#silly slideshows should come back.

[cryingforcrocodiles]

now that united's season is over i'm going to be rating how dick hardening some of matches were. thanks for sticking around. here's my season journey through slideshows n reaction memes bascially. this is the first 9.

this is a lot words so i expect no one to read these. this slide are poor quality but atp ... just enjoy the experience. vibe twin jst vibe

the first prem match of the season. united loves disappointment as per usual so i feel like... most of us were like "ha okay this is a disgrace but wow i knew it this would happen deep down." but not this bad holy shit. but [gestures to picture] i think own goals are amazing when we're not the own getting goaled so i had a little fun with this one. also "Erik ten Hag is the first Manchester United manager to lose his first Premier League game in charge since Louis van Gaal in August 2014 against Swansea City." is an amazing way to sum up the season in a whole. breaking real records...

i had to sedate myself. and the kits were ugly.

🔥🔥🔥🔥 NO LINEUP BC WE DOMINATED AND DON'T HAVE TO DEMEAN OURSELVES. 🔥🔥🔥🔥 ARENT WE THE BEST CLUB IN THE WORLD??? SANCHO ON THE SCORESHEET 🔥🔥🔥 NO ONE CAN BEAT US (UNLESS YOU'RE OUTSIDE THE BIG SIX) 🔥🔥🔥.

not much to say about this one tbh. j-ward is going to hell. not for anything he did this match but i'm just letting yk. 3 points! onechester united.

sancho said "these niggas are so boring" and finally snuck a goal. thank you sancho i live and breathe you. onechester united x2

THREECHESTER UNITED. saka gives arsenal hope but rashy crushes it. rashford brace 💖 ... all rashford fcers were having the time of their life (I WAS SO FUCKING HAPPY!!). rashford had 3 goals at this point. 3 points.

i like watching penalties even if its against me. adrenaline Mhm. but otherwise whatever it's the groupstage n first one. so. i didn't rlly care. spanish teams beat and own our ass so. another day! moving on.

i meant to put FC in there but i forgot. so it's just "the sancho" except "the sancho fc" well. yes sancho goals make the planet go round and round. that's why the world stopped after fulham match.

4 bc the goals were nice ig. but getting hattricked by a norwegian and the devil himself was enough to get some tears out of me. you'd get teary jerky too. also streak ended but 🔥🔥🔥 manchester is still red

[breathinlove]

band!ellie 2 headcanons and smau

read this

sinopse: ellie williams is the lead singer in a band (+some texts with her).

cw: nsfw after the texts with warning! swearing, explicit, reader works in a record store and ellie's a simp, not explicit if reader is fem or masc.

part 1

band!ellie who made it unbelievable for dina and jesse to believe she found her girl, but then they met you.

“this shit's cringe as fuck, but you two are sweet…” jesse starts and dina immediately agrees. “yeah, she's perfect for you, el.” “i knowwwww, i need her.” jumping like a teenage girl fr...

band!ellie who sometimes thinks her bandmates like you way too much.

“invite y/n to the next rehearsal too for real.” jesse says after you leave a rehearsal you went to. “okay man i get it, she's amazing.” with an annoyed expression. “so… invite her.” dina chuckles. “no, i don't want any of you jumping on my girl.” but she does invite you anyway.

band!ellie who's so stupid tbh, she's gonna sign girls’ tits after concerts and act all oblivious when you swerve her kisses.

and swerving her is so fun istg, she's gonna try like 4 times before she's upset. UPSET! (she will go non verbal).

band!ellie who's the type to perform and glance at you like you're about to have sex right that instant (u will, after the concert tho!).

band!ellie who's a singer herself but turns on the tv and pretends to be the weeknd for you.

band!ellie who wishes she could rap… actually, no. she thinks she can.

"that was... something." you smirk and she scoffs, throwing herself on the couch she was standing on, mic in hand. "i'm literally in my rapper era but whatever, you'll see." and you're full on laughing. "don't laugh." and you come hug her and say she's so so special.

band!ellie who makes it so you can't open x (twitter) without seeing girls mourning your girlfriend… she's alive not single tho!

band!ellie who's always late for everything, but she tries her best istg. you and the band are TIREDDD.

band!ellie who's nervous about pda… but she likes it, showing everyone you're hers and she's yours.

band!ellie who made a slideshow about how you should move into her apartment… that was kinda like:

“REASONS FRRRR 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥💯💯💯

ALL OF THEM 🤣

we're literally soulmates so we gotta be roommates too???

countless sleepovers omg i'm crying!

i'll never be late again (kinda😬)

we can get a pet tg 😯

i'll get to listen to u sing in the shower more and you know i like hearing you and singing with you while im in the toilet or even outside the bathroom

passionate lesbian sex before sleeping, after eating, doing the dishes, the laundry ALL THE TIME

i love you the most and i want you close all the time

you love me back (i hope) so you gotta want me close too

i want you as my wife asap

think about it, thanks and please my love ❤️”

you moved in… weak mf but can anyone blame you??

band!ellie who loves cooking with you for friends and family when they come over. just loves being with you in general but even house chores are better with you??

band!ellie who comes to disturb see you at your job, your bosses hate her and said they were gonna stop selling their album 😒 (they actually love her).

band!ellie who switches from your serious cool rockstar girlfriend to your silly baby girlfriend in a second.

band!ellie who reposts them and comments under edits fans make of you, even more than her own edits.

“that's my baby so stop gawking.(jk)” “whats her @” “id repost but my gf would be jealous, shes hot asf 🤤🤤” “THAT'S MY GIRL” “creamed💔” "straight to the y/n folder" someone said “ellie cant handle allat” and she replied fr “true, she the one handling me 💯💢” SHE HAS NO CHILL...

band!ellie who pays the same attention to potential hate you'd get, she will block them… don't talk about her girl.

nsfw (cw: cunnilingus [e and r!receiving], fingering [e and r!receiving]. switch!ellie!!!!).

band!ellie who treats you like a star

you were supposed to be in the shower but ellie saw you stripping out of your clothes and she has to ask to kiss your clit, dropping to her knees. her fingers bruising your thighs and shes eating you out as if she'd been starving. you cum but she's not satisfied yet, she pulls you down on the bedroom carpet with her "give me another one, please." hands roaming your skin ever so softly, sending shivers down your body. she asks what you want, the position, how many fingers, she just needs to please you. and now she's on top of you, pounding you with her fingers and pressing down your lower stomach because she just wants you to cum again.

band!ellie who loves sleepy sex

she's gonna be in bed with you, almost asleep asking you for kisses, then for some touches... and you end up between her legs, sloppy nasty head and some slow fingering. your lips around her clit and kissing her pussy lips and slit and your fingers in and out her pussy. she's whining and squealing, playing with her own tits and caressing ur face. you're humming against her pussy and she's clenches "let go for me, ellie..." you coo and she squirts on your mouth and fingers. soft pants leaving her lips, soon stopping with her caresses on your face as you lick her cum. you look up, hair messy against the pillow and eyes closed. "i love you..." she mutters after you clean her and lay next to her "i love you." you spoon her.

a/n: this is kinda shitty but it's for who asked for more! @kyleeservopoulos @sameenatruther @harrysslutsstuff

[vaaaaaiolet]

Good thing your doctor's always on speed dial for your health scares, but can he help you out of this one?

gn / m, fluff, romance, hypochondriac reader, leon is your teledoc LMAO, denial of feelings / obliviousness, slightly ooc?? phone call transcript format in lowercase

word count: 1.2k // read on ao3

a/n: for @idyllcy + @hiya-itsamber :3

just a silly scenario i wrote in 2023 when those corny tiktok dual pov slideshows were a thing 😭 leon's dialogue is indented + in blue and nothing is proofread i fear

RINGING… [0:01]

[line connects.]

hi doc, I just wanted to call and tell you that I need to schedule an appointment tomorrow.

     that’s awfully soon, I just saw you last week. what’s wrong?

what’s wrong? more like what isn’t wrong. honestly, I think I’d rather just schedule the appointment and not waste more of your time. are you free at 4 tomorrow?

     my job is to ask you what’s wrong so I can fix it. cut out the middle man and tell me how you’ve been feeling. the poor receptionist needs a break anyway, flu season has her answering calls from her bathroom.

[nervous laughter.]

     are you in the bathroom?

…

     never mind that. do you have any new symptoms or have your old ones worsened?

this has to be against HIPAA or something, doc. I’m telling you, I’ll just call later.

[loud flushing sounds and tap water running.]

     I’m still waiting.

have it your way then.

     mhm.

I have so many symptoms, I don’t even know where to start. you know how I am about cleaning things and staying on top of my health. my chart last appointment was perfect!

     minus the minor cold you had, yes. has your cold not improved?

I’m not sure. the congestion and coughing’s all disappeared, but now I have really bad headaches. and hot flashes.

     headaches?

uh huh.

     what are they like?

they’re…weird. they start in my head, but they spread, like, everywhere.

     I see.

     can you tell me more about how they spread? is it one big headache or a bunch of little ones at a time?

they start in my temples and if I don’t take medicine for them fast enough, they move down to the bridge of my nose and into my cheeks. I swear I can feel these headaches in my chest.

and that’s when I get these hot flashes. like someone’s microwaving me on high, and I get dizzy, and out of breath, and-

     you get headaches in your chest?

in my chest! headaches aren’t supposed to do that right? it feels like my heart jumps. that’s not right, is it?

     [sounds of pen scratching on paper.]

but the curious thing is that I’ve had these symptoms before. they’re not new.

     huh? I thought they started right after your cold.

no no, it’s just that they go away when I have my appointments. I’ve been doing some research online and I think that right at the time you prescribe me my new medicine, they go away. it all lines up with the release time of the inhibi-

     you worry too much. I’m sure it’s not that; none of the medicine I’ve ever given you lines up with your symptoms.

oh.

     why didn’t you tell me this when you first started coming to our office? this is important information that needs to be added to your file.

but it really wasn’t that important-

     you don’t understand. I need your entire medical history to assign you the right medicine.

     I could have triggered some autoimmune disease, or, or, flared up more symptoms.

     god, I should have done the bare minimum and checked with your nurse. Florence, is that her name? I need to make some calls. I’ll call you right back.

hey doc? you’re starting to sound like me. don’t worry, I’m coming in for my appointment anyway tomorrow. you don’t have to get all military about it.

     you’re one of my first patients. I worry about you.

you do?

     it’s my job to worry about you. i quite like my job.

that felt nice to hear.

     it’s the truth.

the reason I didn’t tell you about it earlier is because I got a second opinion and I felt guilty about it. I felt like I was cheating on you, somehow.

     [laughter.]

     what part of your research gave you that idea? you don’t believe I can handle you seeing another healthcare professional?

it’s embarrassing! it wasn’t even a healthcare professional. it was my mom.

     your mom counts as a second opinion?

she’s licensed in all matters of life.

     I see.

…and the heart.

     that so?

she told me it was mmmfmmf [unintelligible].

     hm. I still need to hear about this incredibly important second opinion.

she told me I just had a silly crush. can you believe her?

     and she might have a point, you know. how did she come to that conclusion?

she totally dismissed my hot flashes and told me that it was normal. same with my headaches and what i’m definitely sure is a developing heart arrhythmia.

     that’s…interesting.

I get it, I thought the same thing you’re thinking right now. except she predicted a symptom I didn’t even have when I asked her.

     and what symptom would that be?

insomnia! I can’t even sleep anymore. I stay up all night in bed, thinking.

     and what do you think about?

to be honest, going back to the doctor’s office.

your office.

     my office?

yeah. whenever I go to your appointments, my symptoms go away. it would be stupid to bring up my mom’s theory during checkups, so I’ve never said anything.

     you’ve got to be kidding me.

     your master plan is to keep getting sick and showing up to my office for 20 minutes a month?

well, it sounds stupid when you say it!

     how long did you think this was going to last?

I don’t have a choice. it’s either this or nothing. 20 minutes with you taking my vitals is worth the aches and pains leading up to it because i feel so much better afterwards.

it just feels nice seeing you. i think it’s an environment trigger.

hey doc, you still there?

     tell you what, I think you’re going to have to get that second opinion.

why would I do that? didn’t I just explain to you why I can’t? you’re the only one that makes my mysterious disease go away, and besides, there’s no such thing as a second second opinion.

     listen to me. I can’t continue your current treatment anymore. it'd be breaking HIPAA to treat you like I need to because of the type of disease you have.

     and to be honest, I don’t think it has a cure yet.

are you serious? how much do I need to pay for treatment? what’s my prognosis?

[clattering of pens on desk and line breaks up briefly from movement.]

[quietly.] doc, am I going to live?

     [laughs.] you’ll live. I have no doubts about that.

well then, why can’t you treat me?

     I can treat you. it’s just that I can’t as your doctor.

you’re not making any sense.

     you’re still going to need to schedule that appointment for tomorrow, but it’ll have to be using a different phone number. call XXX-XXX-XXXX.

[furious pen scratching on paper.]

alright, and who am I asking for on the line?

     ask for Leon. and dress nice.

that’s required for the appointment?

     he has special conditions. it’s a quality of service thing.

…and you’ll be there with the doctor at the appointment?

     [light laughter.]

     I will.

okay, see you soon.

     take care.

[line disconnects.]

CALL ENDED WITH: DR. L. KENNEDY M.D. [14:45]

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[xf-cases-solved]

S2E3: Blood

Case: In, ah—one sec... Franklin, Pennsylvania! It's in Pennsylvania, definitely remembered that on my own accord. Anyway, in Franklin, Pennsylvania, a bunch of people are losing their marbles and murdering people in seemingly random attacks. What ties these crimes together is that right before they went murder hobo, they were in a situation that exacerbated their biggest fears, and also they hallucinated technology telling them to kill, which is very entertaining bc it's the fucking 90s, so the technology is very silly on its own, but is even sillier when it says "KILL 'EM ALL" in big red letters, but I digress. Mulder—with continued secret help from Scully on the side, as well as the Lone Gunmen (!!)—begins to suspect that these killings might actually be related to a pesticide the government is testing on people, but you know how the government gets when you try to claim they're involved in some big conspiracy, la dee da, so it goes.

A man gets laid off work, but that's the least of his problems as technology keeps telling him to kill people; a microwave tells a lady to stab Mulder to death; Mulder gives Frohike Scully's phone number; my notes say there is a handsome cop with nice hair, but I don't know who I was referring to or why I wrote that down; and Mulder's work on the case is ALL DONE. BYE-BYE!

Does someone die in the cold open: He got laid off so he's probably dead inside, but physically everyone is alive. (This does not last long.)

Does Mulder present a slideshow: Still no one to watch. Maybe he makes them for himself and plays them alone in his office and cries.

Does the evidence survive the investigation: Mmmmmmm, not sure. My guess is that the government is planning to get rid of any evidence that they were allowing chemicals to be tested on its citizens, but I'm not sure if Mulder held onto anything or not. I mean, he usually doesn't, so probably not, but -shrug emoji-.

Whodunit: Subliminal messaging caused by a pesticide that the Pennsylvanian government okayed to be tested on the town's residents. I think.

Convictions: None, but the government has to stop spraying people with LSD.

Did they solve it: I'll give it to 'em, why not? Mulder knows what caused it; more or less got a confession, or at least got them to stop doing the thing; and I feel like his report would be one of the less annoying ones he's submitted in his time in the FBI. Good job, Mulder! (And Scully, but unofficially.)

[how do i determine if a case is solved? check the scale here: x]

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY: Not being a test subject for government issued pesticides. I mean, like... you can try, but in the end, is it really up to you? What is the government testing on you right now? What have you been exposed to against your will? Is it LSD? It might be LSD, but who's to say for certain?  Not being a test subject for government issued pesticides — honestly, you're fucked, so maybe you should just... kill 'em all*... *This company does not endorse homicide, even if those homicidal impulses are the government's fault. Please don't sue us.

***

General Total Stats:

(green means stat has changed since last ep; red means new stat added to list)

Total Cases *Definitively* Solved So Far: 14 (two in a row!)

Total Number of "Mulder/Scully, It's Me": 6 

Total Number of Times Scully Has Conveniently Not Seen Something Crucial: 6

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Been in Mortal Danger: 8 ½ (i mean, technically that lady came at him with that knife so i'll give him a half point, but i doubt she would have ever been able to actually mortally wound him) 

Total Number of Times Scully Has Been in Mortal Danger: 8

Total Number of Sexually Charged, Uncomfortably Intimate, and/or Flirty Moments Between Friendly Coworkers: 13

Total Number of Autopsies Scully Has Performed On Screen: 5 (and there were no worms in the body!)

Total Number of Times Scully Plays Doctor: 2

Total Number of Times Mulder Talks to an Informant: 16 (x come back, bb, i miss u)

Total Number of Times People Making Out in a Car Are Hurt or Killed: 2

Total Number of Times Someone Correctly Guesses a Password: 3 

Total Number of (Plot Relevant) Nosebleeds: 5 (changed stat to specify plot relevancy, so i can get away with not counting it if someone gets beat up and their nose happens to bleed or something. the nosebleed in this one did make that man homicidal, tho, so i will up the stat lol)

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Tasted/Sniffed/Touched Something Questionable Without Following Proper Safety Procedures: 3

Total Number of Times Someone Says "Trust No One": 3 

Total Number of Times Someone Says "I Want to Believe": 3

Total Number of Times Someone Says "The Truth is Out There": 2

Total Number of Cigarettes Cigarette Smoking Man Has Smoked: 8

Total Number of Maggie Scully Sightings: 1

Total Number of Lone Gunmen Sightings: 2!

Total Number of Alex Krycek Sightings: 0 (BUT GUESS WHAT NEXT EPISODE IS???!!! 😀😀😀)

Total Number of Times I Had to Look Up What State the Episode Takes Place in Even Though I Literally Just Watched It: 10½ (shut up) 

Total Number of Times I Had to Look at an Episode's Wikipedia Page to Fill This Out Because It Was Fucking Confusing and/or Too Boring for Me to Pay Attention: 5

[pentrologram]

What Normal People Do - 6

Art... and more! gird your loins, people! hold onto thy merkins! if i can pull it off, this should hopefully be the last fluff chapter before shit gets kicked to high gear. ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

My Head Is An Animal

Johnny’s career is rapidly expanding.

The art fair had helped make Johnny excited about making art again. That, combined with the compliments you had so freely given to him yesterday and a new round of about twenty orders has him ecstatic about maintaining his storefront.

Enough time has elapsed that the first person who made the first order Johnny ever shipped had written a review- perhaps making it fancier than it needed to be when they saw how barren Johnny’s Etsy page was, but that didn’t exactly matter. Not when they had raved about how you could feel emotions behind every pen stroke! Or how they went and bought a frame for the small piece of paper! Or how it was probably hung in the reviewer’s art gallery!

It was nearly enough to make Johnny print the review out and paste it on a wall somewhere if he was being honest.

The Etsy soon turns into a TikTok page he pesters Simon into helping him set up once the storefront has gained enough traction to warrant it.

Things happen, and somehow the TikTok account gains half a million followers. Somehow, someway, Johnny finds himself in a community within Tiktok. It happens suddenly with duets and slideshows(Simon thinks, at least). Still, Johnny is soon reporting back about online friends, art trades, and after a while, being invited to local art fairs after being sniffed out by organizers, even.

Johnny is very much excited. He’s getting busier and busier, and though Simon doesn’t enjoy his time away from home, it is good for both of them, he thinks. Something to focus on. And brings back a decent amount of money, too.

You’re obviously invited to the art fairs Johnny gets stalls at. Johnny’s always over the moon to see you and sneaks free trinkets- like a bookmark or postcard- into your bag when he’s sure you’re not looking. Of course, this earns him a stern talking to when you notice, but your worries are easily quarried by puppy eyes and matching pout; “but Ae wanted to give you sa’thing, bon?”, he’s said before, and it doesn’t take very long for your resolve to crumble again. Sure, you could have argued that you could have bought it yourself, but you know that would only be matched with an offended glare from Johnny.

Truth be told, Johnny’s becoming really rather fond of you. Simon as well- such as when you had come to the third art fair Johnny showed at and had gotten lost after leaving Johnny’s booth. You’d gotten turned around a lot and were just about to ask someone when Simon caught your shoulder. He had called you a few times and when you didn’t answer, he went to find you. He corrals you back with the gentleness a shepherd must have with a lamb.

You’re starting to notice that Johnny has really started to take off. He’s gone to café’s and art podcasts and presentations at colleges and now cons and he has even been invited onto live stream with other art content creators on TikTok that he can now solidly call his friends. He gets along with them well and is even able to make meaningful friendships. For example, he meets a man who makes beautiful knitted mixed media work named Sammy who’s nothing short of a sweetheart to Johnny, talking to him via DMS and supplying him with inspiration when he gets stuck in a mood. Sammy is there, talking to him in his silly American accent and showing him the new knitted beanie he made out of recycled plastic bags for his 60-pound Maine Coon cat.

Then there’s Gloria, a cross stitcher. She’s well into her years, with her TikTok account being run by her great-grandson who kept her young with his quips and jokes. She quickly establishes herself by cursing like a sailor when her grandson jokingly insults her works from over the years. She also makes quite a few phallic pieces which, to no one’s surprise, the grandson rather likes. She’s so charming to Johnny because she sort of feels like his grandmammy.

Gloria reassures and encourages Johnny about his artwork over calls, which her great-grandson sets up and orchestrates because there's no way Gloria’s little arthritis-stricken claws would be able to navigate modern technology.

Simon likes his new online friends, too. Simon has become a staple in Johnny’s fanbase’s culture and his livestreams, oftentimes poking in to say hi or leave a coffee while Johnny draws on stream. He becomes prominent; it's easy to say that his fanbase adores the two of them especially when they get to hear their backstory, learning about how they met. It's enough to make him even more endearing to the public eye.

Life’s going awesome for him. He’s been going to art fairs in the area every other week, and even though fall is rapidly approaching, he's never been in better spirits. The cool weather usually means Johnny stops making art for a while because the warm weather helps keep him springy and stops his bad elbow joints from aching terribly. Now, he feels more than willing to tough it out.

Life just gets better when a rather large creator on the platform, someone named Jessica Johnson, invites him to an ‘ArtTok Conference’ about 50 miles away from Johnny and Simon’s flat in Manchester, so they plan to pack themselves up for the week with the dog. The venue itself is beautiful, all natural light, sleek marble and wood, and Johnny’s there to talk on a few panels to fans and do some live art as an installation; he’s going to be paid for his work, to just sit down in the gardens of the venue with Riley and do his art stuff while people walk around and observe and enjoy his art. He’d do it for free, honestly.

After he accepts the offer, he starts packing after he tells you, and it’s the happiest you’ve ever seen him. His cheeks are glowing and his smile lines have just become more defined as he's grown with his online career. When he announces that he’ll be at the con later that month, his Etsy shop completely sells out.

When the conference starts, Simon is attentive, caring and comforting. When Johnny gets ready for the first panel, Simon helps him steam the shirt he's gonna wear on the panel. When Johnny is signing prints at an M&G and his pen suddenly craps out, Simon’s there with an extra. When Johnny does his first day of sitting in the gardens and drawing, Simon stays with him, just standing there until one of the staff members brings him a chair. At the end of the first day, when Johnny face plants into the hotel room’s bed, Simon is quick to work out the knots from Johnny’s back. 

Johnny, if he’s being honest, is still a little sad that you weren’t able to make it, what with it being held in the middle of the work week and being an hour’s drive. You’re apologetic, of course, but he knows better than to be hurt terribly.  He feels better when you leave comments on all of the clips that he posts on his TikTok, and you still text whenever you can. He’s happy to be at the con and he’s thoroughly enjoying it, too. Simon’s like his own support system, leaving the conference building for coffee and bagels, and during the con, he’s like his own attraction at Johnny’s stall. People who don’t know Johnny are allured over by the six-foot-something man with the happiest-looking service dog ever and usually end up buying one of the many prints of Riley Johnny has done before.

Later in the week, he gets a panel all to himself where he talks about his charcoal art and how he made his style. Surprisingly, there’s a large turnout. He thought that nobody would want to listen to him ramble about the art he’s been making since high school or, even less, talk to him about his art. After the panel and a lengthy M&G, he starts planning when he’s going to release more things on his Etsy shop, just from how many of his prints he signed in less than three hours. In the time he has between panels and his live art installation, he finds himself doing thumbnails, just as an outlet for all the excess creative energy he has. It’s so fulfilling to see something he’s only ever seen something as a hobby grow into a whole community of his own, grow into a career and a plausible one at that.

Still, like all good things, the con comes to an end. He finishes the live art installation and then he and Simon say their goodbyes before making their way back home. Back to you.

In the space between, everything moves on in a peaceful sort of bliss. He’s restocking the Etsy regularly now, because of how much demand has ramped up. The art fairs are slowing as the cool weather sets in and he goes to his last one right as you get some free time, so it’s perfect timing for a little catch-up outing.

You get dinner at the art fair together, eating traditionally made pasta dyed colourful colours by plants while Johnny tells you everything about his time at the con. It just makes you sad that you missed it, just from how *happy* he sounds from the… Well, everything. He shows you pictures with fans and the highlight reels said fans made of his panels and endearing videos littered over his TikTok feed. You’re fully caught up in no time.

You’ve just finished dinner when Johnny gets the invitation. Johnny looks down at his phone while both you and Simon are engaged in conversation while he stares down at his screen. Then he gasps; loud and cartoonish.

“Ae- Ae go’ invited to a residency! In a gallery! Holy *hells*-“ he says, before a long and very animated string of curses as he finishes the email.

“Residency?” Simon asks.

“Gallery?” You ask.

“Yes!” Johnny says. “Oh, bleedin’ Mary. Look!” He says before he shoves his phone screen in your face, before passing it to Simon.

And, for the first time ever, you hear Simon laugh. It’s husky, like a smoker’s, but it’s endearing in a way. He wraps his arms around Johnny’s shoulders and kisses his temples.

“Yeah, I think this counts for another.” He says, flagging down the waiters for another round of drinks.

[acquavergine]

March 2023

I started writing this subsequent story about “my days” after lunch yesterday, but got distracted because we brought home some boxes of books and photos from the storage garage and now we are literally up to our elbows in them.  

My days are always really different because I still haven’t settled into a schedule here. (After more than 2 years in this little town) Although a few weeks ago I started volunteering with a group of high schoolers who just moved to Italy from Russia, Egypt, Tunisia, Peru and Cuba. Every Friday we meet and have begun making “radio plays” (recordings on voice memos with silly sound effects) to help them (and me) practice Italian and come out of their shells a little bit. So at least now I have a recurring Friday obligation and that gives a slight shape to my weeks.

Otherwise I do a lot of food shopping and cooking. We live on a hilltop and don’t have a car so I can only buy a bit of groceries at a time. Plus I’m super picky: eggs from one place, greens from another, potatoes from another, fruit from another, etc.. It’s cute in a way because I can have those special and important brief interactions with the shopkeepers that make me feel less lonely (I really miss those brief interactions when I am in America). I pretend our kitchen is our own personal two seat bistro and keep it stocked like I would a mini restaurant. I archive recipes and cook seasonally and have *almost* 0 food waste! I also work on some personal writing projects (diary-like) and do translations of things I can’t find in English and read a lot. Books, magazines, scripts and substacks. 

I journey into Rome about once a week to go to the museum/cinema/theatre or meet friends for lunch or assist on food photoshoots, etc. 

The last week of April and first week of May I am volunteering on a farm near Florence to help with an event and their lavender field. 

I’ve also been taking a course on edible herbs for a few weeks.. For three Thursdays we met in an old cantina under the "new” church to review slideshows about the history of herb identification. This past Saturday and Sunday we went as a class “foraging” although there isn’t even a translation for the word forage in Italian, they just use the word for “gather”..

Of course I also take walks around the lake and in the woods, but much less than I did when I first moved here. The story of this town and the lake is really particular, but I should leave that for another time… We live in the house my husband inherited from his father so we don’t pay rent, but when my money starts to run out I come back to the states to do pop ups and catering with my friends and stash away my earnings. It's not ideal because of the conversion fees… but it’s kind of fun to go back and forth, and work for periods and have other periods that feel more free.

I realized recently that when I am here I am living what I would call a “modern day casalinga* life”.. Matteo goes to work in Rome everyday except Mondays, and I stay here, in the “historical center” and hang the laundry to dry on the balcony, do my daily errands, gather cicoria and ramoracce and other “poor herbs” to boil, prepare his lunch for the next day, and do under the table English lessons over video chat, the same way the housewives* of my grandmother’s generation would do tailoring or give injections of medicine for under the table extra cash. It’s a role I am still getting used to, but I don’t *not* like it. I feel bad when I leave him here for my little trips (or my long trips), which is different from how I thought I would feel when (if ever) I had a husband. (actually I never even imagined I would be in a heteronormative relationship..) In any case, he’s relieved when I have trips planned, because if I don’t I start to sulk.

Oh, another thing that takes some of my time, but not always, is when Matteo is working on a play (he‘s a director)… and I have fallen into the role of assistant director/stage manager the past handful of times… though I’m still waiting to direct a play myself and have him assist me, but the time will come. In the back of my (our) mind, we have the idea to return to the states and open a bakery that has room for a stage. I think it’s the only way we could both feel tranquil and be able to make a living/possibly start a family/have a creative outlet/work for ourselves.. but we’re still not ready to make the leap across the pond.

[bxckybarness]

What I Missed - Loki Laufeyson

summary: while in custody at the TVA, loki realizes what he misses from the future, only to be surprised by what he gets in the present

word count: 2100+

warnings: a little angsty, a little emotional, mention of loki’s death, episode 1 spoilers

Today was certainly not Loki’s day.

Over the course of a few hours (or more, or less, this is the TVA, afterall) he had been in the custody of the Avengers, had happened upon the Tesseract and escaped from New York. It seemed too good to be true, and it was. Just when he thought he had truly outsmarted the Earthly heroes again, he was imprisoned and taken again.

Now here he was, under the supervision of the Time Variance Authority and one, Mobius, a bizarre administrator in charge of tracking down the most dangerous of variants. It all seemed like madness to Loki. He was used to silly games and grandiose tricks but this story of timelines and space lizards seemed beyond even his own trickery. It seemed downright absurd. And annoying.

He had been subject to what he would call an interrogation. Mobius, however, called it a simple conversation. A slideshow of his life, his “greatest hits” as Mobius had called it and a relentless fire of questions, the memory of which continued to burn in his memory:

Should you return, what are you going to do?

King of Midgard? Then what, happily ever after?

King of Space?

Why does someone with so much capability just want to rule?

Do you enjoy hurting people?

That one had burned most of all. Did he enjoy hurting people? Hardly. And it was upsetting to him that anyone would think that. But he also understood what he appeared to be to every other living creature. He had just relived the moment in which he killed that daft agent and his mother. His mother. He refused to believe he was at fault for that. Frigga was the only person who truly saw him and whom Loki cared for deeply. But it seemed so clear in the moving picture, he had led them right to her.

It was in that moment, with tears and rage in his eyes, he knew he needed to get out of the disastrous time circus. He no longer cared to be a monkey in this ring. If he could find the tesseract, he could escape and be free once again.

That plan had gone almost perfectly. The only thing that went wrong - there is no magic in the TVA. No matter how many times he held the tesseract in his hands, wishing it to take him back to Midgard or Asgard, he was met with nothing but the bland walls in this TVA Time Theater. There was no hope in escaping.

Feeling exhausted, Loki slowly moves toward the table in the center of the room. He sits down and admires the machine in front of him. As grim as the stories it held could be, it was still quite fascinating that it could replay the highlights from his life - in a weird way, at least. He reaches out and turns the knob, searching for the moment his mother dies. He finds it and watches in silence for a while, tears beginning to fall down his face.

He turns the knob again.

He sees a future version of himself sitting next to his father and Thor. He watches as his father declares his love for his sons. Sons, plural. Both Thor and him. A small smile graces Loki’s face before Odin disappears, leaving the two men behind. Loki holds back a sob as tears continue to flood from his eyes. His father did love him, did see purpose for him. He wasn’t just the mischievous son. He’s sad that it took this long to understand that, and sad that he never got to experience this himself, even if a future version of him did.

Another turn of the knob.

This scene immediately feels different. He sees a garden, full of life, beautiful flowers blooming in every direction. He sees himself, sitting under a tree smiling next to a young woman. As the scene progresses he realizes this version of him is smiling at you. He lets out a small gasp when he watches the pair share a kiss and wipes the quickly falling tears from his cheeks. He had always loved you, but had never gotten the chance to tell you. The two of you had met through Thor, when he brought both you and Jane to Asgard. He had taken to you quickly, enjoying your similar sarcasm and humor - something that was scarce within his home realm. You, like his mother, had always seen the good in him and had understood his struggle. It was something he would never understand, you being of Midgard. You knew what he had done and had been there to see the destruction, but still saw him not as the God of Mischief or Earth Enemy #1, only Loki. He aches for the fact that he never got to feel the happiness his future self did, especially when it was happiness with you.

Turn the knob.

Loki and Thor stand in a room together. Loki lets out a small laugh in the midst of his tears, wondering how his oaf of a brother managed to lose an eye. Maybe a dumb bet between the two of them, maybe there was a battle amongst the nine realms. He’s quickly pulled from his thoughts as he hears Thor speak.

“Maybe you’re not so bad after all, brother.”

“Maybe not,” the future Loki responds.

“Thank you,” Thor replies, “If you were here, I might even give you a hug.”

“I’m here.”

Loki smiles and nods to himself. From where he’s sitting now, it’s a wonder that he and his brother ever made up. He realizes now that the fighting and the sibling rivalry may have all been in his head. He, again, curses himself for leaving New York and allowing himself to miss these moments that he’s been waiting his whole life for.

Fast-forward.

He and you lay in a room, seemingly on the same ship as the previous scene. You lay snug against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You hum softly before speaking up.

“I love you, you know.”

By the look on both of your faces, it’s the first time this has been said out loud. There’s nervous tension in the room, Loki can feel it through this screen. He somehow knows the words his future self is going to say before he hears them.

“I love you too, darling. You bring out the best in me.”

You snuggle closer to him, if that’s even possible, and there’s a comfortable silence for a few seconds. Loki takes a moment to admire this picture. It was something he had wanted since he had first met you on Asgard. You had stuck out like a sore thumb, dressed in your casual Midgardian clothes. He couldn’t have missed you even if he tried, nobody could have. And boy was he glad about that now.

“Promise me something,” he watches himself say.

“Anything,” you whisper. “Anything for you, Loki.”

“Promise me, no matter what, you’ll always help me see the good in myself. I’ve too long suffered at the hands of those who desperately wish for me to see the bad.”

You let out a laugh and the Loki stuck in time laughs with you, “Oh, Loki. I wish you could see yourself as I see you. But I promise.”

“Thank you, my love.”

“You, Loki, may be a God, but you will always just be the man I fell in love with. The good, kind, and honorable man I call mine.”

Turn, again.

Loki sees himself kneeling and before he can question why, he watches as his future self moves to attack someone in front of him. When Loki realizes it's Thanos, he’s quickly on his feet, moving closer to the screen. The tears are gone now, and a silent rage burns behind his eyes. There was nothing from Loki but hate for the purple titan. He watches in horror as Thanos picks Loki up from the floor, a death grip on his neck. Loki wonders to himself how he would get himself out of this scenario had he been there. He assumes an illusion would do the trick. However, he notices your distraught figure behind the mad titan. He can hear your screams as you kneel next to Thor, who is imprisoned in cuffs. He hears you call out to him and he knows this will not end well. His suspicions are right when he watches his death. A shocked gasp comes from his throat as the tape in front of him runs out, nothing left to show.

Loki quickly sits back down and closes his eyes, trying his hardest to process the vision he saw. To one version of him, these would have been experiences and now memories. To him, though, these were all subtle tastes of a life he lost. He lost a touching moment with his father and a long awaited declaration of love from him. He lost the reconciliation with his brother and the confession that they had been more partners than rivals. Even though to him it had not yet happened, he missed it all, and it upset him deeply.

What hurt Loki the most was the idea that he lost his chance to feel his love reciprocated. Loki had never had much luck with romance. He was often seen as the sly younger brother and was usually too occupied to try and compete with Thor for the maidens at court. When he met you, he thought he had a chance. You were the first woman who saw him as his own person and not just as Thor’s brother. The relationship between the two of you had blossomed quickly and he found himself always sneaking away from his princely duties to see you. He had shown you his favorite places in Asgard and had opened up to you in ways he had never done before. He loved you and wanted you to be his. His one regret was not initiating a relationship before you had left for Midgard. And he thought his chances had been ruined by his actions in New York. Oh, how wrong he was.

Before Loki can dwell on his future more, Mobius comes bursting into the room.

“Ah Loki, glad you made your way back here. I have something for you,” he says.

“If this is another one of your tricks, I’m not currently in the mood,” Loki responds coolly.

“Just trust me on this one.”

Mobius shouts over his shoulder for someone to “bring her in.” Loki eyes the guards who walk in suspiciously until he notices who they bring with them. He can hardly believe his eyes. The gods in all the realms must be smiling down on him today, after all, because there you stand. He takes in your hideous red and white space suit, emblazoned with the Avengers logo, and he’s at least thankful he missed whatever battle this suit was required for.

He quickly stands and rushes over to you, a smile quickly gracing his face. You meet his gaze with a smile that is just as big and tears begin to flow from your eyes.

“Loki,’ you start. “Is that really you?”

He nods and speaks, although his words are barely audible, “It’s me, my love.”

“God, I thought I lost you forever. That’s why I went back in time to find you.”

Loki nods, now, unable to believe what he’s hearing, “You went back to find me?”

“Yes, but look what good that did me,” you say with a smirk. Loki’s heart pulls and he feels he could fall over right there. Norns, he missed you and your witty humor.

“Well,” he says, reciprocating your sly attitude, “You found me did you not? I might not be the same Loki as you knew, but I am still Loki.”

“The good, kind, and honorable Loki that I call mine.”

Loki smiles and you move forward to give him a hug. You’re cautious, though, because you aren’t exactly sure what part of the timeline this Loki came from. Maybe you had already been dating, maybe not. That was something to figure out another time though.

“Alright then,” Mobius says from behind you, “Let’s get you two caught up on what you missed with each other.”

Today was certainly not Loki’s day. And he had cursed all that was good that he had ended up at the TVA, taken from the life he knew. But now? He didn’t mind. He knew the relationships that were broken with his brother and father had been mended, he knew that one version of him had sacrificed himself for good and he had you, not only in memory but in the flesh. And sure, you had lots to rediscover within your relationship, but you would do that together.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝟒. ♡ 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"Hi! I hope u have a lovely day :] I was wondering if I could request an imagine where you're online friends with Gogy and one day you send him a picture wearing his merch and he can't stop thinking about it and finally ends up telling you he has a crush on you?? Thank you in advance :] I really enjoy your writing"

pairing: georgenotfound x reader

warnings: Zoom Video Communications none :)

links: | ao3 | request | masterlist |

⋆ song recommendation: Slowly by Josh Gilligan

(streamer bf gogy brainrot brrr) hello sweet anon! thank you for much for this request :) I love love love all the geo simps and their ideas. also thank you to my dearest LB for helping me with the plot help. happy reading, everyone! ♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ

You tapped your fingers on your desk, nails clattering at you waiting to be let into your third Zoom meeting of the day. Usually, you got off with only one lecture, but because of upcoming exams, you were finding yourself in and out of virtual meetings and office hours. Sure, it was better than jogging from building to building, fighting the crowds, and searching for a seat in a packed lecture hall, but it was still wearing you down beyond belief.

You rested your chin in your hand as your window went from white to dark grey, the square with your name getting wedged in beside the professor. Everyone’s cameras were off, a thankful sigh leaving your lips as your head slumped down to lay against your arm, the danger of falling asleep suddenly becoming more prominent.

You jumped slightly as your professor cleared their throat, sharing their screen and beginning to ramble off facts listed on the slideshow. You played with your keyboard, focused on removing a crumb from beneath your spacebar that was almost unreachable. You usually took notes in the class, but today was just one of those days.

“... And with that in mind, I’m going to put you all into breakout rooms…” Your professor trailed off, eyebrows furrowed as they peered at their screen and clicked frantically to assign all of you to rooms. You yawned, smacking your cheeks and sitting up. You were determined not to be a shitty partner, at least. The white box popped up, inviting you to join breakout room four. That’s always lucky, you thought to yourself as you joined.

Once again, you were cursed to look at the buffering wheel of death as your internet struggled to sustain all your opened tabs. Please, just a little longer, you groaned internally, eyes dashing towards the receiver and exhaling in relief as your computer connected to the breakout room. You turned on your camera, eliciting your partner, George, to do the same.

You flashed him a smile as you struggled to open the article from the previous night. “Hi! How’s it going?” You greeted, not yet looking at him.

“I’m good, actually. How are you?” He engaged, his voice deep and tired.

You finally managed to split your screen enough so that you could see him and the article. “Yeah, I’m good too. Thanks,” you chewed the inside of your cheek, eyes skimming some of the notes you’d etched into the margins. “So, did you have any idea what,” you paused, squinting at the author’s name, “Robert A. Schneider means when he discusses how ‘men of letters’ fear the lower class more than anything?” You asked, as your eyes trailed across your screen to finally gauge his reaction, you were taken aback by his appearance.

His soft features and dark eyes made you feel safe. As he smiled softly, running his fingers into his hair, he seemed to be racking his brain for an answer. He opened his mouth to begin, detailing what you had previously thought with better articulation.

The two of you got through the basic questions the professor had scripted for the students, then finding yourself still stuck in the breakout room. On a normal day, your professor would have pulled everyone back into the call after the first few questions.

George swiveled in his chair quietly as he listened to you briefly explain your area of study. His kind smile made your heart flutter slightly. Deep down, you hoped the two of you would be stuck in the room for a while.

Soon your topics blended into what kind of movies you both watched, a debate on where you could buy the cheapest bread on campus, and what kind of party people the two of you were. After an hour, instead of worrying whether or not your professor was dead, you were swapping numbers and planning out how the two of you would turn the Florida Keys into the headquarters of your new cult where the members would all worship a separate bitchy philosopher.

You pulled one of your legs to your chest, resting your cheek against your knee as his laughing died out. “Okay, this might be a weird question, but I need to know why your webcam is so clear. Is it like an OnlyFans thing or…”

He chuckled. “Yeah it’s definitely OnlyFans,” he joked, making you laugh. “I’m actually a ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ” he mumbled.

Your eyebrows perked playfully. “You’re a what?”

He pursed his lips to fit the grin stretching across his face. “ᵃ ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ”

You snorted slightly. “Sorry darling, you’ll have to speak up. What was that?”

He wet his lips, rolling his eyes as he bashfully groaned. “I’m a Minecraft streamer.”

You giggled, him basking in your disbelief. He smiled a bit brighter as he shrugged, leaning back in his chair as you rambled off questions. “There’s no way! Nerd!” you chaffed, making him smile as if he liked it when you playfully teased him. “Are you super popular?” You asked, catching your breath.

He bit his bottom lip swaying his head slightly as if deciding not to answer. “Mmmm. Not really.”

“Well, come on, Georgios! Give me your Twitch user and I’ll be your biggest fan, I promise.” He laughed at your response, digging out his phone to send you a link.

“I’d like to see you try,” he mumbled.

After the class had finally ended, you’d learned that your professor was on the phone with their credit card company. In the following weeks, you and George were in constant contact, even becoming part of each other’s daily routines.

As you studied for finals, you’d turn on his stream, letting his voice alleviate some of the stress of your exams. He knew you were watching and would even drop hints for you in what he was saying, or he’d blatantly just ask what you were talking about in your essay for a certain class. After the stream would end, he’d call you either on Discord or the phone, just so it felt like the two of you were studying together.

Jokingly, you badgered him to send you some of his merch, threatening to buy it from a bootleg online store if he didn’t. He had only brushed it off at the time, but shortly after, you received a hoodie in the mail with his gamer tag printed across it.

It was late at night when you’d received it, the tiredness of your eyes and George’s dulcet tones lulling you towards the idea of a dead sleep. Yet, you were drawn from your pleasant relaxation with the shrilling of your doorbell. You shrugged out of your blanket cocoon, grabbing your phone and trudging down the stairs. As you tore open the bag, your phone buzzed with a text from George asking if you’d seen something that one of his chat members. You chuckled softly and dug your hand into the material, holding it out in front of you.

You snickered to yourself, running your fingers across the red patch in the center. You slipped it over your head, letting the softness of the fabric brush against your skin. You snapped a photo of yourself and stumbled back upstairs before sending it to him.

When you returned, George was focused on something he was crafting. His eyes darted down to one corner of the screen where his phone was probably sitting. His eyes flashed back up with a smug grin on his face as if he knew exactly what you were going to say. Your “Thanks sugar daddy xx,” probably didn’t help either.

“What, chat?” His voice came out slightly uneven as he bit back a smile. You skimmed what people were asking. “It’s not a nude. A friend of mine got something I sent them,” he answered nonchalantly, finishing up what he was doing. The chat began to spam quietly. “No, it’s not a maid costume. Jesus Christ.” He leaned back in his chair, grabbing his phone and opening your message.

A grin spread across his face, alongside the light dusting of rosy pigment settling in his cheeks. He chuckled to himself, quickly replying before getting back to his game. You scoffed at his response.

George (H325) Anything for my silly little baka

You curled up again, putting away your schoolwork and devoting your attention to watching his stream as you drifted off to sleep.

Once again, you found yourself at the mercy of your internet as you attempted to join the breakout room assigned to you. You almost jumped out of your chair when it finally connected and you found George waiting for you. You smiled slightly as he scrolled through his phone. “What are the chances?” You asked, pulling his eyes to you.

He grinned, clicking off whatever he was looking at. “I was just about to raid your inbox.”

You chuckled. “I almost wore your merch to class, just to out you to whoever my partner was,” you joked, making him roll his eyes.

“I’m glad it’s me then,” he responded. You began scrounging around for your article. After a beat of hesitation, George spoke up again. “Hey, I’m glad you like the sweatshirt…” You perked an eyebrow in his direction. “I actually haven’t been able to get that picture out of my head. I know it’s stupid,” he stated lightly, chuckling nervously. You could feel your heart beating in your ears. “It’s so lame, but I think I have a crush on you.”

You sat back in your chair, stunned. “I mean, the feeling’s mutual. Even if it’s lame,” you mirrored, winking at him. “I mean, maybe it’s not lame because I know I like you.”

He smiled to himself at your answer before chuckling, “Should we Zoom date or something?”

[bestiesenpai]

Study buddy - Choso

Where oh where can I find a Choso-nii to help me with my studies? Where oh wherefore art thou? Femme reader, 2.1k words

Content warnings: incest, that’s it

“I don’t get it!” You whined loudly to yourself, almost to the point of tears as you sit at the dining table, frustration mounting the longer you stare at the screen of your laptop. There’s too many assignments that you need to finish, too many tests you need to study for - it’s all too much.

“What’s wrong?” As you throw your head into your hands, Choso comes around the corner, having heard your small shout. Looking over the table, swamped with textbooks and stacks of papers, his heart breaks a little for you.

“Go away, Choso-nii.” With your forehead pressed against the table, you don’t have the heart to sit up and look at your older brother.

“Not until you look at me, tell me what’s going on.” Smoothing a large hand across your back, he tried to nudge you to turn to him.

“You wouldn’t get it.” He’d never attended university, having gotten a job as soon as he could to help support the family. It wasn’t like you doubted his intellect, but this issue was out of his range.

He pushed and he pulled, but try as he might Choso couldn’t get you to look at him. He could see the angry scribbles on your notebook pages and the way your breathing was slightly laboured as if you were holding back tears. He didn’t want to push you too hard but he didn’t want you to wallow.

“Get up.” He was wrapping his arms around your middle before you could fully comprehend what it is he wanted, and soon you were forced out of your chair and sat back down onto his lap.

“Lemme go.” Your head still hung low, hands covering your face so you wouldn’t have to look at him and his pitying expression. Choso shook his head, resting his own forehead against your shoulder and squeezing you.

“Is it school? Do you want to take a break?”

“No.” You replied immediately, shrugging his head off and grabbing your pencil again. “I can’t, I have a lot to do.” Forcing yourself to scribble down some more words, you ignored the silence and the sigh that followed from Choso.

“But you’re upset, why don’t you-”

“Just stay out of it!” You snapped, clearly not in the mood to be coddled. Choso wasn’t used to you snapping at him like this and it showed in the shocked raise of his brows.

“Baby girl calm down.” Although he said it softly, there was an underlying edge to his tone. Choso shifted you on his lap, drawing you further up his legs and securing you more tightly in his arms.

“M’not a baby.” You mumbled back, instantly regretting how you spoke to him. All Choso ever did was try and help you, try and make your life just a bit easier; it wasn’t fair to him for you to act this way.

“You’re my baby.” Giving you a kiss on the back of your neck, Choso settled his chin on your shoulder. “Now, are you going to take a break?” He expected it when you shook your head no. “Will you let me help you then?”

“I don’t know, nii-chan...this kind of stuff might be too hard for you.” Handing him one of the pages of homework you had, you bit your lip as he read over it. Choso didn’t exactly have the best track record with schooling, often skipping classes to pick up odd jobs or just to sleep the day away.

“We can work on it together.” Putting it back on the table, Choso plucked the pencil out of your hands and started scribbling down what he thought was the right answer.

“Choso-nii, wait! Not like that!”

“Hm, no?” Cracking a smile, he began to tickle your sides as you snatched the pencil back. “Then how should I do it? Like this?”

“S-stop!” You shouted, giggles forcibly rising from your chest. Desperately trying to grab his fingers and hold them away from your sides, you had no choice but to laugh and squirm helplessly.

After a few minutes he relented, handing you back the pencil and letting you catch your breath. A soft smile stayed on his face as he noticed your mood had improved just from him tickling you, the hard crease in your brow and the frown tugging at your lips were gone now.

“Tell me what you’re working on here.” Gesturing toward your laptop, he saw an abundance of open tabs and a slideshow that was barely started.

“That’s one of my finals, I have to make a presentation.” Slumping against Choso’s chest, you huffed indignantly. Humming to himself, Choso clicked through a few of the tabs. He wasn’t familiar with the subject you were presenting on at all, but surely he could help a little bit?

“Let's work on this one first then, it seems to be giving you the most trouble.”

“They’re all giving me trouble.” Pushing your face into the side of his neck, you didn’t try to stop Choso from tidying up your workspace, tucking papers away into folders and pushing unneeded textbooks away.

Just having the table clear of all the daunting assignments was enough to make a slight weight lift off your shoulders. With no visual clutter, things in your mind slowly started to calm down. From your position leant against Choso, you explained the presentation as simply as possible. He flipped through more tabs as you spoke, reading and falling silent except for a few hums.

“I bet we could get a rough draft done by tonight.” He murmured.

“You think so?” His words gave you a little hope, and the reassuring hug he gave your middle even more.

“With a little sister as smart as you? I know so.” Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, he nodded confidently. He smiled when you smiled at the compliment, taking a hand and rubbing up and down your arm. “Let’s get started.”

As the two of you began to work, both diligently reading over the material, Choso’s hands started to wander. Both arms slid from around your waist, one going to rest around your hips as the other settled just under the hem of your shirt.

“What do you think about putting that quote here?” He whispered, pointing to the screen briefly before putting his hand back, letting his fingers creep up a little under your shirt.

“I could try it.” Unaffected by his hand, you typed away on the keyboard. As you breathed, Choso’s hand pushed up under your shirt entirely, hot palm resting on your stomach. Your hands faltered for a moment, but you didn’t say anything.

Silently typing, you tried to ignore Choso’s hand now fully resting just below your breasts. His hand was stopped by the bra you had on, but not for long. Pressing a kiss onto your cheek, he fully tugged down your bra.

“Nii-chan…” A whining protest was on the tip of your tongue, fingers beginning to curl around his wrist and pull his hand away.

“Sshh, don’t worry about what I’m doing. Focus on your work.” Gently twisting your nipple between his fingers, Choso flicked his chin toward the screen. Biting your lip and nodding your head, you did as he said. He was being nice enough to help you with your homework, it was only fair to let him have this.

Lightly massaging your breast, Choso still managed to be helpful and give critiques, aptly splitting his focus between fondling your chest and helping build the presentation. With soft fingers, he worked both nipples to full hardness and watched as they pebbled and peaked under the fabric of your shirt.

“Choso-nii, here too.” Spreading your legs for him, Choso lets you pull his hand from your shirt and down to your bottoms, past the waistband and over your panties. There’s a good amount of slick built up between your legs, seeping into the fabric of your panties and marking them with a large wet patch.

With his other hand taking the spot on your breast, Choso pushes his hand into your panties. Your legs are thrown open wide for him, body completely relaxed against his as you let him do whatever he wants.

Tapping your clit with his middle finger, Choso chuckles under his breath at the reflexive twitches in your legs. He can’t help but do it a few more times until you let out a whine and wiggle your hips for him.

Circling the swollen bud with the tip of his finger, the high moan that leaves your throat is music to his ears and when he presses down on it more firmly, your thighs immediately snap shut on his hand.

“Excited?” Choso teases in your ear, watching as you shamefully reopen your legs. Rubbing your clit with two fingers now, he can feel your hole clenching around nothing. With how much of your juices are on his fingers, it’s easy for them to slip down and press against it.

Steadily pumping his fingers in and out, Choso worked his fingers down to the knuckle, resting his palm snugly against your pelvis and grazing your clit. You’d fully given up on even pretending to still be working, fully laying on Choso as your hands gripped his sleeves.

Drawing his fingers out, Choso began to slowly thrust his fingers in and out, a soft clapping sound of his palm hitting you beginning to sound throughout the room.

“Shit, Choso!” You gasp loudly when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in tandem with the motion of his fingers. Your thighs threaten to close in on his hand again, quivering on his lap and fighting to stay open.

Soon your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers, quiet pants falling from your mouth and landing on the side of his face. Clutching your breast tightly in his hand, Choso grinds his thumb on your clit, getting a wave of endorphins himself just from hearing you moan.

You quickly lose the battle of trying to keep your legs spread, nearly fully clamping down on his hand and rendering it immobile. Choso doesn’t mind though, he welcomes whatever reactions you have to him and his touch. All he wants to do is make his little sister happy.

“Are you going to cum?” Swallowing thickly around the words, he breaks out into a silly grin when you nod drunkenly. His wrist and hand are starting to cramp up and the muscles in his arm are beginning to burn, but Choso refuses to slow down even a fraction.

“N-nii-chan, please!” Screwing your eyes closed, you arch your back hard, breath coming out shorter and shorter as your orgasm approaches. It’s unclear to both of you what you’re asking for, but you both know it’s not to stop.

“That’s it baby girl, cum nice and hard for me.” Kissing any part of your face he can reach, Choso’s hand doesn’t stop when you let out a loud moan and your cunt spasms around him. He certainly doesn’t stop as your feet stamp against the floor, the pleasure overwashing your senses almost too much for you to handle. He almost can’t bring himself to stop when your body goes slack and you whine at him to stop, the pleasure turning into pain.

Slipping his hand from your bottoms, Choso stares at his fingers covered in your sticky release. There’s thin strands that spread and break when he pulls apart his fingers and the heady musk that comes from them tastes just as good as it smells.

Slowly fixing your clothes and straightening your back, you fully turn over your shoulder to Choso and kiss him as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. You can smell and taste a hint of yourself on his lips, his tongue just barely darting out to swipe at yours.

“I think that was a good break, don’t you?” Choso whispers as he breaks the kiss, giving you a quick kiss on the nose before fully pulling away. He takes a mental picture of the blissed out look on your face and the way an easy, dopey smile spreads on your face.

“Yeah.” Nodding, you lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks, nii-chan.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” Helping you readjust your position on his lap, Choso feels his heart swell at knowing he helped you relax, made you feel nice and happy as any good caring older brother should. Pulling your laptop closer, Choso reopened the presentation and skimmed the last few words you’d written. “Now, let’s get back to work, alright?”

[stoneworldsimp]

cry, cry again

senku x reader

warnings: swearing

“you remind me of this one song from the modern world.”

senku hummed in response, putting his arm around you as you both sat up against the large tree. you leaned closer to his chest. the sun was disappearing from the sky, the last moments of sharp light hitting your eyes. if you peered higher, you saw the stars peek out.

“ever since our first kiss, i just hear that song when i’m with you. like your own theme song.”

he snickered,”sounds like something you’d think about.” senku looked down and kissed your forehead. “what was the song?”

“you probably won’t know it, but it’s a song that’s from the late 60’s..1960’s i mean. have you ever heard of the mamas and the papas?”

“i haven’t.”

“okay, so.. the first couple of lyrics remind me of you. especially on warm nights and clear skies like right now. it goes, uhm, ‘stars shining bright above you; night breezes seem to whisper, i love you; birds singin’ in the sycamore tree; dream a little dream of me...’ whenever we’re alone like this...i just think about that part a lot.”

senku didn’t reply; he softly squeezed your arm. oh god, he hated that didn’t he..

awkward silence ensued for what felt like forever.

it was a pretty vulnerable moment, even for you; you missed home, you missed your old life so much you felt like you were trapped in your own mental slideshow of the past. you didn’t like to share your thoughts most of the time, even with senku, because what good would it do to talk about a life that didn’t exist anymore?

but sharing music, god, you missed sharing music the modern way. the normal way. you sang songs you remembered to yourself, but it only filled a tiny piece of the hole in your heart; it didn’t even do any song justice, anyway. it was so easy to put in a cd, to find an album on the internet to share back then. it was awful how something so impactful was so easily wiped out.

in a poor attempt to save what you thought was a failed conversation, you laughed nervously and said,”was it bad? sorry you had to hear me sing. if i—“

“don’t apologize,” he said. you reached for his outer hand; he met you halfway, slotting his fingers through yours. he sat up slightly, wordlessly asking you to face him. “it was nice. cringy.. but nice after i thought about it—“

you pushed him to the side in disbelief, laughing while you exclaimed,”how dare you call my verbal love and affection cringy! i’ll whoop your ass!”

senku rolled on the ground away from you. you caught up and laughed even harder when you heard his voice reach a few octaves higher than the normal pitch as he yelled,”no, no- OKAY, it was lovely and sweet, i promise!”

“thank you,” you sang. once your laughter had died down, you crawled over to him and sat down. he scooted his head to lay on your lap, the rest of his body laying out on the ground in front of you.

the sun had disappeared and a cool breeze passed through. cold fingertips brushed through senku’s hair, and felt warmth when they reached the back of his neck.

“i know it was a little silly, but i am glad you liked it. at least for the most part. sometimes, i feel like i just sink in my own memories. i think about songs that remind me of certain moments and people, and it makes me think of what they used to mean to me before we all turned to stone, and then i think about my entire life before turning to stone.. it’s been getting harder to climb out of all of it, if that makes sense.”

“how come you haven’t talked about it before? it could help you feel better,” senku replied.

“i don’t know,” your fingers slowed to a stop,“i feel like you’d say..” i don’t know, that i shouldn’t dwell on the past? i should focus on everything happening right now, it wouldn’t make sense to sit and sulk about things that can’t be changed? even with the creation of instruments, it would take eternities upon eternities to get the evolution of music at the level of where it used to be, before the stone age?

you hesitated to continue. though the natural light was dimming, senku’s eyes on yours were crystal clear. you looked away before muttering,”i don’t know.”

senku reached up and took your hand in his. he gently kissed the top of it before holding it against his cheek. he closed his eyes and kissed your thumb seconds later. “i’m sorry if you felt like you couldn’t open up to me. i understand how you feel. i myself am a little.. hesitant, to even think about the past, because i feel like it’ll consume me, too. we’ve got a whole kingdom of science to build, and i’m not a huge fan of getting distracted.” senku opened his eyes again; he took your other hand and placed it on the other side of his face. “maybe it’d feel good to expose ourselves and reminisce like this. but let’s do it privately, so nobody else can butt in.” he sighed as he sandwiched your hands between his own and his cheeks in an effort to warm them.

forcing away a skeptical look, you asked,“you’d listen to all the albums i wanna talk about? all the artists and musicians from every era, even when i sing them to you?”

he smiled. “i’ll listen to you if you listen to me.”

you bent down, giving him a kiss on his cheek and then lips. the two of you talked and talked, and soon you felt the beams of sunlight hit your eyes again.

you’re right, senku; it feels really good to let it out.

[courtlyharlequin]

Amaranthine

Warning(s): female reader, mentions of anxiety, slow burn (I think), 17K word count, self-indulgence, Vivi’s Vil brain rot with no plot,  not proofread

Summary: There was this monster inside your head. It went by the name of Anxiety. To you, it was, and always be, more so of a parasite you couldn’t live with, but you also couldn’t live without. It looked after you in the strangest of times. For the most part, it was a hindrance, cluttering your mind with dark and bitter thoughts, assuming the worst in people you’ve never met before, jumping to conclusions, and crying over the smallest things. It made you extremely aware of yourself and others, for better or for worse. That was Anxiety, the monster in your head. The exact moment in time when it nestled instead into your mind is unknown to this day, festering in the back of your mind. Then there was Vil Schoenheit, your lover, your soulmate, and most importantly, your pillar of support who cheered you on in his own way. He taught you how to tame Anxiety. But alas, a monster will always be a monster.

A/N: It’s my birthdayyyyyy~ so I made a very, very, very self-indulgent fic for myself. While I did write it as a reader insert, it pertains to my mental health, particularly my anxiety, and there may be aspects of it that you may not understand. That is okay. I wanted some feels with Vil on my birthday because I have a case of Malleus syndrome;;;

A/N²: To clear things up, the reader in this fic is female. She is not Yuu (I usually write the reader as Yuu and yes, I’m aware they can be two separate entities). She likes to scrapbook, bake, and wear lolita clothing. She also attends NRC though her dorm is left pretty open-ended. However, it might not make sense if you’re in Pomefiore. This might not work if your birthday is in March either. I’m sorry asdfghjkl;

Disclaimer: Please note that this is not a fanfic that romanticizes mental illnesses. A significant other cannot solve everything. They shouldn’t solve everything. They aren’t meant to fix you; they’re there to bring out the best in you and be by your side when you need them to be. By no means, is it their job to help your completely overcome your mental illnesses. It’s a common trope in fanfiction and gives off mixed signals to me. This self-indulgent fanfic of mine is not meant to give anyone false hope. It is simply a love story that I always wanted to experience. Think of it as my own anxiety story. The only thing real about this is some events like the presentation meltdown though my partner eventually turned into my middle school bully so I just replaced him with Vil because Vil>>>>>>

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Fwip!

You flinched. You looked up. Vil had flicked your forehead. His eyes were filled with worry, brows creased and his lips strung in a frown.

“Fairest, is something on your mind?” he asked.

“No. Not at all.”

“Hold still for a minute. This lip tint is watery,” he said in a stern tone, tilting your chin upwards

He lined your lips in red and handed you a small mirror.

“Beautiful, my love.”

You stared at your expression. Vil was right. You were beautiful, all dolled up in this getup. You were prettier than usual, that’s for sure. However, the look isn’t for you or your hollow eyes. He snapped his fingers.

“Fairest,” he paused, sitting down on his bed, patting the space next to him, “Come here.”

You obliged.

“Now, talk to me. Don’t deny it. Something is on your mind. You’ve been zoning out all day. If you need a break just say so.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking?”

“Yes. About the past and whatnot. Trivial things! No matter,” you dismissed, leaning onto his shoulder.

Vil crossed his legs, “How could I help you if you give me such a vague answer?”

Had he truly forgotten your special day, the only day you were willing to break out of your shell and be showered in compliments and praise without feeling like an alien? While you didn’t have a cake to share and you were certain that he wouldn’t want to eat it either, you expected he would remember the date as your lover of seven months now. So far, he only asked you to drop by his room for makeup practice as he just landed a part-time job as a makeup artist. Not that you minded of course. He made you feel beautiful, one of the many reasons you loved him.

“I don’t think it’s something you can help me with. I was thinking about middle school and—”

“Don’t waste your time with those fools.”

“I told you it was trivial.”

You nuzzled against his shoulders.

“It’s been hard lately, you know? I’ve been overthinking again. About silly things. Group projects, you know? Presentations too. Ah, there was this one person who told me to shut up because of a misunderstanding and everyone laughed and I felt— But you mustn’t hurt them!”

You clutched his arm. His posture had stiffened. He gave you a blank expression though his eyes told the whole story.

“I felt a little out of place. Things were going fine until they showed up. It’s not their fault, don’t worry. I was excited to talk to them, but it ended up going downhill. I felt like I was overstepping my boundaries. It was embarrassing,” you continued.

“I know you don’t like it when I say this but it’s not as bad as you think it is. Know that you made progress compared to your pot– first year self,” Vil said, squeeze your hand, “If you want help with your presentations, then I’m here for you— as always.”

Straightforward as always. He never tolerated things he deems piffling, but you were glad he didn’t pity you, not one bit.

“I’m sorry for bothering—”

He placed the tip of his index finger on your nose.

“What do we say instead of apologizing for something we cannot control?”

“T-Thank you.”

“Go on now.”

“...for listening to me.”

“My pleasure, Fairest.”

His finger shifted as he cupped your cheek with one hand, leaning in to kiss your forehead. He must’ve forgotten your birthday, but you mustn’t going to ruin the mood. You watched his back as he gathered his makeup brushes. Vil was a busy man though that was something you were used to as his lover.

[ Two Years Prior, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Are you just going to sit there while everyone picks their partners, little potato?”

You flinched at the sudden comment. Potato? You had a name. Did you do something to be labeled in such a way? Moreover, what was the Vil Schoenheit doing standing in front of your desk? You prayed for the conversation to be brief. Part of you also prayed for him to ask to be partners.

“What are you staring at? Answer.”

You shook your head. This was bad. You were staring at him for too long. While you were dying from embarrassment, you let your gaze linger for a little longer. He was gorgeous. You loved how his blonde hair transitioned into a pale lavender, complimenting his violet eyes, eye makeup, and fair complexion.

Vil snapped his fingers before your field of vision.

“I know you aren’t mute. Answer.”

“Probably…” you said.

“Hah? That won’t do, potato. I’ll be your partner then.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, ‘I’ll be your partner’. Now, move over.  We’re in direct sunlight here and it won’t do any good for our skin if we sit there everyday for so long even if we are indoors.”

You nodded, sliding one seat over. He sat down next to you, arms and legs crossed. He seems mad, concerned with something, something else. His body language didn't match his facial expressions though he wasn’t hard to read. 

“Why me?”

You bit your lip, cringing at your own inquiry.

“You seem responsible enough to be my partner for this project,” he said, propping his head on his elbow, turning to face the blackboard.

What did he mean by that? Sure, you were responsible, but were you worth noting of? You were decent, not the best but not the worse either. Failing a class meant coming the topic of conversation when a teacher asks you to stay after class for a brief checkup or tutoring sessions. Excelling in a class meant being called out on your exemplary work by teachers. Anxiety was not equipped for either circumstances therefore it tried to help you maintain your grades discreetly. But Vil noticed, indicating that you were overachieving. Perhaps you should purposefully miss a few questions on the next quiz. You got a perfect score last time. It wouldn’t hurt. However, you were partnered with Vil, someone who strived for perfection, someone who stood out against a crowd. The phrase goes “...like a sore thumb”, but Vil stood out like a well polished and manicured appendage. He was beautiful, so beautiful that one had to stop for a moment to admire his beauty.

That was Vil, your partner. You could feel heavy stares in your direction. They were directed at Vil, but you couldn’t help feeling nervous. You fiddled with the ends of your hair, fixating your eyes onto your textbook.

You flinched when Vil pushed your back lightly. You shot him a widened stare, opening your mouth to ask him why he touched you. He placed a finger on your lips.

“Bad posture isn’t good for you. Straighten up and pay attention.”

Heat rose to your face as you adjusted your posture. 

[ Library ]

“Mind telling me what this is, potato?” Vil said, throwing a stack of papers onto the table.

Your shoulders tensed. You set your textbook down, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s our project.”

“No. It’s your project.”

“I wrote your name on it too so don’t worry about it. I don’t mind sharing the credit.”

“It’s not about the credit. It’s about the integrity. I dropped by Crewel’s office hours today with a question about this project and he told me that we had already turned it in. Fortunately for you, I’m good at improvising so we’re off the hook. I got our project back so we can work on it together.  Scoot over so we can get started. I’m assuming you also did the slideshow, but I–”

As usual, you complied to his demands, allowing him to sit next to you. He was a bit too close for comfort. Your peers could manage with this proximity so you probably could too if you took deep breaths every now and then. 

“We only have a day left, you know.”

“I know.”

“So why bother?”

Vil clicked his tongue, throwing his French braid over his shoulder as he slid the stool closer to the desk, “I bother because we’re a team.”

He paused, pondering, “I don’t like things being handed to me either.”

“That’s gold especially since this is coming from someone who’s always too busy to even reply to my texts,” you replied.

As soon as those words left your mouth, you bit your tongue. Was that too much? Should you have just listened to him? Kept quite? How will he react? Will he shame you on social media? Spread rumors? Tell Crewel?

“Listen here, potato. I work various part-time jobs and I run a club. I apologize for my poor time management, but I am here now. You, on the other hand, have only sent me one text pertaining to scheduling and this assignment during the three weeks we had to do it. We are both at fault, got that?”

“Yes,” you murmured, pulling out your laptop.

“Wonderful. You won’t have to rewrite everything. Just subtracting here and adding some words there for smoother transitions. It’ll sound better.”

You bit your lip. You were hoping that because you made the entire presentation, Vil would take up the speaking part out of guilt. Unfortunately for you, he was too self-righteous to give in. He can’t be persuaded either. His eyes were glued onto his own laptop, typing the evening away.

You’ll have to make due.

[ Presentation Day, Alchemy Classroom ]

From the brief time you’ve interacted with him, you knew that Vil was meant to be in the spotlight. He shined brightly, you could feel his charisma even from the back from the classroom. His performance was worthy of a standing ovation. You could never compete with him, let alone get through a single presentation. You had made it through all of your slides, but every time Vil spoke, you felt out of place. Your hands were shaking and you were on the brink of tears. Your peers must think you were incompetent. Their intense stares were unbearable. Did they pity you? Or Vil?

“It’s your turn,” Vil whispered.

You refused. His hand twitched as he grabbed your shoulders. This exchange was awkward enough yet your silent plea for help didn’t reach him.

“Go, potato.”

“No.”

He enunciated his words, “It’s. Your. Turn”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” you cried.

Vil’s expression softened. He reached for you and you braced yourself yet it never came. He huffed and proceeded with the rest of the slides.

Ah… crying in the first semester as a first year in high school? Because of a presentation overwhelming you? Wonderful. You’ll never be able to live that down. Should you transfer to RSA then? No, that won’t do. They had mandatory choir classes or so you heard. Maybe an ordinary high school from your hometown then? But what if the headmaster disapproved?

You meekly walked up to Crewel, “I’m going to the infirmary.”

Your instructor only nodded with reluctance. Dissatisfaction was written across his face, but turning down a frantic student in tears for an unknown reason would be frowned upon. You heard him mutter something about the puppies this year being too sheltered. You gave Vil a second glance before heading out. He brushed you off and continued with the deliverable. 

You were hopeless.

[ Infirmary ]

You pulled the covers closer to your face, hiding behind your hair. He was there. Why?

“(y/n),” he said.

You inched away from him. He finally called you by your name. Not by “potato”. Why were you a potato in the first place? Was it because you were beneath dirt? Were you that ugly to be beneath him?

“Are you just going to stay here forever? Curfew is soon. You should hurry and get to the mirror chamber.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, potato.”

 You were beneath him. The tears won’t stop falling. You were trembling.

“What did I do this time?” he sighed.

His voice was firm. He must’ve been irritated by today’s stunt.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just leave me alone... please.”

The blanket shrouded your eyes. How pathetic. How could you let him of all people see you in such a miserable state? You’ve only seen his social media profile once or twice. Was he the type to post and gossip about others?

The mattress sank as Vil sat down. You hugged your sides.

“Fine then. Be a stubborn potato.”

“... You honestly did nothing wrong. I’m the problem. I can’t function as a human being. I can’t talk to people. I can’t- Well, I can but it’s...”

“Difficult?”

“Yeah.”

“What is there to be scared of? Follow that trick where you pretend everyone is potato.”

Is that where the potato shtick came from? How reassuring. His tone was unchanging in pitch. Was he trying to comfort or criticize you?

“It's more complicated than just being shy. It’s tiring. I don’t have a clear mind. I worry too much. I spend my days in fear. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

Vil pulled the covers off your small figure. You turned to him in a haze.

“I believe the term is ‘anxiety’, potato,” he said.

“Y-Yeah. Was it obvious? It probably was. Pretty silly now that I think about it, but anyways curfew–”

“Did you think I was stuck in some era where I don’t even acknowledge mental health? And would look down on you because you have anxiety? Please. Give me more credit than that. I’m not close-minded. You’re still a person and you have feelings. So you have anxiety. What of it? Certainly no less of a person.”

Oh how your heart fluttered.

“Get up. You can stay at the Pomefiore dorms tonight. I should get you cleaned up. I can’t stand the sight of those red and puffy eyes…. Cheer up a bit, will you?”

He held out his hand. Was this his way of apologizing? It wasn’t his fault you crumbled in the first place so why? What did he want? Did he want to help you out to boost his reputation?

“Why are you helping me?”

“You clearly need help don’t you?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes or no, potato.”

“I can’t burden you more than I have,” you shook your head.

“I talked it over with Crewel. You’re fine.”

“I suppose I’m not excused either.”

You shrugged off the blankets and took Vil’s hand.

“No, you are. He seemed to be under the impression that you were actually ill,” he said, tapping his finger against his cheek.

“Then–”

“Leave it for now. We can discuss this over tea. After we clean you up though.”

“Do you pity me?”

What if you sounded desperate? What if you sounded needy? Was that needy? Would he change his mind? 

You clamped a hand over your mouth. Vil squinted at you as if he was trying to inspect a stain on a fine textile. He proceeded to grab your cheeks, squeezing them. He exercised his authority.

“I. Do. Not. Remember that. I don’t stoop that low. Good grief.”

“Then... what’s the price?” you cried.

“Excuse me?”

“Your time is valuable, isn’t it? You’re clearly busy. Why are you wasting your precious time on me? Shouldn’t you be compensated for the time I’ve wasted?”

“Yes, my time is valuable, but we can talk about compensation another time.”

He let his hand go, leaving you to gasp in sheer terror. So forceful… he scared you. What did he want from you?

“You coming, (y/n)?”

“Yeah.”

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Hold still. After you cleanse your skin with this superfruit cleanser, you have to apply this fir extract to exfoliate. It’ll sting, and it’s even worse when you get it in your eye, so be careful. Try not to move too much, potato.”

Vil dabbed the cotton ball on your face meticulously. You felt like a celebrity with your own hair and makeup team.

“There. All done,” he beamed.

He spun the chair around so you faced the vanity mirror.

“Beautiful. One hundred points for you.”

You gripped the hem of his shirt. He shouldn’t say things like that and expect you not to combust. What’s more was that this attire was incredibly lewd. What if someone came in and got the wrong idea? What if they spread rumors? You were wearing nothing but his shirt after all. It was long enough to reach your knees, but it was his shirt regardless.

“What do you think, potato?”

“It’s nice, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s not for me?”

“Well, I think it does,” he said.

You patted your cheeks. Soft. Oh dear, you were soft.

“Ah, ah. Don’t touch,” he scolded, prying your hands away.

Goodness you were hopeless.

“Eh? Stop crying. No! Don’t rub your eyes either. Let me get you some tissues.”

Annoyance was etched into his speech, but his actions betrayed his words. He never left your side; he wiped your tears with his own thumbs. You held his wrists tenderly. His touch was like a thousand butterfly kisses.

“I’m sorry. I just… Annoying… Nobody… I’m not.. You…”

He sighed, “Don’t apologize for your feelings. You’re not that annoying as you think. Instead, why don’t you try saying thank you?”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, something like ‘thank you for listening to me’. That shouldn’t be hard for you now, is it?”

“Thank you… for not being annoyed with me.”

Vil palmed his face, “Not that bad. We’ll work on it. Twenty points for you.”

You sniffled and broke out into a small fit of laughter. He smiled too, standing up straight. He towered over you. He was a giant. You watched his back as he approached his bed, fluffing up the pillows.  His heels clicked and clacked against the flooring. He was still in his school uniform. When was he going to sleep? Didn’t he say he wanted you to stay here? People would really get the wrong idea now. You tugged at his sleeves. Vil turned to you, waiting for you to speak.

“I’ll be going now.”

He grabbed your wrist, “Stay.”

You pulled away from him.

“No, not like that. I’m not going to do anything to you, potato. You really have to stop associating me with other potatoes. I meant stay for some tea. Of course, if you really feel uncomfortable then you’re free to go, but at least let me walk you back.”

“I’ll stay,” you said.

“Wonderful. Give me a moment to fix the bedding. The tea should be ready by then.”

When did he prepare the tea? When you were bathing? When you were changing into his pajamas?

“Vil, if I do stay the night, where will I be sleeping?“

“We have one spare room left over since one student never showed up to the ceremony so you can sleep there.”

You sighed, shoulders at ease.

“Did you honestly think I would let you sleep here? No, potato, I need my beauty rest.”

“No, not at all.”

“You are terrible at lying.”

“I’m not dirty minded I promise!”

“Did I say you were?” he smirked.

Vil had a frisky side to him… how unexpected. Nevertheless, you were relieved. You had insomnia already. If you had to sleep next to Vil… you would never see the dawn again.

“Potato, your tea.”

You jumped.

“Careful! It’s hot and these pajamas are made of silk. I dare you to stain them,” Vil scolded.

You nodded. He handed you a tea cup. 

“I was hoping to talk some things over with you, but it’s getting late. You can take this to the spare room down the hall and relax. Self-care time if you will. Here’s a bag for you to put your dirty clothes in. You can drop it off in the morning to the ghosts for laundry. When you get the chance to change, return the top to me. Capeesh?”

“Capeesh...” you mumbled, turning to the door, fumbling with the tea cup.

“(y/n),” he said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t disturb my beauty sleep.”

“Got it.”

“You didn’t let me finish, potato. You can disturb me if you need help with anything else regarding your anxiety. I won’t do things on your behalf, but I’m there to hold your hand. Just not during my beauty sleep, okay?”

“Okay…”

Vil was not lying when he said he wouldn’t treat you any less of a human. Even if there was a monster in your head, Vil treated you like he would anyone.  Perhaps he wasn’t so bad. But how could he say such things with a straight face? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. 

No, no, (y/n). You mustn’t catch feelings for someone this quickly. If anything, you were in love with the idea of him, his kindness, how he helped you out and cared for you. But was it even kindness?

Even if these feelings weren’t spawned from the idea of loving him, Vil would never return them. He seemed to be the type to be into someone independent. Or at least someone who was not broken. 

Mainly the former, it would seem. He didn’t pack your clothes even though he was the one who demanded that you strip, plunging you into a rose petal and lavender sprig bath. Admittedly, it was relaxing. He said something about lavender having a calming effect earlier. You smelt nice too. 

Maybe for today, you could be comfortable in your own skin. Just this once. You smelt really nice.

[ Four Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Alright, puppies. We have another lab project. The details are in the packet. You are to concoct a potion using the ingredients we learned about this unit. Any potion is fine, but Amortentia is forbidden– as usual. This project will be due in two weeks. You will present your findings to the class in small groups. You can choose your partners. You were good puppies for the last few weeks so I’ll let you choose this time. Do not disappoint me,” Crewel said, cracking his whip.

You watched as the class swarmed into a chaotic mass. Students laughed and embraced one another. You scanned the crowd, looking for someone as unfortunate as you, someone without a partner.

“(y/n). Would you like to be partners?”

Oh. Vil. After all this time, you were baffled by the fact that he continued to interact with you after your meltdown weeks ago. What’s more is that he even followed you back on Magicam. He engaged in conversations with you, asking to check answers with you despite passing tests with flying colors just as you did. You never minded per se. Vil always had something to say. He wasn’t talkative, but he was captivating and civil with a hint of sarcasm. He had a lot to critique. Moreover, you two were from different worlds. Whenever he shared stories about his life, from modeling to troublesome classmates, you felt like a child with a new toy. You were immersed, zoned out of your surroundings, your focus on that one, single thing. In turn, you shared your own anecdotes, anxiety struggles and small victories— to which he celebrated with you through small, almost satirized, cheers and affirmations. 

You were comfortable around him. Anxiety kept you from advancing your acquaintanceship to a friendship, but you were more than happy with sharing homework answers and making small talk. Vil most likely wanted to work with you because, as he said so before, you were reliable. Or was it responsible? Whatever the word was,  you were useful to him. You were noticed in the best way possible. A twisted way to put it, but that’s simply how you felt.

Vil was not what Anxiety said he was and that was more than good enough for you.

“Sure,” you said.

“Wonderful,” he smiled.

You slid over as he took a seat next to you. Away from the sun, just as he liked it. You remembered your first encounter well.

“We’re presenting in small groups this time so you don’t have to worry that much about it,” he paused before continuing, “We can practice. When are you available?”

“Any time, really, I don’t have any clubs.. Or part-time jobs.”

“How does this Friday sound then? I’ll ask my manager to clear my schedule for that day.”

“You don’t have to clear your schedule. I can manage even if you come back late… Just don’t come to me the day before the deadline?”

Were you being too bold with this request?

“Friday then,” Vil said, flipping through the packet, “What type of potion do you want to make?”

“You can choose. I’m not really sure.”

“No, you are sure. You keep staring at that one page. I know you’ve read everything the moment it was handed to you. You certainly weren’t zoning out either.”

If there was anything worth noting about Vil over the short time that you’ve known him, it was that he was observant. Profoundly observant. Perhaps even more than you.

Vil clicked his tongue: “Spit it out, potato. I won’t judge you. I don’t have much of a preference either. We can compromise if we don’t agree.”

“Amortentia,” you winced.

“Now, that we can’t do,” he waved, “Didn’t you hear the professor say?”

“I did, but the structure of this potion is so intricate. I want to try.”

“Aphrodisiacs are prohibited. We can’t do it.”

“I know. I can dream though.”

“Do you have a boy in mind, potato?”

“It’s not like that,” you huffed.

If only he knew. You were head over heels for him– or rather the idea of him, someone who accepted you wholly without ever wanting to tame the monster inside your head. You weren’t sure if you loved Vil for who he was or what he did for you as a classmate. Do mere classmates have afternoon tea in each other’s dorms? Did they engage in small talk frequently?

Vil chuckled, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, potato.”

[ Friday, Library ]

“You’re late, (y/n),” Vil said, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry.”

“I hope you weren’t planning on skipping out.”

“No, sir.”

“Sir? I’m not that old, you potato.”

You weren’t fond of the session already. While you enjoyed talking to Vil, his strict attitude was oftentimes a trigger for Anxiety. Vil made it rage, rattling against the cage that encasing your heart. It didn’t fancy that. Neither did you.

“Come sit,” he walked over to the desk.

His braid swayed back and forth. You followed him in suit, taking a seat. Vil reached for your shoulders and the small of your back. You yelped.

“Posture is the first step to confidence. If you shrink, you’ll portray your nervousness in the most obvious way possible. Feet flat on the ground and shoulders back.”

You felt exposed, flustered, but not to Vil’s touch. You felt vulnerable to a nonexistent crowd. 

Vil stood up and took a seat before you, staring at you intently.

“Now, deep breath. Scan the crowd and focus on a point behind them, away from their eyes, but still in their direction. Remember to look around occasionally so it’s not obvious that you’re staring at the back of the room. You don’t have to make direct eye contact.”

You nodded sheepishly and obeyed. It wasn’t difficult. You could stare into his eyes forever. You hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward if you kept your gaze fixed on his.

“Shall we begin?”

[  Two Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Hold still, potato,” Vil hissed.

He held your jaw steadily as he applied a glossy red lip tint onto your lips. In a classroom. In public. How many people were staring at you two? What did they think? Did they think you were his plaything?

“I don’t see the point in dressing up.”

“Please. Lip tint and a few touch ups isn’t ‘dressing up’. Plus, you’ll feel more confident if you look confident. Own it, my friend.”

Friend? You were his friend? You could feel your cheeks getting rosy. At the same time, you felt a surge of adrenaline. Was it confidence? You were on cloud nine, feeling unstoppable. If he said so, then Vil would be your first friend at Night Raven College outside of your dorm. 

But… what if he didn’t mean it?

No, no. he meant it. There was no need for Vil to lie. For him, lying was pointless. It was a waste of time; he preferred to get straight to the point even if it might be harsh on someone’s feelings. You’d learn to accept that his words come from honest intentions.

Crewel blew his whistle, signaling start time. Students flocked to their not-so-small groups. Vil had volunteered for the both of you to go first despite your protests, saying that it would be best to go first so you would not overthink and compare your presentation to others. 

“I’m Vil Schoenheiit.”

He squeezed your thigh. The gesture was of chaste intentions, you were sure. Your leg was the only place he could touch in hindsight. Or so you assumed. Regardless, it set your insides on fire, but it made his presence known— as if to say “I’m here, don’t worry.”

Your breath hitched: “And I’m (y/n) (l/n).”

[ One Day Later, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Potato, what are you doing here? It’s the weekend.”

You hugged your sides. He was sweating. You’ve never seen Vil in anything but his school uniform, Pomefiore’s dorm uniform, and pajamas. There he was… standing right before you in a stormy gray tank top. While he was wearing pajama bottoms, the look was foreign to you. What should you say? You never knew he worked out.  Were those weights heavy? Is he training for a certain role?

“I have something for you: a small thank you gift for yesterday,” you said, brushing past your thoughts.

“Oh? You don’t have to thank me. I wanted a good grade too so don’t think too highly of me… Simply improving is enough.”

You shook your head, “I insist. I want to do something for you too. I would feel guilty if it were any other way.”

Vil rested his palm on your head. You looked up at him attentively. The height difference between the both of you was immense. Compared to Vil, you were a dwarf.

“What is it that you want to show me?” he sighed.

You jumped with excitement, handing him a small container. He took them.

“What’s this?”

“Open them.”

“Alright, alright. Such a demanding potato…”

You watched him gingerly pop off the lid to reveal your culinary creation. Your eyes wandered back to his violet orbs.

“Potato, what is this?”

Did he honestly not know or did he think you were jesting?

“They’re oatmeal raisin cookies. I made them myself. It’s all organic ingredients, I promise. There’s apples in it too. I know you watch your diet, but I think it would be okay if you ate just one. At least?”

You scratched the back of your neck while Vil stared at them in bewilderment.

“Just one.”

“Yay~”

His furrowed eyebrows softened as he took a bite, “Not bad, potato.”

He placed it back in the container and closed the lid. Your heart sank. Was it just for show? Were they bad?

“Don’t take it personally. They are delicious. I don’t eat too many sweets though. I… also have a meeting with my producers after this. So perhaps later, my dear.”

“Oh alright.”

[ Someday– Your Birthday, Alchemy Classroom ]

You weren’t sure what kind of strings were pulled or if this class had free seating, but Vil gradually sat closer and closer to you. Now, his seat was next to you. He said that it was because he could not stand the other potatoes near his old seat and that he’d much rather sit with a friend who helped him stay on task– which in turn made your heart melt.

Answers weren’t the only things you two shared now. You often brought snacks to share with him. You brought healthy ones like apple crisps and celery sticks for accommodate the diet of your classmate. He only consumed workout smoothies in the morning. He would drink one before he went for a run with no post-workout smoothies to make up for the calories he burnt. For someone who claims to life a healthy lifestyle, Vil was oftentimes too busy to keep up with it. He rose when the sun kissed the tips of the hills. Granted, he could have risen earlier so he could consume his post-workout meal, but his work trails later in the night. Sleep was important to him. Between balancing his beauty sleep and fitness regime, he frequently came to Alchemy with his hair still wet from a morning shower, his eyes caked with concelaer, and an empty stomach.

The first time you offered him something to munch on and regain the calories burnt, he declined. But as these days became more frequent, Vil caved.  

“Potato.”

He slumped against his desk– a rare sight from the Pomefiore student.

“You should stop pushing yourself,” you said, taking out a container.

He shook his head.

“A break would be nice once in a while, Vil.”

He rolled his eyes, slipping off his gloves to take off the lid. God, he was so stubborn. He was going to burn out one day.

“I don’t mind sharing food with you, but you should pace yourself. Take a day off”

He shook his head again. Why though? Did his schedule not allow him to? Vil worked late sometimes, but was it worth it?

“Potato.”

“Hm?”

“Do you have anything aside from these cookies?”

You inhaled sharply, closing the lid and shoving it in your bag. They might have crumbled, but you didn’t want him to know. 

“Unfortunately, no sorry,” you sighed, clutching your bag’s handle.

“Fine then. I’ll just eat one then.”

“No.”

“Why not? “

“It’s not healthy for you.”

Vil lunged for your bag. His stomach growled. You did your best to stifle a giggle. 

“You just said it was alright to take a break,” he said.

“You can’t have them.”

“How come?”

“They’re for me…” you whispered.

“Come again?”

“These are mine.”

He hummed, clearly not buying into your excuse. Perhaps excuse was not the right word because they were for you. They were self-indulgent treats that you made for yourself around this time of year. They were self-indulgent with a miserable origin. 

At this point, he was gripping your wrist. Since when was VIl this forceful? He never crossed any boundaries. He was never nosy. Was he concerned? Or did the madness of hunger consume him?

He was akin to a stray kitten. You were the one to offer him food in the first place. There were two cookies. One wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine. Just one. Please don’t eat the other though. I’d like to eat one on my birthday.”

“Birthday? Potat–”

You put your hand over his mouth on impulse. He was going to throw a fit with you for placing your “breeding ground for bacteria”  on his face, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you pleaded, “But, yes, today is my birthday.”

Crewel’s footsteps echoed through the room, “Silence, puppies!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Vil hissed under his breath.

“I’m not big on birthdays. The attention is too much– plus, rarely anyone celebrates with me.”

“You honestly remind me of that one miserable Diasomnia first year from the class next door.”

The conversation was left at that.

[ A Few Hours Later, Courtyard ]

“Potato.”

“Vil?”

Where did he come from? How did he find you? Class had ended a few minutes ago. What’s more is that you only saw him every other day due to the Alchemy schedules. It was the only class you had with him. You never saw him outside of class, aside from rare encounters in the cafeteria. You ate in the library to avoid people so that was partly your fault too.

“Come with me.”

“Pardon?”

“I won’t take no for an answer. You are the birthday girl, after all.”

He struck his signature pose, one hand on his hip and the other pointed, barely touching his cheek. When did he develop this again?

Wait. What did he just say?

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Here. This is an anxiety journal. Think of it as a diary to write your thoughts down in case you don’t have anyone to talk to”

“Vil, I can't take this,” you said, pushing the notebook away.

“I insist.”

“Still…”

“You said you didn’t celebrate. And that others didn’t celebrate either, no?”

“Yes…”

“If you don’t put yourself out there and let people know, then how are others going to celebrate? And then you go mope around and eat cookies all by yourself in the library with the ghosts?”

Was he watching you? You were sure that there was no one there when the ghosts sang you happy birthday.

“I never said I was moping. I don’t care if I’m all alone. I don’t mind at all. I’m perfectly okay with that. I don’t need to be acknowledged or receive any gifts of pity so please just leave it at that…. I appreciate the gesture though.”

He leered. You took a step back. Was he angry? Why? This doesn’t concernto him. Why was he getting angry?

“I care. So take it.”

You caved, taking the journal. It was similar to the Pomefiore dorm leader’s grimoire: leather bound, decorated in gold decals in floral patterns and peacock feathers. It was pretty. You were a fool. A sensitive and broken fool. You were crying over a notebook, a gift put together at the last minute with tender loving care by a classmate you barely knew. It had been a long time since you felt this happy, this acknowledged.

Vil grimaced, “Oh stop crying already. I told you that I was here for you.”

He embraced you. It was awkward, but wholesome. You never hugged him before. He was warm. Perhaps a little bony for it to be of any comfort, but that was most likely due to the position you two were him. His head pats were stiff. It was ill at ease, but endearing.

Vil was your friend. Though not the closest, you treasured his actions. You weren’t sure how he put up with you. Or why even, but all you were concerned in at this moment was that he cared. It would be lovely to not assume the worst in people for once.

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

What would Vil surprise with you this year? He hasn’t mentioned anything yet.

The makeover was nice, but you weren’t big on makeovers. Did you get to keep this dress? It was embellished with lace and frills– fancy. It was white, pink and floral like the Heartslabyul croquet court. You felt pretty albeit out of your own skin. Vil hummed a soft song whilst cleaning his makeup brushes.

Would that be all?  It was your first birthday as a couple. Were you ungrateful if you asked if there was anything else? His schedule was tight. What would he say if you mentioned that today was your birthday? What would he say if you asked if he had forgotten? Would you sound narcissistic? 

Would he say the same thing he said to you when you were second years?

[ One Year Ago, Someday– Your Birthday, Hallway ]

“Vil!”

You were so excited to see him again. You couldn’t stop yourself from running up to him.

“(y/n).”

“I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you? Congratulations. It’s a bit late though. How’s being Pomefiore’s new dorm leader treating you?”

He brushed his hair off his shoulders. Ah... a new hairstyle. He was wearing the barette you made for his birthday. You missed the French braid, but you felt that he was more relaxed when he let his hair down (literally).

“Rook. Guide the baby potatoes back to our dorm. Give us a moment,” Vil said to the person he was walking with.

Rook, you assumed. He was bizarre with his exaggerated features and hat. You were certain that the accessory violated campus dress codes. Needless to say, he was beautiful in his own way– just like any Pomefiore student.

“Oui, Roi du Poison. I shall leave you with ta chérie~” he breathed, prancing away with the first years.

“Ta what now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Vil said, “I am doing well, thank you, (y/n).”

No “potato” this time? Not even once? You hadn’t seen him since your second year started, only keeping up with his life through Magicam and story replies. Sometimes, he messaged you to check up on you or ask to compare answers for Alchemy and Potions. You packed snacks for him though that routine eventually ceased as Vil began taking better care of himself, opting only to run when he had the time.

You missed those days, but his well being was more important than your own selfish feelings. You had grown fond of that nickname since he used it so often. It was a term of endearment. It saddened you that he called others potatoes as well.

“Happy birthday by the way,” Vil said.

“Oh! You remember?”

“There you go again. I don’t have the memory of a goldfish– of course I remember. Though I don’t have a gift for you this time around.”

Did you offend him? Did you sound needy? You weren’t asking for any presents. Did it come off that way?

“I don’t need anything so it’s fine.”

Or rather, you didn't expect anything.

“Good grief. It’s your birthday. Chin up. Have the attention on yourself for one day. It’s your day after all. Anyhow,I would love to chit chat more, but my schedule is tight. I cannot dilly dal–”

You reached for his hand, “W-Would you like to hang out at a café sometime then?”

You cut him off. Was that too abrupt? Rude? Uncalled for? You should have let him leave even if you did miss being around him, being friends with him.

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to. I was just thinking that maybe we could spend some time together and catch up. We haven’t seen each other in person too much. I’m not comfortable with too much attention either so yours is more than enough.”

God, what were you saying? That was cringe-worthy. You prayed that he would decline your impulsive proposal.

“I don’t see why not. Very well then, (y/n). Text me the details so I can adjust my schedule accordingly.”

Wait. He agreed? Was he pitying you? No, no. Stop doubting him. Vil was your friend. He must’ve missed being around you too.

[ One Month Later, Cafe Rosé ]

When he said he was busy, he meant it. A month had passed since your birthday and just now were you able to meet up.

You sat in the café idly. He watched you consume your third plate of strawberry shortcake. You glanced at him then at your growing pile of dishes. He squinted. Should you stop?

“Don’t.”

Did he read your mind?

“No, I’m not a mind reader.”

“But you did it again.”

“Your expressions are easy to read. Do yourself a favor and don’t feel bad if you  enjoy something and I don’t. Someone who makes you feel bad for getting excited about something– something harmless, something you enjoy, is the worst kind of person. Enjoy your cake, birthday girl. Don’t let me, or anyone for that matter, stop you.”

Vil sipped his hand-pressed superfruit smoothie vehemently.

That was oddly inspiring despite having relevance to your self-esteem and cake. Funnily enough, you did feel better about yourself.

“Excuse me? May I get three more slices of this cake? And another teapot, please?” you called out to a server impulsively.

What on earth were you doing? Was that rude? Did she find you demanding?

“Anything else?”

“That’ll be all for now.”

You turned from the waitress, bringing your attention back to Vil. You cocked your head to the side: “What?”

“Consume cake in moderation, you potato.”

There it was. You’ve been waiting all semester to be called a potato. Pomefiore first years have expressed a strong dislike for the nickname. You, on the other hand, treasured it. Time and memories were built into that nickname.

“It’s fine. I’m paying anyway so don’t worry.”

“You are not paying on your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday though.”

“We’re here for a belated celebration.”

“So an unbirthday?”

“No, no. Don’t bring the Queen of Hearts’s rules and gimmicks into this,” Vil waved his hand.

He set his smoothie down, The ice shifted, echoing throughout the café.

“I want to pay. I wanted to go here in the first place.”

“Think of this as my belated birthday present for you, atonement for not getting you anything or talking as much we’d like.”

“Vil, I don’t require anything from you. You’re busy. You don’t have to talk to me everyday. I think I would combust if you did. My social battery would drain.”

“That’s reassuring.”

The waitress cleared her throat. Vil nodded, sliding his glass to the further end of the table. She placed the cake slices in a neat triangle before setting the teapot down in the center. Then she followed up with the teacups–one for you, one for Vil. He raised an eyebrow at you. Your server gave a polite bow and dismissed herself.

“Eat one slice. Then I’ll let you pay,” you beamed, sliding him the plate.

He glared at the confection, “Alright.”

[ March, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Bonjour, bonjour! What brings you to our humble dorm?”

Rook was his name right?

“Hello, Rook. I was hoping–”

He scared the living daylight out of you. Where did he come from? Why was nobody else around? You spun your heel and scanned the hall. It was empty.

“Echanté, mademoiselle! Let me guess!”

You yelped, falling backwards. Where did he come from? He was behind you a moment ago. His eyes widened as he lunged for you, hooking his arm around your waist, catching you before you made contact with the ground.

“Careful, careful, little fawn,” he chuckled.

Fawn?

He set you straight then pointed at you. His gloved index finger barely touched the bridge of your nose. This man, Rook, was sending your nerves in a downward spiral. 

He smiled at you, resuming like nothing ever happened: “Let me guess– you’re looking for your darling Roi du Poison?”

“Darling… Roi du Poison? Who? Vil?”

“Oui.”

“No, he’s not.. we’re not. We’re just friends. I’m looking for him though bec–”

“Are you here for compensation?”

Rook set Anxiety loose. With a few words, he sent shivers down your spine. Compensation. Would your friendship end the moment you fulfilled his request? It had always been in the back of your mind. The thought of Vil using you to make him feel better about himself shatters you into a million pieces. The thought of owing Vil something for helping you, for being your friend, was heart-wrenching. Was it pity after all this time? Was it so wrong to want to hang out at yet another café? You looked forward to those every month– ever since your unbirthday date. Was your relationship that superficial?

No, it wasn’t a date. You wanted it to be, but it was not a date. You never quite shook off those romantic feelings you felt when you saw a different side to him. Beneath the surface of the poised, strict and sometimes narcissistic prefect, Vil was extremely hard working, passionate, and observant. He was the greatest friend you could ever ask for. You can’t say that he was your best friend, but he was close. If he didn’t feel the same, then that was okay with you. You weren’t even sure if it was love. You’ve had this debate with Anxiety before. It kept telling you that you were in love with the idea of him fixing you. That was not love.

You shook your head. Vil genuinely was your friend. If those feelings were not returned, then you would still be friends.  He told you time and time again that you should never feel sorry for the way you feel. If so, then would it be alright to tell him one day? And feel terrible about it later?

“He’s here, isn’t he?” you asked.

“Oui~”

“Rook, (y/n),” a voice from the end of the half coughed.

Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader crossed his arms and gave you a smug smile. Vil. He was decked out in a trench coat and a black turtleneck. Stylish as always, but his hoarse voice told a different story. You rushed to Vil’s side.

“Vil, are you alright?,” you tugged his sleeves, “Your eyes are so puffy. Have you been crying? You’re burning up too. You should rest. Go back to bed this instant. Our café rendezvous can wait.”

He staggered: “No. I want to go with you. I finally have the time.. to see you… I have to make it count...”

“No, Vil. You have a fever. You need to rest,” you said, sliding his arm over your shoulders, ready to haul him back to his quarters.

Rook hummed a bird’s song.

“Would you mind helping?”

The height difference between you and Vil was awkward. His legs are dragged across the floor in a languid manner. One could imagine how uncomfortable that was.

“Non non, little fawn! My hands are dirty. Roi du Poison wouldn’t allow me to taint his beauty with such bacteria. Désolé!”

“Can you at least get the door then?”

“Will do, milady,” he bowed before complying to your request.

He held the door for you as you dragged Vil to his bed. You gasped as Vil’s limbs tighten around your neck.

“Would you mind getting the sheets too? Pull them out so I can tuck him in?”

Rook hummed in response. You plopped Vil onto the mattress. Your companion’s eyes widened, hands thrown in the air.

“Mademoiselle! Careful! Roi du Poison is fragile like a flower’s first bloom.”

“He’ll be fine don’t worry. Now if you could–”

Where did he go? You blinked for one minute and the vice prefect was gone.  You shook your head in dismay, turning to Vil and tucked him in bed. He looked so peaceful. His eyes were so distraught and dull before. Did he overwork himself to the point of tears? His room was a mess– shreds of fabric and crumpled balls of paper were discarded on the floor. You could hear his breathing as you made way to his desk.

What’s this? A script? And a sewing machine? What was he making? His sketches were stunning. Was this a side project of his? Was he too busy with films to continue with it? But why were his eyes so puffy?

Whatever the case was, it wasn’t your place to pry. Your fingers trailed off over the sketchbook as you made your way to his bathroom. You didn’t know where he kept the medicine or what kind he used, but it was worth a try to look around.

You opened the cabinet and your face fell. At a glance, he didn’t have anything aside from comesetics. There were a few bottles of potions, but you couldn’t make out the labels. It was best not to guess and check. The least you could do was place a wet on his head to cool down the fever. You peered over the bathroom’s door frame.

He wouldn’t mind. He was breathing heavily. You’ll face the consequences later if it violated his beauty regime. Hurriedly, you grabbed a small towel off the shelf, rinsing it in cold water in the sink. You squeezed off the excess and rushed to Vil, cursing at intervals where the water dripped onto whatever expensive material the flooring was made of. Was it expensive? You couldn’t tell. You placed it on his head gingerly. 

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down and kissed his cheek.

Holy… what did you just do? You were taking advantage of him when he was out cold. If he was awake what would he say? Why did you do that? Why did that make your heart flutter?

“F-Feel better, Vil. I’ll be going now. Tell me when you wake up,” you sighed, patting your cheeks down.

You were a fool for initiating such an intimate act while someone was sleeping. You were also talking to said someone as if they were listening. It was best to excuse yourself now. Though maybe a little note would be helpful for when he wakes up. Your sleeves dipped. Your eyes went to the source of motion: Vil.

“Fairest… can you stay?”

You were at a loss for words. Vil called you “Fairest”– as if your other nickname didn’t exist. His face was flushed from the heat and his eyes were red and teary. What to do? What to do? What to do?

Vil tugged at your sleeves and pulled you onto the bed. Your mind went blank. You were on top of him, preventing yourself from crushing him with your weight, hands pinned on each side of his head.

“V-Vil?”

He pulled you onto him, then turned to the side, causing you to face each other. The blankets were ruffled, wrapping you two into a contorted position. The towel slipped off his face. You scrambled out of bed. Vil lunged for you, pulling you back in.

“I said stay,” he pouted.

“I know, I was just getting out of bed to get back in. Wait that doesn’t make sense?”

“It does,” he said, lifting the sheets so you could climb in,

You yelped as he pulled you into his chest, “Vil? What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you today.”

“I’m here.”

“I wanted to go on another date with you.”

Date? Does he think it was a date too? Every single one? Great Seven, have mercy…

“You should rest. We can hang out here if you want.”

Your hold on his waist tightened. You inhaled the faint scent of his cologne. Perhaps to him, this was a fever dream. Stil, all love takes patience– if what you both felt was love, that is.

“Thank you for staying , (y/n).”

“...Do you want to talk about it? Usually you’re the one listening to me, but I’m here for you too. ”

Vil buried his head into your shoulders, “Nothing much. Just overworked. Stress came to me in the form of sickness, unfortunately. How inconvenient.”

He clicked his tongue while you giggled. Even if bedridden, Vil’s mind was as proactive as ever.

“Were you crying?”

“...”

“You don’t have to answer.”

How do you comfort someone? You’ve always been the one comforted, especially from Vil. Were you gaining more from the relationship than Vil did? You wanted him to cheer up though...

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s better to get it off my chest while you’re still here.”

What did he mean by that? You weren’t leaving. Why would you? How could you?

“Do you think I’m more than my appearance?”

He was shaking. Vil was shaking. What could have possibly happened from the last time you saw him? Was he alright?

“Why do you want my opinion? We both know you’re more than a pretty face.”

“Answer the question.”

“Alright, alright. I do think you have a pretty face. You’re gorgeous, very handsome… but you’re also hardworking, diligent, strong-willed, driven, intelligent, observant and more words that I can’t think of to describe how I feel about you. Oh and a great alchemist and friend I might add. Vil, you’re pretty. You’re beautiful. Inside and out.”

Your heart hurt. Calling him your friend didn’t sit right with you. He threw his head back in a fit of laughter.

“Did I ramble too much?”

“No, not at all. I feel much better so thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better then. Whatever happened, I hope you know that it doesn’t define you. If you feel like it does, then remember that I’m your biggest fan.”

Ah, too cheesy. You’ve gotten too comfortable around Vil to think about Anxiety or your verbal filter. When you were with him, words flowed as freely as time.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

He didn’t say anything much about it. Was that not weird for him? Did you offer the solace he was looking for? He merely pulled away from your embrace. You thanked the heavens that his eyes were closed. If he made eye contact with you while you two were still sharing the same bed, you might as well ascend to the afterlife.

“Why do you ask though?”

“Oh I just had a miserable case of self-doubt is all. My manager kept taking roles that type-casted me as beautiful as the main character. I know I’m worth more than my looks- I want to be more than my looks-  but so far the industry has told me otherwise… but thank you, (y/n).”

He stayed like that for a while, inhaling and exhaling softly. Was he sleeping? How much time had passed?

“Vil. I have a question for you. You don’t have to answer if you’re not up to it. I know you have a lot on your mind right...” you said, breaking the silence.

“Shoot.”

“Will I be able to see you again after I compensate for the time I’ve wasted?”

“You don’t waste time. You don’t have to compensate for anything. I’m glad you’re here with me. If anything, I wasted your time.”

“But you said that we could talk about compensation later. It’s been over a year, Vil,” you whimpered.

“What do you mean by compensation?” he asked firmly, opening his eyes.

You choked on your own words. This was a bad idea. It might even offend him. Would if offend him? You wanted to know.

“Our first presentation. My anxiety attack. The infirmary. You helped me. I asked why then you said there was a price and we could talk about it later. But that conversation never came up. Why is that? Why did you come to the infirmary that night? Why did you take me in? Why am I here? Why do you still talk to me?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from spewing all of the questions you had for these past months. You needed to know. You needed your heart to shatter.

He sighed, “Good grief, (y/n). You remember all of that still? It’s not as bad as you think.”

He was offended.

“Please don’t say that.”

He inhaled sharply. 

“My apologies, potato. I didn’t mean it like that. But to answer your question, I felt guilty especially since I was the one who forced you onto the podium and made you redo the presentation because I couldn’t manage my first major acting role and my academics at the same time. I am sorry that you had to suffer the consequences.”

Vil turned onto his back. He brought his forearm to cover his eyes. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Did it hurt his pride? 

“I didn’t think of it like that. I’m sorry that I ruined our project because I couldn’t manage to improvise.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for that.”

“You shouldn’t either. Your feelings are just as valid as mine. Even if you don’t have anxiety, you still can feel anxious and overwhelmed.”

“Touché.”

“And the compensation?”

“You needn’t worry about that. My time is valuable indeed but you’re not a waste of my time at all. You’re worthwhile.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you muttered.

“Hm?”

“What would have been the compensation?”

Vil turned to face you, rustling the sheets, “Are you that curious, Fairest?”

“F-Fairest?”

“Hm, yes it suits you now more than ever. Close your eyes for a moment. This should be quick.”

You obliged, closing your eyes. Vil wouldn’t do something terrible to you would he? He gripped your shoulders and pushed you flat on your back. You felt him shift his leg so he could straddle you. You instinctively cursed yourself in a ball.

“You can relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You loosened your muscles, trying hard not to burst into a fit of nervous laughter. You were scared.

“Fairest.”

“Yes?”

“How was your day?”

“Well, it was—mmmphhh!”

Vil had told you to keep your eyes closed, but how could you? Not when he was kissing you. You had waited for this moment. You fantasized about it, daydreaming, pining for him on the daily. You never saw it coming. Did he return your feelings? After all this time? You mewled as he bit your bottom lip. You were hot, feverish just like your beloved prefect. Was he alright? He was flushed, coughing as you pushed him away.

“My time has been compensated,” he smirked.

His expression quickly changed, “Hey! Why are you crying? Did I hurt you? That was too bold wasn’t it… Goodness (y/n)...”

You cupped his cheeks.

“Not at all. I’m just so happy that you feel the same.”

“Feel the same?”

You faltered. Was he toying with you? No, he wouldn’t…

“I-I like you a lot, you know. I don’t know of a time I didn’t. You’re so confident and I adore you for that. I love how you’re always there for me, how you always listen to me, and how you lean on me too. I love how you include me and see me no less than anyone else. I love you so much that my heart hurts,” you paused and moved your hands to clutch your chest, “But if it isn’t love then I suppose that’s fine too. I think I might be in love with the idea of you. It might be a little presumptuous here, spouting nonsense to you, but I don’t want to be just friends. Even if I am broken, I want to make you happy so please accept my feelings-!”

Cheesy. Too cheesy! You’re oversharing, (y/n). Stop. It. Death suddenly seemed like a viable option. You loved him so much that you must die. Yes, that was the only way.

Vil kissed you. This time, it was more of a peck.

“This whole time… you… I love you too, Fairest. I accept you and your feelings.  Thank you for being so patient with me,” he kissed the trail of tears running down your cheeks, “You already make me so happy. I love your innocence, your beauty—inside and out as you would say. I admire your strength to help others despite being in a world of your own. I love your selflessness and... your adorable reactions to situations that make you anxious. Please, tug at my sleeves some more.”

You pouted at the last bit. Vil was observant. You’ve come to learn that the hard way. The trait never withered.

He continued: “I will be in your care from now on.”

Ah. He was crying. Smiling too. What a sappy mess of emotions you two were, sobbing in each other’s arms over a mutual confession.

He flicked your forehead, “And don’t you dare call yourself broken. You are not below me and I am not above you. We’re in this together. I love you and you love me and you better love yourself too. You hear me, potato?”

“Yes, but–”

“Did I stutter?”

You pressed your forehead against his, “Will do, Vil.”

He lowered his weight onto you, nuzzling into your neck. You wrapped your arms around his neck and combed through his champagne gold locks. You were sniffling. You were relieved that he loved you the way you loved him. You were relieved that you didn’t fall in love with potential. He loved you for you and you loved him the same. What if you weren’t good enough for? No, no, he said he felt the same. Stop overthinking, (y/n). 

You were drained after all this worrying. Being plagued by thoughts assuming the worst about him and the worst case scenarios concerning your confession consumed your mind. There was not a single day where your head was clear.

You were exhausted. So, so, so tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of Anxiety. Sleep seemed nice right now especially with Vil laying on top of you. The monster inside your head had gone dormant. All there was the thought of Vil being by your side, loving you and Anxiety all the same.

Your consciousness faded.

[ April, Someday– Vil’s Birthday, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Vil. Vil!!!”  you squealed, tackling your lover from behind.

He staggered on his toes, but recovered swiftly. He was tall. The stilettos made him taller. You were up to his shoulders, giggling, slipping under the long sleeves of the Pomefiore dorm uniform.

“Au revoir, Roi du Poison. Mademoiselle (y/n),” Rook chuckled and excused himself.

Vil gave Rook a look of disdain yet the vice prefect skipped along the halls, paying no mind to the daggers coming his way. Your beloved turned to you and smiled.

“Happy birthday~”

“You’re frisky today.”

“I’m excited.”

“I can see that. Thank you,” he pats your head.

“Are you busy?”

“I’m finishing up something. You’re welcome to wait in my room. Might I tell you that you look beautiful today? Red lipstick suits you.”

You followed him into his quarters, seating yourself on the bed, fiddling with the ends of your hair. He called you beautiful. You were giddy over something trivial. It was normal for one to call their significant other beautiful. In truth, he was the fairest, not you. You never minded. You loved watching him flourish in the spotlight.

You watched him undo his bun, letting his hair fall loose. The ends were curled, bouncing on his shoulders. He stepped into the bathroom to shed the dorm uniform off, opting for a black suit with faint floral patterns. Your eyes widened, coming to terms with the fact that he wore no dress shirt underneath the suit.

“You’re eighteen now, Vil,” you mused.

“What of it?”

“Oh nothing. I was just thinking.”

He hummed in response, “Is that so?”

“It feels like yesterday when we were both- what? Fifteen? Nevermind that. It’s silly. Would you like to see your gift now?”

“How does after the party sound?” he asked, lining his eyes with a thick eyeliner.

A thin smirk creeped up on his lips.

The look was similar to the standard ceremonial robes makeup. His silver chain-like earrings, leather choker and red heels threw off the professional look. Vil was striking. From what he told you, his producers had invited him to a party celebrating the release of a film he starred in. It was conveniently on his birthday. He spent the last few weeks convincing you to go with him. 

You gave in, but the thought of attending a social gathering with people you had never met before worried you. Vil reassured you that he would remain by your side at all times. You agreed on the spot, putting on a brave face for his sake. He promised to spend time with you afterwards. Just you and him. He even agreed to eat cake.

“I’m okay with that.”

“Thank you. I know you’re excited, but I want to save all the birthday related things for after.”

He set his makeup down and handed you a container of gel, climbing onto the bed while you got on your knees. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You never let me do your hair.”

“Think of it as a reward for coming along with me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to worry about that,” you said, letting go of your embrace and popping off the container’s lid.

“I’m thankful, but don’t push yourself for me.”

“I won’t, don’t worry. Besides, I want to. You’re going to be busy after today. I want to spend as much time as possible with you today.”

He smiled and helped you push his hair back. Dipping your fingers into the cool aquamarine substance, you combed through your lover’s hair, bringing his bangs back. When you finished, he turned around to kiss you. He caught you off guard, but you leaned into the kiss instantly. It wasn’t passionate nor was it chaste. It was somewhere in between as to not smear your lipstick. You reached for his hair to deepen it, but he grabbed your wrists. Right. You had forgotten. 

“Later,” he whispered.

Your cheeks were dusted with a rosy tint. Later? As quickly as he pulled away from you, Vil slid off the bed. He passed by his mirror, patting down his suit and hair. Then, he extended his hand to you, “Shall we go?”

[ Land of Pyroxene, Venue’s Rose Gardens ]

Vil said it was a small social gathering. A small party. The amount of people was fair to his description, but the setting was overwhelming. It was sophisticated. There were fae servers and ice sculptures. You were surprised to learn that the soirée was held in his homeland. You were expecting a carriage yet he simply led you to the mirror chamber where the headmaster bid him farewell.

And here you are. You were in a rose garden differed from Heartslabyul’s greatly as the roses were as white as snow. They grew on pickets and hung over your heads like grape vines. It was scenic, ethereal, like something out of a fairytale. There was also a castle in the distance, adding to the regality of the venue. 

“Vil! Oh thank goodness you’re here. I almost thought you were going to leave me to fend against all of these actors wanting to know more about you,” a stout woman said, scrambling towards him, “Oh? Is this your– ohhhhh–”

“Adella, this is (y/n). Fairest, this is Adella, my manager.”

Vil paused, cueing you for an introduction. He glanced at you.

“Chin up, dear,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Breathe. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Adella was Vil’s manager. Like he said, she’s nothing to be afraid of.

“P-Pleasure to meet you,” you extended your hand out.

She took it with a death grip. Sheer willpower prevented you from wincing. 

“No, no, the pleasure is mine. Vil has told me so much about you. And my, he calls you ‘Fairest’ how adorable~”

“What has he told you?”

You heard his breath hitch. Vil’s arm slithered back to his side. Was that too much? You were curious, but what if that made him uncomfortable? You should apologize later. 

“Nothing much. I didn’t even know what you looked like even! His pet name for you suits you so well. Oh! I do know that he frequently asks about his schedule because he said that he wants to spend time with the s–”

“That’s enough now, Adella,” Vil said, crossing his arms and putting his weight on one foot.

Shoot. He was displeased. 

“Yes, yes, sorry. Shall we go greet your colleagues? You are free to mingle afterwards. I know that there was this one actor who was practically begging me to see you. You weren't here yet though so what could I do? Fufufu~”

“Are you coming, (y/n)?” Vil asked, turning his head to see you trailing behind.

You halted and pointed to the dessert table, “You can go on ahead.”

He nodded and followed his manager to the east side of the garden. You made your way to your own destination. While you wanted to go with Vil, meeting Adella set your nerves ablaze and drained all the social energy you had. Plus, you felt out of place when you stood next to Vil.

Compared to him, you could never pull off silver earrings. A pair of red heels simply looked better on him than they ever would on you. Then there was Adella who was also gorgeous with her messy bun and nude lipstick. She wasn’t a public figure yet you felt small around her presence. She exuded a lovable aura that drew people around her.  If you had to meet more people who were meant for the spotlight, celebrities no less, you could never manage through the night. If you avoided strangers, you should be fine. There were cake pops amongst other treats at the table. You were going to have a ball of a time.

You plucked the confection off its stand, examining it thoroughly. It was as luxurious as the party’s decor. The dessert resembled the poison apple the Beautiful Queen from the stories you were told as a child. Gold foil acted as the poison while a red coating of candy melts acted as the skin of the apple. You bit the top off. It was a vanilla sponge cake. Odd for an extravagant event like this as you assumed the flavors would be bolder. Maybe it was the kind expensive vanilla. Were they all the same flavor? You plucked another one from the stand, biting into it. Oh this one was red velvet with a cream cheese filling. Were there other flavors?

“My, my, you sure like the cake pops, don’t you?” a voice cooed.

You turned your head to meet the owner of that sweet voice. He had hair as black as ebony and skin as white as snow. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown. He wore a yellow jumpsuit with a red ribbon which was complemented by a black beret. He strained a smile at you.

“You needn’t look at me like a deer in headlights. It’s okay I like cake pops too,” he laughed.

“Who are you?”

“Eh? You don’t know who I am?”

You shook your head. He blinked twice. 

“I’m Neige LeBlanche, lead actor of the film. But, say, since you don’t know who I am, I’m assuming you’re someone’s plus one? You seem kind of young though...”

He took a cake pop from the stand, peeling off the gold foil.

“I’m Vil’s plus one.”

“Vil? I would have never guessed. I thought he said he wasn’t bringing someone. He didn’t seem like he wanted to either...” he mumbled something and paused, “As expected of my senior! Say, what are you to him?”

You pulled the ends of your hair, “I-I’m his girlfriend.”

“Is that so? He never mentioned having a girlfriend. I always thought he was going to end up–”

“We started dating a few weeks ago.”

“Oh my, that’s–”

“I have to go so if you’ll excuse me, Neige. It’s been nice meeting you. Congrats on the film,” you waved.

“No, no, the pleasure is mine, (y/n). I’m glad I got to meet Vil’s girlfriend. You were so sweet! I hope we can talk some more in the future! Oh I know–You should follow me on MagiCam! We can talk there,” he exclaimed, clasping his hands around yours.

He was so bubbly… You didn’t know how to handle him. Was this interaction not awkward to him at all? Your cheeks flushed as you excused yourself. You held your head down low and avoided eye contact with everyone you crossed paths with. Where you were headed to was a mystery, even to you. Anywhere was fine. Anywhere secluded. Anywhere without people, but close enough to trace your footsteps back to the rose gardens should anything arise.

Of course, that was the ideal scenario. In your situation, nothing was ideal per se. You were lost. You had trudged forward whilst looking at the ground, not getting a good look of your surroundings at all. It was hard to tell where you were. If you had known better, you would say that you were in a children’s book. The rose bushes towered high above your head and the castle was closer than it was before. In the center of it all was a gazebo adorned with intricate floral details. There was also a well to the side of the structure. You made your way to the gazebo and sat down on the bench, gazing upon the beauty of the raven sky. It glittered like a thousand fireflies.

You sighed, “The moon is beautiful tonight.”

[ Some Ungodly Hour, Venue’s Rose Garden ]

“Nghh…”

“You’re awake now?”

Vil? What was he doing here? The moon was high in the sky. It was late. You were resting your head on his lap. You sat upright in an abrupt motion.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Ruining the party by running off and falling asleep, wasting your time when you could have been talking to someone more important–”

Vil put a finger to your lips: “I was getting exhausted of people commenting on my looks anyway. You did worry me by running off though. To think that I had to ask Neige of all people too.”

That last part about Neige. Did he not like his co-star? He ran his hand through his hair while you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. You opted to lean your head on his shoulder. Vil reciprocated by placing his head on top of yours, nuzzling it.

“The party is still ongoing so don’t worry,” he said, “Though you could have told me where you were.”

You exhaled. Thank goodness. It would have been embarrassing if it ended.

“Sorry about that.”

“Was it that exhausting for you? I told you not to push yourself for my sake. It makes neither of us happy.”

“At first, no, I wasn’t. I was a bit nervous around your manager but then Neige threw me off for a bit–”

“Neige? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He just asked what I was to you and I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?”

Your stomach growled. You looked down at the ground. Suddenly the grass below your feet was the most interesting thing in the world. He took your hand firmly. His grip was different. He held you as if he was about to lose you.

“I had talked to everyone I needed to talk to. I’m done for the day and so are you. I would like to celebrate my birthday now with my dearly beloved if she would please.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. There was no room for apologies.

You rose from the bench, grimacing at the soreness and took his hand, following him to the mirror.

[ Midnight, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Was he mad? He said he wasn’t. But then why was he handling you so roughly? Vil pulled you into the bathroom. He turned the faucet on, drawing water into the bathtub. He grabbed a bottle of bubble bath product and rose petals. He emptied the contents and discarded the containers onto the cool tiles. They rattled and echoed. Vil turned to his cabinets, searching for something. Strands of his loosely gelled hair swayed back and forth as he sifted through his cosmetics. He muttered gibberish as he found makeup wipes. Pulling you towards him, he began to wipe the gunk off your face. His motions were rigid, frantic, like he was wiping at a stubborn speck on a mirror. He turned you around and undid your dress’s zipper. The process was akin to a kitten’s first yawn. Slow, drawling yet somehow winsome. The act was intimate. Vil manhandling you was a first. It spawned many mixed motions. The positives outweigh the negatives, but was he alright? His eyes were ready to cry. They were glossy to the rim. When the zipper reached the end of its path, he pushed you aside and tended to his own face with a new wipe.

“Strip and get into the tub,” he instructed.

Strip? That was off-putting, especially from him. He didn’t want to have birthday sex did he? Or would he leave when he was done with his makeup? It had to be the latter. You held your sides, preventing the dress from slipping down your shoulders. But what if he did? What if he wanted to let out his frustrations on you? Was that it? He said he was more worried than upset, but his actions betrayed his words. He was tense. He could burst at any moment. Vil, as he was now, was a time bomb, ticking away. You feared he might break.

Vil snapped his fingers before you. You flinched. As you regain focus into the real world, you come to the sight of your lover in the tub, hair wet and his body leaning against the edge. His clothes were hanging on the laundry hamper. You looked away, excusing yourself under your breath. A tug on the hem of your dress stopped you in your tracks. He had broken. His eyes were red and puffy though no tears trailed down his fair complexion. You knelt down beside the tub, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Vil…”

“Could you stay?”

“In the tub?”

“Only if you want to.”

Why is it that he could always see through you? Was your discomfort obvious? No, no, he was merely attentive. Then again, you were equally observant to everyone, especially towards Vil. Your darling was an open book, an easy read– the merit being that his words rarely matched his actions. He was a novel full of metaphors, eloquent tones and arbitrary words. Underneath the complications, he was as simple as the next composition. He was as insecure as any other person, if not more. To read Vil Schoenheit, you mustn't analyze his speech. Words fail in this case. You had to look for the little things: his weight shifting on one leg, his shoulders tensing, his eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment, his shortness of breath, his eyes.

In this very moment in time, Vil needed you. He said there was no obligation, but the small frown on his lips told you otherwise. He was aware of your own boundaries, but at times like these, when he needed you most, your instinct to reach for him, to hold him, triumphed over your murky thoughts. There was mutual trust between you and Vil, two profoundly regardful people. One was observant because he had a keen eye for details and all things beautiful. The other was observant because she was wary of the opinions of others.

Vil turned away from you as you let your dress and undergarments fall to the ground. His eyes were closed when you climbed into the tub.

“You never have to push yourself for my sake, Fairest,” Vil said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back closer to his chest.

“I don’t mind if it’s for you. I will tell you when I can’t do something, I promise.”

“You better,” he sighed.

You turned around and cupped his cheeks, “What about you? Are you alright? You’ve been so stiff ever since we left.”

You scooped some soap suds onto his hair, lathering and combing though his silky locks while you waited for him to formulate the right words.

“Fairest, do you think I am more than my appearance?”

You stopped mid-caress and nodded. His looks were always a touchy subject. Vil had a severe case of type-casting, a situation where he was only casted for roles with “beautiful” as the main attribute of the character. At first, he was content with them, but as time went on, he felt defined by his appearance. His hard work was futile in an industry that valued beauty over effort. Comments such as “you only got to where you are now because of your face” was a stab in the heart for Vil. He often sought out you or Rook for comfort. It came to the point where Vil frequently declined callbacks.

He continued, “No matter how much I talked to others about my role in the film or attempted to make more connections to those in the industry, they would always comment on my ensemble first. Sometimes they comment on how I look and nothing more.”

“So you feel invalidated for your efforts?”

“Yes, I feel like none of the work I put into getting where I am now. I feel like all I had to do was look pretty and everything will be handed to me… just like Neige. I want to be as pretty as him. I want to be as popular as him. I want to be recognized for my skills and get casted for the best roles. Not superficial ones. I want… I want....”

You embraced him as he choked on his own words.

“This is hypocritical since it’s coming from me, but you should never compare yourself or your efforts or progress to anyone else. You are enough as you are, at your own pace.”

His arms engulfed you. He kissed you, intertwining his tongue with yours.

“I’m sorry,” Vil said, pulling away. 

“I’m sorry too.”

“What did I tell you about saying sorry for something that’s out of your control?”

“But you’re apologizing too,” you laughed.

He snorted.

“But I do feel guilty for leaving you alone though. Maybe I could have said something for your sake. I feel even worse since it was your birthday.”

“We’re both pathetic in that regard.”

You scooped water onto Vil’s head. He did the same for you. You looked him into the eyes before averting your gaze. They were as intense as ever.

“I accept your apology though. In turn, you should accept mine.”

“I can’t. Sorry, Vil. You told me that I should never apologize for how I feel. Neither should you.”

“But I don’t have anxi–”

“You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to have a bad mental health day. You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to feel insecure or worthless. Those feelings are valid for anyone”

“You do have a point there,” Vil said as he tousled his hair.

“I have something for you. It may not be your birthday anymore,” you glanced at the clock, “but we haven’t slept yet so in my mind the day isn’t over yet.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

“Does it still feel like a ninth of April to you?”

“Yes, but technically it’s not.”

“Think of it as a feeling then,” you said and climbed out of the tub.

Vil assisted you in the process and got towels for you both. He languidly dried your hair.  His touch was soft like a ghost’s embosom. You could barely feel his touch. Then, he waltzed over to his dresser and gave you one of his silk pajama tops. While he was getting dressed, you grabbed your gift for him, sitting on the edge of the mattress waiting for him.

Shortly after, he plopped down on the bed. The pillows bounced on impact. You held the gift bag over his chest. He looked up at you then at the bag. Sitting up, he opened it.

“Well?”

Your lover tore through the tissue paper, revealing a small box wrapped in brown wrapping paper, red ribbon and twine. His eyes sparkled like a child on Christmas Day.

He read the present tag aloud: “‘To my darling: Vil Schoenheit. Happy birthday.’”

He undid the bow, careful not to ruin the label. He found the edges of the wrapping paper and picked off the tape piece by piece and discarded it on the ground. It fell with grace. Vil lifted the lid of the box.

“A book?”

“Open it.”

Granted, you were more nervous than he was. Would he like it? Today was not his day. You hoped to make him feel better. If he didn’t like it in the slightest, you wouldn’t know how to feel. You wanted to see him smile. It was his birthday. He did not deserve to feel insecure because of soirée guests. He did not deserve to feel so small when he was your world. In fact, he deserved the world for all that he was. He worked too hard not to. His efforts deserved to be paid off. Perhaps not every day, but for his birthday, he should have. It was his day.

Vil obliged, turning to the title page.

“Eighteen things I love about you,” he read.

You leaned over his shoulder.

“Did you honestly write an essay about your love for me?”

“No,” you said, burying your head into the crook of his neck, “Just look.”

“I jest, Fairest.”

Vil licked his finger and turned the page.

“Ah. A scrapbook? Let’s see… ‘Number one: I love how—”

You put a hand over his mouth, “It’s embarrassing if you read it out loud.”

“I think it’s endearing. Besides, I live for your flushed face.”

You whined and he let out a laugh.

“I’ll spare you. I’ll only read the first one aloud.”

“That’s fair,” you mumbled.

“I hope it is. Anyhow… ‘Number one: I love how you carry yourself with utmost respect. I love how you know your worth. I love how angry you are when you are undermined– because you know you are worth more than what the current situation offers. Your confidence is contagious as it inspires me to acknowledge my own worth, to be bolder and seek opportunities that are on par to my own capabilities.’”

He paused.

“What?” you asked.

“I like how you included a photo of us as freshman potatoes,” he said, running his fingers over the image as if he was wiping away dust.

“You always were always like a star to me, ever since we first met. It was hard to start off this scrapbook without referencing that.”

You twirled the ends of your hair.

“I’m glad that you see me in such a way.”

His voice was so soft, inaudible even.

“Vil?”

No response. He flipped the book to page two. Then to page three and so forth. He was still. His chest did not rise and fall each breath. He didn’t even blink. He stopped at the last page. It read: “I love you. You as a whole– the person you present to the crowd and the person you present to a select few. I love you for every flaw and insecurity. I love and accept you in the same way you love and accept me and more. I promise to love you forevermore– no shunning, no judging, just staying by your side and watching you grow into a person I fall in love with more and more every day.”

He pushed you down onto the bed and kissed you, dropping the book onto the ground.

“V-Vil…”

A sense of déjà vu washed over you.

He was vulnerable. He knew, you knew. His lips were quivering and his eyes were glossy. But did he like it? You tried so hard not to say that you liked him because of his looks. That was a touchy subject for him. Did that last one come off as too cheesy? You were told you were quite sappy on top of having an ability with words but still…

“What are you doing writing a bunch of wedding vows, you sweet potato?” Vil muttered as he cuddled you.

“I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. We’re barely a month into this relationship so that’s out of the question. I’m pretty sure we’re still in our honeymoon phase too. But that’s how I feel right now. So… What if I wrote a bunch of wedding vows to you? What of it?”

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Hopefully, he didn’t find your sudden confession cringe-worthy.

“I never said it was bad... I feel the same.”

He let the last part of his sentence trail off into silence.

“Do you feel better now?”

Was that out of place? Did that kill the mood? What if you soured his mood?

“Much better, thank you. I appreciate it and… I love you too. I know I don’t say it a lot, but I think you know that already.”

“I do.”

He peppered your face with kisses. Some were on your lips, Others were on your cheeks and forehead and occasionally trailed down your jawline.

“I also have something else for you,” you spoke up, pushing him off of you so you could grab another bag that you left by the foot of his bed.

“You spoil me, Fairest.”

“It’s not much. Just a cake I made for you.”

“A whole cake?”

“A cupcake, I mean. I know you’re not one for sweets.”

“And you left it in my room with no refrigeration.”

You pointed to the ice pack. He nodded. You pulled out a cake box, propping it open on Vil’s hands and told him to hold still. You placed a candle in the center and lit with a little spark of fire magic.

“Make a wish~”

“What am I? Twelve?”

“You have to make a wish.”

“Fine,” he said as he blew out the taper, “I wish to be with you for as long as possible.”

“You can’t say your wish out loud. It won’t come true!”

“Do you have any intention of separating from me?”

“N-No.”

“I don’t see why my wish won’t come true then,” Vil said as he cut the cupcake in half, handing you a piece.

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“Careful. If you get crumbs on my bed, you’re sleeping in the spare room.”

“...Understood.”

[ Present Day, Pomefiore Hallway ]

One moment he was dolling you up, the next he was wrapping a blindfold around your eyes and led you down the hallway to god knows where. You were still walking straight so you only assumed that you were still in the Pomefiore dormitories. Unless you walked through a mirror. Or maybe you simply had a terrible sense of direction. Whatever the case was, it did not change the fact that you were trembling.

“Vil. Where are you taking me?”

He exhaled. You could hear his chest heave.

“Darling, are you scared?”

Like how you could read him like an open book, he knew you like the back of his hand. You nodded and you felt him undo the blindfold. He held the ribbon in his hand and yours in the other. You looked into his eyes for comfort. He was wearing a single French braid. It was nostalgic. It was like you were first years again. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but it was enough to stir up fond memories. Instead, Vil wore a casual ensemble with a kimono-esque silhouette. He wore a white dress shirt with a pair of shapeless, high-waisted black dress pants. A cardigan with an ornate pattern accentuated the look, He wasn’t wearing the barrette you made him for his sixteenth birthday either, but you felt nostalgic regardless.

“I still need you to close your eyes for me though,” he said, putting the hand with the ribbon over your eyes, “I know you’re scared, but please hold on for a little longer.”

You nodded and closed your eyes. You felt his hand leaving your face, but the other was holding yours tightly, guiding you to your destination.

“Fairest, are your eyes actually closed?” Vil asked, breaking the silence.

“Y-Yes.”

You had been walking for a few minutes now. Where was he taking you?

“Vil, do you know what today is?”

No response.

“Vil… You’re scaring me.”

“We’re almost there, don't worry.”

Would it hurt to trust him for a little bit? You trailed behind him aimlessly. Your steps lagged behind his.

“You ready?” he asked, cupping his lanky fingers over your eyes.

You nodded. Whatever could it be? Lacking sight made Anxiety rattle against your skull. Was Vil going to push you off a cliff? Send you to your doom? No, no, no. He wouldn’t. That was too extreme, (y/n). Calm down.

He lifted his fingers off of your eyes, whispering a faint “happy birthday” to you. You gasped. Pomefiore lounge decorated with streamers and balloons– color coordinated to match both the dorm’s interior as well as your favorite colors. Rose petals were sprinkled on the ground. You heard Vil step away from you. You jumped as you heard something pop and turned around to find the source. Before you could react, a swarm of confetti went your way followed by a loud “surprise!”

You blinked twice, pulling bits of paper out of your hair..  You stepped forward and spun your heel. Were you dreaming?

“Hey, are you crying? I forbid you from crying. Your mascara is going to smear. Stop touching your face,” Vil scolded, running to your side, whipping out a handkerchief to pat your tears dry.

He had no confetti on his person. He was pristine.

“Vil… it’s wonderful. Thank you. I’m so glad you didn’t forget.”

“How could I forget? You must give me more credit, Fairest. I may not have the time to be with you every day, but I’m not cruel as to forgot your birthday,” he huffed, pulling you into a hug.

He was right. He could have never forgotten. Was he mad that you doubted him? He didn’t seem irritated. It wasn’t like him to forget such an important date. You’ll give him credit for being a good actor; he fooled you well. He ignored you for almost two weeks. Whenever you brought up your birthday, he brushed over it and changed the subject. You were on edge the entire time. A weight was lifted off your chest.

“I know you’re not one for parties, but I figured I’d go all out for a small group of people you are comfortable with. You’re seventeen now. Rejoice, my dear.”

You pecked his lips, “This is fine. Thank you so much.”

Snap!

“Cute~ Hashtag: Vil-Did-Not-Forget. Hashtag: (y/n)’s-Growth Record. Hashtag: (y/n)-And-Vil-Forever. Hashtag: Birthday. And posted! Happy birthday, (y/n)-chan~”

“Ah. Thank you, Cay-kun.”

“Did you have to do that?” your lover asked, hands on his hip.

“It’s fine, Vil.”

He nodded. You hoped he wouldn’t bicker too much with Leona as the upperclassman was lounging a bit too close to the throne for [Vil’s] comfort. You sighed as he went to the refreshments table.

“You’ve grown for much,” Cater said with crocodile tears, hugging you.

“I’m still the same height.”

“I didn’t mean that, silly.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Nothing, much. You just look happier. Anyways, here’s your present. Continue to blossom, m’kay?”

You took the gift: “Alright?”

“Cater. Mind your manners. You’re being rude. According to the–,” a voice called.

“I don’t think I am, right, (y/n)? Tell Riddle for me~” he pouted.

His eyes widened as the complexion of Heartslabyul’s prefect grew as red as his hair. 

“Hey now. Let’s not fight,” Trey, the vice prefect, hurried over to pat Riddle’s back.

You sighed, “There’s nothing to worry about, Riddle.”

You could have sworn you saw a vein deflate on his forehead as he mumbled something about the rules. He handed you a bouquet of roses.

“Happy birthday, (y/n).”

“Let’s take a Heartslabyul selfie to celebrate! Say cheese!”

No one said cheese. The flash flickered before your eyes as you held the flowers close to your nose. Riddle’s eyebrows were scrunched together. He was socially awkward in that aspect.

“Hashtag: Heartsla…”

Cater’s words faded. Since when have you been comfortable taking pictures with him. It was nice. You felt pretty today. Was it because Vil dolled you up to a T? You hugged the bouquet closer to your chest as you walked towards the refreshments table.

“Oi. Herbivore. Watch the tail,” an all too familiar voice groaned.

“Good afternoon to you too, Leona.”

“Here’s your present.”

He handed you a small box and he waved you goodbye. Was he not going to stay? You watched his back get smaller and smaller as he walked out of the Pomefiore Lounge. He wasn’t big on parties either. That was alright.

You continued the refreshments, stopping occasionally and accumulating presents here and there, engaging in idle chatter. Soon, your arms were full of trinkets and parcels. You panted as you set the gifts onto a spare table.

“You’re quite the attraction,” Vil said, sipping on a glass of apple cider.

“I don’t really think I’m–”

“Own it for a day, will you? You look absolutely divine.”

“Thank you, Vil.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “My pleasure, Fairest.”

[nocturnal-milk-dud]

Man Made of Stone: Chapter Six

Previous    Next

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Summary: Sometimes waiting is worse

Rating: PG-13

Warnings/notes: mild depressive episode; there is a spider; alcohol; smoking; swearing; reference to death; reference to violence; once again, I know nothing about medicine; if you want to be on or off the taglist please let me know

Word count: ~1800

No one slept in the bed. Instead, you both stretched out on a couch, finding comfort in each other’s presence. You felt yourself slipping, your eyelids sliding shut.

“Javi?” you whispered. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you,” you said.

“What?” He’d heard you, but he wasn’t sure why you were saying it. Javier sat up on his elbow to try and see you, but you were fast asleep. 

It was three o’clock in the afternoon when you woke up. You had no idea what time the two of you had made it back to the apartment, but it had been around eleven when you’d made it to the hospital. Javier wasn’t there, but there was a note on the coffee table, clothes folded neatly next to it. Your mouth felt stale and dry, and a headache had taken root right above your eyes. Every part of your body felt heavy. The idea of moving was too much. You should shower, you should eat. You should drink water. All of those things would help, but they all seemed like too much work. Every little task was so overwhelming. Through the blinds you could see the bright warmth of the day beyond, the sounds of children playing filtering in from outside.

“Just sit up,” you whispered to yourself. “Just start there.” 

Eventually you did sit up and you read the note. Javier had gone to your apartment and gotten clean clothes for you and a few other things he thought you might need. Once you did that one thing, it was easier to do others. You got up and ate some food and you turned the water on in the shower, sitting in the tub. You had your knees pulled up to your chest, arms balanced on them, pillowing your head as scalding water poured over you. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as a spider struggled in the tub, trying to work its way up the side, only to be knocked back by flecks of water. You reached out, scooping the creature up with your finger, and placed it higher up on the wall, away from the falling water. 

You were extremely grateful Javier had the presence of mind to bring you pajamas in addition to street clothes. You dressed and returned to your place on the couch, intent upon going back to sleep. Every moment, Carrillo’s fate was uncertain. You’d blink and you’d see him in his fevered state, you’d see the smoking shell of the truck sitting dead in the road, you’d see the man you killed. A grim slideshow played behind your eyes every minute you were awake, waiting to hear something, anything. It was too much. 

You felt a hand gently shaking your shoulder and you opened your eyes to see Javier perched on the edge of the coffee table, his lips and eyes pinched tight with concern.

“Have you been sleeping all day?” he asked, leaning back and shaking a cigarette free from the pack.

“More or less,” you grumbled, sitting up on your elbow. You grimaced at the tight muscles in your neck. “What time is it?”

“Ten o’clock,” Javier replied, getting to his feet and heading into the kitchen. “I brought you some food.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered to yourself. You really had slept all day.

“Have you heard anything?” you asked tentatively. He shook his head and you sighed, settling onto your back.

“No, no, no,” Javier called and you yelped as something hard landed on your chest. You looked down to see an apple sitting in the folds of your blanket.

“What the fuck, Javi?” you demanded, rubbing the sore spot on your chest where the apple had hit.

“Get up,” he ordered, “eat.” You glared at him, but did as he said, afraid if you didn’t he’d throw something else at you. 

You ate everything Javier put in front of you, not realizing how hungry you were. 

“Am I allowed to lay back down now?” you asked after you finished eating, watching as Javier took your plate in the kitchen and placed it in the sink. He raised an eyebrow at you, but didn’t argue as you slowly shifted onto your side, pulling the blanket up over yourself. A moment later, a glass of whiskey was placed in front of you on the table and you watched as Javier took a seat on the other couch, throwing his feet up. 

“You really love him, don’t you?” Javier asked, relaxing into the leather seat. You stared down at your glass, swirling the alcohol inside it.

“I know it’s silly,” you said. “I haven’t even known him that long.”

“There’s nothing silly about it,” Javier said, placing another cigarette between his lips. “It’s Colombia in the 80’s. You gotta say what you feel when you feel it.” 

“Do you think what I’m feeling is really love? Or did I say it because I was too afraid I’d never get the chance to?” Javier brushed his finger across his lips and shrugged a shoulder, opening his mouth to speak, when the phone rang. You sat up, watching him reach for it, and you looked on in anticipation as he spoke in hushed tones, his face a mask. What would he say when he turned to you? Would his face break before he even had the chance to speak? You held your breath, biting down on your tongue so the pain would drown out everything else. Javier thanked the caller and hung up the phone. 

“They were able to treat the infection,” he said. “His white count is down, blood pressure is stable. They’re gonna move him into surgery.” You didn’t realize the amount of tension you were holding in your body until he finished speaking. Your shoulders slumped and your muscles relaxed, and you found yourself laughing, tears running down your face at the same time. Javier crossed the room and sat down next to you, taking your glass from you and setting it on the table. He pulled you into his arms until the shaking finally subsided and the exhaustion returned.

“We’ll go see him tomorrow,” Javier said gently as you dried your eyes. “Get some rest.” 

The next morning the two of you met with Trujillo at the hospital. You had a hard time focusing and found yourself pacing while the two men spoke. It was the first time you’d been out of the apartment since that night and every movement, every sound had your attention. Your eyes were constantly searching out sources, your head snapping from side to side, your body reacting to everything. You flinched when Javier’s hand touched your shoulder. 

“Sorry,” you said, trying to relax. “What’s going on? Can we see him?” Javier shook his head, and took you gently by the arm, leading you to an empty corner of the waiting room. 

“We can’t see him,” Javier said. “Trujillo says he’s on lockdown, no one but hospital staff is allowed in his room.” You felt all the air leave you and you sank into the nearest chair, hiding your face in your hands. Javier moved his hand in slow, reassuring circles on your back. 

“This is bullshit, Javi.” Your voice came out in a harsh whisper as you dropped your hands, finding the breath and the strength to stand. Panic clawed its way through you, driven by the thought that after everything you all had gone through, after everything he survived it could all be undone. In a place that was meant to heal. “What do they think, Escobar can’t get doctors and nurses on his payroll? They’re some kind of saints in lab coats? All it takes is one person with a syringe full of air. We have to be in there, we have to know what’s going on.” Javier placed his hands on your shoulders as you felt yourself unravel.

“Listen,” he said, his voice calm, steady, “they’ve had plenty of opportunities already, right? He got through the infection, he got through surgery, he’ll be back on his feet in no time. Trujillo’s solid, he’ll keep us updated, but there’s nothing we can do here.” Your eyes flashed unblinkingly around the waiting room and you could find a threat in everything. You had come into that hospital with the intent of sitting by Carrillo’s side until he was well, instead you were leaving it with gritted teeth and the persistent cloud of dread hovering over your shoulder.  

Gunshots shook the air that night. You didn’t sleep. Javier had stepped out, simply saying he would be back soon, leaving you alone in the empty apartment. You’d had him pick up an extra pack of cigarettes on the way home from the hospital and you sat smoking and unblinking when he returned an hour and a half later. You turned your head when he tossed a pair of your scrubs on the couch next to you.

“Get dressed,” Javier said. Your confused expression followed him as he stripped off his jacket and disappeared into his bedroom. 

“What is this?” you asked after you changed. “I’m not interested in saving some sicario’s life tonight.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Javier said, turning the lights off and leading you to the front door.

“Could you tell me what it is?” you said, more to yourself than to him, knowing that if he was going to tell you, he would have done it already.

“What are we doing here?” you asked when Javier pulled into the hospital’s parking lot, your heart jumping into your throat.

“Trujillo called. He said he was willing to look the other way, but he can only swing it once,” he said, the cigarette lighter casting an orange glow on his face. 

“He could get in a lotta trouble for that,” you said. “Why is he doing it?”

“Because you saved Carrillo’s life,” Javier said. You hesitated a moment, your hand on the door. “He’ll meet you at the door and he’ll have a badge for you. After that just...be a nurse.” 

It was easy getting past the two guards standing outside Carrillo’s room, all they did was look over the badge Trujillo had given you and ask you to state your business. It wasn’t exactly a comforting thought, knowing it was that simple. It was harder walking to the side of his bed, your feet like lead.

“Ten minutes,” you muttered. That was all you had. You decided to check the readouts on the equipment and his vitals first, making sure everything was in order. In your mind you were treating him like any other patient, your heart having no place, but that was harder than you thought. You avoided looking at Carrillo for as long as possible, remembering what he had looked like the last time your saw him. When you were finished, you closed your eyes and turned your head so when you opened them you would be looking at him. You let your breathing even out, your heart calm. If it weren’t for the hospital gown and the equipment it would look like he was simply resting. Carrillo’s face was so soft. Sleep soothed the worry and stoicism that ruled his life for years. The fact that it was hard to imagine this man knowing a life, even a moment of peace made your heart ache. You placed your hand over his, gently notching your fingers between his. 

“What do you dream about?” you wondered aloud. You glanced at your watch to see that your time was coming to a close. You brushed the tips of your fingers across his jaw and leaned down to kiss his forehead. 

“I will see you again,” you promised.

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[cherrybombusa]

GROUP THREE  - THE FINALE.

PLAYERS:

THE WANNABE - Virginia Ann Virginia. THE BITCH - Zahra Jackson. THE REPORTER - Clarissa Teller.

MEMORABLE MOMENTS:

-The Intrepid Reporter, Clarissa Teller stood in for one of the Gang! She now has firsthand knowledge of the Candy Girl.  The Gang chose luck, and passed! They gained extra hints on their puzzle due to their success.  -The Gang used all three tries on their puzzle, and succeeded.  -Zahra chased the Candy Girl.  -The Gang ran away from Dean Hargrove when he confronted them - this will come back to bite them later. 

The kissing booth had been a successful venture for the lifeguards every year, but with Virginia Virginia at the helm of the booth this year, the sunscreen fund was far from suffering. She was helping to count the money when a little note fell out of one of the stacks of cash. What it said? “MEET ME BACKSTAGE AT 7:30 SHARP, OR I SPILL YOUR DIRTY LITTLE SECRET. SEE YOU SOON!” @virginiacherries

Zahra had spent most of the day on Roller Coaster Row along with the rest of the Boardwalk’s patrons, but now that the day was winding down to a close - and the Coasters were taking a break to draw the crowd down to the stage - she’d better go find her friends. It probably would have been difficult had she been on her own in the endeavor, but like a miracle worker, a Boardwalk worker shows up and tells her that Rory has been looking for her. Apparently her cousin is backstage waiting for her. Huh. She must be with the band -- and Zahra better hurry to get there before the ribbon cutting starts. @zahrajackson

THE NARRATOR: Reunions were supposed to be pleasant occasions, weren’t they? They were supposed to bring feelings of joy, and nostalgia; you were supposed to forget the awkward haze that had plagued your last year all together in high school, and just… pretend like the good old days were actually just that. Good. Absence did make the heart grow fonder and all that, didn’t it? 

Though, maybe it’s silly to wonder why this little reunion, hanging out in the wings of the Main Stage, might not be so pleasant. It had only been a week ago that Virginia was drugged in Harvey’s basement, after all. Playing at the whims of a suspected lunatic, baring their souls - and their tongues - to each other. Not even ‘a Day in Carousel Cove!’ could smooth over that awkward little blip, could it? And the fact that Clarissa could just tell something was up with the little group definitely didn't help.

Still, the three of them made their polite-ish, familiar conversation. Zahra was wondering where Rory was - Clarissa was wondering where the heck that hunk, Harvey Hargrove was - and Virginia… Well, she was wondering where the hell this Candy Girl was.

ZAHRA: Zahra was getting a little annoyed to be honest. Going backstage would definitely not help keep her... whatever with Casey on the down low, and being caught in semi-awkward, semi-polite conversation with Virginia and Clarissa was nowhere in her day plan. The sooner she could find where the hell Rory was, the better as far as she was concerned. "Okay, let's skip to the part where we're done talking," she interrupted abruptly, clearly having been paying little attention to what was being said. "Have either of you seen Rory or can I go?"

VIRGINIA ANN: Virginia wasn't shaking in her boots just yet, but she couldn't help but feel the lump in the back of her throat when she had read that little note. So cryptic, but so telling. The last thing she wanted was for everyone to find out her dirty little secret(s) so she showed up and played nice, as much as Virginia Virginia could play nice. "Um, hello? Were you like not given a lesson in Polite 101?" Virginia quipped back, motioning between herself and Clarissa. "Do we look like we'd know where Rory is? She's probably somewhere making out with Libby." Frankly, Virginia didn't give two flying farts about where Rory was, she was just wondering about where this coveted Candy Girl was. She wasn't expecting whoever they were to show up, but there was a part of her that kept her eyes flocking between everyone. Maybe it was Zahra or Clarissa who had sent her the note. Or maybe Virginia was just letting this get under her skin a little too much.

THE NARRATOR: Clarissa is just about to question the statement - um, Rory and Libby? Hello, how had she never thought of the angle?! - their conversation is cut off by the sound of Dean Hargrove on the stage to their left, welcoming the citizens to the boardwalk, thanking them for a great day, and more; but before the man can introduce Lux’s parents who have just joined him onstage… Before he can start in on his plans to announce the renaming of the ‘Lux Lewis Memorial Carousel’, he’s cut off by a voice that none of them quite recognize… a voice that might just damn them all.

CANDY GIRL: “REST IN PEACE TO OUR DEAR OLD LUX, BUT I HAVE NEWS THAT THE CHERRY TIMES IS TOO SCARED TO TELL! THIS WAS NO SUICIDE. LUX WAS MURDERED. THE QUESTION IS - WHICH ONE OF HER FRIENDS DID IT?”

THE NARRATOR: At that moment, a sheet unfurls behind Dean Hargrove, and a projector that seems to have been installed into the soundbooth across from the stage flips on. The image it casts should be a shocking sight, but to our little ragtag slice of the gang, the Cherry Bomb logo is all too recognizable. The image is a blown up cover of her latest issue, and - surprise, surprise! - Lux is once again the star. 

It would have been hard not to hear the collective gasp of the crowd - to feel the tension that had pulled it’s way into the air around them - but this little slice of the gang is too focused on copy after copy of the Cherry Bomb falling from the catwalks above the mainstage to notice. Everyone is looking up, away from the sick slideshow that’s now showing crime scene photos from the night of Lux’s death - trying to get a glimpse of whoever is throwing them - but nobody can quite see who is responsible. One thing is for sure, though. Whoever they are, they’ve got Boardwalk Employee shirts on.

CANDY GIRL: “AND TO THAT LITTLE GANG! MAKE SURE TO CHECK OUT THE LATEST ISSUE. SOMEONE IS MISSING, AND YOU’RE THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO CAN FIND THEM BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE. GOOD LUCK!”

THE NARRATOR: Just as the little message is over, and the vicinity is filled with the all-too-loud sound of Cherry Bomb by the Runaways bursting their eardrums… Something slaps to the ground behind them. The three of them turn, just in time to come face to face with a figure in a black hoodie - at their feet? An issue of the Cherry Bomb.

They can’t quite tell if it’s a woman or a man; they can’t quite tell how tall they are without the help of their boots, or what the color of their hair is. The only thing distinctive enough to notice is the fucking mask that’s staring them all right back in the face; smiling like a lunatic, and sending chills down their spines.

Could this actually be her? Could it… Could it actually be the Candy Girl?

Nobody moves for a moment; a long moment. So, when the figure finally kicks a foot out to slide the magazine toward them - the issue only stopping when it hits their own shoes - they can’t help but flinch… And then again, when they take off running.

MAKE A CHOICE: WHOEVER THE HELL THAT IS - THEY’RE GETTING AWAY! DO YOU WANT TO CHASE THEM [STRENGTH], OR LET THEM GO [CALM]?

ZAHRA: Zahra's mind was moving a million miles a minute, jumping from Lux's potential murder to the copies of the Cherry Bomb raining down to frantically trying to remember when she had last seen any of the rest of the gang, to the likelihood of the person in front of her being the Candy Girl. A hundred little things were in her brain, so when she took of running after the hooded figure she wasn't even fully thinking about it. The math was simple and instinctive - whoever they were, they were involved. If they were involved, they had information. Information means one step closer to making sure she doesn't lose another member of her little found family. Not to mention that if they were involved, they were at least partial responsible for this whole clusterfuck and that could not go unpunished. Never before had she been so glad she hadn't worn heels (sandals and painted toenails were much more beach appropriate, anyway).

THE NARRATOR: Ha. The figure had been expecting them to give chase, and they fell right into the time trap. Zahra gave a good chase - ducked when they did, dove through every sudden turn they made. She was good - better than they thought she would be - but she wasn't good enough. 

It was somewhere in the crowd that figure finally managed to get the jump on her. She was being pushed in every direction - pulled by the chaos of people trying to get the hell out of the chaos - when she finally lost sight of them. What she did find, though? The supposed ‘Candy Girl’s’ mask on the ground, trampled by the onlookers, but still there... at least she had proof, right? 

So much for throwing hands. She better get back to Clarissa and Virginia.

MAKE A CHOICE: THE GANG HAS SUFFERED A TIME PENALTY FOR THEIR ACTIONS.

THE NARRATOR: Zahra's losing the masked lunatic or not - however annoyed Virginia was that she hadn't caught her - they were personally delivered a copy of the Cherry Bomb for a reason, right? The Candy Girl wouldn’t just show herself if there weren’t some grand scheme involved. 

Clarissa wants to go get her father, like, ASAP, but somehow the other two manage to convince her not to do it. They have to open the Cherry Bomb alone - they would surely get punished if they went to the police. Right?

The cover is collaged with photos of Lux, the inside? Crime scene photos. There’s no pictures of her body, of course - that would be crude, even for the Candy Girl… kind of. But images of the blood soaked into her carpet; still pictures of her bedroom, flaunting a life once lived, those are there. A shot of her suicide note, ‘I’m sorry, I love you,’ and all.

  And right there, in the middle of the spread, like a centerfold? A note, written in Sharpie - just for our ragtag little slice of the gang.

CANDY GIRL: GET OUT,,, GET OUT, WHEREVER YOU’RE LOCKED!!!! NOT A FAN OF SMALL SPACES?? I’LL STICK YOU IN A BOX. SOMEONE IS MISSING, BUT I WON’T SAY WHO… FIND THE KEY, AND FIND OUT WHO. 

BUT WATCH OUT, WATCH OUT! YOU’RE ON THE CLOCK! LET IT RUN OUT, AND THEY’LL STAY IN THE BOX. WILL THE TIDE COME IN? HMM, MAYBE IT WON’T. OR BETTER YET? MAYBE YOUR FRIENDS WILL FLOAT.

THE NARRATOR: Oh...my. Now, that’s a predicament, isn’t it? I suppose we’re at least lucky that the Candy Girl leaves the rules simple, right? Find a key, and… Maybe she doesn’t kill one of your friends. Maybe.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU MUST FIND A KEY, BUT HOW DO YOU IT? BY LOOKING FOR CLUES [PROBLEM SOLVING] OR BY TEARING BACKSTAGE APART? [LUCK]

VIRGINIA ANN: Virginia didn't know if it was her lack of critical thinking, Zahra running off, or the photos within the Cherry Bomb, but after the initial shock of the crime scene photos, the last thing Virginia wanted was someone to end up like Lux again. Virginia had never considered murder, she thought she had pushed Lux to the edge of her suicide but was Candy Girl right? Had Lux been murdered and if so, was this lunatic the one who was doing it? And were they planning on doing it again if the three of them didn't act fast enough? A key, Virginia could do that. She could find that. Immediately after reading the note, the blonde began tearing apart every surface she could. Tearing tarps away, moving cords, opening boxes, anything that could lead her to the puzzle piece they needed.

THE NARRATOR: It shouldn’t have worked - it definitely shouldn’t have worked! But, somehow - with the heads of Zahra, Clarissa, and Virginia on the case - the three girls actually manage to find something. It’s a Cherry red briefcase with a lock on the top; a place for a four digit code. And get this, Clarissa was looking at the note, and it turns out that it was a clue all along!

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS. YOU HAVE GAINED EXTRA HINTS FOR THE RIDDLE, AND MADE IT EASIER TO RESCUE YOUR FRIEND.

ZAHRA: Zahra enters 2134 into the lock.

MAKE A CHOICE: WRONG CODE. TRY AGAIN.

VIRGINIA ANN: Virginia enters 3214 into the lock.

MAKE A CHOICE: WRONG CODE. TRY AGAIN

CLARISSA: Clarissa rolls her eyes. "Ugh, fine! If you, like, seriously need me to be the one to put it in, then I'll do it, but don't blame me when the thing blows up!" The blonde was terrified - of course it was this gang of weirdos who got her pulled into this kind of trouble - but as she clicks '3142' into the briefcase... miraculously it clicks open. And doesn't explode. Thank god!

THE NARRATOR: Finally, the box pops open, and as promised, they’re granted a shiny little key on a ring… But along with it, they’re also given another note from the Candy Girl. Another riddle.

CANDY GIRL:  SOMEONE IS MISSING - YOU HAVE THE KEY.

BUT YOU NEED TO MORE, FROM YOUR FRIENDS, YOU SEE.

ONLY THREE WILL PLEASE THE LOCK - ONLY THREE UNLOCK THE BOX.

TWO MUST RUN, THEY MUST RETRIEV!

BUT THE ONE, MUST SCOPE THE BEACH. MISSINGS THE THEME, MISPELLED IS THE CLUE, FOR THE DIRECTION THAT YOU’LL WANT TO DO.

TO THE RUNNERS, HERE’S YOUR CLUE! LOOK FOR SOMEONE WHO HATES ONE OF YOU! BEST FRIEND OF YOUR BEST FRIEND - TWIN FLAME OF YOUR GUY. OMEONE YOU BOTH KNOW IS HIDING THEIR LIES.

THE OTHER KEY HIDES WITH THE KEEPER OF PROSE - AND MAYBE THAT ONE IS TOO ON THE NOSE. BUT IF YOU DON’T FIND HIM, NOTEBOOK AND ALL, THEN WATCH OUT, WACH OUT…

IT’S YOUR BABY THAT FALLS.

THE NARRATOR: Their hearts are pounding in their chests so loud they’re all convinced they can hear it echoing off of the walls - even over the music that’s still playing - but… Nothing could mask the sound of the Dean barking their name from behind them; Lux’s parents watching, horrified, as they pick up the copy of the Cherry Bomb that’s still laying there on the ground, where they left it. “Would any of you like to explain to Mr. and Mrs. Lewis what the hell is going on here?” 

No, no, no! There’s no time for this. They have to solve the riddle - they have to find the keys before it’s too late. Somebody needs to get rid of the Dean… or maybe they just need to run.

MAKE A CHOICE: SOMEBODY GET RID OF THE DEAN, [CHARISMA, BRAVERY, HONESTY] OR RUN! [BRAVERY, FIGHTER, SURVIVOR]

ZAHRA: Zahra didn't even register the words of the Dean. Her mind was stuck on that line - IT’S YOUR BABY THAT FALLS. Icy fear filled her at the implications - this was Rory they were working to save. With those five words the Candy Girl had reached into her heart and wrapped a hand around it, threatening to rip it out entirely. They didn't have time to hesitate or explain - not with Rory on the line. Fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck. The Dean's voice was a faded muffle, drowned out by her pounding heart as she looked at Virginia and Clarissa. Her eyes had narrowed and her hands had curled into fists, crushing the second note with the force of her anger, panic, and pure terror. "We're running," she said simply, determination and fear both audible in her tone. And, for the second time that day, she took off as fast she could, holding onto that note and the hope that they'd solved the riddle correctly.

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS. EVERYONE MUST RUN! SPLIT UP. FIND THE CORRECT FRIENDS. RUN THE CORRECT DIRECTION ON THE BEACH. IT’S THE ONLY WAY TO WIN. EVERYONE RESPOND. [STRENGTH, BRAVERY, OR FIGHTER]

CLARISSA: Clarissa thinks it's a bad idea to leave her to run for the keys... and then all the way back to the beach. Like, did they think she was Superwoman, or something? But if this Candy Girl was really as sinister as she seemed to be - well, Rissa couldn't exactly let Rory Collins, like, die on the beach, could she? Besides the fact that her Dad would be pissed at her, even she had to admit it would totally hang onto her conscience until she bit the dust too. So with a groan, she just takes off toward wherever the hell Noah is and hopes that he has this dumb key. He better. She didn't want to be seen talking to Noah Russell, for like. Any other reason.

MAKE A CHOICE: CLARISSA WAS SUCCESSFUL. SHE MUST GET TO THE BEACH.

VIRGINIA ANN: As soon as Zahra said that they were running, it took no time for Virginia's feet to start going. There wasn't much going on in her brain, but it didn't take a genius to deduce that Zahra would be the one going after Rory and that it would be Virginia and Clarissa getting the keys. With her legs moving as quickly as she possibly could, Virginia hunted for Libby who she hoped would have a key for her. It's not like she wanted to go to another funeral before her 19th birthday.

MAKE A CHOICE: VIRGINIA WAS SUCCESSFUL. SHE MUST GET TO THE BEACH.

ZAHRA: Zahra ran as fast as she could, for once uncaring about keeping her hair perfect or her clothes pristine. She just ran west, heading for the beach. Her legs burned with exertion but the adrenaline had well and truly kicked in. Losing Rory was unacceptable - especially so soon after Lux. Especially not when she was here this time, actually able to do something.

VIRGINIA ANN: After getting the key from Libby, Virginia prayed to the stolen Louis Vuitton bag in her possession that she had gotten everything in time. With a huff, she took off in the direction of the beach, her legs pumping more than she ever thought they could. If there was a list of things Virginia was grateful for it'd be that stolen bag and the years of cheer conditioning that prepped her for a true life-or-death moment.

CLARISSA: Yikes. So, apparently the little group had been through more hell than she thought. She had retrieved the key from Noah, and along with it she had gotten a sneak peek at another little piece of the gang that had been tormented over the last half hour. Had it really only been a half hour? Christ.

She had to stop thinking about it, though - she had to stop thinking about how much she wished she had actually stuck to her cardio, like she had insisted she would over New Years - and keep pushing. She wouldn't let Rory Collins die. The Lux news cycle was barely even over!

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS... KIND OF.

THE NARRATOR: Zahra scopes the beach far and wide, it’s an exhaustive effort, but after a mighty search, they finally spot it. The tide has been coming in - barely the top is visible… and it’s filling with water fast. She could already be gone. They sprint toward it with all of their might - they pray that she’s still breathing in her little prison… But is she? 

MAKE A CHOICE: UNLOCK THE BOX.

ZAHRA: Zahra had never been as grateful for Virginia, Clarissa, or several years of competitive commitment to cheer as she was right now. Maybe this was the first time she'd been truly grateful for Virginia in, like, ever. She'd never admit it, but her hands were shaking as she fit the keys into the locks, holding them a little too tight to make sure there was no chance of dropping them and having them be washed away by the tide. With her heart in her throat, she unlocked the locks one by one, threw the box open, and pulled her cousin out into her arms.

RORY:  Rory wasn’t sure how long she had been locked in here. Her throat was raw from screaming for help, from crying between shouting. No one seemed to be coming. At that realization, she’d curled up as small as she could in the claustrophobic little box, with her arms wrapped tight around her ears as she tried to block out the sound of the waves that were so nearby. Too close for comfort. 

If those people with the masks came back - god, she wished they would just come back - she wasn’t going anywhere without a fight. Not that it had helped when they grabbed her. Rough hands yanking her into the dark. 

Her hands was sore from throwing herself against the top, trying with everything she had to break through. After a while, she’d given up on that, certain that an ugly bruise was already blooming on both palms. She promised herself she’d keep trying anyway if no one came in the next few hours. Surely someone would realize she was gone soon, wouldn’t they?

God knows how long it had already been. At least 3 hours - maybe more. Maybe a lot more. Rory wished she had a watch. Or a light. For the first time, she wished she was more addicted to the cigs she occasionally bummed off of others. At least a lighter’s meager flame would have offered some comfort in the pitch black box. Rory couldn’t even see her hand when she held it in front of her face.

She hated the dark. Hated it. She hated the water more… so when she started to hear the sound of those waves, crashing up against the walls of her tiny prison? When she began to feel her clothes getting wet, and smelling the salty foam in her nose? When what little air she had became a crack in the corner of the box, and when she got so tired that she began sputtering on water? 

Rory was going to die here, wasn’t she?

The sound of someone running on the beach - someone shouting her name - jarred her from her spiraling thoughts. It pulled her from the haze of near-death, and giving up. She let out a bloodcurdling scream, and pounded on the top of the box with her hands. “HELLO? LET ME OUT OF HERE!” She shrieked, her voice sounding hoarse even to her own ears. Her thoughts tripped over one another as hope flooded her brain. They came- they came and they got her, her friends -

As soon as the top of the box started to crack, she bolted through the opening and threw her arms around the first person she saw in a death-grip hug. She was shaking, tears spilling down her cheeks, and unable to stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. “Oh my god you came, you guys came,” before her throat was too tight to speak anymore.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU HAVE SAVED RORY AND SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED YOUR PLOT EVENT.

[johnlock-hell-resident]

The night Sherlock returns to John, is the same night Sherlock returns to 221B, alone.

Sherlock hadn't realized that things would be so different. It was a perfectly logical prediction that he'd waltz right back into crime-fighting and John would make a beeline to follow him. Nevertheless, he sat in his chair, in the faint glow of his lamp, feeling melancholic, just like he used to.

"But so much has changed, hasn't it?", Sherlock observed, his thoughts now continuing themselves aloud, "John definitely has. He seemed to give not a care in the world about our- MY case... The volcanic temper, that's not new. A short fuse fit for a short man... I suppose I have hurt him though."

Utilizing his mind palace, Sherlock replays the moment he first saw John again. Grisly moustache, nervous ticks, an uncharacteristic mundanity with him. And yet, though unfamiliar he appeared, Sherlock recognized him immediately as his dear friend. The person who stayed with him when all others had turned away. The soldier who protected him without a moment's hesitation. The doctor who repaired his, well, "behavioral slip-ups". The man who gave out a kindness unlike any he'd had ever seen. Such a strong heart, yet so vulnerable and afraid-

His stream of consciousness came to an abrupt halt when he noticed his quickened heart beat. His cheeks were significantly warmer than they were minutes ago.

It took but two seconds. Two seconds for it all to come crashing into him.

"No... no... he's my friend. A good friend. It's always the two of us, nothing has changed!"

His heart drummed louder.

"No. Nonono.... I-I couldnt have... Not me!", Sherlock scoffed airily, "I havent!... have i?..."

Intrusive images of John's smile seeped through into his brain and his heart thundered even louder and even harder.

"... please, it cant be...", the frightened man pleaded, to everything and nothing at all at the same time.

Confused, he delved deep into his mind palace to show himself the proof he needed that this wasn't what he feared it was. He flipped through their first day as flatmates, all their cases, their fights. Jennifer Wilson, Soo Lin Yow, Carl Powers, Irene Adler, Henry Knight. But those memories were... contaminated... they were different. John was different. All at once he seemed so loyal and caring, and sensitive and brave. Sherlock lost control of his mental slideshow and was now trapped inside his head with the very thing he'd been railing against his entire life...

"No... please! I couldnt have... I-"

Before his very eyes, his life in this flat flew. John's first laugh with him, his relentless compliments, his unwavering loyalty. His eerie smile when he's angry, his witty sarcasm, his sensitive manner. John has saved his life countless times and for once in his life, Sherlock hadn't the good sense to comprehend it.

But, this sensation, wasnt actually unfamiliar at all. It seemed as though his body recognized these palpitations of the heart. As if his body caught on quicker than Sherlock did that...

In shattering horror, with no defences left to lay, he uttered brokenly into the silence.

"I've fallen in love with him"

And not only that, but he appeared to have loved him long before now. This wasnt right, he isnt one to harbor feelings for someone, especially not romantically. He must stay above it all. He should know better. Love is only a catalyst the heart uses to destroy itself, like a candle that only exists to burn. Love was weakness.

Why, then, did he feel so light? His every muscle was relaxed, as though a gigantic stone had been sitting on his shoulders, and only now removed. Why was he smiling? He really shouldn't be. Sherlock fell for the simplist trick in the book. He had allowed himself to fall victim to everything he had despised. But he was in a world in which John existed. What wasnt there to be elated about?

Now that the inevitability sunk in, he became carried away by thoughts of him and John in a relationship, growing old together, loving each other, the way other human beings did. If Sherlock had made himself so vulnerable, who's to stop John from also exposing his emotions for him in return? If love was weak, they could be weak together (Is THAT what love felt like?). They could both exist together, feeding their silly indulgences in each other, sharing the universe in a wholly different light than before!

"I must tell him... I... I must tell him!", Sherlock chanted excitedly.

Springing up out of the chair, his hand came into contact with the doorknob and he froze.

John is engaged.

John and Mary are getting married.

A single tear sat in his eye, despite Sherlock's need for a little dignity. He sat back down in his chair, glaring at the missed chance he spent running around London and yelling and solving crimes and being so, oh so blind! Another tear fell, this time he didnt bother to stop it.

"I'm too late."

[uwumessenger]

Hey, could you do RFA and V reacting to MC who turns into a dog for one day? weird I know lol

yes!! and sorry for taking oh so long fjdjndnd if u see dis i hope u enjoy eht

let's assume u do understand english as a dog and dont think in dog language. also this is super silly haha i had a lot of fun with it while trying to make it realistic!

+ btw since some ppl asked, yes my requests are open ! im just going in order so feel free to continue sending them in !! i only have 5 requests in my inbox now as of 5/11/2020 so ill get around to yours soon :)

Yoosung

when he wakes up and cant find you he immediately panics

calls your name and lifts anything that can be lifted to find you

he even checks the fridge!! wink wonk

when he finally quiets down and hears your barking he goes into panic mode AGAIN

when he finally finds you (as a dog) his mind begins racing

wait...is it our anniversary?!?!!! what exact day did MC join RFA again? um um is it my birthday? is it MC's BIRTHDAY???

ignores you and does a group call with zen and seven, trying to figure out what is happening

seven verifies that it is not a day of any importance

poor yoosung is just SO CONFUSED

but how do u even tell someone u transformed into a dog

i dont think yoosung would ever find out you turned into a dog

everyone would help with searching for you, and of course panic again bc the way you met them was lit rally bc u walked into your own kidnapping

yoosung is the physical embodiment of panic

but he takes care of you normally (LUCKILY HE DOESNT TURN YOU INTO THE POUND OR SOMETHING–)

when u turn human after 24 hours you explain EVERYTHING

and now he feels better

Zen

a few nights ago, zen had a psychic dream that you turned into a dog so

he brushed it off as a nightmare and his symptoms appeared bc the AC was broken and it was extra hot that night

but when he woke up and opened his eyes to a whole ass dog next to him

he FREAKED OUT

at first he didnt know what was going on but then he remembered his dream

so he tells you to bark once for yes and twice for no

are you MC?

bark!!!

are you hungry?

bark!!!

this goes on for 25 more minutes until you stop cooperating and trot away

hes very glad that at least youre not a cat

he feeds you and allows you to go do your potty business outside by yourself then cleans up after ur finished

he doesnt want you to be alone with nothing to do while hes at rehearsals so he asks yoosung to watch you!

but doesnt tell yoosung it's you lol

when he comes back he just chills w/ u until ur back to your ol' human self :')

Jaehee

initially she'd be pretty calm, thinking that you had to leave early to go do something

but after checking her phone every 2 seconds and searching every nook and cranny yet not recieving a text/finding a note from you, she begins to panic

she calls all the others, wondering if they knew where you were or what you were up to

no one knew what was going on so everyone panics!!!!

tbh she forgot about dog MC until u start scratching her

eventually jaehee starts considering the idea of u turning into a dog....but....what are the odds...

after trying everything you could think of to tell her it's really you, you realize that she wont catch on

after shes done getting ready for work she starts to wonder how to care for you

eventually decides on just bringing you in to work and hiding you the whole day

luckily jumin had back to back meetings so he wouldnt have any time to check in on what jaehee was doing

she tries to feed you something you absolutely hate and when you refuse to eat it she says

wow, MC hates eating these too

you wag your tail, jump, can dogs nod? if so you nod your head, etc etc trying to tell her that IT IS ME IT IS MC!!!'sisj@;!/&:&82

wait...there's no way. am i crazy or did you turn into a dog?

jaehee decides to bring you home instead of turning you into a shelter just in case

when you turn human again you guys strategize a plan, should this ever happen to either of you again haha

Jumin

when he wakes up and sees you (as a dog) and elizabeth playing he thinks hes still sleeping

intense eye rubbing

he calls for you and you keep running to him

but he doesnt understand :c

similar to yoosung, he double checks to see if it was a significant date or anything

now he starts to panic

on the RFA panic scale, he is at the tippity top eue

calls off from work and calls for all the help he can get

you can communicate with elizabeth i guESS so she helps you communicate with jumin

jumin looks crazy as hell rn with a cat and dog on his bed, trying to talk to them

elizabeth points at you then points at your jacket on a chair 900 times and then jumin finally connects the dots!!!

oH SO MC TURNED INTO A DOG???

you and elizabeth are like ugh oh my gosh finally

jumin calls off all the emergency protocol stuff and simply chills with you and elizabeth until youre back to your human body

now you and elizabeth have a stronger bond...how beautiful.

707/Saeyoung

luckily seven has security cameras, so when he sees you in dog form, youre sitting at his computer

the cctv footage of you somehow transforming into a dog plays and hes like oh what how is that eVEN POSSIBLE?

downloads the cctv footage to save it forever

unfortunately no dog food or anything there so he feeds you whatever is in the fridge and okay for dogs to eat

he has his fun, taking photos of you and imitating paris hilton

when vanderwood walks in to check on him, seven cant stop laughing as he explains the situation

he shares all of his photos with the rfa chat and no one believes him

and then he stops and starts thinking

??? MC are you naked? like when we sleep and you transform back....are you gonna be naked?

oh my gOSH

unlike the others he doesnt stay up and goes to sleep with you

whatever u do, do not let seven make a birthday slideshow of u </3

V

V would freak out, but definitely try to communicate with you as a dog before doing the absolute most

checks for human you everywhere, and when he realizes youre nowhere, he begins to consider the fact that you may have turned into a dog

googles it

he questions you, like zen does, and begins to think hes going insane

he texts you, just in case human you did go out and forgot to tell him

but while texting he scrolled up and saw a text you sent him a day ago while you were shopping

"if i were a worm would you still love me"

he picks you up and sits with you on the couch

worm, dog, human...i love you regardless. but not in an immoral and weird way. :)

spends the rest of the day taking you out to do dog things

like walking at the park and taking cute photos of you

at the end of the day he actually showers you, and talks to you until you both fall asleep

when u guys wake up he says,

i didnt waste $17 on dog shampoo for nothing...why dont we go out and get a real dog now?

yES LETS DO THAT

[ashleyswrittenwords]

jealous zelink? for number five for fluff?

I made this another Queen and Her Bodyguard thingy because I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

:( I can’t control myself and I’m taking a chance by not proof reading it thoroughly. Can you tell I’m turning into a sucker for slice-of-life stuff? (It’s still before their affair)

---

“Gorgeous!” Urbosa threw her hands in the air dramatically, the audience laughed while a picture of the Queen at the Parliamentary Ball displayed on the screen. There were small “Ooo!”s and “Aww!”s behind the camera that would only be appropriate for a television talk show.

It was an elaborate midnight blue dress. The neckline dipped low, exposing her collar bone before cascading into a myriad of shimmering fabric. A long slit was left to expose the pale skin of her left leg.

“Thank you, but I admit it made me rather nervous at the time,” she smiled, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. Nervous was an understatement. A mere hour before the red carpet, it took five people to calm down and reassure her that she would be okay.

Urbosa shook her head in disbelief, “You had the world shocked! Who knew blue at a black-tie event would be so… groundbreaking!”

There was that laughter.

Zelda rolled her eyes, “Now you’re just saying that. It wasn’t my idea. All of these sweet comments should be directed towards my designer Malon Lon-Lon.”

“Fair enough,” Urbosa leaned forward. “Now, Your Majesty, we must hear about the tea.”

There were noises in the audience that made the Queen look at the display behind her. It was a slideshow of any somewhat attractive man that attended the event a couple days ago.

A thick blush crawled up her neck that Urbosa noticed immediately – because she did it on purpose.

“Tell us about the afterparty and if the country can expect a King soon,” Urbosa grinned as a wolf whistle played over the speaker. It went without saying that the famous talk show host and the Queen had been friends for years and with every appearance came playful jabs at her singleness. The private knowledge of doing this just so it made Zelda flustered was only a bonus.

“Urbosa, you do this every time,” she laughed. “And you know I hate to disappoint you.”

“Darling, you could avoid that and announce a wedding date exclusively my show.”

That made the Queen and the live audience laugh again.

“My deepest condolences then,” she finally said. “There is no one in my sights and I don’t plan there to be any in the immediate future.”

“You heard it hear first folks,” Urbosa somberly said to the camera. “Now, thank you Queen Zelda, for taking the time out of your busy schedule to sit down with us today. Up next! A live performance from The Indigo-Go’s!”

The show wound down into a commercial break. Zelda breathed a sigh of relief when the bright lights dimmed.

As she rose from her seat, Urbosa held their hands together.

“Again! I’m indebted to you. Thank you for coming, Zelda.”

The blonde mirrored her smile, “Absolutely, I’m happy to help a friend.”

The makeup department whisked Urbosa away before they could talk anymore and Zelda made a mental note to text her for a planned lunch. Her feet found the backstage. As she thumbed through the list of thoughts she made for herself this morning.

“Your car is waiting out back,” a low voice caught her by surprise.

Link was walking behind her, seeming to have just gotten off the phone. She let him take the lead because he somehow knew every exit to any convoluted building.

When they reached the door, there were bustling noises outside. Link gave her that questioning look and she nodded. He opened the door for her.

Afternoon sunlight hit her first, then the flashing clicks of cameras. Carefully she carved a carboard expression for the paparazzi.

A reassuring hand on her back pushed her forward. Shortly, her vision cleared to see her detail and the show’s security loyally keeping the fans and gossip reporters back. Metal guards were put down, but it didn’t stop their shouts.

“Your Majesty tell us about your relationship with Prince Harrington!”

“I love you, Queen Zelda!”

“When will there be a suitor ball? We want a King!”

“Are you secretly engaged to Harrington?”

The smile continued until the car door slammed shut and Link was able to climb in on the other side. He gave two taps on the driver’s shoulder that told him to step on it. The Queen let her shoulder’s drop as the vehicle lurched forward. Her bodyguard whispered a short word into his earpiece and watched through the back window as they peeled away.

Zelda nestled into the seat and kicked off her heels.

Link spoke up first, “How did you meet the Urbosa Snapdragon?”

The question did what it was intended, making her scoff before a sweet grin covered the signs of stress.

“Oh, gods,” she said wistfully, “Remember when I told you how I convinced Dad to let me go to a public university for two years? A lot of our theater aligned and… I don’t know… we got paired up for nearly every project and I stayed at her dorm for hours watching the most outlandish Gerudo dramas.”

“You took theater?”

“Minored in it. I’m a born politician,” her head lulled to look at him with a grin. “Easy classes to ace.”

They rattled on like childhood friends. Like always, he found her easy to talk to. He can always tell when she was speaking to him. It was so much different than when she made public appearances, but her voice was still like the coolness of clean bedsheets and through the years it adopted an irreplaceable familiarity to his ears.

The remainder of the day went on as normal. She attended parliament and ran through the list of e-mails at her computer until the clock hit five and that was what separated today from any other day.

Today was the first Friday of the month.

Giddiness made her smile as she found her purse. Zelda had changed out of her suit and into a simple sundress. Malon texted her with a list of movies she had bought. A knock at the door caused her to push it open and she met Link with an infectious happiness.

“You don’t have to come, you know,” she said as they bounded down the halls. “I enjoy driving.”

“You can drive and I’ll wait in the car, then,” he thumbed the car keys in between his fingers, ignoring that he quite enjoyed the bothered look on her face. “Because that means you’re telling me that you aren’t going to drink when the Lon-Lon family owns the oldest winery in Hyrule.”

“I’ll ask Daruk then,” Zelda sniffed indignantly.

“Now it sounds like you’re trying to avoid me, Your Grace.”

That made her glare at him, “No, it does not, Mister Forester, because I want you to spend your Friday night doing whatever it is you wish doing.”

“Daruk has a wife and four kids. I’d think that they would mind more than me.”

Embarrassment made itself known on her cheeks before she had the sense to turn away.

“Hurry up,” she turned just barely and Link had to walk faster to keep up with her skipping.

 ---

“Shh!” was what he heard first as footsteps rustled the gravel in front of Malon Lon-Lon’s manor. Over the hills, he could see the lights of Castle Town. There were light giggles the closer the two women got. Link reached over and pushed the passenger door open.

“Shut up, Zelda!” Malon squeaked out, consequently snorting. It made Zelda doubled over in silent laughter until she could breathe. The red head held her up, partially leaning on the blonde to keep herself upright.

“You did not!”

“Oh, but I did,” Malon breathed in, stumbling over the gravel with a sharp curse. “And I told him to sod off. I mean what kind of moron thought that that coat was it?”

“The media’s posterchild Prince Erik Harrington, love,” Zelda laughed herself into the car seat. Malon folded her arms in the open window.

“I’m going to send him hate mail,” she declared.

“No, you aren’t.”

“I’m going to get all of my designer friends to harass his stylist on Twitter.”

“Malon!” Zelda sputtered. “He’s still the prince of Termina!”

She scrunched her nose, “Not his stylist, honey!”

They shared another fit of wobbly laughter and Malon turned her gaze to Link.

“Get her home safe, Link,” she smiled. “I love this girl. If anything happens and I don’t get to design her summer solstice gown, I’m coming for you first.”

She gestured “I’m watching you!” with her pointer and middle fingers. Link grinned, “I expect no less from you, Malon.”

“Alrighty, Zelda, go to sleep!”

“Goodnight!”

Link pulled the car onto the paved residency road as Zelda played with the radio nobs until she found something she liked. The car hummed along into the night and he absently wondered what was on her mind. Probably something about how many more months until she had the time to do something like this again.

She sighed with a blissful smile, “Hi.”

For a moment, he let his eyes wander away from the road. “Hi.”

Her words were lazier than they usually were. Zelda let her legs stretch and she leaned against the side of the door to look at him. It was a wonder how expressive her eyes were.

“Are you going to tell me or are you going to make me ask?” Link looked over at the road again, pulling to a stop to let the gates open. It wouldn’t be too long of a drive. They were only twenty minutes from the city limits.

Her eyes squinted at him from across the car, “It’s a bit rude that you can just read my mind when I can’t read yours.”

“I’m almost positive that I’m legally bound to answer any question you can think of,” Link’s eyes flickered to hers.

“No, I very much prefer you to answer on your own volition,” she frowned. It was a harmless joke, but the subtle truth in it soured her already muddled head.

“Does it bother you that much?”

Quietly, she debated herself for a moment.

“Maybe a little.”

“Okay,” he rested his elbow on the car door. “How about you ask whatever is on your mind and if I don’t want to tell you, I won’t.”

Zelda pulled her shall tighter around her shoulders, then a silly soft laughter bubbled from her, “I wish I wasn’t drunk. I can’t think of anything – Oh! No, I’ve got one. What do you think of that Termina prince?”

“Who?”

“Erik. Erik Harrington,” she shook her head and ran her index finger under her eyes to see if her mascara smudged. It hadn’t and even with her hair in disarray, she looked… well… Link couldn’t think of a word that was proper for someone of his station.

Her bodyguard quirked a brow, “Why should I have an opinion of your romantic partners?”

At her lack of response, he looked over. It seemed like she was in deep thought.

With a soft tone, almost thoughtful, she said, “I never said anything about it being romantic. Why does everyone assume…”

Her voice trailed off and she mumbled something to herself, now more interested in scrutinizing the patterns of her sundress. Link felt a pang of guilt. He opened his mouth to apologize, but her mood had already shifted. With a slanted smile he only ever saw when she was in this state, her green eyes met his.

“Why shouldn’t you have an opinion?”

A part of him wanted to smooth the loose strands of hair that fell in her eyes so he could see that green clearer, but he gripped the steering wheel instead.

Link shrugged, “I guess I don’t look at it as having that much weight.”

“We’re talking about the future King of Hyrule,” she was dead serious, but a glint in her eye made him stifle a grin so he could match her demeanor. “The last time a checked your file, it said you were a Hyrulean citizen. Unless that’s changed, that means you are fully entitled to have an opinion and I wish to know it to appease my constituency.”

“My opinion on Erik Harrington?”

“Yes.”

“He seems a little… pompous.”

She gawked, “That’s all!”

He shrugged, “I don’t know the guy. Doesn’t really seem fair.”

“Humor me.”

“Gods, I don’t know,” a tinge of laughter lined his words. “I heard at the ball, he said something rude to Daruk. Aryll sometimes mentions when he’s on television. Again, I don’t know, but you’ve spoken to him. What’s your opinion?”

“My opinion,” Zelda echoed, watching the scenery unfold as they pulled onto the highway. It was the time of night where there weren’t that many cars of the road. Link always wondered if she ever got sick of the city, but it never seemed like it. The people? Absolutely. But never the city itself. The woman was a shoe-in for it, but he also suspected she’d fit in anywhere with a personality like that.

“My opinion is if he learned how to close his mouth, he’d be infinitely more attractive.”

He hummed, “So, does he have a chance?”

Zelda looked up at him oddly, “Does he? What do you think?”

The way she said it made him worry if she wasn’t playing around anymore. She sat back in her seat, “I’m sorry. That was a silly question.”

The only sounds were the gentle rumblings of the engine and light songs from the radio. She had chosen that acoustic indie folk channel, the same one that he sometimes catches her listening to in her office.

“I think he has a fake accent,” Link suddenly said over the silence. It made her look up; surprise turning into a certain astonishment.

“And I’m not a man for fashion, but I think Malon was right. The peacock coat wasn’t it.”

That made her laugh and her laugh made him happy.

Zelda raised her eyebrows, “Does he smell bad too?”

“Oh, yeah. Really bad. Bet he wears a toupee.”

Her laughter sloped to new volumes as they exchanged qualities that were most certainty false. From him wearing platform shoes to having oddly long toes, it was all complete nonsense. But he couldn’t stop smiling at her happiness and the more outlandish their claims were the more it heightened. Eventually, they pulled into the back gates of the castle.

Before he could get out to open her door, she stopped him.

“So, he doesn’t have a chance,” Zelda bit her lip lightly.

He tore away from the sight and shrugged, “Make your own conclusions from it.”

Her smile threatened to devolve into another fit of giggles, “I have one conclusion. You’re jealous.”

Link watched her closely. She was leaning both of her elbows on the center console and leered at him. One of the straps to her sundress had slipped and her hair was now fully released from her loose braid. His eyes lingered on her smudged lipstick.

“Can I be honest with you?” his gaze flickered up to hers.

She nodded and his hand left the door.

“I prefer my queens without a king.”

The corner of his mouth hiked into a lopsided smile and he climbed out of the car.