#her sound is the same sound that starts “obstinate”

[crodfoller-t-rhubarb]

I *just* realized that Gregg Berger aka Cornfed Pig from Duckman aka Jecht from Final Fantasy X aka Cutthroat Bill from Curse of Monkey Island... also worked on the widely syndicated, St. Louis-produced PBS phonics show "The Letter People," which taught me to read by the time I was three. In addition to playing several letter people himself (including Mr. V, the smoothest, suavest motherfucker in the alphabet in his Violet Velvet Vest), he also had a standout performance as the poor experimental word machine that Miss O fucking tortured by forcing it to try applying conventional short vowel logic to words like "cold" or "to" or "word" despite his literal *constant* pleas for her to stop as he belches smoke all over the laboratory. Girlboss gets the goods as usual. It's all on YouTube. Seriously, check out that Mr. V episode. Wait for his introductory song to wrap up, then listen as that velvety sum'bitch learns your ass on what the voiced labiodental fricative is all about.

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The falling | joel miller x f!reader, 5k

Summary: It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything. You're falling. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone. Or you catch Joel cheating on you. The world comes crushing down.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST. That's it. Ok, bye. But seriously, angst, a whole lot of angst, alternated POVs, husband!joel, wife!reader, cheater!joel, married couple, Joel fucks another f!person, reference to sexual activity but nothing too detailed, as I said before-ANGST, excessive use of the word fuck, Joel is kind of a dick on this one, as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Let me know how you feel about this lost little puppy, I know he sounds arrogant and awful, maybe I can rectify that, on a second part. If you're interested in a closure for these two, hit me in the comments! Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything.

Everything dear and loved and cherished and so close to your heart. Your heart itself.

You still can’t decide if it’s liberating or torturing, to have that exact moment burned in your thoughts like a Polaroid.

But the pain is real. The pain is excruciating. It spreads like vines through your whole body, starting from the pit of your stomach in the form of a bile you try to hold back, moving to your heart’s agonizing clench, licking to the ends of your numb limbs which remain obstinately immobile. It feels almost like floating, but not exactly.

You’re falling; you’re still falling as if there’s no luxurious, expensive floor underneath your feet, holding you surprisingly still up. You wait for the landing, the crush, unmoving, unblinking, not quite breathing. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone.

Your designer’s tote bag, another unnecessarily extravagant gift from your husband, drops from your hands to the floor with a loud thud.

Joel’s thrusts stop immediately and he turns his head to look behind him, while he’s on his knees, balls deep in a female body on all fours. His eyes shut tightly in something you’re not sure how to interpret, dropping his head between his shoulder blades and his palms squeeze the hips of the female body he's holding, until his fingertips go white.

And you’re just standing there, on the threshold of your bedroom, taking in the scene. It’s weird how the mind works under stressful situations. Is the absurdity of the reality that keeps you calm? Is it your brain’s reaction to protect you from collapsing? Are you shutting down right now?

You feel your eyes unable to move around and at the same time you see clearer than ever, as if you’re looking through a wide-angle lens.

You notice all of the stripped clothes, which they don’t seem hastily taken off, the way they pool on various surfaces of the room; they took their time undressing each other.

You notice the crystal tumbler of a half finished liquid, Joel’s whiskey, on his side of the nightstand; they took their time having fun.

You notice the absence of a condom on Joel’s cock as he removes himself from the female hole he was buried deep, all splayed out for him and now you; they took their time before, it seems, there is an intimacy there. This is not a stranger, this is not a first time.

Joel is calm, collected even, as he stands to his full height, grabbing his pants from the floor next to the king sized bed and putting them on. Calculated, steady movements, he looks like he’s trying to stay in control of the situation, diminish it to something else. You pray he doesn’t go down that path.

You look behind him, the female body’s gathering itself into a ball, sitting on your bed now, hands hugging it’s knees, trying to protect its nudity. Your eyes roam her form until they settle on her face. Oh, you know her. She looks -hm, there’s a mosaic of emotions behind her eyes, which are surprisingly bold to look back at you. You see shock, you see fear, you see.. satisfaction?

“Darlin’” Joel’s approaching you, crossing the ridiculously big room, with a steady pace.

His chest is heaving from the effort to regulate his breathing, he’s sweaty, his muscles all bulged from the interrupted fucking, his curls -your curls, fuck, that hurts- damp. He’s so handsome in all his disheveled form. He looks like your Joel.

Imaginary flashes of her fingertips combing through his hair are passing through your mind and you feel your esophagus contracting, a sense of a burning hot liquid moving up to your mouth. You swallow it down.

He reaches to touch your arm, don’t you dare, is all you mutter lowly, still without moving a muscle as if you do, the world will come crushing down. It already did, didn’t you get the memo? Your voice feels foreign to your ears, your tongue feels rough like sandpaper. He obeys.

When does this falling end?

“Baby-”, he tries again, while he steps forward, a condescending tone to his voice, like he’s addressing a toddler.

“Don’t-”, you roll your eyes in your head, god, he smells so good, even with the sweat someone else poured out of his skin, he smells so fucking good. He smells like your Joel. “Don’t come any closer.”

“This-” he exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, as if it’s an unnecessary effort to explain, as if you should understand; of all people, you should know, “this doesn’t mean anything-” his hand gesturing between him and the female body, “she doesn’t mean anything.” You should understand, baby, you should know.

And for the first time her eyes leave yours and land on the face of the deceiver. If this wasn’t happening to you right now, you would take pity on her pained expression. You almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Does she know that?” you ask him, your eyes never leaving her tangled form on your bed.

Joel snaps his head to her direction, narrowing his eyes in warning, “Yes, she does.”, his voice comes out strict and final, signaling there’s no room for doubt. He doesn’t sound like your Joel.

“I need you to leave.”, you breathe barely audible, your eyes still on her face; now she doesn’t know where to look, the rug pulled out from under her feet from the man she had inside her minutes ago.

His gaze is cold and indifferent, as if everything is her fault, looking still in her direction. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, the empathetic part of your brain feels for her.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out, what are you waiting for?” he snaps at her.

“Not her, you.” you whisper, it’s impossible to speak louder, all of your energy powers your two standing feet.

He turns to look at you, shocked, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

“Wh- what are you talking about, sweetheart?” he tries to reason with you, “We need to talk, to-”

“Joel-”, you try again and thank god he’s interrupting you, you don’t have the strength to negotiate right now. Let the dice roll. It’s all fucked, anyway.

“This is my home; I’m not leaving.” he simply states, shaking his head from side to side, staring at you expectantly.

“You’re right. This is your house.” you acknowledge, coming to a painful realization. “Everything is yours; you own everything, don’t you?”, you smile sadly, crouching down to collect you bag.

You turn on your heels and leave the residence formerly known and felt as home, behind you.

Alarm system disabled.

Joe’s hairs are rising on the nape of his neck, when he checks the alarm app notification on his phone, thinking you came back home.

It’s been an awful month without you, without being able to contact you. He knew where you were of course, he could not for the life of him leave that information escape him, but he didn’t pressure you with an unexpected visit, he knew better.

It’s been a month. That’s plenty of time. You took your time and now you’re ready to talk. You have to be, this can’t be the end of this relationship, this marriage.

He presses your number and hits call. Fuck, he’s still blocked. Maybe you forgot to unblock him, it’s ok, it doesn’t mean anything.

He checks the house’s cameras. Shit. That’s not you. What is she doing there? What the fuck is going on? Alright, he’s going back to the house.

He stands on his feet, right in the middle of a meeting with the board and just leaves them. There’s a distant muttering of where does he think he goes, what happened, what’s gotten into him, this is important for the upcoming deal, but he pays no mind to them.

He needs to talk to you.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got everything you need,” Maria facetimes you, showing around your closet via her camera. “I’m loading the suitcase to the car and I’m out of here.”

“Thank you Mar-”

“MARIA?” Joel’s voice travels through the space from the ground floor, up.

“Shit, shit, shit, what am I gonna do?” Maria whispers to you turning the call to voice only.

“Just take the suitcase and leave, it’s ok, I only got personal stuff if that’s what he’s worried about. Let him check if it comes to that.”, you try to calm her down.

“Ok, ok-” Maria grabs the handle of the suitcase and moves to leave the walk-in closet.

“Hey.” Joel comes through the door to the bedroom taking in the scene. He hasn’t set foot in this room for nearly a month now.

“Hey.” Maria sounds pissed on the line.

“What are you doing here? Where's Tommy?”, Joel’s face frowns in question. “Tommy's not my keeper, his my partner. My husband, not that you would know what that means, apparently.” Maria just shrugs and moves to pass him by.

“What are you doing, what’s going on here?” he insists, blocking her way.

“I’m just collecting som-”

“How is she? Is she ok?” his voice softening when he asks about you.

“Oh, please, Joel, how is she? Really?” Maria scoffs at him. “She doesn’t want to see you, Joel or hear from you, that’s how she is.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much, thank you.” he mocks back. “Is she on the phone, can I just talk to her?” he extends his arm to reach for the phone. “Over my dead and cold body.” Maria says, pressing the phone on her chest.

His eyes are raging storms, his nostrils flaring with quiet rage. He takes a deep breath “Can you please ask her if I can talk to her, just for five minutes?”

“Why don’t you call her, Joel?” Maria taunts him, emphasizing the pronunciation of his name.

Joel just stares back at her, unfazed. Maria doesn’t move a muscle, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. Well, she did move one muscle.

Joel sighs exasperatedly “She blocked my number.”

“I wonder why that is.” Maria twists the knife, “I guess you have your answer, then.”

“Christ-” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “just- just ask her, please.”

Maria lifts the phone to her ear, rolling her eyes in frustration in the process. “Hey, Joel’s here, he’s ask-”

“Yeah, I heard everything.” you interrupt her, “No, I don’t want to talk to him.” Maria is shaking her head negatively at him as you talk, to pass the message.

Joel’s face goes cold and emotionless. “Well, tell her if she wants her belongings, she needs to come and get them herself.”

It’s been five weeks now and you can’t keep living in your best friend’s and sister in law's clothes. You’re gonna have to go and grab your stuff yourself.

Because it wasn’t enough what you’ve been through, what you’ve heard until you reached that goddamned bedroom door, what you’ve witnessed when you’ve entered, now he’s making you go back there to humiliate you. As you’re checking your calendar for your work schedule to decide on a suitable day, it hits you. You have Joel’s calendar on your phone, too. You always do, it was the only way to have some time together between his visits to work sites and board meetings and bussiness trips and fucking-behind-your-back, apparently.

And then you remember that day where you both stole some time off and decided to spend it cuddling with each other on the couch, talking nonsense and laughing at silly things and hugging and kissing and fucking all night long.

A brainstorm of thoughts run through your head instantly. How could he do that to you? He looked so happy in your arms. Maybe he was right, maybe it was nothing, maybe you should understand, you of all people, you should know. Do you need to do an STD test? How careless could he be? Where there others? Did he ever love you? Do you want to know?

Does it really matter?

You focus again on that day. He’d told you about a big deal coming up, one of the biggest in his career, if not the biggest so far and how important it was to the future of the company.

You searched frantically through his calendar until you found the date of the final meeting, the date where they’d seal the deal. Because there is no way they weren’t. If Joel wanted it so badly, he’d find a way to make it happen.

And you knew your husband, ironic as is sounds now. He was focused to a fault. He wouldn’t even check his phone that day. He’d done it every time since you were together. History indicated that he probably had other reasons, too, for not checking his phone in a timely manner, but you wouldn’t dwell on that. Not right now. Because now you had your chance.

That date was your chance.

Alarm disabled.

Joel’s phone is vibrating momentarily, not that he noticed, it was silent and tacked away in his jacket pocket, the jacket itself hanging on the back of his chair.

Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, he’s chanting in his mind, under all this calm and confident demeanor, he’s sweating inside.

This is it, this is it, this is it, he repeats like a mantra, watching his opposite CEO, Leo Marks, playing with the pen between his fingers. He’s inspecting the contract again and he’s so close, so close to what he wanted. The room is silent, the long table full of seated lawyers and consultants from both sides, holding their breaths in charged expectation.

Joel knows that Marks is going to sign. He knows it. He worked for it. He convinced him, he made his vision clear as day and he lured him in. This is it. He got this.

Then your face appears in his mind. No, not today, he can’t do this today. You will have to wait. Like you always have. Joel shakes his head slightly, as if to remove you from his thoughts. His fingers get itchy, he wishes he could just check on you. Yes, he just want to check on you.

Are you alright? Are you thinking about him? Do you miss him like he does? Do you stay wide awake at night replaying the same scene over and over until you feel physically ill? Do you know that he thinks about you? Did he show you at all that night? Maybe he should have appeared at your friend’s door out of the blue. Maybe you think he doesn’t care. All he was trying to do was give you space. Respect your boundaries. Let you work everything out.

Fuck.

He reaches for his phone. He doesn’t know why. He knows his number is still blocked. He checks every night, when he's too exhausted from the lack of sleep and prays he could listen to your voice, or the soft sound of your breath when you slept next to him. But he fishes it out of his jacket pocket, anyway and then he sees it.

38 minutes ago.

Alarm disabled.

Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled, the only thought repeated in his head. He immediately searches the cameras for you but no movement is recorded right now. Maybe you already left. His heart rate spikes, his temples feel the pressure of his blood pumping violently in his veins. Cold sweat pours out of his body.

He’s squeezing his eyes shut, mentally counting all the places without cameras inside the house. What if you are still in there and he just can’t see you?

Fuck.

Mark’s voice extract him from his thoughts, “Mr. Miller, everything looks in order as we agreed.”

Joel snaps his eyes back to him, slightly irritated, “Of course it does, your legal team already did a thorough check all these months to get us here today.”

“Yes, yes,” Marks laughs entertained, “I just wanted to look it over one more time, I mean, we really are going to…”

What if you’re still there? What if this is his chance? He could always try to reach you after the deal, convince you to hear him out. Yeah, he can do that. He doesn’t need to chase you down. He can wait a little bit longer, can’t he? He can have it all, right? He was the man that had it all.

A mail pops up on his phone, a compliment note from the management of one of both your favorite hotels in Europe, thanking you for choosing their establishments for your stay, once again. Shit. You’re fleeing the fucking country? Are you fucking serious?

“..Mr. Miller?” Marks insists.

“Hm?” his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.

“I said, before we sign, I need you to walk me through it one more time.” he demands like a little child asking for its favorite bedtime story. “I mean, this is the project of my dreams. I need your reassurance that this is as important for you as it is for us, that it’ll be your only focus for the foreseeable future.” he looks at Joel expectantly.

His only focus.

For the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

“HONEY!”. Your blood runs cold in your veins to the sound of his baritone voice. Your hand freezes over the shelf with the t-shirts, not making a sound. You didn’t take that long, why is he here? Why isn’t he in his meeting?

Joel enters the bedroom but you’re not there. Fuck, you hear the curse running softly from his lips. You don’t move, you don’t blink, you don’t breathe.

He moves to leave and check elsewhere but then he stops. You hear soft steps and you see the door of the walk-in closet opening. His wide form blocks the light from the outside, his broad shoulders almost taking up all the space of the frame.

He looks disheveled, his baby blue shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top, his hair a mess, like he kept combing his fingers through them. You don’t dare meet his eyes though. You keep your gaze as far as his chin goes, concentrating on the bare patch there. His sole presence electrifies you like he’s already touched you. Your whole body feels on fire and frozen simultaneously. God, you missed him.

“I was calling for you.”, he breathes out and you can feel his fear pulsing through his body. He’s scared you’re gonna run. That’s why he doesn’t leave his spot, blocking the door.

“I know.”

“Were you hiding from me?” his brows are furrowed in a seemingly pained expression from what your peripheral vision could help you understand.

“No, I just chose not to answer you.”, you lower your head, looking at your feet.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” you say hastily, but he’s waiting for a real answer. You breathe deeply, “It- it felt too domestic, you calling for me, me answering back, like how we were before.” He nods, biting his bottom lip. “What are you doing here, Joel?”

“In our house?” the edges of his lips are slightly turned up, his head tilting to one side.

“No, this is your house as you said yourself.”

“Darlin’, you know I didn’t mean it like that..” he sighs in regret, his head deepening in his shoulder blades in an effort to attract your gaze upwards.

“But you’re right.”

“I built it for you.” his voice soft, like it’s a secret meant to stay that way.

“Hm.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” his brows raise in genuine surprise.

“Nothing, forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

“You first.”

He looks perplexed, he forgot your question.

“What are you doing here, right now, Joel?”

“I got the alarm notification and.. it was the only way I could talk to you, honey..”

“But- your meeting-”

He searches your eyes, although you refuse to look at him, analysing your confused expression and it hits him. He smiles in understanding, nodding his head. “So, you chose today on purpose..”

You don’t respond, you keep looking everywhere but his eyes.

He laughs through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t drop everything to come and see you?”

“I really did.”

He gasps in disbelief, almost offended.

“Baby, look at me, please; look at me..” he pleads with you softly. You close your eyes as if in fear you would obey, your chin trembling from the effort to remain calm.

“Baby, look at me. I want you to look at me, now.” he presses in a more authoritative way. He thought he could order you around? Break you?

“No.” you shake your head.

Joel calls you by your name but before he has a chance to spit another soft command-

“I SAID NO!” you open your eyes, targeting them to his chest, tears spilling uncontrollably now. You can see from your periphery the look of shock on his face, because you’ve never yelled before. Ever.

“Why, sweetheart?”, he retreats back to his soft side.

“Because that’s exactly what you want. And you can’t always get what you want, Joel, not anymore.” You can’t hold back your tongue now.

“Jesus Christ,” you grit through your teeth, “what do you want from me, hm?” your eyes keep dancing around his face but never on his eyes. He looks dumbfounded, his lips part slightly but you don’t wait for an answer. “What else do you want? Is this some kind of ego thing? You expected me to shout and break things and hit you and tell you to leave her and come back to me? Because your ego is safe, Joel, if that’s what you worry about. I didn’t leave you, you did that first when you went behind my back. So, you walked out on me and not the other way around. Happy? Ready to go on with your life?” You’re grabbing the shelf where your hand previously rested so hard, trying to steady yourself.

For the first time Joel is speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t find the words to defend himself, to convince you about his feelings, to soothe you at the very least. He begins to have a glimpse of how he appears in your eyes right now. How much damage he’s done, even before that night. How much ground he’s lost over time.

“Darlin', I just wa-” he begins softly, almost like walking on eggshells, but your body visibly tenses, you jaw shuts tight, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Stop, just stop! Stop saying what you want! Stop making this about you! Don’t you see? You keep asking me for what you want! Have you stopped for a second, just a second, to think what I want? What I need? I don’t- I don’t recognize you anymore.”

“I-” he closes his eyes in distress, “I love you.” His last retreat. He’s trying anything that could help him. He doesn’t get it. He can’t. He’s not capable. But he used to be. He was the most empathetic person you knew. What the fuck happened?

Your eyes snap though the open closet door at his admision and on to the perfectly made bed.

His gaze follows yours behind his back and shakes his head once more in regret.

“It really didn’t mean-”

“Joel-” you warn him, “have some self respect and don’t say what I think you’re about to say. At least have the guts to admit exactly what you did, I’d appreciate it more.”

He exhales heavily, you’re not giving him an opening to fix this. You’re hanging onto every word he mutters. Not a single one of them is left unparsed and he's not used to that. He knows that if he does not control his anger right now, it's game over.

Heavy silence is hanging between you, each one lost on their thoughts.

“Do you know when you really lost me, Joel?”, you ask him eventually.

Half an hour ago he would swear he had all the answers, but now? Now he sees he’s in the deep, so he stays quiet, searching your eyes that still won't reach his, for answers.

“You lost me when you humiliated her in front of me.”

His face goes white, shocked, he can’t believe his ears. His mouth opens and closes but he makes no sound, how on earth does he respond to that?

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, you pinch the bridge of your nose exasperatedly. “You valued her enough to endanger our wedding, you valued her enough to bring her to our own house, to our bed, Joel; you valued her enough to fuck her raw, to let her know that you were unhappy with me, before I had a chance to realize it myself-”, Joel interrupts you almost panicked “I’m not un-” and for the first time your eyes pierce his in such an anguish that the words die in his throat. “-and then you just diminished her like she was nothing, just to prove a point to me. While she was naked, vulnerable on our bed. And trust me, this is not me defending her, she is as responsible for this as you, but you’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.”

Now he’s the one averting his eyes from you, looking down on his overpriced shoes, his demeanor defeated, this is not the Joel you know anymore.

“And what was the point, Joel? Hm? What? That she means nothing? Then why were you with her? Why did you choose her? Why did you spend your precious time on nothing, while I had to make an appointment to see you? That’s what you did with me, too? I mean nothing, too? Just a warm hole to fuck when convenient?” he snaps his head back to you, shaking it in denial frantically, his eyes blown wide and red from all the emotional stress you push onto him.

“But I guess I got my answer about a month ago, hm?” It’s one of those moments that epiphanies hit you as you speak uncontrollably, you just can’t stop your mind from running wild, your mouth from spilling bile, your heart from pounding so hard in your chest, your ears start to ring, your grasp on the shelf tightening even more for balance.

“And that tells me a lot about who you really are. It’s not just about the fucking, Joel, Jesus-, -for the brilliant man I know you to be, you’re stumbling through your blindest moment.”, you shake your head in disappointment, tears still running freely down your face, licking your jawline and falling like a waterfall to the carpeted floor. You feel so done, you find it pointless to explain any further.

“I- I don’t know you, Joel, I don’t know who you are anymore. Maybe I never did,” you conclude, “maybe you’re right,” you slowly nod to yourself, “and everything is my fault after all.” you whisper, not sure if you want him to hear that part.

He did. “I never said that it was your fault, baby. When did I ever say that?” his face is contorted in pain, “None of this is your fault, none of it, you hear me?” he wants so desperately to cross the fucking room and hold you tight, crush all your pain and insecurities and self hatred under an asphyxiating hug. He also knows that he won't make even two steps before you flee, or step back from him and he can’t for the life of him witness that. Because that’s how much he needs you. He prefers you standing there, where he can see you, where he can have you, even if you wither and die under the enormous trauma he’s putting you through.

“So stupid.. I was- I am so stupid..” you’re repeating to yourself almost deliriously, rubbing your fingers on your forehead.

“This isn’t you, sweetheart, you don’t talk like that, don’t- don’t do that to yourself.” Joel tries to bring you back.

“But this is you, isn’t it, Joel? The real you?” you bite back. “This isn’t me, really? How do you like the new me, Joel? Do you take pride on your creation?” you laugh bitterly at him. “Yeah, how you’d always call me? Polite little thing? Sweetheart?” you’re infuriated now, a rise fighting to explode through you. “How does it feel, Joel? To know you’re responsible for changing someone to their core? To know you had that much power over them?”

Joel’s shaking his head once again in desperation, hot tears spilling from his eyes, god, had he ever cried before? this is not a battle he can win, he sees that now. The damage is too great. What on earth was he thinking?

“Please, please honey, can we just take a breather, sit down and talk about everything?” he pleads with you, a last thread of hope shinning in his red rimmed eyes.

“Take a breather..” you mutter through your teeth, “you mean the breather you took while you were fucking someone else instead of talking to me?”, Joel shuts his eyes in defeat, there’s nothing he can say anymore. “I think you got it backwards, Joel.”

You take a steadying breath and command your legs internally to hold on a little while longer and move forward; clothes, suitcase, life left behind.

“Don’t contact me again, unless is via your legal team.” is the last bullet that hits Joel’s chest, right through his broken heart.

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[stillness-in-green]

Not-Really Chapter Thoughts BNHA 424

You know, I really think there should be a point at which Deku rushing in with no plan and doing whatever he thinks feels right should become Heroic Malpractice.

Just me?

Because, like, Shouto had a plan. He spent the time between the two war arcs specifically developing a brand-new combat technique that he planned to use to shut down Dabi's combat advantage without killing him. He convinced his dad not to change the plan like Endeavor was hesitantly sounding him out about[1]; he went out and talked and asked questions, and even if they weren't the right words every single time, he did his best and he did it with intention. If Dabi proves to be dead, it won't be because of anything Shouto did to him; it'll be because Dabi himself chose to stand back up, take a warp gate across the country, pick a fight with the guy who doesn't have the power set to shut him down without unduly hurting him, and try to replicate an Ultimate Move specifically tailored for someone with a balanced power set Dabi doesn't have.[2]

And if Dabi lives, it's still going to be because Shouto booked it across the country and used that same technique to stop him again.

1: Dabi surely would have preferred to fight Endeavor from the start, and it probably would have been the more "just" choice if it had to be one or the other, but Shouto is the nominal focal character between the three of them, so, critiques of the broader Hero-side decisions aside, Shouto's arc has to come first. This is one of those places where you can clearly see how much the decision to let Endeavor survive where Horikoshi originally planned for him to die hurts the shape of the later story.

2: Obviously ultimately if Dabi dies, it's going to be because his family and Team Hero made repeated choices to ignore and neglect him, culminating in the entire family swearing to deal with Touya together only to passively accept a battle plan that involved splitting them all and letting the kid who knows Touya the least be the one to fight him. But like, in the context of that fight, Shouto isn't the reason Dabi takes all that hurt.

Uraraka may or may not have had much of a plan, but at least the words she said to Toga reflected that she had been seriously thinking about Toga in the here and now, what Toga's told her, what Toga needs. If Toga dies, it will be because Toga chose to give Uraraka an unsupervised blood transfusion with no intention of stopping it. (With the same general caveats as in Footnote 2.)

But Deku? From the very beginning, Deku has been valorized by the manga for how much he doesn't plan. All Might tells him specifically that it's a sign of greatness shown by future "top Heroes" that, in some crisis situation, their bodies moved before they could think. Bakugou's Rising chapter is defined by him reaching that same state.

Deku claimed he wanted to save Shigaraki; he's sad in the latest chapter that he couldn't save Tenko's[3] life. But did he ever have a real plan to do that? With all the quirks he had at his disposal - both his own and those who would be in the flying coffin with him, or classmates whose presence he could specifically request - did he think hard and come up with a technique that would let him stop Shigaraki without harming him? Did he try to connect with the Shigaraki right in front of him by citing to the future?

3: And I have nothing but scorn for Deku's insistence on that name when "Tenko" goes out very pointedly calling himself Shigaraki Tomura.

Well, no. Deku obstinately yelled at the phantasms in Shigaraki's mindscape that he had no plan whatsoever. The only plans we saw him carry out were ones handed to him by the OFA collective that involved "breaking" Shigaraki's psyche; the only plans he came up with himself involved more efficiently breaking Shigaraki's body.

Way back in Chapter 130, Nighteye harshly scolded Deku by saying that his way of thinking was arrogant. He said, "Go after him haphazardly and he'll slip through our fingers. You're not so special as to be able to save who you want, when you want. (...) This world is not so accommodating that you can act the Hero because you feel like it."

It felt like something that Deku should have taken to heart, a lesson to be learned and applied later, but I never much got the feeling that he did. Nothing he did in that moment, in that arc, or anywhere else in the series afterward indicates that he thought Nighteye was right. He just chose not to talk back, and the arc ended with Nighteye dead and no longer around to pose objections to Deku's mode of heroism.

But Nighteye was right. Three hundred chapters later, Shigaraki is dead because Deku could not be arsed to plan for how he could stop Shigaraki without killing him. Because he let Gran Fucking Torino give him the intellectual out that killing someone could be a means of saving them. Because he followed his gut instincts of prioritizing the phantom Crying Child that he always saw as more valid and real than the human being standing in front of him.

Because he haphazardly acted the Hero and let his body move without thinking.

And he wants to act sad about it now? I hope Nighteye materializes in his bedroom to sneer at him every night for the rest of his life.

--

Incidentally, fuck All Might, seriously. "Wow, Deku and Bakugou, you two are the greatest Heroes ever. Fuck me and everyone else who fought tooth and nail, arm and leg, eye and earjack, life and death, to contribute to the pile of damage that was necessary to kill and/or save Shigaraki and All For One. You two got the last blows in, so you're the only ones who get the credit for it in my eyes. Hero Society is definitely going to be different and better with you two around."

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Content warnings for this chapter: implied gambling addiction, weapons, implied violence

AO3 link: Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark (2275 words) by She_posts_nerdy_stuff

Chapter One - Jesper

Jesper was late. Again.

He ran out the door of the Slat, jacket half-pulled over his creased shirt and the second sleeve obstinately hiding from him as he rushed into the street. The staves were quiet enough at this time for his hurry to be noticeable, but he didn't have time to care about the strangers glancing at him. He glanced at his watch as he ran, almost tripping over the cobbles. Nine bells. What time had he fallen asleep? He didn’t remember getting back to the Slat, but judging by the exhaustion clinging to his bones it couldn’t have been all that long ago. Dammit, Jesper. He knew he shouldn’t have gone out last night; he knew it would only end up with him being late this morning. But here he was, once again, trying desperately to pass as someone with reasonable respectability as he flew into the university district.

He was more than out of breath by the time he reached the dean’s office, trying to straighten his jacket and smooth his hands over his shirt. It was a deeply boring outfit; a once-white button down and a brown jacket, but Jesper had to forgo his usual Barrel flash on the occasional visits he bothered to make to the university. That didn’t mean he didn’t add his own little flares, of course, but he’d been in too much of a rush this morning to concern himself with that.

“I should have a meeting scheduled,” he said, “Jesper Fahey?”

The receptionist looked him up and down disapprovingly, then opened the almost comically oversized diary sitting on her desk.

“You’re late,”

You don’t think I know that?

“Sorry,”

“He had to start the meeting after yours. Should be another five minutes, but then he has a space open. You can wait over there,”

“Thanks,” 

She made a non-committal ‘mm’ sound, turning back to her other papers. 

Jesper sat opposite the receptionist’s desk, fidgeting, eyes on the door. Why had the dean called him to this meeting? The note had been frustratingly vague, and he’d only seen it because he was coincidentally back at his term-address to collect some fresh clothes when it arrived. There were three more on the table that he’d already missed, so he decided he’d better make it to this one. Maybe they were kicking him out - he wouldn’t be surprised. At least then the decision would be made for him. But if he was expelled, would they somehow inform his father? Jesper shuffled unhappily in his uncomfortable chair.

Another minute passed before the door clicked open and two people emerged through it - the dean, a tall Kerch man in his late forties trying to hide the fact that he was clearly going bald, holding the door for a boy Jesper recognised from one of his classes. A mercher kid, someone had told him on their first day, as they watched the boy walk in and take a seat, something Van Eck. Had some sorta accident when he was a kid, been blind ever since. He looked much younger than Jesper, though he knew they must be about the same age, with soft features and angelic, ruddy curls floating around his head like gravity had taken a liking to him and given them a free pass. Jesper had to admit, he found the kid intriguing. Even in the lessons he’d shown up to, he had several times caught himself studying the boy from across the room and had to force himself to look away. Even if whatever-his-name-was didn’t know he was staring, it still felt rude.

“Thank you, sir,” he was saying to the dean as he slipped through the door, slender cane tapping the ground in front of him.

It was almost rhythmic, like a beat that was waiting for someone to add a melody. The dean had noticed Jesper, he could tell, but waited until the Van Eck kid had left the room before he said:

“Mr Fahey. You came,”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, and then when a brief pause added: “And that I missed the previous meetings you scheduled. I, er, had a problem receiving mail,”

“I see,” he said, a little coolly, eyes flicking over Jesper, “Well, come in,”

Jesper sat in front of the desk, drumming his fingers in his chair, waiting to be told that he was expelled. But the dean just droned on and on, without the final hit ever seeming to come.

“The only class you’ve attended in the last month is Economic Principles for Business and Markets - and even for that you’ve only attended three lessons,” he was saying, when Jesper suddenly remembered he was supposed to be listening and quickly tuned in, “Perhaps we could change your course load to classes more similar to this one, see if that helps motivate you. Do you enjoy Economics?”

Jesper did not. He shrugged.

“Not particularly,”

“Then may I ask why it’s the only class you’ve consistently attended? - even if you do have twelve late marks in it across the year,”

It hadn’t really been a conscious decision. It was an afternoon class, twice a week, easy to get to at least one of them if he got himself together enough - late enough that he’d probably be awake, early enough that he probably wasn’t on a job or in a gambling den. 

“I have a partner project in that class,” he said, truthfully, “I don’t want to let anyone down,”

“Perhaps you should consider not letting yourself down, Mr Fahey,”

Saints, he didn’t hold anything back did he? Jesper shuffled.

“Who’s your partner for this project?”

“Helena Dentte,”

The dean nodded.

“I’m going to switch who you’re working with,”

Jesper wasn’t sure what good that was supposed to do, but he didn’t argue. Helena was nice enough, but she was infuriatingly motivated and it drove him slightly mad when she suggested they meet to study after almost every class - and she probably hated his guts for the curse he was to be partnered with.

“What about the rest of your course?” he glanced through the papers on his desk, “You haven’t attended Comparative Literature - Kerch and Zemeni Poetry since going once last month, your other classes longer,”

Jesper just shrugged again. He was sinking slowly but surely deeper into his chair.

“Not for me,”

“We should look at changing your classes around then. Stick with the business class, whatever’s keeping you there I want to preserve it. But think about what else you’d like to study. If not economics or literature, Mr Fahey, what are you interested in?”

Unwelcome answers offered themselves up in Jesper’s head. He shuffled.

“I don’t know,”

The dean wasn’t particularly impressed. He told Jesper to come back in a week, with at least an idea of what else he might like to study. Sure, Jesper thought, that’s gonna happen.

“I’m very glad you came to this meeting, Mr Fahey. It’s the first step in making a change, and I am only here to help you,”

Jesper mumbled something of a thanks by way of reply as he slipped out the door and slouched away down the corridor.

“Jesper,”

A girl melted from the shadows and appeared at his shoulder, making Jesper jump out of his skin. His hand flinched reflexively towards the revolver hidden in his jacket, but got no further because it only took half a second to see who was talking to him.

“Saints - Inej, you scared the life out of me,”

Inej said nothing for a moment. They walked down the corridor together, would have been shoulder to shoulder if it weren’t for the fact that Inej’s head only just reached Jesper’s shoulder. He’d known Inej Ghafa only a short while, since she’d joined the Dregs a few months ago, but he already doubted he was ever going to get used to the way she appeared and disappeared so quickly, so completely. Never mind any other spiders crawling around in the Barrel, Jesper hadn’t met anyone who could do what Inej could do - to simply erase herself like that, to only be seen when she wanted you to notice her. She was also probably the toughest person he knew - except maybe Kaz, though honestly he might be more scared of getting on Inej’s bad side. Then again, if this was Kaz’s good side maybe he shouldn’t push his luck.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, as they turned the corner.

“Take a wild guess,”

She watched him for a brief moment.

“You’re a student?”

She sounded surprised. That was probably fair.

“Supposed to be. Anyway, I might ask you the same question,”

“Kaz is angry,”

“Kaz is always angry,”

“Kaz is angry with you,”

Jesper shrugged.

“That’s hardly news, Inej. He send you here to get his money? I’ll have it by tomorrow,”

“We both know that’s not true, Jes. And he didn’t send me,” said Inej, frowning, “I came to talk to you, to say you should steer clear of him for a couple of days,”

Really? That bad? Jesper frowned. What had he done to piss off Kaz Brekker this time? 

Inej was studying him, her dark eyes roving slowly over him, her frown remaining intact. She wasn’t exactly what Jesper had expected when Kaz told him a girl from the Menagerie was going to be moving into the Slat, but he wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting. A broken wisp of a girl, he supposed. Inej wasn’t broken, though she’d clearly taken damage, and she could hardly be described as a wisp. Jesper had seen her fight more than enough times to trust that. 

Inej also had a particular skill for the disapproving look she could get to glitter in her eyes on command - or maybe Jesper just brought it out in her. She touched two fingers to one of the knives slung through her belt, murmuring something in Suli.

“Should you really be carrying those in here?” he asked.

Jesper wasn’t actually sure how many knives Inej had, but there must have been at least five on her person at any given moment. She shrugged.

“You have a revolver in your coat,”

“Yeah, in my coat,” he shook his head, “Not on show,”

Inej shrugged.

“Maybe I’m an arts student,”

“Why would an arts student be carrying a thousand knives?”

“Art, obviously,”

Jesper snorted.

“Obviously,”

They were almost outside.

“Just, you know, don’t get arrested,”

Inej smiled.

“I think you’re giving the stadwatch a little too much credit there,” her voice suddenly moved to Jesper’s other shoulder and he turned to try and see her, “Who could possibly arrest a Wraith?”

She was gone. It was broad daylight in a wide courtyard, and Inej Ghafa was gone. Jesper shook his head. Unbelievable. 

*

Jesper didn’t know exactly what he’d done to get on Kaz Brekker’s final nerve, but he wasn’t about to go and find out. He sifted through the piles of stuff stacked unhappily in his university dorm, trying to make enough space for the room to actually be liveable. When had he last slept on campus? Not recently. Maybe it was a good thing Kaz was mad at him, if it was going to keep him out of the Barrel for a few days. Maybe he could even look through the course catalogue, to keep the dean happy, and find out whoever else he was going to partner him up with for Business and Markets. Helena would probably be glad of the change. She could take her thousand and one notebooks to someone who might actually be able to contribute something. 

But why lie? Jesper was itching for a hand of cards. He lay on his back on top of the mattress, studying the ceiling and twisting one of his rings round and round his finger. Unless he snapped and ended up running into a den and just facing Kaz’s wrath, the rings he’d slept in last night were apparently the only flash he was going to enjoy for the next few days. What other clothes did he even have here? He didn’t remember seeing much else in the wardrobe when he came to grab these the other day. He should probably check. He’d do it in a minute.

The next thing Jesper remembered was waking up, jolting upright and almost whacking into the headboard. Damn, he really must have been exhausted. How long had he slept for? He was momentarily disorientated, fumbling for his watch and discovering that it was nearing twelve bells. The curtains were still open and the midday sun streamed through them, highlighting the dust floating through the air. Jepser sighed - just his luck, the single sunny day of the year Ketterdam would bother to grace them all with, and he had slept through most of the morning. He’d needed it though. 

Almost twelve bells. He could make it to his one o’clock class - what was it? Poetry, or something - if he got himself together. Or he could just lie here a little longer, watching the world go by outside his window. 

No. No, if he was here then he should go. He should at least try. 

It was his poetry class today - he checked the timetable shoved in the desk drawer - and it proved to be just as irredeemably boring as he remembered it. But he went. He took a notebook and the fountain pen his Da had given him when he got into university. He didn’t make any notes, but he took them with him. It was something. Sort of. 

He counted it, even if only to make himself feel slightly better.

[ran-orimoto]

[ Look, you have to thank @ teclajellymon if today I have remembered to post this here, because, like always, I forgot to do it yesterday at the same Ao3 publishing time and I would have probably forgotten about it forever.

Ehm, *cough*. Today I’m offering you another future Junzumi headcanon of mine in the shape of a very stupid, silly story. The essence of the matter is that I have given them a saluki hound, ok, or better, I have given Izumi a saluki hound who will eventually becomes Junpei’s as well, to his utter joy, I guess ahahah.

Why a saluki hound? Simply because they look like Izumi, I wanted an active, sportive dog for her and, most of all, they are called the singing hounds of the wind. Honestly, my first choice had been an afghan, because her appearance would have clashed even more with Junpei’s and they are the most stylish dogs I have ever seen, no lie about this ahahha. I’ve eventually found a good compromise, though, indeed, the perfect Junzumi dog because of that definition of theirs 🤣💕.

Context: We can place this story after the seamstress one, in spring. Izumi has moved in, has started her life in Venice along with Junpei, but she left a little… Furry problem behind in Japan. ]

• Liù •

People rarely claimed a man and their beloved partner were supposed to look similar, if not identical, -hell, it would have been such a scary world, if that had been true-, whereas when it came to men and their dogs, well, it was just a different story. He had heard and, recently, he had also started seeing all sorts of things, everywhere, and they wouldn’t disappear like mirages in the mist after obstinate rubs given to the lens of his sunglasses.

Therefore, he had started doing the opposite, embracing that irreparably odd reality with open arms and…And quickly regretting his choice.

Staring for too long, with too much intensity, too much curiosity . It wasn’t that ideal when it came to middle-aged women minding passers by’s business, drawn by the beauty of their dog, which, though, -better to highlight it not twice but three times!-, would never be as charming as their own.

That was objectively a bit of a stretch , in his opinion, because that Swiffer broom obediently sitting by her side wasn’t minimally comparable to his principessa . His …No, she was Izumi’s, what was he saying? It had just been a present from him and he hadn’t even been that fully convinced about her peculiar pick back then.

Whatever, in Piazza San Marco the reciprocal introduction of two furry friends, the proud echoes of refined names soon got replaced by very sharp noises. He should have glued his orbs onto the regal four-legged figure next to him, instead of focusing on the stranger’s long silhouette, on how it extraordinarily matched her pet’s.

The pigeons peacefully pecking at crumbs of bread thrown by some tourist immediately took flight at the sound of wood colliding with resistant coconut husk. He couldn’t really blame her, but he wished she hadn’t decided to use the handle of her umbrella to punish his naive irreverence. And then , icing on the cake, a chorus of annoying yapping and more powerful, -modestly speaking-, barks predictably joined the commotion, offering a musical base to a vivacious and incomprehensible ritual of curses.

This is so lovely, He had shaken his head in pain, This is so, so, so, lovely, And it really was, taken in account he hadn’t told Izumi about what he had been up to during that week off yet.

He was aware she had been too busy with her new restaurant adventure to be interested in discovering about that, about his new favourite game in which he was no one but a gentleman strolling through the streets of Venice, along with his elegant dog he didn’t share any resemblance with.

Now that he thought about it, though, every respectable detective owned a loyal companion scampering after them. Perhaps, she would look like him if he made her wear a baggy yellow raincoat.

__________________________________________

“I swear, you should have seen her. She had this enormous bob hardly covering her ears and it was so bloated, like a cloud. I don’t know why, but I think she might be a high school professor, even if she was speaking in a heavy dialect. I mean, a high school professor wouldn’t speak dialect like that. Especially in that way. But ok, this isn’t the point. She-“

He unwillingly arrested that blabbing of his only when Izumi placed a hand on his forehead.

“This is where it hurts?” She asked with a worried frown, her green eyes squeezed as the tips of her fingers touched the reddened spot.

“Yeah. And it hurts so much I could pass out, eh eh,” He had never been that skilled at hiding the pleasant and soothing effect any physical contact with her would provoke in every fiber of his being. Thus, his impetuous voice calmed down completely, the waves of chocolate in his eyes turned into a quiet swinging tide, his entire body abandoned itself to the miracle of her beauty…Until the gentle, impalpable wind started throwing sharp knives against him.

“Ouch!” He whined, taking some steps backwards and opening his mouth at that sudden change of mood. It had been so unpredictable and now seemed to be mirroring the shifting sky darkening outside. Her nails were so long and neatly-trimmed, so sleek, utterly perfect from the perspective of a lucky man who could hold those soft hands and observe them in bliss. However, they could also transform into the claws of an angry feline, a feral lynx and hurt without needing her to put that much effort. “What was that for?”

“ Ma io dico,” She hissed at him, her index and its minuscule weapon still raised in the air, near to the scratch they had just teased. They both were there, resting on the thumb that had helped them gain momentum. “What were you thinking…?! I have left you alone for a week, just a single week…!”

His lips protruded in a startled perplexity, he blinked twice before her scolding expression, not sure if he would find a point in coming up with a lie. Actually, there would never be one in her presence. Any attempt to hide something from her through the art of deception would get a vain result, would be an occasion to turn into a clown. It was fine to him, though, because he didn’t like the idea of telling her a fib.

“I was looking at her dachsund,” He explained with a pure externalization of sincerity and now her turn to goggle like he had before, but with even more confusion, arrived.

“At her…Dachsund?”

“Yes, her fur was all black just like her hair and she also had a very long mouth like her face. So, I was actually looking at both the dog and the woman, but I lingered on the latter for too long because, oh boy, I couldn’t believe it,” The more he talked the more it sounded like he was chatting with himself in a comical monologue, occasionally gluing his pupils to the wall of the kitchen or, -more fitting for the core of his spirit-, to a dish full of biscuits awaiting him on a drawer. He was so certain they were doing so, at least.

“Oh,” Izumi would have liked to fade at the sight of him approaching the furniture.

“And I’m still holding onto my theory it is nothing else but some weird urban legend that got way too much attention through centuries,” Only the contours of those patient delicacies finally took him to Earth and reminded him of his interlocutor. Still, Izumi understood she would be the one having to push him even more downwards, to the firm ground.

“It’s not still clear what we are exactly talking about, but what I am sure about is that I would rather have a boyfriend singing,” She managed to pull the dish away from his reach in time. “Than one barking,” And then she put it on the floor, to his puzzlement, bewilderment, utter bafflement.

“I have risked eating dog biscuits…” The realization hit home in a jiffy like a boulder fallen on him. His gaze got lost in a world where the kitchen had melted in a general nothingness. “Izumi, I have risked eating dog biscuits!” After an instant of shock, he brought himself to repeat that by adding his usual bizarre emphasis.

“Yes, you have,” She bursted in a breeze of giggles washing over his concerned expression but surpassing it, ignored. Their gusts failed at stealing his voice and chuckles through that powerful tenor register of his. “You wouldn’t have died, don’t worry. I’ve cooked them.”

“Eh…?” Joining her on the floor, he allowed his exaggerated worry to get replaced by a mixture of skepticism and soft surprise. “You can cook dog food too? You’re-“

“Don’t say that, please!” She promptly raised a palm in front of his nose, haughtily averting her gaze on purpose to make him roast on the grill. When she was sure her steak was ready, she winked at his slightly disappointed grimace. “Or better, don’t say it yet . This is my first attempt and I don’t know if she will like it. I’ve added some slices of strawberries here and there in the mixture because she adores them. Hm…” He instantly shrieked when Izumi reached out to put one of those biscuits in her mouth. Got so close to passing out when she picked another one and offered it to him, seriously proposing him to jump into her absurd sommelier experience. “Here. Taste it and tell me what you think. Is it wet or dry, in your opinion?”

“I-Izumi…! Don’t eat that stuff, c’mon,” He slipped on his backside far from her, near to biting his nails. If he had been a cat, his fur would have been rippled from his head to the tip of his tail. Observing that scene through a more entertained filter, he had to admit their interactions were really reminding him of the ones of a cat and a dog: weirdly, he was being the most reluctant, if not the most repulsed between them, whereas Izumi was the joyful dog…Doing certain kind of stuff without a care in the world.

“Aren’t you the one always telling people, My girlfriend is the most brilliant cook in the world. I would eat anything prepared by her: even, - guess,what-, dog food ?”

“I-I,” He didn’t know if he was stuttering because of her impeccable imitation of his gestures and tone or because it wasn’t her spinning fantasy that was speaking. Yes, he had, he seriously had: naively believing they would never turn up against him, he had pronounced those exact words in his confessions of endless love for her cooking. He had so many times, thousand and more. “Okay…I guess you won. There’s nothing I can do,” He sighed in defeat and extended his arm to her complacent smirk and the snack she was swinging back and forth. Next time he would have to be more careful about his hyperbolic compliments in her regards, -hyperbolic ones to the rest of the world but absolutely realistic to him-. “And after this”, He gave an uncertain glance at her before grabbing it. “Can I be the one calling her after this?”

“Hm, why not ? You two need to bond and I need to bond more with her too, after having…Abandoned her at Mamma’s and Papà’s for months…”

He knew she was still coping with persuading herself that had been the best choice she could ever do for her sake. He had tried reassuring her Liù would have suffered from a more drastic detachment from her usual life, if she had moved in at the same time Izumi had. She would have had lot of trouble adjusting without them around, spending her days alone in an unknown apartment while Izumi was too absorbed in finding her own place in the world of Venice, and he was drowning in rehearsals. It would have been kinda egoistical from their part, so Izumi’s parents had convinced her to leave Liù with them for a while, until they were ready to give her the house and family she really deserved. Now Izumi might be busy with the first weeks of her newborn restaurant, but she wasn’t fretting and rushing any more and could count on Junpei’s support, on the fact he was just at the beginning of another of his adventures at la Fenice theatre.

“Hey,” He chirped a bit too abruptly but with the sweetest intention to cheer her mood up, unnoticed. “Can I do it, now? Like, now, now, now?”

“What are you talking about?” She giggled as he got so close she risked to fall backwards.

“Can I call her now?”

“Oh, that ,” Her precarious pose propped up on an elbow, she pretended to be wanting to slither away from his grip. “Okay, but you need to follow my instructions,” She sneezed at some locks falling on her forehead as he brought her closer with an effortless pulling of his biceps.

“I don’t need those, Izumi. I have got my own method,” Once ensured she was safely sitting upright, he grinned at her sending a shivering hunch down her spine. “Look. No, listen, listen.”

“Junpei, I’m not…” She petrified with her hand opening and closing in the tense silence he created. She was blatantly aware about what was about to happen, but she found herself stuck before the view of a familiar routine of actions, with the exception of that scary ending phase in which he sent his hands next to the corners of his mouth, well splayed.

Oh no…

“Jun-!”

“Liù? Liù?” Junpei improvised a silly melody she thanked Heavens it wasn’t being chanted in his usual rumbling projection.

“Junpei…!”

“Liù, don’t you want your pappa? Liù ? Where is the bimba? The sweetest bimba ? Liù-Chan?”

His grin didn’t vanish under the might of her irritation. He only hopped on the spot, all of a sudden, having got startled by the glasses of the window being shaken by the howling mistral. To think it was almost spring!

“Liù hates noises and, most of all, hates noisy people,” Not stunned due to his loud song in the slightest, he could easily tell she wanted to slap him. Yet, some unknown force he thanked from the depths of his heart kept her from doing that. “She’s a lady and she needs to be treated as such. Are you listening to me? This is a serious matter.”

“I know it is, but I don’t think she hates noisy people that much,” He dared to shrug and the naughty shimmer challenging her anger gradually tiptoed to his right, accelerating when it felt it was being chased by her glare.

Izumi emitted a gasp, “But…Liù…!”

Silently, on her slender legs, Liù had stepped into the kitchen and closer to the dish. Scompering in that skinny body of hers, structured like a sleek curve culminating in the slope of a luscious tail, she had approached them ,unnoticed, and had sat down in front of the two humans like a well-mannered medieval damsel. Now she was obediently staring at them from her statuesque pose, blatantly trying holding her excitement in her bony bosom but being betrayed by her dashing heartbeat, which was making her ribs expand and contract; by her blonde ears; by her humid nose unstoppably sniffing in the relatively new environment.

In Junpei’s opinion, Liù was the most perfect specimen of female saluki existing in the world, -and also the first one he had ever seen-.

“Maybe she hates people not singing well, I guess?” He sniggered with too much confidence and Izumi gave him a harsh nudge right under his sternum.

“Have you already done this in the past?”

“Of course, I have,” He took a while to recover from the pain she had provoked him, but managed to reply her sooner than both had expected. “I know you had said I needed to learn one thing or two before starting feeding her. And I also remember you had told me she has got her own schedule, but, I mean, Izumi, I was sitting at the table, eating my pasta ai piselli and she was there, looking at me with those deer eyes… What kind of cold-hearted man would do something similar?”

“You fed her with pasta ai piselli ?! “His pupils almost got out of his orbits, noticing the futher point her more vicious elbow was going to take off from.

“No, of course, I haven’t! I searched for her food bags and I poured some food in her bowl. My pasta ai piselli was so full of water, my peas were soaking in a puddle. How could I give her that without making a mess?”

“Do you realize you are implying you would have given my dog pasta ai piselli if you had been a decent cook? !”

He would have started fiddling with his thumbs like a scolded kid, if Liù hadn’t tried catching their attention with a bark, as timid as a polite woman forcing a cough to make someone turn to her.

“You’re right, bimba,” He cracked a large smile at her. Then, he unfolded his stiff legs and clumsily crouched up to talk to the animal at her same height level. “You can eat. Buon appetito .”

“No, she can’t eat yet!” She gave a slap on his broad shoulder, but she eventually gave one onto her forehead as well, a bit disconsolate. At his jovial command, the saluki had gladly plunged her muzzle in her biscuits and she hadn’t been able to do anything about it. “She was supposed to stay. That is useful to teach her how to control impulses.”

“If you ask me, it’s so cruel,” He put his tongue on display, standing up to let the dog have her own meal in peace. She got back on her feet too after having thrown the snack she had been holding into the dish. “Wouldn’t you feel tortured if I told you to sit still in front of a dish of spaghetti alla San Giovanna ? My poor bimba !”

“I-“ What kind of conversation was even that?

“Imagine,” He insisted, dropping a whole jar of theatricality on his tongue, each finger of his flying up and down in an undulating choreography. “The smell of olives and tomato sauce spreading in your nostrils…”

“Oh, let me imagine…” She closed her orbs, mocking his silly game by making him believe she was actually thinking over it. By the time she opened them, he had already disappeared behind her, fumbling with her skein of spikes. “That’s what I already do as a cook. I can’t eat what I prepare. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do…” He mumbled, pensive, caressing her strands in awe, as if he was contemplating some prestigious manufacture sewn by a God. “You know, I think I will get used to this dog owner life, after all. Maybe a maltese dog would have been boring.”

“Oh please…” Her eyelid twitched at the mere memory from the year before, from back when he had announced he wanted to give her a candid ball of fur as birthday gift. She had acted promptly, had taken the reins of the situation by herself by dragging him into an adventure on her motorbike, without revealing him where they were going. From Naples to Pisa, Junpei had let her take him to that mysterious destination up through the peninsula, though he had just come from an exhausting train journey. “Don’t remind me of that ,” She playfully begged and pinched his puffy cheeks peeping out from her golden curtain.

“I know, I know. Besides, a maltese wouldn’t have looked like me, either. So it would have been the same thing. At least, though, when I take Liù out for a stroll,” He gently let some precious threads slip on the back of hs hand and pushed them forward, at the sides of her smooth neck, down her shoulders. “It’s a bit like if I’m going out with another beautiful blonde lady,” At the beginning, he had just intended to play with her, tenderly highlight about how keeping her hair like that, like a frame of gilded waves, would really make her look like a long-eared dog. Afterwards, however, after some seconds spent holding that silky fabric, he had fallen in love with its enchantment and , now hypnotized, he couldn’t just help indulging in his joke. He kept on going on and on, even in a more affectionate way when a cloud passed by her relaxed contentment. She should have been smiling , in his opinion: Liù had greatly appreciated her hand-made biscuits, hadn’t showed any sign of resentment towards her once more. What was she still tormenting herself over? It seemed like if she was fighting against so many forces coming to attack her in unison and he felt the urge to shine over her again.

“Hey, Izumi, do you want to hear a funny thing?”

“It’s not an offence, but you always say funny things. Otherwise you wouldn’t be Junpei, wouldn’t you?”

“But this is truly funny. Funnier than usual, if you prefer putting it like that!”

He tossed her tresses off his head and marched back to Liù, his lumbering steps sounding lighter despite the clumsy landing of his hops.

The dog had just finished eating her breakfast and was calmly cleaning her coat with her tongue. She didn’t seem bothered by the two humans barging into her quiet morning for a second time. Indeed, judging by the shy hints of a swishing tail, she was actually happy to see them again on a full belly.

“Liù, Liù, Liù, la bambina mia che sei tu ,” Junpei’s unique call made her stand on alert with excitement. Rhythmic claps and tappings against the tiles of the floor contributed to elicit even more trepidation in her active muscles. She didn’t take too long before beginning doing the same with her paws, the butterfly-shaped metallic medal of her collar dangling and jingling in the flow of her dance.

Once the right mood had been set, once he was certain Liù would follow him wherever he would go, he beckoned to the saluki to head for the living room. In the contagious heat of the fragment, he bumped into an agape Izumi who was witnessing the exchange between the man and the dog with incredulity.

“No, don’t tell me it is what I think it is,” Stuck in a frozen loop at the door of the kitchen, Junpei took advantage of that absent state of hers to involve her in a fleeting, improvised dance, her limp arms obeying to his eccentric desire, her hands falling in his without resistance and her hips spinning along with his like if they were a couple pirouetting in a carillon.

“No, like I said, it’s much, much better than whatever you think it might be.”

“I don’t think so. At all,” She told him straight into his sunny eyes in a firm whisper. “Your neighbors know well who she belongs to. They won’t come yelling at you if they hear her doing that .”

“Oh, so you know she can do that,” He wasn’t surprised in the least, but it was nice to make her blush in embarrassment once in a while, turn the tables for the life-span of an afternoon nap. “All those stories about her being a proper lady…About her not liking loud people!”

“H-Hey,” She wiggled, oscillated, opened and closed her legs, raised her fists: whatever it took to escape from his tickling trap. “ Being a lady and loving singing are two interconnected qualities. They are not enemies. As far as concerns about those loud people, instead…”

“Instead…?” He prompted, his fingers flitting around her, ready for another round.

“Your opera singing is loud, but it’s a nice loud. I’ll give you that, ok ? And a dog named after the main character of Puccini’s Madama Butterfly can’t be immune to it, I guess,” He saw her nervously cracking a grin at Liù who had hopped on the sofa and was resting on a pillow. Waiting .

“Hey!” Without prior warning, he let her go to her displeasure, no matter if his tickling was more than unbearable. That would be, -to use his own words-, much better than whatever he wanted to do, sitting at his piano and lifting the fallboard with a thud. “You don’t really want to play piano right now, at eight in the morning?!”

“Of course, I want to. I’m not supposed to make a proper lady wait, am I not?” Liù had apparently got used to that term, to the many occasions she had acknowledged humans would look at her while pronouncing it. Therefore, feeling like Junpei had just called her into question, she abandoned the comforts of her pillow and reached him. She licked his hand and gladly accepted the caresses coming in response. Then, on her haunches, she put her paws on black wood and stared at him in fibrillating expectation. “Eh eh, may I introduce you to my new soprano partner? She’s also the Great Detective Shibayama’s assistant, though, mind you! Let’s say this is just the lamest side of our life as ordinary citizens.”

”Ah…Don’t use my instructions howsoever you please, Junpei Shibayama. Honestly…” At the first row of notes propagating in the hall, she sat on the sofa and aimed the bud of a glad smile at the window.

In her soul, she was just so happy he had come to quickly find out it had never been a matter of superficial likeness.

__________________________________________

Italian notes:

Principessa: princess

Ma io dico: literally, it means “But I say…”. Still it is just some form of interaction to express disbelief (in a negative way).

Pappa: It’s a terms we use while speaking to babies and animals. It means food, technically.

Bimba and bambina: synonym for “little girl” but we use them in affectionate contexts as well. It’s a bit like “baby” I guess. I became affectionate to bimba thanks to italian dub of Lady and the Tramp. It did stick with me in the sweetest way as possible.

Pasta ai piselli: It’s pasta and peas ahaha

Spaghetti alla San Giovanna: In my family it has always been spaghetti, tomato sauce and olives. Such has to remain to them, please.

Liù, Liù, la bambina mia che sei tu: Liù, Liù, the baby you are to me. Our structures are really not that easy to translate in english sometimes? We can be free in the order of our words, in our dispositio verborum, so we it’s not always easy to translate everything. Yet, it’s just supposed to be one of those silly tunes you sing to your dog.

[baejax-the-great]

World's Exile

She has been watching him. He does not show her the respect of greeting her properly, his eyes still trained on the ceiling. “You may kill me now if you like,” he offers blandly. Impudence hardly matters now.

“You still have two days,” the goddess replies. “You’ve made such progress; I don’t know why you’d throw it all away now, hiding away in here. Pat’s practically begging to make it up to you. I’m sure I have a few ideas on how he can.”

“I concede. You win your game. It is over. I am ready to be sent down below as I should have been.”

“What makes you think this is winning?” He feels the bed dip under her weight, the press of her body against his knees. He does not make room for her. Then her hand settles on his thigh. “What makes you think I wasn’t rooting for you? For you both? Love is what holds my attention, and the two of you have something special, something worth fighting for, I should think. You are so good at fighting.”

Achilles’ only response is to pluck a few more notes out.

Aphrodite huffs and snatches the instrument from him. “If you are going to insult me with your insolence, at least do it correctly. You are supposed to strum it, like this.”

Achilles looks at her for the first time, propping his head up to watch how she plays it. Her left hand holds down the strings in different positions—the tension changing the notes—whilst her right hand strums across all the strings at once, producing different chords as the left moves. It’s a sort of jaunty tune as she quickly cycles through four different chords before shoving it back to his chest. “I don’t know why I should bother teaching you anything, if you’re so set on dying, but if I have to hear those same four notes one more time, I might just kill you early.”

He plucks each note out, one by one, still watching her, daring her to make good on her threat. She does not.

Achilles lies back and stares at the ceiling again. Her game is only fun if he plays. He will not. Achilles leans back and positions his hand as he saw the goddess do, and he strums. It is not a bad sound. Not broken then. He wonders if Pat knows how to play this instrument. He wonders where he got it.

“Now I remember why we all despised you,” Aphrodite huffs. “Rigid and obstinate to a fault. Liable to take all your toys and go home in a tantrum. This is why all the books denounce you as a villain, you know.”

Achilles experiments with finger placements and makes a truly horrendous sound. Then he plucks out the same four notes one more time.

“Fine,” Aphrodite huffs, jumping to her feet. “If you won’t be any fun, I suppose my only option is to talk to Pat. I’m sure he will be more amenable to my plans.”

Read the rest here | Or start from the beginning

[marvelmyriad]

starter for @the-innumerable-heroes [Wanda]

It was a bit of a long story as to how Loki wound up standing on the sidewalk among the streets of New York in an unfamiliar timeline.  With company at that.  The woman that walked next to him had auburn hair and wore different, regal shades of red.  The aura of magic that radiated around her was nearly palpable and he had been able to sense it the moment that he saw her.

Backing up a bit though, the god hadn’t started his day with any of this in mind.  The Tempad that he’d stolen from the TVA and modified had been a tool that he intended to use to find a timeline that he could lay low in for a while.  With the multiverse in absolute shambles and no leads on Kang, he was trying to do what he did best; adapt and survive.  That had led him to this world.

The first instinct that Loki had was to find his brother.  From the research that he’d done, that Thor would have lost his Loki.  There had been conflict in his mind as to whether or not to try to just assume the place of his Late-Variant but ultimately, he’d had enough of lying to his brother.  He would never see his brother again, after all.  That Thor, along with his entire timeline, had been pruned.  The last thing he wanted to do was try to start turning over a new leaf by telling another lie first and foremost.

So, he’d found Thor.  He’d told him the truth of it all and ultimately they had reached an understanding; even if they weren’t of the same timeline, they were still brothers.  They had still grown together the same way, the variance didn’t happen until Loki escaped with the Tesseract.  For all intents and purposes, knowing what he did, Loki would be able to pick up where Thor had left off with his Loki.  The two brothers had shared a much-needed hug, but as the trickster had pulled back, there was a circle of light beneath him.  Oddly enough, Thor seemed to know more so what was going on with this magic than he did.  The thunderer had said something about ‘Strange‘ just as the god found himself falling.  A scream instinctively sounded from him as the fall seemed endless, but when he did stop falling, he’d hit the ground with a painful thud.

Just as he was getting up from that, he was met with a man in…ridiculous and hideous getup, standing next to a woman that clearly knew more about which colors and textures meshed well together.  The way that the man carried himself was infuriating on sight, but nothing compared to the lecture that he proceeded to give Loki.  He had introduced himself as Stephen Strange, and the pieces fell into place.  This was someone that Thor knew, that much was apparent.  Judging by the look on his brother’s face though, the man wasn’t exactly a close friend.  With good reason, in Loki’s opinion.  This Wizard was a pompous human that had clearly been given too much power.  Sorcerer Supreme?  According to who?  Clearly himself, but Loki had no reason to place any weight on what Stephen Strange said.

When the man proceeded to tell Loki that his very presence there was an affront to the universal order, the trickster begun to have unpleasant memories of his ‘trial’ at the TVA when he’d first been brought in.  Just as he had then, he had once more become obstinate and insistent.  This time though, he had more confidence in himself.  He had the knowledge that he had the capacity to be good, and he knew that he didn’t have to fit nice and neatly into any box that was made for him.  The god knew that he wasn’t going to budge…what he hadn’t known, was that the woman that had stood next to Strange would wind up taking the trickster’s side.  It seemed that the wizard wasn’t expecting that turn of events either, as he was left in a stunned silence just long enough for them both to get away.

The two magic users looked to one another at the same time, and Loki found himself smiling.  “Thank you, for giving me your support.”  He stood just a little taller, more so out of wanting to be polite.  “Pardon, I’ve not introduced myself.  I am Loki, of Asgard.”  He gave his head a small bow to her.

[iprobablyshipit91]

Words Unsaid

Part 4

Genre: romance / mutual pining / fluff / angst / royal au

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: bit of language but that’s all I think? However there will be some major triggers in later chapters. These will be tagged appropriately on the relevant chapters, but please only read if you’re of age and comfortable.

Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Series Masterlist || SPN Masterlist

Previous || Next

New update, bit later than planned! Hope you enjoy…

King Charles is obstinate, rude and condescending and you immediately hate him. He drones on far more than necessary, the whole of your visit filled with listening to his endless speeches on the wonderful, God-like ruler he was and the tight control he has over his realm. It’s left you feeling bored and miserable, but mostly sorry for the poor subjects he uses as pawns in his cruel and ridiculous games.

You watch your father hide a subtle eye roll across the banquet table as the King launches into another story that you’ve already heard twice this week and you can’t help the smirk that twitches at your lips. You aim a small kick at him under the table, making him jump in surprise, although he covers it well under the pretence of a cough, his eyes filled with mirth as he catches your raised eyebrows.

"Everything alright?"

Your father schools his face into a neutral expression as the King pauses his story and you do your best to do the same. You mustn’t forget that you’re here on business and there are expectations on how you should behave. Particularly in a kingdom as old-fashioned as this one.

"Just a frog in my throat." Her father smiles easily and King Charles looks appeased for the moment, continuing his story as though there had been no interruption.

You make it through the rest of the starter in peace, tuning out the conversations around you. After your dinner is served however, you feel the Kings attention shift to you, your skin crawling uncomfortably as he squints at you thoughtfully, your stomach dropping to somewhere around your toes.

"So, my dear Princess-" you mentally flinch at the title and how it sounds coming from him. "I hear your twenty first birthday is fast approaching?”

You catch your fathers eye and see he is giving you a soft smile, that familiar, almost distant look in his eye and you know a million memories of you growing up is fluttering through his head. You return his smile then turn your attention back to the King.

"Yes, two weeks from today, actually."

King Charles nods and you carefully start to cut the food on your plate, frustrated that you can’t just use your hands like a normal human being would. At home you could have got away with it easily, but instead, here you were struggling to figure out how to eat a turkey leg like a lady.

"That’s interesting. We don’t seem to have received an invitation to your ball." His tone is conversational and light but you can hear the offense there plain as day. Your eyes snap quickly back to your father and his expression is now much more wary. You can tell exactly what he is saying without words.

Tread carefully.

It was a long standing custom in most kingdoms across the land to have a ball for any royal turning of age, specifically a ball for an arranged marriage to be proposed. You were lucky, considering your parents had been a love match themselves, they had no intention of forcing their only daughter into a loveless marriage for political gain and so the idea of a ball hadn’t even been mentioned.

Until now.

"I've heard that yours and your wife’s rule is less than traditional.” King Charles turns back to your father, a sneer on his face despite the forced casualness he maintains. “I must say, I am rather hesitant to engage in business with a kingdom so-" He sighs, eyes dancing back to you. "Revolutionary."

Your heart stops beating for a second as your eyes dart between King Charles and your father. You’ve seen the way he treats his kingdom; cold and ruthless and if that’s his idea of traditional you quite frankly want nothing to do with it. The amount of homeless on the streets and starving children you saw on the journey here alone was enough to break your heart, never mind the way he’s spoken to and acted towards his servants the entire time you’ve spent in the castle. You know in your heart there’s only one thing you can do.

You sigh dramatically and put down your knife and fork.

"That’s actually my fault your Highness." From the corner of your eye you see your fathers head snap back over to you his eyes full of confusion. You give him a tight smile before putting your princess face on and turning back to King Charles.

"You see, I've had the most difficult time picking out an invitation design, I'm afraid we will now have to send out all invitations by personal courier to get there on time."

King Charles looks at you with narrowed eyes. "So you do intend to have a ball?"

"If she can ever make a decision on what she would like to wear, she will." Your father grumbles, falling into the role of playfully frustrated easily and you breathe out a sigh of relief as King Charles gives a hearty laugh and claps his hands together.

"Delightful."

You almost gag. It is anything but.

The rest of the dinner passes without much event, and King Charles invites your father to join him in his study straight after. A few hours later and your father is loading you both quickly into the carriage, as eager to leave this dreadful place as you it would seem.

"Did you secure the trade you wanted?" You ask when you are finally on the road that will lead you home.

Your father nods with a grim smile. "Yes, all thanks to you." He sighs deeply. "You don’t have to do this you know."

"I do, I can't go back on my word now. One ball won't kill me, dad. I'll play the perfect princess, put on a pretty dress and dance with his son-"

"And every other eligible bachelor throughout the kingdoms." Your father adds with raised eyebrows, looking annoyed at the mere idea.

"And every other eligible bachelor throughout the kingdoms." You repeat with a groan.

"Your mother and I wished to spare you from this." He says quietly, tilting his head and looking at you with sad eyes.

"I know." You give him a tight smile. "This was my choice and I am okay with that. If one night of misery for me means our kingdom's people can put food on the table for their families, then so be it."

He brings his hand up to your cheek softly and looks at you with shining eyes for a long silent moment before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"My daughter." He breathes out, before leaning back and looking you straight in the eye. "You are going to make an excellent Queen."

You feel your cheeks heat up at the pride colouring his tone. He gives you a quick wink then drops his hands, folding his arms against his chest instead. You smile softly and sigh, grateful that your carriage is moving swiftly towards home. Your father closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat of the carriage.

"Oh, by the way. I'm going to let you explain to your mother how she has to plan an entire ball with all the kingdoms in the next week."

You wince. Your mother is going to be absolutely furious.

You bite your lip, wringing your hands as you stand outside the kitchen doors awkwardly, debating whether to go in or not. Tired of running from your problems, you shake your head, square your shoulders and push hard on the solid oak door. You are immediately hit with a flurry of activity, the familiar commotion wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Dinner preparations are well on the way with Jody in the centre of the kitchen conducting everyone around her with perfection and ease.

Like a moth to a flame though, your eyes are instantly drawn to him, like he's the very center of your universe and you just orbit around him.

He stands next to Sam, chopping vegetables quickly. He laughs loudly at something Sam says, his face boyish and adorable. He reaches out for another stack of vegetables, his arm flexing and sending your heart into a frenzy. You swallow hard, reminding yourself to keep yourself in check. You can do this.

"Well look who’s come back to join us!" Jody suddenly shouts and you watch as his eyes immediately find yours, the kitchen around you filled with cheers. He blinks, almost looking stunned for a second before a full, genuine grin splits his face.

Nope. No. You’re an idiot. You can't do this.

With a deep breath you give a timid wave and smile to the staff before they return back to their tasks. You weave in and out, making your way over to Jody first who envelopes you in a warm hug.

"We missed you, Princess." She whispers in your ear, giving a little squeeze before releasing you. She tilts her head toward Dean. "Some more than others." She adds with raised eyebrows and a knowing look that you determinedly ignore before making your way over to Dean and Sam.

“Ah, here she is!” Sam smiles widely at you, but you can see the mischief in his eyes shining clear as day as he turns to his brother. “Now you’re back home maybe some of us can get on with work rather than moping about the place like someone ate the last slice of pie.”

“Shove off, jerk!" Dean laughs and aims a playful smack towards Sam’s arm, but he dodges out of the way easily. He looks up at you and his own eyes dance with mischief. "I just thought the princess here had run off to have an adventure without me."

He winks at you and the relief you feel is overwhelming. There is none of the awkwardness between you that you’d been dreading, it’s like he had completely forgotten all about your emotional breakdown.

"Please, you know I can’t go anywhere without you." You reply easily but then notice his smile falter for just a second and worry you’ve put your foot in it once again. Before you have chance to dwell on it however, Jody comes over to you and is sweeping you out of the kitchen and back into the dining hall.

Your parents are already seated at the table as you walk in but your mother is quick to get up and wrap you in a hug of her own.

"I'm so glad to have you both back home." She presses a kiss to your forehead before pulling you back to the table with her. As you slide into your chair the kitchen staff start to come in and begin placing various dishes on the table.

As the dinner conversation starts you find the unease at seeing Dean slowly fade away, tuning everything out and getting lost in your own thoughts despite him sweeping in and out of the kitchens, clearing plates and bringing in new dishes.

It is as you are just revelling in the fact that you can once again eat a damn turkey leg with your hands that a loud shriek causes you to jump. The dining hall goes completely silent and you look up to see your mother looking at you with horror on her face. You immediately knows what this is about.

"Mom-"

"Don't you dare “Mom” me." She warns and oh boy you are definitely in trouble. "You told King Charles you are having a suitor ball? And its in two weeks?"

Before you can even open your mouth to respond a clattering of pots interrupts you. You turn to see Dean standing with his back to the table at the door to the kitchen, with a pile of broken plates at his feet. The entire table watches in silence as he mutters something unintelligible before bending to pick up the shards. You quickly turn your attention back to your mother.

"Mom, I'm sorry, but I didn’t exactly have a choice." Your mother is still looking at you expectantly. "King Charles was being really persistent about it, he kept talking about us not being a traditional kingdom." You shake your head and roll your eyes. "He kept mentioning his son who’s the same age, I assume he wants us to unite our kingdoms." You waggle your eyebrows for extra effect and your father chokes on the food he’s just put in his mouth, laughing because he knows you have absolutely zero intention of uniting anything with anyone, least of all with King Charles’ kingdom.

There is another loud crash and you turn your head once again to see Dean standing at the door to the kitchen staring down at what you assume should have been your dessert, face down on the floor of the dining hall.

Jody sighs next to you as she picks up another plate.

"I apologise your highnesses, I’m sure we have another cake somewhere."

Dean looks up and you are shocked at the sadness and fury etched across his face. For a brief moment, his eyes meet yours before he turns and storms back into the kitchen.

You look back at your parents and see your father raise both of his eyebrows to your mother. She shrugs in return, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth but its gone as soon as they both realise you are looking at them.

Your mother picks up her tea, smirking at you over the rim of the cup. "I hope you know I’m making you wear the most horrible dress."

Next

[coldshrugs]

12 for the fluff prompts 🥺💗

thank you fren!! this is SO late but i missed them so. here we go.

closer to you

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau word count: 815 note: this prompt was "pushing a strand of hair behind their ear" and uh... we got there in the end :')

Muddy darkness thaws to warm pink-gold scattering behind the thin skin of eyelids. She is still in the edgeless realm of half-sleep, unburdened by body or name. Unaware of the exact space she occupies, only that it is too warm.

It would be a simple thing to drift off again, but even now she recognizes the fracture in his routine.

Somewhere outside the boundary, he breathes, and she hears it here, a deep, comforting rumble her mind cannot help but latch onto.

Inhale (Estinien).

She stretches, languorously rolling towards the sound. She breathes with him.

Exhale...

(Estinien)

And now there is a sense of place. They’re in their suite. In their bed, and he’s still here. Her heart (she must have one, the part that recognizes him before remembering herself) is swollen at the thought.

Inhale.

Balsam. Charred vanilla. Uncomplicated and earth-grown, distilled into a sweet amber scent that clings to him like smoke. This is the tether that drags her toward reality.

Estinien.

Exhale.

Estinien. And her name chases his until both settle into something solid. Estinien and...

Io opens her eyes to a flood of soft golden light. The details are unfocused. Here, the bed and her pillow. There, the thin cotton quilt shoved down to her waist. The humidity, thick and oppressive, creeps through the window at her head, relieved only by the feeble breeze that ripples the gauzy curtain.

Her eyes adjust, and Estinien is golden, too, painted by dappled patches of the morning sun. The steady rise and fall of his chest shifts the light. It dances over and into the valleys of long-healed scars, warping into mesmerizing patterns.

It is rare to wake before him. His days have early starts and late endings, a routine worn deep by years of disciplined training, and still more years of dread at what he might find in his dreams. So he rises with the sun, leaving Io to sleep while he readies himself for the day. He wakes her eventually, when only a sliver of morning remains, with the promise of breakfast from a favorite restaurant, or a cup of coffee, or a bath already drawn.

Anything to keep busy.

Then there are mornings like this one when the exhaustion catches up to him. Mornings when his familiar weight and warmth in their bed surprise her. Io savors these opportunities to watch him sleep in.

She props herself on an elbow.

He lies on his back, one hand on his bare chest, the other resting between them. Asleep and utterly untroubled, Estinien's face is softer than the version she holds in her mind. Free of the lines that sit between his brows, free of the tension in his jaw. Dark circles still ring his eyes, evidence of his usual sleeping habits, though they're less stark in this light.

As much as she loathes to disturb his hard-earned peace, Io cannot resist sweeping a stray silver lock away from his cheek, tucking it behind the blade of his ear. Her hand falls to his chest. She settles into the pillow again.

Estinien pries open an eye. "What are you doing?"

"Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you."

It's too late. He rolls onto his side to face her, and the strand of hair she tucked falls loose again, as obstinate as the man in front of her.

"I overslept." He grins, squinting against the light. "And you let me."

"And I'll do the same tomorrow. You need the rest." Io's hand returns to his cheek. "Besides, I like waking up with you like this."

"Mm, perhaps it's more likely you want a partner in midmorning indolence." His tone is teasing, his voice syrupy, and he yawns loudly, demonstrating the point.

Io laughs, preparing a quip to celebrate her victory, but she doesn't get the chance to answer–Estinien's arms snake around her waist, and he pulls her across the short distance that separates them. The heat is sticky and stifling, so they kick off the quilt. Io curls into him, forehead to forehead, smiling softly at the patterns his fingers trace across her back.

He kisses her slowly, content to linger in each deliberate movement. His lips part, and the kiss deepens, but there is no heat, no request for more than this quiet intimacy. For the second time this morning, her heart feels too big for her body, tenderly beating against her ribcage as if it's trying to find its way into his.

Estinien pulls away and peace returns to his face for a moment.

“Fine,” he sighs, looking at her with an adoring sort of resignation. If Io melts, it will have nothing to do with Thavnair’s heat. “If you would have me waste half my day here, I expect to be plied with coffee. ‘Tis only fair.”

She has never been happier to leave her bed.

[clunelover]

I was going to do this as a reply but it was getting too long, so @alfa-lima-limon and anyone else who is interested - how we got the idea to check out OT is actually along the lines of what you just said - he would have big meltdowns over seemingly small things (or sometimes just nothing, as far as I could see). If I go through my MyChart messages between me and his pediatrician, I think as far back as 2 years old I was asking her about what I considered unusually explosive tantrums…but we were told “well it’s age appropriate still, just keep an eye on it” and then “everyone is stressed due to the pandemic and it’s especially hard on some kids” etc etc until he for sure became too old to be tantrumming like this. e

I really didn’t know what to make of it, I thought he was just “difficult” (I know not a good label but I didn’t think he fit the profile of any specific condition) but my best mom friend has a kid who’s a year or so older and autistic, and she was the one who first said “it sounds like sensory issues actually” and then I asked social worker BFF and she said she agreed - it’s still sort of amazing to me, I could not put these pieces together on my own, but now I can see he had:

- extreme meltdowns especially at times of transition, like trying to leave in the morning, which is often a hard time for these kids

- when in the midst of a meltdown about leaving in the morning, he would try to strip off all his clothes. If he was prevented from doing it he would at the very least take his shoes and socks off in the car. At the time I thought this was him “being obstinate” and just seizing at any possible thing to delay, but now I know he was overwhelmed and seeking a particular sensation to make him feel better (air on skin, or escaping clothes that feel confining or scratchy and thus upsetting). He still doesn’t like to have shoes and socks on.

- really rigid about getting his way or having people play exactly how he wants. Again, another thing I thought was him just being…kind of a jerk (🫣) but is more to do with changes feeling upsetting, so anything he can do to control what is happening will make him feel better. It doesn’t mean that’s okay for him to do of course but now we know that if he’s not overloaded with sensory stimuli he’s more likely to be able to go with the flow, and sometimes he just needs a little extra time to calm down and accept what is happening.

So, I was kind of skeptical (and still in dark moments sometimes think “isn’t all this just CODDLING him?”) but we got him evaluated by a local place that does OT among other therapies and services (like speech, psychology, etc) and they said he did seem like a good candidate for OT.

As part of the occupational therapist’s initial assessment, she checked for “retained primitive reflexes” …like, the Moro reflex is the only one I’d ever heard of prior to all this, but there are others! And you’re supposed to not have them by a certain age but if they don’t go away, it can lead to issues with integrating sensory information. C has retained a couple (I forget which) that, when retained, can cause issues with tracking movement with your eyes (which then leads to getting overstimulated easier than people who don’t have it). Isn’t that CRAZY?! This is something that is still a little in the “sounds fake but okay” realm for me, but at the same time does make sense to me. It’s weird.

So a lot of our OT activities involve things where you need hand eye coordination and balance.

This whole thing about “being afraid to fail” is something he’s only recently started bringing up, but the occupational therapist told me he probably did already have that fear, but he’s only now become able to express it. And it goes right back to wanting things to be a certain way, unexpected outcomes feeling bad, etc.

So yeah, it’s been a journey for sure! A lot of the work is of course us learning how best to react and help him get what he needs.

He had the recent evaluation for autism and didn’t meet criteria for a diagnosis, but has symptoms for sure. Jeremy has bonded with his mom over this, because according to her this is exactly what he was like as a kid (eventually diagnosed with ADHD as a teen). So we just kind of keep an eye on it and get him evaluated again if his symptoms get markedly more severe.

Okay that was a large dump of info, but anyway, happy to answer any questions about it any time!

[iwrite-sinsandtragedies]

I might have had too much fun with this but, oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Background below:

[CW: touching on subjects of depression, anxiety, PTSD, abuse, and death]

Song: Madilyn Mie - The Milk Carton

Adopted at the "late" age of 6, China (or Ai, as she likes to be called) was a troublesome case amongst her peers. She had returned from several failed adoptions throughout her stay at her local orphanage and was known to have a wild and deviant streak about her that left most adults scrambling in her wake.

She doesn't know why Ms. Nolani decided to pick her out of all of the other, much better behaved, kids that were there that day but - Ai couldn't deny that she definitely liked how safe she felt in her new mommy's arms. There was something about those warm golden eyes that just made her feel safe.

That doesn't mean Ai ever made it easy for her new moms, of course.

It was rough for everyone, at first. China and Elizabeth didn't innitially get along and even fought and argued quite frequently, in the beginning. Mom, in particular, struggled a lot with Ai's standoffish behaviour towards her, always sad to see that whatever was so appealing about her Mommy didn't seem to translate over to a liking of her Mom as well. China was sure it was only a matter of time before this family also sent her away... but, surprisingly, they never did.

Instead, they put the effort in and took their time to get to know her and learn about her and what exactly made her so obstinate with them. They gave her space, when she needed it, and let her talk out her frustrations. Elizabeth worked hard to not fight with her all the time and, eventually, China found herself trying to do the same in return. She even started to laugh at Mom's jokes, not just because sometimes they were actually funny but, also because she liked how happy it made her Mom and Mommy when they were getting along - it made her feel good, somehow...

But, there was still a lot of things that China never talked about. Pamela and Nolani both knew that Ai's parents were dead, they even knew that they had died in a car accident and Ai had some scars from that, both physically and mentally. What they didn't know, however, was that there was much more to the story than a simple crash.

Truthfully, even China doesn't know everything, though she remembers it clearly enough: The sound of breaking glass, her father talking to two scary men. Her mother grabbing her and running up the stairs, her brother trying not to cry in her arms - face shadowed by the closet blinds... Her mother whispered, told them to be quiet, so the 'burglars' wouldn't find them (somehow, Ai, knew that wasn't what they were). She heard her dad scream, then scuffling... silence and then motion - they were out the door- running- in a car- her dad was swearing and it made her flinch because it was never good when he sweared and the car lurched, her little brother gasped so she reached out and held his hand and- so many lights flew by her eyes... for an endless moment, the world was spinning... and when she woke up her family was... and she was just there... and somehow she felt so guilty for that... for just being- Alive...

She never tells them - never tells anyone - the whole story or how it makes her feel (like she was somehow to blame, like she should be punished in some way). She pretends like she doesn't remember it at all actually, and China thinks she must be a very good liar because no one ever seems to think there's more to her story than being a terrible little brat. If Mom and Mommy are sometimes so gentle with her, she doesn't think too much of it (if she thinks too much then she might cry) she just keeps toeing the line, waiting for them to toss her aside.

And then she meets Mr. Holden and somehow it feels like coming home. She's not sure why but, she likes him - she trusts him.

She puts effort into finding Cove. When they meet on the hill, she knows she wants to take care of him - she takes his hand.

The two of them quickly become inseperable, after that. Mostly because China puts in the extra effort to be Cove's friend. She's not really sure why, at first, but the two of them just seem to click. He smiles and she smiles - She smiles and he smiles back. She likes it.

Of course, her bad behaviours don't just magically fix. That becomes abundantly clear to everyone when the two children run away - and that is just the peak of the chaos that these two little rascles happen to manage that very first summer.

Despite that though... despite the worries and the mischief and the learning, things do actually get better. Cliff has no idea what a good influence he and his son have become on the wild little girl from across the street - they have no idea what a turn around they've managed to spark, how they've made all her smiles more real and her heart more open to love. Pam and 'Lani couldn't be more greatful if they tried and so, it's together that they all find the balance that was so desperately missing in each of their lives.

From a lost little boy and struggling father, to frazzled mothers and fiery daughters - that first summer they find themselves together is also the first step they take, towards brighter beginnings.

[mortemhq]

MERLIN’S BEARD, ZEPHYR GREYBACK (WOO DOHWAN), IS THAT YOU?  it’s been so long – i thought you might’ve been dead! i mean, you never know in times like these. well, it’s good to have you back in the fight. come on now, there’s no time to waste – we need you to re-enter the fray within the next 48 hours, or else i fear all might be lost. don’t let us down – the world is counting on you.

[ he  /  him, cis  man] greetings to all of our listeners! we start today’s potterwatch with a long-awaited update on zephyr  greyback who was finally spotted alive just last night, wandering the streets of london. for those of you who haven’t tuned in before, they are a thirty  one year old pureblood  (  werewolf  )  wizard who is oddly reminiscent of the  sudden  plunge  (  the  bite  is  a  gift  ,  the  bite  is  a  curse  ⸻  the  bite  is  the  first  fucking  haunting  ,  deep  rooted  within  your  soul  )  /  am  i  my  sibling's  keeper  ?  (  the  answer  is  always  the  same  ,  you  are  you  are  you  are.  but  what  are  you  when  you  aren't  big  brother  /  dutiful  son  /  faithful  soldier  ), which makes sense considering their protective, astute, unflinching, ruthless, incredulous, and obstinate nature. you might know of them as the adopted child of fenrir  greyback, and we’re sure that their family will be relieved to hear they’re safe and sound — or at least as much as you can be, in times like this. to all our listeners, if you catch a glimpse of someone who looks a bit like that muggle woo  dohwan, that’s them. before approaching, please be aware that they’re rumored to be affiliated with the double agents (  the  order  of  the  phoenix  ), so best proceed with caution. these are dangerous times we’re living in. well, thanks for tuning in, folks. we’ll play ourselves out with sedated by hozier. [ bee, 25, she  /  her, est ]

[reilliane]

Hello hello ~ I apologize for my sudden disappearance ahsdasd lots of things transpired this week and the one prior and the term started again! For some reason it's just the first week and it's already so stressful asjdsadja

As always, whenever there's some lack of content, I bring upon the sneak peeks! :D

tw: mentions of death/blood

conqueror - tyranny

He embraced the feeling of loss, anger, and the warranted desire to enact upon them the same fear and oppression he has gone through.

It had been a foolish decision of the Court. Even if he wasn't the heir to the throne, they shouldn't have underestimated his noble descent, as told by Yae.

The consequence of that judgment of theirs birthed the unsealing of a magical power lost in the myths and legends of their ruined Kingdom.

No one has ever considered it to still linger—and no one definitely considered it to be within him. A son of a murdered Count and Countess.

So grand, that power is, and even more terrifying, for it laid once in the hands of a child who only burned with hate. Oh, what are the cowardly ministers to do but bow to his every whim?

Their measly magic can't possibly compare.

“Bloodthorned Queen...” his lips turn up, recalling the grim sobriquet, “Hah, interesting.”

For her own people to conjure such a name, he wonders how far she had gone to unleash her tyranny. Were the streets that are now pristine once bathed in red?

Did the blissful sky once weep for them all?

Were there valiant spirits who strived to overthrow the sovereign, only to fail and be a part of the aggregation of skulls and bones?

Indeed, a question to ponder.

Curiosity gnaws and prowls like an obstinate feline within, insatiable and festering only when he comes to realize how they've stopped in front of a closed entrance.

Voice clear and loud for all to hear, the Herald by the door announces.

“His Royal Highness of Kuni has arrived!”

And so in the scenes of the grim, began the unheard melodies of stringed instruments.

“Your Highness,” she who grins from atop her throne stands, “So we finally meet.”

In harmony, they play to rejoice—or to bewail—an encounter long awaited.

“At long last,” he who bows responds, smile present as he plants a kiss upon the back of the lady's hand. “Your Royal Majesty.”

An encounter of two monarchs borne of nemesis.

withering - fleur

“She's here!”

Toning down your sniffles in fear of being caught, you tuck yourself further into the brightly colored tunnels in the playground. The stinging scrapes and wounds on your knees make it difficult, however.

There comes the sound of hands and feet skidding, making contact with the plastic material of the tubes and you shiver, knees tucked close.

Are they going to tease you again?

Though you still tried to remain quiet—your attempts are futile at best when a tuff of raven hair pops in from the right. His eyes are furrowed and he's frowning.

“There you are! Do you know how hard it is to find you? I said I was sorry, didn't I?”

You crawl backward when he attempts to reach out for you, still spooked when he had gone and pushed you off the slide a while ago.

He may apologize but how can you not be afraid of the scary face he's making?

“Smile, Zeph, you're scaring her!” comes another voice, much more optimistic and gentle, though it manages to terrify you from its sudden entrance.

From the other end of the tunnel appears another boy, the same one you saw scolding the other after you ran away. He's smiling.

“He really is sorry, though! We'd like to make it up to you!” he's awfully persistent, tugging at your sleeve, “You can play with us!”

“Huh?!”

“What's a better way to apologize then?” huffs the smiley child.

The scowling one grumbles, much to the delight of the other.

“Ehe, that's right, own up to your mistakes, lil' brother-”

“You're older by two minutes.”

“-Now!” your squeaks are ignored as he—you still don't know who they are—thrusts a poor excuse of a flower into your face.

Is it meant to make you feel better?

“I'm Venti! And that over there- hey, say your name!”

Reluctant, you turn your head towards the stranger, who now harbors a pout instead of a scowl. He's still grumbling, tugging at his little braids and picking at his nails.

When he meets your expectant eyes, he huffs. “Fine, you can play.”

A pebble flies to him out of nowhere. “A long name you got there!”

He yelps at it, sighing in defeat. Turquoise eyes meeting yours, he clicks his tongue, unfolding his arms.

“Zephyrus. Just call me Zeph.”

dawning - heizou

“Shikanoin Heizou, correct?”

“What is it that you aim for? I've heard all virtuous answers, so if your answer is similar, then I'll be leaving.”

Huh, a shame. His answer does subsume virtue—preventing crimes by stopping them at the base; the root of evil—and is thus, ethical and honorable... so that's a no? Well, he has another objective, too.

“Simple, ma'am,” he gives an avid thumbs-up, pairing it with a chuckle. “To be the greatest detective in Inazuma.”

The response he gets is rather lackluster, or, at least that's how it seemed on the surface. Indifference plastered on the girl's face, she saunters past him with a hum. “I see, come on, then. There's already a case waiting, and drop the 'ma'am', we're both of the same rankings. It's [Name].”

“Oh, and about that goal of yours, I think it'll be a difficult thing to achieve,” she adds.

He pauses. Difficult?

“Why do you think so?”

“Isn't it obvious?” the wind's billow accompanies the effulgence of daybreak, coruscating with words that gleam with determination. [Name] looks past her shoulder, smile present.

“You'll have to get through me first.”

“Well, then, isn't this fascinating?” he grins, “My intuition tells me this would be quite the tale.”

A spoken rivalry.

Deciphering the obscured, solving the plight—they are successful each and every time in each and every case. No failure, just success.

At the stroke of daybreak, chasing after each others' backs, running after the end goal and the crown of victory, it is endless. One step ahead, always, either of them ends up being one step ahead.

Never to settle on a pace at which they can walk together.

“What happens to the loser?” a question draped with nonchalance, spoken at the time of dusk. Under the sun, where two people celebrate the success of another case and lament the failure of winning against the other.

“Get up and try again.”

“What if they disappear without a trace after their endeavors?”

Swirls of wind dancing around his fingertips, he snaps them away, cognizant of its lingering cold on his skin as he answers. “Impossible, there are always traces to discover. The lost will only remain as is if no one strives to find them.”

“Chase after it, then seize!” he beams, his answer dripping with earnestness. He fails to recognize the invisible rift growing between them.

It will only be a matter of time...

[Name] falls to the grass with a sigh. “Haven't you thought of the reason why the moon can't ever catch up to the sun?”

... Until the fruition of their greatest desire comes.

primitus [prologue] - blesser series (2k event)

Though it is them who had freed the world from the enslaving clutch of the old gods who knew no love, why must they be shunned?

Glory and eulogies, they do not seek, but mere gratitude. The world they have come to walk upon does not welcome them, why is that, when it was them who blessed salvation?

Greed, is that it? Fatuity, as well.

They took to leave, but the kindest of them all, the loving and the benevolent came to see the unfortunate and the mournful. She wanted to give them a chance, to the chagrin of the pantheon.

“A perilous ambition, Aurelia.”

Yet she transfigured, and a mortal she became with a guardian at her side. But powerful she may be, she was naive.

“What good will your gracious blessing be when they are blinded by intrinsic avarice?” they're correct.

For although once more she had saved them all, she was thought of a mage; underlings of the old gods. And when some believed that she was a new deity, they thought her to be similar; to be unmerciful.

To bear two faces, in which she may appear kind, but within, she is as onerous as their previous gods.

They had been wrong.

Slain on mortal soil, the benevolent's spirit was split asunder, unable to reclaim the resplendent gold she was borne of.

Hereafter came the tremor of the heavens and came forth six beings festooned in silver light, wrath glistening in crimson as judgement befalls from their tongues.

The consequence of their actions shall be their own undoing.

Come the first eclipse shall their beloved world fall into endless ruin, and they are to face travail until their hearts only know how to bleed.

and that is everything for the sneak peek! i may post a separate sneak for ichor but so far these are the wips! i may publish the masterlist of 'blesser' early, though, so you all can get a grasp of the plot of each :D

[atths--twice]

Small Moments of Anger

Parenthood has its ups and downs. It has its moments when everyone needs a few extra minutes to themselves in order to recenter.

I've had this idea for a little while. I hope you enjoy this little look in to their family life and how normal occurrences are handled. ❤️ 

Number 47 in the Family Life Series 

Faith sat on the top porch step, her arms crossed, and let out a deep breath. Mulder smiled as he glanced at her through the open door, but did not dare let her catch him looking, as she was upset and pouting.

She had been asked to help clean up a large mess she had made, one which Mulder had also contributed to, and she had flatly refused. Mulder had started to clean up, making a game of it, but she did not join him. In fact, she had begun to take out what he had cleaned up and put it back out.

“Faith, it’s time to clean up,” he had told her, taking back the set of dollhouse dolls and placing them in the basket. “It’s too many toys left out and I told you we need to clean it up.”

“But, I don’t want to, Daddy. I want to play,” she had said, shaking her head with a frown.

“And I understand that, but we need to clean it up. Mommy hit her toe on the books under the blanket earlier and I stepped on one of the blocks. It hurt us, so we need to put away the toys.”

“But I don’t want to do it,” she had insisted and he had taken a deep steadying breath.

She was very rarely obstinate, but the times when she was, he was always torn. He wanted to laugh and make it a silly moment, but he knew he also needed to be firm and be sure she did what she was told.

“Sometimes we don’t want to do things, honey, but we have to because it’s what’s necessary, something we have to do. I don’t want to clean this up, but I also don’t want you, Mommy, or me to be hurt again. Okay? So we need to clean it up.”

He had stared at her and she stared back, turning to look at her toys, then back at him.

“I don’t want to put it away.”

“Faith,” he had said, his voice now becoming more firm. “You need to help me clean this up. You are big enough to help.”

“But, Daddy, I want to play. I don’t want to clean up.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you what… I am going to set the timer for five minutes. When it goes off, it’s time to clean up. If you don’t… then you can’t have a popsicle later. Okay?”

He had stared at her again and raised his eyebrows, letting her know he was serious.

“Okay, Daddy,” she had said with a smile.

“Five minutes,” he had said, taking out his phone and showing her the timer starting. “Then we clean up.”

“Okay.”

Turning back to play, he had shaken his head, knowing they may be in for a small battle. Faith had an easygoing personality, but the moments when her stubbornness came through, it was equal parts maddening and adorable.

Catching Scully’s eye, she had said nothing, but gave him a look of understanding. He had sighed and watched Faith, playing with the dollhouse dolls once again.

He had stood up from his spot on the floor beside the couch and walked over to Scully, sighing loudly as she had smiled.

“I know it’s hard, especially for you, but she needs those boundaries set,” she had said quietly. “You’ve told her, given her a timeframe, and explained the consequences. Now comes the tough part: following through with your words.”

“You don’t need to tell me, I already know,” he had muttered under his breath.

“Aww, poor baby,” she had said with a small chuckle, rubbing his back and sticking out her lower lip.

“But, it’s worse than that though.”

“Why?”

“If she doesn’t get to have a popsicle, then I don’t get one.” He had huffed and she laughed quietly, patting his back and shaking her head.  

“You can have one later, after she goes to bed.”

“It’s not the same,” he had grumbled with a sigh and she had hummed, still laughing quietly.

His phone timer had sounded and he stiffened. Scully had patted his back once more as he sighed. He had walked over to Faith, holding the phone out so she could hear it ringing.

“Do you hear that, honey? It’s the timer that I set. It’s going off now, which means it’s time to clean up.”

“I still want to play, Daddy.”

“Yes, I know. But we need to work together to clean up some of this mess. I can set another timer and we can get as much done as we can and then we’ll stop. Okay?”

He had looked at the dolls, stuffed animals, blocks, and books that had been brought out of the baskets in the living room and from upstairs over the past couple of days. Blankets, creating little forts around the room, would also need to be put away.

“Ten minutes,” he had said. “That should get it all cleaned up.”

“Okay.”

“Great! No playing. Just cleaning.” He had looked at her and she had nodded. “You help and we can have a popsicle, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

The timer set, they had started to clean.

But… little bodies are easily distracted and need to be redirected.

“Faith, no playing. Put the toys away.”

“I look at this book, Daddy. It has horsies in it. I like horsies.”

“I know you do, honey, and you can look at it when we’re done. Please put it down.”

“I want to look at it.”

“Faith, you need to help me. Hey, let’s see if you can get all the blocks in this basket. Can you throw them from here, like I can?” He had tossed one in the basket and then looked at her. “Can you do that?”

“I think so,” she had said, putting the book down on the couch and throwing a block. It had missed and bounced off the basket.

“Oh! So close! Here try again,” he had said, handing her another block and again she missed. She had frowned and then turned to her book again. “No honey, we need to clean up.”

“I can’t do it. I don’t want to,” she had pouted, her chin in her hand as she leaned against the couch.

Scully had cleared her throat and he had looked over at her. She had smiled and raised her eyebrows, silently asking him how he would handle the situation. Sighing, he had shaken his head and stepped closer to Faith. Taking her book and closing it, she had looked up at him with a surprised gasp and a deep frown.

“I said that it’s time to clean up. You can have this book back when we’re all done.”

“I mad. I mad at you,” she had said, crossing her arms on her chest and huffing as she lifted them up and down twice, showing him just how mad she felt.

Two feelings had risen to the surface and he had to mask his face so she did not see.

One had been pain, as those words hurt his heart to hear, but the second had been humor and he had to work at not laughing out loud.

She had looked so much like Scully in that moment, he wanted to laugh, scoop her up and kiss her, make her laugh with him, and forget about the mess entirely.

However, he had known that would have an adverse reaction. Flicking his eyes to Scully, who stood with her eyebrows even higher, her own arms crossed and a hand at her mouth, he had let out a sigh.

“You can feel mad all you want,” he had told Faith. “I understand you’re upset, but it’s time to clean up and you’re not listening to what I am saying. I said you can have the book back when we’re done, but not right now because we need to put away the mess.” She had huffed again and he bit back a smile. “Should we take a pause and have a moment to calm down?”

She had nodded once, hummed out a hmph, and walked past him. She went out the open door and onto the porch where he heard her plop down and sigh loudly.

He had then heard another sound and looked over to find Scully quietly laughing behind her hand, her eyes closed.

“That helps, thanks,” he had said and she bowed her head, shaking it as she continued to laugh.

“I… I’ll be right back,” she had chortled and grabbed the laundry basket, laughing as she stepped out the back door and closed it.

Sighing, he had placed the book on a shelf and walked toward the door, looking out at Faith. He had watched her lifting her shoulders up and down, her arms still crossed, as she let out deep breaths.

Finding the humor in it, even as her words had hurt him, he had let her be, giving her the space to feel her feelings.

Five minutes passed as he continued to wait, his forgotten alarm going off, just as the back door opened. He silenced his phone and turned to see Scully coming in, carrying the laundry basket now full of the sheets she had taken from the clothesline. Setting the basket on a kitchen chair, she chuckled softly and came to stand beside him.

“She’s still out there, huh?”

“Yeah. But I think she’s nearly over it.”

“Ha,” she said, crossing her arms. “Have you met you? Stubbornness has been known to come from the fathers side, you know.”

“Right…” he said, giving her a look and jerking his head toward Faith. “That’s all me.”

“See? You even admit it.” She grinned and he shook his head with a smile.

“I admit nothing. There is no chance this recent stubbornness comes from only me,” he stated and she shrugged.

“You believe what you want, but I know the truth.” He snorted and she smiled.

The jangle of Bella’s collar pulled their attention and they watched her rise from her bed. Stretching her front legs and then the back, she padded quietly onto the porch and sat down beside Faith. She pressed her face close, sniffing at her hair, but Faith turned her head, which caused Bella to whine.

“Ohhh…” Scully said softly, looking around Mulder and watching the interaction between them.

“Yeah…” he said just as softly, waiting to see what would happen.

Bella sighed, tilting her head from side to side as though gauging what exactly was happening. She leaned her head forward again and placed her chin on Faith’s shoulder, whining softly.

“Holy shit,” Scully whispered, touching Mulder’s back and letting out a breath of disbelief. “Look at that.”

“I know,” he whispered back, frozen to the spot, not wanting to risk interrupting whatever they were witnessing.

Bella whined again and they watched as Faith slowly uncrossed her arms and they fell to her sides. Another soft whine from Bella and Faith turned her head, wrapped her arms around Bella’s neck, and hugged her.

“Shiiiiiiiit,” Mulder breathed as they heard Bella’s whine change to a deeper pitch, as though she were humming in Faith’s ear.

“Mulder,” Scully whispered. “Oh my…”  She stepped closer to him and he felt her head on his back. “That is extraordinary. It truly is.”

“Sometimes I wonder who is the comforter and who is receiving it. Bella has always been gentle and understanding with her, like they have their own secret language. But she’s also gentle and patient with the twins, especially when Faith tells her to be.”

“I know. It’s truly spooky.”

“Hell yeah it is,” he said with a shake of his head. “Amazing, but spooky.” She laughed softly and wrapped her arms around his middle. He covered her hands with his own and gave them a squeeze.

Faith let go of Bella, but continued to sit on the porch. Bella laid beside her, putting her head on Faith’s leg. Faith stroked her head and ears and as they sighed in sync, Mulder laughed under his breath.

“Those two will have a bond none of us will ever truly understand.”

“Will have?” Scully asked and he chuckled again.

“Do have. But, I think we will see it change as she gets older and is able to speak more about it. You made a good choice with her.”

“Who? Faith or Bella?” she teased, placing a kiss on his back and he laughed in response. “And you thought I was mad for getting a puppy.”

“When Faith had just turned one? Yeah… I absolutely did.”

“But?”

“But you were right.”

“As I so often am.”

“Hmm,” he hummed and bent his head, lifting her hands closer to kiss them. “We’ll just leave that comment alone, I think.”

She laughed, kissing his back again. They watched Bella as she stood up and shook her body, her collar jangling once more. She wagged her tail as she nudged at Faith, kissing her incredibly gently on the cheek.

Faith stood up too, put her forehead against Bella’s, and then kissed her between her eyes as Bella’s tail wagged slowly. Kissing her one more time, Faith turned around and walked to the door while Bella stayed on the porch, lying down in the late afternoon sun.

Faith paused at the threshold and looked at Mulder. He squeezed Scully’s hands and she let go, allowing him to step away from her. Walking closer to Faith, he knelt down and opened his arms. She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight.

“I sorry, Daddy,” she said softly. “I sorry I didn’t clean up the toys. I sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

“Thank you, love,” he said to her, squeezing her tightly. “You feel better now?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He gave her bottom a pat and then tickled her sides. She laughed and squirmed in his arms, before pulling back and smiling at him as she played with the collar of his t-shirt.

“I not mad anymore. I let my mad go, like this…” She blew out a deep breath and he smiled, remembering how Scully had shown her breathing exercises one day when she had been overly frustrated. “The wind took it away.”

“Good.” He patted her sides and smiled. “You’ve said sorry and I accept your apology. Now, what do we need to do next?” He looked towards her toys and she looked too as she let out a sigh.

“Clean up the toys.”

“Yup. Let’s set the timer again and start cleaning up. Mommy? Would you like to join us? If you help clean up, what do you get, Faithy?”

“A popsicle!” she shouted, raising her arms in the air.

“That’s right.”

“A popsicle?” Scully asked, abandoning the sheets she had begun to fold. “Well then, yes. I will definitely help you.”

“Wonderful! Okay, the timer is set for ten minutes, let’s see how much we can get done. Annnnnd… GO!”

They hurried to the mess and started filling the baskets. They picked up the books and stacked them on the stairs to be taken up in a bit. Mulder smiled at the sight of them, remembering the books that had resided there years ago.

“These will be going up,” Scully said with a smile as she added another book, reading his mind as she was wont to do.

“They will. Although… there is something about them being there that I find comforting.”

“You know, I do too,” she admitted. “But it’s not exactly safe.”

“No.” He smiled and shook his head. “Definitely not.”

“Daddy? You help me with the blankets?” Faith called to him and he turned around, smiling as he walked toward her.

“Sure, I can help you with that,” he said and they worked together to fold and stack them on the couch. “Okay, let’s take this stuff back upstairs and put it away in your room. You carry some books up, Faithy.”

She nodded and picked up two of the books, walking up ahead of them to her bedroom. Mulder dumped out the basket and she and Scully started to put the toys away in their proper places as he smiled and went down the stairs for the remaining books.

When the living room was clean and back in order, they sat on the porch swing as it rocked slowly. Faith sat between them as they ate their popsicle. Her horse book lay open on her lap, turned to her favorite page. Her head rested against Mulder’s arm and her leg lay over his thigh. She hummed, enjoying her treat.

Bella suddenly sneezed in her sleep and sat up, looking around in surprise.

“Bless you, Bella,” Faith said, taking her grape popsicle from her mouth and raising her head to look at her. Bella’s ears went back and she whined softly as her tail began to thump against the porch.

“Yes,” Scully said, looking at Mulder with a smile, her lips extra red from her cherry popsicle. “Bless you, Bella.”

“Indeed,” he responded, glancing at his orange popsicle and then grinning back at her. “Bless you, Bella.”

Bella’s tail thumped again as she laid down with a sigh. Faith rested her head back against Mulder’s arm and he kissed the top of it as he pushed against the porch, the swing beginning to rock slowly once more.

[tumbleassbitch]

another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) | The Quarry | TravisxLaura

Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything. Chapter 6/? | Chapter 5

July 7th, 2022

Laura can’t help but grin at the sound of the door opening with a resounding clack. It’s her first full afternoon of freedom.

Travis appears like a reluctant phantom, clearly unimpressed in the face of her self-satisfied smirk. He gestures her forward with two fingers, and she places her wrists through the gap obediently. 

Handcuffs are officially on. For now.

“Don’t get cocky,” he mutters. “It ain't cute.”

“Sure,” she replies, but doesn’t make any effort to tamper it down.

It’s a bit later in the afternoon, but it must still be enough time for them to settle into some facade of ‘work’ for when Kaylee shows up. Except, instead of taking her to a records room or wherever the case files would be located…

…she’s brought back to the dusty old conference room from the evening prior.

“What’s this?” she asks dumbly, staring at the cleaning supplies laid out on the table.

“It’s your internship,” he says dryly, uncuffing her. “Happy trails.”

“You’ve got to be fucking…” she starts, trailing off as the door slams shut behind her.

Seriously? She bites back a scream of frustration, clenching her fists until it hits her.

He didn’t lock it. 

Technically, she can get out, and that has to mean something. But, taking in the bare and abandoned room, it’s clearly one cell traded for another. 

Maybe… maybe this is some kind of test?

Maybe he’s on the other side of the door waiting for her to try the handle. Waiting for her to give him a reason to stuff her back downstairs, or worse; put her in a dark hole where no one else but him knows she’s there. The thought opens up endless possibilities, none of them pleasant.

But he doesn’t seem the type. 

The thought is quiet, almost embarrassed in its assumption. Sure, he’s illegally imprisoned her and argued relentlessly, obstinately denying every olive branch she, his prisoner, has offered thus far, but… he wouldn’t do that.

…Right? 

It’s another reminder of the truly precarious situation that she’s in. Assumptions get people killed.

Tomorrow, she decides. If he pulls the same shit again, she’s taking any opportunity to just get out and do the werewolf hunt on her own. But if he wants to play the petty route today, then that’s on him. 

Laura snatches up one of the folded rags on the conference table and gets to work. Mostly, there's miscellaneous office supplies, another coffee pot, stacks of printing paper; things that are practically staples of any workspace. It’s a saving grace that none of the cupboards hold rotting food.

The fridge is painfully bare, save for a six pack of beer and old condiments in the door. She grabs a beer and moves on.

In the next hour or so, every surface within reason is swiped and polished, and the corners are dusted free of cobwebs. Short of actually digging out the cupboards and tossing out the old shit, she’d say it actually looks halfway decent.

The door cracks open, and a friendly face peers in.

“Hey!” Kaylee greets cheerfully, waving a gaudy pink lanyard littered with cartoon cats and pizza. 

“Hi,” Laura replies with about half of the enthusiasm. 

Kaylee opens the door wider, looking suddenly at a loss. “I just wanted to pop in and say hi! I know you’re really busy, but I… uh. Thought I’d say hi.” The girl cringes self-deprecatingly, but it morphs into a hopeful grin. 

It’s endearing, if awkward, and the part of her that’s always melted at pitiful and helpless animals immediately takes the reins from her current bad attitude.

“Well, hi,” she says with a small chuckle, mustering up an energy she doesn’t quite feel. “Nice to see you stopped by.”

Travis appears then, looming over Kaylee’s shoulder with an annoyingly smug look. Little does he know, she’s been spraying bleach on the carpet behind the fridge for the last ten minutes.

“I had to drop by for the birthday boy,” Kaylee says slyly. Travis’ shit-eating grin- which is barely anything on a normal person’s face- instantly evaporates in the heat of the sun that is his niece.

“Oh-ho!” Laura outright snickers. “Did ‘birthday boy’ have a special day?”

“Well, I hope so,” Kaylee says, a strange note to her voice. “Because all he’s done is spend it at work.”

Laura tilts her hip to one side, folding her arms. “You know how he is,” she says with a grin that shows a bit too many teeth. “Total workaholic.”

Kaylee laughs lightly, but the glances she gives between the two of them don’t go unnoticed. A brief look of alarm, the same one that’s bubbling in her, flits across Travis’ face. 

Does she really suspect something? They aren’t exactly Hollywood actors, but it’s barely been twenty-four hours, for fuck’s sake. They can’t be that pathetic at holding secrets.

Kaylee breaks the short silence first. “Sorry, but I have to cut it short,” she says, looking a little sheepish. “I told Caleb I’d help him with his car.”

“I thought Bobby was working on that-?” Travis starts to say, honest confusion on his brow, but she slides past him in the doorway.

“You know how it is,” she tosses back, then twists around abruptly. “Almost forgot!” she exclaims, giving a loud smooch to his temple. He blinks. “Love you, T. Have fun tonight!”

She vanishes in a flurry of hair and jingling car keys, and Laura and Travis remain stuck in their places, staring at each other in mirroring looks of bewilderment.

Laura folds her arms. “July birthday, huh?”

“Impressive detective work, Sherlock” he replies drily. He waits for the sounds of footfall to fade before adding, “Put your hands against the wall.”

“Seriously?” she asks, derision practically dripping off her tongue. After getting her hopes up in thinking that he’d actually be willing to work with her, now he wants to pat her down like she’s smuggling coffee filters in her back pocket?

“Can we just-” he cuts himself short, then visibly gathers his patience. “I have places to be, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d just work with me here.”

“What? Running late for ‘birthday beers’ with the bros?” she asks with a sneer. 

He gets oddly shifty-eyed, and belatedly, she realizes that’s exactly what he’s doing. Typical. “Must be nice to still have a social life,” she mutters under her breath.

“Do you want your dinner now, or after I get back?” he deadpans.

He’d definitely be the kind of person to wake her up at midnight for cold spaghetti. She rolls her eyes and turns around. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle when he draws near. 

"Are you ready?" he asks, a soft edge of hesitation to his usually gruff voice.

Her hackles raise at the insinuation. "I'm not made of glass, dipshit."

"Never said you were," is his easy reply. And then his hands are on her body, brisk and professional as any cop. It doesn’t last long.

"Okay," he says, stepping out of her space. "Let’s get you in for the night."

She waits for him to cuff her, but he takes her by the arm instead, leading her down the stairs. 

"So, like… What was the point of all that?" she finally grits out. "All that talk about your family, doing this alone, 'working together.' All of that was just bullshit?"

He fixes her an odd look. "You serious right now?" At her silence, he scoffs. "I'll be damned. You really think Kaylee wouldn't notice a fucking werewolf photo from a security camera? Or- or statements mentioning a ‘strange animal’ out in the woods on a fucking full moon?”

“You’re talking as if I’d show her-”

He pivots on his heel, fixing her with an incredulous, slightly unhinged look. “Laura, they turn into fucking demons! Even as humans, they hear, smell, see better than us on any other day of the month! You really think they’re just like you and me?!”

“I don’t fucking know, Travis!”

“You’re goddamn right you don’t know-!”

“Because you obviously didn’t disclose that, did you?!”

He huffs a breath, looking entirely too unruffled despite the momentary loss of composure, and continues to drag her along the halls. They’re near the holding cells when he finally speaks up again. 

“I’m trying to help you. Help us.” When she doesn’t say anything, he exhales a long breath. “I know… it don’t seem like it from your point of view, but I’m trying.”

Travis opens the cell door and she walks in without a fight, meek and silent and dumb as fuck for ever trusting a single word out of his mouth. 

It’s just so stupid— she’s gullible, plain and simple. If someone told her a month ago that she’d try winning over some insane middle-aged man in a jail break attempt so that she could avenge her dead boyfriend, well. She’d laugh in their face.

Because this isn’t her. The Laura she always thought she was has nothing to lose—short of someone else’s life riding on her conscience, she’d be hightailing it out of this shithole and carving her own path from here. 

But that isn’t exactly an option right now, is it? Because try as she may to deny it, she needs someone like Travis to get her on Silas’ tracks. Someone with more experience, more years of hunting werewolves and learning the real-life lore, not the fairy tales and wolf biology he’d been bringing her all week.

She wants to scream. She wants to dig that rusty spoon into the wall and crank out every last brick so that by the time Travis brings her breakfast tomorrow morning, she can use them to bash his skull in.

So stupid, you’re better than this, smarter than this-

Travis extends a nondescript orange envelope through the bars.

Laura eyes it as if it’s a snake. “What’s this?”

“Homework,” he drawls. He shakes it impatiently, and Laura scowls, snatching it from his fingers. Inside is a stack of documents.

They have the official police department emblem in the upper corner, some looking obviously photocopied and slightly crooked in orientation to the page. At first glance, it’s a mix of witness statements and typed out reports that date back several years.

But as she’s shuffling through, there’s more. Grainy photos, what look like screenshots from game cams. Cryptic blurs streaking through the foliage. A case file on a wildfire from six years ago.

“I told you I’m trying,” he says quietly, and takes his leave.

.

July 8th, 2022

“Silas Vorez…” she mutters aloud.

The only photos they have of him are disturbing screenshots from random social media accounts, likely from tourists who were able to catch the show as it hopped from place to place.

He’s not as young as she’d figure he’d be, given the moniker “Boy.” In fact, Laura wouldn’t be surprised if the man weren’t in his early 30’s. He’s scrawny, with skin so pale it’s almost as translucent as moonlight.

The unfiltered fear in his eyes is what gives her a pause. He looks pathetic. 

And yet, this is the man who killed Max. 

Despite the other files to review, Laura keeps coming back to the pictures, burning his pink-tinted eyes into her memory. It’s a face she’ll never forget.

She sets the photos aside, returning her attention back to his only recorded kin. Eliza Vorez. Her name doesn’t feel safe to utter aloud. There’s no real logic to it, Laura knows that, but something about her stare suggests a certain danger that isn’t of this world.

She didn’t get the same feeling from the Harum Scarum poster, which she nows knows had her face front and center. But this, someone’s heavily-filtered Instagram photo of Eliza leaning out from behind Silas’ cage… 

It isn’t right. That’s the thought behind the raised bumps on her skin. It just isn’t right.

“What do you think so far?”

Travis’ voice causes her to jump. His eyes narrow at the movement, and she pushes down her embarrassment with a scowl.

“You need to be more specific.”

He shoots her an unimpressed look. “What else? The case files I gave you yesterday.”

She sighs, frustrated with herself and him. “I don’t have anything worth mentioning yet.”

“That’s fine. Give me your first thoughts,” he says undeterred.

Laura shrugs, shaking her head slowly. “I guess… Silas has been way busier than I expected. I mean, the full moon only happens once a month. To cause that amount of damage in… I don't know, roughly twelve hours? It’s a lot.”

“For a werewolf?”

“No, I mean, that’s a lot for one werewolf. I’m not exactly an expert in supernatural creatures, but you’d think that if one werewolf could cause this much damage in one night, more people would know about them, y’know? It wouldn’t be this cryptid that only exists in fairy tales.”

“I’ve always suspected there has to be more,” he concedes, scanning the room with a distant look. “We don’t know who all he’s bitten, but we haven’t found another one unaccounted for in this area, at least…”

“That you know of,” she points out. 

He nods. “True.”

“And isn’t that weird? How is no one else looking?”

Travis tilts his head to the side, fixing her with a dead stare. “You forget that there’s people out there covering their tracks for them.”

The Hacketts cover their footprints, and the bodies, if there are any. If they’re thorough enough in their coverups, then there’s a damn good chance that no one else is actually looking. Or if they are… If they’re cursed, then they think they’re alone.

“Okay, so… How many did you say are locked up by your family each month?”

“Three.”

She slowly nods. “And they were all bitten by Silas?”

He purses his lips, obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Yeah, same night.”

“Shit,” she hisses. “Okay, so maybe this amount of… casualties isn’t out of the norm. But every month, we run the risk of him actually creating more, rather than killing them.” 

Like Max, her mind finishes. He raises his brows as if to say, No shit, and she rolls her eyes. 

“I’m just thinking out loud, here.”

Travis shuts his eyes with a nod, raising a hand concedingly. “I see your point. I’m not… this ain’t my typical thing.”

“What?” she asks with a scoff. “Politeness?”

“Working with a partner,” he answers quietly. The words settle between them, and something like softness graces his usually worn face. He shifts on his feet before unlocking the cell. “It’s time.”

“Oh,” she says.

“It’s almost three o’clock,” he says with a pointed look. “Kaylee’s coming any minute, so get your ass up and let’s move.”

“Jeez, alright,” she says, and he gestures her forward. “You know, you should really use your words more.”

“You should use yours less,” he grunts back.

.

July 9th, 2022

It’s lunchtime on a Saturday, so color her surprised when he shows up empty handed.

“What’s this?” she asks, standing up.

Travis pauses in the middle of unclipping the handcuffs from his belt. “I- uh… I figured you were hungry?”

“Yeah…?”

His stare goes way over her shoulder. “... and you mentioned before that you wanted company?”

Oh. She did say that.

I need people. I need to get out of my cage.

“Yeah. I did,” she says dumbly.

His nod toes the line between exasperated and self-deprecating, but he still unlocks the door. If her smile is a little too wide, he doesn’t give her a hard time about it. 

She’ll never get tired of leaving her cell. The sensation of leaving the lonely hallway for, what’s essentially a modern-day catacomb, is paramount to euphoria. If that isn’t a sign that her brain is starting to get a little fucked up, well. What can a girl do?

Her heart rate spikes when he takes her up a familiar set of marble steps, locking the heavy wooden door behind them from the inside. Travis uncuffs her and gestures for her to take a seat.

The closet she hid in over a week ago immediately catches her eye, and she resolutely looks elsewhere. Two sad looking sandwiches and a bowl of cut veggies are on display. He’s already set out a glass of orange juice for her.

“Cool. Thanks,” she comments awkwardly. The thought of bare legs and blood- ugh, think of anything else, please- makes her stomach do flips.

They tuck in without fanfare. It only occurs to her now that she’s never seen him eat. The scant amount of times he’s joined her for meals, it’s always been booze or nothing.

Here, he chews mechanically, each bite a thoughtful attack into ham and cheese. It’s efficiency in its most carnal form, and he finishes his sandwich before she’s even halfway through with her own.

"Why does it go after humans?" Laura blurts.

Travis frowns thoughtfully, and she takes that as an invitation to continue.

"I mean, there's so many animals out here that the hassle of chasing down a person wouldn't seem worth it. I thought our own defense was that we tasted bad?"

"Not to them," he comments wryly. "Maybe it's because they are— or used to be—human themselves? Trying to reclaim their humanity through consumption."

"Maybe," she trails off. "Maybe human bodies give them more energy than animals? Or, if they're able to consume human flesh, that's important for the werewolf curse?"

His brows furrow in thought. "I don't know about that… Kaylee hasn't eaten someone in years, and she's still cursed."

Holy shit to that information. Laura swallows it with hopefully cool indifference. 

"Well, it's a thought. Maybe it doesn't matter for those that were bit, but if the alpha—um, Silas—was prevented from eating someone, it could weaken him?” 

“...Or maybe it's born out of pack desire,” he says thoughtfully. “Survival-of-the-fittest. Anyone who's able to survive an attack is seen as worthy to join the ranks."

His pocket buzzes, and with a spare glance her way, he checks the screen.

“Shit,” he mutters.

“What is it?”

It’s obvious his first impulse is to ignore her, and he visibly wrestles with himself before settling with a pained grimace.

“It’s Kaylee.”

“Um… is she okay?” she asks, biting down the urge to add, Use your words, Travis.

“Yes, she’s fine. But she’s here.” 

Why anyone would want to hang around this dusty place on a Saturday, she has no idea. Travis shoots to his feet, sternly pointing at her. “Stay.” 

“That was unnecessary!” she calls at his retreating back. With him gone, she scans the room with a new sense of wariness.

The phone on his desk is missing, of course, but it doesn’t matter. If what happened last time— 

screams, the static translation of flesh ripping under teeth

—she’s not interested in making a call.

Instead, a picture frame sitting off to the side catches her eye. The photo must be at least two decades old: a much-younger Travis stands with his arms clasped behind his back, chest puffed. Beside him is an older man with an arm over his shoulder, grinning proudly.

She hates to admit it, but he’s… handsome. Round glasses that would be otherwise nerdy on another man’s face instead offer a sweet, boy-next-door vibe that’s honestly her type. 

And that revelation makes her wince, because, ugh. There’s a thick, solid line between working with the man that kidnapped her, and drawing parallels between him and her exes.

It’s a time capsule in more ways than one. The man in this polaroid past is nothing like the phantom that stalks the precinct. When was the last time Travis smiled like this?

“Hey, girl.”

Kaylee drags a chair over to join her at Travis’ desk, and though she barely knows her, it’s obvious something’s up.

The girl has been nothing but a ray of sunshine, despite being in the armpit of a police station, and Laura has the impression that it’s a part of who she is. Sunshine and daisies— the polar opposite of her uncle.

So, whatever managed to dampen her smile must’ve been pretty bad. Kaylee doesn’t deserve that. She’s good, and sweet, and unhappiness doesn’t suit her.

‘She’s also a murderer.’

It’s that same quiet voice from before, not quite her own, yet clearly in her head. 

‘She’s a hungry, brutal mockery of a beast. A waste of shit and skin.’

Fuck. She’s losing her mind. 

“I’m so happy to see you today!” Laura says with a blinding grin. “How’s your painting coming along?”

Kaylee perks up a bit, chuckling shyly while she pulls out supplies from her dark canvas bag. “It’s really nothing special, just some practicing with colors.”

She lays out a stained cover with reverent hands, then plants a little wooden stand that’s brindled with paint splatters and mounts the canvas with gentle care. 

It is, to be frank, beautiful. 

Laura’s known her fair share of ‘artists’ throughout high school and college, but Kaylee actually is one. 

The scene is full of vibrant blues and softer hues for the sky. Sharp rocks and cutting white-capped waves are at the forefront, but in the distance is a schooner sailing easily over the violence below. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen the ocean,” Kaylee says when Laura says nothing. “I wish I could travel more, you know. Get out and see the world for once, instead of watching it pass me by on the internet. But, when I get a hankerin’, I’ll just bring a piece of it back to me instead.”

“Kaylee, this is amazing,” she breathes. The girl blushes, opening her mouth to undoubtedly play it off but Laura speaks over her. “No, I’m dead serious. You could put this in a museum and tell me da Vinci painted this, and I’d believe it in a heartbeat.”

“Really?” she says quietly, and there’s so much vulnerability on her face that Laura grabs her hand and squeezes it emphatically.

“Yes, absolutely! Let me know when you set up your art gallery, and I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

“Well, shit,” Kaylee giggles wetly, discreetly swiping at an eye. “I’ll give you the damn thing when I’m done with it.”

“Hell no,” Laura says. “I’d buy it if I actually had any money, but you could honestly sell this.”

“I know,” she says bashfully, but there’s a hint of pride there, too. “I want to give it to you anyways.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but Kaylee speaks over her. “How’ve you been? You have to work on the weekend, too?” 

Over Kaylee’s shoulder, Travis raises the bucket of cleaning supplies with the air of a man who often doesn’t win. In other words, entirely too pleased with himself. 

Fuck. “You could say that,” Laura drawls.

Kaylee snorts. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Long week, am I right?”

“It’s just about over,” Travis says lightly, pulling out a misty beer bottle from the minifridge and setting the cleaning bucket at her feet. “Tomorrow’s a fresh start.”

“Yeah, but you know how camp is,” Kaylee says with a huff that doesn’t carry much heat. “It’s not like I have the weekends off.”

Kaylee’s already started filling her paint tray with an array of mossy greens and sea blues, a new life breathed into her disposition.

“What do you call today?” he throws back. The light humor in his voice makes him sound younger. His dark eyes appraise her, and she belatedly realizes she’s been staring. 

“Drinking on the job, boss?” Laura asks sweetly.

Travis takes a swig of his beer, pointedly looking at his phone. A game of solitaire—go figure—is already loaded up.

She grabs the bucket.

The three of them settle into a silence that isn’t actually unpleasant, though it's still weighted with unspoken words and secretive glances. 

It’s a grating feeling, like someone’s boring holes in the back of her head from across the street. Laura can’t help but overlay pink eyes with blue, wispy strands of hair with thick auburn. Two of the same beast, each with different sins.

The quiet gives her a chance to reflect. Between the sly quips Kaylee flings at Travis, or the fond look in his eye while she’s too focused on her painting to notice, she can almost pretend that things are normal. 

[moxfirefly]

Okay okay okay I have something. You are so good at writing tmnt so here it goes. What about... Make up sex? ;) I imagine how there has been a huge fight with their girl. So much so that the turtles thought it would lead to breakup. But the SO returns and it ultimately leads to some angsty action. Of course you can imagine it however you want too! Make up your own reasons if need be!!

As somebody who breathes angst this is truly fun. You didn’t specify a turt lad so I hope you don’t mind me choosing and going from there. Just cause I’m intrigued ima go with my orange boi.

TW: Angst/Feels/Arguments

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

His hands hurt so much. When you ball your fists for too long the tendons tend to protest, the digging of nails into palms stings.

Mikey doesn’t like how loud his head feels right now. He sits against the wall closest to his tv, your scent is surrounding him and it only serves to make him more frustrated and gutted. The two of you have never gone past discussion into full blow arguing. He doesn’t like to fight with you, he does enough fighting on a nightly bases anyways.

But you got stubborn and he got selfish. Voices got raised, things were said and each one got hurt. He knows he can’t keep you glued to his shell forever, he’s had to learn the hard way, that there’s a life above that you inhabit and people around he’ll never truly meet. He knows every detail about your home life, knows your mother’s maiden name, how your aunt likes to get drunk at the family reunions and spill gossip. He knows your childhood home’s street name, the first guy you kissed, the first girl you kissed. Every aspect of your life you have told him in confidence, in laughter, in tears.

But Mikey is never gonna be part of it. He can’t really meet your dad and have that ‘if you break her heart I’ll break your legs’ talk. He won’t bond with your mom over their mutual love of cooking and secretly become her confidant. Knowing all these people but never truly knowing them is something he accepts.

It’s you leaving for three months back home. Three months away from him, three months where you’ll be surrounded by nostalgia you miss and love. Where your family will ask about ‘any boyfriends?’ and you’ll have to fake laugh your way through it. Three months of you being amongst people you constantly miss.

Surrounded by normalcy.

And Mikey wanted to be happy for you, he wanted to say fuck it and face time you every morning and night, watch you be happy to be in your hometown and maybe even get a virtual tour of it...

But that little dark part in his brain calls him a freak and reminds him constantly that you’ll get tired of surrounding yourself in craziness, monsters, end of the world scenarios etc. It just can’t seem to allow him to be happy for you. So the entire thing had ended in a fight, where dumb regretful things had been spat and you had marched off pissed and he had remained here equally pissed.

His brothers think he doesn’t get mad, they think he holds himself together through sheer ignorant bliss but it’s never been the case. Cause you’ve seen fire in his pretty blue eyes, you’ve seen those same very pretty blue eyes turn red with tear, you’ve seen so much of what he hides behind his laughter.

And fuck, three months of you away?!

Mikey pushes his knees up against his chest and sighs. His phone hasn’t made a noise despite his efforts to try and call you after he has calmed down. He debated going to your house and apologizing or at least going for a more calmer approach in expressing why this had left him so triggered. He wants to make sure this hasn’t pushed you both to your end, another nagging little thought that hasn’t quite shut its mouth.

Had this been the end? Had you walked out in a fury of frustration and decided this is it? Would you seize all communication and just erase the memories of him and your time together?

He’s hurting himself, he’s also getting angrier. This is stupid, he’s been stupid and immature and so are you for walking off!

It’s two hours before he decides to get up and toss his phone and try to consume his surrounding in order to relax. Mind over matter and all it’s wonderful bullshit. He doesn’t want to leave his room cause he knows the others must’ve heard.

He’s four hours deep into a shooting game when Raph pokes his head in with some food. He doesn’t look up, cause he knows Raph wants to be a good big brother and talk to him but he doesn’t want to when he’s one unfortunate mishandling away from crying. He lets him sit with him, watch him play and run a little bit of commentary that actually makes him smile just a teeny bit.

Even when Raph gets up and runs a large mitt over his head and tells him ‘broads are just emotional, she’ll come around’ he tries his best to not let his eyes betray him. Even when Raph gives the top of his head a kiss and pats his shell, he tries his best to keep it together.

It’s around 4am when he decides to look for his phone, chucked somewhere near his bed and maybe not broken. He finds it under his bed, screen a little cracked and one text message reading ‘r u awake?’ By you, it was sent twenty minutes ago and somewhere between debating calling or texting he hears the curtain in his room move.

You’re there.

Face two parts unreadable and a good topping of frustrated. Your face is bare, a mixture of sleepwear and winter clothing that clearly shows you had tried to sleep it off but couldn’t. “I just saw this... sorry” Mikey wonders if that sorry is related to the unread text or more so this mess. You look away, the energy around you can be felt. That upset way you bite the inside of your lip, how you cross your arms and run through every possible way of starting your side of things to say.

“Why are you really mad about me going back home?” You can’t meet his gaze and Mikey is thankful because he feels an oncoming headache. “I dunno man...” He sets his phone on his makeshift night table and runs his hands through his face, mask being taken off with the motion.

“That’s not an answer, you’re mad about something and I want to know” This time you do look and Mikey’s playing with the shoe string on one of the sneakers that hangs from the bunk bed. He chooses to stay quiet because if he does say something, what are the chances that you’ll understand?

“Mike, talk to me” He huffs a bitter laugh, ‘Mike’ is the he’s in trouble name. But he feels more obstinate than ever because why talk?

He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his feet. “I didn’t come back in the freezing cold to actually work through this if you aren’t going to throw me a bone at least-” Your tone is a mix of exasperation and sadness. “You go back and you forget about me” Mikey cuts through.

You furrow your brows at his statement. “What?” You take a few steps but he side steps you and that somehow cuts you. “You go back home and you realize it’s better to be in a normal environment that isn’t New York, in the sewers, with me-“ He motions to all of him. “And all the crazy shit we do” He glares, not necessarily at you but more so at all of this, the current state of affairs.

Running a frustrated hand through your hair you try to settle your thoughts. “You can’t jump to a conclusion like that and you know it, I’m not skulking off back home and ghosting you! And frankly it fucking hurts you think of me like that” You reach for him because Mikey can’t be still for five seconds if his life depended on it, but he grabs your hands and refuses to let you lull him with your touch. “It’s not a conclusion it’s a friggin possibility! Do you see us actually being endgame in all this shit!” He grips your wrists, you want to get through to him but he’s lost in that terrible negative mindset.

“We both aren’t mind readers! But trust me that leaving you is nowhere on my list of achievements” You manage out of his grip and grasp his face. “You are being unfair and stubborn as fuck but I love you okay?” Your voice sounds almost angry, angry at the very idea of living in a world where you and him don’t coexist together.

“I can’t even marry you! I can’t even knock you up!” Another bitter laugh escapes him, he knows your parents would die for some grandkids. Why is he so different, why does he have to be so fucking different he wonders bitterly.

“I don’t care, I don’t fucking care about a piece of paper or screaming babies, I care about you and I want you and I’m fucking happy with you stop sabotaging it” You press your hands to his hard plastron and scowl. “Stop lying to me then! Don’t pity lie at me when I know you want all that shit” He frowns, eyes watery and not caring if he wakes everybody up in the Lair.

Mikey’s ready for the rant of a life time but then you have to go and kiss him.

Kiss him hard, kiss him with rage bubbling on the skin of your lips. He can taste your words, taste every way you would’ve shut down his words with basic truth and facts. You pull away, forehead still pressed to his and you mutter against his lips. “You’re so fucking insufferable, shut up and listen to me” Your eyes are watery as is, hands at his neck to keep him at eye level.

“I love you, I love you so fucking much” You take a shuttering inhale, fingers skimming up towards his cheeks. Mikey can only watch you, take in every detail he’s been obsessed with for so long. You’re so beautiful to him, even when your angry crying, yelling at him to open his eyes. You’re warm and real in front of him, against his body. You watch his eyes go from that calm before the storm into the aftermath.

He’s so real to you, so lovely and he doesn’t seem to understand it.

There’s a pause. A mere ten second reprieve where only silence and breathing remain. Mikey feels your hands slowly slide down his body, nails scratching his sides. You keep your eyes on him, a hand slides into his shorts, index finger mapping out the slit that encompasses his most intimate part. Mikey shudders, sensitivity racking his body at your touch. He walks you up against a wall, a hand on your neck and another finding it’s way into your own pants.

He teases you, just as you tease him. Knees buckle when he pushes your lips apart and feels your moistening folds. There’s already a bump where your touching him and the way he’s tensing gives way to how he’s trying to hold himself in. “Come on, come on” You weren’t aware just how hard you’ve been breathing till you speak. Mikey’s mouths falls open, eyes closing as he drops down into your warm awaiting hand. You stroke him, teasing the flesh of his head just to make him buck and recapture your lips. His own finger finds its way in you, stretching and making your breath hitch.

The only reason you both pull away is to tear at one another’s clothes, an easy accomplishment when Mikey’s got just his shorts. He isn’t soft with your clothing either, yanking and nearly tearing, his on his knees pulling off your underwear. Your scent hits him and he’s gone, trapped in all that is you. He inhales sharply as he gets back on his feet, arms hooking under your thighs as he picks you up.

You both land on the bed, a huff escaping you and a grunt when Mikey feels you push him so you can straddle him. You don’t quite finesse this, it’s not your usual seductive ways that leave him a mess. It’s rough, there’s still frustration lingering in the air and Mikey’s okay with it because he knows he might go to rough if he runs the show.

So you do.

Sinking down on his hard cock with a long guttural moan. Mikey digs his fingers onto the plush skin of your bottom, just enough to make you sit on his cock and relish it. Eyes closed he just basks, the tightness, the wetness, the warmth. His eyes flutter open when he feels your palms on his plastron, firm and with purpose. His hands know already, they go up and rest on your waist and he swallows a churr when your hips begin to move fast and hard.

That rhythmic slapping of flesh, your rear hitting his lap on each thrust down. Mikey can’t stop churring, eyes on your own or slipping down to your beautiful breasts bouncing. You notice and lean forward, he buries his face between him, arm going around your waist as he lifts his hips to help you cross that line. The sweat of your skin is on the top of his tongue as he sucks a bruise onto your breast, you’re tightening up so much, cussing and begging for him.

You both can’t stop moaning, once you’re cummin and Mikey follows closely behind. He holds you close to him as you ride out the sensations, tightly secured against his strong body, held and loved. You’re a broken record of ‘I love you’s and so is he, filling you up and up.

Collapsed on top of him, chest heaving, you still feel the strength in his arms as he hugs you to him. You bury your face on his neck, body shaking with sobs as he whispers he’s sorry over and over as he kisses your shoulder, neck and head.

You say it too, against his skin.

Where you wish you could stay everyday.