#i have tried prying that thing open like 20 different ways and i canNOT get it to open

[spiked-mall-goth]

funny how i thought that drinking some coffee would help me better study for my next exam but in reality i just spent 30 minutes researching how to replace the batteries in my old mc donald's hello kitty watch

[straight-outta-kaer-morhen]

Scars <Eskel Soulmate AU>

Request from AO3: "Could you so an Eskel/reader with a soulmate AU? Maybe where soulmates have the same scars. Pretty please?"

Sorry it took so long. This fic has been sitting finished for several months, but I couldn't decide if I liked it enough to post. I've never done a soulmate AU, so this was a fun challenge! Anyways, I hope you enjoy! :D

As always, requests are open

Her claws wracked the side of his face. He'd been trying to avoid this meeting, but fate seemed to always have it's way. He was a fool for invoking the law of surprise all those years ago, and an even bigger fool for running from fate.

Looking up at the young girl, he had nothing in his heart but hate. The way she glowered at him he had no doubts she returned his sentiments.

• •• • A cry escaped her as flesh tore. Her hands shot out to grab her cheek. Blood ran freely down her jaw covering her neck. Horrified at the sight of crimson she helplessly tried to staunch the blood flow. The mage in front of her had his back pressed against the wall. Nothing but horror filled his eyes. This was not how the negotiations with Kaedwen were supposed to go. By the look on his face he hadn't attacked her, or cursed her. He fled the room as the pain seared across her cheek.

At some point she recalled being taken to a nurse for treatment, who was only able to bandage the wound, and send the sorceress on her way.

None of the healers could speed up the process of healing. The wound seemed to be healing on its own time. When it finally did heal, she was left with several jagged scars that even ran down her lips. When she looked in the mirror she was horrified by what she saw.

She seeked out Yennefer of Vengerberg’s powers. If anyone could heal the scars it was her. Very few were close to equal with Yennefer’s abilities.

"I cannot fix this." Yennefer declared, her eyes filling with pity. "This is the mark of a soulmate...and nothing can change fate."

"You were so beautiful." Kiera Metz's voice came softly. Y/N could not fathom the pity filled look she received. Her reflection showed several claw mark's adorned her face. They were raised and red.

Beauty wasn't everything she tried to tell herself, but she knew finding a lover would be impossible. Even her so-called soulmate would want nothing to do with her.

Yennefer gripped her shoulder, "beauty isn't everything."

• •• • "What happened to her?" Geralt inquired, his cat eyes falling on the familiar scars that adorned her face.

"It's a sad story." Triss sighed. "She used to have a beautiful face." Triss began, "the kind of face that makes king's launch wars over."

"Prettier than Yen?"

Triss nodded, "she had a softness, a warmth that Yennefer lacked. It drove men absolutely mad." She mused. "One day during negotiations, her face just tore open. It was the damndest thing."

"When?" Geralt inquired, observing the (h/c).

Triss tapped her chin recounting the years, "it had to have been about 20 years ago...give or take a few years."

"Hmmm." Geralt said, catching the woman's (e/c) eyes. She offered him a soft smile from across the room. He gave her a nod, his eyes tracing the scars that lined her lip. They were uncanny to Eskel's.

"No mage or sorceress could heal her." Triss added. "Apparently soulmate scars work differently, it's a power we know little of."

"Soulmate scars? I thought that was an old wives tale." Geralt asked, startled.

"So did I, but the circumstances of how she acquired them...well there is no other explanation for it." She said with a shrug as she took a sip of wine. "I spoke with the mage that witnessed it. His account was hard to discredit."

"The amount of scars a Witcher acquires, well it's hard to put much stock in the idea." Geralt said, taking another drink of his ale.

Triss waved the woman over, "whatever man acquired those, it must have been hell for him from what Y/N described."

"Y/N, this is Geralt." Triss introduced, "he's taken an interest in your scars." She said leaving the two to get acquainted

Her hand immediately shot up to her face covering the scars. "Forgive me for prying," Geralt began, "I have a friend who has similar scars."

Y/N's eyebrows raised, "is he a Witcher too?"

Geralt nodded, "sounds like he got those scars around the time you did."

"That would explain the pain…" Y/N mumbled, sitting at the table. "I'm very sorry for your friend, I know how he feels." She began a small frown pulling at her face. "No matter how kind you are, people tend to avoid things they can't explain."

"Well, I have reason to believe he may be the answer to those scars."

She shook her head, "even so he wouldn't want to see me." (E/c) eyes flickered up at his feline gaze. "I know exactly how I look Geralt. Kings stopped requesting my presence as soon as they saw my face, the lodge will not send me out diplomatically in case another scar decides to show up." Her jaw was set, "I'm quite positive your Witcher friend would not care to see me."

Geralt nodded, "if you change your mind let me know."

• •• •

Winters were perfect for catching up with his brother in arms. Geralt had debated keeping the scarred woman's existence a secret, but ultimately he decided that it was Eskel who should decide.

He broke the news a few weeks into their stay. He'd made sure Vesemir was in the room. If anyone would have more knowledge on the subjects of soulmates it would be the old Witcher.

"I met a sorceress this past fall." Geralt began, soliciting a scoff from Vesemir.

"Did you bed her too?" The grey haired man asked. Soliciting a soft smile from Eskel as he turned the page of his book.

"No, but she had some interesting scars." Geralt commented.

Eskel's eyes shot up, his hand automatically scratching at the scars that lined his lips. "A sorceress who chose not to have them healed? That's unheard of. They tend to be a vain bunch." Vesemir said thoughtfully.

"They tried, but scars involving soulmates is another thing." Geralt peaked up at Eskel to gage his reaction. The Witcher had stiffened, listening intently.

"Soulmates," Vesemir mused. "That is a very rare phenomenon. I can't say I've ever heard of two soulmates actually finding each other."

"Hmm, I saw the scars with my own eyes. Three claw marks on the side of the jaw." Eskel dropped his book.

"Appeared out of nowhere about twenty years ago." Geralt added. "If I hadn't been mistaken by the pair of tits I would have thought it was Eskel."

Eskel's cleared his throat, "it's a coincidence."

"Maybe, but I don't think so."

"Perhaps it's fate forcing you to make things right?" Vesemir in his infinite wisdom had a point. Much to Eskel's dismay.

"If it's fate we'll run into each other." Eskel dismissed.

"Eskel, you can't outrun fate." Vesemir began, "look what happened to you last time."

Geralt sighed, "I didn't tell you this to feel trapped by fate. I thought you had a right to know, I also think you have a right to tell destiny to fuck off if you want."

Eskel seemed to relax a bit, "was she attractive?"

Geralt nodded, "scars and all. Triss says she was once prettier than Yen." He hesitated, "there is something else you should know…"

Eskel leaned forward curiosity getting the better of him.

"She doesn't think you'd wish to see her."

A frown pulled at the dark haired Witcher's lips. He knew all too well what it was like to carry those scars.

Eskel had once been considered a handsome man. He'd never had a hard time finding a lover, and people used to be friendlier. After he acquired the scars, brothels were the only place he could find pleasure, the contracts he took the people looked on him as if he were a feral beast.

"Go talk to her." Lambert's voice echoed through the hall.

"What have I told you about eavesdropping?" Vesemir asked, turning to the youngest Witcher.

"Ah, can it old man." Lambert said, waving him off. "You're always saying you want a lover. If she really is your soulmate, even she can't turn you down."

That was just like Lambert, to throw his opinion out there regardless if it was welcome or not. "I thought you opposed Geralt bringing visitors to Kaer Morhen. You really want me to bring someone too?"

"If it’ll get you laid, I’m willing to take one for the team."

Vesemir rubbed his temples, no one could get on his nerves like the younger Witcher. Bold and brash, Lambert had a tendency to speak without thinking things through. It seemed the mutations could not quell the passion for living that burned inside.

“You have time. Destiny can wait.” Geralt said downing the rest of his ale. “Think on it.” He said, patting Eskel’s shoulder before heading upstairs for the evening.

Vesemir and Lambert were quick to follow, leaving Eskel alone with his thoughts. He turned to the many shelves that lined the wall. The bookshelves had been moved years ago when the library had decayed enough that Vesemir didn't trust it to house his precious tomes. If anyone were to have a book on the subject of soulmates, it would be the old man.

The book was thin and covered in years of dust. Eskel brushed the cover off. The letters had worn off, but the faint engraving of the title could be seen, Love Potions, Relationships, and Soul Mates. Eskel flipped to the title page, how to tell if they're the one, potions to make them fall in love, and tips turning that crush into love.

A small chuckle escaped Eskel's lips. He wondered when the old Witcher had picked this up, and who he was trying to woo. The table of contents indicated the chapter on soulmates started on page 69.

"Soulmates were fated by the gods. The oldest known magic, but very little have studied it. Soulmates could be confirmed by matching scars. It has been speculated that when one soul receives the mark their kindred soul receives it as well.

It is unknown why the other soul experiences the same wound, and pain. Some scholars assume it is to bound the two souls in a mutual understanding.

Soulmate bonds used to be very common, but the emergence of alchemy, and sorcery has made the magic almost extinct.

Soulmate bonds typically occur during strange phenomenons such as blood moons, eclipses, solstices, etc.

There have been instances where soulmates have argued that they were fated to meet.”

Eskel flipped the page, but the next chapter was regarding a love potion. He took care placing the book back on the shelf.

He let his mind wander as he trudged up the stairs to his room. Having someone to hold on nights like this wouldn't be unwelcome.

The room was silent, the fire had turned to embers. He threw another log on coaxing it back to life with Igni. The only thing in the room that indicated someone lived in it were stacks of books, and his weapons laid on a long, narrow table.

He toed off his boots and sat on the edge of the low bed. He wanted to laugh at Geralt for suggesting such an idea. He wanted to tell Vesemir that destiny could go to hell. He wanted Lambert to realize that no one would ever want him, but most of all he wanted it to be true.

Of course he wanted someone to love him, but how the hell could he accept a love like that? If he couldn't love the scars on his face how could he expect someone else to? The questions raised in his mind, but Lambert's voice rang in the back of his mind if she is your soulmate, even she can't turn you down. Perhaps that was the ember that sparked hope in his heart.

• •• •

The lodge trusted her with an alchemy shop. It seemed even she couldn't fuck that up. The once brilliant negotiator was now grinding, mixing and drying herbs. The shop bell jingled indicating a customer. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"Take your time."

She dried her hands on her apron, as she turned to face the deep voice. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. The scars that lined his lips were identical to hers.

"I'm sorry. This is my fault." He began as her hand shot up to cover the scars.

"I told Geralt you wouldn't want to see me." She said turning away from the dark haired Witcher.

He was quick to reach out to her, "no you're beautiful...no beautiful isn't the right word..it's not enough to describe you." Eskel breathed taking in her soft (e/c) eyes. "A choice I made hurt you." Eskel's voice was thick with shame, "and you've had to live with that."

She took him in, and her fingers traced the scars that lined his face. "Perhaps it's not all bad."

Eskel's heart fluttered at the prospect. She had yet to turn him away, and he dared to let his heart hope.

"These scars led me to you."

[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.7

a/n: Kai in the underground fighting ring will always be delicious. but do yall like the new image/header? :D i made it xD

warnings: this cannot be read solo, a bit of harassment

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 8

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased​​ @infinite-universe-love​​ @dirtypride​ @blackymomo03​

“This is what we’ve been able to gather in the gala.” You began your report. Eyes glued to the table separating you and the chief. Once again, he had locked the doors when you stepped in. Tsukauchi was supposed to accompany you but he had matters to meet up with All Might. “The Fukuo Kai’s boss handed out his call cards to some select people. Villains mostly, presumably.”

“And this was handed to Overhaul.” He was staring at you instead of the card. “Did you come in contact with any of the three Tsukauchi mentioned?”

“Akuji.” The memory made you cringe. Added with the sensation of being locked in this lewd office only made things worse. “He caught me off guard and infiltrated my thoughts. Rest assured that he was not able to gather any information regarding this mission.”

The chief began to tap his index finger on his knee. Taking in the information, he was delighted with the news relayed to him. However, one thing was bothering his mind.

“How did you escape his quirk?”

There it was. The dreaded question. You had no problem in telling others that Overhaul had rescued you from Akuji. In fact, you were pretty proud that he, a villain, actually thought about your safety. Allegedly, of course. But if the man in front of you were to know, he might restrain your communication between you and the young yakuza boss.

“Your hesitancy is not a good sign, my dear.” Standing up, he slowly made his way beside the table. Your peripheral vision following his every move. When the couch dipped, you bit your tongue. He somewhat smelled of beetroots. Not the best purchase if you could say. “Did you sack him in the knee? Point a gun at his face? Or none of the above?”

Shutting your eyes and letting out a long exhale, you clenched your fists and moved an inch away from him. You liked vegetables, but as a cologne? Pass.

“Overhaul managed to intervene just as I was about to make a move.”

Upon hearing your answer, his eye twitched. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he squeezed it just enough for you to turn your head and face him.

“When is your next meeting with Overhaul?” The way he prolonged each syllable in his name made you want to punch him in the nose. Yet his stare never wavered nor did he blink ever since you turned to face him. His thumb now began to brush the fabric of your shirt.

“Later this afternoon.” Your meetings with Overhaul was something you made sure not to put in your calendar. It was in this instance that you were glad you didn’t. “He still has some business to attend to.”

“Call him.” His hand began to trail down your arm. The small shiver you did made him feel dominantly good. His index finger slowly making a line. “And tell him, that your chief will be tagging along for this meeting.”

“He doesn’t do well with cops.”

“Defending him now?”

“He’s a villain and we’re asking support from him.” You reasoned out. “It would only aggravate him if we crossed that border line.”

“I’m sure you told him that there would at least be 2 other people he might meet.” He tilted his head and his hand trailed upwards. “That is standard procedure when we ask them. Don’t bother manipulating the situation, (Y/N). Call him.

Defeated, you took your phone and dialed his number. How you were going to act like you always did would be a new challenge. Glancing at the clock, there was still 2 hours before you would meet up with him. Somehow, you wished he wouldn’t answer. Somehow, you wished he was still busy with whatever his layered mind intended to do today.

The phone kept ringing till you were met with the other line saying he was unavailable. You slowly eased and carefully let out the breath you had been holding on to.

“Also, while you’re here, I have decided to move our scheduled dinner.” Twirling strands of your hair, he let out a satisfied hum. “I took the liberty of clearing your schedule for tomorrow. We shall be dining at the Tadrona Manor.”

Cursing at how far that restaurant was, you had already agreed so there was no choice.

“I shall pi-”

Both your eyes darted to the vibrating phone on the table. His contact lighting up the screen. Why did he have to call back?

“Well, answer it.” The chief took your phone, answered it, and held it up to your ear. Holding it by the edges, you waited for him to let go of your device before fully grasping it in your hand.

“Apologies for not answering.” Overhaul spoke over the line. “I had just finished my task for today.”

“It’s fine.” You tried your hardest to sound how you usually did around him. “So, uh, I have an update about our meeting later.”

“What might that be?”

“Uh…” You shivered as he felt his finger touch yours. “M-my boss wants to join the meeting. Hear me out. This’ll only be a short meeting and I can make sure to get a secluded booth for us. It’ll last no more than 20 minutes.”

You wished you hadn’t said that. In truth, you were excited to see him today. With the stable advancement the mission had, you were planning to buy him cheesecake as a thank you for cooperating. It just had to go down the drain.

“15.” He demanded. You could feel your heart sinking with disappointment. Your highlight of the day just got reduced by 5 minutes.

“Deal.”

Ending the call, the chief patted your head and finally gave back your personal space. Giving you permission to exit the office, you hastily made your way out and proceeded to go to the women’s toilet once more.

Furiously pumping on the hand sanitizer dispenser, you slathered it all over your exposed skin. The remaining amounts, you patted it on your clothes. That was even worse than before. Flopping on to the toilet seat, you mentally recalled all the previous times you entered his office. You never really saw how he stared at you since you were usually too preoccupied with your reports. The memory of him cunningly brushing his skin on yours as he handed out folders. And, perhaps that may be the reason why he kept giving you high cases. To have you all to himself in his little private area.

Shuddering at the reminder, you grunted and once again found yourself in the same position last time. Your phone vibrated once more. Lazily taking it out, you didn’t bother checking who the caller was.

“(L/N) speaking.” Voice heavy.

“What was that about?” Of course he would call back.

“He’s a moody ass.” You snapped back. “He likes to pry whenever I do my cases. I’m sorry to get you involved.”

“Is he bothering you?” His tone serious as he carefully chose his words. The way you sounded over the phone made him think that something happened, again

What you’d give to say yes but this was your problem. Not his. Bringing him into the picture would surely escalate things even more.

“Everything’s fine, birdman.”

“Birdman?”

“My bad.” You finally managed to chuckle. “I meant to say Overhaul.”

“Do as you please. I’ll see you later, problem child.”

Ending the call, you were now feeling much better. Still dirty from all the contact but lighter than before. By the time you were seated on your office chair, Tsukauchi knocked on your cubicle and dragged his chair to sit beside you.

“I called the place you wanted to hold the meeting in and they told me they were already preparing for your arrival.”

“Thanks, Nao.” You began to pack your stuff. “How’s Toshi-san?”

“Same old. Still trying to protect people despite his situation.” He paused and squinted his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Shrugging your shoulders, you faced him and winked. “I’m just… anxious for later. The chief wants to tag along.”

“Hmm. I see.” His quirk was telling him that you weren’t entirely truthful but maybe it was because of that. He had taken notice that if given the chance, his boss would join in on your case. You were always neutral about it. Why was this any different? “Are you okay with him joining?”

“Don’t use your quirk on me, Nao.” Booping his nose, you stood up and walked to the lobby.

There, you desperately prepared for the short taxi ride you would take. It was too obvious the both of you would sit in the back seat. When you saw him walking towards you, you swallowed every bit of your pride and forced a grin on your face. Leading him outside, you managed to quickly hail a cab.

Expecting him to open the door for you to enter, you swore you looked like an idiot when you realized he was waiting for you to do the action. Well, he was the chief so you simply rolled your eyes as he entered. The middle of the back seat was a saving grace as you placed your bag there.

It felt like forever but the taxi finally arrived at your destination. Entering the establishment, you were greeted by a waitress, you gave your name and she led you to a private room. Peaking at your watch, there was still 10 more minutes before the meeting would start. 10 minutes of agony.

Now that you were seated, the waitress asked if you’d prefer coffee or tea to be served. The chief spoke up and went for tea. The sliding doors finally closed and you were left alone with him.

“This kind of environment,” He spoke. “Is the scenario I reserved for us at Tadrona Manor. Exciting isn’t it? Privacy at it’s best.”

Forcefully lifting the corners of your mouth, you lowered your head as acknowledgement. You’ve never dreaded tomorrow like you did today. The doors opened and your breath hitched. Wearing his usual get-up, the bird mask was on full display today. The golden tip shinier than usual.

“You’re early?” You asked. Relief in your voice evident in his ears.

“The area was clear of traffic, hence my arrival before the agreed time.” Overhaul took the seat across you. His sight shifted to the man beside you. “If possible, I’d like to start now. I still have tasks at hand and this being of low importance.”

“This is mostly about the calling card. I just, uh, I was thinking about making you wear a device that enables me to hear what’s happening during the meeting.” You asked as you fidgeted with your fingers. Nails digging into your skin.

“The Fukuo Kai like to check their visitors.”

“I thought about that part. I’m taking into consideration of le-”

“We’ll give you an ear piece. You use your quirk on it and when you're inside, rebuild it. I hypothesize that the connection would still be established since the parts are technically the same.” The chief explained for you.

Observing how your jaw tightened and you barely made any eye contact, perhaps his assumptions were right. He could see the way you were leaning away from him. How you fidgeted around. And basically, how you weren’t as lively as you were when you're with him.

“I have no problems with your plans.” He commented ominously. His golden eyes staring directly at your chief. “However, I despise unclean people like you. As much as I’d like to cleanse this world from this horrible disease, perhaps I should get rid of men who cut women off as they speak as well.”

“She’s my employee.” The chief retorted. “We only have 15 minutes to this meeting and she was moving slow, as always.”

“And I handle a yakuza organization with twice the amount of workers.” Overhaul fought back. “Yet, we have been taught to always act chivalrously towards women.”

“Overhaul.” You tried to break the growing tension. When your eyes met his, he saw the relief painted in them. The way your shoulders relaxed and your features softened told him he had done his part. “It’s okay.”

You wanted to say thank you but with the chief around, you’d have to save it for later via message.

“Do you have anything else to share?” He asked you.

“No. That was all for today.”

“Leave the room first. We’ll follow after.” Overhaul rested his elbow on the table and leaned a little towards the chief. His brows furrowed when you weren’t sure of whether or not to leave the room with him and the other man alone. “Did you not hear me? I said leave the room. Now.”

Shocked that he had used that tone, you briskly took your belongings and exited the room.

You were grateful for his actions but this would not look good for tomorrow’s dinner. Bumping into the waitress with the coffee in tray, you told her that there was no need and that the meeting had to stop for personal reasons. Wanting a breath of fresh air, you stepped outside and waited for them there.

It was only a matter of seconds before they exited the establishment. The look on your boss’ face ultimately displeased of what had just transposed. His mind travelled to tomorrow. You were surely going to regret not speaking up on his behalf. Putting on a fake smile, he bowed lazily and hailed a cab.

“Problem child.” He snapped you from your thoughts. “Go home and take a shower.”

“What?” That sentence was least expected.

“You smell like him.” His eye twitched and he felt his blood boil when he realized that man’s scent was on you. “I can smell you even with this mask. Tch. You’re even filthier than before. Did you bring your car?”

“No. We had to take a cab.”

Massaging his temples, he let out a groan of annoyance.

“Follow me. I’ll take you home.”

- - - - -

2 uploads await all of you tomorrow :) do you guys have any questions? feel free to comment and ill gladly answer them :) take care and i hope you guys like this chapter <3

[roc-thoughtblog]

Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 10

Chapter 13, Pages 54-61

Today I actually paid attention to the meaning of the lyrics to Rolling Girl, and couldn't stop myself from crying. Then, like a sucker, I looked for English covers, and cried again. Oops. Song hits too close to home. Anyways.

Previously, Margaret was the best character. Marianne x Willougby now confirmed beyond reasonable doubt to Elinor, and Mrs. Jennings and everybody else now knows that Elinor has a secret beau. Poor Elinor, and probably poor Edward in advance, too.

Relatedly, two old friends dragged me out last night to witness the rare event of yours truly drinking, which mostly involves me pulling entertaining faces at weak cocktails after a single sip, because alcohol tastes as powerful and godforsaken as nuclear fallout to me, and lingers just about as long on the poor blasted wasteland of my helpless tongue. I don't have a secret beau, but they still did insist on dragging out of me every plausibly hypothetical detail, and then proceeded to try to set me up with the waitress of the night when there predictably turned out to be none. I dearly love my friends, but, Elinor, my point is that I want you to know that I feel for you.

I feel like sometimes I turn these preambles into diary entries. I'm entirely okay with this, though I should probably tag them somehow.

Also, oh my lord, this chapter sure happened, wow.

Readthrough below.

Chapter 13 Apparently things start really evolving now. Exciting. (EDIT: THEY SURE DID)

THEIR INTENDED excursion to Whitwell turned out very differently from what Elinor had expected. She was prepared to be wet through, fatigued and frightened;

Aha, Austenism coming up, first thing.

but the event was still more unfortunate,

Yess called it. So how was it worse? Were there floods? Surprise Edward & Mrs. Jennings meeting?

for they did not go at all.

... my expectations got double-subverted. Well, something is about to happen. I see now why all the details of the coming trip were attached to the last chapter instead of opening this one. They're out to picnic, and;

eager to be happy, and determined to submit to the greatest inconveniences and hardships rather than be otherwise.

I love this line. Anyway, while they're eating, Colonel Brandon receives a concerning letter though; his faces changes colour and he has to leave temporarily, like a really important phone call.

I guess this will be the impetus for change?

Haha, Lady M tries to stop her mother from prying into Brandon's personal business but Mrs Jennings is just not that type of person. Brandon's not really forthcoming and says it's just business in town, but he does have to leave immediately to attend to it.

It sounds really urgent. Him not being present means they can't go to the venue Sir Middleton wanted to use, which was an estate Brandon was related to. He's effectively cancelled the whole party for a business that where apparently, "I cannot afford to lose one hour." He's still not forthcoming on what though.

Willoughby and Marianne make snide comments betting that Brandon has invented the excuse himself to cancel the party because he's a spoilsport. Guys, please. :(

Sir M is very accomodating of Brandon regardless. He's a good-hearted fellow, really, if a little dim occasionally. Aww, Brandon says goodbye to Elinor. That's sweet, I really enjoy their friendship. Help I teared up slightly, I think I'm still emotional from the song. Marianne gets a silent nod. Yeah, I understand.

Anyway, now that he's gone, Mrs. Jennings starts eagerly speculating the reason for his urgency. A "Miss Williams" supposedly.

WHAT

SHE'S HIS DAUGHTER? BRANDON HAS A DAUGHTER? His NATURAL DAUGHTER? She's good enough at least to only reveal the daughter part to Elinor, but, damn. Wow, uh. Wow. People sure gonna bug him about Miss Williams now.

Wait but he's 35 right, so how old is Miss Williams?? When do people have kids again?? Oh my gosh, is Margaret going get a FRIEND HER OWN AGE?? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!

"Oh yes; and as like him as she can stare. I dare say the Colonel will leave her all his fortune."

But WHAT HAPPENED? Why aren't they together right now? Why is he attending random parties alone? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Though I do wanna say that does make the Mrs. Jennings' hypothetical Marianne/Brandon pair a bit stranger. Beyond just a man who could be her father, a daughter who could be her sister? That's something alright.

after some consultation, it was agreed, that although happiness could only be enjoyed at Whitwell,

HAHA, I really enjoy these lines. It's the kind of thing where it's not what anyone is intending on meaning, but it's accurate to what's happening in a roundabout way. Anyone everyone goes on a drive instead and presumably Willoughby and Marianne have a very romantic time on theirs.

Another dance in the evening? Is that just what rich people do all day? ... Do rich people still do that all day? Wow, there are like 20 Careys, a family who has now been mentioned twice that I recall and I don't know if they'll be important or just filling up the numbers.

Also I admire and yet detest the seating arrangements haha.

Mrs Jennings -> Elinor -> Willoughby -> Marianne. Willoughby, why you separate the sisters? You don't seem to talk much to Elinor anyway. ... are you trying to hog Marianne? Is that the play? I'm not judging here, I'm just curious. Would be sneaky play.

Despite the general pattern of narrative voice, it is abundantly clear that Elinor is the primary focus here as all the information is exactly and only what passes through her ears; makes the seating arrangement of Mrs Jennings on the other side very clever too, beyond just the charming blocking of having her lean over two people to harass Marianne with her mysterious Romance Sleuthing Acumen. Apparently she has figured out exactly where Marianne and Willoughby have gone on their "drive", and thanks to seating Elinor will now hear too.

HAHA SHE CALLS WILLOUGHBY MR. IMPUDENCE. This and Willoughby calling Elinor saucy, the dialogue really doesn't pull punches sometimes. Apparently Willoughby took her on a tour of his to-be-inherited estate. Elinor pieces together that Mrs. Jennings got the beans spilled from the servants. I told you two! Don't discount the servants! Mrs Jennings sure doesn't! Treat your groom a greater friend, Willoughby, and mayhap the seal of loyalty might have affixed his lips. :'D

Ah, but Elinor is still worried about propriety. Elinor, I love you dearly, but this is most harmless romanticism really. It's not like the horse thing. Haha, aww, Elinor's tactitly acknowledged Marianne’s relationship and intentions with Willoughby, and Marianne does that thing where she sort of lost the argument but is too pleased to really turn it around.

Haha, Marianne returns later to describe the actual house she saw with great enthusiasm. She's just that excited, how very Marianne to gush so; she might also be gloating juuuuust a little over having seen the house and expecting to inherit it. :'D Very amusing; poor Elinor to have to listen to it though, deliberate or not. Her own beau is so far away, and his own inheritance dicier. Must sting a bit.

AaaaaAAAAAAAA this has been my hour but I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT MISS WILLIAMS. I would have continued onto the next chapter, hour be damned because it's saturday, but skimming through Brandon doesn't come back. I don't want to skim too far ahead but as far as I can tell he doesn't come back for at least 10 chapters noooooooooooo you can't just spring that on me and leave me hanging aaaaaaaaaaaa. :'(

Ahh well, I suppose if I were any of the Dashwoods I wouldn't expect to see him until "after winter" anyway, whenever that will be. That'll be it for today then, I suppose. :'D

I think with the addition of Miss Williams, Colonel Brandon and his DAUGHTER are now the most intriguing characters to me. Not being able to find out their deal for weeks is gonna drive me nuts. I hope he's not an absent father though...

Miss Williams is also an instant favourite for just existing, because as you can see with Margaret, I have a soft spot for children caught in an adult world.

[rakuraiwielder]

to expel a bouquet

Beneath the clinical scent that cloaks her body, she always smells of wisteria.

Giyushino. Of a secret and words left unsaid.

A Kimetsu no Yaiba Fic / Major manga spoilers.

Also on A03

Foreword:

giyuu’s POV is hard to write since he’s sharper than people give him credit for but he’s emotionally stunted like a rock and his self awareness flip flops from zero to hero at least 20 times in 0.5 seconds its honestly ridiculous

that said i had a lot of fun juggling that and his 1 emotional brain cell personality lmao

“Have you been eating well?”

The question makes Shinobu pause, looks up from the bandages that littered their hands. She blinks once, twice, and Giyuu sees the focused haze in her eyes fade as her fingers retract slightly from the still raw skin of his thumb. Her wrist reaches up to rub at the bags below her eyes, and he feels something break the strange lull that had surrounded them both.

“Hm?” She blinks at him, present yet not there, eyes flickering in distracted beats as she gazes up with a look that held less of a smile and more of a quirked lip. Not for the first time he notices how sluggish she looks, shoulders slumped and drowsy under the humid heat that bathed the floors of the Butterfly Estate. It only adds to the curious weight he thought to voice; heavy behind months of grudging observation as she had wormed her way into parts of his life, implications he knew would make her retract if he did not thread carefully.

Shinobu was prideful, but even this he finds cannot deter from his own desires to pry.

He would ask, but already she was looking down again, rolling the gauze carefully over healing wounds and old scars. Shinobu hooks the white strip across the back of his palm, movements all precise and gentle, before turning to the table to look for the scissors. Giyuu can only watch, tongue tied and heavy from another of countless opportunities missed, noting the pale colour of her cheeks (did she think blush could fool anyone?) and how the softness of her sigh echoes the snipping of the blade. She moves back after, gathering the spare bandages she had placed in his hands, and he spies the barest hint of a similarly covered wrist as the sleeves of her uniform shifts. The sight of it jerks him back, wounds up something tight within him, and before he knows it the words were slipping from his mouth as easily as a sigh in the breeze.

“You smell like wisteria poison.”

The abrupt silence that envelops the room then hits different, and he feels -more than sees- her freeze, hands going still before pulling away completely to rest on her lap. Something flickers behind her eyes; sharp and unsettled, almost guarded, but then she was smiling at him before he could pull it apart. A stilted smile, he thinks, and almost regrets opening his mouth. Internally he curses himself for having a horrible sense of tact.

“Tomioka san,” she lifts her finger and pokes his cheek playfully, hard enough to make him wince. “Are. You. Saying. That. I’m. Neglecting. Myself?”

“You are always smelling like poison.”

“Not to be obvious,” she tilts her head in an annoyed fashion. “But I do work with them after all.”

Behind wooden lattices, Giyuu can hear the distant screams of the boar child overlapping with Tanjirou’s other friends. He can’t help but restrain another wince. It seems more often than not their supposed training dissolved into chaotic screaming matches. Alas, all distractions to the soft jabbing above his jaw. He was acutely aware he had stumbled upon something delicate, and he needed to take the time to formulate his responses right, lest he get a blade to his throat from riling the Insect Pillar up.

He had a habit of doing that, he thinks belatedly, though not through all fault of his own. Words don’t come to him right, and it was difficult to dance the fine line between talking and teasing that Shinobu lays out for him. Specially for him too, he thinks some more, and feels envy for all the times he sees her acting otherwise with the other demon slayers.

She would be an awful first conversational partner if she wasn’t his only conversational partner. (And no, Tanjirou doesn’t count.)

“I don’t mean that.” He says, softer than he would have liked, feels his misgivings rise as her smile wavers and her hand drop.

It had been barely discernible, but time and time again as they were forced into close proximity he had begun to notice; beneath the clinical scent that cloaks her body, she always smells of wisteria. He had paid it no mind at first, figured it was a by-product of the line of work she was in, but once he had realised it was hard to ignore. The scent blankets her like a layer of pollen, clings to her skin with a stubbornness that only grew more potent as the months pass.

Even now he can sense it; under the layers of disguised musk and fragrances, the lightness a tickling sensation at the back of his throat, whiffs of the purple flowers sweet on his tongue. It would suit her, were it not the reason he suspects led her to look the way she does now.

“You look tired.” Are you taking care of yourself?

For a moment she was still, eyes widening in bafflement, rendered speechless by knowledge he cannot quite grasp. He briefly ponders running his mouth again to explain before she starts to laugh, slowly at first before increasing in stride, shoulders shaking with mirth at a joke he wonders if he was the target of again. He wouldn’t know; she wasn’t looking at him anymore; eyes closed as she swallows peals of laughter. It throws him for a loop, even as she cups a hand over her mouth and turns to the side, trembling with an intensity that has him frowning.

His indignance only grows when he realises she wasn’t stopping anytime soon. Giyuu huffs, feels a churning weight behind the back of his ribs. It was not an ugly feeling, but the discomfort brought back memories of younger times -- of naive times, when he was unassuming and could afford to be childish. Even now he feels a pout tugging at the edges of his mouth, the back of his neck warming under the persistent giggling that smothers his ears.

How curious...

It irks him.

His hands hover unconsciously, makes to reach for her just as she opens her eyes, soft violet crinkling in amusement as she clears her throat in a bid to regain her composure. Her eyes flicker again, unaware of how he had jerked them back inches from the sleeves of her haori. Was it his imagination, or did she look relieved? Why-

There was an ache in him that desperately wants to know.

“What’s so funny?”

“Are you worried?” She snickers, smiles and waves away his prodding gaze with a lightness that makes his eyes narrow. “It’s fine, I have been eating properly. The girls wouldn’t leave me alone if I didn’t. Why just yesterday, Ao-”

She turns, and the scent of wisteria hits his nose again. Stronger. More potent. A sudden cloying reminder as the tightness within him snaps, and then he was reaching for her, cupping her chin and tilting her head up as he bridges the distance between them to follow the scent.

His thumbs press into her skin, traces the dark rings under her eyes as he shifts, mindful of the way the loose ends of his haori drag across the expanse of her own. The rustling sound barely makes a dent in his mind; a mere distraction, not when he could smell the faint odour of the flowers growing heady, headier than the soft breezes of wind he could taste from her clothes. Strange, it made no sense why the wisteria scent would congregate on her face. He was not familiar with the creation process of Shinobu’s poisons and antidotes, but he was fairly sure she’d wear adequate protection, do nothing to ensure harm to herself.

It would be foolish to think otherwise. He knows just how capable she is.

But yet…

“Tomioka-”

Giyu squints, gentle with his tentative grip over her jaw as he tries to trace the source, bandaged fingers brushing the corner of her lips with furrowed brows. Even her face was soft, mirroring the smoothness of her fingers every time they press onto an exposed patch of his skin; to dress a wound, check for a fever, brush or pat or poke him in an overly aggressive display he knows she does to establish the boundaries between them. For someone who made clear her dislike of him when they first met, she had engaged in much physical contact even before the tangled threads that bound them through necessity had started to change.

“-san-”

It was all superfluous musings. His mind was beginning to wander, and with a figurative shake of his head he pulls back slightly, angles his palm roundabout so that her chin rests between the spaces of his index and middle finger instead, careful not to brush the back of it against her throat. Perhaps it was a good thing that the gauze hid his calluses; the thought of her startling from his rough and cracked skin stirring up something unpleasant, but the notion leaves before he can wonder why. The scent eludes him still, no matter how hard he concentrates, even as he closes his eyes and leans in to breathe in the floral tones of it again.

“W-What..are you doing..?”

Always, it came back to her mouth. He doesn’t understand. His eyes flutter open, traces the shape of her lips as his fingers press gently against her cheek, tilts his head to follow the familiar scent. The wanting in him only grows when he cannot find the answer.

Why do you smell of it here?

“Kochou-”

Navy eyes glance up to see the woman before him flushed and livid. Shinobu had gone deathly still, and it is only now that he notices a stiffness present in the set of her jaw as she stares at him incredulously, deepening flush staining the softness of her cheeks.

“...You are turning red.”

“My, that’s a pretty rude thing to say to a woman.” Her voice trembles ever so slightly, but there was a dangerous glint in her eye, and confusion blinds him for just a moment before he finally takes stock of his hands, knees, clothes, the closeness of their bodies as he towered over her.

Giyuu colours, hands flying from her face as the realisation hits and he jerks back. His mind jumbles, blanks out into static as the weight of the gesture threatens to leave him free falling. A sudden compulsion; this breach of space, one he doesn’t quite know how to answer for. (And yet...) He swallows the sudden lump in his throat, feels the tips of his fingers tingle still from the warmth of her skin. The repressed panic must have shown on his face, because Shinobu’s eyes only grow darker.

“I overstepped, I’m sor-”

“You are an idiot, Tomioka san.” A hard tug against his sleeve leads him to glance back at the corner of his eye, seeing a hand gripping the checkered fabric. It only served to once again make him all too aware of the distance between; he had pulled back, but not far enough that he did not hover over her still, their proximity still close, too close for the two of them (colleagues? friends? mission partners? what were they supposed to be?) to be considered anything but compromising. His hand curls over the layers of butterfly winged cloth that pool off her lap. Another insistent tug on his haori. He does not pull away.

“Let go of me.” Shinobu narrows her eyes, sounds almost breathless as she glares harder with a sharpness he cannot feel. Her shoulders tense as her eyes flicker again, reflecting an anxiousness he can feel drumming in his own bones.

“But your mou-”

Her palms push hard against his chest, shoving him away before he could protest. It knocks the wind out of him; his instincts flare in resistance, but then her fingers were pinching his nose, and the sudden discomfort of it swallowed any retaliation he meant to do.

“Honestly, this is why no one likes you! You can have no concept of personal space.” She sounded more rattled than razor-sharp when he squints to stare cross-eyed through the blur expanse of her hand. He frowns back anyways, mouth twisting in awkward annoyance as her grip shows no sign of letting up. (If this was how she wanted it-) With a nasally grunt he grasps the wrist over his nose to prevent her from pulling away, takes an immature sort of pleasure at her widening disbelief. At least this bit of theirs was familiar.

“I do so. Also, people do like me.” His hold over her wrist tightens as she pinches him harder. (Really? Was she really telling him that?) “I’m not the one that goes around poking someone’s cheeks to get their attention.”

“Getting cheeky with me, are you?” Shinobu fumes, huffing through her nose as she glowers at his fingers and the thumb over her pulse -- as if glaring hard enough could burn a hole through the odd interlock of their hands.

Any moment now he expects a hard knock on the head, a violent gesture that would take her careening away toward the other side of the room and against sliding doors. One moment closer to reversing the distance between them.

He finds he does not care.

“Seems like you can take care of yourself just fine.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she would not look at him, no matter how he tried to angle his gaze. She catches him trying to do it all the same, and with another loud huff shoves a roll of spare bandages into his face. The pinching grip on his nose ends suddenly, and Giyuu finds himself swallowing the catch of his breath as air fills his lungs, cannot orientate in time before the Insect Pillar stacks more bottles onto his lap, pushing the remaining bandages and cotton and half empty medical kit to his side of the table.

She meant for it to be callous, but when she thrusts a bottle of salve into his other hand, curling his fingers around it securely with a firmness that betrays, he knew otherwise. The odd softness he feels subsides somewhat when she reaches up to tug roughly at the hand that still held hers, planting her knees on tatami flooring as she makes to stand. “I have a lot of things to do, so I’ll be taking my leave-”

“Wait.” His grip on her tightens, causes her to fumble as she wobbles on half-risen feet.

“Let go Tomioka san.” She pulls at his fingers again, her protest coming out a little too heated, makes him pause and reevaluate when she flinches in self regret.

“Not until you tell me.” Do you know? Your fingers are shaking.

“Tell you what?” She laughs, her eyes conflicted. “There’s nothing to explain.”

Her calves choose to buckle inward then, and Giyuu hears her yelp as she teeters off balance from her awkward posture. Unconsciously he loosens his hold on her wrist, scattering pill bottles and bandages on the floor as he makes to get up, reaches out to grab her waist steady before she can fall into a crumpled heap as her breath catches.

She startles at his touch, shoulders stiffening at their half-bent angle, body betraying her more as she curls into herself. Giyuu doesn’t want to think too much into it as he lowers her back to sit on the floor, can sense her distress as clearly as he buries his own while his hand turns clammy. It was disorienting. For a moment he fears she would struggle, but Shinobu bites her lip and says nothing, so he snatches his offending hand back before she can find a reason to.

A glance towards their other linked grip. Through their prior scramble their arms had come to rest on their laps, fingers linked between the empty space that separates their knees. He hesitates. Doesn’t let go.

Even now she won’t look at his way as the tension thickens within the room, threatening to choke them both. The realisation stings, just a little; an itchy prickling he spurns away in lieu of poised patience. It would do no good for such thoughts to get the better of him, even when the knowledge of being ignored leaves something to be desired.

It takes far too long for her to start fidgeting, giving into words as she swallows bitter resignation. In battles like these he always comes out victorious, the cursed stoniness of his face finally useful for something. An underhand method perhaps, but Shinobu never really played fair either.

“...It’s just residue wisteria powder.” A glance at him, hesitant and regarding as she says softly, stares at the tangle of medical supplies on his lap before reaching out to upright a fallen bottle. “A small breeze is enough to stir them into the air so they are hard to dust after. They stick to clothes easily; I supposed that was what you smelt. Careful,” the hint of a self-reflecting grimace as he makes to open his mouth, “they are still poisonous.”

His heart rate spikes. “Poisonous.”

“I wouldn’t be showing my face to anyone if I haven’t disinfected myself, Tomioka san.”

“Doesn’t seem like you to be so... careless.” It is a clumsy excuse, a half truth at best, and he doesn’t know whether to be exasperated that she knows that he knows this.

“Doesn’t seem like you to be so patronizing either.” Shinobu tugs at her arm experimentally, curls her fingers away. Her voice echoes, quieter than he’d expected. “Won’t you let go?”

Giyuu does not. Not yet.

He doesn’t like this; how at odds with her usual self she looks, gaunt and spent, the unsettling notion in his gut swirling the more he thinks about it. Too many things did not line up, and the scent of wisteria looms ever present, burns his lungs with their weight. They each have their own secrets to keep, the masks they wear a kindness to others from their grief, their suffering, themselves. Yet he knows he cannot brush this aside, even as he pulls back slowly, loosening his hand and releasing his grip.

“...Donburi.”

“Excuse me?” The backs of their fingers brush as they break; Shinobu is quick to draw back, cradling her arm over her chest as she finally meets his gaze, regards him with a look he cannot decipher.

“The owner of the corner diner in town came back. I haven’t been there for a while.” Giyuu inhales, clutches the spare folds of his haori in reflex and turns his head to the side; now the one avoiding her gaze. “You don’t have to get salmon daikon.”

Why is it, that I suddenly find it so difficult to meet you head on?

“...Idiot, have you been listening?”

He cannot see her expression like this, try as he might, cannot gauge if that was a positive response or not. Giyuu spies a look over the shadows of his bangs, catches her looking bewildered.

“You need a break.”

“And if I refuse?”

“...It’s my treat.”

Her mouth parts wordlessly, but he takes no pleasure in having the last word, bites his tongue as a million and one thoughts reflect through the deep pools of her eyes. He doesn’t chase this time; they were both frazzled enough as it is, can only hope the results would be the same.

“My, you can be such a handful…” Shinobu shakes her head, but her lips curl into the semblance of something wan, and the relief that runs through him was nothing short of palpable. “But I suppose a chance to stretch my legs outside would be nice.”

She must have caught onto his pleased expression, because her eyes narrow again, lips slanting further up into something more genuinely playful. All bark and no bite. He braces himself against it, feels the mood lift as they fall back into old habits.

“Tomioka san, you are kind of a brute, aren’t you? Touching a woman’s body like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“You owe to be more straightforward. This is why people misunderstand.”

“You understand.” He tilts his head, finds it strange that she would say that. She alone knew his intentions, but that was all he needed. Wasn't it enough?

For some incomprehensible reason Shinobu colours, flushes red again as she diverts her gaze with a huff. But he thinks she looks better like this; less pale and more alive under the natural glow of her skin. Cosmetics could only go so far, and well, he liked it better if she could look healthy without it. Not that he could look for long; already she was picking on another unredeemable feature of his he knows was blatantly not true, the mocking smile on her face an open invitation for him to snark back.

Giyuu takes it gladly, ignores flashes of an odd regret on her face even as their petty squabble ends and they stand, packing the medical kit away and heading for the room’s doors, parting ways. He wonders why she would look at him like that, as though she could find something on his face if she searched hard enough, wonders when he can next bring their unfinished conversation up, if she would ever deemed it alright to tell him about the wisteria scent unfurling from the corner of her lips. He doesn’t want to think about the implications of it, wants to accept the truth from her mouth alone.

He only wishes he had pushed the matter further, wishes he had more time before the inevitable.

Above, the crow’s frantic squawks as their heavy footsteps stumble under the uneven terrain of the fortress breaks him from his reverie. Every utter of her name from its throaty caws sends unpleasant tingles down his bones. It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be like this.

His feet skid as they round the corner, and behind him he hears Tanjirou swallow a sob. The sound echoes deep in his chest, feels almost like pain. Giyuu grits his teeth, fuels that ache into the spring of his jump before it can take over. He cannot waver now, not after-

(A memory. Of a question swallowed within the flurries of gentle snow. Of pursed lips and a sad smile. Why was it, he realises now, that all the genuine smiles she had given him had been tinged with sadness?)

Fool, he thinks to himself, sees the visages of a butterfly leave him and feels something crack within his already broken heart. Unbidden, something wet slides down his cheek.

x

A/N

me: i want giyushino angst where they argue also me: i want them to squabble like children while doing it

i wished their days of eating at small nook-and-cranny diners and enjoying warm meals together after missions could have continued forever :,)

[somethinginthethunder]

Unworthy of Your Love. [Brian May x Reader]

Hi yes I’ve cried and screamed about The Politician on Netflix for about 20 minutes straight and I’m still not okay so I decided to write this

If you haven’t checked out The Politician, please do. The story may not resonate with you, or the movement of it, but the message(s) may tell a different story.

Summary: Everywhere she turns, it seems the reader cannot be the best she can be.

TW: sadness/angst (sorry, I’m in a mood lmao), drinking/drunk reader, cheating

Word Count: 1,910 

Note: This is more of a vent one-shot. But I just thought I’d share it with you guys, so sorry if it isn’t good  or what was expected :/

Also, you can now anonymously ask me anything (since I forgot to allow it lmao) so ask my anything: requests, sequels, parters, hate, headcanons, or just drop in to say hi or smthn idk

-

You wanted to cry. You did. You could feel the tears welling up, but you held them back. You didn’t deserve to cry.

“Are you gonna explain yourself?” he said expectantly, his voice stiff and bitter, his tears still falling, though slower this time.

You opened your mouth as if you even knew how to start. All that came out was a small, “Brian...”

“No, Y/n. Why would you do that? Why would you be in another relationship while you’re still in one with me?” he interrupted.

His firmness startled you. In his hand were letters from Jacob, a guy who had been flirting with you, and who you had-- admittedly-- been flirting back to.

“He doesn’t mean anything to me, Brian, I swear,” you responded, your hands clenching.

“Oh, so you were just leading him on? Are you serious right now?” he hissed, running a hand through his curly locks. He paused to take in a breath, wiping his tears.

Minutes later, he was packing up a bag and heading out the door. The only other words he left to you were, “Call me when you’re ready to explain yourself. I’m not gonna pry that information out of you.”

You fell to your knees, a thud sounding as you stared blankly at the door. You placed your head in your hands, feeling the warmth of your tears warm your hands and arms as they ran down from your face.

-

You never called him. It had been 2 weeks.

You didn’t have the courage to show him what type of person you told yourself you were. Instead, you were at a bar, taking your next drink, which you probably shouldn’t have been. Your mind was fuzzy and you were just tired. You were tired of being tired. Tired of waking up to an empty bed. Tired of not hearing the peaceful tune of a guitar drift throughout your home as you got ready for the day.

Exhausted. You were exhausted. And it almost hurt to be.

“Y/n? Darling, is that you?” 

You turned your head to look at the person who had walked to you. It was Freddie. He was absolutely glowing with party-fever, a drink in his hand and dazzling clothes on as always.

You shut your eyes and exhaled, turning your head away from him, not giving him much of an answer as you sipped your drink.

“Love, how much have you had to drink? We’ve all been worried sick. E-Even Brian,” he continued.

You could only assume that Brian told them what happened, which only made you feel worse.

“It doesn’t matter,” you muttered to him.

Freddie’s frown deepened. He placed a hand on your back comfortingly.

“It does, actually. Y/n-”

Just then, Roger came into view, whispering to Freddie a little hurriedly. The rockstar sighed and looked out into the crowd. You couldn’t see to who.

“Really? He’s doing it now? Can’t you handle it?” he complained.

“Fred, he’s not gonna listen to me,” Roger snorted, clinking his drink with his friend, giving a nod to you, and then walking off.

“I’ve got to go handle John. You know how he can get sometimes. I’ll come back to talk to you, though, alright?” Freddie promised.

You gave a small nod, even though you barely even processed what he said.

Fred patted your back before leaving to go seek out the usually quiet bassist.

Downing your drink, you gave the bartender a tip before walking out of the bar, not wanting to talk to Freddie at the moment. He was out there to have fun, not to scout you out and talk about your feelings.

What you didn’t see, though, was a certain curly-haired man watching your encounter with the singer. You also didn’t see him pushing away the ladies trying to come onto him, and instead putting his drink down. You didn’t see his brows furrow together in concern, his tired eyes following you outside before actually moving to come to you.

You leaned on the wall once you got outside, your hands in your jacket’s pockets with your eyes shut.

You heard the footsteps following some seconds after you, but assumed they were just some random stranger coincidentally leaving after you had.

“...You never called.”

Your eyes shot open. Blinking away your surprise, you turned your head to look at him.

You made eye contact with him. His eyes held a certain warmth, but you couldn’t detect what kind. He was wearing a simple jacket and coat with jeans and sneakers, his arms crossed as he, too, leaned against the wall.

You weren’t nervous for some reason. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just because you had prepared yourself for this moment a few times too many.

“I know,” was all you could say back.

There was a pause of silence.

“What are you so afraid of, Y/n?” he asked softly.

“Hm?” you said.

“You always avoid these certain things like they’re the plague. Are you afraid of me?” 

You let out a soft chuckle, though it left a bitter feeling in your throat.

“No, not you. Never you,” you said. “It’s myself.”

One of his brows raised in confusion. 

“You’re afraid of yourself?” he asked curiously.

“Not of myself physically,” you started. “Just... of what I might do.”

Brian didn’t ask any further questions, so you continued.

“When we first started dating, I didn’t think it would... become so serious. I assumed you would just realize you deserve better than whatever I could give you and move on. But you didn’t,” you paused to lick you drying lips, the feeling of nervousness coming to you, but not fast enough to stop you from your admittance.

“You stayed, and you were completely convinced that we were... soulmates or something. And the thought of that scared me. I was scared we were gonna go so deep into the relationship that once I messed up or you realized your mistake and broke up with me, it would be too painful.”

The nervousness was completely there now, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“So when Jacob started flirting with me, I flirted back for some reason. I saw him as a friend, not as some side-lover. No, I was completely enamored by you, but I still tried to convince myself that maybe I liked him, too. I tried to convince myself that I wouldn’t be attached to only you and just you, that there was plenty of more fish in the sea. But the truth is there isn’t. I have never known of anybody even remotely as perfect as you.

It was also to make myself become less attached to you, so that when you did... eventually break up with me, It wouldn’t be so painful.

I know it’s a stupid reason. I know I’m a bad person. But I’m human. I’m not gonna be flawless, and I’m not. I’m just more ‘flaw-filled’ than most people should be.

And I’m sorry. I should’ve just told you outright the moment I felt it, but of course, I thought that I could’ve just taken the less straight-to-the-point way,” you finished.

Your eyes were on the road in front of you by the time you were finished. You didn’t want to look at Brian. The fear you were filled with now held you back from saying anything else.

“You tried to cheat on me to protect yourself and me from pure heartbreak because you thought that you were unworthy of my love?” he asked quietly after a few seconds of thinking.

“No, because I know I’m unworthy of your love,” you corrected. “You’re amazing, and kind, and so selfless, and I never seem to do anything right, even if I wanted to.”

“That is the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.”

You turned your head to look at him, making eye contact with his softened eyes.

“You are kind. I’ve seen you with kids, with John, Fred, and Roger. I’ve heard you sing to the neighborhood children and give some of them snacks after they play outside. I’ve watched you take away your own free time to help out friends and even strangers in need. So what if you don’t do good things all and ever time? Nobody can survive if they were truly selfless. It’s okay to be selfish once in a while. It’s what makes us... human. It’s what fires us to make us do more,” he paused to take off his coat and place it on your shoulders as it got even chillier, knowing your thin jacket won’t handle the coldness.

“As long as you feel remorse, want to do better, and try your hardest to, then you are not a bad person,” he continued. “What you did with Jacob wasn’t okay, but not everything is so black and white with these things.”

His words stopped there as he noticed your tiredness more.

“Here, I’ll take you home,” he said quietly, guiding you to his car. You didn’t try and fight him, because you know it was a fight you would lose. Especially to him.

When you got home, he helped you inside, taking the keys he still had and opening the door.

It was mostly silent as he helped you gather yourself properly before setting you to bed. You shut your eyes once you laid down.

Brian kissed your forehead before turning to exit the room, turning off the lights as he walked out the door and shut it behind him.

-

The next morning, a headache greeted you. Your eyes and nose scrunched together when you felt the bright lights reach your face. Opening your eyes, you sat up in bed, rubbing you eyes and yawning.

You got ready, putting on normal clothes and brushing your teeth, all with an aching head.

When you went to open the door, you froze. A small tune could be heard from a few rooms down. A tune on the guitar.

A small smile came from your lips as you opened the door, walking down the hall and into the living room.

There Brian sat, with a guitar in his hands as he picked at the notes softly. 

He noticed your presence after a few strums and looked up to you, a welcoming smile on his face.

“Morning. How are you feeling?” he asked.

“My head feels like absolute trash at the moment,” you answered, to which you both chuckled softly.

“...do you remember last night?” he asked almost hesitantly.

“Yeah, I do,” you responded quietly.

“We can work it out, Y/n. It’s okay. I’m willing to try again as long as you are,” he reassured you.

“Okay,” you agreed, nodding your head a little.

“And as long as you promise me one thing.”

“And that is?”

“To try and be more honest about your feelings. To tell me how you’re feeling and to not be afraid to ask for help, because you could ask me a million questions a day and I’d still love you the same,” he said.

You shook your head, a grin on your face as you laughed quietly.

“I promise, Bri,” you told him.

“Great! Now come sit with me, love. I’ve got this new song to show the band and I need your opinion on it, first,” he invited, patting the seat next to him on the couch.

“Alright, space man.”

[chiefnooniensingh]

I Won’t Hesitate (for you) Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Do not try me, devil devil

In this chapter: We meet Detective Valenti who tries to solve the Rosa Ortecho case. In the present day, we'll find out the source of the screaming and Alex's three day holiday is cancelled. Alex and the young doctor Kyle team up. A connection is found.

A/n: A special thanks to Aileen (@acomebackstory​), Callie (@callieramics​), @hm-arn​, @royalshadowhunter​ and @ladymajavader​ over on Tumblr for their continued support and cheerleading. I don't know if I would've finished it without you guys!

Last week's chapter was titled "Oh take me back (to the night we met)" and it was taken from the song "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers. This was guessed correctly by @hmd23 (on AO3)!

Can anyone guess this week's title AND performing artist?

also on: ao3

other chapters: 1 2

October, 1920

Almost a month after the kidnap and murder of Rosa Ortecho, Detective Valenti still had no solid leads. The poor girl’s body was completely clean of traces. Not even a hair was out of place on her body; it was as if she’d gone to sleep and simply never woke up again. Yet her windpipe was crushed, so Detective Valenti knew it was murder.

What he didn’t know, was who did it.

There were several tips from the local community. Most of it was false, Jim Valenti knew. Several people had reported a homeless veteran. He was supposedly sighted near the Ortecho residence around the time of the kidnap. Jim did his job, brought the man in, and released him the same day. War had destroyed the poor man’s mind and had taken his body with it. This man was neither mentally nor physically capable of planning a kidnap and murder without leaving any trace. Detective Valenti gave the man the address of his wife’s organization, that helped down-on-their-luck veterans get back on their feet. He doubted the man would go, but it was all he could do for the poor man.

The first real lead came a fortnight after the body had been discovered. Several of Chef Ortecho’s regulars had seen a young man fighting with Chef Ortecho one evening, about a month before the kidnapping took place. None of the stories matched on what they were fighting over, but they all ended the same; with the young man storming off and yelling, “You’re going to regret this, Ortecho!”

So Detective Valenti went to pick up the young man, who refused to identify himself and did not seem to have any legal documents to speak off. Jim suspected he was a recent immigrant still waiting for his papers. Or perhaps an illegal. It did not matter. He wasn’t border police; he was trying to solve a murder in his town.

The man steadfastly denied any involvement or knowledge, no matter what tactics Valenti and his department threw at him.

Apparently, the argument had been about a job Chef Ortecho had denied him. Tempers had run high, and the young man had said some unwise things. “I would never hurt anyone, Detective Valenti. I swear this.”

“I would be more inclined to belief you if you told us your name.” Detective Valenti said coldly. It was the third day of interrogation and he was beginning to lose patience. Either this man really did not know anything, or he was toying with them all. Either way, it was a frustrating process.

The young man shook his head, dark eyes glittering in the interrogation room’s half-light. “I cannot. I have no papers to prove myself, no real way to prove who I am. If I tell you my name, you will use all available measures to besmirch my name. I will never find any work. I’m sorry, Detective. I wish it were different.”

Five days Detective Valenti held the man in custody. Any and all legal tactics (and sometimes slightly illegal ones) were thrown at the man. Nothing yielded any results. The state’s capital was putting pressure on the sheriff’s department to just accuse this man, but Jim refused. He knew the state liked the young man as a suspect because he was dark-skinned and had no papers to speak off. To them it didn’t matter. He was guilty of being non-white, and that was good enough for them. Jim Valenti refused to participate in such barbaric practices. He wanted the real murderer, not some ponzi people could use to justify their racism.

So on the sixth day, Detective Valenti let the man go, with the Sheriff’s Department’s sincerest apologies.

They were back to square one.

Cursing profusely, Jim Valenti sat at his desk and stared at the picture of Rosa Ortecho from when she was found in the forest. He wanted justice for this poor young girl who was taken before her time.

But it was looking more and more as if that justice would never come.

Present day, 20th of October, 1935

Alex Manes sat bold upright, as the shriek from the cabin next to him continued and changed to hysterical sobs. There was shouting outside his cabin and hurried footsteps up and down the corridor. Several more people screamed or cursed.

As fast as his bad knee would allow, Alex dressed himself just enough to be decent and then yanked open his cabin door.

Outside, it was pandemonium. All the passengers were crowded around the Bracken’s cabin, from which hysterical sobs were still floating. “Move!” Alex shouted, and he started pushing a tall man he had not seen before aside. Beth and Mr Otto realized who was doing the pushing and immediately forced everyone further back, away from the door to clear a path for him. Alex reached the cabin door, which was closed. He tried the handle, but it was no use. It was locked. “Michael!” he yelled loudly, and the man appeared immediately, looking half-terrified and half-apprehensive. “Keys,” Alex said shortly, no time for pleasantries. Michael handed over the keys and Alex jammed the master key in the lock. Within seconds, he yanked open the door. His breath caught in his throat, and several people behind him gasped. Isobel Bracken was on the floor, her body flung over the still body of her husband, who was…drenched in blood.

“Mrs Bracken!” Alex said in astonishment. Behind him, someone had begun to sob.

Isobel looked up, her eyes red and her face wet from tears. “He’s dead!” she screeched. “Someone killed him! My husband!!” She was covered in his blood; her nightgown was soaked through and her blonde hair had stained pink in some places.

“Isobel, you need to come away from there now,” Alex said as calm as he could, even as his blood ran cold. A man was murdered in a locked cabin on a moving train. Worst – or maybe best, depending how one looked at it – of all, the carriage was locked at night.

Meaning the murderer was still in their midst.

This train ride had just become a murder scene.

“Out of the way, out of the way! What’s going on here?”

“Director Manes, there’s been a murder!” That was Mimi DeLuca’s voice, weaker than it had been last night and constricted with barely contained emotion.

“A murder? Wha – ?” Jesse Manes appeared in the doorway, looked in and cursed profusely. “That’s Noah Bracken, the director of the biggest oil company in the Midwest!”

Alex rolled his eyes. He knew his father was already thinking of the death of his reputation instead of the literal death that had happened here. Making a snap decision, he turned around. “A murder, yes, Director Manes. Alright, I need everyone to go back to their cabins, immediately please.”

Shocked and muttering amongst themselves, the small crowd dispersed.

“Michael!” Alex called, not even thinking about it. Michael was beside him immediately, looking grim. “Please take Mrs Bracken out of this cabin. Take her to the dining carriage, close it to the public. Keep the other door closed as well. Instruct the train staff that meals will be served in the cabins until further notice.” Michael nodded and began prying a still hysterical Isobel from her husband’s body.

As Michael wrestled her out the cabin, Jesse Manes grabbed Alex’s upper arm quite roughly. Alex flashed back to his youth momentarily, before yanking his arm from the grip and turning around to face his father. “What do you think you’re doing, Alex?” Jesse Manes hissed.

Alex leaned in close. “Solving your problem for you,” he hissed. Then he straightened. “Dr Kyle!” he called to the front of the carriage.

Kyle came out of his cabin, white as a sheet and looking shocked. “Yes?”

“Am I correct in assuming you covered forensic examinations in your studies?”

Kyle trotted over and swallowed hard. “You are, though it is not my specialty.”

“It will have to do. I will assist with any knowledge I have acquired over the years. But we need to examine this body and do it quickly. This was a murder and we need to find the murderer before we arrive in Paris, or we lose them forever,” Alex said, his logical brain going as fast as possible. Kyle nodded and returned to his cabin for his medical bag. Alex turned to his father, who was white with barely controlled fury. Some vindictive part of his brain thoroughly enjoyed seeing his father like this, but Alex had no time to dwell. “Director Manes, I need all the passengers to be kept in their cabins until further notice. I need a staff member from another car to stand guard. Under no circumstances is anyone allowed to venture out alone, especially not when we are at a station. The doors to the other cars were locked all night, yes?”

“That is procedure, yes,” Jesse Manes said, his jaw clenched hard. He was not used to being ordered around.

“That means that you and the rest of the staff can be discounted as suspects. So our suspect pool consists of 7 people. Eight,” he corrected himself as he saw Michael making his way towards them, his uniform stained with blood and his hair dishevelled. “Everyone who was present in this carriage after the doors were locked to the moment Mrs Bracken first discovered her husband to be dead.”

“Don’t you mean nine?” Jesse Manes said nastily. “You were present as well.”

Alex saw red with fury for a moment. “If you believe me capable of cold-blooded murder, you’re an even worse judge of character than I thought. Besides, if I were to murder someone, there is only one man for whom I hold enough hatred.” The vague threat hung in the air between them, as Jesse Manes blanched completely, then turned red with an impressive speed.

“You insolent little – ”

“Not so little anymore, father. Your precious army saw to that,” Alex spat, getting as close to his father as he felt capable.

“Alex,” a soft voice broke into his red haze, and a warm hand on his arm pulled him a step back. He looked at the hand and recognized it immediately. Michael. He looked up at him, and the man was looking at him in a way Alex hadn’t been looked at in close to ten years. Just like that, he was back to being that 16-year-old kid, spending his afternoons with Michael under their tree.

He shook his head to clear the image and took another step back, brushing his own hand to Michael’s ever so lightly in gratitude. Michael broke his gaze and stepped back, looking at Jesse Manes with contempt. “I’m going to solve this murder, father. You can either assist or get the hell out of my way.” He turned to Kyle, who was wearing gloves and carrying his bag, looking awkwardly between the three of them. Colour had somewhat returned to his cheeks and he looked determined. “Are you ready, doctor?” Alex refused to give the situation any more attention that it’d already gotten. They had, after all, a murder to solve.

At Kyle’s nod, Alex turned his back on his father completely and preceded Kyle into the cabin.

The first thing Alex noticed was that it was icy cold in the cabin. The window was open, letting in the crisp morning air. Alex immediately filed this away as odd. He didn’t think the Brackens would have opened that during the night. Which meant it might have been done by the murderer. “Michael, did we stop during the night?”

“Yes, we made a short stop in Vinkovci. It was only ten minutes though. I think it was around 3am?”

Alex nodded. “Can you fetch me my notebook, please? Top drawer of my nightstand.” Michael nodded and vanished, returning almost immediately with the book and a pencil. Alex scribbled down the information on a fresh page, headlining the page with MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS. It was a stupid habit but naming all his cases helped him remember them all the better.

Kyle had kneeled down next to Noah Bracken, and Alex now turned his attention fully to the body as well. The man’s dark skin had turned a noticeable shade of pale, his mouth had sagged open and his eyes were closed.

His eyes were closed.

“He never woke up,” Alex said out loud, frowning deeply. Kyle, Michael and Director Manes looked at him in surprise. “If he was murdered in his sleep, he would’ve woken up, even for a moment, an automatic reaction to the pain sensation. His eyes are closed. He never woke up.”

“What does that mean?” Michael asked, stepping closer. At Alex’s raised hand, he stopped and stepped back again.

“It means he was probably drugged before he was murdered. Maybe hours before. Maybe just before. Either way, the murderer went out of their way to make sure he made no sound.” Alex looked around and saw a teacup on the floor, chipped. He picked it up with his handkerchief and took a sniff. He coughed. “Yes, barbital.” Clever, really. If Noah Bracken had made even the slightest noise, Isobel would’ve woken up and the murderer would’ve been apprehended before being able to escape.

“Barbital?” Kyle said, incredulously. “That’s a very heavy sedative, how on earth did someone get hold of that?”

Alex shrugged. It was hardly the first time he’d seen a person drugged by barbital. It had even happened to him once. It had not been a pleasant experience. “It’s usually given for heavy anxieties, for people who cannot go outside on account of fear. And since women are often seen as hysterical and anxious…they get their hands on it quite easily, I assure you, Doctor.”

Kyle clicked his tongue. “Ridiculous.”

“Why don’t you tell your prejudiced colleagues, Doctor?” Alex said, putting the cup down gently and scanning the rest of the cabin for more clues.

Kyle flushed a bit, then straightened himself. “I’m ready to begin examination, Alex. Would you join me?” Alex went to his knees next to him, ignoring the painful twinge in his leg. The two men nodded to each other and Kyle went to work. “Alright, I’m removing the night shirt.”

“Careful,” Alex said, “That might be evidence.”

To his credit, Kyle was very careful to push the shirt out of the way only as much as was necessary for the wounds to reveal themselves. And wounds it was. Kyle and Alex both inhaled sharply. There were at least a dozen stab wounds on Noah Bracken’s torso. “It seemed the murderer wanted to make sure he was dead,” Kyle said, after a moment, his voice slightly constricted. Alex nodded mutely, counting the wounds and making a note of them in his book. “I’m going to take his temperature now.”

While Kyle went to work, Alex looked around the cabin. It was a mess. Isobel had evidently knocked over some stuff as she was trying to get to her husband. A pair of glasses, a book, a water glass, an old pocket watch. Frowning, Alex took out his kerchief again and picked up the watch. It was grievously damaged, its face shattered as if a knife had pierced it at great speed. Which, Alex realized, was probably exactly what happened. The hands were still, set at just a few minutes past 3AM. Would that be the time of the murder? Alex wondered, examining the watch curiously.

“Alright, internal temperature is about…32 degrees,” Kyle piped up, drawing Alex’s attention back to him. “That would put the time of death around…” He checked his own watch. Alex already knew what he was going to say, and so they said it in unison, “Three AM.” Kyle looked at him, surprised. Alex held up the watch, showing three AM.

“Two sources are better than one, my professor always said,” Kyle said, with an attempt at a smile. Alex inclined his head in agreement and made another note in his notebook.

“What can you tell me of the wounds, doctor?” Alex said, wrapping his hand tightly around the watch.

Kyle returned to the body and bent over the wounds to examine them closely. “Well, whoever it was, the murder was not business. Some of these wounds are very ragged, as if someone stabbed him quickly and roughly, as if in anger. Then again, these two,” his gloved pinkie finger pointed out a wound near the heart and on the lower left side, “look more precise. Deliberate. In fact, these two may have been the two that killed him instantly. That’s the heart and that’s the large intestine. The heart is the obvious killer, but if that one hadn’t killed him, this one would have. This much damage to the large intestine releases toxins and waste into the body. It kills a person slow, but it will kill.” He looked at the wounds again and frowned. “Odd. Some wounds go deeper than others, as if the murderer lost their strength halfway through.” Kyle sat back on his heels, frowning deeply. “Detective Manes, nothing makes sense about these wounds. They appear completely random and yet deliberate. Made by passion and yet with cold precision.”

Alex wrote it all down, frowning deeply. “Do you have an explanation?”

Kyle blew out his breath. “If I was a forensic examiner by trade, I might have had. But I’m a doctor. I deal with the living, not the dead. I can only tell you what I see, but not the why.”

Alex nodded. He wished he had his favourite forensic examiner with him from the NYPD. The man was a genius and had, at this point, seen everything. But he didn’t, so it was no point dwelling on the matter. “Any theories on the murder weapon?”

“A knife. It was a sharp blade, no ridges or blemishes to speak of. Military, perhaps. That’s about as precise as I can get.” Kyle rose to his feet, taking off the gloves and running his hands through his hair. He looked pale again. “Nasty business. And his poor wife. They’d only been married for a year, you know. To be widowed so soon is a crying shame.”

Alex nodded, barely registering Kyle’s words, still engrossed in his notebook as he tried to make sense of the details he had so far. A murder that was not planned yet performed deliberately? Nothing indeed made sense. “Thank you, Dr Kyle, that will be all for now. Please return to your cabin and stay there until otherwise instructed.”

Wordlessly, Kyle packed up his bag and left the room. Alex remained behind, engrossed in the details and in the room. Slowly, he backed away to the cabin door, so he could have a complete overview of the cabin. Sticking from beneath Noah Bracken’s bed was a newspaper clipping, faded yellow and looking as though it did not belong. Going laboriously to his knees again, he picked it up and examined it. It was only a headline, and incomplete at that, as it was half-burned.

… Ortecho (11). Her body was disc…

Alex froze. Ortecho. It couldn’t be. Looking up slowly, he looked at Noah Bracken’s face, then back at the newspaper clipping. Could this be…? Noah Bracken had the complexion, but Alex knew that was by far not enough. However, now that he looked really well, the man before him looked suspiciously like the man Detective Valenti had brought in for questioning. The only real suspect the sheriff’s department had ever had.

“Rosa Ortecho,” he said out loud.

“Excuse me?” said Michael and Jesse Manes in unison, making Alex jump. He had completely forgotten they were still there.

Alex showed them the newspaper clipping. “Rosa Ortecho. The girl that was kidnapped and murdered in Roswell, remember? This was the man who did it, or at least the police suspected he did. Noah Bracken, the young immigrant sheriff Valenti once questioned and cleared of all charges on grounds of no evidence. When I made the switch to private investigator, I reviewed the details of the case, see if there was anything the detectives missed back then. I remember the picture of the immigrant man they brought in. It was him,” Alex said, pointed to Noah Bracken. “This wasn’t a random murder at all. This was revenge. For Rosa Ortecho.”

Michael stared in shock at Alex, and Director Manes narrowed his eyes. Alex turned back to the body. Rosa Ortecho’s murderer. Finally found, and now a victim of a murder himself.

Alex nearly scoffed. This case was going to be the toughest one he’d taken yet.

[thesecondcircleofkel]

NSFW Alphabet, Tamaki: A-Z

Reposting all of these together for convenience and to save space. I don’t accept requests to do the entire alphabet for someone all at once. You have to stick to the guidelines of 1 character per ask, and 5 letters per ask, and once I finish the alphabet for a character with requests like that, I will repost it all together. Request are closed at the moment, though.  

A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He gets really cuddly. Sex can be a bit overwhelming for him, so he needs an extra moment afterwards to calm down and being able to curl up in your embrace really helps that process. Some gentle petting will go a long way, too, and it’s also something that he’ll reciprocate since he finds it soothing to run his hands along your skin. Just take good care of him in the immediate aftermath, and he’ll take good care of you once he’s caught his bearings.

B: Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself, he likes his mouth, if only for the reason that he has an oral fixation and he loves to bring you pleasure with his mouth. His mouth will be on you a lot, whether that be against your own lips, kissing and nibbling down your neck and torso, marking your thighs, or giving you mind-blowing oral.

He’s also a really big fan of your mouth, particularly your lips, but he’s also a thigh man. He especially loves it when his face is buried in between them during oral, but he’s also prone to marking them. He’s also fond of your collarbone since that’s another good place for him to kiss and nibble.

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

His cum is really watery, but he cums an average amount so it’s easy to avoid a huge mess so long as you’re prepared. He does end up eating some weird things on account of his Quirk, but he tries to keep his diet balanced beyond that, so while his cum won’t have the best taste in the world, it won’t be the worst, either. He also really likes the way his cum looks dripping down your skin, so he prefers to pull out and cum on you rather than in you.

D: Dirty Secret

Frequently masturbates to the idea of having a threesome with you and Mirio. He’s probably too skittish to actually go through with the idea, but he certainly loves the image of it. His favorite setup of this threesome is when he’s sandwiched between you and Mirio, with Mirio taking him from behind as he (Tamaki) is buried inside of you.

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s had no experience before you, and he’s really nervous about that. Reassure him and talk him through everything, and by the second or third time that you have sex, he’ll be a lot surer of himself than he was the first time. He’s a fast learner, too, so he’ll definitely know what he’s doing by then, as well.

F: Favorite Position

He’ll be a little timid about doing it at first, but Tamaki actually really likes to watch his cock move in and out of you, so positions that give him a good view of that, like Crab, Precipice, Rider, and Dejavu, are some of his favorites. You also have more control in these positions, which is another plus in his books.

He also likes positions that allow for plenty of eye contact, such as Gemini and Cowgirl. Once he gains a little more confidence in the bedroom, he’ll also be really fond of Missionary.

It should go without saying at this point, but sit on his face if you want to make him a very, very happy man.

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)  

He’s not very humorous by nature, and if you ever do laugh at something during sex, you’re going to have to reassure him that you’re not laughing at him for some reason. Once you reassure him about that, though, you’ll probably get a smile out of him just for the simple reason that he loves the sound of your laugh. You might even get a chuckle out of him, too, if he happens to catch on to whatever was so funny in the first place.

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

The carpet is slightly darker than the drapes (so an even darker shade of indigo) and even though it’s pretty sparse anyways, he still trims it on a consistent basis.

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Sex with Tamaki is extremely intimate. How could it not be, when such a shy person trusts you enough to be so open with you and to give you total control over him? Plus, while it’s something that he tends to avoid with strangers, eye contact is actually something very important to him and he feels like it’s necessary that he look you in the eye during sex to truly convey how he feels about you.

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’s got a really high sex drive, so even if the two of you have sex every day, he’ll still have to get himself off. He has a hard time controlling his moans, too, so he has to do it in the privacy of his own home. He’s particularly fond of masturbating in the shower, and he pictures you dominating him to help him get off.

K: Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He loves to be Dominated, but he has to dominated softly so he doesn’t get overwhelmed. He will let you tie him up in a heartbeat, and he also loves to be Blindfolded. Ride him softly once you get him all set up, and you will get the sweetest moans out of him. He can take edging on occasion, but it’s better if you just bring him to an orgasm slowly.

Also into Sensation Play once you’ve got him blindfolded, so if you can also play into that while you ride him, more power to you. He’ll get pretty breathless if you do.

I’m not saying that he’d like to use his Quirk one day for tentacle sex, but I totally am. Good luck prying that fantasy out of him, though.

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Shy boy is too shy to have sex anywhere outside of your home, but he’s fine with having sex anywhere there. He’s also very fond of shower and bath sex, so if you have the opportunity to join him while he’s taking either of those, go for it because you’ll definitely be getting lucky.

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He has a thing for your mouth, so if he sees you biting your lips, he’ll definitely get a little flustered. And if you just so happen to make eye contact with him while you do that, then he’ll be a goner for sure.

His ears and neck are all very sensitive, so light touches against those will get him going, as will you whispering in his ear or gently kissing his neck.

Honestly, just be forward and dominant with him somewhere outside of the bedroom. Like, be careful so you don’t go too far and straight up embarrass him in front of people, but tell him that you want him when no one else is close to hear you or trail your fingers down his arm or suggestively grab his thigh when nobody’s looking.

N: No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’d never get to the point where he could dominate you like he lets you dominate him. He’s just far too shy and submissive by nature for that. He’ll take some control during sex on occasion, but not nearly as much control as he gives you.

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)  

If you want some more elaboration on this, then go to his ‘Body Part’ and ‘Wild Card’ sections, but in short, Tamaki has an oral fixation, and he will practically take up residence between your legs. He cannot get enough of the taste of you, and if you let him, he will give you several rounds of oral a day. He’ll wake you up with it in the morning and he’ll use it as a way of saying goodnight, as well. There’s nothing shy about his technique when he’s giving you oral, either, and he does not hold back in his endeavors to bring you to orgasm. With all that said, he has a major preference for giving you oral, and he’s quite the blushing, moaning mess whenever you go down on him.

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on the mood, really, but he has been known to get rather frantic with his pace if it’s been a while since the two of you have been together. Most of the time, though, he’ll just go at whatever pace that you tell him to.

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)  

He would definitely prefer to have proper sex with you, but with how high his sex drive is, he’ll never turn down a quickie, especially if you’re more on the dominant side when you proposition him for one.

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)  

He’s a little shy when it comes to experimenting, but with enough encouragement and reassurance form you, he’ll be down to try just about anything that you want him to. Risks are a whole different story, though, and he avoids those like the plague. He’s just too skittish of a person for most risky behavior.

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can go for multiple rounds, about 2-3, but he gets overwhelmed very easily if those rounds are too close together, so make sure you give him plenty of time in between rounds to breathe. He can last a good 15-20 minutes on average every round, but that changes depending on what you’re doing. If you’ve got him tied up, then it’s totally up to your discretion.

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He’ll be slightly alarmed the first time that he sees a sex toy up close and in person, but once he’s shaken that shock off, he’ll be totally fine with them. He prefers it when you use toys on him, especially when you have him tied up and completely at your mercy, but he’s willing to use them on you whenever you ask him to, so long as you’re encouraging about it. It also never hurts to instruct him on how to use something on you, and he’ll be even more turned on by that.

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

At first, he’ll be way too nervous to even think about teasing you, but once he’s gotten a bit more comfortable with sex, he’ll be willing to tease you a little so long as you have confirmed that that is something you want him to do. He would still much rather you tease him, though; he loves it when you dominate him, so having you tease him, taking all control from him and not letting him cum for a while, will always do wonders for him, and the moans that you get out of him when you do this will be heavenly.

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He is so damn loud, and he has the sweetest keens and moans, too. Semi-public sex is pretty much off the table because of that, but honestly, with the way that he practically serenades you in the privacy of your bedroom, that’s hardly a loss. Tell him that you like the way he sounds when you’re in the heat of the moment, too, and he’ll get even louder.

W: Wild Card

This would probably be more appropriate for the O section, but he definitely has an oral fixation. Maybe it’s because his Quirk is centered around what he puts into his mouth and eats, but regardless of the cause, he has a hard time keeping his mouth off of you. He loves to kiss you a lot because of this, but his fixation mainly lies in going down on you. If you let him, he’ll give you oral several times a day, and he loves to wake you up in the morning with a surprise round of oral (it’s hardly a surprise once he starts doing it every day, but it’s still nice). It gets to the point where his mouth will water every time he sees you, so if you ever catch him staring at you with drool coming out of the corner of his mouth, just know that he wants a taste of you and that you should indulge his fixation soon.

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Average girth, but slightly above average length at about 6-6 ¼ inches. His dick has a slight upward curve to it, with no real prominent veins except for the one along the underside of his shaft.

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He’s actually got a pretty high sex drive, he just keeps it hidden from you because he’s embarrassed by it. He’s down to have sex whenever you are, but even if you have sex with him every day, he might still have to masturbate later on. It kind of just depends on how his hormones are treating him.

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He always has to have a good round of cuddling to calm down after sex, so he won’t fall asleep until he gets that, but once he has calmed down, he’ll fall asleep pretty quickly, especially if you’re holding him and letting him use you as a pillow.

[literaryjerseygirl]

Second Chances 5/17/2020

I’m a lucky girl. I know, I know...I’m a grown woman and should refer to myself as such. But fuck it. Today I’m a girl, and a lucky one.

You may ask how. Or why. Why do I think I’m so damn lucky?

It’s spring 2020, and most of NJ is under a stay-at-home order. And for a semi-social person like me (who happens to live alone), it’s difficult at times. I’ve been working from home. My gym and the yoga studio are closed. I miss my friends. Loved ones and I have been hit by losses, and we cannot comfort each other. And if you’ve followed me for any length of time, you know my struggles. There’s no need to reiterate them here.

Yet I’m smiling as I write this. The sun is out. The ocean is a block away. Summer is imminent. I have a job, decent health, food, a roof...yadda yadda yadda. And I have friends who are my family and who love me. And who I love right back.

You know what else makes me lucky?

Second chances.

I’ve gotten several. A big one in 1994. Others through various times in my life. And that’s what this is about.

I have to get real, and to do that I need to be honest about myself. I was not always a great friend. I probably still am not a great friend at times; the difference now is I’m more aware and I try harder. If the connection has value to me, I’m going to do the work to keep the friendship. I’m going to talk about the difficult things, and be there when it isn’t easy. But I wasn’t always this way. I found it almost impossible to connect to others. I felt like I had things to hide. I also felt I didn’t have much to offer anyone as a friend. Sure I can laugh at your jokes, let a double entendre fly, inject some witty observation into almost any situation...but when shit got real? When disagreements happened? When life got in the way? Or, when I needed to face some part of myself I couldn't or wouldn’t face in order to maintain the friendship? Nope. I was out. Usually without a word. These days, it’s called ghosting.

People don’t always give you a second chance when you behave this way.

When I returned to New Jersey in the summer of 1998, I was likely suffering from PTSD or C-PTSD. The stigma surrounding mental health (or lack thereof) coupled with my own pride/shame/fear kept me from seeking the help I needed. I came home thinking I’d slip right back into my old life, and that my old friends would be overjoyed to see me. I thought I’d be “OK;” I’d somehow magically be whole again.

WRONG.

Some of my friends were glad to see me. Some weren’t sure how to take me, I think. They kind of...well, did a “me” and nope’d out when I wasn’t quite my old self. I vividly remember being asked how married life was, and when I explained I was in the midst of a divorce, the look of shock I received surprised me. The response was something like, “wow, you kinda lapped us all...divorced at 26...some of us haven’t even gotten MARRIED yet!” That stung, a lot in fact. I wondered if that’s why I had a tough time reconnecting with people-the whole “divorced at 26” thing. Logically-probably not. But I have no way of knowing. I only knew that I felt different when I came home; I knew I was not the same. I longed to be the “same” young woman I was before the abuse.

I was thankful to the small group of classmates who just about treated me the same when I returned. They didn’t remark too much on the divorce, they didn’t ask too many prying questions. They accepted me back, and I was grateful. I offered the bare minimum of details, which seemed to satisfy them. I didn’t have to delve into specifics and, even better, I didn’t have to talk about what was going on while I lived at my parents’ house those few months. This is where I circle back to “nope’ing out” on friends. As happens during the course of friendship, boundaries were crossed, things were said, promises made and broken. Shit got real, and life got in the way. And because I’d so recently chucked everything and it seemed to work (it actually didn’t, but that’s another piece of writing for another time), I did it again. I turned my back on those friends. I fulfilled the remaining social obligations I had with them, and then just dropped out. Didn’t return calls, ignored emails, and avoided places I knew they might be. And when social media showed up a few years later and they found me...well, I hid. Or I tried to.

It's only been the last few years I knew that I would never be exactly the same-and I was determined to be better. I spent many years looking in the mirror for that girl who entered college with enthusiasm and big dreams. I caught glimpses of her as I opened up and worked on healing. And when I stopped running from my demons and turned around to face them, she came roaring back. I felt her. I saw her. She was me, and I was her once again. Under the laugh lines, the crow’s feet, and beneath the gray hair-there she was. That energetic, sarcastic girl who loved her college classes, adored the TV station she helped start, and could be found laughing with her friends.

But this is about second chances, and I’m getting there. I knew that I would have to, at some point, make amends to people I hurt by ghosting. I knew I couldn’t hide forever.

Probably the greatest compliment I received was after reconnecting with an old friend I’d literally hidden from. I knew that the circumstances surrounding the hiatus in our friendship, and my ‘disappearance’ were going to come up. I let their friend request sit for quite some time as I asked myself if I was ready to talk about it. Was I ready to face it, and ready to admit that I’d been wrong? This is where the blog comes in handy. It’s already been written, it’s all laid out, and I don’t have to say a word. So when we reconnected, and the time came, I merely spoke about my blog, and warned them it was graphic. I'd had numerous classes with them in college, and as I suspected, they had no earthly idea what was going on back then.

The compliment? It was something along the lines of, “Even though we haven’t talked in 20 years, you’re still LJG....it seems like no time has passed...you’re still you.” I’m not gonna lie...I got teary over those words. Maybe I am not 100% the same, but the big things, the inside stuff...the things that make me fundamentally who I am...well it seems my core is unshaken and unsullied. And THAT is why I am a lucky girl. Lucky to have a second chance in so many things, lucky to have a good life, and lucky that I’ve found “myself” again.

https://www.theliteraryjerseygirl.com/originalwriting/second-chances-5-17-2020/

[axelsagewrites]

Welcome Home*Shadowhunters

Masterlist HERE

Wattpad HERE Alec, Isabelle, Magnus, Jace, Clary X Platonic!Lightwood!Reader

"uh," I groan and squeeze my eyes shut as sunlight blinds me in my bed. The shrill ringing of my phone is still going on. I roll over and lazily feel around for it before turning the alarm and prying my eyes open to see the time. 4:23 am. Uhh. I fling my phone somewhere and curl back up. Why am I getting up at 4 anyway? Wait, "Is it..?" this time I actually sit up and grab my phone, "It is. I'm late!" flying the covers off, I run to my wardrobe and stuff on jeans and a jumper over my pajama top. Grabbing the first suitcase, I begin cramming all my clothes inside, flinging my shoes in as well with some non-breakables. Suitcase 2. I sweep everything off my shelves and out of my drawers into my suitcase. mi not stupid so I save all my souvenirs and breakables for my backpack. Glancing over at my desk I sigh. I don't even pay attention to what papers I'm gathering as I try to make them neat enough to fit in a folder then in my bag. Finally done. The clock reads 4:56 here. Okay, this is fine. I double check for loose ends and when I'm sure I stand in the doorway and look over the room. This was-had been my room for the past year. I'd grown accustomed to it, loved it even. Despite its faults and culture shocks. As I walk along the hallways for the last time I nod to the few awake at 5 am. Most people awake were night shift desperate for a bed. They give me smiles and nods in returns, even a few goodbyes. I quickly duck into the kitchen. Hayato was hunched over the coffee maker. An older man with greying hair and wrinkles deep in his forehead and in his smile lines. He was always smiling, a good thing really as he was my mentor, "Morning," I said. He rolled his eyes and scrunched his lip up to his nose, "Or evening," I laugh. "I'm 58, I shouldn't still do the night shift," Despite his grumbles, he pours me a mug as well, "Here," "I should really be going; I only came for..." I trailed off knowing id sound stupid. He raised an eyebrow, "Your mug? It's in the cupboard," he smirks at my red face, "Nothing wrong with being a little sentimental," I shrug as I grab the 'I heart NY' mug my friends had given me before leaving. "See you later," Hayato didn't say goodbyes. He nodded, grabbing something from the cupboard, "For your collection,"  he added as I took the box. "Open it later." I nodded and left. I don't bump into anyone else as I head to the portal. We said goodbye last night. When I get their Kaori was waiting, "It was good to have you," I smile, "Good to be here." Normally her hair was pinned back but she left it down for once, a waterfall of ink down her back, "if you ever need anything just send word," "Same goes," She grins, "Okay go. You're missing them after all," I take a quick breath before stepping through the portal. I hate portalling. You feel weightless and there's always the chance of getting stuck. My eyes open to a sight and a half. All the stations were filled with people silently doing their work, like a perfect machine. Frightening. But New York had always been like this. When I didn't see any of them I began to retrace the hallways. Sure, it was a little different but also the same. It was dinner time here and it smelled like takeaway. The dining room was filled with quiet chatter. It used to be before I was even alive, that a cook would make the food for everyone and the dining room would always be filled. It's different though. Maybe 10 to 20 people are in here. Tony and David, two older men sit up at the top of the table playing cards like always and drinking a pint. Tony had been my teacher so when he saw me he nodded but cards were important. A group of pencil-pushing 30-year olds sat at one table, no one attempting to talk to them, eating their food while talking about work. About halfway down the middle table was a group of 4 teens. I leave my suitcases at the door and walk over. I drop my bag into the crook of my right elbow, silently. Moving silently without notice is one area of being a shadowhunter I always excelled at. I dropped the bag next to a chair, grabbed a chip off someone's plate, and sat down, "So what's the gossip?" I ask. They all turn to me, "(Y/N)!" Alec smiles, arms pulling me into a hug, "I didn't think you were back today," "It was a secret," I laugh as he finally realizes me. "Stop hogging (Y/N)," Izzy whines, forcing me to sit in between her and Alec and across from Jace. "I missed you," she says, hugging me as well. I let out a breath and look at Jace, "hey," "Hey," He said plainly before we both burst out laughing. He stands up gesturing me to do the same. Despite the table making it awkward we sort of hug over the table. I plonk back down, sliding Alec's plate my way, "Ah breakfast," I grin.  Alec rolls his eyes and moves his plate in-between us so we can share. "And this is..?" "Clary, (Y/N). (Y/N), Clary," Jace introduces us. Holding my hand out to her, "Hello. I'm the loveable one of the groups," she laughs, and I grin and shake her hand. "I'm lovable," Isabelle says. "Same here," Jace joins in. Rolling my eyes, "Isabelle, I may love you but your lustable, not lovable," She smirks as Alec chokes on his food. "And as for Jace," he grins, "you're a prick." The table laughs. Before Jace starts a fight Alec cuts in, "How was Japan?" And so, I began recounting my tale. Obviously making it more interesting. "But that's boring," I say after telling the tale of Hayoto and I fighting this rare Japanese demon. My friends roll their eyes but clary's impressed. This would be fun, "What's happened here?" By the end of it I'm staring at clary, mouth gaping, "So you've been here for two months got your friend turned into a vampire, starting going with Jace-" She went to protest but I continued due to his arm being around her shoulder, "brought valentine back, and became a shadowhunter? No offense but please don't plan my return party. I don't think I could handle that," "Technically she didn't bring Valentine back," Jace said. "Is now really time for technically?" I ask, "And besides I think the biggest issue is I wasn't informed of Alec's boy toy," "Magnus isn't a boy toy," he argued with red checks. I give him a look, "Boyfriend then," "He's not," he mumbles. "What are you then?" He shrugs and looks down, "Dunno," I give him my best-shocked look before turning to Izzy, "And you allowed this? If Alec is dating someone it needs to be official so we can spill the tea," I get up from my seat, "Come skyscraper," he rolls his eyes at his nickname, "This cannot last," "What?" Rolling my eyes, I drag him up, "We are going to Magnus' to make this official," his face went pale, "And I need to meet this man," "No," "You act like this is optional,"So, there we are standing outside of the high warlock of Brooklyn's apartment at 8 in the evening for 'no reason'. The rest of the group had joined for 'moral support'. Alec didn't press the button fast enough, so I pressed it. "Who dares disturb the high warlock of Brooklyn?!" a voice boom. When Alec makes no move I step forward, "Hi it's (Y/N), Alec's sibling. We're going out for drinks and Alec wanted to see if you wanted to come," Alec tried to pull me away, but I managed to finish. He held his head in his hands while we waited for a response, "Give me 5 minutes," The door buzzed, and we all looked at Alec. "I'm going to kill you, slowly and painfully," I roll my eyes as did my sister. "Alec, calm down. You'll be thanking (Y/N)," Isabelle said, linking arms with me. 5 minutes isn't as long when you are taking the rise out of your blushing friend. Magnus walks out and I have to take a moment. I get he's not straight, but I thought this was a stereotype; skin tight blue glitter trousers, a black button-up shirt (clearly expensive), smoky eye, and the best highlight I've ever seen.  Why does he look so good? Alec one this battle. Magnus grins at Alec and looks over the group, "You," he points at me, "Must be (Y/N)," "Yes, I am that lucky," I say. Jace rolls his eyes. "And you say I'm cocky," "But the difference is I have a right to be cocky. I'm amazing," I say in a 'duh' tone. Magnus cuts us off, "Well who's leading the way?" I look at Jace. "Why me?" "You'll know the way," I grin. He rolls his eyes, "Twas a compliment. Now onwards." As we're walking I hear Magnus ask Alec, "Has (Y/N) been drinking already?" My brother chuckles, "(Y/N) may be weird," understatement, "but it's never boring," "I can tell," I grin and turn, "Thank you," I fake curtsey before linking arms again with Izzy. I couldn't help but notice Alec holding Magnus' hand. The bar wasn't packed, so we were able to have space and play a couple games of pool. Clary had called Simon to join, (who was kinda cute and not as irritating as Jace said) and I bumped into Raphael. We weren't friends but we were? It was strange. We swapped insults, wit, and good gestures. Going back up to the bar I order a coke (pretending it was vodka coke) and sit down. I glance over the bar. Alec was playing pool with Jace, taking it too seriously, clary was watching and rooting for Jace making him smile for real. Isabelle was talking to Simon, making him uncomfortable and giggling at his mundane jokes. Giggling? Really? I smiled at the sight, taking my drink from Maia. "I'll have a Cosmo," Magnus said sitting beside me, "Thanks," he turned to me, smirking, "Do you drink? You can't pretend that's vodka coke with me," I shrug, "I don't need to be drunk to enjoy a night with the family. Someone's got to make sure they end up home in one piece," Magnus chuckled as he got his drink from Maia, "I never thought I'd get on with this many lightwoods," "We're a confusing bunch," He nodded, "Alec has defiantly proven that," "Your...?" He rolled his eyes with a smile. "Boyfriend, official if you must know," he said. I grinned, "Though I suspect you were the one that got him to talk," I shrugged, "Prove it," Magnus chuckled and held up his glass to me. We clinked glasses, "Welcome home,"

[mimik-u]

Dreams

A gift to @runrundoyourstuff​ for our holiday fic exchange.

Prompt: Priyanka Maheswaran and Pearl having a conversation about Connie.

Summary: On the Maheswarans' doorstep one evening, Priyanka thanks Pearl.

AO3

On the porch steps leading into the Maheswarans’ townhouse, Priyanka Maheswaran and Pearl sit side by side, waiting for their respective kids to finish one more episode, please? It takes a lot of cajoling for them both to say yes—some puppy dog eyes, a vow from Connie to wash dishes, and a hilariously hyperbolic promise from Steven that he’ll never ask for anything ever again.

Like, ever.

(“I hold you to that,” deadpanned Pearl.)

But it’s a Saturday evening, and the sky is heavy with a lazy kind of twilight; they say yes and decide to enjoy the slight breeze running through their hair rather than suffer through another second of Crying Breakfast Friends. A mug of black coffee smolders between Priyanka’s hands, steam spiraling up into the air like a long, silky ribbon. They watch all of the many cars go by; they lean against the concrete steps and enjoy the world as it comes to them.

It is quiet.

Peaceful.

“Pearl?” She asks after a long while of this, quite suddenly, if purposefully, breaking that somnolent spell.

“Hm?” Priyanka tilts her head back to where Steven’s guardian is sitting on the next step up from her, her long, pale hands a contemplative temple on her lap. Out of Steven’s motley guardians, she appears and acts the most human-like, well assimilating into the role of the concerned parent, sensible and involved. But her eyes… her eyes tell a different story, the doctor thinks, learning to be observant of all these little details. (She’d been so busy before—not by necessity but by choice and ignorance, negligence. She hadn’t even realized her own daughter had popped her lenses out, had been seeing 20/20 for months on end because she drank Steven Universe’s magical spit.) Pearl’s eyes have always had a distinct alien quality to them—the expression in them, not the form—as though they are always looking to a place beyond mortal reach.

“While we have this opportunity, I wanted to thank you for what you’ve done for Connie.” Again, it seems sudden, but she’s been mulling this over for a long time now, methodically deconstructing all of her careful lines between logic and emotion to get to this point.

To feel gratitude and want to express it in words.

And she is grateful—she is.

“She’s been a different child altogether these last couple of months,” she says, her voice low and throaty. “Happier. Lighter.”

Her twelve-year old looks more alive with a sword in her hand than she ever did with a tennis racket.

(As ludicrous as it sounds, it feels like a condemnation, a failure on some behalf of her own.)

“Oh, ah, thank you,” Pearl begins, obviously taken by surprise. Her eyes widen, and a blue blush scribbles itself across the bridge of her nose, deepened in shade and intensity by the inky sky, by the singular porch light flickering warmly above them. “But really, you can’t give me all of the credit. It’s Steven who has truly been there for her—not to mention the internal growth she herself has effected through her own volition, as well as meditation with Garnet and, unfortunately, loosening up with Amethyst from time to time—and, well…” Her clumsy rambling trails off, and those distant blue eyes light upon Priyanka with a certain softness to them, a kindness. “And then there’s you.”

“Me?” Priyanka can’t help but laugh. In her harsh mouth, it sounds like an incredulous bark. “I dealt her her damage, Pearl. I suffocated her and tried to protect her from every quantifiable danger—which weren’t really dangers at all. I made her feel like she could never talk to me, that she had to lie to me to make me happy.” 

“You did those things, yes,” Pearl agrees, “but that was then, Priyanka. What are you doing now?”

Now—that’s the operative word, isn’t it?

Now, she’s letting Connie go over to the temple at least three times a week, so she can play with Steven and work in some sword training.

Now, she’s texting her daughter while she’s on break, checking up on her, calling when she can.

How was your day? She asks.

Tell me about it. She eagerly implores.

She told her she could quit tennis if she wanted to as long as she kept up her grades.

But you don’t have to be perfect, Connie, she added as a studied afterthought, a compromise. An ‘A-‘ is fine every now and then… and maybe occasionally, a ‘B.’

When she gets home late at night, she’ll quietly pry open Connie’s door and tiptoe in; she’ll smooth her daughter’s sheets.

Sometimes, she’ll kiss her lightly on the forehead.

She’s trying. 

She is.

(In a couple of weeks more, she’s going to let her daughter fly off to space in a pink ship comprised of legs and an ass.)

“See?” Pearl smirks, rightfully taking Priyanka’s stunned silence for what it is. Contemplation. Realization. Relief. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“But neither do you,” she retorts gruffly, overwhelmed by the sudden emotion and trying to stall it out. “She dreams of adventure and sword fighting and protecting others because of you.”

“But she’s enabled to dream these things because she has your support.”

Pearl’s smile is small but gentle, understanding and empathetic both.

She continues on, looking away from Priyanka and out to the open street, where car are still rambling on to their final destinations. Their headlights rove across the pale plane of Pearl’s face.

“Steven’s mother—Rose…” It’s a simple enough name, but on Pearl’s tongue, it sounds incredibly heavy, like a weight, a burden; at the very same time, it sounds very much like a loss, too. “… she enabled me to dream those sorts of dreams, where I couldn’t before. You see, I once dreamt of Diamonds, or more often than not, nothing at all. But because of her, I learned to dream of freedom and swords, protecting others, and loving them.”

These words are softly spoken, sanctified by this quiet night.

Priyanka does not quite understand everything she is saying, but the alien’s eyes tell a different story, upending all of her previous assumptions.

Pearl’s eyes are looking backwards to a past Priyanka cannot see, not a world nor a planet beyond her reach.

So in this way, they are incredibly human.

She is.

She must have always been.

“So in a way, if—as you say—I’m passing on dreams to Connie, I’m only doing so because I was given dreams, too.”

And she’s not just looking towards the past, Priyanka realizes.

For the past can mean many things.

(To some, everything.)

No, she has a vague suspicion that Pearl is looking towards Rose.

The doctor returns to her coffee cup, which has long grown lukewarm over the course of the conversation, but she takes a sip anyway.

Exhales slowly.

Watches as the moon begins to climb up the sky—full tonight, bright.

“Steven’s mother sounds like she was very…” She searches for the right word. “… inspirational.”

Not unlike her son.

Pearl’s eventual reply—quiet, almost inaudible—confuses more than it enlightens.

“She was complicated.”

It sounds like an admission.