#i put this as a continuation of sorts to our current thread if that's okay with you??

[iceeckos12]

A time travel au. angst and h/c. inspired by this post

Warnings: jon’s very low self-esteem

“What do you think of him?” Jon suddenly asks, staring blankly at the wall of the breakroom.

Tim pauses in the middle of chewing his sandwich to give him a long, considering look.

He’s mostly decided to suspend his disbelief until further notice, simply to keep from losing his mind. What else is one supposed to do when future versions of Jon and Martin, who are also apparently dating, tell you that your workplace is currently involved in a plot to end the world? Ideally he would’ve processed one big revelation at a time, but apparently they don’t have time for that, so goodbye grip on reality, it was nice knowing you. I’ll hit the restart button as soon as things start making sense again.

Tim wipes his hand across his mouth, swallows, and asks, “You mean Jon II?”

Jon rolls his eyes, like Tim’s being obtuse on purpose just to annoy him. “Yes, I mean...him. Me. Jon II.” Then his nose wrinkles amusingly, the same way it always does whenever he says the moniker. He’s hated it since the beginning, but it was a battle he quickly lost, what with all three of his assistants opposing him.

Normally, Tim wouldn’t have thought twice about shrugging and answering, but...Jon’s been uncharacteristically quiet lately. Oh sure, he’d blushed up a storm upon learning that his future self and Martin were dating, and he’d expressed his own misgivings at the beginning, but...since then he’s been eerily, silently watchful. In Tim’s experience, when presented with this sort of puzzle Jon generally buries himself in research, and doesn’t emerge until he’s good and ready to do so.

There’s something else on his mind.

So Tim puts down his sandwich and gives himself a moment to think carefully through his response. “I mean...he’s a lot like you, obviously. But he seems…” What’s a polite way to say, the trauma and the boyfriend seems to have made him a little more easygoing? He certainly smiles more freely than he ever has, which...honestly, makes Tim want to cry sometimes. How horrible, that so much abject cruelty had just made him more kind. “...tired. A little less high-strung?”

“I see,” Jon says, turning his mulish gaze to his curry, dragging his spoon through the thick sauce.

Tim waits a beat longer, but when nothing else seems forthcoming he prompts, “Why do you ask?”

Jon’s reaction is only to press his lips into a thin, tight line. Tim knows this mood; he’s weighing how insecure he’ll look if he says whatever’s actually bothering him out loud, versus how much he wants someone else to hear it. Pushing him now will only make him clam up, so Tim just waits.

Tim’s patience is rewarded when Jon blurts, “But you like him. You...you all do.”

“Yes,” Tim says slowly, because it’s true. Martin’s so enamoured with a Jon that actually likes him that he keeps bringing him tea just to get another glimpse of that gentle, thankful smile, just to strike up another conversation about nothing. Sasha has decided that he’s the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to her, and insists on consulting him whenever she reads a new true statement.

Tim’s personally a little unnerved by the awful, sad way future Jon looks at him sometimes, or the way he flinches back whenever someone tries to touch him without warning. But he’d taken Tim aside and quietly explained everything he knew about what happened to Danny, so.

Oh, Tim thinks, feeling like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. Jon may be an old hand at fooling others with his grumpy persona, but Tim knows that he’s just using it to hide his massive inferiority complex. “Wait, are you jealous?”

Jon ducks his head, and his ears darken. Gotcha, Tim thinks. 

“Jon, you know that that’s still you, right?” he explains gently, quietly relieved that it’s not something more complicated. “We like him just as much as we like you, because you’re the same person.”

“But he’s not the same, is he?” Jon protests. “Look at the scars on his neck, on his hand. And he has panic attacks, and he flinches at loud noises, and, and—”

He breaks off, biting down hard on his lip, threading a hand through his hair.

Tim stares at him, feeling off-kilter, like he missed a step coming down the stairs. That doesn’t sound like jealousy. “...Jon?”

Jon shakes his head, his breath escaping him in thready, devastated gasps.

He can’t tell what’s going on in Jon’s head, and it’s starting to scare him. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Jon just sits there for a moment long, tugging at his hair, staring sightlessly at the middle distance. Tim gently untangles his fingers, giving him something a little more solid to hold onto.

“You all like him,” he says at last. “You all...he’s so kind, and he’s funny, and you like him, because someone hurt him first. He’s different—we’re different—because someone cut our throat and burned our hand, and you like him better.”

Tim’s horrified. “Jon—”

“Should I accept that?” he continues, the words flooding from him like a dam finally exploding in a shower of groaning wood and weathered stone. “Do I—how do I carry on knowing that I could be the person I want to become, if only I give myself to monstrosity, if only I let myself be hurt like that?”

“Of course we’re not going to let that happen to you!” Tim interrupts, voice higher and more frightened than he meant it to be. He’s applying duct tape to a raging river. He has no fucking idea how to fix this. “You don’t deserve—”

“Don’t I?” Jon demands, whirling on him, eyes flashing. “Don’t I deserve to be happy? Or am I unworthy of even this kind of improvement? Am I doomed to be like this forever?” Tears well in his eyes, spill over. “Don’t I deserve it?”

And then he slowly, inevitably, dissolves into tears, his slim shoulders shaking as he curls over and buries his face in his elbow. Tim drapes an arm across his back, angling his body so he can gently tuck Jon’s head against his shoulder. He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do. Even if Jon were in any shape to hear it, he has no idea how to fix this.

Tim could tell him that he and Martin and Sasha all think that he’s fine the way he is, and it’s the stress of an apparently eldritch job that’s causing him to push people away, but he doubts Jon would believe it. Words mean nothing when actions have been screaming something entirely different all this time, and Jon’s always been more observant than they give him credit for.

“Oh, Jon,” he whispers when the tears finally start to slow, dropping a kiss onto silver and black hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you felt that way.”

Jon pulls away and shrugs, averting his reddened eyes. Tim squeezes his elbow to prevent him from retreating entirely. They sit like that for a moment, Jon going very still and very tense under Tim’s hand, settling into the vulnerability like an open wound.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says finally, sniffing heavily. He’s aiming for his usual brusque, dry tone, but his voice is shaking, and he’s not fooling anyone. “That was unprofessional of me.”

Before Tim can stop himself, an incredulous laugh rips out of him. “Jon,” he says quickly, “We’re well beyond professional. You know that, right? You don’t have to hide from me.”

Jon flushes. “Yes, well—it was unfair for me to put this on you, as your fr—as…” His expression goes all fragile and uncertain, and Tim’s heart aches.

“It’s not unfair,” Tim corrects gently. “As your friend,” and here he pauses for emphasis, “I want to know when you’re feeling like this.”

“Oh,” Jon murmurs, then straightens and scrubs the teartracks from his cheeks. “Oh.”

Tim nods reassuringly, takes a deep breath, and makes an educated guess. “I know you’re scared, Jon. We all are. This place is...horrible, and seeing what you went through is...terrifying. I can’t imagine how that must be for you.” He lets his eyes flicker up. Jon’s still watching him, rapt, and good, good. I haven’t lost him. “I won’t deny that he’s getting along with Sasha and Martin quite well, but...but that’s not because of what he—you—went through. It’s because….right now, you’re pushing people away because you’re scared, but he’s already done that. He knows that pushing people away just means you end up alone. It doesn’t mean he’s a better person, just that he’s a little wiser.”

“But how can you be sure?” Jon asks, leaning forward, eyes big and desperate.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have become your friend if I didn’t like you,” Tim admits unashamedly.

His bold honesty is rewarded by Jon flushing and ducking his head.

“But even so,” he continues, sobering, “Even if you were the worst person on the planet—and you’re not—you wouldn’t deserve to be hurt like that, no matter what the outcome. Does that make sense?”

Jon looks thoughtful as he says, “I—yes. Yes, that makes sense.”

He can tell though, that Jon doesn’t quite believe him. That’s okay—honestly, it’s what he was expecting. Tim’s been running headfirst into the wall that is Jon’s terrible self-esteem for as long as they’ve been friends. This problem is going to take more than one half-assed pep talk.

That’s okay, though. Jon’s worth the effort.

[vibesandwonders]

And every moment precious

“I don’t think I want to be god anymore”

Jack appears in their kitchen with a sigh that seems to come from his shoes.

He doesn’t notice how Cas has Dean crowded against the counter, his fingers threaded through Dean’s hair, neck exposed, Dean’s hands midway through working Cas’ jeans off.

He barely manages to bite off a particularly potent string of words, Cas eyes him and clears his throat, Dean tries not to sigh just as deeply.

Oblivious, their son sits heavily and places his head in his hands.

Cas glances at Dean; begins blowing out the candles, sliding the chocolate covered strawberries back into their packaging, looking apologetically at Dean who nods in agreeable resignation.

8 days.

8 of the best days of his whole damn life.

Dean mentally notes that they might have to talk to Sam about customizing some sort of perimeter warning spell.

Especially, since most of their acquaintances and their god-son can just pop in at any moment. Sure, he’s gotten pretty chill about people knowing that he and Cas live together, work together, sleep in the same bed, but he’s not sure how he feels about the possibility of Jack walking into… something else.

It’s not like he can suggest cooling off their current schedule of fucking on every surface in their house (it’s unthinkable really); not to mention Cas would be absolutely against it.

“Uh,” Dean yanks on his jeans and thinks of dead animals, naked Zachariah...

“What’s going on Jack?”

Cas is already standing; moving to brew coffee, fingers brushing the side of Dean’s face as he does. The hunter tilts and kisses his fingers on the way past, surprising a wide smile out of the Angel.

How in the hell could Dean Winchester deserve this?

Cas catches his gaze and points at Jack, who still hasn’t raised his head,

Focus.

“It’s just…very boring.” Jack replies pitifully,

Cas stares nonplussed at Dean across the top of Jack’s head. He mouths something in confusion and Cas points intensely at Jack.

“Uh, wait, what?”

Jack sighs and looks up, “All I do is listen to people talk. All the time. Amara says… so much—“ Jack’s smile is sudden and large. “She is very smart, so much better at this than I am, and Rowena brings snacks sometimes to the meetings, Billie gives amazing advice, almost as good as you Dean—” He shakes his head with surety, “I think they should be god instead, Then, I can come home, and live with you… Now that you and Cas are… married?”

A spoon clatters into the sink, Cas bends to fish it out, Dean’s coughing in surprise and checking out his ass simultaneously.

Priorities.

“Oh uh… buddy— Jack…” He clears his throat nervously, he wasn’t built for this kind of conversation. Cas is suddenly busy watering the succulents in the window. The way he tips his head though, Dean knows he’s listening.

Coward.

“Me and Cas— we are just—“

“Having intercourse?” Jack’s chin drops, eyebrows knit together.

Dean chokes, his face going through every possible emotion in the next few seconds, “No uh— well—“ Cas twists around and shakes his head adamantly, “You see—“

Jack is gleefully two steps ahead and clearly proud that he is leading the conversation, “When two people love each other very much— we talked, the talk. Birds and Bees, Remember?”

“Oh god— No.” Dean puts his hand out firmly, “No— that’s not—we— uh, you and me, we uh, had that conversation one time. No repeat performance, no encores, Jack, Cas and I—We are uh—“

“Living together.” Castiel inserts, taking a seat next to Dean, handing him a cup of decaf with a reassuring smile, palm on Dean’s thigh. “Dean and I are, living together.”

Dean gazes at the man beside him, Cas wrinkles his brow at the attention; Dean’s lips are already quirking into the fondest of smiles, debating making out with him right there in front of Jack. Cas sees the intent and shakes his head imperceptibly.

“In sin.” Jack interrupts brightly, “Living together in sin.”

Their heads rotate in comedic tandem, “Fuckin’ hell—“ Dean sputters, knocking into his coffee mug,

Cas catches the mug with inhuman speed, sighing, “Dean please, don’t swear in front of—“

“I know— I know.” Dean’s pretty sure swearing is the least of their problems right now, he steels himself, “Now listen Jack, me and Cas, we are uh, we’re happy, and we’re in love… and shit.” He mumbles, can’t look at Cas right now, he just feels the intensity of his eyes and the sheer affection cascading through their bond; tries to fight the way his ears turn red every damn time the Angel looks his way.

“Well… I mean, you’re god, so I guess, it’s kinda your call anyway—“ Cas squeezes his thigh tighter, Christ he’s strong, that is so hot… Focus.

“Right, right, right, um, so it’s— No sin. We are…great.”

“Oh.” Jack purses his lips thoughtfully and nods, “But you have always been in love? How is this different from before?”

“Well huh,” Dean chuckles, blows a breath through his lips, casts a quick glance at Cas, “It isn’t, I guess, not really, it looks like I’m… just a little slow on the uptake,” He sips his coffee, if only to stop himself from talking,

“Dumb of ass.” Jack agrees.

Dean nods in agreement and then frowns. “Don’t swear, and that’s sorta… hurtful. But yeah, I guess.”

“So I can come live here?”

Cas leans closer. “Jack, you can always stay here with us, for as long as you wish, of course—and if you truly wish to renounce your godhood, it is your choice.“ He peers suddenly, “Are you lonely?”

“I miss how it was.” He says simply,

Cas nods in serious agreement, understanding immediately in a way that Dean can only observe.

“Nostalgia is powerful," He says gently, "And we did have good times, the best times.” He ponders his words, Dean leans very slightly until his shoulder brushes against Cas’ and watches his angel do what he has always done best: love.

“You are not wrong for finding solace in those memories, I have often found comfort during my hardest battles,” He chooses his words carefully, pausing between each and savoring the power of them, “In remembering good times with the people… I love.” He spares a momentary glance at Dean, “But it is unhealthy to make your future decisions entirely based on memories.”

“So you think I should be god?”

Cas' smile falters, and shakes his head, “I think, that you are a good god. You are kind, fair, and hopeful. No matter your choice you will have a home with me—“ He looks to Dean, who nods, “With us.”

He reaches out and takes Jack’s hand, “I also think, that part of Chuck’s weakness was his loneliness. We saw it manifest itself in ways that hurt the ones he loved: his family. I do not ever wish you to be lonely. I wish for you to choose what you think is best for you, Jack. Life is not about destiny. It is about doing the best you can with the time given.”

Dean clears his throat, noting the Gandalf quote before adding, “Plus, nobody said you can’t be god from our backyard right?”

Cas frowns, processing what Dean is offering. Dean continues, mostly because Cas hasn’t interrupted with an argument, yet.

“You uh, you said you wanted to be more hands off— and that’s cool and all, but if you want to change your mind, and be part of the world too… I don’t think anyone can stop you. At the end of the day, this isn’t a pass/fail decision, okay?”

He stands and pats Jack on the head, kisses Cas on the cheek. “You two keep talkin’, I’m gonna go put sheets on the spare bed.”

New fluff here

If you liked it, be sure to check

Out the rest of the Lil series of domestic one-shots :)

[bokutosworld]

for the love that i’ve lost | miya atsumu

pairing: miya atsumu x f!reader  wc: 1633 words, angst with happy ending (maybe? lol) summary: when the past finally catches up to him, atsumu decides to make long overdue amends.

Atsumu lives life with no regrets. In all his years, he’s been careful with his choices and decisions; no hint of hesitation in his actions as he’s never too fond of the idea of looking back and beating himself up over the chances that he didn’t take. 

But with this invitation in one hand and his brother on the phone in the other, he gets an unsettling feeling. The one mistake that he has been running away from all these years has caught on to him. In his palm, his greatest fear has materialized. 

“‘Tsumu, are you still there?” 

For a minute, the setter was frozen in place, the hand holding the piece of paper was shaking and his eyes frantically reading and reading the contents of the letter. His strong resolve crumbles, the feelings he has locked away in his heart comes crashing in waves and he’s overwhelmed with the bitterness of longing and regrets – the very emotions that he has been concealing for the past years. 

Osamu is still talking in the other line, filling the silence that his twin brother left. When he came home from work, the other half of the Miya brothers saw a suspiciously decorated envelope on the mailbox. Ripping it open, he carefully reads the words written in cursive letters and when he processes it, his mind instantly flies to Atsumu.  

And with Atsumu's prolonged silence on the phone, he figures that he's looking at the invitation right now. 

"—don't have to go, you know that, Atsumu. I can attend in your stead. You're probably busy with training anyway, especially with the exhibition match against Schweiden Adlers happening soon." 

"’Samu," Atsumu's voice wavers as he contemplates what he's about to say next. "Did you know? About her engagement?" 

He sinks down on the sofa, closing his eyes and remembers the day she texted about the news. "Yeah, she informed me. I'm sorry I didn't relay the news to you." 

Atsumu chuckles bitterly, the tight grip he has on the letter slowly crumpling the paper. "You're mean, you know that?" 

"Oi, shut up," Osamu raises his voice in his defense. "You're the one who asked me not to tell you any updates about her. I wouldn't have known that she'd send you a letter directly."

A beat passes before he continues his statement. He knows his brother best, and if his intuitions were correct, Atsumu’s currently sulking and wishing for a way to undo his past. 

"She still cares for you, ‘Tsumu. She misses her friend.”

--- 

The setter retires to the comforts of his soft bed, laying on his stomach and groaning loudly on a pillow. He’s still reeling from the aftershock of receiving the news that his ex – the one and only love of his life, his sunshine, his high school sweetheart – is getting married. 

Not to mention the cold hard truth that Osamu dropped on him. 

“You’re my brother, but I can’t keep taking your side. Atsumu, she was your, our childhood friend first before being your lover. She’s been in our lives for so long, you can’t just cut her off as if you were ripping a band-aid. You immediately left town when the two of you broke up so you can pursue volleyball and you didn’t see how heartbroken she was,” Osamu spat, the words stinging his twin’s feelings more than he intended. 

“’Tsumu, you left her to grieve on her own. She made me swear not to tell you but every day, she kept asking me about you and how you were doing in Tokyo. It was like that for years until she met him.” There’s a brief pause before Osamu proceeds to dump the truth on Atsumu. “He healed her and showed her what it’s like to love again. Now, she’s happy. That is what you want, right? For her to be genuinely happy? 

Atsumu’s lost count of how many times he’d wished he had never let you go. It’s the only choice that he regrets – one that always keeps him up at night when he’s lying in bed and staring at nothing but the darkness. It’s during those wee hours when a familiar pain creeps in; it’s a pain that brings him back to the moment that he released your hand and walked out of your life. The words this is what’s best for us ringing constantly like a desperate chant, a vain effort to convince himself that he made the right choice. He’d hoped those words would bring some sort of ease in the aftermath of the breakup, but he was royally wrong. 

He reaches for his phone on the bedside table, opening his social media and searches for your profile. It’s been a while since he visited your page and when he does, he is greeted by a picture of you and your fiancé, happily smiling in each other’s arms and looking oh so painfully in love. As he continues to explore your page, he has half a mind to press on your contact that he’s saved. He wonders if you’ve changed your number, but it doesn’t take him long to decide as his thumb that was hovering over your name has now pressed the call button. 

Closing his eyes in anticipation, he can feel his own heartbeat in drumming in his ears and he almost ends the call but your voice brings him back. “Hello?” 

As soon as he hears you on the other line, Atsumu jumps up in surprise and he has to look at his phone to make sure that the call actually went through. 

“—mu, is this you? Hello?” 

He quickly puts his phone to his ear and clears his throat before saying his greeting. “Hey,” he laughs nervously, fiddling with the loose thread of his blanket. “How are you? I’m sorry, oh my god, did I wake you?” 

You chuckle, “No, I haven’t slept yet. I was arranging things for the wedding.” 

Silence overtakes the conversation for a moment, and Atsumu is thankful that you can’t see the way his face has fallen, sadness ghosting over his features. “Congratulations, I got the invitation.” He wants to ask why you even bothered to send him one, call you out on how insensitive you were because it felt unfair. Unfair at how it took him years to forget you; but it only took you mere seconds, just one letter and one hello, and you were back to his life again.   

“Do you remember that time we sneaked out and spent the evening looking at the stars? The skies were clear and we watched the most beautiful meteor shower,” Atsumu asks, suddenly feeling nostalgic. You reminisce the old times and think how could you forget that memory when it was that special moment that made you realize of your strong affection for the boy?

“Of course, I do,” you confess and Atsumu could hear the faintest of a smile in your words.  

“That night, when we saw the shooting stars, do you want to know what I wished for?” 

“What?” 

“For you to be the one that I’ll spend the rest of my life with.” His sudden confession takes you aback, and you can’t help but feel pained. You feel like crying, your voice is strained when you quietly mutter his name but he continues. “I know it’s too late for regrets, but I really shouldn’t have given up on us like that. Up to this day, I think about what could have happened if I fought for us the way you did. I keep looking back and I miss you.” 

“Every day, I wake up and wish that you were in my arms. I get off from practice and hope that you’re waiting for me at home. I’d love to experience all that with you, but here I am,” you hear his voice break. “I realize I never really said sorry for how I left you so suddenly, I hope you can still forgive me.” 

“Atsumu, I’ve forgiven you way back.” That’s all the affirmation he needs so he can put to rest his regrets and break free from his haunting past. The two of you settle in a comfortable silence as you wait for him to collect himself, the sounds of his sobs undoubtedly breaking your heart. When he does, he surprises you with his question, 

“So this fiancé of yours, does he treat you well?” 

You let out a hearty laugh and it elicits a smile from him. “He does, Atsumu. He’s a real gentleman and I know you’d get along.” From there, the phone call proceeds with lighthearted chat, catching up with each other’s lives, telling him the story of how you met your soon-to-be husband and the mood has shifted and it feels like two best friends reconnecting.  

There’s a question you were afraid to ask since the start of your conversation, “Will you be able to come to the wedding?” 

“What if I don’t want to?”

“It’s your choice. But it’s a special day and I’d want all the special people in my life to be there.” You admit. “You’re still that person to me, Atsumu.” He hates it when his brother was right, but he can’t deny it. He wants to be back in your life, even if it means just staying as a friend. 

“Isn’t that too cruel? Inviting your ex to your wedding? Are you sure your fiancé is okay with that,” he teases but he’s already decided that he’d be flying home and staying over at Osamu’s for the weekend of your wedding. 

If he can’t be the one waiting for you at the altar, then he thinks he owes it to you and to himself to see you off with a big smile. 

[burnedbyshoto]

disconnected

— Kirishima answers a phone call that wasn’t intended for him, and of course he can’t help but be interested in the beautiful voice and soul that angrily began to rant about their day. —

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pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, lil angst (lol sorry), cursing

word count: 7,786

a/n: this was a stupid thought that slammed into my mind, and here it is!!!! now I have a calc midterm tomorrow that I did not look at because why think about double derivatives and integrals when I can think about kirishima????

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It was eleven at night when Kirishima strolled out of his bathroom, ready to go to bed. After a rather long day, he was looking forward to sleeping and not having to wake up at the crack of dawn. Tomorrow for the very first day in a very long time, he wouldn’t have to work at the local coffee shop he was hired at. It was a job he had acquired with his good friends on the promise of it being a manageable job on top of his college work, and of course, the pretty girls who would go in.

From what Kirishima had gathered from the four months working there was that there were a lot of pretty girls who entered the coffee shop — most of which were focused on the angry ash-blond friend of his — and that it was so unnecessarily stressful. 

Some days he was up at four in the morning to open at six for the morning regulars, then he’d go to his afternoon classes, only to return for a two-hour shift in the middle of rush hour, and would leave while trying to keep the peace between a certain ash-blond and two new hires. To say the least, it was hell on Earth at times. 

Regardless, he didn’t have to open tomorrow morning, so he was content! On top of not having classes tomorrow, Kirishima was excited to sleep in.

Falling on his bed with a massive sigh, Kirishima snuggled his face into his pillow, rejoicing in the way that the laundry detergent still clung to the fabric and relaxed.

Sleep sounded so—

RIIING.

RIIING.

Kirishima’s eyes slammed open, his head snapping to see his illuminating phone on his nightstand. He had no idea who the hell was calling this late. There was no way it was Bakugou; he was asleep already at this point. Sero had broken his phone two days ago during a failed stunt and wouldn’t be able to get a new phone until the weekend. Kaminari only called him when there was a bug in his apartment, but he was currently closing… maybe it was Mina? Kirishima shook his head, no, he hadn’t spoken to Mina in ages.

Grabbing the phone, he didn’t bother to look at the caller ID and answered.

“Hello—?”

“Oh my god, I am fucking raging! You can’t believe what kind of fuckery I just went through tonight!” a voice shouted into the receiver, and Kirishima flinched a bit at the loud and angry voice. “So you know how I wasn’t supposed to work today, right? Because my coworker had sex with her ex-boyfriend like an idiot, and I owed her for covering my shift three months ago, but anyways irrelevant. I’m taking the order of this one group of adults. That’s right, A-D-U-L-T-S, adults! They are completely staring at my tits the entire time, and not my face. At first, I thought maybe you know, I had spilled something on my tits earlier, no. No! NOTHING! So I call them out on it, and they say something along the lines of ‘you could be a camgirl with that body, but like not in a sex sort of way’ I’m sorry, WHAT?! Like yes, continue sexually harassing your server who is a college student and therefore has no will to live, so will gladly beat your Gucci belt wearing ass into a bloody pulp! What they gonna do? Sue me? I have one dollar to my name, fucking take it, I don’t care, I’ll find another dollar in the sewer after I beat their asses up!

“But you know, I’m saying all this in my head because I’m broke and can’t afford to be fired from this place because the tips are hella good here. But they continue saying dumb shit, and then the obvious ringleader — I know he was the ring leader because his beard looks like it was the first picture printed on a new ink cartridge and his manspread was ten times wider than all of theirs — have the fucking audacity to slip his number while only tipping TEN DOLLARS ON A TWO HUNDRED DOLLAR TAB!!!!” Kirishima doesn’t know what to say, his jaw on his mattress, breathing having stopped while your voice wheezes from your lack of air. He makes a croaking noise, wanting to speak up and apologize for what had happened and for not being the person you thought it was, but it seemed that you weren’t over. “AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THAT FUCKING KAREN!!! ‘I didn’t like the way you looked at me so I won’t be tipping you tonight!’ yeah, well maybe if you didn’t order enough FOOD TO FEED AN ARMY AND KEPT SENDING IT BACK I WOULDN’T BE LOOKING AT YOU LIKE THAT!!!”

There was a pause, and Kirishima, while feeling entirely sorry for you, finally spoke, “Fuck, that sounds... horrible.”

“Damn right, it was horri— wait, who the fuck is this?” your voice squeaked, and Kirishima almost started to laugh at the difference in the tone your voice took. Once so loud, angry, and entirely ‘fuck the world,’ had changed into a meek and embarrassed voice.

“Um, this is Kirishima. Kirishima Eijiriou?”

“This isn’t Hagakure?” you moaned into the phone. “03-9082-2395? That isn’t this number?”

“2-2-9-5,” Kirishima repeated his own number back, a small smile overcame his features knowing that you had accidentally misdialed a number.

“Fuck my fat fingers,” you cursed, and Kirishima chuckled lightly at the mutterings that were poorly picked up. “Well, um, I am so sorry for calling you and dumping that unnecessary bullshit on you—”

“No, no,” Kirishima interrupted, rolling onto his back, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling. “It’s totally okay! You seem less stressed out now too, and it really isn’t a big deal!”

“You are very kind, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, and Kirishima can’t help but imagine a figure curled up on a couch.

“Thank you!” he beamed, a hand threading through his hair, “um, but what happened with the Karen? And why were you typing in your friend’s phone number?”

“Do you really want to know?” you ask after a fit of bubbling laughter; it seemed that you were not at all convinced.

“I work at a coffee shop for one, so I totally understand the Karen situations! Secondly, all my contacts are on my phone, I don’t have a single one of them memorized!”

“Okay, okay, okay, I do not have this number memorized! Hagakure is my roommate, and she has a new number that she left posted on our fridge and because Mr. Sprinkles left in the middle of my rant, I called her to finish it!” you explain in what Kirishima could only consider being childlike glee. “And a coffee shop? Oof, Kirishima, you might have it just as bad as I do then.”

“Ever had a boiling cup of coffee thrown back at your face?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I wish I was joking!”

“The nastiest thing I’ve ever been put through is a highschool couple breaking up in the middle of the restaurant, and a bowl of cold soup and milkshake were thrown at me! And I had to work for another five hours!”

“That… that beat mine by a long shot…”

“Okay, but like, it was cold. If you hadn’t dodged, you’d be dead!”

As time passed Kirishima soon found himself sitting up on his bed, his back pressed against the headboard, a lamp on so that he wasn’t in the dark while he talked to you. Somehow conversation flowed so perfectly between the two of you, so smoothly, so naturally. You had extremely compelling energy and a pretty bright one at that as well. Your stories were exceedingly extravagant, most derailing into hundreds of side stories before making its way back to the main point, but he didn’t mind. Though there was no proof, he imagined that your arms were swinging around while you talked, a bright smile on your face, and lights shining in your eyes.

“So anyway, I had to beg my professor to let me remake this exam because, for some reason, my brain would not switch back to Japanese. I almost cried because I was only speaking in English, and I think because I am an amazing person, my professor let me do that!” you laughed after explaining an issue with being fluent in a third language. 

“My English skills deteriorated after leaving high school, I’m rather jealous you can speak three languages,” Kirishima admitted, his head falling back onto the cold wall. “My Japanese professors probably think my Japanese sucks too.”

“Just because I am amazing and can speak three languages doesn’t mean I’m perfect at it,” you laugh, obviously trying to make him feel better about himself.

“Mm, I don’t know, you’re painting yourself as a pretty perfect person,” Kirishima sighed. “Or you have an enormous ego…”

A loud scoff came from your end of the phone, and Kirishima waited for your verbal retaliation but was met with a moment of silence.

“Oh! Welcome home!” you called out, and Kirishima quickly put together that your roommate Hagakure was home. “Yeah, no, I’m talking to someone right now! ...who? Oh, um, a friend! ...no, I tried to call you when I got home but misdialed your number and got him instead! NO! You’re not going to get a pic of him! Wait, it’s what time?!”

Kirishima’s eyes fell over to his alarm clock and saw in the dim red light that it was 04:57. 

His jaw dropped.

“Well, um, Kirishima, it seems that our call is going to end,” you whisper into the phone, and Kirishima lets out a breathless chuckle, sudden sleepiness creeping into him. “It was pretty fun chatting with you stranger, thanks for putting up with that ranting in the beginning! Most normal people wouldn’t have picked up or let me rant like that!”

“It’s no problem,” Kirishima smiled softly, his fingers stretching out to turn off the light. He licked his lips, five hours on a phone call with an absolute stranger, and he didn’t have your name, and better yet, a part of him wanted to ask if it was okay to be friends. You were magnetic to him, and he wanted to know more about you, even if this was this weird modern and accidental penpal thing. “I didn’t have anything to do today, and you were fun talking to!”

“Aww, thank you!”

Silence.

Ask, he thought, his teeth biting down onto his bottom lip. Ask!

“Um, I know this is weird and all, but do you think I can keep your number?” you ask, your voice almost timid and meek.

Kirishima’s heart rate spikes at those words, he very much wanted that, but his mouth had a mind of its own it seemed. “Why?”

“Wha— well, I just had a lot of fun talking with you! It was fun, and I don’t know, you seem like a pretty chill guy!”

His fingers gripped his phone, a warmth spreading through him when he relaxed under his sheets. “On one condition.”

“Oof, if you’re going to ask to decide between Crimson Riot or All Might you’re going to be—”

“No, no,” Kirishima lets out a snort, his shoulders rolling while he imagines the curious look coming over your face. “I would like to know your name?”

“My name? Why would you want— HOLY SHIT! I never gave you—” there was a loud noise on your end of the call, and Kirishima heard you apologize profusely before returning in a hushed whisper. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t give you my name?!”

“No,” he laughed loudly, one that was pushed from his belly, spreading warmth through his body. “You never did, but I did learn every name of every person you’ve ever talked with!”

“God,” you groan, a small whine emitted from you. “I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry! Y/l/n y/n at your service!”

Y/l/n y/n, that’s a pretty name, he thought while imagining just what you could look like. 

“Well, goodnight y/l/n, I’ll save your number, and we’ll see if you still would like to be friends when you wake up?”

There was a small noise of agreement, “I’m like a drug, Kirishima, you’ll be back for more.”

“Okay, okay, goodnight…”

“Goodnight, sweet dreams!”

“Sweet dreams.”

Kirishima listened to the line ending, and he pulled his phone away from his ear and no sooner did he do that, a text came in at what he believed to be your number:

don’t let the bed bugs bite! 🕷😱‼️

He snorted and replied back before eventually letting sleep consume him.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“You’ll never believe what just happened!” you squealed into the phone, and Kirishima laughed while wiping his sweaty face with a white towel. You had called thirty minutes earlier than usual and had caught him leaving the gym.

It had been a bit over two months since your misdial, and things with you had been going pretty well for strangers. The two of you didn’t talk every day, most weeks going by with just a single call, but they were always delightful talks. You worked most nights, and he most mornings, the two of you discovered. So most calls took place the night he didn’t have to work the following morning. 

“You got a customer who complained that there was too much salt in their meal that had no salt in it?” he asked, pulling a random story of something that had happened at his own coffee shop today. You let out an amused snort, a clear indicator that he was wrong, but found his guess to be amusing at the very least.

“No, but oddly enough, someone did ask for an insane amount of salt on their food and hated it!” you sang, clearly happy with how you found their distress to be funny.

“Close enough!” Kirishima laughed, but he was straight out of guesses, so he stopped. “So, what happened?”

“I tried coffee for the first time ever today!” you squealed loudly, and Kirishima cheered happily.

Through these two months, there were some hard facts that Kirishima had learned about you. One, you were living in the same city as him. Two, you worked at a semi-classy restaurant. Three, you had two roommates named Hagakure and Jirou. Four, you were twenty, just like him. And five, you were a child who only drank hot chocolate and tea because you were afraid of coffee.

~

“Caffeine is a drug you know,” you had snarkily teased him one night when he said he was going to make a cup of coffee. “Nice to know I’m friends with an addict!”

“If drugs were as amazing as coffee, I’d be an addict!”

“You know…” your voice whispered, your voice suddenly taking a guilty approach. “I’ve never actually tried coffee…”

“WHAT?!”

~

“Wow, look at you, becoming an old woman in front of my own eyes!” Kirishima chuckled, starting his walk back home. 

His fingers pushed the headphones to be more secure over his ears, hopeful that there it wouldn’t pick up too heavily on the wind of the outside world. 

“To be honest, it wasn’t that good, your taste buds are just tarnished from drinking that bitter crap all day!” you huff and he half imagined you turning your nose up.

“Okay, okay,” Kirishima laughed, a warmth flooding in his chest at the sounds of your muffled laughter. A visible indicator that you were also amused at this. “I hated coffee until I started working at a coffee shop, and that was because I needed to know my shit.”

“Wow, you only got that job while not being a coffee addict?” you tease. “Seems like a fake barista to me.”

“It’s pretty hard to believe, I know,” Kirishima stated his tone one of fake melancholy. “I’m so sorry for deceiving you, and honestly, I am a shit barista.”

“Aww, don’t say that!” you exclaim, and it seems like you’re ready to fight him. “I bet you put all those fancy TikTok baristas to shame!”

“TikTok?” he laughed, his pace speeding up just a bit so he would get home faster. “Wow, I am honored you think that!”

The light conversation continued, nothing too deep or too intense, just chatter about today's shifts and classes. Eventually, Kirishima made it back into his apartment complex, and stumbled into his room, collapsing onto his bed. 

“Can I ask something?” you ask suddenly, and Kirishima lets out a small hum.

“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”

“What do you look like?” you asked softly as if you were curled up in bed, seconds from letting sleep consume you. “I haven’t come up with a mental image that I like, and well, I want some hints.”

“I can just send you a picture of me,” Kirishima smiles, his eyes closing. “It would be much easier than me trying to explain to you what I look like.”

“No!” you disagree, and there's a long sigh from your end of the phone. “I’m not ready for that kind of information yet, Kiri. I just… I can’t accept a pic of you without sending one back, and I’m not mentally ready for that yet…”

“Don’t tell me the big fat Gucci bougie you is shy?!” Kirishima exclaimed, humor drowning his words as he referenced you to something you had called yourself one drunken night weeks ago.

“Not shy!” you bemoan, your voice muffling out at the end of it. “I’m more scared you’ll find me ugly and ghost me…”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Kirishima interjected, his voice stable and confident.

“Which part?”

“Both parts.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know what I look like…”

“...call it… Kirishima’s intuition,” Kirishima slowly stated, his eyebrows furrowing. “I find your voice and your personality to be attractive on their own, so I would never ghost you. And of course, appearance isn’t anything; plus, there’s no way you’re not gorgeous.”

He says these words with honest truth, and a part of him fears he overstepped and made you wildly uncomfortable with the amount of silence that is heard from your end of the line. But finally, as Kirishima is ready to apologize to you, a soft exhale is heard.

“You’re a dork,” you whisper, and a soft grin spreads on his own face. “Anyways, I’ll ask questions, you answer them first, and then I’ll do the same.”

“Sounds good!”

“Hair color?”

“Black, but I dye it red.”

“Mm, edgy teenager, I like it, and also knew that because you complained about your stained sheets! Eye color?”

“Red.”

“Oh, am I sensing a theme? How tall are you?”

“I’m… a bit over six feet?”

The list went on, most questions becoming more of a joke than anything else, but he was glad that you were asking these things because now he had an insight on how you looked too. You had told him your eye color, your hair color, how tall you were, and a whole bunch of trivial things he would have never thought to ask about to begin with.

“Okay, last question!” you cheered, happy to have finally included Kirishima into your inside joke that revolved around your eyebrows. “Do you have any distinguishing features?”

“Well, I don’t actually...” Kirishima admitted, his fingers brushing against the scar on his eye, and then it hit him. That was one! “Oh, wait—” CRASH. A loud crashing noise emitted from your side of the call.

“Shit, hold on!” you curse and Kirishima can only remain silent while he hears you yelling in the background, it was too far away for him to quite understand, but it was enough to know that it didn’t sound okay. 

Kirishima sat on his side of the call, the phone pressed to his ear while he tried to strip his gross and sweaty shirt from his body. His teeth bit into his lip, his canine pressing into the permanent indent of his lip, an indicator of how anxious he used to be. 

“Fuck, Kiri?” your voice suddenly snapped back onto the call, your tone frantic and quick.

“Everything okay?”

“No, Hagakure showed up drunker than… a drunken drunk, I don’t know expressions, ANYWAYS I know tonight is our unofficial official call night, but anyway I can get a rain check?”

There was guilt that swallowed your voice, a pang of guilt that made Kirishima warm a bit because it showed that you valued these calls, just like him. 

“Of course, I don’t have class or work Friday morning this time around, so Thursday night?”

“That works perfectly,” you sigh, gratitude. “I owe you, text you later if you don’t fall asleep! Goodnight, sweet dreams, love ya!”

Kirishima couldn’t repeat the whole statement before you hastily hung up, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face the entire time he showered. The shower didn’t take too long, and by the time he emerged from the shower, towel around his neck and his waist, he had a text message. 

sero - hey bro!!! i can’t pick up my morning shift tomorrow i know you have tonight to speak w y/n but todoroki and bakugou can’t cover it!

Kirishima sighed, he definitely didn’t have anything tomorrow anyways, he could manage with going in for an extra shift to help a friend.

kirishima - yeah sure what time?

sero - youre a life saver T-T im covering 8 am - 3 pm!!!

Kirishima sent a simple affirmative emoji before finishing up his nightly routine. 

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Kirishima looked at his apron while he was assembling himself in the backroom. The aroma of roasted coffee beans and pastries was almost pungent in the back, and he was eager to get out of there. As per employee regulations, he was to wear a black apron, a name tag, and something to hold his hair because it was a bit too long, for that, he wore a white bandana around his forehead.

“Wait, where’s my name tag?” Kirishima called out, his eyebrows furrowing when he turned out to Kaminari, who was currently in the back with him.

The blond froze and scratched the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly, “About that…”

So Kirishima was in the front of the store with a shiny silver name tag that read Hanta Sero. Because Kaminari was the best barista they had on hand currently, he was busy teaching Midoriya — their newest hire — around the bar. For now, Todoroki was nowhere to be found, and Kirishima was handling the cash register. 

Today was a slow morning, most people had their day off today, so morning coffee rush wasn’t in existence. Sure, there were a few outliers, but it was never chaotic. 

The gentle bell of the front door rang, and Kirishima automatically called out.

“Welcome!”

You had walked into the store, your eyebrows furrowed while you prayed that this was the coffee shop your roommates had been raving about. You’d never been here before, but it was the closest coffee shop available that wasn’t something generic and basic like Starbucks. You looked up from your phone at the voice, a thank you automatically being repeated while you neared the register.

You froze when you saw the red hair and the red eyes of the handsome man at the register. A careless thought entered your mind, Kirishima said he had red hair and red eyes… but he said he didn’t work today… 

A kind smile sat on his face, his eyes taking you in, waiting for you to approach him. 

This couldn’t be him, right?

The last time you had assumed a redhead working in a coffee shop was Kirishima, it had ended embarrassingly. 

“Um, hi,” you drawled out, your eyes reading the board to figure out your own order. 

Kirishima couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, you were exactly what you had described to him, but he wouldn’t ask until he was sure. He would ask you for your name after collecting your order for either tea or hot chocolate, and if it was you, he’d reveal that he was Kirishima. But he didn’t want to be wrong; he didn’t want to pin any other person as you, after all.

“I’ve never been here before,” you confess, your hand rubbing the back of your head. You were transfixed on the caramel macchiato that was spelled in the prettiest font, though, plus Hagakure promised all their coffee was good. 

“Oh, well, welcome! If you need any recommendations or have anything else to order, I can put those through while you look?”

His smile was kind, and you felt blood rush to your face, something you desperately tried to fight off by thinking of anything you didn’t like. 

“Oh! I do have two orders, though! There’s going to be one chai tea latte with three pumps of vanilla, and a lavender tea with a splash of oat milk.”

Kirishima nodded his head, “Will this be for here, or to go?”

His voice sounds so similar to Kirishima, you hoped, studying his face. While you answered that it was to go, you saw a distinctive scar on his right eye. Kirishima had said he didn’t have any distinguishing features… 

“What are your favorites here?” you ask, your eyebrows scrunched in confusion, your thoughts very evident in your face.

Kirishima couldn’t help but find hope bubbling up in his chest, there was always the possibility that you two lived in the same city-based off the same area code, and with what seemed like an incomplete knowledge in coffee, maybe…

Kirishima rambled off about the different seasonal drinks right now, his recommendations leaning towards the teas and non-coffee things primarily after his general and basic list. You seemed to take every word out of his lip like gospel, agreeing and nodding when appropriate, and his lips stretched into a grin when you bluntly exclaimed your ill knowledge of this all.

“To be honest, I only step into coffee shops to take a cute pic and then leave,” you laugh, pressing your hands against your lips and screaming a bit in your throat. 

Kirishima laughed, more confidence blooming through his body over the hope that this was you. It had to be you.

Your eyes then found the nametag on his apron, and like a sinking ship, you read Sero.

Not Kirishima.

“And for you?”

“I’ll have the caramel macchiato,” you decide, a grateful smile on your face while he looks down and writes the orders.

“A name?”

“Penny,” came your automatic response.

You never used your real name in coffee shops.

Kirishima suppressed the way that his mouth wanted to drop into a sad smile, and like two rejected teenagers, the money was exchanged. Before Kirishima could attempt to calm his disappointed soul, you walked out of the shop with the coffees and tea in hand.

“What was that about?” Kaminari asked, his eyes wide. “There was so much flirting and then poof, gone from both sides. Come on, dude, it’s my job to fail at flirting, not yours!”

Kirishima laughed, ignoring the way that his three friends looked at him with concern and curiosity. “Nothing, I just… the customer looked like how y/n described herself to be…”

“Oh… sorry, bro.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Kirishima waved it off, and without so much as another slap on the back, he went back to work.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“What the hell are you doing?”

Kirishima looked up from his phone, his fingers mid-type pausing only for a millisecond before continuing to text blindly. 

“Oh, hey, Bakubro, what’s up?” he cheerfully spoke, ignorant to the controller in the ash blond’s hand. 

“It’s your turn, shitty hair, pay fucking attention!” Bakugou barked, tossing the plastic controller into his chest. Kirishima grunted, the feeling of the plastic slamming against his chest was less than ideal, but the smile on his face didn’t waiver while he offered his best friend the controller back.

“It’s all good, you can have another turn, I can handle being out this round!”

“Kiri, that’s six rounds in a row,” Kaminari spoke up, his face in a teasing smirk.

It was then that Kirishima’s face turned approximately the same color as his hair. “I didn’t—”

“Awww, Eijirou has a little crush on y/n!!!” Kaminari sang, resulting in agreeing with noises from Sero and Midoriya. Only Bakugou and Todoroki remained silent. 

Kirishima only laughed, he knew he couldn’t deny that fact, but he wouldn’t say it aloud — especially because Bakugou seemed to hate you. It had been now four months since the two of you had ‘meet,’ and while he still had no face to imagine you with, things had taken a slightly flirty route between the two of you.

Calls were much more frequent, nearly all nights the two of you would speak, even if it was just a measly summary of the day and a ‘sweet dreams’ and a ‘goodnight’ and an ‘I love you.’ It always happened nowadays.

Tonight was an exception, of course, because he was out with his friends, and apparently, you were doing the same. 

“You can’t be fucking serious?” Bakugou spat, a laugh spluttering from his lips, but it was cold and held no humor. “You caught feelings for a person who’s too much of a fucking coward to reveal a picture of themselves?”

“That’s not fair; besides, it's not about physical appearance!” Kirishima waved him off, pressing send to his text message.

have fun tonight! text me when u get back home if ur able to!

“Just how naive can you be?” Bakugou sneered, his hand taking the phone from Kirishima's side. “Six months of talking every week, texting every day, and this y/n still hasn’t trusted you with a single picture of them? I know you said that she told you how she looked, and all that shit, but let's be real, it’s so easy to lie about how you look like when you don’t have to provide a picture. What y/n say? Big tits? Big ass? Small waist? What about her did she say that made you so fucking insane over her?”

“N-Nothing! We didn’t talk about our body types!” Kirishima’s eyes widened significantly, the once comfortable atmosphere of the room wholly gone while Bakugou’s vermillion eyes seethed silently. “None of that matters! I told you the truth! I like y/n because of her personality, she’s manly, and I like that a lot! It’s not about her appearance, how pessimistic can you get, bro! I promise you, she’s trustworthy!”

“Is she really?”

“What?”

“How can you be in love with someone who you trust entirely, but doesn’t trust you at all? You said that y/n won’t show you a picture of herself because she’s scared you won’t like her? How is that trusting you? How is that fucking fair? To me, that sounds like some fucked up catfishing thing.”

“We talk on the phone, dude,” Kirishima said softly, but those thoughts were invading his mind. Did you not trust him? He knew he wasn’t the best option in the world, and he had accepted that in time and by improving on what he thought he was best at. But did you, after all this time, really not believe him when he claimed nothing would change when he saw you? “Catfishes don’t even do that… besides, the first call was by accident, why would someone—”

“Dunce face, what’s that one fucking idiotic thing you do for fun?” Bakugou snapped at the blond, not even bothering to look at him.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I do that you—” Kaminari laughed awkwardly, his smile tight and awkward.

“Kaminari.”

“I call… random numbers… pretending to have a big issue to see how they react…” he admitted, and Kirishima’s stomach clenched.

“And?” Bakugou snarled.

“I pretend to be a girl…”

“Don’t be stupid, Bakugou, this is more than one time!” Kirishima groaned.

“It's a voice that you can’t attach a face to, who knows if this is a person you can trust! People with voice acting exist in this world, how the hell do you possibly know that they’re not one of them?! Be fucking real, if ‘y/n’ trusted you, if that’s even their name, they wouldn’t be hiding their face from you.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything else, the acid piling in his throat was too much for him to even look at his friend. The night didn’t really recover from that conversation, and Kirishima eventually found himself back home.

He sat at the edge of his bed, his phone in his hands, waiting for a message from you. He couldn’t sleep, and even though he had work tomorrow morning, he found himself wide awake, unable to let sleep consume.

It was three in the morning when you sent a text, his eyes still wide awake, and with shaky fingers, he read the message.

i just got home can you believe that i drank three cups of wine and didnt get tipsy??????? thats on being a raging alcoholic ;D

Kirishima wanted to laugh; on god, he would’ve found this beyond delightful to read because he knew you couldn’t handle your liquor, but that bitter stream of acid destroyed the humor in his thoughts.

Were you really telling the truth? Was this all a lie?

He didn’t text back; instead, his finger pressed the call button, and he held his breath.

“Helloooo?” a voice picked up on the second ring, but it wasn’t your voice. It was a voice he didn’t recognize at all.

‘Voice actors,’ Bakugou’s voice reentered his thoughts, and the phone in his hand nearly dropped.

“Sorry, hello?” the voice he knew as you finally came through, and Kirishima let out a shallow breath, one so small, so mediocrely weak it burned his lungs.

“Do you trust me?” he asked softly, maybe too softly because you asked with a strained laugh for him to repeat his words. “Do you trust me, y/n?”

There was a pause on your end, too long a beat for Kirishima to be comfortable with.

“Of course I trust you, Ei, are you okay?”

“Do you actually trust me, or are you lying?”

“Woah there,” you said a small laugh on your tongue, but there was only confusion in it, not your contagious sound. “Did you drink? It’s a work night, you never do that!”

“Answer the question,” Kirishima spoke with finality, his shoulders tense, tears pushing past his eyes while he struggled to maintain composure.

Prove Bakugou wrong, please, prove Bakugou wrong.

“Of course I do,” you spoke with genuine clarity, but still, Kirishima was rattled, his confidence blown. “What’s going on?”

Did he want to confess to his insecurities? Was it worth it? His breathing became frantic, almost as if he was going insane just thinking about where his thoughts were. But Kirishima was never good at hiding things, no he was as open as a book.

“Why won’t you let me see you… we’ve been friends for six months, and the only thing I know about you is your eye color and your hair color. It’s so insanely generic that I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, your voice small, almost a whisper of all the energy one could have at this time of night.

“I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t trust me, who’s using me,” he spoke with perfect clarity that hid away his insecurities about this all. “For all, I know nothing about you is real, that this is all just some ploy to hurt me in the end. Six months and you can’t trust me with a single meet up or even a picture? I just… has this been a game for you, y/n? Or is that even your name.”

The call ended and a single message held on his screen, this call has been dropped, but you didn’t seem to want to call him back.

Kirishima didn’t sleep a wink that night, his words coming back to bite him in the throat each and every time he thought he was close enough to sleep. Insecurities riled up in him, consuming him entirely.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

He tried to call back.

For fourteen straight days, Kirishima attempted to call you back.

Every time he called you, he would always hang up before he could take back his words. But each call, after he had prematurely hung up, he would recant his mean words to the unresponsive phone. He did trust you, he was weak, he was unmanly to assume those things. You could take, however long it took to finally trust him again because he would wait for you no matter what. He apologized again and again until the very last one he broke down into silent tears, a single message of ‘I hope one day you’ll forgive me’ hung weakly on his voice and put his phone away. 

It was sixteen days since he had spoken those cruel words to you, and in that time, he didn’t regret finally talking about his ill feelings towards wanting to reveal yourself to him. But he did regret the way it came out; instead of it being a deep and personal conversation, it came out as bitter and one-sided. The two of you were disconnected, and he felt empty.

But he couldn’t focus on it, not today, after all, it was Bakugou’s birthday, and everyone was gathering at the local fancy restaurant to celebrate. 

Kirishima dressed up presentable, wearing a navy blue button-up, and dark slacks. He walked towards the entrance of the restaurant where Kaminari, Sero, and Midoriya were eagerly leading the group of them into the building. Typically Kirishima would’ve been with them in terms of spirit, but he felt energyless at the moment.

With the moon high in the sky, Kirishima stilled when Bakugou called out his name.

He stared at his best friend, the ash blond’s lip curled into a sneer while he huffed, “Listen, Kirishima, I’m sorry for what I said that night.”

“What? Oh, no, it’s okay, Bakugou!” Kirishima laughed, his hand slapping to the back of his neck. “You weren’t wrong.”

“I never said I was wrong,” Bakugou grunted, his eyes locked on Kirishima’s while he shoved his hands into his pockets. Kirishima stilled, unsure as to where this would be leading. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I know that Mina hurt you badly, and you’re too big of an idiot to not see when things arise. Maybe y/n is genuine, but if you aren’t fucking honest with her about your own feelings about how she’s so secretive, it’s not going to work.”

Kirishima smiled softly, a weak shrug moving through him, “I know, thanks, man.”

Bakugou nodded, and without a word, he continued on ahead where Midoriya was yelling at them to hurry up and come so they could be seated. 

Kirishima sighed, rolling out his shoulders before following afterward.

Kirishima followed after the hostess, smiling at her gratefully when she sat the group into their own private room and left. 

“Bakugou’s paying, right?” Kaminari stage whispered to Midoriya while staring at the prices on the menu.

“Eat shit, dunce face, learn how to save up your fucking money the next time you offer to come to this fucking place!” Bakugou roared, hearing the whisper.

“I’ll be covering the bill,” Todoroki informed with a smirk on his face. Kirishima laughed, looking at the prices and indeed agreeing with Kaminari’s statement. Having a wealthy friend was very convenient at times like this.

“Hi, welcome to Eiko, I’ll be your waitress today!” a voice chirped from the entrance of the room, and Kirishima froze, he recognized that voice and face.

It was the person he had mistaken for you all those months ago.

By the smile on your face, it seemed that you recognized them all too.

“And what is your name,” Sero winked, his eyes captivated by you.

“Oh, haha, sorry, my name is y/n,” you smiled, moving the menus you held in your hand to show the silver nametag on your uniform.

“Oh, like Kirishima’s y/n,” Kaminari laughed, pointing a finger at Kirishima, not at all being as quiet as he probably thought himself to be. But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who thought that because while Kirishima was staring at your face, embarrassingly taking you in, you followed Kaminari’s finger.

Your sight sat on the redhead in the middle whose name was Kirishima, and you straightened up in what felt like panic. 

“You’re Kirishima?” you asked quietly, your finger grasping the menus so tightly, your knuckles turned white. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

“The one and only,” Kaminari voiced for him, his arm thrown over Kirishima’s shoulder while he nodded like a scholar. “And why do you ask?”

“Shut the fuck up, dunce face.” Bakugou hissed.

Kirishima continued to stare at you, a million words running through his head, yet not a single one being translated on his tongue. You were beautiful.

What should he say?

What could he say?

Your lips pursed, and you shook your head, a smile of disbelief spreading across your face, “Unbelievable.”

“Y/n—”

“Be quiet,” you snap, your tone angry, but your eyes beyond hurt. “What can I get you guys to drink?”

Dinner wasn’t exactly a pleasant time, you came in and left faster than anyone could blink, and yet none of their drinks went empty, nor did they really have a problem. Much quicker than Kirishima would’ve liked, they were done and were soon piling out of the restaurant after Kirishima decided to leave a very, very generous tip.

“I’m going to stay until I can speak to y/n,” Kirishima said, waving off his friends who were expecting him to follow. But he couldn’t, not when he felt like the world's biggest ass for what he did to you.

“Good luck,” they all wished him well before eventually leaving, knowing better than to stick around.

So there at the outside bench, Kirishima waited.

Two hours he sat there until you emerged from the front door, your hair was no longer put back, you held your apron in your hand, and your purse on your shoulder.

“Y/n!” he called out, his feet no longer cemented into place; he strode after you.

You didn’t seem to pick up the pace, nor did you slow down. You were focused on your car that sat at the edge of the parking lot, and you ignored his calls.

It wasn’t until his hand touched your shoulder, and he appeared before you did Kirishima freeze again. Angry hot tears slid down your face, your face screwed up, your shoulders stiff.

“What do you want, Kirishima?” you spat, but there was only exhaustion in your voice, nothing bitter, nothing at all what Kirishima deserved from you.

“I want to apologize,” Kirishima whispered, his hands struggling to reach out and wipe your tears away. You were crying because of him, he did this to you. “I was a dick, I was… beyond unmanly to you, and I’m so sorry! I just let Bakugou get into my head, and I’ve never been a secure person because, well, I’m just… fuck, I don’t even know, but all I know is that you didn’t deserve this. And I like you so much, but I didn’t — I don’t know what to do?!”

Your eyes stared up at him, they were bright with tears, wounded beyond anything Kirishima could hope to fix.

“That night, you said if I didn’t trust you, but I did trust you! I’ve always trusted you—” your finger jabbed his chest— “but it was you who didn’t trust me! I get that it’s hard to not have a picture of someone you care about after a long length of time, but we were always fine for a while! It was going to happen, but while I trusted you, I didn’t trust myself, okay?! I couldn’t trust myself to see that if you were so much more handsome than me that I couldn’t be confident enough to let myself be friends with you! I constantly fuck up relationships when I have crushes on people because… I don’t know, I just do! But you were someone with no risk and the highest risk, and I wanted to be sure in my own feelings before giving you a picture of me! But… fuck, Kirishima, you didn’t trust me!”

Kirishima’s throat tightened, the tears on your face a guilty reminder that this was because of him. But how could he fix this?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands grabbing onto your arms just above the elbow, and his head hung by your forehead, not quite touching you, but just enough that his spiked hair teased the atoms between you. You were taller than he expected, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t deal with, no, not at all. “You’re right, I didn’t trust you, and you didn’t deserve that. I don’t think there’s anything that I can say, or do for that matter, to change your mind, and I’m sorry. I just panicked because who gets into this type of situation, how do I tell my phone friend that I have feelings for her? I was weak, and I am so fucking pathetic, and I just want to make things better. If you’ll let me be your friend again…”

He slowly looked back up at you, and you were frozen in your place, tears falling down your face still.

“I don’t think we can be friends,” you confessed, and Kirishima’s heart broke in two, his hands dropping from your arms in his embarrassment and humiliation.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry still, um… maybe I’ll see you again?” Kirishima smiled despite it all, he kept smiling despite the crack in his chest and his soul.

“You will,” you murmured, and before Kirishima could blink, your fists wrapped in his collar, and you brought him down for an ardent kiss that he was not quick to respond to. It took three seconds for him to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in, kissing you again and again and again.

It didn’t seem to matter to either one of you that you were both now kissing without a care in the world in the middle of a parking lot, because you both had your emotions exposed to the other, and you didn’t want to be friends. At least not when the man who held your heart confessed that you held his in yours. 

The two of you weren’t truly disconnected, it was just a little lost moment in your call.

[samstree]

splash of the waves, and the sand castle crumbles (2)

(geraskier, prince!jaskier, fairytale elements, angst with a happy ending, insecurities, jaskier whump, chest pain, 4.8k)

Geralt discovers that being with a prince comes at a price. Jaskier deals with some bad news.

previous: [1], read on AO3

A big thanks to my amazing beta @wanderlust-t!! 💖💖

Geralt will always come second in Jaskier’s heart.

As he sinks into the soft mattress and gathers the prince into his arms, the realization becomes ever so clear.

His fingers find those faint freckles on Jaskier’s back, the ones he can already trace by heart without looking. The press of Jaskier’s body nuzzles into his. The clamminess from their earlier passion makes the closeness a little uncomfortable, but Geralt can’t seem to find the strength to pull away.

Instead, he moves closer to Jaskier to observe him carefully.

The prince has this look on his face that Geralt never liked, one that suggests he’s lost somewhere far away, so Geralt brushes a strand of stray hair away to guide those blue eyes back to the presence.

“What are you worrying about?”

“Huh?” The corners of Jaskier’s eyes crinkle when he snaps out of the trance. “Nothing, um—court happenings. Valdo has received news on the investigation in Cintra.”

“About the assassination?”

“Dead end, again.” Jaskier chews his lips. “No concrete proof that it was ordered by Calanthe, nothing except for some whispers you stumbled upon in a tavern. Valdo is looking elsewhere now.”

Geralt tilts his head in sympathy, hating the idea of the prince living with one more potential threat lurking in the dark. “How can I help?” he asks.

“You stopped them. I reckon that’s plenty.” Jaskier leans in, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “I won’t bore you with grim details, my dear. But perhaps…distract me? If you truly want to help.”

So Geralt presses his lips everywhere he can reach. One on the crown of Jaskier’s head, another at his hairline, and then on those already kiss-swollen lips, so enticing in the candlelight.

The prince responds eagerly, his deft fingers roaming across Geralt’s chest and provoking him with the softest touch, soothing and aggravating the ache deep within him. A surprised giggle escapes Jaskier’s lips as he catches Geralt’s hand trailing down under the cover.

“Really? Again?” the prince threads their fingers together and pulls Geralt’s hand away, subtly interrupting his not-so-subtle attempt. “The way you screamed my name earlier, my dear, I thought you would pass out from the sheer intensity of it. Witcher stamina or not, you can’t possibly still want more.”

“I don’t… scream.”

The defense is so weak that Jaskier’s grin breaks out in amusement. He continues to kiss Geralt’s knuckles with the utmost care, but the ache in his stomach still simmers.

Geralt groans with frustration.

“What is it?” Jaskier, ever so perceptive, notices his turmoil. The bliss on his face soon turns into concern and Geralt regrets ever letting on his emotions. “Talk to me, darling. It’s okay.”

“I—” Geralt realizes how silly it would sound, but Jaskier is waiting for an answer. “Tonight is the first time I’ve seen you since Ellander. Since the striga.”

“Since you accepted my hand in marriage.” Jaskier places an open-mouthed kiss on the scar on Geralt’s neck. “Darling, I wish I could have stayed with you at the temple. You know I do, but there was—”

“The coup at the border. I understand.” Geralt chastises himself for even bringing it up. He remembers how tired Jaskier looked after riding day and night to reach Temeria, how attentive he was when it came to nursing his injuries. “Uh—forget I said anything. You had to go, Jask. It’s fine.”

He also remembers when the urgent message came four days after they were betrothed and the sinking feeling in his stomach to watch Jaskier leave—albeit reluctantly. At the time, the prince kissed him so fiercely, his touch lingering on the signet ring he left on Geralt’s finger. Jaskier repeated his promise so many times, to return to him as soon as possible.

Geralt remembers the disappointment when he didn’t.

“It’s not fine.” Jaskier looks almost sad. “It’s never fine to leave you when you are hurt. It’s never fine to break my promise to you. Geralt, don’t you know you are my whole world? It’s my job to take care of you. Of course, you have every right to be angry with me.”

Except you also have to take care of the whole world.

Literally.

The world will always take precedence over a mere witcher.

“I missed you, that’s all.” Strangely, the admission lifts a weight off his chest. “I’m not angry with you for wanting to keep your people safe.”

“You aren’t?”

“I just—” Geralt’s stomach churns at the uncertain look on Jaskier’s face. “I just want to be with you, all of you. For more than four days at a time.”

“You have me.” Jaskier scrambles onto his elbow, not quite letting go of Geralt’s hand. “I’m here, all of me.”

“For tonight.”

“And tomorrow, and every day after.” He presses another kiss to the ring. “You’ll see, starting tomorrow morning. No more coups. I’ll stay with you when the tailors come over. Knowing how much you hate choosing designs and having people fuss all over you, it’d be cruel if I didn’t. It’s important that my husband looks dashing on his wedding day.”

“Hmm.”

The word husband is all it takes. Geralt finds himself drawn to Jaskier’s blinding smile, like a moth to a flame.

It should scare him, the thought of binding himself to someone. A witcher is not meant to stay at one place, with one person. And yet, Jaskier promised him the freedom to return to the path anytime as well as a seat at the Aedirnian court as the prince’s husband.

Because that’s the kind of person Jaskier is. When he’s in, he’s all in. In both his political life and with Geralt, Jaskier is ever so consistent. When he’s with Geralt, it’s like he’s only existing for the man in front of him, only in the here and now, as if his sun rises and falls with the tiniest sign of happiness on Geralt’s face. And yet, when he’s away…

It’s the world and the people the crown prince has sworn to protect.

It’ll always be the world before him.

Always second.

Geralt rubs the pad of his thumb on the signet ring, the proof of Jaskier’s devotion. The weight on his ring finger has become so comforting in Jaskier’s absence.

Maybe it’s enough. He has witnessed how Jaskier gives an ocean of love eagerly and unreservedly, to his work and his music. If Jaskier’s heart is willing to spare him anything like he’s someone worth loving, worth keeping, it’s enough.

Geralt drifts off with the prince soft and pliant, draped all over him.

And he wakes up to a cold bed, the familiar scent of citrus soap still faint on the sheets. Resting on the pillow, where tousled brown hair should be is a note scribbled in haste.

My darling witcher,

I must ride out before dawn as a riot has broken out near the settlement. It seems that men’s prejudice has not only made them seethe with hatred, but ruined our time together as well.

Forgive me for my absence, and for not having the courage to wake you before I leave.

Remember that I love you. I love you.

I love you,

J.

Geralt’s grip tightens around the paper before letting go of it with resignation.

Perhaps he has made peace with being second in Jaskier’s heart. He just wishes the proof is not so solid in ink.

*

Geralt stops in his tracks when he sees Valdo Marx standing outside the kitchen, his blonde curls shining even in the low candlelight. There’s a tankard of wine casually held in his palm.

“Well, isn’t this the White Wolf himself?” The lord flicks a strand of hair out of his face, checking the witcher up and down. “What brings you here so late at night?”

“Could ask you the same,” Geralt doesn’t want to converse with the man for too long. Every time he speaks with Marx, the lord always hides an edge in his words that makes the witcher uneasy. “And Geralt is fine, as I said last time.”

“Of course, how can I forget the name of the man who captured our Prince Julian’s heart. For so many years, he thought of marriage as a mere joke. A songbird is not to be caged, he said, or he will be forever songless. Julian was ever so dramatic on this matter. But that’s before you swooped in and suddenly he’s reduced to a lovestruck fool. It’s always Geralt this, Geralt that, even before the ball.” Valdo leans against the doorframe, squinting and scrutinizing.

“You are in a chatty mood, my lord,” the witcher dismisses the salty comment and walks toward the door. “Excuse me for not having the time. I’m only here to fetch Jaskier some food.”

“No need.” Valdo puts a hand on Geralt’s elbow to stop him from entering the kitchen. The smell of alcohol is strong around him. “I’ve ordered the maid to prepare something to be brought up. I know Julian must have slept through dinner. How is he now?”

Geralt hums. The too-familiar tone with which Valdo speaks of Jaskier has always put him off, as well as the hand that’s currently resting on his arm. Even though the urge to shake the man off is palpable, Geralt is determined to remain civil to the most important member of Jaskier’s council.

“His heart acted up earlier. It’s fine now. But he’s still resting.”

“From the fatigue, I imagine.” Valdo releases Geralt’s arm, his face falling. “The riot was a real pain in the neck. The people living near Dol Blathanna have been displeased since the settlement started, but one that lasts a fortnight is a first. Julian barely slept a wink. He was dead on his feet by the end of it.”

And now he’s just woken up, waiting for Geralt to return.

“I should go if you have everything sorted—”

“Do you know how dangerous it got at one point? How out of control the situation was?” Valdo’s piercing eyes meet Geralt’s, his tone demanding. “How come you, the deadliest witcher and Julian’s betrothed, were not at his side protecting him?”

“Jaskier never wanted me involved. I assume the Butcher won’t be good for his looks.”

“You would be more stupid than I thought I you believed that bullshit,” Valdo curses loudly. “He wanted to propose after meeting you twice, even though his whole council was against the idea. And you think he’s ashamed of you? No, he’s leaving you out of everything to protect you.”

Geralt frowns, but the lord continues.

“He cares so much about your stand, your neutrality or whatever moral code your kind holds on for dear life. He believes accepting his hand has already compromised your beliefs—as if marrying a prince is such a chore—so he won’t ask your loyalty to Aedirn. He won’t ask you to fight for him.”

The bitterness in Valdo’s voice is nothing compared to the bile that rises up in Geralt’s throat.

“If I was with him…”

“He’d be safer. The guards can’t always stand between him and danger, as your first meeting has already proved.”

The lord’s jaw tightens before downing the content of his cup. The silence hangs in the quiet night.

As much as Geralt dislikes Valdo’s snarky remarks and jabs, he cannot bring himself to hate the man. His devotion to Jaskier is unmatched even amongst his closest advisors, let alone the fact that they were childhood friends.

Even when no one supported Jaskier, Valdo was there. And for that, Geralt will forever be grateful. Even though a witcher never answers to nobles, perhaps an explanation is owed to Valdo Marx.

“I am loyal to Jaskier if that’s your concern.” Geralt says in earnest. “He has my sword, even though I’m no knight.”

Valdo crosses his arms, the tankard still in his hand and tipping sideways. A drop of red liquid hits the floor.

“Good. If you have to marry our prince, you might as well take your duty of serving him more seriously. Although only the gods know why he chose you over so many more deserving.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at the bitterness in that statement.

“Like a court advisor? A politician of the highest rank?” he stares down at the other man. “A long-time friend, maybe?”

No surprise flashes across the other man’s eyes, but being a lord his whole life means anything can be hidden under the calm surface.

He does let out a tight laugh, the wine loosening his tongue. “The whole continent will know before Julian.” He shakes his head, mumbling something incoherent. “Did you know he started to sing because of me? I took lute lessons one summer in Cidaris. I was eight and Julian was two years younger, and what do you know! He was better than me within six months. Ha! With talent like that, it’s a shame princes aren’t allowed to be bards.”

Geralt feels equally proud and jealous to hear the childhood tale. Jaskier has not talked about his relationship with Valdo much, apart from the fact that both of them were extremely competitive growing up. Although it is not difficult to imagine if a six-year-old Jaskier was as infuriatingly persistent as he is now.

“Are you to flaunt how well you know him again?” Geralt almost scowls. “How you know him better than anyone because you’ve known him for two decades longer?”

“I should remind you, witcher, that I’m also friends with people more powerful beyond your imagination. Mages who can dispose of a witcher with the snap of a finger.” Valdo straightens his back as if it’ll make him more imposing. “Julian may never listen to me on the matter of his marriage, but if you ever harm a hair—”

“What’s left of me will only be found in the deepest dungeon of Aedirn, I know.” Geralt holds his gaze steadily. These threats would be laughable if not so tiring. “No need to repeat yourself so many times, my lord.”

The promise hangs in the air. Just when Valdo Marx opens his mouth again, they are interrupted by soft footsteps padding from the other end of the hallway.

“Geralt? What’s taking so—Oh, Valdo.” Jaskier blinks while turning the corner, his sleep-rumpled hair sticking to all directions. His nightshirt is all wrinkled and unbuttoned halfway down, revealing thick chest hair. A soft woolen robe is draped around the prince’s shoulders. “Why are you still here? It’s so late, just go home already.”

And Valdo Marx, wordsmith and seasoned politician, is spluttering.

“I—Julian.” The other lord bows, way too formally, and clears his throat. His eyes are darting all over the place, avoiding the unkept picture of the prince. His already flushed face is turning a bright red. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. That is…um, why I stayed.”

“I’m fine, just tired.” Jaskier rubs at his heart in the guise of adjusting the shirt. “Now will you go? You did so well, as always. You deserve some rest.” Despite the weariness in Jaskier’s eyes, a hearty smile lights up his face, and Geralt hears Valdo’s breaths catch.

“If you say so, Julian.” The lord nods before taking his leave, throwing another stern look over his shoulder at the witcher, only to avert them when Jaskier drops all pretense and burrows into Geralt’s embrace with his back to the exit. The clicking of Valdo’s heels fastens almost desperately.

Geralt would have sympathized with the man if he didn’t have something much more important to take care of.

“Are you really fine?” Geralt asks quietly, frowning when Jaskier’s freezing hands press against the nape of his neck, and the prince shakes his head faintly.

“Not when you’re held up for so long, darling. I’m still waiting for my late-night snack,” Jaskier mumbles into the crook of Geralt’s neck.

“It’ll be brought up in a minute.”

“You are the sweetest.”

“Valdo, actually. He thought of it.”

“Oh.” Jaskier pulls away, surprised. “Have I told you that I learned the lute just to spite him, back when we were kids?”

“You can tell me now.”

The prince wraps the robe tighter around his torso and steers Geralt towards their bedroom. “It’s a great tale that ends with my sweeping triumph, my dear. If you will just follow me.”

Gladly.

Valdo’s words keep turning in Geralt’s head for the rest of the evening as he helps Jaskier with a simple meal before letting him retire again. Asleep for the second time, the prince looks uncharacteristically small, his frame swathed by the thick velvety blankets, carefully tucked around him to fend off the chills. A shadow falls under his long lashes, making Jaskier’s features appear a lot younger than he is, a fragile buttercup, even an innocent one.

But Geralt’s prince is anything but innocent. Not when he’s seen no less evil than anyone on this continent, not when he’s hurt deeply for acting against it.

Geralt wraps his body around the prince, and knows for a fact that he is willing to follow Jaskier anywhere on this journey.

*

Geralt fusses with the cuffs of his ceremonial doublet one last time when the servant rushes in.

“It’s the king,” the boy says with rounded eyes. “He just collapsed, sir. The prince is with him.”

When he gets to the other side of the castle, there must be more than a dozen people in the corridor, close friends of the royal family waiting outside of the wooden double doors. Among them is Valdo, pacing anxiously at the edge of the crowd.

There are only two heartbeats in the king’s chamber, one steady, the other one weak and erratic, like a candle in the wind.

Geralt doesn’t need to smell the decay in the air or the stale melancholy trapped in the building to know that the king is dying.

Through the closed doors, Jaskier’s soft whimpers follow the king’s hoarse murmurs. Geralt forces his heightened senses away from what must be a private moment, the last heart-to-heart Jaskier will ever have with his father. He shouldn’t intrude.

The collar is too tight. Geralt rests his hand against the door by instinct, wanting more than anything to be with Jaskier, to hold and comfort him. Waiting out here might just be the cruelest torture when Jaskier is hurting in there.

“Geralt,” Valdo interrupts the witcher’s wandering mind, “I’m sorry that it’s happening today.”

Geralt blinks at the genuine sympathy on the other man’s face. “It’s hardly about me, Valdo.”

They turn their heads towards the king’s bedchamber in unison. The young prince sitting at his father’s deathbed is the single focus of both men, of everyone standing in this corridor, and soon enough, of this entire country and all of the northern kingdoms.

“Still, I was warming up to you, witcher. It’s a shame your big day has to end like this.”

Geralt hums, and, “Thank you, my lord.”

In the dim light, Geralt’s attire appears to be a homogenous dark fabric, the embroidery easily overlooked—buttercups, threaded with the same black as the silk. Subtle, but they are there. There are hidden buttercups all over him, weaving through his color and laying claim.

Jaskier would appreciate the design. Geralt brushes his thumb over one flower sadly.

“Did he tell you already?” Valdo asks.

“About what?”

“The investigation.”

A frown creases between Geralt’s brows. “I thought you couldn’t trace it back to Calanthe? That there was no proof.”

“Because it wasn’t her. Think about it. Since when has Calanthe resorted to a shady kill like this in the past? The Lioness was angry at our prince and she was vocal about it, but you’d think she’d just charge across the Yaruga with a sword in her hand,” the blonde man snorts. “We were looking the wrong way.”

“Jaskier never told me.” Geralt stands there, dumbfounded.

“He was protecting you. Again.”

Annoyance licks up in Geralt’s chest, burning for answers. “What is the truth, then? You have no inclination of doing the same, Valdo. Just tell me.”

The lord drags the witcher away from the murmuring crowd and lowers his voice in secrecy. “We were overthinking it by assuming it was an elaborate plan, but it hit me one day. How can we be so blind when it’s right in front—”

“Out with it.” Geralt grits his teeth and finally the noble sighs and ceases stalling.

“A friendly fire.”

“The poisonous arrow was friendly.” Geralt deadpans.

“When it was sent by someone who only wished to deter Julian from furthering his plans and angering every other king in the north by siding with the elves. Someone who arranged an attempt on his life only to scare him off, but didn’t anticipate the one million things that could go wrong on the day.” Valdo sends a heavy look to the closed double door. “Someone dear to Julian. Someone who has regretted the decision since.”

Geralt feels like all air has been punched out of his lungs. His knuckles crack and his nails are close to drawing blood from the palm. It’s because of Valdo’s hand halting him in place that Geralt is not charging into the room.

“His own father…” Geralt murmurs, suddenly all strength saps from his body and he just wants to get Jaskier out of this damned place, away from the man who’s supposed to support him but instead almost took his life. “I need to go in.”

“Don’t. These people will know something’s wrong. This cannot get out,” Valdo hisses. Down the hall, a few lords and ladies are already throwing them some curious looks.

“Jaskier knows this,” Geralt says, shaking off the buzzing in his ears.

“And he’s made his peace with it, and now they are spending their last moments together. Your anger, or mine, is—”

The double doors open with a creak, and there Jaskier is, eyes red-rimmed but his back straight.

“—pointless.”

Valdo completes the sentence but Geralt pays no mind. When he reaches Jaskier’s side with a few quick strides, there’s no other heartbeat inside the room, only silence. His world narrows down to the thrumming in Jaskier’s chest.

The palpitation is unmistakable. Fluttering dangerously.

So is the stench of overpowering pain, mixed with the distinct citrus floral scent that is Jaskier and the never-ending decay of a sick old man. Geralt almost gags.

“The king is dead,” the prince announces the tragedy. A few nobles reply with kind words. It all fades into background noises.

Geralt’s gaze fixes on the man he’s supposed to marry this very day, and watches as Jaskier bites into his lips when another quiver happens upon the spasming muscles of his heart like the wings of a hummingbird. A lady reaches out to offer condolences, so Jaskier takes her hands and thanks her. His features reveal nothing.

The paleness could be taken as a result of grief, the tremor as well. The guests remain blissfully oblivious to the agony their prince is in, and one by one they come to him and linger.

But Jaskier’s agony cannot escape Geralt’s eyes, not when he’s the one most intimate to those heartaches that have been with Jaskier since the day they met. A sheen of sweat gathers at Jaskier’s forehead, his lips pursed into a tight line, but the prince won’t show any weakness to these people. Instead, he stands tall and proud, stubborn like the first dandelion in the spring, blossoming where the wind is cruel and the soil still frozen.

“Julian,” Valdo calls out the name like a prayer.

“I need you, Valdo.” Jaskier’s voice cracks, the first outward indication of discomfort. “We’ve found ourselves in the most precarious situation, and I—”

Jaskier breaks off for air, squeezes his eyes shut to ride out a chill down his spine. Geralt catches the prince by the elbow and instantly Jaskier leans into the support.

“I will make the arrangement for you, my prince,” Valdo replies when the prince schools his expression back to normal and gives out a trusting smile.

“I depend on you, all of you,” Jaskier addresses the crowd, “for the future of this land we share. But now it’s time for me to grieve, my good people. Allow me some privacy and time with my husband.”

The slip goes unnoticed when the lords and ladies are led out and the only people left are Geralt, Valdo and Jaskier himself. The prince lets out a labored gasp, staggers, and sags against Geralt’s chest like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Shit. Jask—” Geralt scrambles to keep him up but Jaskier drops like a leaf in the wind and they both end up on the floor in a heap of limbs. He looks to Valdo in desperation.

“I’ll get the healer. Julian, please hang on.” The other man’s hand lingers by Jaskier’s wrist before he hurries away, but the prince seems unaware.

And it’s just them, alone on their wedding day.

Jaskier’s ragged breathing echoes in the empty hallway and Geralt has never felt more helpless in his long life. The prince’s face crumbles in agony and his body won’t stop shaking.

“Hey, just look at me.” Geralt places Jaskier’s cheek against his shoulder so their gazes meet, the cornflower blue not responding. “Why do you need to be so stubborn? Damn you, Jaskier…”

“You are wea—wearing buttercups, Geralt. Look—” A boneless hand comes up to caress the dark embroidery on Geralt’s collar, Jaskier’s eyes sparkle with fascination before a tremor racks his body again and contorts him into a writhing mess.

“Shh. Don’t talk, Jask. Save your strength.”

Geralt’s words are drowned in fear, and he can only wrap a steady hand around Jaskier’s cold, clammy one and hold it over the prince’s frantic heart in the hope of easing the tightly wound muscles underneath.

“But…but I’m all over you. Like you are all over me. See?” Jaskier squeezes Geralt’s fingers and that’s when he notices the wolf pattern sewn into Jaskier’s sleeve for the first time, silver thread against white. A perfect symmetry between them.

Despite himself, the corners of Geralt’s lips tug into a sad smile, and it is soon returned by Jaskier. His eyes well up in the process. From the physical strain or grief, Geralt isn’t sure.

“I don’t need it to know that I’m yours, my prince. Now and always.”

Where Jaskier bit into his lips earlier seeps with crimson, a stark contrast against his bloodless complexion, the look in his eyes dreamy and far-away.

“My knight in shining armor. My savior.” Jaskier says in earnest before something dawns in his eyes and devastation sets in. A whimper chokes in his throat. “You, Geralt…Will you betray me too? Even…my own father. The person closest to me. But how can he? How—”

The prince squirms against Geralt’s chest and struggles to take in air, his cheeks soaked wet with sweat and tears. Something twists in Geralt’s stomach powerlessly as he hears the wheezing sounds in Jaskier’s lungs.

“I won’t, Jaskier. Please,” Geralt pleads into Jaskier’s hair but it falls on deaf ears. Strings of words tumble out of his mouth, delirious and nonsensical.

“We didn’t even have the time…couldn’t even make it right. There was no time…”

Geralt shushes him and tries to calm Jaskier’s breathing by stroking his back but it only makes it worse. The deterioration is happening too fast, juxtaposed with grief and shock that Jaskier’s already weakened heart cannot handle. Geralt fears the worst.

“My father, I—they all hurt me and leave me…Like my… Don’t leave me, G’ralt—" Jaskier clings and pleads, but cannot escape the cage made out of his sorrow.

“I won’t. Not when you’ve promised the same, Jask. Stay with me. Just stay with me, please.”

He’s trying.

Jaskier is trying and failing. And it’s the last straw.

“It hurts too much.”

With that, blue eyes roll into the back of his head and Jaskier collapses in Geralt’s embrace, the column of his neck exposed with the strain and the pulse underneath faint like a whisper. His listless hand slips from Geralt’s grip and hits the floor.

Carefully as if any more force would break Jaskier’s skin, Geralt presses his lips to Jaskier’s still ones and tastes of copper and salt. He draws out the kiss like in those fairytales, like a proper true love’s kiss. When he finally pulls away, a swarm of healers and nurses are surrounding them and Geralt is pulled away by hands he doesn’t recognize.

But Jaskier doesn’t wake from the kiss.

Not like in the stories.

---

I know Jaskier isn’t having the best day but I promise this story has a happy ending. <3

Also I’m not sure who wants to be tagged for this one, but feel free to tell me ;)

[incarnateirony]

15.15: The Absent Mother

I’ve had to take a great deal of time to pull my thoughts together on this episode because it was so MUCH. I’ve said in the past that I wasn’t a fan of Davy; he often layered his things very thinly. But today was a masterfully interwoven piece to the point I literally watched another show for an hour while thinking about it, went and took a shower for half an hour to scrub my head clean, and came back to this and STILL sat to write about it.

So if you’re new to my meta, I’m going to break the ice. You need to read my The Generational Family post to dip your toes in. It speaks in plain english things that will be less-plain english in this post.

If you’re less-new to my meta, but often floating in the occult references, I’m going to try to drop links to posts or tag folders of references.

But what a fantastic salute to the Empress this entire episode is.

Now let’s dive in.

It’s no secret my blog bangs on about arcana on the regular. I have spoken of the four colors (represented in the above gif but also frequenting the #hues of involution tag). 

Frankly, I consider it invariable that the brother focused episode will summon forth The Emperor as a key focus. Somewhere in that chaos binder of tags I even predicted that much when I saw the color themes of the episode, but that’s a whole other aside--just something to put a pin in the idea of while I speak of the Empress, and the Generational Family.

(15.16 update: hahahahah)

I’ve gone feral

BACK TO ORIGINAL 15.15 POST

Some time back I had made a post about Castiel’s tie to this path; be that his frequent association with Mary over time (be it storyline parallels in general arc, John and Mary’s meeting, mixtapes or whatever else); that he and Rowena served as mirror and foil from her earliest conception, back when his parental storylines hovered more in regret over Claire; that Amara and her forced bond were associations of the profound bond and many lines directly mirrored while other motions challenged each other (Eg, heart tie, profound bond>mark bond);

I even made a joke at one point that Castiel should wear a pink trenchcoat to match Rowena’s dress.

This, of course, I joked equally was absurd, and that we would probably have to settle for the violet-pink light of Death on both him and Dean in 15.13′s alchemical Marriage of the Minds.

This Marriage of the Minds you’ll find plenty of topic on for my blog, and all in association with the Art arcana, from which the Occultum is drawn to begin with in its concept. This may seem like a long drift aside from the episode itself, but is more a preface of discussion based reminders.

Either way, @meta-mania-spn​ outright trolled in to my trenchcoat joke with this when it was released, saying “here’s your pink trenchcoat.”

And how on point you were!

But I’m going to have to ask fandom to do me a favor before we continue any further in this discussion.

I’m going to need you to stop trying to shove everything in singular boxes applicable to one and only-one storyline. Go back to the Generational Family post. Make sure that’s anchored like, in your subconscious at this point. Know it, feel it. 

Okay, now we can continue.

Hah hah “You’re standing in The Trap zone.” Okay.

So obviously, we have two major story ends going on right now: On the one hand, Sam and Dean go have a discussion to Amara where they plan to lie to her to pull off a stunt against Chuck; on the other hand, we have Castiel and Jack working a case. This seems simple enough in our structure.

Amara’s face of this ends up being entirely reflection. Of her cosmogenic origins (”We are the same.”), We Are Twins (I point to Thoth’s use of the twins in generational storytelling), etc. Of her history with Dean. Of her reasons of bringing Mary back.

Fandom may not like her reasons for bringing Mary back. They may even hate them. And we’ll get back to this later, but this is the sum of this.

On the other hand, Cas and Jack think a demon is involved. They even summon one. Turns out Rowena, in taking over hell, has adopted a new system. No more tricking and damning souls. People end up where they belong. The demon is bored (which has a funny shout out at the end on him trying to find a new purpose--as a cop, which is about six levels of commentary but I digress), but the continued path of Rowena renovating hell from welcome meetings for damned souls to lack of intentionally dragging others down is made clear, while evoked.

I point back to Rowena’s own history: at one point she aspired for power, but after Funeralia, she was stricken with guilt and grief over feeling like she abandoned her son. This is a thread that I have tried to put in videos over time as a still-binding tie; Castiel staring into Belphegor’s husked out eyes at one point, even if it wasn’t really his fault, just as we lost Rowena who went to essentially reclaim her son’s legacy and throne since she couldn’t atone for his loss.

But then we get to the case. It’s a whole long adventure, much of which has some bog-standard casework; we do have Castiel coming to speak that he found new meaning in becoming a parent (rolling back to the parental thread), and there’s a bunch of great imagery we’ll cover below. But before we get to that, let’s focus on the resolution.

It reveals a broken family structure: Mother was sick and felt shoved away, Father Changed Things, and the child ended up on a destructive path about following god.

Now when I talk about not boxing things in on one level, I’m going to break down this family a bit.  We’ll also just totes ignore the Joseph-the-Carpenter tattoo on the pastor that clearly has NOTHING to do with Joseph behind Dean only an episode ago and the entire Emperor theme with the sun behind his head. After the whole Mary behind Cas thing. Nope, nothing to see here. Has NOTHING to do with the generational stuff I’m about to talk below. That’d be silly right?

You also have to think of it this way. If Pastor Joe (yes that’s his FKING name) a parallel, so is his dead wife. There are levels where it was felt she was mocked, and pushed away, which tied into Amara this episode. You have your Chuck and Amara level parallel. However, on the emotional level, the mother figure that Castiel actually ends up representing is also coming due to be absent. And this is about the father's atonement with that just as much as it is with Dean having his dialogue with Amara.

On many levels. Dean and Amara’s dialogue trades of old grudges, old motivations, but also current events and learning to live in the now. 

The child, however, was still stuck in the past--a past the mother who told her to believe in God seemed to want, but the same kind of duty Castiel became aware of needing to change in the past. But she got stuck in it.

While she judged people by their sins, Jack and Castiel end up finding the poor unfortunate man judged by Lust, after an entire aside Castiel had with the pastor about one of the victims struggling as a gay man and what-not; For Reasons(TM). But this is an arcana post, not a “point out the obvious fucking screaming queer text and subtext being put in blinker lights this episode” post, so I’m going to generally show that the misguided and wrathful child thought she was carrying out God’s will.

And then I direct you to my Lust tag.

I have far longer stuff on it, but if you skim, you’ll find the loudest message is about not letting a wrathful god judge or punish you for sins. It involves the Whore of Babylon as a symbol of power riding a beast that represented (Aleister) Crowley; or in this case, Rowena riding Crowley to power, but also birthing and rearranging a new world. I point back to the demon in question, and then I gesture to the stuff about Castiel’s impending storyline overlap.

Did other sins get punished, sure; the one girl got greed, for example. If you check my posts on the Lust topic, there are other forms of debauch actually associated with lust beyond just carnal lovers, but the message about ignoring god’s wrath and making the new world remains in-tact.

This is the kind of wrath enacted by the girl. Who is furious about how the aeon changed. Because you changed everything, dad. They don’t worship God, they worship You.

So here’s the fun question: Is this a child of man furious that man is no longer the true god because Chuck in the corrupted Emperor path has changed the world to his whims, just flipped? That is to say, that they no longer see the Shadow as The One True God? Or is this someone throwing a tantrum on Chuck’s behest that the world of man is being reclaimed? Or is it a generalized moral of all of these things contingent on the choices The Ones -- Sam and Dean -- make moving forward? And what of Jack inevitably feeling like he has to do Dean’s commands, with the task laid out to destroy God as mapped by Death, in the inevitable absence of Castiel?

Now this has drifted a wide-berth from speaking of the Empress herself, which I’ll roll back to. I had mentioned, for example, the pink. So let’s talk about why that is.

The Empress is the Matron. While she goes through many forms, this is sort of the central or individualized one. She represents a fertility in preparing to birth the new world. She holds a blossom, she takes a pose I’m not gonna bother breaking down in this post, and she is crowned in a sphere that is passed to her from the Emperor which she will wear until the next aeon from their union is born.

She is represented by the moon, and though her child will eventually become the new sun it must first be the earth, her emperor is her current sun; the son is the reflection of the father in the eyes of the mother; the Empress Moon lets the Emperor Sun shine on her face and brings life to the earth in their union, and again, I point back to the Marriage of the Minds post.

Now, see that bird in the corner? That’s a pelican. It’s frequently associated in old alchemy as the mother giving her life, as part of the birthing process is also death, for her next generation. I have spoken in the past that Byzantium itself is an ideal example of that. The pelican has intensive alchemical implications, but it was believed she “fed her child from her own heart.”

Okay cool so there’s just a bleeding heart right there while Jack struggles with feeling like he has to deal with this alone, while Castiel tries to insist he doesn’t, with the renegade child taking it upon herself to carry out god’s work and essentially going mad/bad. Castiel not wanting to let that all fall on Jack.

There’s also giant posters about THE WORLD and a mirror shadow Safe Place poster which I’m not even going to talk on much beyond gesturing vaguely at my Shadow tag and Universe tag and move on, but I will take particular note of the hands reaching out to Cas and the world as a vague gesture to once again stick a pin in.

I mean there’s a few other themes I’m going to point out for general notes: hearts everywhere,

Some stuff on Day and Night and hands all over/handholding, which I’ll point to my talk on Absence for false dichotomies

And an admittedly offtopical “lmao fuck this news screen”

But with that, I move forward:

The child here was dressed almost EERILY like Mrs Butters, for the record. And uh-- /wore her cross upside down/

They both kind of represent the same thing of misguided ideals, though Mrs Butters proved able to be reasoned with at the end and went to go return to nature where she belonged, just as man should return to his place some day free of god’s machinations; but she didn’t break her cycle and her fate is to be decided after this by court and what-not, which.. you know, fine.

But that’s a note worth passing re: Mrs Butters, but again, it needs to fall to generational; child vs parent, with Mrs Butters being the lightly lamia-associated elder who lost her sons and went mad trying to protect them according to how she had been commanded, just like this story, too, comes to misguided commands in absence.

Add in of course that Butters pointed out Jack was “too much like his father”. This, of course, was a shot at Lucifer in a way, but the serpent she evoked isn’t truly symbolic of Lucifer in our show, it’s about humanity. And uh, who is synonymous synced to in SPN? Even ignoring the relevance of the serpent to the Emperor? 

Throughout this episode, Jack waltzes around imprinted on habits from Dean, taking on the weight of the world, sacrifice, doing it alone, and inevitably, small bursts of anger.

While... Amara tracks and polka dances sideways across the Mary issue of idealizations vs realities, of the Now being more important than the Then. Fandom gets stuck on how unfair it was to Dean and considers it torture which, human perspective, fair. But Amara isn’t thinking on your human level. In fact she very loudly flags around how Dean (and frankly, the audience) doesn’t properly perceive the scope of what she even is. 

Castiel, driving home, continues to try to be an improved parent. He talks with Jack, and tries to tell him he doesn’t have to do this alone. But Jack is stuck in that rut, and it’s a rut Castiel knows too well. He’s walked these paths and the audience has walked these paths and he can’t let the child handle this alone, though Jack declares it isn’t his choice. Jack has surrendered to what he believes Death commands of him, what the job is.

It’s going to be about choice.

But right now, Jack is too much like his father. And I point back to the Moon, who lets the Sun shine on her face, perceiving the world as a reflection of the Father, of Soul in the eyes of the Mind. This is the path to teach their son to avoid just as much.

Meanwhile, Castiel is punched in the FACE basically by Jack saying not to tell Sam and Dean he’s turning into Soul Bomb Take 2. He doesn’t want to worry them over something he can’t do anything about. Congratulations, Castiel is now living the mirror of Jack knowing the Empty deal and Sam and Dean not being told, and you can SEE the reality of it ALL slam him in the face. Not just because Jack blowing up would negate the point of his sacrifice; I don’t know if that even really plinks his mental armor; but the actual magnitude of that kind of secret.

Burying my clown brain’s fierce desire to talk at length of small details like Cas opting not to wake Dean up in the room, we see a recursion-yet-subversion at the end. 

We cut off, here, abruptly. In context of the episode, we know Castiel has at least learned one lesson and is going to try to tell Dean about his deal. But on some level, this all enmeshes thoroughly to Castiel’s Empty deal. Do I think Cas is going to tell the Empty deal in 16? No, I’m gonna guess on some level Sam gets his hands on it around 17 maybe, or nobody at all finds out--or at least Dean himself doesn’t find out--until 18.

In that time they *still* will not have stopped Chuck, that won’t be until 19. So I really wish this arm flailing about “oh god they’re making it all about Cas saving Jack and then dropping it!” would stop because man guys, I’m tired, I’ve been writing you the roadmap on this for two years and haven’t failed yet, pls listen.

Even after episode 18, Castiel’s role is inevitably going to be to take the burden from Jack. ...And Dean will too, but you won’t really even start to wrap your heads around the how and the why until at *least* 16 covers the Emperor path better in scale of the generational family. That’s going to be a joint thing.

Yes, I’m saying that’s going to be a joint thing after the Empty.

The show has taken a highlighter repeatedly to the fact that Jack was neither ready to rule or remove Chuck and that it was all a bad idea. Like “Then who?!” yes HMMM WHO. 

Who is sitting here following the path of all of these individuals in this very episode? Do I need to gesture people to literal years of Castiel being associated with every one of these women’s central stories in my meta, make everyone read literal compendiums of it to get the where and why, or is it at least enough in the collective subconscious to be recognized?

What is Rowena doing? What is Rowena doing, right now? She unbirthed an entire realm and is restructuring it; where people go only where they deserve to go, where they aren’t as boxed in but certainly aren’t out there being shitheads for the sake of being shitheads. But man, if only there was SOME ONE ELSE lined up on this whole lunar path, somewhere, with these women.

(For more on the blossom, see my Albedo tag)

For the full context and, frankly, mental breakdowns about 15.13 and what all that amounted to, I point you to the tags I linked above in discussion and lead-in to this post, because I’m not going to re-tread that ground right now.

But Castiel’s deal has always been about saving Jack. Castiel has been the Empress all year and before it. He will continue to be the empress, symbolized as feeding her young from her own heart, and--well, like that above gif (and also like 15.09, but with Sam in that generational rotation), receiving the sphere from the Emperor (Dean) and passing it to the new aeon to be reborn. Jack is the new Aeon. the mother will protect this at any cost.

But I don’t know why fandom pole vaults into assuming then that the Emperor suddenly has no place in this fascinatingly interwoven play. They are part of this cooperative birthing process together. Even in and beyond Death. As it is, there’s parts of Jack’s resignation that will inevitably tie to Castiel with Dean in 18.

As always, the case is a warning tale, but just what side of it you take really depends on where the characters choose to step. Is it a warning of man stepping away from god or god changing the rules on man? 

Even Amara’s message is multifaceted: Knowing when to walk away on your own path is not the same as betraying someone. And it’s only going to be by Dean’s manipulation that she would consider it, while he is in fact lying to her; but that’s NOT going to come without a long term price. And frankly, is itself a message for the endgame of this show, with some people thinking taking ones’ own path is tantamount to betrayal. It is not. But what matters it the truth. And the choice. And remembering that we all have a choice.

And what of Cas, after the Empty then?

My soul went to heaven, big surprise.

In order to be in the Occultum, the Occultum must be in you.

To know what he, himself, is also worth, Castiel will have to make that place within himself. And that will also be the place for his child, and his family, and humankind as he has come to adopt as his people.

...But there was a two step phase to that spell and I remind you Rowena wasn’t alone in that image.

The pink of fertile rebirth.

For more on the Empress, click here. 

Anyway

#CASTIELSUTERUS2020

[storygirl000]

ML Fic: Wait, you’re related to who now?

A/N: I very much blame @virgil-is-a-cutie, @ineedspellcheck, @justafanwarrior, @unmaskedagain, and everyone else who contributed to this thread.

Feel free to ask about the various relations!

Ao3 link here.

EDIT: I’m an idiot. Kim’s Vietnamese, not Korean. I’ve fixed it so he’s related to Karma of the New Mutants instead of Kid Flash.

00000

“Class, I’d like to introduce you all to Lila Rossi!”

Lila looked over the kids in front of her, thinking over what she would tell them.

She’d already discarded most of the obvious lies in her head – seriously, anyone with Google could disprove them, and no one could be stupid enough to take them at face value – and was sorting through what she had left.

Finally, she decided to settle on something simple.

“It’s so nice to meet you all!” she said, giving her most sincere-looking smile. “Honestly, I haven’t been this excited since I found out I was related to-”

She quickly shut her mouth. “Oh, but I can’t say!”

“Related to who?” a small, chubby girl with her hair in multicolored braids asked.

Lila internally smirked. Oh, this was going to be too easy.

“Well, I’m not supposed to tell anyone about it,” she said, “but I’m actually related to someone famous!”

She expected the class to start ooh-ing and aah-ing over her supposed heritage.

She did not expect someone to say “Oh! You, too?”

Lila’s eyes widened, and she turned to the person who’d spoked – a bespectacled girl with red-brown hair and hazel eyes.

“What?” she asked.

The girl shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much every person in our class is related to someone famous in one way or another – mostly superheroes. My cousin is Gambit – the X-Man? Yeah, I don’t know how that works either, but apparently one of his relatives moved to Martinique, met my grandpa, and it all went down from there.”

Okay, clearly this girl was pulling her leg. Lila opened her mouth to speak-

“My dad’s Aquaman!” the dark-skinned boy sitting in front of her said. “He’s not really the most attentive dad, though, so my brother and I live by ourselves most of the time.”

“Prove it,” Lila said before she could stop herself.

The boy shrugged, then turned to his blond seatmate. “Mind if I use your water bottle, Adrien?”

Adrien nodded and opened it up before passing it to him.

The boy held his hand out, concentrating on the bottle. After a couple of seconds, a spiral of water streamed out of it.

“Oh, you’re getting better at this, Nino!” the girl cheered.

“Thanks, Alya!” Nino replied.

Lila could only stare, open-mouthed, at the scene in front of her.

Eventually, Nino let the water go back into the bottle, and Adrien spoke up.

“I guess technically I have two famous dads?” he said. “Like, the guy who raised me for most of my life is Gabriel Agreste, but I was the result of my mom having an affair with Oliver Queen.”

Alya nodded, then pointed to a blonde-haired girl and a red-haired girl. “Chloe over there’s the daughter of Harley Quinn, and Sabrina’s the half-sister of Batgirl.”

Chloe snorted. “Honestly, even with her insanity, she’s still a better parent than my stepmom.”

“And she means the retired Batgirl,” Sabrina added helpfully.

“Nathaniel back there’s the son of Poison Ivy,” Alya continued, pointing to the redhead in the back.

Nathaniel snorted. “And yes, that makes me Chloe’s stepbrother. I’m not proud of it, either.”

“Screw you too, Kurtzberg!” Chloe retorted.

“Oh! I’m the daughter of Captain America!” a tiny blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl spoke up.

“I’m half-sisters with Raven of the Teen Titans, and my half-brother’s the son of the Winter Soldier,” the black-haired girl next to her added. “Before you ask, my mom’s never made a sane decision in her life.”

“My dad’s Loki,” the pink-haired girl in the back stated. “My uncle has been smothering me as much as he can ever since he found out.”

“You mean Thor?” Lila asked, the first words she’d spoken since Nino had demonstrated his powers. Her mouth felt dry.

The pink-haired girl rolled her eyes. “Who else would it be?”

“I happen to be the cousin of the current ruler of Wakanda,” a black, bespectacled boy stated.

“My cousin lead one of the X-Men teams for awhile!” the Vietnamese boy sitting next to him added.

“Um, my uncle turned out to be Bruce Banner,” the chubby girl said.

“Turned out my dad was Blue Beetle,” the large boy next to her added.

Finally, a story Lila could immediately poke holes in. “Blue Beetle? You mean-”

“The old one,” he interrupted her. “The one that...”

He didn’t speak after that, but the chubby girl put her hands on his and the rest of the class gave him sympathetic glances, leaving Lila to connect the dots.

After a few seconds, Alya cleared her throat. “And that’s just everyone who’s here right now. My best friend is actually one of Bruce Wayne’s kids, and we have a couple of friends in other classes who’re in the same boat.”

“My boyfriend’s actually one of Tony Stark’s illegitimate sons,” Nathaniel said.

“And my girlfriend is one of Wolverine’s!” Chloe bragged.

Alya turned back to Lila. “So who are you related to?”

Lila blinked.

00000

“She got akumatized how?” Marinette asked.

Alya shrugged. “Heck if I know. I just asked her who she was related to, and she started screaming. Next thing I know, she’s Volpina.” She frowned. “Though if her admitting she lied about that has anything to do with it, she might have just been blindsided by how weird our class actually is.”

Marinette snapped her fingers. “Oh! That reminds me, I need to see if Ivan can get in contact with Booster Gold. My dad wants to talk to him.”

“He pranked one of your brothers again?” Alya asked.

Marinette nodded. “Replaced all of Jason’s guns with their Nerf equivalents. We have no idea where he hid them.”

Alya laughed, and the two girls headed off.

[lesbian-deadpool]

New Surroundings

Part Two Of Two: “Glad To Be Home.”

Part One

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 1,975

Warnings: Lil bit of sadness + grief, talks of brainwashing, flashbacks. It’s pretty much just fluff.

Request: Yes! For anon for donating to BLM!! Thank you so much!

Summary: Maybe you can restart.

A/N: Idk. I thought this was p good.

Ko-Fi

(Not My GIF)

***

Booming laughter surrounded the space around you.

Peter had run up to where you "fell", asking worryingly, if you were okay. Along with Natasha. As you slowly sat up.

The spider's panic soon turned into relived chuckles, joining you in laughing at the situation.

With a few deep breaths, your laughter died down, allowing you to gaze up at the joyous red-head above you.

***

Natasha hovered over you, her cheeks visibly hurting, thanks to the smile you had put on her face. Her eyes closed with how hard she was laughing.

She had to be the most beautiful person you had ever seen.

She was.

She was swaying side to side, arms struggling to hold her weight, while those beautiful sounds flowed from her mouth.

Unable to handle it anymore, Natasha flopped down beside you on the cushiony bed. Covering her face with her hands, as the giggles still poured out of her.

"Are you-?"

"We were supposed to be having sex!" she managed to get out, making you laugh yourself. "But you had to go and say that!"

Chuckling harder still, you reached over and grabbed Natasha's hand. The Russian taking initiative and threading your fingers together.

You turned your head to the side, watching your girlfriend pant away.

The only things going through your mind at that moment being:

You were gonna marry that woman one day.

You couldn't wait to laugh with her for the rest of your lives.

***

The sun shone in her bright auburn hair, green eyes twinkling in happiness.

She had your entire attention.

Natasha saw the way you were looking at her, with a smile on her face, she cocked her head and softly asked, "What?"

You shrugged.

"You're stunning."

And she only got mere beautiful, if that was even possible, with the light blush dusting her cheeks.

"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."

"Really? Well-"

"Uh, guys?" Peter waved. "I'm still here."

You chuckled at the teenage boy's words, turning to face him, as you pushed yourself up from the ground.

"Yeah, yeah, we know," you said, ruffling his hair, "Don't worry. You're pretty, too."

"Really?" Peter asked hopeful, while you and Natasha laughed softly.

"Yes, Peter," She nodded, patting his shoulder in assurance. "You're very pretty."

The smile that took over the boys face was full of joy and stayed that way as you lead the way back into the compound.

***

It was a few months later when the next memory like that rocketed into your mind.

You were busy cooking in the compound kitchen. Just some simple burgers for you and Peter.

The others could feed themselves.

You would have made Natasha one if she hadn't been out on a mission for the past month.

Peter was drolling on about his homework, it boring him beyond belief. Nodding along to his words, hoping to find something that could help him.

Then it hit you.

***

The streets of New York were relatively calm, considering the time of day. And you were enjoying your quiet stroll, with Natasha by your side.

The red-head was talking animatedly about a story of Clint accidentally rolling off of the roof of his farmhouse, and almost giving Laura a heart attack.

You couldn't take your eyes off of her lips.

The way she smiled as she spoke about her best friend.

You swooned at every little giggle she made. You couldn't believe how much you were acting like a schoolchild, with a silly crush.

But you just couldn't help it.

Natasha had some sort of spell over you.

And here you thought that Wanda was the witch of the team.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?" you asked, shaking yourself out of the daze she had you in. "What's up?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Uhh... yeah! Clint thought Laura had gone into labour, with how much she was screaming."

"Y/N," she said blankly, "I said that five minutes ago."

"Oh..."

"What were you thinking about?" Natasha asked with a smile.

"Um. Nothing."

"What were you thinking about?" she repeated, pushing your shoulder gently, still making you momentarily step to the side though.

"Nothing," you insisted.

"That's bullshit, and you know it. C'mon! Just tell me! I won't say anything to anyone, you have my word."

You said nothing, only shaking your head with a smile, and moving your eyes to look up at the sky. To avoid looking at the persistent Russian, now walking backwards in front of you. As she held onto your arms.

"Y/N, please!"

"Oh my, God. Are you begging? Do you really hate being out of the loop that much?"

"There's a loop? Who else knows?"

"No one, Natasha!" you laughed.

"Then what is it?!" she exclaimed happily, "Just tell me. I'll get it out of you, and you know I will. So, you might as well just tell me now."

Natasha stopped you in your place, right in the middle of the sidewalk.

You sighed, knowing what she said to be true.

So, you told her.

"I was thinking about you."

"Me?" she wondered, "What about me?"

Shrugging, you continued, "I was thinking about how cute you were, and how much I loved seeing you smile. I was thinking about how you have reduced me into a school kid with this overwhelming crush I have on you. Literally, everything you do or say makes me swoon, and think "how can someone be so perfect?", Natasha."

Natasha gasped as you spoke, looking into your eyes with this soft wondrous look, that you hoped you were reading right.

"I was thinking how much I wanted to kiss you. And maybe one day be lucky enough to love yo-"

You were cut off by Natasha grabbing onto your shirt with one hand, and bulling you down into a bruising kiss. Her other hand finding its way in between the strands of your hair. As yours flew down to her waist, pulling her in closer.

Yeah...

That was a pretty amazing first kiss.

***

"Why is Spanish so hard?"

You were brought back into the present by Peter's words. Looking down, no longer cooking the burgers, now in the middle of assembling the burgers.

Well, at least you were still productive as you had a flashback.

You just hoped you hadn't missed much that the kid had said.

"I don't know, kid," you said, glancing over your shoulder, "Maybe it's because you're trying to learn a whole other language."

"Yeah..." he said, almost bashfully.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Placing his meal in front of him, you placed your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Pushing him gently. "These things take time. I just wish I could be more help."

"It's not your fault," he said through a mouth full of food. "I'm glad you're here to help me. I just wish that Miss Romanoff was here, she's really good at languages."

And it was then that you were harshly reminded.

Natasha wouldn't be back for another five months.

"Yeah. So do I."

***

Raindrops splatted down upon your leather-clad shoulders. The weather wasn't so bad, just gloomy and drizzling, the perfect setting for your current situation.

Staring at your old friend's gravestone.

Daniel Petersburg.

"I'm so sorry, Dan. I'm sorry that I wasn't there. I'm sorry I wasn't at your funeral."

I'm sorry that I can't remember you since the army.

You knew that it wasn't your fault. Not really. It wasn't your choice to get captured and tortured so much that you couldn't remember the last eleven years. Your mind was a dark cavern when you thought about those years.

"And I'm so fucking sorry that I haven't come to see you sooner."

"He forgives you." You looked over your shoulder, to see the person who spoke softly to you. Smiling easily at the red-head. "He was like your brother, of course, he forgives you. He wouldn't even want your apology."

"I know," you said, taking one last glance at his grave. Before you turned to face Natasha, "So, you're finally back then."

"Why? You miss me Y/L/N?" she asked, with a teasing smirk.

"Of course I did," you said sincerely, "I... I've remembered some things since you've been gone."

"Really? Like what?"

"Many things." You took a step closer to her. Gazing into her emerald green eyes, feeling like your soul was pouring into those iris'. And you couldn't find it in you to care. If, that be the case. She could have your soul. It was hers. It always has been, always will be. Just like your heart. "I remembered the team, how I did basically adopt Peter."

Natasha laughed shortly at that.

"But mostly. Mostly I remembered you."

"Me?" she asked, hopefully.

"Of course you. I remember our first kiss. The time we almost froze our asses off, when Tony accidentally locked us out of the tower. Almost all of our anniversaries. Our first Christmas, together. The dreaded fight of '15 that made us break up, for a few months. I remember how much I missed you during them... but none of that compares to how much I missed you when I was on that mission," you list off, enjoying Natasha's reactions as you did.

"You remember the mission?"

"Yes- Well, some of it. There's still so much of my life that I need to remember." You looked up into the dull sky, watching as the gloomy clouds slowly made their way from above you, revealing the calm blue sky in its wake. "There were maybe two years, where I remembered everything. Or almost everything."

You took a deep, calming breath, before continuing, "During those two years, they tried to brainwash me, but it didn't stick. They're persistent bastards I'll give you that. Throughout those two years, I remembered every day. The pain. The way that my mind felt like it was slowly melting. Like fucking ice cream. But the thing that made me hold on as long as I did- That made my mind hold on," you corrected, "Was you."

Natasha's eyes were swimming with tears as you spoke. A few threatening to spill overboard, with your last statement.

"Every day- Every fucking second, I thought of you. You were like my lifeline. I lived through every moment of our lives together. The good. The bad. All of it. Over and over again."

The grass underfoot squelched lightly as you took another step towards her. Now close enough that you could reach out slightly and take her hand in yours.

Which is exactly what you did.

"You kept me alive."

Your heart broke when Natasha sobbed out softly. Squeezing her hand in yours, as she wiped away her falling tears.

But still, she let you carry on. Sensing that you weren't finished yet.

"Now, as I said before, I don't remember everything. Hell, most of it's still dark. But, I do remember how you made me feel. How much I loved you." You took her other hand, and pulled her even closer to your body, barely a few inches between the two of you now. "I can't promise you that I'll remember everything any time soon. I can't promise that I'll ever remember everything. But if you'll have me. I'd like to be in love with you again. Like basically hitting the restart button, while I watch the memories of my life play along with it."

You both got a little chuckle out of your analogy.

"So, what do you say?"

"I think you're delusional if you thought I would ever say no," Natasha replied, wrapping her arms around your neck, and pulling you into your first kiss, for almost seven years.

Love flowed through your heart and soul, spreading into every crevice of your being.

With that kiss, you thought only one thing.

You were gonna marry that woman one day.

***

Permanent Tag List:

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro

[twolonesomestars]

I feel sad that yibo stop wearing the ox necklace i know that you all see him wearing it in the last post from street dance but this was filmed weeks ago it not recent one lately he keep wearing new necklace star & sun or sunflower I don't know what it is exactly he even wear it when he go filming ddup latest ep and he wear it today to the airport some people say it was birthday gift from xz I don't know if it's true what do you think and also what you think about the ring necklace xz wearing

I’m going to go ahead and put this under the cut because I did get into a few theories and speculations (mostly my own) on the new necklaces.

Also! I’ve gotten several asks about my thoughts on the ox-head necklace: here is my post on it from a while back (along with a few additions)! You can also go through my “ox-head necklace” tag.

Warning: Everything below is fake. These are just my random thoughts. Don’t take them too seriously.

-

You’re on point with the timings, anon.

I believe the most recent appearance of the ox-head necklace was a week ago (in his Qixi festival Douyin update). We don’t know when that video was actually taken though. Do correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the last time we saw the ox-head necklace in person was before his birthday. He, for sure, wore it when he filmed Happy Camp on 200802:

-

So, I actually went ahead and looked into the website and all for this necklace because it’s looking to be pretty meaningful.

Before I get into that, some dates to note:

The first time we ever saw the daisy & star necklace was on 200817 (at rehersal for the 818 Festival):

It was clearer when we saw it out on 200819 (filming for the DDU episode released on 200830):

From then on, he’s pretty much been wearing it everywhere (major flashbacks to when I wrote about the ox-head necklace haha!)... to and from airports, during filming, etc.

The most recent sighting was 200829:

-

Okay, now to theories:

I’ve heard about the daisy & star necklace being his birthday present from XZ... and I will say: the timing fits. We only saw WYB with this daisy & star necklace after his birthday this year. That also seems to be around the time he stopped wearing the ox-head necklace in favor of wearing this one.

Since it might be a birthday present, both pendants most likely represent WYB. When I first saw that there were two, my mind immediately considered the possibility that each pendant represents half of the pair, but thinking about it again, I think that makes more sense for an anniversary gift, not a birthday gift (it’s not off the list though).

I haven’t really heard many theories about the daisy, but the star piece could represent WYB being named “lonely star” by XZ. (A quick explanation on this “lonely star” business: here.)

As for the theory that WYB bought the necklace for himself... based on everything we’ve seen and know about him, it’s not really his style, is it? I don’t think it’s something he’d choose for himself, even if he thought the pendants represented him. (But then again, we don’t know everything about him, so it’s still a possibility.)

That’s pretty much it for the theories, for now.

-

The following are things I noticed when I was looking through the store:

Important to note: Neither XZ or WYB are ambassadors for this company. WYB is not wearing this necklace with the intention to promote the company. Neither would have been given these pieces of jewelry because they were associated with them. (AKA the pieces were most likely bought out of their own pocket.)

First: Multiple pendants on a chain is the norm from the store, so having two pendants isn’t that much of a surprise. However, most of the promoted multiple-pendant necklaces contain three pendants, not two. The necklaces promoted with two pendants are usually of the same size, whereas the three pendant necklaces have two smaller pendants on either side of a large pendant. (Of course there are some exceptions, but the styling below is the most common):

Second: The daisy & star pendant combination is nowhere in the promotion pictures; it’s a very odd pairing. This adds to the idea that someone deliberately chose these two pendants for WYB, and that there is some meaning behind each pendant.

-

In the end, I don’t have any solid pieces of evidence backing up this daisy & star necklace like I do for the ox-head one... but if we compare how he uses the ox-head necklace and how he’s starting to use this daisy & star one... it’s nothing, if not meaningful.

As for potential future evidence, I don’t know if we’ll get any:

Knowing how they are, I wouldn’t be too shocked if they hint at something at some point... perhaps one of them will talk about the meaning behind a star (again) or if they’re really pushing it, the meaning behind a daisy (a 0.0001% chance lol)

However, considering the drama (explained here) that occurred because of the ox-head necklace, I'm leaning towards them not hinting anything so that it doesn’t cause any issues. After a long year of hiding his other necklace, WYB’s finally able to wear this one out freely.

I won’t tell you to not be sad, anon, but I will say, don’t be too worried about the switch (and this is coming from an avid ox-head necklace lover). We have a lot of evidence and analyses backing up our ox-head necklace theory, so it’s a bit disconcerting to see him not wear it as much right now. BUT, I’d be more wary if he stopped consistently wearing some sort of necklace or piece of jewelry. Once again, he rarely wears jewelry when he’s out traveling between places and to various variety show filmings, including DDU; he only starting doing so with the ox-head necklace.

I’m currently just glad he’s able to fully show off his necklace without the fear of backlash from his solo fans. I’d rather him change the necklace to one we don’t have much information on than have him continue to hide his ox-head necklace. (We’ve seen how much he loved showing it off.) Besides, him continuing to use the daisy & star necklace like this only adds to how much it means to him; it’s /becoming/ comparable only to the ox-head necklace... and, well, we know who’s probably behind that one. So, even though we don’t have much solid proof for this one, the implications and similarities between how he uses the two necklaces is more than enough for me.

-

As for XZ’s ring necklace, I’m not too sure what that’s all about. The main rumor connecting his to WYB’s is that the chains look similar, but it’s difficult to tell and it’s not much to go off of. Also, people are somewhat confused about why he decided to hide the necklace instead of showing it. If it was from a brand he’s an ambassador for, he would show it, especially since he’s already wearing a Gucci shirt.

For this one, we’ll have to wait and see if he wears it again (and whether he hides it or shows it). If his necklace is from the same company as WYB’s, I highly doubt he’ll show it. The brand similarity when they’re both not affiliated with it could cause too much of an uproar in the fandoms, and especially when you know how WYB uses his.

The company does sell rings... (gifset that shows XZ’s necklace containing a ring-shaped pendant). But, once again, if that’s what it is, I highly doubt XZ will reveal it to the public. If it is actually a ring on a necklace and not a circular pendant, it’ll be a whole other type of commotion... and if it’s from the same company... lol

If we say that it’s not from the same company, I still don’t think he’ll wear it as consistently as WYB wears his, even if it’s just for the sake of throwing people of their tracks; I don’t know if he’ll even wear it more than once. It wouldn’t be good if they both wore one necklace for every outing. (But, they’ve done bolder things. And, XZ already wears his red-threaded bracelet consistently, so consistency wouldn’t be too out of character for him. However, the bracelet is from his mom, so if he does start to wear another piece of jewelry like that, it’ll most probably be from someone as high on his list as his parents.)

[starsmuserainbow]

Hmm, okay uh, I have no idea what I’m doing here but I feel like everyone needs positivity and so here’s a post where I’ll try to give just that.

First off, happy holidays and a good end of the year to everyone who reads this, I am glad that you’re here watching my blog and perhaps even interacting with me! Thank you for everything, whether that is a simple follow or an occasional (perhaps anon) ask, or actual interactions!

Next, I want to say that everyone that I’m seeing on my dash is absolutely amazing and I admire so many of you and am happy whenever I see you around! I am most likely very happy to have you around, especially if we’re mutuals and interacting with one another. I would probably love to talk with each of you more, but I’m just really bad at smalltalk or anything like that so with most people, I simply default to only messaging them (= you) when there’s something as a reason to do so. Sorry for that!

This goes out to everyone reading this: You’re awesome, I’m honored to have you here and interested in my blog, and I hope that your days or weeks or months will be great because you surely deserve it!

And then, I’ll now follow with a kind-of list mentioning a few people that I want to say more to. Which might sound repetitive because I suck at words in these regards, but yeah. Under a cut for length.

If you see this post and weren’t tagged, please don’t be sad or think I don’t value you being around! I can’t tag everyone, and I don’t have the best mind for things like coming up with someone that I forgot in the moments of writing this.

To not start off with the same names all the time, I wrote down the URLs I wanted to include and randomized the order. So don’t think anything by if you’re first or 5th or last on this list! And once more, I’m bad at words, so I’m sorry if this isn’t sounding too great or like it’s similar for each one.

I told myself to not include anyone that isn’t active-ish at the moment, but I made some exceptions to that because I felt that said person needed to be on my list.

@rogueprinceconsort ~ (I read the post you did recently more or less saying you’re leaving, but I wrote this before that post and it would have felt wrong to erase it from here only because of you leaving!) I enjoy our interactions a lot! They feel like they actually develop a story, which I can’t say for ALL my interactions but definitely for each one that we have going! Which is really cool! You’re one of the only few people where I have the chance to play around with different verses too (well, or at least one different verse, since our other two ongoing interactions are in the mainverses of my muses, but still), and you’re one of the few giving one of my OC-sideblogs a chance as well, and, just, I really am so thankful for it and happy to have you as a mutual!

@untouchable-lightning ~ You aren’t here at the moment, so let me just start this by saying that I hope that things will get better for you again soon! It’s a lot of fun to interact with you and I think you’re a good writer and I’m very happy for our interactions! They are always fun! I did not often yet get the chance to do this other RP-style that I do (the ‘choose-your-option’ one) and you are one of those that allowed me to play through it, and you also interact/ed with my sideblogs too, so a big thank you for that! Our threads also often last nicely long, which is absolutely amazing since it’s a big rarity these days, too. You’re great, and I’m happy that we’re mutuals and interaction-partners!

@miasmarp ~ We’re more or less only starting out interacting and talking and anything basically, but I felt like I just absolutely had to include you because I HAVE A CHANCE TO PLAY ONE OF MY OTHER (non-blog-having, not even an info page or anything outside of one or two ooc posts about them) OCS with you and that’s just like the first time at all (not counting if I do include them as minor appearances in other things, though even there it has only happened one single time so far iirc), and that is just so much fun and just thank you! You’re really cool and I’m happy that we’re mutuals!

@karaoftomorrow (or @yourfavoritesidekick if you’d prefer I tag your main) ~ It’s so wonderful to write with you! It feels like we’re developing stuff in our things really well, and I really like to read what appears from you on my dash! Talking with you is very nice too, and I’m always really happy whenever I see you in my notifications or IMs or wherever! I’m very glad to have you as mutual and am really happy about any and all of our interactions!

@skymade / @siriseen or maybe I should tag one of your other blogs instead but those are the first two I usually think of and I don’t wanna tag more than two blogs for one person xD ~ Sooooooooo awesome! You have so many characters, which all are wonderful as far as I can tell, and I love our interactions so much! I’m always really looking forward to the next reply I get from one of our things, and talking to you is always a delight and I’m so so happy that we somehow found each other! Or well, I guess you found me because if I remember right you followed me first, but yes! Thank you for writing with pretty much all of my characters, you’re very cool, I absolutely love the connections our muses get (especially those where they know one another at a younger time and then ‘now’ meet again too - how cool is that?) and it’s always a joy to see you on my dash!

@azarathian ~ We haven’t really done or spoken that much together yet (or at least I assume we didn’t? There was your old blog but I don’t think we really spoke there, much less did threads or the likes? Sorry if I’m wrong though xD), but I’m so very glad we started! I admire your writing and the thoughts you put into Raven and I think you’re great! Our threads are incredibly entertaining and it’s so awesome to put more story into the situations of or between the episodes of the cartoon, and yes, I’m just very very thankful that we got together somehow and I’m excited for how our threads - and potential future ones - will develop!

@nvertoolate or if I should tag your currently more active sideblog @bloomingtalent ~ It is so absolutely amazing that one of my first mutuals, friends, or however I should call it, still is active on here as well! With most people on here, it’s sadly the case that they’re gone again sooner than later, so it’s especially great that we are still both here! I think I’ve said multiple times before that I don’t think I would even have stayed on tumblr if you hadn’t been around and interacting with me so I won’t go into detail about that yet again, but, yes, I absolutely love our interactions when we do them, and while I don’t know much about Naruto so we don’t really interact that much on your sideblog, I’m still so very happy to have you around and as my mutual! I’m so thankful for you and that we got to interact - and still do! Thank you!

@sewn-cutie ~ Our interactions are always so wonderfully adorable and cute! I love the connection between Starfire and Clementine, and it’s a lot of fun to write any of our things! I’m very happy when I hear from you in an OOC-y way too, like when you reply to one of my posts or in the IMs or whereever! I’m absolutely convinced that you are a great person, and I am delighted that we are mutuals and can interact so nicely!

@legaxies ~ I wasn’t sure if maybe I shouldn’t include you since from how much I can tell it seems you are at the moment more focused onto that theme-sideblog you have and I told myself to not include those that aren’t really active at the moment - but I felt like I had to! I wanted to say that I’m really happy for the things we started, and that I have a lot of fun talking to you when we do! I’m very much enjoying the potential relationships we have started on, and I look forward to hopefully continuing them in some way eventually! (This of course is not meant as pushing you to work on replies or whatever, please don’t understand me wrong here; I just mean this in a way of, if we do get to continue it - if not that’s totally fine too!) You’re doing great with any of your characters (as much as I can judge with not that much knowledge), and I’m happy that we’re mutuals! It’s a joy to interact with you, so, thank you!

@featherchan ~ You’re interacting with me, or did in the past, on pretty much all my muses (I think not on Starlight? But outside of that on all I think), and that means a lot to me! We have some really cool plots going, and you joined in on that event-au-thing I did all that time back too, so that’s very great, and I wanted to say thanks! Our interactions are always fun and I’m happy to write with and talk to you!

@thedoctornumber11 ~ Throughout my time being here, you’re pretty much the only one of the world of Doctor Who that I got interactions going with (I think there was someone on Wildfire once too, but not for very long iirc), and I really enjoy that! I wanted to include you here too because I wanted to say that I’m very very grateful for the nice words or explanations you sometimes throw onto my posts, and for the things you send in to me, and yes just for all of it! Thank you!

@flashgotthis ~ I love our things so much! All the interactions that we did so far were really really really cool, still are, and they often last really long too, and it’s just absolutely wonderful! You’re also one of those that aren’t only talented writers, but also really great artists, and I admire that skill so much! I’m delighted that we are mutuals and interaction-partners, and I look forward to what’s still to come! You’re amazing!

@graceful-cure-swan / @rosecoloredmuses (mostly tagging your sideblog as well to give it, like, some sort of indirect promoing here) ~ You are great! I feel so bad for all the many things you sent me whereas I barely ever send you (or anyone else, for that matter) anything at all, but, I’m also really grateful that you do it, so - thank you! I’m enjoying our interactions very much, I think that both Tsubasa and your other characters are done really well (even if I don’t know that much about each of them or can compare them to their canon versions much), and you’re a lot of fun to interact with! You also give my sideblogs and OCs a chance too, which means very much to me too, so yeah, I’m very grateful to have you as my mutual!

@eterniita ~ We’ve been interacting throughout a few of your blogs already, and I enjoy our interactions! I think you put a lot of love and thought into your characters, and they are great, and our threads are a lot of fun! I haven’t yet checked out your remade blog of your canons again, but I intend to and most likely follow you there again, too! I hope we will still get to more wonderful interactions!

@merveiilles​ ~ I’m so happy that we’re interacting! I love our threads a lot and I’m enjoying every reply that I get or write! You have a lot of characters and it’s really impressive that you do them (as far as I can tell/know them) so well! Your art, that you occasionally post, is also really really amazing and it’s very wonderful that you are so talented! I am very thankful for the nice words that you put onto my posts every now and then, and I am delighted by the threads and connections we are having between our muses!

@symbioteburnout​ ~ I don’t feel like I can say very much here (yet), but I wanted to include you too! I enjoy the things that we got going so far, and going from what I see from you about her I think Andi is a interesting character! It’s always wonderful to me, when people put the effort into characters who might not get as much time to shine in canon as others. Thanks for replying to my opens every now and then, and just in general for being my mutual and interacting with me!

@titansandothersrp​ / @robynrpmain (Now I’m getting frustrated at tumblr again for not letting me tag your main) ~ You are really cool! You’re a great artist, I love to see your work, and our threads are very entertaining! I feel like you’re doing very well in giving the characters you play as more story, more... I don’t know the right word here. Just, that you make them ‘more’, and that’s a really awesome thing. And yeah, like said, you also do art which I think looks really good, and I just absolutely admire people who can do art so well. Thanks for being mutuals and interacting with me!

---

So, and as a nice little bit of words at the end, I guess~ I’m very honored by anyone of you who’s actually interested in me and my writing, I’m thankful and glad to have you around, and I’m looking forward to more amazing things to come in the future with all of you!

[wafflesetc]

Chapter 19: An Unexpected Meeting (previously)

Claire Beauchamp is a second year medical student. Due to many late nights with her clinicals, and studying for her pharmacology class, she’s at wits end. One Friday night she decides not to join Joe Abernathy and her other friends out at Church, their local hangout spot, but instead winds up in a dive bar close to her flat with a very nice whisky selection. In fact, one of the best one she’s ever seen. When the bartender calls her ‘Sassenach’ and pours her a double, Claire gets a feeling in her chest she’s never felt before.

A/N: I *know* it’s been... A while. I could give you every reason under the  sun why it has been that long. My excuses are valid and reason enough, I still want to apologize for the lengthy delay. I never intended to go a whole year between updates. I promise it won’t be that long again. The revival of this fic is long owed to @happytoobserve​ who has been one of its biggest cheerleaders since day 1. To @walkinginland​, @kkruml​, and @missclairebelle​ who held my hand during this process of getting my legs back with these two, I owe you indefinitely.

And most importantly, to the readers who even after A YEAR are still excited for what is in store for these two, I hope this was worth the wait. 

ALL MY LOVE, WAFFLES

PS- This is a bit angsty. I just ask that you trust me, okay?!

“Joe, I will call you… Later.” I crossed my arms and gave my friend a knowing glance, one he’d seen before and knew I needed space for a bit. 

“Ok, Lady Jane.” He gave a nod in the direction of John and found his way out of the building. 

I took a breath and turned my attention to our guest. “There’s a courtyard just outside the building. Is it okay if we talk there? I have another class in about 45 minutes.” 

“That is fine.” He agreed. I gestured towards the doors and we slowly made our way.

“How are you?” John asked, politely. I could feel he was trying to ease the palpable tension between the two of us. 

I was trying to be pleasant and cordial, but whatever reserve I had would quickly fade away.  “All things considered, I am doing just dandy.” We rounded a corner and I sat down on the first bench that I saw. “Finals are coming up soon, Jamie’s healing just fine, and I have an amazing opportunity in Paris.” 

“That’s wonderful.” John said earnestly as he sat down next to me. “I’m really happy for you. I must apologize for coming to you while you’re in classes… But this is rather time sensitive.” 

“I have one question, first.” I closed my eyes and took a breath. “I think you owe me that much.” 

John stifled a laugh and put his hand on my knee. It startled me for a moment, but after a quick glance at his face I could tell how honest he was trying to be. “I have turned your world upside down, basically overnight. I think a question is reasonable.” 

“Does Jamie know?” I could feel the tears rising to the surface. “Does Jamie know about William?” 

“No.” John took a breath and released it. “As far as I know, he doesn’t.” There was a sincerity in his voice I couldn’t point, but something in me knew he wasn’t lying. 

“I am going to need you to elaborate on that one.” I was being honest. The last bits of strength that I had were hanging by a few fine threads, ready to be cut at any moment. 

“Jamie and Geneva… They went to high school together. Their families were very fond of each other. My future father-in-law granted the Frasers the land that Lallybroch thrives upon. Jamie comes from a good family and has a good head on his shoulders.” 

I turned my face towards him to find him looking about the courtyard. There were a few students sitting on benches and blankets, presumably studying, however they were all scattered on the opposite side. We were alone in many respects, no one to hear or interrupt us. John stayed silent for a little while. I could see the small film of tears in his own eyes. Surely, whatever he was about to say was going to change things for me.

“But unfortunately, we are all human at one point or another and make mistakes.” He sat back and looked around the garden once more, staying silent for a minute. I could tell he was gathering his thoughts, trying to tell me a story I wasn’t sure I even wanted to hear. Carefully trying to thread together a story that was neither his nor mine, yet that we had been somehow woven into.

“Isobel did not go on at length, but the summer before they were going away to university is when it happened. Geneva never gave her family the details, and when her parents realized what was going to happen in a few months' time, they sent her to England to live with her aunt and uncle.” 

I wiped a tear and waited for him to continue. The reality of what he was about to tell me started to sink in. Those fine threads were about to be cut, I could tell. I didn’t want to cry over a past that was not mine, but Jamie’s past was putting kinks into our future- a future I had planned with him.

“She stayed there and raised him, but about three years ago the crash happened and Geneva died.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It put a small smile on John’s face. A sense of relief flooded through me, I did not want to dislike this Geneva, but another woman who knew my Jamie, intimately, well I was not prepared to handle any issues of jealousy. Was it selfish and morbid I was relieved I didn’t have to meet or try to measure up to the mother of his child, but also regretful over the fact the poor boy had lost his mother? Probably, but having lost my own mother as a child, I knew first hand how hard it was, and no child deserved that sort of pain. Nonetheless, it didn’t make the current circumstances any easier and I did think I was allowed to  be a bit selfish when it came to my future. 

“She left the care and trust of her son to Isobel- but at the time Isobel was still young herself, finishing university with plans of graduate school. Their aunt and uncle were rather fond of William, so they allowed him to stay with them. England is all William has ever known, and he is very attached to Edith and Mark.” 

I must have been crying more than I knew because John handed me a tissue. 

“Shall I continue, or is that enough?” I saw a helplessness in his eyes. This news was life changing for me, yet in many ways it had been for him too. 

I sat motionless, not knowing what to do or say. I didn’t know what I wanted but something must have urged him to go on. 

“Mark fell very ill last year, and he isn’t doing well. That’s when Edith contacted Isobel asking what they would want for William, should something happen. Life has a funny twist of fate….” He let out a small laugh at what I presumed was his so-called twist of fate.

“Because Jamie and I met during our years at university- I had no clue he was acquainted with the Dunsanys. Isobel and I met during graduate school, and when I mentioned a story with James Fraser, her mouth dropped. She told me about William only a few months ago though, and that is when I started trying to call Jamie.” 

“And now, I’m pulled into your so-called funny twist of fate.” My words were short, and I could feel something brewing in my stomach. 

Truth was, I wanted to like John Grey. He seemed to be an honest, respectable man. It wasn’t his fault for the events that had happened in the past, yet he was here and seemed to be wanting to talk about this, even before he told Jamie. This was all confusing in so many different ways. This- John Grey- a long time friend of Jamie’s, was really someone from my boyfriend’s past I was sure I’d enjoy his company, but given the current circumstances, I didn’t like the news he was bringing me. My reading on him was all over the map. 

“Yes, you are.” John gave me a soft smile. “I’ve been coming to Edinburgh for business lately, and I knew I would find Jamie here. We talk, not all that often, but we are old friends. Always able to pick up where we left off.” 

“Mhmm.” It was all I could muster. Mentally and emotionally, I was just drained. This was too  much for one conversation, but I had to try to hold myself together. Just for a little while longer at least. 

“I had wanted to tell him the first time I was in town but when we met, he was so excited to tell me about something that had happened to him…” John reached across and took my hand in his, giving it light squeeze. 

“It was me, wasn’t it?” Jamie and I had happened quickly. I hadn’t been looking for a relationship, especially after Frank and I had ended just shortly before. Yet Jamie had fallen into my orbit and was something that held to me like gravity. He had seamlessly fixed himself into my universe and just fit. Even I had a hard time explaining it to anyone.

“It was,” John smiled at me. “I had never seen him smile the way he did when he said your name. And when he started to tell me about you he’d never been so proud of anything in his life. Even his bar. Claire…” He gave my hand a firm squeeze this time and smiled so wide I knew that deep down whatever he was about to say he meant it with every fiber in his being.

“I hope I am not about to overstep a boundary, especially because we don’t really know each other, but Jamie loves you and is planning his future with you in it. Whether you are aware of that or not- I have seen it in your eyes you feel the same way. The news of William will rock the foundation on which he has lived his life since his parents died.”   

“Yes, it will.” I agreed. 

“It’s complicated, in many ways. And Geneva should have told him, or my future-in-laws should have too. But I think they all wanted Jamie to live his life rather than doing what was right at the time. It stunned me when Isobel told me about it, so much so, I questioned whether or not to continue with the engagement…”

“But you did.” 

“I did, and I do not regret my choice. When Jamie told me about you, I made a vow to myself I would tell the two of you together, so he had you to ground him. But I am glad I told you first. I think it would be best for you to know so we can tell him together.” 

“Together.” I whispered either to myself or to John, I didn’t really know. “You want to do it together so I’m there to comfort him, right?

“I think I have taken up enough of your time, and I have surely given you something to digest.” 

I laughed at that, and I saw a small purse of his lips. 

“Yes, I have.” He chuckled at the look on my face, “But Claire… I am telling you as a long time friend of Jamie’s, you either stick with him through this or don’t. He has already lost so much in his life. I cannot stand for it to happen to him again, so whatever you choose to do, I hope you make a wise choice.” 

“What do you mean?” I felt the pit of anxiety raising in my stomach. 

“I told you he sees a future with you. If you don’t think you can handle whatever relationship William is to have with Jamie, then you should leave him now. Don’t help him through this and leave him later… He… Would never recover.” 

With that he stood and handed me a piece of paper. “Here is my number; Jamie doesn’t know I’m in town yet. I made reservations for dinner for you, me, Jamie and Isobel for tomorrow night. You can tell him on your own if you’d like tonight since it appears you have a glass face, or we can tell him tomorrow...But please, think of what you want with him, with whatever choice you make.”

John gave me a small bow and left me. I felt the buzz of my alarm going off alerting me that class was starting in ten minutes. I wouldn’t be going. The last thing I could do was sit in a lecture hall and pretend to be interested in pharmacology.

Hastily, I reached into my bag and typed an email to my professor.

Dr. Glassman, I have had a small family emergency arise. I will not be making it to the lecture. I will get notes from Joe Abernathy and follow up with you after the next class. 

Claire Beauchamp 

The whoosh of the email sounded in my ears. I shoved my phone back into my bag, rising to my feet. 

I had already made my choice. Long before I had even known about a man named John Grey. 

Jamie had told me we had room for secrets but not for lies. And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he had no clue what was going on. Jamie was an intuitive man, so I knew he could sense John had life changing news for him, but what the news was, Jamie surely didn’t know.

I didn’t know how I was going to tell Jamie or what my plan was, but I knew he would be seeking my forgiveness for this- for all of it. Truth was, I’d give it to him. I’d already forgiven everything he had done and everything he could do long before today. 

For me that was no choice, that was falling in love.

[dreamingabouthendery]

Soarin’ (m)

pairing: jaemin x reader

au: disneyland worker!jaemin and reader

genre: fluff, smut

word count: 6.4k

warnings: smut, swearing, mentions of drugs (you’ll see), descriptions of sick? slight tainting of childhood (not enough to scar), controversial opinions (but not literally), unfunny humour

specific smut warnings (in case you dont want spoilers): fingering, blowjob, unprotected sex (but assume character is on the pill), semi-public sex?

summary: You have worked at Disneyland since the first year of uni, which has all but destroyed your ideals of magic. But when a new boy becomes the Mickey to your Minnie, you can’t help but find yourself intrigued by the bright-eyed newbie. Maybe Disneyland is magic, afterall. (this sucks im so sorry)

very, very heavily inspired by this thread on reddit. also, i hope you enjoy! any feedback will be much appreciated (this is my first fic as im sure youll be able to tell)

Ah, Disneyland, ‘The Happiest Place on Earth’. If you’re a child, that is. Not only can you meet your favorite characters who are probably doing lines in the back between rounds, but you have the honour of being able to watch them dangle helplessly from a wire during the firework display and narrowly avoid death. It’s no wonder you’ve been working there since your first year of uni.

‘Johnny told me there’s a new Mickey coming today.’ Eva, Princess Tiana and, quite frankly, the only decent princess in the whole park, says. She’s currently struggling to pull the long, white gloves over her own blue plastic pair of gloves she puts on for ‘safety reasons’ - her words, not yours. Though, it’s not like you can blame her when the outfits only get washed...well, never.

The two of you are currently the only two in the spacious dressing room which is permanently accompanied by the stench of sweat clinging to the walls, especially since it’s summer.

‘Oh, really?’ You ask from in front of her on the worn wooden bench, pulling your clunky yellow shoes on that dwarf your feet in their enormous size. It took you months to be able to walk in them without constantly tripping. Thankfully, it seems they at least got a wash after being puked on a few days ago.

She nods, moving towards the vanity and smoothing down a stray hair. ‘I know, it didn't take them long. Poor Jeremy, though.’

You hum in agreement. Jeremy ran into some trouble whilst covering a shift for the Donald Duck regular, resulting in a few broken ribs, a black eye and a dislocated shoulder. Or so the NDA requires you to say, anyway. Needless to say he quit on the spot.

‘____?’ You turn and see Johnny, your manager, making his way over to you with a cute guy in tow. ‘This is Jaemin. Jaemin, this is ____. He’s the new weekend Mickey regular. I need you to show him around Toontown discreetly,’ He gives you a pointed look to remind you that your characters aren’t supposed to talk. ‘And then you can camp out in Mickey’s House until the attractions close.’

You smile at Jaemin and he smiles back sheepishly as Johnny walks away without another word. Jaemin has arguably the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen, accompanied by the prettiest lips and the prettiest - is that too many ‘pretty’s? -  twinkling eyes and you can wholeheartedly say you have no problem showing him around ‘discreetly’.

‘Hi, Jaemin.’ You say, suddenly aware of your current state of half-dress with your suit still unzipped and bunched around your waist. You catch him glancing at your exposed top-half and quickly zip up the back before clearing your throat and gesturing towards the locker opposite yours. ‘Mickey’s suit is usually kept in there.’

‘Uh, thanks.’ He turns quickly before looking back at you, clearly not wanting to ask you to leave but not wanting to change in front of you.

‘Meet you outside?’ You take the hint and stand up, grabbing Minnie’s head and placing it over your own.

He nods gratefully and you leave.

‘You’ll have to get used to that, you know.’ You say quietly as he joins you. For a late Saturday afternoon in the summer, the park isn’t as busy as usual; only the occasional family loiters in Toontown, though in the distance you can see the beginnings of a crowd forming in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle in preparation for the fireworks as the sun begins to set.

‘Used to what?’

‘To seeing other cast members undressed and to them seeing you undressed.’ You say simply, waving to a child with a short brown bob and bucket hat that’s walking towards you as you head slowly from the staff area towards Goofy’s Playhouse. The child stops and asks both of you for your autographs, something that every Disney cast member has to perfect before they get to wear their suit.

‘Right,’ He mutters when she leaves. ‘What happened to the guy before me?’

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, momentarily forgetting you can’t see his face. ‘What’ve you heard?’

‘Nothing, why?’

You sigh. ‘He was jumped by some asshole teenagers. You don’t need to worry, though,’ You add quickly at his sharp intake of breath. ‘You aren’t dressed as Donald Duck so you should be fine.’ You joke.

He laughs slightly at that. ‘Who thought dressing up as a kids’ character could be so dangerous?’

‘Oh, you have no idea.’ You laugh, a little too loudly, drawing more attention to yourself than usual but automatically correct your pitch to match Minnie Mouse’s. You wave at the kids that turn to look at you and they hurry over, asking to take pictures. After they run back to their parents, you turn to Jaemin and ask, ‘So, why did you apply for the job?’

‘Wow, it’s like a second interview.’ You shake your head, mumbling a quick apology. ‘I’ve never actually been to Disneyland before, and you know,’ He gestures his hand aimlessly. ‘This is supposed to be The Most Magical Place on Earth’ - he quotes - ‘so, I guess I wanted to experience the magic firsthand.’

‘That’s Magic Kingdom.’ You correct automatically.

‘Huh?’

‘That’s Magic Kingdom’s motto. Ours is ‘The Happiest Place on Earth’.’

‘Huh. I guess there is a difference, then.’

‘Of course there’s a difference. Magic Kingdom isn’t nearly as good as Disneyland.’ You say simply.

Jaemin snorts. ‘I’m sorry I offended you.’

‘Anyway,’ You say, ‘If you’re looking for a magical experience, you’re coming at it from the wrong angle.’

‘Exactly how bad is it to work here?’ He questions, though you can hear a hint of amusement in his tone.

‘The best I can give you is unforgettable.’ You would explain to him the number of times you’ve caught both members of the public and workers having sex in various places including on various rides, and how Haunted Mansion is notorious for having people leave their loved one’s ashes in it despite the fact they just get vaccumed up, but it’s only his first day and you don’t want to scare him off.

‘Gotcha.’ He merely says and you continue on to show him the Chip ‘n’ Dale Treehouse, your favorite place in Toontown. At night, the treehouse is lit in such a way as to make it whimsical, the ragged branches no longer menacing as they are during the daytime. You can’t complain at the fact that it’s quiet due to the fact that most people overlook it, either, instead mistaking it as decoration and not an actual attraction that you can go in.

This makes it the perfect place to hide out in the nighttime, when people are busy with the most popular attractions and has made it sort of an escape to you. Well, that and it’s given you a bad back.

You pause in front of Mickey’s House. ‘This is your crib,’ you joke. ‘Are you ready for your first official shift?’ You say, feigning drama in your tone.

‘Oh, gee, Minnie, I sure am!’ He replies in Mickey’s tone, emulating it perfectly and making both of you crack up.

‘I have to warn you, though, expect your arm to go dead within the first few minutes from all the waving.’

‘Noted. This job isn’t going to give me carpal tunnel syndrome, is it?’ He asks, only half serious.

‘No, but it may make you hate kids.’

He chokes, but before he can say anything in reply, a small boy who looks about four illustrates your point by pulling down his denim shorts and taking a dump right on the tarmac next to the hideous grey mouse-shaped letterbox.

You can read Jaemin’s horror in his speechlessness as you merely sigh and pull out your radio to call in, ‘We have a code Pooh outside Mickey’s House, over.’

As you walk in your front door to your shared apartment with your roommate, Ailee, you catch her and her boyfriend, Sam, making out on the couch in the living room. You two met in the first week of uni when you both ended up at some frat party that you hated and hit it off.

‘Ew, gross, guys. You have a bedroom, you know.’ You say, throwing your bag on the coffee table and slumping down on the couch next to them, sinking into the plush white cushions.

Ailee merely throws her head back and laughs before saying, ‘Tell me all about it.’

You frown. ‘About what?’

She tuts at you impatiently. ‘Work, duh. Everyday you come home it’s been a bad day,’ She plays with a few strands of your hair comfortingly. ‘So, tell me about it.’

You scrunch your nose up. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary happened.’ You say simply, looking at your nails.

Sam laughs. ‘Even I know you look at your nails when you’re lying, ____.’

Your mouth falls open in shock, offended. ‘I do not.’ You insist and scowl internally.

‘You do,’ Ailee agrees. ‘But it’s okay, that doesn’t matter right now. What’s the juicy story for today?’

You roll your eyes. ‘I’m glad my misery is so entertaining. The only thing that’s different is that there’s a new weekend Mickey regular.’

Ailee and Sam share a pointed look. ‘And?’ She asks, drawing out the syllable.

‘And he’s cute. I guess.’ You add as an afterthought.

Ailee snorts. ‘You guess?’

You groan. ‘Okay, he’s cute, period.’ You concede.

‘So, ask him out.’

‘Can’t. It’s against the rules.’ You mumble.

She gives you an exasperated look. ‘____, sweetie, you’re the most lax person with a job still in the whole park. What’s one date to you that nobody knows about?’

You bite your lip. She does have a point. You think about how cute Jaemin was when he was nervous to greet the kids at the House and hide your grin.

‘She’d have to actually see him again, though, right?’ Sam interjects, interrupting your daydream.

‘Sam, don’t be such a Debby downer.’ Ailee whines.

Whilst it’s true that cast members in a couple usually split up, you doubt they would make Jaemin do his second shift on his own. Resolving to pluck up the courage to ask him out, you go to bed that night apprehensive about the following day.

Apparently God is punishing you for some unknown reason, because you don’t see Jaemin at all that day, or the week after. In fact, you don’t even catch a glimpse of him or the big round ears that are telling of Mickey’s character.

Eve informs you that Johnny teamed him up with Goofy for ‘variety’, meanwhile you’re being sent over to Soarin’ in Grizzly Peak, the most boring area in the whole park due to its unpopularity. You can’t help but worry slightly about Jaemin, though, thinking of the previous time you saw Daniel, Goofy’s actor, when he pulled a flask from seemingly nowhere inside his costume and took a long, deep drink before heading back out, slightly stumbling.

Before you step out, Bella, the girl who plays Cinderella (no, the irony is not lost on you), stops you and says, ‘Oh, ____, I heard the new Mickey Mouse arrived yesterday. Fingers crossed you don’t scare him into quitting, too.’ Ever since you auditioned for the part of Cinderella and lost it to her, Bella has taken to rubbing your inferiority in your face every chance she gets.

You roll your eyes and Eve says back, ‘Oh, fuck off, Bella,’ She turns to you. ‘She’s just jealous ‘cause she thinks he’s cute and he hasn’t even acknowledged her yet.’

You snort as Bella narrows her eyes and stomps away as best she can in her flimsy costume heels.

‘He was asking after you when he came in earlier, you know.’ Eve says.

‘Jaemin was?’

She hums before saying, ‘He looked so disappointed to be paired up with Goofy.’

You feel the blood rushing to your face as you smile. ‘Really?’

Eve looks at you knowingly. ‘Yep, said he wanted to thank you for being so understanding yesterday since no one wants to babysit the newbee.’

‘I’d happily babysit the newbee anytime if they looked like that.’ You say and Eve laughs.

Whilst you’re at the most boring attraction in the park, the day is still no less than eventful. You encounter a child stuck in a tree trying to skip the line for Anna and Elsa’s Royal Welcome on your way to the bathroom due to the nearest one being blocked off. After you manage to actually use the bathroom, you’re surprised to see Elsa herself there, half-dressed at the sink and you can’t help but wonder if that’s the reason the line is so long. To top it all off, one of the only times you manage to fill the ride at Soarin’, you notice a couple getting on while holding a backpack that’s moving and alert the ride operators. When they finally report back to you that there was a six-month-old baby in there, they have to convince you not to ring child protective services.

After you slam your locker closed in the deserted dressing room, you sink down on the rigid bench, putting your head in your hands and massaging your growing headache.

‘____,’ A voice starts and you jump, looking up to see Johnny standing above you, clipboard in hand. He barely gives you a second glance when he startles you, instead pretending not to notice and continuing, ‘I need you next Friday for a grad night.’

You groan. Grad nights are the worst events Disneyland continuously puts on, in the past coming second only to Nights of Joy, the annual Christian festival, before it was cancelled for good. Even the managers rejoiced in the abolition of Nights of Joy. ‘Can’t you find someone else to be Minnie? Everyone knows how bad grad nights are.’

Johnny sighs. ‘Fine, then. I’ll put you on watching the cameras for Star Tours with Jaemin.’

You ignore the way you want to immediately jump on the chance for some one-on-one time with Jaemin and raise an eyebrow. ‘Aren’t you not supposed to do that? You know, because he’s new and I’m not trained in…’ You trail off at the glare he’s giving you and purse your lips, nodding your head in acceptance.

‘Great, thanks.’ He says sarcastically and walks out.

At least the next time you return to Hell on Earth it won’t be in a Minnie costume.

You feel strange as you unlock and push open the door to the CCTV monitor room. If you had to put money on it, you would say it’s because this isn’t your job and you technically shouldn’t be here, but you’re not much of a gambler.

The heavy metal door gives way, opening to a small room with roughly fifty monitors, each displaying the Star Tours ride, the attraction itself as a whole and the surrounding area. You note the odd statue opposite the entrance that you don’t remember the name of - the satellites surrounding a distinct shape that is rocket-like. You shake your head internally at the sight. Why are the only pretty decorations reserved for Fantasyland?

You also note the dim red lighting and frown in confusion as your eyes land on Jaemin, sitting in an office chair in front of the wall of screens, wearing the same uniform consisting of a pale blue shirt and black trousers as you, except wearing it a hundred times better.

He turns upon your entrance, smiling as he takes in your attire. ‘I thought I’d set the mood with some lighting.’ He grins cheekily.

‘Oh?’ You say, stepping into the room, locking the door behind you. ‘What mood is that exactly?’

His smile grows wider as he says, ‘Adventure. We’re in for a night, so I hear.’

You groan, ‘You’ll wish you never agreed to doing this.’ You make your way to the chair next to his, sitting down on the flat cushion and leaning back.

‘How bad can it really be? These are literally a bunch of eighteen-year-olds who aren’t of legal drinking age yet and they’re supervised.’

You shook your head in mock sympathy. ‘Sweet, sweet, naive boy,’ You say. ‘Now you’ve jinxed it.’ You eye his coffee cup and wrinkle your nose in distaste at the black liquid. It looks like you’re staring into the pits of Hell. ‘What is that atrocity?’

He follows your gaze and laughs. ‘It’s coffee. Wanna try some?’ He maintains eye contact as he takes a sip and then offers it to you.

‘God, no. I have self-respect.’

He places it back down next to an intimidating set of controls, a hint of amusement in his eyes. ‘Also, I wanted to say thank you for the other week. For showing me around and stuff.’ He looks down shyly.

‘Oh, it’s, um, no problem. How have you been coping?’ You ask slightly awkwardly, not knowing what to do at his sudden personality flip-flop.

‘It’s a lot harder than I imagined it to be, honestly. I thought the worst that could happen would be screaming children and impatient parents.’ He admits.

You nod. ‘I thought the same when I first started last year. Little did I know the Karens were the least of my problems.’

He laughs breathily. ‘Tell me about it. I don’t know how you’ve managed to last so long.’

You shrug, embarrassed. ‘I just like making the kids’ day I guess.’

He coos and you push him lightly, smiling. ‘Why don’t we play a game?’ He asks, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You narrow your own eyes. ‘What kind of game?’

‘Hmm,’ He pretends to think, tapping his chin. ‘How about twenty-one questions?’

‘Okay,’ You say slowly. ‘What are our rules going to be?’

He smirks. ‘You only get one get-out-of-jail card. And if you use it, you have to do what the other person says.’

You sigh. ‘Fine. Then, follow-up questions to your answers don’t count.’

‘Deal. I’ll go first,’ At your mildly worried look, he says, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. What are you studying in uni?’

‘Business and management.’ You say instantly, and he looks intrigued. ‘It was either that or English lit, and my parents weren’t too keen on me studying that.’

He frowns. ‘Why not?’

You avoid eye contact as you answer. ‘They’re both doctors,’ You clear your throat. ‘Are you in uni?’ You love your parents with all your heart but sometimes you wish they would just be happy with you being happy.

He takes the hint and moves on. ‘Yeah, I’m actually doing photography.’ He says, scratching the back of his neck.

Your head perks up. ‘Really? That’s so cool. My roommate is studying photography, too. Is that what you want to do after you graduate?’

His face relaxes. ‘I’m not really sure, to be honest. I just know it’s something I’m passionate about, you know?’ At your nod of encouragement, he continues, ‘There’s just something so amazing about capturing a moment forever in a way that really brings out its true beauty.’

You give him a small smile. ‘That sounds really special.’

He shrugs, though you can tell he appreciates it. ‘Anyway, it’s your turn to answer. Do you have a boyfriend?’

If you were drinking something, you’re sure you would have choked. ‘I-no?’

He looks slightly put out. ‘Is it complicated?’

You shake your head, maybe a little too hard. ‘No, sorry, you just caught me off guard. No, I don’t have a boyfriend.’ He looks instantly brighter. ‘Why, are you asking me out?’ You tease.

He blushes. ‘I mean, uh, I, um-’

‘Oh my God,’ You laugh, though you feel disappointed. ‘It’s okay, I was only joking. Ouch.’ You’re almost glad you didn’t get a chance to ask him out and make things awkward between the two of you. Maybe not seeing him for two weeks was a sign from the universe not to fuck up.

‘I didn’t mean it like that, oh God, I’m sorry.’ He groans and buries his face in his hands.

You tap him playfully on the shoulder. ‘It’s fine,’ You can’t help but feel hurt. Why did he ask you if he doesn’t care whether you have one or not? Maybe you’re just reading too much into it. ‘My turn, anyway. What’s traumatized you the most since working here?’

‘Learning that when cast members say ‘have a Disney day’ they really mean ‘fuck you’.’

You throw your head back and laugh. ‘That’s my favorite. Although as far as things go, that’s pretty vanilla.’

‘Maybe I’m a vanilla guy.’ He teases, and you can’t help but let your mind wander to an image of him hovering over you, reaching up to intertwine your hands together as he moans sweetly in your ear and you feel your face heat up.

‘So you’re admitting you’re boring.’ You joke halfheartedly, almost off-beat.

He places his hand over his heart in mock hurt. ‘That was uncalled for. Alright then, little miss kinky, where’s the most daring place you’ve had sex?’

Your eyes widen comically. ‘I-’ You glance at the monitors and see two figures in the back row of the mostly deserted ride, one hunched over with their head in the lap of what you make out to be a guy judging by the other figure’s movements. ‘Oh my God, no!’ You cry and fumble for the microphone.

‘What? What is it?’ Jaemin asks, his eyes searching. You can tell the moment he sees what you’re seeing, because he instantly cracks up laughing.

‘It’s not funny,’ You whine, pressing the red button on the microphone and saying as firmly as you can as monotonous as you can, ‘This is a family-friendly ride. Please refrain from scarring’ - you hiss and the figure has the decency to bolt upright and you see that they’re a girl - ‘the camera operators and fellow riders. Thank you.’ The others on the ride look around in confusion, and you can see the girl turn to say something to the boy. Judging by the way she gestures, it’s safe to assume it’s something biting.

‘I thought you said this happens all the time.’ Jaemin says once he’s calmed down enough to make the words out.

‘It does,’ You keep your eye on the couple, the guy wearing a smug grin as he zips up his trousers and the girl looking meek and embarrassed. Good. Public indecency is no joke. ‘But that doesn’t make it any less gross. This is a kids’ park for goodness sake.’

‘But there aren’t any kids around.’

You give him an exasperated look. ‘Well, I would never be okay with doing it on a ride in public.’

He licks his lips and you follow the movement only slightly too closely. ‘So when I asked where the most risky place you’ve had sex is…’ He trails off, smirking.

‘You can cross a literal children’s park from the list of possibilities, and proudly so.’ You say stubbornly. ‘Please don’t tell me you have.’ You rush to say upon seeing his face.

‘I haven’t.’ He says slowly, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting back in his chair, spreading his legs. You wish they didn’t look so inviting. You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

‘But?’ You probe.

‘But nothing,’ He says simply. ‘So, are you gonna answer my question or are you gonna forfeit?’

You scowl at him. ‘What do you want if I do?’ You can feel your pulse racing in both excitement and fear but you keep your face blank.

His eyes shine as he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. ‘I don’t know yet.’

You swallow at his suggestive tone. ‘Fine, I’ll tell you,’ You concede, and he seems to not know whether to be pleased or disappointed. ‘My ex was a bit of an exhibitionist. He, um, you know, touched me when we went to see a movie.’

Jaemin raises an eyebrow, but you miss the glint in his gaze. ‘I thought you weren’t down for doing it in kids’ places.’

‘We were watching Paranormal Activity.’ You say flatly.

‘And?’

‘And it’s rated eighteen plus!’ You defend.

‘Is that the furthest you’ve gone in public? No compromising positions? No p in the-’

You cut him off hurriedly before he can go any further. ‘I’ve just never done it anywhere risky,’ You sigh dramatically. ‘I think I’m vanilla, too.’

He laughs loudly. ‘You don’t have to say it like it’s a bad thing. Anyway, I never said I was vanilla.’

You frown. ‘Earlier, you did.’

‘Did I? Maybe I was just saying it to tease you.’ He smiles a wide, boyish smile, completely contradicting what he’s implying with his words.

‘Oh?’ You say breathlessly. ‘Well, okay then.’

‘Don’t believe me?’

‘I-what? I never said-’

‘Would you rather I show you?’ He offers and your breath hitches as you meet his intense eyes. The warm brown seems darker and he glances at your chest as you breathe deeply. You can’t believe he said that. In the short time you’ve known him, you’re taken aback at how quickly he can switch between shyness and confidence.

When you merely stare back at him, not knowing what to say, he stands up and closes the short distance between the two of you so that his knee grazes your own as he stands above you. ‘____,’ He says, a slight rasp in his voice. ‘I need you to say it if you want this.’

You swallow and whisper, ‘Yes.’

He cups your face with his hand, his thumb softly stroking your cheek as he brings his lips down upon yours. You lift your own hand to hold his wrist which is currently beside your face and use the other one to grip onto the arm of the chair to ground yourself in the moment.

You let loose a small whimper as he glides his tongue across your bottom lip, and you part your lips to allow it in. He grips you tighter before he pulls away from your mouth to trail wet kisses across your jaw. ‘Guess you ended up tasting my coffee, anyway, hm?’ He whispers lowly into your ear before pecking it and you shudder, with both pleasure and laughter.

‘I guess so.’ You look into his eyes and see the pure hunger that makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Jaemin notices and pulls you up gently, pushing your hips into the desk with the monitors above it. Taking the hint, you spread your legs to give him room to stand between them, and he praises a quick, ‘Atta girl’, before leaning back down to reconnect your lips. You now take note of the slight hint of coffee on his tongue this time but you don’t care as you impatiently and desperately kiss him back and wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer. His hand ghosts up your thigh, making you shiver in his arms. He slowly moves to unbutton your bottoms, giving you time to stop him.

In response, however, you whine at what feels like his teasing and unbutton and unzip them yourself, causing him to chuckle as he pulls away. ‘Are you impatient, baby?’ You swoon internally at the pet name and nod, biting your lip.

‘Please,’ You manage. ‘Want you to touch me.’

He moans and slides his fingers into your underwear, not wanting to tease you over them after you asked so nicely. He grins as his fingers slide in your arousal and says, ‘You’re so wet already. Do you want me to make you come all over my fingers?’

‘Fuck, yes.’ You breathe.

His eyes drink in your rapidly rising chest and the utter desire written all over your face as he gently slides a finger inside you. ‘So tight and wet. How are you gonna take my cock if you’re this tight, hm?’ You whine and he eases a second finger in and starts thrusting at a pace that makes you arch your back. 

Your hand flies to his bicep, feeling the way it flexes under your fingertips as he scissors his fingers inside of you. His thumb finds your clit and rubs hard circles into it, the pressure being just enough to make your toes curl. You lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder, pressing a swift kiss to the juncture between it and his neck. You marvel at the way goosebumps rise upon your touch and the way your breaths feel huffing against his rapidly heating skin. You can smell the faint scent of earthiness and wood from his cologne, which you take a deep breath of and breathe in his aroma as your hand winds itself in his hair and tugs when a particular deep surge of his fingers hits a spot that makes your brain go fuzzy.

‘Jaemin.’ You moan and he all but growls.    

‘That’s it, baby, say my name. Are you close? Wanna see your face when I make you cum.’ His words weigh down your lower stomach like a ton of bricks, furthering you along in your chase to find your release. He nudges your clit deliciously, teasing you by rubbing around it every now and then, pulling you away only to bring you back with ten times the sensitivity and it’s enough to push you closer to the edge faster than when you touch yourself.

You feel the coil in your stomach tightening as you nod to answer his question and unbutton your top enough to fit your hand into your bra, your fingers finding your nipple and rolling it between them. You lift your face from his shoulder and stare into the seemingly pitless black of his eyes as they’re stuck to your face and the changes in your expression as he brings you to the edge. ‘Yes, don’t stop, please.’ You manage. His features are hard to make out in the dim lighting, but you notice the way his eyes zero in on your hand stuffed into your bra and it’s when he picks up the pace, fucking his fingers into you harder that you finally let go. Your eyes roll back and your grip on his arm tightens as you moan his name like a mantra.

He takes his fingers out after riding you through your high and makes eye contact as he sucks his fingers clean. ‘Mm, sweet.’ He teases.

You hide behind your hands in embarrassment and he laughs as he pries them away from your face. ‘You gonna let me bend you over this desk, now?’ He grins.

You nod meekly, your legs trembling as you stand up to your full height. Jaemin unbuttons your blouse as you return the gesture on him, pushing his shirt open to run your fingers down the ridges in his stomach. You teasingly flick your thumbs over his nipples and he gasps, to which you smirk and repeat the motion, causing him to moan and you bite your lip at the sound. ‘Sensitive, are you?’

He slaps your ass playfully in response, pulling your trousers and underwear down in one go. You reach behind you and unclip your bra as you step out of the pool of clothing at your feet, pulling it down your arms slowly. He opens his mouth to make a remark, but decides against it as your breasts come into view. He sucks in a breath and reaches up, tugging your left nipple that’s standing to attention. ‘You’re perfect.’ He says, taking in your figure.

You smile, hearing the sincerity in his voice. ‘I want to see you, too.’ You pout, pulling on his belt loops so that he’s even closer and then reaching down to undo them.

He helps you by unbuckling his belt and letting his trousers drop to the floor. You reach into his underwear and run your fingers down his length before wrapping your hand around it and moving it up and down. He throws his head back and you kiss down his neck, tasting the bittersweet salt of his sweat and the natural flavour of his skin. You pull him out of his underwear and begin to pick up the pace but all too soon he puts his hand over yours, halting you.

‘I want to come inside you.’ He phrases it like a question and you nod, turning around and bending over the desk. His hands smooth over the flesh of your ass as he says, ‘You look so good like this.’ Jaemin runs his length between your lips to lube himself and then situates himself so that he’s pressing against your entrance. ‘Ready?’

‘Yes. Please, Jaemin.’ You push your hips back so he gets the hint.

‘That never gets old,’ He pushes himself in steadily and you gasp at the stretch and how satisfying it feels. ‘Been wanting to hear you moan my name since the first day.’

You moan as he thrusts into you, hard and fast. His pace is almost bruising, the way he grips your hips assures you that you’ll feel a smattering of fingertip-shaped soreness tomorrow when you run your fingers over the area. ‘Me too.’ You say in between breaths. He reaches up to roll your bud between his fingers and you whine; your hand travels between your legs to rub your clit. It jumps a little from sensitivity but you keep at it until you just feel pure, white-hot pleasure.

‘Fuck!’ He shouts as you clench around him once he hits a spot that has you grasping his wrist. ‘You feel so fucking good,’ He praises, kissing up your back until he’s whispering in your ear, ‘So. Fucking. Good.’ In between thrusts. You shudder and turn your head, capturing his lips in yours. The kiss is messy but neither of you can bring yourselves to care, too lost in the feeling and taste of each other to pay it any mind. The sound of your hips connecting fills the small room, echoing as it bounces off the walls until your head is filled with his moans and his skin on yours and just Jaemin, Jaemin, Jaemin.

You feel yourself hovering over the edge almost embarrassingly quick and you cry out, ‘I’m so close.’

‘Yeah? Gonna come all over my cock like a good girl?’ He says huskily and you bite your lip and nod. You never would’ve guessed the timid boy you met on the first day who looked so innocent as the new guy had such a dirty mouth. It makes you shiver all over, loving the way his words caress your skin and make your nipples stand to an impossible hardness.

‘Yeah. Wanna be good for you.’

He groans. ‘You are, baby, you’re so good for me.’ At his words, you feel yourself come undone and your legs shake from the effort of holding you up. Jaemin whines as you clench around him sporadically, your breaths coming out in ragged puffs. You swear the sound pushes you harder for longer, wanting to do everything you can to hear him make such a pretty noise again.

‘Wait,’ You say, and he stops immediately. ‘I’m too sensitive. I can’t-’ Your voice cracks.

‘Can’t what, ____? Do you want me to stop?’ You can hear the genuine concern laced in his words.

‘No, well, yes,’ You huff and turn around, letting him slide out of you and you internally cringe at the feeling of him brushing against your sensitive walls. ‘Come here.’ You reach for his hands and pull him back over to you, closing the distance he put between you after you turned around. He looks confused as you smile lazily and kiss him sloppily, your hand moving between his legs to grab him at the base and squeezing him.

He moans and breaks off the kiss. ‘____, if you want to stop-’ You shush him as you drop to your knees and his eyes light up as you lean in to kiss the tip of him lovingly.

You trail your tongue from base to tip and take him in your mouth, suckling the head.

He curses. ‘Please don’t tease, I’m so close already.’

You relent, opening your mouth as wide as you can and sinking down to fit as much of him as you can. What doesn’t fit, you stroke with your hand. You can just about fit your hand around his girth and you can taste yourself on him, something you never thought you’d like but in that moment nothing could be hotter. He fists his hands in your hair, tugging slightly to make you look up at him. When you do, you moan around him at the sight - teeth tugging on his lower lip as he lets out moans here and there when you pay extra attention to the tip and his head thrown back, baring the honey-colored skin of his neck to your hungry eyes. He finally looks down at you and you’re close enough to hear his breath hitch as he watches you take him in and out of your mouth in a trance. You twist and tug him in a way that has his thigh twitching next to your head and so you place your hands on them and take him into your throat.

It’s when you simultaneously fondle his balls that he lets out a quiet ‘fuck’, followed by an ‘I’m coming’ and thrusts shallowly, causing tears to spring in your eyes. He releases into your mouth and you swallow it down and clean him off, earning that whimper that makes your clit throb.

Jaemin pulls you to your feet and into a kiss that you both commit to; one that’s passionate and slow as you calm both of your racing hearts and come down from the high of intimacy. You know he can taste himself on you, but he doesn’t hesitate to give his all. When he breaks away, he leans his forehead against yours, leaving wet kisses all over your face and you giggle. He runs his hands up your arms and says, ‘So, can I take you on a date now?’

You look into his eyes and nod, feeling suddenly shy at his vulnerable stare. ‘Yeah, I’d like that.’

‘So,’ He says casually, pulling you in closer by wrapping his arms around your shoulders. ‘Is this officially the weirdest place you’ve had sex?’

You gasp and slap his chest lightly but he just cackles in return, pulling you back into him.

[emily-strange]

Sparks Fly

Okay so I posted Chapter 2 the other day but was ultimately really unhappy with where the story was heading....so I revamped! 

Thank you again to @billybutchersbabe​ for being my sounding board and talking through my jumbled ideas with me :) Such a massive help.

Hope you enjoy the chapter and feedback is welcomed x

Chapter 2

Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC

Warnings: Swearing, Mention of Violence, *very* mild mention of child abuse (very very small)

…………………………………………………..

Butcher leans against the dirty wall of the safehouse ‘livingroom’ and looks at the young woman sprawled out on the threadbare sofa. He sighs tiredly and pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting the headache that’s constantly threatening his brain. MM and Frenchie are arguing over something ridiculous in the other room and Hughie made a quick exit after trying to scold him for his interrogation techniques.

For the first time in a fucking long time, Butcher feels the pinch of guilt in the back of his mind. The three of them were following a lead when they’d come across the cart fire and Butcher being Butcher, he just had to watch something burn. That’s when he noticed her. Well, he didn’t know she was a she at the time. 

Not that it matters of course, a supe’s a supe.

She approached the fire like she was looking to get burned. He watched her raise her hands and caught a glimpse of a small smile. The flames around her flickered like an electrical current and seemed to gravitate towards her. He saw red. His mind instantly went to Lamplighter and Mallory’s grand-kids. So, he acted.

He’d been careless and rash.

Butcher lets out a long, deep breath that he didn’t know he was holding and calls to MM. When he finally breaks away from his argument, MM enters the room just at Butcher is sorting through a first aid kit.

“You ‘nd Frenchie need ta follow up on that lead. See if ya can get Hughie back.” He says without looking up. MM bites back the need to argue and looks over to the woman on the sofa. He eye’s Butcher warily.

“What you gonna do?” he asks. Butcher stops sorting through the kit and follows MM’s eye-line to the woman.

“Just ask what you wanna ask MM” Butcher responds, straitening himself to full height, causing the other man to do the same. The tension since the alley was thick. Even Frenchie sensed it when they returned ‘home’ with Butcher carrying an unconscious woman over his shoulder.

“Fine. What you gonna do, to her?” MM rewords while pointing to the woman. Butcher picks up some antiseptic wipes and gauze.

“Me?” he asks in his usual jovial tone, “I’m gonna patch the bird up ‘nd ask her some questions. Maybe if she’s lucky, I’ll get her somethin’ ta drink.”

MM scoffs, “So the kickin’s are done?”

Butcher places one of his hands, still holding the gauze, over his heart, “Scouts honour.”

MM shakes his head but gathers his things. Him and Frenchie head out to follow up on the previous lead, with the latter muttering in French as they exit the building.

Butcher takes a couple of seconds to gather himself before sitting on the small coffee table opposite the sofa, setting up a bottle of water next to him ready. The woman’s bag lies on the floor next to them, having been checked over by Butcher when they got back, however he’d put the matchbook in the pocket of his short-sleeved shirt the moment he’d knocked her out in the alley.

He moves her hair gently off of her face and sighs, exhausted himself. He gives her a little shake. And then another one. And then a bigger one while saying (almost shouting) “Hey!”. The woman stirs and for a second Butcher sees her relaxed before everything crashes back down to earth. She hurries to sit upright, her stomach clearly no longer hurting her and Butcher grabs her arm before she can bolt off the sofa.

“Alrigh’ alrigh’ calm down now luv.” He chastises and retracts his hands quickly when the woman snatches her arm back, holding it to herself like he’d burned her. Her eyes are wide and her face is bruised from earlier, with blood smeared across her forehead and jaw. Old, almost closed cuts are scattered around her face with yellow bruises framing her eyes on both sides.

“Why am I here?” Emmy asks, pushing part the dry scratch of her throat.

“Well. That’s the question ain’t it. Why are you here? Some say God. If you believe that kinda thing. Me? I’d say freak’a nature.” Butcher answers, confusing Emmy for a moment before she realises what he’s getting at.

“No,” she replies quickly “why am I in your….house?”

Butcher looks around, finding it funny that she’d think this rundown hole could be someone’s house.

“We brought you back here afta your little display in the alley. Figured it was the least I could do afta….well ya know.” Butcher says while gesturing to her generally, “And I’ve neva met a supe what ask ta die. So tickle me curious.”

Emmy thinks back to their altercation and recalls her desperate plea to end it all.

“Let’s just say I’ve had a bad couple of days.” She whispers. This seems to appease Butcher for the moment as he hands over the bottle of water. She takes it quickly, chugging down almost half of its contents before stopping to heave in air like she hasn’t breathed for weeks. She waits for Butcher to say something but when he doesn’t she rolls her eyes.

“Look, I didn’t do anything to the cart okay?” Emmy mumbles. The silence of the man opposite her putting her even more on edge, “You bring me here to kill me or something?”

“Nah. If I wanted ya dead, you’d be dead.” Butcher answers with a shit-eating grin.

Emmy nods slowly, “That’s, um, very comforting.”

“Look, I’m not in the habit of picking up strays. But my mate was giving me fucking grief about leavin’ ya.” Not totally untrue, Butcher thinks. Hughie had argued like a little bitch but Butcher was also not lying when he said he was curious about the bedraggled supe.

Emmy thought for a moment back to the alley and how concerned his friends had seemed. “….Hughie?” She says absentmindedly. “Or MN….MM?”

Butcher sighs and hangs his head in mock upset, “See. You shouldn’ta told me ya know our names.”

“You were hardly being careful!” Emmy says with rushed defense.

“Well I wasn’t plannin’ on you makin’ it out of that alley.” Butcher snaps back, raising his voice in annoyance. Emmy knows she should be terrified, definitely more scared than she is. This guy jumped on her the second he caught a whiff of her power. But really, he just looks exhausted now. Totally fed up. And like he said, if he wanted her dead, she’d probably already be dead.

Butcher narrows his eyes at Emmy and almost smirks when she does the same to him. They stare at each other for a few seconds, until the insane situation she’s found herself in causes Emmy to do the last thing Butcher expects her to do.

She laughs.

“I’m….I’m sorry” she gasps between laughs, “I, uh...I haven’t slept in like…2 days”. She breaks off to laugh silently into the hand she smacked to her mouth. Butcher furrows his brow and this seems to set her off even more.

“And…it kinda felt like…” she tries to continue without laughing but fails, “it felt like….we were having the world’s most…awkward…staring contest.” By the time Emmy finishes, she’s wiping tears out of her tired eyes. She manages to calm herself down enough that Butcher thinks it’s safe to speak.

But the moment he opens his mouth, Emmy erupts into laughter again.

“Alrigh’!” Butcher shouts and Emmy’s laughter retreats.

“Sorry…I’m…scared I am…you’re very scary.” She says sincerely despite the humour in her tone. She coughs the last of the laughter away and takes another sip of water before handing it back to Butcher who puts it on the table.

“Look. I wanna know who’s afta ya.” He says sternly and Emmy nods, watching her own hands as she fiddles with a thread on the sofa. What has she got left to lose?

“Umm okay, well….I dunno to be honest. Maybe no one? Maybe police? I just assume someone is.” She replies, only making eye contact once she’s finished.

“And why, prey tell, would the cops be afta ya?” Butcher whispers menacingly, the way he does. He sees the hesitation on Emmy’s face and runs his large hand down his own, groaning. He has a feeling that his usual intimidation technique isn’t going to cut it here.

He looks again at the old cuts and bruises on her face and sighs. She probably wants reassurance. Reassurance that he won’t turf her over to the cops or worse, whoever she worries is after her.

The problem is, Butcher doesn’t know how to be reassuring anymore. And why should he be? He doesn’t know this girl. She’s a supe. Whether she acts like one or not isn’t his business. His business is straightening them out. Ending them if need be.

But something tugs at him. Something akin to guilt, again. Maybe empathy? Who the fuck knows.

“Look. I’m sorry ‘bout the alley alrigh’? Wasn’t my finest moment.” Butcher says sighing, hoping it’ll soften her to him and he can get his information. That’s why he’s doing it. That’s the only reason he apologised…

“Why did you…?” Emmy asks quietly but can’t quite find the right word. Attack her? Accuse her? Threaten her? All of the above?

Butcher shakes his head, “Answer mine ‘nd I’ll answer yours.”

“Okay. Um. So I didn’t know I was a….’supe’….until around 2 days ago.” Emmy begins but stops when Butcher scoffs.

“Whatta you, 25/26?” he asks disbelievingly. He’s never heard of someone being so old before a power materialised.

“29. And it’s weird. Believe me, I know.” Emmy says sternly, annoyed that he’s interrupted her already, “But it’s true.”

Butcher smirks and gestures for her to continue.

“I’ve always been a fast healer.”

“Plus side of being a supe eh?” Butcher says mockingly and he takes note of the way Emmy’s nostrils flare.

“You keep saying that. Supe, supe,  supe! Until the other day, I didn’t know I could do what I did.” Emmy bites back angrily.

“And what did you do?” Butcher asks, ignoring her anger and raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Why did you attack me!?” Emmy asks firmly, no longer allowing her fear to cloud her brain. The whole situation is starting to really piss her off. So much had happened in the last couple of days and she honestly felt like she was losing her mind. “You don’t even know my fucking name. But you kicked me in the fucking face.”

Butcher can’t help but smile. She’s feisty, he thinks. A far cry from the grovelling girl in the alley. If he’d been faced with this side of her, he’s not sure she’d be sitting here right now.

“Alrigh’. I’ll play.” Butcher says calmly, “Me ‘nd my…mates…we ain’t a fan of supes doin’ whatever tha fuck they please. And that’s what we fought you were doin’. Now, what. Did. You. Do.”

Emmy sighs and rubs exasperatingly at her face with the sleeves of her hoodie. When she pulls her hands back, she’s surprised at how much bloods come from her face, “Wow. You really did a number on me.”

“That I did.” Butcher responds quickly, grinning. Was he proud of that? Who the fuck is this guy? Why couldn’t that sweet looking one be here instead.

Emmy looks at the blood on her sleeves again and weighs her options. She could stay quiet and probably die. Or try to escape and probably die. Or maybe cooperate and get a chance to live. Not exactly a Sophie’s Choice. She lowers her hands and lets out a large sigh.

If he hates supes so much, maybe he’ll understand?

“When I was ten I was put with a foster family. Had a shit-tone of foster siblings. Like, they never stopped coming and going.” Emmy rubs again at her tired eyes and clears her throat. The man opposite her stares with an unreadable expression. “We were slave labour really….the family….they’re not good people. And you don’t just leave. They make sure of that.”

Emmy stops to gather her thoughts. Fuck she’s tired. And hungry. At that thought, her stomach growls but she jumps when Butcher clears his throat and says, “Haven’t got all day luv.”

Emmy scoffs and nods. Basically, hurry the fuck up.

“What you need to understand is….we were untouchable. We never went to school, but no one questioned it. People showed up dead but the police just, acted like nothing happened. It was like some…hickville mafia.”

“Mafia?” Butcher repeats and Emmy just laughs.

“We weren’t like the Godfather or anything. But yeah. We ran drugs, weapons…..and as I recently found out. People.” Emmy gestures for the bottle of water and Butcher begrudgingly hands it over. She downs the rest of the bottle and feels a blinding pain behind one of her eyes. Great. “Look, I burnt the fucking place down okay.”

Emmy pushes on the increasing pain that throbs behind her eye. This isn’t the time to be getting a migraine. Butcher takes a moment to think on Emmy’s story. It’s not the craziest one he’s ever heard but that’s not hard with the type of shit he sees.

“So your….fire thing. Didn’t happen till the otha day?” he asks plainly.

“Nope. Never had any idea about it.” Emmy answers quickly, squinting against the lights of the room. Butcher’s a pretty good judge of character and he’s basically trained in telling if someone’s lying. She’s not lying.

“Where were you before then? Before the foster family?” Butcher asks while picking up the antiseptic wipes and motioning for Emmy to sit forward. She hesitates but, in the end, finds herself leaning in for him to wipe at the dried blood around her face. He’s not exactly gentle but she does note how he spends time to check each open wound. Making sure nothing nasty has found its way into the cuts.

“That’s the thing. I have no idea.” She pauses briefly to hiss in pain has Butcher presses on a fresh bruise, “Before...the fire…I was going through all the paperwork that I wasn’t supposed to. After I found out about the…people. And I found years’ worth of account stuff I’d never seen. The head of the family is a stickler for paperwork.” Emmy laughs humourlessly. Remembering how many clips round the head she got as a child when something was misfiled, “All these payments to an account I didn’t know about. And it came from one company. Vought.”

At the mention of Vought, Butcher stops his inspection of Emmy’s wounds and sits back to look at her. Emmy finds herself instantly missing the feel of his hands on her face but shakes the thought from her mind as quick as it came.

“Pass me my bag.” She says and after a second Butcher does. She doesn’t go into the bag, instead turns it around to pick at some stiches on it’s back. After the stiches come away, she slips a piece of paper out of a small opening of the fabric. She opens the paper, which is singed, to show a large payment from Vought to who Butcher imagines to be the foster family.

“There were years’ worth of these. Why was Vought sending random payments to a small crime family!?” Emmy asks, knowing Butcher wouldn’t have the answer to her question, “I saw the name and…just…I have this feeling. That Vought had something to do with…me. The bits I can’t remember.”

Butcher’s mind was racing. That was a lot of information to get in a couple of seconds. Should he ask her more about her foster family? No they don’t matter....or do they? He has no bloody clue. From the burnt edges of the paper he can only assume the rest of the papers went up in flames. 

Emmy’s just watching him for a reaction but he has no idea what to say yet. He can’t exactly fill her in on his business, but he’s also not planning on letting her walk out the door so quickly when she may know more than she thinks. So he does what he usually does. Acts.

Butcher quickly snatches the piece of paper from Emmy and pockets it.

“Hey!” Emmy says lunging forward, only to be pushed easily back onto the sofa by Butcher. He gets up and goes into the other room and comes back a second later with his coat.

“There’s some food around ‘ere somewhere. Water in the tap.” He says gesturing around and not directly looking at Emmy.

“Where the fuck are you going!?” Emmy shouts, jumping up. She’s quite a bit shorter than Butcher but he has to admire her temper.

“Look, if I were you, I’d grab summit ta eat. Pop some painkillers ‘nd takea nap. But that’s just me.” he says bending down condescendingly to Emmy’s height.

Before Emmy can say anything else, Butcher sweeps past her to the door. He gets his phone out and puts it to his ear.

“Don’t worry Sparky, I’ll be back latea.” Butcher winks before calling whoever is on the other line a “cunt” and slamming the door behind him. Emmy also hears the obvious clunk of a lock sliding into place.

Emmy looks around the dark, dingy room as the pain in her head starts to really make itself known. She stands in the same spot Butcher left her in for at least 5 minutes, going over the last day or so in her mind.

“I need a fucking drink.”

[the-l-spacer]

Summary: When Lloyd falls sick, leaving the August Sky Repertory without a narrator, David Adams, a college student taking theatre on the side, gets thrust into the limelight.

Written for Day 1 of Shaperaverse Prompt Week!

David arrives late for rehearsal. It’s not his fault really, what with the rain slowing traffic to a crawl, and how he lives further from the August Sky Repertory Theatre than the rest of the group, and of course the bus is always late…

... is how he’s rationalising sleeping way, way in when Lloyd inevitably rakes him over the metaphorical coals for his tardiness. The company’s irritable stage manager detested when things didn’t go exactly according to plan, with lateness being a particularly egregious sin in his books. David thanks the stars that today’s rehearsal is only student-run, so he won’t have to deal with all that, on top of their director, William’s, trademark ‘I’m-not-mad-I’m-disappointed’ side glance that sometimes cut deeper than the worst of Lloyd’s tirades.

So when David barrels through the main entrance, sneakers squeaking on the polished marble floors, runs up the stairs to the auditorium on the building’s second floor, he’s fully prepared a barrage of apologetic excuses and half-truths. And when he pushes past the double doors, an ‘I’m so, so sorry' is on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill from his mouth.

And then he realises that Lloyd is, quite inexplicably, absent from their rehearsal.

His footsteps slow, and he proceeds at a steady trot downward, past rows of velvet-covered seats, to where Jill and Michael are, eating pizza with their legs dangling over the lip of the stage, spilling crumbs into the orchestra pit (something Lloyd and William would grow white hairs over, if they were actually there to begin with).

“Yo, Davey!” Michael waves. He scoots over two paper cups of soda, and pats the now-empty spot next to him. Taking his cue, David boosts himself up on the stage, plucking a slice of pizza from Jill’s hands.

“Hey. Sorry ‘m late.” He shoves half the pizza into his mouth, ignoring Jill’s protests.

“Damn, David, this your first meal of the day?” Michael balks, wordlessly passing a new pizza slice over to Jill, who accepts it with a huff.

“Yeah, actually.” David finishes off the crust, wipes greasy fingers off on his jeans. “Stayed up too late last night rushing a submission, so I overslept. No time for breakfast. I thought Lloyd would be ready and waiting to chew me out though. Where is he?”

As if on cue, Asha emerges from left wing, pacing the stage and chattering anxiously on her phone. “And you’re sure you’re getting enough water? Did you take a panadol? I could get some soup delivered to you.” Noticing David for the first time, she mouths a silent, Lloyd’s sick.

“You’re joking.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to David.

“What?” He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “He’s never sick. Don’t you guys ever notice he’s at rehearsal, like, always? He’s never late, never forgets to bring his script, and he never falls sick. it’s like he’s some sort of automaton. A weird theatre-obsessed automaton who runs on.. uhh..”

“Salt,” Jill offers, “and spite.”

“Yeah, that.” David holds out his hand to Asha, currently glaring daggers at him and Jill. “Can I talk to him? Just, you know, to be sure? And to wish him well and all.”

Sighing, Asha says a final “Take care, okay?” to the person on the other side of the phone, and passes it over to David’s outstretched hand.

“Lloyd?”

The voice coming through the Huawei’s tinny speaker is barely recognisable, raspy and low. “David. You’re late for rehearsal. You know-“ a series of hacking coughs interrupts whatever Lloyd (because it was, most unmistakably, Lloyd) was trying to say.

“Hey, hey, save it, yeah?” David’s own voice is threaded through with concern, but he can’t help a slight smile from crossing his face. Even when sick, Lloyd still can’t resist trying to lecture him. That sanctimonious idiot. “You’ll have plenty of time to yell at me once you’re better.”

A tiny chuckle. “That’s a.. all the incentive I need.” He clears his throat once, then twice. “Anyhow, I expect you all to continue rehearsal as normal. I’ve put Asha in charge. Just.. run through Janissary again, David, you’re taking over as Narrator, try to memorise your blocking, a-“

“-excuse me, what?!?”

“- I said, memorise y.. your blocking, and-“

“- no, no, the other thing. You want me to play the Narrator?!??”

“I don’t misspeak, David. There’s no one else to fill in for me, and we all know I narrate terribly.”

“B.. but Michael could, or I could call in his understudy. And who’s gonna work on lighting? I thought that was my job!”

“I-“ another coughing fit, “-I’ve arranged for Kate to take over the lighting, just for today. She should be arriving soon.” As if to anticipate the further protests forming in David’s mind, he continues. “You auditioned into this theatre program to sing and act, just like the rest of us. You can’t expect to keep hiding backstage and playing background roles. It’s time for you to step u-“ Lloyd’s voice gives out entirely, and Asha snatches the phone from David’s limp grasp.

“You’ve lost your phone privileges,” she says smoothly. Then, turning away from David, spluttering and panicking, she addresses the sick stage manager (and friend!) on the other end of the line. “Lloyd, stop trying to talk on a hoarse throat or I’m going to chuck Brija’s spear at you again. We’ve got this handled. Just sleep someplace cool, keep a cold compress someplace handy. We’ll all come over to visit you once we’re done for the day — nonono, don’t say anything — we will come in and take care of you, because gods know your dad’s not gonna do it, so hush. Go to sleep, and rest well.. Love you too.”

With that, she flicks her phone shut, pockets it, and turns toward the rest of the group, all staring silently at her. She colours a little, tucking a stray curl self-consciously behind her ear. “What?”

“He said ‘love you’?” Michael grins, forming air quotes around the words. “That boy is havin' a fever.”

Jill smacks his arm. “Don’t be an asshole. We know Asha’s more of his mom than anything, not... you know...” She and Asha shoot meaningful glances at David, who, for the record, looks entirely perplexed. Jill mentally sighs. David would come to terms with his crush on Lloyd eventually (or at least, she hopes so, the energy between the two of them is entirely too weird and awkward otherwise).

“Yeah, call me a mom all you like, we all know you’re planning on visiting him after rehearsal too. I just took the liberty of saying we’re all going to spare him having to argue with us individually. Speaking of.” She pulls her long, dark hair into a ponytail, the universal code for let’s get down to business, and claps her hands together. “Shall we begin rehearsing? Kate? Kate!”

The dark, silent theatre is filled with an electrical hum, as row by row, lights spark to life, growing brighter and brighter as they warm up. The control booth at the back of the theatre illuminates, revealing Kate, a freshman and the newest member of New Albion University’s theatre program, clad in a pair of headphones half the size of her face, waving at the group below.

“Sorry, sorry!” Her voice, mic’d up to the theatre’s speakers, bounces eerily around the room. “You guys seemed to be distracted, so I zoned out. Are we ready to start?”

Scowling, David asks, “Was she there the whole time? Was anyone gonna tell me I got replaced as lighting tech by the freshie?”

“Might want to cut the snark there, buddy,” Kate’s amplified voice warns.

“What she said. Also, take this as a valuable learning experience,” Asha says. “You do a good Vizier, but it’s about time you tried a bigger role.”

“And even if it ends horribly, it's fine, since this is just today’s arrangement!” Jill pipes up.

David groans. “Not helping.”

Michael claps him on the shoulder. “Heyyy, you’ll be fine, Davey. Just read through the script and remember where to stand. You got this, man.”

Nodding, David fishes out his Janissary script, and flings his satchel bag toward the seats, where it lands lopsided on the front row.

“Places, everyone! Jill and Michael, clear the trash from the stage!” Asha calls out. “David, stand here.” She ushers him gently to where a faint ‘x’ is taped, downstage right.

A chill runs up his spine. He isn’t hidden upstage, or holed up in the control booth, he���s here, standing at the August Sky Repertory Theatre’s unofficial ‘sweet spot’, a space on stage where even the softest voice can cut right through the cavernous auditorium, clear as crystal. A space reserved for soloists, for the most important characters to have their moment in the spotlight. For anyone but him.

Experimentally, he clears his throat, and almost winces when the sound travels through the vast performance space, silencing the others where they are standing.

“Are you ready, David?”

He turns to look at Asha. “I don’t think I’ll ever be, but I guess we gotta start sometime.” He clears his throat again, rocking nervously on the balls of his feet. “Okay. Act 1, Scene 1.”

The house lights dim, and narrow to spotlight David. He feels their warmth, looks out across the rows of empty seats.

There’s something special, about the moment just before the start of a performance. As one, the world comes to a standstill, and holds its breath in waiting. In the silence, David is all too aware of the thump, thump, thumping of his heart, the rustling of pages as sweaty hands flip his script open, to where the narrator’s lines lie, clean and unannotated. Tabula rasa, a blank slate, leaving only possibility.

The air crackles with anticipation, so thick he can barely breathe, and he can feel the others’ eyes upon him, watching, waiting for him to shatter that tension like glass.

This tale not all will attend, his first line reads.

He takes a breath, back straightening of its own accord. Addressing the invisible audience, he opens his mouth, and begins his performance.

[inspirationdivine]

Threads  That Bind || Lydia and Nell

Timing: Current Parties: @nelllraiser @inspirationdivine Summary: Lydia and Nell get to know each other much more than intended Triggers: Head trauma mention,   stalking

Her wings were entirely free. Under a glamour so that none might see, but Lydia revelled in the feeling of the wind cutting around them, ruffling the fresh wing. Everything was heightened under the new nerves, freshly learning what to feel and what to ignore. It was beautiful and disconcerting, but as Lydia walked along Amity road with pain for the first time in six weeks, Lydia could enjoy herself. Even as she saw a woman struggling with something on her hand, Lydia thought nothing of it, beginning to sidestep around her automatically.

Was it Nell’s fault that she hadn’t gotten around to trying out the prize she’d gotten for entering the pie contest until this moment? Probably. But was it also her fault that her finger was now seemingly and hopelessly stuck into one side of the chinese finger trap, rendering her halfway useless? Most definitely. Muttering to herself under her breath with frustration pouring over her lips, she didn’t hesitate to call out when someone came a little too close to her. They’d have to be the one to help her get this thing off, and free her from the child's toy’s obviously nefarious clutches. “Hey! You!” She abruptly pointed at the woman with the hand that was still held prisoner by the woven contraption. “Help me out of this thing! It won’t let me go.” The witch waved her hand around in vain, making another attempt at releasing herself.

Lydia frowned, turning on her heel as someone addressed her, pointing right at her like Lydia was some carnival spectacle. “It’s a child’s toy, isn’t it? You need to compress it to get yourself out.” She stepped forward anyway, a nervous, jittery energy to her movements - she was energetic and jittery, mushroom spores thick in the air. “Look, like this,” She said, fully intending to push it so that it would open around the girl’s finger. That wasn’t what she ended up doing. Whether it was that both their hands moved in the wrong way at the wrong moment, or fate intervened, or just the mushroom spores messing with her actions, all of a sudden, Lydia’s finger had sunk right into the hole, trapping her as much as Nell.

Nell blinked cluelessly as the woman’s finger soon joined in on the not-so-fun of being trapped. “A child’s toy, huh?” she commented dryly. “Of course I already tried pushing it. I know how it works,” Nell said stubbornly. “This isn’t working obviously so just...take your finger out, I guess. Maybe I can cut it off or something.” It hadn’t yet occurred to Nell that the other women might also be stuck, apparently doomed to a life of being prisoner to a Chinese finger trap. What the hell was wrong with this thing, anyway? She should have known anything she won from the pie contest would be some sort of cursed shit.

Lydia frowned, looking up at Nell, as if it was the girl’s fault rather than her own. It should be simple, shouldn’t it? She pushed her finger into Nell, and then pulled it back, but where it should have slid off easily, it remained stuck, trapping them in place. “Not again,” Lydia muttered to herself, trying to get her finger out the normal way again. “Scissors might not be a bad idea. Oh come on, this isn’t funny. Where on earth did you get this thing?”

Nell’s own frown deepened as the woman’s continued attempts proved fruitless. “What’s wrong with this thing?” she growled in frustration, jerking on the trap perhaps a little too hard, as if she could force her finger out of it. “I have a knife,” Nell said without explanation before trying to jimmy one of said blades from its hiding spot with her single free hand. It was a bit more difficult to coerce it out when her mobility was limited by their connection. “Here we go-” she said before laying the dagger against the trap, beginning to move it in a sawing motion. Instead...the metal of it promptly began to spark, as if it had met another metal it couldn’t cut through. “What the hell? This is bullshit!” It seemed her usual method of powering through wasn’t working. “I got it from that stuid pie contest! It was a prize!”

Lydia’s eyes widened in surprise as Nell just whipped out a knife. She flinched, cringing away as Nell tried to hack away the band, risking their fingers in the process. Lydia was almost relieved it didn’t work. “You won it in the pie contest? Why on earth would you ever put yourself in a situation to risk such danger? I don’t know anyone who was truly completely happy with their prize, everything came with a double edge. Oh well. We will just have to solve this. Did it come with any instructions? I know someone with invisible scissors that we could try, for the last time something happened.”

Nell growled with frustration as the thing held true on their fingers, leaving them still connected. “Well I didn’t know the prizes were faulty to begin with,” she replied defensively. “Why would I have any reason to think so?” But when Lydia mentioned instructions, Nell pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket, and handed it to the other woman. “I thought it was like a fortune or something when I read it. It was in with the packaging, though.” On the paper was a simple, singular sentence of ‘Release can be found in many unexpected places, but working together to solve problems will yield unmeasurable strength.’ The woman’s last words were quick to catch Nell’s attention. “Invisibile scissors?”

“What does that mean? We already tried the working together thing, pushing our fingers together and all that, that was co-operation.” Lydia tapped her fingers. There was almost a smile on her lips as she thought about it. This might be a riddle, and while the mushroom spores were thick in her mind, Lydia did love a word game. “Oh, oh! I was in a similar situation to this before, an invisible bond that could be broken with invisible scissors. I suspect it wouldn’t be the solution here, because this bond is… rather visible and rather an eyesore, I must admit.” She tapped her lip. “Unmeasurable strength. Do you have more strength than one might expect? Working together…. I wonder if this is not the problem we need to solve, necessarily. Solving problems implies more than one, while this little trap is only one. Do you know anyone with problems worth solving?”

The woman seemed to be almost enjoying this a little too much, and Nell wasn’t quite sure she was as keen for a riddle as her trapped partner was. “Who are you?” she asked in some bewilderment, still not sure what to make of the other woman. “A similar situation? What do you mean?” This woman grew more confusing by the moment, and even bigger of a mystery. As for unsuspected strength… “I mean- maybe. Do you?” Did magic count as unsuspected power? Probably, right? But parts of what was being said made sense in a way, even if Nell wouldn’t have thought of it herself. Unfortunately she seemed to have too many problems worth solving. None of which were ones she was happy to share with a complete stranger. “Yeah but- what about you? What are your problems?”

“I was stuck to standing near a man for a couple of weeks. It was no toy, but highly inconvenient.” Maybe. Lydia relaxed slightly. At least she wasn’t dealing with a human. “I wouldn’t call it unmeasurable, but something like that.” Not that she could promise bind a toy into doing anything. Fae magic required the capacity for thinking. “A lost friendship, a cruel stalker, a head injury that refuses to heal as it should, and complete weariness,” Lydia replied offhandedly, as if she was just reading a list off a menu, rather than the acheful thoughts that kept her up deep into the night. “None that seem the sort of thing that can be solved for a toy like this, nothing that requires unmeasurable strength.”

“How were you stuck next to a man? What does that even mean?” Nell continued to press, being her generally nosy self. “And you didn’t even tell me who you are, still.” The mention of the woman possibly having her own hidden strength was intriguing, only bringing more questions to the forefront of the young witch’s mind. She could think how each of the problems she had might relate to one of the ones Lydia had listed. Which...what exactly did that say about what her life had become? But it was also worrisome if this random woman also had such deep-seated problems. Was this just White Crest as a whole? Shaking that thought away, Nell decided to go on the offensive rather than wait to see if the other woman asked after Nell’s personal life. “Okay...which of those is easiest to solve?”

“It’s a rather long story, which I’d prefer not to go into.” That was another friend she’d lost, after all. Lydia shook her head. “It was likely some errant spellcaster leaving magic lying around where it shouldn’t have been, unlike this situation here.” Well, it really depended on who had made the finger trap, didn’t it? Lydia had a horrible thought for a second that spilled ice down her spine. Were there mime spell casters? Had they been responsible for this? “None of them, particularly. Certainly not anything that can be resolved by a stranger. I cannot undo the loss of that friendship, I don’t even know where the stalker is at this time, and nothing can done about my head that hasn’t already been done. Time is supposedly the answer to all ails, so I will just have to wait, which is hardly appropriate here. What about you?”

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Nell insisted, wondering whether the dodging of her question twice in a row had been intentional or not. The mention of a spellcaster had her interest piquing, somewhat surprised that the woman would mention the supernatural so freely. “Sometimes magic just has a mind of its own.” She wouldn’t expect someone who hadn’t wielded it to understand. “Well- we have to resolve something.” Nell’s impatience was getting the better of her, also growing restless of standing in one place for so long. “I’m good at tracking,” she said absently at the mention of the stalker. “My mom’s a healer, but she’s sort of out of business right now.” Temporarily losing your magic via fext tended to do that to a person. “And the loss of friendship doesn’t have to be permanent like you said, right?” A frown was quick to grace her lips as Lydia turned the question back to her. Reluctantly, she answered in the vaguest terms she could manage. “I’m probably also coming up on a lost friendship, my family had a stalker but we’re working on that. A threat to them was actually recently resolved. Change will be coming that I’m not welcoming of.”

“You’re right, I have not,” Lydia agreed, if only because she was exhausted by magic forcing her to make acquaintanceships she’d rather not. Lydia frowned at Nell as she got frustrated, trying not to be frustrated herself. “I’m not sure my stalker is one I want tracked. The only reason I’m alive is that he changed his mind half way through murdering me and resuscitated me mid drowning.” Her mouth tasted sour. “I can’t control other people’s feelings, that isn’t one I can work on. At all.” Admitting that stung more than anything else. None of the other woman’s issues sounded particularly easy to solve either. Perhaps a random stranger’s would have to suffice. If the resonance between their problems  Lydia sighed. “I’m Lydia Griffin,” she said eventually. Lydia looked down at her finger. “Oh! Thank goodness!” She exclaimed, jerking her finger back. But what had previously appeared as looseness and space to remove her finger and had tightened back to the point of cutting off her circulation in her finger, pinching painfully. “Drat. I should have never let you get that thing near me.”

“But if you don’t find him first, isn’t he gonna find you?” Nell questioned. “Wouldn’t it be best to just take care of the stalker before they get their chance?” At least, that had been her primary philosophy ever since the entire Montgomery situation. “Strike first and maybe then they won’t even have a chance to strike back. Sometimes stalkers just change their minds partway through, I guess. Or something else gets in their way.” Like your sister’s head. “Ah- sorry about almost dying though.” The name took Nell a moment to process, but she found it mixed in with the darker days of Bea’s death and capturing August, realization striking her. “You kept something for my family,” she began cryptically, an appreciative tone in her voice. “Wait- wait- how’d you do that? Get it to loosen? It liked your name or something?” Nell bent to look closely at the finger trap before giving it her own name. “Nell Vural? Penelope Vural. Penelope Nisa Vural.” Each attempt became more impassioned, thought nothing seemed to happen when she continued tugging her finger.

“He has found me. He knows where I live, where I work, who my friends are. He can turn himself to mist, he has a gaze that can freeze anyone on sight. Striking first is easier said than done.” Lydia shuddered. “It’s not a simple solve, is what I’m saying.” She pushed away the comment about her near death, and the finger trap grew tighter again. There was an impulse to share, but Lydia had never been the sort. She’d rather her features were a mirror than a window into her own feelings. When Nell talked about her keeping something, Lydia tilted her head in concern, with no idea what Nell was talking about. Or at least, not until Nell tried to unlock the puzzle with her name. 

 Lydia pursed her lips. A Vural. She had met the tempest in a crystal bottle that was Lucinda Vural, aggressive with a sword with a vicious streak that had only barely left Lydia unscathed. And then there was Beatrice, who was apparently special enough to have caught a Fae’s attention, but was also rotten in every conceivable way, right down to how she had been dead and still ought to be. The Vural name left a rather terrible taste in her mouth. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. Our names are hardly problems to be solved, are they? It’s something else.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy, I’m just saying maybe it’s something that should be looked into rather than waiting. I didn’t mean it was simple- I just meant it might be worth trying it out. I mean if he’s come after you again won’t you just be waiting for him, then?” But it seemed Nell’s views on the matter weren’t meant to align with Lydia’s. As for Lydia’s apparent disdain after the witch’s mentioning of the favor Luce had taken from the woman, Nell wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. It could very well have been Luce being her usual person-phobic self that made Lydia react the way she did. At least the other woman hadn’t said anything distasteful about the family. That would have been a quick path into sprouting even more tension with Nell. Offhandedly, Nell huffed with frustration, getting more antsy to be free by the second. “I don’t know they could be problems to be solved when your middle name is your mom’s name.” It hadn’t been meant as any heartfelt admission, and had been more meant as a joke than anything, but it seemed good enough for the finger trap as it loosened in the slightest, and Nell reflexively tried to pull her finger out to no avail. “It did it again! What the hell does it want?”

“He can’t reach me anymore,” Lydia said pointedly, shutting down that conversation with the chill of her tone. Similarly, the toy tightened around her finger. Lydia glanced around, as people walked past them. Some were not hesitant to show their stares at the two frustrated women, but quickly backed down under Lydia’s glare. Vural or not, she would have to get along with this spellcaster. “Perhaps we ought to go somewhere else. People are staring.” She said, beginning to shift them towards a cafe where they might sit in a booth while they discussed their… entanglement. “Oh, this loathsome little thing,” Lydia sighed, and tested her hypothesis. She dug into the rawest part of her, pouring salt over this fresh wound and could hardly hide the ache in her voice to this particular stranger. “I knew better than befriending someone who would never be able to fully accept my species, and it hurts bitterly that I let myself love that person anyway. Would you look at that, every therapist in the world has just been validated.” While the toy had loosened at her comments about Remmy, it zipped back up as she made herself sound cynical, an easy defense mechanism for the tears she always felt on the brink of. Unmeasurable strength, her ass.

Nell could have dug her heels in and refused to budge, but was there a point to doing that at a time like this? As it were- they were attached almost literally at the hip, and she was a little hungry… Maybe she could order something in the cafe. “Your species?” Nell echoed, trying to remember if she knew exactly what Lydia was. She wasn’t quite as good at distinguishing fae. They were many and far in between, varied in their natures and appearances. “I mean I know that you’re-” she hesitated, not wanting to say the word ‘fae’ aloud when others were anywhere nearby. “I know the broader term of your species.” That would have to do. “I think it’s...difficult,” Nell began, thinking of her own struggles that had come from growing up as a spellcaster. “If people aren’t a part of it— they can’t ever truly understand. Witches are almost in between and kinda isolated because of it. The normies are afraid of us cause we’re different and unknown and confusing- but we’re also not a part of the non-human supernaturals. I guess what matters is...if they try to understand it or just accept it for how it is, right?” The finger trap loosened just in time for Nell to continue on with her words. “I don’t think it’s your fault for caring, though. Even if it bites us in the ass too much of the time,” she finished with a sardonic chuckle as the toy tightened again. She groaned. “I don’t know what this thing wants us to say. Are we supposed to start braiding each other’s hair and talking about boys or something?”

Lydia nodded half heartedly as Nell compared her experience to spellcasters, not believing it at all, so while Nell’s end of the toy loosened, Lydia’s became tighter. For pity’s sake. Lydia grit her teeth together and tried to care more earnestly. Perhaps she could learn something about Felix here. “No, but that doesn’t make here easier now,” Lydia acquiesced, as the toy loosened more and more. Perhaps this was the right way to go.  “I don’t see the point in talking about boys. Surely we’re both more interesting than any adjacent men,” Lydia’s eyes glittered teasingly, trying to find one light note in a miserable situation. “Clearly, it wants us to share emotional intimacy. Unmeasurable strength indeed. It wants us to be empathetic to each other despite our differences.” Which meant Lydia would have to show this human as much empathy as she might normally show Deirdre. It was going to be a stretch. “I suppose I could tell you about how my father decided to be absent during my teens which resulted in my failure to learn control over my abilities and while our relationship is good now, I still resent that, or how it felt when my sister was reported murdered twelve years ago, but it’s absurd.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Nell agreed readily with a shrug, knowing all too well how true it was that logic generally never eased the pain of a lost friend. Despite her better judgement, Lydia’s comment on boys managed to tug an amused half-smirk to her lips. Unfortunately the expression was quickly wiped away by a grimace, instantly wary of anything that included the words ‘emotional’ and ‘intimacy’, especially when paired with one another and a relative stranger. But if that was the only way out...what choice did they have? “But you learned after?” Nell asked. It was easy to be curious when she was naturally nosy, and the questions weren’t yet geared towards herself. Nell breathed an annoyed sigh, realizing that she’d have to return the favor of admitting something. “My dad was mostly good- but he never stood up for us. My sisters and me. He just let our mom blame me for everything, let her ignore Luce, and make Bea into her mini-me with an Olympic schedule. You said your relationship is good with your dad now, though? How’d you do that?” Surprise flitted over Nell’s features, not expecting the news of a dead sister on Lydia’s part. “Do you know who did it? We just- we finally got the man who killed Bea. And I know they say revenge is never good but- this felt good. You could have that, if you know who it was.”

“I learned eventually, when he was reminded how important it was.” When he had come home to find a cold corpse and Lydia crying in the bathroom. She grit her teeth. There were things she could discuss with humans, but her father really wasn’t one of them. How could they understand when they would put themselves in the shoes of her weak mother, rather than anyone else’s. They would see it as a sin rather than a natural consequence. “I think my father likes the idea of children more than the practicalities, which he forgets every couple decades. He became more interested in spending time with me when I was approaching adulthood. It took a lot of communication, and time, but now we talk several times a month.” Lydia didn’t quite look at Nell as she said that. “Do you resent your mother for her choices?” When the talk turned to dead siblings, Lydia frowned, swallowing as she recalled her recent conversation with Felix, about Bea and necromancy and Lydia’s responses to it. That was another topic she was desperate to steer from.  “Unfortunately, no. The issue with wardens is that they are perfectly crafted for killing us. I’m not a violent person, no one in my family is. We’re all artists. Revenge isn’t something we would normally seek. We wouldn’t stand a chance against a warden, even if they hadn’t destroyed anything that could lead back to them.”

“But you had to forgive him or something, didn’t you? To make it work?” Nell asked, uncertain how the fae had managed to make it work when it came to her family relationships. Had she managed to forget years of resentment? Or did it still live in her- bottled up and pushed aside for the sake of having a father? “Are you glad you talk?” Normally she might not have been so interested in a relative stranger’s emotional state, but if this was what the stupid toy wanted them to do, it’s what they’d have to entertain. Now it was Nell’s turn to look away as mention of her mother surfaced again. She didn’t answer the question directly, perhaps because she wasn’t as sure of the answer as she’d been some months ago. “She took our family from us. Kicked us out of the coven. We can’t even talk to any of them just because we wanted our sister back. And before that it felt like she made it her life’s mission to make me know I was a disappointment.” Nell paused, half-angry and half-sad that she couldn’t simply let her mother go. “But now she said it was to protect us. That she’s done everything for us.” The witch didn’t know how to reconcile those two concepts, nor how to figure out whether or not one outweighed the other. The mention of wardens and violence a conversation Nell was more familiar with, and her shoulders straightened as she spoke again. “But do you want it? The revenge? There are other ways- you could find someone to help.” Nell might even offer to do it herself for the sake of a lost sister. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be too late.”

“I suppose so. He had to forgive me for some things too,” Lydia continued, her jaw tightening for every micrometer of give that the toy gave her. “I’m so glad we’re still talking. We live so long, it can be lonely without family. I do love him, and he loves me.” Lydia forced herself to listen as Nell explained about her own mother, and felt the tiniest sinking feeling of empathy, despite knowing better. Nell’s life was worth less, her issues worth less. She still felt that twinge. “That’s awful. No matter your transgressions, family is family. You can’t just kick each other out because you disagree with their choices.” Her own family hadn’t, but Remmy had. “Sometimes people lie to themselves about their impact. That’s awful. Do you want her back?” Lydia said, rubbing her face in frustration. “How would I find anyone to help for a murder committed twelve years ago?” Lydia sighed, staring at the toy. “I want it more than anything, but deaths from wardens in my family are not rare. We’re not built… others of my species are better at protecting themselves.” She spoke the last bit quietly, looking around the cafe. 

“That makes sense,” Nell nodded as Lydia spoke of their longevity. “I guess family’s really one of the only things that can be constant when you live longer.” But it was still a mystery as to how exactly Lydia had gotten to that point of forgiveness. It would be foolish to think that Nell might find a guide of sorts within them, anyway. Family is family. Lydia’s words caused another prickle of uncertainty to surface in Nell. Did that wisdom go both ways? It was obvious that Lydia meant the words to condemn Nell’s mother, but couldn’t they also be turned around to imply that Nell should forgive her mother? “I don’t know if she even realizes the impact. I don’t know.” That was the only answer she could come up with, uncertainty being the only thing she was sure of when it came to Nisa Vural. “She still won’t talk to us. Not actually. But she did heal me one time when I asked since then.” Nell didn’t know why she was looking for glimmers of hope in a shattered relationship, trying to remind herself that she’d made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t let her mother hurt her again after the coven had been taken from them. And yet...she couldn’t deny the child that still lived on deep within her, longing for her mother’s love and approval despite refusing to acknowledge it. “I just…I’m tired of it all.” She was tired of the way her mother treated her while also being tired of wondering if things could be different. But mostly she was tired of not knowing the answer. Nell only paused a beat before speaking of the warden and their murder once again, thinking the answer to Lydia’s situation obvious. “You know I’m a bounty hunter. A regular one as well as a supernatural one. And with that comes being a pretty good tracker and stuff like that. I could help find them.” A twinge of sympathy made its way through Nell at Lydia’s hunting lamentations, knowing she’d never know what it was to be hunted as thoroughly as someone like the fae were. 

“That’s even harder. At least my father knew what he did and the consequences of it,” Lydia replied, who kept talking about her father even though it was patently not what she wanted to do. “I’m sorry. Parents should have more introspection than their children. It’s her duty to make amends,” Lydia said softly. Nell’s grief resonated too uncomfortably once again. Empathy she didn’t want to feel as strongly as she did. “Certainly an interesting choice of profession,” Lydia saw the opportunity to get a promise. She felt every spore in her lungs tumbling over themselves to get that promise, latch onto it, and watch how it unfolded. As simple as taking candy from a baby. There were just two problems. The first? Lydia did not want any more trouble with the Vurals ever, she had had enough of them for a lifetime. The second was that using this intensely personal moment for personal gain, confessing secrets neither of them wanted to, felt wrong, fundamentally twisting up inside her right next to the uncomfortable empathy she felt for Nell. “I might or might not take you up on that,” she said softly, and the toy popped right off her finger, and Nell’s too. “Oh!” Lydia gasped with relief.

Nell’s own pleasantly surprised sound was drawn from her as the finger trap released them, and the witch instantly flexed her finger, bending it a few times in delight now that it had been released from its prison. “Oh, hell yeah!” It seemed like the more delicate topic of parents and disappointment was quick to melt away now that there was no obligation to speak of them. “Fuck this little toy- I’m burning the damn thing when I get home.” It took another moment for Nell to realize that Lydia had offered a response when it came to searching for her sister’s killer, and the witch’s head tilted curiously to the side. “It doesn’t have to be a favor or anything like that either if you wanted me to help look for the killer. I’m usually good for my word all on its own. Especially for things like this.” But now that she was free and remembering the all too personal things she’d shared with Lydia— Nell was eager to depart. “Just message me or whatever if you have questions about it.”

“That would be wise,” Lydia said, picking up her bag with an awkward closed mouth smile, at first assuming that the moment the trap was gone, their little agreements would be over. Buut Nell made the offer again, clearly enough that Lydia paused, looking the spellcaster over again. She considered it, which surprised Lydia even more. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Lydia said with a smile, pulling her coat close herself. She acted as if she was still unsure, but already, the threads of an idea were beginning to form in her mind. A possibility she had thrown away years ago. She’d play it cool, maybe wait a week, but the temptation was there. If Nell Vural could defy death, what else might she do? “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

[tachyon-at-rest]

DOGS IN ELK

An insanely funny story of "domesticated" dogs reminding us that they are still kinda wild.

https://www.jerrypournelle.com/reports/jerryp/dogsinelk.html#dogs

From: Edward Hume <ehume@pshrink.com> Date: Sun, 21 Nov 1999 20:40:36 -0500 Subj: Dogs in elk ____________________________________________________________

I edited the follow-up thread

The original is here:

http://www.gardenweb.com/forums/load/party/msg101444109927.html?2

dogs in elk Posted by Anita z8 Seattle (anita@is2inc.com) on Fri, Oct 22, 99 at 14:44 The following apparently appeared recently on one of the newsgroups, rec.pets. It sounds pretty believable to me--though it's so funny, I'm not sure that I care. It's pretty long, but it's worth it. ---------------------

Anne V - 01:01pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1318 of 1332) Okay - I know how to take meat away from a dog. How do I take a dog away from meat? This is not, unfortunately, a joke.

AmyC - 01:02pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1319 of 1332) Um, can you give us a few more specifics here?

Anne V - 01:12pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1320 of 1332) They're inside of it. They crawled inside, and now I have a giant incredibly heavy piece of carcass in my yard, with 2 dogs inside of it, and they are NOT getting bored of it and coming out. One of them is snoring. I have company arriving in three hours, and my current plan is to 1. put up a tent over said carcass and 2. hang thousands of fly strips inside it. This has been going on since about 6:40 this morning.

AmyC - 01:19pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1321 of 1332) Oh. My. God. What sort of carcass is big enough to hold a couple of dogs inside? Given the situation, I'm afraid you're not going to be create enough of a diversion to get the dogs out of the carrion, unless they like greeting company as much as they like rolling around in dead stuff. Which seems unlikely. Can you turn a hose on the festivities?

Ase Innes-Ker - 01:31pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1322 of 1332) I'm sorry Anne. I know this is a problem (and it would have driven me crazy), but it is also incredibly funny.

Anne V - 01:31pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1323 of 1332) Elk. Elk are very big this year, because of the rain and good grazing and so forth. They aren't rolling. They are alternately napping and eating. They each have a ribcage. Other dogs are working on them from the outside. It's all way too primal in my yard right now. We tried the hose trick. At someone elses house, which is where they climbed in and began to refuse to come out. Many hours ago. I think that the hose mostly helps keep them cool and dislodges little moist snacks for them. hose failed. My new hope is that if they all continue to eat at this rate, they will be finished before the houseguests arrive. The very urban houseguests. Oh, god - I know it's funny. It's appalling, and funny, and completely entirely representative of life with dogs.

Kristen R. - 01:37pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1324 of 1332) I'm so glad I read this thread, dogless as I am. Dogs in elk. Dogs in elk.

Anne V - 01:41pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1325 of 1332) It's like that childrens book out there - dogs in elk, dogs on elk, dogs around elk, dogs outside elk. And there is some elk inside of, as well as on, each dog at this point.

Elizabeth K - 01:57pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1328 of 1333) Anne, aren't you in Arizona or Nevada? There are elk there? I'm so confused! We definately need to see pics of Gus Pong and Jake in the elk carcass.

Anne V - 02:03pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1329 of 1333) I am in New Mexico, but there are elk in both arizona and nevada, yes. There are elk all over the da*n place. They don't look out very often. If you stand the ribcage on end they scramble to the top and look out, all red. Otherwise, you kinda have to get in there a little bit yourself to really see them. So I think there will not be pictures.

CoseyMo - 02:06pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1330 of 1333) "all red;" I'm not sure the deeper horror of all this was fully borne in upon me till I saw that little phrase.

Anne V - 02:10pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1331 of 1333) Well, you know, the Basenji (that would be Jake) is a desert dog, naturally, and infamous for it's aversion to water. And then, Gus Pong (who is coming to us, live, unamplified and with a terrific reverb which is making me a little dizzy) really doesn't mind water, but hates to be cold. Or soapy. And both of them can really run. Sprints of up to 35 mph have been clocked. So. If ever they come out, catching them and returning them to a condition where they can be considered house pets is not going to be, shall we say, pleasant.

CoseyMo - 02:15pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1332 of 1333) What if you stand the ribcage on end, wait for them to look out, grab them when they do and pull?

Anne V - 02:18pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1333 of 1333) They wedge their toes between the ribs. And scream. We tried that before we brought the elk home from the mountain with dogs inside. Jake nearly took my friends arm off. He's already short a toe, so he cherishes the 15 that remain.

Linda Hewitt - 02:30pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1336 of 1356) Have you thought about calling your friendly vet and paying him to come pick up the dogs, elk and letting the dogs stay at the vets overnight. If anyone would know what to do, it would be your vet. It might cost some money, but it would solve the immediate crisis. Keep us posted.

ChristiPeters - 02:37pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1337 of 1356) Yikes! My sympathy! When I lived in New Mexico, my best friend's dog (the escape artist) was continually bringing home road kill. When there was no road kill convenient, he would visit the neighbor's house. Said neighbor slaughtered his own beef. The dog found all kinds of impossibly gross toys in the neighbor's trash pit. I have always had medium to large dogs. The smallest dog I ever had was a mutt from the SPCA who matured out at just above knee high and about 55 pounds. Our current dog (daughter's choice) is a Pomeranian. A very small Pomeranian. She's 8 months old now and not quite 4 pounds. I'm afraid I'll break her.

Lori Shiraishi - 02:38pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1338 of 1356) Bet you could fit a whole lot of Pomeranians in that there elk carcass! Anne - my condolences on what must be an unbelievable situation!

Anne V - 02:44pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1339 of 1356) I did call my vet. He laughed until he was gagging and breathless. He says a lot of things, which can be summed as *what did you expect?* and *no, there is no such thing as too much elk meat for a dog.* He is planning to stop over and take a look on his way home. Thanks, Lori. I am almost surrendered to the absurdity of it.

Lori Shiraishi - 02:49pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1340 of 1356) "He is planning to stop over and take a look on his way home." So he can fall down laughing in person?

Anne V - 02:50pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1341 of 1356) Basically, yeah. That would be about it.

AmyC - 02:56pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1342 of 1356) No, there is no such thing as too much elk meat for a dog." Oh, sweet lo*d, Anne. You have my deepest sympathies in this, perhaps the most peculiar of the Gus Pong Adventures. You are truly a woman of superhuman patience. wait -- you carried the carcass down from the mountains with the dogs inside?

Anne V - 02:59pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1343 of 1356) The carcass down from the mountains with the dogs inside? no, well, sort of. My part in the whole thing was to get really stressed about a meeting that I had to go to, and say *yeah, ok, whatever* when it was suggested that the ribcages, since we couldn't get the dogs out of them and the dogs couldn't be left there, be brought to my house. Because, you know - I just thought they would get bored of it sooner or later. But it appears to be later, in the misty uncertain future, that they will get bored. Now, they are still interested. And very loud, one singing, one snoring.

Lori Shiraishi - 03:04pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1344 of 1356) And very loud, one singing, one snoring. wow. I can't even begin to imagine the acoustics involved with singing from the inside of an elk.

Anne V - 03:04pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1345 of 1356) reverb. lots and lots of reverb.

Anne V - 03:15pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1347 of 1356) I'll tell you the thing that is causing me to lose it again and again, and then I have to go back outside and stay there for a while. After the meeting, I said to my (extraordinary) boss, "look, I've gotta go home for the rest of the day, I think. Jake and Gus Pong are inside some elk ribcages, and my dad is coming tonight, so I've got to get them out somehow." And he said, pale and huge-eyed, "Annie, how did you explain the elk to the clients?" The poor, poor man thought I had the carcasses brought to work with me. For some reason, I find this deeply funny. (weekend pause)

Anne V - 08:37am Sep 13, 1999 PDT (# 1395 of 1405) So what we did was put the ribcages (containing dogs) on tarps and drag them around to the side yard, where I figured they would at least be harder to see, and then opened my bedroom window so that the dogs could let me know when they were ready to be plunged into a de-elking solution and let in the house. Then I went to the airport. Came home, no visible elk, no visible dogs. Peeked around the shrubs, and there they were, still in the elk. By this time, they had gnawed out some little portholes between some of the ribs, and you got the occasional very frightening glimpse of something moving around in there if you watched long enough. After a lot of agonizing, I went to bed. I closed the back door, made sure my window was open, talked to the dogs out of it until I as sure they knew it was open, and then I fell asleep. Sometimes, sleep is a mistake, no matter how tired you are. And especially if you are very very tired, and some of your dogs are outside, inside some elks. Because when you are that tired, you sleep through bumping kind of noises, or you kind of think that it's just the house guests. It wasn't the house guests. It was my dogs, having an attack of teamwork unprecedented in our domestic history. When I finally woke all the way up, it was to a horrible vision. Somehow, 3 dogs with a combined weight of about 90 pounds, managed to hoist one of the ribcages (the meatier one, of course) up 3 feet to rest on top of the swamp cooler outside the window, and push out the screen. What woke me was Gus Pong, howling in frustration from inside the ribcage, very close to my head, combined with feverish little grunts from Jake, who was standing on the nightstand, bracing himself against the curtains with remarkably bloody little feet. Here are some things I have learned, this Rosh Hashanah weekend: 1. almond milk removes elk blood from curtains and pillowcases, 2. We can all exercise superhuman strength when it comes to getting elk carcasses out of our yard, 3. The sight of elk ribcages hurtling over the fence really frightens the nice deputy sheriff who lives across the street, and 4. the dogs can pop the screens out of the windows, without damaging them, from either side.

Anne V - 09:58am Sep 13, 1999 PDT (# 1401 of 1405) What I am is really grateful that they didn't actually get the damn thing in the window, which is clearly the direction they were going in. And that the nice deputy didn't arrest me for terrifying her with elk parts before dawn.

AmyC - 09:59am Sep 13, 1999 PDT (# 1402 of 1405) Imagine waking up with a gnawed elk carcass in your bed, like a real-life "Godfather" with an all-dog cast.

Anne V - 10:01am Sep 13, 1999 PDT (# 1403 of 1405) There is not enough almond milk in the world to solve an event of that kind.