#people in third world countries: hey can you maybe care about us too if you expect us to care about you all the time

[estrogenism]

people outside of america and western europe will ask for americans and west european people to have the same empathy for our issues that you ask that we have for yours, and americans and west european people will throw an absolute FIT at being told the us and west european countries are not the only important countries and they're not the only places with human rights issues

[jtl07]

Writing shenanigans, I love it 👏🏼 I know I’m gonna enjoy this! Okay, here goes: Next week the Paris Olympics starts, yay 👏🏼 Soooo, what if Ava and Beatrice meet at the Olympics? Maybe they compete in the same sports, maybe not. Maybe they just meet at the hotel. Maybe they compete for two different countrys? Hmm… What sports do they play? And for which country? (I could totally see Beatrice be a fencer)

anon hello! you are brilliant, what a timely and perfect shenanigans idea!

part of me wants to make Beatrice compete in judo because i'm biased lol but fencing is also so freaking good ugh Beatrice why do you have to be the character who can do everything™?!? @daskum and i were chatting about breaking being part of the Olympics and now i have that in my head for Ava because wouldn't that be freaking awesome?? like Ava giving all the shade during the 1v1 and pulling out the most incredible tricks? but also having to be meticulous about pain management and overall care of her body, like even more than professional athletes already do. as in: maybe she still went through the car accident but she was able to meet Jillian and get the "halo" and and during recovery, she found breaking and its full body expression.

as for how do they meet … hm different countries could be cool - i actually huh i don't know how the whole Olympic village/housing works? i'm gonna search real quick lol [edit: putting my attempt at a meet-cute under the cut lol]

okay i'm back and lots of ideas from this NYT article (this link bypasses the paywall btw) on the cafeteria in Paris (which, sidenote: food must be so hard to balance for folks from outside of France because man, the change in routine plus the risk of causing discomfort if you eat something that disagrees with you? yikes).

but anyway, i'm loving this idea of them meeting in the cafeteria at this random time like in the article - maybe their first meeting is before they've each competed and there's nerves and inability to sleep (perhaps the time difference doesn't help either) and maybe Beatrice walks into the cafeteria and there's not a lot of people - no one from her team, thankfully, as she's not up for dealing with any of them at the moment. not that she doesn't get along with them, it's just - it's better when she's by herself. safer. easier.

anyway, Bea's in the cafeteria looking for something light and she hears this kinda whoop of joy. curious, she looks over, finds this young woman a few stations down who's utterly entranced with the offerings. she's talking animatedly with the staff person, who seems a little tired but is caught up in this woman's energy, and Beatrice can't help but watch her. she notices that the woman has not one, but two plates full of food, which she carries carefully to the station next to Beatrice. the woman notices Beatrice and gives her a bright grin. "so you figured out the secret too, huh?"

Beatrice blinks at her. "pardon?"

a blush paints over the woman's cheeks and somehow, her grin gets even wider. "that the middle of the night is the best time to visit the cafeteria." she gestures at all the stations. "all this food, just for us."

there's such unfettered joy in this woman's voice, in her face, in her entire body and between that and the lack of sleep and the stress - that oddly seems to be bleeding away with each moment Beatrice is in this woman's presence - Beatrice can't help but laugh. "you're quite wise. though," Beatrice glances at the two plates and the third the woman is now filling with food. "are you actually going to eat all of that?"

Beatrice is gifted with the most affronted look she's ever seen (which is saying something, considering her friendship with Camila and Lilith). "hey i bet your ass if eating was an Olympic sport, i'd have multiple medals by now. the world record board would just be filled with Ava Silva." she punctuates her statement with a rather aggressive bite of bread - after which she pauses, eyes wide. "holy shit that's amazing." she grabs another piece, glances at Beatrice. "you want one too?"

Beatrice flounders for a moment - she'd really only been looking for a cup of tea, but the bread does smell good - "not that I can't finish it, but yknow, we could share?" Ava continues, an inviting smile on her face. it shouldn't be as charming as it is, especially with the bit of crust at the edge of Ava's mouth, but Beatrice finds herself charmed nonetheless.

"okay," she says softly. then, because she's at the Olympics, because she just may have made a friend, she nods, smiles, and says a little more sure: "okay."

[writinggremlinskull]

About Hogwart Legacy

Tw for transphobia and antisemitism

I’ll begin by telling I didn’t buy the game. I don’t want to support Rowling in any way and I don’t want to support antisemitism and transphobia.

This is just an attempt to preach kindness. This is for the people who are hesitating to buy the game or already bought it but can still ask for a refund it or at least let a negative review. Not for the TERF crowd but for the people in-between.

I am not throwing accusation here but I know I got disillusioned with activism a few years back. This is me talking about my personnal experience and why not supporting this game matters.

I know the boycott can feel useless. Hogwart Legacy is breaking sales record, lot of streamers are playing it because it’s a really popular game and they want the money, lot of people are enjoying it.

I know ethical consumption is impossible under capitalism. I know the world seems fucked up right now and it feels hopeless at time. Trust me I know.

And yet, not buying this game still matters. Asking for a refund if you had it for less than 14 days and didn’t play more than 2 hours (this is the Steam Policy in my country, check what is it in your). Letting negative review is still possible. If you still hesitate to buy it, don’t.

You see, JK Rowling isn’t a corporation. Yes, boycotting Disney which has a monopoly on most of the entertainment industry is hard. Yes, when most of our food come from 5 companies, it’s almost impossible to boycott them because you need to eat, right?

But Rowling is only one person. One deeply rich person who uses her money in deeply fucked up way but just one and she’s been milking the Harry Potter’s cash cow for years because she didn’t write anything good since. If you don’t buy official Harry Potter things, her power lessen. Each pound not in a pocket is a pound which can’t harm anyone. Each pound matters.

You can not buy it. You can still ask for a refund and use the refund to give to trans right association. It isn’t too late.

Now, maybe all your friends play it. I don’t know what your social circle is like, peer pressure is a thing. Maybe you’re thinking I won’t make a difference, nobody seems to care.

This is why speaking out against the game is important. Show that it isn’t only a minority who cares. I’ll argue it’s more important if you aren’t yourself trans or jewish. If you have some degree of priviledge, you can use it. The more people speak, the better.

Speak out on social media. Tell your friend you won’t play the game and why. I’m not asking you to fight with them. Play it smart. Tell them “I’m disappointed, I thought you were better�� if you know they value your opinion on these things. Nobody likes to think of their friends as prejudiced in any way but sometimes, being a good friend means gently telling someone ‘Hey bro, that’s a bit fucked up, don’t you think?”

Keep sharing the spoilers for the games.

I spoke of two reasons I can think of someone who, without being a TERF, could buy the game. Now, is the third one: you could want to because trans people and jewish people are being agressive about it.

Yes, it isn’t nice to be called transphobic and yes, some are very agressive about it.

I’m going to ask you something. Think about your own marginalized identity if you have one. If not, imagine what if you were discriminated against for something out of your control like being blond. Imagine if people like you had been harassed, discriminated against. Imagine having a doctor denying you medical care because you exist as yourself. Imagine people calling the cops on you because you EXIST.

I know a lot of you on Tumblr don’t have to imagine it because it happened, even if it wasn’t transphobia or/and antisemitism.

Now, imagine someone, a well-known writer, spoke against people like you vocally. Imagine she support laws against you and people like you. And there is this game out which will brought her a lot of money. And people buy it by the thousands, some because they are bigot and other because lot of people are buying it, me doing it won’t change things or the voices speaking against it seem so small, what’s the point or all my friends are buying it and they aren’t transphobic or antisemit isn’t it?

Won’t you be angry? Really angry? Won’t you lash out? Think about the last time you were that angry or the last time you were discriminated against. It sucks. It fucking sucks. People are not going to be nice and polite when they are scared and angry and at the end of their rope. They still deserve to be treated decently as human beings.

This is for the people who bought it or hesitate to buy it without being TERF.

You made a mistake or hesitate to make one but it isn’t too late to do something.

Ask for a refund. Share spoilers. Speak out on social media. Let negative review of the game. Point out the antisemitism and transphobia of Rowling, point out the antisemitism in the game, explain how the game support her.

Be kind to marginalized people. Be kind to trans people and jewish people and people who are both. Not buying this game, telling people you won’t buy it or thought about it ans asked for a refund, giving to trans right association instead.

It isn’t too late to choose kindness. It isn’t too late to show the trans community and the jewish community you are an ally. It isn’t too late to apologize. Choose kindness. You can still choose kindness.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Seeing Him Smile and Kiss Someone Else (Hoodie X F!Reader)

[Hoodie/Brian Thomas X F!Reader]

[Warnings: none]

[AN: Howdy! I cross post these on quotev under ‘Elsie I Guess’ and on AO3 under ‘Whaletales1920′ under the title ‘The Places You Shouldn’t Be’. Just thought I’d start uploading them here too.]

Part 2

Proxies aren’t supposed to do a lot of things: speak back to their master, challenge hierarchical roles, have relationships with each other of that caliber, and never, never ever absolutely never have romantic relationships with humans. 

Why? It’s a losing game. Everyone knows that. Should proxies seek any kind of attachment, platonic, romantic, even sexual, their best bet is to stay within their own kind: other proxies. It’s the polite thing to do. It’s the right thing to do. 

When you first came in, you bonded almost immediately to your group of four other individuals. There’s Masky, your group leader. He’s really sweet when he wants to be and seems to care the most about you - it’s probably because you’re new. Toby is akin to the middle child. He’s always buzzing around you a lot like a bumblebee. While he has his jerk moments, he’s got an eye out for you. So too does Kate, once the group’s newbie/runt. She’s the one you replaced. She’s relatively quiet and sticks to herself, but she’s never a stranger to helping you out and immersing you in the culture and world you’ve found yourself entangled in. 

And then there’s Masky’s right hand, a proxy named Hoodie, but you know him as Brian. Out of all your group members, Brian was the hardest to warm up to. He hardly acknowledged you when you were first placed in his group and was amongst the hardest in the hazing process (you’re still technically going through). But, after some time and getting to know each other, the two of you became the closest of friends, even going so far as to rival Masky’s friendship with him. It’s safe to say you got a bit of a crush on him, in simplest terms. 

Three times. Three times you felt you liked him.

The first time was when you were about to head out of your safe house on a grocery run. Proxies don’t have any leads, so cards are absolutely off the table. You walked out of the safe house, yawning slightly, and barely made it down the driveway when Brian had popped back out of the house. 

“Reader,” he called out, slowly moving to lean in the doorway of the empty house the five of you were squatting in. 

“Yeah?” You asked sleepily. 

“Forgetting something?” He holds up his hand - it’s the wallet. 

You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you speed walked back to the front door to retrieve it. “Guess I’m still kinda tired,” you admittedly awkwardly with a small chuckle. 

Brian shrugged slightly and threw you a smirk as he met you halfway, “Think I’ll accompany you this morning,” he said with a wink. 

The two of you began to walk as you mentally mulled over the man walking beside you - his hands in his pockets. You’d never really thought of him like that before, but the way he smiled and that wink… It planted a seed. You weren’t quite sure you were going to acknowledge it or if it was just a fluke, but the thought stayed, and then it remained. 

As the two of you traversed the grocery store for various things your comrades had asked for, you and Brian traded conversation about everything that popped into mind. 

“Oh, like you knew any better in high school,” you wheezed before tossing in a box of brownies. You’d just been discussing how terrible and how gods awful high school relationships can be and how at one low point, you got into one. Brian had said he knew better than to mess around in high school, but you had retorted that ‘we’re all young and dumb once.’ 

Brian raised a brow at the box but allowed it anyway. “I most certainly did and I knew how things were gonna play out before they even happened.” 

“On what basis? It’s not like you have future vision,” You snorted. You watched as he pushed the cart forward as you plucked items you needed from the shelves. 

He shot you a look. “I’m a guy, it’s practically flowing through our veins,,” he said as his eyes raked over the list. “I’d most likely be the reason those things are happening to begin with and knowing that is like it’s own future vision..” He flashed his smile at you. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever grew out of the dumb part,” he chuckled. 

Your heart skipped. 

The second time you thought you liked him was when you were in the car with him, heading back to your safe house (in an entirely different part of the country). The two of you were more than exhausted after clearing a house whose occupants the Operator wanted dead for one reason or another and Brian decided to steal a car. So, there you sat in the passenger seat. 

“Something on your mind?” He hummed, arm resting on the console. His hazel colored eyes flicked over to you with interest. 

You shrugged, “just thinking.”

“Dangerous for people like us,” Brian chuckled. “Care to get specific?” 

You sighed slightly and turned your eyes to the passing street lights overhead as the car pulled onto the late night expressway. “Thinking about all the things I’ll miss,” you admit. 

Brian nodded from the corner of your eye. “I think about that stuff too,” he said, a small frown pulling onto his face. “You were finishing up college?” 

“Yeah,” you said. “I mean, I guess I’m getting out of the college loan debt but… Y’know,” you trailed off slightly, your posture changing slightly. “Maybe I would’ve been normal. Get a cool job, live a non murderous life, have a family and a loving partner. I don’t know, like, whatever the American dream says we should have. Anything but this.” 

Brian laughed slightly, “sorry. It’s not - it’s not you,” he explained. “It’s just awfully similar to what I wanted.” 

You turned your attention from the passing lights over to Brian. “White picket fence is your thing?” 

“More or less,” he hummed. “Wanted to live the rest of my life like a normal person.

Certainly died like one, more or less,” he finished. 

You mentally hummed, already knowing what he was referring to. Died and got resurrected. “Don’t think falling from a floor up counts as normal.” 

“Hey, it worked out for…. Something nice,” he quickly chirped. “Fell and met an angel.” 

He briefly turned his head to look at you and flashed a grin. 

“Oh that’s so bad.” 

“You love it.” 

You really do.  

The third time was when the two of you were on the rooftop of some house you’d been spending a lot of time at. It was kind of nice to be able to settle down in one place for more than a month - it’d been going on close to a  year. It was your roof, the one you shared with Brian. Late in the night, when the crickets sang and the stars danced, the two of you snuck up against Masky’s best wishes to talk about the world and life before. 

When summer was giving way to autumn and sending cool breezes throughout the night, you and Brian had been up there once again. 

“You think EJ will be around?” You asked, looking up at the stars you barely knew the names to. “BEN did say he was in the area.” 

“Gonna say yes,” Brian hummed back, momentarily pausing to point out Altair. “He’s always had a soft spot for our group,” he noted. “Why? You looking forward to seeing him?” He chuckled, hand reaching out to ruffle your hair. 

You laugh as quietly as you can and shake your head, “we’ve hardly ever spoken!” You giggled. “I just think he’s cool.”

Brian snorted in response and nodded, “yeah, I think so too. Though, where’d you get the opportunity to talk with BEN?” 

“There’s a little computer cafe in town,” you said, eyes flicking towards the direction of said cafe. “I’ve been spending a lot of time there. Mostly to use the internet,” you admitted, a slight heat coming to your cheeks. Proxies really aren’t supposed to use the internet. “Toby also sometimes tags along.” 

“So that’s where he’s been getting those weird references from,” Brian said with a tone of understanding. “Next time you go, let me know. I’d love to see what you children are up to online,” he teased. 

You laughed again and nodded, “sure thing.” 

The two of you continued to talk before a particularly hard gust of wind came in. On instinct, you shivered - though you weren’t really cold. 

Upon seeing you shiver, Brian took no hesitation in taking off his hoodie, much to your chagrin. 

“Oh, you don’t have to-” you began as you attempted to push it towards him. 

“I insist,” he had said, already popping the thing over you. 

You relented and allowed the giant hoodie to envelop your form like a warm hug. It smelled just like him - something woodsy, smoke, and the faintest of graphite. When you looked back at Brian, he was staring up at the stars, a small smile on his face. His eyes did not leave the inky blueish-black, not even when your hand came within millimeters of holding his. 

All it took was three times. Three times to know you liked him, and once to know you’d lost him. 

As stated before, it is absolutely a losing game to get involved with humans. Humans are frail and prone to panic. They can’t understand the world the way you do, nor are they suited for life the way you are in their current form. In your society, humans are the lowest of the low, akin to cattle - albeit, sentient cattle. Only when they are lifted from their human status are they finally given the time of day. 

He never would have known about her if you never brought up that computer cafe. Truly, it was a mistake on your part. You didn’t mean to, but it had happened anyway. 

“Cute place, right?” You smiled, eyes traveling up and down the rows of tables. 

“The cutest,” Brian agreed with a small chuckle. “Do we go up to a counter and order or..?” He trailed off slightly as he inspected the place and took in all the minor details. 

“Just take a seat, a waiter will be around shortly,” you said, immediately pulling him to your preferred spot by the windows and tucked away into the corner. 

Brian followed your lead and took a seat next to you where he immediately powered on the computer. “It’s kinda weird that they let us have food this close to the electronics, no?” 

“Oh no, it’s super weird,” you nodded as you began flicking open tabs to get to the things you wanted - maybe say hi to BEN. “But, it works. So like, c’est la vie?” You giggled, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. 

A few moments later, a waitress stopped by. You had already managed to pull up a chat with BEN and were so engrossed in catching up with him that you failed to notice her. You hadn’t even recognized she was there until you heard her giggling at something Brian had said. 

“Never thought I’d be that star struck,” Brian had finished the small anecdote with eyes that practically sparkled. 

Her smile only widened. “You? The star struck kind?” She teased lightly. “Have to see it to believe it.” 

Brian looked up at her, his lips now pulled up into a smile. “You’re looking at it right now.” 

It pulled you so hard out of your conversation with BEN that you’d accidentally sent him a half-baked thought. “Wait what?” 

Your sound of confusion had snapped the two back into reality. “Oh! I’m sorry, sugar,” the waitress apologized with a slight blush rising to her cheeks. “Was there something I could get you?” 

You blinked a few times, your eyes darting between the two before finally managing to stammer out your drink and pastry of choice. You watched as Brian’s eyes followed her out and when she came back in. 

Long after the two of you had finished, the two of you decided to head back. 

“That was fun,” you said. 

“It was,” Brian replied, thoughts drifting elsewhere. 

Ever since that moment, he’d been going to the café with and without you. Sometimes you’d find yourself heading there only to see him entranced in conversation with the waitress, and when that happened, you turned right back around. At first it was to give them space, and then it was to give yourself space. 

You wished you could allow yourself to weather through this one with grace and that it didn’t bother you, that it didn’t get on your nerves, but it did. Slowly but surely, it had chipped away at some odd part of you that you didn’t even know existed prior to. 

Masky was the first to bring it up. 

“Reader,” he began. “Can you wrangle Hood from that café? Operator wants us to do something - I just need him,” he said, barely looking up from his newspaper. 

“I can go if you want,” you suggested before poking your head back out from the refrigerator. 

“Hm?” That got Masky’s attention. “Are you sure?” He raised his eyebrow, giving you an inquisitorial look. 

“It’s no big deal,” you said with a small smile as you plucked your drink out from the fridge. “Besides, I think Hoodie’s busy.” You had to fight the unpleasant feeling that bubbled up in your chest after you said that. 

“Oh,” Masky gave a hum of recognition. “Toby did mention he was getting a little close to someone there,” he said in passing. 

You shot Masky a look. 

He shot one back. 

Internally, you both know that’s not the best thing - but Masky’s not going to stop his best friend. And you know you won’t either. 

Kate mentioned it next, though she seemed to be telling you that you’d get  over it. It came relatively out of the blue. See, the two of you were standing in the living room of a house painted in blood just chatting, waiting for the Operator to give you direction on what he wanted for the man he wanted alive when Kate got weirdly serious. She sat down on the sofa and invited you to sit down next to her. 

“You can’t keep avoiding him like that,” she hummed, her shoe digging into the man’s chest as he wriggled beneath her step. “I know it’s awkward, but he’s your comrade first.” 

You rolled your eyes and lightly pushed at her. “Come on, it’s not that serious,” you said, attempting to play off your feelings that were so gods damn obvious throughout the time you’ve been spending in this area. 

“Are you kidding me?” Kate chuckled. “Look,” her hand is on your shoulder as she digs her heel into the man’s chest, cracking his ribs slightly. “It’s uncomfortable. I get that. It’s why we don’t… Do that kind of thing.” She rubbed her thumb in little circles on your shoulder as she grounded you. “It’s probably for the best, even though you can’t see it right now.” 

You sighed and gave her a look of slight pain. “You’re probably right.” 

“I know I’m right.”

It’s not that Toby is bad at reading a room, but it’s that he’s really bad at reading a room. When the two of you went to the computer café for your outing, he was excited to see the girl Brian was ‘seeing,’ as he somehow managed to miss her from every other precious visit. It was so obvious that they had been - her perfume was practically embedded into his skin now - and his smile was brighter than the sun after seeing her. 

And here you were, not even wanting to know her name. 

It’s Fiona. 

“Toby!” She greeted as she bounded up to your table. “Reader! What a nice surprise!” There was no malice in her tone. She was genuinely happy to see you. “What can I get you two today?” 

“C-Chocolate croissant and some h-h-hot chocolate please,” Toby said. He then turned to you, and as if he read your mind, gave her your order as well. “H-How have t-things been?” He asked. 

“Really good,” Fiona replied. “He’s such a sweetie, got me this necklace.” 

Your eyes immediately left the screen and travelled to her neck. There it was. Beautiful necklace. Silver chain with a hunk of rose quartz at the bottom in the shape of a bullet.You remembered seeing that pendant. It hung on his mirror for such a long time. You once overheard him saying to Kate how it was your possible birthday gift. 

“It’s so pretty,” you smiled, eyes not quite following. 

You were damn certain if you were suffering from hanahaki you would’ve choked on flowers by now and died. The last nail in the coffin? 

Now. Right now. You came back to the safe house just wanting to relax, maybe star gaze for a bit and fall asleep outside - anything and everything sounded better than just being alone in your thoughts after the Operator had some harsh words to say to you on account of your performance slipping ever so slightly from his golden standards. You fix yourself a warm mug of tea and start making yourway to the rooftop. It’s the same path you’ve always taken: head up the stairs to the upper floor, last room on the left side of the hall, go in and open the study windows there and hang out on the roof. 

You make sure to take careful steps as you ascend, not wanting to spill any of your carefully made tea as you seek to unwind. With a deep breath, you start making it through the hallway, thankful no one else is here. Masky is away on business, Kate is doing something with Jeff and Toby left a few hours ago to meet with someone he deems important. Come to think of it, you haven’t had the house free in a while. 

But, as you step closer and closer to the last room on the left, you hear it. Giggling, whispers, conversation that’s so innocent and intimate at the same time. You notice the study door is closed. It’s never closer. You step closer. 

“You’re so sweet,” That’s Fiona’s voice. “You don’t have to get me all these things - I don’t even know where I’m gonna wear all of them.” She giggles. 

“Wear a different one every time I come to see you.” That’s Brian. “Gonna be burning through those things like crazy.” You hear the sound of a kiss. 

“You got a deal,” Fiona chuckled. Another kiss. 

You hear the roof shingles move slightly as they move closer together. Against your better judgment, you push open the study door slightly. Must you be so nosy?

There, sitting on the roof outside the window is Fiona and Brian. She’s wearing his sweater (it’s just polyester) and giggling as he peppers her face in kisses. When she’s decided he’s covered her in enough kisses for an entire year, she presses her lips to his. 

He smiles before kissing her back just as fervently. 

Without a sound, you begin to head back to your room. 

Perhaps tea in your room would be better. 

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that’s all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There’s nothing deeper at work here. There’s nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,249)

(first part) (third part) (fourth part)

——————–

Part Two

He tries to pen a letter to Phil. It’s more difficult than he remembers.

Dear Phil, he starts, and that’s good, that’s fine. All is well here in L’Manberg, he continues, and that’s good too. But from there, he’s stumped. What next? What does he tell him about? This is the part where he’d launch into a cute story, something Fundy got up to, or some trouble Tommy caused. But nothing comes to mind. Nothing recent, anyway. But the last letter he sent to Phil was—a month ago? Two, now? So he needs to write, because Phil’s far from a helicopter parent, but he still likes to know what he’s up to. Will still worry, if he gives him a reason to.

So, he needs to finish a letter. Needs to stop procrastinating.

He could write about Niki’s bakery. He can’t remember if he told Phil about it or not. He probably hasn’t, not if it’s truly been that long since his last missive. So he sets his pen to work, scratching out a few more sentences, and he reminds himself that he doesn’t need to be overly verbose. Phil doesn’t need an essay. Just a paragraph or two to assure him that he and everyone else are well, that he’s having fun, that he’s thriving.

Telling him about the bakery will work for that. Except, then, after a bit, he ends up writing, It eases my mind to visit. Truly, it’s one of the only places I let myself relax, and—no. No, that won’t do. That will make him sound as though he’s stressed, and he doesn’t want Phil to worry about that. There’s nothing Phil can do about it, and he couldn’t stand it if the admission led his father to think any less of him. He’s not going to—to start complaining to him. That would be ridiculous.

So he scratches the line out and continues on, except then, he writes, I worry that I’m shirking my responsibilities, but then, I’m probably doing that anyway, simply by virtue of not being, and he stops before he can finish that sentence, because, no. Simply, no. He is absolutely not telling Phil that.

He bites his lip. He’s already scratched out enough that he’ll probably need to start an entirely new draft anyway.

He sets the tip of the pen to paper.

I’m exhausted, he writes, but my mind won’t allow me to rest. Too many shadows in too many dark corners, I suppose. Too many thoughts circling. It’s like a hurricane in my head, and I should be in the eye, but I think the storm wall has caught me. I’m tossing in the air, at the wind’s mercy, and I’m afraid of what will happen when I fall.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I ever assumed that I did. And I feel afraid, because my inadequacies are failing everyone around me. I have to protect them, have to keep them safe, but sometimes I close my eyes and see everything aflame, or I see Dream and his friends flooding into the Final Control Room. We were betrayed, there. I’ve never told you this, but we all lost a life. Me, Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy. I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Somehow, I never thought that dying would be terrifying for me, considering who my mother is, but it is. I was so scared, and I still am.

I think I’m a disappointment. I think that if this country fails, it will be my fault, and it will only be right if I go down with it. My people have little faith in me, and they’re right not to, but I can’t bring myself to step down, because at the end of the day, I’m addicted to the power and responsibility. I’m nothing without it. If I can’t manage this, then how can I deserve the trust and faith that others have placed in me?

Most days, I think that everyone hates me. Most days, I think they’re right to do so. I can’t trust anyone. Not completely, not fully, no matter how much I love them. I feel very alone.

He stops writing. Reads it over. Feels his lips quirk up into a wry smile. He’s certainly not sending that.

But the smile fades away after a moment. He supposes that he hoped writing it all out would make him feel better, but if anything, he feels more tired. Drained. Wrung out. Blank.

He fishes around for a new, unmarred sheet of paper.

Dear Phil, he writes, All is well here in L’Manberg. The city is thriving, and my people are well. I really do want you to visit sometime—but not yet, of course! We’ve been having a spot of trouble with creeper holes lately, and I don’t want that to be your first impression. Between you and me, it’s just a little bit embarrassing.

It’s been a while since I last wrote. I do apologize for that; I don’t know where the time goes. There’s always so much to be doing, and I’m more and more thankful for this chance every day. It’s a lot of fun, having a country of our own, and we’re all working to make it as good as it can be. You should see Niki’s bakery—you haven’t tasted heaven until you’ve tasted something Niki’s baked, I swear. She’s a goddess, really, an essential pillar of our society. Baked goods make the world go round.

Tommy and Tubbo are well, and getting into just as much trouble as usual. Fundy grows up more and more every day. I’m so proud of them all.

Be careful of undead infants, and tell Technoblade I said hello, if you get the chance.

All love,

Wilbur

He sets down his pen and rereads. He’s satisfied with that, and more importantly, Phil will be as well. Now all that’s left is to let the ink dry and—

“Hey, boss man,” Tubbo says, opening the door to his office without knocking. He startles, violently. “How’re things coming?”

His heart shouldn’t be racing. It’s just Tubbo. But he came in without warning, which is—irritating. It’s irritating. That’s what it is. He feels himself flushing, just slightly, but surely it’s annoyance.

“There’s a lot of ‘things’ you could be referring to,” he says. “Are you going to be a little more specific?”

“Nah,” Tubbo says, meandering further into the room. But it’s not a regular meander, it’s a Tubbo sort of meander, which means that he’s here for a purpose. He just doesn’t want to reveal it just yet, or perhaps he’s figuring out how he wants to approach it. “Just wanted to know about general things. Big, vast things. Deep things.”

“Deep things,” he repeats, nodding. “Not much of that going on at the moment. Not a lot of deep things in paperwork.” He pulls the nearest sheet of paper closer to him; technically, that’s what he ought to be doing, not writing letters to a father that’s worlds away. He scans the words; it looks like something complicated about trade, something that sets his head to pounding already. The words swim, like they’re dancing, like they’re taking glee in the way he can’t comprehend them.

“I thought there were lots of deep things in paperwork,” Tubbo says, and he looks back up. “I thought that’s why the print is always so small.”

“Maybe,” he says.

“It makes sense to me,” Tubbo says. “Wilbur, is your hair really white?”

He freezes. “What?”

“Niki said that your hair is turning white,” Tubbo says. “Like an old man’s.”

Anger flares. He thought—he didn’t like that she found out about it, but he at least thought he could trust her with it. Thought that she would keep it to herself, that she wouldn’t let it spread to others, to others that might take it and try to use it as a knife to his jugular. But here is Tubbo, and Tubbo is so obviously staring at his hair, eyes flicking across his forehead and around his ears, and he won’t see anything. He double-checked when he arrived at the office; all of the white is under his hat. But he doesn’t like that Tubbo is looking, that Tubbo is actively trying to see, that Tubbo is treating him like some kind of curiosity, and that Tubbo surely must have some sort of opinion and that opinion cannot be anything but—

“Niki said that hair can turn grey or white if a person is very stressed,” Tubbo says, casually. “Are you very stressed, Wilbur?”

Oh—oh, fuck. Is that actually a thing that happens?

“I told her, it was a bad dye job,” he mutters, glancing back down at his paper. The words remain incomprehensible, but he’s not focusing on it. He nudges his pen with his finger, latching onto the light clicking sound it makes as it rolls and then comes to rest.

“Yeah?” Tubbo asks doubtfully. “What, were you trying to dye your hair white?”

He grits his teeth. “Was there something you needed, Tubbo?”

“Nothing I needed, really,” Tubbo answers. “I just wanted to see how you’ve been doing. Seems like forever since you came out of this office. Do you live in here now or something?” He keeps talking before Wilbur can reply, which is just as well, since he might as well live here, considering the state of his room. “And I think I’ve got a new design for a TNT cannon. Kind of streamlined, you might say, if you wanted to check it out. But I think you should just come and hang out with me and Tommy sometime. You never really do that anymore.”

He has a few feelings about TNT cannons. He doesn’t think about TNT too often, because when he does, his mind fills with fire and smoke, and his heart starts beating faster, climbing into his throat, and he wants to run, wants to run far and fast and away, wants to sit and shake until his body can’t move anymore, even when he knows very well that nothing around him is exploding, that his country is secure and his friends are safe. But some days, he can’t so much as smell smoke without a memory rising up to overwhelm him.

Once, he found himself zoning out in the middle of a conversation, a nearby campfire taking him far away from himself, and be barely returned in time to cover for his lapse.

He’s not a fan of TNT cannons, and he can’t bring himself to pretend to be, not even for the sake of Tubbo’s enthusiasm. And—

Hanging out with him and Tommy sounds nice. He misses them, he admits, and some part of him misses the old days, the first days and weeks and months on the server, when it was them and a dream and his fingers dancing on the frets of his guitar, his voice strong and steady and hopes high on the wind, words ready at his lips and Tommy a force of chaos at his back and Tubbo clever and quick by his side, and he just—misses it. Misses them. Misses it all, misses the days before so much was riding on his shoulders.

But he hasn’t the time.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he says, and tries on a smile. “I’m a bit busy right now. Take a rain check?”

“Sure,” Tubbo says, and shrugs. “Later, then. You say that a lot, though, do you know that?”

He winces. Tubbo smiles. He means no harm. Probably. He thinks he would know if Tubbo meant him harm.

And then, Tubbo leaves, and the tension leaves him all in a rush, leaving him—exhausted. Exhausted, and near tears, for some reason, but he blinks those back. That can wait. He doesn’t cry in his office. That’s unprofessional; anyone could walk in on him, and then where would he be?

What was he doing before Tubbo came in?

Right. The letter. He glances it over, scoops it up, and tucks it away in an envelope. He’ll chuck it at the next crow he sees.

---

It’s Tommy who barges in next, a day later, though at least this time, he’s somewhat expecting it. Because if Tubbo knows, then Tommy knows. That is simply the way of the world. He has a difficult time imagining anything ever coming between those two, even information that would be better kept to oneself.

“Why the fuck is Tubbo going on about your hair, then?” Tommy says, with no preamble, and despite himself, Wilbur smiles. That’s Tommy, all the subtlety of a charging bull. And the question is just as irritating as it was yesterday when it came from Tubbo, but he’s more prepared for it this time. He looks up from his work—work that he’s actually doing, at the moment, and he feels rather proud of himself for it—and meets Tommy’s gaze squarely.

“I’ve had an unfortunate encounter with some hair dye,” he says. “The hair dye won.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy says, but there’s already a laugh in his eyes. Good. Tommy is fairly easily deflected, he’s learned. Because Tommy looks up to him, he knows, and that means he’ll willfully look away from any evidence suggesting that perhaps he is not worthy of admiration after all.

It makes him sick, the way he’s thinking about it. Makes him feel like he’s using Tommy, somehow, taking advantage of his affection, when really, that’s the last thing he wants to do. Tommy is his little brother, his little brother by choice, by years spent on the road together, by hushed conversations in the dead of night as the stars bear witness, by all the little intricacies they’ve learned about each other as time continues to pass. Tommy is his little brother, which means it’s his job to protect him, as best he can. He’s done a piss-poor job of that lately. Tommy only has one life left now.

So he can’t fail him again. And perhaps it’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t want Tommy to think he’s failed, either. If it ever turns out that Tommy hates him, he thinks it might kill him.

“Can I see?” Tommy asks, and he prepared for this, too, braced for it. With a long-suffering sigh, he sweeps his hat off his head and angles his face forward, letting Tommy take a good look.

“Satisfied?” he asks.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says. “How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Very impressively,” he says, and puts his hat back on. He’s sure to tuck all the white back under it. It’s a practiced motion, by now. “Or perhaps not very impressively, as it were.”

“Well, it looks sick,” Tommy says, and Wilbur glances at him immediately. He doesn’t seem like he’s lying. He seems almost—impressed? But he sees him looking right away, and immediately backtracks. “Sick as in disgusting, obviously. It makes you look old. Like an old, old man.”

Tommy’s joking, of course, is all bluster and smoke, no fire. But something in his chest stings, and he realizes that the words hurt, and more than that, they hurt because it’s an echo of what he tells himself. He doesn’t like to look in the mirror anymore—though he never did to begin with, actually—but he is well aware of what he looks like. The white hair is just one more symbol of his failing faith, his lack of ability to handle the job that he set himself out to take in the first place. He should be able to do this, and yet, he can’t, and the white hair—well.

After what Tubbo said, it can only mean that he’s weak. Physical proof of his incompetence. That’s really the only way to look at it.

“Shut the fuck up, child,” he says. “Why don’t you go and find a juice box to drink?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Tommy says, and the song and dance is familiar. Tommy rolls his eyes at him—the disrespect in this house is unbelievable—but he turns to go, and that means that Wilbur’s won.

What he’s won, he doesn’t know. Some more self-disgust, maybe. That’s what it feels like.

Lying to Niki. Lying to Tubbo. And now, lying to Tommy. What a stunning specimen of humanity he is. Working through them all like he has a checklist.

And then, Tommy stops in the doorway and looks back.

“Wilbur?” he asks. “You really are alright, aren’t you?”

And that gives him pause. Tommy’s not supposed to ask him that question. If anything, he’s the one who’s supposed to be asking Tommy that.

“It’s just that,” Tommy continues, “I don’t see you around so much, these days. Except for when there’s a problem, and you come out to try and solve it with, with your words and shit. Diplomatic shit, innit? You do that, but you don’t just—you never come to just spend time with us anymore, like how it used to be. And I just sort of miss that, you know? So I was thinking that maybe we could try and do that again, sometime soon? Just, hanging out, like the good old days?”

The good old days.

He doesn’t quite have the heart to tell Tommy that the good old days are long over, that they have been long over since the day Sapnap came to arrest them all for starting a drug empire and the forest around them was set ablaze, since the day they declared independence from the Dream SMP, since the day he in all his naivety declared that all they had to do was ignore the conflict and it would pass them by, since the day he was proven so very, very wrong. Since the day he learned that as much as he values his words, his diplomacy, his efforts toward nonviolence, some people only recognize power in iron and steel.

Since the day he watched his men, his comrades, his family die around him, and knew that he led them to that fate. Since the day Tommy traded his life and then his discs for their independence, and he knew that he couldn’t do a thing to help.

The good old days are long gone. The good old days belong to a different version of him, one that was young and hopeful and stupid, one that had no idea what he was getting into. And he likes to think that he’s still hopeful, that he still strives for a better future, but—

He’s learned. Nothing comes easy, here. There will be no more halcyon summers. The days are getting colder, and there will be no more rest.

“Sure,” he says, and this lie tastes far more bitter than all the rest. “I’d like that.” He gestures at his desk. “I’ve been really busy, but I would like to spend time with you. I’ll let you know when I can, alright?”

And Tommy believes him. He sees it in his answering smile, and he hates himself.

“Sounds good, big man,” Tommy says. “See you later then, yeah?”

“See you later,” Wilbur agrees, and then Tommy, too, is gone. He’s alone in his office, with his duties and his thoughts, and neither of them are kind.

Not that he thinks himself deserving of much kindness.

---

He waits two weeks before visiting the bakery again. It’s not completely intentional; he doesn’t have much time to get away anyhow. But part of it certainly is. He doesn’t want to come again so soon, doesn’t want to know how Niki’s going to look at him, doesn’t want her to poke and prod at something that isn’t important, that is a minor, irritating detail. He doesn’t want to discuss it, and he thinks that Niki might try, so he stays away.

But not forever. He can’t bring himself to take so drastic a step, even if his visits are a bit of a distraction. One that, perhaps, he can’t really afford.

So he steps inside and immediately wants to backtrack, because Niki’s not the only one here. Fundy and Jack Manifold are both sat at the counter, and both of them are looking at him now, having swiveled in their seats to watch his entrance. And that means he can’t leave, because if he leaves without saying anything, they’ll ask him why he did that, and he’ll have to make up something to avoid admitting that he’s been a little bit terrified of interacting with people lately. Because absolutely no one can know that.

Because it’s stupid. Pathetic. He’s pathetic, and he’s become quite accustomed to that word. It seems to live in his head now, like it’s made a nest in his brain, a little roost. Pathetic. Everything he does feels pathetic to him, and probably to everyone else around him.

“Oh,” Jack Manifold says. “Hi, Wilbur. Didn’t expect you in.”

Fundy doesn’t say anything. Just blinks at him, tail swishing. He finds that he doesn’t know what to say. But he needs to think of something, some reason for being here, and if he can manage it, some excuse for extricating himself quickly. The silence has gone on just a little too long, and he’s been standing in the doorway for a full five seconds now, and he needs to come in completely because it’s weird, what he’s doing, and they’re going to call him on it.

And then, Niki pops her head between the two of them, leaning far over the counter, resting practically all of her weight on it.

“Wil!” she says, and smiles. “I’m glad you came! I’m making honey bread, and I know you like that.”

And just like that, he relaxes. Not completely, but to ask that of him would be to expect the impossible. It’s enough.

“I do,” he agrees, and steps further in, letting the door close behind him. “Seems I have good timing.”

The tension in the air—imagined or real? He’s not sure—dissipates. Jack grins at him, raising a glass of—probably not alcohol? He doesn’t think Niki keeps alcohol stocked in here, or at least, none other than the cooking variety. Might be milk. And Fundy still doesn’t say anything, but his tail keeps twitching, and his eyes keep darting between him and the empty stool next to him, and he really hopes that’s an invitation, because that’s how he’s going to take it.

He slides onto the seat, letting his coat fall behind him. His hat, he keeps on. He’s not laying his face on the counter today. Not with other people here. He probably wouldn’t have anyway, tempting though it is. He always feels sleepier in here. It’s probably the warmth.

But he won’t fall asleep.

Niki’s gone back over to the ovens, inspecting her bread. He can smell it on the air, fresh and sweet, and his stomach twists. Has he eaten today? He’s not sure that he has. Though he definitely did yesterday—evening. He thinks. Definitely. A couple apple slices shoved in his mouth, swallowed without really tasting them. But it counts.

“What have you two been up to lately?” he asks. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Not too much,” Jack Manifold answers easily. “Mostly been hanging around Tommy and Tubbo. Getting into mischief, you might say. Nothing too serious or anything!” he is quick to add, seemingly remembering exactly who he’s talking to. “Nothing—I mean, nothing illegal, no, sir. Not us. But, you know, it’d probably be best not to share the details.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Fair enough,” he says. “As long as it’s not something that I’m going to have to clean up later.”

“We’ve already cleaned up,” Jack says.

“Good.” He looks at Fundy, and affection blooms in his chest, sudden, almost overpowering. His boy’s grown up of late. He can barely remember it happening. It seems that only yesterday he came up knee-high, and now, he’s a man in his own right. But still his little champion, always. “How about you? I know we haven’t been fishing yet. I’m sorry—you know that’s the first thing on my list when I finally get a bit of time.”

Fundy glances away. “I know,” he says. “I’ve been fine.”

“I’m glad,” he says, and Niki saves him from having to say anything else—though why he thinks of it as a rescue, he isn’t sure—by walking back over and placing some bread on the counter before them.

“Fresh from the oven,” she says, “so it’s hot. Be careful.”

It smells nothing short of divine. Niki smiles, pleased, as Fundy and Jack reach for a piece right away, and he isn’t far behind them. Though he tries to be a little more neat about it than the other two are being. The way they’re digging in, he’d think that they’re starving. Frankly, he can’t blame them for it, not when it’s Niki’s food on the line, but he still tries to have a bit more decorum.

“Niki,” Jack says, mouth full, “you are an angel among mere mortals.” Fundy doesn’t say anything, but his tail is swishing happily.

Niki rolls her eyes, and takes a bit of bread for herself. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she admonishes. “But thank you, Jack.” And then, her gaze drifts to him, and he finds himself stiffening. For no reason. It’s Niki. It’s just Niki. He trusts Niki. She’s basically his best friend, and he’s comfortable here. He is. This is a place of safety, as much as there are such places to be found. Safety, true safety, is not a thing that exists, not really. But here is as close as he can get to it.

Why can’t he let himself unwind?

Is it because Jack and Fundy are here? He hopes not; that wouldn’t be fair to them. They are his countrymen, his citizens, and more than that, Fundy is his son. What would that say about him as a parent, if being around his child makes him nervous? Not just nervous in a I-hope-I-don’t-fuck-up-my-kid way, but in a I-don’t-feel-safe-here way?

But his shoulders are stiff, slightly hunched. He can’t force them down. So he has to hope it’s not too obvious, that the lines of his coat disguise the hard set of his posture, a stance that indicates he thinks there’s a threat, if they know how to read him right. Which they shouldn’t. They shouldn’t.

“How about you, Wil?” Niki asks, and he takes another bite of bread. Small, so as not to get crumbs everywhere, and he swallows before answering.

“It’s as good as always,” he says. “Do I have to say it?” Though it sits heavier in his stomach than usual, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m glad,” she says. “It’s been a little while since the last time I saw you. You are eating properly, right?”

It’s concern, not an accusation, no matter how misplaced. The question shouldn’t raise his hackles. But it does, and all that’s left is to keep it from showing, to keep it from his voice.

“Of course I am,” he says, and before he can get anything else out, Jack laughs.

“Wouldn’t do to have our president starving on us,” he says, and his voice is light, full of laughter, joking. It’s a good thing that Jack feels comfortable enough to joke with him. He’s glad, because—he doesn’t know him all that well, definitely doesn’t trust him, not yet, but Tommy and Tubbo seem to like him, so it’s good that he’s fitting in, that he’s found a place, that he likes it here. Though liking isn’t always enough to stop the betrayal before it comes. He ought to keep a closer eye on him, just in case, but—that wasn’t the point of this.

The point is that, joking or not, Jack is completely right. It wouldn’t do to let his eating habits interfere with his duties. He’s already weak; is he going to add malnutrition on top of that? Never mind that he often doesn’t feel like eating, these days, that he really only has an appetite when he’s here, in the bakery. He needs to keep his strength up so that he can get things done. And he can’t force himself to sleep, so that problem is out of his hands, but he can force himself to eat.

Jack couldn’t have known what he was prodding at, of course, when he made the comment. But he takes another bite of bread anyway. It’s tough to swallow, even though it tastes delicious. He doesn’t know why. He’s never had an issue eating Niki’s food before. He hopes this doesn’t become a pattern.

And he hopes it’s not because there’s other people here. It would be an explanation, at least, but not one he likes. The implications there wouldn’t be—good, to say the least.

“Jack,” Niki says quietly, admonishingly, and he wishes she wouldn’t, because he doesn’t want Jack to examine what he’s just said, to analyze it as anything other than a joke. So he musters a smile, a quirk of an eyebrow, and Jack grins back at him.

Safe territory. Level ground, even footing. Relatively speaking.

And then Fundy pipes up.

“Hey, Wil,” he says, and Wilbur wonders, suddenly, where he picked up the habit of calling him ‘Wil’ or ‘Wilbur’ more often than he calls him ‘dad’. Not that he minds it, but it’s curious. Could it be from him? He himself calls Phil by his name more often than not. Perhaps it’s genetic. But then Fundy continues, “Is your hair actually, like, turning white?” and Wilbur is no longer interested in thinking about little details like that.

He’s tense again. Tense enough now that they can probably see it, even without looking too hard.

“Why is everyone so interested in my hair, lately?” he asks. “It’s just hair. Grows out of everyone’s head. Except for yours, Jack Manifold.”

“Point,” Jack Manifold agrees, but there is a gleam in his eyes, behind his glasses, that says he too is interested in the direction this conversation has taken. Not ideal.

“It’s just that,” Fundy persists, “it’s a little bit weird, right? If it’s turning white like that? Is that normal?”

“It’s not ‘turning white,’” he says, which might be a mistake, because he’s lying through his teeth, now. “It was a bad hair dye incident. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

Jack laughs. “How’d you manage to fuck up hair dye that badly?” he asks, and the way the question is phrased is irritating; he doesn’t want Jack to start thinking he’s an incompetent fool who can’t dye his own hair properly. But he’ll also take this line of questioning over the other, so perhaps it balances out.

Except then, Niki splays both her hands on the counter. Any earlier levity that she had is now gone.

“Is that so?” she says. “That’s not what you told me.”

His heart is pounding again. He really, really hopes that he’s not developing a condition of some kind. He’d know if he were having a heart attack, wouldn’t he?

“I’m pretty sure that is what I told you,” he says, and Niki shakes her head.

“No, you told me that it wasn’t dye, when I asked,” she says. “And then you said that it was, but you were lying.”

She doesn’t sound angry, which is perhaps the worst thing about all of this. She doesn’t sound angry that he’s lied to her, taken advantage of her trust and fed her a blatant falsehood. Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact, and there’s a glimmer in her eyes that isn’t annoyance or betrayal or any of the other emotions she should be feeling. Instead, it’s concern. That blasted concern again.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“Really?” Jack says. “Huh. Well, what’d you do that for, then?”

He’s changed his mind. The worst thing about all of this is that there are other people present. That he’s not alone with Niki, which would still be an undesirable situation, but manageable. Jack Manifold and Fundy are both here, staring at him, expecting answers that he doesn’t want to give, and Fundy—

Why is his son looking at him like that?

“Why are you all so pressed about my hair?” he demands. “It’s hair. You don’t even see it.”

“I mean,” Fundy says, “like I said, it’s just kind of weird, right? I don’t think hair just turns white for no reason. Not unless you’re really old, which you’re not, I don’t think. So I guess we’re just curious about what the reason is.”

He doesn’t want to talk about this. This isn’t why he came here. This place, this bakery, these people, it’s supposed to be an escape from his responsibilities. The only one he allows himself, even though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s the one place where he doesn’t have to think about his own failings, where he can relax a bit and let himself be, if only for a little while, but here they are, pushing him on this, and he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to be reminded of his incompetency. And they don’t know, can’t know exactly what they’re doing to him, but—

He slams his hand against the counter, sudden emotion boiling over. They all jump, the three of them. Niki’s eyes widen, and Fundy’s ears press back against his skull.

“Then don’t be,” he snaps. “Leave it the fuck alone. It’s really none of your business, is it?”

There is a moment of silence. The only sound is the crackling of furnaces.

“I guess not,” Fundy mutters, and he realizes what he’s done.

He’s just snapped, lashed out at his friends, his countrymen, his son, and for what? Because their questions are stressing him out? He should have turned around and left the moment he saw them in here, no matter what they would have thought, because this is worse. This is so much worse than that, and now he feels like an absolute shitstain of a human being. What kind of person gets so fucking upset over questions about his hair?

“I’m sorry,” he says. Too little, too late. “I didn’t mean—” Fundy is looking at him. They all are, and suddenly, he can’t bear it. Not any longer. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of work to do. I really should be going. Thank you for the bread, Niki.”

It’s painfully transparent, and he is very aware of the fact that it’s the exact same way that he rushed out of the bakery when he was last here. Except this time, there are more people here to witness his shame.

History repeats itself, he thinks, bitterly. History repeats itself, and it only gets worse.

But he’s not staying here. He can’t. He just—can’t. Because he feels very upset over such a stupid little thing, and he’s upset that he’s upset, and now he’s upset other people, and he can’t stay here any longer, because if he does, the gods only know what’s going to fly out of his mouth next.

“Wil, please stay,” Niki says, but he’s already standing.

“Be seeing you all,” he says, and the door isn’t far, but it feels like miles, because he can feel their stares burning into his back as he makes his exit.

“Aw, wait, Wilbur, you don’t have to—” Jack starts, but he’s out the door. He’s out the door, and he lets it swing shut behind him, and the words cut off. He doesn’t have to listen to them. So if Fundy says anything, he doesn’t hear it, and he wonders why that makes him feel so much worse. Worse than he does already, which is no mean feat.

His stomach growls. He’s hungry. How many bites of bread did he take? Two? Three? Not enough to be filling. But somehow, he already knows that if he seeks food elsewhere, it will turn to ash in his mouth. And he can’t go back, not after the scene he’s just made, so he’s going to have to be hungry. Which is fine. He’s fine. He’s fine, even though he’s just fucked everything up, and he rather thinks he might not be able to show Niki his face ever again. So, no more bakery. No more safe place, and wow, he is being a dramatic fuck, isn’t he? But he can’t help himself. He never can.

He should have known better from the start. There is no such thing as safety. No exceptions. He should have tried harder to remember that. And he’s not angry, not anymore, not really, because they weren’t aware of the hornets’ nest they were stirring up; rather, he’s angry at himself, for losing control, for letting himself react, for not being able to handle a simple question with the poise and calm that is expected of him as president.

For being weak. That’s what it comes down to. His weakness. Persistent, and now, persistently on display.

He does a lot of screaming into his pillow that night. It doesn’t help. And sleep, it seems, is determined to continue its avoidance, so the night stretches long, and even his tears eventually run dry.

---

The next day, Niki comes to his office.

[marjansmarwani]

like I was already brave enough to let go

7.2k || Chapter 1/2 || ao3

Enzo understands that leaving New York in the wake of everything is what's best for TK, but that doesn't make it any easier. Watching his stepson pack up all his broken pieces and move across the country hurts him in ways he can't describe, mostly due to the knowledge that there will be a distance between them that has never existed before. So he takes the time to check-in, to keep track of TK. To be there for him, no matter what.

He's just starting to wish that he had picked somewhere other than Austin, because he is quickly discovering he is not built for this level of stress.

After reading @futures-tense’s Enzo fic (that everyone should read, it is phenomenal) I couldn’t get thoughts of him and his relationship with TK out of my head, so naturally I wrote this. It fits into canon evetns and this is only chapter 1 of 2, because while I so have an outline for season 2 events, this was getting long so I figured I’d at least post what I had. 

Massive thanks to @silvarafael and @justaswampdemon for all their help and support with this, you’re both the best!

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

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when TK opened his apartment door, but the sad shell of the boy Enzo had come to love as his own wasn’t it. 

Or maybe it was, but it hurt all the same. 

“Hey kid,” he said softly, stepping carefully around him and into the apartment. He looked around the small space, taking in all the boxes haphazardly labeled and partially packed. “So, it’s true. Your mom told me but I don’t think I believed her. Never thought I’d see the day TK Strand willingly left New York for Texas, of all places.” 

“Who says it’s willingly,” he said dully as he shut the door behind Enzo. 

Enzo turned and studied him more closely, taking in the downturned eyes and anxious fingers thumbing the seam of his hoodie pocket, “Do you not want to go? Because you can stay here. I’ll talk to your mom, you can stay with us if you…” 

But TK cut him off with a shake of his head, “No,” he said, “I think I need to do this. Dad’s right, I need a fresh start. I can’t...I don’t think I can be here anymore. When I think of staying here, I don’t see a way forward. I think if I stayed here I’d…” he trailed off, but Enzo felt a chill rush through him at the implication of what TK hadn’t said. He tried to meet his eyes but TK looked away, casting his gaze downward and away from Enzo’s sympathetic eyes. 

It hurt him more than he could say to see TK like this. For all his struggles he had always been a happy kid. He had always been someone who found the joy in life where he could and he had always worn his emotions on his sleeve, for better or worse. Seeing him like this and knowing what had happened hurt Enzo in ways he couldn’t fully describe because he didn’t know the right words. All he knew for sure is that this was not the TK he had known and loved for 16 years standing before him. This was a stranger; someone he had only seen once before during a time he had hoped to never revisit. 

He hadn’t asked what happened because he knew enough and he wasn’t about to make the kid revisit it just so he could fill in some blanks. He might not know everything but he knew enough to feel hot anger course through him at the thought of someone breaking that too big heart of his. TK had always been someone who loved fully and completely, and to see that thrown back in his face so spectacularly made Enzo—a typically steady and calm man — strongly consider homicide. 

He had every confidence that Gwyn could get him out of any charges too, but he pushed that thought aside to focus on the scene before him.  

“This isn’t your fault, TK.” 

TK turned away from him, absently picking up some books from the table and dropping them into one of the boxes. “I know I didn’t make Alex cheat,” he says eventually, “but the rest of it? That is completely on me Enzo, no one else.” 

He could sense that the kid had more to say so he let him go, watching from the doorway as he listlessly picked up other odds and ends from around his apartment, tossing them into boxes without any real care as to what the labels on the side said. He knew TK would speak up when he was ready and it was only a few more minutes before he did. 

“Eight years,” he finally said, his rough voice breaking the silence of the half-packed apartment. “Eight fucking years of sobriety, all gone. And that’s all on me. It doesn’t matter what Alex did, I’m the one who made the choice. I am the one who let him have that power over me and…” he broke off, meeting Enzo’s eyes for a moment before looking away and swallowing. “I do need to leave,” he said eventually. “I don’t trust myself to stay here anymore. I don’t know if I’d survive it.” 

Enzo could feel his heart breaking for the kid. He wasn’t a kid anymore — now 26 and an adult — but in Enzo’s eyes sometimes he was still the 10-year-old who met his eyes shyly when Gwyn first introduced them, the 14-year-old who had admitted to him in a terrified whisper that he thought he might like boys, the 19-year-old who had come to him because he wanted to enroll in the fire academy and didn’t know how his mother would take it. The feeling he had now was just like the feelings he had had then. This overwhelming love and desire to protect him from everything bad in the world; from anyone that ever told him he wasn’t enough. 

And just like he had then, he stepped forward, closing the space between them to pull him into a hug. He held him close, pressing his face into his chest and placing a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re making the smart choice then,” he said evenly. “And, as much as I’ll miss you, I’m proud of you for doing what you have to do. You’ve beat this once and you’ll beat it again, I have no doubt about that.” 

He knew he wasn’t imagining it when the body in his arms sagged in relief. It made him clutch him that much tighter as he spoke again, hoping what he was about to say was a given but needing to say it anyway:  “And I will always be here for you, no matter where you live. I’m always just a phone call away, you know that, right?”

TK’s voice was muffled by the material of Enzo’s sweater, but he could still hear the tears in it clear as day, “I do.” 

“Good,” Enzo replied firmly, releasing his grip on TK and stepping back so he could meet his eyes. “Because I will be calling to check-in, that is a promise.” 

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

Watching him leave was bittersweet, but he believed TK when he said it was something he needed to do. He took some solace in the fact that he wouldn’t be alone. Enzo and Owen Strand may have had their differences over the years (many, many differences) but if there was one thing Enzo had never doubted it was the other man’s love for his son. He knew that TK was in good hands, but that didn’t make it any easier. 

He got confirmation they had arrived in Austin in the form of a text that included a picture of a shop selling cowboy hats that simply said, “turns out people actually do where these here. Yes, it looks as ridiculous as it sounds.” It is followed by another two days later that noted the crimes Texas has committed against pizza and though Enzo was still filled with worry, he allowed himself to smile and take it as a sign that he was healing, be it ever so slightly. 

He gave it almost a week before he called. He wanted to hear TK’s voice; to have proof that he really was okay, but he also wanted to give him time. His patience was helped by the fact that Gwyn had spoken to her son but eventually, he decided that he needed to hear from him himself.  

TK answered by the third ring, sounding out of breath. He greeted him warmly, and Enzo could hear the commotion of construction in the background. He raised an eyebrow, “What, did you decide to leave the fire department and become a contractor when I wasn’t looking?” 

This pulled a laugh out of TK and Enzo took a moment to savor the familiar sound. It felt like far too long since he’s last heard it. 

“No. Dad decided we should re-do the firehouse, to give everyone a fresh start. I figured I might as well help out. Besides,” he added with a shrug Enzo could almost hear, “demolition is the far healthier method of coping with feelings, right?” 

“When done with permission,” Enzo quipped in response. “How are you doing kid, has the pizza chased you away yet?” 

TK scoffed, “No, but it was a close thing. Honestly, I really haven’t had that much time to dwell. I’ve been helping with the demo and construction, as well as the candidate interviews and paperwork. I haven’t really taken too much time to think about anything.” 

TK said it matter of factly and Enzo almost moved past it. But he knew TK better than most. “You don’t have to punish yourself, kid,” he told him gently. “All you need to do is heal.”

“I’m not punishing myself,” TK objected, “I’m just...trying to keep busy. To distract myself.” 

TK might very well think that, but Enzo was pretty sure it wasn’t true. But he was willing to move past it, for now. 

“Tell me about the new crew,” he said instead, and smiled as TK launched into stories about a daredevil from Miami and a possible psychic from Chicago. He seemed enthusiastic and Enzo didn’t realize how good it felt to hear that until he had. It was like there was a little bit of life back in his voice and though he knew TK still had a long way to go to make this better, he was relieved to see that he was at least on the way. 

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

For a while, everything seemed to be going great. TK called and texted him from time to time, sharing anecdotes from calls and his new crew, and each time Enzo thinks he can hear just a little bit more of his old self returning to his voice. Sure he complains about one of them, for a while, but that too seems to sort itself out. 

He could tell there is someone new in his life too, even if TK is hedgy about it at best. But Enzo was the first one to know that TK was gay at 14; he knew how to spot the signs. 

“Why won’t you tell me about him?” he asked him one day, voice light and teasing as he stuffed his papers into his bag. “Is there something horribly wrong with him?”

“No,” TK countered emphatically, “there is nothing wrong with him. Absolutely nothing,” he added, almost an unconscious mutter Enzo was not entirely sure he was supposed to hear. 

“So if there is ‘absolutely nothing’ wrong with him, why aren't you going for it?” 

There was silence on the other end as Enzo slid his bag onto his shoulder, patiently waiting the younger man out. 

“You know why,” he eventually said, voice low and sad. Enzo grimaced at how pained his voice sounded and he dropped back into his desk chair with a sigh.

“TK…” he began, but the younger man cut him off firmly. 

“No, Enzo. I...I thought I could. I thought we could have something casual and that I could handle it. But then he wanted more and I hurt him. I don’t want to do that, he doesn’t deserve it. He’s too good to get dragged into my shitshow.” 

“Have you asked him what he wants?” Enzo asked gently. 

The bark of laughter TK gave at that was sharp and harsh, “Yeah, that should go well. Definitely won’t lead to me having to explain to this guy I’ve hooked up with a handful of times all the ways I’m fucked up right now.”

Enzo sighed again, leaning back in his chair, “It won’t always be like this, T. Someday you will be ready to try again, but only if you let yourself consider the possibility. Can you at least promise me that?”

There was silence for a long stretch and Enzo was about to ask him again when TK’s voice finally responded quietly, “Yes.” 

“Good,” Enzo responded firmly, “because no matter what happened, you still deserve happiness. And someday you’ll be ready to let it in again — maybe sooner than you think.” 

The sound of acknowledgment TK made sounded skeptical at best, but Enzo would take it. He knew he was right and he knew that someday TK would realize it too. Maybe even sooner than he thought. 

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

It’s about a week later when Enzo’s phone rings, nearly making him jump as he is pulled abruptly from his stack of midterms. It took him a few moments of shuffling blue books to even locate his phone and when he did he frowned at both the time and the name displayed on the screen. 

“Hey kid,” he said lightly as he answered the phone, “what’s up?” 

He had hoped he was overreacting, that TK was just calling him late because he was on shift and had lost track of the time. He had hoped that maybe the universe was finally giving the kid a break. 

The despair and fear so clear in TK’s voice quickly prove him wrong.  

“Hey Enzo,” he said softly, “fuck, I know it’s late and I’m sorry to bother you, but I just really needed to talk to someone.” 

“You are never a bother,” Enzo told him firmly, capping his pen and setting it down on his desk. “What’s wrong?” 

“I…” TK began before stopping, taking a deep breath and trying again, “I don’t know for sure yet, but I know something is.”

And Enzo believed him. The fear in his voice is so raw Enzo could feel every ounce of it even from a timezone away. “I’m going to need more than that, kid,” he told him gently, leaning back in his chair as he waited TK out. 

“I found something,” TK said eventually, “that I definitely wasn’t supposed to find. And it means something awful. Something I don’t know if I can handle. But it also means he doesn’t trust me,” TK continued, “and somehow that almost feels worse.”

Enzo frowned, pondering all the non-specific details in his mind. He didn’t know all that much about his stepson’s life in Austin, but he knew enough to know that while he was close to his new crew, he wasn’t close enough to be this upset by an omission from one of them. That left him with two possibilities: the mysterious man he was not seeing, or Owen. 

And Enzo knew which option was more likely and it made his heart sink. TK might not be sharing but Ezno knew both the Strand men better than most. If there was something Owen felt strongly enough to keep from his son that TK was this upset about, it wasn’t good news.

“You don’t have to tell me what it is,” he said cautiously, “but is it something about your dad?” 

There was a deep, shuddering breath before TK responded, “Yeah.” 

And Enzo shut his eyes, the hurt and fear in TK’s voice telling him all he needed to know. 

“I don’t know what this is about,” he said eventually, “and you don’t have to tell me. But I do know you, and I know whatever it is you are going to want to be there for him, because that’s who you are. Let him know that, and the rest will follow from there.” 

There was silence again, but Enzo waited TK out. He was familiar with this rhythm; when something was bothering TK he often took his time to make sure he had the words right before he spoke. Over the years Enzo had learned to wait him out knowing that he would get to his point when he was ready.  

He did a few moments later, “I do want to be there for him,” TK agreed, “I just know why he didn’t tell me. He doesn’t think I can handle it — and he’s right,” TK confessed softly, “I don’t know if I can.” 

“You can,” Ezno assured him firmly, “you can do anything you set your mind to. You always have.” 

He let his words sink in for a moment before he added, “And I would talk to your dad before you make any assumptions. Let him know he can rely on you, let him know you want to be there.” 

“You make it sound so easy,” TK said dryly, and Enzo huffed a laugh. 

“In a way it is. It’s just words. It’s the actions behind them that are hard.” 

There was silence again before TK spoke, his voice so quiet Enzo almost missed his next words, “I’m scared.” 

“It’s okay to be scared,” Enzo reminded him, “sometimes fear is the appropriate response.” 

But even as he said it, he could feel his heart breaking. He didn’t know what was going on and while he was sure he would find out soon enough, he couldn’t help but hate whatever it was. TK deserved some time to find himself, to heal and simply exist. He didn’t understand why the universe kept throwing such curveballs at him, but he wished with every fiber of his being it would stop. 

“Sometimes it is,” TK agreed in a tone that made Enzo wonder even more what this was all about. But he didn’t ask; TK would tell him when he was ready. For now he would just be here for him. Sometimes that was all he could do. 

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

As much as Enzo couldn’t help but worry about the younger man, sometimes the updates were a sign that things were getting better for him, slowly but surely. 

One such time came as he and Gwyn were sitting on the couch together, Enzo making a case for watching Jeopardy with Gwyn adamantly refusing. 

“No,” she said again with a firm shake of her head, “it always ends the same way.” 

He shrugged, “I can’t help that you’re too competitive, or that I’m better at it then you are,” he added, giving her a sly grin. 

“We can’t all have PhDs in history,” she said wryly, “some of us need to work for a living.” 

He opened his mouth to fire back a retort but was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. “Saved by the bell,” he said instead with a shake of his head as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He frowned when he saw the familiar name on the screen and turned it so Gwyn could see. 

“Hey T,” he said cautiously as he answered, “everything good?” 

There was a lot of noise in the background but he could hear TK’s voice clearly as he answered, “Yeah, I just had a question for you. These people don’t believe me so I need your cred as a Columbia history professor to back me up.” 

Enzo raised an eyebrow at Gwyn, who had leaned closer to hear. She bit her lip against a laugh and he shook his head fondly, “I’ll do what I can. What’s the question?” 

“Hang on,” TK said, “I’m going to put you on speaker.” There was the sound of fumbling before the background noise grew louder and TK’s voice returned. “Okay guys,” he was saying, “this is my stepdad Enzo. He’s a history professor at Columbia and if you don’t believe me maybe you’ll believe him. You want to ask him the question, Paul?” 

“Man, you didn’t need to…” 

“No, this is a point of pride now.” TK objected indignantly and Enzo glanced at Gwyn to see that she had fully pressed a hand against her mouth to stop any laughter from slipping out and giving away her eavesdropping. “Ask him,” TK prompted and there was a sigh before a new voice joined the conversation. 

“Sir, we are so sorry to bother you. TK’s just being a sore loser.” 

“Paul, right?” Enzo asked and got a sound of confirmation in return, “You don’t have to tell me that, I helped raise him.” There was an indignant noise in the background, likely from TK, but Enzo ignored it. “What’s the question?” 

“Who invented the first movie camera?” 

“Louis Le Prince,” Enzo replied without hesitation, unable to suppress a chuckle at the sound of TK’s triumphant ha! In the background. “You guys thought it was Edison, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Paul admitted sheepishly and Enzo chuckled lightly.

“That’s understandable. Edison was the first person to mass market it and the first to get recognized for it, but Le Prince was actually the first. But he mysteriously disappeared in 1890, right before he was set to take a trip to the US to talk about his invention. So he never got a chance to market it.” 

There was silence for a moment before Paul spoke again, “So is there any proof Edison had him killed or…?” 

“No,” Enzo admitted, “but that is one of the theories for sure. Another is his brother did it over the family will. Either way, Edison was not the first.” 

“Huh,” Paul said thoughtfully, “that’s actually fascinating. Dude, I’m sorry for doubting you.” 

“It’s fine,” TK said evenly, “I am more than a pretty face you know.” 

There was a collective snort from the other end of the phone and Enzo glanced at Gwyn to roll his eyes. She shook her head fondly and he returned his attention to the call, “Any other burning history questions or was that it?” 

The background noise lessened as TK took the phone off speaker. “No, that’s it. Thanks, Enzo.” 

“Anytime kid,” he told him, “you know I love to flex my random history facts.” That got another laugh out of TK, but Enzo could still hear the background noise of a group in the background. The sounds of easy comradery set his mind at ease in a way not much else had since TK had left for Texas. “Why don’t you get back to your friends and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay, thanks again.” 

“Don’t mention it. I love you kid.” 

“Love you too. Say hi to mom for me?” 

“You’ve got it.” 

With that the call was over and Enzo was left back in their silent living room, Gwyn looking at him with a soft smile. 

“He sounds happy,” she said after a moment, her voice warm but thick. He nodded. 

“He does. As much as I do hate to admit it, I think going to Austin may have the best thing for him.” 

“You just hate that Owen was right.” 

“And you don’t?” he asked her with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well that’s a given,” she quipped, leaning closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed them as she rested her head on her shoulder. “I’m just glad he’s doing better,” she said softly after a moment, “I’ve been so worried about him.” 

“Me too,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. That sat in silence for a few more moments, each lost in their own thoughts before he spoke again. 

“So is that still a no to Jeopardy or…?”

She swatted at him and he grinned, ducking away from the light hit. Things seemed to have returned to their equilibrium, and that was a relief. 

He just hoped it stayed that way. 

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

When he was wrested from sleep by the shrill sound of his phone ringing cutting through the late-night silence of his bedroom, Enzo groaned. He swore under his breath as he fumbled for the device, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he did. But when he managed to grasp his phone and saw the name on the screen, all thoughts of annoyance fled his mind. Owen Strand calling him was rarely a good sign. Owen Strand calling him at 2 am promised nothing short of disaster. 

“Owen?” he said as he answered, skipping any and all attempts at pleasantries. “Is everything okay?”

He could afford to give the universe the benefit of the doubt, he decided; even if only for a moment. 

When Owen’s reply came it was in a voice Enzo didn’t recognize. It was shaky and uncertain in a way that the other man never was. 

“Enzo, hey. I’m sorry to bother you but Gwyn’s not answering her phone and…” he broke off with a shaky breath, “I really need to talk to her.” 

“She’s in Beijing,” Enzo replied, sitting up and switching on the lamp beside him. “And given the time difference, probably in a meeting.”

He heard Owen swear distantly before he felt fear rise up in him. Owen calling him at 2 in the morning looking for Gwyn and out of sorts only added up to one thing, but Enzo so hoped he was wrong. 

“Owen, did something happen to TK?” he forced himself to ask; the stress of not knowing was worse than anything else. 

He could hear Owen take another breath, deep and shaky and filled with something else Enzo couldn’t identify on a phone call from half a country away. 

“There was an...incident,” Owen said softly, voice still unsteady, “on our last call.”

Enzo’s mind was already spinning, stumbling from one horrible possibility from another. 

“There was a man with dementia who broke into his old house and a homeowner who had a cardiac event and TK broke down the door and….he was shot.” 

Enzo heard the words, he knew he did. But he couldn’t have. If he had heard them that would mean that TK had been shot and that was not something that could be true. His stepson was a firefighter. It was a profession that came with enough risks of its own. He had spent countless days worried and fearful at the thought of rescues gone wrong, of untamable flames and unstable buildings. Never once had he even entertained the thought of a bullet being a risk to watch out for. Bullets were supposed to be the problem of other people with other jobs — not his stepson, who already had so many dangers to face. 

But it was true. The fear and pain in Owen’s voice told him it was true. There was an edge of both hysteria and despair in his words and that more than anything scared Enzo more than he could say.

“Where?” was the first coherent thought he could form. 

“Just below his left shoulder” Owen repeated mechanically. “His...his lung collapsed before we were even out of the hallway. Enzo, he couldn’t breathe. He kept trying but he couldn’t and there was so much blood....” Owen trailed off and Enzo could hear the unmistakable sound of a sob in the background even as his own hands trembled and his eyes watered. 

“Is he…” he started, but he couldn’t make himself say the words. He couldn’t speak the awful possibility into existence. 

“He’s headed to surgery,” Owen replied. “I don’t know anything more than that, we only got here about 15 minutes ago. I just...I just hope it was fast enough.” 

There was silence then as the two men allowed the same fear to consume them from opposite ends of the country. Enzo felt a morbid camaraderie with the other man in that moment. In the 16 years they had known each other it was safe to say that they had never exactly gotten along. They had always been polite and cordial for the sake of Gwyn, TK, and family gatherings but they were too different in too many ways that mattered to ever truly be friends. They had only ever agreed on one thing, and now that was the thing that tied them together — loving TK.  

“You got him there as fast as you could Owen,” Enzo assured him without hesitation because there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it wasn’t true. “You did everything you could. Any chance he has is because of you.” 

“I think the credit lays more with the paramedics,” Owen objected, “but I appreciate the effort all the same.” 

Enzo opened his mouth again, not quite sure what he was going to say but feeling the overwhelming need to say something, but he was interrupted before he got the chance to figure it out. 

There was a noise on the other end followed by the sound of shuffling as Owen attended to whatever it was. When his voice returned, it was tight. 

“That’s Gwyn on the other line, I’ve gotta take it. But listen, Enzo…”

But Enzo just shook his head, “Don’t worry about it Owen, talk to her. Just, keep me updated?” 

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, “as soon as I know anything.” 

Then with another hurried goodbye, the call was over and Enzo was left in the dark and quiet bedroom, alone. It wasn’t long before the tears he had felt threatening began to fall in earnest as he wrapped his mind around this reality and allowed himself to dwell on it. There was a chance — a very real and terrifying chance — that they could lose TK. That Gwyn and Owen could lose the son they had brought into this world and loved for 26 years. That Enzo could lose one of the people he loved the most. The thought of TK not existing anymore was too horrible to dwell on. 

Enzo was a religious man. He had been raised by a small Jewish family in a large community and his faith had been something that he had always had. It had seen him through so much. But now, with this, he had to wonder. It didn’t make sense that TK — his wonderful, caring stepson who had dedicated his life to helping people — should have to suffer so much in such a short time on earth. It went against everything he had ever believed about putting good into the world. Why should TK — who had never done anything to hurt anyone — have to suffer so? Why should he? He didn’t want to know what life without TK looked like. 

More than anything, he hated that he might find out. 

When Gwyn called him a few minutes later he pushed his own tears aside. He murmured soft reassurances as she sobbed in a quiet corner of a Beijing office building, consumed with fear and grief a world away from her child who was slipping further and further from them with every passing moment. He gave her empty platitudes, reassured her the best he could. 

But all the while the fear was drilling a hole straight through his chest. This, he decided, was the worst fear he had ever felt. 

The worst part was there was nothing he could do but wait, and hope desperately for the best. 

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

The next several days were some of the longest of Enzo’s life. Each day he woke up and went about the day. Each day he kept his phone volume on, not wanting to miss any news either way. Each day an update came from Owen and each day it was the same: no change. 

He debated going out to Austin — he had been halfway through buying a ticket online half a dozen times — but each time he stopped himself. Logically he knew that being there wouldn’t change anything. He would still be waiting, he’d just be waiting there. He told himself he was needed here, that he couldn’t just pick up and go across the country with no warning. It was the end of the semester and he had students to help to finish the course or their dissertation. He told himself staying was the responsible option, but he knew that it was largely just a distraction. But he would take any distraction he could get and so he pushed the guilt of not being there to the side

He taught his classes, he went through the motions. He fielded calls from Gwyn, still stuck in China and frantic with worry. Each day he reassured her; reminded her that TK was strong, young, and healthy. Above all that, he reminded her, he was stubborn. No bullet or coma was going to take him from them before he was ready. 

Of course there was the private fear, the one he didn’t want to share, that he didn’t want to hang on anyone else. The one he was afraid to say out loud. 

It was the thought that maybe, after everything, that was exactly what he did want. That maybe this was an out and that maybe, he would take it. That maybe he didn’t want to be alive anymore. 

But that was a possibility too horrible to accept. Maybe it was selfish, but Enzo knew that even if that was the case, he wasn’t ready. He doubted he ever would be, but he certainly wasn’t now. He knew both Gwyn and Owen would agree. No time was a good time to lose your child — step or otherwise — but now, after this — after everything — was not the time. 

So he waited, and hoped. 

Time seemed to blend together and before he knew it one day had become two, which had stretched into four. Each moment passed the same way — tensely, with no news. 

He knew he had been distracted too — keeping his ringer on during class and checking in throughout his lectures and office hours. He had apologized to his classes after the second telemarketer had caused him to drop everything and lunge for his phone, citing a family emergency and word had slowly gotten around. Soon it wasn’t just him hoping for the best, but most of the Columbia history department as well. Their well wishes were touching, but nothing short of good news was going to make him feel any better. 

So when his phone did finally ring on a Thursday afternoon, 5 days after the fateful call, he picked it up with trepidation. The name on the screen sent his heart racing and he nearly dropped his phone in his haste to answer it. 

“Owen?” he asked tersely, “Any updates?”   

Because since that night they hadn’t spoken. All updates had come in the form of texts and the thought of Owen finally having something to tell him one way or the other simultaneously thrilled him and nearly froze him with fear. 

But it wasn’t Owen’s voice that answered. 

“Hey Enzo,” TK said, the sound of his voice rushing through Enzo’s body like a current of electricity. He sank back into his seat with a wobbly laugh, feeling nearly a week's worth of tension fall away as he listened to the miraculous sound of TK breathing on the other end of the phone. 

“Hey kid,” he said warmly. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. How are you feeling?” 

“Okay,” he answered, “I really don’t feel too bad at all. A little sore, a little tired, but overall not bad.” 

“I hear getting shot will do that to you,” Enzo retorted drily before sighing and running a weary hand down his face. “You scared the shit out of me, TK,” he admitted. 

“Sorry,” TK replied softly, “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Enzo rushed to reassure him, “I know you didn’t ask for this to happen but...shit TK, I am not built for this. Do you think you could avoid getting shot in the future, for my sanity at the very least?” 

“I’ll try,” TK responded with a chuckle, “I don’t remember most of it but I don’t think it’s anything I want to revisit.”  

“No, I’d imagine not,” Enzo retorted wryly. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts and taking comfort from the presence of the other even if it was only over a phone call from half a country away. “So,” he finally said, leaning into normal conversation for the sake of normalcy, “is your dad driving you nuts yet?” 

“Yes,” TK responded emphatically, “he has been hovering non-stop, and he brought a date.” 

Enzo could hear indignant sputtering in the background and Owen muttering something about him not bringing a date, that his date had simply come to visit him to see how he was doing and, maybe because of all the fear and stress of the past week, Enzo could only laugh. 

“That sounds like your dad,” he retorted once he caught his breath, “and I wouldn’t count on that changing anytime soon.” 

“She seemed cool at least,” TK allowed, voice teasing, “I don’t know why he was trying to keep her a secret.”

“Excuse you,” Owen’s voice objected from the background, “I am not the one who had a hot cop sitting by my bedside. You don’t get to talk about keeping secrets.”

“Dad,” TK groaned and Enzo’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh, so the mystery man is a cop,” he teased, “and the plot thickens.” 

Now it was TK’s turn to splutter, “Nope, we are not doing this. That is more than enough from both of you,” he declared and Enzo could hear Owen chuckling at his son’s indignation from the background. It was a slice of normal that he had feared he’d never get again. To be sitting here hearing TK’s voice, teasing him about something so simple as the guy he had a crush on seemed like a miracle and Enzo was grateful for it.

Everything was normal again, at long last. 

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

Sometimes he thinks that turning on news alerts for Austin was the worst decision he had ever made. 

It seemed practical, at the time. An easy way to stay in the know, to have an idea of what kind of calls TK may have seen on any given day. But now he was frozen in the middle of the hallway after one of his classes staring at a notification about a solar storm that had blasted through Austin, leaving devastation in its wake; regretting every decision that led him to this point. 

He knew TK was still on medical leave. He knew that he should be home and resting after only being released from the hospital two days before. But he also knew his stepson and knew that whenever there was trouble, TK was usually not too far behind. 

It was with that thought in his mind that he stepped out out the middle of the hallway and leaned against the wall as he waited anxiously for the call to connect. The sound of a pleasant robotic voice informing him that his call could not be completed filled him with dread, but he forced himself to take a breath. It didn’t mean anything. The grid was likely overloaded right now; Enzo couldn’t say he knew for sure what kind of damage a solar storm could do but he was willing to guess that it wasn’t great for the electronic infrastructure. 

Left with no other options he went on about his day, the familiar anxiety he had only recently shed slipping back over him like a worn winter coat. He tried calling a few more times, trying to ignore how the dread in his gut grew each and every time the call didn’t go through. He resisted the urge to ask one of his science colleagues to explain the specifics of a solar storm; reasoning that dealing with his own uncertainty would be far kinder than having confirmed facts. At least this way, he decided, he could tell himself he was overreacting. 

It was far too many hours before his phone rang; an unfamiliar number appearing on his lock screen. He frowned at it but swiped to answer. He did list his cell number on all of his course syllabi, but for the most part his students stuck to his campus email, or — in desperate times — text. 

“Dr. Cohen,” he answered, mentally placing bets as to whether it was actually a student or a robot trying to inform him about the extended warranty of the car he didn’t own.

To his immense relief, it was neither. Instead, a familiar voice answered, sending a rush of relief through him at the sound, “Hey, Enzo, it’s me.” 

“TK,” he breathed, setting down the paper he had been reading and closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “Are you okay?” 

“More or less,” he answered sheepishly and Enzo was about to push for more than that when he caught the distinct sound of a hospital intercom in the background. 

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, are you in the hospital again?” he demanded and he heard a weary sigh from the other end before a quiet “yeah” was muttered. 

“It’s not a big deal though,” TK rushed to explain, “I’m fine. I just pulled my stitches.” 

There was another voice in the background that Enzo didn’t recognize and could barely hear, but what he could hear made it clear that the other voice was not impressed either. 

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” TK demanded, and Enzo was not entirely sure who he was speaking to, “Let her drown in a burning bus?” 

“You just got out of the hospital!” Enzo objected when he could form words again, “What were you doing somewhere where there was a burning bus?!” 

“We just went out for boba,” TK retorted, “I didn’t expect there to be a solar storm that caused a bus accident.” 

And Enzo forced himself to take a deep breath because that was fair, he supposed. There was no way anyone could control anything like that. Still…

“The next time you move we’re going to need to do some research,” he declared. “Because if it is anywhere as chaotic as Austin, I’m going to have to object.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” TK assured him, “I think I’ll be in Austin for a while.” 

There was a smile in his voice and Enzo somehow had the feeling he was intruding on something, even though TK had been the one to call him. 

“What number are you calling me from?” he asked, testing his theory. 

“I borrowed Carlos’s phone,” TK answered in a voice that said he knew what was coming and he hoped it would at least be quick. 

“Oh,” Enzo replied, “and Carlos wouldn’t happen to be the name of a certain ‘hot cop’ your father mentioned, aka the mystery man I have been trying to get you to tell me about for months?”

“Yes.”

“And when you say ‘we’ were trying to get boba…” 

“Enzo…”  

“And he wouldn’t happen to be with you right now, would he?” 

“Are you done?” TK demanded, and Enzo only laughed. 

“Not nearly, kid; I’m just getting started.” 

And despite TK’s muttering, Enzo could tell that he sounded happier than he had heard him sound in ages. He marveled at the fact that somehow, despite everything, TK had managed to find the happiness and peace he had hoped for him ever since he left New York all those months ago. Between the disasters he had managed to take his broken pieces and fit them back together, maybe even stronger than they had been before. 

It was all he had ever wanted for him, and he was relieved beyond belief that he had found it. 

“You know, this means I’m going to have to come down there soon,” he said instead, “I’ve got to meet this mystery man for myself.” 

He could practically hear TK rolling his eyes, but his voice was impossibly warm when he assured him, “You’ll like him, Enzo.” 

“Do you like him?” he asked.

“Yeah,” TK responded without a moment’s hesitation, “I do.” 

“Then I already do,” he assured him. 

If this Carlos had anything to do with the happiness he could finally hear returned to his stepson’s voice, he couldn’t do anything but. 

[katsukisbimbo]

Kuroo x Volleyball Player! Reader

Kuroo Tetsurou x Volleyball Player! Reader

wordcount: 3,087

genre: strangers-to-lovers au with fluff, crack and a little bit of smut :)))

summary: meeting kuroo tetsurou might be the best thing that has ever happened to you

first of all

kuroo pissed you off to no end

absolutely pissed you off

the first time you met him was when you were a first year

your brother keishin has asked you to come with them for the practice match they had with nekoma

the moment you got to school you had to DASH to go to the washroom because you had to pEee

gosh

curse your tiny bladder

when you went out everyone was already on the bus

sigh

you were gonna have to sit with someone you don’t know

because FOR SURE

your stupid brother keishin would be sitting next to takeda-sensei

the moment you hopped on the bus

everyone suddenly became quiet

0.0

everyone was jus like

uh

who’s this cutie

is she lost

she’s from shiratorizawa what’s she doing here

huh

and noya and tanaka are just screaming at this point

“wHO IS THIS GODDESS WHO DECIDED TO BLESS US WITH HER PRESENCE?!?!? I LOVE YOU PLEASE SIT NEXT TO ME RYU GET OUT NO I DONT CARE GET OUT”

cue tanaka landing on the floor

“nOYA-SAN WHY”

and you’re just like

lmao what

and literally all the seats are taken except for the guy who literally yeeted his bald friend into the next dimension

sigh

i guess you had to sit next to the cutie huh

you look at your brother pleading for help

but he just ignores you and talks to sensei

sIGH

your brother was so thirsty that he didn’t even CARE if these boys ate you alive

gosh

it’s okay

it be like that

f in the chat for y/n

oKAY enough self pitying

you reluctantly sit beside the really loud guy

“hi my names ukai y/n! what’s your name?”

“m-my name is n-nishinoya yuu”

cue noya looking like a literal tomato

“nice to meet you!! i’m excited to work with you nishinoya-san! if i may ask, what year are you in?”

“iM in sEcond yEar”

gosh noya’s so proud

“oH you’re my senpai then!! it’s really nice to meet you senpai!! i hope we have a good trip”

GAHSJDJSHS

you called him senpai

without him asking you to

GOSH

could you be any more perfect

“agHjsjdhsjajszjJAK”

“those aren’t words...”

“...”

“...”

and at that point noya was brain fried so you just put on your earphones and chilled

...

...

*gagging*

“hINATAAGAHAJSKSHS”

what

what was going on

you turned your head

and you saw this orange haired babie throwing up on the bald guy who got yeeted

and suddenly

chaos ensued

everyone was screaming because of the stench

you were gagging so hard that you felt your breakfast coming back up

but your seat buddy was having the time of his life laughing at his two friends who were having a dilemma

gosh

today was gonna be crazy

finally you guys had finally arrived at nekoma and honestly that’s as the most chaotic car ride you’ve ever experienced

but luckily on the way you’ve made yourself familiar with everyone on the team

especially the third year cuties

and no you did not say that to their faces because you’re shy :((

you guys finally get out of the bus and you see

a god

with crazy looking hair

“well if it isn’t the crows” “did you have a good ride here you country bumpkins?”

and daichi’s bout to lose it

“kuroo-san nice to see you again”

and you can definitely feel the tension in the air

was it just you or is it hot in here

kuroo suddenly turned to look at you and honestly you’ve never been more intimidated in your life because wow

he’s beautiful

“who’s the pretty girl daichi-san? is she your girlfriend?”

“no no she’s our couch’s sister”

“hi i’m ukai y/n, nice to meet you”

and you shake his hand and you’re SHOCKED

“kuroo tetsurou, likewise”

his hand is so warm n rough oh god

you suddenly wonder what it would feel like to have his hands slowly wrap around your throat as he starts to thru-

NO

nO DIrtY ThOuGhTs

bad

bad y/n

you’ve been so caught up in your day dream that you didn’t realize that you were still hold kuroos hand

and you look up to see kuroo looking like a smug little shit as if he was saying

‘are you ever gonna let go or?’

and it really made you wanna hit him

really badly

you wanted to punch his mouth

with your mouth

GAHSJDGA

stOp

okay anyways

you snatch your hands away from kuroo and he just smirks at you like a smug little bastard

“what’s wrong kitten? didn’t wanna let go of my hand?”

at this point you’re too flustered to even talk so you take it as the time to back off and just let kuroo be a little fuckhead

but suddenly you’re snatched by tanaka and noya

you somehow end up bumping into kiyoko and you’re just like “omg i’m so sorry kiyoko-san i didn’t mea-“

“don’t worry about it y/n-chan, accidents happen”

and wow

wow

a goddess

now you see what tanaka and noya see

she’s beautiful

maybe you do want the best of both worlds.....

...

...

ANYWAYS

tanaka and noya end up showing you off to their equally as weird friend taketora and of course like the normal person you are you greet him and introduce yourself

but before he even gets the chance to talk kiyoko’s already pulling you away telling you that she needed some help with setting up some of their gear

and of course like the puppy you are you follow her because yes you’re in love with her

i mean

who isn’t

lesbi honest

everyone’s a simp for kiyoko

moving on

finally they’ve started to play a match

and you’re very impressed

especially by hinata and kageyama because wow their skill was amazing

and hinata’s jumps were crazy

obviously you played volleyball yourself being ukai’s grand daughter

and you weren’t that bad

considering the fact that you play for japan’s u19 team with ushijima

who was a very close senpai to you

so close to the point where you’d call him your older brother

rip keishin

back to the game

everyone in karasuno was very promising and you were getting excited with the ideas that were flooding into your head

but nekomas not too bad either

they were pretty solid with their defence and some people might think that it’s all about the attacks but

your attack doesn’t mean anything if the ball doesn’t touch the floor in the court

you were very impressed with the bedhead’s receives a n d blocking

every time he managed a good save or blocked anyone he would always glance in your direction

and it may or may not have made you feel nervous because who doesn’t get nervous when an attractive person looks at you

sadly

the game finished rather quickly

at this point everyone was already cleaning up and of course you decided to help

you thought that you would be able to play just a little bit but your brother just wanted you to familiarize yourself with the teams before you went on the week long training camp with them

which was in two weeks

:)

you were trying to take the volleyball net down until a tall figure comes up behind you and takes the net from you

you turn around and guess who it is

kuroo frocking tetsurou

what a surprise

“don’t worry about it peaches i got it”

wha

did this man just call you PEACHES

peaches as in the scary girl who goes to famous peoples houses?

i think NOT sir

“pEACHES? what is that supposed to mean??! huh?!?”

“woah woah calm down babe, it’s just a nickname. i call you peaches cuz you smell like peaches”

ohhh

okay

that’s fine

“i’ve been wondering though, if you smell like peaches then would you taste like peaches??”

wHAT

wHATSGFSZHSJ

rip y/n’s remaining brain cells

“how about it doll? are you gonna give little old me a taste?”

and he’s suddenly pushing himself closer to you

and you close your eyes because it really looks like he’s about to kiss you and omg it’s like your first kiss hELP

but instead of a kiss

he just laughs at you

this man is literally bent over and CACKLING his lungs out

“you’re so cute doll, i wouldn’t kiss you without your permission. plus i gotta take you out first. wanna go on a date with me some time?”

and you’re just so caught off guard

that you can’t even manage a verbal response

like you just nod your head and then he’s ruffling you’re hair and walking away with the volleyball net

what the hell just happened

did you just score yourself a date

yes

yes you did

you go girl

sadly

it’s time for you and your babies to go

and kuroo being the good person he is

walks you guys out

but before you can get on the bus

kuroo pulls you to the side and bends down to your height to whisper in your ear

“text me sometime peaches”

and you suddenly feel him putting a piece of paper in your back pocket

then he’s pushing you onto the bus and you’re just dumbfounded

did he just touch your bum

could he not just hand it to you

not that you were complaining,,, but now you just wanna know what it would feel like if he just grabbed your bum with both of his hands while you sit on his la-

nO

BAD

BAD

BAD

gosh you have it bad for this boy

the moment you got him you debated whether to text him or not

i mean

you didn’t even look at the piece of paper yet

so you go into you back pocket and open the paper

‘xxx-xxx-xxxx text me when you get home peaches, i already miss your pretty face -kuroo’

WHY IS HE SO CUTE

you get up and start looking for your phone

and you spend like 6 minutes trying to think of what to say

but you finally settled with

hi :)

hopefully that was normal enough

and not even 1 minute later you already got a reply

hey cutie :) did you get home safe

wHY IS HE SO DARN CUTE

and your conversation goes from there

you guys literally talk about everything

from his favourite colour to the time when your leg fell in a hole and you slammed your whole body on the ground causing your ribs to shift and now whenever somebody touches the top of your chest they can feel the top of your ribs

(that was actually a true story and yes it happened to me and yes my ribs are very very fucked up but i’m still alive soooo)

by the time you were back in tokyo

you and kuroo were basically best friends

you guys texted, called, and facetimed every day

you stepped out of the bus and low and behold

it was kuroo waiting for you

“tETSUU”

you run to him and jump in his arms

and he catches you and swings you around a few times

everyone was just like

o.o

‘when did they get so close’

and your older brothers just like

>:(

this is n o t good shaggy

and kuroo introduces you to everyone

especially his buddies bokutou, akaashi, and kenma

and bokutou’s bombarding you with questions

and he asks why you’re wearing a shiratorizawa sweater

and you’re just like ‘i go to school there..’

and he’s just like

“oH YOU KNOW USHIJIMA? IM IN THE TOP 5 ACES RANKING WITH HIM IM SO COOL RIGHT”

“bokuto-san i think you’re scaring her”

“aKAAASHGHSI YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SAY ‘bokuto-san you’re so cool’”

and you and kuroo are just laughing your asses off

while kenma’s playing with his psp

pspspspspsppss

“bokuto-san you’re so cool”

“aKAAASHUDID YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAY IT EARLIER”

at that point you and kuroo have already walked away

and he brings you to your room

and helps you settle down your things

gosh he’s such a gentleman

y/n was ready to risk it all for this man

“peaches you okay?”

“oH i’m fine yes yes i’m fine tetsu”

“okaaaayyyy if you say so peaches” and kuroos just going through your bag checking if you have snacks

“tetsu i don’t have any snacks in there for you”

“really? what do you mean? you do have a snack for me tho”

and you’re jus like lol no i don’t

and he’s slowly walking towards you and you highkey feel intimidated but fuck that you’re not a bussy

at this point kuroo’s sitting on your legs while his arms are slowly creeping up your sides

and in your head

you’re just like

‘ahh this is it i’m gonna have a heart attack’

and suddenly

kuroo’s tickling you and you’re crying on the floor because HSJDJH

TICKLES

“tETSU PLEASE I CANT BREATHEEHHHD”

“what’s that peach? i cant hear you”

“tETSU YOU DIPSHIT PLEASE STOPFDISHS”

“hmm i don’t know, i think i’ll stop if you say ‘nya’ for me”

“gO TO HELLSKDIS”

“come on pretty, say it for me”

you’re blushing sO HARD

“n-nya”

and kuroo just freezes up because he didn’t think that you’d actually do it

“tetsu? u ok?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“tetsu”

“o-oH yeah i’m fine silly i was just thinking”

“what were you thinking about neko-chan?”

“you.”

GAHSJDJSHSGS

he was going to be the death of you

you, kuroo, bokutou, akaashi, hinata, and tsukishima suddenly ended up at an empty gym

and you guys wanted to play a match so

why not

it was you, kuroo, and tsukki

versus bokutou, hinata, and akaashi

it was a very intense but fun game

akaashi set to bokutou and bokutou did a cross shot

which wasn’t properly blocked by tsukishima

but luckily you were there to pick it up

and kuroo set to you and you slammed it down before they could even block you

the whole gym was silent

wha

how did-

hUH

“peach what”

“what tetsu”

“since when were you so good at volleyball”

“tetsu i play for japan’s u19 team, why did you think i was here in the first place? i’m here to help you guys”

and hinata’s just yelling

“y/n-cHAN I DIDNT KNOW YOU PLAYED NO WONDER WHY YOU LOOKED SO FAMILLIAR OMGJDSI”

after you got exposed

it was only you and tetsu left in the gym

after everything was cleaned up

kuroo pulled you aside before you could leave the gym

“t-tetsu what’re you doing? the gym lights are already of-“

“shut up for one second”

o.o

ogey then

“peaches i really like you. i know that we haven’t known each other long but it feels like i’ve known you since forever. will please let me take you out”

what

...

did he just

yes he did

“t-tetsu,,, i really like you too, and i would love it if we could go out on a date sometime”

and at that moment tetsu just

“HELL YEAHHH”

and he’s getting close to you again

to the point where he’s pressing you against the wall

he cups your cheek and leans closer to your face

“peaches,, can i please kiss you right now”

“yeah”

you close your eyes as you feel tetsu’s hot breath hovering other your soft lips

gosh

this was it

your were gonna kiss tetsu

your crush

until

...

...

...

...

“gET YOUR HANDS OFF MY SISTER BRAT”

and kuroos just like

wHAT THE FUCK

it’s your brother

keishin

“nII-SAN WHY”

“gET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW Y/N”

and you sadly look up at tetsu

and he just smiles at you and gestures for you to go

until you get up on your tippy toes and kiss tetsu full on the mouth

you catch him by surprise but he quickly kisses you back

you wrap your arms around his neck and slowly work your way up into his hair until you’ve got a good grip on him

kuroos hands weren’t staying still either

his hands were slowly creeping down your sides until he grabs the back of your thighs and pulls you up and holds you against him

his hands end up on your bum

and then

he squeezes

“THAT IS IT Y/N STOP SUCKING FACE AND GET OVER HERE”

oops

[writing-in-april]

The Melody Lives On

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Seeing Spencer after so long apart makes past feelings come to the surface again.

A/N: Hey heyy 🥰 this is my third fic for my 1250 follower celebration!! It was based on a request that @imagining-in-the-margins passed along to me- if you want to see a photo of the original request it’ll be on the follower celebration Masterlist! It’s got vague references to the prison arc and is also inspired by Grey’s Anatomy 🥰 Thank you to @lexieshuntingsstuff for getting me back to realizing how much I love Grey’s 😊 Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, and requests are open!

Warnings: Nothing I guess- unless vague references to the prison arc bother you

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.2k

“Dr. Y/L/N to conference room A please. Dr. Y/L/N to conference room A please. ” Came through the intercom. I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria munching on crackers while reading a book that I honestly wasn’t paying that much attention to because of how dead tired I was. I couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped me, I didn’t want my first break in what seemed like forever to be cut short.

Besides the fact that my bones and muscles ached I willed my body to move out of my chair despite it’s very prominent protests. There was a line of attending that led outside the conference room, I guess I had been the only one they had forgotten to get the memo out too.

Karev then came up behind me with just as much of a quizzical look on his face as mine and the rest of the attendings- I guess no one knew why we were here.

The only hint that the rest of us got to what was going on inside was when Arizona left the room and said it was some sort of FBI interrogation before she scurried off back towards peds.

As the line dwindled down to just me and Karev with Meredith in the room my mind started to wander to the person that I knew that happened to be in the FBI. Well- I guess I didn’t know him anymore, it had been a decade plus since I had seen him.

Of course said person that I happened to be thinking about happened to be in the room.

As soon as I saw his fluffy hair memories came flooding back. He looked so different now, more mature. But, I could clearly tell who it was; it was Spencer.

We had met just as I had been starting my first year of college. At first I had assumed he was the same, a freshman. Then I had learned that he was actually already on his second PHD- which had been in mathematics if my memory serves me well.

I had admittedly gawked at him at first like so many had done to him as well when they found out about his vast valleys of intellect that seemed to go on forever. When I had asked him to tutor me in my own mathematics course it was for the sole reason of bumping up the grade I had let slip. That was until I had gotten to know the sweet boy who was almost a man, though his baby face definitely did try to fight that fact. Guilt had immediately cropped up within me once I realized how much of a fool I was to not want to get to know him deeper than just the ‘child prodigy’ that everyone knew him as. He was one of the nicest people I had ever had the pleasure to come across, plus his bountiful knowledge made conversations with him extremely riveting to say the least. I remember apologizing to him profusely that first night, that was the first time I had gotten the chance to see the true extent of how sweet his kind eyes could be.

What had first been a simple somewhat feigned friendship to get a good tutor turned into the closest friendship that I had ever had. That close friendship had eventually turned into a romantic relationship one that in my opinion rivaled any of the great classic love stories.

Unfortunately, fate is rarely kind to lovers and what had once been sweet turned sour. It wasn’t any one of our faults, I knew that. But, my blossoming career as a surgeon led me to get an internship in Seattle while Spencer was led to the front steps of the FBI.

Every time I thought back on it I bitterly laughed at the irony of us both being led to Washington, though they were different ones that were on the other sides of the country. I had no animosity towards Spencer and the last time I saw him neither did he. But, the memories stung painfully when looking back on them. They stung even worse when I was faced with the sight of the man who had stolen my heart more than a decade ago and had yet to give it back.

His hair had grown out since I had last seen him, it now curled more around his ears and was much fluffier. The color of his soft curls would make anyone obsessed, mousy brown that shined a little bit of a burnt caramel when the tops of his curls hit the light. He had taken to letting his curls run wild which I had always liked to see when he would wash his hair of the gel he used to religiously put in.

A new addition along with his curls was the scruff he had begun to let grow out a little. When I knew him growing out his scruff a little would’ve been a completely foreign concept to young Spencer. I remember him always complaining about how scratchy it felt when he even let it grow out a little. The scruff also used to seem jarring on his younger face, looking out of place on his boyish face. Now his face definitely suited the scruff.

He had changed a lot indeed, but underneath it all I could still see the Spencer I knew. His eyes held a darkness now that matched well with the fluffy curls and scruff. The darkness that deepened his eyes was attractive for sure, but I wondered what had made the sweet boy become so dark. There was a part of me that wanted to know this Spencer as well, even with the darkness, despite the fact that I hadn’t really known him in so long.

His eyes had been piercing right into my own as I took the sight of him in. Those dark eyes felt like they were reaching right into my soul and hooking their claws in deep to draw me right back into him. Though I can’t say I minded much, being drawn back into Spencer’s warmth sounded like something we may both need.

“Dr.?” One of the men that was in the room with Spencer spoke up to get my attention. They must have been talking while the both of us had zoned out looking at each other.

The older man that spoke to me looked like he may have been a bit too old to work for the FBI. If I didn’t know that Spencer worked for them I would’ve thought Arizona had been pulling our legs when she told us what this was for because Instead of acknowledging the other man I turned back to face Spencer and spoke softly,”It’s good to see you, Spencer.”

“You too.” His voice croaked and was hoarse when he replied. His coworkers looked extremely confused with what was happening, especially the woman with blonde hair that was eyeing me up and down. Though in her position I didn’t blame her, I’m assuming nothing had ever been shared with his coworkers ever since he had joined the FBI about someone that had been in his life all those years ago.

The group of us stood at an awkward standstill for a minute, I was unsure if I was supposed to say anything. I fidgeted a bit uncomfortable with a bunch of eyes fixated directly on me before Spencer decided to speak up to break the tension, “Um- well Y/N- there was a suspect that came here a few weeks ago to possibly find some people that would um- be suitable victims for him.”

I pushed my reminiscing thoughts of Spencer out of my mind just so I could properly answer their questions before hopefully snagging a minute away with him to talk. I wouldn’t lie, seeing him after all these years made my feelings flicker in a way I hadn’t felt in so long. And, it was really nice to hear him say my first name again. He was really the only one to ever make those butterflies in my stomach swell and sparks fly. I had even resigned myself to never feel those wonderful feelings of blossoming love again.

But, perhaps fate had decided to give us a second chance, realizing it had been too cruel to us by pulling us apart.

When the questions ended, which unfortunately I had really been no help to them- the only people that would’ve been able to help with the victims were probably Meredith or maybe Bailey who had been in contact with the poor people who had ended up as victims.

I moved to shuffle out of the room, though I purposefully lingered in hopes of Spencer pulling me aside to speak privately. I didn’t want to do it myself, he was on an important job after all.

My heart skipped a beat when I felt his fingers tentatively wrap his fingers around my wrist. Even from just a soft touch it was evident that his hands were not the same hands that I remembered. They were the same shape, his fingers were just as long and nimble and his palms were just as all encompassing, but there was something different in the way they felt. They felt rougher, covered in more calluses then I would think possible on him. The hands I remembered were baby soft as if they had been untouched by the world. Maybe the calluses were just from him handling the gun I saw strapped to his side, or maybe it was the same thing that had made the rest of him harder.

Even though he was an obviously harder- more damaged man compared to the one I knew I still wanted those callused hands to stroke my cheek again.

The yearning to be with him again had already flickered into a roaring fire just from seeing him with my eyes again and with one soft touch. I didn’t care in the slightest how much the world had changed him. The world had battered and bruised him, probably quite literally from my guess. I wanted to get to know this Spencer, even with the bruises he still filled my stomach full of butterflies and sparked my feelings into a roaring fire exactly like he had done so before.

I turned to face him, a little nervous that he’d tell me that he never wanted to see me again despite the fact that I knew he’d never say that to me no matter how much of a changed man he was.

“Do you want to get a coffee while I’m in town, maybe so we can- um catch up after your shift?” His voice was so soft, almost meek, giving me a little taste of what Spencer had been like and who he still was at his core.

“Yeah I’d like that, Spencer, just have one more surgery and then I’m yours.” His two coworkers that he had come with were giving us both looks like they’d be interrogating Spencer on the ride back. Yeah he definitely had never said anything about me judging by their looks I now cared to look at. I couldn’t blame him, the memories had been painful to look back on myself. But, seeing him now made them tinge with a little bit of sweetness instead of growing more bitter with time.

I pulled out my phone that was in my white jacket pocket and asked, “what’s your number?”

I had his old number memorized by heart easily even after all these years. It was as if I had taken a small portion of Spencer’s eidetic memory just so I could hold onto a number that after over ten years is surely not usable. He gave me his new number with a distinctly D.C area code with a sweet smile on his face. As I left the room to scoot over to the surgery I was due to perform I was sparkling with anticipation- I could almost taste the coffee already.

As I started my last surgery of my long shift, someone turned on the music playlist that I always had on a loop during my surgeries. A song that reminded me of Spencer was the first one that came on the shuffle. It wasn’t one that reminded me of the Spencer I once knew, but the new version of Spencer I had just met.

I focused in on the task at hand just as I always did. Cutting with pristine precision, I worked quickly but diligently. I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, but I wouldn’t skimp on my work. In the back of my mind I was still giddy like the schoolgirl I had been when I had first met Spencer. I couldn’t wait to get that coffee with him- I wondered if he still liked a gallon of sugar with it. Our first song had ended, but the melody lived on- maybe the melody was strong enough to start another.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All Works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

[akatsuki-shin]

I... I don’t often call out anyone specifically using social media before, but... I saw this among the reblogs in my first post about MXTX novels English release announcement and I feel that this is just too much...

I’m not going to tag this with the fandom tags because this is literally just my personal rant, and I don’t want unpleasant things to appear when people are happily browsing the tags.

I also censored the person’s blog name. It’s not like I want people to mass attack them.

But I do have some things I want to say about this kind of mindset.

And this is gonna be a long post, so I’ll cut it with "Read More” later below as not to disturb anyone’s browsing experience.

Why do they have to split the books into multiple volumes?

First, you do realize that the original Chinese version and other languages versions are also in multiple volumes that don’t always be published on the same date, right?

SVSSS has 3 volumes, MDZS has 4 volumes, TGCF has 5 volumes.

With the English release, both SVSSS and MDZS get +1 volume while TGCF gets +3 volumes.

Why you ask?

Have you ever considered how long a single Chinese word would be if written in alphabets?

The word “人” in Chinese only needs 1 (one) character, while in English it would translate to “P E O P L E” = 5 (five) characters.

The word “知己” in Chinese only needs 2 (two) characters, while in English it would translate to “C O N F I D A N T E” = 10 characters, or “S O U L M A T E” = 8 characters.

Now apply this to an entire novel. FYI, TGCF has more than 1 million word count in Chinese, so you can do the math by yourself.

I mean, just go watch the donghua or live action in YouTube. One single sentence in the Chinese sub is often translated to two or more lines in the English subtitle.

And have I mentioned that the English release will have:

Glossary

Footnotes

Character Guides

And I’m going to repeat this once again: In China and other countries that already get their official releases, it is also NOT always all released on the same date as a single set/box.

So yes, (not) surprise! For the Chinese release and official releases in other countries, you also often need to purchase multiple times, pay shipping fee multiple times, and wait for certain period of times until all volumes are released.

It doesn’t only happen to MXTX novels, it happens to almost all novels, be it danmei or not.

Why don’t they just wait for translations to finish and release it all at the same time/as a box set? Why the span of two years?

On my part, I already say above that in China and other countries that already get their official release, it’s also not always published all on the same date.

Other than that, I’m not an expert at book publishing, much less when the publisher is not from my own country. But maybe consider the following:

They’re releasing 3 (three) hugely popular IPs all at the same time. Maybe the preparations take more time and effort to ensure everything is flawless?

Since it is very rare (or maybe never, cmiiw) for danmei novels to be published in English, maybe the publisher is testing the market first? Because if they already release them as a huge bundle from the start and it somehow flops, the loss would be very big. If it works well, then good! Maybe for future danmei release, they will consider making a box set or releasing them within shorter timeframe. 

In terms of marketing, if they wait another 2 years to release it all at once, will the momentum still be there? You can say “so in the end it’s all about money”, but if not sales number and money, what else should the publisher expect to receive for their work? They’re already putting a lot of effort buying all three IPs from the Chinese publishers, proofread or even translate some from scratch, pay translators, editors, illustrators, printing companies, etc. If it’s not selling well simply because they release it at the wrong time, aren’t all these efforts going to be wasted? And you can bet there will be no more danmei published in English if their first try already flops merely because of losing the momentum.

Are there any other rules or regulations they need to comply that prevents them from releasing everything in one go? But once again, even in China and other countries, it is also not always all released in one go, so this argument is already invalid from the start.

But they make it so expensive like this!

I’m sorry to break it to you, but I’ve compared the prices to MDZS Japanese release + TGCF Thai release and... The price isn’t really that much different.

Btw, I’m using Google’s currency converter, in case anyone wants to know where does my calculation comes from.

Okay, so here’s MDZS Japanese version from CD Japan:

One volume of MDZS Regular ver. cost 1760 yen. This is 15,96 USD before shipping. There’s only like $4 difference.

There’s also the Exclusive ver. that cost 3660 yen (32,92 USD) but we’re not gonna talk about that because they’re basically making you pay for the bonus, which is some acrylic panels and illustration cards.

Now here’s TGCF Thai version from Sense Book:

Translation using Google Chrome page translate:

One volume of TGCF costs 360 baht. This is 10.77 USD before shipping. So there’s about $9.22 difference.

Again, notice the difference of word/sentence length in the Thai words and English alphabet.

"But there’s still difference in price and other releases usually gets merchandise!” - Correct me if I’m wrong, but the US is probably one of the most expensive countries in the world. Do you think the materials, printings, and manpower cost is the same with other countries? Especially compared to one in Southeast Asia.

“But it’s xxxx times more expensive than the original Chinese version!” - Excuse me, the original Chinese version doesn’t need to pay for translators, proofreaders and editors with multilingual skills, and purchase the IPs? If you think it’s more worth buying the Chinese version, then by all means go ahead.

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

Some last words...

I’m not looking down on those in difficult financial situation, but hey, I’m not filthy rich either? I come from a third world country and even if I’m a working adult, I’m still in working middle class + I got my parents to take care of. My country’s currency is literally just a tiny 0.000069 USD per 1 Indonesian Rupiah.

Every single fandom merchandise that you see me bought, either I’ve saved up for that or I sacrificed other things to buy that. I just don’t show the struggle to you guys because why should I? I’m just here to have fun about the fandom I love, not to flex my struggling financial condition.

These official English release of MXTX novels? All 17 books are going to cost me almost HALF of my monthly salary. But hey, I think it’s a good thing that they didn’t release it all at once, so that I can save up between months to purchase them all and plan my spending better.

If you feel the price is expensive, especially if you have to ship from outside North America, consider the following:

Book Depository provide free worldwide shipping

The books’ ISBN numbers are all available in the publisher’s website, just show it to you local bookstore and ask if they can order it for you

Plus, there are already hundreds of generous fans doing free giveaways in Twitter, even the publishers are helping to signal boost this. You can go and try your luck if you’re really desperate.

Lastly, I know how much love we all have for our favorite fandoms, but remember that fandom merchandise is NOT your primary needs.

You are NOT obliged to purchase any fandom merchandise if you can’t afford it and you should ALWAYS prioritize your primary needs.

Also, if you still want to read the fan-translations that are still available, alright go ahead. But remember that the translators themselves already said fan translations in English are now illegal. You can read it. We all consume pirated contents at one point. But don’t flex about it and diss the official release just because you can’t afford it.

I don’t know if the person who made that reblog tags are going to come at me or not, but even if they do, I literally don’t care. I’m not gonna waste my time arguing with someone with that kind of mindset and will block them right on the spot.

Also Idgaf if they call me out or talk behind my back, I literally don’t know them, so I don’t care.

End of rant.

[meimi-haneoka]

Akiho Shinomoto - a manifesto of love

Despite becoming one of my favorite characters in the whole Cardcaptor Sakura franchise (and I would’ve never expected to love a new character this much), I realized I’ve never spent a long post for her, like the ones I did for SyaoSaku or for Tomoyo and Syaoran long time ago.

And there’s a lot to say, because Akiho Shinomoto is actually the first character who has introduced the concepts of evil and child abuse in Cardcaptor Sakura.

Something that wasn’t even remotely conceivable until (almost) 5 years ago.

Often considered boring and weak from the CCS fandom, Akiho actually harbors an immense strength inside of her, which goes mostly unnoticed to everyone, in-story friends included. Let’s see why.

Sentenced to death, for lack of magical powers

Once upon a time, a baby girl was born in a clan of powerful magicians, the most ancient of Europe. Clan members seemed happy and curious about the new entry to the family. They had great expectations about what magic she would develop, as everyone else in that family. At the ripe old age of 1 year and a half / 2 years, the baby girl was expected to show some signs of magic, but she had none. But hey, maybe she would become powerful later, let's pat her head and wait patiently. At that time, the Clan still showed some kind of "attention" for her.

But by the time the girl was around 6/7 years old, no fragment of magic appeared in her. Unacceptable. She's the daughter of two top rank magicians, in a clan of magic prodigies. Yet, she showed none of those gifts. They kept comparing her with some boy, living in a far away country, part of another famous magical clan. The girl suddenly held no more interest for her Clan. They actually started seeing her as a stain on their Clan's pride. Suddenly, the focus was all on how they could surpass the other rival clan. The girl was left all alone. A magicless member of the family is a member who doesn't even deserve being talked to. An interrogatory, at most. Who cares if the little girl wants to socialize, if she wants to play, if she's the only young person in that Clan, already without her parents who died so early on? The only thing this girl was good at was reading books, so all that's she's allowed to do. Not even playing with stuffed animals. For some reason, she's allowed to keep only ONE plushie, which is basically everything to her. But books and dolls can't fill that sinkhole she's already feeling at such young age.

Obsessed with this "anomaly", when she was about 2 years old, the Clan had the baby girl examined by a member of a Magic Association in England, known to be the den of shady magicians. A 8/9 year old bored magic genius, named “Yuna D.”, was her examiner. The boy said "She's like a blank book". The girl grew up, and the situation was still the same. The disapproving stares of her relatives cut the little girl’s heart like a sharp knife. They called her “worthless”, “useless”. They even doubted she could really be the daughter of her powerful parents. So what should they have done? Let the little girl live her life like any other regular human being, or taking literally the words of a BORED, EMOTIONALLY UNDEVELOPED CHILD who literally spat out the first thing that came to his mind?

Although the choice should’ve come easily for any normal human being with a functioning brain, they actually went in the other direction, greedy for power. And so, they decided to treat the girl like a tool, using her to store all kinds of magic for them to use. If she couldn’t be of any help to her clan with her capabilities, they would give her a purpose.

On some kind of altar, halfway between a lab rat and the sacrificing ritual of a sect, the most ancient Magicians of Europe together with the Magic Association performed a dangerous magic on her, which afterwards would take its toll even on the casters: they turned her into a magical artifact, capable of engraving in herself all the magical books she would encounter, transforming her de facto into a book herself. As if this wasn’t horrifying enough, this spell will progressively try to crush her soul and conscience, until it gets destroyed completely. So when the artifact will reach its limit, it will be the death of her, as a human being. Only a shell of her will remain. And judging by what was said later on in the story, they actually hope for her to lose her consciousness completely, so they can make use of her more easily.

Afterwards, they burned the book they took the ritual from, so the procedure would remain in their knowledge only. Greedy till the very last drop.

Once their perfect magical tool was achieved, turning a little girl into some sort of artifact, both the Clan and their accomplices couldn't stop bragging about it. The only positive words Akiho has ever received in her life by her people were after she was turned into a tool.

With a newly found purpose for that stain on their clan’s pride, they sent her away into the world to collect all the magic books she could find and write their powers into her, even though she was still just a child. For reasons still unknown, Yuna D., the boy who involuntarily caused this horrible ritual to happen and basically condemned her to death, offers himself to accompany her. The very first decision he took in his own life. That decision will change forever the course of their life, for both of them.

Rising from the ashes, towards a future of hope

Rehashing Akiho’s past is important to understand her personality and behavior fully. CLAMP, in the Clear Card manga, have portrayed the story of her past in a very peculiar way: it starts as any other fairytale, with light tones and cute designs. But as the story progresses, and the horror ensues, the tone of the tale changes, and so the drawing style too. It becomes serious, and “realistic” (ad opposed to the initial cutesy style). What started as a possible generic fairytale, turned into a real nightmare.

On top of being deprived of the love of her parents ever since she was born, because apparently they died right after, Akiho spent her early childhood in complete solitude. Those magicians who were supposed to be her remaining family were too absorbed into their own greed for power, to consider the needs of a baby girl. Not to mention that they had some kind of disgust for her, for being magicless. She was denied attention, cuddles, conversations, play activities, toys. She was denied love and care. All basic things that contribute to shape the personality and psychology of a person. Akiho grew up with the conviction that she wasn’t worth any of that, because no one gave it to her. One of the complaints I have seen the most about her in the fandom, is how she’s always so apologetic, to the point of becoming obnoxious. If you think about it, one of the most prominent characteristics of her personality is how she continuously apologizes to people, thanks them for any smallest thing, and is always, constantly seeking validation. 

But if you stop for a second to think about her past, you’ll realize with dismay that those are none other than symptoms of the abuse she suffered in the past. She was called “good for nothing” and “useless” by her clan and the Magic Association, and those words carved themselves into her heart, forever scarring it. Akiho grew up believing that she was really worthless and good for nothing just because she couldn’t meet the expectations of her clan, and it’s apparent when we see her considering herself “extremely clumsy”, even though we have afterwards seen that she’s perfectly capable of cooking, sewing, even playing sports. She only needs the dedication of someone who would teach her that.

With a disastrous psychological situation like this, one would naturally wonder how this girl didn’t commit anything extreme yet. Completely alone in the world, deemed useless. Unloved.

Books, books were her first lifeline. The fictional, magical, wonderful worlds depicted in those stories saved her sanity, making her dream about a better life, about friendship, about love. They taught her everything. They gave her the hope that those things existed out there, and maybe one day she would be blessed with them too. The fantastical characters kept her company when no one was there for her (yet). And she loves them viscerally for that, to the point of seeing herself mending damaged books in the future, as a possible occupation. Just like they mended her lacerated heart.

The second lifeline was her meeting with Kaito. Uncharacteristically to him, Kaito showed immediately a kind and interested behavior towards her. This was so shocking, so incredible that Akiho’s first reaction to his introduction was to run away. No one ever addressed her with the intention of having a conversation. No one was ever interested in what she was reading. Even just by this you can get a glimpse of how miserable her life had been till then. Full of psychological issues himself, thanks to the human connection Kaito gradually turned his attentions towards Akiho from contrieved mannerism, to genuine and sincere gestures. Akiho can feel that affection, even if her self-criticism always pushes her to believe that she’s nothing more than “job” to him. It’s something small, but what she’s experiencing with Kaito is her everything, and more than she’s ever had.

The third lifeline is Momo: Akiho doesn’t know, nor remotely imagines she’s actually a living magical creature. But she has been her constant presence ever since she was born. Her connection to her is special, and you can see it in their daily (one-sided, for now) interactions. Akiho talks to Momo, she greets her when she comes back home, she constantly carries her around, she thinks about giving her a little dress as a present. Momo is Akiho’s strength. The love this girl pours into what she believes is just a stuffed animal is incredible. It goes to show Akiho’s immense capacity to love something/someone without expecting anything in return, but actually just enjoying the simple presence and courage they give to her. If you think about it, it’s the very opposite of what she experienced with the only human interactions she’s ever had before Kaito came into the picture. Her aptitude to selfless love is also remarked between the lines in chapter 49, when Akiho is telling Sakura about her relationship with Kaito. Despite all the ugliness she went through, she’s still able to find in herself the strength to overcome all of it, and change her life for the better.

This certainly hasn’t been an easy or quick process, because in the flashbacks of her journey with Kaito we always see her with a pensive/serious look. It must have been extremely hard to start trusting others, when she had no one she could count on in her own home.

Akiho’s capacity to love and rise from the ashes of her terrible past has been so contagious, that it has started to affect Kaito too.  As Momo said in chapter 51, once you’re given the reason to change, no person can ever stay the same. This must have been true for Kaito, but certainly for Akiho too.

I’m absolutely positive that Akiho (and possibly, Kaito too) will be the symbol for one of the most important, beautiful messages in the whole Clear Card Arc: even if your life isn’t perfect, even if your past scarred you in multiple ways, there’s always hope. Hope to turn over a new leaf and change yourself for the better too, in the process. Overcome everything that had you stuck in pain and grief. Achieve what you always wished for.

[novaiya]

Imagine Arthur/Sean/Charles communicating with a non-English speaking immigrant reader.

Based on this request: can you write imagines for Arthur, Sean and Charles with a non-English speaking immigrant reader? If not that’s totally okay!! (Imagining the interactions that happen between them and the reader as they try to communicate would be funny ^^)

A/N: This was very fun to write, because at some point, I too was a non-english speaking immigrant. Language barrier sucks, but when you have people like Arthur, Charles or Sean, it sucks a little less lol I’m gonna be honest, as much fun as I had wiring this, I struggled a bit, especially with Arthur. If you look at Arthur’s interaction with people who don’t speak English… It seems like he has little to no patience with them lmfao

~

It was your third week with this group of people. It might’ve been fourth or maybe even fifth, but you couldn’t tell. All the days have blended into a one, long nightmare.

You have come to this country, the new world, in search of a better life, and instead, turned out worse than where you came from.

Thankfully, a group of people have picked you up, given you food and shelter and only asked for a small contribution in the form of basic housekeeping (more like camp keeping) in return. But even that was proving to be complicated, for you didn’t speak the language that the people did. You knew a few words before coming to America, basics like “Hello”, “Thank you”, “My name is…”, but nothing more. You were planning to continue your studies once you’ve arrived, but it seems like you'll have learn on the go. You were picking up some stuff here and there from the listening to camp members talk. You would attentively listen to the leader, Dutch was his name, and try to memorize the words he spoke. Plan, faith, and money would be common words in most of his speeches, and you’ve already learned their meanings.

Arthur.

You were taking a break, sitting on the edge of the camp and sketching on a piece of paper. You enjoyed drawing. It was a relaxing hobby, and it would remind you of your childhood, back when things were simpler.

“Hey there,” you heard from behind you. You turned around, seeing Arthur.

“Hello,” you said, your accent evident even in such a simple word.

“What you doing there,” he said as he took a seat next to you, looking at the scrap of paper in your hand.

You took a second to process what he just said. You heard the word “what”, and thought that maybe he was asking what you were doing. You didn’t know how to say you were drawing in english, so you simply showed him the sketch you were working on, pointing at it with your pencil.

“Ah,” Arthur exclaimed, understanding you. “You’re drawing.”

You tilted your head, not understanding what he’s saying.

“Drawing,” he repeated. He used his hand to pretend like he’s drawing. “You,” he said pointing at you, “draw.”

“Draw,” you repeated, looking at his hands then at a scrap of paper on your own. “I am drawing.”

“There you go.”

You smiled when you understood. Even a single word was a victory for you. The sooner you knew the language, the sooner you could get back on your feet.

“I draw too sometimes,” he said.

You turned to look at him.

He shuffled a bit, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a notebook. He skimmed through a few pages before showing you one of them. There, you saw a drawing of a horse. Your own sketch, in comparison to his, looked like chicken scratches.

“You draw very good,” you said.

A small smiled tugged at Arthur’s lips and he said, “thank you”

You nodded your head with a smile on your lips mirroring his. It was nice to have conversations. Due to the language barrier between you and the rest of the camp members, it was hard to make any significant connections. Most of your conversations only went as far as “thank you” or “good morning”. Arthur, however, has been one of the only people trying to bridge the gap between you and the rest of the gang. He would often start talking to you as if the language wasn’t a problem, and if you didn’t understand something, he would try to explain with simpler terms, using his hands or pointing at things, like he did just now when explaining drawing to you.

“I know a place not far from here,” Arthur spoke up, pulling you out of your thoughts, “Lot’s of animals roam there; horses, deers. I can take you there and you can draw them. If you want to, that is.”

You took a moment to understand what he meant. You basically understood every word he said, but was having a hard time of putting them together to understand the meaning behind them.

“You and I go draw together?” you said.

Arthur chuckled a bit. It was not exactly what he meant, but  it was close enough. Maybe he could use that opportunity to get to know you better, as much as the language barrier would allow.

“Sure, we can do that too.”

Charles

You were walking along the outskirts of the camp, taking a break from your chores to enjoy the nature around you. You could hear the birds sing from every tree, and as you went further into the forest, squirrels and rabbits would run around, not paying any attention to you.

When a bunny stopped almost in front of you, you smiled. You squatted down, almost eye level with the creature.

“I think he likes you,” you heard from behind you.

You turned around, seeing Charles approaching you. You smiled at him, before turning back to the bunny, who was still unfazed by your or Charle’s presence.

Charles crouched right next to you, studying the peculiar bunny like you did. He extended his hand, letting the bunny sniff it. You decided to try too, and let out a small laugh when bunny sniffed your hand as well, looking at you and then at Charles.

“He is very nice,” you said with a smile.

Charles nodded. “They can feel your intentions. He probably knows you’re not going to harm him.”

You nodded. You didn’t understand a word he said, but you still made a face as if you did. You wondered what the english word for bunny was.

“What is his name?” you said looking at Charles.

He smiled at your question. Since you’ve joined the gang, Charles admired your strength and work ethic. Even without knowing the language and barely being able to communicate with the rest of the people, you were a productive member of the camp, and have been working hard on learning the language.

He was one the first people that you talked to, and since then you would often go to him when you needed help understanding something. He was very approachable and always patient when it came to your language barrier.

“Bunny,” he replied.

“Bunny.” Your face was so serious when you tried to pronounce the word, Charles laughed a little bit.

“You got it,” he said. “Just gotta practice and it’ll sound perfect.”

“Thank you.”

Somehow, you ended up spending almost half an hour with Charles, studying all the different animals around, learning their names and a few other English words.

“Thank you very much, Charles,” you said when you finally made it back to camp.

“It’s no problem,” he said. “If you ever wanna learn anything else, you just let me know.” He winked at you before going to his tent.

You didn’t understand a word he said, but didn’t need to. That wink said all you needed to know.

Sean

It was nighttime, and most of the camp members were either getting ready for bed or gathering around the campfire, swapping stories and drinks. Due to the language barrier, you usually skipped those events; you couldn’t understand a single word they were saying and it made you feel out of place. Instead, you preferred to spend your evenings at a small table a little way from the campfire with a children’s book in your hand. You got the book from Abigail, who in turn got it from Hosea for Jack. She would lend it to you at the end of the day, after Jack has finished his lessons with Hosea, so you could learn too.

“What you doin’ here all alone?” you heard a voice say behind you.

You turned around, seeing Sean approaching you.

“Reading,” you said, showing him the book in your hand.

“Oh, that,” he said, taking a seat next to you. “I never understood the appeal of readin’. It’s ploddin’.”

“Plod-ding?” you repeated, tilting your head to the side.

“Well, you know, slow. I prefer to use my time in other ways, stealin’ or robbin’ for example.” Even though his voice sounded uplifting, you could see a hint of sadness in it. The smile that he was trying to put on didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You don’t read?” you said.

Sean took a moment before answering your question, shifting a bit in his chair.

“No, not really,” he said. “Me pa never taught me, and after he died I didn’t really have the time.”

You nodded your head, understanding what he said.

Sean wouldn't let anyone know it, but he was really insecure about his literacy. It’s not often that he needed to read something, but when he did, he was embarrassed that he couldn’t. So instead, he decided to own it, act like he didn’t care and that it was his decision not to learn. Lenny had been trying to teach him for a while then, but it didn’t go anywhere. Everytime Sean would get stuck on a word, or his progress would stagnate, he would get irritated and give up.

“Do you want learn?” you said.

Your words pulled him out of his thoughts. “You mean, learn to read?”

“Yes,” you said. “I read everyday. This kids book. We can read together.”

Sean’s immediate thought was to decline. He’d tried and failed so many times, at this point he didn’t believe he would ever be able to learn. But, something about seeing you, a person who barely spoke a word of English, a stranger in a strange land, trying your hardest despite everything, inspired him. What’s stopping him from doing the same?

“You know what,” he said. “I think that’s a great idea. Let’s meet here tomorrow mornin’. Maybe ol’ Lenny will join us too.”

[raendown]

Fandom: Marvel Pairing: SamBucky Word count: 2070 Rated: T+ Summary: Steve had only just been thinking about how much he missed his best friend when his phone started ringing. Great minds think alike! Except apparently Bucky had meant to call someone else entirely and Steve was not at all prepared for the discovery of this baffling - but adorable - secret.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

From Where You Are

He may have staunchly denied it every time Tony or Natasha or anyone else teased him for it but Steve knew damn well that he had a - very slight! - penchant for dramatics. Dramatics like slamming an entire plane down in to the icy ocean rather than just turning the damn thing around and flying in circles until Peggy or Howard came up with the latest madcap rescue plan. Yeah. He was a self aware guy. Which meant he knew exactly how much teasing he would get if he so much as dared to open his mouth and complain about life on the run. 

Because as well as Steve knew himself, his friends knew him better. He might be lucky to get a whole three words in to his sentence before any of the people he currently had available to listen would guess exactly what he was really complaining about. He missed Bucky. So sue him! He’d already spent seventy years thinking his best friend was dead and then another two knowing he was out there but not exactly all there. Now finally he knew exactly where Bucky was. He knew that Bucky knew exactly who he was. They could be best friends again. 

Through video calls only. 

Steve clenched his jaw against the urge to close both eyes and whine at the unfairness of it all. Leaving Bucky in Wakanda had been the right choice for everyone but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Could the world maybe stop being so unfair for just five damn minutes? Give a guy a chance to reunite properly with the one thing that had centered the first couple decades of his life? Maybe get a hug or two in while Bucky was only one-armed and half defenseless against a few rounds of proper manly affection? It didn’t sound like too much to ask. Yet here he was sitting up just past midnight trying to calculate time zones to figure out if maybe he could get a quick call in now that Sam and Natasha were falling asleep. If he snuck out on to the balcony he might be able to avoid waking them and therefore avoid the inevitable teasing over his ‘very obvious pining’.

So lost in his own head was he that Steve nearly threw his phone against the wall when it began signing in his hand. It took a slow blink or two for his thoughts to clear enough that he understood no, he had not called Bucky out of rote habit, Bucky was calling him. Score one for that mental best friend bond he’d heard the other two joking about the other day. Steve was smiling as he accepted the call and held it up at an angle he hoped would get his face properly. 

“Hey, Buc- oh my god, are you okay?” 

Small on the screen and folding in to himself like he was trying to be just as small in person, Bucky’s eyes were wild where they stared somewhat just over top of whatever device he’d used to call from. He took several ragged breaths in and let them all out a little too heavily before he could speak. 

“No.”

“I’m here, pal, what’s up?”

“Can you- where’s Sam?”

Steve felt his eyebrows lift up together. “Uh, Sam? Is in the next room. Why?”

A good question, he felt, since in the eight or so months since they had all last been together in Wakanda, Bucky had never once so much as breathed Sam’s name during these scattered video calls. Steve had seen them have maybe two conversations in the palace and both of those had been stilted as hell. Two men dancing around the fact that they’d both tried to kill each other on several occasions. Now here was Bucky jerking his eyes over to look directly at the camera and Steve had never seen him look so haunted before. Which, really, was saying something.

“I want to talk to Sam,” he said, voice quiet, aching with something Steve hadn’t heard before. They had talked about Bucky having nightmares. He’d just never seen one, not even the aftermath. Bucky had been a keep-it-close-to-the-chest guy long before what happened with HYDRA.

“Uh, okay. Sure. He might be asleep but I’ll just- yeah.”

Feeling more than a little confused, he did just that. Stood and marched to the door with a single minded purpose that could only come with being given a mission. Bucky wanted to talk to Sam and he might not understand why but he was going to make that happen even if he had to wake the man up. 

Thankfully, he did not have to wake the man up, although if he’d waited even a single full minute longer that might have been the case. Sam hadn’t even taken the time to undress or properly get in to what passed as his bed for tonight. He was still sitting half slumped against the wall on a little nest of blankets, carefully positioned in exactly the opposite corner from Natasha because one simply did not sleep next to a Russian super spy knowing that the slightest disturbance would send her in to full mission mode in less than five seconds. Besides, Sam had laughed when he pointed that out, I’m a serial sleep cuddler and I don’t think that’s a great idea here. Who knows how many knives she’s got under her pillow? 

“Sam?” Fond amusement rippled through the layers of worry as Steve watched his friend’s head loll towards him, indolent and exhausted. “Hey, uh, Bucky’s on a call. He wants...to talk to you?” That got a reaction. His eyes cracked open to take in the phone Steve was holding out and his chin lifted faintly in greeting.

“Hey man,” he ground out, voice coarse with near-sleep. “‘Nother nightmare?”

“Can you tell me a story?” Bucky asked. 

Steve very nearly dropped the phone. He almost dropped it again when Sam, without any external reaction whatsoever, immediately launched in with, “So you know that guy Dwayne I was telling you about? From homeroom? God, lemme tell you about how stupid this guy is. We’re at prom, right? And there’s this honey he’s had his eyes on for like three months only she went to prom with Harry Murdock- yeah, you know, the quarterback. Fuckin’ quarterbacks, man.”

It was kind of like watching something his own weird dreams might come up with. A sequence of events that made very little sense once you’d woken up and tried to piece it all back together. Sam’s eyes gradually slid closed again but his mouth just kept going like this was all totally normal, like he often spent his nights sitting up and telling Bucky random stories about the other kids he’d gone to highschool with. And on the opposite end of the call Bucky’s face grew less haunted with every word until the panic had drained out of him entirely and his own eyes were sliding down. He must have been using a tablet or laptop because the camera stayed perfectly centered on him even when his head at last fell gently down against his chest. 

“-and I mean, yeah, I get what he was going for with the ribbons but fuck, it really just made the whole thing worse. Best night of my entire highschool career gone right down the drain because Harry Murdock was too ashamed to tell his parents he wanted to take me to prom and Lisa Furlow was too good of a friend to tell anyone she was just a beard. Obviously the teachers were mad about the horse being there but- ah. He fall asleep?” It took a second for Steve to realize his friend was asking him a question. 

“Yeah. He did.”

“S’good. Good. ‘M gonna too. Night, Steve.” And then he was out too. Sam’s head lolled again, face going slack, and Steve was left standing there with a phone in his hand and several new knots in his chest, all of them shaped like confusion. 

Well. That. Had happened. Lifting his hand, Steve watched the live image of his best friend sleeping peacefully, a direct contrast to the shaken man who had reached out for help. Reached out to someone who wasn’t Steve. He’d be lying if he tried to say some part of that didn’t sting but he was a big enough person to recognize that helping Bucky was so much more important than stroking his own ego even if he did still feel like the ground was shaky between them after everything that had happened. Watching the man now, he certainly couldn’t deny that whatever the hell just happened seemed to have helped. Bucky hadn’t looked so at peace since he’d volunteered to go back in to cryo while the Wakandans figured out a way to help him. 

Movement from the opposite corner of the room drew Steve’s eye and when he glanced over he found Natasha sitting primly with both eyebrows raised in question. Not having much of an explanation, he could only give her a helpless one-shoulder shrug. They held each others’ gazes in matching confusion for several beats until Steve turned to look back at where Sam lay, asleep and content, slumped against the wall. He was definitely going to wake up to an aching back. 

And a whole lot of questions. 

Unfortunately for Steve’s overwhelming curiosity, he was still self-aware enough to know he didn’t have the heart to wake Sam, not knowing that it was ultimately his own fault the other man was so tired. If he hadn’t shown up on Sam’s doorstep that day they wouldn’t both be here, on the run from their own country, unable to call home to the people they cared about, worn to the bone from running and fighting and hiding themselves away in whatever dingy hole they found to crash in for a night or two. No, Steve would not be the one to disturb any rest his friend managed to find. 

“You gonna hang up some time this century?” Natasha’s voice murmured through the shadows. 

“Oh, yeah, I probably should.”

She watched him do so with what was probably an all too obvious reluctance. Then she grinned. “We’re giving him the third degree tomorrow, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“So many questions. I need to know absolutely everything that led to Sam Wilson telling the Winter Soldier bedtime stories. Everything.”

“That was weird, right?” Steve ran a hand through his hair, absently noting a tremble in the fingers. “We should probably get some sleep too. I mean, you try. Don’t think I’ll be able to get any.”

Natasha unfolded herself from the floor with the corners of her mouth curling up in a little smirk he couldn’t bring himself to look away from. “No, I think I’ll be fine. Let’s go get some coffee. We’ll coordinate our plan of attack for when this guy gets back to the land of the living.” She jerked one thumb at Sam’s form and Steve finally had to peel his eyes away just to hold in the laughter that wanted to spill out. 

“Alright. Yeah. Coffee. And a plan of attack. Sounds good to me.” 

“What was it they called you? The star spangled man with a plan?”

Steve groaned and covered his eyes with the hand not still holding his phone. “Please tell me there’s no surviving footage of me prancing around on stage in tights.”

“Why would I need footage when I get front row seats every time you suit up?” Natasha sauntered away from him, probably - definitely - aware exactly what shade of red she’d just left on his face. Front row seats indeed. He certainly didn’t mind his own front row seat whenever he had the chance and the times Natasha had to join them out here on the run from their own government gave him plenty of chances. 

One last look at his phone made him smile before Steve slipped it in to his pocket and gently clapped both hands together, rubbing his palms back and forth. Coffee did sound good. Coffee with Natasha while they figured out exactly how much hell to give Sam over how he was apparently reading bedtime stories for a man he hadn’t said two words about in all the time since they’d left Wakanda. This was going to be fun. 

[sunriseseance]

please,,, even if you dont answer this publicly i wanna know your In Depth Thoughts on fanon klaus and the issues w him bc i also have issues w fanon klaus but i cant put it in words

This got SO LONG, so I hope you meant it when you said you wanted in depth! Holy shit I sorta lost my mind on this.

In my early days as a bear-poker in this fandom, I described fanon!Klaus as that person who gets resurrected in a horror movie and comes back different. As an audience member, I can tell he's wrong, but nobody interacting with him directly seems to know this. I've also talked a little bit about Klaus and intelligence before, which plays into any discussion about fanon!Klaus, but I'll be more specific here. Before I get started, I wanna say that fandom is a fun space and I don't think anyone is *bad* for creating/enjoying fanon!Klaus, especially not for the third reason I lay out. I just think he's awful, and has some harmful roots that I doubt the people writing him even know about on a conscious level.

Okay, let's get into this. Because I'm me and Wittgenstein's early work that he later disagreed with has changed my entire way of interacting with the world, I'm gonna define my terms. Let's talk about what fanon!Klaus is LIKE before we talk about why I REALLY DON'T LIKE HIM. Fanon!Klaus is a happy, stupid, sweet, childish, bubbly, luminous free spirit. He wears bubblegum pink skirts and he cries when Diego eats his cookies. He doesn't know what numbers are, he can't count, he can't walk and chew gum, he thinks that Africa is a country, he forgets that homophobia exists, he doesn't know that drugs are bad for him, the list goes on (These are all real examples. Can you tell what part of fanon annoys me the most?). He cries at the drop of a hat, and doesn't understand his place in the family. He'd move heaven and earth to help the people around him, and he'd never be mean to anyone but Luther (and even then just barely) He constantly needs attention, supervision, etc. He makes jokes about modern memes and listens exclusively to pop music. He's really damaged but it's only because nobody Took Care Of Him and he needs someone to Rescue Him.

Canon Klaus is mean, and quick, and sharp, and miserable, and hiding, and funny because you're laughing WITH him, and an old soul, and a goth, and chronically apathetic, and selfish, and so fucking smart, and acutely aware of just how much he matters to other people. He makes rape jokes, he figures out how to get info on the eye while high out of his mind, he speaks like 10 languages, he listens to Nina Simone, he uses people's inherent fear of the dead to buy himself time, he finds the perfect story within the dead to cause a rift, he tells Luther TO HIS FACE that he doesn't care if the world ends. Klaus is a fascinating study in queer trauma, and robbing him of these traits is a complete disservice to yourself AND the character.

I say this often about fanon!Klaus, but WHO IS THIS??? Like…. Okay, if I gave you this list and you didn't know it was about Klaus, would you think it was? I think he's literally unrecognizable. He's not any of the things I know or love about Klaus. He's nobody to me, except a nuisance wearing the same skin suit and clogging the tags. He is also, weirdly, the most popular character in the entire fandom. I wanna think about why, and I have 3 theories that I think can all be true separately or simultaneously instance to instance.

First, fanon!Klaus exists because of internalized homophobia, classism, and anti-addict rhetoric. I think that on some level people don't believe addicts, feminine queer men, or homeless people are capable of intelligence. I think people see Klaus's canonical positive traits and they sort of throw them out the window because they don't make sense with their world view. A queer addict is a helpless tragedy, and he's someone that needs rescuing by Kind Strong Dave. A queer addict can't be smart, because then he wouldn't be an addict. A queer addict can't be wily, or interesting, because then he wouldn't be an addict. Fandom sees a feminine queer mlm and knows he should be in a sparkly bubblegum pink skirt, and saying "dahling" or "wig" or whatever else all the time. They know he should be bashful and submissive and always falling into the arms of Kind Strong Dave who protects him from Evil. They also know he should really, really like Britney Spears, and not give a shit about Nina Simone.

Second, fanon!Klaus exists because people want to excuse negative behavior in their favorite characters. Klaus is selfish and mean and apathetic. He just is. These are flaws that haunt him, and define a lot of his interactions. These are, also, pretty tough flaws to excuse (which… Hey…. I have a solution for that). I think that fanon Klaus, who just doesn't GET that he's being mean, and is too stupid not to become an addict (I don't think addiction is a flaw, but I do think that addiction plays into this), and is too out of touch and childish to understand that he shouldn't just fucking leave, comes from a place of wanting Klaus to be a good person who does good things. I'm sorry, but he isn't. Not always. I think the impulse to make him constantly sweet and constantly stupid comes from wanting Klaus's actions to be fundamentally excusable. He can't help it! He's just too much of a useless twink to know that it's bad to lie! (also, side note, fanon!Ben comes from this side of fanon!Klaus. In canon, Klaus is self destructing on purpose and Ben's presence helps…. Maybe, possibly, twice. In fanon, Klaus is just stupid and he needs a babysitter and that is Ben, the motiveless, endlessly loving but Exhausted braincell holder. This is fucked up on many levels. Ben is an asshole, and we all need to get used to that idea quick).

The third and final reason is that fanon!Klaus is… More fun, in the traditional sense of the word. Fanon!Klaus seems like he comes from a very emotional romcom or sitcom or something. He's like a barbie. He's fun to play dress-up with. He's fun to make incorrect quotes about. He's fun to write about, especially when it's about his siblings herding him or coddling him. Good ol' useless, loveable Klaus. I think this is partially because Klaus is a pretty fucking heavy character. He's a traumatized homeless queer drug addict, and that's sort of hard to make jokey fandom content about. Not impossible, I don't think, but not easy. This isn't to say that angsty fandom content isn't guilty of fanon!Klaus, though. It absolutely is. Often when Klaus willingly shares his feelings, or cries in front of someone, or asks for help for something more intense than tying him to a chair, it's fanon!Klaus. Hell, any time he GETS rescued it's teetering into that territory. He's still completely devoid of all of the grit and intrigue of canon, but he's fun to write about, and fun to project onto, and fun to rescue. He's also EASIER to write. People know that Klaus is a funny character, they know they laugh when he's on screen, but it is WAY harder to write a character you're laughing with than it is to write a character you're laughing at. It's WAY easier to write a character who moves your angst plot on by asking for help, or necessitating rescuing, than it is to work out how these things would happen without initiation. I get it, and in spite of the length of this, I don't think it's the end of the world.

I guess as I close this out, I would remind everyone that Klaus is smart, and mean, and over 30 years old. He's not a babe in the woods, or a damsel in distress, or a useless silly junkie twink. I promise that the real Klaus is worth the time and effort it takes to engage with him.

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH8

You guys have made it! Starting next chapter this story is going to look much different. This chapter also includes a couple never-read-before scenes, and the end of this one changes the course of this story quite a bit. I hope you’re all ...ready for it?

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

Previous   First   Next     AO3

Chapter 8: Say Amen (Saturday Night)

“I’m impressed, Adrikins.” Chloe crossed one leg over the other. “It’s not like you to go on the offensive.”

“I don’t like seeing my friends get hurt,” he said while Jean Luke poured their tea. “Lila has gone too far.”

“I’m so glad you’re seeing things my way. With you on my side, I think we can have her running back to Italy in tears by next Tuesday,” Chloe said with a crooked grin.

“Well,” Adrien drawled in his token wishy-washy tone that Chloe hated. “I want to stop her, but I don’t want to humiliate or hurt her.”

She should have known.

“Adrikins, we have got to do something about that moral compass of yours.” Chloe rolled her eyes and took a sip of her tea.

“Just because she’s mean and selfish doesn’t mean she deserves to be completely mortified. There has to be another way.” Adrien chided.

“What if we send her a fake letter saying she won an all-expense-paid trip to Jamaica for two years?” Chloe suggested. “Then we have our pilot strand her in the middle of the jungle.”

Adrien gave her a disapproving frown.

“What? I’m just brainstorming,” she said. “All I’m saying is that I will spare no expense to make her disappear.”

“No harm, Chloe.”

“I liked you better when you were spineless,” she grumbled. “Where has all this new-found courage come from anyway?”

“I just thought about what you said.” He reached for a madeleine. “…And Lila confronted me.”

“I suppose I give you an A for effort.” She applauded him slowly. “If you could convince that bakery brat to join us, then we might get somewhere.” Chloe’s eyes narrowed when Adrien averted his gaze. “I can smell your guilt from here.”

“I don’t want Marinette to know about this,” he said. “I want her to continue to move on and be happy.”

“Why do you care so much about Dupain-Cheng? I’ve known you two were friends, but I didn’t think you were that close.” Chloe eyed him.

“Lila has caused her enough grief, and she’s my friend.” He shrugged. “She’s important to me.”

His newfound protectiveness didn’t sit well with Chloe. She turned her back for a few days, and now Dupain-Cheng had Adrien eating out of her hands. She would have to keep an eye on them.

“So, that’s why you want to do something about Lila now? To help Dupain-Cheng?” She asked, doing her best not to sound offended. “And here I’d thought you couldn’t stand to see me being unjustly ignored.”

“You’ve known Marinette longer than I have. Do you think she deserved to be treated that way by her friends?” Adrien asked.

Chloe shifted her gaze to her cup, taking a long, thoughtful sip. “No,” she said, “as much as I hate her, she didn’t deserve that.”

Adrien’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but a smile curled on his lips. “You’ve changed.”

“Don’t think for a second that I care about her,” she scoffed. Her cheeks burned when Adrien leaned against his fist with a smug grin.

“I like it. It suits you,” he said. She puffed her cheeks out stubbornly, prompting a laugh from Adrien.

“Well, if you’re not going to let me do things my way, and you don’t want Dupain-Cheng to know about this, then I’m going to need some time to think and pull resources together,” she said, getting back to the matter at hand.

“Thanks, Chlo.” He leaned back and took a deep breath. “Although…”

“Don’t ‘although.’” Chloe groaned.

“I just feel kind of bad for yelling at her like that,” Adrien said.

“Why? She deserved it.” She snatched a bonbon from the tray and popped it into her mouth.

“I know, but…” He clasped his hands together between his knees. “It still feels mean.”

“Your passion was short-lived, Adrikins.” Chloe rolled her eyes.

Adrien pursed his lips, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’ll talk to her again tomorrow and give her one last chance.” When Chloe shook her head, he added, “If she says no, then we can figure something out. Something safe and not needlessly cruel.”

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes. Always thinking everyone can change and be nice.” She stuck her tongue out with a gag.

“Well, I never gave up on you, and now you’re a superhero,” he said pointedly.

Chloe flipped her ponytail over one shoulder to hide her smile. “Fine. Do whatever you want, but I’m still going to think up plans for revenge for when you inevitably fail.” She waved him away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He crossed the room to kiss her cheeks in farewell before taking his leave.

Chloe clapped for her butler the moment the door shut behind him. “Jean Rousseau, how quickly can we have a case of live lobsters delivered?”

♪♫♪ Kaleidoscope Eyes ♪♫♪

“Wait, what happened?” Adrien asked that night over video chat. His Chinese notecards were scattered across his desk, abandoned the moment Marinette’s picture flashed on his screen.

“Clara Nightingale wants me to design for her! She came by in person and everything,” Marinette said. She laid prone on her chaise, legs kicking as she chewed her nails. “I’m so nervous, but she thinks I’ve got what it takes.”

“Of course, you do. You’re awesome.” Adrien assured her.

“Thanks.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “So, how was school for you today? Anything exciting happen?”

“Uh, just same old, same old. Lila being Lila.” He averted his gaze. “Nothing noteworthy to report.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Marinette said. “I take it Chloe hasn’t made a move?”

“Nope.”

“Give her time.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “By the way, my new friends still want to meet you.”

“I’d be happy to,” he said, thankful for the change in subject.

“Macy invited me to hang out at her house on Friday. Maybe you could come along if you aren’t busy,” she suggested.

“I’ll beg my father.”

“Awesome!” Her blue eyes sparkled when she smiled. She seemed so relaxed and carefree. Just as she should be.

He tapped his fingers on his desk, his conscience loud in his ears. “You know I’d do anything to help you, right?”

“What? I, uh, yeah I mean, we’re friends, so I’d do anything to help you too,” she stammered, cheeks pink. “Why?”

“No reason, just if you need anyone to bounce ideas off of for Clara, that’s all…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I should get back to studying.”

“Right, I’m sorry for calling and distracting you!” She scrambled to sit up.

“It’s fine. I’m glad you did,” he said. “Talk to you soon.”

“I’ll let you know how designing goes,” she said. “Good night, Adrien.”

“Yeah, good night…”

♪♫♪ Dancing With a Wolf ♪♫♪

“Did you finish filing those papers Mme. Mendeleiev asked you to do?” Alya asked after school the next day.

Lila suppressed an eye roll, cupping her hands to her cheeks. “Oh no, I didn’t, and I totally forgot that my mom set up a meeting for me with some ambassadors about a new idea I have to help special needs kids in third world countries!” She clasped her hands together. “I know you’re busy, but would you mind finishing that up for me? I will totally make it up to you!”

“No worries, girl,” Alya said. “Go save the world.”

Lila smiled triumphantly as she sauntered toward the locker room, looking forward to her afternoon off. The students here were so gullible. She’d never had such an easy time pushing her work off on others, and now that Marinette was gone, she could do whatever she wanted. Rounding the corner, she found Adrien standing by her locker with a solemn expression.

“Hey, Lila,” he said. “Can we talk?”

“Are you going to apologize for how you spoke to me yesterday?” She crossed her arms over her chest with a humph.

“I am.” He nodded.

“Well, go on then,” she said.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said.

Her shoulders relaxed, and the smug grin returned to her lips. “Apology accepted. I’m so happy that you see things my w-”

“I’m not finished.” He cut her off. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, but I’m not sorry for what I said.” Her eyes narrowed, so he continued, “If you continue lying to everyone and using them, you’re only going to hurt yourself in the end. People are going to figure it out eventually, and they’re going to be angry with you.”

“These people are blind. I’ll get away with it for as long as I want.” She brushed past him to open her locker.

“I know you think that, but you’re wrong,” he said, and Lila could see where this speech was going. “I’m going to give you one last chance, Lila. Tell everyone the truth.”

She rolled her eyes as she shifted her books. “Or what, Adrien?” She turned to him and cocked a brow. “What are you going to do? Tell everyone that I’m lying? Good luck. You see how well that went for Marinette.”

Her name sparked something in his eyes, and Lila smirked when his jaw clenched.

“I’m not going to expose you.” Adrien shook his head. “You’re going to expose yourself, and I won’t help you when you face the consequences.”

“We’ll see about that.” She reapplied her lip gloss before shutting her locker. “Sooner or later, you’ll see things my way, and when you do, I’ll be waiting.” She strutted past him with a wink, hips swaying.

“Is that your choice?”

She turned over her shoulder with an amused grin. “Oh, Adrien. One day you’re going to learn that not everyone in the world wants to be nice,” she cooed.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Suit yourself.”

At that she rolled her eyes and paced from the locker room. Adrien didn’t scare her because he was all talk and no bite—just one thing that she loved about him. Boys like him were easy to manipulate, and it was only a matter of time before she had him under her spell just like everyone else. All she had to do was wait.

♪♫♪ Cinderblock Garden ♪♫♪

Come to my garden.

When Marinette received the invite from Adrien, she swore she was dreaming, but the gates opening before her were the pinch in the side she needed. This wasn’t a dream. Adrien really invited her to his house! She should have changed schools ages ago.

“Marinette! This way,” Adrien called from the front door, a bright smile warming his face.

“This is the first time I’ve been invited to your house. I’m a little nervous…” Marinette admitted as Adrien’s bodyguard shut the door behind them.

“I had to beg Nathalie, but I think I have something that can help you with your designs for Clara.”

Adrien led the way through the large house, and Marinette soaked in as much of it as possible. It was the first opportunity she had to peek into Adrien’s life, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

Colorless walls and floors were sparsely decorated with lavish couches, untouched from the moment they were placed. Towering portraits spanned the walls, watching over each room with their solemn expressions. Goosebumps trailed up Marinette’s arms. Every object was meticulously placed, and each room resembled a museum display more than a home. She half expected an alarm to go off if she touched anything.

They passed enough tall doors to make anyone dizzy, though all of them were closed, barring Marinette off from what lied beyond. The Agreste mansion hid many secrets, some that even Adrien probably didn’t know. Adrien’s house felt more like a fortress than a home, designed not only to keep the rest of the world out, but to keep the family locked in. It was hard to tell from the outside, but moving through one gray room after another, Marinette started to see the house for what it was: a cozy prison built for a boy. No wonder Adrien was always eager to leave—it was easy to feel alone in a house like this.

She’d never considered what other barriers stood between her and Adrien. How many doors were between them? She liked to think she’d made it through a few, but the tall walls of the mansion with its many locked doors reminded her just how little she knew the boy in front of her. Would those doors ever open for her? And was Adrien even capable of opening them? She didn’t know.

“Your house is very…” Marinette searched for a word.

“Depressing?” He turned to her over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t say that-”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s true. My father is a brilliant designer… of clothes, but his interior décor makes funeral homes seem cheerful.”

“Lonely,” she said. “I was going to say I can see now how you get lonely.”

“It’s not all bad,” he said as Gorilla opened the brown double doors, and they stepped out into the backyard.

The dreary aura of the house gave way to warm sunlight, and Marinette welcomed the change, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Rose bushes lined the yard, vines trailing up the house in knotted tendrils while dozens of butterflies fluttered between the flowers. Despite the ever-present roar of the city beyond the walls, the garden was a tranquil place.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, dumbstruck.

“My mother loved to spend time out here, and somedays I catch my father sitting on the steps with his tablet. I thought that maybe it could inspire you too.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, and when Marinette turned to him with a smile, he gestured to the stairs. “Come on. It’s even better down there.”

Adrien beckoned for her to follow, and she trailed her hand along the smooth stone railing, head leaned back to take in all of the greenery. Sunlight trickled through the trees, casting speckled, glowing patterns on the ground. Birds chirped in the bushes, the occasional tiny head peeking out between the branches. Everything was so lively here, living in perfect harmony—a direct contrast from the dissonance inside the house.

They came to stop in front of the statue at the center—Adrien’s mother immortalized in stone. Much like the rest of the portraits in the house, it was beautiful, but also sad. Marinette couldn’t imagine losing her mom the way Adrien lost his. He put on a cheery face, but Marinette knew that he was still mourning deep down.

“My dad loves having images of my mom around. It’s like she’s still here with us,” he said. “It probably sounds silly, but I like to sit out here and talk to her sometimes. It’s comforting.”

“I don’t think that’s silly.” Marinette shook her head. “You really miss her.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But I know she’d want me to be happy, so I try to keep my head up every day.”

Marinette hesitated, her fingers twitching toward his. It wouldn’t be out of line to take his hand. She just wanted to comfort him…as a friend. Despite convincing herself it was an innocent gesture, her heart still skipped when she finally mustered the courage to slip her hand into his. He welcomed it, giving her hand a tight squeeze.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, “and for sticking by me through everything.”

Adrien turned to her, the sunniness returning to his smile as he shot her a wink. “I’ve got your back, Marinette. You’re one of my best friends, and I’ll always be here for you.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she turned back to the statue. It was strange. Normally hearing Adrien say such things would have sent her straight to cloud 9, and she would have spent hours replaying those words in her head. But her heart couldn’t seem to get off the ground. The light fluttery feeling was weighed by a heavy darkness as if it were still trapped in the house, unable to escape into the peace of the garden.

Then I guess we shouldn’t consider ourselves bffs if there’s so much we don’t know about each other.

Maybe we shouldn’t.

“Marinette?”

She blinked, and something hot slid down her cheek. Adrien stepped closer as she batted at it with a shaking hand, a wet sheen glistening on her fingers.

“It’s okay.” He pulled her into his arms.

She clung to him as more tears spilled over, burying her face in his shoulder. She hadn’t intended to make a habit of crying in the arms of the boy she loved, but given the circumstances, she couldn’t help it. Her tears came when they wanted and refused to surrender once they started. Luckily, Adrien was so perfect and understanding that he always held her close, whispering soft encouragement until her sobs quieted.

Marinette loved him with all of her heart.

“How can anyone live with themselves when they inflict this kind of pain on others?” Adrien murmured into her hair. “Lila Rossi really is evil.”

♪♫♪ …Ready for It? ♪♫♪

Chloe wasn’t surprised to see him that evening—she didn’t even pause her yoga when he entered. It should have bothered him more that she predicted he would cave, but Chloe had known him a long time. She knew better than anyone what his limits were.

“Have you thought about my request?” she asked, shifting into downward facing dog.

Adrien chewed his cheek, Marinette’s tears now dried on his shirt, and steeled his resolve. “If you and I were to plot revenge against Lila…what do you have in mind?”

[goodlucktai]

a little room to grow

@natsumeweek 2021 day 5; freedom/possession

read on ao3

(previous part)

x

Hinata takes one look at them and says, “Holy shit. Get in here, Natoris.”

So they must look pretty bad, then. 

Takashi is uncharacteristically quiet, going right to the sofa and gathering Hinata’s cat up in his arms. 

Hinata watches him for a moment, turns and stares directly into Shuuichi’s face, and then heads into the kitchen to snatch up a takeout menu that she keeps permanently stuck to the front of her fridge under a huge Cinnamoroll magnet.

“Sit,” Hinata says with a jerk of her chin towards the table. She tucks her cellphone between her shoulder and her ear and unfolds the paper menu with a business-like snap. “I’m ordering enough junk food for all three of us, and then you’re going to tell me why you look like that.”

Shuuichi sits. 

Hinata lives with her single mother, who works thirds, and her aunt, who doesn’t work but often has somewhere else to be. It’s unlikely either of them are going to make an appearance tonight.

The TV is on in the living room, playing what sounds like Sailor Moon. Takashi is watching it just because it’s already on, but he’s slowly becoming more invested the longer he sits there—Shuichi can tell from the way his hand on the little cat in his lap slows its petting, the way his round brown eyes become fixed on the screen. The sounds of traffic and rain outside are muted, the outside world hardly existing past what little pieces of it make it through the open window in the kitchen. 

It’s peaceful here. It’s almost home, even.

Hinata puts the phone down, sits across from Shuuichi, and crosses her arms on top of the table. Her silence is expectant.

Shuuichi says, “I don’t think I’m going to university.”

His friend inclines her head, an invitation to go on. 

“The university my father wants me to go to is almost an hour away from here,” Shuuichi says, clenching his fists. “And it wouldn’t be possible for Takashi to transfer there, because someone in the school district administration is a cousin of his or something. Word got around about his behavior, and they don’t think he’d be a good addition to their student body.”

“Takashi’s relatives haven’t had anything to do with him since he was five,” Hinata says hotly. “What the hell do they know about his behavior? He’d be the best thing to happen to that school in the last hundred years.”

Shuuichi, who completely agrees with her, says, “You’re biased.”

“I’m right.” She taps her fingers anxiously against the table. “Let me guess, your dad—”

“Doesn’t see the problem. Told me I was going anyway.” Shuuichi barks a tense, humorless laugh, sitting back and pushing a hand through his hair. “Could you imagine? Me, leaving Takashi in that house, with those people? With no one but ghosts to talk to?”

It was inevitable that Hinata would find out about Shuuichi and his brother’s ‘gift,’ given how much time they spend together and all the odd things Takashi says on a daily basis. The most remarkable thing to come of the ultimate reveal was the solid three months she spent relentlessly trying to bribe, coerce and blackmail Shuuichi into using his paper magic to send her notes during school hours, because they were put in different classes in their third year. 

Now, she frowns deeply, and says, “No. That won’t do. So what’s the plan?” 

“I’m working on it,” Shuuichi replies. 

“I would be okay,” Takashi pipes up. Shuuichi looks up to find his little brother standing by the table with wide, grave eyes. He’s tugging anxiously at the cuffs of his sleeves. The worry on his face doesn’t belong there. It doesn’t fit someone his age. “If you had to go.”

Shuuichi pushes his chair back and lifts his arm. Takashi rounds the table and allows himself to be tucked against Shuuichi’s side snugly. 

“Maybe you would, but I wouldn’t,” Shuuichi says. “I’d miss bugging you too much.”

“I mean it,” Takashi says stubbornly. “I don’t want you to get yelled at anymore.”

“I mean it, too,” Shuuichi replies. “Dad can yell all he wants. You’re stuck with me, squirt.”

Saying it out loud settles something anxious that’s been rattling around in his chest. Knowing what he has to do makes it easier to focus on the steps that come next. For now, he tilts to the side so that he can rest enough of his weight on his little brother that he starts to sag underneath it.

“Nii-san! Stop, you’re heavy!”

“What was that?” Shuuichi says loudly, tilting farther, half out of his chair at this point. “I’m heavy? Is that what you said?”

The doorbell rings, and Hinata says, “No no, I’ll get it, don’t let me interrupt your intricate bonding rituals,” which is a cue that they should stop messing around and go help her carry in the frankly staggering amount of takeout bags a weary-looking delivery boy is wielding on the porch. 

“Munchkin, will you get some glasses and the iced tea?” Hinata asks. “Let’s eat in front of the TV like slobs.”

Takashi slides back into the kitchen, skidding a little too far in his socks and knocking the paper towels off the counter, and Shuuichi snorts. It feels like the first time he’s smiled in a year. 

Hinata touches his arm. “Hey,” she says seriously. “I’m going to visit Isamu on Thursday, and I’m staying for about a week. You two should come with. Stop thinking about all this stuff for a bit and give yourself a break.”

“I don’t want to bother you guys—”

“Try not to be an idiot for once in your life,” Hinata says with an exaggerated air of total exhaustion. “You know it wouldn’t be a bother. Besides, Isamu has a little sister Takashi’s age, and she’s into all kinds of weird stuff. They’d probably get along like a house on fire.”

Shuuichi thinks a week in the country sounds pretty good, actually. He’s mulling it over when Takashi comes running; with a stack of colorful plastic glasses in one hand, a pitcher of tea in the other, and a box of Koala March tucked into the crook of his elbow.

“Can I have these, nee-san?” he asks brightly. He looks nine years old again instead of ninety, all that worry from earlier finally unseated. 

“Oh, I guess,” Hinata says with deep reluctance, as if she didn’t buy them specifically for Takashi in the first place. She doesn’t even like chocolate. “Dinner first, though! Put those koalas where I can see them!”

She cares about Takashi like it’s effortless. Like it just makes sense to make space for him in her home and keep his favorite snacks in her kitchen. Considering the place they came here from, it disarms Shuuichi completely.

“We’ll go with you,” he says without thinking.

“Of course you will,” Hinata replies immediately. “I was only asking to be polite. Now eat your food.”

And that’s how they wind up in Hitoyoshi, Kumamoto, of all places. It’s unmistakably beautiful but Shuuichi only gets a brief moment to appreciate the scenery before Hinata is dragging him—and by extension, Takashi—out of the station to the street outside, where a familiar face is waiting. 

She releases Shuuichi in order to fling herself bodily at Isamu, who doesn’t so much as bat an eye. Hinata is much taller than her boyfriend, which Shuuichi thinks is just typical of Hinata, but Isamu doesn’t care. She could be seventeen feet tall and weigh a thousand pounds and he would still find a way to hold her. 

“Hey,” he says over her shoulder, lifting one hand to wave at the Natoris. “Hug train is pulling out of the station, get yours before it’s gone.”

Laughing, Shuuichi says, “I’m good. Takashi?”

“No, thank you,” Takashi says politely.

“Your loss.” Hinata sniffs, and busies herself with picking up the bags she’d flung to the ground. “Is your sister at home?”

“Mhm,” Isamu says, taking one of Takashi’s bags and slinging it over his own shoulder. “She’s shy. I’m amazed she agreed to meet you guys at all. Bribery was involved.”

Takashi shuffles, glancing sideways at Shuuichi. 

“I’ll bet you two-thousand yen that you’re best friends by the end of the day,” Shuuichi says at once, to make the situation a win-win. That always works.

Sure enough, Takashi holds out his hand. “Deal.”

They shake on it solemnly. 

Isamu gives Shuuichi a deeply approving look and says, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

Tooru and Takashi are actually best friends within about an hour and a half. 

Once the Natoris have been settled into a large guest room and wandered around on a cheap tour of the estate, and Hinata has dumped all of her stuff in her boyfriend’s bedroom, Isamu drags Tooru out of hiding to eat a late lunch with them. 

Tooru shuffles into the chair across from Takashi and makes her polite introduction, and then mumbles that she only has a couple of friends so she isn’t sure what they ought to talk about. Takashi blithely replies that he doesn’t have any friends, because he can see yokai and people tend to think that’s strange. Shuuichi and Hinata are both frozen, holding their chopsticks halfway to their mouths as they wait to see which way this is going to go, but Isamu just takes an unhurried sip of tea.

And then Tooru lunges across the table to seize Takashi’s hands, shouting, “You can see yokai? You have to come meet my grandpa!” and all but drags him out of the kitchen, their lunches left untouched. 

“You might never get your brother back,” Isamu says mildly. “That’s okay, there’s enough space here for two little weirdos.”

“So you believe in ghosts now?” Hinata demands. 

“I don’t believe in things I can’t see for myself,” Isamu replies. He waits a beat, rolling a thought around in his head like a marble, and then adds reluctantly, “But if three people I trust can see them, maybe that’s just as good. I already apologized to gramps for thinking he was just a delusional old man.”

“You did not say that to your grandpa,” Shuuichi says, horrified. 

“I didn’t say it, I just said I was sorry for thinking it.” Isamu sits back in his chair, frowning at his plate. “Tooru never needed any proof. She believes him just because she loves him. I think there’s value in that. Figured I’d give it a try.”

When Shuuichi tracks the kids down later, they’ve multiplied. Sasago and Urihime are supervising as Tooru, Takashi, and two little boys of a similar age chase each other around the garden, a half-dozen little yokai running underfoot. 

Takashi spots him and brightens, breaking away from the game to jump up onto the porch and slam into Shuuichi’s side. Shuuichi ruffles his hair, because it’s already a windswept mess, and it makes Takashi wrinkle his nose in annoyance. 

“Taki-ojisan wasn’t feeling well, so he’s taking a nap,” Takashi explains. He’s flushed from the sun and grass-stained. “We had fun, though. All of his yokai friends had lots of things they wanted to say to him so we played telephone. Mostly they were teasing him, which didn’t seem very nice, but it made oji-san laugh a lot.”

“And who are those two?” Shuuichi asks, nodding at the unfamiliar boys. 

“Tooru’s friends from school. They were coming by to see if Tooru wanted to go to the river with them, and she introduced me.” Shyly, Takashi adds, “They’re nice.”

“Hey!” the russet-haired boy calls over. “Are we going swimming or what?” 

“Can we, please?” Tooru asks, folding her hands together.

His brother gazes up at him with eyes that are big and hopeful, a look that has worked for him for years. Shuuichi shakes his head ruefully. 

“As long as you stay with Tooru, and don’t let your phone get soaked,” he says sternly. “And you know to answer when I call, right?” 

“Right,” Takashi says, without attitude, because that’s one of their most important rules. “Can I take Urihime with me? She’ll throw Satoru in the water if I ask her to, Sasago won’t.”

“For that reason alone, you’re taking Sasago,” Shuuichi replies. 

It’s a noisy circus troupe of kids who finally leave, armed with towels and a bag of snacks pilfered from the kitchen and an entourage of rowdy spirits that only one of them can see. 

Shuuichi leans against the gate, watching them go. He’s wary of the unfamiliar yokai, but with his shiki nearby and clearly unbothered, he doesn’t see a reason to break up the strange congregation. Over the years, he’s had to get used to the way Takashi attracts these things. They come to him like moths to a flame. 

Most exorcists hate yokai, but Shuuichi doesn’t. How could he? His little brother is a medium, and some of the only people he can count on to babysit for him are his familiars. Yokai are so much a part of his life that to hate them would be to fill his heart with hatred, and he doesn’t have room in his heart for all that. It’s too full of other things. 

Hinata joins him by the door. 

“You know,” she says carefully, “I was going to bring this up later, but…the university that Isamu and I are going to is only a half-hour away from here. And the schools here are really good.”

Shuuichi stands in the sun, watches his little brother laugh with children his own age, and exhales.

[jalapeno-princess]

10:34 A.M.

The sunlight was warm against your cheeks as it shone in through the windows; yet, it wasn’t the harsh rays that woke you from your comfortable slumber.

You could feel a tender gaze directed right at you along with a pair of strong arms, your favorite pair of arms to be exact—wrapped protectively around your waist.

Gentle fingers glided softly along your face; almost featherlight to the point where you wouldn’t have even noticed that he was touching you if it weren’t for the callousness of his digits connecting the dots of your scattered freckles and the cool metal on his fourth finger.

You had yet to open your eyes, but you were confident in the idea that your husband was staring at you and you didn’t want to make it known that you were awake just yet.

Honestly, it felt as though you were still in dreamland—everything was just too good to be true. Memories of the most perfect day of your entire life soon came rushing back to your mind and you couldn’t help the small smirk that was now encompassing your face—giving away the fact that you were no longer asleep.

“Good morning Mrs.Tuan.”

Hearing the excitement yet raspiness in his voice along with his last name that was also yours now sent so many emotions to your chest. You were over the moon to say the least. He let out a giggle when you hid your face against his bare chest and placed a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“Good morning Mr.Tuan.”

“Ah, I’m never going to get tired of calling you Mrs.Tuan. I still can’t believe you’re my wife. God, it’s like a dream come true—“

“Took you long enough. I’ve been waiting for over five years for you to propose to me—“

Mark let out a guttural groan at the sound of your playful complaint; dropping his head in between the valley of your breasts and earning himself a shove to his shoulder. A blush was now adorning your cheeks; only then as you felt his warm breath against your nipples did you come to the realization that you were naked. It didn’t bother you though, not like it did when you and Mark first became intimate back in the third week of your relationship.

He was your husband now and the two of you made love to each other numerous times in the duration of your five year relationship that you were no longer shy whenever you’d find yourself naked around him. Actually, Mark was very vocal about how insanely beautiful you were—and devastatingly sexy which led you to lose your timidity and gain a newfound confidence. One that you never knew existed and you owed entirely to your husband.

“Hey, we went over this on multiple occasions baby. I wanted to propose to you only months after we started dating—I knew I was in love with you after only the third date. Trust me, it was extremely difficult for me having to introduce you as my girlfriend and not my wife for these last few years. I don’t know why—I mean sure, getting to call you my girlfriend and getting to be called your boyfriend was all that mattered to me. You’re my soulmate y/n. My person—but something about the titles “wife” and “husband” is more permanent. It solidifies a relationship. But I wanted us to be finished with school and settled in to our actual careers before taking things any further. It worked out though didn’t it? Look at us. We’re both redeemingly successful with our positions at the companies we work at and we share a two story house in our mid twenties. Not that it matters, but we can live comfortably as a married couple unlike a lot of people our age. We’re a whole now. You’re stuck with me and my penis for the rest of your life—“

“Oh God. Just when it was getting so romantic, you just had to throw your dick in there. Well, you’re stuck with me and my pussy—“

“I don’t consider myself stuck at all. Your pussy is so magical—fuck, we’ve had sex at least three hundred times, maybe even more than that and every single time, you never failed to blow my mind—and my dick. But shit, last night had to be the best night of my entire life. Yesterday, was the most incredible day in my twenty-seven years of existence. You are the most beautiful person in the entire world and I’m not just saying that because you’re my wife, it’s true. Not only on the outside; which, honestly, you are a sight for sore eyes. I can never take my eyes off of you and I never want to. I’d stare at you in awe of your beauty all day if time permitted me to. But you have the most kindest and generous hearts and you are just the sweetest soul. I can’t wait to remind you every single day for the rest of our lives just how perfect you are to me.”

He brought his thumb up to the brim of your eyelids and wiped away a tear that you didn’t even know fell. God, this man was really the love of your life. You’d never be able to comprehend exactly what you did to deserve being the lucky girl who loved Mark and got to be loved by him, but you would never take your position in his life as his bride for granted.

Before you could continue to let any more tears fall at his endearing words, he was quick to continue his not so innocent speech about the many naughty thoughts taking up all the space his mind.

“I don’t know if it’s because we’re newlyweds or because you never cease to amaze me each and every time we stumble in to bed together but the sex we had just hours ago in my opinion was the best sex we’ve ever had. I know I complimented you almost the entire day yesterday on how gorgeous you looked in that wedding dress and I’m sure my never ending tears that flowed down my cheeks as you walked down the aisle and my wedding vows that were almost twenty minutes long are enough to prove my undying love for you. But God, seeing you in that dress—that dress was made for you. You looked so fucking ethereal and damn, it looked so much better on the floor once I got you alone. You know, my mind is still a little hazy from sleeping—maybe you could remind me just how amazing it was—if I knew you were this abusive, I would have made you work harder for that ring you’re wearing.”

Both his and your laughter filled the room and you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes and pinching his cute little butt. Your wedding day was everything you could have ever dreamt of and more. There were countless times in your relationship where you would day dream about what your wedding would be like. It didn’t take you too long to realize that Mark was the person you wanted to settle down and start a family with. Everything within you; your heart, your mind, your body and your soul was his. You were set on Mark Tuan; for life. Since he took his time with asking you to marry him, you developed some insecurities about whether or not he saw himself marrying you. Sure, he may have talked about your future together every now and then, but not once did he ever bring up marriage so you just assumed he had no plans on getting married at all.

It made your engagement all the more special when he did finally get around to proposing to you less than a year ago while the two of you were in vacation in Hawaii. You tried to convince yourself that you would be happy even if Mark were to confess he had no plans on tying the knot. As long as Mark was in your life, you were content with whatever title you held in his. But on that magical night when he got down on one knee and went in to detail about his undying love for you as the two of you watched the sunset go down, you felt wholeheartedly that his proposal was one dreams were made of.

“What are you thinking about?” You looked at him in curiosity and it was in that moment; looking at his blank stare did you realize you were probably mirroring his exact facial expression.

“Nothing. Just that I’m really happy. Really, really happy. You mean everything to me Mark. I don’t know what I would do without you and I dont even want to think about my life before you were in it. It was colorless and dull. Now all I see is so many beautiful colors. Just the mere thought of you along pulls on my heartstrings in such a miraculous way. I love the way you make me feel and I love the effect you’ve had on me. I’m so in love with you and I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for us.”

Your husband gave you his signature gummy smile before smashing his mouth roughly against yours. He licked on your bottom lip and took it in between his sharp teeth, nibbling all but gently while dragging his cold fingertips along your smooth skin.

“You’re my happily ever after y/n. I kind of regret not getting around to marrying you sooner. I just really wanted to give you the ring and the wedding that you’ve always wanted. You deserved the entire universe and more y/n. Truly, there’s so much I want to give you. You are genuinely out of this world; you’re practically a goddess—an otherworldly being and honestly, you deserve so much more than what this world has to offer you. I’m not stupid my love, I’ve picked up on the many wedding magazines you’d scatter throughout the house, I’ve noticed you’ve been watching a couple of episodes from that one Disney weddings show and I overheard you talking to your mom about not knowing how I felt about marriage. I’m sorry that you had to question my feelings for you, but I thought that my constant love confessions and the way I could never stop holding you, kissing you and needing to be around you was enough to prove the fact that you are my home. You own my heart y/n. You always have and you always will forever. The feeling is mutual baby. I don’t care what ends up happening to me. I don’t care where we end up living—if we ever decide to move houses, cities, states or even countries. I don’t care what my job title is, how much money I’ll end up making or what anyone other than you has to think or say about me. Life—life can be rough and there are days that I just want to scream, cry and run away. But then I look at you and I see my purpose—I look at you and see the reason for my existence. You’re the reason why I breathe. You’re the reason why my heartbeat increases—the reason why I wake up with the biggest grin on my face. You are my reason to be happy and I could never thank you enough for all you’ve done for me in the last five years. Now, I can’t wait to continue to relish in our love for many more decades to come.”