Colorful posters announcing deals or sales adorned the little shops and taverns. Children laughed and played in the street. There was a flurry of activity every which one looked and from everything the third years had heard, the first impression did not disappoint.

Tonks had a field day in Zonkos and stocked up on items such as biting tea cups, frog spawn soap, and dungbombs. Against his better judgment, David also bought a couple dungbombs to be used at his own discretion and entertainment. The discovery of Penny’s sweet tooth was quite evident as she could barely stop eating the honeydukes chocolate and Tonks had to calm her down from an enormous sugar high. Chiara and Penny were also very fixated on Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, as it was a popular getaway for Hogwarts boys and girls looking to take each other on dates. The boys (and Tonks), however, weren’t as keen and simply allowed the girls to swoon over the potential romanticism before they moved onto a dress shop.

“I don’t get why they care so much,” Ben whispered nervously.

“It’s just girl stuff,” David muttered back. “Don’t try to understand it, just nod your head and change the subject as quickly as possible.”

“Bill says we’re going to be the ones on those dates in just a couple years,” Ben responded. “Is that true?”

“My brother is pretty popular with the ladies,” Charlie cut in. “He may tease sometimes but he doesn’t bullshit. He’s probably right. Speaking of, he told me to meet him over at the Shrieking Shack. Supposedly the most haunted building in Britain and he wants to show it to me. Anyone want to come?”

“I’m in!” Rowan said eagerly. He never turned down an opportunity to hang out with Bill. “How about you Ben?”

The blond boy fidgeted heavily with his hands.

“Haunted buildings really aren’t my cup of tea.”

“Come on, Ben. We’ll all be there,” Charlie encouraged. “Just us mates. Dave’s coming too right?”

“Actually, it’s almost past one. I can’t keep Hagrid waiting too much longer.”

Rowan nodded understandingly.

“Don’t wait another minute. We’ll rendezvous later at the Three Broomsticks later on.”

“You know where it is right?” Charlie asked.

Truthfully, David didn’t know where it was at all, but he figured he’d find his way. It was a village not the streets of London. It couldn’t be that hard.

“Yeah, I know where I’m going. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Good luck, Dave!”

The other three boys made their way north to the location of the shack while David went on his way. He figured he would come across a sign or some other landmark indicating the inn but the wind was picking up and it was taking a toll on his sight and movement. He looked up towards the sky; still sunny but clouds were rolling in and the little warmth received from the sun would soon be overcast. Zipping up his red hoodie jacket, he resolved to press forward.

Can’t be that far right?

Suddenly, a voice called out to him.

“First time in Hogsmeade?”

To his right he saw a tall, black boy regarding him with both friendliness and mild amusement. David vaguely recognized him as a Ravenclaw in his own year. He decided to approach him.

“How’d you guess?”

The Ravenclaw gave a grin.

“You have that look about you. Excited, cold, and not exactly sure where you’re going. I’m Andre Egwu, by the way.”

He offered out his hand, which David took.

“Oh yeah, I remember you from flying class. You’re also the keeper on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team if I recall correctly and pretty damn good at it. People talk about you as much as Charlie or Skye.”

“Charlie and Skye deserve the attention. Especially given that Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup pretty handily last year. But Quidditch is a passion of mine and I hope to play in the professional leagues someday. That’s why I wear my Pride of Portree scarf every chance I get to go to Hogsmeade. Best team in the league.”

David, knowing his Quidditch couldn’t deny that. Portree had won the British league for three years running.

“So they are. But you make it sound you’ve been here before.”

“It’s because I have. My parents take my sister and I to Hogsmeade even when we’re not in school. Gladrags Wizard Wear is one of my favorite places to shop for clothes.”

David resisted the urge to chuckle, instead choosing a tone of surprise.

“I didn’t think top Quidditch blokes were fashion aficionados.”

It was true. Glancing at Andre up and down it was clear that this was a person who cared a great deal about his appearance. In addition to his scarf, he wore a fleece jacket with the collars up, dress jeans, and a very nice pair of what looked like Italian shoes. In addition to that, his hair was expertly cut into a fade. To say he was stylish was an understatement.

“Clothes make the wizard,” Andre replied with gusto. “The better you look, the better you feel, the better you are at Quidditch. Or in your case, curse breaking.”

“I take it you heard about that, then?”

It was a stupid question. Almost everyone in Hogwarts had. But broad acknowledgement for the accomplishment as opposed to being seen as potentially mad still took some getting used to. But the emotion on Andre’s face wasn’t just admiration, it was gratitude.

“That cursed ice had me trapped in the Quidditch changing room until you broke that curse inside the vault. You saved my life.”

“Think nothing of it. I had plenty of help from my friends.”

Andre smiled and he reached into a bag by his side.

“Well as a token of my thanks, I’d like to offer you this scarf. It is quite blustery out here today and when I saw you shivering down the street, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

David gladly took it. It was made of a very quality wool, patterned in dark gold and red, his house colors. Quite thoughtful, indeed.

“This is brilliant, Andre. Thank you.”

“A stylish gift for a worthy curse breaker such as yourself,” the black teen affirmed. “I’ll say this for sure: it won’t be hard for you to find a date or a girl to take to the next ball.”

He couldn’t resist laughing this time, thinking back to Penny and Chiara fawning over Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop.

“It’s a bit early to be thinking about, no? I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Never too early to start thinking about girls,” Andre replied with a wink. “It may seem ridiculous to you now, but you’ll start to notice sooner rather than later. And when that day comes, my door is wide open.”

David’s first impression of the Ravenclaw lad was certainly unique but he certainly sensed no ill will from him. Just that his interests seemed to be ahead of most people their age.

“I’ll take you up on that someday. Thanks, Andre.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They shook hands once more and he prepared to depart. But before he did, he turned around one last time.

“Uh, by the way, where’s-”

“The Three Broomsticks?” Andre smiled knowingly. “Fifty feet up the hill to your right.”

Interesting guy that Andre Egwu

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Three Broomsticks had a reputation that preceded it. It was a cozy, lively atmosphere filled with patrons of all sorts, a bustling tavern frequented by locals and tourists alike. Inside was a building largely made of fine wood, filled with various tables and booths. There was also a second floor for private parties but most people appeared content to mingle with the crowd. In fact, it was so packed David was fairly certain it would have taken him quite a bit of time to find any standard human being.

Fortunately, Hagrid was not a standard human being and spotting him was a simple matter. As soon as they caught sight of each other he waved a huge hand.

“David! Over here!”

Sifting through the crowd, he managed to squeeze through two rather portly men, one of which had a walrus-like mustache and a glass of fine wine in his hand. Ducking underneath the outstretched jovial arm, he finally made it to where Hagrid was standing. 

“Welcome ter the Three Broomsticks!” he said in his usual cheerful tone. “What do ye think so far?”

“Seems like a lot of fun,” David remarked with a smile. “Is it always this packed?”

“Aye. It’s very popular. The students pack it even more on weekends such as this. Though ye get used ter it.”

Just then they were interrupted by an attractive, curvaceous woman with long, flowing blonde hair and a pretty face. She wore an ankle length dress and a plain apron but her cheeks were naturally rose and held a natural, festive glow.

“Hello, Hagrid! Good to see you again.”

“The same ter you, Rosmerta. Lookin as lovely as ever.”

“You’re sweet as always. Can I get you all anything?”

David couldn’t be sure but he thought Rosmerta’s eyes lingered over him for a half second longer than normal.

“A round of butterbeers, please.”

Sensing a chance to ask questions, the young Gryffindor tried to introduce himself.

“Madam Rosmerta I was wondering if-”

“Half a moment, dear,” she quickly interrupted. “I’ve got other tables to attend to. Be back soon.”

Visibly deflating at her departure, Hagrid noticed this and tried to cheer him up.

“Not ter worry, David. She’s a busy woman runnin’ this place. She knows who ye are and she’ll tell ye everything ye want ter know about yer brother.”

Realizing it would do no good to mope or complain, David supposed there was nothing more he could do until the bar matron returned.

“You’re right, Hagrid. Can’t wait to drink one of those butterbeers.”

The giant man looked down on him with a curious eyebrow.

“Never had one before? I thought ye were from a wizard family, Dave.”

“I did when I was little, but it’s been awhile. Mum won’t let me have anything in the way of sweets.”

He and Hagrid grabbed a table and talked like this for about fifteen minutes, sharing details of each other’s lives not previously known, though the latter was a tad more vague with his answers. David thought nothing of it, however and was content to laugh and share companionship with the gamekeeper, who was good company. He made a silent note to interact with him more often.

Soon enough, Rosmerta returned with a tray of butterbeers in hand.

“Cheers, Dave!” Hagrid said, clinking their glasses, almost toppling over the contents of his friend’s butterbeer. Taking a sip, a wave of sweet, warm, frothy goodness engulfed his senses. It was easily one of the tastiest concoctions ever invented in the history of wizard kind.

“Just as good as I remembered,” he said, giving a satisfied sigh.

“I’m glad you like it, dear,” Rosmerta said kindly. “I apologize for hurrying off earlier. Busy weekend. What would you like to know about your brother?”

David was slightly surprised.

“How did you know who I was?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” the bar maiden said with a knowing twinkle in her blue eyes. “You and your brother look very much alike. That look of surprise you gave me just now was reminiscent of what he used to do. Plus, I must admit Hagrid filled me in a bit beforehand.”

Though siblings, David never came across many people who commented he and Jacob looked similar. His older brother was much broader, with a different shaped nose along with brown eyes as opposed to his own hazel-blue. Nevertheless, he supposed it would make sense Rosmerta might recognize him. Perhaps she saw something others did not. 

“David wanted ter ask ye a question or two about Jacob,” Hagrid explained. 

“I can spare just a few minutes,” Rosmerta smiled. “What would you like to know?”

Where to start? So much of Jacob was a mystery to him now and any information he could garner was a boon not merely in the quest to find the vaults but to satiate his own desire for that knowledge. 

“Madam Rosmerta, I heard you knew him in his time at Hogwarts. What was he like? Did mention anything about the Cursed Vaults?”

A nostalgic look came across her pretty features.

“I remember Jacob quite well...quiet boy. Very sweet. He spent a lot of time at the bar scribbling in notebooks.”

That certainly perked his interest.

“Notebooks you say?”

“Aye. Then one day a pair of Ministry officials showed up, grabbed him by the hood of his robes and dragged him out the door. They demanded he hand over any information he held on the vaults, but they found nothing. Only thing he left behind was a black quill.”

Another black quill

“Madam Rosmerta do you still have that quill? I’ll do anything to have it, I swear.”

That emitted a chuckle from the curvy innkeeper.

“Settle down, Dave. I’ll go look in the back. I never throw anything anyway so it should be around somewhere.”

“Thank you so much!”

“Think nothing of it,” she replied kindly. “Though it may take awhile longer. There are still a lot of customers to service and it’s quite cluttered in my office.”

“I’ll wait as long as I need to, Madam Rosmerta.”

“Very well then. I’ll score up another round for your table while I’m at it. Be back soon, dear.” 

David did his best to engage in further conversation with Hagrid to temper his impatience. It was best not to push his luck while he still retained some of it. If the gameskeeper suspected or believed he might be after the vaults again, it wouldn’t take long for Dumbledore to find out and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. Which also begged the question once more: was he still interested in the vaults themselves? Or just his brother? Perhaps the two were intertwined.

Before he could think about it more, Rosmerta returned about an hour later, black quill in hand. 

“Here you are, hun. Sorry it took me a little while to find. But it’s yours now. Use it well.”

Ecstatic happiness surged through David and he took the quill a little too quickly.

“Er...sorry. Thank you Madam Rosmerta.”

But the blonde woman took it in stride with understanding.

“Any time, David. And next time you’re here I may need some help. Would you be okay waiting tables now and again?”

“Think nothing of it.”

She gave one last sweet smile and waved goodbye.

“It was very nice to meet you, David. When you find Jacob, tell him I said hello.”

He nodded while Hagrid beamed at him. 

“Fine woman, Rosmerta is. Yeh can always trust her ter help people when they need it. Just promise me you won’t do anythin reckless with that quill.”

David nodded even if he had no idea what information the quill possessed, he was quite convinced in the moment nothing ill fated could come of knowing its contents.

“Of course, Hagrid.”

“You know, Dave, you should come by me hut some time. Fang’s gettin big now and we love havin guests over. I could bake a batch o’ me rock cakes.”

He had no idea what rock cakes were or even how good Hagrid was at cooking but he couldn’t help but appreciate the genuineness of the man. In the course of his Hogwarts career, he single handedly saved him from Devil’s Snare, alerted him to the spreading cursed ice, and helped him whenever he asked for it. The least he could do was return the favor.

“I’d love to, Hagrid. Just send me an owl and I’m there.”

The giant man clinked his glass once more, this time sending the contents all over his new scarf.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He reunited with his friends a short time later as the sun settled into the west, signaling that it was time to return to Hogwarts. Charlie, Bill, and Rowan were discussing their foray into the Shrieking Shack while Ben preferred not to talk about it. Penny and Chiara continued to giggle over Madam Puddifoot’s (and boys they’d take there which David didn’t really pay attention to). Tonks hung back with David, talking loudly over the wind about the black quill.

“So the Ministry found nothing on him?” the pink haired witch snickered. “That is the ultimate prank.”

“More so than that. It means they never knew what he was truly up to. He must have somehow hidden his notes within this quill.”

“You can do that?”

“Professor McGonagall’s been teaching me about all kinds of transfiguration this year, including switching spells in our advanced lessons. Definitely possible to turn a book into another unidentified object.”

“That’s some pretty advanced transfiguration,” Tonks said, clearly impressed.

David shrugged.

“Guess it runs in the family. McGonagall says I’m the best she’s seen in a decade.”

“Well I’m already a master at transfiguration,” the Hufflepuff said waggling her eyebrows, changing her appearance to that of a duck, to a koala bear, to that of Celestina Warback. 

“You got original material left?” David yawned.

“Wanker. Anyway what do you think the quill contains? Can I see it?”

He obliged by pulling it out of his left jacket pocket. 

“Nothing too out of the ordinary. All we have to do is use ‘repifarage’ to untransfigure it and…”

“You lot aren’t going to be untransfiguring anything.”

Out of the shadows in front of the entrance to the school stepped Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, looking as grouchy and unpleasant as ever. And judging by his expression he’d overheard everything they were talking about. Quick as a flash for someone who clearly suffered from rheumatism, he snatched the quill out of David’s outstretched hand.

“Hey! Give that back That belongs to me!”

“Not anymore it don’t,” Filch leered towards him. “I’ll be addin it to the collection of confiscated contraband to my office. Professor Snape’s orders of course…”

David highly doubted the cantankerous old man had any such orders and seizing one of his legitimate belongings was surely out his purview. Feeling himself becoming furious, he gripped his wand in blind rage before Tonks gripped his arm and shook her head in an effort to calm him.

“Now beat it ya nasty scallywags. On with ya!”

They ducked a swipe from Filch and ran off, but not before David cursed up a storm once they were far enough away.

“Language, David. I didn’t know you knew such colorful phrases.”

“You would too if you had an older sibling...and just had the one chance of finding said sibling robbed from you by a quivery old git.”

“Patience, my hot blooded Gryffindor friend,” Tonks told him. “All we have to do is simply get the quill back.”

“Yeah? And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Tonks grinned at him with a smile that practically radiated mischief. 

“Leave that to me. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s taking the mickey out of Filch.”

[imagine-riverdale]

Commitment Part Two- Fangs Fogarty Imagine

Part One

Kimberly hadn’t thought Fangs and she would have stayed broken up for as long as they had. The two having been broken up for more than a month before she even seen Fangs step into the Whyte Wyrm. That month had been the longest length of time that Kimberly had ever had. During the month Kimberly threw herself into work and school, whilst Fangs was dealing with things on his end. Fangs was consistently trying to find a way to explain to his mother that Kimberly was his girlfriend, as she was borderline insane to the point where meeting new people terrified her and made her lose her mind, change was no different.

Kimberly had been going through things at the trailer she shared with her brother when she had found a bunch of Fangs’ things. Setting the two flannel shirts, a black hoodie, a few CD’s, along with a pocket knife he had gotten from his father, and a necklace that he had bought Kimberly for their year anniversary, into a box.

“Pea?” Kimberly called as she headed into the living room carrying the box of Fangs’ things.

“Yeah?” Sweet Pea was sitting on the couch playing a video game, not glancing at his sister once she walked in.

“Can you give this stuff back to Fangs for me?” She asked stopping in the doorway and shifting on her feet knowing that Sweet Pea didn’t like getting involved in their disputes. Pausing his game, Sweet Pea turned towards his sister.

“Why are you asking when you know what the answers gonna be Kimmy?” Sweet Pea asked tossing the controller onto the table. Kimberly sighed and moved to sit on the couch next to her brother, before sitting she set the box on the table.

“I can’t see him Pea, you know that.” She said softly. “He came into the Wyrm two days ago and I left, I didn’t clock out or anything, I just left.” She told her brother and she leaned into the couch next to him. “I love him.”

“Why did you break up with him if you love him?” Kimberly places her head in her hands as she spoke.

“How can I expect someone to be honest and truthful with me if they couldn’t even tell their mother that we were together?” She asked. “How can I expect him to respect me when he doesn’t respect me enough to tell her? How can he love me but not tell the most important person in his life about me? How can he lie about our relationship?” Kimberly asked.

“Kimmy, you can’t let your past keep you from moving forward.” Sweet Pea said softly as she touched his sister’s shoulder. “One bad guy doesn’t make them all bad. Fangs loves you, more than anything really, the guys got it bad. But you need to talk to him, even if to get your closure.” Kimberly sighed. “I love you, you’re my sister, but Fangs is my brother, I won’t pick between the two of you.”

“That’s not happening Pea. I’m done. I don’t want to play the role of tutor in his production with his mother.” Standing from the couch she grabbed the box. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll just ask Toni to take it.” She mumbled. “And thanks for always having your sisters back.” She stated before heading back into her room where she hid for the rest of the day.

-

In the time that Kimberly and Fangs’ had been broken up they all transferred to Riverdale High, and to say it hadn’t been kind to them was an understatement. Kim didn’t make friends at Riverdale, nor did she hang around the Serpents anymore, so she mostly sat alone. Occasionally she would speak with the Serpents if Fangs wasn’t around, but that was rare.

Walking into Riverdale High the day after her conversation with Sweet Pea, sucked. Knowing now that she was no longer valued as the most important person in her brother’s life, sucked. Knowing that she and Fangs were held to the same height sucked. Sweet Pea was her brother, he was supposed to have her back no matter what.

“Toni!” Kimberly called rushing towards the pink haired girl.

“Hey Kim, and no, I won’t return Fangs’ things to him, SP already called me.” Kimberly groaned as she fell into step with her.

“Come on Toni, do me a solid.” She whined. “Pea won’t do it.”

“For good reason Kim.” Toni looked to the younger girl. “You two need to talk at some point. Straighten things out because it’s going to kill the three of you, and I mean three. Even though Sweet Pea said he won’t choose between the two of you, eventually he will and it’ll be you, you’re blood.” Toni stated. “You’re his baby sister, and if he has to choose, think of what it will do to them, to the Serpents. It’s not just Fangs’ life that would get thrown upside down, all of ours will.” Toni gave her a tight smile before moving down the hall and away from her. Kimberly stood in the hallway for awhile before moving to her classes.

When school came to an end she had her mind made up. She wouldn’t make Sweet Pea choose between her and Fangs. Kimberly worked her shift at the Wyrm before heading over to Fangs trailer that he shared with his mother. Upon arrival she took his box of things out of her passenger seat and headed to the front door, knocking she waited until his mother opened the door.

“Kimberly, how are you?” Ms.Fogarty asked.

“I’m well, is Edward here?” She asked as Ms. Fogarty nodded and moved aside.

“Yes, come in dear. What’s in the box? Oh tea, I left my tea in the bathroom.” She stated airily before heading away from Kim and to the bathroom. Kim stood there for a moment before hearing Fangs’ bedroom door open and out he came. He stopped light a deer caught in headlights at the sign of Kim.

“What are you doing here?” He asked frozen in the entrance way.

“Oh, I uh,” Kimberly shifted on her feet and held out the box of his things. “you um, left this stuff at my place.” She said softly. “I figured you’d want it back.” She set the box on the island counter that sat next to her in the open kitchen. “There’s a couple shirts, a hoodie, a few CD’s, and your dad’s pocket knife.”  She stated. “If you think there’s anything else, just let me know.”

“Kim,” Fangs went to talk but she held her hand up.

“Stop, please.” She shook her head. “I get it, okay? You don’t want to tell her, and that’s fine. But this no talking thing, us not being civil, well it’s just not gonna work for me anymore.” She stated. “You’re my brothers best friend, and I’m not making him choose between us, so we’re gonna grow up and actually stand being in each other’s presence again, if you’re not ashamed to even be in the same room as me, that is.”

“That’s a low blow and you know it. I was never ashamed of you.” Fangs stated looking into the box of his things.

“Could have fooled me Edward.” She stated crossing her arms. “You have my red pull over hoodie and my fleece lined sweater.” Fangs nodded.

“They’re in my closet, you’re welcome to grab them.” Kimberly did just that, and when she came out, Fangs was holding the small necklace that had a heart on it that he had given Kimberly. “You’re giving me your necklace back?” His voice cracked as he looked to her. “Kim, I gave this to you cause I lo-“ Fangs cut himself off upon his mother coming back into the room a cup of tea in her hand and a sweater on backwards. “Can we continue this later?” He begged Kim who just shook her head.

“No, we can’t.” She stated holding her clothes to her chest. “There’s nothing left to talk about.” Looking between Fangs and his mother she sighed and moved to walk past him. “I know where I stand now, okay? Don’t worry, I get it, I never would have been enough anyways.” She spoke softly to him before glancing at the necklace one last time. “Give that to someone you’d be proud to tell your mother about.” Kimberly closed her eyes before finally heading out the door and going home.

-

“Kim.” Sweet Pea tried again knocking on his sisters’ door. Since she had come home from Fangs’ house, she had locked herself in her room. Sweet Pea was at his wits end, stepping onto the porch he immediately called Fangs. “Bro.”

“What’s up man?” Fangs answered.

“Kim is locked in her room and refuses to come out, did something happen man?”

“She came over like an hour ago and we talked, correction she talked, didn’t give me much of a chance. Said something about not making you choose between us.” Fangs mentioned as Sweet Pea sighed. “I really can’t help you man, she wants nothing to do with me anymore.”

“Fangs.” Sweet Pea pinched his nose. “You’re being an idiot, you’re really willing to lose Kim because of your mother? Your mother who loves my sister as if she were her own. Your mother who won’t even care that you’re dating her.” He stated.

“Man, you know how my mom is.”

“If you love my sister like you say, you’ll fix this.” Sweet Pea hung up the phone. It was over an hour later before Fangs pulled up to the trailer, Sweet Pea coming out and pointing at the house where Kim was sobbing in her room still. “Fix this.” Fangs held his hand up and headed inside. Pushing open Kim’s door and causing her to jump.

“Get out.”

“Get up Kimberly, we’re fixing this now.” He stated tossing a hoodie and leggings at her. “Change and lets go.” Fangs moved to the living room and waited; Kimberly came out five minutes later in fresh clothes. “Come on.” Frangs grabbed her hand and began leading her out to his bike before taking her towards where he lived with his mother.

“What are we doing here Fangs?” Kim asked as she climbed off his bike, Fangs didn’t speak, just grabbed her hand and led her inside.

“Mom.” Fangs spoke walking in.

“Edward, sweetie, you just left!” She spoke smiling at him. “Oh Kimberly! It’s lovely to see you again!” Fangs stopped in front of his mother and motioned to Kim.

“Kim and I are dating, have been for a while, I’m in love with her.” Fangs mother stared at him and nodded.

“Oh sweetie, I know you are. Oh I forgot the cookies.” She moved to the kitchen as Fangs towards Kimberly.

“I tried telling you earlier that I was all in but you didn’t give me the chance.” Kim stared at the boy in front of her before hastily kissing him.

“I love you.” She spoke softly. “But you ever make me wait this long for you I’ll drive your bike into Sweetwater River.”

 I’m sorry that this took over two months to finish this my loves! As always, thank you for reading my lovelies.

[dakotacrisis]

For Better or Worse (2)

Was going to keep this solely on AO3 but I know not everyone follows me there and Transferred is running behind due to some scheduling problems so here we are.

(Part 1 here)

Adrien and Marinette have a loooong talk.

---

“And then you, Nino and Manon came back and that was the end of the conversation.” Marinette was on the phone informing Alya of what happened earlier that day at the wax museum. Her humiliating moment of confessing to a Wax-Adrien only for it to turn out to be the real Adrien and the subsequent agonizing talk that ensued in the long elevator ride.

“Oh girl, I am so sorry,” Alya sounded like the experience had wounded her, “I cannot even begin to fathom what that was like.”

“It wasn’t pretty. I wanted to evaporate into thin air the moment I realized Adrien wasn’t a statue.” Just thinking about that moment gave Marinette a bad case of embarrassment PTSD.

“At least it turned out okay.” Alya tried to assure her, “He didn’t reject you and you said that you two were going to talk about it, right? There’s still hope.”

“I’m hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. Just because he didn’t reject me right then doesn’t mean he won’t decide he doesn’t see me that way later. If anything I could just be delaying the inevitable.” Marinette laid back on her bed. The picture of Adrien surrounded by hearts staring down at her.

“That’s not the super confident Marinette I know and love. You gotta have more faith in yourself. The boy basically said that you were the most wonderful girl in the entire world. He said he felt something for you! I think you should be a lot happier right now.”

“I am happy. Truly!” Marinette’s face warmed as she recalled Adrien’s speech about how great she was. “But I have enough sense to not go putting all my eggs in one basket. I’m gonna go into this with a level head and leave it with the same kind of grace. I really like Adrien and I don’t want our friendship to suffer if this doesn’t end up with us together.”

“Since when did you get so mature?”

“Since I had to drop my fantasy and face reality.” Marinette sighed, “Now all I have to get through is the conversation with Adrien.”

“When is that happening?” Alya asked.

“Sorry to say but I’m not telling you that, Alya.” Marinette smirked into the phone.

“Why not?” Alya whined.

“Because this really only concerns me and Adrien. So I don’t need you or anyone else snooping around eavesdropping and trying to ‘help’ the situation.” As innocently as Alya may have meant it Marinette knew that she could get just as carried away in a plan as Marinette tended to.

“It’s called moral support!”

“It’s called this is gonna be a tough, awkward, and probably really emotional conversation between two friends that are deciding whether they should date or not and I don’t want everyone poking their noses into it.” Marinette corrected her.

“You’re right.” Alya sighed, “It’s not right away is it?”

“No. Today was exhausting and we’re both busy with schedules and deadlines tomorrow so it’ll be a good time to rest and think about it on our own.”

“If you want I can get Nino to hype you up to Adrien. Really let him know what all he’s getting if he decides to date you.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Marinette sat up straight in her bed, “I think you and Nino helped plenty today!”

“It kinda worked out in the end…” Alya mumbled.

“Alya, please, for the sake of my already stressed mind and heart, don’t mention that I told you this to anyone. Especially to Adrien. Can you do that for me? Can you not get involved?”

“If that’s what you want, girl. I promise not to meddle in your love life. If you two do start dating though I recede my promise.”

“Alya!”

“Joking. You need to chill. I don’t want to get your hopes up but I’m telling you that Adrien is gonna adore you. He’ll see that you two are made for each other and then you’ll live happily ever after.”

“Thanks, Alya,” Marinette relaxed again. “It’s getting late. I’ll talk to you more tomorrow.”

“Night, Marinette. Talk to you tomorrow!” She hung up.

Marinette stared at the ceiling of her bedroom as the events of the day settled on her. Adrien wanted to explore his feelings for her. He wants to see if there is something truly their between them. It seemed too good to be true!

As rational as Marinette tried to be she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to the best possible scenario. A final fantasy to lull her to sleep. Adrien and her having a nice, long talk. Adrien telling her that he wants to be with her. Adrien asking her on a proper date. The two becoming boyfriend and girlfriend. Adrien and her having a real first kiss! The two of them becoming so comfortable around each other that being together seems more natural than anything in the world.

Marinette held the dream close for one last night. In the morning she would be sensible once more but tonight she wanted to dream.

The next day really helped to calm Marinette’s nerves about talking to Adrien again. Mainly because she was doing fifty billion other things so her mind didn’t linger all that long on him. Occasionally she’d find her mind drifting before snapping back to the project at hand.

She got a text from Adrien that night asking her when she wanted to talk. It took a lot of hashing out but they agreed on Tuesday afternoon after school. It was a short day and Adrien was able to clear his afternoon so there wouldn’t be any time crunch. Marinette suggested they take a walk down the Path of Swans. It was the off-season so there shouldn’t be a lot of people. A nice, calm, place to walk and talk. Maybe sit down on a bench and watch the river while they munched on some cookies.

The day came and Marinette couldn’t help but be a little nervous. This really was her own personal judgement day of sorts. Adrien and her were gonna have a conversation and it was either gonna end with them together or not. A lot was on the line but she couldn’t let that scare her.

After school let out Marinette went home to drop off her bookbag and grab the bag of cookies she had made for today. Alya hadn’t said anything during class but Marinette could tell she knew that today was the day. She looked herself over in the mirror once more and took a deep breath.

“Are you ready, Marinette?” Tikki asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Marinette opened her purse for Tikki to sit in. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it but good luck, Marinette. Everything will work out, you’ll see.” Tikki rubbed her head against her chosen’s cheek before zipping into the purse.

Marinette made it to the Path of Swans right on time. Adrien was already there waiting at the top of the steps for her. It was a chilly autumn day so he was bundled in a chunky knit sweater and the scarf she made him for his birthday. Why did he have to be wearing the scarf? Wasn’t this already emotionally compromising without that reminder of how much love and care she exerted into him wrapped around his neck?

“Hey,” he gave a small wave, “Glad you made it.”

“I brought cookies.” she held up the bag of fresh chocolate chip cookies she had baked.

“Cool.” they lapsed into silence.

“Do you wanna--” “We should--” They said at the same time.

“You go.” Marinette said.

“Walk? I mean, do you wanna walk? With me? Should we start walking?” Adrien pursed his lips, “Now I’m the one with word vomit.”

“Welcome to my world.” Marinette chuckled.

Adrien smiled at her and motioned for her to take the lead, “After you.”

They descended the steps and started the walk down the path. The autumn cold snap and foggy weather made it a quiet day along the path which was good. No nosy joggers or lost tourists to distract them. The fallen leaves scattered the walkway in shades of orange, yellow and brown.

“You look nice, today,” Adrien said, “New cardigan?”

“Yeah,” she tugged at the fuzzy ivory sleeves, “I finished it yesterday.”

“Fleece?”

“Yep.”

They lapsed into silence once more.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know what to say. I had this whole speech prepared but it seems so ridiculous now.” Adrien scuffed his shoe through the damp leaves, “I’ve never been in a situation like this before.”

“I don’t want to break your heart or get your hopes up but I also need you to know that I do like you. I had a lot of time to think about what we talked about at the museum and it would be ludicrous to stand here and say that I don’t feel anything for you.”

“I feel a but coming.” Marinette braced herself.

“But you have to understand that this other girl, I’ve been in love with her for so long. She’s amazing and even if she doesn't feel the same way there is a part of me that doesn't want to let her go."

"I understand. I've been going through the same thing with you and Luka."

"So how did you choose?"

"Simple. I haven't."

"But I thought--"

"This is why we're out here, Adrien. It isn't just you deciding if you want me but I am also figuring out if I want you too." It was a point that Marinette realized she needed to make sure they addressed. Adrien wasn’t the one with all the power here. While Marinette did want to be with him her decision wasn’t set in stone.

"That doesn't make this more complicated or anything." Adrien muttered.

"Dealings with the heart are never easy. Trust me." Marinette was glad that she didn’t need to mention a third black clad partner that was head over heels for her hero supersona. Bundling Chat Noir and Luka into one entity as the other man in her life wasn’t fair but it’s not like she could tell Adrien her secret.

After a few more silent steps Marinette took the plunge.

“This other girl, do I know her?” She asked hesitantly.

“You could say that. Everyone knows her at this point I suppose.” Adrien was blushing. That or the cold was nipping at his cheeks and ears.

“Am I competing with a celebrity crush?” Marinette teased lightly.

“Sorta. I mean, she is famous and I do know her personally but...it’s complicated. I just…” he trailed off, “I feel like there is a chance for us. That one day she’ll say yes and we’ll ride off into the sunset. But I also know that she’s in love with someone else and I fear that if I keep making advances then maybe one day she’ll snap and not even want to be friends anymore.”

“Oof,” Did she really just say oof to Adrien’s heart troubles? Idiot.

“Big oof,” Adrien chuckled half-heartedly. His face fell back into seriousness and he shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “And now with you I feel like I’m being unfaithful to my first crush. But then I remember that she’s in love with someone else so me having a crush on someone else shouldn’t matter. Then that comes back around on me because it makes me feel like I’m treating you as a fall back or second best when that’s not the case. I really like you and appreciate you as a friend and I don’t want you to feel as if I’m settling for you because I can’t have my first pick. You’re wonderful in your own way and I--I just--”

“You wish that you had never developed feelings for one of us so you didn’t have to play a relationship invalidating game of who is better.” Marinette could tell exactly what he was trying to get at.

“You put it in words,” Adrien sighed. “I don’t regret having feelings for either of you and wouldn’t trade the experiences for anything in the world but at the end of the day a decision needs to be made.”

“I mean not if you’re open to a poly relationship.” Marinette shrugged, “But I don’t think throwing that monkey wrench into an already complicated teenage relationship is the best thing.”

“Agreed,” Adrien nodded.

They continued on taking a small breather to eat some of the cookies Marinette brought and gaze at the misty world around them.

“We should do stuff like this more often.” Marinette said. “Not as a date thing but in general. I like talking with you and getting an afternoon to breathe in the fresh air with no deadlines is something I didn’t realize I was missing.”

“It is really calming.” Adrien took in a deep breath of autumn air. “No matter how this afternoon ends, we should do this again. You, me, a long walk and a bag of cookies.”

“I’d like that.” Marinette smiled.

They started to walk under the biggest growth of the trees, their branches bent like a forest archway. Little drops of dew water dropping from their branches and splattering on the walkway and the young pair’s heads.

“Well,” Adrien said, “You know all about my messed up heart troubles. What about yours? Why are you hesitating between me and Luka?”

“I know it was unrealistic to think but a part of me was hoping we didn’t have to keep talking about this.” Marinette groaned inwardly.

“I think the biggest difference between you and Luka is that with Luka there is no pressure. There’s no guessing game about his feelings for me. I know that he likes me. He’s told me so. He confessed and never pushed me for a response.” Marinette stated. “With him everything is easier. I don’t get so nervous or tongue tied around him. He likes everything about me just the way I am. Even knowing how I feel about you he doesn’t make a big deal of it. Heck, he’s encouraged me to go after you before. He’s so good about my crush on you. Never acting bitter about it or trying to convince me to move on. He lets me sort out my own feelings in my own time.”

“Wow.” Adrien processed the information, “Makes me wonder why it is even a competition. Sounds like anyone would choose Luka. I’d choose Luka.”

“Like I said back at the museum,” Marinette rolled her eyes with a laugh, “Luka is great but he’s not you. The way I like him and the way I like you are two completely different things. It’s the same kind of problem you have. I don’t want anyone to get hurt with my choices.”

They stopped at a bench and sat down so they could overlook the river.

“I have an idea.” Adrien said, “It’s not perfect but I think it may help us figure things out.”

“I am all ears.”

“What if we did a trial run?”

“Huh?”

“You know,” Adrien started fidgeting with his ring, “What if we acted like a couple for a bit. Got a feel for how we mesh together and if one or both of us feels like it isn’t right then we can stop. No commitment.”

“Oh,” Marinette clutched her cookie bag tighter, “That um...that is…”

“If you’re not for it then disregard everything I just said. It was a dumb idea anyway.”

“Stop that.” Marinette calmed him, “It’s not dumb. In any other circumstance I think it would help but I don’t want to waste time on a halfway relationship.”

She looked him dead in the eyes. “I want this, Adrien. I want to have a real relationship with you and only you. But I’m not the only one that needs to want this.”

“I do want to give this a try. I want to see where it goes.” He impressed, “If we explore this and it turns out that we decide it isn’t for us then what do we do? I don’t want either of us to walk away from this with a broken heart or even worse an angry one. Isn’t there anyway to test the waters before we jump in all at once?”

“I understand where you’re coming from. The fact of the matter is that I don’t want to wait around for three months hoping for this to turn into something and you ultimately deciding that it isn’t for you. We can take things slow if you want, there’s no rush to be connected at the hip. But at a certain point of waiting it’s not you deciding whether you’re ready or not but you stringing me along. I care about you a lot, you mean so much to me, but I know I deserve better than that. So...I need an answer. A real answer. You don’t have to make a decision right now but if I’m not what you want then I’d rather you tell me sooner rather than later. That way I can move on and we can both be content in our lives.”

She blinked rapidly to banish the stupid tears threatening to spill out. “I know I sound like I’m being demanding but I’ve made my choice. I want you to know that it is okay to say no. I don’t want you to say yes because you think it is easier or out of some sense of guilt. I might be a bit sad but I could never be upset at you for doing whatever it is that makes you happiest. All I am looking for right now is your honesty. Whatever you choose I will still be here for you as your friend.”

“Marinette…” Adrien gripped the lip of the bench seat. So many thoughts and feelings battling for space. He looked back at her. There was no pretense. No wall. This was her heart stripped away of all its inhibitions. So vulnerable and trusting and brave. Just like her.

“I--I want to go on dates.” he stammered, “I want good morning texts and goodnight phone calls. I want to hold hands and get ice cream. I want to cuddle on a couch and watch movies. I want someone who I can be myself around. I want to be a listening ear and shoulder to cry on. I want someone to serenade with piano but will also laugh at my bad jokes. I want a relationship with someone who is not just my girlfriend but my friend as well. And...and I want that person to be you, Marinette.”

She stared at him. Not quite shocked but neither happy either. “You mean that?”

“Yes. I mean it.” he smiled as the truth of it truly resonated with him, “I want you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

She leaned closer hugging him tightly. Her face buried in his shoulder. He could faintly hear the sound of whimpering coming from her.

“Are you crying?” he started to panic.

“I am so tired.” she laughed through her tears, “You’re gonna be the death of me, Adrien Agreste.”

“Marinette, I’m still pretty bad at social cues so I’m not sure if this is good or bad right now.”

“Good.” Marinette wiped her eyes, “Very good. I just...I was so nervous about all of this. I know what I wanted to happen but there was still the anticipation that you would reject me and now that it’s over I’m getting a little emotional.”

“I understand that,” Adrien breathed out in relief, “I had to grab the bench to keep from shaking.”

“We’re regular disasters.” she pulled another cookie out of the bag and shoved it into her mouth, “Care to eat your feelings with me?”

“Yes, please,” he took a cookie and crammed it into his mouth. They sat there for a minute silently finishing off the rest of the cookies and letting their nerves melt away.

They got up to throw away the now empty bag and decided to make the full lap around the path. They certainly had the time since they had cleared their schedules for this talk.

“Can I--may I--” Adrien cleared his throat, “Can I hold your hand?”

“Sure,” Marinette was going to die. He was so shy!

He laced their fingers together and swung their arms gently as they walked.

“We don’t need to tell everyone about this, right?” Marinette asked. “I’m not like embarrassed or anything, I promise. I figured that since we are going to need a little transition time to get used to this that it would be best if we didn’t let all our friends know right away.”

“I like that idea.” Adrien said, “Plus, it’ll give us some time to ourselves without any outside interference.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Until we are more rooted and comfortable with this dynamic no one else can meddle in it.”

“Not even Nino and Alya?”

“I love them but I already had to forbid Alya from spying on our talk today. When we’re ready they’ll be the first to know.”

“And our parents?”

“Maybe the second to know. My tendency to go overboard I got from my dad. If he found out that we were dating then he’d jump right into the big questions that we’re trying to avoid.”

“I have no doubt my father would approve of you but he also gets really protective when there is a new big change in my life.” Adrien admitted, “He’ll probably be easier going if we have some time built up behind it.”

They finished their walk and Adrien gave Marinette a ride home. With a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek Marinette bolted into the house and grabbed the nearest pillow to muffle her giddy squeals of joy.

---

(1) (3)

---

(tagged)

@ladylb

[artificialqueens]

just let me adore you (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 4136

AN: Haven’t written a boy fic like this one in a while, too caught up in all the lesbian aus. Thank you writ and barbie for helping me with this and making me laugh my head off while writing it. Hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think if you want to! Title from ‘Adore You’ by Harry Styles. Thank you writ for betaing <3

Brock’s new LA apartment, despite being half the size of his Nashville place, feels bigger. Emptier.

Maybe it’s all the boxes he hasn’t gotten around to unpacking. Maybe it’s the way his cats are still nestled in their kennels despite the opened doors, too afraid to leave the fleece blankets and explore their new home. Or maybe it’s the fact that even though he’s spent a lot of time in LA, he’s always had somewhere else to go back to. Somewhere else that’s considered ‘home’.

Except now, LA is his home. Or it will be, eventually, once he gets used to it.

The move makes sense, career wise, because being anchored to Nashville when he’s outgrown it isn’t logical anymore. It’s a city of too many bachelorette parties at his home bar and way too much country songs playing on the radio, and the subtle southern twang in everyone’s voice that he’s been afraid of accidentally adopting himself, these last few years.

LA is where his booking manager is based out of. LA is where he can make stronger connections that’ll help catapult his career in the direction that it deserves to be in. LA is warm - as warm as Nashville, yes, but now he’ll have regular access to the beach, a chance to let his curls get wilder than usual in the ocean air, and to let his skin get a sunkissed glow, provided that he won’t burn to a crisp first.

Brock doesn’t have any connections left in Nashville anymore, either. Most of his friends have moved on to bigger things, left the city that had kept them in touch in the past. His family isn’t in Nashville, and neither is his work. But LA has many fellow queens and some friends, too, and even some distant cousins and-

Jose.

Brock hasn’t told Jose about the move. They haven’t really been talking much, and it makes sense that they’re growing apart, no longer tied down by NDAs and keeping up a storyline or by having to share a tour bus. It’s given them space to breathe, yes, but it also feels strange, no matter how freeing it is.

Brock doesn’t get a morning text when he wakes up anymore, texts that used to be filled with so many nonsensical emojis that he would have no idea where Jose even found them. But then again, Brock doesn’t send any himself, either. He and Jose don’t have their late night phone calls or facetimes that they used to when they’d miss each other just a little bit too much, and it’s not out of the ordinary, the fact that they’ve drifted. Because it’s been awhile, and the rubber band that had tied them together has snapped. They’re free floating, and apparently the paths drawn by their newfound ability to move aren’t meant to cross with one another.

Why would they? When they both travel, they both are free to involve themselves with other people, and they used to be based in different cities. Except that they’re not anymore.

They have the same home base now, because Jose lives in LA too.

Brock thinks back to a year and a half ago, when they were sprawled on Jose’s couch in his apartment and Jose had been poking his shoulder, trying to convince him to move to LA. Saying that it would be a good career move, and why was he still in Nashville, anyway?

Back then, things had been so fresh and new. They’d finished filming Drag Race, and their season wouldn’t air until the next year. Being able to wrap his arms around Jose, hold him close without any cameramen trying to capture the moment had been thrilling, almost freeing, even. But it had felt too soon. Too soon to leave Nashville because it still had been his home.

But now? It’s not Brock’s home anymore. Not when being able to perform, to do what he loves to do and dance every night gives him that same feeling of comfort, of security, that his bed in Nashville used to provide. The fact that he’s in control, the fact that he doesn’t have to be tied down to a certain place, but rather just needs that feeling of satisfaction in his heart to feel like he’s complete.

Brock wonders what the Jose from a year and a half ago would think. He wonders what Jose will think now.

He debates on whether he should tell Jose. Let him know. Do exes do that? Let each other know that they’ll be in the neighbourhood for the foreseeable future? A warning of sorts, or maybe a homecoming?

Brock’s not sure which one it’ll be, which one he even wants it to be.

The clock on his oven is reading 11:00 pm and he’s tired, way too tired to unpack much more than some of the clothes and toiletries and silverware and plates he’d gotten to taking out earlier, stuff he’ll need sooner than later. Everything else can wait for the morning daybreak, when the flashing lights of the cars outside are replaced with the LA sun that burns just a little too bright for his night loving eyes.

It would be too late to bother Jose, anyway, if they were in any other profession. Except all of their work is done in the evenings and nights, when the lighting is just a little bit more forgiving on their harsh makeup and the loud beats of the music are socially acceptable. Still, texting Jose to say that he’s in town feels a little bit strange, a little bit presumptuous.

He’s going to pull a Gatsby instead. Hope that Jose gets the message.

Instagram story posted by @bhytes. A panning shot of an empty apartment, stacked high with boxes against the walls and two kennels with open doors, one which has a grey tail sticking out of it. Location: Los Angeles.

It doesn’t take long until Brock’s phone lights up with an Instagram direct message notification. He’d fiddled with his settings to have most notifications turned off, his account too bustling to handle the onslaught of fan comments and messages and likes. Most of them, that is, except for his close friends, his family members, and Jose.

He’d never gotten around to turning Jose’s notifications off after they’d broken up, not when he dives for his phone the same way that he used to, back then.

vanessavanjie: LA huh

vanessavanjie: ur ass finally listened to me

vanessavanjie: all those boxes, ur ass just get here or what

bhytes: something like that

bhytes: drove over yesterday with everything, finally free of the u-haul

vanessavanjie: damn i thought it was only lesbians who u-hauled lol

bhytes: you around LA these days?

vanessavanjie: i see u watching my stories bitch u already know

bhytes: fair

vanessavanjie: u tired of unpacking everything or what

bhytes: a little, honestly

vanessavanjie: come out

vanessavanjie: can’t be a hermit already before ur even properly moved in

Brock doesn’t know why he says yes. Maybe, just maybe, in the back of his mind he does, because the lack of inhibitions from some alcohol and loud music creates the perfect setting in which to see Jose in again, after months and months of only seeing his face behind an Instagram profile. A club setting means no need for the awkward small talk, no conversations about the weather that always happen with people that feel too far away, unreachable, when they used to be close enough to touch.

Jose’s not hard to find. Not by the way he’s yelling up a storm in the corner of the club with a drink in each hand, surrounded by fellow queens and dancers and spinning in place as if no one’s watching him. And it’s true, no one really is, too busy wrapped up in their own conversations and dance moves.

Except for Brock, because Jose’s like a magnet, one that grabs his sight from far away and refuses to let him go and be free from his pull. Brock can’t tell if his heart is beating faster and faster because of the deep bass of the music, or because of Jose’s smile that lights up his whole face, one that Brock used to see all the time. He fiddles with his baseball cap as he walks over, because his curls had been too hopeless to be tamed by any amount of pomade.

Not that Jose really cares. He never did, not when Brock used to wear the same sweater for days in a row because he didn’t feel like rifling through his closet, not when Brock couldn’t tell apart Jose’s various outfits even if he tried. Brock’s energy for styling himself is just enough to get himself looking decent in drag. Out of drag? It doesn’t matter much to him.

Doesn’t matter, until Jose spots him and drops his drinks into the hands of those beside him, walking over with a glint in his eyes and a onceover that’s enough to make Brock pull in a breath.

It’s irrelevant that they’re not together, that they’re better off not as a unit. Because there’s something about Jose that’s magnetic and always manages to pull Brock in, makes him want to sidle up to him, close enough that the familiar scent of Jose’s cologne washes over him from head to toe and makes him close his eyes.

“Sleeping already? You on LA time now.” Jose brushes his fingers along Brock’s wrist and it feels like an electric current, one that travels straight to his heart.

“Moving is tiring.” Brock’s a bit distracted as he answers because Jose’s features are still so stunning, so precisely cut, balanced with the delicate flutter of his eyelashes, the soft curve of his mouth.

Jose looks the same as he always does, still as if it’s two in the afternoon and he’s fresh after a nap, rather than taking on the weariness that adorns the features of their colleagues from all of the travelling that comes with the job.

“Ain’t thought about asking me for help? We in the same neighbourhood now.” Jose raises one perfect eyebrow and Brock has to resist the urge to reach out, smooth it over, the way that he always used to.

“Didn’t think your small frame would be able to handle the giant boxes.” Brock grins and the light dig is worth it, because Jose lets out a little yell, swats at his arm, the ice shattering as it always does if they spend more than thirty seconds with each other.

“Forgot what a shady ass bitch you were.” But Jose’s smiling, the kind that reaches his eyes, and Brock knows that he’s not really mad.

Brock catches at Jose’s hand before he lets it drop, turning it over. “Damn. So the tattoo is real, huh?”

He’d had his doubts, because the ink had looked extensive. But Jose’s impulsive, guided by his heart and rash decisions and so it makes sense. The lines are deep within Jose’s skin, pretty patterns along the top of his hand and his wrist and Brock would be mesmerized by it, he would, were it not for the flashing lights of the club making it difficult to clearly see.

“You think I’d play with some Sharpie just for fun?” Jose lets out a scoff as he wiggles his fingers, letting Brooke get a view from all angles.

“I distinctly remember the time on the season eleven tour when you drew a mustache on Silky while she was sleeping, so yes. You’d play with some Sharpie.”

The memory makes Brock grin, remembering the cramped tour bus and the things that the queens would get up to in order to pass the time. It feels like a lifetime ago, one that’s been marred by tours that followed and geographical distance and other flings in between.

“Don’t know if you’d be able to scribble so nicely, though.” Brock flips Jose’s hand over again and Jose pulls it back with a huff, a little pout on his lips.

“I’m a modern day Mother Teresa and invite you out and this is how you treat me. Hateful, truly hateful.” Jose crosses his arms, taps one of his feet and Brock snorts, because it feels like old times. How they always used to act.

“Want me to kiss it better?”

Also how they used to act.

Maybe it’s a good thing that the dance floor is so crowded, that the WeHo gays have come out in full force on a Sunday night. It lets Brock pull Jose flush against him, a hand on the small of his back, without worrying about cameras or anyone else’s opinions. Because right now, the way Jose is looking up at him is all that matters.

Rihanna herself, Jose’s patron saint of music is blaring over the speakers and maybe that’s why Jose’s keening into his touch, losing himself in the music. The heat is radiating off of Jose’s body like a fire, and Brock’s not scared of getting burned anymore because he wants it, nights like this. Because he’s here in LA, and Jose’s here in LA, and there’s no rule that says that it’s bad to hook up with an ex after months and months and months, even though his sober mind likes to pretend that there should be.

Jose’s lips form the familiar pout that Brock knows so well, knows how to answer to. It’s as easy as breathing, kissing Jose. So familiar and right and yet somehow it still makes Brock’s blood pump just a little bit faster, makes his heart skip a beat when Jose whines into his mouth.

Brock ruts his hips forward slightly into Jose as he nips at his lower lip and it makes Jose gasp, open his mouth more as he deepens the kiss. Sure, they’re doing things on the dance floor that would make any good Christian woman weep but Brock doesn’t care, not when Jose’s in his grasp and so pliant and so willing to be there, wanting more and more.

Sue him, he’s missed this. Missed the way he can undo Jose so easily, pulling him apart with a strong touch and lips upon his skin. Not discounting how Brock can feel himself unravelling too, his brain only focusing on Jose and his cologne and his hands tugging on Brock’s belt loops and the way his stubble is gently scratching at his skin.

It’s inevitable, really, when Brock palms at Jose’s crotch, feeling the way he’s already halfway hard in the damn club, not unlike himself. Brock nips at Jose’s jaw before whispering right by his ear, close enough to be heard over the music.

“I’d invite you to mine but my mattress is sitting on the floor. No sheets, either.” Moving is hard, after all. Making a bed takes effort.

“Now ain’t you living like a prince? Mine, then. Reacquaint yourself with that headboard you chose.”

Brock tugs on Jose’s arm in lieu of an answer, already typing in Jose’s address for a Lyft because he still has it memorized, of course he does.

“When did you get that new mirror?”

“That really what you focusing on right now?” Jose tugs Brock’s head back down towards him, his kiss biting, taking, and Brock gives into it, lets himself get reacquainted with Jose’s breathing, his smooth skin along his hipbones when Brock pushes the edges of his shirt up.

“You redecorated, that’s all.” Brock lets Jose push him up against the wall beside the entrance closet, because he gets the feeling that Jose needs this just as much. This bit of release that no one else can even come close to providing, an itch that only the two of them can scratch for each other. The quickies in bathrooms and the rare nights in hotel rooms on tour that were so cathartic, so draining in the best way.

Brock needs it again now; they both do.

He pulls Jose close with fingers in his belt loops, catching the little hitch in Jose’s breath that matches the way his pupils are blown, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You missed me, huh?” Brock bends down, kissing along Jose’s neck and oh, it’s already starting to bloom in maroons from Brock’s lips at the club. He knows Jose’s going to be pissed later, but he doesn’t care, not really, not when it’s so satisfying to see them there.

“Don’t get cute.” It comes out in a groan, an arch of Jose’s back, a flutter of his eyelids.

But then Jose regains his breathing as his eyes clear, and he’s pushing on Brock’s shoulders until he’s against the wall, like he has an agenda, like he wants to see it through. Jose’s on his tiptoes in his sneakers but Brock’s not going to make it any easier for him by bending down, because he likes it, seeing how bad Jose wants it, needs it, and is willing to make it happen. Except that he nearly does when Jose’s unbuttoning his pants and tugging on his zipper, dropping onto his knees, and it’s a miracle that Brock is able to keep himself up when he’s missed this sight more than he wants to admit.

Jose wastes no time in wrapping his hand around the base of Brock’s dick, swirling his tongue around the tip when a bead of precum leaks out and Brock has to squeeze his eyes shut, pull in a sharp breath because Jose’s too good at it, so close to making him come undone before they’ve even done anything. When he opens his eyes Jose’s looking up at him, keeping eye contact as he twists his hand, coordinating it with the movements of his mouth and Brock has to reach down, tug on Jose’s elbow roughly to pull him back up because he doesn’t want to come so fast, not like this.

Jose’s lips are swollen and his eyes wild and he looks satisfied already, and Brock kisses him partly to wipe that expression off of his face, and partly because he loves the low groan that leaves the back of Jose’s throat when he does.

Jose’s bedroom is the same when he tugs Brock down onto the mattress. There’s an unfamiliar scent of cologne coming from the pillow on what used to be Brock’s side, once upon a time. But Brock ignores it, pushes it away, preferring to focus his attention on Jose and on tugging his shirt off before pulling off his own so that they’re finally, finally pressed up against each other. Jose’s all taut underneath him, his skin hot like coals and it burns Brock in the best way, the heat warming his chest in a way that nothing else can.

“Hurry up.” Jose’s voice is gruff, his head lifting from his pillow to try and capture Brock’s lips but Brock pulls back, kissing down Jose’s chest and ribs and right above his hip bone. The broken noise that Jose lets out as Brock tugs on his shorts and underwear is worth it, a sound that Brock wants to be able to hear over and over again.

“Still kept in here?” Brock opens the first drawer on Jose’s bedside table and the lube and condoms are still there, like Brock remembers.

It’s a weird sense of deja vu - they’ve fucked all over the world, on tour and in between gigs but somehow being back in Jose’s apartment brings a feeling of familiarity, from when they were just beginning, when everything was still fresh and new. Kissing along Jose’s skin, the salty tang of sweat a taste that he remembers from their very first time, one that hasn’t changed.

Brock holds the condom packet up in question, and Jose shoots him a look. “What, you want me to do it for you, or something?”

“So impatient.”

“Shut up.” But Jose’s words are cut off in a groan when Brock pushes his legs open, teases his lubed up fingers by his entrance while he presses kisses along Jose’s hipbone, the crook of his thigh.

He loves seeing Jose come undone like this, so not in control of himself when he’s arching up from the bed, curses falling from his mouth already as Brock curves his fingers, along his prostate. Brock’s close enough himself, already on the edge because his own dick is leaking and he has to focus on the motions of his own fingers to distract himself, to keep going.

Brock pulls his fingers back when Jose whines, tugs on his arm until he crawls back up and captures his lips again. He lets Jose control the pace of the kiss, lets him deepen it but then hooks an arm under the small of Jose’s back, flips him over so he’s on his stomach, gasping and squirming underneath him.

He pushes Jose’s legs apart again after he rolls on the condom, kisses up Jose’s spine and by his shoulder until he’s right by his ear. “This okay?”

“Why you taking forever, bitch-”

Brock pushes into him suddenly, drawing in a breath because fuck , it doesn’t matter who else he sleeps with, who else he has close like this, because it’s different with Jose. Everything he feels so much stronger with Jose, and it makes his own body feel so much more electrified, so much closer to being bowled over. He tugs on Jose’s hips until he’s off the bed slightly, as close as possible so that he can drive himself deeper, faster. Jose is a mess of moans and swear words that blend into one another as his shaky hands fist in the sheets, his face burying in his own elbow.

“Fuck B, fuck-”

Brock makes up for lost time, the distance that’s been between them over the past few months, burying his face in juncture of Jose’s neck and gripping at his skin hard enough to leave bruises. Jose’s letting out broken noises beneath him that make Brock squeeze his eyes shut, push faster, harder, until the headboard is bumping up against the wall. Brock knows Jose’s close, he just needs a little bit more-

Brock lifts Jose’s hips up a little bit more so he can grab his dick, pump it while twisting his hand just the way Jose likes it, not letting up the motions of his hips. And then Jose’s whines become higher in his throat, until he’s coming all over the sheets and on his own thighs. Brock pulls his hand back, grabs at Jose’s hip again and speeds up until he’s gone too, shaking and trembling and trying to catch his breath, his lungs empty and gasping for air.

He turns Jose over, licks the come off his skin and crawls up until he’s at Jose’s lips, kissing him again and it’s less desperate from both of them now, slower. Calmer. Brock rolls off of Jose, rests on his side, and Jose’s the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, all breathless and fucked out but with eyes that are sparkling, warm.

Brock’s never going to tire of the sight.

“I just washed these sheets this morning, you ho. Gonna have to wash ‘em again now.” Jose’s voice is gravelly, a smile playing on his lips as he trails his fingers mindlessly along the veins of Brock’s forearm.

“I’ll help you in the morning.” The words roll off of Brock’s tongue without effort, as if it’s a given that he’s staying over, that trekking back to his own apartment as if this is a one night stand doesn’t make any sense. As if this is a normal occurrence for the two of them.

And maybe, just maybe, Jose’s on the same wavelength too, because he smiles, drops his head on his arm on the mattress. “You better.”

Brock should be worried, freaking out like he normally does, because this isn’t a random city on tour or an unknown dressing room backstage somewhere. It’s Jose’s room, Jose’s bed, somewhere dizzyingly familiar but Brock’s mind is clear, free of the buzzing thoughts that normally turn his brain into a highway of sorts.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, not yet, nor does it ever have to. Maybe it’ll just lead to their paths intersecting more often, crossing with one another more frequently because now they’ll have the chance to, living in the same city. They’re not tied down, nor do they have to be. But the way Jose’s already starting to drift off curled into Brock’s side, an arm over his waist, doesn’t feel restricting, not like it should. Not like it used to. It feels more like a homecoming, because Brock can already feel roots burrowing down into the LA soil and taking hold, anchoring him here, making it his home.

[delciasustains]

In the last two years, I have spent $0 on menstrual products, and produced <1 lb of menstrual waste.

Yes, you read that right.

So, how did I do it?

I present to you: the Menstrual Cup and the Reusable Pad

The Menstrual Cup

The menstrual cup is, arguably, one of the most just and unifying products out there. In all reality, there is no reason to oppose a menstrual cup aside from the brief training period (which often involves the “I think it’s stuck” phase and quite a lot of hands-on activity in the shower) and its original cost (which is roughly $39.99 for the Diva Cup brand). So maybe in the past 2 years I have spent $40 for a menstrual cup, but overall I’m not counting that into my total. ;) All in all, this product reduces waste, doesn’t involve putting treated cotton or other strange/harsh chemicals in your precious va-jay-jay, and lasts a long time.

While this has definitely been the ‘talk around town’ in terms of empowering environmentalism and ecofeminism, the menstrual cup definitely is a bang for the buck. Not only is it reusable for up to 10 years, but they can be used for up to 12 hours (with no risk of TSS!) 

(Source)

So, how do I wash and take care of mine?

1. Evening showers I will put my diva cup in in the morning and remove it during an evening shower, where I can easily dump all of its lovely contents down the drain. Huzzah <3 If you are trying to reduce your showers, or have varying shower times, you can easily take it out and empty it over a toilet, but it is much messier and involves having to actively run to a sink with diva cup in hand. I have done this multiple times, but still will opt for the evening shower. Then, I wash it with some Castile soap or whatever I have on-hand and hang/rest it to dry until morning. <3 In the meantime (i.e. overnight) I will use a reusable pad, which I will discuss more below. 

Diva cups are also a fantastic option for overnight use, so do not hesitate to put it right back in after emptying it in the evening! However, regardless of how often you empty and reinsert, make sure to wash it once daily, and with a gentle/non-fragrance cleanser.

On that note, it can be recognized that we are all different shapes and sizes, and this product may not have the best fit for everyone. I am one of those people, and my diva cup is regularly leaking on me. I have been using them for 2 years, and I have purchased almost all of the sizes, and it still leaks here and there. Luckily, I have found a zero-waste and low-budget solution for that too!

The Reusable Pad

Reusable bamboo pads have to be one of my favorite products as well. Not only are they super comfy and often come in cute designs, they are also much better for you and the environment (lasting up to 5 years!). These bad boys are able to absorb a hefty amount of fluids, while also locking away moisture and bacteria unlike anything a one-time use pad could do because they are made higher quality and with no plastic! However, these products are trickier for women to get the hang of, so here are tips and tricks for how I have done it for the past few years.

How do you wash it? Isn’t that pretty gross?

While the idea of wringing blood out of a pad sounds pretty gnarly, it is actually not bad at all (and something most women in the world still do today!) Of course, if you take it off and tuck it away in some bathroom cabinet, then it won’t be a surprise if it gets a little gnarly. However, this is my step-by-step guide to maintaining yours in the easiest way possible

1. Wear it when you need it! - I’m the type of person who leaks form my menstrual cup typically on day 1 and day 2, but after that I’m gucci! Sometimes, I’ll just wear black underwear and call it good (lol!) I also wear a reusable pad at night instead of a diva cup. Because of this, I tend to use about 4-6 in the first few days of my period, and I’m lucky enough to have fairly light and short periods. I would suggest purchasing a pack of 7 or more reusable pads, since we tend to push the laundry until the end of the week.

2. Wear for no longer than a few hours This is going to depend woman to woman and on flow/day of the week, but if it starts getting uncomfortable or odd-smelling, then it’s time to wash! Often times, if you simply do not have time to wash them right away, you can place them in a sealed bag (and folded) until you’re ready to wash them. Be warned though - you don’t want to leave them in there for too long because I can promise you, things will grow!!! Right after use (or if you want to wait until the evening when you’re all settled) you will want to rinse and wash all of them. So, how do you wash them?

3. Washing!

You will want to submerge them in water and wring the blood out, until the sink bowl water starts to run clear. Then, you can take soup (literally any soap -- I use Castile soap sometimes or literally just hang soap sitting by the sink) and rub it into the pad. Sometimes, I scrub in circular motions with my fingernails or finger pads, and it helps to pull out anything left in there. 

Afterward, you can submerge it a few times again, and push soap and water out from one end to the other (down the length of the pad). This helps ensure you are running water through it. 

Lastly, wring it and hang it in a breathable place! While they can be used again after they are dry, I personally only wash them to prevent any smell or bacteria until laundry day, and will throw them into my hamper when they’re dry. Sometimes, I will also wash all of them right before doing laundry. They are washer and dryer machine safe!

Over time, you get the hang of washing them, and of knowing when to wash them too!

Okay, I’m convinced. Where do I buy them?

While I personally got mine from Amazon and spent about $20 on them, I would encourage everyone to locally source their products if possible. Another friendly service which empowers small entrepreneurs is Etsy. These are some of the amazing products they provide in terms of reusable pads!:

Reusable bamboo panty liners if you spot (like I do!) and want something thin and discreet, 3 for only $8 (and they come in increments from 3-24) by creator TheRainbowEucalyptus

Overnight organic bamboo/hemp/cotton pads for $8.50, including a variety of customizable lengths! by creator sacredspiralcreation

Organic bamboo charcoal fleece variety pads, by creator MamaBearBabyWear. There’s so many options!!

Conclusion

Hopefully this information provides insight into my zero-waste menstruation process, and inspires you to make that shift as well! While sometimes people ask “why wash pads so often?” or are reluctant to use products like menstrual cups and reusable pads because of the direct nature of them, I believe it gets us in touch with our body, our bodily autonomy, and staying attuned to our bodily processes. Yes, it’s easy to just throw a tampon in and call it good (and not even have to get your hands dirty!) but then it is much more difficult to see flow cues and even cues your body may be telling you. If the environmentally-friendly, empowerment, and cost-friendly aspects aren’t enough to convince you, imagine being able to constantly brag about not having spent a penny on menstrual products for years to come! Score!

Overall, I would recommend these products, and I am always available through messages or delciasustains@gmail.com if anyone has any questions or would like to talk about it. Good luck on your sustainability journey!!

xx