#i will always hate shading white!!!!! it always looks like nothing was done to it lmaoooo I promise something is there!!!

[mossy-green-aka-ferrythem]

I like. Have not played a single Hoyo game so it is quite shocking to see people take deeper looks into the games and their themes to uncover just how DEEPLY racist Hoyoverse is.

When I say racist I mean like. Painting this fantasy, ideal, "aesthetic" world that only wears the face of multiculturalism, while explicitly making it so all the heroes and good characters are white, while making the enemy characters typically with a darker shade of skin. Like just. In fucking Genshin. Look at the Hilichurls. They've literally got pitch black skin and masks, and despite having their own culture, are constantly and consistently treated nothing more as "pests". Like just. I swear to god there are so many "Hilichurl" like examples of weaving weird racism into video game enemies in the wider media sphere, but I digress.

What really gets me is like. I saw some shit from fucking Honkai or whatever where there is an entire character who was born black, but bleached her skin out of shame. Like. What. Also this is all second hand, so forgive me for getting details wrong, but doesn't she just. Keep hating herself for her skin color and her heritage? Also the way her mother is drawn is just like. Somehow both a racist and transphobic caricature rolled into one. Like they illustrated her in a way that doesn't feel done in good taste. It fees like they want to evoke a sense of confusion and maybe disdain. Perhaps they wish for you to sympathize with the girl who bleached her own skin (???) and like. What the fuck is this writing HOW DO PEOPLE JUST NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THIS??????

Also. There is of course ZZZ. The issue here is more what people have already mentioned and something I don't feel like fully relaying. Which is the sort of heavy emphasis and inspiration from Hip-Hop and Rap culture, but without any black characters actually in the setting. Ben Bigger is like. Legit the blackest character there, problem is that he ISN'T HUMAN. Like it shows that they would sooner create an anthropomorphic bear, a fantasy character, than a black character that actually displays their culture in a proud way. Not really my place to say all of this, since others have said it much better than I ever could. Last thing I would say is that the Black edits of the characters (especially Ellen Joe), make the character designs leagues better.

To cap off this messily organized tumblr post and rant, it brings me to my biggest issue: erasure. The fact that when you search up Tighnari, you only get that dogshit anime boy, hell, the issue even still persists somewhat when you specify for Al-Tighnari. I am not well read on who Tighnari is, but even skimming past a description of that man is truly breathtaking. He sounds like a very well traveled, very wise man who likely had a sizable impact on the world. Thing is. When you search up Tighnari you don't see this man anywhere. When you bring up Tighnari, it is unlikely people actually recognize who the man himself was. Instead you have this character, who's skin is as white as a sheet, actively acting like a shroud being thrown over an old cultural icon. His design has been criticized endlessly for how little it lines up, but that's not the point. The point being is that Tighnari in Genshin has uprooted knowledge of the original in the public eye. This is but one example, and doesn't even BEGIN to touch upon the absolute shitshow that is Natlan. However, people have already exhaustively described what is wrong with it so I digress there. Oh and I said I would close this out but like. Fucking Star Rail or whatever has a character with Dark Skin who has "shacklebreaker" as one of their main skills and like. This is some J.K. Rowling type racism. Like what. What the fuck?

Look what's really important here is that I am just so fucking taken aback by learning the extent of it. I always bore a minor grudge against Genshin, but the clarification, and the knowledge of how deep this shit goes... just makes me realize this. There is no longer any confusion about how this got so popular, because racism is excusable in general fandom spaces. Racism isn't considered a dealbreaker to many people, and that is the root of the issue I believe. How general online fandom communities and people as consumers are just so unbothered by racism that they will just not criticize it, pass it off as normal, and will actively engage in racist tendencies, rather than making any effort to better themselves and to be more tasteful in what they choose to support financially, and what they choose to consume.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Of Truths & Dreams; Sebek Zigvolt

Dreams can tell you a lot about a person. Their wants, their fears. But sometimes they can tell you the truth, and sometimes it isn't pretty.

Supporting Characters; Silver & Professor Trein

Content; Soulmate AU (I call them soul matches though), gender-neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, enemies-to-friends-to-*insert your relationship here*, reader is done with Sebek's bullshit, bullying Sebek hours (affectionate)

Content Warnings; Talk of death, swearing

Word Count; 5 K

Do not put any of my work into AI, that shit steals. If you do I'm eating your kneecaps.

Prologue & Lilia's Story | Malleus's Story

Sebek knew, even as a young child, that his parents’ marriage would end in heartbreak. That his mother would be left alone for centuries, heartbroken, because of his father’s humanity, because he was mortal. If you know something will only end in heartbreak, why go forth with it? Are a few decades of happiness truly worth it if it will bring centuries of loneliness? 

He used to not think in that light, but the whispers of fellow children, and the look of concern in his grandfather’s eyes upon seeing a single strand of silver in his son-in-law’s hair. His father was ageing, and when compared to the fae, he was ageing rapidly. His mother would still be young when his father would be growing old and senile. That’s what started the seed of bitterness, of resentment, of fear. 

Sebek was scared. He was scared that he may be dealt the same hand of fate; that his lifespan would be short like his father’s. And afraid that he would outlive him by several centuries if he inherited the fae lifespan. Both terrified him, and he was only six. Six years old and sitting on the tire swing that hung from the hawthorn tree, a scowl etched into his forehead. “It isn’t fair,” he muttered under his breath.

“What isn’t fair?” The gentle voice of his father startled Sebek, who fell off the swing. The older man picked him up and dusted off Sebek’s clothes. “There we go, not even a scratch,” he chuckled, ruffling his son’s pastel green hair.

How can he be so happy? Sebek scowled, and he felt a warmness build up in his eyes, tears. “Nothing,” he spat and ran off.

Unlike his mother, Sebek could lie, and it came easier to him than his siblings. It’s because I’m closer to him. And that scared him. It scared him, and he didn’t know why. He loves his father, but his humanity, that scares him. 

Pushing something away is much easier than accepting it, even adults, both human and fae, do it. Keep that fear and hide it away, under a mask of superiority. But the truth will always come out, one way or another.

I hate you! But he didn’t, Sebek loved him, but it was easier to pretend to hate something than to love it and then for it to wither before your very own eyes. 

…

Sebek’s dreams had colour, except for one. It was a mix of fae and human, and a sign from the Thorn Fairy that he had a soul match… but why was there one colour that was missing? His dreams should have been black and white, but the sky overhead was blue, the poppies in the field a brilliant red, and the centres of daisies a cheerful yellow. But one colour was missing, green. Where green should have been, there was nothing but shades of grey.

“Is anybody there?” His voice called out. He could hear his voice, his words weren’t floating in front of him. There was also no one else in the field with him. Sebek was alone. “ANYBODY?!”

He started running, he didn’t know where to, but he needed to get away. So he ran, and he kept on running until he came across a path which forked out into two directions, a crossroad. Sebek needed to choose. Left or right?

On the left, there was a butterfly flitting lazily down the path, whereas on the right was a hornet, its stinger wielded like a sword. The butterfly reminded him of his father, as butterflies do not live for long, and were seen as demure things. The hornet reminded him of his mother and grandfather, fierce and ready to defend; they, and the hornet, were knights. They feared nothing.

Sebek took off running down the right-hand path and kept on running until he came across a familiar castle, the castle where his grandfather worked. The fires glowed grey in Sebek’s eyes, but he knew they must have been green.

“Who are you?”

Sebek startled at the voice and he turned around. Standing behind him was a boy around his age with silvery hair, and lilac eyes. He could clearly make out his face, and his voice. The boy was clearly human, and that irked Sebek; his soul match wasn’t here but this random human child was? Behind him was the butterfly from earlier, glowing white and fluttering about before coming to rest on Sebek’s chest, resting on his heart.

Go away. Leave me alone. But Sebek bit his tongue and marched into the castle. “A future knight,” he boasted, bottling down his true emotions. “I’m going to be a knight. Like my grandfather!”

The boy walked behind Sebek and gave him a sleepy hum. “That’s who you’re going to be,” he said matter of factly, “I asked who are you not who are you going to be.” Not even three minutes of knowing each other, and the relationship between the two children was off to a rocky start.

“Names have power,” Sebek huffed. “How do I know you won’t use it to cross me, human?” He spat out the last word, human, his anger out in the open, his insecurity showing itself. “You tell me yours first.”

The other boy raised a pale brow at the hostility but decided it would just be better to accommodate rather than butt heads. “Silver. And you?”

Sebek huffed, but he could tell that the boy, Silver, was being honest with him. “Sebek.”

Silver offered him a soft smile, his eyes going from the butterfly which was still resting on Sebek’s heart to his face. “It’s nice to meet you, Sebek.”

And then Sebek woke up, blinking his eyes groggily. The only thing he could remember being the castle, his wanting to be a knight, and a butterfly that wouldn’t leave him alone.

…

…

…

The mirror took less than a second to place Sebek into Diasomnia, there was no better or other option. And Sebek was happy, so happy that he could continue serving Malleus, or in his words ‘Young Master’. Scratch that, Sebek was overjoyed. But the ceremony, which should have been perfect, was marred with chaos, because of a human. A magicless human.

Sebek shook his head. Today was good, regardless of the chaos. It should have not mattered, but Sebek couldn’t help but feel that it would have repercussions, a butterfly effect of sorts. It had the hairs on his neck stand on end. He could worry about it more in the morning though, he was of no use to anybody if he didn’t rest.

~

He was on the tire swing in the backyard, slowly going back and forth with the gentle breeze. What am I doing back here?

Usually, his dreams were about training, about being a knight, of protecting the Draconia line… not of childhood places, let alone at his own home. And sitting on the tire with him was the butterfly, still pale and glowing.

“What do you want,” he questioned the insect. 

But the bug paid him no mind and took flight, doing gentle loops around his head. And as Sebek watched the butterfly, he noticed the slow shift in his dream. Everything started to take on a green hue, and the butterfly was now a brilliant pastel green. That could mean only one thing.

They were here. Sebek didn’t really know what to think or feel. On one hand, compared to many, he hadn’t been waiting for very long, which is seen as a kind gesture from the Thorn Fairy. But on the other hand, Sebek was confused about what his colour difference could mean, and why now of all times? He didn’t have the time to go chasing after some random stranger. He had a duty to uphold, and if they got in the way, or possessed to be a danger to his Young Master… well, Sebek knew what he would have to do. 

The air in front of him shimmered. They are just entering the REM part of sleep now. Sebek clenched his fists and righted himself up, standing straight as a board. First impressions meant everything after all, and he for one did not want his first impression to be someone sitting on a tire swing and questioning flying insects. 

The air stopped shimmering, and they appeared in front of him, their appearance hidden because ‘Good things come to those who wait’ according to the Thorn Fairy. 

“Yeah, sure, why not. My day just had to get weirder,” their words floated in front of them, irritated. Sebek could feel their eyes looking him over, inspecting him, judging him. “Who are you supposed to be, huh?”

Sebek wasn’t sure what to expect when he first met his soul match, but he wasn’t expecting someone so… rude. Well, rude in his eyes at least. He felt his eye twitch, but he held together his composure. “I am your soul match!” The words were barked out, but they just floated in the breeze with no volume. The only thing that indicated that Sebek had said it loudly being the exclamation point at the end, as well as the sharpness of the letters.

But his soul match, even though he couldn’t properly make out their face, did not look impressed, and that rubbed him the wrong way. Every fae child grew up waiting in anticipation for their soul match to enter their dreams, to see their coloured hue tint their shared dreams. So why weren’t they more excited? 

“Did you pay any attention to me,” he huffed, still standing at attention, like his grandfather taught him. “I said that I’m your soul match!”

His soul match just brought their hand to their temple and massaged the spot. “I heard… saw? … you the first time, buddy,” they muttered tiredly. “That’s nice, that I’m your ‘soul match’,” they did air quotes around the term, “but I have no idea what that means or why I’m here.”

Sebek felt a lump form in his throat. Fae know about soul matches, even if it was kept secret from the outside world, fae knew. That meant that his soul match wasn’t fae, and other clans knew of the term, which only meant one thing. His soul match is human. 

They were weak and short-lived. Sebek had taught himself to look down on humans years ago, so why now, would the Thorn Fairy make his soul match human? The part of himself that he most feared?

…

…

…

You were running on fumes. Of the meagre sleep you were able to get, you were rudely interrupted by some stranger blathering about how humans were inferior. And quite frankly it pissed you off, royally so. You already got enough shit from everyone else about being magicless in a magic-dependent world, but for your ‘soul match’, someone you barely knew but was supposed to make you happy, constantly berating you for something that you couldn’t change. Yeah, you avoided them at all costs. And when you couldn’t avoid them? Well, you ignored them. It was much easier to ignore someone when you couldn’t actually hear them; all you needed to do was shut your eyes. Could you sleep when you were already sleeping? Well, you were. It was better than paying any attention to your bristly companion.

At least the tree you were resting under was nice, but you could feel your ‘soul match’ staring daggers at you. Cracking an eye open you found them standing as straight and stiff as a board, an air of a scowl surrounding them. 

“Who pissed in your cereal?” 

Your ‘soul match’ reeled back, and you saw a bunch of nonsense spelt out in the air before they controlled themself again, going back to their stiff posture. “THAT IS RUDE AND UNBECOMING TO SAY!” Their words were all capitalized, a sure fire sign that they were yelling at you. But since your first, and honestly disastrous, meeting weeks ago, it had very little effect on you. If anything, it was funny; seeing someone who held themself in such high regard be nothing more than a yappy dog. 

You waved them off, shooing away their words. “You didn’t answer my question though. Did someone piss in your cereal?”

“NO!” They shouted, looking so fed up with you. “You are so… so… so ANNOYING,” they fumbled around with what word to use but finally decided on one. Annoying. “Humans are so annoying! The lot of you!”

And there they went again, on their anti-human tirade again. Seriously, what is their problem? “Better annoying than some stuck up prick,” you countered.

You knew you were playing with fire, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to piss them off. You were tired of playing nice in your waking hours, so in your dreams? You could be as snarky and confrontational as you pleased. Consequences be damned.

They were fuming, and sputtering. “How dare you?! What makes you think you can just act like that?!”

You sighed and got up from your resting spot, and moved over to them. “Because. I. Can.” You poked them, hard, in the chest with each word. “And what makes you think you can act like that? Like an entitled asshole who demeans and belittles others who are different from you?! What is your damage?!”

And right as your soul match was about to answer you, you left the dream, waking up from your own frustration.

Looks like it was yet another night of a restless sleep, only to be met with disappointment and wanting to do nothing more than prove everyone wrong. Prove them wrong about you, and for your soul match, prove them wrong about humans.

…

Understandably, you were not in the best of moods that day. At best you got maybe three hours of rest before you woke up due to pure frustration at your ‘soul match’ and their sour disposition. And it was noticeable, well, noticeable to some people who could pick up the subtle shift. That your smile was a bit too forced, and that you weren’t fully paying attention.

Professor Trein noticed, and Lucius had stayed on your lap throughout the entire class. And as he was walking up and down the aisles, making sure people were actually doing their work, the older man tapped you on the shoulder. “Prefect, a word after class,” it was said quietly enough that you were the only one to hear that, and he went back on patrol.

Shit, was I spacing off? You just hoped that it wasn’t anything serious. The last thing you needed was Crowley finding out about your grades slipping or any other infraction, and getting on your case and bringing up your situation for the nth time. So, the rest of the class seemed to drag on for what felt like forever, even though in reality, there were only fifteen minutes left. But every time you felt the anxiety spike, Lucius would shift in your lap or knead his paws into your uniform, dragging you away from obsessing over it. And finally, the bell rang.

“You guys go on without me,” you said to Ace, Deuce and Grim, shooting them a tired smile. “I’ll catch up with you.”

The trio waved you off, and headed off, leaving you alone with Professor Trein, who was sitting at his desk, preparing for his next lecture.

You took in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “You wanted to speak with me, Professor?”

He set his papers down, and motioned for you to take a seat, which you did. This, this meant something bad, you could tell. Why else would he motion for you to take a seat?

“Prefect,” he sighed tiredly, “have you been taking care of yourself?”

Of course he noticed, Trein, unlike your friends, noticed the familiar look. He noticed the tenseness in your shoulders, and the dark shadows under your eyes. Noticed the cheerful air grow weary, which was such a pity. You shouldn’t have to shoulder everything you do, especially while juggling all of the responsibilities and new knowledge that you’ve been acquiring. 

You looked down at your lap, fiddling with your fingers. “No, not really,” you admitted. 

Professor Trein nodded, since he already knew that, even without the confirmation. “I won’t press you for details, but I’ll have a discussion with the others, about lightening your workload. Please, do take care of yourself, Prefect.”

Take care of yourself. That’s something you hadn’t really been doing, what with all the errands, the near-death overblot incidents, and the piss poor sleep you’ve been getting lately because of your ‘soul match’.

“I’ll try.” You couldn’t guarantee anything, but you would try.

“Alright then, that’s a start. Now, off you go, lest you be late,” he collected the papers he needed and adjusted his coat, ready for his next lecture. “Be kind to yourself, Prefect.”

…

…  

Sebek woke up that day irritated. What is your damage?! Who did that human think they were? But that statement irked him more than it really should. He wasn’t harmed, his value and worth was not impaired. So why was he so affected by the phrase? Why should he care so much about what a stranger said to him? Because no matter what, they are still your soul match. He shook his head and marched out of his room, going ahead and performing his morning duties, his mood being apparent, following him like a storm cloud.

Silver noticed this as Sebek came to a stop beside him, ready to greet Malleus. “Something is obviously upsetting you,” he murmured, shooting him a sideways look while still standing at attention.

Sebek glared at Silver out of the corner of his eye, his brow slightly pinched. “It’s none of your business,” he hissed under his breath. The last thing he needed was for the Young Master to catch wind that he was distracted while on the job. Malleus wouldn’t really mind, but Sebek wouldn’t forgive himself for his own ineptitude. 

Silver sighed and turned his eyes back towards Malleus’s door. “It’s better to admit something than bottle it up Sebek. Eventually the truth will come out, one way or another.”

“Now is not the time for that,” Sebek said, trying to control his volume. “And it doesn’t concern you.” It concerns only me and them. 

Silver raised his brow but left well enough alone, he knew better than to egg Sebek on when he was in one of his moods. But he knew that the truth would come out, and he felt like it would rear its ugly head sooner rather than later. He just hoped Sebek didn’t just blow up on the wrong person. Not because Sebek was bad for feeling whatever emotions he was feeling, but because not everyone understood him.

Maybe even Sebek didn’t even understand himself either.

…

…

You and your soul match were back at the house, but instead of standing straight up like they had a stick up their ass, they were sitting in the tire swing, swinging gently back and forth. And the butterfly that always followed them around, was resting comfortably on their chest, right above their heart. Here was this usually grumpy and tall person, swinging on a tire swing, a butterfly on their chest, and it was kind of cute. In a really weird way. But you could tell they weren’t happy, muttering to themself.

Usually, you would poke the bear to get a reaction out of them, but tonight you didn’t want to. You were too tired to put in the effort. Plus in all the weeks of antagonising each other, you hadn’t really gotten to know them.

“Hi,” you said, coming to rest beside the tire swing.

Your soul match — who was in actuality, Sebek —  gave you a curt nod as a hello back. Something was on his mind.

“What did you mean the other day?” He turned to look at you, eyes probing to try and find something that would tell him who you were in the waking world. But your appearance remained fuzzy, except for your eyes, which gleamed softly in the green lighting of the dream. He hadn’t really paid them any attention, but now he was lost in them, and what he saw was tiredness. “What did you mean by, what is my damage?”

Sebek wasn’t angry, which surprised you. You would have thought he would be a thundering storm cloud, but he was more like the cool breeze that came once the storm had passed. And you noticed his eyes, chartreuse with vertical slits. You could have sworn that you had seen those eyes before, you knew those eyes, but the person in mind was evading you.

You sighed, and the butterfly that was resting on his chest took flight, did a loopdeloop, and came to rest over your heart instead. “I don’t know, “ you admitted. “I was angry and tired. My life is just hectic and sleep is usually an escape from that, but instead I found myself in here with you… You didn’t really help either. Kept on looking down on me for being human, so I kinda snapped… I’m sorry.”

Sebek felt his voice get stuck in his throat. I should be the sorry one. But instead he offered his hand to you. A handshake. “Don’t be sorry for your anger; it’s better out than to let it fester.”

You took his answer to heart. It felt weird, the two of you were at each other’s throats for so long, but because of your combined tiredness and realizations, there was a truce of sorts. “So,” you looked Sebek in the eye, “what does this make us?”

He raised a brow, “Well, we are soul matches. The Thorn Fairy decides upon a person who will bring out the best in you, and in turn, you do the same for them.” He scratched the back of his neck. He knew that he had to tell you everything, but it felt like he was doing something wrong; technically this is breaking a rule, but you deserved to know. “We can be anything we want to be. It’s up to us.”

“Huh, that’s nice I guess. That we get to choose what we are. Thought for a second we would be forced together by the narrative to be in a relationship,” you chuckled. But it was nice that you could choose what the two of you were. “For now how about uneasy friends?”

“Uneasy friends?”

“Yeah, ya know I can’t forgive you that easily for dissing my entire species. Kinda hard to forgive that.” Your tone was light, but you were serious. You couldn’t just go from being dearly detested to buddy-buddy with your soul match.

Sebek pursed his lips but he knew that he was in the wrong. “I’m sorry, truly.” And it was genuine. Sebek didn’t hate humans, he loved them, but that love scared him because he knew that they wouldn’t last forever. That you wouldn’t last forever. 

You leaned back, splaying out in the grass. “Well, explanations can wait. I for one want to cloud watch. You wanna join?”

Sebek rolled his eyes but decided to humour you. “What does that cloud look like?” To him it just looked like an odd blob.

“Hmmmm, kinda looks like a crocodile in a blanket burrito,” you mused. And you were kind of right, but it still looked like an odd blob to Sebek.

…

…

…

Things had quieted down in your and Sebek’s dreams, and for the first time in weeks you felt well rested and not like you were going to randomly pass out in alchemy class only to find yourself headfirst in a cauldron. Plus you felt like you could actually get along with your soul match now, but you still liked to bug them just a little bit so the two of you could bicker. It was fun to see their reactions.

“So, if you’re fae, that must mean that you’re super old right?” You had a shiteating grin on your face, and your words floated around their head, poking at them to mirror what you had said.

Sebek rolled his eyes, he had become accustomed to your sense of humour, it was charming in its own bewildering way. “I am not old!”

You bumped his shoulder, “So you’re just a kid? Ew, gross.”

“I AM NOT A CHILD EITHER!” There it is, that spark, like a bolt of lightning. “If you must know, I am attending a mage school! Therefore, I am not old.”

You hummed, thinking. “What school? Maybe we go to the same one? Although I probably would have recognized you, what with your… unique personality and being fae and all. I don’t think I could mistake you for somebody else.”

Sebek faltered. They attend a mage school? “What do you mean by that, human?” 

There was that word again, human, but this time it was said with fondness, without hostility.

“Personality or school?”

Sebek sighed, and massaged his temple. “Why do I feel like you’ll just answer both?”

You sent him a wink, “Because I will!~ Part of my charms.” You chuckled but decided to humour him by getting straight to the point. “Well, even though you can be prickly, you care very deeply. A bit awkward, but in an endearing way. Loud, and opinionated. It would be hard to miss you, ya know. I mean that in a nice way too, by the way.” You stopped, and considered what you were going to say next, as it could mean finding him in the waking world much easier, but you were ready to meet him. “As for the school thing, I go to Night Raven College.”

“WHAT?!” His words were the largest that you had ever seen, and you knew that you probably would have needed to cover your ears if you could actually hear them. “YOU GO TO NIGHT RAVEN COLLEGE?! SINCE WHEN?!”

Sebek was distraught. You were so close but he didn’t even know? How could he be so blind?!

“Judging from your reaction I’m guessing you also go there, huh? Small world after all, I guess.” Your words didn’t reflect how you were actually feeling though, they mirrored Sebek’s perfectly. “Since you’re fae, I’m also guessing that you’re in Diasomnia. Am I right?”

Sebek looked at you, beguiled. “Y-yes! And what of you?!”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Huh, weird. “Looks like that’s a dead giveaway…” you muttered. Seems like the Thorn Fairy wasn’t going to make this easy for the two of you. But you got an idea. “Tomorrow at lunch, meet me in the botanical gardens! By the roses!”

You were snatched out from the land of dreams by your alarm going off, but you knew what you needed to do. You were ready to meet them. You were ready to meet your soul match.

…

…

Sebek was nervous. After so much he was finally going to meet his soul match. He knew he had seen those eyes somewhere before, been subjected to their teasing on several occasions, but the dreams kept your identity secret, shrouded in mystery. But now, now he and you would know. So why was he nervous? You had come to know him in your shared dreams, but Sebek was nervous that you would reject him once you knew who he truly was.

So he had arrived at the botanical garden in a sprint, having run from his class the moment the bell signified it was over. And it was empty, save for the butterflies and other pollinators that flitted about. It gave him time to gather his thoughts, and he paced by the roses, trying to place where he had seen you before. It was all so annoyingly familiar, it was on the tip of his tongue, but your face and name evaded him. Sebek wasn’t used to being nervous.

He had placed nervousness as weakness, as something human. He couldn’t afford to be nervous, not when he had a duty to the crown to fulfil. But maybe being nervous wasn’t bad. Maybe being human wasn’t bad. Yes, they were weak and had their faults, but that’s what made them beautiful. And Sebek realized and accepted that that was just as much a part of him as it was a part of you.

Sure, it was messy, but Sebek was coming to accept that part of himself because of you. And it would be a work in progress, as he had years of a combination of an inferiority and superiority complex due to the mixture of fae and human, but he was willing to work on it. Not just because of you though, it was a combination of you, accepting himself, and forgiving his father. 

He was mad at him for so long because it was easier to be mad than to love and then lose him. He was mad for his mother. But now he just wanted to say that he was sorry. That he loved him, that he loved him so much that he was scared of losing him. 

The door to the botanical garden opened, and Sebek froze. First impressions are everything! He was about to straighten himself up, but he remembered the last time. This wasn’t a first impression, you knew him, you’ve known him for a while. So, he relaxed, he took a seat on the bench next to the roses. And focused on calming his breathing.

A butterfly, a pale green butterfly, flew around his head before coming to rest on his shoulder, crawling leisurely until it got to a comfy spot, sitting above his heart.

He looked up from looking fondly at the small insect to find you, his soul match, standing in the middle of the path with a butterfly, the same colour as his, resting on your heart.

“I knew that you felt familiar! Ha ha!” You smiled, like you had just won something.

And Sebek felt the same. 

Fin!~

Author's Notes; I love Sebek, but I also like bugging him, so I kinda made the reader a menace in this one. Go forth! Be menaces in the world! Huzzah!

Tags; @xxoomiii, @eynnwwyjth, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @savanaclaw1996

Masterlist~

[hmslusitania]

For the OTP Ask:

#21 with Arrowverse: Tommy Merlyn and Oliver Queen.

21. "I don't drink." "Oh really now? When did that start?" Sooooo.... this became basically a deleted scene from season one? I've never written arrowverse fic before, this was honestly very fun! I mean, angsty, ambiguous ending, but fun to write at least!

Be at the party. Be Oliver Queen. Be the idiotic socialite they all still expect you to be.

It’s not quite working the way it should, and Oliver kind of hates that. Most people are buying it, the strangers, the hangers on who’d always wanted to flock to and fill up the Queen and Merlyn parties back in the day. There’s a blonde girl by the bar who’s a little too young to be hanging with this crowd, and she reminds him of Sara with a sharp stabbing sensation right up under his ribs. There’s Laurel, real and here and so understandably mad at him, for dying and for surviving and for every shade in between those two extremes. There’s Thea, definitely too young to be at this or any party, still working on that drug problem he’d tried to curb when Amanda Waller had brought him back to Starling in time for Tommy’s birthday party, years earlier.

They all still see the Ollie they’d lost, the man who’d died the second Robert Queen pulled that trigger.

The memory of his father drags him out of his maudlin thoughts about how well his social camouflage is or isn’t working. He’s got a task, something to accomplish tonight. There’s a reason he’d arranged to have his welcome home party here, right across the street from the offices he’ll need to sneak away into, to cross one more name off the list.

“You look more in need of a drink than any man I’ve ever seen.”

Oliver tears his gaze away from the party, away from the target’s office, and discovers Tommy, standing beside him with a glass in his hand that he’s extending Oliver’s direction.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a party with an empty hand,” Oliver says, but he accepts Tommy’s offering. After his time in Russia, after his time with the Bratva, there’s basically nothing the booze in Starling City can do to him. Frankly, considering how he and Tommy had spent their youth, the only reason the Bratva’s vodka had been able to do anything to him at all had been because of his drier time on the island.

“Yeah, I don’t really drink at parties anymore,” Tommy confides.

Oliver takes a sip of the concoction Tommy’s brought him, and raises an eyebrow. “Who are you and what’ve you done with Tommy Merlyn?”

Tommy laughs, just a little, and ducks his head before he scans the crowd. Oliver doesn’t have to follow his gaze to note where his attention pauses: Laurel at the bar, Thea in the crowd, and ever so briefly on the blonde at the counter who reminds him of Sara.

“You don’t want to hear the story,” Tommy assures him. “Promise.”

“No, I think I do,” Oliver says. It’s not… quite right for the Oliver he’d been before all of this, but it’s in keeping with the man he’s trying to be publicly. The Oliver who regrets the decisions he’d made before he’d been lost at sea, the Oliver who’s come back to Starling City to do right by his family and his family legacy.

But there’s a script for stories like this, for reasons why socialites don’t drink at parties. It’s usually something like “I don’t drink white wine anymore, because I had a terrible day entertaining my father’s contacts at the club, and I spent eight entire hours at one table and the waiter kept refilling my glass of chardonnay and now whenever I smell the stuff, I dry heave.”

It’s usually silly problems like that, that don’t have any bearing on Oliver’s life anymore, that he can’t imagine caring about. But from the cloud that passes over Tommy’s face, he’s suddenly driven to remember Hong Kong, to remember escaping Maseo’s guard long enough to call back home, to remember being placed on a roof with a sniper rifle, because Tommy had trekked across the globe to find him on the faintest shred of hope that Ollie might still be alive.

It won’t be stupid socialite reasons, and Tommy confirms that when he steers Oliver closer to the stairs and to a quieter part of the party.

“While you were gone—” Tommy pauses to shudder, and swallow back the idea of the five years Oliver had been dead for all intents and purposes. “—my twenty-fifth, Thea snuck into the party, and she was, uh, I don’t want you to go off the rails about this, but she had a drug dealer, and, I should’ve been keeping a better eye on her. I tried, man, you have to know I did everything I could to be a big brother for her while you were missing, but this guy got into the party anyway, and I’d been drinking enough that it took Laurel intervening to keep Thea out of juvie, and ever since, I might not have been able to keep her out of parties, but I can at least make sure I’m sober enough to keep her out of trouble.”

He doesn’t mention that the drug dealer had died at the party, and Oliver doesn’t blame him. They’re not at a point where they can be totally honest with each other about what they’d been doing with their time in their five years apart, and they’re not at a point yet where Oliver can tell him about the Hood, about the arrows, about the list.

But they don’t have to be at that point for Oliver to know in his bones that Tommy is a good man. A better man than he’ll ever be.

“I know you did,” Oliver says, and lets himself give in to the impulse to throw his empty arm around Tommy’s shoulders and pull him into a hug. “There was never any doubt in my mind that you’d keep an eye on all of them for me.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and his voice is a little thick when he responds, but it’s nice when he actually hugs Oliver back. It’s… it’s nicer than Ollie deserves. All of this is, even the open animosity he’s getting from the Lance family. “Yeah, man, you know it was the least I could do, since I — since I couldn’t do anything for you.”

If they were other people, it might be the moment Tommy tells him about following a wild goose chase to Hong Kong, about clinging desperately to the hope that Ollie was still alive, not because he didn’t want to keep an eye on Oliver’s family for him, but because of the simple fact that he missed him.

But they’re not other people, and they’re both maintaining reputations, and Tommy’s reputation might be hiding less of a dark interior than Ollie’s own fakery, but it’s no less of a mask. One of these days, at least for a minute, he wants to sit down with Tommy without a mask to hide behind. He wants — well. He wants a lot of things, and one of those things is that he wants to share the whole truth of himself, the reality of everything from Lian Yu and Hong Kong and his return to Starling and Russia with someone, and Tommy’s the only candidate he’s got. Not just because he couldn’t bear the idea of burdening his mother or Thea with it all, not just because Laurel is rightly not speaking to him, but because Tommy’s… Tommy. He wants to tell Tommy about Shado and Slade and Sara and Ivo and Anatoly and Tatsu and Maseo and Constantine and goddamn Amanda Waller. He wants to tell him about his father, about the list, about whatever the fuck the Undertaking is.

But Tommy is Tommy, and therefore Tommy is a good man, and Ollie—

Well. He’s not Ollie anymore, for one thing. And he’s not a good man anymore either, if he ever was. But maybe, maybe, he can fix his city, and if it costs him his life, well. At least he’ll be content to know that he’s got Tommy, keeping any eye on everyone left who’s still precious to him, including Tommy himself.

“I love you, man,” Tommy murmurs, just quiet enough that it could get lost in the music and noise of the party if Oliver wanted it to.

“I love you too,” Oliver says, and then he has to tear himself out of the embrace he’d started. He has to duck into the stairwell with the excuse of needing to track down a bathroom. He has to find his bow and hood where he’d stashed them.

He’s got a name to cross off.

[kobb4ni2]

･ ｡ﾟ☆ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐎 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

-> [ Part One. |Part Two.| ]

✧ .* pairing ─ None. [For now]

✧ .* gender/pronouns ─ Female and She/Her

☆ .* note ─ This part is a build up for Jimbie's part, so there's no romantic stuff here YET this part is just to tell what happened during the escape. I really reccomend that you read this and not skip this part out bc it doesn't have any x readers yet but this part is very much relevant to the story, so I hope you guys like it :3 !!!!!

☆ .* TRIGGER WARNING ─ Abuse, Sl*v*ry, Implied SA,Abduction and Spoilers for Tiger Fishs' and Boa's backstory.

┈➤ Synopsis: Being a Warlord is a hefty job or title. Many fear you or look down on you. You may be looked down on as a Government Dog to other pirates but yet being feared and respected by your infamous reputation and the strength you had acquired.

There are many rules of being a Warlord that are implied to even normal pirates, one of them is to devote yourself to your captain or your goal when you're traveling in the seas. 

It's just too dangerous to fall in love, especially on the high sea, yet that didn't stop your fellow Warlord from being intrigued by you. And are willing to do what it takes to take you, you were theirs in the first place eversince they laid their eyes on you.

Blue. You were used to the color blue especially when you lived half your life under the sea. Fishes, whales and other colorful fish swam around you at Fishman Island- it is your home country after all. But nothing compared to a clear sky of that particular shade of blue. The only thing better would be seeing a white cloud in the shape of a heart hovering just above the surface of the ocean. Or perhaps some clouds made of the purest white. Those are beautiful too. Those were your thoughts when whenever you rose from the ocean to see Sabaody Park, All of your friends' dreams were to step foot or fin on land, but by strict rules and how your elders told you how dangerous humans are towards fishman, people of your generation lost hope of being even with humans.

 Your mother taught you that the world is much bigger than the ocean, vast lands, deep green "forest" and all the other stories your mother told you. You've always been awed by such stories, what will happen if I ever step foot on land? Will they hate me because we're just different? Many questions roamed your head every day yet no matter how strong your curiosity was your consciousness was much stronger.

Your hometown was water blue, vasted by the ocean while your head was sparkling with curiosity every day. Yet the memory that sticks to you most that gave you a lot of hope during the time you were at your worst was a fiery red scenery, the opposite of your environment.

The world should learn that no matter how much you control people, the length of one to achieve freedom is endless.

Tiger Fish was the name of the fish-man who freed the slaves that day at Mary Geoise. Many couldn't thank him enough for what he had done to save them. He burnt down and infiltrated the place. The scenery was red and ashy others might think it was hell while the slaves that experienced hell knew this was a heaven-sent moment. The slaves finally have their freedom, the freedom that the owners never give to them after years of torture and one of them was Boa Hancock, Sandersonia, Marigold aka the Boa sisters and you.

Boa ran. Ran as fast as she could while her sisters were behind her catching up. Boa's bare feet hurt but the adrenaline made her forget about the cuts and burnt feet of hers because of the fire they had to cross over.  She looked back and saw her sisters getting closer. It wasn’t long before they caught up to her.

Marigold grabbed onto Boa's wrist and said, “We need to hurry or else they'll kill us!” Boa nodded in understanding and started running again faster than ever. Hope was in their grasp until they heard someone speak up.

The three sisters stopped their run and turned around to see a tall man standing a few meters away from them with his arms crossed and a serious look on his face. Marigold felt her knees weaken but kept her feet rooted to the ground. Boa's heartbeat became louder, her breath shorter and her palms sweaty and so were her sisters.

The man speaking was a guard to one of the celestial dragons, not any kind of guard, he was one of the strongest. Boa and her sister knew that they didn't have any chance against him. Yes, they may have devil fruit powers but this man showed many times how ruthless he is. One memory that stuck the most was one time he even used an armament haki-coated bat and used it to break your back because you desperately stopped the guard from even touching one of the sisters. And of course, it ended with you being in pain with a broken spine, and ever since that day, you've shown your selfless act was the day that the sisters were truly in debt.

You were then there to again protect them from the man, you've protected her and her sister many times before, you then told Boa to run away and that you'll take care of this, Boa hesitated. She doesn't want to leave you here! Before she can even utter a word you yelled at her to immediately go. Which caused her brain of thoughts, she then hesitantly turned back and ran while her tears were flowing.

Boa still to this day remembers your yells of you telling Boa to run away and when she turned back she saw you smiling with the fire behind you.

Tiger Fish knew what he was doing, he was following his instinct, his morals, and morals that are built by the things he saw and experienced at the land, especially the mistreatment of his kind - the Fishmen-.

Through the years when he was a slave, he saw many people from all different countries and seas. It was heart-wrenching to see many people slave away because of people who had authority over them and how unfair it truly was not only for him but for other species, even their kind.

So when Tiger Fish escaped the hell he was in, he immediately went back to his home country, even if he was free he could never forget the faces of the people who were slaved away, especially the children, no matter what gender or species the kids are, they didn't deserve any of this suffering.

And that moral still stands today when he was now burning "The Hold Land - Mary Geoise". He watched as all kinds ran, ran for their freedom, as he was going to leave to help more slaves he heard a loud young scream coming near him to be precise from the left side of the fire.

Tigerfish ran as his feet could take him, he was pretty sure that he took all of the slaves in the part he was heading towards.

When he arrived at the scene he saw a badly beaten (F/C) girl mermaid, she was bloody everywhere and was laying on her front where a certain mark was on her back. Tiger Fish knew why the young mermaid was here but her mark just proved all of his suspicion. He was so focused on the barely conscious, bleeding mermaid that he completely ignored the fact that there was a person in front of her, he only noticed that presence when the person stepped on the young girl's back which caused her to wince out in pain.

Tiger Fish immediately looked at the person and saw a man wearing a tattered black leather jacket holding what appeared to be a gun, which was pointed at the bleeding female mermaid. Tiger Fish knew that the man was a guard around the place or the celestial dragon. The man was staring straight at Tiger Fish's face, his face showing with a scowl on his face, his eyes showing rage and hatred. The man's body shook slightly, a vein visible on his forehead popping up as his grip on the gun tightened, and then without a second thought, he pointed the gun right at the mermaid's head.

“Don’t move or else I’m going to pull the trigger and end this worthless mermaid life!” 

The guard shouted as he pushed the end of his gun deeper into the mermaid's head which caused a small whimper from the (F/C) mermaid.

Fish Tiger was fuming with fury, angry that anyone dared threaten a young girl who was forcefully abducted by her home and then had to experience all the painful and traumatic experiences she had to go through.

Tiger Fish’s train of thought when he heard soft, barely audible words coming out of the mermaids mouth

“Please. . .  p-please save me!… I want to- to- survive please!” as the mermaid reached out her hand towards Tiger Fish. The guard then began threatening the girl which caused the girl to sob tremendously.

But at that moment, those words were what Tiger Fish needed to hear. The guard then stepped more on the gashing wound you have on your back just to provoke Tiger Fish.

“Come get me, man! You want to save your kind then do it but you first have to go through me-“

The guard didn’t have time to finish his sentence before a fist was straight to his face. Tiger Fish’s punch was so quick and powerful that the guard didn’t have time to react and was immediately thrown back, the guard was most definitely knocked out.

Tiger Fish huffs and immediately went to aid the girl. He carefully picked up the girl carrying her bridal style and protected her with his large frame. The mermaid girl then brushed the disheveled hair in front of her to see her savior. He then smiled, “It’s over now little one, you’ll see the blue sea again.” The Fishman said before smiling at the girl in his arms.

The mermaid’s eyes started to swell then she immediately cried in her saviour’s arms her tears finally telling her that the years of torture are finally over. With that, the girl started bawling profusely, her cries heard around the Holy Land.

And with that the rest of the night was history.

[unholyhelbig]

legit scared for the last chapter of 🕷

[A/n: Not going to lie, I was a bit scared too. I actually hate writing fight scenes and never fail to write myself into a corner with them. Seriously though, this was fun, thank you all for reading!]

Title: Magnetic

Ship: Kate Bishop x gn!reader

Disclaimer: I did not proofread, if there are mistakes, I'm sorry!

Trigger warnings: Blood, Fighting, major death, grief

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts | Join my Taglist!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five]

Summary: Reader is a spider!person from earth-2099 and Kate Bishop is curious about why she's so drawn to them.

“Spiderman.” The word pressed against the length of your spine in an electric shock. It had been uttered around you before, chaste and with disbelief. The way it was spoken now, in the echo of an abandoned building as rain pounded against the structure, was an insult. A mockery.

You felt the floor shift under your weight, your palms a graveyard of half-moons. Your lungs burned, refused to constrict, or release. His features were shaded, all except the white of his fanged smile.

“Oh, my darling child, don’t tell me you haven’t been practicing. Your mother, she was always so insistent that you practice.”

Was.

The word struck like a brass bell. You fought against a wince that wanted to surface, digging your heels in at the prospect of showing weakness. What had he done to her? Time worked differently in other universes, across the space continuum. On 2099, she could have passed naturally, but you highly doubted that. 

You felt the pulsing ache in your jaw, knew that your canine teeth had broken through your soft gums with a dripping purpose. It you ran your tongue against them, they’d surely cut flesh, the venom-soaked claws ripping the fabric at the very fingertips of your suit.

“You have my undivided attention,” You spoke, surprised by the sureness of your tone “Enough games.”

He laughed humorlessly “Games? Y/n/n I’m here to bring you home. There are no games, no tricks. Is it impossible to believe that I want us to be a family again?”

Your gaze flicked to Miguel, looking for some type of pained reaction, the quiver of his lip, the furrow of his brow. He stood statue-still, looking past your shoulder with his arms tucked behind his back as if her were a soldier. As if he were waiting for your father’s indication that he could pull in a breath.

“You… took my family.”

“No,” He fretted “I took a liability. And look at you now! With nothing holding you back you’ve survived dozens of worlds. You’re stronger for it.”

He stepped into the pale light that filtered through the boarded windows. For the first time in a long time, you got a good look at his elongated features. There were bags under his eyes and an unnatural stubble against his jowls.

“There’s something about you, Y/n. Something that made what I’ve been working for my entire life work. At first, I thought it was your mother, something in her bloodline that mingled with the serum. But your brother, he failed me.”

Miguel remained motionless, though his eyes moved to the floor. There was a sick, squelching crack that drew your attention back to your father. He had relaxed his shoulders, released the tension that he was holding back. There was the natural urge to back away, but you held your stance as six cracking legs emerged from his back, oozing with a dark liquid that flicked the already ruined floor. He let out a sigh of relief that rushed into a growl.

“I hate to make things casual, y/n/n, but family doesn’t judge. Do they?”

Your eyes gave you away as they always had. Just like the music that you had studied from a young age, there was something in the fear that seeped from your gaze that made him smile. He’d injected himself, God knows how many times, with the same serum that he used on you. Silently, you counted your blessings, though they were small.

“I am only going to ask nicely this one time. Come home with me. We can make history, change the world.”

The legs sprouting from his spine crackled and popped as they moved on their own, taking in the surroundings. You held back the nausea that built within your stomach, swallowing the acrid taste in your mouth.

“Our world?” You took a step forward, “you took that from me when you murdered Kate and watched her die in my arms. You knew how much she meant to me, how much she means to me. There is no world worth changing without her in it.”

“That’s fine,” his breath was hot on your cheek, his scent rotted like freshly tilled earth. Your spider senses were setting off every single alarm, hair standing up on end. “I don’t need you. I just need your blood.”

One of the legs rushed past you, aiming directly for the center of your chest. You were quick with your movements, ducked in time for the splintered edge to rip through your shoulder with a blinding pain.

You pushed away, shooting a web towards the nearest loose board. You pulled it with enough force to hit the back of your father’s head. It collided with a hollow noise, snapping his head forward. A low blow- but enough to disorient him for a few seconds.

Two of the legs moved forward, came down against the floor with enough force to splinter wood. You jumped back, away from their sharpened edges but into a cold solid figure. Miguel had moved behind you, quickly wrapping an arm around your mid-section, the other across your neck, squeezing slightly. Instinctively, your elbow shot up, crunching into his nose, loosening his hold.

Glass shattered on either side of you. Yelena slid across a clad floor, Cassie not far behind, stumbling for only a moment on her feet before she regained composure. You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the Widow’s dramatics, but grateful all the same.

You dug your feet into the floor and pushed back with enough force to shove Miguel into the wall. His spine collided with a support beam, and he released you.

“What the hell is that?” Cassie panted.

“My father,”

Yelena winced “Nasty.”

He smiled all the same, his skin waxy and pale. There was a squelching noise as flesh split and pedipalps pushed through his cheeks with a bloody drip, his teeth elongating, dripping with saliva.

“Hey big guy!” Peter called out from the open doorway of the room. He had his mask pulled down, his eyes narrowing under the fabric as your father turned around and stretched himself out with a popping motion. “Oh, really big guy”

Miguel landed a punch on the right side of Cassie’s face. She was knocked back into Yelena, who shoved her forward again before leveling him with a blow of her own. You made eye contact with Peter who shot webs at his loafered feet.

You aimed for the wrists. If he was restrained, then he would be easier to take out of the picture. Two long strands that you pulled down with all of your might to bolster him to the floor. He struggled against it.

“You brought backup” he garbled, “I’m impressed.”

Your father ripped through the sticky webs. With a quick movement, you slashed your claws against his soft side. He howled out in pain, turning with enough quickness to use one of his many trodden legs to push you across half the room. Against you better judgement, you hugged it close, digging your legs in despite the unfamiliar feeling on your chest.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!”

“Hold on!”

Peter was shooting a web at the strongest looking beam on the ceiling, hoisting himself up. You could hear a struggle on the other side of the room, watched out of the corner of your eye as Cassie shrunk down.

Peter’s feet collided with the center of your father’s chest. It sent him backwards as he collided with a wall. You clenched your eyes shut and held on tighter to the one thing that made you feel stabilized, despite how disturbed it was.

The two of you moved through insulation, drywall and a few stray bricks. Wood splintered around you and the damp smell of outside filled your lungs. You both landed on the asphalt six stories down.

“Sorry Y/n!” Peter called down past the ringing in your ears.

It took a few seconds to blink the stars from your eyes, but you were quick to scramble to a standing position. Your body ached, you father took a few moments to gain his own composure but you used a bout of strength to collide the tip of your boot with his stomach.

“Here’s the thing, dad. You took everything from me.” Another kick to the ribs, his legs fizzling. You knew it was low, but you didn’t want to give him the chance to stand, not until you spoke. “I’m your child and you used me as a lab rat.”

“I made you stronger,” He rasped, spit a stringy patch of blood to his side. He looked up and smiled, teeth stained a russet brown. “Better.”

“You injected me with a trial serum hoping that it would work, but deep down, you were hoping it wouldn’t. I was always a failure to you. Why would this be any different? Why would I impress you?”

You delivered another kick to his abdomen, a soft spot not protected by his writhing legs, his hissing exterior.

“I think you were shocked, father, when I didn’t die on that table. And through that shock was anger and envy. You didn’t kill Kate because she distracted me, you killed her because she meant everything to me, and you couldn’t stand to see me happy.”

A giggle bubbled from his throat that soon turned into a maniacal laugh. It echoed off the alley walls, stretched its fingers to the sky. Clint shot an arrow across the gap of buildings, using his bow to carry him into the massive hole in the front of the building.

Kate had her own bow nocked and aimed at the center of your father’s chest. It would shift each time he did, little movements that Kate expertly tracked. She breathed, waiting for a moment to step in. She was patient, and so were you.

“What gave you the right? What gave any of you the right!” He was yelling now, slowly making his way to his feet. The legs sprouting from his back twitched as he hauled himself up. The feelers that protruded from his cheeks poked around. “I deserve to reap the benefits of my science. All of my work wasted on you!”

You sprung forward and swiped at him listlessly with the long, sharp nails digging into warm flesh from his collarbone to the hem of his pants. Deep, black blood started to spill, blooming like flowers against his chest. He rumbled at you, legs whooshing past you.

He swiped one under your legs, dropping you to the damp pavement. Two others pinned you by the shoulders to the ground. They pressed with enough force to break skin, you could feel them snap bone, a scream ringing out that mixed with his own.

“So impulsive,” He laughed, “Child, you underestimate my ability to get exactly what I want.”

Another pointed leg was against your throat. You grasped at it, squeezing hard. You could hear the exoskeleton sputter under your touch. Even with your feet kicking listlessly at his midsection, he overpowered you.

Blood filled your mouth, sweet and metal. “Fuck… you”

An arrow cut through the air with enough precision to pierce your father’s eye. The arrowhead was halfway through his iris, and he let out a guttural howl in response. He released his hold and the third kick you delivered knocked him back as he struggled with the arrow.

You were back on your feet, someone helping you haul yourself upright. You panted, “Kate, you can’t be down here.”

She cut you off, using the edge of her thumb to wipe away a smudge of red at the corner of your lip. “You’re getting your ass kicked out here and everyone else is handling your brother. Your dad’s gross.”

“I’ve been told,” You laughed weakly “Nice shot, by the way.”

“Thanks, babe. Want to win this thing?”

You nodded, watching as he ripped the arrow from his eye, throwing it down with a clang. He stretched up and smiled quietly at the archer, blinking his one good eye. “What are your intentions with my little one?” 

“Well, we’re going to kill you and then… I don’t know, wanna do pizza and a movie?”

“I could go for pizza.”

The man/spider hybrid in front of you sounded off in annoyance. Spit dripped from his pinchers. He rushed forward with tremendous speed and agility. Kate nocked another arrow, watching carefully as you ran towards the man who had turned you into what you were today; scared, and tired, and oh-so hellbent on revenge.

You pushed off the ground, giving yourself leverage against him. The first hit that you landed was at the base of his jaw, cracking away at it. His legs scratched at you haplessly. Kate’s arrow found a sweet spot at the joint of his leg, bringing him down to one knee.

One of your hands gripped at his shirt, ripping the wicked fabric, the other was at his jugular, nails pressing just below his chin. You could feel how fast his pulse was working, the stubble against your fingertips. Just a little pressure and it would all be over. He smiled at you, ghastly and inhuman.

“Do it,” he taunted “kill me.”

Kate was breathing heavily behind you, ready to fire again. When you allowed yourself to glance up at the abandoned building, a constant in the tedious fighting, you could see the silhouettes against the dull moonlight. Peter, Clint, Yelena and Cassie. They watched you carefully.

“You belong to me, Y/n. You’re much too weak to finish what you’ve started.” He licked the blood from his teeth, nearly deerlike. “You were too weak to save Kate. She’s better off without you. Can’t finish one simple-“

You clenched your eyes shut, applying just the right amount of pressure to cut through skin. Blood coated your fingertips, warm against the raging storm. Red washed down the gutters and you let him fall in a pile at your feet.

All of you watched him for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. You waited for movement, for that last spurt of life that would have you stumbling back. But there was nothing. His mind was finally quiet, as was yours.

“Kate…”

The word was barely audible over the rain, the scent of copper filling the streets. You hadn’t meant for her to see this, to see any of this. Despite the misfortune and the experiments, you still prided yourself on keeping your hands clean. Now they were muddied, in front of an audience, no less.

Her warmth engulfed you from behind, her bow having hit the ground, arms snaking around your midsection. Your legs gave out, a sob tearing from your throat. Kate let you cry, she held you as you shook and fell to your knees, moved with you.

“Shh,” Kate soothed, breath hot on your ear “It’s over. It’s over.”

One Month Later

The keys of the piano felt like home underneath your fingers. Their soft ivory exterior moved with a certain quickness. Each note flowed through the air, wafting between the tables, through the flickering yellow flames and the plates of gravy-soaked lamb.

There was something so simple about music. Each movement told a different story, the waltz of a ghost, the crack of a frozen pond under booted feet, blood soaking into a ruffed collar. The last image made you clenched your eyes shut until they hurt. You saw stars, pressed D-minor with enough vigor to draw a few glances.

Gary watched you from the host stand and you gave him an apologetic smile. You eased your shoulders into complicity. He stopped short of bending his plastic clipboard in half in a feat of misguided strength.

A small breath escaped you. Concerto in D Minor. There was an eerie subtly to the piece that often made you flip to the next one on your roster, but tonight, tonight you allowed yourself to indulge in the deep melancholy.

Silver clinked against glass, and this time, you didn’t bother looking up. You could smell the rosemary and mint as Kate lowered herself onto the bench next to you. The wood creaked and groaned under your combined weight. She watched you for a few moments, listening to the deepness of each note, each stab of the knife that was interluded with the softest of apologies.

“This is quite depressing, don’t you think?”

“D Minor is a beautiful key.”

“Beautiful, yes, but depressing all the same. I think that man over there is crying into his Coq Au Vin.”

You smiled at that. Not the mans tears, or the fact that he was trembling over a dish that was already much too salty for your tastes. It was Kate’s ability to crack a joke, even after you had spent a month avoiding her, avoiding most of the world around you in turn for shifts seated right here.

At first, you chalked up the grieving process. Despite all the bad that he had done, he was still your father. He was the same man that would bait your hooks when the O’Hara’s and the Bishop’s went to their adjacent lake houses. There were distant memories of him drawing molecular structures on the sidewalk with chalk, and even fresher recall of those same structures being used to alter your DNA.

After the first week, holed up in your dingy apartment, Yelena brought you a can of soup. You did not have a can opener or a bowl, which she scolded you greatly for, but eventually sat down cross-legged and spoke to you about guilt.

“It is never easy to take a life, even if the motives behind your actions are good. It will haunt you for a long time, but it will possess you if you board up the windows. Do you understand?”

She left you with the unopened can, a stupid chef smiling at you from torn paper. Your stomach still clenched at the thought of eating so you left it on the counter and crawled back onto the mattress pushed into the corner of the room.

The second week brought the outside world to your doorstep once again. Clint had left a message on your machine, explaining that two S.W.O.R.D agents would be coming by to interview and catalog you as an inhuman. This was in exchange for holding Miguel, a small price to pay for his incarceration.

They too judged your lack of home-décor and cutlery, but their prying eyes felt like a bigger insult. You felt like a stranger in your own home so you finally showered and dragged yourself to the restaurant.

“There was a death in the family. I apologize for my lack of notification. I can start tonight if you’ll have me.”

Gary was not thrilled, but he was even less thrilled about the prospect of listening to auditions for another lunch-hour and settling for a crackling boombox on top of your beloved piano.

The second you pressed a note, the warmth of your first kiss with Kate flooded your body. You’d do anything to keep that feeling- and God, had you fucked up with this universe’s Kate. She had done so much for you, had assembled a team to help you create a home. And yet, shutting yourself away seemed as close as you could get to running.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

The words were a whisper, but she was close enough to hear it and some of the tension in her stance released. When you looked at her, when you finally saw her, you nearly lost your composure. The emotion threatened to gush from your chest. Her eyes looked green in this light.

“Y/n, there is no timeline for grief. I didn’t expect-“She frowned, struggled to pick out her next words carefully. “I lost my father when I was young in the battle of New York, and I will miss him forever. Sometimes the pain is dull, and sometimes it’s the loudest thing in the room.”

You swallowed the cold lump in your throat, grimaced and looked down at the keys. Tears escaped you, creating a sheen that you dipped your fingertips in each time you moved to the next note. Kate’s warm hand found your back, rubbed a gentle circle against it.

“If you ever need someone to help silence it, you know where to find me.”

Kate Bishop lived right across the hall in a dingy apartment building that was overpriced and didn’t have a callbox that worked properly. When it rained, and it did often, the cracks in the structure would leak and the elevator was always out of order.

That night, you finished your shift and didn’t knock on her door. The following night, you stared at the one crack on the ceiling that looked a bit like a face, and a camel, and a monkey and a bird. Your fingers tapped against your chest with each phantom eighth note.

On the third night, however, you allowed yourself to knock on Kate’s door. She tripped over something, a muffled curse coming from the other side of the rotted oak. Though, she had regained her composure by the time she opened the door, her hair in a messy ponytail, strands framing her face.

“Hi,” You breathed.

“Hi” She breathed back.

Your hands gently made their way to the collar of her sweatshirt. She let out a surprised noise that melted into a tender breath as your lips met hers. Kate’s nose was cold, and her hands pressed you close to her, as if she couldn’t get close enough. You kissed her delicately, but desperately all the same, callous fingers tracing her jaw.

“Thank you,” You mumbled against her lips, not noticing the dampness of your cheeks until her thumb brushed tears away.

“For what?”

“For showing me that this is worth fighting for.”

Taglist 💜: @lovelyy-moonlight

[sanctus-ingenium]

how clean are you colors before you merge them into the lines for painting? because i cant seem to find a balance between "my god i need to do this whole thing from scratch (too sloppy)" and "well whats the point of painting here (nothing left to paint if i merged the lineart)". sorry if this doesnt make any sense idk how to word myself better sometimes

I think I get you! Honestly I have a kind of threshold I reach where I know that I’ve done all that I can on separate layers and if I were to keep them separate, I’d just be creating more hassle for myself/forced to select layers and keep everything properly organised and it becomes a drag when I’d just rather be painting. And this is usually because I want to take advantage of the mixing effect of Sai’s paintbrush tool to start blending stuff. Also all my colours are on one layer anyway from the beginning (if I need especially ‘clean’ colours I might have a layer for them but I always merge them to the main colour layer before continuing). (also sorry I am away from my pc for a bit so I can’t show you actual Sai screenshots.. you will have to imagine). I ended up writing out the whole process in a way which is probably unhelpful

So for a painting like that one in the last post, I do my lines. Then I close the lines with a separate layer in the same folder (because the lineart looks better with gaps, but i fill colour by selecting outside the lineart while the folder is active, inverting selection, and paint bucket tool. Then delete the layer that closes the lineart). Base colour is usually the most common one in the palette. When I plan to merge the lines I usually make them solid/normal layer mode and colour the lines exactly to match the colours beneath, which is tedious but helps avoid the kind of translucent look lines on multiply layer give. But for that one the lines are on multiply. I lock the colour layer and paint in the other colours - different markings, materials, etc. It can be pretty rough because I know I can just paint over a wonky looking edge, but not so rough that I will have to go over it excessively later. Then with the lines and colours still on 2 separate layers, I put them both in a folder and clip a multiply layer onto that for cast shadows. Paint in cast shadows (again, it’s pretty rough, I know I will be merging & touching up everything at the end so it doesn’t have to be perfect. I hate multiply as a way to shade but I wanted shadows fast, again like I said it was a sketch I over-rendered I didn’t plan to polish it up so much. Normally I choose shadow colours and paint them like normal in the colour layer).

Then I merged the folder and the multiply layer into one layer (i usually make a copy of the lineart to keep it intact, just in case, and keep it hidden in the psd file). I make a new layer and paint in details that need to be sharp - usually around the eyes and face, where there is a focal point. This is because the default paintbrush in Sai has a slight mixing effect, and if I went in on the same layer it would not be as sharp. I use this new layer to paint in areas that need this sharp contrast and clean, tapered lines - like the stray hair and fluffy bits. Then merge all. Now I paint over the main layer all the things that don’t need that sharp treatment, this time taking advantage of the slight mixing effect of Sai’s paintbrush - I like this effect a lot and it’s what I use to blend the lineart into the colours, you can kind of ‘pull’ the lines out a little into the surrounding colour to make them less stark. Then I clip a new multiply layer to it, all one shade, to dim the entire painting so that the stark white highlights stand out more, clip a new layer on that, do the white highlights, merge all and bam it’s done

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Everything Good

CW: Self-hatred, victim-blaming, referenced past noncon, Kauri does so love to get drunk when he’s sad doesn’t he, some big old angst

Follows directly after Antoni and Kauri’s fight here, happens before/concurrently with Who You Are Looking For

-

“I told Jameson in confidence,” Antoni is saying, the words finding their way through the white noise slowly overtaking Kauri’s mind. His hard jaw and hard eyes and hard voice all combine to give away what he’s really saying, underneath the words. I didn’t trust you enough to tell you.  Kauri opens his mouth with some retort but it falls apart, nothing comes out but air. Antoni speaks over the silence. “I did not tell you, or Jasha, and that was my choice not to tell.” Antoni’s voice is hard as granite, and Kauri can’t breathe as he feels the inhuman stone shove itself down his throat. Unfeeling. Uncaring. “I am sorry it hurt you that you did not know.”

No, you’re not.

Everyone says they’re sorry, no one ever means it.

It always happens again-

“Do not ask me again.”

Kauri isn’t sure if he even remembers how to blink. His heart pounds in his chest, so loud that it beats inside his ears, and he can’t say anything. He realizes with  start that he is terrified of Antoni’s anger, that he understands that Antoni is the most dangerous person living in this house and Kauri has said and done all the wrong things for the last time. He manages a thin, stammered, “Ant-”

“I am ashamed of what was done to me,” Antoni snaps, a look on his face like a sneer. Loathing. Kauri is shit on his shoe, needing scraped off or dissolved with bleach. They’re supposed to be partners, but then again, when has Kauri been loved without pain?

Jake loves you.

The thought doesn’t land. None of them do, not with that look on Antoni’s face.

Antoni turns away from him, and it’s like slamming a door in his face. Like when Derrick would grab him by the arm and shake him for being so fucking stupid, why the fuck did you do that and Kauri never had a good reason. He doesn’t have a good reason now. 

Antoni could hurt him for this. Antoni and Jake and Chris are never, ever supposed to hurt him. They’re the ones he can trust not to.

Antoni, a man carved of marble and painted in shades of furious anger, has a stare that burns holes through Kauri’s thin armor. “Is that not enough? Must you make it worse?”

Kauri swallows the rocks in his throat and lets them come to rest somewhere in his chest, behind his heart, a weight of guilt he can’t carry alone, but alone is what he is right now. Antoni looks at him like he’s been wounded by Kauri knowing this, when Kauri should be the first person people know will understand. Of course he understands. It’s the one thing he’s a goddamn expert in.

“... I-... I didn’t mean-” His voice catches in his throat, thin and reedy, and Kauri winces and tries again. He takes a step back. Antoni doesn’t notice him putting space between them. Even Kauri is barely aware of it, the instinctive self-protection. Please don’t hurt me for making you angry. “You don’t have to be ashamed of-”

“Yes, I do!” Antoni smacks his hand down on the countertop and Kauri flinches, but Antoni wasn’t looking at him. He doesn’t see it. Kauri takes another step back. “It was shameful!”

Blood rushes to Kauri’s face, a sudden burst of heat. His fingers, though, are freezing. His lungs feel cold. Granite has become a glacier, a weight of ice he can’t possibly resist or dig his way out of. His mind scrapes against ice walls as thick as canyons are deep. “Don’t say that.”

His voice is a whisper.

Antoni turns to look at him and it’s an expression Owen has shown him so many times Kauri could draw it with his eyes closed even now. A look that Kauri can hear, the words spit at him with Owen’s righteous anger, his judgement, the way he could hate Kauri and love him all at once. You stupid slut.

If Antoni hates him for it, too, then what was the point of ever leaving?

“... I, I don’t have to be ashamed-” His voice is a thin whimper, and Antoni smacks the countertop again. This time Kauri stumbles back against the wall, his eyes locked on Antoni’s hand where it lays, fingers splayed, on the laminate made to look like stone. Just a thin layer of imaginary strength over wood so easily broken. 

“Stop it!” Antoni stops. Takes in a breath. “Stop. This is not about you. Not everything on earth is about you. This conversation ends now.”

Kauri has never, ever dreamed that Antoni could look at him like this. Disgusted with him. Loathing him. God, he must hate Kauri for what he’s done, for what he is, if he can hate himself for having to live with it. Hating himself because he ever, for even a second, had to have the same life Kauri did. He swallows, thinking he can apologize, he can be good, he can talk his way out of this. If he can just be sorry enough, they can make this go away, like it never happened. “Antoni-”

“I said it ends.” 

Antoni walks away.

Kauri’s mouth is still open, but all he sees is Antoni’s back as he disappears down the hall. The room isn’t empty, though. It’s full of the weight of Kauri standing, once again, alone. This time he isn’t fleeing Owen’s rage and the hands around his neck, the realization that he can’t survive it if it keeps getting worse.

Instead, he’s standing here alone because Antoni doesn’t want him. 

“Makes sense,” He whispers to himself. Guilt rages, tears him apart from the inside. He’s just skin stretched over self-loathing. Kauri takes a deep breath, steadying himself, closing his eyes. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and dials a number he meant to block a long time ago, but never could quite bring himself to. Just in case.

He’s honestly surprised when Westin answers. “Kauri! Long time no fuck around! How are you?”

“Shit. It’s all shit.” Kauri’s voice still won’t rise above a hoarse whisper. 

“Oh, damn. What’s wrong? I thought you were all married and settled and shit now.”

“I-... I am-” I think I am, he says, but then tries to shove that thought away. Even if Antoni doesn’t want him, even if he’s ruined everything by not knowing how or when to shut his fucking mouth, Jake will still love him.

Won’t he?

God. He can’t make Jake choose between them. Antoni’s objectively the better choice, anyway. He’s better with the rescues, he’s a good cook, he never makes demands on anyone for anything at all. There’s no choice to be made, Antoni is always going to be the one who wins out. If Kauri gets picked it’d be out of pity.

Wouldn’t it?

“Then what’s up?”

“Uh, my. My, um-... Look, tonight sucks. You got anything?”

“Kauri. Gorgeous. Light of my… fucked-up early twenties. I always have something. You want to come over?”

Westin’s nice. He has an apartment he pays for in cash because you don’t pay taxes on the kind of money he makes, the way he makes it. Kauri hesitates, because he shouldn’t. He hasn’t, not in years. He had thought he’d grown out of running for something to wipe out his mind when it’s overwhelmed by fear. 

But he’s never been afraid like this. 

“... Uh-”

Chris peeks into the kitchen. His wide green eyes meet Kauri’s, below the shock of lavender hair with copper roots starting to show. He’s wearing a gray hoodie that drowns him and black pants with holes at the knees that Kauri honestly can’t tell if they’re jeans or leggings. Or both. He realizes Chris has shoes on. “Kauri? Is, is, is everything-”

Kauri grabs his arm, not so much thinking as just acting on impulse, the way he always does. “Come on. We’re going out.”

“Wh-what? We are?”

“Yeah.” Kauri puts the phone back to his ear. “Westin? You still there?”

“Yeah, eavesdropping shamelessly. You coming over?”

“Nah. Can I meet you outside of the Dolph? You know the place?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. I love that place. You slept with the bartender, didn’t you?”

“That was like a decade ago, Wes. He’s probably not the bartender anymore.” Kauri heads down the steps, Chris’s arm still in his hand, the younger man stumbling after him confused and uncertain, but willing to go wherever Kauri takes him. Chris, at least, won’t ever look at him the way Antoni did. He isn’t fucking physically capable of it. No matter what Kauri says, or does, or thinks, or feels.

“I mean, I know, but just-”

“I did. I think his name was Jerome. Or Jared?”

“Jerome. Definitely Jerome. Jesus, that guy was stacked like a fucking…” Westin trails off, lost in thoughts. Or memories. “I don’t know. He definitely didn’t wear the right size t-shirt though.”

“You get bigger tips that way.”

Kauri half-shoves Chris into the car and gets himself into the driver’s seat. Jake’s metal music blares at first, but Kauri smacks at the volume button until the sound is silenced. “We’ll be there in half an hour. Can you bring me something chill?”

“Some, something chill?” Chris’s eyes widen, then he looks… unaccountably sad. “Kauri-”

“It’s fine,” Kauri says, waving a hand in Chris’s face without looking at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Westin’s voice goes soft. “You going to be up for some real fun tonight?”

“God, no.” Kauri still loves the way the word ‘no’ sounds in his own voice. He went so long without remembering how to say it and not fall apart. “Had a shit night. Just… half an hour, the Dolph, something good.”

“Got it. Hey, I always wondered… is the Dolph named about dolphins, or Dolph Lundgren?”

“... yes.” Kauri hangs up before Westin can say anything else, hitting the gas hard enough that the car jerks forwards and Chris grabs, a little panicked, at his seatbelt. “Whoops, sorry. Haven’t driven in a while.”

“It’s, um. It’s fine.” Chris’s phone vibrates and he checks it, wincing as if what he sees hurts him. “Uh, Jake, um, Jake wants to, to to to know, um, what, what happened, uh-”

“Tell him we’re going out.” Kauri takes a left turn too sharply, throwing Chris against the door. It occurs to him he probably shouldn’t drive when he feels like this, but fuck it, he doesn’t care anymore. Why not? He can drive the way he feels, and maybe it’ll help unstick the ice in his chest. “To dinner. To talk.”

Chris swallows. “... are, are we going out to, to, to dinner?”

“Well, the Dolph is kind of a dive-y bar and serves some pretty fucking awesome fried food, plus a real shitty take on a garden salad, so… sure. I’m buying.”

“And… and, and and and, we, um, will we… talk? About-... about what, what happened-”

“Once I am high off my ass and don’t care anymore,” Kauri says, taking another turn. He can see the blue sign marking that the interstate is coming up, now. Merge there, drive a few miles, get right back off. Head into an unassuming up-and-coming neighborhood where cute little boutiques vie with murals spray-painted on walls twenty years ago and left to fade with time and weather. Find the bright blue door with a light over the top. Go inside. Order drinks, swallow pills, and breathe.

He’s done it a thousand times before.

He can do it again.

It always helps. Or at least, it always holds off the pain long enough for Kauri to find a way to run from it.

“Kauri, please, how, how, how how how can I get home, if, um, if you get… high, again, you, you you you haven’t done that in a while, are-... can, can we talk before, um-” 

Kauri glances sideways, and feels a brand new wash of self-loathing when he sees that Chris looks worried, even a little scared. Of him.

He merges too hard and nearly sideswipes a semi. The guy blares his horn and Kauri flips him off and speeds past, changing lanes. It’s begging for something to go horribly wrong, flirting with an accident or injury or death. But fuck it, what does it matter?

“I think Antoni stopped loving me tonight,” Kauri says, voice flat. He’s proud of the way it doesn’t shake. “I think I deserve to get high again tonight. You get me home safe. Everyone goddamn wins, right?”

Chris clutches his phone like it could save his life. “Antoni could-... could never st, stop-”

“Yeah, maybe not with other people. But I have that very special talent, Chris, I can make anybody fall out of love with me just by being myself. Just by being who I am. Just by being… being what I was. What we were. Right? We don’t change. Once a stupid selfish slut, always a stupid selfish slut, right?”

He realizes he’s accidentally included Chris in that estimation a moment too late, when he glances to the side and sees the look of profound hurt on his sort-of little brother’s face.

Great work, Kaur-Bore, you did it again.

“Oh, shit, Chris. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s, it’s okay,” Chris whispers. He’s rocking forward and back, his fingers scratching at his jeans, running along the seams. “It’s okay. I, I, I think it sometimes, too. Once, um, once a, once a-”

“No. Not you, Chris. Never you.” Kauri holds a hand out, and Chris takes it, even though he can’t stop rocking, keeps his other hand moving. “That was a shitty thing to say, and I shouldn’t have said it. What if I promise I’ll eat something before I start drinking, and I won’t have more than three drinks and one of whatever Westin brings? How’s that sound?”

Chris squeezes his hand. Someone honks - not even at him - but it reminds Kauri that his exit is right there and he has to take a hard swerve not to miss it. Chris lets go to put his hands in his hair and lean over, eyes closing tightly, breathing in gasps. “Kauri!”

“It’s fine, it’s okay.” Kauri soothes, both hands back on the wheel, hitting the brakes so they come to a sudden jerking stop at the light, waiting for it to turn green. “See? Look? I can’t even go very fast on this road. We’re almost there, I swear.”

“Okay.” Chris rocks forwards and back, forwards and back. His hands slip under his hoodie, and Kauri knows without having to see that he’s tapping, soothing himself with sensation that settles his fraying nerves, just like always. “Okay, okay, okay.”

“Okay.” Kauri nods, and as he forces himself to ease down the road instead of flying, he rubs at Chris’s back with one hand. “I’m sorry. I’m scaring you, aren’t I? I don’t-... I don’t handle this shit well, but I bounce back, I promise.” He lets out a bitter brittle laugh, startling himself a little. He hasn’t laughed like that in years. “Enough people tell you you’re a piece of shit and make it clear they can’t love you after, you get real good at letting it roll off your back.”

Chris hesitates. Kauri can see that he’s thinking. The quiet draws out between them as Kauri spots the telltale blue door and pulls into the parking lot, easing around the grass growing through the asphalt cracks, stubborn weeds that refuse to be destroyed by the conditions they have to grow in.

“... did he, he, he say that?” Chris asks, softly. The bass from the music is echoing out of the bar, and Kauri closes his eyes, letting his forehead rest against the steering wheel. “Kauri? Did, did, did Antoni say that, uh that he he he doesn’t… love you? Anymore?”

Kauri keeps his eyes closed.

“He didn’t have to,” Kauri whispers. It’s funny. He’d thought his voice would shake more, saying it, but he finds that all his fear is draining away. Falling down into the white light that lives so far back inside his mind, but always finds its way back out. “I know the way he looked at me. I’ve seen that look so many fucking times. And if Antoni can’t love me, who can?”

“I can.” Chris whispers it back, and Kauri turns his head without lifting it, watching Chris looking back at him, half-smiling. “Jake can.”

“... nah. Even he’s gotta give up the ghost eventually, right?”

Chris looks too solemn, too serious. It shatters Kauri’s heart. “You, you, you aren’t a ghost.”

Kauri could laugh. He could laugh until he ran out of air and blacked out right here, laugh until all the pain is hidden deeply enough that no one remembers he ever felt it but him. “Aren’t I? I’m not handling the love affairs of the guy who used to own my body super well, am I? Just keep fuckin’ it up. Jesus Christ. I’m such a piece of shit.” 

Oh, good. The tears are back.

His voice gets thick and wet with them, and he has to hitch in breaths to say anything around a closing throat. 

“I’m such shit. Antoni didn’t want me to fucking know because he knows I’ll just make it about me, and I did! I made it all about me and my problems and my bullshit. He lied to me because he knew I can’t take knowing that my life is something other people would rather die than admit to having lived, so I make it about me and I’m awful and I don’t even goddamn blame him for hating me now. I’m a piece of shit and a bad partner, and Saint Jake can’t keep swooping in to save me. Eventually the goddamn martyr’s going to realize he doesn’t have to die for my stupid fucking sins, and then he’ll tell me to get my ass out of the house and give him his ring back so he can give it to somebody else better than me."

Chris is silent. Doesn’t matter.

It isn’t really him Kauri’s talking to anymore.

“I ruin it. It's like my biggest fucking talent! I ruin everything good. I get a good thing and I fuck it up, I always have. All the way back to the man who I used to be, I bet he sucked at relationships, too. Bet he did. That’s why I’m like this now, it was already there, and my shitty fucking life has only made me worse. I thought I was getting better. Therapy, and not drinking so much… but I never got any better. Jesus. Who’s going to want me, huh? Who’s going to want a washed up whore who can’t keep a relationship together with the two most patient men on the entire fucking planet? Why can’t I stop myself from doing things I know are just going to make it worse? Why can’t I ever stop it before I fuck it all up again?”

There’s a pause. 

"Why can't I ever remember I don't want to until I've already done it and it's too late to stop?"

Chris’s hand is warm against his back, suddenly, rubbing up and down. Offering him the same comfort he had given a minute ago, and Kauri shudders, forcing back a sob - or a scream - trying to find its way out.

“I love you,” Chris whispers. “As, as, as your brother. Your, um, your friend. I, I I I love you, and you, I, I mean it.”

“Love you too.” Kauri’s voice is wry, so thin it’s a single human hair stretched nearly to snapping. “I’m sorry I dragged you out with me, Chris. You probably had other plans, huh?”

“Not, not, not important ones.” His voice is a shrug. “I, I, I know how you, you, you feel.”

Kauri huffs. Is it laughter? He can’t even tell. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Chris’s voice is low and sincere. “I, I, I think that a, um, a lot. That, that, that I’m only going to to to to… mess it up. That, that, that I always… I always do. Because I, I, I can’t-... have, um. With them. And I can’t… sometimes I get so, so scared of, of, of… of-...” He trails off. “Of it all. Of me. Come, come on, Kauri.” 

Kauri looks at him, and Chris offers him a soft, sweet smile, leaning close. He smells like his shampoo, and laundry soap, and beneath all of that, the simple specific human Chris smell. “What?”

“Let’s, let’s, let’s go inside.” Chris leans over, impulsive and quick. Kauri feels his lips against his hair, warmth making its way down through the wild black curls, before he pulls back again. “Jake texted and, and, and said he’ll talk to, to, to to to Antoni. We, we, we can stay out for a, um, a while. You always, uh, always feel better… dancing.”

Well… he isn’t wrong.

“I guess you know me pretty well,” Kauri says, shifting back, rubbing at his eyes to get the last of the tears out, glancing at himself in the rearview mirror. In the dark, his eyes being reddened won’t be so obvious. He tries on his best, most glittering aren’t I the most gorgeous fucking thing and so humble too smile. Still looks good.

He always looks his best when he’s ready to shatter, after all.

Nobody looks as good getting torn apart as you do, Kaur-Bore. 

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. Banishes Owen’s voice from his mind. “Okay. Let’s do this.” He steps out of the car, and Chris gets out on the other side. They pause, for a second, looking at the blue door. The light above it. An unobtrusive rainbow sticker pressed against the brick beside it. 

“Three, um, three drinks,” Chris reminds him, leaning sideways to bump his shoulder into Kauri’s. “And one, um, pill or… snort? Or whatever?”

“I don’t snort,” Kauri says wryly. “Anymore.”

“You, you, you weren’t doing pills either, though?”

“... Fair point. You win. Fine. One pill or snort or whatever. Three drinks. That is all. And I’ll eat some dinner first so it doesn’t hit me so hard.”

“Then, then, then we’ll… figure it out. Yeah?” His head leans on Kauri’s shoulder, lavender hair halfway up his nose when he turns and has to sneeze and then they both laugh. For a second Kauri thinks maybe he doesn’t need the pill, anyway.

But it’d be rude, if Westin drives all the way out here…

“... Yeah,” Kauri says, softly. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

The blue door opens, and Kauri winces when he hears what’s playing inside. Tell all the English boys you meet, about the American boy back in the States - the American boy you used to date, who would do anything you say…

“Shit. Forgot that it’s Wednesday.”

“Um. Why?”

“Wednesday is a slow night. They let the guy who manages the bar control the music, and he’s… well. He plays shit like this.”

If you say you ever missed me then don’t say you never lied-

I’m without you-

“It’s, it’s, it’s not bad, though?” Chris follows him as Kauri heads for the door. Inside, there’s not exactly a crush of bodies, but there’s a good few dozen men of varying ages, trending older than they do on Fridays and Saturdays. Chris is one of the youngest guys here.

“Oh, it’s not that bad now,” Kauri says, winding his way towards the bar, Chris’s hand in his. A few people still remember Kauri and waves or call out, and he waves back. Lots of Kauri! Haven’t seen you! How’ve you been! You good, man? Oh hey, you’re here! He doesn’t stop to flirt. “Just wait, though. Just wait until he gets super drunk later and starts playing Taking Back Sunday.”

“Starts, um, starts playing… is, is, is that… church music?”

“Oh my God. I love you so much, you sweet tiny baby child.” Kauri throws his head back with real, genuine, open laughter for the first time all night. He orders something candy-colored for himself, plus a burger and fries. Chris gets a vodka and soda and cheese fries. 

Chris looks baffled, but Kauri can’t stop laughing, and when he pulls Chris close for a hug, the younger man never hesitates. 

Kauri holds him tight, and thinks to himself that even if Antoni never wants to look at him again, he can survive the loss. This time, there’s someone who will hold him while he figures out what to do next. Someone who will stand next to him and listen as the music changes. The crowd, such as it is, takes it as a sign to go order more drinks. Just a few couples stay dancing.

Oh, you're silent but strong Yeah, I'm playing that card And you're noticing nothing again

Now I'm lying on the table with everything you said Keep that in mind, the way that it felt When the most I could do was to just blame myself

Kauri laughs again. He can’t stop, until his laughter is nearly a sob itself. His cheeks are wet, when did that happen? His knees nearly give out with the hilarity and the hurt swelling inside of him. “Oh my God. It’s goddamn Taking Back Sunday. Dan’s drunk and sad early tonight. Join the fucking club, I guess."

Well, I know you know everything I know you didn't mean it I know you didn't mean it Kauri hums along for a while. "Wow, this music is way better when you fucking hate yourself.”

“What?”

Now I'm lying on the table with everything you said It will all catch up eventually

Kauri shakes his head. “Never mind. Just… don’t let go. Don’t let go, Chris, please.”

Well, it caught up and honestly The weight of my decisions were impossible to hold But they were never yours

“I won’t.”

They were never yours

They rock to no beat in particular and nobody’s hands wander, no one whispers filthy things in anyone else’s ear. He doesn’t even want the drink that bad when it comes.

He will, in a minute.

But right now, it can sit on the bar sweating condensation while they move, side to side. 

Stop everything Start it all over Remember more than you'd like to forget

Kauri is crying, but his head is buried against Chris’s neck, and Chris only tightens his arms. Kauri is drowning, his head dips below the water.

Chris’s arms are strong, though.

When Kauri gasps for air, he finds it. 

If Antoni can’t forgive him, he’ll keep going. Kauri always keeps going. He’s always going to be fine, in the end, because he’s never had a choice. And if Jake hates him too and he has to be fine alone, well, he can do that. 

Although Chris makes him think maybe he won’t have to.

Drop everything Start it all over...

----

As always, @autophagay, this is for you

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

[hellfirefucker]

Ever since that Eddie was little all the could see is Blue. No matter what color something might be, for him it was either a shade of Blue or Black and White. He hated his monotone color life, despised it even.

People who had found their soulmate/s would always see in a wide range of colors beyond their own. He desperately wanted that but could never get it no matter how hard he had tried. From preschool, to elementary, to middle school, and now high school, all Eddie could see is Blue. He hated the color of the sky, hated the color of the sea, it was all Blue, Blue, Blue!

Some of his friends had already started to see in different colors and would ramble on about how beautiful their new life was. Eddie would turn a blind eye and pretend to listen to them during conversations like that because the own ache in his heart was to great to bear.

Maybe Eddie Munson was fated to never have a soulmate.

It would be the only cruel thing the universe had done to him but it definitely was the worst. It meant that he was always fated to be alone, nobody to be ever complete that empty half in his soul.

He didn’t know what to do with himself knowing this information. Could he really live out the rest of his days knowing nobody would ever want him? Eddie couldn’t answer.

One day, Eddie Munson was walking through the halls of Hawkins High. His walk was confident and his laughter loud as he spoke to fellow Hellfire Club members as if nothing was wrong. That’s the best he could do really. Just put on a front so nobody would have to worry about him, they had their own lives to fret constantly about. As he walked, there was something that caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

Flash!

Was that a burst of color?

Eddie suddenly stopped in his steps to figure out what that was. He thought that maybe it was a ray of sunlight or some sort of reflection on metal. But as quickly as it came, the small flash had gone. Lost tot the crowd of students that filled the halls.

“Hey, Eddie, are you alright?”

He snapped out his thoughts and nodded, “Yeah, man, just peachy!”

The group continued to walk once more, headed to their classes but Munson couldn’t shake what he had saw out of his head. It was so unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was bright and looked full of joy…? Was that the right word to describe something like that?

With a small sigh, Eddie would enter a class that he was failing horribly at just for him to not pay attention and focus on preserving that memory in his head.

From then on, Eddie kept seeing small flashes here and there. Small slivers of something different from his Blue world. It would be seen above the heads of some of the students, it could be seen turning a corner, it could be seen in a passing car.

It was invading his mind. Every night he tossed and turned because he oh so desperately needed to figure out what it was. He looked for answers in books, newspapers, anything he could get his hands on but all his research came inconclusive. It was as if the universe had set another roadblock in his path for him to either give up or push forth.

And push forth he did.

But suddenly he saw the flash mess and less. He would peek his head and glance this way and that to try and see the flash but it was becoming a rarer and rarer occurrence.

Then one day, the flash never came back.

Part 1?!?!?!? (If you want a part 2 pls tell me!! I would love to hear from you guys!)

[mik3stuff]

In the middle of the fight, on the other side of the battlefield, Shoto manages to immobilize Touya, until then he had not attacked, only defended. He knows it won't take long for them to let go, but instead of ending it there and then, Shoto questions something, something that since Dabi revealed their identity as Touya, he wanted to know.

"Why do you hate me?" he ask's, in the middle of dryed tear's n tired sob's "what have i ever done to you? besides BORN?"

Touya didn't expect that question, not at a time like this, they stop trying to escape. part of them wants to comfort their younger brother, part of them is ashamed of the path they took. the other part wants to get away from there, to have nothing to do with any of it. Maybe they will remain silent, maybe they will say what they always say: you have everything I ever wanted, I want revenge. but deep down they know that this isn't so true, maybe deep down they know that the answer is that Shoto, even though he was little, was always this sweet, kind boy, and they were so different. .. didn't that make them a bad person? So, wasn't it easier to hate him? make him the villain? Maybe, from lying to themself so much, one day Touya would actually start to see him that way, and if they are so different, wouldn't that make them decent people?

Looking from the outside, it's easy to say no, that even though they are different people, they could be good people in their own ways, in different ways, but that's not how Touya sees it, that's not how they was taught. Touya has a very black and white vision, they cannot, unlike us, see the shades of gray, because that is how they were taught. Maybe Touya doesn't even really hate him, maybe they just want someone to hate, someone other than themselves.

[bungalowbear]

I’ll Cry If I Want To

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x reader (60s AU)

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Your birthday party takes an unexpected turn.

A/N: Here’s my very first fic for a HOTD character. I must thank @inthedayswhenlandswerefew because I wasn’t an Aegon girlie at all until I started reading her phenomenal series North to the Future. Definitely check it out if you haven’t already. And I hope you enjoy this little thing too!

You sit at your vanity, staring at your reflection in the mirror. From an early age, the idea of maintaining outward appearances has always been instilled in you. To this day your mother lectures you before any social gatherings, no matter how public or private. In the privacy of your bedroom her voice echoes the loudest in your mind as you sit in silence.

There should never be a hair out of place.

Every word you speak has to be the right one.

What you look like reflects back onto the family. Especially your father.

You roll your eyes. You’d go out to dinner in your pajamas with bed head to stick it to your father if he wasn’t the one paying the rent for your apartment. You hate to admit that you’ve become accustomed to this lavish lifestyle. But while it had its advantages, it wasn’t without its downsides.

You had gone to the salon earlier in the week to get a touch up on your permanent to straighten out your natural hair that was growing out at your roots. The first time you had the treatment done you cried at the burn all along your scalp from the chemicals. You’d learned to hide your pain after your mother scolded you for embarrassing her in public.

You turn your head to see your hair at different angles. Done in a respectable updo with a short bouffant like the one you’d seen on Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, you deem your hair complete. Your fiancé likes to poke fun and tell you it resembles a bee hive, but you quite like the style.

Scoffing at the childish remark, you lean closer to the mirror and apply a final coat of mascara onto your lashes. After your make up is done you walk over to your closet and change into your cocktail dress. It slips onto your figure with ease, having just come back from the tailor’s. You needed the hem adjusted to end just below your knees.

You face the full length mirror and admire the jewel neckline and how this particular shade of green goes well with your white heels and compliments your skin tone. A modest square bow of the same shade of green cinches the fabric around your waist just slightly to give a hint of your figure. You give your body a slow twirl to check every inch of yourself in the mirror and exhale, pleased with the final product.

For the first time today you don’t feel dread weighing you down. Reflected in the mirror is the shining image of all your hard work to create the most excellent version of yourself. Pride makes your heart soar and you tell yourself there is absolutely nothing that can ruin your night.

Your hand flies to your chest, startling when music suddenly blares through your apartment. You look at your reflection once more before leaving your bedroom and heading to the living room, where you find your fiancé with a tumbler of dark liquid in his hand and looking through your record collection. He’s dressed in a dark green double breasted blazer with a black turtleneck shirt underneath and matching trousers. His head, covered in nearly white hair and combed back neatly, bobs in rhythm as Ray Davies’ voice fills the room.

“Aegon!” you call from across the room. “Could you turn down the volume?”

The music is so loud that he can’t hear you. You let out a huff and march over to the record player and turn the sound dial so that the music lowers to a tolerable level.

“Not so loud.” You speak before a complaint can pass through Aegon’s parted lips. “Otherwise Mrs. Tyrell from upstairs will come down and complain. And nobody wants that.”

He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. “Does your mother know you listen to The Kinks?”

“No.” Your eyes dart to the record sleeve in his hand. “And you’re not going to tell her.”

“She won’t hear it from me,” he promises, throwing back the remainder of the brown liquid. “I just assumed you were a Lesley Gore kind of girl.”

You roll your eyes, deciding not to encourage him with a verbal response. But before you can walk away Aegon takes your hand as the next songs begins to play and he starts to dance. You frown. You aren’t in the mood to entertain him, and there are so many things to do before your guests arrive.

“Aegon,” you try to pull your arm free, “not now.”

“Come on. Just a bit of fun between us before the vultures descend.”

“Those vultures are our friends,” you emphasize. “And your brother and sister.”

You glare at Aegon when he shrugs once more. You try to pull away again, but he only holds onto you tighter. You stand still for a minute while Aegon moves his hips and raises his arms one after the other as he does The Jerk. Your resolve slowly wanes as Aegon raises your joined hands above your head and walks a circle around you. His grin is infectious and you can’t help mirror him. So you give in to temptation and join him in the dance.

You raise a finger at him. “One song.”

Your mouth is now split in an ear to ear smile as you face Aegon. You Really Got Me plays as you dance together in the living room.

A warm feeling blooms within you, so different than how you usually feel around Aegon. He never seemed interested in knowing you, or even tolerating you, until now. Although his mother had deemed his presence mandatory at your party, you were glad he didn’t completely resent you for it. Perhaps if love couldn’t come out of your marriage, then you’d settle for at least a friendship.

Both of your fathers were wealthy and powerful businessmen. Your father owned an advertising agency and Aegon’s father was the current patriarch of the Targaryen family and their fortune. Their business went back several generations, establishing their stake in a variety of areas. Coal, banking, imports. Just to name a few. And now they wanted in on the advertising business, which is where you and Aegon come in. Two strangers brought together to be the bridge between your two families.

While Aegon was quite handsome, it did not distract you from the open secret that was his notorious reputation. He drank at seemingly all hours of the day and had a very active night life. Though since your engagement party’s month prior, you haven’t heard of any recent escapades. You like to think perhaps he’s turned over a new leaf.

The song ends and you both share a quiet few moments before the next one begins. Aegon thanks you for the dance and you chuckle out a response before you go back to readying for the party and he heads back to the bar by the balcony windows for a refill.

You’ve been planning your birthday party for a few weeks now. Everything from decorations, to food, even the music was meticulously chosen. This would be the first time you and Aegon make a social appearance together since your engagement party. It goes without saying that everything needs to go perfectly tonight.

There’s a knock at the door. You straighten and make your way over. Aegon appears beside you, scotch in hand. He heaves a sigh and looks at you. The corner of his lips turn up in a smirk.

“And so it begins.”

You nod in agreement. Your lips curve in a pretty smile when you open the door and greet your first guests, and for every guest that arrives after. Aegon is by your side for the first hour or so. He’s animated as you both walk around the wide open space of your living room and mingle. He talks with his hands as he recounts a story from when he was a child and you can’t help the way your eyes stay glued to him, charmed with every words he speaks. Your smile falters though when you notice the glassiness of his eyes and the way his words begin to slur.

Eventually, when the party’s in full swing, Aegon’s pulled away by one of his college friends and you find your own group of close friends. You sit on the leather sofa and immediately are bombarded with questions about the wedding.

Have you picked a date?

What color for your theme?

Chicken or fish?

As you answer one question after another you’ve kept your eye on Aegon. Seeing him here and there, stance becoming more unsteady as the night goes on. But when your eyes scan the room again after talk of the wedding has turned to high society gossip, you can’t find him.

You excuse yourself and make your way around the room, casually asking a few people if they’d seen your fiancé. When no one seems to know where he’s disappeared to you think to check the other rooms next. You take one last glance around the living room and realize you hadn’t seen Diane, a friend of yours from college, in a while either. She was actually more of an acquaintance, but her mother was a friend of your’s and insisted you invite her.

You knew Aegon was a flirt. A notorious bachelor. And you incorrectly assumed his appetite for women would be curbed after your engagement. Perhaps it was the naive girl within you that thought you could change him. But as you stand at the entrance of the hallway, you can’t ignore the raucous sounds that float from behind the bathroom door. And neither can anyone else when the song that plays from the record player lulls to an end.

Shame makes your cheeks burn and your eyes water. You sense eyes on you. Hear the whispers floating amid the music even after it starts up again.

There’s a sudden sensation that takes over you. A tingle starting at the back of your head and traveling down your arms. It overcomes you completely and you can’t make it go away. So you make a decision.

You turn on your heels and march over to the bar. You trade your martini glass for a tumbler of bourbon. Bodies part for you as you then make your way to the record player. You pick up the needle and the music stops with a high pitched scratch. You can hear the sounds from the bathroom again and you can feel that everyone collectively halts what they’re doing, watching you as you grab the album The Kink Kontroversy from the shelf below. You hold your glass in the crook on your elbow as you rip the record from its sleeve and drop it on the turntable. You lower the needle and the room fills with static before the first notes start and then slowly the room reverts to what it was.

You stand in front of the record player and sway to the hypnotic lyrics of The World Keeps Going Round. As the final chords of the song play you finish your drink in two long gulps. You twirl your body, raising your hands as you begin to dance alone in the middle of the room. You vaguely register a pair of hands attempting to coax you to sit down but you shrug them off.

Your head lolls from one side to the other and your gaze lands on Aegon’s brother Aemond and his wife, tucked into a corner of the room. He leans into her, whispering something in her ear, and she hides a smile behind her glass. Jealousy courses through you. You want what they have, but know you never will. You have always done what you were told and you were a fool to believe you would be rewarded for it.

It isn’t until Aegon emerges from within the bathroom, blazer unbuttoned and tucking his shirt back into his trousers while Diane follows behind him wiping the corner of her mouth, that you stop dancing. You turn sharply, almost stumbling in your tipsy haze, and make another beeline for the bar.

Aegon comes up behind you. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a thin layer of sweat across his forehead.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You don’t look at him when you answer. “Getting a drink.”

Aegon’s hand cradles your chin gently as he turns it to face him. His eyes scan your face before he swipes his thumb across your cheek to catch the tears that fall from your eyes. You didn’t realize you started crying and silently thank the gods for your waterproof mascara.

“I meant why are you crying in front of everyone?”

You sniffle.

“Pull yourself together.” Aegon frowns as he grabs the drink from your hand and walks away.

Your brows pinch together while you arrange another drink, quietly seething. This is your party. Not his. You put in all the work to make this night happen. Not him.

Another tear rolls down your cheek, but you don’t clear it away. You straighten your back and lift your chin. You want to change the record. You’re in the mood for some Lesley Gore.

Part 2

[unforth]

Been thinking a lot about gender. One of my closest friends and I share our nb and gender envy experiences a lot, and recently they shared a music video with me, and I said - jokingly, I thought - that I had gender envy for literally every person in the video, and it really got me thinking about...that...and what that meant...and how true it was, and I think I finally had a really valuable insight about my relationship with gender.

See, gender is confusing as fuck. People talk about "feeling" like they're a gender, and I've never really...gotten that. I have a pile of meat that holds my awareness, but I'm not particularly attached to that meat, and I'm not particular attached to the bits that are part of that meat, but I also don't want to permanently change to a different one. It's not like I'm thinking, "these are the wrong bits, I wish I always had some other gender's bits." Instead, it's more like, "oh, experiencing what it'd like to have those bits would be interesting."

And I realized...my ideal gender would be shapeshifter. It's not that I want to be a man or a woman or any combination of both or any third option...permanently.

I've always believed I only get one shot at life, that when I die I will be nothing, that therefore my goal in existing is to experience as many things as I can, because when all is said and done, all that will matter is that I had those experiences before I ceased. I won't ever get another chance. And as such...I hate being trapped in this single unit of meat that I'm not attached to. I want to experience things, all things, associated with having meat! I want to feel fat and thin, want to feel vagina and penis, want to feel abled and disabled, want to feel Black and white, want to feel all the shades between the extremes of the identities that exist. And don't get me wrong, I'm not at ALL saying "I want to try on other identities like they're a disposable costume, all the perks and none of the disadvantages." That's not it at all. I want to experience e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g, I want to live a year with all the pros and cons, and then live another year with different pros and cons. And again, I know there are problematic things about positing this, especially related to racism and ableism, but like...what I'm saying is impossible anyway, and I'm not talking about a reality, I'm talking about "what I realized about my relationship with gender when I recognized that I looked at a large group of people and kind of wished I could be...all of them."

I've been letting this percolate in my brain for a few weeks.

I debated between agender and nb for years before I decided I had days I felt kinda gendered maybe??? and went with nb. Then, I switched to genderfluid when I realized there were days when I did definitely feel distinctly "I wish was more dude" and other days when I felt distinctly, "I wish I was more lady" and then days when I thought, "I wish my gender looked less definable." And I think that was an important insight. There were definite, fluid preferences there!

But - combined with this insight, I think I finally "get it."

I don't wish I was a dude or a lady or whatever on those days, it's purely about appearance.

I want to be my essential, ungendered self, shapeshifting into different meat.

I can't be that, obviously. This is the meat I've got, and making changes to it based on...all of this...would clearly be foolish, because I'm never gonna find a permanent combination of meat parts that fit the genuine fluidity of form I wish I had. And, it's not fluidity of gender - it's fluidity of meat-shape. I don't want to be a man or a woman or anything else, I want to be me, with different flesh.

And that essential "me" isn't gendered and never really has been. Being female is literally zero part of my identity, except for the part that my meat has the bits associated with being a cis woman in our society. So, I think my long-time debate between agender vs. non-binary as a self-id got bogged down in the meat part, because I couldn't figure out how the self was interacting with the flesh, and now I think I've got it.

The flesh doesn't mean jackshit to me. I want to be formless, and free to experiment with forms, but bodies don't do that, so here I am.

Agender, with cis woman bits, wishing I could experiment with form to diversify my experiences of life. That's my gender. Agender, shapeshifter aspirant, lmao.

TL:DR I'm going with agender going forward because this meat is meaningless to me in any gendered way, and other meat would be equally meaningless, gender-wise. What I want isn't a different gender, it's to be Me Wearing Different Outfits, where "outfit" is "meat in a different shape."

I've been fighting with this gender stuff for almost a decade and for the first time...I think I've finally found the identity iteration that feels "right."

And I just thought I'd share, in case it helps anyone else.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

lessen

prompt: "it's broken"

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hiii welcome to another installation of me beating illya up lol. this one is sorta pre-ship gaby/illya but can also be read as established or gen, up to you really

“It’s broken,” Gaby says, cradling his wrist in her hands. The touch is gentle, but it burns like fire anyway. 

“Да, I know,” Illya replies. He’d known from the second it had happened, when that guard had fallen on top of him and his wrist had been pushed into the concrete below him, bending far too much. He’d felt a snap, a white-hot burst of pain, and then the guard’s body had slid off of him and Gaby had been looking at him and saying, “come on, let’s go.”

And so he’d gotten to his feet, and they’d run. His wrist had throbbed with pain the whole time, every step jostling the crushed bones and making him acutely aware of how much damage had been done. 

He hadn’t looked at it until they had gotten into the car, until Gaby had pulled onto the road leading to their hotel, until he’d been sure they were safe. 

Looking at it hadn’t made it hurt worse, exactly, but seeing his wrist, already various shades of purple and red and swollen, had certainly made him more aware of the pain. 

Gaby hadn’t noticed, not until they’d gotten to their room. Not until Illya had tried to take his jacket off and had been unable to stop himself from wincing when the fabric brushed against his wrist. 

His jacket is still on, and they’re sitting on Gaby’s bed, and his thoughts keep spiraling - he cannot work like this. He needs his hands free at all times, ready to grab a gun or a knife or throw a punch at a second’s notice. 

He cannot do what he does if his wrist is broken. 

But he cannot hide the fact that it is. Not least because someone has already seen it. 

“This needs a doctor.”

“We cannot.”

“You cannot do much of anything with your hand like this.”

He knows, and he hates it. He’s a risk, a liability, if he cannot do what is expected of him. He can scarcely even bend his fingers at the moment. He is of no use to anyone. 

He is upset. Not angry, exactly, or at least, not angry with anyone besides himself. 

Gaby makes a soft sound beside him, and he turns his face away, looks down. His throat is aching, like something there is trapped and must be released, but he stays perfectly silent. 

It is the middle of the night. “We will go to a doctor in the morning,” Gaby says softly, touching his shoulder. “I can complete the mission on my own.”

He wants to protest. Wants to protect her, always. She’s more than capable, he knows. And the mission is almost finished, anyway. She can do this. But he wants to be there with her. 

“I will be okay.”

He nods slightly. 

“And we will get you fixed and then you will be okay, too.”

Another nod. 

There is nothing more to be done for tonight. Gaby helps him remove his jacket. It hurts his wrist anyway, but he tries not to let her know. She unties his shoes, and he kicks them off. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into the darkness, when they have both settled into their respective beds. His arm is lying atop the covers, resting on his chest, and he cannot stop feeling the pain. But it has lessened, some. It is not so sharp. 

“Good night, Illya,” Gaby whispers back, and for once, he falls asleep before she does. 

thanks for reading! hope you liked it <3

[dearfuturehusbandblog]

Today's The Day Ok, A Day. Today is "A" Day.

Dear Future Husband,

I haven't discussed this at all, but my cousin is getting married today. He's Reform. And she's... well, she thinks she's Jewish....

They met on a Jewish dating app (which I was shocked to hear because I didn't think religion really meant anything to him at all ever) before she converted. So... as a non-Jew... she was on a Jewish dating app. I didn't realize that was an option.

She grew up kind of in the middle of nowhere with no Jews around and yet something inside of her said she needed to be Jewish, so she set off on her own path to Judaism and although she was like a year away from actually converting, she was seeking a Jewish guy to marry.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Well, sof sof, they dated, they fell in love, she converted reform (which seems relatively meaningless to me, but ok), they got legally married a while ago and moved in together, but the party and "religious" wedding is today.

Unfortunately, he's technically a cohen, so even if she did convert properly, he still wouldn't be allowed to marry her. But I don't think any of that matters to either of them, so... yeah.

It's fun when you try so hard to do things right and follow the Torah and life keeps smacking you down, all the while, those who couldn't care less are out there living happy lives.

Half my family (I'm talking about the religious ones here) are pissed and up in arms about us supporting an intermarriage, the other half is just kind of like 'you can't live anyone's lives for them, nothing we say will make a difference, we're going for shalom bayis with the family, just leave it at that.'

I'm somewhere in between.

But it's my mom's family and she hates dealing with her family because she's always been the odd man out amongst them all and she feels like they're constantly critical of her life. None of that is untrue, but when she's stressed out, everything goes to hell.

As if I didn't already have enough problems with her, she's been amping herself up about this wedding and it's driving me to drink. Well, if I could drink.

Someone texted her last week "pictures are at 4" or whatever and although we all had a discussion that we wouldn't be there until later because BigSis has to work, MotherLivelyHeart refused to respond with that information. So all of Shabbos she was stressing herself and us out with "they're always so mad when I'm late and now we're going to be late" and I was like "if you had told them a week ago when they messaged about it, you wouldn't have to stress about tomorrow because they'd already know it was a pre-set thing and not that we're just running late or trying to avoid pictures."

But of course she couldn't hear it. Because she's her. And it's just exhausting.

I still have no idea what I'm wearing, so I should probably figure that out...

What does one wear to a religious ceremony of an irreligious family? Most of my wardrobe looks like it walked out of the 2004 winter collection for Haute Topic, if that were a thing. I have a few florals, but most of them are white and apparently that's a huge no-no for most weddings, even though the florals are quite prominent and the white is just a background, but whatever.

I also dread being in pictures, so this is going to be fun.

I have these first two and then a lace dress similar to the third that's kind of a brighter teal shade:

So, those are options. But it's supposed to be like 100 degrees and all three need skirts underneath as well as shells, so that's a lot of layers for hot weather. I also have to make sure the shell that matches the dresses is clean...

I probably should have done this a week+ ago, but I kept hoping I'd get sick or something and just wouldn't have to go.

I also have to deal with my hair (which I absolutely hate) and my makeup, which I'm just not in the mood for. And then the wedding location is like two hours away, so it's like half a day of driving and prep for a wedding that probably won't even have any kosher food for us and I doubt we'll be there for more than just the ceremony.

Isn't family just so fun!?

On a brighter note, the a/c was finally replaced on Friday. I meant to do an update last week but got sidetracked and that draft is now moot. But anywho, they came on Monday and the replacement part for the replacement part didn't work either because apparently the unit had some kind of short in it and it was causing all the compressors to fail. So they told us on Thursday that they'd be here Friday with a whole new unit. And chasdei Hashem, so far it's working!

On the downside, this of course means that MotherLivelyHeart and BigSis have it set really low and the entire apartment is now an icebox, because I have no say in how much it's run despite me being the one who pays the electric bill. Because even when things go right they suck.

Anywho, I'm off to raid my own closet and see what's actually summer appropriate and wearable to this sham of a religious wedding that I have no choice but to attend for shalom bayis. Fun.

-LivelyHeart

-----------

Update:

I can't find my layering skirt for the first two dresses. The only ones I can find are black or bright white. Yikes. And I found another floral dress that's all pretty and roses but I don't have a shell the right color to go with it, which is probably why I have yet to wear it anywhere....

Undone by my own lack of proper planning. Is anyone really that surprised? It's also 8am and I haven't gone to sleep yet, so.... yeah, today's gonna' suck.

Update 2, after the wedding:

I ended up going with the first dress. It was technically long enough to wear without a layering skirt but I still wore a black pencil skirt underneath, just in case my knees were visible when I sat. Although the only sitting was during the ceremony and the chairs were so close together my knees wouldn't have been visible to anyone anyway. But, better safe than sorry! I sat in the little bit of shade that existed in the seating, so I hit homeostasis pretty quickly and despite wearing so many layers, I didn't sweat all that much in the almost 100° F weather, chasdei Hashem.

[endlessbittersweetdreams]

SUMMARY:  Robyn makes a few discoveries during the charity masquerade ball. And not all of them are pleasant.

NOTE: After spending an insane amount of time racking my brain and trying to find the perfect song for this chapter, I went with what should have been obvious to me. I mean, the song even plays during a masquerade ball!

REQUEST: If you like this story, please reblog the chapters. No author wants his or her story to become buried.

PICTURE CREDITS: Not mine!

Perched on top of one of the bar stools in her kitchen, Robyn waited patiently as Chloe put the finishing touches on her makeup. Given the nature of the event, she had opted to go with a dramatic look that complimented her ensemble. Although her eyes would be hidden behind a mask, she had decided to go with a smoky eye look with a little sparkle thrown into the mix. Pastel blush brought out her cheekbones, while the perfect shade of nude lipstick and lip liner completed the look.

     "And we ... are ... done," Chloe announced. "What do you think?"

     Robyn turned to look at her reflection in the mirror, smiling with satisfaction. "Excellent work, Chloe. As always."

     "You know me. I'm always happy to put my beauty school training to good use."

     "Yeah," Sam interjected, taking Robyn's gown off of the rack. "I guess not too many six-year-olds ask their teacher to do their hair and makeup. All right, Cinderella. Let's get you into your gown."

     Robyn slid off of the bar stool and took off her robe. "Are you my Fairy Godmother, then?" she teased as she stepped into the dress.

     While Chloe helped her pull the gown up Robyn's body, Sam quipped "Do I look like I have fucking wings?"

     "Someone's in a mood," Chloe remarked as she slid up the zipper.

     "Cramps," was Sam's simple explanation.

     Truth be told, she wasn't thrilled by the fact that Robyn insisted on continuing to see Ethan. Though she couldn't find the proof she needed, she was still convinced that he had a little something on the side with Madeline. But she knew Robyn well enough to know that there was no point in talking to her about her suspicions if she had no evidence to back them up. And so, she had to bite her tongue and hope that Ethan would slip up.

     Fastening the clasp of Robyn's necklace, Chloe smiled to herself. Ever the romantic, she remarked "I know it's silly, but I keep picturing us helping you into your wedding gown."

     Sam fought the urge to roll her eyes and make a gagging gesture, downing a shot of whiskey instead. Tilting her head to the side and observing Robyn, she couldn't help but notice the hopeful expression on her friend's face. Sam hated to be pessimistic, but she couldn't help but think about how devastated Robyn would be when the proposal never came.

     "Has Ethan said anything more about getting married?" Chloe wondered.

     Robyn finished putting on her earrings, giving her head a shake. "No. Not recently. But I can't help but think that he'll propose soon. I'm just glad we're back on track." She slipped into her silver heels and squared her shoulders. "Well, ladies. How do I look?"

     "Gorgeous, as always," Chloe answered, and Sam raised her shot glass to Robyn in silent agreement. The blonde poured two glasses of white wine, handing one to Robyn. "I probably shouldn't say this, but Jake asked about you."

     Her heart skipping a beat, Robyn tried to keep her expression neutral. Swallowing the sip of wine she'd taken, she casually responded with "Oh?" Why would Jake be asking about her? They'd ended things two months ago, and Robyn had assumed that he'd moved on to another woman. A hostess, perhaps, or maybe even someone who had nothing to do with the restaurant.

     Chloe nodded, gathering up Robyn's makeup and putting it back in the bag. "Yeah. Will took me to a club. I don't know why Jake was there. Didn't you say he doesn't dance?"

     Robyn gave her a little nod, still a little rattled by Chloe's revelation. "Is he doing well?"

     Chloe gave her a shrug. "Yeah. I guess. I mean, he doesn't say much. But he seems okay."

     "I'm surprised he mentioned me," Robyn admitted.

     Sam and Chloe exchanged a look, and Sam shrugged. "Well, maybe he still has the hots for you."

     Robyn shook her head, trying to push the thought out of her mind. She was with Ethan, and she was happy with him. If she considered the possibility of Jake wanting to be with her, she knew that would lead to disaster. "I doubt it. He's probably moved on to someone new. He certainly doesn't have trouble in that department."

     She picked up her mask and admired its intricacy. It really was quite beautiful, with lace details and beadwork. To complete the look, a large flower extended from the right side. She knew she'd spent too much money on her ensemble, but it was a special night and she wanted things to be perfect.

     A knock sounded at the door, and Robyn took in a deep breath as she put on her mask. A few strides later, she was at the door. She pulled it open and favored Ethan with a smile as he presented her with a bouquet of red and white roses. "Ethan, they're lovely. Thank you," she remarked, admiring the bouquet.

     "They're nothing compared to you, love."

     Her back turned to the couple as she rinsed out the glasses, Sam couldn't help but roll her eyes this time. The man was pouring it on thick! Wasn't he?

     Ethan took a step back to admire Robyn, looking her up and down. "You look beautiful."

     "Do you think it's a bit much?" Robyn inquired, pleased when Ethan shook his head.

     "Not at all."

     "Just let me put these in water, and I'll be ready to leave."

     Ethan stepped inside the apartment and made small talk with Robyn's friends, all the while very much aware of the way Sam was observing him. Though she hadn't said so, Ethan knew the paralegal wasn't too fond of him. It was in the way she looked at him, as though she were analyzing his every gesture, every step, and every expression. When he'd brought up the subject to Robyn, she'd merely waved him off and explained that Sam was "a little rough around the edges," and that she was "that way with everyone."

     Holding her clutch with both hands, Robyn announced "I'm ready." As she took Ethan's hand in her own, she turned to look back at her friends. Chloe gave her a smile, full and genuine, while Sam settled for a thumbs up.

     After Robyn made sure that the lights were off and the door was locked, the quartet stepped into the elevator and rode it down to the first floor. Robyn's eyes widened when she saw a sleek white limousine parked at the curb. The driver, a balding man in his 50s, waited patiently for them to approach.

     Seeing Robyn's surprise, Ethan explained "I thought that this year, we would arrive in style. Shall we?"

Jake couldn't believe he'd let his friend Noah talk him into this. It was Saturday, which was meant to be his day to break free from catering to rich, snooty people who walked around with their noses up in the air and behaved as though they were royalty. But the fact of the matter was, he needed the money.

     Wearing the dress shirt, tie and slacks that he usually reserved for his job at the restaurant, he arrived at the ballroom about an hour early. He stepped behind the bar and nodded at his friend, a man in his late 20's with dark hair that was tied back into a neat ponytail. They exchanged pleasantries as Noah handed a simple gold mask to Jake, who frowned at the object.

     With a shrug, Noah explained "The host's policy. Everyone, including the help, has to wear a mask. And I guess that when this shindig is over, we're supposed to take 'em off and reveal our true identities. Some shit like that."

     "Fan-fucking-tastic," Jake muttered under his breath as he and Noah put on their masks.

     "Didn't I tell you it's black tie?"

     "Yeah. At the last-minute. It's not like I keep a tux in my closet, Noah." As he worked, Jake looked around and took in the decorations. The grand ballroom was lavishly decorated with a ridiculously large chandelier hanging from the ceiling, floral arrangements, and expensive-looking tapestries.

     "That's right," Noah began, watching Jake as he looked around. "This is your first ball. Ridiculous, isn't it?" He shook his head. "Every year, it's the same thing. A bunch of rich, snooty people spend a ton of money on tickets, gowns, suits, and shit ... all so they can pretend that they're contributing to society by dancing, eating and drinking."

     "Well, it is for charity," Jake reasoned. "How much does a ticket cost, anyway?"

     "Hell if I know. I've heard it could be anywhere from $100.00 to $500.00. Maybe more." Noah scoffed. "Rich people."

An hour after beginning prep work, Jake and Noah watched as the main doors opened and the crowd poured in. Each person was dressed in their finest attire, adorned with glittering jewels and elaborate masks. Jake had been around wealthy people before, but this was a different level. Now he knew how the staff in the dining hall of the Titanic probably felt when the first class passengers arrived: overwhelmed, impressed, and out of their league.

     "Brace yourself, Jake. Snob Fest 2023 has begun."

     Jake chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Your optimism is overwhelming, Noah." He looked down for a moment to make sure the bar top was neatly polished. And then, for some reason that escaped him, he felt compelled to return his gaze to the main doors. And what he saw took his breath away.

     It had been two months since Jake had laid eyes on Robyn. And there she was, standing at the top of the entryway stairs. Dressed in an off-the-shoulder, A-line lavender ballgown, she was the picture of grace and elegance. She wasn't wearing her mask at the moment, giving the people around her to admire her beauty. She was stunning, and Jake couldn't help but stare at her in awe.

     She wasn't alone, though. She was with Ethan, who was wearing an expensive-looking black tuxedo with peak lapels and solid gold cufflinks. Robyn's arm was threaded through his, and she whispered something into his ear before they looked around the room.

     Noticing Jake's distraction, Noah stepped up behind his friend. "Jake, I know she's gorgeous. But will you focus? We have customers."

     "Yeah. Sure. Whatever," Jake responded, preparing a guest's martini.

     He tried to focus on his work, but his gaze kept drifting back to Robyn. Feeling a surge of jealousy, he watched as she gave Ethan an adoring smile. He tried to push the feeling aside, telling himself that he was being ridiculous. As much as he cared for Robyn, what they'd shared had amounted to nothing more than a fling; a mere dalliance. Besides, it wasn't like he stood a chance with Robyn. What could he offer her?

     "Let's get something to drink. Shall we?" Ethan suggested, looking down at Robyn from behind his Phantom of the Opera mask.

     She gave him a nod, and they began to make their way to the bar. Jake could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he observed their approach, and he wondered if she'd recognize him. When the couple reached the bar, Robyn locked eyes with Jake. For the briefest of moments, Jake was certain that his identity was hidden behind the mask. But then, as he held her gaze, her eyes widened in surprise and a small smile formed on her lips.

     "Jake? Is that you?"

     "The one and only." Then he gave her a tentative smile. "It's good to see you, Robyn."

     "Two champagnes, please," Ethan requested, and Jake gave him a curt nod. Ethan looked down at Robyn and then turned his attention to the handsome bartender. "You two know each other?" he inquired, taking the champagne-filled glasses from Jake and handing one to his lover.

     Robyn took a sip of champagne and swallowed, trying to hide her nervousness. "Yes. Jake is a friend of mine. He's the one who helped me develop my photography skills."

     "So you're the one to blame for my Robbie's obsession with taking pictures." Jake inwardly winced at Ethan's condescending remark as the man in question held out his hand to him. "Ethan Price, attorney at law."

     Jake shook Ethan's hand, plastering on his best fake smile. "Jake. Photographer by day. Bartender by night."

     "Jake is an incredibly talented photographer. His work is ... Well, it's remarkable. Quite beautiful, really." Jake gave her a genuine smile, and they locked gazes as Robyn took another sip of champagne.

     Sensing that something was amiss, Ethan decided that it was time to move things along. "Well, I'm glad Robyn has such a talented friend." Looking down at Robyn, he commented "Robbie, I think I just saw Roger and Caroline walk by. Let's say hello."

     "Yes. Of course."

     As Robyn took his arm, Ethan gave Jake a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Jake. Perhaps I'll have a chance to look at your work sometime."

     The couple turned away from the bar. As Ethan led her into the crowd, Robyn couldn't help but look back at Jake and give him a smile. He gave her a little nod and smirk before turning his attention to one of the other guests. Standing with his hands behind his back, he gave the woman a polite smile and asked the same question he'd asked a million times before. "What may I get you?"

     Robyn, meanwhile, waited patiently as she sipped her champagne and listened to a conversation that really didn't seem to involve her. It wasn't that she disliked Roger and Caroline. It was simply that she knew them as Ethan's friends, not her own. And while they rambled on and on about golf, trips to Caroline's family's estate, and things that Robyn had little interest in ... all she could do was nod along and sip her champagne. The sounds of Johann Strauss's "Voices of Spring," Robyn's favorite waltz, began to play. And instead of waltzing with Ethan across the dance floor, she was standing by his side and trying to maintain some semblance of politeness. Was this what she had to look forward to if she married Ethan: a lifetime of nodding along and feigning interest, all for Ethan's sake?

     The conversation came to its inevitable conclusion, and Ethan began to lead Robyn toward the dance floor. They faced yet another interruption, however, when Madeline stepped into view. Wearing an elaborate mask, she was dressed in an ice blue shimmering gown with a sweetheart neckline, spaghetti straps, and a trumpet-style skirt. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup was immaculate, and her jewelry was stunning. As was so often the case, Robyn felt small and insignificant in her presence.

     When the attractive attorney approached, Robyn struggled to keep a smile on her face as knots formed in her stomach. She reminded herself that Ethan had assured her that he was not involved with Madeline. Yet there was something about the way the raven-haired beauty looked at Ethan that made her stomach turn.

     "Hello, Ethan." Madeline turned her gaze to Robyn, as though she'd just now realized that the other woman was there. "Robyn, you look lovely. That dress is beautiful."

     "Thank you. You look amazing. Ethan didn't tell me you were coming."

     Madeline gave Robyn a smile. "He didn't know. I thought I would attend one last event before I leave."

     Robyn raised a brow. "You're leaving?"

     Madeline nodded in confirmation, and Ethan explained. "Madeline received a job offer from a law firm in Los Angeles."

     Trying to hide the relief she felt at the thought of Madeline moving thousands of miles away from Ethan and New York, Robyn responded "Oh! Well, that's big news. Congratulations. I'm sure you'll do very well out there."

     "I hope so. I'm just glad I'll be in more familiar settings." Waving at someone behind Ethan and Robyn, she said "I just saw a dear friend, and I must say hello. Enjoy your night." She gave Ethan a nod, and Robyn watched as the woman nicknamed "The Viper," slithered away.

     "Well, that's a surprise," Robyn commented. "I thought she was happy here."

     "She is. But she has family in California, and she misses them. But enough about her." Gesturing to the dance floor, Ethan said "Shall we?"

     Robyn gave him a smile and a nod, feeling the weight of Madeline's presence lifting off of her shoulders as she and Ethan joined the crowd of dancers.

Two hours after the ball started, Robyn stepped out of the crowded ballroom as frustration built within her. Ethan had stepped away from her, claiming that he had to use the restroom and assuring her that he'd be "right back." But after spending a half-hour waiting for him, she'd decided to search for him. It took her some time, but she eventually discovered that Ethan had stepped outside to get some air. One-part annoyed, one-part worried, she decided to take a walk around the estate. As she strolled through the garden, she remembered that Ethan had mentioned his desire to explore the hedge maze.

     Taking in a deep breath, she stepped into the maze to continue her search. The sound of laughter and music faded away as the hedges seemed to grow taller around her, and she began to quietly vent her frustrations as she ventured deeper into the maze.

     She walked around yet another corner and came to a stop in a clearing that housed an enclosed gazebo. Through the windows, she could see Ethan with Madeline. Her blood running cold as her suspicions ran rampant, she took a few steps closer. She knew she should feel guilty about eavesdropping on their conversation, but she couldn't help it. She had to know what they were discussing.

     "We can't keep meeting like this, Maddy. It's too risky. One of these days, we'll get caught."

     Madeline smirked at him. "But isn't that what makes it so exciting?" She crossed her arms in front of herself, tilting her head to the side. "So, have you given any thought to their offer?" She stepped up to him, resting her hands on his lapels as she gave him a longing look. "You know I'm planning on moving to L.A. soon. I'd hate to go there without you. And besides, the law firm there is interested in bringing you on board. Think of all the opportunities."

     Ethan sighed. "I don't know, Maddy. I'm with Robyn. I can't just --"

     Madeline let out an annoyed scoff and stepped away from him. "You were with Robyn when this whole thing started, Ethan. And being with her certainly hasn't stopped you from fucking me every chance you get. You keep saying that you'll break up with her, but it never happens. It's time for you to man up and make a decision. It's either me or her. I'm tired of being the other woman."

     Robyn felt like a hole had been punched through her as her mind raced to process what she'd overheard. She felt as though her entire world was falling apart all around her, and she realized that everything Ethan had told her had been a lie. Every time he said "I love you, Robbie." Every time he looked into her eyes and assured her that he was being faithful; that he could be trusted. All of those times that he talked about them building a life together. Every word was a lie. And like a lovestruck fool, Robyn had believed each and every one.

     She backed away from the gazebo and began to retrace her steps, walking in a daze. She didn't know how long it took her, but she finally made it to the maze's entrance. She paused for a moment, looking around to make sure no one was around to observe her. The last thing she needed was for people to pity her and coddle her, and she certainly didn't want Ethan to be notified of her state. As it stood, he was the last person she wanted to see. She considered leaving the event altogether. But where would she go? She couldn't go back to her apartment, because she knew that would be the first place Ethan would look for her. Chloe was on a date with Will, which meant that crashing at her apartment was out of the question. And, quite frankly, she couldn't bear to listen to Sam rant and rave as her temper got the best of her.

     Her feet began to ache - the price of wearing heels that looked pretty, but offered very little in the way of support - and all she wanted to do was sit down and pull herself together. Certain that no one could see her, she crossed the parking lot and walked around to the side of the building. Feeling weighed down by her sorrow, she settled down on the steps and stared at nothing in particular as the tears flowed freely.

Standing behind the bar, Jake observed the crowd. There was no sign of Robyn, which meant one of two things: either she'd yet to return to the building, or she was in a different room. In spite of his better judgment, he wanted to talk to her some more. Unfortunately, he couldn't accomplish that goal without Ethan constantly hovering around her. Robyn's boyfriend, it seemed, had chosen to stand guard over her. When he saw Robyn strolling through the crowd, clearly searching for Ethan, Jake had hoped that she would walk up to the bar and ask if he had any idea as to her boyfriend's whereabouts. Jake would shake his head, tell her "No," and then use this as a perfect opportunity to find out how she was.

     No such luck.

     Deciding to take advantage of the lull in service, he turned to Noah and said "I'll be back in five." Not waiting for a response, he stepped out from behind the bar and exited the building via the side door. Leaning against the building, he took in a breath of fresh air and looked up at the star-filled sky. It really was a beautiful night, and he wished he could break free and enjoy it. But the money he earned tonight would be just enough to top off his savings for a road trip he'd been planning for months.

     He didn't know how often he'd sit on his bed, practically surrounded by maps and travel books, armed with a red marker that he'd use to plot the route he'd take. As far as he could tell, he had it planned perfectly. If Howard approved his request for a "sabbatical," as he liked to call them, Jake would rent a car, load it up with the necessities, and hit the road. He couldn't help but imagine the miles of open roads, the small towns and bustling cities, and the seemingly endless array of photographs he'd take. He could practically see himself standing on the shores of the Atlantic, taking in the salty air and capturing a magnificent sunrise. He'd wander the streets of historic Charleston, searching for opportunities to take pictures worthy of his collection.

     There was just one big problem, though. And it had nothing to do with money. Truth be told, he had yet to inform Simone of his plans. He knew what her response would be. She'd shake her head at him, fold her arms across her chest, and call it another one of his "hair-brained plans," that would never come to fruition. They'd bicker back and forth, and he'd either dig his heels in or relent just long enough to placate her. It was a vicious cycle and, quite frankly, he was tired of it.

     Letting out a sigh, he realized that his five minutes were up. He was about to return to the ballroom when his attention was captured by the sound of someone crying. Usually, he would ignore it and go about his business. After all, who was he to butt into someone else's drama? But something inside him urged him to investigate. Following the sound, he stepped around the corner and found a very familiar figure sitting on the steps.

     Weeping into her hands with her back turned to him, Robyn had no idea that she was being observed. Jake hesitated for a moment, not knowing what he should do. Where was Ethan? He was her boyfriend. Why wasn't he there to comfort her? Looking around and finding no one else in sight, he slowly approached Robyn.

     When she heard the sound of footsteps, Robyn's posture stiffened and she wiped at her eyes in vain. "Please leave me be," she quietly pleaded, her voice shaky and weak.

     Jake frowned to himself, watching her with sympathy. He wasn't exactly certain how he should proceed. He spent a few seconds looking around helplessly, working things out in his mind as he searched for any sign of Ethan. When he still could find no trace of the attorney, he did the only thing he could think of. Letting out a quiet sigh, he squatted down to Robyn's level and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

     Robyn turned to look at him, sniffling as she wiped at her eyes. "Jake, what are you doing here?"

     "I was just going to ask you the same thing." He maneuvered himself so that he was now sitting next to her, turning his gaze to her once again. His heart aching with sympathy for her, he inquired "What's wrong?"

     Robyn knew she should tell him, but she had trouble forming the words. Her breaths stuttered as she fought to maintain some semblance of control. And then, finally, she quietly revealed "Ethan has been cheating on me." Her eyes filled with pain and betrayal, her voice broke as she fiddled with her mask. "I was right. He's been with Madeline this whole time, and I ..."

     Jake closed his eyes as his heart sank. In spite of his feelings for Robyn and his disdain for Ethan, he never wanted their relationship to end so painfully. He knew he should say something, but nothing came to mind. So instead, he slid closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She said nothing. Just sat there, tears streaming down her face as she held onto her mask. When he felt her shiver against him, he parted from her long enough to remove his coat and drape it over her shoulders.

     "You want to get out of here?"

     Robyn sniffled again, giving him a nod of her head. He was the first to rise, holding a hand out to her and helping her up. Pulling the coat tighter around her body, she kept her gaze focused on the steps before her. Not wanting the other guests to see her in her current state, she was grateful for the fact that she could access the parking lot without having to walk through the ballroom. All she had to do was follow the path that led from the back of the building, and she'd be home free.

     "Where's the car?" Jake inquired, his arm wrapped around her waist.

     Her finger pointed in the correct direction, she answered "Over there. The white limo."

     Looking around to make sure they weren't being observed or followed, he walked with her to the vehicle in question. The driver stood at attention when he saw them.

     "Is something wrong, Ms. Hewitt? Shall I find Mr. Price?"

     "Look, Jeeves," Jake began, ignoring the irritated scowl that appeared on the drivers face. "Robyn's not feeling well, and we have no idea where Ethan is. We need you to take her wherever she wants to go, and then swing back and pick him up." The driver frowned in response, and Jake tried to hide his annoyance. "C'mon, man. Give us a break."

     "All right," the driver answered before he opened the door for Robyn, watching as Jake helped her into the limo.

     When Robyn made a move to remove Jake's coat from her shoulders, he held up a hand. "Just ... wait for me. I'll be back. I promise." Silently, Robyn watched as Jake jogged his way back the way he came.

     When Noah saw Jake return to the ball room, he breathed a sigh of relief. "There you are! Where've you been? I'm drowning here." Seeing the distressed look on Jake's face, he narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Oh, no. Don't do it. Don't even think it."

     "Sorry, Noah. Family emergency," Jake lied, and Noah's expression became one-part irritated, one-part skeptical. "I've gotta go." And then, he said something he never thought he'd say to anyone, for any reason. "You can have all of my earnings, including tips."

     As annoyed as he was, Noah couldn't resist Jake's offer. "All right. Fine. Go."

     Without another word, Jake exited through the side door and made his way back to the limo. He jogged over to the other side and got in, slamming the door shut and sliding over to Robyn. On her lap was a box of tissues handed to her during Jake's absence, and she had a wad of them in her hand. Jake wrapped his arm around her shoulder once more, and this time she snuggled into him.

     "I don't want to go home. He might show up, and I can't face him. Not yet."

     "It's okay. I'll take you to my place," Jake quietly assured her. "Hey, Jeeves! Take us to Chinatown."

     The driver looked in the rearview mirror, resisting the urge to give Jake a piece of his mind. "Ms. Hewitt?"

     "Do it, Henry. Please," she confirmed weakly.

     "Right."

     The journey to their destination was a relatively quiet one, save for the occasional word of comfort from Jake and the random whimper or sob from Robyn. When they reached his neighborhood, Jake told the driver to stop the car. Robyn got out first, confused when she failed to recognize where they were.

     With a reassuring smile, Jake explained "It's okay. We're not far from my place. I just don't want Henry to tell Ethan where you are." She gave him a nod, watching as the limo pulled away. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

     Staying close to Jake, Robyn tried to ignore the strange looks she received. She knew she must look ridiculous, walking around Chinatown in a ballgown. But she was too devastated, too heartbroken to care about such a trivial thing. All she wanted was to go someplace warm and safe, where she could mourn the loss of her relationship in peace.

     Robyn remained silent as she listened to Jake's assurances that they were almost there. At this point, she was too overwhelmed to utter even the simplest of words. It was like her mind had shut down and she was operating on auto pilot. All she could do was stare ahead and allow Jake to steer her in the right direction. And when they finally reached his apartment, with him announcing "All right. We're here. Home sweet home," she stood still in the middle of the room, staring down at the floor.

     Jake hung his key up on its hook by the door and kicked off his shoes, giving Robyn a sympathetic look. He approached her slowly, reaching out to place his hands on her shoulders. "All right. Why don't you sit down while I fix you something to drink?" he suggested, gently guiding her to the sofa. "Anything you want. Tea. Water. Beer --"

     "Water, please."

     Jake gave her a nod. "One water coming up." He made a move to step away, stopping when Robyn grabbed his hand.

     Gazing up at him with tear-filled eyes, she said "Thank you, Jake."

     He fell quiet for a few seconds before favoring him with one of his rare smiles. "You're welcome." As he made his way toward the kitchen, he began to loosen his tie. After setting out a clean glass, he wandered over to the refrigerator and pulled open the door. I need to go shopping tomorrow, he thought with a shake of his head. Pulling out a bottle of water, he called out to Robyn "Are you hungry? Maybe you should eat something!"

     When he received no response, he stepped into the doorway and observed her closely. She was fiddling with her bracelet and staring at nothing in particular, and Jake's concern for her grew.

     Water bottle in hand, he slowly approached her. "I don't have much. But if you're hungry, I can heat something up in the microwave. Simone fixed dinner the other night. There are plenty of leftovers."

     Robyn took the bottle from him, shaking her head. "I don't feel like eating. I just feel ..." She let out a shaky sigh. "I don't know how to explain it. I-it's like I'm paralyzed, but not physically." She looked up at him, watching as he took a seat next to her.

     "I know what you mean. I sometimes feel that way when I'm overwhelmed."

     A few strands of hair had come loose from Robyn's otherwise perfectly styled updo, and Jake was tempted to reach out and tuck them behind her ear. He thought better of it, though, and crossed over to his closet. He pushed a few items aside, settling on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts that he seldom wore. Turning to look back at Robyn, he took in her appearance. Some of her makeup had come off, having been swiped away by her fingers and the wads of facial tissue she'd used during the limo ride. Her eyes, which usually shone with mirth, were now puffy and joyless. She looked exhausted and broken, and he wished he could do something to bring her out of it.

     "Umm ... These will be big on you, but they're all I have," he commented as he brought the clothes to her.

     Robyn eyed the items and gave Jake a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Then she looked down at her dress and let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "I suppose I should get out of this dress. I feel ridiculous, walking around in this thing." She rose from her seat, took off her heels, and then reached for the clothing. "Would you mind helping me with the zipper and then turning around?"

     Jake gave her a smile and a nod, hesitating before he reached for the zipper. He fought to keep certain thoughts at bay as he slid the zipper down, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of her back as he did so. Trying to keep his voice under control, he said "All done," and then turned his back to her. Needing a distraction, he moved over to one of the bookshelves and pretended to search for a book.

     A few moments later, Robyn announced that she was dressed. When Jake turned to face her, he was taken aback by the way she looked in his clothes. As predicted, they were rather large on her. The t-shirt hung off of one shoulder and the hemline of the shorts brushed her mid-thigh. She looked good in his clothes, and he found himself wishing he could see her in them more often.

     "If you don't mind, I think I'll freshen up a bit."

     Jake nodded, gesturing in the direction of his bathroom. "Be my guest. The wash cloths and towels are in the cabinet, and there are extra toothbrushes in the drawer."

     Giving him her thanks, she stepped into the bathroom and then leaned against the closed door. After letting out a steadying breath she looked at herself in the mirror, instantly regretting it. Grateful for the fact that she'd stashed a few small packages of makeup wipes in her clutch, she opened up a few and started to wipe away what was left of her makeup. Having tossed the wipes into the garbage, she took off her jewelry. Ensuring that each piece was stashed safely inside her clutch, she took her hair down and gave it a thorough brushing.

     By the time Robyn emerged from the bathroom, teeth brushed and hair tied back, Jake had changed into something more comfortable. Settled down in his arm chair with a book, he was now wearing a t-shirt and his favorite pair of sweatpants. Taking in the familiar sight, Robyn awkwardly announced "The bathroom's free."

     "I'm fine. Thanks," Jake answered, setting the novel aside. Robyn watched as he stepped over to the bed and turned down the sheets for her. When she just stood there, feeling awkward, he chuckled a bit. "It's all right. Get in. I mean, unless you want to sleep on the sofa. I wouldn't recommend it, though. It's not very comfortable."

     "Right," she responded, giving him a little smile.

     Doing as she was told, she laid down on the mattress and turned onto her side. Once the sheets and comforter were pulled over her shoulders, she eyed Jake carefully. As nice as it was to be in familiar surroundings, she had to admit that it was a little strange to be in Jake's bed again. Still, she was grateful to have a safe place to rest and mourn.

     "Jake, will you do something for me?" she asked meekly, watching as he locked the door. He turned to look at her, raising an inquiring brow, and she let out tired breath. "Will you hold me? Please?"

     Jake said nothing, merely nodding as he approached the bed. Shutting off the lamps, he relied on the light from the street to safely guide him to the other side of the bed. Pulling the covers over himself, he laid down on his back and watched as she turned onto her side.

     Resting her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, Robyn softly said "Why did they do this to us? Tess and Ethan, I mean. Why did they cheat?"

     Jake stared up at the ceiling, as though it could provide him with the answer he needed. "I wish I knew."

     Robyn sniffled a bit, fiddling with the hem of the comforter. Quietly, as though she felt embarrassed, she admitted "You know, I thought he was going to propose." Her voice began to break up as she continued. "I actually thought we were going to have a life together. I, I believed him when he said ..."

     Jake closed his eyes for a moment, gently rubbing Robyn's arm as the sound of her sobs filled the room. While he was doing his best to comfort her, he knew there wasn't much that he could do. When Tess cheated on him, it hurt him and made him reluctant to become close to any other woman. But what they shared wasn't even close to love, and it was nothing compared to what Robyn had shared with Ethan. He couldn't imagine the depths of her sorrow, and he felt utterly helpless as he listened to her weeping.

@anastacia-lynn

@peageetibbs

@kimmyiewrites

@mypsychoticlove

@ladyredstar1991

@thepaintedlady00

[ainyan]

Memory

He strode along the darkened streets, his eyes upon the shadows that fluttered to and fro, following the ghostly echoes of memories long consigned to the dusty corners of his mind. He did not make the mistake of looking at them with his soul-sight; he’d done that only once before, and the physical agony upon seeing so many of his people with no more aether than the twisted husks that inhabited the world above had debilitated him for an entire day.

Instead, he walked amongst them as if they did not exist, his attention turned inwards. The words of that hateful creature kept resounding in his head. If you can see the color of souls, then surely you can see how rich and varied hers is, so many beautiful shades of blue. Absurd! To think that a fragment of a fragment, so shattered and sundered that he barely existed on the physical plane, much less the metaphysical, could dare to dictate to him the color of anyone’s soul.

Ridiculous.

And yet, though it pained him, he had to admit there was some color to her soul. A hint of cobalt in the heart, periwinkle along the edges, cornflower rippling through a tenuous ocean of sapphire…

No. Absurd. Such a soul could only belong to the best of them, the brightest. One worthy of the greatest honors, the greatest respect. And she was gone, gone as they were, lost to the catastrophes that destroyed their home and ripped their world and hearts asunder.

It was impossible. She would not. She could not…

He stopped in the middle of the square, ignoring the shadows that flitted around him, and took a deep, bracing breath. Holding out his hands, he formed the concept in his mind - one of two concepts in this and any other world that he knew so intimately, so completely, that he could never fail to bring it instantly to mind. And from there, to hand.

Aether flowed and twisted, coalescing into a tall, slim form - shorter than he, but still immense compared to those monstrosities above. Round of hip and breast, with a slim, puckish face made for mischief. Such playfulness was echoed in the emerald eyes that glittered beneath the fall of ebon bangs tipped in lavender. His breath came in short rasps as she grinned up at him, hands set on her hips, delight curving her lips. He reached forth, fingers outstretched to touch her. “Mnemosyne,” he whispered.

Aether twisted and warped, collapsing into a shape less than a third of her height, small and slim, with only the barest swell to distinguish feminine from masculine. Dark horns swept back amidst midnight hair, and lavender-rimmed eyes stared at him in sorrow amidst a sea of pinprick freckles like stars scattered on her indigo skin. A long tail swept forth from beneath her robes, tearing through them and lashing lightly behind her. With an inarticulate scream, he clenched his fingers into a tight fist, nails biting into his palm as he spun his aether back into himself, releasing the form into a puff of pale blue smoke that quickly dissipated.

“You know as well as I do.”

He spun, hand coming up in a defensive gesture, but the robed figure that stood behind him watched him impassively. Behind the ubiquitous white mask that all of his creations wore, he could see a hint of pink eyes. “I know nothing of the sort,” he said rudely, cutting them off before they could say anything else.

As they always had, as they always would, they continued speaking, heedless of his ire. “You cannot recreate any soul that yet lives on. Only those lost to feed His hunger remain for your magics to reform, hollow though they may be.”

Snarling, Emet-Selch turned his head away from the compassion he could see in that pale gaze. “So her soul was sundered. It does not mean it exists here. It does not mean it exists within that twisted mockery of life, no matter how unusual it may be.”

The arms that slid around him were as solid now as they were then, more than ten thousand years in the past. The wiry strength, the gentle compassion, the overwhelming love; all of these traits existed within the single, solitary shade that held more than just semblance of will, but actual will.

What was it he had thought when he’d summoned his sorcery to bring them to life? No one has ever understood me as they did. No one can know my heart as Hythlodaeus did.

No one…

No one but her. And she was as lost to him as they were..

The sobs ambushed him; tears welling up and spilling over between one breath and the next. Angrily, he tried to pull away, but as he had discovered so many times in the past, when they did not wish to let him go, he would go nowhere at all. Arms locked about him, holding him tight against a slim, rangy body, and the voice in his ears whispered the same soft words of comfort as they had uttered a thousand times before, thousands of years ago.

Finally he gave up and sank to his knees, feeling them lower themself behind him, still holding fast. He reached up to grip the arm stretched across his shoulders and turned his head, pressing his face against the offered shoulder. In silent agony, he wept one last time for all that which he had lost. His life. His world. His home.

His hearts.

And as his tears faltered and faded, so too did the pressure; the shade of Hythlodaeus was as much a slave to the inevitability of time and fate, even when that fate was prescribed by magic and sorcery. Just as he was. Just as she was.

[softlyapocalytpic]

Wip Wednesday

Tagged by @persephotea

Mae stared up at the ceiling examining the imperfections in the construction and paint. She’d done this dozens of times before, but tonight she realized there was a swirl in the paint where’d they used an off-white instead of the original white, and while she knew that not everyone saw the same shades of colors and she’d failed to notice it for a while... it was still driving her insane. Would it be too much to repaint the ceiling? They could make a project out of it, and maybe then Ren could have whatever color they wanted-

“Honey? Why are you on the floor?”

Wasn’t it obvious? She was trying to sink into it. Her whole body was slack on the hardwood panels, her spine stretched out and free of the burden of carrying the weight of itself. Here, she was at peace. Here, she wasn’t forcing the patriarchy down her daughter’s (no, son? … Spawn’s?) throat and crushing them under the weight of systemic gender based oppression. How could Mae be so stupid? She’d spent years in radical queer groups, had genderqueer partners, and even experimented herself- and how quickly had all of that been undone? Had she been genuine at all? Now she was married to a man (who she loved and adored), in a government job (which she hated and despised), in fucking suburbia with his fucking dog, essentially playing out the American Dream.

“Honey?”

Mae tore herself away from the ceiling and looked to Takeshi. She stared at him and instantly was filled with love for him and his pretty eyes and his handsome smile. He was doing it now, the one he always got when he thought she was doing something endearing, but Mae couldn’t fathom what was endearing about sinking into the ground as she unraveled. She was horrible parent and a horrible person and he was too pretty for her

He signed to her slow and purposefully, “You’re doing the face.”

The face? What face was she making?

When he didn’t seem to get the response he wanted he waved in front of his own face and said, “The cute blank one.”

Oh. She wasn’t making one at all. Ah. (She didn’t get why he thought it was cute, but he’d starting saying it a while ago out of nowhere. She didn’t get what was cute about forgetting to do facial expressions. It wasn’t like she was special for doing that.)

Still, she needed to communicate somehow so she rubbed her chest with her fist to sign sorry.

He shook his head, was he annoyed with her? “You don’t have to apologize, cho bi,” He settled down next to her, leaning his back against the bed. He ran a hand through her hair and smile down at her, “Shopping went that bad?”

She avoided his gaze, the shame bubbling up so strong she wanted to puke, but she nodded through the tears.

He sighed and nodded, saying nothing and focusing instead on working a knot out of her hair. She nearly ran in a panic, but his soothing voice broke through first. He spoke softly, “Want me to squish you?”

Mae giggled quietly and unconsciously wiggled as a little bubble of joy she hadn’t been expecting popped.

Takeshi’s smile widened, “What’s so funny little cho bi?”

The words her sluggish and small in her mouth, but she forced herself to speak anyway, “You.”

“Ah, I guess you don’t need me then.”

“I-I do!”

Takeshi chuckled, deliciously warm and rumbly, and straddled her on the floor so he could lay flat across her. He knew by now how much weight to lean on her as to not crush her while he did it, and more loved bloomed her chest. She didn’t know how it was possible, but everyday he found another way for her to fall in love with him more and more. She’d once thought that there was no way she could love him more than she did in that moment, but it wasn’t true. She fell deeper and deeper with every moment he breathed.

There was, of course, a shameful part of her brain that would twist any wholesome moment into something… less so. It was that part that grew warm and tingly down there and said that obviously the most logical thing to do right now was buck her hips. She didn’t, but his sweatpants were loose and he was very much pressed up against her.

Then, she remembered the shopping trip and spiraled back down the rabbit hole and had to cling to Takeshi and cry about it. God, what would her parents think of her of they saw her like this? She was so pathetic and childish and-

“I’m right here, Mae. You’re okay.” Takeshi pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she focused on the warm fanning of his breath and the sound of his voice.