#i only had MAYBE 3-4 flare ups the entire 3 months i was there

[the-yearning-astronaut]

Send a few good vibes my way if you can spare any. I've put out two applications -- one for a week and a half summer workshop about a new astronomy research method and another for a post baccalaureate research position with NASA. Being accepted into either would be a huge boost on any grad school application and to my CV. But the second would be a full time job out of state. Which means I'd be out of this house.

I need something to change. And soon. Whether it be a full time research position or the CV boost I need to get into grad school next year. Just. Something.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

The Clandestine Culinarian Pt. 4 (Finale) | Azriel x Reader

Summary: After everything fell apart at Rita’s, Azriel is still recovering from the poison, and you give him an ultimatum. Choose between you and Elain. Months of silence ensue, before his choice becomes clear, at last.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of poisoning, attempted sexual assault, illness, death (background characters), arguing, violence, an extraordinarily sassy rhys, but it all ends okay

A/N: If y’all crucified me for this being so late I wouldn’t even blame you…I’m so sorry for the wait but I hope this is a good way to finish off this series, and I am planning on doing maybe like epilogue more about their relationship, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist

The entire situation had been a mess, Cassian was pissed off, Azriel was still in Madja’s tent, Nesta and her girls a drunk mess, stumbling home, Feyre dealing with Elain, and you at the House of Wind.

You trained until your body refused to move anymore it was so sore and hurting, and then you slept, ate, and repeated, trying hard just not to think. You didn’t want to think about how Elain had, for some reason, tried to keep Azriel away by poisoning him of all things so he forgot about you, or how she hadn’t even thought about the potential consequences of it.

It made you angry, foolishly angry, that she’d done something to your mate. The bond wasn’t accepted, but it was still there, lying dormant and flaring up at any little thing. You could barely feel any sign of life from his end, and you hated to admit how much that worried you.

But you wouldn’t go check on him, not when he hadn’t cared about you for all those months. Even if Elain had poisoned him, he still chose her over you before that, and he could have her now. He could have his sorry-ass excuse of a partner, the female that poisoned him.

You had been lying in bed, half-asleep, when your door creaked open and you heard heavy footsteps. You were standing up in a second, slightly panicked, before seeing Cassian as he stood, face slightly pleading and serious. He gave a sheepish smile that was strained when he saw you so frantic.

“What could you possibly want at this hour?”

You asked, rubbing your eyes as you let yourself relax into the bed again. For all you knew, he was only up this late for midnight snacks. He moved closer until he was standing beside your bed. He hesitated, swallowing before speaking.

“It’s Az. He’s..he’s sick, Madja says he’ll be alright, but he wants to see you.”

Your eyes narrowed, and he almost winced at that, moving to sit on the bed beside you.

“He doesn’t want to see Elain? Shocking.”

You replied, not bothering to hide the bitterness in your tone. Cassian’s warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, shifting you so you had to look at him. He gave you a begging look.

“I’m not going to try to apologize for him, but even if you’re pissed at him, which I would be too, at least be there for him. You two could smooth things over in the future, but you can’t go back and be there for him if you aren’t now.”

He said, hand leaving you as he got up from the bed, it creaking before springing back up to its normal height, and he walked out of your room. You knew he was right. If you weren’t there for him now, you couldn’t undo that, and he was sure to remember.

With a grumbled sigh, you got up and locked your door, throwing some clothes on, running a brush through your hair, and splashing some water on your face, before begrudgingly walking to the outside Azriel’s room, where he was sure to be. Getting yourself ready, you sighed, before walking in, looking annoyed and pissed, but at least you were there.

Azriel was in his bed, looking just about the same as you’d seen him before. Pale, shaky, sweating, and shivering slightly. He looked sickly, for sure. There was a pile of tonics in the corner, with directions on them, probably from Madja for the shadowsinger. The shadows were agitated but also sickly, slower and thinner than usual, their wispy forms trying to pull at you to take you to him.

His eyes opened as he heard you sit in the armchair next to the bed, watching him with a cool expression, trying to stay neutral but failing as some of your anger bled through. He shifted to his side, blurry hazel eyes peering up at you.

“Y/N-“

He began, his voice slightly raspy, but not like usual. Your sharp voice cut him off.

“Don’t. The only reason I’m here is because your brother guilt-tripped me into it.”

Not entirely a lie, not entirely the truth. His eyes lost some of their intensity as if they’d been expecting that. Right when you were about to speak, the door clicked open again, and you saw Elain peek around the corner, eyes widening when she saw you there, and heard the growl that came from you.

You huffed, standing up.

“You can choose this bitch who tried to poison you, or you can choose your me, not because I’m your mate or any other bullshit, but just for me. Your decision, but I won’t sit here and let myself be misled by an immature Illyrian who doesn’t know what he wants.”

You snapped at him and grabbed Elain’s wrist before she could slip away, yanking her inside and trapping her against the wall. Azriel tried to sit up, clearly alarmed and thinking you were going to hurt her, not to mention his pain and guilt.

“And you… where do I even start?”

You said, and she swallowed, opening her mouth to speak, but you cut her off.

“Sure, you had some prophecy or something that I would hurt him, but you could’ve told someone instead of almost fucking murdering him! That’s the most selfish thing I’ve seen in a-“

“That is enough.”

Azriel’s voice, weak but still authoritative, spoke. He was leaning against the closest post of his bed, standing somehow, and glaring at you. Elain slipped away before you could stop her, and you vaguely heard her shoes clicking against the hallway floor and some sniffling. She was crying. Good.

“You don’t get to decide what’s enough. She almost killed you.”

“Using poison she got from your room. Why did you even have that?”

He snapped back, and you nearly physically recoiled at that. Still so sassy for someone who nearly died mere days ago.

“I didn’t want it getting into Kier’s hands. Or anyone’s hands, for that matter.”

You hissed back, and his gaze, still a bit clouded but piercing as ever, glared down at you.

“Why not give it to Rhys? Unless you were planning a better use for it involving him.”

That was what made you shut up for a minute and just think. He thought you were trying to poison Rhys?

“What?”

You quotationed, now just genuinely confused and exasperated.

“Don’t act like I’m crazy. You worked closely with Rhys and Kier, your shop is burnt down by one of your biggest investors, and you’re brought to Night Court into the home of the High Lord and his Inner Circle with a vial of the deadliest poison in existence? I’m not an idiot.”

“Right, so you were running away from me because you thought I was trying to murder you, and not because you’re afraid to face your feelings with your mate?”

His reasoning made sense, you were afraid. But there was a reason Kier had burnt down your shop even being one of your biggest investors in it. A reason you hadn’t shared with anyone, not even your family.

“Face it. You’re suspicious.”

He said with a tone of finality, eyes burning into you even as tears welled in your own.

“Fine, you want to know why Kier burnt down my shop, you asshole? It was because I wouldn’t have sex with him. He doesn’t like being told no. And trust me, he had far worse plans with that vial than even Elain.”

You spat out, and Azriel looked genuinely surprised at that, brows furrowing in a temporary look of confusion, eyes softening, before his face hardened again.

“You’re lying.”

He said. Your hands clenched in fists as you looked around the room, finding a bowl of fruit, probably gifted by Feyre as a get-better-soon gift.

You walked over, picked up an orange, and ripping it open, shoved Azriel against the bed and forcefully pushed the orange into his throat, moving his jaw to make him chew it, and even as he gagged, you forced him to swallow it.

The mating bond, having been dormant for so long, flooded back to life now that it was accepted, whether willingly or not. And the first thing you shoved down the bond, was the memory of your truth.

*********************************************************

Business had been slow that day, customers only coming and going for basic pastries and treats that you and your family already had in stock while you made some more for the next day.

Bored out of your mind, you agreed to take the closing shift.

“I’ll be home in 5,”

You had told your older cousin as he’d left, and he’d given a shrug and gone home. At least the closing shift sometimes gave you a view of the town drunks on the streets, which was a little entertaining sometimes.

While wiping down a table, you heard the jingle of keys and the front door opening with the little bell attached to the top and you immediately whirled only to find a drunken Kier sauntering up to you, sly smirk on his face.

“What are you doing here, Kier?”

You asked in as firm a tone as you could manage. He stalked closer until you could feel his hot breath against your neck. He lowly chuckled, and you could smell the alcohol from his breath.

“I only want to play,”

He said, his voice ever so slightly slurred and his hands sliding over to hold your waist as you were backed up against a wall.

“It’s only fair since I’ve been turning a blind eye to your little shop here~”

He said, and panic shot through your veins as his hands slipped under your shirt, his mouth too close to your own. You shoved him off, freezing momentarily as he hit the ground and crumpled before you hopped onto the counter and slid off of it into the kitchen, where you grabbed a knife with shaky hands.

You couldn’t beat him in combat, you knew that, but it was at least comforting to know you had a tiny chance at self-defense.

He stumbled and got to his feet, wobbling over to you, hands on the counters for support as he scowled, glancing down at the knife as if it were just a small bug in his way.

“You know, I’m gonna need another vial soon. Wife’s been getting on my nerves, might need a new one.”

He slurred with a sloppy smirk, and you swallowed, trying to hold the knife steady.

“Get out of my shop.”

You said, trembling. He scoffed, but turned around anyway, walking unsteadily towards the door and falling into it, and as he left, he gave one last drunk scowl and chilling words.

“You’ll regret this.”

*********************************************************

“Enough.”

Azriel said, eyes staring up at you in what seemed like shock and horror combined, a hint of guilt in there too. You only looked down at him, a sort of pissed off and sad “I told you so” in your expression.

You stuck your pointer finger out at him, right beneath his collarbones, where you could feel his heart beating. The bond kept lurching with emotions and thoughts that he tried to hide, to keep locked behind that silent fort he’d built up over the centuries.

“You can make your decision, but I won’t be some damsel in distress waiting for you. It’s me or her, Azriel. Choose wisely.”

You spat, before storming out, only to find Rhys leaning against the wall outside as you slammed the door behind you. He had a raised brow on his face and a slight frown, though the usual smug smile still plastered on.

“What.”

You said, voice stiff as you glared at the High Lord.

“Easy, I’m just an innocent bystander.”

He said, raising his hands in mock innocence. In the months you’d been staying with them, you had learned that Rhysand was anything but innocent or a bystander in most, if not all situations.

“Go on, give your little advice. I know you’re dying to do so.”

You said in an exasperated tone, with a tiny hint of amusement as he smirked, and opened his mouth to speak with a dramatic wave of his hand.

“I think you should both give each other a second chance. Cassian and Nesta hated each other at first, and look at them now! Or, rather, hear them.”

He said, gesturing to the all-too-loud sounds of Nesta and Cassian enjoying their evening in the usual fashion in their room. You cringed, and he chuckled lightly.

“Seriously though, give each other a second chance. Doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it or immediately apologize, but personally, I think you two have some wonderful chemistry. I mean, the way you shoved that orange in his mouth? Spectacular-!”

“Thanks, Rhys.”

You said in a dry but also begrudgingly amused tone. Sometimes you wondered if the High Lord was really a radio host or a carnival director underneath. It would make a lot more sense than him playing the all-powerful but smug High Lord.

“Anytime, my wonderful advice is free of charge.”

He said before he was gone in half a second, winnowing probably, and you realized that he didn’t even live in the House of Wind, and he’d just been eavesdropping for fun, not even by accident.

Bastard.

You walked down the halls, eager to just rot in your bed all day, or something to distract you, when you ran into Mor, who was in a different dress today, red like usual, but it was lighter and airy, not usual for her. You raised a brow.

“Did you go shopping?”

You asked in a knowing tone, and she smiled, her eyes shining with guilt.

“It was on saaale..”

You let out a slight huff of laughter, shaking your head in amusement as you looked at the dress. It was cute, you wouldn’t deny that.

You and Morrigan hadn’t gotten along the best at first, which was quite natural considering her father had murdered more than half of your family, but things had eventually smoothed over.

“At least it’s cute. Better than whatever the hell you call those things you got the the Solstice.”

You said in an amused tone and she made a sound of mock-outrage.

“Such betrayal, when I put so much thought into it, too.”

She said, playfully shaking her head as she strode off into the halls, leaving you alone. Shopping didn’t sound like a bad idea. Maybe you could stop by Feyre’s art corner too.

*********************************************************

The next few months had been miserable.

Azriel knew he fucked up. Elain had been completely moved to a different house for the time being and made no effort to contact him after the incident in his room. You were giving him a complete cold shoulder, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Most days, Cassian and Nesta were there to act as a buffer between the two of you, but tonight they were both out on a date, leaving only you, Azriel, and the shadows in the House of Wind.

Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen you scarf your food down so fast. Just another way to get away from him. To pretend he didn’t exist.

He knew he’d said things and implied things that were wrong, so very wrong, but he’d truly believed that you had malicious intentions up until the point where you’d shoved that orange down his throat and forced him to relive what you didn’t want to. Everything made much more sense now. Why you had been so prepared for some sort of raid on the shop, or why you’d grabbed the vial of volucrae first.

He’d been an idiot. Accusing you of trying to kill the High Lord.

His shadows tugged at him, trying to pull him away to fix things.

‘Our mate is hurt. Fix her.’

They would hiss at him, agitated and physically pulling him along. Just this once, he let them. So they would see how useless it was.

You were sitting off the edge of one of the many cliffs near the House of Wind, which made sense, given the sentient home had been built on the top of many mountains. The view was pretty, and almost worth the 10,000 step trek to get up. He still remembered how Feyre had taught you how to winnow the first few days so you didn’t have to suffer through the stairs.

He silently watched for a moment, letting the silence persist even as the shadows pulled him to you, forcing him to sit down next to you. They left him, lurking beneath you and gently inching up your hands. Traitors.

“Y/N,”

He began, his voice careful, ready to back off at any moment if what he said was too much.

“What?”

You asked simply, as if he were nothing more than a bug. That made his temper flare far larger than he should’ve let it. You were the one who had shoved an orange down his throat and accepted the bond, even if not with good intentions. He’d been going insane with all sorts of primal urges and desires he didn’t even know he had anymore, and you just gave a “what?”?

Calm down, he told himself.

“I’m sorry.”

He said. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. It fell short for the way he’d left you alone at the House of Wind with only Cassian and Nesta, or the cruel words he’d spewed to you, or the things he’d accused you of. Not to mention what Elain had made him do. Rhys had shown him, and he’d been disgusted ever since.

“Are you saying that because you really are sorry, or because I’m your mate?”

You asked, finally turning to look at him, eyes stubborn as ever even though you looked like you were about to cry. The sight made his heart ache.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you, what I’ve said and done, mate or not.”

He answered truthfully as the shadows crept further along your skin, their whispered touches cold but not uncomfortable. His eyes scanned you, taking in your body language and expression. Every hint of anything was taken in and evaluated because of years of training and practice.

You only sighed, flopping back onto the mossy patch behind you, not caring what bugs might lurk there.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m sorry for being kinda bitchy.”

You begrudgingly said, he only smiled, joining you beside the moss, staring up at the sky. The stars were pretty tonight.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met another female that would shove an orange down my throat.”

He admitted in a slightly sheepish tone, which got a snort of laughter out of you, face scrunching up slightly like it always did when you laughed or smiled. He’d noticed.

Your hand was slowly enveloped by his, replacing the shadows as they wrapped around the both of you, pulling you closer until his wing was also shimmied under your back, curled around you, pulling you against him.

“It was warranted. But, I forgive you.”

You said, and he smiled, head leaning to the left against yours.

“I forgive you, too.”

He then admitted. You sighed, mind already wandering to the countless anxieties that plagued it. The future and all its potential problems.

“What’re we gonna do, Az?”

You asked, glancing over at him. He let out a hum of thought, meeting your gaze with his hazel eyes as he gently smiled.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Tags:

@lilah-asteria

@evangeline-xo

@hayrunnwr

@rcarbo1

@julesvanslutta

@cleverzonkwombatsludge

@i-have-a-thing-for-the-dark

@weekendlusting

@evergreenlark

@kdawgiedawg

@olive-main

@acourtofbatboydreams

@thelov3lybookworm

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

[hello-eeveev]

How to Rest: Director's Commentary—Chapter 2

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |

Chapter 2 is for cozy vibes, further establishing themes, and lightly pushing my grey-ace Caleb Widogast agenda. Chapter 2 Commentary is for discussing where Caleb’s head is at at this point in my timeline for this fic series and why it’s there, and further explaining my grey-ace Caleb Widogast agenda. In fact, I’m realizing that this chapter is kind of a companion piece to On the Nature of Attraction and I’m posting this on its anniversary! What perfect timing!

Let’s get started!

(spoiler warning for the entirely of How to Rest)

The setting for this is New Dawn, aka Exandrian New Year. It’s snowing in Rexxentrum and Essek visits Caleb to welcome in the new year. I imagine that just before this chapter begins, they had a nice dinner. I wrote this back before Mighty Nein Reunited came in and made my fics not canon-compliant, so I was working under the assumption that Beau and Yasha also lived in Rexxentrum, so maybe Caleb and Essek had dinner with them or maybe they stayed in. That can be up to the reader. Either way, it’s time for a fireplace, hot chocolate, and a cat, so it’s cozy vibes all around.

Let’s discuss the cat. I love cats. I don’t think that really leads into the discussion, but I gotta say it. It’s probably also pretty evident in how I wrote the cat. Anyway.

I haven’t written Caleb as adopting any cats of his own yet, and that’s because even this long after the campaign ended (1.5 years), he’s still not quite… settled. In 141, we’re given “six months to a year” before the shadowgast Aeor trip, which is implied to take place after the close of the Ikithon trial, and in my mind, it has always been much closer to that one year mark. So in the continuity of this fic series, Caleb spent the better part of a year dealing with the trial, which is not the most grounding thing to experience, and then he goes to Aeor with Essek for a month or two, during which he has to decide if he is going to risk the entire timeline to bring his parents back. That’s a lot. On both a material and spiritual level. And adopting a cat is big and permanent, and that’s just not where Caleb has been until quite recently. And it’s only now, after all this emotional turmoil has been resolved, that he is even able to start to settle into this life he’s making for himself, but he’s also still learning what that looks and feels like because he has next to no experience with a life of comfort and rest. The closest he got was his childhood, but that was 20 years ago, and even then, his life in Blumenthal is so drastically different from his current one. 

That’s where the title “How to Rest” comes from. Caleb doesn’t know how to properly rest and he’s trying to learn how. That’s also why he hasn’t started teaching at Soltryce even though that is very much his plan for the future. He needs to learn to live for himself for a while before he takes on the next big thing. Mentally, I am throwing blankets and pillows at him and begging him to take a nap.

…so yeah. no cat quite yet. 

But he does feed the strays, and he’s been doing that long enough that they know where he lives and that he’s a safe person to go to if, for example, they need a warm house to sleep in when it’s snowing in Rexxentrum.

Anyway, that’s a lot of preamble to discuss what is, essentially, 1500 words of Essek and Caleb kissing, but hey. that’s why we’re here :)

I’m not going to do a detailed breakdown of the initial cat section because it would pretty much just be, “hey, here’s a cat doing cute cat things and here’s Essek doing cute Essek things,” and I think that sums it up well enough.

They each drank from their cocoa, and as Caleb lowered his cup, he felt a tentative shoulder against his own. Essek was staring straight ahead, looking nonchalant as their arms brushed. Warmth flared in Caleb’s chest. He leaned further against Essek and caught a glimpse of the corner of Essek’s mouth pulling into a slight smile, despite his best efforts to hide it behind his mug.

It is still early enough in their relationship that Essek is still working out how to be direct, especially when it comes to bids for physical affection, but he’s self-aware enough that his coyness is more playful than it is an actual mask. He’s not really trying to hide his intentions, but he knows he is unable to just express them outright, so he does the “subtle” thing that his brain allows him, knowing that Caleb will understand and reciprocate.

He cupped Essek’s face in one hand and turned it towards him. Smiles such as the one Essek wore now—genuine smiles that touched his eyes and created a small dimple in his cheek—were once a rarity, but they seemed to be appearing with increasing frequency. At least whenever Caleb saw him.

Caleb gets a front row seat to the gradual lowering of Essek’s walls, and he is a big reason why Essek is able to! He makes Essek happy! These smiles are precious for those reasons and because Essek does not get the opportunity to be so genuine or so content most other places.

And something something who else does Essek let close enough—both emotionally and physically—to see all the ways his smile changes his face.

Then there’s cuddling and kissing, and they like each other so much, and it’s all very cute and sweet, but then we get into my grey-ace Caleb agenda. This is for two reasons: 1) set up the plot point for On the Nature of Attraction, and 2) the more grey-ace Caleb content there is, the happier I am.

He leaned forward eagerly, knowing how much closer he could hold him and how much better he could kiss him if they were laying down, without pesky things like knees and legs getting in the way.

This is Caleb’s intention. Nothing more than that. Caleb as the narrator is not obfuscating any secondary motive.

Essek tensed for a moment, as if he were considering something, then pushed them both upright with a small shake of his head.

Essek, however, cannot read Caleb’s mind, and isn’t sure if the motion to lay down is an implication of or invitation for sex. Certainly, the way romantic relationships are talked about would suggest that it is. And when confronted with the (perceived) possibility, Essek learns that his answer is “nope,” and he draws that boundary, which is readily accepted.

And it is because of this boundary that Essek establishes that Caleb realizes that his internal script for anything “romantic” that involves physicality has been very much affected by the Volstrucker training (see: that one tidbit Liam gave us in lockdown-era Talks Machina, that they were taught to be “as sexual as they needed to be” to get results for the Empire) and by his relationship with Astrid and Eadwulf being his main coping mechanism during that time. 

I have written in my notes for this chapter that Caleb has this internal script of “lots of kissing leads to intense make-outs leads to, if not sex outright, something more sexual than not.” And while I believe he understood in theory that this does not have to be the case, and that it certainly wouldn’t be the case with Essek this early on in their relationship, it isn’t until this moment that it really starts to sink in. And then he learns that he likes that they can just kiss and cuddle and that it doesn’t have to be a preamble to more sexual things, which he is also starting to get an inkling that maybe there’s some trauma mixed up in there.

and idk i think grey-ace Caleb is neat and considering the ways his trauma impacts that is cool (she says, feeling a great deal of complicated emotion)

Essek leaned fully into it, smiling and hooking his legs over Caleb’s so he was practically in his lap.

One thing I wrote when I was planning out this chapter was “this is a conversation without words.” Obviously, there’s some words still happening, but they’re not terribly explanatory, so they must rely on non-verbal cues.

With his boundary established and respected, and now that he has had a moment to come down from his initial “nope” and recognize Caleb’s action for what it really was—a desire for more physical closeness—Essek is able to respond in a way that meets both their needs.

“I am very happy that you are here,” he whispered.  Essek’s fingers curled tighter in Caleb’s hair, and he turned his head and pressed his nose to the side of Caleb’s. “As am I.”

They just like each other so much. And they make each other happy just by being there.

“Sometimes I wish we were back in Aeor,” Caleb said after a while.  “Do you now?” Essek sounded amused, if a bit drowsy. “Mm,” Caleb said with a nod. “I miss studying magic with you every day, knowing that you were always close by.” “I could do without the bitter cold and mage-killing monsters,” Essek chuckled. He tightened his arms around Caleb’s shoulders. “But yes. I miss that, too.”

One thing I frequently try to do when writing Caleb’s dialogue is have him say something that’s like, a few steps removed from what he actually means. People talk like this in general, but Caleb’s meaning tends to be a few more layers deep than the average person’s, especially when he is stressed or experiencing heightened emotion. It’s one of the things I like about him; I think it’s funny.

This exchange is a very obvious example of this: Caleb says something, Essek lightly challenges him on that, and then Caleb is able to state more clearly what it is he actually wants. In this case, while it’s still in the frame of Aeor, Caleb is able to tell Essek that he wants to spend more time with him and that he feels better when Essek is nearby. And Essek is able to reciprocate while still keeping it within the “safe” zone of “haha wouldn’t it be nice to be back in Aeor? haha jk… but?” They are starting to build ways of communicating with each other, and this is one of them.

“Where will you go after this?” Caleb asked.  “You know I can’t say.” He sighed. “I know. But you will be safe?” “I will, I promise. And I will see you again as soon as I am able.”

And the tragedy of their situation is that Caleb can’t know where Essek is most of the time, only that he will be far away, because that’s the best way to keep them both safe. And yes, Essek promises to be safe, but how much of that is within his control?

“I am afraid,” he said, taking Caleb’s hands from his waist and bringing them up to his lips, “that it is time for me to go.” Caleb groaned and felt his face contort into a pout that was almost embarrassing, except that it made Essek laugh, and it was a sound so beautiful that it washed away any feeling of shame, leaving only warm happiness in its stead. “Soon, Caleb Widogast,” Essek said as he kissed Caleb’s knuckles, voice brimming with fondness.

I love this image. It is so full of affection, particularly on Essek’s behalf. If I could figure out a good and interesting angle, I would draw it. I just think it’s cute and sweet and that’s what we’re really about over here.

Essek kissed him on the cheek. “Rest well.” “Travel safe.”

These are their hopes for each other at this point in time. Essek wants Caleb to have peace and rest, and Caleb wants Essek to be safe while he is alone on the road. They are very normal things to say when parting, but they are being completely earnest here.

So Essek leaves, and Caleb has a one-sided conversation with the cat. So to close out this chapter commentary, I will be showing you this scene again, with the cat dialogue included:

The cat he was hosting for the night, seeming to notice Caleb’s sudden lack of companionship, stood from his spot in front of the fire with a meow, stretched, and padded up to the couch. “Hello.” “Oh, hello. Do you need something from me?” Caleb asked.  The cat butted his head against Caleb’s legs, then ran the whole length of his body along his shins, tail curling around them. He meowed again—“I would like pets”—and looked up at Caleb with round, eager eyes.  “Oh, come here, Kätzchen.” Caleb scooped up the cat and laid down on the couch with him on his chest. “Thank you for keeping me company.” He scratched the cat’s ears and chin. “I think I must like him rather a lot, hm? To feel his absence so soon after he’s left.” “Perhaps you’re in love with him,” the cat chirruped as he settled into a loaf, paws softly kneading into Caleb’s shirt.  “Well, I don’t know if I would say that,” Caleb answered. “Something akin to it, maybe.” The cat pressed forward and rubbed his head along Caleb’s beard, purring loudly. “I think so.” “Probably,” Caleb conceded. “But patience, my friend. These things take time. It is not as simple for everyone else as it is for you.” Caleb kissed the cat on his little forehead and closed his eyes. Purrs rumbled through his chest and ribs, and he let the rhythm lull him into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

And that’s Chapter 2! I hope you enjoyed! May you all have a nice nap with a purring cat (or whatever your preferred equivalent is).

Until next time!

[spooniechef]

Gluten-Free Chocolate Mug Cake (0 Spoons)

I've been quiet here for awhile, at least in part because it's been a long month or two. There's been overtime at work, which I should not have been doing but because we're understaffed and half the office got sick, I had little choice. Also I went to what will probably be my last convention a couple of weeks ago, which was objectively hellacious but I got autographs from the entire cast of Critical Role so I regret nothing. But of course I came out of that with a serious pain flare and what might have been con crud but was also quite possibly the flu, so that kind of murdered any chance of my being productive the last couple of weeks. But I have this week off and I have some plans. Mostly because I got cookbooks and very much intend to use them.

Side note - I've been contemplating doing a thing to raise money for Fibromyalgia Action UK, and weirdly, my main thought about something sponsored has been "cook through an entire cookbook in 12 months", like The Julie / Julia Project. I came up with that idea least partly because Julie Powell died a couple of weeks ago, which ... I mean, she was barely older than me, what the fuck? But also because cookbooks don't exactly give a chronic pain-friendly rating to its recipes, and part of it would involve doing an adjunct-document with spoon ratings like I do on the recipes here. Still toying with the idea, at least partly because butter and eggs are expensive as fuck. Don't even get me started on the pecans I need for a recipe I got my mother to bring me Jell-O pudding from North America especially to make. Also there's too much that needs buttermilk and that's not so much a thing over here.

Which brings me to today's bit of cookery notes. See, I have new cookbooks, and I've been trying to decide what I want to make from them. I'm having serious executive dysfunction about so much of it, so for the most part I've been sticking with chocolate chip cookies. But I didn't want to do that this time, but there are so many cookies to try. Eventually I got tired of indecision and just really wanted a sweet treat, and one of my cookbooks (Quick + Easy Gluten Free by Becky Excell, which I heartily recommend) had recipes for mug cakes. I'd never tried one, so I figured, why not? I went for the chocolate one instead of the jam doughnut one because I didn't want to use an egg for just the yolk until I found something to do with the white. (Which probably means the next recipe you'll see here is gluten-free cinnamon roll sugar cookies, but anyway.)

So! Chocolate mug cakes! Here's what you'll need:

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

4 tablespoons milk

2 tablespoons caster sugar

1 tablespoon unsweetened cocoa powder

3 tablespoons gluten-free all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon gluten-free baking powder

1 tablespoon chocolate chips

I imagine you could replace both the all-purpose flour and the baking powder with gluten-containing versions and have it be fine. But note - no xanthan gum, no egg. You could probably add the tiniest drop of vanilla extract, though.

Here's what you do:

Put all the ingredients in a microwaveable mug; mix well

Cover the mug with plastic wrap; poke a few holes in the plastic

Microwave on high for 60-70 seconds

Let cool for a couple of minutes (the mug will be really hot)

FEAST (they recommend topping it with ice cream and / or chocolate syrup, so maybe do that and then FEAST)

There is no earthly way I could make this any easier. You could probably add various bits of additional flavour - replace the chocolate chips with fudge chips, a drop of vanilla or orange or mint extract, maybe a pinch of cinnamon - but it's pretty well fine on its own. The only thing I can add is that the cookbook says microwave on high in a 900W microwave, but mine is 800W so I just put it in for 70 seconds and it was fine, so maybe add an extra 5-10 seconds if your microwave is lower wattage than that.

So yeah, this is the perfect spoonie dessert, really. If you're having a bad day and are tired and you just want something nice that requires no effort and isn't a £3 brownie? This is the way to go.

[kpopimagi]

A Flower Under The Rain [Part 10-2]

Characters: Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and Kang Gyuri (OC) Genre: Angst, Romance Au: Hanahaki!Au  Type: Series  Word count: 7,902

It all began with a cough and then, a subtle sting in her chest. Kang Gyuri cried, knowing that in a matter of months, she would be another figure in the death toll of the most dangerous and cruelest outbreak in human history.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8-1 | Part 8-2 | Part 9 | Part 10-1

Warning! This is Part 2. If you haven't read Part 1, go back to catch up.

---> Read Part 1 Here <---

If someone had told Gyuri that a higher being pulled strings and moved circumstances like chess pieces to appease her heart, she would never have believed it. For the last few months, her entire life felt like that very same almighty creature had been trying to strike her down. But as much as she wanted to believe that life itself was against her, in that very particular moment, magic appeared to flow around her, gravitating toward her and bending to her desires. As if whoever was in charge let her do her will for a split second, and everything was just perfect.

  It had started raining. Soft and thin, almost feathery, falling gently over every surface like a sparkling breeze. The sound of the pitter-patter of rain was so subtle, it felt like the softest of murmurs, lulling her heart to slumber. Gyuri stopped by the handrail, taking in that instant of peace that filled her every pore, and observed the writer with all of her attention. She wondered if he was, by any chance, that higher being controlling her surroundings and making it all magical.

  As soon as everything fell into its perfect place and sparkled in such a charming glow, like a flare, it all came to a sudden end, letting shadows engulf everything around it. Maybe the excitement of going out with Kyungsoo and the warmth of his words spreading across her skin were finally wearing off. Maybe it was nothing but the calming effects of the rain on her heart that made everything a thousand times hazier. She observed the setup—the low table and cushions on the floor—and every bit of her body protested at the idea of sitting down there. Her knees, her back, and even her arms felt like they were aching without even moving, and she knew she wouldn’t move. She felt physically unable to do it. Wearing her low-heeled heels was already too taxing.

  However, as much as the prospect of any physical extenuation was already taking her breath away, it was only thanks to him that she’d been doing things way beyond her comfort zone. The very same dress she was currently wearing was proof of that. Every wish she had completed, the beautiful place she was standing in at that moment, and all the peace she felt were all because of him. It was all thanks to him.

  “What?” He asked, sensing her staring at him.

  “Not everyone would go to such an extent to help a stranger out.” She said,

  Kyungsoo hesitated, and even she was taken aback by her own candidness. He looked at his hands before him for a moment before getting up, and she struggled to figure out what his body was saying. He walked toward her with a certain confidence, but if he was nervous, she only picked it up because of his hands. He started to pick his nails. It was the smallest of details, and Gyuri surprised herself with that observation.

  He stood next to her, holding himself to the handrail, and it seemed like he was making up his mind about something. He took his time before turning himself toward her. Just like it happened in that bathroom, Kyungsoo was looking at her straight into her eyes, and the intensity of his gaze made her heart race.

  “I pitied you.” He said softly, yet it was a statement full of intent, “Pitied, as in past tense.”

  For some reason she couldn’t really understand, but the revelation lifted a huge weight off her shoulders. She wasn’t offended by the knowledge that, at some point, he pitied her. If anything, it all made sense, and she was glad that he did back then. She would be forever grateful to the heavens that she found him. or, better said, that he found her when she needed it the most.

  “But I found you pretty first.” He said this while leaning closer to her, just like he did in that cabin’s bathroom.

  “Past tense too?” She asked with a chuckle, as if joking about it could deflect his intense gaze, but he wasn’t even smiling.

  “No.” He whispered, taking a strand of her hair between his fingers, “I still do.”

  Gyuri knew he was telling the truth, although it felt like a joke to be so sure about it. She could remember the way he did a double take at her when she walked into the ciabatta place. The moment played on her mind so vividly, and she couldn’t help but smile at the memory. She liked it when he talked to her like that. She realized she liked it a lot, but at the same time, she was too shy to admit it or go along with it. She didn’t know how to react to such words other than to smile at him.

  “I’m glad you do.” She mumbled, feeling her cheeks burning, “Thank–”

  Her words got caught up against soft lips. Lips ever so softly pressed against hers. He kissed her. Out of the blue, stopping her words. Just as fast as he closed the gap between them, he pulled away, and she just stared at him, stunned. Her cheeks burned with so many emotions that she just stood there, like a reindeer caught in headlights.

  It was a simple peck on her lips, but it felt like it ignited something within her. For the first time since she could remember, the buzz that had always been present in the center of her chest was suddenly gone. The sting in her chest disappeared. Gyuri wondered if he had done something to take the pain away, but when she touched her lips, they felt normal. 

  He kept staring at her, and she wanted to kiss him back. Right then and there was the right moment to do so; it was the right timing, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t know how to kiss. Where she was even supposed to begin with if she had never done it before, and just like that, the chance was gone. She hesitated for far too long, and she felt the embarrassment taking over.

  “I…” The emotions made her stutter, “I missed my chance, did I?”

  Kyungsoo shook his head. Smiling back at her, he leaned just enough to be within reach, and the second his hands softly touched her face, she closed up the remaining space and pressed her lips over his. She was now kissing him, and he was gentle. He was patient, softly holding her in place and moving his lips so delicately over hers. 

  It had been so long since she felt her body so light and without pain. She had been so accustomed to it that now that it had backed away, she didn’t know exactly what to do. It felt right to kiss him. It was as if things were finally falling into place inside her. It was exciting. A bundle of emotions burst all over her body, but at the same time, something felt oddly calm and peaceful the closer she was to him.

  “You’re freezing.” He said against her lips.

  “I'm not cold,” Gyuri admitted, pulling away to press her hands against her cheeks, feeling her flesh as if it could burst into flames at any second.

  Kyungsoo laughed wholeheartedly, taking her hands between his, and she finally felt the difference. His hands were so hot, they felt like burning pieces of coal. Gyuri closed her eyes, basking in the comforting sensation of his skin against hers, and only when she felt him chuckle did she realize that she had leaned against him again. Not that it seemed to bother Kyungsoo in the slightest. He had wrapped his arms around her shoulders as if shielding her from the coldness.

  “Have some tea, and we’ll leave,” he said before bringing her hand to his lips to press a soft kiss against her frizzing fingers.

  Gyuri agreed, too excited to even ask where they were going after, but she did not care. She wanted to enjoy the thrill and the contact. Kyungsoo hesitated to let her hands go, although she wasn’t sure if it was either him or her. Neither of them wanted to let go.

  He finally stepped away and prepared the tea. She dared to ask him who else he had brought to the tea place, and with a cheeky smile, he teased her about it. Between awkward smiles and little chuckles, Gyuri and Kyungsoo waited for the tea to brew. When it was done, the writer settled himself next to her against the railing, holding the two cups of tea. He handed her one, and when she grabbed it, he reached for her free hand and slipped his fingers through hers.

  They both stared at their holding hands. She admired how perfectly natural it felt to have him that close. His fingers stretched only to get a better hold of her small hand, and she smiled. As small as that gesture was, it filled her with a sense of safety. It felt like she could stand taller and walk faster if he was there, holding her hand like that. Bringing the cup up, Gyuri smelled the tea, taking in the scent and letting it warm her nose. She smiled at the comfort of the steam, the rich flavor of whatever herbal mix Kyungsoo chose, and the warmth that ran down her body with every sip of it.

  The droplets of water outside the pavilion picked up, the sound going from a gentle hum to a pouring rain that somehow quieted down everything else around them. They welcomed it. Gyuri couldn’t believe that the writer appeared to find the same comfort she did in the soothing sound of rain. 

  “Get a kiss stolen.” She said, breaking the silence when she finished her tea, “Which wish was that one?”

  “Number 8, I think.”

  “Does that leave us with one wish left, right?”

  “The last one on the list.” He said, looking down at their hands again.

  The struggle that clouded his expression twisted something in her chest. Gyuri understood where it came from but wished he didn’t take it so personally. In the end, wish number 10 wasn’t for Kyungsoo to fulfill. He had done so much already that leaving that last wish incomplete was okay with her. 

  “Kyungsoo, it’s fine.” She said, looking at him, trying her best to convey how grateful she was.

  Whatever she wanted to say got lost in his gaze. His hand found her face again, his thumb gingerly drawing a line across her cheek before he kissed her. She closed her eyes, basking in the gentle pressure of his soft lips, and it felt easier now. It felt better and more special, and like muscle memory, it came back to her like second nature. She kissed him back. Suddenly, as if she’d unlocked something in him, a new wave of sensations rushed through her when his mouth opened and his lips found every way with hers. 

  Gyuri felt herself losing herself against him as his hand softly held her head by the back of her neck. Her breathing shortened, and her skin came alive when he gently pulled her lower lip between his teeth in the softest of nips. She might have let out a sound. She couldn’t be sure, but Kyungsoo had stopped, and he was breathing hard. What she realized the moment she looked at him was that she was just as agitated. He kept his eyes shut, bringing their intertwined hands to his chest to press them right over his heart, and all she could feel was the heat from his skin and the rapid beating of his strong heart. 

  For a moment, she didn’t know how to feel. She never expected that kissing would make her feel so alive. Much less bring someone like him to that state. When he pressed his forehead against hers, she felt his warm and sweet breath against her skin and closed her eyes, afraid that she might be imagining it all.

  “We need to leave.” He said, his voice sounding raw and deeper.

  Gyuri agreed, shivering in a foreign need to do something and letting him deal with their way out of the tea house. She just followed him, but she could not, for the life of her, put the memory of his kisses aside. She tried to control the new agitation that made her entire body feel so overwhelmingly hot, but the more she looked at the writer, the more her skin craved his touch.

  Once in the privacy of his car, she allowed herself to dwell on it. She observed the writer as he drove, his face seemingly deep in thought, and she let it happen. She let her mind take her to places she was too shy to reach, but not anymore. She looked at his profile, and she imagined running her hands through his hair, her fingertips dragging along his lips, and those same lips leaving kisses across her skin. She might’ve stared at him too intently because he looked at her, and the seriousness in his expression faded away to a smile that was full of way too many things. It brightened up his entire face in a different way, and when he grabbed her hand to press his lips on the back of it, it was so soft and gentle, she felt like she might melt on the seat in absolute delight. The scratches on her skin had long ago stopped itching, as if he had somehow healed her with his kisses.

  The Kyungsoo that picked her up earlier that night and the one that arrived at the building were completely different, and she just stared at him, blown away by the manliness oozing off him. He never let her hand go as he walked her to the elevator, and as soon as the doors closed, she shivered at the electricity that sparked between them. The gentle way he brought her closer to his side made her so weak to her knees that she just had to lean against him. Like in a chain reaction, one action leads to another. When she felt him pressing his lips against her forehead in such a gentle gesture, she had to get closer. She moved, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her head against the crook of his neck.

  “We’re almost there.” He whispered, and the warmth that brushed her ear made her shudder.

  The doors opened, and begrudgingly, Gyuri stepped away from him, but his arms did not let go. Still holding her, Kyungsoo stepped out of the elevator, taking her along, and she could only admire his manly figure walking ahead of her, still holding her hand and his shoulders wider than she remembered. When did he become so manly? 

  He pressed the code on the lock, and everything happened so fast that she just stared at him. At the look on his face as he closed the door, at the hastiness with which they took their shoes off, and with a confidence that sent chills to her entire body, he pulled her further into the apartment. 

  Apparently, Kyungsoo had no intention whatsoever to show her the place first. Gyuri didn’t think the heat burning in her would let it happen anyway, but as they walked by the kitchen, something in the corner of her eyes caught her attention. There was no way she could not recognize the pictures. The pictures they got on that damned double date at the park. The pictures that portrayed them as a couple, despite the real situation of their relationship.

  Kyungsoo had those two pictures right in the center of his fridge and nothing else. She halted for a second, pulling the writer back, but there was no chance to elaborate. She was too stunned to talk or react, for that matter, when she felt his hands pushing his jacket off her shoulders to let it fall to the floor. The emotion sparkling in his eyes was too riveting to think about anything else but him and his lips. As if he could read her mind, he brought her closer, leaning over her, and his lips brushed so dangerously close to hers that she shivered in excitement. Although he didn’t kiss her. She found herself bewitched by the spell of his eyes as he pulled her hair out of her face. His fingers gingerly caressed her cheeks, and his other arm brought her even closer to him, so that all she felt was his warm chest against hers.

  Overwhelmed by all these new sensations running through her flesh, Gyuri closed her eyes and stopped trying to contain what she felt. He touched her, bringing goosebumps across her skin and making her dress feel heavy and tight, and she could not handle more. She felt herself caving in to him, and that was all he was waiting for. She could swear he chuckled against her skin, but none of that mattered when he finally kissed her. Even if she wanted to say something, it didn’t matter because she had the thought in her mind already. She imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him in such a way, but she didn’t have to imagine anymore. She kissed him, tasted his lips, and savored his tongue as she ran her fingers through his hair, reeling in the groan that her actions pulled out of him.

  Gyuri felt like she could burst into flames at any moment if she didn’t take a breather, but the moment she pulled away from his lips, he reminded her why she was burning with desire. Her head lolled back, and a moan escaped from the back of her throat. Startled that such a sound could come out of her, she tried to stay quiet, covering her mouth, but with every kiss Kyungsoo pressed along her neck, the harder it was to try. 

  He gave her no truce. Kyungsoo kept peppering her skin with soft kisses, cradling her head to one side as his fingertips dragged down to her chest so gently yet so desperately that her entire body burned in need of more. She moaned again and shivered in his arms, trying to hold onto him when her legs failed to keep her steady. 

  Her body felt so overrun by need that she had to open her eyes and breathe in as much as she could. It was then that she found the pictures stuck in the fridge. Somehow, seeing that felt like dropping a bucket of cold water over her head, but it wasn’t that easy to stop. Her body wouldn’t let her stop, not with the way he held her flushed against him.

  “Do you really like me?” She asked, but Kyungsoo didn’t even flinch at the question. 

  “I do.” He whispered in her ear before pressing a gentle kiss there.

  The admission, as casual as it was, sent a surge of invisible electricity through her body, and Gyuri tried with all of her might to keep it at bay. She tried not to succumb to his lips languidly gracing her jaw, but she couldn’t help but tremble. In the midst of the sensory overload to which the writer was subjecting her, she reminded herself to be strong. She pulled away right before their lips touched again and held his head in her hands. Her resolution faltered the moment their eyes met because his gaze burned with a fire and an all-consuming adoration, while his fingers dipped into her flesh, desperate to get more.

  That was exactly what Gyuri had wished for. She hoped for someone to yearn for her touch and relish her kisses, but she couldn’t do it. She liked Kyungsoo. She might like him too much. He was nice and handsome, and he had been an absolute sweetheart since they met, but he wasn’t him. She would never pretend that she didn’t like his lips and the way his kisses made her feel, because she did. Just like she wouldn’t even attempt to deny that a part of her desperately wanted him, but, once again, he wasn’t him. He wasn’t Baekhyun.

  “I can’t.” Gyuri said. “I’m so sorry.”

  She might as well have said that the room was too cold because Kyungsoo leaned forward so close to her that his soft breath felt hot against her skin. His lips teasing her flesh sent a shiver down her body, and she had to close her eyes to control her own breathing.

  “It’s not that I don’t like you,” She breathed out, failing to stop him from pressing a soft kiss right in the middle of her neck, right where she felt her pulse react, “But all I’ll be thinking about is Baek…”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But I do.” She whispered just as earnestly, putting everything in her to break away from his enchanting kisses, “I care about you, and it wouldn’t be fair.”

  And she found the right words. He stopped. His hands left her, his arms fell to his side, and his eyes got lost somewhere else. Suddenly, the confident and passionate demeanor disappeared to show a man who gave nothing away. Gyuri staggered without the steady hold of his arms, but despite that, she could not look away. She tried to read his expression to know if he was angry at her, but there was nothing in him. He stayed there until his face finally twisted, his lips pursed, and his eyes furrowed, and in that moment, she wanted to take back her words.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  He stepped away before she could react and, without looking at her, grabbed the keys he had so carelessly thrown away when they arrived and walked to the door. Gyuri, however, never expected to feel so empty. She felt so cold that she couldn’t even move from her spot, her body aching for the pain she had caused him. She struggled to believe that the flash of rejection glimmering in his eyes could affect her that much, but it did. It hurt her that a small part of her genuinely wanted him that much when the other, much bigger part of her heart belonged to someone else. 

  “Gyuri…”

  “Can I stay?” She mumbled, feeling minuscule, “I don't want to go home.”

  “Your parents…”

  “I’ll let them know.” She pressed, feeling tears blur her vision.

  She watched him at the doorway, with his shirt still half done and his hair in disarray, as he played with the keys in that subtle, anxious nick of his. When he finally looked at her, she expected to find an embarrassed or angry expression, but he seemed sorry. His shoulders relaxed, and with a firm nod, he took his shoes off again.

  “I’ll get you some clothes.”

  The next couple of minutes felt like she went back to square one. She felt like the anxious Gyuri who could not say a word to save her life as she followed the writer through the apartment to the master bedroom. He was beyond polite, showing her where everything she might need was and placing the clean change of clothes on the bed before leaving her in the room in absolute silence.

  She sat on the bed, cursing at herself and her own stupidity and trying with all her might to control her emotions. Like she told him, she called her mother, keeping her voice steady and lively when, in reality, she felt defeated. Not even the teasing in her mother’s tone managed to make her cringe. Still pretending, she let out a chuckle, hopeful that it was enough to fool her mother, and ended the call, feeling even worse.

  She took the dress off, washed her face, and stressed about leaving everything in the bathroom as clean and organized as she found it. Once done, and as if being apart from Kyungsoo was the reason why she felt so off, Gyuri looked at herself in the mirror in a completely new light. It felt like the charm was suddenly gone, and she could finally see what she truly looked like. She was glad she stopped.

  Her skin had turned slightly yellowish and clammy; the dark shades under her eyes were darker; and her pale lips had dried up. As if her stupid lack of judgment could really affect her that much physically, even her hair looked faded and muted. Chills sprouted all over her at the sight, and unlike earlier, she shivered in the cold. She was freezing, and looking at the sickly reflection staring at her, Gyuri reminded herself that it was for the best. She didn’t want him to see her like that, not even if he had said that he still found her pretty. Somehow, she wished she was healthy. That her chest wouldn’t hurt and that she could touch him without the fear of not touching him ever again. 

  Exhaustion finally caught up with her, and feeling like she might collapse, she went to bed. She slipped under the bedsheets, almost letting out a sigh of relief at the soft texture of the fabric against her skin and the comfort of the mattress underneath her. She scooted over, leaving enough space for Kyungsoo on the other side of the bed, and fought against the sleepiness. She just stared at the wall, dwelling on the difference between the things she said and the things she felt, and reprimanded her rush to reject the writer. He had said he didn’t care if they crossed that line, but she did. If they ever crossed that line, it was only fair that she wanted to have no one else in her mind but him.

  Gyuri stood still, almost holding her breath to hear what he could be doing, but she couldn’t hear anything. Maybe he just decided that she had embarrassed him enough already. Maybe he was too angry to talk to her for the rest of the night. She would understand if he decided to avoid her. It was fine. She rejected him without a single hint of sympathy, and her chain of thought broke away when the door cracked open, and slowly, Kyungsoo tiptoed into the room. Gyuri practically breathed out in relief. Sitting up, she startled him, and it was almost comical how he froze to stare at her.

  A million thoughts toppled over her. She wanted to apologize. She would take back her words if she could and make sure he knew how much she regretted what she said and, mostly, the way she said it. Of course, all that verbal spiel happened inside her head, and Gyuri stayed quiet like she usually did when she was too anxious to form any coherent sentences. Not that Kyungsoo made it any easier to break the awkwardness between them. He straightened up, clearly uncomfortable that she had caught him red-handed, and stared at her for a moment. He had changed his clothes to a massive black shirt and black sweatpants, but despite how comfy the garments might seem, he just stood there, awkwardly in place. Gyuri was about to say something when his attention shifted to the obvious empty space on the bed, and she knew she had to speak up. 

  “I have no right to ask this, but...” she mumbled, feeling the mortification heating her face. “Would you stay with me?”

  The question came out of her mouth as a surprise, and for an instant, it looked like Kyungsoo might reject her just as she did earlier, but against her expectations, he agreed. As silent as he always managed himself, the writer walked around the bed to lay on top of the covers next to her. Gyuri ignored the fact that he did, assuming that he wouldn’t stay for the entire night but that she would take whatever crumbs of his company he was willing to give her. 

  Kyungsoo called the digital assistant to turn the lights off, and a few seconds later the room fell into absolute darkness; however, the silence that followed was outrageously loud. She could hear her thoughts louder than before, and above all that, the steady pace of his breathing. A sound she had come to cherish in such a short. 

  “Kyungsoo?” She whispered, closing her eyes to let the sound of him lull her to sleep, “I wish I had met you first.”

***

  Gyuri opened her eyes and stretched. She felt her muscles moving without trouble and her limbs straightening, and that was odd. Scared of what that could mean, she sat up, disoriented. She wasn’t home. The white walls and blue bed sheets confused her. She looked around, and it took her a minute to recognize the place. 

  She just stayed there, perplexed. Something felt weird. She tried to recall everything that happened the night before and knew that something was definitely off. Scrambling out of bed, Gyuri came out of the room to find Kyungsoo in the kitchen, focused on something over the counter. His back was facing her, and she observed him, wondering how it was possible.

  “Good morning.” He said, looking at her over his shoulder.

  He might’ve sensed it as well, Gyuri thought, because the relaxed expression on his face was soon replaced by a frown. He left the spatula he was holding on the counter and walked around the island, visibly worried.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” She replied.

  “Gyuri…”

  “I can breathe.” She said under her breath, finding his eyes, and the joy that took over her was too much to handle, “Kyungsoo, I can breathe!”

  It was almost an out-of-body experience. What made her move? She didn’t know. She just moved. Her body followed without hesitation. Nothing hurt, and nothing felt wrong. Whatever she wanted to do, she knew she could do it. It felt like there were no limitations.

  She jumped into him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him as tightly as she could, laughing the joy out of her lungs without choking. Without choking. There was nothing in her chest that could clog her throat, and when she gasped for more air, the amount of oxygen that filled her lungs made her dizzy. She laughed again, feeling so lightheaded that she tightened the grip she had on him. It was the moment she felt his chuckles vibrate right into her that made her realize how close they were.

  As if the realization sobered her up in a way, she was suddenly aware of how Kyungsoo held her tightly against him. His hands were flat on her back, his face buried in the crook of her neck, making her feel his warm breath over her skin. When did it happen that she was holding him just as close? She didn’t know. Gyuri had her arms wrapped around his neck, where her fingers found that small spot where his smooth skin met with his hairline, and she absently played with his hair, which she found incredibly soft.

  Reminding herself that one more touch could entice something from her, Gyuri let go just a little bit, just enough to untangle herself from his hold, but her cheeks flared at the fact that he didn’t let her go. He kept her in there, their bodies touching and his hand sliding lower down her back to her waist.

  She found his eyes, and what made it all worse was the sunlight seeping through the windows, lighting up everything about him so beautifully. His eyes sparkled in a lighter yet still warm brown that never stopped moving all over her face. She averted her eyes from his, but finding his lips wouldn’t help her either, as her skin remembered every single kiss he left on her. She closed her eyes, feeling herself blush harder at the memories as his warmth moved closer. She could feel him. Her skin remembered him well and was instantly covered in goosebumps of anticipation.

  “Breakfast is almost ready.” He said.

  Gyuri snapped her eyes open to find him just an inch away from her, his lips dangerously close to the corner of her mouth, but he never closed the gap. His hands found their way to her face, cradling it gently within them, and his thumb brushed over her lower lip with so much fascination that Gyuri couldn’t stop the shiver that rushed through her entire body.

  “Breakfast is almost ready, right?” She mumbled.

  Kyungsoo found the question amusing; he would’ve laughed, but for some reason, he held it in, pressing his lips tight together. Still holding her face, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of what Gyuri thought was her scent, and with a decided nod, he let her go. As if their recent closeness didn’t affect him in the slightest, he asked her to sit by the island. 

  Settling herself on one of the stools like he told her to do, Gyuri waited for him to finish cooking, and he wasn’t wrong. Breakfast was practically ready; Kyungsoo prepared eggs, veggies, fried rice, multiple side dishes, and a variety of fruits she wasn’t used to eating. It had been a long time since Gyuri felt that hungry. Her mouth watered at the small feast served in front of her, and unsure if she could just start eating, he assured her that he had enough food for her to eat to her heart’s content, so she did. She thanked him for the food and dug in, surprising herself at the almost uncontrollable hunger that took control of her. It wasn't until several minutes later that she noticed that the writer had observed her stuff herself with amusing curiosity.

  “What?” She asked, feeling her cheeks either burning from the embarrassment or her jaw aching from the desperate chewing.

  “I was wondering,” He said, looking away, “how were you when you were younger?”

  Glad that he didn’t point out her sudden binge on food, she took the chance to gather herself and control whatever was making her eat like a lunatic. Gyuri paused, giving the question some thought and recalling her school days.

  “Nothing dramatic, really.” She said it with a shrug. 

  “Did you get bullied?” He asked, sitting across from her on the island and serving himself some of the food she spared.

  “As much as the smartest in the class can get.”

  “Were you?” He asked with disbelief, as he also dug into his bowl with a need.

  “Of course I was.”

  “That can’t be.” He mumbled with his mouth stuffed with rice and eggs, and the expression made something in Gyuri boil.

  “You don’t believe me?” She grumbled, unlocking her phone, “Just look how much of a nerd I was.”

  A chuckle. She heard him chuckle as he absentmindedly kept chewing his food. An amused chuckle at that, and it just made Gyuri snap even more, to his utter amusement. She jumped off her stool and went around the island. The mocking grin on his face faded, and he backed away when she leaned closer to him. Gyuri watched in bewilderment as he even raised an arm as if to protect himself, and now she was the one with a smirk.

  “Do you really believe I’m the violent sort?” She scoffed and pulled out the nearest stool.

  Sitting down next to him, Gyuri opened the gallery her parents had online to show off to the world how accomplished she was. 

  “Eat,” he ordered, placing the unfinished bowl in front of her.

  Not even looking, she kept eating while showing Kyungsoo every childhood picture she could find, and eventually, after some begging, he reluctantly agreed to bring out his own childhood pictures. They snickered, teased, and ate their breakfast together as if there was nothing else to worry about in the world.

“When are you planning to come back home?”

  The screen of her phone blinked with the notification of a new text from her father, and they stared at it, finally getting brought back to reality.

  “Guess it’s time to take you back home.” He said with an easy smile.

  There was no point in arguing about it. In one way or another, she had to go back. She had to go back to her world, where not only her house had stopped feeling like the safest place, but to a place away from him. Pushing the dark thought aside, Gyuri gathered the empty dishes together, but Kyungsoo stopped her, reminding her that she was a guest as he gently nudged her away from the kitchen. Chuckling to herself, she gave in to his wish and left, but on her way to the bedroom, a question made her stop. She had to know.

  “Is there any chance we would’ve become friends before any of this?” She asked, deeply hoping that he would say yes.

  “No.”

  The matter-of-fact tone in the writer's voice made her heart shatter a little, and to keep the disappointment from showing on her face, Gyuri bit down on the insides of her cheeks. 

  “I would’ve asked you out first.” He said.

  Kyungsoo looked up at her, and for a split second, she wondered if his eyes had suddenly turned glossy. His lips twisted up in a weak smile that, as soon as it showed up, disappeared. Before she could say anything about that, he turned around to take their empty dishes to the sink, leaving her alone to brew with that piece of information.

  An hour later, showered and with her feelings replenished in many sorts of ways, Kyungsoo drove her across the city to her house. There was no need to speak. The moments of silence between them were welcomed and enjoyed as music played in the background and Gyuri munched on the rest of the churros from the night before. They were cold, soggy, and greasy, but the burnt milk filling and sugar coating that were left on them tasted like heaven in her mouth. The peace of that moment could only last for so long when they turned the corner of her street and saw the red car parked right outside her house.

  Gyuri cursed not so silently. Choking on a mouthful of churro, whatever made her body feel so light and her chest so loose instantly disappeared. She felt suddenly heavier. The air around her was so thick she could barely breathe, and when she gasped for air, her throat dried up instead. The sudden warmth that wrapped her hand and, for an instant, grounded her to safety dissipated the terror that threatened to crush her. She searched for the warm lifeline and discovered Kyungsoo holding her hand between his.

  “I agreed to stay with you, remember?” He said. “I’ll stay with you, I promise.”

  Gyuri hadn’t realized she was holding her breath, and trembling in her seat, she nodded, letting that promise release her lungs from the panic hold and focusing everything on her to count her panic away. She couldn’t stay inside the car forever; she had to get out sooner rather than later, and when she did, Baekhyun scrambled out of his car with an urgency that froze her on the spot.  

  She was out in a daze, but Baekhyun caught up and stood right in front of her. He blocked her way to eye her from head to toe, and his eyes hardened at the realization that she wasn’t wearing her own clothes but Kyungsoo’s. Whatever it was, it seemed like something very close to jealousy, although Baekhyun getting jealous of Kyungsoo would mean that he had a hint of feelings for her, and Gyuri couldn’t afford to think that way. Not now that she was feeling great.

“Did you spend the night with him?” He asked.

  The pain stinging in her chest was instant, and with a nod, she pulled the churros' arrangement closer to her chest. The rancid sweetness that came out of them suddenly felt like a safe line, and she held onto it. Dealing with a smell was better than dealing with her feelings.

  “So you're dating him.” Baekhyun said, and forgetting about the churros, she shook her head in response. “Then why would he give you that? Wait, are those churros?”

  “He's just a friend.” She pointed it out, walking around him. 

  “Friends don't do that.” He said.

  Oh, but she knew that already. Gyuri was a victim of those silly fantasies, and the scoff of disbelief that came out of him ticked her off. She had to clear her throat to hold back the pressure that threatened to come up through her because, under any circumstance, she could not start coughing in front of him.

  “I know that, Baekhyun,” she said, trying to swallow although her mouth felt like sandpaper.

  Kyungsoo was right by her side in a blink of an eye, his arm just as stable as ever around her waist. 

  “Kyungsoo, I’m fine.” She said through her teeth.

  The lie made her entire body tremble.

  “She said she’s fine.” Baekhyun interfered, calling Kyungsoo out, but the writer didn’t budge.

  The tone in his voice made her wince. Gyuri couldn’t even see his face, but from the heavy tone in his voice alone, she felt another pang of pain across her chest. She wondered how it was possible to get that affected just by his anger. How could he have that much power over her?

  “I’m basically family,” Baekhyun added with confidence, trying to pry Kyungsoo’s arm off her waist, “You can leave now.”

  “You’re just a friend, Baekhyun,” Gyuri said, grabbing her friend’s hand off the writer.

  Somehow, and Gyuri didn’t know where it came from, but she felt protective of him. Kyungsoo did not deserve such rude treatment, and as if she could protect him from any attack, she stepped away, dragging Kyungsoo along with her, but she wasn’t nearly strong enough to keep him safe. It happened so fast that she couldn’t really keep up with one action after another. Suddenly, she found herself tangled in a mess of arms and hands and caught up between Kyungsoo and Baekhyun. She tugged at the writer’s sleeve, trying to bring him to his senses.

  Baekhyun saw the action first. He watched Gyuri reach for the guy, almost begging him to let go, which he did, making him stumble back. But it wasn’t just the momentum. He staggered back in shock as he watched her try to convince the accountant to come into the house with her. 

  “Gyuri, what the fuck is going on?” He asked, confused and pretty much still in shock, “Since when do you keep so many things from me?”

  However, Gyuri had reached a point of no return. A sharp pain snapped in her back and pinned her to the ground. Kyungsoo’s arm brought her closer to his body as if he could feel her need for support, but the anger, the desperation, and the fogginess in her mind were bigger than the pain. She felt the fire flowing under her skin as pins and needles covered her limbs, and she knew what was coming. She felt it revolving inside her. She felt the roots take over. The flower petals buzzed, ready to explode, and she decided to let everything go. She was living on borrowed time already.

  “This again? I told you already, Baekhyun, I would make friends on my own, so excuse me for going out on a date with someone I like.” She mumbled back, angry and desperate. “Isn't that what you always wanted? For me to fend for myself?”

  “Gyuri…” Kyungsoo warned her, but there was no going back.

  For the first time in her life, she was answering back. Gyuri was speaking up for herself, and the anger running through her was scary yet so liberating. She was angry with no one other than Baekhyun, and she was letting him know that. That just didn't happen, and by the stunned expression on his face, he was probably thinking the same.

  The thrill and the rush of emotions wavered when a pained gasp called her name. Her parents were out, witnessing the confrontation, and she hated the worry in their voices. Her blood boiled at Baekhyun’s stubbornness, and she hated the caution behind Kyungsoo’s words when she had nothing to lose anymore. Gyuri simply had enough.

  “Stop!” She said, raising her voice, “Just stop treating me like a child.”

  Gyuri heard her parents shoot back a warning, but then she found Baekhyun with what could be the most heartbreaking expression she'd ever witnessed. His eyes were turning glossy. Even worse, he was disappointed. She was letting him down, and that was worse than his rejection.

  “You're right.” He said, swallowing back. “Now that you're such a sufficient woman that you even managed to get a boyfriend on your own, why would you need me?”

  “The nerve you have to make this about yourself.” She snarled.

  Gyuri regretted it as soon as the words were out. She felt Kyungsoo shift the tiniest bit as he looked at her. She didn’t have to look at his face to know his expression was nothing but disappointment. Hell, she was disappointed in herself as well, but she wasn’t the only one. Baekhyun stared at her, lost for words, and instead of getting angry, his features fell into a sadness she’d never seen before.

  “Who are you?” He whispered. 

  The tiny tremble in his voice made such a simple question sound so heavy and loaded with meaning that her head was suddenly pounding. Her entire body reacted; her back hurt, her hands burned, and her chest tightened up even more.  

  “G uess I don't know you anymore.”

  Baekhyun left before she could stop him, and she just stood there, rooted in her place, watching him get in his car, and something deep inside of her finally broke and exploded. As if his presence had put her in a chokehold, she gasped for air the moment he was gone, but that didn’t mean she could breathe. Gyuri tried. She really tried to fill her lungs with air but it felt like her lungs suddenly imploded.

  “He hates me.” She wheezed.

  She could feel the roots invading everything. A sharp pain tore her flesh apart, breaking bones and splitting her in two, and every part of her protested. Gyuri screamed in pain, but she choked and gurgled. She tried to scream again to let out something within her that could ease the agony, but her sight blurred with tears. Although tears wouldn’t turn everything red. 

  The only thing she was aware of was her mother's wailing and her father's strong arms around her, and their faces struck in terror. It was one voice, worried like she'd never heard before, that truly frightened her. His voice was so broken and scared that she just looked around for him. She had to find Kyungsoo, and when she did, his hands were splattered with blood, as was his face as well.

  She called for him to grasp at the smallest hint of peace, but nothing came out of her. She was slipping into unconsciousness, trying to hold onto the soothing sound only his voice could bring. She reached for him, but all she found was his face stricken with absolute despair. 

  "Help me, please.” He cried.

[annamarabella-grumble]

mass effect replay thoughts, episode 10

episode 1 / episode 2 / episode 3 / episode 4 / episode 5 / episode 6 / episode 7 / episode 8 / episode 9

it’s sad picnic time on illium!

“we’re trying to call it ‘indentured servitude’ rather than slavery, but honestly humans are just prejudiced. it’s people’s own choice to enter slavery! i mean, indentured servitude.”

and then NO-ONE you talk to actually bothers calling it by its euphemistic term. it’s just “that quarian slave” this, “that quarian slave” that. in the end, shepard can throw her weight around a little and talk the synthetic insights rep into buying the contract and letting the quarian – whose name we do not even learn – go, but that’s barely a bandaid on a chasm of a wound. it’s a twig thrown across the abyss. no-one else is going to cross on the back of shepard’s interference. the player gets to feel good about this one thing, but the game is quick to remind you that there’s more where that came from, and short of sicing gianna parasini on the entire illium leadership, there’s nothing shep can do.

but. but. wasn’t it that someone who saves one life, saves the world entire? if mass effect is about working to save as many as possible, then saving one is still worthwhile. and it’s a damn sight better than looking away.

I LOVE AETHYTA SO MUCH. she truly is her father’s daughter – right down to the asari on thessia laughing “the blue off my ass” for warning them that spending their wild maiden years shaking their tits in some bar isn’t going to help prevent wars

it hadn’t occurred to me before playing this again, but man, i wish i could send ereba, the asari being courted by the soft-hearted krogan charr, to aethyta for advice. aethyta had a krogan dad, and i’m sure she’d have some, uh, wise and colourful words for ereba. alas, all shepard can do is tell her to listen to her heart.

also, i don’t think charr’s poetry is bad???? maybe because my standard for untenable lyrics is that one vogon poetry slam i went to, but dude.

samara. ma’am. ma’am, pls.

thane once again HOGGING ALL THE LENS FLARE (like, for real)

thaaaaaane – we’re going to romance him in this playthrough, for maximum tragedy. can’t wait to have my heart ripped out several months from now

it will tickle dishonored fans to hear that one viewer correctly cold-read zaeed and called there being an alternative armour skin for him in red – he’s space daud, sorry about it.

thane believes that his body and his spirit are separate — only his body kills, therefore his spirit is “clean.” that’s why thane can’t be daud, even though he’s named the assassin. if anyone’s daud, it’s zaeed. he’s who he represents himself to be, and you can hate him or love him, but he knows exactly who he is. right down to blowing up a slaughterhouse refinery, if it comes to it.

hunt for red october reference! i’d love to see joker pull a crazy ivan lmao. he could probably do it! and everyone would go a little pale around the nose

BIOTIC GOD. i had jack and zaeed with me, so we didn’t get the line, but my fave is when zaeed asks shep if she wants him to “kneecap this guy so he won’t follow you around”

for all that he’s dead, kaidan sure is haunting me

[optimus-prime-advice]

Blogmin (blog admin) motivation post!!

So I never speak directly here besides in my intro post, but I decided I'm gonna come out to talk for a change, because I want y'all to know:

It really does get better.

That's me. I'm a disabled man who's autoimmune in at least 5 ways, possibly more than that, I can barely walk and I mostly limp, and I usually have to use a walking stick. I suffer from chronic pain, PTSD, and far more.

But today, I got my tax return. I decided I was going to treat myself, and visit the thrift store to see what all was there, maybe get a new shirt and a plushie or something.

Yet I found something FAR better than any of that combined.

I found an Xbox 360.

I'm 24 currently. When I was a young kid, the Xbox was THE console to have. I had nothing but a computer, and some disks with games. My parents were not wealthy at all. They struggled to get money for groceries. And all my friends, all my classmates, they had Xbox 360s left and right, my neighbor had 3 or 4 of them, my friend also had at least 3, and yet there I was with... nothing. Nothing at all. No Gamecube, no Wii, no Xbox, no Playstation, no PSP, no GBA, and so on.

Eventually, years later, my parents did save enough money to buy my siblings and I a Playstation 2 for Christmas, and we proceeded to play it so much that, within 3 years tops, it broke.

I was devastated. I had no way to play games yet again.

That year, for my birthday, my friend had a PS2 that he no longer used, and his brother had bought the PS3. Thus, for a present, I got my friend's old PS2. I was SUPER happy, and my eyes lit up like Christmas lights. I spent many hours after school for a long time playing Kingdom Hearts 1 and 2.

As I grew into an adult, more consoles came out. However, I grew up mostly PC gaming, and after my little brother built himself a PC, I decided I would do the same. I worked overtime with more than 40 hours a week at a minimum wage job while in college, for many months straight, and got the parts I needed. To this day, it's my best gaming platform with top-of-the-line hardware including a 2070 super RTX graphics card, and 5TB of space, of which 3TB is on SSDs. I live for playing games on my PC, and have multiple triple A titles. I've got a dual monitor setup with one 32in monitor on the bottom, and a 24in curved monitor on top, a cheap camera, cheap soundbar that's surprisingly good quality for just $35, and a cheap standing mic.

This past winter, in December, my mother had to go in for open heart surgery. During November on Thanksgiving day, she suffered a heart attack. When she went in for the surgery, it was supposed to be a one and done situation. One "quick" surgery turned into 2 near death experiences, being airlifted to another hospital, another 2 surgeries, then 3 more, and over 40 nights of hospital stays across 4 months.

On the same day I nearly lost my mother last, I nearly lost my good friend to ending himself, and had to stay awake until well past 3am trying to get authorities to help him. That same day, too, I almost lost my sister to the same thing.

And the day after that? I lost my only job.

Weeks later, I lost my insurance coverage, and couldn't get medical help as my chronic pain flared to the absolute worst it's ever been, I began getting chronic intense migraines every morning I woke as well, and I only just got the insurance back recently.

Needless to say, I've been scraping by desperately for months now.

But today, I got my tax return. And I decided, to treat myself, I was going to go to the thrift store.

And there, sitting on the shelf amongst a bunch of printers, literally blending in to the white of the shelf itself, was an Xbox 360. I would not have known it was there had I not picked it up to see what its weird grey piece sticking out was.

Immediately, I snagged this. With the wires connected, the entire package was $14. I had a 360 compatible controller sitting around for my PC, but I never used it. So there, I had everything I needed. And I walked the store looking for anything else I might need or want, carrying that SUPER heavy console and chargers in my arms for dear life. It sincerely felt like a dream I'd wake from, only to find myself in my bed sad and empty and defeated. The impossible childhood dream coming true... Could it be?

As I checked out, the man at the line smiled and told me he played Xbox 360 himself growing up, and that I'd caught a GREAT find. I was happy. VERY happy.

Carefully, I loaded the console into my car's trunk. I drive an old black car covered in bird poop and pollen regardless of how often I clean it, and most of the time, I can't even get said poop off at all. The front bumper is busted. At any given time, I have no more than half a tank of gas. There's no fancy features, just a radio and a CD port. I've jerryrigged bluetooth with a wired adapter that's always coming out of the socket, and plugged it to a cigarette lighter with a charger so the adapter never dies. I can only play audio from my phone, but I can't make calls or answer them while driving.

Nonetheless, with this console inside my car, I drove home, fearful that I was still dreaming, and would wake any moment.

But I made it home safely, and when I opened the trunk, the Xbox was still there.

I smiled. I smiled A LOT.

Tonight, I went ahead and plugged it in to my TV. With a deep breath, I turned it on, and...

It works. The Xbox 360 works beautifully, minus the fact that it's currently black and white because I've hooked the adapters wrong. I'll fix that tomorrow since it's well past 3am now.

I'm not sure who brownie71985 is, but whoever they are, their old Xbox has now made a former poor kid, now disabled and struggling, depressed adult, VERY happy. They've made his life COMPLETE.

Though my mental health has taken many turns for the worst over the last few months, I kept telling myself it will get better. It will get better. It will get better... But when?

Today. That's when.

I lived long enough to see my childhood dreams come true. The impossible thing of all impossible things to me as a kid, is now achieved as an adult. :) And I lived to see it.

It's always worth it to make it. To keep going. Better days are ahead, and you'll keep asking yourself when they're going to come. But that day could be today! You don't know because you haven't lived to see it yet. So go. Live today. And tomorrow. And every day after that. You're going to find your better at some point if you keep living. I promise. :)

[thatonebirdwrites]

Words Written: A discussion about Ableism and Disability

Content Note: Discusses ableism and harassment This year I set out with a goal to write 500,000 words. When I hit that goal in the summer, I joked with my Internet friends that I would reach a million by December. I did in fact do that: Legend of Korra Shared Moments story is 913,285 words. Supergirl: Supercorp Endgame is 105,475. Spirit World Vacation is 20,769 words. Is this a romance story is 14,411 words.

If I only go with what I put on AO3, then my total word count this year (as of 12/4/2023) is 1,053,940 words.

However, I have several chapters planned for Shared Moments and Supercorp Endgame (Unraveling Realities) stories, so this word count will probably have at least a few thousand added to it by years end.

How did I do this?

This is a complicated question to answer, and it involves me being real about my very shitty situation. Considering there's a fifty-fifty chance next year could be even worse, I find myself wondering at times how I can keep going.

Yet I try to choose hope, despite the fact that everything I've tried to do these past few years has burned around me.

Writing plays a huge part in how I choose hope.

So here is the reality:

1. I've been ill all year with no job. I survive because of my temporary Long Term Disability benefit. I lost my job November of last year. My illness progressed where the accommodations the job allowed wasn't enough, and they rejected what my doctor and I offered. I'd worked there for five years, had been instrumental in the success of that department, given an award by the head of that department, but my illness destroyed all of that in a few short months. It's a slow progressive illness with no cure.

2. I'm in pain a lot, sometimes to the point of where I can't move much at all. Or the nerve pain makes it so I can't use my hands or concentrate. The schedule my doctor and I worked out is 30 minutes of writing. I then rest for 45 minutes to an hour. I then do another 30 minutes of writing. I rest for 45 minutes to an hour. If I use this schedule, I can get about four or so hours of writing. But it uses up the ENTIRE day. Meaning I can't do much else. I also cannot do this every day otherwise I will have a massive flare up that requires days of rest.

3. I space out these writing days. Every other day seems to work okay. If I have to go somewhere, such as to an appointment or some other place outside my house, then I need to space it out even further. To leave my home, I must spend an entire day resting to prepare for that outing. Resting means stuck in bed, sleeping, maybe doing some mindless crafts, watching something that doesn't use up energy, or reading a few pages here and there.

So do I recommend this schedule to folks? No, actually. I don't.

So why do I do it then?

I need something to help me choose hope.

Some basic facts I deal with daily:

I'm sick with a debilitating disease that has no cure. I can barely leave my bed. I often have to use a wheelchair or crutches to get around my home, and I can't leave my house without my wheelchair because I can't walk further than 10 to 15 feet without collapsing.

We live in a society that dehumanizes people like me. I get very little visitors. The local so-called disability programs often fails to help and drags their feet for everything. I'm constantly fighting to keep disability benefits (every 5 months I gotta pull out the paperwork to prove my disability still exists, which once done wipes me out for a week).

When I need assistance for energy-intensive tasks like cleaning and cooking larger meals, I often fail to get that help. Every task I do requires me to carefully ration my small amount of energy (for example, most people have ten spoons to work with in a day. I have two or three at most, and sometimes I have to borrow a spoon from a future day, so I end up with less spoons one day to make up for that).

I often rely on my sisters and friends in town, much of whom are busy. Meaning, unless it's an appointment, the task will take months because that is often how long I must wait before someone finds the time to help me.

For example, it's taking me months to fix my desktop. It doesn't matter that I could do more things with it: play video games again, make music again, do more creative things (that maybe might allow for income), etc... -- none of that matters, because in the end, I rely on the schedule of others to find time for me. My dreams, hopes, needs are always secondary.

When I ask for help, I am forced to trust the person will continue to see me as a human being worthy of respect and dignity, worthy of care. I have discovered in the course of this illness, that some people I trusted with my life? Some of them came to resent the fact I am disabled, and I have been told to my face by these former friends about how I am a burden, a drain on society, that it disgusted them I had to ask for help for simple things, and they no longer wanted to be my friend.

Moments like that made me less likely to reach out, so then I try to do it all myself, only to end up collapsing (often leading to a hospital visit). This year I've been trying to not fall into neglecting my health. I didn't want to end up at the hospital every three months (which has been the norm for five years). I'm proud to say I only was in the hospital twice this year. (Hey, let me have my victory, okay? I'm quite proud of this.)

But how do I avoid falling into neglecting my health? I have to stop pushing myself beyond what my health could handle. It meant asking for help knowing it could be the last time this person every spoke to me if they decided I asked for help too many times.

For a disabled person like me, it rarely matters what I offer to others. I have skills that I can leverage for people and for organizing, but I'm often told that because I'm disabled I shouldn't help.

For example, a friend needed assistance with the audio tech at his church. I came in my wheelchair and got it all working just fine. I did this for a few months, until the church council got wind of it, and proceeded to harass me about how I am "too disabled" to do this. That I shouldn't "make a spectacle of myself." How sitting behind a giant wooden desk that hid me from view, while I wore headphones and worked a soundboard is a "spectacle" is beyond me. In the end, I was driven out by those people who "claimed" to be "doing good." This hurt them, since they no longer had an experienced audio tech, but also me because it left me even more isolated. I often offer emotional support to people, and yet I get told that I shouldn't "overexert" myself as if this person knows more about my limits then I do.

No one knows my limits but me and my doctor, and even then, I am the only person who can make that call. If I say I can do the thing? Then I will do the thing within my capabilities. If for any reason I need assistance or must delay the completion of the thing, I will communicate that.

People seem to forget that I have a brain and can communicate effectively without assistance.

In the end? Far too many people want me to be abled-bodied and to show up in-person. Being told that directly far too many times felt like a slap to the face because I desperately wanted to be able to do that but I couldn't due to my illness. If I show up in-person, yes, I will need some accommodations, but that doesn't mean I can't still use my knowledge and skills to assist. The assumption that disabled people have no skills, no knowledge, no capabilities is ableism painted up as "good intentions" to "keep disabled people from hurting themselves." It's eugenics in action, isolating a group of people, dehumanizing them, and stripping them of their autonomy slowly over time. I wish people took my skills and knowledge seriously. That they see ME and not just a sack of breathing meat in a wheelchair. I may not be able to pull off many abled-bodied stunts that involve physical prowess, but I can write, work audio equipment, edit documents, run software programs and do basic de-bugging, organize meetings or marches by doing the behind the scenes paperwork, crafting tech solutions to a problem, and so forth. And yet, if I try to offer these skills, I'm ignored, pushed out, and dehumanized all because some people (often white cisgender people) decided they "knew best" about my own body and mind.

I can give people all that I am, only to be spat upon for being too disabled to fit people's expectations of how a friend should behave.

It leaves me exhausted, scared, and worried that this next time I reach out? It could mean another friend lost.

Who can I rely on then?

Internet friends to some degree, but I worry sometimes due my trauma. About whether they would still be my friend in person. In the end, all I can do is trust and hope that they love me as I am and accept what I can offer, and continue to be there for them when I'm able to do so.

I can rely on my fluffy cat Sgt. Quark Amaya McFluffers, who has saved my life many a time. Literally. He brings me joy and cuddles me when I weep.

I can rely on my writing.

Yes, My writing.

The primary reason I am alive right now, is because I have been writing all year.

To give myself a reason to keep going.

To not lose hope.

Writing keeps me alive literally.

So no, I don't recommend people use the schedule I did above. I don't recommend that because it's not sustainable. It's actually not that healthy.

I recognize it's not healthy, but at this time, when there's little else in my life that gives me strength to keep going?

I cultivate hope through these written words.

Do people read what I write? Do they enjoy it?

Gods, I hope so. But in all reality, longer stories generally don't do well for keeping readers. I also don't write smut (it might appear in a story but it's never a focus).

The stories I want to tell?

They dig into the trauma of the characters, dig into their emotions, dig into the reality of the consequences to actions and situations, and explore how they heal.

Sure I've written silly things here and there to amuse myself, but the vast majority of what I've written is about healing from trauma. It's about survival. It's about choosing hope.

So yes, most people don't want a Lord of the Rings version of Legend of Korra or Supercorp. And that's okay.

But there are people that do. And those people somehow manage to find my niche. I still sometimes get comments or kudos from them.

And to see that?

To see those comments? Those people reaching out to let me know my writing mattered? That it brings them joy? That it got them to cry? To think?

It floods me with the strength to choose hope yet again. Human connection matters.

It's that reminder that I'm not a burden. That I'm not alone. That I'm not forgotten. That maybe, just maybe I can make a difference in people's lives. Even if it is just words on paper or a screen.

I am so grateful for these people. So, so grateful.

Because in a world that is hostile to the existence of disabled people, of people who can't fit the productivity standards of capitalism?

This is literally all I have left.

And so I write.

Thus I leave you with this: May you find the strength to keep choosing hope too.

Thanks for reading.

Now go write stuff.

[mayakern]

I saw on your Twitter you play dnd! What kind of character do you play and what system? Also, do you do your own commissions of your characters or do you get it from other artists?

oh hell yeah i love dnd!!! i mostly just play 5E but my regular group did our second session in city of mists last night and it was SUPER fun (we play that instead of our ongoing game whenever our aussie players can’t make it)

i don’t usually reuse dnd characters because even tho i love my characters, they usually all end up with their own history and relationship to their games so adapting them feels weird, but here’s a run down of some of my favorite characters i’ve played! (and ye all this art is by me)

1. anenome (or nem for short)

she’s a water genasi arcane trickster rogue/divination wizard. she’s from a game where we started out playing kids (nem was 11) and then after a Big Event had an 11 year time skip where everyone in the party had to separate before a big reunion. she used to be a really shy and sweet and optimistic kid, but after everything fell apart and she became an accidental criminal, she stopped believing in any sort of fairness in the world and grew up super jaded and nihilistic, tho she still strives to protect that spark of optimism in others (not that she’d admit that). she is SUPER SUPER gay and is married to flare (fire genasi sorcerer). they have a bunch of history and i love them a lot!

2. nora

this is my city of mists character!! she’s a twitch streamer/cam girl/only fans model/l33t h4x0r. she’s clever and compassionate and very silly and a bit gross. part of her backstory is that when she was a relatively new twitch streamer, someone tried to cyberbully her by calling her a “garfield looking ass motherfucker” and so she immediately dyed her hair orange and made that her entire persona just to fuck with them (thus the custom garf headset).

3. hemlock

hemlock is an onomancy wizard! she was made for a storybook game — essentially all the characters lived on a bookshelf in someone’s home and can travel between books.

when characters travel into a new book, especially if it’s an “active” book (i.e. currently being read), they get assigned a role that is both available and closest to their archetype (so, as a wizard, if hemlock entered a book of king arthur’s tales she would likely be assigned as morrigan or merlin if available, or another magic user if not).

hemlock herself was from a story where her family (two sisters and her mother) were turned from good witches/princesses (it was unclear) into evil hags/witches and hemlock bartered her name (and right eye) to keep her mind/heart/goodness.

the onomancy wizard subclass is SUPER interesting and fun and is all about the naming of things and works super well with fairytale stuff (which i love). tbh i REALLY want to play hemlokc more. that game was insanely fun and ended prematurely due to scheduling difficulties. i just don’t think there is another game setting that would ever work for her bc she is so specific.

4. althea

my most recent character is althea! she’s an aasimar grave cleric. she woke up in a morgue about two weeks ago (in game time) and instantly fell in love with the mortician who discovered she was still(?) alive. she has no memories of her past (and tbh no real desire to go looking for them). she is smart but also a dumb ass, has 6 charisma and no sense of self preservation and is completely and utterly in love with rosemary (the mortician, now barkeep) and will literally do anything she wants, no questions asked (and will even do things she THINKS rosemary wants unasked... such as maybe yoinking a very obviously cursed goblet from a ritual circle of living corpses in literally the first game session just bc she thought rosemary would think it was cool).

5. penny

penny was my first long-term dnd character! she was my third dnd character ever but in a lot of ways i consider her my first because the other two were run primarily in 4E and didn’t meet often enough (or just enough period) for me to get a grasp on them or the game mechanics.

penny is a light domain cleric. she was made for a buddy cop game i joined randomly on roll20 because i couldn’t find a consistent group to meet with IRL. i was super nervous to join a random game with strangers but really wanted to play dnd so i gave it a shot and i am SO glad i did because i still play with that group! or.. what became of that group. it started out as a group of me and a bunch of strangers, but i quickly made friends with the DM and one of the other players, then devin joined a couple months in, and slowly original players left for various reasons and we invited other ppl in (a couple of my friends, the other longterm player’s gf, etc) and now that is the main group i still play with! (nem and nora and a bunch of my other characters are from games w that group)

when the game was open for player/character apps, we were asked to pitch what role our character would play in a buddy cop movie and i picked the straight man archetype (haha i know). penny is very sweet and shy and wholesome.

i have a bunch of other characters, most of which can be found on toyhouse, but this post is already way too long as is! whoops!

[fruitcoops]

could we see coops first big fight when they’re married? (essentially pure angst)

Yes, we can! Don’t worry, I got your follow-up ask about a happy ending as well--there are no sad endings on this blog, just some bittersweet ones, and this is very soft and fluffy. Hope you enjoy!

Combined with prompts for...

1. Another of Coops’ serious talks

2. Remus overworking himself to keep up

3. From @colored-rain: Sirius sleeping at Dumo’s for a night

4. Slow dancing in the kitchen

TW for couples fighting, suppression, and marriage issues

“Do you think we got married too fast?” a quiet voice asked in the darkness.

Remus paused for several heartbeats before opening his eyes and turning over; Sirius was staring at the ceiling, wide awake. “What?”

“Do you think we got married too fast?” Sirius repeated without looking at him.

“Do you?” Remus countered. Something panicky was starting to buzz in the back of his brain and he tried to keep his breaths steady. Sirius wasn’t breaking up with him. They had only been married for a few months. Things were really, really good—as far as he knew, they were both happier than they had ever been.

Sirius sighed through his nose. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Remus sat up against the headboard, wide awake. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I—” Sirius shifted to sit up as well and crossed his legs. “I don’t know! People usually date for a lot longer than a year and a half before getting married, right?”

“We’ve known each other for seven years, Sirius.”

“Yes, and I love you, and you’re wonderful, but everything happened so fast.”

Remus wasn’t sure if his heart was trying to crawl out of his chest or dissolve into a puddle of pain. “Are you—Sirius, are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” Sirius said immediately. “I just said I love you, what the hell?”

“People can love each other and still break up!”

Sirius grabbed his hands, holding tight even when Remus tried to pull back and let his panic overtake him. Grey eyes locked on his, as solemn as he had ever seen them. “I’m not breaking up with you, Remus.” The clock on the nightstand beeped midnight and Sirius pressed his lips together. “We have early practice.”

“We need to talk.”

“We need to sleep.”

“Promise we’ll talk tomorrow, then.” We need to talk right now, actually.

Sirius squeezed his hands and kissed his cheek. His cheek. “I promise.”

Remus didn’t sleep much that night. His cheek burned with the memory of Sirius’ lips.

---------------------------

Their morning routine was stilted and quiet. Practice was awkward, and though neither of them let the previous night’s events influence their performance, he knew the tension was palpable. “Y’all good?” Leo asked under his breath as Remus filled his waterbottle up.

“We’re fine,” he answered, exhausted.

“Loops—”

“Stay in your lane, Knut.” He regretted the words as soon as they escaped his mouth—the kicked-puppy look on Leo’s face was more than enough to make guilt spike up—but he kept on moving down the hall and tried to wash the bitter taste from his mouth.

The ride home was worlds worse than he could have expected. Sirius turned the radio off the moment it started to play and kept his eyes firmly on the windshield the entire time, tapping his thumb against the wheel in the tic that always appeared when he was nervous. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t help us fix whatever’s going on.” Remus wasn’t angry, per say, but he was really fucking frustrated with Sirius’ sudden inability to communicate. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Sirius chewed the edge of his lip. “I was just thinking.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them. “Wow, thank you for that incredibly helpful information,” Remus said sarcastically when it became clear he wasn’t going to continue.

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Sirius muttered.

“I’m not trying to be mean—”

“Well, you kind of were—”

“Then maybe you should talk about your problems for once!” Remus snapped before he could shove it back down. Sirius’ jaw clenched. “If we’re going to work through this, then you have to tell me what the hell happened to make you so worried and upset. Do you regret getting married to me?”

The response was immediate. “No.”

“Thank you.” He leaned his head back against the seat rest and closed his eyes. “Thank you, that was what I needed to hear.”

“Do you think we moved too fast?”

Remus scrubbed a hand over his face. “I used to. I don’t, anymore. There’s no rulebook for any of this. How long have you been thinking about that?”

Sirius started tapping the wheel again. “A couple weeks.”

He may as well have opened the passenger door and booted Remus from the car. A breath punched out of his lungs. “A couple weeks?” he whispered. The world was spinning, the floor was open, hell itself was coming to swallow him up. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I figured it was normal marriage stuff. That it would pass.”

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

“And I do?” Remus said incredulously. “News flash: this is the first time I’ve ever been married, too!”

“Please don’t be angry.”

“Being married means you share things, Sirius, not keep them bottled up for two weeks! Especially when they concern the other person!”

Something stormy came over his face. “Oh, really? So when were you planning on talking to me about the fact that you haven’t slept in six days?”

“I literally sleep next to you!”

“You toss and turn all night, and then you get up and run drills for an hour before coming back to bed. Every time I ask how you slept, you lie to my face, Remus. That’s not okay.”

Remus was speechless. He had done everything he could think of to be quiet and careful so Sirius wouldn’t know. “I…”

Sirius glanced over at him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Be an adult. Be an adult. You’re married. Be an adult. “I’m still worried about catching up to the team.”

“I figured. We’ve talked about this before, Re, it’s not safe for you to do that to yourself—”

“You don’t get it!” Sirius pulled into their driveway and turned the car off. “You have no idea how it feels to constantly be catching up to people! I’m fine, it’s not like I’m doing any damage!”

“I’m sorry, did you forget who you’re talking to?”

Remus clenched his teeth and got out of the car, grabbing his duffel from the backseat before slamming the door. He felt a little guilty—the rising memories of hushed confessions of hours of exercise to his father’s whistle meant Sirius understood better than anyone. Then the front door closed behind them both and the indignance on Sirius’ face sent his temper flaring up again. “You never bother to talk to me about anything that’s going on with you, so why should I even try?”

“What happened to ‘marriage is a partnership’?” Sirius followed him into the kitchen. “Have we moved on to the hypocrite stage yet or are we still clearing the air where nothing ever gets solved?”

Remus reeled back like he’d been slapped. “Fucking excuse me?”

“Every time we fight, you start all sarcastic and defensive, and then you get preachy like you’re reading something out of a fucking self-help book!” Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Remus, it feels like I’m talking to a therapist instead of my partner!”

“Husband!” The ring on his finger had always been a comfort instead of a lead weight. “You can’t even say it?”

“I don’t regret marrying you!

“Then why are you so upset about us being married young?!”

“Because it’ll fall apart!” Sirius shouted back. “We’re going to be insufferably happy for a while, and then somewhere along the line we’re going to hate each other, and then it’ll be cold looks when we pass and different beds and all our friends will have to pick sides because we can’t stand to be in the same room together!”

“If you’re so sure about that, then why are you trying to fucking hard to keep us together?” Remus’ heart pounded like he’d run a marathon. Hearing his own fears thrown in his face was the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced.

“Because I love you.” Sirius’ voice broke. They were on opposite sides of the kitchen island, but Remus could see the pain on his face. “I love you, and I don’t want some—some impulsive decision to ruin that forever.”

“I love you, too.” Tears clogged the back of Remus’ throat. So stop pushing me away.

“Then I’ll be at Dumo’s.”

Remus nodded silently as Sirius walked past him toward the stairs; the moment he was out of sight, he headed into the downstairs bathroom and sat down with his back to the closed door, burying his face in his forearms. There was a rustle outside, and the front door closed with a click.

It wasn’t until his face itched with drying tears that he remembered Hattie. Guilt and panic stabbed through him and he scrambled back out, sprinting to her bed and then to the backyard. “Hattie?” he called, frantic with worry. “Hattie, c’mere!”

He closed his eyes and thought back to the events of the day. They had left her in the house for practice, and he vaguely remembered hearing her in the other room while they were fighting, and when Sirius left—

“Oh, you bastard,” he said aloud. The rustling of Sirius grabbing his duffel and whatever else he packed had been accompanied by the pattering of Hattie’s paws. “You took our fucking dog.”

Part of him was grateful that at least somebody had remembered their baby. The other part was absolutely furious. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a few deep breaths as the tone played. “Hello?”

“Can you pick me up?”

“Re, are you okay?”

“Not really. Can you pick me up?”

Concern dripped from Lily’s voice. “Where are you?”

“At home.”

“…where’s Sirius?”

“At Dumo’s.”

“I’m on my way.”

-----------------------------------

Harry Potter had been alive for less than two years, and he had been cried on by about half the Lions. Finn had started referring to him as ‘therapy baby’, and Remus was inclined to agree—it was hard to feel anything extreme when he was holding the pudgy little angel to his chest.

“So you fought?” Lily asked gently from the armchair across from him. Remus nodded. The whole story had spilled out in a gross mess of sobbing and baby snuggles until he laid down on his back, holding Harry to his chest as he dozed.

“I feel like an idiot,” he said miserably.

“Don’t.”

“It was awful.”

“I bet.”

Remus sniffled and kissed the top of Harry’s head. “Thank you for getting me. I didn’t want to be there alone.”

“I’m glad you called.” She took a sip of tea and gave him a look that he never liked. “Re, can I be honest with you?”

“Always.”

“I was kind of waiting for this to happen.” At his stricken expression, she folded her hands around the sides of her mug. “I don’t think you got married too early, because neither of you do big things like that on impulse and you love each other so much. However, I do think that you have a habit of trying to protect each other from the shit you carry with you. James did the same thing to me, and it sucked.”

“It does suck,” Remus agreed. “I hate the thought that he can’t trust me.”

Lily held her finger up and shook her head. “Nope. It’s not an issue of trust, is it? Why didn’t you tell Sirius that you were having trouble sleeping?”

“Because I didn’t want to worry h—oh.” Harry wiggled around for a moment and Remus adjusted himself so he was leaning on the armrest. “I think I get it now.”

“You guys need to talk about that at some point or it’s going to keep coming up.”

“Is that what you and James did?”

“No, we let it fester for, like, a year and then broke up for two weeks.”

Remus made a sympathetic face. “I forgot about that part. I should call him, huh?”

Lily shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“I want to apologize,” he said carefully. The sore spot in his heart and chest still twinged. “But I’m still really upset. And hurt. And a little angry? Mostly worried. There’s so much happening, I just want to hold your baby.”

“Go for it, he’s having a blast. Lover?”

There was a shuffling sound from the other room before James appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”

Remus snorted. “Simp.”

“Yes, and? What’s up, darling?”

“Can I have some more tea?” She batted her eyelashes at him with a dimpled smile and he sighed, then took her mug with him into the kitchen.

“You only love me for my kettle!” he called over his shoulder with a grin.

“Maybe!”

Remus turned his head to look at Lily while he ran a hand over Harry’s back. “Lils?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I preachy when I’m upset?”

She frowned. “What?”

“Preachy. Like—like I’m reading out of a self-help book.”

With a heavy sigh, she stood up and walked to the couch, leaning over the armrest to kiss his forehead. “No, Re, you’re not preachy. You like being right, but you’re not preachy.”

“Sirius thinks we’ll end up like his parents.”

“I’m not surprised about that, either.” She brushed his messy hair off his forehead and braided a small strand along the front, then gave it a little tug. “Guest bedroom’s yours for as long as you need it, okay?”

“That might be a while.”

She shook her head and patted his shoulder. “It won’t.”

“Could be.”

“Remus.”

“Sorry. Sleep well, Lils.” He sat up slightly and covered Harry’s ears. “And you, eavesdropper!”

“Love you!” James laughed from the other room. Lily picked the sleepy baby up and ushered Remus into the guest room with a final ‘goodnight’.

-----------------------------------

“Am I an idiot?” Sirius asked.

The bed creaked as Dumo readjusted his legs. “No, mon fils, you’re not an idiot. You are a young man going through his first marriage spat.”

“I hate it. I hate it. I said horrible things to him.”

“It sounds like you’re both to blame.”

“No, I brought it up first.” Dumo huffed, and he let out a slow exhale into the pillow. “Okay, maybe—maybe we were both in the wrong.”

“Fights are rarely one-sided. You have a visitor.”

Something cold prodded Sirius’ ear and he groaned, then curled on his side to let Hattie onto the covers next to him. “Bonjour, sweet girl. Thank you for the cuddles.”

She licked his nose and he smiled, petting the velvety top of her head. “Are you staying here tonight?”

“I was thinking about it. Re’s got the house to himself for a bit, then, and he knows I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’re taking the time to calm down a bit,” Dumo said as he stood with a final ruffle of Sirius’ hair. “That’s a wise decision. Bonne nuit.”

Sirius mumbled a response and made more room for Hattie, then settled in for a restless night. He never wanted to sleep alone again.

----------------------------------

By some miracle, practice was more bearable the second day. Remus still ached somewhere deep inside, but it wasn’t like he had anything else left to suppress. Seeing Sirius was a relief; it surprised him at first, considering the explosive nature of the previous evening, before sliding into something that soothed him. If he could still find peace in Sirius after all that, they would be okay.

He knocked lightly on the side of Sirius’ stall after he returned from the shower. “Knock, knock. Ca—”

“Who’s there?”

Remus’ heart stuttered as Sirius looked up at him from the bench with an apologetic tilt to his mouth. Something clicked into place. “Can I get a ride?”

“ ‘course you can.” Sirius stood up just as Remus stepped forward, and they met in the middle for a tight hug. He tucked his face into the dip of Sirius’ collarbone and breathed in his shower-fresh smell, as well as the trace of laundry detergent from his shirt.

“Love you,” he murmured.

“Let’s go, mon loup.” Sirius pressed a kiss to his hair and they headed out toward the parking lot together; Remus caught Leo’s eye and saw him smile.

“How’s Dumo doing?” Remus asked as they turned out of the parking lot. Start slow, start easy. “Did you drop Hattie off at home before you came to practice?”

“Yeah, I did. He’s good, and Celeste sent me back with some brownies.”

Remus tentatively reached over and rested his hand on the side of Sirius’ thigh—his chest visibly caught before he relaxed into it and reached down to put his own overtop. “Harry’s doing well. Lily says he’s almost started running.”

“Did you go see them?”

“Stayed at their place last night.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It felt weird being there by myself.”

“Re—”

“I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out in a rush, despite his best efforts to keep it in until they reached home. “I’m sorry for everything I said to you, and especially for how I said it. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about how I was feeling, too. It should never have gotten to that point.”

“Apology accepted.” Sirius sounded a little choked up. “I don’t think we got married too soon, if that means anything.”

“Of course it means something,” Remus half-laughed as he wiped the dampness from the corners of his eyes. “It means everything.”

“I thought it might be too late.”

“Can you pull over for a second?” Sirius obliged, and as soon as he turned the car off, Remus turned to face him. He linked their hands, making sure Sirius was looking into his eyes. “It is never too late to talk to me, okay? I’m sorry if I ever made you think that it was.”

Sirius unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over for a brief kiss that sent bubbling warmth throughout Remus’ entire body. “I’m so, so sorry for yelling at you. And for keeping everything in, even though we both promised to stop doing that. All that shit I said, it—it wasn’t true, Re, and I wasn’t thinking.”

Remus rested their foreheads together and wound his fingers in the short curls fanning Sirius’ face. “Honey, we’re not your parents.”

Sirius swallowed hard. “I know.”

“So you don’t have to be afraid that we’re going to hate each other out of the blue, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“If—” His mouth went a little dry and he faltered. “If you want to take a break, or take things slower, I totally respect—”

“Nope, no, no, no,” Sirius interrupted, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him in for another fervent kiss. “I love you. I’m happy with you. I let my head get away from me, and I’m sorry.”

“All’s forgiven, love.” They sat in silence for a minute longer as Sirius traced his jawline. “Let’s go home.”

-------------------------------------

Sirius woke up in bed alone, which would have scared him if he didn’t know exactly where his husband was. He smiled to himself and got out of bed, grabbing a hoodie off their dresser before heading downstairs.

The kitchen light was on and music played quietly from Remus’ phone over the sound of running water. “You’re up late,” he said casually from the doorway.

Remus almost dropped a pot. “Jesus Christ!”

“Just me.” Sirius wrapped his arms around his waist as he set the pot on the drying rack. “Stressed?”

“A little. I forgot to do these earlier and didn’t want to leave them overnight again.” Sirius hummed his agreement and rocked back and forth, then took Remus’ hand and spun him in a slow circle. “Oh, are we slow dancing to the Billboard Top 100 now?”

“Very romantic, I know,” Sirius laughed.

Remus shook his head with a wide grin as they swayed, much too slow for the actual song but absolutely perfect. He was beautiful in the low light of their kitchen, puffy eyes from and all. “You are ridiculous.”

I’m the luckiest person alive. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Sirius leaned down for a series of quick kisses, pulling him in until their chests pressed together. Remus let go of his hand and draped both arms over his shoulders, tangling his hands in his hair. “I know we can’t exactly control it,” Sirius said against his lips. “But let’s never fight like that again.”

“Deal.”

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 12 FINALE

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: How lovely it has been, to go on this journey with you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to every person who has liked, reblogged, or left a kind comment on this story. Combined, you all have genuinely changed my life. I'm writing more than ever, more consistently, and I'm having a blast. So if you like this story, and wish it wasn't ending, well... maybe don't worry too much. There will be a sequel of sorts, same timeline but new reader, instead focusing on Cassandra. Also oops this is hella long. And mostly dialogue. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB, Pt 11: Cadence

Chapter 12: Cadence (Reprise)

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

Truth be told, she had never expected much of anything to come from this. ‘Twas not that she thought her daughter to be talentless, or that she denied the capabilities of the servant-turned-teacher, rather that she knew just how difficult it was to keep Daniela’s attention for any measure of time. Even as the weeks went by with undeniable progress, there was a part of her awaiting the collapse of it all. How long would this instructor last? How long before they were drained of blood, either for some perceived insult, or merely out of boredom? Surely, in the end, Alcina would not need to lift a single finger.

And yet here she was, at the end of a concert, pride roaring within her chest. What had she missed? What clues had eluded her, what had changed within her child’s nature? She knew that there were hints of deeper affections, fragments of a would-be love, but she had thought them miniscule. Thought that those feelings were doomed to crash and burn, unable to live up to the expectations set by decades of romance novels. Well, maybe they had failed. Maybe, somehow, Alcina had missed something else entirely.

The thought might have sent a shiver down her spine, if she weren’t so readily distracted by praising her youngest child… or by the looming shadow of a life-changing revelation.

“Mother… we need to talk. I… I have a confession to make,” Daniela explains, hesitantly slow, but with a conviction she rarely ever showed. Taken aback by the unexpected announcement, Alcina pauses, silently awaiting some form of elaboration. Instead, Daniela takes her hand, pulling her towards a set of chairs. They sit gingerly, each feeling the weight of terrifying possibilities upon their shoulders. When she at last continues speaking, she does so without a trace of showmanship or false bravado, trading it in for heartfelt sincerity. “I love them. All of this- these lessons, this concert- has been for them. For my sweet, innocent little songbird.” So here it was, the birthplace of her fears, brought forth from her mind into reality.

“I was afraid you would say that,” Alcina muses, leaning back into the chair with a deep sigh. Something itches in the back of her throat, and she yearns for her pipe, or even just a normal cigarette to distract herself. Without one, she is left to metaphorically chew on her thoughts. Realistically, there has to be some way to deal with this, some way that she can convince her daughter of the sheer foolishness of this mess. “Daniela… how can I put this in a way you will understand, hmm?… The two of you have only known each other for three months. There is no chance that you truly love them, or them you. How close can you possibly have become?”

“When have I cared about anything for three whole months? I dedicated myself to-” Daniela is cut off by the sound of the door opening, revealing the rest of her little family. It was guaranteed that they would have heard the conversation from outside, seeing as they were all inhuman, though they perhaps intended to intervene. A single hard glance from both of the room’s occupants convinces them to change their minds. “Wait, Ava, can you get us some tea, please? Something tells me I’ll need a soothing drink soon.” Hesitating in the doorway, the butler in question eyes the both of them, naturally tempted to stay and fill the role of a therapist.

“I do believe my daughter gave you an order, Ava. Don’t tell me you have forgotten the stipulations of your agreement with Mother Miranda?” Alcina interjects. With that said, the butler finally moves, exiting with an apologetic bow. An awkward silence hangs in the air once xe closes the door behind xerself, as Daniela takes a moment to recall her place.

“Three months is a long time for me. I put all of my energy towards both them and what they taught me, almost every single day. Even when their work kept them busy for too long, I still practiced, because I wanted to make them proud! For all my flirting, I’ve never bonded with anyone this way before now,” she says, hating the way her voice gets a little shaky. No matter how much confidence she has in her own writing, it is another thing entirely to be convincing out loud, with a truth she had been hiding for so long. All of her practice had been with lies. Now she had to contest with the hope that the strength of her emotions would be enough. “That song we played together, at the end, they wrote that for me. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Oh, my dear… I want you to be happy more than anything. But we both know that your ‘history’ is stained with a number of incidents. You have always been absorbed within those books you read, and the fantasies that they provide for you. It is one thing to enjoy these stories on the side, but another matter entirely to let them corrupt your relations with others. As your mother, it is my duty to keep you safe, first and foremost,” Alcina proclaims, sitting up straighter, trying not to let her frown evolve into a full out scowl. Beneath the table, her hands ball into fists, clutched tight to stop herself from breaking the table. In the back of her mind she could think of little other than dismembering that damned piano instructor. Focusing on the discussion at hand, she takes a deep breath before finalizing her point. “You don’t know what a healthy relationship looks like, nor what it feels like. Your books are not ideal models for reference. One- or both- of you are going to end up suffering, and that is something I cannot allow, regardless of how ‘happy’ they make you before then.”

“You’re right,” Daniela whispers in defeat… or a feigned version of it. A split second later she’s making eye contact with her mother again, lips curling up into a smile. “I didn’t want to admit it, especially not to someone as attractive, talented, and charming as my Songbird, but I didn’t have to. They understood from the very start. We talked about it, about my expectations and my shitty behavior, and we worked on it. We’re still working on it. Maybe there will be bumps along the way, just like in every relationship, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be worth it in the end. What we have is still real, and they make me want to be a better woman. I know they’ve already helped me make the change.”

Once more the door opens, making the conversation pause, as Ava near-silently brings in the requested tea. If a pin had dropped at that moment, it would have felt as ear-shattering loud as a gong. Every second that passed felt like it dragged on, stretched out by the tension in the room, as though xe was moving in slow motion. The ‘clink’ of ceramic against the table makes xer flinch, almost spilling the tea. Neither Alcina nor Daniela react, or even acknowledge xer presence with anything more than their eyes, instead remaining impassive until xe makes a hasty retreat.

“Use what you’ve learned on someone else, then. Perhaps another one of Miranda’s experiments will someday provide a suitable match. But this ‘songbird’ of yours? They’re nothing. A human, a servant, they are not worth your time, nor are they worth mine. No matter what words or songs they weave, or illusions of grandeur they show you, you will end up getting bored of them. I’m afraid it is inevitable, my dear,” Alcina says, as soon as the door is closed once more. Then she attends to her tea, with the composure of someone convinced that they had just won an argument. On the other hand, Daniela was not so quick to give in, some of her worry melting into anger.

“How can you say that? How can you be sure? We were all human, once! Even Mother Miranda was human. And my Songbird is no mere human- they are wondrous, with flowery prose and lovely melodies, with soft-lipped smiles and reassuring eyes, and don’t even get me started on how beautiful they are!” She rambles, voice getting louder with every word. All at once it is too much for Alcina, who sets down her glass a little too hard, nostrils flaring as she stares at her daughter. When Daniela speaks again, she does so with love coating her tone. “We have weathered each other’s anxieties with no signs of stopping. I promised that we would weather yours.”

“I only want you to be happy. I need you to understand where I am coming from. This may be your longest lasting infatuation so far, but you have yet to honestly convince me that this is any different from your past ‘distractions’. I’m sorry, Daniela, I simply cannot allow this to continue,” Alcina sighs, hating to break her youngest daughter’s heart like this. There was only one thing that Daniela had yet to try. Maybe two, if she was willing to resort to begging.

“Can’t you trust me enough to give us a chance? Cassandra of all people seems to understand. Bela went as far as to lie to you, for our sake! She never does anything she thinks will hurt me, or you, or any of us. Please, mother, please. How can you ever know if what I have will last, if you cut it down now? Are you going to wait forever for some ‘perfect candidate’ for me? And what if that person loves someone else? Or what if the ‘perfect’ person doesn’t exist! What if we’re stuck waiting for them like Mother Miranda waits for another child, hmm? Would you have me spend another century alone, my only memory of genuine romance being poisoned by the thought that you broke us apart?” Daniela’s words ring throughout the chamber, echoing a damning accusation, somehow more bitter than the taste they left in her mouth.

All at once, Alcina’s heart takes a hit like no other. Her hands damn-near tremble, her lungs ache, her lips purse, and her brow furrows. So be it, she thinks.

“Bring this ‘Songbird’ here. Let me talk to them.”

—————————

Goddess, you are practically vibrating at the speed of sound, palms sweaty, nervousness trashing your mind. What the hell had Daniela done? Last thing you knew, she was determined to keep your secret, even if meant being unable to celebrate with you. But now you were getting tugged along by her, while tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She had said something about “mother” and “important”. That was all the context that you had been given. When you round one last corner, pulling up in front of Lady Dimitrescu’s study, you are shown a sight that somehow makes you feel worse: Bela, Cassandra, and Ava are all resting outside of the room. They appear exhausted, and motion for you to be quiet as you approach.

“They’ve been listening in on our conversation,” Daniela admits with a whisper. Then she’s pulling you into the study, ensuring that the door doesn’t open wide enough for the eavesdroppers to get spotted. Something told you that Alcina was already well aware of their presence. “Alright, mother, here is my Songbird. What did you want to ask us?”

“Daniela… leave us. My questions are for ‘Songbird’ alone,” Alcina replies, seemingly confirming the absolute worst of your fears. This was where you would die. By her hand, without your lover by your side, after what could have been the happiest night of your life. Of course. But Daniela is not willing to go without a fight. As soon as the words leave her mother’s mouth, she is moving between the two of you, just as she had when she first called you her teacher. Before she can speak, her mother stands up and stares her down. “Don’t make me ask again- there will not be a third time.” When she still hesitates, it is your turn to be brave.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’ll be okay,” you promise her, reaching out to take her hand. Instantly she’s returning to your side, hand cupping your cheek, eyes filled to the brim with sadness. “Firefly… ‘Tell me love, we shall last until the end of days’. I love you. Nothing is going to change that, not now, not ever. We’ll be okay.” Maybe not now, you think, but you’ll be okay eventually. Cassandra and Bela, and Ava I suppose, will make sure of it.

“Okay. We’ll last until the end of days. I love you too,” Daniela says, swallowing the lump in her throat. With one last kiss she pulls away, wishing that her departure didn’t feel so much like a betrayal. She pauses in the doorway, meeting your gaze, unable to bring herself to move until you give her an accepting nod. The door swings into place with a click, sealing the room and your fate.

“So,” Alcina begins, returning to her seat as she does. For now you stay standing, unsure of just about every part of this situation, especially your upcoming role in it. “You have been deceiving me. That alone is a crime worthy of severe punishment, and yet you stooped so low as to do far, far more. I had hoped you had, somehow, managed to teach my daughter a real lesson, that you had inspired a love of music in her, that you had made an honest difference in the way she learns. But all this time… it has been nothing more than a ruse.” The last word comes out dipped in venom, acidic enough to make you flinch. Thankfully, your beloved was not the only person who had a gift with words. More than that, this was a topic that you had spent numerous nights thinking about, making you as prepared as you could ever hope to be.

“You know, as much as I desire to claim that I am that interesting, or that Daniela felt so strongly from the very start, I can do no such thing. The truth is this: Music is what brought us together in the first place. It was the catalyst for our first real interaction, the first time she ever looked at me as more than just another servant or bloodbag. We bonded because of it, and so when we went to play together, to learn, Daniela honestly did connect to it,” you explain, despite the fire in Alcina’s expression. To your surprise, she does not interrupt you, and you take it as permission to keep going. Which was very good, considering that being nervous only made you ramble more. “Music is something we’ve shared for the entirety of our relationship. Even if it’s not something she would do much of on her own, I know that she’s grown to care for it more than she might be willing to admit. And, well…

“Even if you decide that what I’ve done is unforgivable, even if I’m destined to die within the hour, I know in my heart that everything the two of us worked on still matters. Because, like it or not, she is capable of growth, of change, of progress. And even if I die, someone else will come afterwards. Daniela will get to use music as a way to forge connections for the rest of her life, now that she knows it works, now that she knows how it works. And every goddamn time that she plays, or Bela plays, or you play, she’s going to remember me. She’ll remember every moment we spent together, every piece we ever played. I’ll live on in the melodies we made. In the song that you can’t quite place, that gets stuck on loop in your head. In the song the maids sing to themselves between shifts. In the quiet evening when the rain against the window feels so much like a familiar rhythm that your daughters can’t help but start humming along, without even thinking, muscle memories in sync.”

“Are you trying to convince me that there’s no point in killing you? That, regardless, you will be in my life until the end of time?” Alcina’s eyes are narrowed, but there isn’t even a hint of anger in her tone. Just curiosity.

“No, not really. Guess I’m just making peace with my fate the best way I know how- by remembering the echoes I’ll leave behind,” you answer, pausing to wipe a few tears from your eyes. All you can think about is how much Daniela will miss you. How much pain you think she’ll go through. Because at this point, who are you trying to fool with your hope? Yourself, or the people listening?

“Hmm. I think I understand. Now, tell me… what was that you said to my daughter a minute ago, before she left the room? It sounded familiar, though I cannot place it,” Alcina questions, idly toying with her glass of tea. You’re not entirely sure why it matters to her, but you have no qualms delaying the inevitable by answering. Besides, it was a chance to talk about how much you loved Daniela (and you’d never skip such an opportunity).

“It’s a line from a poem she wrote for me. “Tell me love, we shall last until the end of days”. A promise. The song Daniela and I played together… I wrote it in response. My way of doing what she asked of me, I guess. Like I said, she’ll always have the music we shared,” you answer, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Damn this… I can hardly believe I am asking this, yet I feel I have no choice: Tell me, do you love my daughter? Do you honestly, with your entire being, desire a future with her? Or was this a game of survival you couldn’t afford to lose, that turned out to be more ‘fun’ than you had anticipated? Show me your heart, as it is, bare as it would be if I tore it from your chest, this very moment.” There’s no room for argument in her voice, using the very same tone she reserved for maidens who got a tad too close to refusing her.

“Alright. It was a game. At first. Daniela wanted a distraction, something to entertain her. I didn’t want to die, like I had heard so many of her ‘playmates’ did. I can’t tell you when things changed, at least not for her,” you confess, with a shaky breath. Did that make you a monster? One worthy of death? If so, you wondered if it actually made you more fit to date Daniela. “For me… I just remember her smiling wide at me, hand on my cheek, having just cracked some lame joke. Next thing I knew, well, I knew. We had a spark of something, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to make her happy, you know? All the sudden there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her. I just wanted to see that smile again, everyday for the rest of my life.

“To answer your question: Yes. Goddess, yes. A thousand times yes. A ‘yes’ for every smile she’s ever shown me, for every butterfly in my stomach, for every time she’s held my hand, for every breath she’s stolen from my lungs, and for every single time my heart has skipped a beat in her name. I love her. I know we haven’t been together long, but the things I feel are undeniable. I will give her every part of myself, for as long as she wants me, for as long as I am blessed to live,” you pour your heart out, weaving your heartbeat into every turn of phrase, spilling your lifeblood onto the very conversation.

“And what will you do if she does change her mind? If she grows bored of you, as she has done with a dozen others?” Alcina counters without hesitation.

“I will weep. I will fall to my knees, and mourn this beautiful thing. But I will cherish every memory she leaves to me. Every moment where I am hers is a moment worth living, worth remembering. It will be better to have loved her with all my heart for a little slice of her immortality, than to love another, lesser so, for all of my life.” With that, Alcina sets her empty glass of tea onto the table, eying you with an unreadable expression. Something seems to stir in her chest, and at last the mask crumbles. She smiles.

“I see. Daniela, you may come back in now. Do not bother pretending that you have not been eavesdropping.” Not even a full second passes before the door opens, revealing a shaking Daniela, both of her sisters quite visible behind her (though they quickly move out of frame, leaving behind Ava, who gives a cheesy thumbs up as the door closes in xer face). She rushes to your side, taking your hand, looking stunned that you were still alive. But what shocks her more is what her mother says… “Of all the women I have ever known, family or otherwise, you are, perhaps, the most determined. Normally only in… ‘spurts’. Yet here you are, defying what I have come to expect of you. It almost feels as if I have been fooling myself this whole time, falsely believing that there is more than one possible outcome. So, ‘Songbird’, I say this: Three months ago, I agreed to give you a chance to prove yourself worthy of my daughter, for the sake of her happiness. Now, I suppose it is only fair that I do so once more.”

“Wait. Are you saying-” Daniela is once again cut off by her mother, who seems eager to avoid a trademark rant.

“Yes, yes I am. For the time being, the two of you have my blessing. I cannot say that I am entirely convinced of your chances at success, but, having seen the strength of your affections for one another, I sincerely hope that you will prove me wrong. Now come here, Daniela. I never got to finish telling you what I thought of your concert…”

—————————

In the glowing comfort of your girlfriend’s room, with the fireplace keeping things warm and cozy, you lay with your head against Daniela’s chest. One of her hands absentmindedly plays with your hair, and you release a sigh of bliss. Ava had assured you that xe would let Daphne know the good news, as xe thought that having one of the castle ladies visiting the servants’ quarters might cause a stir (and Daniela was far from willing to let go of you so soon). Now the two of you were just enjoying time holding each other close. Regardless of Alcina’s concerns, you knew that everything would be looking up from here. Assuming that Daniela didn’t have any more surprise confessions to involve you with.

“That was one hell of a surprise, Firefly. But I’m glad we don’t have to hide anymore. I love you, and I don’t know how long I could have survived without being open with it,” you say, a light teasing to your voice. Beneath you, Daniela chuckles, but holds you just a bit tighter. Then she places the softest of kisses to your forehead. “I’m always gonna love you, Firefly.”

“Until the end of days?” She asks, in a delighted whisper, grin practically audible.

“Until the end of days.”

—————————

Elsewhere in the castle, a caring mother takes another long, hungry drink from her glass of wine, staring intently into the fireplace. By her side is a silver-haired servant, who wordlessly watches her every move.

“There’s still a chance that this will all end horribly. Only time will tell, of course… but I can’t help worrying for her, she’s my daughter,” Alcina proclaims, gripping the glass hard enough for a web of cracks to form along its bell. But it does not fully shatter. No, it remains just steady enough to still be of use to her. For now. “Of course, you knew about this all along, didn’t you, Ava?... I know that you value how close you are with my children, and I know that they trust in you as much as I do… but if there are relationships or entanglements that I am unaware of, I expect you to tell me, or there will have to be consequences, regardless of your affiliation with Mother Miranda. Do you understand?”

Sighing, the mute servant pulls a notebook from xer pocket, opening it up to pen in a fresh script. There’s much tension in the air, and it only gets worse when Alcina catches a glimpse at what the note reads. As xe hands it to her, she scowls, and the wine glass fully breaks into countless shards. Immediately, Ava gets to work, picking up the largest of fragments with xer bare hands, refusing to complain about the resulting cuts. All the while Alcina stares into the fire, thoughts racing, wondering if maybe this time she could end her daughter’s problem before it was too late. Beginning to brainstorm ideas, she sets the notebook aside. Inside, in perfectly penned cursive, is a very, very dangerous piece of knowledge. The sort that could affect not only Castle Dimitrescu, but the entire village.

“In that case… there’s something you need to know about Cassandra- and Mother Miranda’s lovely little ‘pet’.”

[sneezefiction]

answers

oikawa x reader

desc: oikawa changes some lyrics in taylor swift’s song “love story”

a/n: please keep in mind that most of this is just humorous & there’s no serious characterization in this particular story. i laughed a lot while writing it :,,) for @cutiekawa because you gave me the idea; thank you for that! and also for @seroto-rin because this is very similar to your husband’s lyric changing habits lol – i still laugh whenever i think about it <3 warnings: language, mentions drinking/being drunk

wc: 3k

— It’s 2 am when you hear Oikawa pattering down the hallway and past your room. From the gentle footsteps and the occasional whisper of “shit” when the floor creaks, it's obvious that he’s trying to stay quiet.

But his attempts are in vain because, one, you’re wide awake and, two, he’s just knocked over an empty beer can from earlier. It was probably the one he’d left on the hall table – you’d told him to throw it away but he’d refused saying that he’d “throw it away in the morning when his arms weren’t so tired.” 

This is just karma.

The clatter of the aluminum on wooden floors echoes throughout the dorm. A much louder, especially frustrated, “fuck” follows right after it.

The word, though crass, sounds deceptively attractive on his tongue. But most things Oikawa-related just happen to be attractive. 

You muffle your laughter with a blanket. He’s probably disoriented from the alcohol – it’s only been an hour and 5 drinks each since you both called it a night. You’d headed straight to bed but he’d fallen asleep on the couch where you left him, hair a-mess and lips parted.

But, for someone who used to stay out till daybreak on weekends, he’s spent most Fridays hanging out with you instead.

This weekend was no different.

Oikawa ordered Thai takeout, you found a mindless Netflix series to binge, both of you had a little too much to drink, laughter ensued, the doe-eyed boy found his head in your lap, and…

You pull a face – one that goes unseen because of the dark, but you make it anyway.

Okay, that last part was a little different.

He’d had his head in your lap.

His head… in your… lap.

And, if you’re not mistaken (or delirious), you’d had your hands in his hair, twirling strands and tracing circles at the base of his neck. A foggy image of him gazing up at you with softened eyes, deep chocolate in color, begins to solidify. 

That lazy smile, a hand on your thigh, tresses tickling your skin...

You turn over in your bed, bunching up your sheets and holding them close to you like a shield of fabric — a flimsy, make-shift defense against tipsy mind-wandering. It isn’t very effective.

Your brain is not wandering but racing around this hand-in-hair realization.

Like an iron rod poking at hot embers, these prodding memories make your cheeks grow hotter by the millisecond. You bury your face in your pillow, embarrassment tight in your throat. 

Somehow you’d forgotten that he’d practically climbed into your lap. You’re not in the clear quite yet, but your brain is functioning well enough that it wishes you’d had a little more to drink – just enough to forget about it entirely. You starfish out on your bed, arms and legs dramatically splayed across the mattress.

Do (hot, charming, charismatic, windswept) flatmates usually get this... cuddly? Is that normal?

Does Iwaizumi wrap his arms around his roomies after a long day and a few bottles? How about Mattsun? Makki…?

Okay, no, none of them really seem like the type to get up close and personal with their roommates without good reason. Well, maybe Makki, but he’d do it to be a pain in the ass – not to charm the living-hell out of someone.

You try to take in a deep breath and wrap your head around what this means for you… but end up inhaling a feather from your pillow instead. As you hack and cough, you try to smother the noise in more cloth material – you really didn’t need him coming into your room, much less leaning over your bed to check on you.

Oikawa is messing with your head. 

If you knew any better, you’d have run away screaming the moment he’d asked you to room with him. No one that pretty and charismatic is good news. At least, not when it comes to shared housing.

But, here you are, writhing under the covers and hot like a fever all because he couldn’t keep to himself. Screw him and his charming smile for putting you in this position.

He either knows you’re crushing like he’s the last man on earth or he’s blissfully unaware and way too physically affectionate for his own good. 

You don’t dare consider that he likes you back though. Only deer and Olympic athletes made leaps like that. Oikawa had too many admirers… an irritating amount.

The blankets scrunch even tighter between your fists, likely thanking their maker that they don’t have nerve endings.

Every fiber of your being is begging to know if these feelings are reciprocated. You’d hate to live out the rest of this semester knowing the boy down the hall may not like you back. Worse, that he finds out you think he’s hot shit and doesn’t like you back – that would be unrequited love at its finest.

But, with a degree and your mental health on the line, why should you care about such minor, itty bitty, pointless details. 

This isn’t that big a deal.

And even if he did like you back? Well, Oikawa isn’t someone you can simply “pin down.” He comes with a distinctive, dramatic personality and a meddling side. Not to mention, he’s already the embodiment of chaos – he’s proven this to be true over the past 4 months he’s lived with you.

There’s a familiar squeak of the shower faucet handle and the hiss of hot water. You jump at the sound.

Maybe he’d forgotten, but your bedroom shares a very thin wall with the bathroom. Though you recall him saying he wanted to take a shower earlier, so you guess that he’s only just remembered.

You pick up your phone, blue light casting a less-than angelic glow on your sleepy face. You pray that TikTok will have some sort of life-changing “I’m in love with my hot, crazy flatmate” advice. Or that it will distract you from your inner turmoil. Either would be appreciated but the latter seems more likely.

Scrolling slowly, you get through about 3 videos before something else catches your attention.

There’s a deep reverberation buzzing through your wall. A gentle hum, much like a shower-concert lullaby.

But the noise is getting louder. And the humming? A lot more lyrical.

You shift into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your hands. With your side sunken into a pillow, you press your ear against the cool drywall. Your ears tune into the sound.

Oikawa, voice confident and free, is… singing.

“...But you were everything to me, I was begging you ‘please don’t go’…”

But he’s not just singing.

“And I said…”

He’s belting Taylor Swift with the enthusiasm of an 11-year-old Swiftie super-fan. Like the world would end if he didn’t put enough passion into this performance. Like the showerhead is his microphone and the surrounding tiles are his adoring audience.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run...”

Most people would be pissed if their friend were singing in the shower at 2 am… but you can’t find it in yourself to be anything but enamored.

God, you hate him for doing this right now. Hate that he’s inadvertently endearing you to him. Hate that, no matter what you do, he’s somehow always there.

Pressed up against you on the couch, meeting you for dinner at his favorite restaurant, fussing at each other over a shitty cup of coffee in your even shittier kitchen, calling you when he needs somebody to keep him company at the library… 

“You'll be the prince & I'll be the princess…”

And now he’s accidentally serenading you with Taylor’s “Fearless” album. In the shower.

You facepalm, sinking into your hands, exasperated and just so… done.

You sink back down into the bedsheets, wishing your earbuds were nearby to drown out the regrettably adorable performance. 

“It's a love story y/n, just say ‘Yes.’”

And your heart drops, panic setting in like the touch down of a whirling tornado. A fire tornado. A fire tornado with frogs and lizards and sharp objects spinning around inside of it.

What… did he just say?

The lyrics… they were muffled. You definitely heard them incorrectly. You… you just need to get your ears checked. Yes, that’s it. That’s all there is to it. You’ll schedule an appointment first thing tomorrow morning.

Because who the fuck sings like that at 2 am in a shared dorm? And who the fuck puts someone else’s name into a song like that? No one? Yes, no one.

Especially not the Oikawa Tooru.

And especially not with your name.

Because that’s just... weird.

The grip on your phone is mighty – thank God for durable glass because any other material would’ve splintered or shattered in your hold. 

But what the hell.

“Y/n, save me, I've been feeling so alone,” he sings as though he were Beyoncé’s son.

This time it’s clear as day. Oikawa is definitely still out of it and he’s undoubtedly singing your name.

No, no, no.

“I keep waiting for you but you never come…”

You bolt out of bed, feet hitting the floor at lightning-strike speed.

“Is this in my head? I don't know what to think,”

In one swift movement, you fling the bedroom door open and rush down the hall. You shouldn’t be listening to this. 

“He knelt to the ground & pulled out a ring, and said...”

And before you can stop your hand, it’s knocking rapidly on the bathroom door.

There’s a gasp, what you assume to a bar of soap hitting the shower floor, and an abrupt silence that follows.

You’d only wanted to stop him from singing.

However, you hadn’t thought through what you were going to say to him about this whole... lyrical mess. Your face feels like the surface of the sun, burning and flaring and flushing. What are you supposed to do now?

Oikawa speaks up, voice quiet, “Hello?”

Shit.

Maybe if you’re careful you can get yourself out of this. Just act like you didn’t hear anything and bring it up tomorrow when you’re both thinking straight. A thorough and sober discussion would be needed.

You had questions. Questions that needed answers.

Why did he have his head in your lap? Had you said anything to him that you’d regret later? Does he like you? Where should you two place your boundaries if he doesn’t like you back? And why Taylor Swift?

“Y/n, is that you?” He asks, nonchalantly.

Who else would it be?

The handle squeaks and, with that, the water stops. Only the gentle swirl of the drain and the occasional drips and drops from the showerhead are audible.

It’s too late. You’re already there. You’ve knocked and, in doing so, you’ve sealed your fate.

“...Yes,” is your whisper of a reply.

“What’s up? Was I too loud for you?”

You’ve got the entire building on high-alert singing that loudly.

...is what you would say if you weren’t currently imploding. This is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. And nothing you ever want to experience again.

“Um, yeah, sorry.” You look down at your shuffling feet.

The hallway is pitch black, hardly allowing for even a mere shadow. Rushing out of your room, you’d forgotten to turn on even a single light.

You hear him step onto the tile floor and the rustle of a tower from the bathroom closet.

“Wait, can we talk?” He asks as though it weren’t the question of the fucking year. “I mean, preferably after I get out of the bathroom.” There’s a lack of tact to his words.

This isn’t the charming Oikawa you’re used to. This is a blunt… confusingly straightforward Oikawa.

His tone wavers like maybe he’d had a little more to drink than you’d last remembered. Your memory was proving to be disappointingly unreliable tonight.

You swallow thickly, “Sure.”

Because what else can you say?

“Can I stop by your room in a minute?”

You take a deep breath, “Yeah.”

And you patter back to your no-longer very safe haven. Oikawa is about to infiltrate your space… with your permission. And the weapons he’ll bring will either harpoon you or leave you emotionally paralyzed – whether that emotional paralysis is a good or bad thing will be decided in the near future.

Your bed, though soft and blanket-covered, looks far less appealing now. It may as well be a bed of nails because you would rather hide beneath it than sit atop it.

But you sit anyway, letting the mattress dip and the springs twang.

The bathroom door cries as it opens, putting you on edge. Your heart is pounding like a drum at a summer festival – hotter and louder with every beat.

The trod of footsteps tells you he’s approaching and, sure enough, the open door reveals Oikawa.

With only a lamp to brighten the space, he’s more contoured than usual. His hair is wet and heavy against his head, taking on an even darker brown than before. You’ve seen him fresh out of the shower before, but this… is different. Oikawa’s shirt sticks to his chest slightly – he must’ve thrown it on without drying off fully to get to you faster.

He takes a few steps into your room, choosing to lean his back against a wall next to your work desk. Oikawa brings his hands behind his back, pressing his weight into them. Brown eyes flicker from you to the wall behind you and back again.

Naturally, tension lays thick as a fog in the air space. 

“Hey, I’m…”

You cut him off, “You don’t have to say sorry! It’s… it’s okay.” 

Oops, you’d said that a little too loud. Not that it mattered much after Oikawa’s passionate performance.

An eyebrow raises and confusion sparks across his face. Your body freezes.

He brings a hand behind his neck. “Oh, I was just gonna say that I’m still kinda drunk.”

You knew that much. Though you really thought he’d say something other than that. Preferably something about the, uh, devoted love-song?

Why is he acting so casual right now? Is this even Tooru? Had he read too many alien conspiracies and been abducted for learning too much about extraterrestrials? 

Maybe he doesn’t realize you’d even heard him say your name in the shower.

“Oh... right.” You say slowly, lips staying parted at the end of your sentence.

“Which… probably isn’t good for either of us,” Different words drawl out and there’s a soft slur to some syllables, but at least he’s easy to understand, “me drinking too much, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you mutter.

“I think we should both just go to bed then.”

Your chest tightens. Of course, you want answers.

They’re likely embarrassing, face-reddening, Taylor Swift-centric answers. But you want them, nonetheless.

Although, it’s probably for the best that you don’t bring this up tonight. It was all probably a joke or a harmless accident – and, anyway, he admitted to being drunk.

“Right.”

“But I think you should know that I like you. A lot.”

“Yeah,” you respond again, automatically.

There’s another heavy silence. The pretty boy just stares at you, cherry colors tinting his cheeks but showing no expression of fear or embarrassment. You stare back, processing his words at turtle-like speeds.

The words tumble out, “Wait, say that again?” You double back, your own face reheating to its earlier temperature.

“I’m gonna be mad at myself in the morning if I don’t leave right now. And I really need to stop listening to that stupid song,” Oikawa says to himself. 

“But I wanted to see how you would respond if I changed the lyrics,” the words are pointed back at you again.

He stands up, feet moving slowly toward the doorway. Did he just… completely ignore your question?

Your jaw drops, “Did…” you can hardly speak.

Clearing your throat, you try again, focusing intently on your words, “...did you mean for me to hear you?”

“...Maybe.” He draws out the “e,” looking back at you.

That’s it. He’s lost his fucking mind. You’re going to strangle him. 

No TikTok advice could have prepared you for the monstrosity that is Oikawa Tooru. How Iwaizumi put up with that... that child for all these years, you have no idea.

You have to make a note of sending him a “get well” card, because nobody could be mentally okay after dealing with him for that long.

“B- but… why? What?” You stammer out, back stiff as a board.

“You like me don’t you?” He tilts his head, hair flopping cutely with it.

You gape like a fish, mouth opening and closing.

And it’s not that you don’t want to respond.

It’s that you can’t. You have no words. You vocal chords are on a panic-induced lockdown.

Because he knew.

He knew this entire time. Which you thought he might, but that doesn’t make the situation any less infuriating.

“And I like you back.”

You’re dumbfounded. You can’t think. This is ridiculous.

You open your mouth once more but he has no intention of continuing this conversation.

“Sleep well!” Without further comment, Oikawa flashes you a sleepy smile and begins scampering back to his room after having wreaked havoc on your poor heart.

Your voice comes back just in time for you to wake up the entire building once more,

“No, you get your ass back here and explain yourself!”

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Reincarnation

@maalezzo This is entirely for you then..

Words: 1,1k

Warnings: none

Summary : What if Vio was the reincarnation of Mari?

“Rad ink!”

“Thanks, my boyfriend did those!” Vio replied and smiled to herself as she kept walking until she was jerked back by the resistance at the end of her left hand.

“Are you coming?” she asked gently as she looked at the frozen man tethered to her by flesh and love, “What is the matter?”

“I’m just still not used to being referred to as someone’s boyfriend,” Ori squeaked, the blush she had grown so enamoured with flaring up like a wildfire under his pale skin, “but I love it.”

It had been 4 months, 1 week, and 3-and-a-half days since her first session in Ori’s cellar and – ever since – she found pleasure beyond what she had ever expected in the most mundane of tasks and situations. Being with him was truly magical in a way that exceeded even her wildest, best guarded, and most intimate dreams.

They had grown up in the same street and often she wondered if she had passively absorbed more knowledge than she had been hitherto aware of, for she couldn’t shake the feeling – no, the certainty – that she truly knew Ori in ways unfathomable and deep.

Sometimes, she could predict how he was going to reply before she had even started her own sentence; at other times, she was able to read his face like a book, discerning the myriad emotions and thoughts, usually so cryptic to others, without difficulty.

“I feel like you’ve always been,” she grinned now, “I cannot imagine a world where you’d be less than a friend or anything other than my whole world.”

This as well – the nagging longing, the shivering anticipation, and the echo of torturous doubt – was a ghost that haunted the silences stretching out between their matutinal goodbyes and enthusiastic meetups after work.

“You feel it too?” Ori stopped again; his face was so serious that Vio instantly knew that he had been giving his next few words enough thought to fill a notebook with.

“Yes; I feel as if I’ve always known you, as if I had been born to know you, as if we were destined to love each other.”

“It’s more than that,” he mused quietly, “I am almost convinced that I have loved you before.”

“In a previous life?” Vio asked eagerly; she was much less spiritual and cerebral than him, but it was – unsurprisingly – easy to just trust Ori in this as much as in everything else concerning their life together.

“Yes, maybe? When I held you in my arms, last week, under the starry sky, I had the distinct feeling – I could see it inside my mind – that we’ve been exactly like that before. Only, in my vision, the constellations were outlandish and weird, and I was wearing fabrics that chafed my skin…Forget it, it’s probably mere fancy.” Ori shook his head as if to dispel the lingering impression that he was but brushing the essence of this hidden truth that kept flowing through his fingers like water.

Ready to let it go for now, Vio tugged him along tenderly and chattered about the flower shop and her tiny fight with her mother over gardenias until they reached the small café where they liked to sit and read together.

“Vio,” Ori said, holding her back before she could saunter in, “Nori thinks I could do an apprenticeship for the tattoo thing.”

They had talked about this before, but Ori had not been sure if he wanted to turn his hobby into a full-time job; moreover, he was loath to leave her behind to chase a potential pipedream. “Do you want to go?” Vio cocked her head patiently; she had her own thoughts on the matter, but she first wanted to hear where his heart would lead him. It would have been unfair to sway him by invoking the love they shared before he could make up his own mind.

“I am not sure,” Ori replied hesitantly and nodded at the waitress who waved at the counter as if to ask them if they would be ordering their usual favourites, “it’s rather far away. Would you come?”

“Where is it?” Vio asked and coughed lightly as a chill crept up her spine and scratched in the back of her throat.

“Place called ‘Moria’…It has been standing empty for a while now, but friends – distant relations more like it – of ours will reopen it,” Ori answered, taking his cup from the waitress and toying with the funny, little spoon idly for a moment instead of drinking his tea.

Vio felt as if fingers of ice and flame closed around her heart; she gasped as blurry images and specks of wisdom assaulted her mind.

“Don’t go,” she exclaimed suddenly, “let’s not. I…have a bad feeling about it.”

“Premonition?” Ori inquired, his voice exempt of doubt or mockery; he had not expected Vio to believe him when he had said that he couldn’t quite dismiss the flashbacks of a life that had not been his and yet was illuminated by a love that was so unmistakeably and immutably the one he shared with Vio right here and now.

“No,” Vio hummed thoughtfully, “for lack of a better word, let’s call it a ‘memory’. I just know that – were you to leave for that place – you’d never come back, and I cannot lose you. I can’t say if all of this has happened before or if we’re just fated in the good, old-fashioned ‘soulmates’ sense, but I feel the truth of this in my bones and I am not about to disregard such a clear warning.”

“We’ve been friends,” Ori nodded, “it feels as if we’d been friends forever. Literally forever. Through time and space. Do I sound crazy?”

Vio shook her head and gently cradled his sensitive, artistic fingers in her own palm.

“No,” she said, “not at all. I honestly couldn’t care less. This is our story and I refuse to be star-crossed! Stay with me, in this timeline, in this place, let’s rewrite history!”

Ori nodded pensively, wondering how Vio had known that his visions – heart-breaking, soft, and tender – were all tinged by a profound sense of loss and loneliness; he had never told her anything about the darkness bleeding into the flashbacks like spilled ink or the sound of drums – menacing and final – and yet, she had sensed or known independently.

He’d trust her as he always did, maybe more than he ever had before, hopefully enough to change the course of their destiny.

“Alright,” he agreed, lifting the steaming teacup to his lips, “I’ll stay here.”

There we go, I hope you enjoyed this my dear 💖💖

Lots of love from me <3

[castillon02]

2021 Tumblr Top 10

1. 2,484 notes - Oct 16 2021

Jaskier agreeing to disguise himself, marry, and then fake his death, entirely consensually, for dozens of women throughout the Continent who’d like to be in the financially independent position of widowhood without going through a lot of fuss and bother about it. (Often, they get access to their dowry; Jaskier takes a percentage.)

2. 2,058 notes - Jun 12 2021

AO3: Double Act 

“Good news! The tavern keep has given me leave to exercise my craft in her glorious establishment. No, don’t say it!” Jaskier held his hand up to Geralt’s mouth, might have pressed his fingertips to Geralt’s lips if Geralt hadn’t grabbed his wrist.

3. 1,973 notes - Jun 2 2021

AO3: Reasons to Bite

She bites things, worries them between her teeth and doesn’t let go, chews until the tree branch—shreds; the fence post—mangles; the rope around her neck—snaps.

4. 868 notes - Feb 26 2021

AO3: Feathers

“Have you thought about selling these to a millinery?” Jaskier asked. He plucked one of the griffin’s massive brown-and-amber wing feathers, waving it in the melodic shape of ‘Toss a Coin.’ What a spectacular hat accessory it would make. The flare! The vim! The height!  

5. 349 notes - Jan 1 2021

Witcher Shanties

6. 344 notes - Jan 11 2021

Jaskier is a music teacher as well as a performer. Do you think he has apprentices all over the Continent, from Vicovaro to Kaedwen, people who sing and play instruments and watch him perform and then corner him the next day to ask him musical questions that nobody from around there knows the answers to? And maybe they only see him for a night or a week, but it’s still long enough for them to absorb some tips, for them to remember him, for him to inspire them to keep practicing and growing?

7. 323 notes - Jan 23 2021

There is one winter where Vesemir and Lambert communicate solely via eavesdropping on each other while they are doing a daily version of the “Telling it to the bees” tradition.

8. 263 notes - Feb 14 2021

Planning Ahead

Jaskier doesn’t have a horse of his own, but he will one day, he tells the university hostlers, not-quite-lying, and in the meantime he borrows one occasionally, mostly so he has an excuse to get on the good side of the stablemaster. Hestif loves her stable’s horses as much as Jaskier loves music.

9. 237 notes - Jul 2 2021

AO3: Kid-Proofing

Various rooms in Kaer Morhen had “Lil Bleater doors,” goat-sized wooden flaps installed at floor level so she could get in easily. Hard for her to do that thing where she looked at you and you pet her and then you felt a little better about life if she couldn’t get to you. Also, Vesemir not-so-secretly enjoyed the dismayed groans of a sleeping-in Witcher getting woken up by Bleater jumping on them with her happy little hooves.

Her happy, pointy, relentless little hooves.

10. 236 notes - Jul 12 2021

AO3: Spicy Like Strawberries

“–and I know that the Eskel songs use a lot of the same structures as the White Wolf songs,” Jaskier said, “but that also serves to reflect some of their similarities as people or characters, and sticking to certain technical conventions encourages the perception that Witchers are a positive part of society.” He was chatting mostly to himself as he followed Lambert on a shortcut through some Redanian woods.

--- 

What I’m taking away from this list is that I enjoy tumblr being a place where I can post not only fic but also the premises of fic that I don’t have the spoons to write. Hooray for Witcher shanties and willing-to-widow!Jaskier!  

Notably, most of these were from the first half of the year; the mid-October post seems to have been my last gasp of creativity before grad school took over all of my brain space for the semester. (Lol, this is also when my physical planner turned into a lot of empty pages as well. Me during October-November: ‘I TURNED STUFF IN. NOTHING ELSE HAPPENED APPARENTLY’) 

For 2022, I’m hoping to keep writing Witcher stuff and keep doing 007 Fest (a month-long Bond fandom event) in July! 

[guardianofthepeanutwrites]

Skirts and Dresses Part 2

Part 2 is here. I hope you will like it! Part 1, Part 3, Part 4  and Part 5 To my Powerpuff Girls ! I love you all <3 Many Thanks to Gypsywoman13 for beta-readig!

@mayucerise @starkeraddictbaby

Iron Dad Tony

Since the Widow had learned his secret and been so understanding, Peter became a bit less careful. While he used to only wear his old skirt when he was alone in the compound, now he would wear his new clothes when only one or two people were present or if Natasha decided they needed special training nights, which were girls nights where they would train and then watch action movies while making fun of the bad scripts and stunts. They would also paint each other's nails and do each other's hair. It was awesome.

As promised, Natasha burned his old skirt to ashes, but with his consent. Three days later, she gifted Peter a frame with a small piece of the skirt inside and it made Peter’s heart swell with love.

He could now say that his old skirt had been awful; it had too many colors and some nasty stains, but it still had been his first, so he had put the small memorabilia on his shelf.

--

Today, Peter, Mr. Stark, and Dr. Banner were the only ones present at the compound, so Peter put on a nice skirt that was full of colors, and that kind of looked like silk. It was one of Peter’s new favorites because it would swirl and flare when he walked.

After dancing around for a bit, and watching the effect in the mirror of his bedroom at the compound, Peter decided it was time to work on his assignment for next week.

Peter was fully engrossed in his work when his phone buzzed loudly.

>> Kid, I know you’re busy with your assignment, but I have an emergency here. Could you come by? - TS

Without even thinking about it, Peter rapidly answered

<< Sure Mr. Stark. Omw

With that sent Peter left his bedroom, not remembering in his rush that he was still wearing his new skirt.

--

When Peter entered the workshop of Mr. Stark, the billionaire briefly took his eyes away from the armor he was working on.

“Kid, you may want to change before coming closer. Motor oil is a bitch to take out of silk.” The comment was said offhandedly, as if Mr. Stark wasn’t talking to his mentee wearing a fucking skirt.

Peter felt his cheeks redden, realizing he had left his room in such a hurry that he hadn’t thought to change. He was startled when Mr. Stark started to talk again.

“Pete, it’s kind of an emergency here. Can you change and move on, please?” The urgency in his mentor’s voice got Peter to move, but not to change. “Pete, you’re going to stain the skirt, come on.” But Peter didn’t listen.

“What do you need me for, Mr. Stark?”

The older man sighed but started to explain.

For three hours the two men worked seamlessly like they always do. When the part of the armor they were working on was done, Mr. Stark silently led Peter to the sofa in the lab. He made Peter spin once, to look over the skirt before he let Peter sit on the couch next to him.

“So, Petey Pie. When did you start to wear skirts, and why did you never tell me?” Mr. Stark sounded calm and not disgusted; Peter did not really know what to think about it. “And this isn’t silk. What for the love of Tesla is that thing?”

Peter sighed. Were they all going to criticize the type of skirts he was wearing and not the fact he was wearing them?

“I-I started to wear one, uh, 4 years ago?” Peter felt his cheeks redden again and bowed his head to look at his hands, avoiding Mr. Stark’s gaze. “I found it--well... it was truly horrid, Natasha burned i-” Before he could finish his sentence, Mr. Stark cut him off with a frown.

“Wait, hold on, Underoos. Natasha knew before me?” The billionaire puts a hand on his chest; always one for dramatics. “Why? Wait, no, she’s a superspy. Did she guess?”

“She walked in on me,” Peter admitted. He felt rough fingers against his chin to lift his head up and force his eyes to meet his mentor.

“You know, when I was your age - a little younger maybe - I had a... well, Dad and--Dad called it a phase.” Peter knew his mentor had meant Dad and Obadiah Stane. It made Peter want to punch the guy. “For an entire month, I wore nothing but very short skirts.” Peter’s breath hitched at the confession, making Mr. Stark smirk. “To be honest, I only wore them to make my dad angry, but I still liked it, and those skirts made my ass look like sin. Well, everything makes my ass look like sin, but the skirts...they were really nice.”

“But, then, why did you stop? And why does no one know about that?” Peter asked with a small voice, still looking at his mentor even if the man had let go of his chin sometime before.

“I--They made me. If I am being honest, they paid a lot of people a lot of money to bury every piece of evidence from that month.” Mr. Stark frowned suddenly. “FRI, baby girl?”

“Yes, boss?” The AI answered.

“Do we still have pictures of that time?” There was a short silence before the AI starts to talk again.

“Yes boss, we do,” the mechanical voice sounded, amused.

“We should leak those one day.” Peter choked on nothing, making the older man wink at him. “Oh, and before I forget, FRI, call Thomas and tell him to bring skirts and dresses for my protegé.” FRIDAY didn’t answer, but Peter supposed she already was calling whoever Thomas was.

Mr. Stark stood, making a gesture at Peter to stay put, and went to a little room where he kept a small desk to do things that didn’t warrant going to his main office. He came back with a kraft envelope and sat back while he simply gave the envelope to Peter.

“I was supposed to give this to you on your Birthday, but I think there will be no better occasion than this one.” Peter watched the envelope dumbly, asking himself what was inside. “Open it up, kid.”

However, before Peter could move, FRIDAY started to talk again.

“Sir, Mr. Watson refuses to ‘clothe a man with a dress’.”

Tony lifted an eyebrow. “Fire him.” Peter opened his mouth to argue that there was no need to fire someone over him, but Mr. Stark continued. “Wait, was he insulting?”

“Yes, sir.” If she hadn’t been only code, Peter would have said FRIDAY was angry, but Peter was probably projecting.

“Ok, sue him and then fire him or the other way around. Let Legal take care of that. Shit, Pepper is going to kill me,” Mr. Stark muttered, standing up to start to pace.

“Mrs. Potts has not been using Mr. Watson’s services for some years, boss. Not after they had an argument about the place of women.” Peter saw his mentor getting angry at hearing that. “She has another tailor. His name is Richard Bernard and he comes highly recommended by Mrs. Potts. Should I call him?”

Mr. Stark huffed. “Yes, you do that. And FRIDAY? Next time someone treats my wife badly, tell me. While she can take care of herself, I refuse to continue to employ assholes. Tell her that.” Peter smiled softly at the ardor in his mentor’s demeanor. Mr. Stark breathed deeply and turned to Peter. “Now, kid, open the thing.” Mr. Stark made a wide gesture to the kraft envelope still on Peter’s lap.

Peter carefully pulled the tab and opened the envelope, taking the papers before looking up at Mr. Stark to make sure he could read them. Mr.Stark nodded, encouragingly, so Peter started to read and was startled at the content on the first paper. Peter frantically began to go through all of the papers, but they all said the same thing: Adoption.

When Peter looked up from the papers on his knees, it was to see Mr. Stark kneeling in front of him, watching Peter with a smile, and taking one of Peter’s hands inside his.

“We have known each other for years, and I would never hope for a better son than you, and for someone better to inherit Stark Industries when my time comes, Peter Parker.” Peter wanted to interrupt; wanted to tell the man that while Peter saw him as a dad too...that Peter would love nothing more on this earth than to be his son, but he was not worth it. He was only Peter, after all.

But Tony Stark knew him too well and just continued to talk, gently squeezing Peter’s hand. “You are smart, kind, and brave. I once told you that I wanted you to be better, and the truth is, you always were better. No, Peter, I may have changed the last decade or so, but at your age, I was nowhere as good as you. I would never have been a hero if I had received your powers. I am so proud of the man you have become, and I want to officially call you a son.”

“But--I know nothing about business,” Peter said lamely. It made Tony smile.

“Well, it’s not knowledge I was born with, you know. There are some classes you can take, and Pepper and I are ready to teach you everything we know. We would have done this sooner, but we wanted to give you until your 21st Birthday to be a normal kid.” Tony gently stroked Peter’s hand. “And before you ask, no, I do not care that you wear skirts or that you are bisexual. Yes, I know about that, I’ve seen how you watch the Soldier.” Peter wanted to deny it, but he really couldn’t because he currently had a very big and hopeless crush on one James Buchanan Barnes. “There is nothing--except going to work for Hammer Tech, and maybe SHIELD--that will change the way I see you. You are my kid, Peter Parker. Will you agree to be my son?”

And what could Peter say? He loved the man like a father and looked up to him. He even loved the horrible dad jokes Mr. Stark started to tell every now and then.

“It-it would be my honor, d-dad.” And Peter couldn’t take it anymore as he jumped into his mentor’s...no, his father’s arms.

And if both of them cried while hugging the other for a long time, it was no one’s business.

--

Richard Bernard made Peter the most awesome clothes, but Peter had to admit that while he loved them, (silk was such a pleasure on his sensitive skin) the ones he bought with Natasha were still his favorites.

Natasha looked at him like he was a moron, but did not comment. Peter was emotional, so sue him.

Pepper gifted Peter with some make-up, and with Natasha’s help, they taught him how to use it.

Now that Peter had more freedom to put on his dresses, skirts, lace, and silk, he discovered that he did not crave it as much as before. He even started to have fun with his other clothes, especially since Tony gifted him a great collection of graphic tees with all the best science puns.

It’s not as if he didn’t want to be pretty anymore, Peter did, but it’s not a desperate need anymore. Some days he wanted to look cute, and others, he wanted jeans and t-shirts.

Peter was very lucky.

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 6)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Special Grade

Next Chapter: Bird of Flame

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty <3

We are finally past the introductions and getting into the bulk of the story🥰💕 excited for this to unravel.

Chapter 6: Speed of Sound

You had a physical and cursed energy examination along with the second years the next day. Much like when you had your height and weight measured at the clinic. But this time, it was your power, speed, stamina, defense level, and flexibility with and without your cursed technique that they were measuring.

“Ugh, it’s so windy out today.” Mai complained. The sun was really bright as the four of you first years stood there.

“Y/n.” All of you turned to look at the source of the voice. You smiled brightly upon hearing him. “It has been a while.”

“Noritoshi senpaii~” you skipped your way towards him with a huge smile on your face. “How have you been?”

Noritoshi was always busy, with clan affairs, missions (now that he got recommended for grade 1 and is enroute to a semi-grade 1) and studies that you only had a short time to say hi whenever you passed by the other in the hallways. But he always secretly looked forward to seeing you.

He nodded his greeting to the other first years before turning to smile down at you as you came up to him. “Not too bad. Hope you’ve adjusted well to campus life?” he murmured, eyes softening.

“I’m okay, don't worry about me. Shared class today, this is my first time. I wonder how it will go?” You excitedly said.

“The usual, you might find it boring. Ah, and I’ve heard that you were given the title Special Grade. Congratulations.” He said.

“Is that something to be celebrated?” you asked while tilting your head to the side. “Thank you though.”

He mimicked you, tilting his head in the same direction and leaning forward so that your eyes were both still in line with each other’s, “It’s proof that you’re strong and that’s also a good thing.”

You hummed in thought. “I don’t really care about rankings to be honest. I just need to be strong enough to protect the ones I love.”

Noritoshi’s eyes slightly widened at that. He was about to speak when he was rudely interrupted.

“TSUCHI CHAN! You owe me a fight.” Todo senpai boomed with Momo sighing tiredly beside him. You jumped about 4 feet into the air at the sound and Noritoshi protectively held a hand in front of you again. “That’s enough Todo. It’s still early in the morning.”

“A fight, or else I will reveal who your ideal type is to everyone here.” He grinned.

Oh no he didn’t. The winds picked up around you as your cursed energy flared dangerously. Everyone except Noritoshi took a step back from you.

You looked up at him with the coldest eyes you have, “You promised you wouldn’t senpai. But I am not backing down from a fight. Don’t cry too badly when I bury you 6 feet underground.”

“There it is! Her dark side.” Miwa cried out. “You’re gonna die senpai.” But Todou just laughed. “I knew you were interesting the moment we met Tsuchi chan. It’s settled. A fight later after class.”

“Todo’s gonna die later. I look forward to seeing it.” Mai yawned nonchalantly as Mechamaru just nodded. Momo just laughed as she settled in beside Mai.

Soon Utahime called you all to attention and you went on with the activities. You were competing with Todo for almost every measurement (with the use of cursed energy of course. You were not so strong without it).

You just laughed at yourself as you found out you had the weakest physical punching power among the first years. Yep, you rely too much on your cursed energy to back you up.

You had the highest score though when you used your cursed energy. You warped the space around your hand in a spiral motion, the wind picking up around your fist, before you propelled yourself to punch the target. BAANG! It was pushed a number of meters back further than Todo’s target.

Todo just clapped. “Well done.” And the entire time, Noritoshi was closely monitoring you, staying by your side and asking questions about your technique.

At that, you tugged on his sleeve and he smiled and bent down for you. You told him quietly that you would tell him more about it later when you’re alone. His eyebrows raised, but his smile widened, “Thank you for that. I don’t mind telling you about mine too.”

The others were just silently watching you both out of the corner of their eyes.

“Mai chan, wanna bet as to when those two will get together?” Momo whispered. Everyone else except the two of you heard her.

“Depends on what you wanna bet on. But I’m willing to bet they’ll get together in the next maybe 4 months or so.” she smirked.

“3 months” Miwa piped up quietly.

“Maybe 2 months lol.” Mechamaru said.

“No. They might take… a few weeks. 3?” Todo said seriously.

Utahime cleared her throat out loud gathering all of your attention. “Last activity. Running laps. This track field is 400 meters long as you all know. Finish 1 lap. First without then with your cursed technique. Nishimiya and Tsuchimikado flying is permitted.”

You perked up at that and clapped your hands excitedly. Then stopped and thought about it remembering your father’s words:

“ ‘You don’t have to max out your abilities. We keep our clan’s abilities as much of a secret as possible to prevent any information leakage that may be used against us. Remember to use your technique wisely. You’re the strongest in our clan, sweetheart.’ You nodded, ‘Okay papa.’ ”

So God speed mode of a Mach 4 is out of the picture. Mach speed 3… maybe out. ‘No I can limit it to just under the speed of sound.’ you thought determinedly.

You zoned out the next hour until it was time to run with your cursed technique. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.” Noritoshi put a hand on your back to support you.

You quickly shook your head “I’m fine, no worries.” He didn’t look like he believed you but let you go ahead.

“Tsuchimikado. It says here on your report that you can move at mach speeds.” Utahime spoke. FUCK. Oh well. You turned to her with the stiffest smile on your face as she realized you didn’t want the information disclosed.

You took your starting position, still determined to keep it under half the speed of sound. “Ready… go!” You whipped around the entire trackfield in just under 3 seconds.

“Tsuchimikado. 2.4 seconds.” You nodded and jogged back beside Miwa who gave you a high five. “That was sooo cool, you need to let me fly with you next time.” She excitedly said.

You laughed. “I’m not the best at holding people with me when I move at high speeds. But slow flying is fine.”

“Why don’t you go faster?” Todo asked. Everyone quieted down as you turned to him. “I have a feeling you've been limiting your output. You’ve obviously been holding back this entire time, are you not taking it seriously? We are here to challenge ourselves, there is no need to hold back.”

Your eye and finger twitched. “That’s not it.” This man was amazing at pushing your buttons. But you sighed as there was no reason to hide it anymore. “Utahime sensei can I-”

“Go ahead. When you’re ready.”

You took your starting position again. You could push Mach 5 if you wanted to, though just above Mach 1 should be enough.

But you can feel Todo just silently egging you on from the sidelines. And it honestly worked. “Start!”

There was a loud BANG! You were back in the starting line in less than a second. The only proof of your movement was the smoke and dust rising above the tracks.

“I am so sorry, but I didn’t catch that. I physically can’t. That was less than a second. Your speed please?” Utahime called out. “Mach 2.”

You stepped right up to Todo with a challenging glint. “Prepare yourself for later.” He just huffed out a proud smile, then you stood aside with Miwa and Noritoshi.

“Was that, just now a sonic boom?” asked Noritoshi. “No it was my ringtone.” you deadpanned. The others choked a laugh out at that.

He turned to you with a pout, but you just bumped his hip with yours and laughed “It’s called sarcasm Noritoshi senpai~” He quietly chuckled along, which he was surprised at how easy it was to do so whenever he was with you.

You all finished up. Momo was also pretty fast, going at 10 seconds around the track. Noritoshi senpai blew you out of the water to be honest. His record was 35 seconds on foot. How. That was over the world record for men’s running.

You noticed a red marking forming over his eye and remembered seeing it for a bit when it came to the strength measurement test earlier. He was just a bit behind you, Mechamaru and Todo in terms of power.

And Mechamaru and Todo were largely… disproportionate to him, being way bigger and bulkier. But he could somehow manage.

“Are any of you going to spar after this? If so I will be supervising.” Utahime sensei called.

“We will.” Todo senpai motioned between the two of you. Noritoshi surprisingly spoke up too, “I also wanna have a go against y/n if that’s fine with you.” He turned to you with a concerned look. You just smiled, “Of course it’s fine Noritoshi senpai!”

“Okay, try not to break anything, limit the damage here on campus please. I will be calling a close if it gets too bad.” Utahime warned.

“There's no need for that.” You smiled to yourself.

Author's Rambles: Mach Speed (AKA Supersonic speed) is described as a speed greater than the speed of sound. Mach X means that the speed is X times greater than the speed of sound. A Mach 5 would be categorised as Hypersonic speed^^. O/C uses her Psychokinesis to move her forward as fast as she can.

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