#he does try to walk him through a healthier pattern and all

[icharchivist]

I feel like if there's one man in the whole world who can lie in a puddle of his own blood and be in immense pain as he's bleeding out, but still admit that you're looking fabulous in his stolen wings, it's Lucio

I believe in him <3

Honestly i want to believe it too. Like it's not like he said Lucilius was looking gorgeous with his stolen wings when he was laying in a pool of blood after them being stolen, but he did not NOT say that either yaknow?

I'm sure he's the type to nod and like "hey i gotta give it to him. he's fashionable."

So good for him <3

[pet-genius]

A complex and many-layered thing

But Harry’s anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs. . . .

This is the first Occlumency lesson. Harry is right, of course. Feelings don’t go away because you want them to. To let go of them when they’ve not been addressed or validated can be as hard as detaching a leg. And yet, it’s what Dumbledore asked Snape to do, and it’s what Snape had to do to survive the first war as Dumbledore’s spy. You have to ask yourself… how?

Trapped animals chew off their own legs to escape. It’s a sacrifice they make to survive.

If there’s one thing in a fic that turns me off it, it’s the idea that Occlumency shields are a thing, that Severus was so gifted at it because he’s got some power like Second Sight or being a metamorphagus. I always preferred to think of Occlumency and Legilimency as skills that can be learned, even if some have more aptitude for it than others.

Severus entered Hogwarts with the kind of life experience that primed him for developing these skills, and left it with even more. Occlumency is magical dissociation, a post-traumatic coping mechanism, and Severus has C/PTSD. More under the cut; tw: just general angst.

To survive, he would have had to develop a knack for telling how explosive and unpredictable people feel. Over his life, he faced at least two egregious examples of what Pete Walker, author of “Complex PTSD” calls “the Charming Bully”.

Especially devolved fight types can become sociopathic. Sociopathy can range along a continuum that stretches from corrupt politician to vicious criminal. A particularly nasty sociopath, who I call the charming bully, probably falls somewhere around the middle of this continuum. The charming bully behaves in a friendly manner some of the time. He can even occasionally listen and be helpful in small amounts, but he still uses his contempt to overpower and control others. This type typically relies on scapegoats for the dumping of his vitriol. These unfortunate scapegoats are typically weaker than him. […] He generally spares his favorites from this behavior, unless they get out of line. If the charming bully is charismatic enough, those close to him will often fail to register the unconscionable meanness of his scapegoating. The bully’s favorites often slip into denial, relieved that they are not the target. Especially charismatic bullies may even be admired and seen as great.

These would be James Potter and Tom Riddle, who are distantly related, I might add. Harry inherited the tendency to default to the fight response, but since he grew up the scapegoat and not the golden child, he never becomes quite as appalling, and after all, a fight response is normal when they are after you. Even so, Harry, who has both James and Voldemort inside him, triggers Severus to no end. It’s not a coincidence that the memories Harry sees when he is with him are largely horrible, and vice versa. There had to be happy or at least neutral or even boring moments, but these two detest each other, and they know they detest each other. Negative emotions and associated memories are so close to the surface they can’t be contained. This is the purpose of the Pensieve in this context - to contain the emotions. Since Severus knew what was in there when he pulled Harry out, my theory is that you don’t suddenly forget the memories you placed there, but rather you make them less fraught with emotions.

“Get up!” said Snape sharply. “Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!”

Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was. “I — am — making — an — effort,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I told you to empty yourself of emotion!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,” Harry snarled.

“Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!” said Snape savagely. “Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!”

A lot to unpack here.

“Memories you fear,” “weapons”, “easy prey”.

Fearing your own memories, viewing your own lived experiences as weapons to be used against you, being easy prey… Severus could not be speaking louder of himself here. He is the one whose mind had been penetrated with absurd ease, he is the one who handed weapons to Voldemort, and he is the one who had to do the psychological equivalent of detaching his own leg – again and again – to survive.

I’ll argue that Severus developed a fawn response and a flight response, as fighting had never really worked out for him if it was possible at all. He had at least two more people I’d describe as bullies in his life, Tobias and Lucius.

Again from Pete Walker:

These [fawn] response patterns are so deeply set in the psyche, that as adults, many codependents automatically respond to threat like dogs, symbolically rolling over on their backs, wagging their tails, hoping for a little mercy and an occasional scrap. Webster’s second entry for fawn is: “to show friendliness by licking hands, wagging its tail, etc.: said of a dog.” I find it tragic that some codependents are as loyal as dogs to even the worst “masters”.

Remember what Sirius called him? Lucius’s lapdog. Bellatrix called him Dumbledore’s pet, Dumbledore said he dangles on Voldemort’s arm, the narrative compares Snape to a rabbit in SWM and Harry compares the Half Blood Prince to a beloved pet who had gone feral (yes, this does mean a lot to me on a personal level, yes my username is not a coincidence).

His unconscious fawn response might have been his undoing, drawn as he was to figures like Lucius and Voldemort. As an adult, I think he utilized the skills he had developed to survive in order to stitch these people up, and involuntary dissociation and fawning became Occlumency, which to me, is his signature magic. Harry needed only to banish Voldemort from his mind; Severus could not settle for this. He had to give Voldemort something, and knowing how to fawn meant knowing what to give him and how to draw himself in such a light that Voldemort would believe it. We see how he wanted to be seen by the Death Eaters: a self-serving coward who sought to hide behind Dumbledore’s apron, playing his pet. But that’s Pettigrew, not Snape. Imagine the self-immolation, the self-violation, it must have taken to convince everyone that you’re an ersatz Wormtail! Snape is a man and a prince, and the text recognizes this as Harry calls him, in the end, Dumbledore’s man, the bravest man, and as that chapter is called “The Prince’s Tale”. Voldemort thought Snape was nothing more than a “good and faithful servant,” and that his last words were “My Lord”.

But Severus had an unequaled gift for Occlumency, specifically against Voldemort, because Voldemort could not legilimens what he couldn’t feel; and he couldn’t feel love, grief, guilt, and remorse. This was Severus’s secret weapon, which would not have worked against Harry - who can feel these things, and who is also Lily’s son. I can prove it. The first time Harry gets the hang of Occlumency is after Dobby dies:

His scar burned, but he was master of the pain; he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now, while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out . . . though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love. . . .

Harry learned to dissociate, though fortunately in a healthier way than many of us ever get to.

Of course, Snape was a good and faithful servant… to Dumbledore, which brings us to the flight response. The chapter wherein he escapes after killing Dumbledore is called “Flight of the Prince”. He should be fighting, he had just proven that he can cast a killing curse, and yet he flees. He can literally fly, in fact: He, Lily, and Voldemort are the only ones we see pulling this off.

As a child, we see this too: He copes with his home situation by reminding himself “it won’t be long and I’ll be gone.” He is thrilled when he imagines Hogwarts, his escape; he follows Lily out of the carriage instead of confronting James and Sirius head-on (which might have saved them all a lot of pain eventually). But this doesn’t work out, we see that in terrifying detail. The next attempt at an escape is joining the Death Eaters, but this too doesn’t work out.

He can’t flee anymore.

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it —”

“Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

Shortly thereafter:

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared . . .”

“I am,” said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

He was ready, and he was prepared. He didn’t fly; he walked toward what might well have been his end with open eyes, armed only with the strength of his mind. Before Voldemort killed him, he looked pale, again, and terrified.

“I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.”

And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and Snape’s face was like a death mask. It was marble white and so still that when he spoke, it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.

I ask myself if this was the moment he realized he had been betrayed, that by giving Dumbledore a painless death he had secured his own. Maybe he wasn’t pale because he was scared; maybe he was pale because he was shocked. He was at his absolute limit, Occluding with all his might when he could have easily saved himself. The dam is about to break. All the memories he feared, all the weapons, the entire content of his heart is about to spill through - literally.

He fawned for Voldemort, the worst of all possible masters, but in the end, he was Voldemort’s undoing. All the ways in which he was weak and powerless against Tobias, James, Lucius, et al., proved to be part of goodness and source of his power. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Snape is so loved. I’ve never actually seen such love for any other fictional character. He represents a kind of courage that many of us need to get by, lest we simply become evil or give the fuck up (“I wish I was dead”). A kind of courage rarely celebrated. The more time I’ve spent in the fandom in general and in the Snapedom in particular, the more I am convinced of this.

[sugurus-slxt]

emergency request

((t.w. eating disorder))

i am trying to recover from my ed by myself since i don't fit the stereotypical person with ed and it is also expensive... i would love to get some comfort/support from haikyuu boys (kindly include tsukishima pls) <3

Haikyuu Boys Comforting Their S/O with an Eating Disorder (emergency request)

A/Note: I’m really sorry that you have to deal with that but if you ever need to talk I’m here, or just listen; my Inbox and Asks are open. I don’t think that anything should have a ‘stereotype’ especially not this, anything can happen to anybody, I anyway. These things don’t just pick and choose and honestly, I’m probably stating the obvious. I’m sorry but I just want you to know I believe in you and that you can do it. I do also apologise if this does not come out the way you wanted, this is honestly my first time writing for a situation like this so I did a little research, and I hope it was enough. I hope you like it. Love <3 ~ Sar-chan

Warning: eating disorder

Tsukishima Kei

I think the first time Tsukishima found out you had an eating disorder he was silent for about a couple seconds. It’s not because he’s angry at you, he just needs to process it, and he needs to figure out what to say. He knows sometimes he can be harsh and he knows right now you don’t need that.

He’ll make sure to wrap you in his arms and tell you, “Hey, it's ok. It’s ok. We- we can get through this. I’m gonna be here to help every step of the way. I’m sorry if I ever made any comments that make you feel a type of way. I love you ok and I’m here.”

He’d apologise because he didn’t know if he’d ever said anything to affect you. He’d be more careful with his words from then on because you mean the world to him and he truly wanted to help you get through this.

Tsukishima definitely did some research that night when you went to sleep. He wanted to be sure about what he could do to help and that he wasn’t mixing up his information.

He’d make food for both of you and eat the same things you were eating, to ensure you didn’t feel any type of way about it and you wouldn’t be eating alone. Kei isn’t a five-star chef but he’ll look up recipes and listen to the prep on his headphones while he cooks.

If you wanted to work out, he would totally take you with him to gym or practice, sometimes he’ll take you on his morning run if you’re not too tired.

Tsukishima would pay your fees without you knowing to help out. Like you’d go to pay and they’d tell you they were already covered. He doesn’t want you to argue with him about this especially because he just wants to help. He didn’t know how to bring it up to you so he kind of just opted for doing it this way.

I think when he takes a break at lunch he’ll call to eat with you over a video call. Yamaguchi helped him come up with the idea.

-----------

“Hey shortcake, I’m sorry I’m late for lunch. Practice ran a bit late. How you doin’? Hmmm” he said through the phone as he wiped the sweat off his forehead and removed his glasses. “I got a bit hungry but ummm. I was going to start but I wanted to wait for you. I’m sorry,” you apologised looking down at the food in front of you. “You … know… you could have eaten without me. I wouldn’t mind,” he gulped his water and glanced at the screen to see your saddened expression, “Hey, I’m not mad at you. I like eating with you ok. Though if you are hungry you should eat because you could get stomach pain, ok. But I am proud you got your food and you’re ready to eat.” Both of you proceeded to eat lunch but Kei spent most of his time smiling at you as you ate. Every time you’d look up he’d look down at his food never want to let you see the way he looked at you. When he came home he made sure to talk about his day over dinner and ask you what you’d like for breakfast tomorrow.

Kozume Kenma

Kenma is pretty straightforward sometimes and he doesn’t change that when approaching the situation. He’ll tell you, “Hey kitty come here, I need you to remember that is normal, ok. You are more than your eating disorder and all that matters now is that you’re recovering. I’m gonna help you, I know it’s not the same but maybe you can remind me to eat too hmm? We can eat together.”

When Kenma’s in his game room and you’re with him he’ll make sure to keep some snacks that you like around, he’ll also make sure to keep some healthier things on hand if you’re really worried about it.

He’ll be more observant of your eating habits and try to improve them. He’s always keeping an eye on you to make sure you’re all right, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

When he finds patterns in your habits he’ll find times within the day to ask if you’d like a snack or something to drink.

Every breakfast, lunch, and dinner time he has a reminder on his phone to eat.

When the time comes he’ll make home-cooked meals with you and eat together. This way he knows that he’s encouraging you and that you know he is trying too.

When he’s on stream and lunch or dinner time happens to creep up on him he’ll apologise and tell his viewer he’ll be right back because he knows that it’s important that you stick to a routine so that you don’t disrupt your progress. However, if you happen to be hungry earlier he will not hesitate to leave then either.

Kenma has no problem playing your fees but he knows this is your process so he will ask first before he does anything. If you want to take turns he’ll gladly do it with you.

Sometimes you guys will play rock, paper, scissors, or play Mario Cart to see who gets to choose what’s to eat or who gets to cook. He however doesn’t make it any problem if you prefer something else or want him to cook.

If you’re ok with him telling his viewers and you explain to them the situation he’ll let you. He wants them to be educated but he thinks it’d be nice for you to have the extra support and get some pent-up thoughts or emotions off your chest.

-----

“Guys gimme a second,” Kenma mutes his mic and turns to where you sat on the bed. “What is it KenKen?” you ask, a confused look washing across your features. “I just wanted to know if you’re hungry baby. Any snacks? Water?” he asks. You think about it for a second, “Maybe a little bit, but we can wait till dinner. It’s not far,” you wave your hands in front of you not wanting to disturb his stream. “Thank you for telling me but I’m a little hungry though. Plus if we get started now it’ll be ready for dinner time and maybe after you can game with me on the stream,” he takes off his game and takes your hand, and walks to the kitchen. “Let’s cook together today. I’m proud you did good today, keep taking it a step at a time,” he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses the top of your head.

Akaashi Keiji

Akaashi I very calm about the whole thing, he’ll sit you down and talk about it in detail if you want to share with him. If you can’t he’ll simply hug you, “Hey, I’m really proud you told me and that you’re working through this. I’m going to be here along the way to help but I believe in you darling. You are so strong and I know you can.”

He’s a pretty organised person so maybe he’ll help you make a meal plan for the week, snacks and all.

Keiji will talk about your day every time he comes home and asks if you’ve eaten well. Even though, he’s called you at breakfast and lunch already to check up on you.

I think Akaashi surprises you with a bento and a tumbler cup, that he’s drawn characters from your favourite manga/anime on.

Sometimes when he comes home from work he’ll surprise you with dinner from your favorite place for doing well all week.

He never forces you but he does encourage you because he does want to see you grow and improve, but he will let you take that at your own pace.

He is always researching and checking to learn new things every day. He’ll make sure he knows what you need and always offers words of appreciation and express how proud he is of you.

I think he’ll work out payment plan with you and will subtly bring up splitting the cost with you, if you’re open to it. He just wants to ease your stress and he hopes he can help.

Whenever you need to talk he’ll drop everything and be there for you. Akaashi is always going to be your number one supporter and if you want to keep it under wraps for the time he will support your decision but always make sure to keep you motivated and reassured.

-----

“Good Evening darling, let’s go on the couch,” he’ll sit and pat the seat next to him. When you sit he’ll pull you close and peck your cheek. “So was today good? Did you follow the plan? But most importantly how do you feel?” he’ll ask giving you a warm smile as he strokes your hair. When you tell him about your day, he listens to everything you have to say and if there were any hiccups in the plan he assures you it’s alright. He knows that it isn’t going to be easy, so he encourages you to make tomorrow better and that he’s proud of you for doing your best today. “I heard you paid in advance this month and well I already put mine in for next month so we’re set. So how about we relax, we can watch a show and if you have anything else to tell me you can. But when you’re ready ok darling,” he’d say before grabbing the remote.

Again I'm really sorry if I did this wrongly but remember my inbox is always open if you want to shoot me a message.

[bittermuire]

A (long) analysis of Azriel,

+ a bit of discussion about Gwynriel vs. Elriel at the end.

Lately I’ve seen much discussion surrounding Azriel, and there seems to be a lot of hazy gray area. We know he has a terrible past, carries a lot of trauma, is both mentally and physically scarred, and has disturbingly possessive habits. But why? That’s the question.

I think most of Azriel’s character can be filtered into three sections: his anger, his possessiveness, and his self-loathing. Altogether I believe these form his crippling sense of emotional immaturity, which ultimately shines through most every action he makes in the books.

So yes, I firmly believe Az is a child in the body of a 500 year old Fae. But is he treated as such? No. No, he is not. In fact, he’s treated as the exact opposite, and that can’t be doing wonders for his mental health (which is already in shambles. Off to a cheery start.)

Let’s take a look at his past. He was both mentally and physically abused for the majority of his childhood. Then he was thrown into an unforgiving culture that both mentally and physically abused him as well. Then he was essentially bullied by Cassian and Rhysand for quite a while... until they randomly decided to like him, which is a choice he didn’t seem to play a hand in. And then he became a professional torturer. All the while falling madly in love and becoming obsessed with a female who can’t love him back. Not to mention he’s been ostracized his entire life.

(One big thing though, that I’m going to reference frequently, is Azriel’s constant chase of “happiness.” Kind of like my friends with ADHD. We squeeze all the serotonin we can get out of one thing and then fall into a listless, depressed haze until we find another. I honestly think Azriel does the same thing with people--he latches onto them and lets his mood swings rely on how much attention they do or do not pay him, and whether it is positive or negative.)

So I’m going to go through his relationships with pivotal characters and try to explain what I think is really going on with Azriel.

Regarding Mor:

He was obsessed with her for most of his life. He was incredibly possessive of her and fell instantly in love upon seeing her. Do I think it was love? No. But does Azriel think it was love? Yes, and that is so important. It shows how desperate he was for human connection.

This “love” spiraled into centuries-long obsession that we’ve all seen play out throughout the series. But why is it obsession, and not love? Well, I’m going to go ahead and say that Azriel doesn’t know how to love. He’s never been shown genuine love and so he doesn’t know how to show it to others in the way he intends. He’s basically a baby.

But right after he falls head over heels, Mor sleeps with Cassian, and then Cassian plays the role of the buffer between the two of them all the way up until the events of ACOSF. This is where I think Azriel’s anger comes into play. He can’t get to Mor. His best friend, his brother, is blocking him from her. He can’t touch her, love her, feel her, and he’s so desperate to. But he literally has no way to communicate it because he doesn’t know how, and so he responds in the one way he’s able: anger. And jealousy. And intense protectiveness that eventually begins to translate as possessiveness.

Again, he lets his happiness rely on Mor because he can’t make himself happy, and so his lack of emotional maturity ends up revealing him as desperate and unable to communicate his feelings of inadequacy and frustration. I’m not trying to justify his behavior, not at all. But I think this could be a decent explanation.

Regarding Cassian and Rhysand:

I mean... I kind of hate the way these two have treated Azriel. They all have their fair share of trauma, but Cassian and Rhys also bullied him and ostracized him, and then basically said, “Oh, we like you now.” Which completely leaves Azriel in the dark as to where he stands with them, and strips him of awareness regarding how his friendships with them will operate.

And then he becomes the head of espionage for the Night Court, which involves lots and lots of torture. What kind of message does that send? You’ve seen dirty things, Az, so you don’t mind doing the rest of the dirty things for us, right? That’s the only real message I can get from this. Which then plants the message in Azriel’s head of: Not only do I do dirty things, I myself am a dirty, disgusting thing. Thus, furthering his already deep-seated sense of self-loathing.

Plus, the IC generally operates with a pack-like mindset. One person’s method of healing is everyone’s method of healing. It worked for one person, so it worked for everyone. It’s a very naive mindset, and very toxic as well, so it’s not surprising that literally everyone in the IC is colossally messed up despite preaching themselves as having overcome their demons.

So Azriel never really gets to understand himself and mature as a person. He’s stuck pretending to be perfectly fine underneath Rhysand’s oh-so-benevolent and compassionate hand. Rhysand and Cassian recognize Az as being a little... odd, by seeming to think things like “he’s the quiet one” and “he’s the serious, scary one.” But do they attempt to understand him? No. They leave him to his own devices and let him figure it out himself.

That’s the issue. He’s not ever going to figure it out himself, so long as he’s surrounded by the people who’ve been unwittingly suffocating him for most of his life.

Regarding Elain:

Azriel’s infatuation with Elain, in my opinion, comes as a direct result of his detachment from Mor. Just like one hyperfixation fades quickly from an all-consuming thing to a passing thought, Azriel has shifted from one obsession to the next, in order to keep his spirits on a high.

But I think his feelings for Elain reveal a lot of what Mor did not. Why does he view Elain as so holy compared to him? Why is he so hesitant to touch her? Why does he put her on such a pedestal? That’s his self-loathing coming through again. He hates himself so much that he has to place her above him.

He wants to touch her and love her, just as he did with Mor, but again he is unable. It's a repeating pattern that he can’t get himself out of.

Let’s also look at the way Elain and Azriel’s friendship/relationship began. He had to take care of her, and treat her with utmost respect. She looked at his scars or his siphons, both monstrous looking things, and called them beautiful. Let’s remember that he’s basically a child who’s rarely known genuine love. The minute he gets a glimpse of it, he’s going to grab it by the neck and crush it to his chest. Plus, the fact that she’s the last sister left unattached and he’s the last brother left unattached is probably even more convincing for him that he and Elain are meant for each other. When he’s denied this love that’s come nearly close enough to grab, he responds in the only way he’s able: anger. And jealousy. Just like he did with Mor.

But moving on, that glimpse of potential love comes from Elain. That’s why he’s able to let go of Mor; a relationship with Elain suddenly becomes possible. He’s terrified of ruining this potential love and is incredibly drawn to her all the same. Best of all? She wants him too.

BUT. Azriel knows how fragile Elain is, so he walks on glass around her, coddling her, putting her first like he’s put everyone else first since being a part of the IC. I think he wants to save her from becoming like him. He essentially plays the role of her white knight, entirely losing his sense of self-preservation (not that he ever had one), and thus loses any chance of letting Elain help him mature in return.

Regarding Gwyn:

Now, Gwyn is a different story.

We know Azriel likes her. Maybe not in a consciously romantic way, but he likes her. She makes him smile and laugh, and he finds her amusing. He doesn’t have to walk on eggshells around her.

The big thing, I think, is that he doesn’t have to take care of her. At least, I think that’s what makes him so comfortable around her. With Gwyn, he can relax, and he doesn’t have to watch every move he makes. She treats him like a regular person and he treats her similarly.

Now, is it a bad thing that he doesn’t put her on a saint-like pedestal like he does Elain? No. Definitely not. I think this ordinary friendship signals a much healthier relationship than his festering obsession with Elain. Gwyn simply being his friend and not someone that he feels he has to be perfect for is a good foundation for Azriel growing as a person.

Gwynriel vs. Elriel (the necklace):

Honestly, I’m scared for whatever SJM decides to do, because Azriel has a shitload of trauma to move past and years worth of emotional growth needed before he can be a steady partner in a relationship. Both Gwyn and Elain’s character arcs are definitely not finished and so I think that no matter which way his narrative goes, it’s going to be disappointing in some aspect or another, unfortunately. I don’t think that either one of the females’ arcs really fit well with Azriel’s.

But I’m going to take a closer look at the necklace, because I think it’s a telling narrative point.

For Azriel, the necklace for Elain and Gwyn herself, are both “thing[s] of secret, lovely beauty” to him.

By describing the necklace for Elain as such (instead of Elain herself), Azriel unconsciously reveals his more idealistic view of Elain rather than his love for Elain herself. I kind of get the sense of Azriel giving offerings to a goddess, or something like that. He seems to be more preoccupied with appeasing Elain than actually loving her.

Now, this probably comes from, again, his self-loathing and his emotional immaturity. I’m just repeating myself at this point. He doesn’t know how to love himself and he doesn’t know how to love anyone else.

But then he describes Gwyn as such. Gwyn, the person. In my opinion, this demonstrates a potentially much healthier relationship than what he has with Elain. Azriel, instead of wanting to be perfect for Gwyn and wanting to appease her, is simply made happy by the thought of her. It is Gwyn whom he is taken with, not the idea of Gwyn loving him. And so that takes off so much pressure for him, and introduces the hope that he might be able to mature as a person in a friendship or romantic relationship with Gwyn.

Closing thoughts:

Azriel is a blundering, hormonal child desperate for love with no idea of how to get it, in a 500 year old Fae’s body. He’s also surrounded by people who refuse to address his clear issues... his future’s pretty dim, and I think he realizes it. Which is why whoever SJM chooses to be his romantic interest is going to be very important.

In short, I’m scared for what’s to come. But fingers crossed that his incredibly complex character is done justice.

[secreteddsworldblog]

Quick Hide Me!

Tom x M!Reader You enjoyed getting out of the stuffy apartment and away from your jerk roommates.

You had the day off from working at the music shop and would have spent it mindlessly going through your socials at a park bench all alone like a loser if it wasn't for Tom texting you in the morning wondering if you'd be up for a walk around the town. A chance to have a guide to show you where the hidden jems were, from good food joints to shops with cool kicks.

It's been a good three hours walking around window shopping before the unexpected happened. You left your country to get as far as away from every failed relationships you've had. If you didn't know any better you'd say you were the problem. All of them had a tendecy of ending with you dipping without a goodbye with the exception of the last one. From previous self reflection you'd put yourself down with all the reasons you are a burden but a more gentle part of you says you're only flaw was the taste in people. Your first Ex was a bit of a urban rat trying to run a small punk gang and made a few good moves under your co-supervision. The second Ex was a cult leader in a rural small town that really managed to knit together a following. To bad he wasn't keen on giving you the credit you deserved. The third Ex was less painful compared to the first two in the way that it was cut short before any sense of deep dedication could form. Probably because your Ex's attention was more on the terror group than on you. You were admittedly called somewhat of a pet than actual partner.

Oh the beautiful Clover, an Ex who was the most tamest of Ex's that gave you a sense of normality that helped you realize seem healthier but still boring.

And your last Ex; the final Ex- Honestly the best Ex you've ever had. A god send ignoring the fact that he was a serial killer.

Who would have guessed one of them would follow you all the way to across the great pond. "And then-" You were getting heated up by the story you were telling Tom. He always showed an interest in your stories, stories about your adventures, stories you didn't know if he actually believed. To be fair they were a little far fetched and if you hadn't left out so much details that could prove it's not a tall tale then maybe he'd actually be a little more concerned than entertained, "Shit"

Tom adjusted the strap to the bass that bounced against his back with every step. His void like stare blinking once in a while looking between your face and the path in front of you both. When you stopped in your tracks his contentment with life became confusion. What could make you halt to a stop and take a step back? "What?" "It's my Ex, help me hide-"You rose your hand up to cover your face and turned to be sideways on the sidewalk letting people slip past you both. Tom squinted turning back to where you could have been scanning just seconds ago. "Quick, He's already on the same block coming this way-"You place a hand on his upper arm clinging to his short sleeve trying to turn him to walk the other way for an escape. But just as you took another step back his other hand reached over to your wrist with a firm but not painful grip. With a strong force to bring you to be parallel to him and a gentle push causing your shoulders to hit the wall of the building. As fast as that happened so did his next swift movements. Both his hands, palms flat against the bricks, were on each side of your head. He hunched foward with his head tilted ever so slightly and eyes hald lidded. This behavior was one you've never seen from Tom. At the moment he was angry at all your Exes. He was angry not knowing which one could be making you feel unsafe at this moment. Angry at what little he did know about them yet not have a single clue what they look like. He already had enough of foes being threats to people he holds dear. He's not going to let someone close be a victim again- or worse. "What does he look like?" Toms whispered in your ear  as you tried to avoid making eye contact with him or your ex by looking thoughtful at the ground. Amping up the false appearence of what could easily be confused for a couple he lets a hand slip from the wall to push the lower part of your face to move upward. "He-" From the corner of your eyes you can see your Ex getting a clear view of you and Tom before making an expression of what was a cross between disgust and jealousy. He didn't think he'd find you being with a bass player. Silently and bitterly he jay walked across the street, "He's gone". "Say, you weren't lying about seeing your Ex were you?" Without seeing for himself Tom was a little skeptical about his moves. Then again there's no reason for you to lie. This wasn't the same as spinning stories. "No, Thomas, I wasn't," You only used full names when trying to make it clear you're not playing games, "You can give me space now." It took Tom a moment to figure out what you meant. He had forgotten how close he was and how he had been stroking your chin with his thumb," Oh right." Finally giving you space he kept his hands to himself now, "If you ever need backup just let me know. Edd still has our Tank parked in a storage unit." Feeling better you shook your head, "I can handle myself." You would ask to go back home but you don't think it would be a good idea to go straight back there knowing that you could be followed. Some battles you prefer to fight alone. The day went on. Author notes: Bruh, I need to stop writing close to midnight when I'm brain dead. Have this rushed piece that I've been thinking about for the past two days. There's an alt ending I'll upload later. God I'm bad at righting Canon charas but most characters are hard to put out without relying on pure visuals if there isn't a very noticable speach pattern. Critism is welcomed.

[imekitty]

A prompt that might be from hell. This takes place in an AU where giving danny powers was always the plan: Jack stood by as Maddie deliberately designed the portal to give Danny powers. He stood by his wife's more ruthless hunting. He actually helped her get back at Vlad for what he did to her and danny in the Rockies. But he has a line. And Maddie just crossed it.

This is the worst version of Maddie and I love her.

This addresses the beginning of the prompt, sorry. I just really liked it and wanted to write it first! And then maybe I can address the final part later.

—–

“Jack, I found a perfect candidate,” said Maddie. “Someone whose DNA would meld with ectoplasmic properties so beautifully. Someone who could be a very stable ghost hybrid.”

Jack joined her at the counter in their lab. Ever since their old college friend, Vlad Masters, had become a ghost hybrid, they had been trying to determine if they could create their own, someone who could handle the spectral mutation without the gruesome side effects Vlad suffered.

“Really? Who?” asked Jack, glancing over her notes.

Maddie perked up and bounced on her toes as she clutched a couple papers to her chest. “Our son.”

Every muscle in Jack’s face froze. “What?”

“Yes!” Maddie pointed to her calculations, her samples, her tests. “He’s perfect. His body would handle the mutation splendidly. He would not only survive but thrive. He’d be…” She breathed in, her eyes fluttering. “Incredible.”

“But you’re not serious, right?” Jack gestured to her notes. “We can’t do this to Danny.”

“But he’s all we have, Jack!” Maddie gripped her notes tighter, causing them to crinkle. “We’ve been trying to figure this out for almost fifteen years now! Not a single person we’ve tested has come even close to what we need.”

She held her hands out over the counter, over all of her work, all of her experimentation on their son’s hair and skin cells and blood, bits and pieces of their boy he had no idea she had been collecting and playing with.

“We are never going to find someone like this again,” she said.

“But we can’t,” insisted Jack, not even believing he had to insist this at all.

“It won’t hurt him,” said Maddie. “It will only make him stronger. He’ll be healthier. He’ll live longer. He’ll look young longer. He won’t have to be afraid of anyone or anything.”

“You say ‘will’ instead of ‘would’ like you’ve already decided this is what’s going to happen,” said Jack.

He looked at her hard. She held his gaze.

He knew there was no changing her mind.

—

“Here, let me show you,” said Maddie as she stood in front of their ghost portal. “I’ve calibrated everything to Danny’s specifications.”

Jack poked his head in the portal. “And you’re sure this will work?”

“Of course! It worked for Vlad, didn’t it? And Danny’s body will handle this far better than Vlad’s did. He’ll be stable immediately.”

Maddie’s arms waved up and down and around as she explained her plan. Jack hardly moved at all as she spoke.

“There’s a sensor here,” said Maddie. “It’s keyed in to Danny’s biological signature. So when he trips the sensor, about ten seconds later, the portal will switch on and administer a perfect shock of ectoplasmic energy, the perfect combination that will rearrange his molecules into something part ghost, part human.”

Jack’s eyes darted around the interior of the darkened portal as he imagined the powerful field of energy he knew it was capable of creating.

“And the portal will only switch on when he’s in here alone,” Maddie continued. “If it detects anyone else, it won’t switch on. So see, it’s perfectly safe. No one else will get hurt. And Danny definitely won’t die.”

“You said this wouldn’t hurt him,” said Jack. Accusing.

“Well.” Maddie sucked in her bottom lip. “It might hurt him a little. Because the current needs to be high for this to work. But only for a few seconds, and I promise I made both the current and voltage as low as I possibly could.”

“You’re kidding!” cried Jack. “You’re kidding! You must be kidding!”

Maddie pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.

“You’re not kidding,” murmured Jack.

—

“Take a look at this,” said Maddie. She held up two pieces of fabric, one black, one white. “It’s what we make our suits out of. I just zapped these in the portal at the specifications set for Danny. This one used to be white, and this one used to be black. They inverted their colors!”

“Uh huh,” said Jack. “And that’s important because?”

“Whatever Danny wears when he’s zapped is going to become embedded with ghost properties. It needs to be something that can withstand the shock as well as his body can. It needs to be something strong and resistant.”

She showed him the patterns she had been sketching for a protective suit. Mostly white with black accents.

“The colors should reverse when zapped,” said Maddie. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

Jack had no answer for her.

—

“Danny, come down here,” Maddie called from the lab.

Danny made his way down the stairs. Jack kept his back turned as he pretended to be very busy at his own workstation.

“Here. I made this for you.” Maddie handed him the finished jumpsuit. “It’s designed to protect you from ectoplasmic spills or contamination. I’m making one for Jazz too, but I just figured I’d give you yours now since it’s done.”

Danny took the suit from her and looked it over. “Thanks, but why do I need one?”

“Oh, you know.” Maddie shrugged. “Just in case you ever want to help us in the lab. We want you to be protected.”

Danny rubbed his thumbs against the fabric. “Well. Thanks. I guess.”

“Ectoplasmic contamination is dangerous, Danny,” said Maddie very seriously. “You really shouldn’t ever be around it without protection. This is why Dad and I wear our suits all the time. Really, you shouldn’t even be down here at all without wearing one.”

She gestured to their ghost portal.

“Even just stepping into that portal when it’s inactivated can expose you to dangerous levels of spectral energy,” said Maddie. “You understand, Danny?”

“Um…yeah.” Danny studied the suit again. “Why isn’t it orange like Dad’s?”

“I just like these colors. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know. It might’ve looked cooler if the colors had been reversed. You know, like black with white gloves?”

Maddie smiled. “Hmm. Interesting.”

Jack’s hand shook as he wrote, turning his notes into illegible scrawls.

Maddie stood up with a heavy sigh and walked toward the portal. “It sure is a shame we can’t get this portal to work, though.”

“Really? It still won’t do anything?” asked Danny.

“Mmm hmm. We’ve pretty much given up on it by now.”

Jack hunched over and shut his eyes.

—

“Danny, Jazz is studying at the library, and your father and I are going to be gone for three hours,” said Maddie.

Danny was slumped on the couch where he was playing a video game with Tucker while Sam watched.

“Okay,” said Danny, not looking up from his game.

“Three. Hours,” said Maddie more firmly. “Do you understand? You three will have the house to yourself for a while.”

Danny creased his brow. “Okay?”

“So look after the house while we’re gone, please.” Maddie slung her purse over her shoulder. “And don’t get into any trouble, okay? Remember our lab is off limits.”

Sam sat up a little straighter. Danny nodded. Jack kept his glassy gaze trained on Maddie, who appeared to be fighting back a grin.

They were leaving their lab completely unlocked. There was no security surrounding their portal at all. Full access to anyone who wanted to investigate it.

And Sam was right here and had just heard their lab was off limits. Exactly what the rebel goth teen needed to push Danny to break the rules and do something he normally would never do.

Jack followed Maddie out of the house. Once the front door was shut behind them, she let her grin break through.

“I really hope this works,” said Maddie. “I really hope he does it. All he has to do is step inside alone. That’s it. Do you think it will work?”

Jack wrapped an arm around her and led her to their parked RV.

—

A few weeks later at breakfast, Jack pretended not to notice as Danny dropped his spoon through his intangible hand and gasped.

“That’s strange,” said Maddie, holding up a device that was beeping loudly. “Our reader says that a ghost is nearby. But that can’t be right. There are no ghosts here, are there?”

She looked across the table at Danny and Jazz.

“Do you two see any ghosts?” she asked.

“No,” said Jazz with a roll of her eyes.

“No,” said Danny with a tremor in his voice.

Jack leaned over to look at the screen on the device. It was not a ghost detector. Of course. They didn’t need one right now. They knew their son was a ghost already.

Rather, it revealed the intensity of the ghostly energy in the room. Energy obviously radiating from Danny. Energy that was spiking in perfect correlation with his anxiety.

Jack’s gaze moved to Maddie’s face. She looked so giddy, so enthralled.

She had taken this too far. He knew that. This wasn’t right. What they had done to their son, what they had turned him into, this was horrible.

And Danny was scared.

Jack turned his attention back to the device. The measurements moved across the screen in mesmerizing patterns. His eyes followed them, spellbound. Data right here and right now they could use for their research, data they could now easily obtain whenever they wanted, right in their own house.

Horrible.

But…

Fascinating.

And maybe a little exciting.

Part 2

[dandelionflower]

Felinette Month Day 1

Matchmaking

“You have got to be kidding me.”

It was the week to end all weeks.

On Sunday, Marinette realized she had been over Adrien for months and had developed a much healthier crush on someone else, who asked her out later that day.

On Monday, she told Alya and the girls she wasn’t interested in Adrien anymore, aptly leaving out the boy who had gone on a date with her.

Tuesday through Friday, they had set her up on dates with what seemed like every eligible boy in Paris, including Adrien.

Now it was Saturday, and the girls called her to meet up later and apologize for the surprise dates at a new café that had opened up near the bakery.

When she entered, she expected to hear Rose’s squeals and the chatter of strangers.Instead, she was greeted by a darkened room, lit by candles, completely empty except for her and-

“Felix?”He looked up from his phone and gave her a warm look. “Hello Marinette, I take it you’re the reason I was forced in here against my will?”

“They trapped you in here?” She slid into the seat across from him.

“Yes, mind explaining that?”

She groaned. “It’s a long story.”

“All the better for a night like this. I’ll grab some coffee.” He strolled across the floor, stepping over the counter and helping himself to the warmed coffee.

“You like your coffee black, if I remember correctly.” He said, setting the cup down in front of her.

She brought her nose close to the hot liquid and breathed in the comforting scent. “Yep.”

“So, why did a masked figure trap me in this place to meet with you?” Felix asked, whilst pouring inane amounts of creamer and sugar into his coffee.

Marinette snapped out of her coffee-induced trance and brought the cup to her lips. “Well, it may have something to do with the fact that I told them I don’t like Adrien anymore.”

“I can imagine their reactions.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, so they took it upon themselves to plan out the next boy I should be obsessed with and I didn’t have time to tell them I was already dating”

“Not exactly surprising.”

“And they decided that I should be the one to decide my own crush, and that I should do that by going on as many dates as possible within the week.”

“What?” He stared at her with wide eyes.

“Yep, and during all of them I keep trying to text them and tell them I’m seeing someone, but they apparently never saw them.”

“It’s likely for the best anyway, they never quite were fans of mine.”

“True, but then why set you up with me?”

“That’s a fair point I suppose, but there is a bright side to all of this.”

“Seriously?” She teased. “The great Felix Culpa, pessimist extraordinaire? Finding the bright side?”

“It does happen every once and a while.” He grumbled with red cheeks.

“Well, don’t just leave me in the lurch, what’s this bright side of yours? I’m simply dying to know.”

“I didn’t have to plan our next date.” He said simply. “I wasn’t certain what I should do after I took you to that restaurant for our first, and I wanted to be prepared for when I asked you out next.”

“Next?” She asked quietly.

“Yes, next.” He looked down slightly as he rubbed his neck. “It was alway the plan to go on five dates with you before I officially asked you to be my girlfriend.”

“You-you were planning to?”

He seemed shocked. “Of course. You didn’t think I would just take you out on one date and never speak of it again, did you?”

“I guess not.”

“Well, since we’ve now had this discussion, I suppose I best do this now, plan be darned.” He stood up, his chair squeaking.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” he walked around the table and knelt at her feet. “I have been infatuated with you since I first met you and that feeling has only grown.” He pulled out a box from his pocket and opened it to reveal a silver necklace, glimmering in the candlelight.

“Will you do me the immense honor of being my girlfriend?”

Marinette was stunned. She wasn’t really sure how to react. She stared at the necklace and at Felix, who was still blathering.

“I promise to spend as much time with you as you like, and never do anything that makes you uncomfortable or is outside your boundaries.”

“Felix.” She whispered, staring at his crystal blue eyes.

“I’m prepared to talk to your parents if you’d like to consult them before answering, as well as-“

“Felix.” She placed her hand over his own, forcing him to look at her. “I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

“Truly? Because my proposal wasn’t all that polished, I thought I would have at least another couple days to prepare…”

“Yes, Felix, I truly would like to be your girlfriend.”

He swallowed. “In that case, might I help you put your necklace on?”

“Of course.”

She turned around in her chair as Felix stood up

.She felt the cold chain touch her neck and heard a small click.

“It’s on.”

She turned around again to face Felix. “How does it look?”

“Like it’s on the neck of an angel.” He murmured.

Marinette felt her cheeks heat up. “Gat’s thood, I mean goods that, or that’s good! Yeah, that’s good.”

“I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable? I was just trying to complement you, and you really do look like an angel,” Felix began rambling again, and Marinette took his hands in hers again, begore he could pick up too much speed.

“No, no! It’s fine Felix, it was really sweet. I just wasn’t sure what to do after I got a compliment like that.”

“Oh,” the tension in his shoulders seemed to lessen as he relaxed, “that’s reassuring.” He glanced at the window. “It’s getting late, can I walk you home?”

She grinned. “Sure!”

They strolled down the sidewalk, hand in hand, as Marinette stared at her new necklace.

“It’s patterned after your flowers.” Felix said, noticing where her eyes were trained.

“Hmm?”

“The flower that you have on your clothes, I managed to make a necklace that matched them almost perfectly.” He explained.

“Felix, that’s… amazing.”

He coughed. “Well, I wanted to ensure that I made something that was as beautiful as you.”

“I-uh, oh- um… WE’RE HERE!” She yelled, lost for words.

He looked up.“Oh, we are.”

They looked at each other awkwardly for a solid minute before they both moved towards each other. Marinette opened her arms for a hug as Felix stuck out his hand for a hand shake. They stopped and laughed for a moment, before trying again, this time with Felix opening his arms and Marinette reaching out her arm.

They paused for another moment, unsure if they should try again, or do something different.

Finally, Felix broke the silence. “Marinette, may I, that is, if you don’t mind, but may I kiss you?”

Marinette looked at him for a moment, savoring the short seconds before her first kiss, then jumped towards him, just before he could open his mouth and start apologizing.

The kiss was delicate, like the thin wings of a butterfly. Her hands went behind his neck as he placed his gently on her waist.

It wasn’t passionate, exactly, but it was just what Marinette could have wanted.

They broke apart and Felix rested his forehead against hers.

They stayed in silence for a moment, before the loud sound of noisemakers made them look to the bakery.

There, in plain view behind the glass, were Tom and Sabine Dupain-Cheng, celebrating. “We are the best matchmakers!” They hurrahed, dancing around.

Marinette blushed and peered back at Felix, who was staring at her with a fond expression on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just,” he brushed a rogue piece of hair from her face, “thank you, for saying yes.”

“Thanks for asking.” She gave him a sly grin.

And as Sabine and Tom celebrated indoors, outside, Marinette and Felix shared their second kiss.

[funkzpiel]

Drift

So the original prompt had been lovely, utterly lovely, and asked for Alpha!Jaskier using his nature to help Geralt take care of himself (i.e. using his voice, body language, touch, etc. to help persuade Geralt to eat, drink, sleep, rest, etc.) and I LOVED IT and I sat down to WRITE IT and then whatever the fuck this is happened instead… I’m not sure how it spiraled away from me so vastly or how to even quite describe what it turned into, haha. So I’m keeping the original prompt in my rolodex, cause I’d like to try again per the asker’s original idea some time - but for now, have 13 pages of whatever the hell my non-stop headache managed to put together below…

warning: contains abo dynamics, however, literally focuses solely on the dynamic between Alpha/Omega. Does not contain smut. What has happened to me?

Also available to read on AO3

Little girl, little girl ~ don’t lie to me; Tell me where did you sleep last night?

In the pines, in the pines ~ where the sun never shines; Shivered the whole night through

- In the Pines

“Someone spotted your witcher out by the wood. He’s in a right state. No one’s brave enough to go near’em.”

Those had been the words of the messenger who had tracked Jaskier down at the inn, sent by the alderman. Jaskier had been prepared to go out into the rain and find a soggy, grumpy witcher. But “a right state” didn’t even begin to cover it.

It was raining. Of course it was raining, Jaskier thought petulantly as he braved the weather to find his witcher. It was easy to hide behind his griping. Easier to whine about the cold and the wet than to think too heavily on the messenger’s words: “No one’s brave enough to go near’em.”

He found Geralt at the tree line, as promised. There were at least six trees that had fallen victim to the man, carved up in great hacking lines that bore no pattern or reason. Just vicious, gaping wounds that oozed sap and frayed bark. Weeping splinters atop their roots. Geralt was busy carving up another tree. He was using his steel sword. It kept getting caught in the bark, the blade not made for slipping free of wood as easily as it cleaved flesh or bone. Every time it snagged, Geralt would snarl, shoulders heaving as he yanked it free and attacked again, each time without any of the finesse expected from a witcher. So he wasn’t practicing; not that he should be, so fresh from a hunt.

Jaskier could tell from afar that the man was exhausted. He could hear wheezing in his heaving breaths, see the way his armor struggled to make room for each inhale. His shoulders were low, his arms heavy. He didn’t move his feet more than he had to, instead forcing his hips and thighs to bear the weight of his movements, his attacks. His skin was pale and sickly, and even with the potions having faded off, his veins still showed through his skin like silvery cobwebs.

Something must have gone wrong, there was nothing else to it. Jaskier had seen Geralt like this before. Witchers by nature and grooming were not the most expressive people. They did not know how to tolerate any pain that was not physical. That usually meant their distress got channeled into outlets such as this: calculated violence. As if that stress and that emotion could be worked out of the body like a knot from sore muscles. Each blow exhausted him, each strike winded him – but it kept his mind off whatever had happened. Focused on movement, on the swing of his sword, the angle of the blade’s descent.

Jaskier leaned against the fench a short way from the snarling witcher, elbows braced atop its warped wooden rail. He’d let the witcher tire himself out, that tended to be the best move to make in this particular dance. He’d watch, be there when Geralt—

Jaskier’s thoughts came to a grinding halt as Geralt’s sword buried itself deep into the wood of his victim, then snapped with a clang that rang out like a song in one long, mournful note. The air drew sharp and electric, and Jaskier felt himself tense like an animal suddenly all too keen that a predator was nearby and on the prowl. Water trickled down the slope of his nose, under his collar, between his shoulder blades. He shuddered, eyes fixed on the witcher. Geralt stumbled with the force of the sudden break, and for a moment Jaskier thought that had done it, that had been the last straw of the witcher’s stamina. He waited for the man to fall to his knees. For an opening to go to him, gather him up and help him home. But instead Geralt drew himself up, sides heaving as he panted like an overrun horse, and held the broken sword up so he might better admire the damage.

The metal that remained attached to the hilt was jagged and short. It glimmered weakly, its runes in shambles, its use outlived. Magic popped and crackled along the blade in fits and bursts like a death rattle until finally Geralt tossed it aside – a sneer curling his lip, exposing his teeth. He stood still, like a rock in the middle of a raging river, head down as he glared at the broken sword among the grass. Jaskier prepared to walk to him, guide his exhausted witcher back to the inn, only to freeze when a wounded sound split the air with the same viciousness as Geralt’s sword had split the tree.

The bard’s eyes darted further into the tree line, looking for the source of that animalistic sound – then shot back to Geralt who was moving now, fast as a whip, fist colliding with the tree. Leaves fell, casting him in a veil of baby green leaves and spring petals as the force of the blow shook even a tree as thick as his victim to its core. But the sound, the sound had Jaskier shivering. Wet and fleshy. Geralt’s knuckles – gods above –

Geralt didn’t stop. He reared back, struck again, that howl that had sent icy dread down Jaskier’s spine tumbling from his lips, from behind his teeth, from deep inside his chest. Snarling and blind, Geralt punched again, and again, the sound of his knuckles impacting worsening each time. Jaskier heard a snap and finally that broke the trance that sight had cast upon him, wide-eyed and fawn-legged. He leapt the fence with more grace than he thought himself capable of. Long legs crossed the field, willowy and lithe, and although he knew he was in fact moving quickly, everything felt slow and distant.

“Geralt!” He shouted but could not hear his own words. The rain suddenly worsened, pelted him, as if each sheet might hold him back from his goal single handedly. Geralt either didn’t hear him or did not deign to listen. Petals and leaves kept tumbling down around him in bursts, decorating his hair, littering his armor. Haloing him with life as he raged. Striking, again and again, slap, slap, slap – “Geralt, stop!”

The words came out in a boom, slicing through the rain like a thunderclap.

Jaskier managed to catch the man by the bicep on his backswing, and even through his armor the bard could felt the whipcord tautness of the man’s muscles – the way he held himself, still yearned to strike, but neither relaxed nor continued. Vibrating like a hound snarling at the bit, waiting for the command to launch itself forward and maul its target.

Geralt wouldn’t look at him. His eyes were fastened on the tree, his jaw clenched so tight Jaskier swore he could hear the groaning of his bones, plaintive and grinding. A muscle was leaping in his cheek. His pupils were blown wide, so black and so large that only a thin sliver of amber remained. But he stopped.

He stopped.

Jaskier didn’t enjoy having to use that trick on Geralt – his voice. It was the equivalent of taking Geralt’s choice from him, his autonomy, and while once upon a time Jaskier used to look on such things with rose-colored glasses and nostalgic ideas of romance and “the way of things”, it wasn’t until he met Geralt that he learned that his voice was a very powerful, very painful thing. A tool easily manipulated into a tactic for control rather than kindness; control disguised as comfort. He was no master. Geralt was no pet.

The thought of trying to control something as untamable, as wild and beautiful as his witcher, made him shiver sickly.

No, he had long ago told himself he’d never use it. Yet here he was, the words tumbling so forcefully from his lips without a second thought. A command. Stop.

Geralt kept thrumming beneath his touch, every inch of him shaking. Trembling so finely that were he made of the fine edges and dangling trinkets of a wind chime, he’d be singing faintly. His nostrils were flared, every breath coming out in a huge, heaving plume from each. From his throat and beneath the falling hush of the storm, Jaskier caught the sound of something strangled emitting from the witcher. Lodged tight and captured behind his teeth; a moan, a whine, a snarl, a plea.

Help.

Jaskier hated to use it. It had been a problem in the beginning – his voice. What it stood for, what it meant, what it took away. A problem that took no small amount of effort to work through. Jaskier had been chock-full of all these ideas and notions of what it meant to be an Alpha, what it meant to have an Omega. The bard had built up this fantasy in his head of what that would look like. How he would coddle them, protect them, nest with them, because that was what an Alpha was meant to do. It took time to pull that structure apart in his mind. To rebuild on healthier foundations, all from scratch. Once or twice he thought Geralt would leave him. The Omega was too wild, too free. Every archaic tradition made him buck like a stallion refusing the bit and saddle. In the beginning, it had been infuriating. Frustrating. Offensive, even. Now…

Jaskier had been so blind. He had seen Geralt as something unique to be tamed rather than the truth – there was only one true way to love, regardless of secondary gender, and it was through respect, communication, and the understanding that tradition was a construct, not a rule.

Geralt stayed. They worked through it. Together, they rebuilt that house in Jaskier’s mind, in both of their minds. They made concessions, they navigated the dark together and created a language all their own with which to define what it meant to have a mate, to be an Alpha or an Omega. And one of those concessions had been simple and clear: do not try to own me or control me. Do not use biology against me.

I am a person, not a conquest.

Jaskier had used it. His voice. But he couldn’t watch Geralt do that to himself. Guilt curled coolly in his guy, greasy and sneering. But it was done. It was done.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, voice raised over the howl of the wind and the rain, but normal. Unaffected, powerless. Pleading. “I didn’t mean to… but your hands, Geralt, gods above, you wouldn’t stop.”

Geralt’s pupils contracted ever so slightly, that mad expanse of black thinning with every word that reached him. His heaving exhales turned into something shaky and stuttered, and finally Geralt blinked. He let Jaskier guide his arm down, slim hands reaching for his pale and quaking one. His knuckles – Geralt hissed, the pain finally registering as he caught sight of them – were torn to shreds. Swollen, broken and bleeding despite the rain that ran over them. Bark stuck out in places. Stung. Geralt groaned, nearly whined, before he caught it behind his teeth and swallowed it down with a grimace of distaste. His hand was shaking harder now in Jaskier’s.

The longer he was still, the more Jaskier saw that panic – that frenzy – begin to take root again. Spreading like vines and weeds that filled Geralt’s eyes, blinding him, choking him. Overwhelmed. Amber eyes drifted from the wreckage of the tree slowly, slowly to Jaskier’s face. And for a man as stoic as Geralt, with expressions so minute and so fleeting, Jaskier looked at him and saw nothing but shattered glass, buried beneath the thin line of his lips, the little wrinkled dip of his brows, the unfocused haze of his eyes. Lost.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his heart throbbing painfully against his ribs in great, crushing pulses, “Are you with me?”

Geralt clenched his jaw tighter. His pupils expanded. Something flickered – wild and animal-like – in the lines of his body and the tense edges of his bones. Feral and bewildered because his mad fight with the trees hadn’t worked as it should. It had exhausted him, broken him – and yet whatever had caused the panic remained with nowhere left to go.

His gaze strayed back toward the tree. In Jaskier’s hands, his own curled back into a fist even as he swayed on his feet, all color leeched from his skin – drenched and wrecked.

“No,” Jaskier said, softly but firmly. It drew the witcher back to him. Had the man stepping closer, pressing into his space. Drawn to the confidence of his tone. “Tell me what you want. How to help. Anything… just not that. No more. Please.”

Geralt said nothing, but in Jaskier’s palms and the cradle of his fingers, the witcher’s fist went slack. Trembling and bloody. Jaskier nodded at that, tried to think of how far the inn was without looking – too afraid to lose Geralt by breaking eye contact.

“How can I help?” He repeated, but Geralt just grimaced as though Jaskier had suggested plucking his nails from their nailbeds. He was searching for words that the School of the Wolf had never given him, Jaskier realized. So he asked instead, “What happened?”

All at once, Geralt’s pupils contracted to thin slits, then expanded all over again – worse – eclipsing all but the thinnest ring of amber at their edges. As though an electric current had gone through the man, he stiffened. A noise grew and choked him. Jaskier reached up to grasp the back of his neck on instinct and instinct alone, the call to soothe him too great to resist despite their many conversations. It went beyond tradition now. It was a bone-deep need, irresistible. His fingers dug into the witcher’s neck. Urged him down the scant few inches of difference between them until Geralt’s forehead rested against his own, white hair running into brown beneath the rain. Geralt huffed against him, a soft, relieved little sound, and his eyes flickered shut. Ever so slightly, his shoulders slackened, responding to that hand. Jaskier felt himself have to bear more of Geralt’s weight as the exhausted man leaned into him.

Geralt could have pulled away. He had before. But he didn’t.

“Does this help?” Jaskier asked.

The man keened, remained pliant in his hands.

“Do you want this?”

Another sound. Jaskier felt a plea of his own whimper past his lips, so desperately wanting to soothe – needing to soothe – and yet loathe to assume, to take advantage. Not when he had seen the wildness in Geralt’s eyes in those early days. Not when Geralt had asked for more than tradition dictates.

“I need a yes or no, Geralt,” Jaskier breathed, the plea nearly lost to the rain, “Please.”

Geralt shuddered under his hand, all the way down the length of his spine. His jaw worked at something, huffed helplessly, then finally wheezed, “Yes,” like a death rasp. Needing nothing more, that knot of dread in Jaskier’s stomach unraveled – curling out into long, winding tendrils of instinct that directed his limbs thoughtlessly. His hand on Geralt’s neck squeezed a little tighter and a purr rumbled in his chest at the sight of how that little gesture had made Geralt’s eyes soften, relax.

It was like finally flexing a muscle he hadn’t moved in a very long time – a need he hadn’t realized had gone unanswered for so long. Jaskier’s bones thrummed pleasantly at the sight of his Omega – Geralt – responding to him so openly. It wasn’t just that he was feeding into his instincts. There was a level of trust there. A bond that went unsaid. He had no doubt that Geralt would have slunk into the woods by now, fangs gleaming and eyes wild, if he didn’t want Jaskier to touch him, help him.

That was enough.

“Ok,” he said in a hush against the crown of Geralt’s brow. He inhaled the scent of the witcher – rain, blood, Geralt. Then he dipped into the waters of his nature that he had abstained from for so very, very long. He used his voice. “You’re going to follow me to the Inn.”

Geralt nodded, brow still against his, and beneath Jaskier’s hands the bard felt a shiver run through the witcher – electric and pleasant. When he was sure the man would obey, he let his hand leave Geralt’s neck, instead weaving one arm around his own neck so their sides were as flush as possible. Geralt burrowed as closely as possible, and the longer they walked, the more he found the witcher leaning into him not purely for the pleasure of touch alone. Geralt was exhausted. From the contract, from whatever had gone wrong, from his rage at the tree line.

He wouldn’t have made it home alone, Jaskier realized. He might not have even tried. That realization made something strange and uncomfortable twist dreadfully in a place that had never quite twisted before. Geralt was hardly his first partner, Omega or otherwise. Hardly his first trial with instincts.

But never had he felt this; this keen understanding that his Omega was just a man, and that despite every stereotype that insisted that a ‘good Alpha’ could protect one’s mate by will alone, he could not protect Geralt from anything. He could not protect him from this, from his Path.

He could only be there to help him home.

“Witcher,” the alderman exclaimed at the sight of him the moment they returned to the inn, but one look from Jaskier – sharp and feral, daring the man to come closer – had him pause. It was the growl that followed, making Geralt shiver in his grasp, that sealed the deal. It was apparent then and there the man had not even considered Jaskier might be anything more than a Beta. Whether it was from disorientation or surprise or a keen understanding that to push any further would be to invite a fight, the alderman merely said, “Apologies. It can wait.”

Jaskier didn’t realize he had been baring on pearly incisor, lip curled, until he managed to guide Geralt up the stairs and back to their room. He sat Geralt on the bed and when he realized the man would not look him in the eye, he forced his expression, his body language, into something open and familiar rather than bristled and tight as it had become the moment the alderman had tried to conduct business with them.

The village leader wanted to know the status of their contract. Jaskier knew this. Knew that the intent had been benign, one born of fear and concern for his people. But what about Jaskier’s people? What about Geralt? How had the man not known right away that now was not the time? He turned away lest Geralt see how even so much as thinking about it affected him.

Jaskier wanted so badly to ask what had happened. He had seen Geralt return from missions in a variety of states: pleased, exhausted, annoyed, covered in guts, clean as a whistle – and he’d even seen the man fail before. But never like this. Geralt sat on the edge of the bed like a man numbed from a blizzard, still and pliant, eyes staring. It was a drastic change from the feral thing he had found at the tree line, and Jaskier still didn’t know if it was an improvement or something worrisome. The white wolf’s hands quaked on his lap – bloodied, splintered and swollen – and Jaskier decided there was no better place to start than that, once he got the man into dry clothing.

“Let’s get your armor sorted out,” Jaskier mumbled, automatically going to work on the man’s many straps and buckles with the efficiency of the practiced, peeling him apart piece by sodden piece until nothing but a thin, whipcord tight witcher remained. Geralt just let him do it. No grumbling, no grunts, no protests. The bard felt sick, off-kilter.

Jaskier took care to set his swords against the nightstand where he could easily reach them, then to set his armor in the corner in the way he had seen Geralt do many times before. All the while, the witcher didn’t stir. He just sat there, similar to the way he meditated. Distant, detached. Drifting. There, and yet not.

Jaskier dipped into the other room to heat the water he had already ordered be drawn long before his trip into the storm – knowing Geralt would want it when he returned and eager to remove at least this from Geralt’s plate. He let it heat as he returned to the witcher.

“Stay there, Geralt,” Jaskier said idly, the words tumbling from his lips on instinct as he fetched first a stool, then the medical kit from Geralt’s pack and began setting up beside the bed. He placed the stool between the weak spread of the witcher’s knees and automatically placed one hand across the span of one thick thigh and squeezed as he navigated his way around the witcher’s kit. Geralt’s breathing steadied ever so slightly and without looking Jaskier rumbled softly, pleased, “Good, Geralt. Very good. You’re doing so good for me.”

Jaskier and Geralt had played with the merits of praise before. The bard knew firsthand that the witcher was utterly starved of it, that it was an easy way to twist the wolf around his finger and get him howling. But this was different. These were no mere words meant to rile up an affection-starved, stoic cut of stone of a witcher. This was so much more.

Genuine praise for a man who knew not how to ask for help, and yet in his own way was asking for it. Because while Jaskier had made his concessions with Geralt, he had asked for some of his own as well. That was the core of relationships: give and take. I will not pester you, I will not control you, but in return please trust me. Please come to me when you need shelter, no matter the circumstances. Let me anchor you in the storm.

Praise for a promise kept against the witcher’s every independent instinct, giving into a nature he had struggled against the image of for so long. For his health. Because he trusted Jaskier.

Geralt seemed to melt somewhat, the stiff line of his spine curving gently beneath the weighty blanket of Jaskier’s words and touch. The bard did his best to keep at least one hand on the man at all times as he went through the delicate process of cleaning the wolf’s knuckles and bloodied fingernails, plucking splinters and wooden shrapnel from his skin, and applying ointment and sterile wrappings. Murmuring in low tones, so close to his voice but not quite, how good the witcher was. How much he appreciated his trust.

In the cradle of the bard’s working hands, the witcher’s fingers slowly steadied but for the lightest, faintest tremor.

Already Geralt’s fragmented bones were reknitting beneath his tattered flesh; a taxing affair. Jaskier could see it in his eyes as a heady cloud of exhaustion began to overtake the man, but still Geralt fought it, too afraid to give in. Too afraid to loosen the steel trap that was his mind and open himself up to whatever had happened. Whatever haunted him from the woods. Jaskier’s mouth pulled into a taut, concerned line.

“Alright, up now. Out of your smalls and into the tub,” he said, the directions helping him as much as it did Geralt. He braced the witcher by the forearm as he obeyed, disrobing entirely with an eerie, distant slowness. Drifting. Drifting in the current of Jaskier’s voice, his direction. Drifting far away from the woods and whatever lay inside them.

Jaskier guided him to the tub. Eased him in, singing soft praises beneath his breath all the while – smooth and steady.

“That’a boy, Geralt, just like that. Keep your hands out of the water. I’ll handle the rest. Yes, good. So good,” he babbled, draping either of the witcher’s hands to hang over the rim on either side before taking a washcloth, lathering it with soap and beginning an intimately familiar habit. This he knew. This they both knew. In this, they had even, stable ground.

Geralt wasn’t terribly filthy, for once. However long he had spent in the downpour, it had done the trick of washing the evidence of the woods and the fight away. It was more a matter of warming and soothing the wolf now. Easing the tremors from the corded muscles of his shoulders, the tight lines of his arms. He washed his hair, digging his fingers into the man’s scalp gently, scrapping idly with his nails. In the mirror, he watched the witcher’s eyes begin to fall and hood. Dazed and heavy and drifting.

Jaskier had never thought he’d share a moment like this with Geralt. He’d help the man with his wounds before, of course. They’d learned ways to show their affections for one another. But this was different. Primal and organic, impossible to imitate or force. What he had always wanted, so very long ago…

He remembered once – one of their first arguments about their dynamics, back when they were both unpracticed in the art of loving one another – how viciously Geralt had sneered at him when Jaskier had described the way he was supposed to take care of the man, the Omega. Remembered the jagged cut of his teeth, the wildness of his eyes, so unlike the stories he had always been told as a boy about Omegas.

“Shall I swoon for you, too? Lay down and present right here like some animal in a field?” Geralt snarled, outrage breeding a tremor in his bones. Shaking him from somewhere deep the way earthquakes could rend great fissures in the ground.

“Is it really so terrible for me to want to take care of you!”

“You don’t need to take care of me, you like the idea of taking care of me. They all do, until the time comes – but no one wants to clean up after broken glass! You wouldn’t be taking care of an Omega, Jaskier. It wouldn’t be soft. It wouldn’t be a simple matter of building a nest and stroking my hair. You’d be taking care of a witcher. And that’s dangerous for everyone involved,” he roared, “I’m not some item on a checklist to cross off and prove that you’re an Alpha. Don’t debase me by trying. I’m not collateral in your identity.”

There was a wound there, somewhere, just as much as there was truth. It took time for Jaskier to see that, but he did, eventually. He learned to live without a checklist. Learned to bite his tongue when people mistook Geralt for the Alpha, Jaskier for the Omega. He found the beauty in a relationship established not by society, but by communication and trust. Slower to grow, but stronger for it, like a tree with roots that spread and spread and spread.

Roots that led them here – to the moment Jaskier could finally prove himself. Not as an Alpha, not to society, but to Geralt, as a partner. Prove that he was someone who could be relied on. Present and patient, without ulterior motivation. So he wouldn’t ask about the woods again, not while Geralt was like this. He wouldn’t take advantage, knowing that his voice could likely get him anything right now. The witcher was vulnerable, his every defense devoted to protecting his mind from himself.

So Jaskier would guide the man while he drifted until the witcher found his way home.

“Water’s cooling,” Jaskier murmured, rinsing the man’s hair carefully before brushing it back, looking Geralt in the eyes – searching. But the witcher wasn’t there. “Come on. Food, then bed. That’s all that’s left to do, Geralt, I promise. Almost done, you’re doing so well.”

He eased him out of the tub, sat him atop another stool. Toweled his hair – always so much whiter after washing, like freshly fallen snow – and brushed it out. Clothed him, double checked that his wrapped knuckles were still sterile and dry. He coaxed the witcher into eating a few strips of jerky from their packs and a glass of water, unwilling to leave the man alone to order food from the bar. Then, finally, he eased Geralt down unto the bed.

It was hard to navigate how much space to give. The Alpha in him bayed to plaster himself close, cover the man with his body – to protect him. But their arguments echoed in his head, replaying over and over. Was he betraying Geralt in doing this? Was he no better than any other Alpha? Was this right? Geralt’s pleading eyes from the tree line haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

He laid on his side, watching Geralt stare at the ceiling a few scant inches away.

“It’s done. Everything’s done. There’s nothing left to do, Geralt… Try and rest,” he finally said, giving the witcher the initiative to seek that rest however he saw fit – in Jaskier or otherwise. Geralt’s head slowly turned on his pillow then, gaze falling from the ceiling to land on Jaskier’s face. He stared, so far away despite the intimacy of the bed, until finally he blinked. His pupils contracted ever so slightly, focusing.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said.

“Yes,” the bard said, relieved and yet hesitant to hope. There was a long moment where it looked like the witcher was going to say something – eyes trailing across the room, no doubt wondering how they got there, how much time had passed. Instead those amber eyes just fell back on him. Was he mad, or—

Geralt turned onto his side so he might face the bard. He curled his hands between them, then reached until his bandaged hand could properly splay across the span of Jaskier’s chest – right atop his heart. He hummed, eyes closing as the witcher felt the tempo of the bard’s heart, Jaskier realized.

“You stayed.”

Jaskier felt his brow furrow, confused, and breathed, “Of course,” as if there were no other answer, no other possibility. Amber eyes bore into him for a long time. Then Geralt burrowed closer, only so close as to tuck his nose beneath Jaskier’s chin and into the hollow of his neck, and finally the witcher went lax.

Geralt had been right. It hadn’t been simple.

But it had been worth it.

Jaskier fell asleep at some point, the witcher tucked into his arms. One arm had fallen asleep, all numb and swollen feeling and promising the uncomfortable pinch of pins and needles when he finally freed the limb from Geralt. The witcher never stirred, not once, not until he woke.

When he did, he spoke into the long column of Jaskier’s throat, voice rough from shouting himself hoarse – no doubt in the woods.

“I didn’t get there in time,” Geralt finally said, lips chapped and brushing against Jaskier’s skin. Breath hot and steady. A shiver trailed down Geralt’s back beneath his hands, so he chased it with the warmth of his palms.

Jaskier closed his eyes. Now that he had Geralt back, the contract began to return to him. Something about a beast in the woods. Missing children.

Children.

I didn’t get there in time.

“But… the alderman said the children had returned from the wood,” Jaskier asked. He had been certain that’s what the messenger had relayed to him when he came to tell Jaskier about the raging witcher at the edge of the wood.

Under his chin, Geralt swallowed dryly – but when he spoke, the words followed as cool and detached as ever. Clinical and distant.

“Not all of them.”

Distance was entering the man’s voice again. Geralt had told him, once, on a particularly drunken night, about what happened when a witcher failed a contract. If he was lucky, he got to keep the upfront deposit. If he was marginally less lucky, he didn’t get paid.

Generally, he got run out of town. Stoned. Spat on. Cursed.

Geralt knew what lay ahead. It wouldn’t matter that he had saved some of the children. Wouldn’t matter that the beast was dead. Only pain lay ahead. Pain on top of the knowledge that he had failed. Disrespect on top of the memories of those little bodies and whatever had been done to them.

And Jaskier hadn’t a clue what to say. What was there to say. That it wouldn’t happen like that? Surely they couldn’t blame him when he had been the only one brave another or skilled enough to try? No villager would have done better and Jaskier didn’t think any other witcher would have had any more luck either. But that wouldn’t matter to Geralt. Any explanation, any pardon would wilt in the man’s hand, fall away to dust.

Respect for a witcher tended to go hand in hand with their successes, and it would appear that rule had bled into Geralt’s bones like marinade into meat, stewing and soaking until the man’s own self-respect obeyed the same principle.

Jaskier worked his jaw, searching for words, but nothing came. His years of education, his grasp of language, his every beautiful string of words – all of it felt stale and worthless before the witcher’s grief. Children were dead.

Jaskier held Geralt closer, buried his nose into the witcher’s hair, and hummed deep in his chest where the witcher might feel it against the splay of his hands and the tight curl of his body. The grief was Geralt’s to hold, who was he to belittle or speak it away? All he could do was share it. Be present for it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Geralt’s hair. He felt the wolf let out a hushed breath against his throat, as though he had been holding it for some time. Geralt didn’t respond. He also didn’t pull away. He had been waiting for Jaskier to leave, the bard realized.

No one likes picking up after broken glass. Liable to get cut.

They stayed like that, together – the room silent, yet so full.

[LINE BREAK]

They dozed most of that morning. Jaskier let Geralt lead. After all, who better to navigate those waters than the man who had navigated them before. It was not his place to take it away, nor to numb it from the witcher’s mind. He did made himself present, and quickly realized that’s all Geralt ever wanted all along.

Eventually the witcher dressed. Jaskier thought they would go to the alderman next, but instead Geralt led them out of the village, back to the tree line. He never told the bard not to follow. In fact, he walked quite close to Jaskier all the while. It wasn’t until they returned to the edge of the forest – the bark scarred by Geralt’s outburst – that the witcher finally stopped, momentum faltered.

The bard looked from the woods to the witcher, confused, and asked, “Do you… not remember the way, or…?”

“I remember,” Geralt said, one hand on Jaskier’s chest just as he had done that morning – anchoring himself to the bard’s heartbeat. His gaze was firm if brittle, but he kept the bard’s gaze as he said, “You need to stay here.”

For the first time since Geralt had returned him, there in that inn bed, curled tight to his chest, Jaskier found that instinct to control rearing its head again. He had only just got the witcher back. The thought of losing him to that haze again made his gut clench violently. His eyes fell to the gloves that hid sterile white bandages, pain hidden beneath heavy armor and duty.

He could not stop himself from arguing.

“Oh no, Geralt, I’m not sending you back into there alone after last night, there’s no way,” he babbled, his own gaze turning a touch frantic at the thought, but Geralt just eased a hand to the back of Jaskier’s neck and squeezed – once – to get his attention.

“There are some things only a witcher should see, Jaskier.”

Ah. It was bad then. Messy.

It won’t be like caring for an Omega. You’ll be caring for a witcher.

The sound of Geralt punching the trees, splitting his knuckles, breaking his bones – all of it – echoed in Jaskier’s ears, running over him like a winter chill. But for a witcher, there were simply some things an Alpha couldn’t do… Some things they could not be protected from.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Jaskier tried. His eyes drifted to the trees. To their long shafts and shifting branches and dappled shadows, all swaying so innocently, so invitingly. Those children had been lured in by much the same innocence. They had played in the wood, in those trees. Fetched berries for their mothers and kindling for their fathers. Somewhere, back behind those pleasant bows of grass and gentle curves of oak, there were bodies. Small, fragile little bodies. Jaskier shivered.

And Geralt wanted to go alone.

The Alpha in him bared its teeth and paced the cage of his self control, looking for any gap in the bars, any sign of warping or fatigue. Gods above, did he feel fatigued. But Geralt’s warning rang like a bell in his mind and realized, finally, the truth beneath Geralt’s bristling and snarling and feralness: most Alpha’s didn’t want to stick around with someone they could not protect, could not control. A witcher’s Alpha had to be a man willing to go against instinct. It was no easy ask. Obviously, Geralt had been left before.

No one wants to pick up after broken glass that they cannot protect, cannot prevent from breaking. Picking up finer and finer shards, all so sharp and piercing, cutting up their fingers until they could hold on no longer. Dangerous for everyone, Geralt had said.

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy, Jaskier,” Geralt broached with surprising gentleness. With understanding. He was waiting for this to be too much. Braced for it. Expecting it.

Jaskier let his shoulders slump as he found himself at the crossroads Geralt had always known their relationship was leading to. Could Jaskier handle this – handle fighting his instinct to protect – knowing that there was no protecting a witcher?

I told you it wouldn’t be easy.

His career had not been easy. Leaving home and financial security and the royal safety net of his birth right had not been easy. Going against expectations and becoming a bard rather than head of household had not been easy. Loving Geralt had not been easy.

Difficulty was not synonymous for worth or regret.

The bard ran a hand through his hair, looking around, then finding a suitable stump he plopped down with bardly grace, crossed his legs, and said, “Nothing worth having ever is,” with a beatific smile.

The witcher stilled, eyes ever so slightly wide, and stared at him – stunned. Behind him, the trees swayed lovingly. Petals and leaves danced between them, carried on an unknown current. Drifting.

Geralt opened his mouth at that, then closed it – at a loss for words, not that he ever had been a man of many words at all. He looked out over the village, over the inevitable. He’d return to that village soon enough. He’d tell them of the fate of the children who hadn’t come home. And more than likely, he’d be run out of town – and Jaskier with him. Geralt was at a crossroads of his own: could he bear to let someone carry the burden of their scorn with him, knowing they deserved none of it?

Jaskier watched, waited – let Geralt lead.

After a long, searching moment, the witcher clenched his jaw and nodded before finally disappearing into the wood without him.

It took time to bury the dead. Time to make sure they were buried deep enough to be protected from ghouls or anything else that might dig them up for an easy snack. Time to transfer their little bodies from the scarred nook of woods infected with their fear and their death to somewhere deserving of little bodies to be put to rest. To honor their graves with rock markers and holy candles and incense to ward away any creature that might try to make an easy snack of them so early after their deaths. Time, and great care, and all the while Jaskier waited patiently because Geralt, in his own way, had promised to return if he promised to stay.

Petals danced. The woods whispered a hushed lullaby. And on the alter of Geralt’s table, he offered the only thing the witcher had ever asked for: in the face of every difficulty ahead, every non-conventional hurdle, every contradiction of instinct – Jaskier stayed.

Jaskier waited.

He stood only when a slim, broad shouldered figure appeared from the womb of the woods, solitary and wraith-like in that way wolves always seemed to appear when separate from their pack. He paused at the tree line, in that delicate state of existence between the wild and man; and seemed surprised to see Jaskier there. Surprised, Jaskier realized, but also relieved. Some unspoken tension seeped out from the man’s shoulders. Left him like a malicious spirit leaving cursed flesh, finally setting its victim free. His entire body language bespoke of a man finally breaching the surface of some vast, unknown lake.

Jaskier wondered how long he had been drowning.

“You stayed,” Geralt grunted. Stunted and unaccustomed to being proven wrong.

“When have I ever been conventional, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, unable to hold back the volume of his smile, the light of it, the relief. “Of course I stayed. You came back.”

Geralt shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable.

“I did,” was all he managed. And that was enough. That was everything.

Jaskier broached the gap between them and laced his fingers in dirty, grave-soil stained hands; all too aware that beneath those gloves were the bandages Geralt had let him apply when the witcher had been weak, vulnerable and wanting. A symbol of the concessions that bound them. He could not protect Geralt as his armor did. Could not show his care publicly like any normal Alpha might. No one might ever know, may not ever see. But for that price, for that payment, he could have what mattered. He could have what the witcher was too scarred, too wary to offer anyone else.

Yes, he thought as they walked hand in hand back to the village – ready to face the people’s ire together. It was much better to love the man than the idea.

Geralt was real, more solid and more vast than any concept of intimacy or love that Jaskier had ever conceived of as a boy.

Geralt was real, and he was wanting. That was enough. That was everything.

[ashesonthefloor]

you are an angel (or maybe you could’ve been) part three

summary: Luke is easy to please, and an even easier roommate. so why is Ashton feeling some kind of way? part one, part two, ao3

word count: 3,095

playlist here

A/N: I am back!!!! here’s the not so long awaited chapter three! it features...a lot of tenderness. a dash of yearning. and a whole lot of pining. there’s a really short playlist that goes along with this fic and I highly recommend checking it out, since it fits the vibe really well. either way, I highly recommend listening to Like Real People Do by Hozier. it’s pretty important to this chapter :) and, as always, big shout-out to @calumcest , Helen, loml, who lets me scream about this story (and screams with me) all the time <3 thinking about adding a tag list so lmk if that’s something you’re interested in! enjoy!

The next day went the same way. Ashton woke up first, which accidentally roused Luke, before both of them made their way into the kitchen for breakfast. Ashton elected for French toast sticks, since they were easier to eat with just hands, and Luke seemed to have an inherent dislike for silverware and a proclivity for eating with his hands. Which, given that he wasn’t used to anything human, was more than fair.

“How are they?” Ashton asked after Luke had taken a couple tentative bites, nose crinkling.

“Good,” he decided, considering his words. “Warm. Sweet.”

Ashton grinned a little, getting the same comfortable warmth he got any time Like was sweet like that. “I’m glad you like it.”

“You said it’s French toast?” Luke asked, settling his gaze on him instead of his breakfast. He said it in a way that lent itself more to Luke just testing the words out, seeing how they felt on his tongue, more than asking a genuine question. With the way he’d hung on to everything Ashton had said, he’d be surprised if he had actually forgotten.

“Yeah. French toast sticks. I used to make them a long while back.”

“Why did you stop?” Luke tilted his head, hand holding his French toast paused halfway to his mouth, like he’d forgotten to keep moving when he’d posed his question. Ashton wasn’t sure what to do with just how endearingly fond he found it. Luke couldn’t multitask.

“Uh...I don’t know. I just stopped, I guess. I switched to smoothies for breakfast and it fell out of my rotation.” He shrugged, continuing to eat.

Luke kept looking at him. Ashton could feel his gaze heavy on him, even when his own focus was on his plate. When he glanced back up, Luke seemed to be finishing his train of thought, ready to speak. “But does it make you happy?”

Ashton startled a little, unsure what to do with the question. He hadn’t been prepared for a philosophical conversation about his happiness at nine am over a plate of French toast. “Does what make me happy?”

“Your smoothies. Not making French toast. Does it make you happy?” Luke’s gaze was soft, but still unwavering in that vaguely inhuman way that made tingles go down Ashton’s spine. Ashton finished his French toast stick to break their eye contact.

“I guess?” He said, only mildly uncomfortable with the personal questions, and just how knowing Luke seemed to be. Somewhere in the logical part of his brain, he knew that Luke knew much, much more about him. But then that begged the question, why was he asking in the first place? What was the point? Did Ashton actually enjoy his smoothies? He really didn’t have an answer for anything. “They’re healthier, at least.”

Luke didn’t really give him a chance to settle back down after his answer. There was a pause, the same way there was between each of their responses. “And that makes you happy? Being healthy?”

Ashton sipped his coffee, more for something to do than because he really wanted it. It had cooled down at some point, become just a lukewarm cup of bean water. (“that’s all coffee really is,” he could hear Michael saying. “Watery bean water. It’s not even that good, why the fuck do you make it so strong?”) “I guess. It’s better than being unhealthy. It’s easier to...stay fit this way, too.”

As soon as he’d said it, he could guess where the conversation was going. Luke didn’t change his pattern. “And does staying fit make you happy?” The worst part, maybe, was that Luke wasn’t asking in an accusatory way, or because he had an upper hand. He was just genuinely curious. Or something. His light blue gaze was as unwavering as ever, and Ashton could practically feel it piercing into his soul. It was unnerving now that he was posing questions like this, like he had some sort of X-ray directly into Ashton’s person, could see exactly what kind of person he was and peel back all the layers, peel back his carefully built persona, that he’d spent so many years perfecting.

“I like working out. It’s stress relief.” For the most part. Until he got stressed about that, too, and there wasn’t really a cure for that. That was when he pulled out the incense he’d gotten as a Christmas gift from Calum and did some yoga, doing his best to keep his mind clear. That didn’t really happen so much anymore, thankfully, but he’d gone through a period of that only a year or so before, and it had sucked. He wondered if Luke knew about that.

Luke’s gaze stayed on him for a long moment, as if checking the validity of his statement. He nodded after a moment, seemingly content with the answer (non-answer though it was) and finished his French toast. Just like the pancakes, he ate slowly, with his hands. He had been undetermined on the syrup, (“It’s...sticky,” he’d said after trying it, looking to Ashton as if for help bridging the gap in his lacking vocabulary. With the same appreciation and awe he’d always had.), so he hadn’t ended up eating it. “I like your cooking,” he said once he was done, had licked the last remnants of French toast off his fingers (which Ashton definitely didn’t see, and definitely didn’t blush at.)

“Thank you,” Ashton said, touched, despite knowing that Luke hadn’t actually eaten anything except his cooking. 

Luke nodded a little, soft smile on his face. “You’re welcome.” There was a thoughtful pause - that Ashton had learned to wait for before speaking or assuming Luke was done - before he spoke again. “What are we doing today?”

“Well, I thought I could get some tidying done. Vacuum the living room. Then I have to go in to work this evening to make the schedules for the next week, but there’s nothing set until then. I’m going in after close, so no one will be there.” That meant Luke could go with him. Which was definitely a good thing, given how much he really seemed to hate the idea of being left alone. Ashton couldn’t even blame him. He’d come down to earth for whatever reason and didn’t really know anything. Well, except Ashton. It was only natural that Luke clung to the only thing he knew, the only person he felt comfortable with. “So you can come. If you’d like to.”

Luke’s expression had been slightly cautious as he’d spoken, but it brightened into a smile with the offer. “I’d like that, thank you.”

Ashton couldn’t help himself. He grinned back at his angel. “Great.” He could look at records, or listen to music, or something. They’d find something for him to do.

It didn’t take him too long for him to put the dishes in the dishwasher, Luke’s gaze still heavy on his back, watching his every move with interest. He moved from dishes to going to make his bed, since he’d neglected to when he’d first gotten up, electing to feed Luke first. It was sweet watching him try new foods, watching the way his nose crinkled as he tried to decide whether he liked it or not. Ashton tried to ignore just how adorable and endearing he thought it was. There was a special place in hell, he was sure, for people who developed some sort of feelings for their angels. Let alone their male angels. 

But really, that just opened more questions. Was Luke technically a guy if he was an angel, or were angels exempt from gender? He really didn’t know how these things worked. Did hell even exist? He knew heaven did now. Otherwise he wouldn’t have Luke. He’d already said that it existed, anyway. So now he was left with more questions than answers, trying to drown them all out in favour of thoughts about how cute Luke looked when he tried something new. But even that was risky, as it just continued the vicious cycle of berating himself with questions, debating whether or not he should feel guilty. 

The rest of the day passed easily, without much fuss. Lunch was mac ‘n’ cheese, since it was easy and he already had everything necessary. Luke had enjoyed it, too, enjoyed the warmth and how comforting it felt. Ashton had gotten to explain the concept of a comfort food, and that things like that tend to make you feel good. He’d filed away Luke’s love of the food for later, keeping a mental list running of what he liked and what he didn’t, so he could cook for him better.

The walk down to Just For The Record was pleasant. It was nice out with a light breeze, just late enough that people aren’t out and about, and yet early enough to feel comfortable, still light outside. Luke liked looking at everything he could, shoulder brushing against Ashton’s every other step with how close the blonde was walking. He felt the back of Luke’s hand brush his own a couple times, a slight shiver running down his spine. 

But, soon enough - maybe a little too soon, Ashton had liked the look of passive wonder and curiosity in Luke’s eyes - they reached the store. Ashton unlocked the door and led Luke inside, shutting and locking it behind them. He flipped the lights back on, making his way through the rows of records back to the office. 

“This is where I’ll be,” he said, turning to look at Luke. “But I can turn some music on for you if you’d like.” Luke just tilted his head slightly. Ashton took it upon himself to explain. “Music? Like...I don’t think I can explain it. I’ll just..show you.” He crossed over to where they controlled the speaker system for the store, plugging his phone in and scrolling through to find something soft, something that wouldn’t be too overwhelming. He settled on Cigarette Daydreams by Cage the Elephant. 

Luke blinked, glancing up at the ceiling, since that was where the music was coming from. Ashton just smiled softly at his expression. Luke’s features settled into something soft, in quiet awe and appreciation of the music. He wished he could just sit and watch his reactions to all sorts of music, instead of what he had to do. 

“You can pick songs if you want to, with my phone. Or you can go look around. This shouldn’t take me too long.” Ashton had to tear his gaze away and sit down. If he didn’t start now, he definitely never would. He’d just start showing Luke music and he’d get caught up in watching his reactions, and then there wouldn’t be a point in having come to the store at all.

He started working on the schedule, trying his best to remember who wanted what, and what plans Calum had for the week, so he could get everyone situated. They didn’t have too many employees, so it wasn’t that difficult. It was made slightly harder, though, since he was hyper aware of Luke in the main room. He could almost hear his movements, though he knew that it was impossible over the music. Luke was practically silent as it was. 

After they’d cycled through a couple more songs - Harry Styles, the 1975, the Neighborhood - Ashton was finally done. He sat back with a soft sigh, looking at the schedule in front of him. It should properly accommodate everyone’s needs. He set it aside, putting it in the right place, before getting up and going in search of Luke. 

As he stepped into the main room, the song was starting to wind down slowly. He found Luke off to the side, holding an album in his hand. “What do you have there?” He asked. Once he was next to him, Luke tilted the album so he could look at it, gaze shifting to Ashton’s face. In his hands was the Ghost Stories album by Coldplay. The only notable thing about the album - and the reason Luke picked it up, Ashton suspected - were the white angel wings against the navy background.

“People like the way they look,” Ashton explained, before Luke even had to ask. “And what they represent. Purity, hope. That sort of thing.” He looked at the angel wings. “I have to say, they’re nowhere near as pretty as the real thing.” He gave Luke a soft (maybe a little too smitten) smile. He wasn’t expecting the light pink flush that suddenly covered Luke’s pale face. Luke ducked his head slightly, carefully putting the album back.

“Thank you,” he said softly, clearly bashful. So compliments embarrassed him. He seemed pleased with them, though. 

“You’re very welcome.” Ashton gave him another soft, fond smile. The music changed then, to something soft that he didn’t immediately recognize. “Hey, Luke. Do you want to dance with me?” And it was out before he could think about it.

Luke’s gaze was on him again, the light dusting of pink still on his face. “Dance with you?” He repeated, head tilting slightly. Ashton could practically see the gears turning as he tried to remember if he knew what it was.

“Yeah. I think you’ll like it. Come here.” He led him back, where the room was open, not confined to the small space between the short shelves of records. He reached for Luke’s hand, slowly, gently, taking it in his own. He wanted to give him plenty of time to pull back if he wanted to. Luke made no such move, though his expression shifted to something slightly confused. He let Ashton move him. He very gently tugged him forward, closer, right outside his personal space. Luke went easily, graceful under Ashton’s guidance. “Set your other hand on my shoulder,” he instructed, voice soft. Luke heard him anyway, lifting his free hand to set it on his shoulder. “Right.” He rested his other hand on Luke’s waist. He was warm, even through the shirt he’d borrowed from Ashton. 

“Is this okay?” He asked, looking at Luke. He was very well aware of just how many boundaries this was crossing, how quickly things were moving.

Luke met his eyes easily, gaze level and steady. “Yes.” There was no hesitation in his voice, no trepidation. He was waiting to see what Ashton would do next, it seemed, even as he shifted a little, coming into Ashton’s space just a little, moving them even closer together. Ashton let out a breath, just slightly shuddery.

He moved them together, settling into a gentle rhythm as he got Luke to dance with him. It was easy, with him leading, since Luke followed him easily and without question, movements graceful under some form of guidance. 

“I will not ask you where you came from,” the speakers sang. And oh, Ashton knew what song this was. It was much more romantic than he’d meant the moment to be. But maybe Luke wouldn’t notice. Maybe Luke was just as distracted by Ashton, and the way he could feel Luke brush against him on every third step, when Luke wanted to move a little closer than he was meant to, the way Ashton’s thumb pressed lightly against Luke’s waist, a light pressure meant to guide him. Maybe Luke was just as distracted as he was. 

“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,” the speakers continued, unaware of Ashton’s constant inner turmoil about whether it was moral to develop a crush on an angel, someone that was just a little bit more than human. Luke’s gaze stayed on Ashton’s face, keeping him well aware that he was just right there, so close he could almost feel his breath.

“We should just kiss like real people do,” the chorus finished, Ashton’s grip on Luke’s waist tightening just slightly. He wondered if he noticed, or if he was paying attention to the lyrics. He was only vaguely aware of his hand starting to sweat in Luke’s as he moved to turn them. Luke seemed to be just barely behind for the first time since they’d started dancing. It wouldn’t have been an issue, really, but it caused Luke to go practically chest to chest with him. Ashton’s next inhale was just a little too sharp, his grip just slightly tighter, before he forced himself to relax. It wasn’t Luke’s fault he was dying on the inside. He needed to get himself sorted. 

He pulled back slightly, hand coming off of Luke’s hip, earning him a very confused look from Luke, before he raised their connected hands and got Luke to twirl. And the utterly delighted, but surprised, look on his face was absolutely worth it. Luke came back easily, Ashton pulling him back close, so they could finish out the song. His hand came back to his waist, Luke back in his arms. 

Luke hummed a little along with the next couple lines, making Ashton smile, hopelessly fond of the angel in his arms. Luke just gave him a very sweet, very adoring smile, swaying just a little as Ashton kept them moving. The song ended way too soon - or way too late, depending on how you looked at it - so they were left holding each other, way too close.

“I really liked that,” Luke said, smile still on his face, expression as open and vulnerable as Ashton sometimes wished he could be.

Ashton smiled in return, something soft and much fonder than it should’ve been. “Yeah? Me too. We can listen to music at home, too. It doesn’t just have to be here.” Home, he’d said. Home. And that’s what it felt like. It wasn’t just his, anymore. It was Luke’s, too.

Luke nodded a little bit. “I’d really like that.”

Ashton realized that they were still in the same position. He reluctantly moved his hand from his hip first. “I guess we ought to get going, huh?” He glanced over at the mostly glass storefront, noting that there was much less light than when they’d shown up. “Let’s grab my phone and we can head back. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for dinner.” He started back towards the office, Luke’s hand still in his.

The walk back was chillier than the walk there, but it was more pleasant for exactly one reason: Luke hadn’t dropped his hand yet, still warm in his own. He swung it every couple of steps, just because it made a smile tug lightly at Luke’s lips. He was absolutely going to hell. He could feel it. 

[playbucky]

Hope // Six

You have had a crush on Jay for a while, it had been growing over the years since you meet him in the rangers, and here you are now working in the same unit as he dates Erin. Characters – Jay, Reader, Will, Connor, Hank Word Count – 1192 A/N – I’m sorry if you thought it was gonna get better. Hope 1 / Hope 2 / Hope 3 / Hope 4 / Hope 5 / Hope 6 /

Jay had been sitting in the waiting room for almost nine hours, he had been watching patients being rook in and patients coming back out, but never you. He watched as other families sat across from him, all with the same dread look but hope in their eyes as they kept themselves busy. Jay was starting to nod off, his arms over his chest and his feet tucked up under him as his head rested against the wall when he felt a hand on his shoulder, his eyes shot opened before he shut them again and opened them slowly. He focussed on Will who was sitting beside him, he then looked around and saw Connor standing in his scrubs, before he sat up clearing his throat. ‘How is she?’ He asked rubbing his eyes, both the men smiled. ‘Everything went well, liver is being accepted by the body just now but it going to be a long process.’ Connor told him, Jay stood up. ‘Can I see her?’ He asked, Connor nodded. ‘She’s in her room.’ Connor told him, Jay nodded and rubbed his eyes getting rid of the sleep ‘She’ll be groggy when she wakes up and I’ll be along to see her in an hour or so.’ Connor said, Jay nodded as he and Will walked towards your room. ‘You’re awake.’ Will said as you looked towards the pair of them, Jay was relieved to see you were looking better and slightly healthier even if you had just gotten the operation. Jay walked over and pressed a kiss to your forehead and you winced. ‘Sorry, did I hurt you?’ He asked, suddenly moving away, you shook your head. ‘You just stink.’ You said, waving your hand in front of your nose. Jay huffed before sitting in the seat beside you, taking a hold of your hand and tracing patterns on the back of it. ‘I was gonna ask how your feeling but you’re fine.’ Will said, you smiled widely at him and nodded.

—

You turned and looked at Jay who was leaning back in his chair, one that he hadn’t moved from since you had arrived here. You turned and looked at him, as he closed his eyes letting out a sigh, he looked stressed. ‘You should go home and shower.’ You told Jay, hiding the pain that spread through your chest with every breath you took. He opened his eyes and looked at you. ‘Y/N.’ He said, you turned and looked at him, placing a hand on top of his. 'I feel fine and I know you won’t be away for long.’ You told him, he looked at you trying to argue it out in his own head. 'Plus I think I can annoy someone else.’ You said, he scoffed and nodded before standing up and leaning over you. He placed a hand on your cheek and lowered his head, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. 'I’ll see you soon.’ He promised you, you nodded. 'I know you will.’ you said, smiling at him once more before he turned around and walked out into the hall, sending you a wave as he walked away, only for Will to slid the door open. 'Where’s he away to?’ Will asked not seeing his brother anywhere, which made a change. 'Having a shower and change.’ You said wincing as you coughed loudly, Will looked at you before looking at the machines that you were attached to. 'Your stats are dropping. How are you feeling?’ He asked as he walked over to the side of the bed. 'Why did you think I sent Jay away.’ You said, his jaw dropped before you wriggled in pain. You suddenly jolted forward and puked, emptying your stomach but it was only blood, staining your covers. 'Will.’ You whined, he nodded before quickly running away. 'I need help in here now and page Dr Rhodes.’ He shouted, the nurses dropped everything and ran over.

—

‘She’s got pneumonia.’ Connor broke the news to Jay. ‘What does that mean?’ Jay asked, he looked through the glass door again, feed up of being here and just wanting to take you home so you can get better. ‘We’ve got her on a drip, giving her fluids and antibiotics.’ Connor explained. ‘How did she get it?’ Jay asked, they both shrugged. ‘A bit of fluid ended up in her lungs, it could have been there for a while but with her weakened immune system just now it’s flared up.’ Connor told him, holding the tablet down at his side. ‘So when I took her up to the roof.’ Jay said, sounding defeated. ‘No Jay, there’s no way we can tell.’ Will told his younger brother. ‘How long will she take to recover from this?’ He asked. ‘It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.’ Connor warned him, ‘anywhere from three to six months.’ He told him, Jay winced knowing you already felt like a caged animal. ‘Is she gonna have to stay in that long?’ He asked. ‘We don’t know.’ Connor said. ‘The pneumonia could hinder her liver, she’ll need to stay in for at least another two weeks.’ Connor said, Jay nodded not knowing what to say. ‘You know she’s gonna hate us.’ Jay told the pair of them, they corner of their lips quirked up as they nodded. ‘Yeah, well you could bring games and keep her occupied.’ Will said, Jay looked worried and ‘I can’t, I mean every time I’ve left, she’s gotten worse.’ Jay told Will, both the doctors looked at the torn and tired man standing in front of them. ‘How long his Hank giving you off?’ Will asked him. ‘I’ve got two more days off before I’m part time.’ Jay told him, Will nodded.

—

‘We’ve got bad news for you.’ Connor said as him and Will came in behind Jay. Jay gave you smiled before sitting down next to you, in the seat he claimed as his. ‘Hit me?’ You said, running your tongue over your lips. ‘You need to stay in hospital for a while.’ Connor said, you frowned deeply. ‘How longs awhile? I’m going crazy in here.’ You asked them. ‘Yeah, well that’s what happens when you get pneumonia.’ Will said, you rolled your eyes and cough violently. ‘Yeah, like I could control it.’ You replied sarcastically, it was Will’s turn to roll his eyes at you. ‘You’ll need to stay at least two weeks, at the most four.’ Connor said, you pulled a face. ‘Another month?’ You whined, he frowned and nodded. ‘We need to make sure the antibiotics are working for you and not against your liver.’ He said and you groaned, just wanting to get out this god forsaken ward that you had been trapped in. ‘It will go by in a flash.’ Connor said giving you a smile, you narrowed your eyes at him before moving in your bed, wincing slightly as the wound was still sore and you felt weak. ‘We’ll get you come pain meds and then we’ll come check on your before our shifts end.’ Connor told you, you nodded and leaned back.

Tags - @georgiagrl1990 @hehurst23 @fuelledbyfanfiction @word-scribbless @sanellv @mileika79 @emotionallysalty @katiehud @justanotherwriter-fangirl @cobym @captain-shannon-becker @lotsoflovefromlea @wicked-laugh @14readwritedraw96 @academia-dea-sol @delightfullydecaffeinatedcloud

@cookiecakeslive

[getting-rid-of-anniex]

An (Un)Healthy Check up

This is me, probably about 6 / 7 years old...?...(looks like I’m busy burying a vampire I’ve just staked?)...what I would give to let that little girl know that she really is enough, and to never let the world get her down so much so that she questions herself.

Fast forward 31 years and I’m now on a quest to try and get back to being as much like that carefree child. The most stressful thing I had to think about then, was whether I would get some sweets at the weekend and if Barbie and Ken would like the salon I’d made for them out of toilet rolls and a load of old boxes.

The unfortunate thing about ‘LIFE’ is that - ‘LIFE HAPPENS’(!) and the person you become is built up of many moments and experiences. In my case, my moments and experiences ended up helping to construct someone lacking confidence and overflowing with anxiety. I started dieting from about the age of 15 (and since then the weight only went up!) Friendships became toxic and I ended up having to build myself a new peer group. I developed a pattern of using food and drink to both celebrate and commiserate. I overindulged on happy days, sad days, sunny days, rainy days; to plaster over a stressful situation, and gee myself up when I needed some dutch courage. My health took a battering, developing asthma, bad knees (at one point the doctor did say I had arthritis...later on rescinding this?!?), IBS and depression. I’ve gone through stages of going totally bonkers with exercise, from running every day, to not at all and just lying on the sofa eating crisps. I tried so many times to follow weight loss programs - if only I’d saved that money instead. After repeatedly falling off the wagon I’d restart another program with so much excitement, only for the hard work to start and the realisation that this wouldn’t be a walk in the park, to hit. I’d throw in the towel and unhappily stuff my face (self sabotage anyone?) My stomach was in a constant mess resulting in time off work (and increased time in the loo!). I tried gluten free, but again after a month or two of symptoms easing and feeling good I’d then decide it wasn’t as bad as originally thought and devour everything in sight, only to go shooting right back to the beginning. As well as feeling like crap because my stomach was in agony, I’d also be mentally berating myself for not being able to stick to anything AGAIN. Why didn’t I have the ability to stick to anything? Especially when all the things I was doing, I was doing in the hope of helping myself?

Appointment no.1

After realising finally just how much I was hurting myself, and how much I was struggling, and after crying on the shoulders of some very amazing friends and family (I really hope you guys know who you are) I decided to see the doctor. To help with my IBS, anxiety and stress (which was a bowlful of Catch-22 IBS related loveliness!!!) I was prescribed anti depressants. Whilst these helped initially, they didn’t touch my inner demons. Self destructive patterns were repeated and the only thing I learnt, was how better to hide things from others.

This must stop!

Back in 2018 my body finally had had enough. After feeling like utter shite for months on end, monitoring over the course of a few weeks how my heart would start racing (just sitting at my desk) and having increasing episodes of hot flushes, I knew I needed to get in contact with the doctor. This time I really wanted to do something...and I was scared. The ball got moving though earlier  than I’d planned.

Sitting at work my heart suddenly started to race. (There were no harsh words/emails, up-coming meetings/reviews, and I hadn’t eaten a heavy or spicy meal, there wasn’t anything in fact that could explain why this was happening). It felt as though I was having a panic attack (although never having had one, I couldn’t say for sure?). Luckily I was able to get an appointment with the doctor (another one) later that same day. I feel forever grateful to have been given an appointment with this particular doctor. For the first time ever I felt listened to, rather than just hurried along with the explanation for everything being the bog (pun intended) standard ‘gluten intolerance’. This went so much deeper. I was booked in for blood tests (and stool samples - yuck!)  to check for any intolerances (also checking for Crohn’s and Celiac disease)/vitamin deficiencies, given leaflets on the FODMAP diet (although I do feel like this isn’t the full answer for my stomach issues, it definitely helped to fully monitor what foods were triggering my IBS symptoms). We also had a bloody good talk. I didn’t feel like I was just another foot through the door and that the clock was being watched; I really could have hugged my Doc. I left feeling so positive (for most probably the first time in years). Even if we couldn’t rule everything out straight away (there would be a lot of trial and error in the up-coming months), it felt as though someone was on my side and wanted to help. Someone had finally just sat and listened (I’m not including friends and family in that comment - believe me, they definitely have done more than their share of hand holding and listening. This just meant so much, having someone from the health profession listen rather than assume.)

Blood test results

Well the results came in: B12 deficient and lacking folic acid. (I did have to have a further round of blood tests to rule out Pernicious Anemia, but this came back negative.) I also had to provide a ‘sample’, but the only embarrassing part about this was the idiot monkey behind the reception desk deciding that she needed to shout out across the waiting room that my little tube contained pooh (ground please swallow me up!!!)

Diet

B12 and folic acid were tackled with supplement vitamins and a controlled diet (at the time I was going through the FODMAP diet - which was so hard to navigate. So in the mean time I’ve knocked that on the head, but have tried to limit certain foods and just be more mindful about what I am putting into my body - for example I don’t eat apples as they really don’t like my stomach, I have to be careful how much beetroot/coffee/chickpeas, nuts and chocolate I have and I do try to limit bread/pasta. I was put on a list to speak to a dietician....I’m still waiting to see them!)

I have also rejoined WW online (but if being truthful, I’m still struggling with this. It’s still that bit too easy for me to not track all foods). It’s definitely a work in progress. The recipes are fantastic - I just need to be more honest with it if it’s going to work. One positive with this app though is that it has helped learning to track my weight only once a week (I used to have a day ritual of weighing myself).

I’ve cut right back on alcohol (to be another post soon, as this is a whole other story in itself). I’m already feeling the benefits, and some of them in unexpected ways - my skin has never felt/looked clearer (and from someone who is obsessed with studying the wrinkles on her forehead, this has been a fantastic bonus).

Fitness

I’ve downloaded some fitness apps to try and increase the amount of exercise I do (sitting at a desk for 8 hours a day does not help with general fitness!)

ZR5K: I’m currently doing a 5K training app (learning to run whilst escaping from Zombies - I’ve not used this app when it’s dark, I think it would unnerve me too much).

Race at your pace*: I’ve signed up for ‘Race at your pace’ (it was only £10 (medal only option)...and I get a medal at the end - as long as I complete my target of 25 miles run through out January). This has been a real motivator - I love the idea of getting a medal at the end of the month. This has also been mega easy to implement - I just track at the same time as escaping Zombies! *£10 for a medal - more if you want a Race at your pace top. **mile target is set by yourself and you can complete it by either running/walking or swimming for that particular month. MapMyRun: I currently use this as well, to track where I’m going and how long it’s taking me. It’s been a brilliant tool for monitoring average pace, and I’m hoping as the months role by to see this improving. Yoga: I’m also starting to implement some yoga into my daily routine too. I find that as well as it helping to stretch and loosen my muscles after a run (very slow shuffle), it also helps me to unwind and switch off.

Mindfulness

Breathe: I have downloaded a relaxation and meditation app. As with all the apps I’m currently using, I’ve gone for the free option so with this particular one, I don’t get the longer/more specific meditations, but there are still a great range to select from. They have been really helpful unwinding before bed. I just need to get into a better routine of using this daily.

Supportive networks

The hubby, friends and family have all been invaluable to me getting to where I am now. My husband is an amazing man (also a pain in the arse, but hey - I’ll forgive him that) and I absolutely cherish all he does in order to help me on my journey to being a better, happier human being! I cannot stress enough, how you need people around you who (may not have the answers but) will listen - without judgement. I feel so incredibly lucky to have the people around me who I know I can talk to, cry on and ask opinions of. I’ve been incredibly honest with my boss. Luckily he is someone who I know I can talk to and he’s been very understanding. After worrying about time off work due to sickness (stress/IBS/depression issues etc) I opened up completely about everything - food, health (mental and physical)....and I’ve even asked if I can set my health goals as part of my personal development target at work. (Being proactive about helping myself can surely only have a positive impact on my work/life balance. A happier/healthier worker will have a better attitude at work and (I’m hoping) a more productive output???)

Other ‘things’

I’ve also tried to absorb anything and everything that is supportive, positive that will help shore up my personal goals on my journey to self improvement.

I’ve downloaded healthy living podcasts, listened to audio books on being alcohol free and been reading ‘self help’ books - such as ‘The Happiness Equation’.

So this is me - minus the fringe and wondering if I should have curled my hair (see, I’m still a stress head). I’m not 100% healthy or happy but I’m trying my hardest to get there. I’ve got a lot of things to figure out but this time I’m willing to try. I may not be a little six year old happily sitting on the beach, but I’m determined to approach life with that same open and curious mindset...and vampires beware, I’ll still stake and bury you, no questions asked if you try to bite!

______________________________________

That’s all for now folks.

Along the way Annie X came on the scene. I’ll explain my relationship with her in the next ‘session’.

Thanks, be kind to each other and I’ll see you next time R (and Annie X) x

[starlight-drive-in]

All My Life, for You - Ch. 2

This chapter: Saeyoung Choi/MC (named), Saeyoung Choi/OC Saeran Choi/OC

Fic Description: Mi-Cha and Saeyoung have been happily married for 5 years and their lives have never been happier. The same could be said for Saeran who is now in a much healthier place than he was a few years ago. The twins are close once again, their lives are healthy and normal for the most part. It would seem the picture perfect happily ever after, if it weren’t for the fact that someone who has been looking for them for a long time is about to make an unwelcome appearance.

Saeyoung has two things in this world he has sworn to protect, and nothing is going to stop him from keeping his promise this time.

Chapter Description: Saeran takes a little alone time, which subsequently gets interrupted. He may or may not be happy about this.Mi-Cha and Saeyoung attempt to be sneaky.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19773562/chapters/46928929

Saeran sits cross-legged on a large rock that marks the summit of the mountain trail he's been working his way up for the past 40 minutes. Slightly winded, he takes deep breaths and focuses on recovering himself. "Whew, I need to work out." He tells himself.

He takes another deep breath of fresh mountain air and savors the way it fills his lungs. It's been years since Mint Eye, even longer since he was trapped in that God-forsaken excuse for a house. Even still, the feeling of freedom manages to take him by surprise. The sheer fact that he's allowed to do this, allowed to do what he wants when he wants. It still feels foreign.  Some things will haunt him forever, he knows that. But being able to have a life is more than he ever hoped for.

He pointedly takes a moment to fully absorb his surroundings. To his left, he can see the hotels, restaurants, and shops that line the edge of the beach below him. The beach has mostly cleared out by now although he can spot a few couples taking sunset strolls along the water’s edge. He scans the length of the beach, searching for his brother’s telltale red hair, wondering if one of the couples on the beach might be his brother and sister-in-law.

Ahead of him lies the reason he made this hike to begin with - a beautiful sunset painted in reds and purples, quickly taking over the blue that was there before. Long strings of clouds run the length of the horizon as sun meets ocean, light dancing on the waves. He takes another deep breath and smiles. He’s always loved the sky. When he had nothing else he still had the sky. Even when all he had was one small window to look at it through, the sky was always there. Always beautiful and always breathtaking, a faithful companion when all else was lost.

He remains for the next hour or so until the sun has all but finished its decline below the horizon. Taking the flashlight out of the small pack on his back he begins decent back down the mountain to the hotel. On the way down he contemplates what to do when he gets back to his room. He’s pretty hungry, grabbing dinner himself seems to be a good place to start.

He stops at one of the many restaurants on the way back, opting for a bar seat instead of a whole booth with him being only one person. He orders and then takes his phone out while he waits, seeing he has a few new messages.

Saeyoung: Don't get up to too much trouble without me now, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ;)

He scoffs. What exactly is that supposed to mean anyway? He thinks, not bothering to actually respond

Mi-Cha: Sorry about leaving you on your own tonight, if you need us to come back just say the word!

Mi-Cha is way to considerate. She always has been, always. Everyone knows this about her- it’s immediately obvious to most upon meeting her for the first time. Ah. but he’s known that about her longer than any of their friends, or even his own brother. It was specifically the reason he had chosen back her then. He shudders then, slightly embarrassed at his past behavior. In the end, it would seem that he inadvertently played matchmaker for Saeyoung. He’d have to remember to give his brother shit about owing him one later. Thinking about how much things have changed, he smiles.

He’s so absorbed in his own self-reflection that he doesn't even notice a woman sit down next to him.

“You must like her a lot.” She says, grabbing his attention finally.

He’s caught off-guard for a moment and stares blankly at her blue eyes.

“W-who?” he stutters embarrassed.

“Your girlfriend, or whoever's making you smile like that.” She giggles.

“Oh, I wasn’t. I don’t. Uh, I don't have a girlfriend.”

“Oh?” She asks.“A boyfriend, perhaps?”

“Oh, no - uh- not that either, I’m single.” He clarifies.

Her face brightens visibly. “Is that so? Well in that case, whatcha drinking? Vodka soda?” She motions exaggeratedly to his glass.

Am I being hit on right now? He thinks to himself Probably not right? She just wants someone to talk to he’s sure of it.

He chuckles.“Seltzer, I- uh don't really drink.”

“Damn, I’m not doing too good here tonight” She giggles. “I guess it’s true what they say about making assumptions.”

“It’s fine.” He says, not really knowing how to respond but smiling politely.

She twists a finger around a lock of dark hair nervously, the boost of confidence she inspired in herself a moment before coming over here quickly wearing off. “So - uh, you here on vacation?”

“Yea, with my brother and sister-in-law. Family bonding ya know?” This conversation isn't the most comfortable thing for him, but it’s not entirely unwelcome either. “How about you?”

“Girls weekend out.” She says, a slightly sarcastic tone in her voice. “Which apparently turned into ‘Let's all get drunk and pass out and leave Jisun on her own’ weekend.”

“Ah. Yea that doesn't exactly sound like what you signed up for.” He responds empathetically. His food arrives and he thanks the server quickly, then turns his attention back to her.

She scoffs. “You've got that right. Eh, it’s whatever. Kinda needed a break anyway. Not that I don't love them. It’s just sometimes their energy is a little much for me. I’m sorry that probably doesn't make any sense.”

He understands completely though. “It does. I feel like that a lot with my own friends, especially my brother. Too much energy for his own good. Sometimes I just need to get away from him.”

“Yes! Exactly! Ugh, feels nice to talk to someone who gets it.” She smiles earnestly, feeling a lot more comfortable than before.

He returns her smile also feeling a tad more relaxed and truly takes in her image for the first time. Her hair is actually a very dark violet and comes just to her shoulders, her eyes a deep blue. A swath of freckles dots her nose and upper cheeks. She’s wearing a simple dress with a large floral pattern - Hibiscus - he recognizes them as, how ironic. He takes a sip of his drink and decides he agrees with the sentiment.

His phone beeps with a new notification, Mi-Cha checking up on him, of course. He takes a moment to reply before setting it back down.

She shifts slightly in her seat, “Anyway, I didn't mean to interrupt your meal-”

“You’re not interrupting” He interjects, feeling slightly rude for being on his phone. “I-It’s nice to talk to someone new.”

“Yea? Yea, I agree” She says.

“You said your name was Jisun?” She nods affirmatively. “I’m Saeran.”

“It’s very nice to meet you Saeran.”

Just then her own phone begins to ring in her clutch purse. She answers it and immediately her eyes go wide at whatever the person on the other end has said. "Yea, yea ok I'll be right there." She ends the call and looks over at him looking a bit disappointed.

"Ugh, I'm sorry. Duty calls looks like I've gotta go babysit some sick drunks."

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't also feeling disappointed. "Ah well, I wish you good luck then. You might wanna pick up some cleaning supplies, and maybe some painkillers on your way back?" He offers.

"Looks like someone has experience." She notes.

"Ha, yes, unfortunately."

"Well, I hope you have a good night, Saeran."

He smiles. "I'd say the same but."

She laughs at that and begins to retreat toward the door.

"And lots of water!" He adds over the din of the restaurant.

She gives him a thumbs up on her way out the door. She was going to have to give her friends a long, loud talking to in the morning about how they inadvertently pulled her away from a very cute guy.

Saeran watches wistfully out the window as she proceeds down the sidewalk. He dares to hope they’ll meet again, however unlikely that may be.

-

"It’s the hottest planet in our Solar System, which is a little weird when you think about it because it's not the closest to the sun. Mercury is, but guess what?" Saeyoung explains excitedly, holding Mi-Cha's hand while the two of them walk back to the hotel.

Mi-Cha smiles thoughtfully, enchanted at how enthusiastic he gets over things he's passionate about. Suddenly a familiar shock of red hair catches her eye through a nearby restaurant window.

"Saeyoung." She says, releasing his hand as she peers through the window, trying to stay close to the side as not to be noticed by the current object of her attention.

"Mercury has no atmosphere to regulate its temperature. So. Its temperature fluctuation is all over the place and you know what else?."

"Saeyoung!" She says louder this time.

"Ya?"

"I-is that Saeran?" She says in a hushed tone, pointing to a man at the far corner of the restaurant's bar.

Saeyoung's mouth falls open when he spots his brother.

"Yea but who is that?" He ducks around her to try to get a better look but she pulls him back.

"Don't! He'll see you!" She scolds in a whisper. "We’ve got to be sneaky!.

"Why are you whispering?" He whispers.

"Why are you?" She retorts.

"Just following your lead, boss." He answers.

"Don't you forget it." She mumbles. "Ok, ok but seriously who is she?"

"The girl reading this" Saeyoung says dramatically. Before laughing at his own joke.

Mi-Cha snickers "Saeyoung!"

"Hehe." Is his only response as the two of them sneakily peek through the window again.

"She's pretty." The pair say in unison.

"Like really pretty! Has he said anything to you about a girl?" Mi-Cha inquires.

"No, you?"

"Mm-mm" she shakes her head back and forth.

"I'm calling him." Saeyoung says pulling his phone from his pants pocket.

Mi-Cha quickly plucks his phone from his hand. "Wait, don't."

"But MCeeee he could be in danger!" He begs.

Mi-Cha looks again at the two of them through the window. The girl says something and Saeran smiles brightly, seemingly at ease. "Oh, yea he looks like he's in a lot of danger."

"That's just how they get you."

"Sae, come on. Let him have a little fun. He's not a kid, he can take care of himself."

"It's my sworn duty to protect him as an older brother!"

"You know you're twins right? You're only like 3 minutes older or something like that." She says, taking her own phone out and quickly typing a message. She watches through the window as Saeran’s phone lights up. He looks down at it and picks it up, eyeing the girl apologetically before taping a couple times and setting it back down.

Her own phone vibrates confirming what she already knew was true.

Mi-Cha: Heading back to hotel, you all good?

Sae2: All good, out getting food.

"See? You worry too much!"

"I can't help it!"

"I know Babe" she responds, taping him lightly on the nose before offering him her hand. "Come on, let's go! Your brother left us alone on our date, let's leave him alone on his!"

"Do you really think it's a date?!" He asks, wide eyed taking her outstretched hand.

"I have no idea," she laughs. "But If it is, he deserves some privacy. Plus I have other plans for you.” She gives him a devilish smile.

“Oh?” Saeyoung replies, completely forgetting his prior mission. “In that case, lead the way!”

---

The Victorian Flower Language meaning for Hibiscus is 'delicate beauty', :) (Or at least that's what google told me so that's what i'm going with.)

[ahyesreapersblog]

Small Info

(No about the characters. So people know a little thing about each of them without having to go through so many bio’s. They can after that anyway if they like the character. I will exclude canon characters because people usually know who they are. This means Councilor Sparatus, Lorik Qui’in, SAM, Macen Barro and Urdnot Wreav are not included.)

(I will try and keep it short but I want people on mobile also to be able to see it)

Karnesh

Karnesh is a krogan, born and raised on Korlus, his father is Okeer. He doesn’t have a clan name since he never went to Tuchanka in the first place. He is also aware that the Rite of Passage would likely kill him. He is highly afraid of asari and will avoid them whenever possible. He works for the Shadow Broker as some sort of agent and officially as a debt collector. He carries a Black Widow sniper rifle and loves desserts.

Availability: High

Clavius Tarxis/Irelius Draxas/Invictus

These three are all the same, Irelius is Clavius real name and he was born on Aephus the turian colony. He is a biotic actually and trained with the cabals but due to his genetic disorder he cannot feel any pain or anything that is nerve related. Resolting in him killing one of the instructors by accident. He fled to omega and met an asari woman who helped him. Irelius was 19 at the time or even younger.After a few years the whole cabal debackle resulted in him getting a mental disorder called Dissociative identity disorder. He changed to Clavius as a meaning of protecting himself. Clavius is a very stoic character and is with the Blue Suns for a long time. Until he gets tired of it for some reason (unknown at this point), and heads to the Citadel and becomes the councilor’s bodyguard.

Availability: High

Renius Sparatus

Renius is Irius father and a general in the Blackwatch, some people even say he leads it but that was never proven right. He is a so called Ghost Infiltrator and uses a sniper rifle. Being able to sit and or lie and wait for hours, he has trained his body to do certain things only when he wants to. Renius hates humans. He will never be nice to them unless they are military personal and high ranking one, then he will be at least respectful to them. But there is no worrier he will avoid humans like the plague anyway. His whole family died during the First Contact war and his wife died at the hands of the collectors one year before the Reapers arrive. After the Reaper War he loses his left arm.

Availability: Medium

Torana Sparatus

She is Irius sister and C-Sec officer. She works for C-Sec for a long time and is in the investigation sector together the likes of Chellic. During a walk home, she got attacked and stabbed, making her lose her baby during that time and unable to get pregnant or it is very hard for her to stay pregnant. Her body seems to reject that idea almost immediately. She is terms of characteristic like her father Renius minus the human hating part. She loves them and would even date them.

Availability: High

Jurdon Madadh

He is a very old krogan battlemaster. He is a bit against Wrex but he ísn’t a stupid krogan and helps him keep the clans who are against him in check. He kind of rules them but not in the way that Wrex rules Tuchanka after Saren was defeated. Madadh (pronounced Madack’) is a also a very tall krogan, standing over 8 feet tall. He has a lot of a tattoos on his body and a preference for lingerie on woman. He is also the grandpa of my other krogan Raik Cagar.

Availability: High

Ganar Drealav

He has a chainsaw and his mouth sewn shut. He is considered my more well evil krogan, although he can be kind of nice towards babies and children. Having a soft spot for them. But he will not change his views just because some child is making a fuss. He has a drone that talks for him. He is the leader of the Blood Pack on Omega after Garm dies.

Availability: Low

Raik Cagar

She is a female krogan medic, working in Huerta and the granddaughter of Jurdon Madadh and the adopted daughter of Karnesh. She is a so called defect in her body, resulting in too much melanin. This means she is a very dark krogan and even her crest is dark red. She is totally into women and nothing else. Making it harder for her to breed with male krogan. Which she did in the past for a couple of times.

Availability: Medium

Haral Nyras

He is a turian in the Blackwatch and also a general. He is the XO of Renius ship and his navigator. He and Renius are actually very close friends and Haral sometimes functions as some kind of uncle to Torana and Irius (especially when they were children). He has a rare genetic disease called Corpalis Syndrom in his family. One of his sisters died because of it, way before the whole Reaper War. Even before the First Contact War. He is a generally nice and friendly turian, charming his way most likely to bed with them. However he will kill in an instant should someone threaten the safety of Palaven. After the Reaper War he ends up in a wheelchair which does not diminish his character at all. He also has Corpalis Syndrom.

Availability: High

Maron Hinom alias Sur'Kesh Ilano Talat Hinom Maron 

He or she is a salarian formerly working for STG. Having a bit of a fallout resulting in one of the labs being exploded Maron flees STG and hides disguised as a man with the krogan Karnesh on his ship. He is a very cynic person and trusts few people especially newcomers get a very harsh treatment. If Maron trusts someone she is more comfortable being around them even in her true identity.

Availability: Low

Shaela’Riel Vas Tonbay Nar Tonbay

A quarian engineer and navigator of the flotilla. She stayed on her birthship after her pilgramage due to complication. Which resulted in her suit being almost torn to shreds. Shaela is constantly sick and cannot leave her suit without falling into a coma for a few weeks. Her immune system is compramised so much that it is hard for to even get healthy inside her own suit, which was made new after her pligramage. After the Reaper War she is hooked up with a geth prime making her a bit healthier than in the past.

Availability: Medium

Marius Nyras

He is Haral’s younger brother, well young he is 74 already. He was supposed to be dead past Reaper War but he survives. He is arranged married to someone but secretly a gay turian. After the Reaper War, he is almost half machine, his inner organs are replaced by machine and his right arm and left leg as well. Resulting in him havign constant pain due to the parts sometimes getting stiff and unmovable.

Availability: Medium

Tayus Draxas

He is Irelius younger brother and a mercenary collecting his money and killing people if they don’t pay him. He is not the most social guy in the world which makes the Draxas family very weird regardless. There is not much about him right now.

Availability: Low

Tachyus Nyras

He is the son of Haral and also someone who was Corpalis Syndrom. However his form is very aggressive resulting in him having this disease at the age of 19. He is unable to walk long distances, having to rely on a wheel chair. His speech pattern is also kind of screwed because of that. However he is not as many people would asume deeply depressed. He was at times but he is generally like Haral a very happy turian. Due to his speech pattern being so screwed he is actually good at singing.

Availability: High

Yaora V’Loar

An asari who works for the consort. Not much known about her right now. She comes from an asari and a turian, she lived on Omega for a time with her mum and her dad. Her died, being shot by a rival and her mother died during a raid on Cora’s Den. She is very facinated by art in any form, even sexual art.

Availbility: Medium

Yandra Nyras

Yandra  and Tachyus are twins, she doesn’t have however his disease. She is a very well mannered turian. She works in the turian embassy. Yandra has a soft spot for bad boys, but not like the ones trying to do criminal stuff. More like the ones who are a bit rebellious against society. She is very close to her twin brother and helps him out in the day to day life.

Availabilty: Medium

[lunaraen]

For Anon

Prompt: D'you think you could write something Halloween-y (no pressure you can post it in December if you want) for Lukivesse?

This fall's warmer than last year's; her fingers aren't even numb yet.

An apology, maybe, for how crazy it was last time, and while nature doesn't normally seem the type to care about human acts of nonsense, like Witherstorms or the horrors they bring, the ground here was once stripped to bedrock, the trees and hedges and meadows all plucked up just like the people.

For all the good their recovery efforts have done, as amazing as mass-scale building and rebuilding can be, maybe nature's still recovering, just a bit.

Regardless of the why or how, Olivia won't complain. The walk to the hairdresser would be way more unbearable if the weather was anything like last year's, and the wait outside would be worse.

(Time marches on, natures heals, and Lukas's hair grew longer than he ever intended to let it while they were in the portals.

Olivia's half surprised he didn't take care of it himself as soon as they all got back, but he deserves the chance to kick back and they've all been a bit too busy trying to get back to life the past few weeks.)

Their conversation lulls as they approach, lapsing comfortably, and Olivia stretches, stepping away from the door.

Thanks to how it’s made almost entirely of glazed glass, she's also stepping out of the distorted and hazy beam of light passing through it.

Her fingers curl, briefly, around the back of the bench set between the salon and the nearest shop, a cafe with cute sayings written in chalk on its sign and few lights currently on inside, enough to keep monsters from spawning and little else.

"I'll wait out here." It's a wooden bench, making it ten times more inviting than a metal one would be even on a lukewarm night, and the nearest lamp is just far enough away for the lighting to be safe but relaxing, working well with the decorations and much smaller lights strung up around nearby buildings and the salon itself. Olivia's gaze jumps from the swirling patterns on the lantern glass to Jesse, matching her raised eyebrow with one of her own. "I know I wouldn't want to get between you and Lukas's hair."

Lukas reacts more to that statement than Jesse does, his lower lip sticking out a bit too much to be genuine, the brief chewing at it too harsh and timed to be a nervous tic. His arms cross, the pout as overly dramatic as it is pronounced, and she half expects a demand to apologize not to him, but his hair.

"You like my hair." Lukas's tone is as wounded as his expression, and just as manufactured, the brief tremble to it more likely to be due to the way his lips twitch upwards than any emotional ache.

Still, Olivia's amazed he never went into theater.

"And I can play with it at home." She snorts, hand on her hip. "Do you want a third set of hands messing with your hair? Because the hairdresser's going to have enough competition with Jesse on that."

"If it bothers anybody, then I'll just stop." Jesse says it the way a chicken wanders in a meadow; with too much ease and far too much daring. It's a little haughty, but mostly soft, as joking as the way she ruffles Lukas's hair again.

(His bangs are practically covering his eyes, falling from where they'd been combed back before they left the temple, his fingers twitching for the comb he left at home. It's cuter than it has any right to be.)

"Jesse, you saved how many people? How many worlds? You could spit on them and they still wouldn't say anything to your face. They're definitely not going to tell you to stop messing with Lukas's hair when we're paying for it." Olivia considers that statement, because she fully believes it but she's also known Jesse almost all of her life, and that sounds like something that could be taken as a challenge. "Not unless you go wild in there, but I trust you two to behave yourselves."

Lukas and Jesse grin, nearly speaking at the same time.

"First mistake."

They're still giggling and chuckling to themselves as they walk in, bell chiming quietly as they do, and they're dorks, absolute total dorks who amuse themselves better than anyone, but they're hers and Olivia's grinning when she sits on the bench.

They'll never be able to top the queen of the dorks, even if the effort's adorable and they're dorky in their own, less redstone-related and socially-awkward ways.

They pull off cute well, especially with how shaggy Lukas's hair's gotten, soft as ever but getting damnably long in a way that seems to bother him far more than it bothers Olivia or Jesse, who are equally happy to have more to mess with.

Olivia's amazed he never hacked it off before now, using one of the swords they had or even a pair of shears she's sure they came across at some point. She knows Lukas loves his hair, and would hate mutilating it even more than not properly caring for it, but it's been driving him crazy as it is just doing basic, normal things at home or during training.

If he'd had another week of running for his life and trying to deal with his hair falling in his face, maybe he would have given in and cut it. The portals seemed good at inspiring that sort of desperation.

The portals.

On second thought, maybe he did trim it at some point before it grew back and he gave up.

They were gone long enough, and maybe it just seemed like a waste of time.

Olivia rests the side of her head against her hand, elbow propped up on the bench armrest as she watches the string of lights above her tremble in the breeze.

They don't talk about the portals.

Not that they aren't affected near constantly.

There's been a lot of crying, a lot of staying up sleepless, a lot of working themselves to exhaustion to try and bypass the nightmares and lurking memories, but there hasn't been a lot of talking about the portal misadventures.

Or any talking, really. None that doesn't fizzle and shrivel up, pushed aside in favor of ignoring it all together as best they can.

(There are a lot of names, mumbled, whispered, shrieked, or casually said that mean nothing to her yet. It's maybe worse when she does recognize the names, her stomach turning when Lukas screams Aiden's name in his sleep before gasping awake, throat hoarse even before he can curl up and start shuddering with his own sobs, her mind screeching at her that she knew the Blaze Rods were nothing but trouble, that Aiden's threats were more than just talk.

It's awful to hear, to think about, but it's hardly talking.

Mostly, she finds out about portal things through Lukas's writing, rough drafts he passes her way in lieu of describing vocally. Olivia looks over the details with the scrutiny of a trusted editor; she memorizes them the way any concerned person would, friend, partner, or otherwise, and some of the descriptions are ghastly and are burned into her brain whether she likes them or not.

It's fair; she wouldn't have kind things to say about dying.

Lukas still hasn't written about the Blaze Rods, beyond a general, too vague and too passive summary of terrible things that happened in some city in the sky.

Olivia wonders if he ever will. She trusts him, though, to heal in his own way, and she knows he'll write about it when he's ready, even if it's just for the sake of giving the right beginning to his book.)

Maybe this haircut's one of the first steps towards trying to really move past it all.

Maybe not.

It could just be driving Lukas crazy without being symbolic of anything, or it could be the opposite; Lukas trying to force things back to the way they were and acting like things are fine when they aren't.

Regardless, she'll be here.

If he's trying to stuff it all down, he won't get very far with both Olivia and Jesse keeping an eye on him, and Jesse won't get far with trying the same thanks to Lukas and Olivia watching her.

They worry about Olivia too when they shouldn't, when she was kidnapped for little more than a day while they spent weeks and months scared and in terrible situations. They care so much, and maybe she doesn't agree with it, but she can work with them all looking out for each other.

Notch knows they deserve it, deserve some kind of break, even if they have to carve out a space for it between the doubts and nightmares and endlessly crushing work schedules because some nights they're busy leaders.

Some nights, though, they're just doing their best to have a good time and able to try. Some nights, that's more than enough.

The wind shifts again, whistling through a nearby alley and then up into the tree limbs, soft and deep and almost sounding like a wolf's cry before ending in the rattling of crisp and still dying leaves. A chill goes up her spine, making her curl in on herself, one arm wrapping around her stomach as her shoulders hunch. It's not much colder, but the shift gets Olivia to consider going inside, laughing at whatever Lukas and Jesse are up to or making comments about new directions Lukas could take with his hair.

Then the wind slows, and there's not another whistle from the alley.

Instead, two figures emerge, slowly and gently gliding out of the corner of her eye. Olivia wants to congratulate them on their makeup, soft and pale, ask how whatever party they were at went, and then her tongue goes dead in her mouth and she has to make sure she doesn't swallow it.

Because their feet aren't even on the ground. They're truly gliding, swaying side by side, holding each other's hands and looking only at the other. They're not up for outside questions, from the look of it.

Their clothes shine as much as their skin, silver and outdated likely beyond even Soren's standards. Holes that are there at one moment aren't in the next, and with each motion, their outfits grow less tattered and worn, fraying ends seemingly mending themselves as the figures begin to look healthier, happier, skin still never losing its pale, translucent quality even as the tired smiles melt into something brighter and more innocent.

Olivia watches them waltz down the street, glowing as softly as the string of pumpkin shaped orange lights hanging above the salon and the cafe beside it.

There's a melody in her head that wasn't there before, a catchy but tinny tune she could see playing out of a very old jukebox, when they fade out of view, dissipating into little more than brief shimmers of gold. It's as if they turn to glowstone, and by the next blink, there's nothing there at all but an abandoned street and an alley threatening to whistle and howl lowly again.

A leaf scrapes against the ground, tumbling as it passes from one sidewalk to another, and Olivia's...

Well, she's not sure about a lot of things, including if she's the only one who saw them or if what she saw was even close to real. She's not the superstitious type, and all the same she's seen weirder.

But she hopes they're having a nice night. Found peace, maybe, even if ghosts don't quite work well with that concept.

Olivia settles back into the bench, rests her head against her hand again, and smiles as she hears Jesse start to laugh, Lukas spluttering about something. There's a joke, hard but good to hear through the wall, about maybe trying out some new colors, about dyes on sale and colors that could fit him, and in that moment Olivia's found peace too.

[marioclash]

im really sorry but this is something ive been wanting to get off my chest for a few years now

kinda emotionally charged post under the cut

Hey, Vsauce. Michael here. Where are your fingers? Seriously. It's a pretty easy question. You should be able to answer it. But how do you know? How does anyone know anything?

You might say, well, I know where my fingers are. I'm looking right at them. Or, I can touch them, I can feel them, they're right here and that's good. Your senses are a great way to learn things. In fact, we have way more than the usual five senses we talk about. For instance, your kinesthetic sense, proprioception. This is what the police evaluate during a field sobriety test. It allows you to tell where your fingers and arms and head and legs in your body is all in relation to each other without having to look or touch other things. We have way more than five senses, we have at least twice as many and then some. But they're not perfect.

There are optical illusions, audio illusions, temperature sensation illusions, even tactile illusions. Can you turn your tongue upside down? If so, perfect. Try this. Run your finger along the outer edge of the tip of your upside down tongue. Your tongue will be able to feel your finger, but in the wrong place. Our brains never needed to develop an understanding of upside down tongue touch. So, when you touch the right side of your tongue when it's flipped over to your left side you perceive a sensation on the opposite side, where your tongue usually is but isn't when it's upside down. It's pretty freaky and cool and a little humbling, because it shows the limits of the accuracy of our senses, the only tools we have to get what's out there in here.

The philosophy of knowledge, the study of knowing, is called epistemology. Plato famously said that the things we know are things that are true, that we believe and that we have justification for believing. those justifications might be irrational or they might be rational, they might be based on proof, but don't get too confident because proven is not a synonym for true. Luckily, there are things that we can know without needing proof, without needing to even leave the house, things that we can know as true by reason alone. These are things that we know a priori. An example would be the statement "all bachelors are unmarried." I don't have to go survey every bachelor on earth to know that that is true. All bachelors are unmarried because that's how we define the word bachelor. Of course, you have to know what the words bachelor and unmarried mean in the first place. Oh, you do? Okay. Perfect. That's great. But how do you know?

This time I mean functionally, how do you know? Where is knowledge biologically in the brain? What are memories made out of? We are a long way from being able to answer that question completely but research has shown that memories don't exist in the brain in single locations. Instead, what we call a memory is likely made up of many different complex relationships all over the brain between lots of brain cells, neurons. A major cellular mechanism thought to underlie the formation of memories is long-term potentiation or LTP. When one neuron stimulates another neuron repeatedly that signal can be enhanced overtime LTP, wiring them more strongly together and that connection can last a long time, even an entire lifetime. A collection of different brain cells, neurons that fire together in a particular order over and over again frequently and repeatedly can achieve long-term potentiation, becoming more sensitive to each other and more ready to fire in the exact same way later on in the future. They're a physical thing in your brain, firing together more easily because you strengthen that pattern of firing. You memorized. This branching forest of firing friends looks messy, but look closer. It could be the memory of your first kiss. A living souvenir of the event. If I were to go into your brain and cut out those cells, could I make you forget your first kiss or could I make you forget where your fingers are? Only if I cut out a lot of your brain. Because memories aren't just stored in one relationship, they're stored all over the brain. The events leading up to your first kiss are stored in one network, the way it felt to the way it smelled in different networks, all added up together making what you call the memory of your first kiss.

How many memories can you fit inside your head? What is the storage capacity of the human brain? The best we can do is a rough estimate, but given the number of neurons in the brain involved with memory and the number of different connections a single neuron can make Paul Reber at Northwestern University estimated that we can store the digital equivalent of about 2.5 petabytes of information. That's the equivalent of recording a TV channel continuously for 300 years. That's a lot of information. That is a lot of information about skills you can do and facts and people you've met, things in the real world. The world is real, right? How do you know?

It's a difficult question, but it's not rocket science. Instead, it is asking whether or not rocket scientists even exist in the first place. The theory that the Sun moved around the earth worked great. It predicted that the Sun would rise every morning and it did. It wasn't until later that we realized what we thought was true might not be. So, do we or will we ever know true reality or are we stuck in a world where the best we can do is be approximately true? Discovering more and more useful theories every day but never actually reaching true objective actual reality. Can science or reason ever prove convincingly that your friends and YouTube videos and your fingers actually exist beyond your mind? That you don't just live in the matrix?

No. Your mind is all that you have, even if you use instruments, like a telescope or particle accelerators. The final stop for all of that information is ultimately you. You are alone in your own brain, which technically makes it impossible to prove that anything else exists. It's called the egocentric predicament. Everything you know about the world out there depends on and is created inside your brain. This mattered so much to Charles Sanders Peirce that he drew a line between reality, the way the universe truly is, and what he called the phaneron, the world as filtered through our senses and bodies, the only information we can get. If you want to speak with certainty you live in, that is you react to and remember and experience your phaneron, not reality. The belief that only you exist and everything else, food, the universe, your friends are all figments of your mind is called solipsism. There is no way to convince a solipsist that the outside world is real. And there is no way to convince someone who doubts that the universe wasn't created just three seconds ago along with all of our memories. It's a frightening realization that we don't always know how to deal with. There's even The Matrix defense.

In 2002 Tonda Lynn Ansley shot and killed her landlady. She argued that she believed she was in the matrix, that her crimes weren't real. By using the matrix defense, she was found not guilty by reason of insanity, because the opposite view is just way healthier and common. It's called realism. Realism is the belief that the outside world exists independently of your own phaneron. Rocks and stars and Thora Birch would continue to exist even if you weren't around to experience them. But you cannot know realism is true. All you can do is believe.

Martin Gardner, a great source for math magic tricks, explained that he is not a solipsist because realism is just way more convenient and healthy and it works. As to whether it bothered him that he could never know realism was true, he wrote, "If you ask me to tell you anything about the nature of what lies beyond the phaneron, my answer is how should I know? I'm not dismayed by ultimate mysteries, I can no more grasp what is behind such questions as my cat can understand what is behind the clatter I make while I type this paragraph." Humble stuff. What strikes me is the cat.

Cats do not understand keyboards, but they know the keyboards are a fun place to be. It's a great way to get the attention of a human, they're warm and exciting, surrounded by noises and flashing lights plus cats love to get their scent on whatever they can, a mark of their existence. We aren't that much different, except instead of keyboards we have the mysteries of the universe. We will never be able to understand all of them.

We won't be able to ever answer every single question, but walking around in those questions, exploring them, is fun. It feels good. And as always, thanks for watching. Do you want more unanswered questions? Well, you're in luck. Today, nine other amazing channels on YouTube have made videos about questions we still haven't fully answered. Alltime10s has organized them and to watch them all click the annotation at the end of this video or the link at the top of the description. Enjoy.

[gaylotusthatexists]

The Same Four Notes

Chapter Twenty Two - Roman

Everything was going to be perfect. Roman had to make sure of that. His three (three!) boyfriends deserved nothing less.

Besides, everything about this made Roman's heart squeal with excitement. The romance, the event, the outfits, the emotions, the love! He loved it all. He loved the planning, the preparations, the date itself. Most importantly, he knew he'd love the looks on his boyfriends' faces when they saw what he had in store for them.

He still had an hour before he and Patton would be meeting up with Logan and Virgil. As long as the other two did their part and met with them at the café, everything would go smoothly. Just as planned. The table was booked for two hours from that time, meaning the four would have plenty of time to make their way down there after meeting up, and maybe a few extra moments to just spend with one another. Roman was planning on walking them down the riverbank, through the park, and he wanted them to take their time. To take in the beauty of the world around them. And the beauty of each other.

"You ready, dear?" Patton shouted through the door.

"No!" He quickly slipped on his red waistcoat. "We still have, like, fifty minutes, anyway!"

"Actually, Ro, we only have half an hour if we want to get to the café on time," Patton reminded him.

"Oh..." Roman took a deep breath, and reached for his makeup bag. "Yeah. I can get ready in that time."

"Can I come in?" Patton asked.

Roman hesitated, but quickly came to a conclusion. "No, my love, I'm, uh, I want it to be a surprise."

Patton giggled. "You always say that."

Roman snorted. "Yes, I suppose I do. Seriously, though, I want it to be a surprise when we see each other's outfits."

"Of course you do," Patton replied, still laughing. "I'll wait for you downstairs."

Roman listened to Patton's footsteps as he walked away, before turning to the mirror. He had claimed the bathroom when he and Patton had began to get ready, since that had a mirror, and he kind of needed a mirror for what he wanted to do. Also, when was it not a good time to look at yourself in the mirror? Whilst he did enjoy looking at the other men in his life, Roman certainly did enjoy staring at himself from time-to-time, as well. Not too much, though. He had places to be, things to see, people to meet! Meaning he had to hurry up with this thing he was trying.

He hadn't worn makeup in public for ages. Or... ever, really. Sure, he would wear it in private, for personal photoshoots and the like, and of course he'd have some on during theatrical performances. He was just never the kind of person to put makeup on for wandering around the streets, or for school. Although he definitely could, and probably would, if he could actually be bothered to do this every day. He was only doing it now because it was a special occasion. Also, it meant Virgil wouldn't be the odd one out.

After messing around with foundation and blush and the like, he looked at himself in the mirror, considering his options. He was wearing red, so that would be the obvious choice for the colour scheme, but... what about his hair? That was dyed all sorts of colours. He could attempt to replicate that.

He took out his eyeshadow palette, and began to apply it to his eyelids, creating a gradient of all the colours, from red to purple, eventually fading it out over the sides of his face. He then smudged some sparkly gold eyeshadow underneath his eyes, similar to what Virgil would usually do, only a hundred times more fabulous. The only thing left for his eyes was eyeliner, which he did using the only black that he owned, flicking it off into a sharp wing. He quickly applied some darker red lip gloss, and sprayed some gold-glitter dye into his hair, before stepping back and taking it all in.

He looked great. He was so ready for this.

Roman left the bathroom, and walked downstairs to the kitchen, where Patton was talking with his mum. He wrapped his arms around Patton's shoulders, grinning.

"Hey, honey," he greeted.

Patton looked up at Roman, gasping a little in delight. "You look beautiful, Ro!"

Roman laughed. "Thanks. I figured I'd try something new."

"It suits you," Patton complimented. He giggled, and added, "Suits you! Get it? 'Cause, you're wearing a suit?"

Roman smiled fondly. "That was great, Patton. But, I mean, it's really no surprise that I'm wearing a suit, we are going on a date, after all. You're also wearing a-" He looked down. "That is not a suit."

Patton was wearing a dress. A flippin' adorable one, at that. The flowing skirt hung just above the knees, connected to top cutting off with a v-shape at the neck. It was a pastel blue colour, decorated with little silver and gold flowers coming together to form a beautiful, glittery pattern. Roman looked back up at Patton's face, nothing the light blush on his cheeks, and the... flowers, in his hair. Flowers of all different colours, lined up in a neat little row across his forehead. That was... a flower crown. He was wearing a flower crown. Roman could barely stop himself from screaming in excitement.

"You look... stunning!"

Patton giggled. "I've been waiting to wear this my entire life."

"You know what, it was well worth the wait."

Carol hummed. Roman looked up at her. He had almost forgotten that she was also there. "I'm still not overly keen on you going out in that, Patton."

"Mum, it'll be fine," Patton replied.

"You don't exactly see guys in dressed walking down the street, though. Or going to restaurants."

"If I can go out wearing makeup," Roman interrupted, "then Patton can go out wearing a dress. It's fine."

Carol sighed. "If you say so. You boys had better be off. Don't stay out too late."

"Bye, Mum!" Patton said, as he grabbed Roman's hand and lead him out of the house.

The two walked down the street, their fingers still intertwined. The full moon shone bright in the sky, surrounded by millions of sparkling stars. The cool breeze brushed against Roman's bare arm. He didn't particularly mind about the cold. Besides, Patton would probably be colder.

"It's nice out tonight," Patton stated. "You can really see all the stars."

"You're not too cold, are you, sweetheart?" Roman asked.

Patton shook his head. "No, I'm fine."

Roman smiled, but didn't reply. The two walked in silence to the café, ignoring the looks they received from people passing by. They were pretty used to it at that point, anyway. Usually, they wouldn't even notice it. Roman supposed that it was more noticeable tonight because there would have been more stares, more confused glances. Which was understandable. Stupid, but understandable. It wasn't every day that you saw two dudes walking down the street, one with intense makeup and the other in a dress. He didn't even care what others thought, though. They were happy like this.

When they reached the café, they found Logan waiting outside, wearing a dark blue suit over a black shirt, along with a pale blue bowtie. He appeared to be staring at the sky with a blank expression, although as they got closer, Roman noticed a small smile appear. Patton went up to hug him, burying his face in Logan's chest. Roman grinned, and followed Patton, standing a bit to the side.

"You look amazing, Logan," Roman complimented, since Patton seemed to excited to speak.

Logan nodded. "As do you, Roman. I see you've attempted makeup."

"Attempted?" he repeated.

"Succeeded at, I should say," Logan quickly said. "I didn't mean to make it sound as if I thought it did not go well, although I suppose it could have come off that way. I apologise. It really does look brilliant."

Roman smiled. "Don't sweat it. And, thanks."

"Thanks from me, as well."

"Where's Virgil?" Patton asked, having seemingly regained the ability to speak. He pulled away from Logan, joining Roman at his side.

"He's sitting inside," Logan stated. "Feel free to go in. I think I'll stay out here, though. Say, what time are we leaving?"

Roman quickly checked the time on his phone. "I have a table booked for fifty minutes from now, so I reckon we should leave in around five minutes." Logan hummed in conformation. "I'll go in and get Virgil," Roman added, beginning to make his way inside.

Virgil was found sitting by the bookshelf in the corner, his back to the door. Nobody else was in the café - Roman presumed it was closed on that night. Taking a deep breath, he made his way over to Virgil, and gently touched him on the shoulder.

His head shot around, with a murderous glint in his eye. Roman stumbled back slightly. However, upon Virgil seeing Roman, he seemed to calm down a bit.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Roman apologised.

"Don't worry," Virgil replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "You look nice, though. And one hundred percent gayer."

Roman laughed. "You look nice too, Verge. With your-" He squealed. "Oh my God, you took my advice!"

Virgil frowned. "Your... what?"

"Freckles!" Roman exclaimed. Virgil was completely covered in them. No foundation, either. Meaning his skin looked slightly darker than normal, as well. Healthier. But he still had the eyeshadow, almost an exact replica of what Roman had done the day of their performance, except with more purple. Which Roman thought looked awesome.

Virgil blushed. "Oh, yeah, that, I, uh... yeah." He stood up, and moved closer to Roman.

"And with a leather jacket, too! And the jeans, and white shirt, and-" He smirked. "You look like you've just come out of Grease."

"Wow. Thank you. That was exactly what I was going for." He rolled his eyes.

"Wait, really?" Roman gasped.

"No, dumbass," Virgil snapped, beginning to leave the café. Just before he reached the door, he stopped, and turned around. "But, uh, really, thanks. I love you, Princey."

Roman smiled. "I love you too."

After a peaceful walk through the park, the four arrived at the restaurant, and took their seats at a booth near the back, close to the kitchens. Everything had gone exactly as planned, which Roman was thankful for. Plus, the others seemed to be happy with the choice of restaurant. They ordered their food without a problem (apart from a few odd glances from their waiter) and, once it arrived, had tucked in straight away, perfectly content.

"So, how are you guys?" Patton asked, breaking the silence.

"I am feeling alright, Patton," Logan replied, "thank you for asking. How are you?"

Patton grinned. "I'm feeling awesome! Sitting here with my three favourite boys?" He sighed, happily. "I love it!"

"That is good to hear."

Roman glanced over at Virgil, who had hunched up in the corner. He had stopped eating, apparently, even though there was still food piled onto his plate. He also seemed to be staring intently at his glass, as if it had somehow offended him. Roman frowned.

"Hey, Verge, you okay?" he asked.

Virgil looked up. "Huh?" He blinked. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"You su-"

"I'm fine!" He sighed. "I'm... I'm fine."

"You know, Virgil," Logan began, "if you are uncomfortable in this place, there is nothing stopping you from leaving for a breath of fresh air. I am willing to accompany you."

He shook his head. "No, honestly guys, I'm fine. I'm just... not used to this sort of stuff."

Patton wrapped an arm around Virgil's shoulder. "And that is okay. Something a little new won't hurt you."

Virgil nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Or, at least, being with you guys won't hurt me." He let out a quiet laugh, as a smile formed across his face. "I love you, all of you," he added, looking around at the others.

Roman grinned. "We love you too, our emo nightmare."

The four sat down by the side of the lake, staring up at the moon. Roman had decided to bring them back to the park after they had finished dinner (which he had happily paid for, in full). Nobody else was in the park, either, meaning the four of them could do basically whatever they wanted. There was nobody there to stop them.

"Hey, Roman," Virgil spoke up, "I dare you to jump into the lake."

Roman raised his eyebrows. "Is that a challenge?"

Logan raised his hand. "Roman, no-"

He was already beginning to take off his waistcoat. How could he refuse a dare? Besides, it wasn't as if anything could go wrong. He had been in this lake before. When he cousins came over from Spain to visit, they would all go swimming here. They had never had a problem before.

"Roman, this is highly dangerous, I advise that you don't-"

Logan was cut off by Virgil's laughter. "Dude, I didn't mean it, y'know."

Roman looked over. "You dared me. It isn't like I haven't done this before." He took off his shoes, and unbuttoned his shirt.

"It's, like, midnight. And almost winter. It'll be cold," Virgil mentioned.

Roman shrugged, slipped the shirt off his shoulders, and jumped in. Virgil was right - the water was cold. But Roman didn't care. He liked the feeling of the waves crashing against his skin, and of the water rushing through his hair. And he didn't have much of a problem holding his breath under water. He supposed the others would be worrying, though. He kicked off the ground, and swam up to the surface, smiling at the others.

"See? Perfectly fine," he shouted, beginning to swim back to the shore.

"You're insane!" Virgil shouted back.

Roman reached the side, and kept himself up with his chin resting on his folded arms. "I know."

"Are you not cold?" Logan asked, sounding concerned.

"Not with you here," Roman replied, smirking.

Logan frowned. "Why would me being in your presence prevent you from being cold in a freezing lake?" There was silence for a moment, before a light blush formed across his cheeks. "Oh, wait, was that your attempt at flirting?"

Roman nodded. "Ya."

He smiled. "Well, thank you, I think."

Patton touched Roman's arm. "Well, this is all nice, but you should probably get out of the lake before you end up hurt."

Roman groaned. "Fine." He slowly hoisted himself up onto the ground, and turned around, his legs still hanging in the water.

"You do realise you'll have to walk home soaking wet now?" Logan reminded him.

"Yeah, my mum is going to kill you," Patton added.

Realisation suddenly dawned on Roman. "Dang..." He couldn't go back to Patton's like this. He'd have to explain himself to Carol, and she'd probably freak. And if that happened and she suddenly didn't want Patton to be hanging out with Roman anymore, he'd have no place to stay. He definitely couldn't go back to his old house like this, especially not with the makeup, which was probably dripping down his face at that point.

"You can come round to mine," Virgil offered.

Roman frowned. "Your parents won't mind?"

He shook his head. "Nah. They're out of town."

"Oh, well..." He still hesitated. The last time he had stayed with one of his boyfriends when the guardians were out hadn't exactly gone well. Although, Virgil was a lot more careful than Patton. And, as far as he was aware, Virgil's parents weren't raging homophobes. He supposed that nothing could really go wrong. And it was better than turning up at Patton's place soaking wet. "Sure."

"Cool."

The four didn't leave the park for another half-an-hour or so. They sat with one another by the lake, still staring at the moon in silence. They were lucky to have each other, at least.