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alittlebitmaybe · 4 years

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tying you to me

For @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: crafting

Pairing: Geraskier, implied Geralt/Yen in one line

Rating: T for language

Warnings: None

Summary:

As they lay in bed, Jaskier snuggled and breathing humid against his chest hair, Geralt remembers the pattern from Novigrad. A sweater with stretchy ribbing around the wrists and bottom hemline, a high collar. Intricate cabling criss-crossing up the front, making the fabric thick and sturdy. The scroll is stuffed into one of his saddlebags where he’d put it after purchase when he’d cursed himself for wasting the coin.

Jaskier snuffles closer, his grip tightening around Geralt’s waist as he soaks the added warmth through his skin, and Geralt has an idea.

Or: Geralt doesn't know about the boyfriend sweater curse.

Read more on AO3 or below the cut!

Geralt learned to knit out of necessity. Winters in Kaedwen, especially up in the mountains, are bitter cold, and require not only animal skins but woolen socks, hats, scarves, blankets. They keep a flock of sheep for the very purpose. And before—when there were others, even occasionally a proper staff—it would be part of the normal workings of the castle to have several sets of hands dedicated to knitting up useful garments to keep them from freezing their balls off when the frost came.

There are fewer hands now, but also fewer balls in danger of freezing. Geralt and Vesemir handle the bulk of it, these days—Eskel with fingers too big and clumsy to be much help, Lambert too fidgety and quick to rip out all his progress into a tangled mess of wool in a fit of frustration. In the evenings they sit by the great hall fire in mostly silence and take turns spinning the roving into yarn, winding skeins, chipping away at the endless miles of plain stocking stitch, and seaming panels together. (Sometimes Geralt will embellish the design with cables, or a moss stitch—unconventional patterns he’s started to see in the larger cities, sold by the fancier merchants. He may have paid a few crowns for the scroll describing the pattern for one particular sweater he saw in a shop in Novigrad. He has not mentioned this to Vesemir.)

It may be necessity, but Geralt would choose it even if it wasn’t. These are the things his hands are good for: wielding a sword; harvesting various glands and organs; curling into fists; crushing windpipes; skinning rabbits. Bandaging Ciri’s scrapes. Bringing Yen’s pleasure. Curling around the back of Jaskier’s neck, drawing their lips together. And, when it’s over, when there’s nothing to kill and no one to care for, he can create. He can put it all to the side and count off to himself, knit-purl, knit-purl, knit-purl, knit, knit, knit, around and around, back and forth, and this thing will grow from the rhythm of his fingers, from the steady loop and pull that he’s done thousands of times, taught by some witcher instructor decades ago whose name he no longer recalls. He had bushy eyebrows that waggled as he worked. That’s all the memory that’s left of him.

Anyway, it’s easy to allow the hours to pass until Vesemir excuses himself to bed and the fire burns down and takes the light with it. One such night, just as Geralt is squinting at his work to finish this one last row, the hall door creaks open.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says sleepily, “are you still in here? ‘S late, love.”

Knit, knit, knit. “Mm,” says Geralt. “I’m here. Just finishing up.”

“I’ll wait for you, then.” Jaskier pads in his sockfeet across the stone to the armchair Geralt occupies. He sits himself on the rug with his back against Geralt’s legs, knees pulled up to his chest. “Brr. ‘S chilly, too.”

Geralt drops the needle in his right hand, maintaining tension on the working yarn with his left. He runs his free hand through Jaskier’s bed-mussed hair, brushes against his cold ear, down to the soft skin behind it. “Not wearing a coat.”

“Well I wasn’t heading outside, seemed like a—” He yawns, jaw cracking. “—a lot of trouble just to come downstairs. But I now see my mistake.”

“Always have to wear a coat at night,” Geralt says. “Or be under blankets. Or both.”

“Or acquire a personal witcher furnace, unless he’s down here ‘til gods know what hour making yet more mittens for the princess.”

Geralt looks down at the large rectangle he’s been working on. “Lap blanket,” he says. For Ciri, when she’s studying in the library. It gets drafty in there even with the fire blazing.

“For the library?” says Jaskier, tipping his head back to see Geralt. “Good thinking. She’ll love it.”

Geralt releases him and goes back to his work, but knits at most ten stitches before Jaskier shivers again, his teeth chattering before he gets himself under control. Setting the blanket aside, middle of the row be damned, he concedes, “Let’s go back to bed.”

“No, you’re—you’re not done with—” Jaskier cannot finish his sentence for the yawn that overtakes him. “M’kay. Let’s go.”

Jaskier snuffles closer, his grip tightening around Geralt’s waist as he soaks the added warmth through his skin, and Geralt has an idea.

The next evening, after dinner has been consumed and cleaned up, Vesemir and Geralt move to the fire as usual. Vesemir is working up a new hat for Lambert, who has the shortest hair among them and has one practically pasted to his head all winter long.

Geralt spares a glance to his blanket-in-progress, and then veers toward the wooden chest that stores their yarn stash. He puts aside plain ball after plain ball, until finally he admits defeat and turns to Vesemir and asks, “Do we have any dye?”

“No,” says Vesemir, not looking up. He knits with the yarn looped around the back of his neck to keep the tension, instead of around his fingers. He says it’s easier on his old joints. Geralt thinks it looks preposterous, but it gets the job done. “Not a drop. And that’s never bothered you before.”

“I’m thinking of making a gift,” says Geralt. “I think they’d prefer it to be dyed.”

“Ah, the bard. Yes. I suppose he would.”

“I want him to actually wear it.”

“Indeed.”

“He says coats are too bulky and ponderous, and they dampen his spirits.”

“Foolish boy. He’ll learn.”

“So we have no dye? Of any color?”

“None,” says Vesemir. “Though it may be that there are some old skeins in the back of the cupboard by the linens. I recall that some of our forebears had rather expensive taste, for witchers. Quite wasteful of them. If you ask me.”

Geralt murmurs his thanks, pulls on a cloak, and makes his way through the frozen corridors to the cabinet in the laundry. Along the way he passes the study, and overhears Eskel dominating Jaskier in another round of Gwent.

“Eskel, you dirty cheating bastard, there is no way you just had that card.”

“Where d’you think I kept it, bard?”

“Up your sleeve, behind your ear, under the table, I dunno—”

“Down your pants,” Lambert chimes in, and Geralt hears Ciri giggle. She’s been spending too much time with the witchers now that Yen has departed for the season. Geralt should probably intervene more often.

“—maybe you magicked me with a sign thingy so I wouldn’t notice, but I’m sure you didn’t have it in hand a turn ago, I’ll swear that on—”

“Yes, Lambert, I’ve got Gwent cards lining my codpiece, naturally, even a few stuffed between my—”

Geralt rounds the corner and their voices fade away.

As Vesemir said, there is a small box pushed all the way to the back of the cupboard in amongst the linens. He opens it without much hope, but is surprised to find it full to the brim with yarn of deep reds and blues, all of some soft texture very unlike the itchy wool they’re accustomed to. Sniffing it, he decides it is from some type of goat. He also decides, based on its lack of musty odor, that it is not nearly old enough to have belonged to one of their forebears.

Well, in exchange for the use of the yarn, he’ll allow Vesemir his secret.

He carries the whole lot back to the great hall.

“You found it,” Vesemir remarks, now nearly done with the hat.

“Right where you said,” says Geralt. “You don’t mind if I use it?”

“As much as you like,” he replies disinterestedly, “if you’ll leave me the fuck alone while you do.”

Fair enough.

Geralt selects the red—a deep burgundy that will pair with the blush on Jaskier’s cheeks after a few glasses of wine. He pulls the scroll from his trouser pocket, and begins casting on as the pattern instructs.

When he hears Jaskier’s tread in the hall, he hastily pulls the half-finished lap blanket over his new project.

“Bedtime, Witcher,” says Jaskier, peering over his shoulder. “Didn’t make much progress on that tonight, did you?”

“It’s a big blanket,” Geralt grunts. “Eskel’s been practicing sleight of hand since we were boys. Don’t play him for money.”

“I bloody knew it,” Jaskier exclaims. He wheels around and stomps back out of the hall, suitably distracted. “Eskel! You’ll never believe what Geralt’s just told me!”

The sweater is slow going, since he does have to put real work into the blanket every once in a while to keep Jaskier’s suspicions to heel.

Over the next few weeks, it becomes near an open secret in the keep what Geralt is up to. Lambert catches him cursing late one evening as he is ripping back several rows to fix a cable he’d mistakenly crossed the wrong way.

“Whazzat,” Lambert says, crunching on a mouthful of tree nuts.

“Fuck off,” Geralt says. He squints and carefully tries to secure a dropped loop back on the needle. If it ladders down, he’s done for—there’ll be no fixing it while maintaining the pattern. He’s not nearly good enough for that.

“Looks like you’re fucking it up,” Lambert chews.

“I am. That’s why I told you to fuck off.”

“Thought that’s just how you decided to greet me now. That’s what Vesemir does.” He shoves another fistful of nuts into his mouth, though Geralt isn’t sure he’s swallowed the first.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

He manages to pick up that last loop before disaster strikes, and moves the stitches around on the needles to make sure they all look right. Then he shoves the left-hand stitches all the way up to the tip so he can continue.

Lambert leans down to examine the fabric, then runs his finger down the pattern with his eyebrow raised. “This is some fancy shit, Geralt, you giant poof.”

“It’s not for me,” he says.

Lambert swallows, belches, and says, “My point exactly. ‘S for Jaskier, innit.”

Geralt doesn’t bother answering as he approaches the cable he’d made a mess of the first time around. Lambert claps him on the shoulder with the hand he’s been using as a nut-to-mouth delivery tool, which leaves salt behind on his tunic.

“That’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks,” says Geralt wryly.

“Anyway, I’m outta here. This boring bullshit still gives me hives.”

He exits the hall and the door shuts heavily behind him. Geralt finishes recrossing the cable and, turning to check his pattern, finds it covered in greasy fingerprints.

Eskel, on the other hand, sits himself in Vesemir’s usual seat one night and sets to quietly whittling a whistle. After several hours, Geralt holds up the near completed front panel of his sweater and says, “Do you think Jaskier will like this?”

Eskel doesn’t even look at it. “Geralt, you could spit on a log and hand it to him and Jaskier would love it.” His knife stills. “Maybe don’t do that, though.”

To their credit, none of the other witchers say a word—possibly for lack of caring—and Geralt is able to rely on them to keep Jaskier occupied most nights while he finishes the front and back panels and seams them up.

Before he begins work on the sleeves, the pattern warns, the wearer should try on the body to ensure proper fit.

“Well, shit,” he says aloud. He can’t ask Jaskier to try it on and ruin the surprise. He holds it up against himself, trying to judge if they are similar enough size to judge whether it will fit Jaskier. Geralt, certainly, is wider in the chest and shoulders, but as long as he can get it on without stretching it too much he should be able to check the length. And, if it fits Geralt or is loose, it will certainly be too large on Jaskier.

It will have to do.

The next morning he rises early and takes the sack in which he’s been storing his project to Ciri’s bedroom. He knocks softly.

“Ciri?” he calls, mouth close to the door. “Can I use your mirror for a moment?”

“Mnnngh,” he hears. He takes this as an invitation.

The only visible part of her, when he lets himself in, is a tangle of hair escaping from under the pile of furs on the bed. He sets his sack delicately in front of the only full-length mirror in the keep and says, “Morning, Princess.”

“F’ off,” the fur pile groans. “No it’s not.”

“You really have been spending too much time with Lambert,” Geralt comments mildly as he pulls the unfinished sweater out and checks it for damage in transport, though he knows it was safe in the bag and only traveled up some stairs. “He’s a bad influence.”

“I’ve always been like this when rudely awakened at the crack of dawn,” Ciri says, muffled. “Don’t think any of you are special.”

“You cursed at the royal servants?”

“Quite regularly.”

Geralt shrugs the layers off his top half down to his undershirt while she continues to stretch and grumble wordlessly in the warmth of her bed. He pulls the sweater over his head; the neckline snags on his ears but otherwise he should be okay to try to get his arms in. He squeezes his right arm in and up, aiming for the proper hole—

“Geralt,” Ciri says icily, “what, by the gods, is that?”

He turns around, contorted in the confines of the too-tight sweater. She’s sitting up with her hair a wild tangle and her eyes wide in horror. “What’s what?”

“That garment!”

“It’s…a sweater? I’m making it.”

Geralt thinks he may be missing something very important.

“For yourself?”

“…No, for Jaskier. He needs another—”

“Don’t you care about the curse?”

Geralt finishes fitting himself into the sweater and tugs it down over his stomach while Ciri continues to stare at him in expectant horror. Thus no longer trapped, he decides to engage. “The what?”

Ciri slumps forward, briefly puts her face in her hands. “Good gods, Geralt, you really can’t be helped. But I also cannot allow you to give Jaskier a handmade sweater. Despite your…personal challenges”—at this, Geralt tilts his head and opens his mouth to ask exactly what the hell that means, but she barrels on—“I really have become fond of the two of you, so I cannot let you carry on with this foolish nonsense.”

Her voice goes more posh the longer speaks. Geralt thinks she will make a fine queen someday. “Ciri, I—”

“And really,” she continues, “it’s like you’re trying to sabotage a good thing. He does nothing but care for you, and this is how you repay him? Honestly. Melitele’s tits!”

“Melitele’s—? Where did you learn that one?”

“I’m hardly sheltered. And you’re one to talk, caring about my language when you’re about to lose Jaskier for good!”

“For good? Lose Jask—okay, Ciri.” He sits down at the foot of her bed, probably looking downright silly confined to a sleeveless sweater that is at least one size too small for him. He can feel it constricting the rise and fall of his chest and stretching tight in his armpits. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. What curse?”

The expression she aims at him is sharper than at least four of the blades in the armory. “The sweater curse, Geralt. If one makes a sweater for a person one is interested in romantically, that person leaves within a fortnight. Everyone knows this.”

“Oh, of course. How stupid of me,” Geralt says.

Ciri raises an eyebrow that says Yes, obviously.

“So you’re telling me that if I finish this sweater and give it to Jaskier, he will suddenly no longer be able to stand the sight of me and will stomp off on down the mountain, even with the good foot of snow and ice blocking the path.”

She sniffs. “Indubitably.”

“Hmm,” says Geralt. “I think I’ll take my chances.” He claps his hands on his knees as he stands and moves back to the mirror to inspect the sizing more closely. The armholes are definitely a bit small—he’ll have to let out the seam to increase the circumference—but the rest, if he tries to overlay Jaskier’s body onto his own, seems like it should be about right.

Ciri leaves the bed with a fur wrapped around her as a cape and comes to his side. “You’re impossible,” she declares, though the royal snootiness is diminished somewhat by her morning breath and tangled hair. Then she reaches out and touches the textured pattern between the cable running up the front. “Though, you know, it is quite beautiful, if horribly misguided.”

He grins indulgently at her. “Thank you, Princess.”

“Have you heard of the sweater curse?”

Vesemir snorts. “Poppycock. Who told you about that old superstition?”

“Just came across it.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Vesemir looks at Geralt over his spectacles. “I hope that it’s not bothering you.”

“No,” says Geralt. “Of course not.”

He has fuck-all in his hand of cards, but he stares down at them like they might contain the secrets of the Continent.

“It’s your turn, Geralt,” Eskel says.

“I know,” he replies, absently rearranging the cards.

“So…you gonna play or pass?” Lambert asks. He digs his hand into the bowl of nuts at his elbow.

“Not sure.”

“Is something on your mind?” Eskel, again.

“No. Well…do either of you believe in the sweater curse?”

They both look at him blankly.

“Nuh uh,” says Lambert with his mouth full.

Geralt says, “Pass.”

He speaks clearly into the xenovox. “Yen? Are you there?”

“Geralt?” comes the reply, as if she were beside him in the room. “Is Ciri all right?”

“We’re all fine. It’s good to hear from you, too.”

“If there’s no trouble, then make it quick.”

Now he hesitates, but he chokes the question out anyway. “Do you know about the sweater curse?”

There is silence.

“Yen?”

“For the love of the gods, Geralt, please don’t bother me with frivolous garbage. I’m much too busy. Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all,” Geralt says, suitably shamed.

The finished, washed, and blocked sweater rests folded at the bottom of his wardrobe for more than a week before he works up the nerve to bring it down to dinner with him in his knitting sack.

Even with the flaws that Geralt, as the creator, inevitably notices—a few loose stitches three quarters down the back panel, the right sleeve is slightly longer than the left—he has to admit that it turned out well. He could fetch a pretty penny for it in a large city. Silky soft, thick, and vivid burgundy, it would be a stand-out piece among any merchant’s wares even without the detailing that stretches collar to hem and even down the outside of the arms.

Knitting it was a nightmare. He will never do anything like it ever again, so Jaskier had better appreciate this one.

Still, every time he resolves to finally gift it, Ciri’s words echo in the back of his mind. You’re about to lose Jaskier for good.

On the ninth day, he shushes that voice, takes the sack, and marches straight into the hall for dinner. After all, if Yen and Vesemir aren’t worried, then he shouldn’t be either.

Everyone but Jaskier is there already. Eskel looks up from pouring ale into each mug and says, “Hullo, Geralt. What do you have there?” and Lambert says, “Ooh, didja finish it?” and Vesemir digs wordlessly into his mutton.

Ciri’s eyes zero in on the sack.

“Hello,” says Geralt. “Is Jaskier still washing up?”

“Yeah,” says Lambert. “He fell in a pile of snow.”

“Lambert pushed him into a pile of snow,” Eskel amends.

Geralt glares at the accused, setting the sack on the bench at his usual spot.

“He asked for it. Bloody said ‘Lambert, throw me into that snow over there!’ didn’t he?”

“Since you were alone with him at the time, I don’t think I can confirm or deny—”

“Geralt,” Ciri interrupts, “tell me you’re not still planning what you said.”

“I am,” he tells her.

“You were standing not ten feet away.”

“My back was turned—”

“You’re a godsdamned witcher! Or have you gone deaf?”

“Even after what I told you! I thought you were going to think about it!” Ciri pushes back from the table. “I forbid you from giving that to him.”

Geralt snorts. “Or what, Princess? Look, I don’t think Jaskier is planning to leave—”

“Of course he’s not planning to, the curse will make him! Why are you tempting destiny this way?”

“I’m just saying, Lambert, that it wouldn’t be out of your character to shove an unsuspecting bard into a snowbank.”

“Oh, and hustling him at Gwent wasn’t out of your character, so maybe you’re actually the one who shoved him. Thought about that one, Eskel?”

Geralt says, “If he tries to leave, I’ll tie him to the bed until the urge passes.”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust, but then moves past that comment. “At least let me give it to him. I’ll say I brought it from Cintra, or bought it on the way here.”

“And let my hard work go unacknowledged? I don’t think so. And why would you have bought a man’s sweater?”

Among the arguments, no one notices Jaskier enter the hall and come up behind Vesemir, wide eyed. “What did I miss?” he stage whispers.

“Just open your present, bard,” Vesemir mutters, gesturing to the sack at Geralt’s knee.

“Ooh, a present? For little old me?”

He picks up the sack and tests the weight curiously, before opening it and drawing out the most marvelous sweater he has ever seen.

“Jaskier, no!” Ciri cries, and everyone else falls quiet.

“What, why?” he says, looking between Ciri’s stricken face and the furrow between Geralt’s brows. “What is this?”

“It’s for you,” Geralt murmurs. “I made it.”

“You made it?” he repeats dumbly.

“Yes. For you. Because you were…cold.”

“Because I was cold?”

Geralt gently takes it from him and holds it up so he can see the full design. “That night, you came in when I was knitting, and you were cold. I wanted to make you something warm to wear that you would like.”

Jaskier squishes the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

“Do you,” says Geralt, “like it?”

“It’s stunning,” Jaskier breathes. Geralt may as well have hit him over the head with a hammer.

“I cannot believe you, Geralt of Rivia,” Ciri cuts in. “You never listen to anyone. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” With that, she turns on her heel and leaves the hall.

Geralt grimaces. “Do you, er, have any particular desire to leave me?”

“Leave you? Why would I—Geralt, is this a breakup gift? Is it pity?” He panics, pushing the sweater back into Geralt’s hands. “I don’t want your gorgeous pity breakup sweater, Geralt. I’ve played that game before.”

Geralt steadies him, as ever. “No, it’s—Ciri thinks there’s a curse, or something. And that if I made you a sweater, you would leave.”

“Oh,” says Jaskier. “Well, I assure you I will not. And in that case I do want the sweater.” He shucks off his coat right there at the table and pulls the sweater on over his tunic. “There!” He spreads his hands wide. “How does it look?”

The smile Geralt gives him is answer enough. “Perfect,” he says. “You look perfect.”

“Not bad, bard,” Eskel says.

Lambert shoots him a thumbs up. Vesemir does not appear to be paying attention.

Jaskier leans in and kisses Geralt on the lips. “Thank you very much,” he whispers. “I adore it and promise to thank you more appropriately later tonight. For now, shall I go after Ciri?”

“That may be best,” Geralt says. “I don’t think she likes me much right now.”

“My pleasure. Say,” he says louder, “while I’m gone, don’t let my food get cold.” He opens the door and barely feels the usual chill of the drafty hallways at all. Over his shoulder, he adds, “You can get Lambert to tell you all how he threw me in a snow pile today! It was great fun!”

“I told you—” he hears, but then the door closes behind him.

#my fic #geraskier #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #someone pls teach me to write drabbles i'm dying

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insfiringyou · 3 years

Text

BTS - A Chance Meeting (V & Ara)

Contains: Slight angst

*Alert for potential spoilers for fics not yet written in Jimin x Ara’s storyline*

Ara notices Taehyung sat alone in a quiet cafe and decides to stop by.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist of fanart and fanfictions can be found here

If you wish to follow all member’s storylines in chronological order from the beginning, you can find them listed here.

Content below the cut

Ara hesitated, before tapping lightly on the single-pane glass with her fingernails. She didn’t want to draw too much attention but was unable to stop herself from knocking. It was a surprise to see him after so long and she had double-taken in the street. His hair was a little longer, but that was expected. The last time he had just returned from the military and his short, closely-cropped cut made him seem more somber; years older than he was. Now it was back to a length she found more familiar but the dark, wispy suggestion of facial hair on his upper lip was new. He seemed lost in thought, sat in the back of the cafe with a small cup clutched between his fingers, staring into space. Despite her being gentle, the sound seemed to startle him and he looked up. Ara gave a tentative wave, hoping he recognised her.

She tucked her fringe behind her ear, watching him pause before he raised his hand slightly in acknowledgement. Her bleached strands felt unfamiliar as she brushed the neck of her hair; the short, pixie cut still freshly blow-dried from the hairdressers that morning. She had asked Da-eun to do it for her but the young woman had refused, thinking she might get into some kind of trouble for it. Ara understood, after all, she had not yet spoken to her manager about a change in style.

Taking the plunge, she tucked her black purse beneath her armpit and walked around the corner to the entrance; the soft tinkle of a bell above the door signalling her arrival. She could not read Taehyung’s expression as she approached his table at the back of the small space but hoped she was not intruding. He was sat snugly behind a column which, luckily, seemed private. The cafe only had a small handful of customers but she looked around cautiously before joining in.

“Hi…” She beamed, keeping her voice low. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”

He nodded, meeting her gaze. “I’m good.” His tone gave nothing away, but after a moment he gestured to the spare chair opposite. “Do you want to sit down?”

She slid onto the seat automatically. “I can’t stay for long. I’ve got an appointment.”

He blinked a few times. “You’ve cut your hair.”

Her replying smile was bashful as her fingers moved in response to her fringe which had once more come untucked. “It was too warm in the heat. It’s much easier to maintain now.”

“It suits you.” He said coolly.

There was a long pause between them, though it wasn’t awkward. She had grown used to these drawn-out silences, from the time he temporarily took lodge in her and Jimin’s apartment and when her boyfriend had left for the military. It would have been a lie to say she had gotten a lot from his company. He always seemed absorbed in his books as well as his thoughts, but there always seemed to be something he was holding back; an aura of mystery she couldn’t quite place and at odds with Jimin’s usual openness. But Taehyung was tidy enough and greeted her when she came home, so she hadn’t minded having him around.

She found herself wondering what she could say to him. It seemed polite to stop and talk, but this chance meeting now reminded her how little she knew about his life now. Eventually, she spoke. “How’s the baby?”

The corner of his lips twitched in a vague smile. “Toddling.”

Ara was silent for a moment, only just realising it had been longer since she had seen him than she initially thought. “How old is he now?” She asked, voice open and inquisitive.

He took a sip of tea; it’s aroma fragrant in the small space. She tried to read the label on the tag but couldn’t make it out. “Almost two.”

Her eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I can’t believe it’s been so long. I keep meaning to go and see Cassandra, but I wasn’t sure where she was now. Is she still in Seoul?”

Taehyung nodded, putting down his cup. It made a soft, strangely comforting sound against the china saucer. “She’s in Gangnam. Do you have her number?”

She thought for a moment, before nodding with a frown. “If she hasn’t changed it. She was kind of hard to get hold of for a while.”

“Gabriel had colic.” He replied with a shrug, as though that explained the years of absence. Ara thought the explanation a little odd, but did not comment.

“Did you choose the name?” She asked.

“It just seemed right.” He quickly murmured, not entirely answering the question. Ara thought the reply seemed rehearsed, as though he had answered it many times. She wondered if his family had commented on it and whether he felt the need to defend the decision. Jimin had not spoken much about Taehyung’s family, and she herself had never heard them mentioned in conversation. All of a sudden she found herself hoping they had been supportive; not just for his sake but for Cassandra, whom she had known for so long.

Ara forced the thought away. “I bet it sounds lovely when she says it. Cassandra always had the most wonderful voice.”

Taehyung looked up from his tea cup. “She still does.”

Her mouth opened, forming an ‘oh’, thinking she might have gotten it all wrong. Or maybe things had changed in the past two years. She approached the topic tentatively. “Are you two…?”

“No.” He confirmed. “But we make it work.” He quickly added.

Ara settled back in her chair; understanding. She gave a soft smile which she hoped didn’t come across as patronising. “I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s the mother of my child, Ara.” He said quietly.

She sensed the sadness in his voice; a longing he couldn’t quite put into words and she nodded. “Of course.” She changed the subject lightly, seeing there was nothing else she could say on the matter of her old friend. “You should get in touch with Jimin. I know he wants to see you.”

He appeared to wince a little but recovered well. She almost hadn’t noticed. “You can tell him he’s welcome any time he wants. He knows where I live.” He murmured.

Ara fell silent, realising he didn’t yet know. “You really haven’t seen him in a while have you?” She asked, before pressing on. “We broke up.”

He met her eyes across the table and she saw the shock in his expression. “When?”

“A few months ago.”

Taehyung was quiet, pensive, before he asked. “Was it mutual?”

She smiled sadly. “I think he needed it too. We still speak sometimes.”

The man opposite nodded in confirmation. “That’s good.”

Ara watched as he leaned forward to pick up the cup, looking downwards as he took the last few sips. She realised how lonely he looked; how the times she had come home to find him seemingly preoccupied masked the fact he didn’t seem to have anyone. His fans, she remembered, always thought him something of an enigma. She wondered now if that was truly it.

“Have you thought about dating again?” She suggested, making sure to keep her voice down low, should anyone else hear.

He didn’t look up from his cup. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know…” She trailed off, figuring out how best to word it. “Being in a relationship seemed to suit you.” She shrugged. It seemed silly now she said it out loud. “As far as I could tell anyway.”

“Cass has moved on.” He murmured, frankly.

Ara hesitated. “I meant with someone else.”

Taehyung’s eyes snapped up, meeting hers purposefully and she let out an unexpected giggle.

“I didn’t mean me.” She confirmed, shaking her head. It felt strange without the usual brush of hair against her shoulders. She settled down, her laughter subsiding, and gave a long, dramatic groan, anticipating how pathetic she must sound. “I’m still trying to find myself.”

He looked back at the table, picking up a napkin and twisting it absently between his long fingers. “I don’t think I could have that again.”

“You never know.” She easily dismissed.

His brows knitted together, creating deep, frustrated grooves in his forehead as he mumbled, glumly. “Maybe some people are only meant to be with one person.”

Ara raised a questioning eyebrow. “You never dated anyone before Cassandra?”

Taehyung looked up once more, answering quickly. “That was different.” He sharply declared. “I was young.”

“You’re still young.” She said, deliberately gently, seeing he was hurt.

He grew quiet and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. Ara feared she might have crossed the line and she tightened her grip on her purse, getting ready to leave before he suddenly spoke. “I wouldn’t even know where to meet someone.”

Her hands stilled and she relaxed. “Well…” She held out the palms of her hands. “What do you like?”

He met her gaze. “In a girl?”

She shrugged. “Or a guy.”

Half-expecting him to question this, he surprised her by remaining silent, meditative; thinking deeply. She wondered if he knew about her. Perhaps Jimin had told him.

“Someone sweet.” He eventually said. “Someone kind.”

Her lips curled, simpering. “Is that all?”

“I’m not that picky.” He stated.

She couldn’t help but scoff. “You dated the most European girl in Seoul.”

“She’s only half European.” He contended, entirely missing the point.

“You know what I mean...” Ara shook her head with a grin and sitting back, she reflected for a moment. “What about looks?”

“Personality is more important.”

“You must have a preference?” She challenged, suddenly curious.

Once again he fell silent and Ara found herself a little impressed at how seriously he was taking this. “Dark eyes...soft and sweet.”

“The kind of girl you’d bring home?” She questioned with a smirk.

“Someone I could marry.” He stated, a little dreamily.

Ara nodded, amused. He sounded strangely serious. “I know just the girl.” She teased, an idea already forming in her mind.

He looked at her; eyelashes heavy, giving him a sleepy look “How about you?”

She stretched in her seat, realising she hadn’t thought about it much before and was surprised he asked. Smiling to herself, she blushed. “Smooth skin. Nice lips.” She giggled in embarrassment, adding: “No stubble.”

“So Jimin?” He challenged.

The corners of her lips turned up and she looked away, unable to help the way her heart still skipped a little at his name. “I don’t know…” She admitted, drifting off and watching from the corner of her eye as he reached into his pocket, searching for his wallet. She took the opportunity to flick through her phone, typing a name and bringing up a familiar social media account. She swiped through the pictures with her manicured thumb before finding one which showed the girl in question at a good angle. It was taken at a company event, and the dress she wore was uncharacteristically short. The other girls on the make up team had talked her into wearing it but Ara saw the way she had tugged on it incessantly all night, trying to cover her pale knees with the frilled hem.

“What about her?” Ara held out the screen, showing him.

Taehyung squinted at the picture. “Do you know her?”

“She’s my stylist.” She confirmed before tucking the phone back in her purse and closing the magnetic clasp. “You’d like her, she’s sweet...and single.” She added.

“What’s her name?” He asked casually.

“Da-eun.”

She thought he was going to ask more, but instead changed the topic. “Are you going back on tour soon?”

“Once the new album’s out, we still have a lot of work to do. I’m meeting the producers this afternoon.”

“That sounds good.” He murmured, sounding a little tired. She sensed the conversation was drawing to a close.

“Are you working on anything?” She asked politely.

“I was thinking about it.” The other man shrugged indifferently.

“I’m sure your fans would really enjoy it.”

“I’d be doing it for me.”

The steely tone of his reply took her aback a little and she found herself recalling the news headlines in the days following the birth. “Even so…” She drifted off weakly and checked her watch before drawing her chair away from the table. “I’d better be going.” She murmured apologetically, getting to her feet. “It was really nice bumping into you.”

His eyes followed her as she gathered her belongings and extended the strap on the purse across her shoulder. “You too. Take care.”

“I will.” She smiled, tucking the chair neatly beneath the table and turning to leave.

“Ara?” He called softly and she spun back. He was silent for a few seconds but she waited patiently. “Your friend Da-eun…” He seemed a little embarrassed. “You can give her my number.” Another pause. “If you like.”

It took her by surprise but she nodded in agreement. “I will.” She confirmed, giving a gentle wave. “Goodbye Tae.”

***

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kinda-iconic · 3 years

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Second Chances

Author's note: It's been a long time since I last wrote anything on here. This was partly caused by an issue on motivation, as I just wasn't feeling as though my writing was good enough anymore. However, I have tried to keep to it, and this is ultimately the result of my perseverance. This fanfic takes place between the events of 'Morning Sickness' and 'Truth doesn't always set you free'.

Summary: Adrian accompanies Amy to her first ultrasound scan.

Tagging: @bloodboundismylife @shelley-parah @nala-raines @lauren-raines-x @adrianadmirer @choicesfannatalie @purvishraick @flowerpowell @adriansbiss @tays-role-plays @caroldxnvxrs @crystalwillow @a-raines

Word Count: 2'703 words

Please do let me know if you would like to be tagged in future works.

‘If you could just lift your blouse up for me.’

Adrian glances around the room, the bitter scent of hand sanitizer burning his nostrils; the room is mostly bare, though as he focuses on his surroundings, he becomes more aware of its contents. The walls are plain, decorated only with the occasional information poster and a glove dispenser. The vibrancy of the lights compares to that of the sun, its fluorescent beams illuminating every corner of the room. As he continues to study his environment, the midwife approaches Amy's feet, adjusting the plastic on the end of the bed before pulling the curtain across.

Adrian focuses his attention on her, his brows knitting together as he observes her movements. A soft squeeze of the hand causes him to look away, luring his concentration back to the source of the distraction; Amy is lying before him, her petite form positioned comfortably on the hospital bed, her free hand resting atop her bare abdomen. She looks up at him, her brown doe-like eyes gazing worriedly into at his own, her voice no louder than a gentle whisper as she tries to provide him with words of comfort.

‘It’s okay, Adrian,’ she greets him with a tired smile, the pad of her thumb drawing soothing circles on the skin of his palm, ‘this is just standard procedure.’

He glances back at the woman, his expression indecipherable as he ensures that she is not privy to their conversation. Satisfied that the midwife remains indisposed, he raises Amy’s hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles.

‘That doesn’t mean that I cannot worry.’

Before either one can say more, the midwife turns back to face them, her fingers clasped tightly around the transducer. She shifts forward in her seat, regarding the pair with a welcoming smile as she lays sight on Amy’s stomach.

‘That’s perfect,’ she reaches forward, carefully adjusting the fabric of Amy’s shirt before gesturing to the band of her leggings, ‘I just need access to your lower abdomen if that is alright.’

‘O-okay!’

Amy does as she is asked, moving her clothing downward before looking to her for approval. She is met with a satisfied nod in return, the woman’s smile growing more evident as she retrieves a collection of paper towels from the dispenser; however, as she moves to assist Amy with tucking them in place, Adrian interjects her, strategically placing his hand over the remaining material. She lifts her gaze to meet his own, looking at him in befuddlement as she tries to ponder on the reason for his interruption.

‘Mr Raines, if I could just-’

‘I would rather be the one to do it if that is okay with you.’

The midwife does not respond, instead choosing to remove herself from the conversation, putting herself at a distance so that Adrian is able to continue her work. She watches him closely, her emerald eyes widening in surprise as she takes note of the gentleness of his touch, his fingers moving bashfully as he tries to imitate her actions. As he moves to work on the area adjacent to her hip, Amy places her hand atop of his, interlacing her fingers with his own; he hesitantly meets her gaze, as if aware that his recent actions have caused her discomfort.

‘I just want to keep you safe.’

‘I know,’ she whispers, her words soft and comforting as she carefully reaches for her stomach, her fingertips softly tapping against her skin as she continues to cradle her small bump, ‘but Sarah isn’t going to hurt me, Adrian – all she wants to do is to make sure that the baby and I are alright.'

He sighs, the corner of his mouth tugging into a sorrowful smile as he reaches up to caress her cheek, his fingers entangling in her hair as the pad of his thumb presses against her bottom lip. He inclines his head towards her, as if suddenly remembering their present company.

‘I worry about you, Amy,’ he looks down at her abdomen, his free hand coming to rest atop her own as his thoughts continue to play havoc with his mind; though his gaze begins to soften, there is a hint of worry on his brow, as though his concerns for the future of his family are weighing on his mind more than he chooses to admit. ‘It is not the first time that someone has tried to harm you and our child,’ he shifts his gaze to the side, watching Sarah as she continues to busy herself, remaining blissfully unaware of the wariness in his tone, ‘and now that Gaius knows about the baby…’

He utters his maker’s name with bitterness, every syllable spoken like venom on the tongue; as if by instinct, his muscles begin to tense, his expression glassy and vacant as he decides to press on, the hand that was once resting on her stomach now travelling up to take hold of her hand.

‘I don’t like doubting the intentions of every passer-by that graces our door,’ he leans closer, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, ‘but it is something I must do if I am to keep you both safe.’

‘I understand,’ her voice is quiet, barely audible to the ear, ‘but not everybody is out to get us, Adrian. The staff here are only trying to do their job.’ She gives his hand a comforting squeeze, the tension slowly easing from his body at her touch, ‘Don’t you think that they would have hurt me by now if they were working for Gaius?’

‘I just-’

‘I know,’ she greets him with a loving smile, her nose slightly crinkling at the gesture, ‘and that’s okay! I get that you want to protect us, but…you cannot spend the next six months fretting day and night over something that may never happen.’

‘This is Gaius, Amy; if he wants something, there is no telling how far he will go to get it.’

‘Then that is a problem for future Adrian.’

‘Amy…’

She reaches upwards, blessing his skin with a gentle caress as she cups his face in his hands, ‘I know that all this uncertainty hasn’t been easy to handle, and I understand why you are afraid,’ she releases a joyful sigh, her voice slowly trailing into a whisper, ‘but this should be a happy time. We’re about to see our baby; we’re going to see our little one for the very first time.’

He matches her enthusiasm, his words spoken with reminiscence.

‘I…I know.’

He looks over at the midwife, his stoic facade slowly fading as he observes her for a moment, taking a mental note of the care she is putting into each individual task; he turns his attention back to Amy, his fingertips grazing her knuckles as he reaches for her palm.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for…at least not to me.’

He follows her gaze to Sarah; understanding that he has overstepped, Adrian takes a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before gathering the courage to correct his mistake.

‘You have my sincerest apologies, Sarah,’ he shakes his head in self-frustration, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as his eyes drift back to Amy, his voice laden with regret and embarrassment. ‘The last thing I wanted to do was to cause any offence.’

She waves her hand dismissively, causing him to cease in his apology.

‘It’s okay,’ her attention does not stray from the monitor as she proceeds to press several buttons, ‘you’re not the first father-to-be that has questioned our practices.’

‘That still does not excuse my behaviour.’

‘There is nothing to excuse, Sir,’ Sarah sits back on her chair, drawing the machine closer to the bedside; she removes a bottle of gel from its holder before tilting the nozzle towards Amy’s abdomen, her gloved hand shifting a stray piece of tissue from the substance’s future path. ‘Amy is an exceedingly kind and compassionate young woman.’ She adjusts herself slightly, as if trying to access a better angle, ‘it is understandable that you feel protective of her.’

‘I fear sometimes that I am being too protective, but whenever I stop, I cannot help but feel as though something might happen to her if I allow myself to let my guard down.’

‘I wouldn’t say that you were being over-protective,’ she smiles up at him, ‘I have been an acting midwife for two decades; the things that have been said to me…’ she sighs, her focus never straying from the task at hand, ‘let’s just say I have had a lot worse thrown in my direction.’

‘But you are only doing your job.’

‘And I am grateful that you see it that way,’ she pauses, as if thinking over her next few words with caution, ‘the difference in this situation is that your concern was over the safety of Amy and your child, whereas theirs were more to do with the duration of the examination or advice that I had given their partners about a change of lifestyle as the pregnancy progressed. Again, these were suggestions; I was not going to force them to make these changes.’

‘But you’re a midwife,’ Amy states in befuddlement, her brows furrowing in her confusion, ‘you have a duty of care to both mother and baby. All you were doing was telling your patients how they could improve their lifestyle to make pregnancy easier…’

‘Unfortunately, not everybody sees it like that,’ her smile remains, ‘but it is nice to hear that someone agrees with me.’

She moves over to the desk, collecting Amy's patient file from the end of the bed before settling at the computer; she studies Amy's notes for a moment, her eyes skimming through her information without so much as a second thought, ‘this is your first child, correct?’

A tightness consumes Adrian’s chest, his breath slightly hitching in his throat as her words begin to replay in his mind.

The baby would indeed be Amy’s first child, that much was true.

But it wasn’t his.

He lowers his gaze to the floor, closing his eyes as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. It is only when Amy speaks that he looks back up at her, desperate to hear the softness of her comfort.

‘It-it’s my first,’ she lifts her gaze to meet Adrian’s, her brown doe-like eyes awash with reassurance and understanding; she greets him with an adoring smile, her fingers beginning to re-entwine with his, the tenderness in her touch acting as a silent understanding between them. ‘I-I have never done this before.’

'Well, I would be lying if I said it was easy,' the midwife quips, 'but to hold your baby in your arms for the very first time? Totally worth it.'

The woman places the transducer onto Amy’s skin, the coldness of the gel causing her to gasp in surprise. She pauses her examination, her gaze lifting to study Amy’s expression as she removes the device from her abdomen.

‘Are you alright?’ She reaches for a tissue, dabbing at a splotch of gel that has started to drift from Amy’s midsection. ‘Did I apply too much pressure?’

‘No, I…’ she shifts slightly, her fingers grasping onto the paper towel-like sheet that is poking out from underneath her, ‘it’s just colder than I thought it would be.’

‘My apologies,’ Sarah responds with a sympathetic smile, pressing the apparatus back on the spot just below her navel, ‘I probably should have warned you before I applied it.’

‘It…might have prepared me a little bit.’

Adrian chuckles softly, instinctively lifting Amy’s hand to his lips; he places a delicate kiss on her palm, his warm hand gently encasing her wrist.

‘It will warm up in time, sweetheart.’

‘I wonder if you would say the same if it was squeezed onto your tummy,’ she glances down at her growing bump, her tired eyes focusing on the device as it starts to move across her abdomen, ‘does it make it easier to see the baby?’

Sarah responds with a curt nod, her focus never wavering from the task at hand. She continues to alter the path of the transducer, as if trying to ensure that every inch of Amy’s abdomen is covered.

‘In a way,’ she presses down slightly, her gaze lifting only momentarily as she addresses her patient, ‘the gel acts almost like a connector of sorts. It reduces the amount of air between the scanner and your womb, so I am able to get a clearer image of the baby.’

‘Would the air bubbles distort the picture?’

The midwife raises her brow, regarding Amy with an expression of curiosity. She tilts her head in Amy’s direction, her subtlety instinctively succeeding in drawing Adrian’s attention.

‘She seems to know a lot about this subject, Mr Raines,’ a nervous laugh escapes her, and Adrian is quick to notice the faint curvature of bewilderment on her features, ‘is there some incredibly informative new parenting book that I am yet to become aware of?’

‘Not quite,’ he greets her with a soft smile, his tone becoming more animated as he continues his train of thought, ‘Amy’s pregnancy, it… took us by surprise to say the least.’ He reaches forward, gently pressing his hand to the Bloodkeeper’s cheek, ‘neither of us are experts on child-rearing, so we thought that it would be better to listen to first-hand accounts before delving into any parenting books.’

‘Sometimes it is best to listen to those that are closest to you,’ she nods in agreement, delicately changing direction of her examination as she glances back at the screen, ‘may I ask who this person this?’

‘Most of the advice we’ve had has been from my Sister-in-Law,’ Amy looks up at Adrian, whose hand rests firmly upon her shoulder, his grip supportive and familiar, ‘although my Mom has given me a few pointers that might help.’

‘It is always good to receive another mother’s advice, regardless as to whether she is your own,’ she smiles warmly at the pair, her happiness only brightening as she catches sight of the screen; the midwife refocuses her attention on the couple, her voice laced with excitement.

‘Are you ready to see your baby?’

‘Y-yes.’

She turns the monitor towards them, her right hand still slowly moving across Amy’s abdomen; at first, all Adrian and Amy can see is darkness, but as they focus on the screen, a soft, grey image comes into view.

‘Is…’ he hesitates, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes linger on the picture, ‘is that…’

‘It most certainly is.’

‘Woah…’

They both continue to look at the image, their mouths agape in wonder as they process what they are bearing witness to. After a couple of minutes, Amy glances up at Sarah, her eyes beginning to glisten with tears.

‘That’s…that’s our baby?’

She nods, reaching over to adjust the tissue that is tucked into Amy’s waistband. Using her free hand, she points to the screen.

'There’s the baby’s head, and if you look closely…’ she pauses, slowly rolling the device back down its original path, ‘you should be able to see their arms and feet.’

Amy fixes her gaze on the image, her eyes widening as the child’s features become visible. She turns to Adrian, a single tear trickling onto her cheek.

‘That’s our little one,’ she smiles excitedly, a nervous chuckle escaping her as her tears continue to fall, ‘I…this is really happening.’

He reaches for her hand, taking it in his own before lifting it up to lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

‘Neither can I,’ he flashes her a giddy grin, his gaze never straying from hers, ‘I never thought that I…that we could…’

Amy shakes her head, a nervous chuckle escaping her.

‘It’s… not exactly something that I thought would be happening to me.’

‘I thought so too, at least not for me,’ he looks at her earnestly, his gaze softening in adoration as he studies her features; he reaches up to caress her cheek, the pad of his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her skin, ‘but I’m so glad that I get to do this with you.’

#choices: stories you play #playchoices #bloodbound #adrian raines #adrian x mc #choices fanfic #I did it!

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wisdom-walks-alone · 3 years

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"It all just feels like too much, all the time." Damian rests his cheek on his knees, hugging his legs with one arm and picking the pills off the couch cushion with his free hand. "I just want to go back to not feeling anything at all."

"That's totally understandable. When you're feeling overwhelmed, it's normal to just want everything to go away. But feeling can be a good thing. It means that you're alive."

Damian huffs. "What if I don't want to be alive?" He pauses, as does Dinah's writing. "That came out wrong. I don't want to die or anything, and it's not like I'm too eager to go back to Hell."

Dinah adjusts herself in her seat, leaning forward a little. "And what makes you so sure you'd go to Hell?"

Something in Damian's body tenses, but he doesn't let it show. What, you think you're a bad person? Boohoo, you're not, so suck it up already.

He shrugs. Dinah doesn't push. It's one of the things he likes about her.

He doesn't have to hide anything from her. Not in the secret identities and sketchy backgrounds kind of way. She knows his past and she knows his present. She knows them probably better than anyone. Yet there are things that he still can't bring himself to admit. There's something about saying things out loud that make them real, and then you have to face them. To bare your feelings to one person is to bare them to the whole world. Damian's seen a lot of things in his life and still nothing terrifies him as much as that.

And sometimes it just sounds so ridiculous. And he feels ridiculous saying it. He's embarrassed, and isn't that just the icing on the cake?

But Dinah never judges. He knows she won't ever judge him. But he's still always afraid to say it.

He can run straight into the line of fire and jump off a hundred-story buildings, but he's still a fucking coward.

Dinah would tell him otherwise. That's why he doesn't say it out loud.

"How are your brothers?" Dinah asks.

Grateful for the change of subject, Damian briefly glances up at her. "Jason's a dick, as always. Dick isn't a dick. Tim is also a dick, but not in the same way that Jason is. I think on some level he kind of understands." He turns his head, hugging his legs tighter. "He's…trying. They all are."

"It's nice that they're trying," Dinah says. "And your father?"

Damian bites his cheek. "He's trying, too. I know he is." He has to remind himself of it sometimes, and sometimes it's hard to believe. "But it's…hard. For him."

"How so?"

"Just… He wants to understand, and he's trying to, he just…can't. And I don't have the words to help him understand."

Dinah nods sagely. "That must be frustrating."

"Yeah." Damian goes back to picking at the pills on the couch. "It's just—I know he's trying his best. It just feels like his best isn't good enough. And that feels so shitty, because you can't ask for someone to do more than their best."

"You don't have to be sorry for how you feel," Dinah tells him. "Your feelings are real and they're valid. It's completely fair of you to feel like you're not getting what you need."

"I guess."

"You're not selfish for having needs, Damian."

"It's selfish when your needs get in the way of what other people need."

"You're just trying to survive and thrive. There's nothing wrong with that. Your needs are just as important as anyone else's."

“But they’re valid, too,” Damian insists. “They’re valid in what they’re doing, how can I be upset with them for that?”

“You aren’t responsible for how other people make you feel, Damian.”

Damian doesn't reply to that. He looks away.

Dinah sits up, leaning forward in her seat. "You're a good person, Damian. You're not a bad person for having these feelings, and you shouldn't feel guilty for having them either. Instead, try being proud of yourself for recognizing that what you want might not be something you should act on."

Damian scoffs. "I have enough pride."

"Then you have plenty to spare."

Damian looks at her, deadpan. Dinah remains unwavering. Finally, he lets out a disgruntled sigh. "I guess."

Dinah smirks at her victory, tapping the back end of her pen absently on her notepad. A moment passes, then she asks, “How’s school?” Damian gives her a look, as if she even needs to ask to know that it sucks absolute balls. She just raises an eyebrow in challenge, and Damian huffs as he relents.

“Honestly, it’s been kind of hard. I can understand everything easily enough, but concentrating and keeping up with the work are difficult. Getting to and staying in school is hard, too. Father’s worried about my grades, so he’s been on top of me more about all that stuff.” He scoffs. “I know he’s right, but it just feels overbearing and all around frustrating, and it really just makes me want to do work and go to school less.”

“You have always had an opposition to authority,” Dinah remarks sagely. “You don’t like being told what to do.”

Damian squirms. He knows she’s right. It’s not something he’s ever been ignorant to, in fact he usually embraces this trait of his. He just feels weird about it in this particular situation.

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“Of course I have,” Damian shoots back. “He never listens.”

Dinah nods. “Communication is hard. Your father has never been good at that. Stubborn as ever, he is.”

“Tell me about it. Every time I try to tell him how frustrating it is he just goes on his spiel about how it’s just because he cares about me and is worried for my future. It’s not like I couldn’t just forge any degree I want to get a job if I wanted to.”

“But your father has more integrity than that,” Dinah points out. “And so do you.” A pause. “Would you rather he not care at all?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Damian purses his lips. “Well…maybe just for this one thing… I don’t know, it just feels like it’d be easier sometimes. If he didn’t care. Stopped getting in my way.”

“You don’t want him to stop caring about you, though.”

“If he really cares about me then maybe he should listen to what I have to say.”

Dinah nods. “I agree. But it’s not always that simple.”

“I know.” A silence lulls over them, and Damian squirms a bit as he tries to grasp for something to fill it with. “I’ve been feeling really overwhelmed lately, but there isn’t really anything to be overwhelmed about. Every time I have a mental break there’s just a bigger mental break.”

“We all have a different threshold for what we can handle,” Dinah tells him, “and we all have different ways of dealing with things. What you’re overwhelmed by just might not be apparent.” She pauses, then adds, “Have you talked to anyone else about how you’ve been feeling? Your friends, your brothers, your sister?”

“I feel like I do that enough here.”

Dinah smiles sadly. “I will always be here for you, Damian, gladly, but you need other people outside of me and these sessions.” Damian folds his arms over his chest, a pout forming. “Can you try to think of someone you can go to?”

Damian thinks for a second. “I could talk to Cass.” He smiles a little. “She’s a good listener.”

“That’s good,” Dinah says. “That’s a good place to start. Is there anyone else? You have to have more than just one person.”

Damian’s eyebrows knit and he draws his knees closer to his chin. He shrugs.

“I know it’s scary, relying on people, but it’s something that’s necessary to live a healthy life. And you deserve to have people you can rely on when you need to, and not just out on the streets. You deserve to not be alone.”

Damian shifts, hides his face in his arms to hide the tears that escape at her words. He wipes them on his sleeves as he looks up. “There’s Dick. I think I can talk to Dick. Yeah, I can do that.”

Dinah smiles. “Good. You deserve to have a good support system, and you know I’ll always be part of it too.”

Damian glances up at her face briefly. “I know.”

Dinah smiles again as she glances at the clock. “It looks like we’re out of time for today. It was good talking to you, Damian.”

Damian sits up, putting his feet back on the floor. “You, too. Thank you,” he says, standing up.

“Of course. I’ll see you next week.”

“Yeah, see you next week.”

#tw mental health #my fics #jay writes #dc #dc comics #damian wayne #dinah lance #vent fic #damian kinnie writes about damian going to therapy

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angelhummel · 4 years

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Sharing my personal headcanons about the Glee girls and what dolls they had as kids (and beyond) bc I like Glee and I like dolls and I wanna talk about both. Play along at home by guessing which parts of all these are me projecting things from my own childhood

Tina - For starters, Tina wasn’t very into dolls as a kid. Her older sister had a lot of Barbies but was quick to outgrow them, and Tina didn’t want them, so her younger sister got them and loved them. Tina only played with them when she was playing with her younger sister. Though when she’d “play” by herself it usually involved cutting off the dolls’ hair or drawing on them or creating crazy storylines where they have to kill one of the dolls in a ritualistic cult sacrifice. #JustGirlyThings. Of course her parents noticed and were like okay, no more dolls for you then. Besides, Tina was getting older and wasn’t really interested in dolls or toys in any capacity then. But then when Monster High came out, Tina was suddenly interested in dolls. It didn’t matter that she was a teenager and in high school, it just mattered that the dolls were creepy and awesome. She started snatching those up and amassed quite the collection. Draculaura is of course her favorite (she even dressed as her for Halloween once!) but she has at least one doll of every character. She and Artie even used them for several stop motion short films that he directed (and some glee clubbers lent their voices to the project, of course!)

Marley - Marley’s mom always tried to provide for her the things she thought every little girl should have. Of course that included dolls. Most of the time it was those knock off Barbies that aren’t as well made, and the heads come off way too easily, but Marley didn’t care. She loved them all the same and was always making up stories with them to entertain herself and her mom. Then one birthday, Millie got one of those Our Generation dolls for Marley and Marley was over the moon. She thought it was a real American Girl doll and excitedly gushed about to her classmates. At least until one of them rudely pointed out that it didn’t have the name of any American Girl doll she’d ever heard of, and it must be one of the cheaper versions. But Marley didn’t care, and she still loved it. Millie couldn’t get a lot of extra outfits or accessories either, mostly stuck to one for birthday and one for Christmas. So when Marley was a little older, she started making her own clothes for her doll. Using cheap squares of fabric to make dresses, then buying yarn to knit or crochet with. It’s part of what lead to her being so creative and thrifty and eventually making clothes for herself

Rachel - Of course Rachel was spoiled with every kind of toy you could ask for, but she wasn’t big on typical “play time”. Most of the time she would line up her dolls and stuffed animals as her audience while she performed for them. Or she would use her dolls to act out scenes from her favorite musicals. So she had enough Barbie dolls to fill out a cast as big as, say, Les Mis or Into The Woods, and enough outfits and costumes to make the dolls look as close to the various characters as possible. But she was more into stuffed animals than dolls anyway since they’re softer and easier to cuddle

Quinn - She had a huge collection of Barbie dolls as a kid. But her mom was the “keep them in the box for display” type so Quinn hardly got to play with any of them. Though she still had hand me downs from Frannie. So most of the only dolls she got to play with were the vibrant late 80s ones. And of course she had a couple of American Girl dolls for tea parties and such. Quinn was big on tea parties, following her mom’s midcentury housewife lead and helping her with lots of baking in the kitchen. She also had lots of dollhouses and played house with her dolls, even if she wasn’t always into it.

Santana - She was a Bratz girl 100%. She liked that they started out with characters that looked more like her. And of course the clothes were a hundred times cooler than anything Barbie was doing at the time. She also had some My Scene dolls for similar reasons, but did add a few Barbies to the collection later on. She was also a little more intense in her play times, mostly reenacting crazy scenes from telenovelas that she watched with her mom and Alma. The first time Brittany came to her house, she found the dolls hidden in a box in the closet and stole her Yasmin doll bc it reminded her of Santana. Hence the Bratz doll in Brittany’s Barbie dollhouse. And the only blonde haired blue eyed doll she has in her collection is a Barbie from Brittany, because Brittany wanted them to be even and that doll represented her

Brittany - Britt had every type of doll imaginable. Especially the slightly more obscure options like Polly Pocket and Betty Spaghetti. Tiny rubber clothes and weird little doll parts everywhere. But of course she has her Barbies too. She has her dollhouse with plenty of dolls to live there. As a kid she was very into making up stories with them, and even still did that into her teens. But as she got older she was also into giving the dolls makeovers. Finding old and forgotten dolls at yard sales, Goodwill, eBay, wherever else, and getting them for cheap, cleaning them up and washing and styling their hair good as new again. It was almost therapeutic for her, and something fun and simple to focus on when things were getting too difficult in the rest of her life. The whole glee club even got in on it. If they ever happened upon some dolls that looked like they’d been through a lot, they took them to Brittany for her to make over. And she’d sometimes give back the made over ones as presents. Including a My Little Pony for Kurt, and a Barbie head for Finn bc she was redoing the hair and lost the rest of the body

Kitty - Between her and her sisters, Kitty had every type of doll imaginable. They had a huge playroom with dollhouses and other sets lining the walls, and shelves full of dolls and furniture galore. And most of the dolls reflected the blonde hair, blue eyed aesthetic of the rest of the family. Occasionally with a brunette or redhead thrown in for diversity. Kitty always felt too young to play with her older sisters, and too old to play with her younger sisters, so she was usually playing by herself. Using her dolls to reenact moments from her real life when someone at school annoyed her, as a way to get her anger and frustration out. Her mom eventually found two girl dolls in bed together, and all the boy dolls tied up and thrown into the basement, and Kitty didn’t understand why she wasn’t allowed to play with them anymore. But now she has a Monster High Gooliope doll from Tina that she keeps next to her similarly colored puppet from Blaine, and cherishes her weird dolls from her weirder friends

Mercedes - Her parents were more strict and practical, so Cedes didn’t get a lot of fashion-centric toys as a kid. She was more relegated to learning toys, and things like doctor’s kits and puzzles and things to build with. Her parents did get her one of the My Twin dolls so at least Mercedes would have a toy that looked like her. But she was still interested in Barbies just because of how much she loved the fashion. So her parents tried to compromise by getting her a doctor doll and a teacher doll. Which just irritated Mercedes more because they didn’t even have cool outfits. So that lead to her trying to make her own clothes for them so they could look as fashionable as she wanted them to. It took a while for her to get the hang of it, but it’s also what lead to her being interested in making her own clothes. And even as an adult she still has a good little collection of the more diverse dolls they’re making these days

#glee #glee headcanon #glee girls #tina cohen chang #mercedes jones #rachel berry #kitty wilde #santana lopez #marley rose #brittany pierce #quinn fabray #my headcanons #mine #my thoughts #im not reading this twice so i hope everything makes sense

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v-hope · 5 years

Text

Cloud Wine

Pairing: Jeon Jeongguk x International Singer!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Tipsy!Jeongguk

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: Sometimes a bottle of wine is all you need to let yourself go and have a proper conversation with your crush, especially when language barrier is being nothing but a pain in the ass.

Warnings: Wine drunkenness? And a small comment regarding condoms lol.

A/N: I don't know what this is tbh, but I thought it was cute. I was wine drunk when I started writing it and Guk's wine Vlive had just come out so just bear with me, please. Also, here's how it goes:

"English/Your language".

«Korean».

"I don't know, Nams…" you spoke slowly as your eyes travelled around the set, only to finally lock with Jeongguk's unpleased ones on the other side of it. "I think something happened and he just wants me to stay away…"

"No!" Namjoon was quick to reply, causing your eyes to instinctively draw to him. "He's just... shy" he tried to explain.

"But we used to talk so much over texts" you pointed out, not being able to help the pout already forming on your lips. "We even talked the day before I came to Seoul and everything seemed perfect, and now that we finally get to spend some time together, he plainly avoids me".

A heavy sigh abandoned Joon's mouth, leaning his back up against the wall behind the two of you. He knew about how much you and his maknae talked more than anyone else, for it was mostly him Jeongguk turned to whenever he had both trouble with expressing himself in your language and needed to let his feelings out, because the way you made him feel was truly something he had never experienced before.

Ever since Namjoon had contacted you for a collab a few months ago and you had obviously agreed, it was as if you and Jeongguk had been attached to the hip without even being physically together. What had started out with the two of you wanting to give each other some feedback for the song ending up being so much more.

"Try to see it from his side, Y/N. Texting is… a lot easier" he smiled weakly, "he can take his time and translate whatever he needs to, but in person he doesn't have that. It's hard enough for him to talk to the person he likes, just imagine how hard must it be to, on top of that, have to talk to her in a language he's not fluent in".

Your mouth fell slightly open, as your eyes showed a particular shine he had not seen before. And before he could even ask what had happened, you beat him to it: "The person he likes?"

Namjoon's heart stopped, throwing his head back as realisation hit him, about him having spilled his maknae's secret yet not very subtle crush on you.

Nonetheless, it was already out there and nothing he said could take it back, so he decided to just go with it. "Why do you think he's been glaring at me the whole time we've been here all alone?"

At that, your heart jumped. "I thought he was glaring at me for some unknown reason…" you admitted with a small voice, lowering your head as you felt the heat reach your cheeks, which Namjoon's laugh didn't help at all.

Shaking his head, he caught a glimpse of Jeongguk once again looking his way with a not very pleased semblance, turning around right as his hyung's eyes locked with his.

"Nope. Definitely glaring at me" he confirmed, making your face go back to his eye level. "Trust me, he's trying so hard to talk to you, but he gets too nervous every time… All these days we've been filming, he's gone back home whining about how he could just not do it".

"Nams, I'm leaving tomorrow…" you sighed, running your hand through your hair out of frustration. Tomorrow. You were leaving the very next day and had not exchanged more than three words with the man you were the most excited to talk to when you signed up to film this music video with all seven of them.

"Maybe you could talk to him?" he proposed after a few seconds.

"Don't you think I've tried?" although a breathy laugh had escaped your mouth, there was not even a hint of humour in it. "He always just… nods and leaves, or something like that".

There it was, silence taking over again as the two of you contemplated your options. Though there was not much thinking on your side, for your stare had once again met Jeongguk's and suddenly nothing else seemed to matter.

"Huh?" you wondered after Namjoon had gently shoved your arm to catch your attention, taking you out of your trance.

"He likes wine…" he let you know, only for your eyebrows to furrow in utter confusion. "You could invite him over to your hotel room and open a bottle…"

"You want me to get him drunk?" you raised one of your eyebrows, not being very fond of that particular idea.

"No, not drunk, or at least not wasted. Just..." he shrugged, "he becomes pretty chatty when he's tipsy… it might be helpful for the two of you".

Biting the inside of your cheek, you thought about it for a second before slowly nodding your head. Maybe he was right, it could help both of you to ease the tension and just let go.

So, you tried to push your previous worries to the back of your head as all eight of you were called to film the next scene for the MV. And, in all honesty, now that you knew Jeongguk liked you, you had kind of started to see what Namjoon had meant. Guk did indeed try to talk to you from time to time, yet ended up chickening out every single time before he could even approach you.

It was after three intense hours of dancing around, when you all finally wrapped up the music video and everyone was cheering, that you went up to give all of them a quick hug, leaving Jeongguk for the last so that you could take that brief following moment to speak to him. Thankfully, the rest of them understood the message, walking away and giving the two of you some space as Guk's arms remained tightly wrapped around your figure and your face rested against his chest – the warmness of his body making you not ever wanting to let go of him.

"Good job these couple of days" you spoke once your bodies were no longer touching, "I can't wait for the MV to come out".

He smiled wholeheartedly, causing your heart to race at that the sight of that bunny smile you had not gotten the chance to personally witness many times that week. "Yeah, I… can't wait" he said as well.

"Hey, um…" you begun after your eyes had caught a glimpse of Namjoon nodding encouragingly by the other side of the room, "I… I was wondering if you'd maybe…" Jeongguk stared at you expectantly as you tried to find the right words, "maybe you'd like to… hang out for a while tonight?"

"Hang out?" he wondered uncertainly with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah" you nodded your head. He knew the meaning of that, right? "We could talk… drink some wine, perhaps?"

This time, both his eyebrows raised at your words – his eyes becoming slightly bigger. Talking and having some wine with you sure sounded like a dream of a time… but it was the talking part the one he couldn't help but feel insecure about. Nevertheless, a voice inside of him was desperately screaming at him not to let this chance go.

And he decided to listen to it right then rather than regret it later.

"Yes" he shyly accepted, giving a quick glance to his members. "With… hyungs?" he asked as his eyes travelled back to you.

"Oh, um…" you shook your head, trying to ignore the way your hands had started to sweat out of nervousness, "I was thinking just the two of us" that was all it took for his heart to go wild. "But if you'd like them to come, too, then–"

"No" he cut you off embarrassingly fast, feeling the heat reach his face in a second, "just… me and you. I like that…" he admitted with now burning cheeks, having to lower his head a little bit in a failed attempt for you not to notice.

You bit your lower lip, looking down as well as you felt those damn butterflies fluttering their wings inside your stomach. "Great" a smile curved up the corners of your lips, being instantly mirrored by his. "I'll go change now and then we can leave".

Jeongguk limited his answer to a nod of his head, watching you leave to the dressing room before he rushed to change as well, not letting pass the opportunity to tell his already well aware hyungs about the miracle that had just happened.

That's how the two of you had ended up almost an hour later inside the grocery store next to your hotel, with your oversized hoodies all the way up and a couple of masks not to get recognised covering half of your faces, as you searched through the liquor aisle for a good brand of wine.

«Oh, this one's really good» Jeongguk spoke to your side, reaching to take one particular dark bottle in his hands as he examined it.

"Huh?" you wondered, leaving the one you had been staring at back on its place before moving closer to him to take a look at his.

"This wine" he said this time in English, focusing his attention on you, "is very good".

"Oh" you smiled this time, feeling slightly bummed about the fact that he tried his best to speak in your language for you to understand yet there you were knowing not even a full sentence in his to save your life. It seemed unfair to him. "We should take it then".

Although he nodded and held the bottle tighter in his hand, his wandering eyes had your eyebrows knitting together in an instant.

"Something wrong?"

Guk shook his head no, tugging at the sleeve of your hoodie to pull you somewhere else with him. "Food" he stated simply, earning a giggle from you that his heart couldn't help but skip a beat at.

Good wine called for good food.

So you were taught when you were back in your hotel room for once and for all, sat on the middle of your bed surrounded by Korean snacks Jeongguk had insisted on you having to try out, watching as he looked around for a corkscrew and laughing under your breath at the sight of him smiling like a child on Christmas after finding one by the bar – taking two glasses with him before rushing to your bed and praying with everything in him for the cork not to break and have him make a fool of himself in front of you as he tried to open it.

With his prayers being heard and the cork out of the way with a loud 'pop', he proceeded to fill your awaiting glasses with the dark liquor, later clinking them together.

"Cheers!" you chanted, earning a cute little laugh from him as he repeated your words. "How do you say it in Korean?" you wondered before the glass could touch your lips.

"Geonbae" he said in a low, slower voice for you to understand.

"Geon…" you raised one of your eyebrows uncertainly, afraid of messing up the one word you were about to learn.

"Bae" he repeated with loving eyes, finding your current expression rather adorable. "Geon-bae".

"Okay, I got it" you announced, sitting up straight and lifting up your glass for his to touch one more time. "Geonbae, Jeongguk!"

He was the one to giggle this time. "Geonbae, Y/N!"

After the first few sips, you felt the world and everything surrounding you become slower.

After the first glass, everything started to seem funnier.

After the second glass, however, and much to his and your relief, language had suddenly stopped being a barrier – Jeongguk not even caring anymore about his broken English and just going with whatever came out of his mouth, for not only did the alcohol help him a lot in that sense, but he had also discovered you would never either make fun of nor criticise him for it. The only loud, mocking laugh coming out of your mouth being when you tried to speak in Korean as he taught you and you thought your own pronunciation was the worst sound to ever come out of anyone's mouth.

"Okay, I guess I'll just limit my Korean to 'hello' and 'goodbye' whenever I come here for a concert" you lifted your hand up to wipe a tear that was about to roll down your cheek.

"No, that was– cute" Jeongguk reassured you immediately. "Practice…" he held both thumbs up to bring his point across.

"Yeah, I think that's the least I can do if I want to keep talking to you".

He smiled sweetly. «Hopefully you'll be fluent one day and we'll be able to speak in both languages!»

"What?" you wondered, already feeling the corners of your lips starting to curve up at the whole situation you had found yourselves in.

Jeongguk rolled his eyes, in a failed attempt not to let his smile reach them. "I said, you– um…" he pouted, «hopefully you'll be fluent–» he was interrupted by his own laugh after noticing you were not getting a thing, being matched by your own right after.

"Wait, what?" you managed to blurt out uneasily, both because of the alcohol's effect on you and the endless laugh currently coming out of your mouth.

«Pay attention!» his laugh became louder, trying his best to make it stop so he could take another sip of his wine before giving his words another try. "I'm telling you that" his mouth opened to keep on talking right after that, finding out he did not know how to say the following in English at all, ending up with him naturally switching back to Korean, «if you keep on practicing then we–» his head was thrown back as a cackle left once again at the sight of your puzzled expression, more precisely, at the way your eyebrows remained furrowed while your eyes travelled back and forth from his lips to his eyes as you tried to somehow understand what he was saying.

"Jeongguk, I don't understanddd" you half whined, half chuckled; dragging on the last letter.

«That only makes it funnier» he confessed in pure amusement, which only increased the way your lower lip had stuck out as you had, obviously, not gotten that either.

"Wait, wait" you laughed once more, reaching for your phone that was for some reason lying on the other edge of the mattress. "Fuck it, we're using technology to communicate".

With that and under Guk's questioning stare, you started looking for an app one of your friends had told you about at some point in during the year, one that translated everything on the spot just by you speaking into your mobile's microphone.

"Okay now" you smiled once it was done downloading, moving your phone close to his mouth. "Speak".

«What am I supposed to say?» Jeongguk wondered immediately, not even a second passing by when a robotic voice was heard in the silence of the room, making the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes and faintly open mouths as your lips parted into a smile of disbelief. «That does not sound like me!» he exclaimed right as you started laughing – said unsettling voice being heard once again.

"No shit, Sherlock" you rolled your eyes in amusement.

Before you could even turn off the app, your words were translated to Korean with that very same male tone, causing Jeongguk to throw his head back, letting out a cackle you had never heard coming from him. Not only did he throw his head back, you realised a second later, but his whole body as well, slumping down on bed while he kept on laughing at such silly thing – good thing his glass was already empty, otherwise you would be getting the scold from the hotel's staff the next day.

"Let's just turn it off" you managed to say in between your own laughter, placing both your glass and your phone on the nightstand next to the bed. "Your voice alone is much more pleasant to listen to".

Now, you didn't know if that had been the alcohol speaking or you just had a moment of confidence, maybe both, but your cheeks didn't wait a second to start burning as soon as you realised what had just came out of your mouth. Jeongguk, on his end, smiled blissfully at the compliment.

Feeling the wine get to your head now more than ever, you let your body fall to his side, staring at the ceiling as the two of you laughed it all out, until your chests stopped trembling and your breathings became even.

It was then, with silence taking over the room, when Jeongguk closed his eyes, starting to feel them become heavier. But he was not willing to fall asleep just yet.

"Your voice is pretty, too" he slurred; his chest moving up and then down with a loud sigh. "You're pretty…"

You closed your eyes as well, allowing the smile threatening with curving up your lips to take over them. Wetting your lips with your tongue out of habit, you were clueless to Jeongguk's eyes being fixed on them, hungrily staring at them as he instinctively wet his own. "You're very handsome, too" you confessed with what seemed more of a sigh, feeling your body slowly starting to shut down.

This time, he bit down on his lower lip as his eyes took in your every faction. "Y/N?" he mumbled.

"Mm?" you hummed after he said nothing for the next couple of seconds, which lead to yet another brief moment of silence.

Just like that, a pair of cloudlike lips were placed on yours.

Although it had taken you by surprise, you did not open your eyes – if anything enjoying the way his lips trapped your own in them, and how his chest was now resting against yours without really letting his whole weight fall on top of you.

With one hand pressing down on the mattress next to you, his other one went up to cup your cheek, letting his thumb press over the corner of your mouth to keep you still and allow him to intensify the kiss. It was when his mouth opened ever so lightly to catch your lower lip once again in between it, that something made him snap out of it.

"Sorry" he mumbled when his lips had not even completely withdrawn from yours, looking into your confused eyes for a moment before he let his head fall to the crook of your neck and then slump on his back next to you. "Sorry, I–" he tried to explain himself, pressing his hands to his eyes; like that action alone would make him disappear, «you're just so beautiful and I-I like you so much, and I don't, I don't want to blame it on the alcohol be-because I've wanted to kiss you for so long but, but it sure made me gain up the cour–»

"Jeongguk" you cut him off, because although you did not get a single word of what was coming out of his mouth, you were able to catch on the way he was clearly stuttering, letting you know just how nervous he was feeling right then.

Since you didn't want to let him panic for another single second, you turned around to press your chest against his like he had done mere moments ago. Cupping his face in your hands and smiling under his piercing, uncertain stare, you wasted no time in closing the space between your mouths one more time, knowing you had managed to make all his worries go away when you felt him smile in between the kiss – placing his hand on the back of your neck to pull you even closer.

Not having enough of you, his hand travelled down to your back, firmly pressing on it as he turned both of you around so that he could be back on top and take control.

It felt perfect; not only the way his mouth moved so tenderly against yours, but also the way the liquor gave his soft lips a bitter taste, yet the natural sweetness that was inherent to them remained there still.

When oxygen was finally something neither of you could no longer ignore, his touch lost yours, letting his forehead rest on yours as the two of you breathed heavily, causing a small smile to form on your swollen lips.

"I'm glad you weren't mad at me after all" you couldn't help but point out with a giggle when absolute silence had taken over the atmosphere. At the way he had dumbfoundedly furrowed his eyebrows, you explained: "You were kind of avoiding me all these days…"

Jeongguk sighed, letting his head fall on your shoulder. "I didn't– I was..." he struggled with his own words, wanting to let you know he was just too nervous to approach you yet not finding the right way to say it. So, he decided to instead just go with: "I like you…"

You bit down on your lower lip, feeling a shiver run down your spine. You knew, for Namjoon had been very explicit about it after all. However, hearing such confession coming out of his very own lips made you feel like you could melt any time by then.

"I like you, too" you whispered, running your fingers through his already messy hair due to your wandering hands, and then letting out a breathy laugh as you felt his wet lips press to the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry I… missed time" he apologised, tilting his head back so he could fix his dark chocolate eyes on yours. You nodded understandingly, receiving a light kiss to your lips this time. "I want to, take you... date, tomorrow".

That was it. The figurative melting hitting for once and for all.

"I would love that" your bright smile got a shy bunny one from him. "We could go for breakfast" you proposed, "before my flight leaves".

Jeongguk nodded gently, trying not to let his mood drop at the fact that you were leaving so soon. "Perfect".

"Perfect" you happily repeated in a whisper.

"I, um…" he cleared his throat, glancing over to his phone laying by one side of the bed before he reached his hand out to it so he could check the time – his heavy eyes opening wide at the sight of such late hour into the night. "I... should leave".

"Oh, um…" you held your weight up with your elbows, "maybe you could stay?" you wondered with a faintly trembling voice at the fear of overstepping some kind of boundary, only becoming more of a nervous wreck under Jeongguk's intense stare. Maybe you had given him the wrong idea. "I mean, it's pretty late" you tried to fix it, "and… I'm trying to say, if you wa–"

As if on queue, not knowing if that had been in your favour or not, the phone he was still holding in his hand started ringing, jolting the both of you up.

«Namjoon-ie hyung» he let you know, rushing to pick it up and press his mobile against his ear.

«Jeongguk-ah, where are you?» Joon wondered as soon as the phone call had been answered.

«Still with Y/N» Guk replied immediately, locking eyes with you as he spoke.

«Oh» Namjoon breathed out. «What time are you coming back?»

Poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek, Jeongguk took a couple of seconds to answer. Soon. That's what he should've said, what he would've said if it weren't for your previous invitation invading his mind – especially when he had you so close to him and your sleepy eyes were calling for him to stay.

"I'm… staying here…" your eyes lit up at the sound of that, at how he had slurred those words out specifically in your language for you to understand, "tonight".

The other end of the line went dead for a while before Namjoon took a deep breath. «Okay… um… I know you didn't take any condoms with you, so please remember to pull o–»

«Hyung» Jeongguk cut him off with crimson coloured cheeks, «it's not like that…»

It was really not. Not with you.

«Oh» Joon breathed out once again. «Have fun then. Be safe».

«I will. We will».

With that said, he hung up, leaving his phone next to you and staring lovingly into your eyes – one of his hands going up to cup your cheek and running small circles on it with his thumb.

"More wine then?" you proposed with a teasing tone, knowing well enough neither of you could handle any more of it if you wanted to remain in your senses.

That being exactly what was on Guk's mind when he amusedly yet slowly moved his head from one side to another in negation – a smile curving up his lips as they brushed lightly over yours, ready to entirely close the space between them once more. "I want to remember".

The quiet giggle that had came out of your mouth was soon muffled by his lips finally pressing on your own, just the way you could so easily become addicted to.

You'd be damned if either of you ever forgot about this dreamlike night.

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glrchmp · 4 years

Text

When he leaves the hotel it’s with a bitter taste on his tongue.

The fight with Raihan still lingers at the forefront of his mind, but he can’t let it cloud his focus. He’s here for a reason, and no matter what anyone says he’s going to carry out his duties and get to the bottom of things like everyone is expecting him to. Like everyone always expects him to.

It’s cold in Lacunosa; the weather anomalies certainly don’t help the temperature. Leon draws his coat tighter around himself, and a local is kind enough to offer him a knitted hat to wear that will cover his ears. Charizard lumbers after him as he walks, and once he gets pointed in the right direction to leave town and find his way to the Chasm the Pokémon lowers himself down so Leon can climb onto his back. Gloved hands settle on Charizard’s neck as he adjusts himself on top of the Pokémon, and with a bright, for-the-fans smile to the onlookers, he’s taking off.

Unova is a beautiful region, he just wishes he could properly appreciate it right now. Unfortunately, current circumstances won’t allow that. But he does allow himself to take in the sight of dark green trees they fly over. A few Pidove and Tranquill fly past them, likely to find shelter from the weather.

There is a mild drizzle of rain at first, but the closer to the Chasm they get the colder that rain gets, and soon it’s turning into snow. It falls so heavily that it’s getting harder and harder to see in front of them as they fly. Charizard lets out a few jets of flame, growling in frustration, and Leon is prepared to order him to descend before the sheets of snow suddenly seem to part for him.

He sees it. The pyramid, black as obsidian, gleaming in the glow of white snow and seemingly untouched by the weather. It rises high, high, high above the Chasm, threatens to pierce the heavens above. Even where they fly above the trees, Leon still has to crane his neck to look up at it, and even then he can’t see the top.

“Okay, come on, let’s land,” he says softly. Charizard nods and begins his descent downward, the cold air biting at Leon’s cheeks as it rushes past. He almost loses the knitted hat but keeps a firm hand on the top of his head to keep it from flying off. Charizard lands, and the snow under his feet mutes any sound. Leon slips off of the dragon’s back, grunting as he lands in the snow and it reaches halfway up his calves, nearly to the top of his boots. It crunches with each big step he takes, and he can hear Charizard let out a huff of amusement as he follows behind, flying just above the surface.

Show off.

The weather is cold, harsh, but Leon perseveres. He has to. The pyramid is right in front of him, he just has to walk straight ahead through some trees and hope he doesn’t somehow get lost like he always does. Charizard helps, at least, by finally moving to the front for Leon to follow. The closer they get to the pyramid, the more suffocating the air gets, the more dread pools deep in his belly.

And once he stands before it, he thinks he may have bitten off more than he can chew.

But he keeps going. There is an entrance. It’s just big enough for him and for Charizard to fit through, a jagged triangle carved crudely out of the side of the structure. He swallows thickly and digs through his bag, pulling out a flashlight. Charizard’s tail flame can only offer so much light, after all.

There is nothing decorating the halls of the pyramid, and there is little light besides that of his flashlight and Charizard’s tail. He shines it over the dark walls, looking for any signs of just what this place is, but he finds nothing. But the longer he walks, the more he swears he hears voices. Soft, whispering voices that prod at his mind and at his heart.

Long winters. Power. Strength.

Temptation.

Leon isn’t sure how long he walks, but he feels like he’s stuck in some sort of labyrinth. Not great for someone like him, who seems to struggle to tell the difference between east and west. Charizard is uneasy, and in turn that makes Leon uneasy. He chews on his bottom lip as they walk and he’s starting to feel colder and colder the longer they go on.

Until he takes a sharp right and is met with the sight of a faint red glow that only intensifies the closer he gets. He steps out from the corridor into the chamber which casts him in that red glow, and his eyes are fixed ahead on what appears to be an altar with an— unnerving statue lying atop it. But he doesn’t focus on the statue, no; all his attention is on the small, floating object there. A pyramid, just like the one he currently stands within.

He steps closer, but something catches the hood of his coat, nearly throwing him off balance. Leon turns his head quickly to see that Charizard has a hold on his hood with his teeth and is giving Leon a pointed look.

“It’s fine,” Leon insists. Charizard growls. “I promise! We’ll be out of here soon, bud. I just need to see what this is all about.”

The dragon huffs, but releases his trainer regardless. He stays put near the entrance of the chamber as Leon walks further in, squinting in the red light. The pyramid, it… he swears it talks to him, but he can’t figure out just what it’s saying. All instincts tell him to run, but it just draws him in further, further, wrapping around his mind. He stands before the altar now, staring down at the pyramid that beckons him.

Despite his mind telling him no, he reaches out and takes hold of it.

Maybe it will have answers as to what is going on now. That’s the excuse he gives as he turns it in his hands to get a better look at it… and then places it in the safety of his bag. Leon considers taking pictures of the chamber, but when he pulls his phone out it refuses to cooperate with him, no matter how hard Rotom tries, almost like something here doesn’t want him to take photos, to reveal the inside of this great, unfathomable structure.

Charizard groans softly when Leon returns to his side. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

The pyramid seems to weigh nothing where it sits in his bag, but Leon finds that now, oddly enough, he doesn’t struggle to find his way outside. In no time they’re standing in the snow again, and Charizard is lowering himself down for Leon to climb on.

With one last look at the giant structure, Leon then climbs on and lets Charizard take off.

The flight back is easier than the flight to the Chasm. Charizard lands in front of the hotel and Leon hops off, shaking snow from the hat, his hair, and his coat. He’s so cold, he could really go for a hot bath, or shower, or something, and then he’ll see if he can figure out just what this thing he took from the pyramid is.

Even when he sits in the bath, he swears he hears something calling to him. When he orders room service and watches the television as he eats, he swears he hears something calling to him.

The rest of the evening is spent with him sitting in the hotel bed, the pyramid in his hands. It’s sleek, free of any blemishes, and cold to the touch. Leon worries he might accidentally slice his hands on the edges, but something tells him that the pyramid isn’t going to hurt him.

Famous last words, right? He thinks.

When he brings it back to Galar… he had been considering taking it to scientists to look over, to see what they had to say about it, but the longer he holds it the more he finds he doesn’t want anyone else putting their hands on it.

Leon swallows and places it back in his bag. He throws a glance at his phone again and, against his better judgment, picks it up and opens his messages. Raihan will be asleep now, most likely, what with the timezone differences. Still, Leon wants to… reach out. They have a lot to talk about, don’t they? If Raihan will ever want to talk to him again, that is.

To [My darling💘✨]: I’m going to sleep now. Heading back to Galar tomorrow sometime To [My darling💘✨]: Have to talk some things over with the board of directors, so I’ll be in Wyndon a bit longer. Then I’ll come home.

Is he allowed to call it home right now?

To [My darling💘✨]: We can talk when I’m back. I know we have to. To [My darling💘✨]: Just know that I love you more than anything, and I’m so sorry for making you worry. To [My darling💘✨]: Good night, Rai.

He sighs and places his phone on the charger. The Rotom is already fast asleep. Charizard is also snoring beside him. Leon throws a glance at his bag on the floor, then lies back down with a heavy sigh. He reaches over and shuts the lamp at the bedside off, pulls the blankets over him, and closes his eyes.

As he drifts off to sleep, he hears a voice.

HELLO, LEON.

IT’S SO GOOD TO FINALLY MEET YOU.

#event: interference.#lets GOOOOO #1.6k words baby

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fotiathymos · 4 years

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I liked your headcanon backstory for Lio, when you have the time would you share your idea for Galo's?

Galo's story time! According to random thoughts that occur in my brain to make me upset at night!

Once again, thank you for the interest. And I guess it comes off that I enjoy writing so I hope you enjoy reading. Even when its said. >.> I'd love to discuss with people their ideas still. And once again again... its LONG.

TW emotional abuse, parental death, small racism mention, transphobia mention, bullying, self harm via over working, and again I apologize if I miss anything.

Galo's parents were city dwelling young teens that fell in love and got married months later after dating at barely 19 years old. And it was rough.

His mother was loud, out spoken, take no bullshit kind of girl. She grew up all her life in Promepolis, poor and dirty. She'd get drunk at gay bars, fight with her parents, make out with random people and claimed it was living life to the fullest and if you can't handle that then you are just a prude!

His father recently moved into the city with his father (Galo's grandfather). They lost their home and was moved to Promepolis' shelter.

The recent events of the World Blaze caused many people to be displaced and homeless across the world. And welcoming new comers in the city scared the locals, what if they were Burnish? But with a majority of livable land reduced to deserts, people had to go somewhere.

Galo's father was training to be museum curator assistant. He was well versed in many cultures histories, educated, introverted and always got his way through social interactions via jokes. Upon arriving to the city he was currently jobless, the museum and city he previously called home was burned to the ground. His father was his only family and unfortunately wasn't handling old age well.

Sort of an opposites attract but 'were not so different, you an I' way. They met through friends of a friend. Galo's father wasn't fond of clubs but went anyway. She made him let loose for once in his life and he fell head over heels for her. They connected real fast. They were just 19 and impulsive, but it worked out in the end sorta, and decided if the world is this sucky lets just get married right away.

The reason why Galo was never taken in by any other family members was because 1. Galo's father only had Galo's grandfather, who was living in a home for his health. and 2. Galo's mother was disowned by her parents after hitching up with Galo's dad. She was from a large Italian family. Tight knit. They disapproved of her not dating or marrying an Italian boy from the city. She married a Japanese man. They excommunicated her from the family. Even when Galo was born they refused to see him.

Galo was their 'miracle child'. Kind of playing off how in the movie he was always is in such danger he should've died, it was a miracle Galo was born! His mother went through unfortunate miscarriages before she suddenly had Galo. And even then he was born premature and was held in the hospital on and off for the first 3 years of his life. And he survived! He was their miracle.

The family mostly lived a quiet life. Working multiple jobs in a shitty city apartment, caring for an elderly man and a small child. They knew of the politics and horrors going on in the world but they had no time to think of it. They were just trying to survive day by day. They had no outside support. They had friends but even then, they were busy too. There were fights about money, who is staying home with Galo, why don't we have any food in the fridge, whose taking him to school. They made a rule to never fight in front of Galo but kids still felt tension.

Galo didn't quite know he was different from other kids. He just felt.. wrong. It was discovered he was a boy early on though. Really, his parents had suspicions. Galo would hate being referred to as girly, lived for the idea of tomboy. Even when it conflicted with things he did like, like dolls and dresses. The moment someone said he was a pretty girl in that dress, he threw out the dress, tore it to pieces. He would get irritable when people used words and terms for him he didn't decide for himself. He only ever wore his dresses at home, played with dolls at home. At school he begged to wear baseball t-shirts, have robot notebooks, he'd point to anything in the boys section without much care to what it was, as long as it made him appear 'boy' to the world. His parents sat him down to talk about all this. When it all clicked that their child was transgender, they did all they could to make his life easier. They poured their money into puberty blockers for the time being. Before any further steps would happen.

Galo was bullied heavily at school. He was the 'weird' kid. The 'ugly girl', the 'freak'. Even to teachers who were asked to respect him, they just found him to be a 'troublemaker'. Never paying attention in class, always fidgeting, he'd talk too loud, always asking to go to the bathroom.

'Look at adults when youre talking to them.' 'Stop drawing and pay attention.'

He'd try to go by the rules but the rules always didn't make sense to him. Gender was confusing but school was even more confusing. He was always frustrated. All his attempts at fitting in were hit by walls. No one seemed to understand him. Kids stepped all over him, stealing any cool pencils or books he had. His back pack thrown across the school yard.

And just as his parents hid their worried and hard life from him, he made sure to not worry them about his own struggles.

When the fire happened Galo was around 13 year old. Galo was in bed. There were suddenly flames everywhere and his instincts made him run to his parents room. His mother was trapped inside the bedroom, his father outside. Galo was told to make a quick exit out of the house on his own. And in a panic he fled out the front door and into the worst possible human being.

Everything was pretty much a blur. Galo fell hard into shock when his parents weren't coming out of the building. He honestly was clinging to anything nearby to just.. hold something.. feel something. It just happened to be Kray Foresight.

The news was on the scene and sirens were blaring and Galo was anywhere but on earth in that moment. He was placed in an ambulance with a shock blanket, Kray sat beside him, muttering to himself. The only words Galo caught were something along the lines of ‘how unexpected the world gives things.’

In Kray's world, his sudden fame gave his sabotage and manipulate plan more speed. In Galo's world. Before he could even start his life, it ended.

Galo was sent to live in foster care. His Grandfather unable to support him. Galo got heavy into history when visiting his grandfather. The man had Galo's father history books in storage and Galo was instantly pulled in. Especially in his father's culture which he never got to learn much about. He discovered the history of Hikeshi through the books and it became his biggest interest. some foster care nurses were worried about him getting into firefighting history after suffering from a fire.

Galo would also visit a reluctant Kray very often. The media always ate it up. Kray would pose for pictures and Galo loved the attention. A break from thinking anything bad, he could run around a large empty office while Kray was on calls. Okay, maybe, sometimes he'd get yelled at for being too loud. And Kray would kick him out of the room. But thats just cause he was busy! Galo would talk and talk and talk to Kray about the new things he read in his books, he'd even bring by the books some days! His back pack full. It has to do with firefighting! Kray is working on ways to help prevent burnish fires! Kray would so be interested in Galo's research! So he'd spread out all the books all over Krays desk. Kray would let in some tv people during Galo's visits, maybe so they could see how even Galo, a kid, can be working so hard for a better world!

Galo would notice how different Kray got when it was just them two. Kray would mutter under his breath a lot. Stress from the job probably. Krays outbursts toward Galo only happened when they were alone. clearly Galo was being a bother to him. Kray was a busy man. Galo wasn't helping as much as he should be for Kray. Galo started being more quiet during his visits. He went from jumping around to sitting in the corner of the room, watching Kray work, till he was yelled at to stop staring. Galo would pace the Foundations halls, people watching. How they acted and how he could do the same to impress Kray finally. Show he isn't a kid anymore. That he’s normal.

But Kray wasn't always so stressed out with Galo, sometimes he'd pat Galo's head, buy him a new clothes and video games, have someone drive him back to the foster home in a big fancy car. And one day Kray even started noticing how interested Galo was in firefighting! He even offered to pay for schooling!

Galo hated the foster home system. Instead of dealing with his problems he ran away. He'd run to Kray's office. To visit his grandfather. Just mindlessly wander the city. Being an older child with trauma, adoption wasn't really on his plate. Ageing out seemed to be his only option. But no one ever wanted to just tell him that was the case. Giving false hopes for a better life.

Being bullied in school was easy compared to being bullied by other foster kids. They all hated Galo for being Krays 'favorite'. Galo was given a special room because Kray paid for it. Galo was bought clothes and video games and taken on drives in fancy cars! It was common for Galo to come back to his bedroom trashed. The first Matoi made out of card board and scrap fabric... suddenly found burning in the buildings front yard.

Galo would try and try and try to fit in. To be accepted. To have friends. So he started letting other kids come join him in the fancy car rides. He'd give others his clothes, pretending they were gifts. He'd help others by doing their chores. And suddenly everyone needed Galo.

When Galo's grandfather passed on due to old age. Galo felt more hopeless. His Grandfather was having memory issues in his old age, so Galo visited less, he could handle being mistaken for his mother, or asked who he even was. Galo felt so useless. And then the last piece of his family died and he, once again, was useless.

He was 16years old now. And felt so very stuck. As he was getting closer and closer to aging out of the system Galo was slowly accepting he had his own dreams of being a firefighter now. To help people who befell such a horrible situation that he himself suffered. He also wanted to impress Kray with his studies and maturity. He got to work. He got a job at the foster home, secretly got a front desk job at the Foundation, did small odd jobs around the city. All at 16-17. 18 years old was moving closer and closer. He wouldn’t eat or sleep and his body would ache everyday. But. He didn't want to be stuck and be useless.

Galo wanted to talk to Kray about helping him with top surgery. After the fire he got off puberty blockers, and after many many therapy sessions with the foster homes nurse did he start hormone replacement therapy. He honestly thought Kray already knew Galo wasn't cis from when he was 13 years old. But it seems he keeps forgetting. Kray was told about it by a nurse but he didn't mention it again. So Kray must not care that Galo was trans! He'd surely be excited and proud when he finds out how hard Galo worked up the money and how mature he was for all his research.

Kray was livid.

Calling Galo impulsive as always. Galo was working 2 years on this, and was researching for even longer. But.. I guess it was still 'impulsive' of him. Kray said it was too huge a thing to do to ones body. Galo understood that. Does that mean he can't go through with it? Yes, it was a big change but thats what Galo wanted. Kray just stated the obvious. Galo just wanted support for it. Galo explained as calmly as he could to Kray. Kray didn't seem to budge. Galo was too nervous about doing it without Kray's support. So he just sulked for months. Til one day, Kray said he found a surgeon. And Galo was elated! The news the next day had a big article on how Kray was still being a hero to the small boy he saved years ago.

Galo had some extreme abandonment issues. He conformed all his life to fit into a role, a job, a way he was expected to be for whoever he was talking to. He struggled with his own identity from a young age and with how different the world continued to act towards him it was hard for him to find his own place of comfort. It was always someone elses comfort he had to focus on. Joining Burning Rescue enhanced that feeling. He was meant to save and help others. And he was happy with that. It gave him purpose, pride, and reason to keep living.

Night terrors and sleep paralysis started immediately after the fire. During his foster home days, he was known to be awake at all hours of the night. Playing video games, reading, wandering around, doing exercise. anything to think of anything that wasn't that night. That wasn't how he's failing, how he wasn't liked, how he wasn't 'normal'.

He'd apologize after every time he got too excited and his voice got loud. Kray would always yell or give him a look from that. Kray wasn't subtle about how disinterested he was in Galo's interests. Galo would talk and talk and Kray would grunt and mumble under his breath and then slam the books off his desk nonchalantly. Galo would shut up. Galo had trouble understanding when the right time to speak was, what if he was too loud, what if he said something wrong.

Self deprecating humor was his go to in social interactions. If he said how annoying and stupid he was first then when they say it, it won't hurt that much. Or well, its just a joke, he doesn't really hate who he is! Right?

Galo's self harm was in working too much. Sleeping too little. He'd appear as a workaholic, invested in his passions. He'd be important and useful and he convinced himself that the aches werent there or werent too bad. His forgetfulness from lack of sleep was just him being stupid.

After Parnassus. He dealt with his issues more. Sort of. He'd become invested in helping Lio in helping the Burnish. Helping Lio with Lio's traumas and aches and lack of sleep.

But Lio was also invested in helping Galo.

Lio.. listened to him. Galo would talk and talk and talk and Lio could repeat the information back days later. Lio asked to hear more about certain subjects. Lio snap at Galo everytime he made a self hating joke. Galo still suffered nightmares and traumas but he wasn't alone this time. Truely wasn't alone. He finally had someone, and even more then just Lio, actually checking in on him, visiting him. Instead of Galo running to find someone to connect to and meeting brick walls.. he was slowly starting to have someone run to him.

Lio was the first person Galo would talk to about his parents. About the fun board game nights they had together. How his mother would let Galo wear make up and dresses but still refer to him as a boy when asked. How his father would let Galo stay up way to late watching old movies with him.

Galo had his own issues to deal with but he was in love with Lio intensely. Someone understood him when no one else would. But he couldn't always trust his own head, it always seemed to give the wrong answers about how others felt. But he just felt Lio loved him back. Lio just needed time. And there were days and months where Galo felt it was entirely one sided. That no one could love a fool like him.

But Lio would always end up doing something, as if reading Galo's mind, that showed he cared for Galo and that Galo's negative thoughts were just that, negative thoughts.

OKAY I feel like i could write forever and I def went all over the place. Im def missing some big points and thoughts. I hope this is at least readable. I'm sleepy. I'm going to bed.

I hope it wasn't too long or too weird or too much. idk where i was going with it and well i started writing with out a goal in mind. Just getting thoughts out really. Enjoy??And please talk to me about your thoughts. Anon or not anon. But thank you again for being even vaguely interested!! I know its not like.. fun or prob a popular idea for the most part.

#boop answers #no tags no time #i must go LIE DOWN #Anonymous

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garregmachmatchups · 5 years

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na hi, may i request a normal matchup? i’m bi so i don’t have a gender preference! also i’m an infp if that helps at all. my organizational skills aren’t the best but i’ll try to make this as understandable as possible:

to start off, i’m pretty scatterbrained! my attention span isn’t the best, and neither is my short term memory. i tend to get lost in my thoughts a lot, and when i snap out of it, it takes me a few moments to figure out just what i was supposed to be doing. it is a lot easier for me to pay attention to things that i find interesting, such as a really good story or a fun game! there is one caveat though, in that i tend to fixate on that thing for hours on end, to the point that i forget to eat or sleep.

i’m also overthinking and impulsive! i put these traits together since they kinda blend together. my overthinking makes me second guess myself, and i get restless and frustrated when i dwell on things for too long, so i kinda just… say fuck it and go with my instinct so i won’t have to deal with that uncertainty anymore.

that being said, i’m also quiet and polite, so i don’t really come across as, well, a dumbass to most people (at least, i assume so). i get good grades, i took a bunch of honors classes, and i’m pretty good at math, so i guess i seem smart and studious (…despite the fact that i barely study). apparently, i don’t seem like the type of person to cuss either, since a lot of people i know are surprised when they hear me start swearing like a sailor.

i’m also shy and awkward. i’m slow at finding the right words and figuring out what i want to say, so verbal conversations are difficult, especially with people who aren’t used to me and vice versa. due to my… scattery brain, i guess, i often need others to repeat themselves too, which makes things worse. i do try to be a little more outgoing, but it’s mostly small things like making casual small talk with classmates and making little jokes to keep things light. and this is just partially related, but i’ve… been told several times that i sound like a scared child. i don’t know how to feel about it.

lastly, i try my best to be helpful! i try to support and encourage my friends, and overall just be a positive presence. i like making other people happy. i’ve been really dependent on others in the past (and kinda still am), and i’m trying to make up for it, in a way. as such, i really admire to kind, strong (in more ways than one!) people as well. however, i’ve developed a bad habit of keeping my negative feelings to myself. i still do vent when i think that i really need someone to hear me out, but that’s only when i feel like i’ve hit rock bottom. i can’t help but feel embarrassed about depending on others. i’m… still really weak to praise and affection, though.

as for interests and hobbies, i love reading scary stories, though i like all forms of horror! i just find shorter stories much easier to get through. i’m also really into crafts like knitting and cross-stitching, since the motions are relaxing and making things by hand just feels nice - especially if they’re gifts! i dabble in other creative pursuits as well, like writing and drawing, and i’ve always wanted to get into gardening though i’ve never had the space for it.

i’m a huge dog person too - i have three dogs who i love very much and i have made it my mission to pet every dog i see (as long as i’m allowed to, that is). annnd i really like the thought of going on late-night walks, though i’ve never really gotten a chance to due to possible safety issues.

sorry for the length, i just wanted to try to cover as much as i could! i understand that matchups take a lot of work, so thank you so much and i hope you have a great day!

Hi!!! Happy New Year everyone!!! First matchup of the year oh yeah. And thank you for writing all of this down and don’t worry it seems very organized to me! Btw, for some reason, i’ve been having a lot of trouble concentrating on writing recently, so I hope your matchup isn’t too bad fam. Anyways, your match is…

Ferdinand von Aegir!!!

At first glance, you two may not seem so compatible, but the more I think about it, the more I think you guys would go really well together. Ferdinand is a thoughtful and attentive guy, on top of it all he is also very responsible, so he’d be able to aid you in your tendency to be scatterbrained. I’m sure he could look after you in this aspect if you asked him for help but he’d simultaneously try to help you best this as well. For your tendency to overthink, he’s definitely someone who would encourage you to believe in yourself and in the decisions you make. As a preacher of discussion and debates, Ferdinand who although is very competitive, also strongly believes in growth and development, therefore in his eyes, it’s okay to be wrong, as when you know you are wrong you can improve. This may prove to be something difficult for you to embrace at first, but even then the fact that Ferdinand would express that sentiment to you would let you know that he would not judge you for the mistakes you make. Ferdinand is very well mannered and defined, as he strives to be the ideal of nobility. Your politeness and the educated mien you seem to convey to others would definitely make an impression on Ferdinand. As he would later come to know, you are also quite intelligent, which would only prove his initial thoughts about you. He might be a bit taken aback when you start cussing, and might not personally like it, but it wouldn’t really take away from your other qualities. Ferdinand is also quite the social butterfly, and a skilled conversationalist, so first of all, he’d have no trouble making conversation with you, even if you might sound a bit like a scared child sometimes. Secondly, even better, i’m sure he’d be glad to give you tips and tricks on how to start a conversation with people. Lastly, INFP personalities I think really fit into Ferdinand’s concept of a noble, someone who dedicates themselves or feels the need to help others, in addition to being someone who is always willing to improve. In your case, this is best exemplified by your want to be helpful and make people happy. Even if you may not be completely independent right now, Ferdinand would nonetheless come to recognize and deeply respect your efforts. Most importantly, because of your open-mindedness and acceptance, Ferdinand could find you to be a very valuable conversation partner, even if you may feel like you have a lot of shortcomings in that area. For how kind and amiable Ferdinand may be, he can be a bit unmindful and clumsy with problems or concerns he doesn’t quite understand or grasp, despite not trying to be so. Therefore your more open and empathetic outlook on things could help him understand and connect with others better and ultimately help him grow as a person as he wishes to do.

Headcannons:

When Ferdinand first laid eyes on you, he was immediately drawn to you.

You were very polite but also quiet. In his eyes, you just seemed regal in a sense.

That’s why when he started talking to you, he was very confused as to why you were so shy and awkward while talking. He saw how much you tried though, and at that he couldn’t help but smile.

He notices, however, how helpful and kind you are to others, and how much effort you put into making others happy.

Afterwards he makes it his mission to help you in any way he can, determined to make people see you as he does, including yourself, truly the noblest of nobles.

You try to explain to him that you really don’t want to depend on others. At that he lets you know you aren’t depending on him, as you yourself are making the progress, and he is only lending a hand. He also tells you that despite you not knowing so, you’ve helped him grow as a person quite a bit as well, so the only thing he can do is return the favor.

We all know Ferdinand loves his tea time, but he especially loves it with you. He also loves hearing your heartening and positive outlook on things. It makes him see things through rose-colored glasses at times.

Tea time also comes to be of great help to you, as it’s literally an activity where the point is to make conversation.

He’s very patient every time you speak, and he listens to you with an amount of attention you aren’t sure you would ever be capable of, or anyone for that fact.

Speaking of which, the first time Ferdinand heard you curse he just sat there with his eyes almost popping out of his sockets, incredibly shocked to the point you thought he might’ve had a heart attack. That is until he started bursting out laughing at your sudden outburst.

Have I mentioned Ferdinand is super romantic? He’s known to smother people with praise to the point where they just would just rather disappear.

Of course, his praise giving and affection is only going to increase by tenfold with you. He literally almost praises you just for smiling. You swear to god you’ll faint one day from it all.

He always makes a cup of tea for you while you are knitting or cross-stitching. He’ll sometimes ask you to make something for him, maybe some gloves or a scarf. He either uses them a lot because he just loves them too much or almost never uses them because they are just too precious to him. Just one or the other.

He’d totally get you a small garden where you can plant whatever you want. If you ever planted started planting something to make tea out of he’d totally cry.

You two would sure make the noblest couple ever.

Other matches: Hilda Valentine Goneril, Ingrid Brandl Galatea

Hope you enjoyed the matchup! If you feel like you weren’t portrayed correctly/I misinterpreted your information let me know and I’ll make the corrections!

#fire emblem three houses #fire emblem matchup #three houses #black eagles #6 #submission #regularmatchup #matchup #request

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jackednephi · 5 years

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@starseedjenny you have observed my tags and for this you get an infodump

So Dylan (my husband) took levels in carpentry. He's no master carpenter but he can make furniture. His absolute favorite thing to do is to get gnarly tree roots or branches and carve them into odd length walking sticks and then sell them at the local wood shop. It's easier to use a stick instead of a cane (my back hurts a LOT from using my cane but never with a stick) and different people are different heights. Plus, something people don't think about is there are incredibly short people or even children. So why not have something beautiful and sturdy?

What he does is he carefully exposes what it is about the piece of wood that is unique. Are the different bark layers different colors? He'll strip the bark carefully to have a gradient flowing up the stick until the heart of the wood, its true color as it were, is exposed. Did it have a lot of branches? Find a way to show off the cool knots. Basically, he works with what he has to let the thing speak for itself. Less actual carving like swirls or whatever and more revealing what it is that makes that stick special. Takes less technical carving skill but a good eye for natural beauty. My uncle carved my grandmother her cane before he passed and while it's a beautiful piece, it is definitely carved if that makes sense

Anyway, as you know I love arting and crafting and making pretty things with my hands. Because of church, I know how to embroider, quilt, scrapbook, make pretty much anything you could ever want from cloth from actual clothes to scripture holders, and all the usual home stuff afab people get taught in YWs. I know how to knit (with a loom), make paper art, draw traditionally, paint traditionally (and know how to stretch my own canvas), create beautiful digital art, create rough architecture blueprints that are less rough with minecraft now, stain wood, cook, make rugs, and basically if there is a craft out there I don't know, I learn very quickly as I'm great with my hands and my hand-eye coordination is fantastic. Thank you 15 years of piano lessons

Dylan, knowing this, encouraged me to take up wood burning. Painting is difficult as I don't have an easel and unless I find a comfy recliner or wheelchair stat, I can't feasibly paint anytime soon. Due to disability (and lack of materials) there are a great number of hobbies I can no longer engage in as there I'd nothing but pain and frustration. I was a little intimidated, I'll admit, because I had no idea what a wood burning tool looked like and how would I work it anyway? From my time around big saws and other wood working machinery, I wondered if it would be something unwieldy and dangerous

Plus, let's be honest. I have a very hard time justifying spending money on myself if it's more than $5 at a time

He'd been goading me into it since November. He'd basically finished up my stick except for staining and he knew I'd want to burn it. But I hemmed and hawed. Finally, we had a pretty decent paycheck with loads of money leftover and he talked me into it. Even got that nice flat piece to get me started before taking the tips to my stick

It has been a genuine blast and a complete delight. It's like a very hot, very fat pencil and he saw right away I was going to need gloves or I'd burn myself and have loads of scars all over my fingers and hands. I'm glad he did because it hasn't been a day and already my gloves have marks on them. He got real expensive deerskin so they'd be able to move with my fingers and give me more mobility than anything else. They were expensive too and wouldn't hear any complaints I had about money. He wasn't going to have me melting my flesh or unable to do delicate work like I like

What I've been doing is outlining the thin layers of bark he left. He noticed that while the outermost layers were ugly, the innermost were interesting. You can see the grain in a way you can't with the lighter wood and you have a cool looking shade that's a nice contrast to that lighter heart. I've been going over them with the round tip (really good for drawing and writing as it's super smooth) and doing those hair thin lines with the point tip. It feels very similar to drawing a fantasy map all over my stick

I'm about 1/3 of the way up my stick though definitely not 1/3 of the way finished. I lose hours at a time bent over and carefully burning. I found out I can take the tips off hot and put them in a ceramic dish to minimize cool off and maximize time spent working. Which is critical for me as I can't spend more than about three hours tops bent over burning

It's so fun because it's like line art but it's on a piece of wood so it feels like I'm doing something new. It's very methodical and cathartic and I lose so much time focusing on doing this. It keeps me calm and downright happy! Which is EXCELLENT because it means I'm combatting seasonal depression in a very big way. I've already agreed to do this with all of his pieces to enhance what he's already carved. Eventually I'll probably Do Things like Actual Wood Art but for now I'm happy with this

We already have some projects planned too by the way!!! He loves making furniture and he can build better stuff for cheaper than buying it from a furniture store. So he's going to build a lift top coffee table and a dresser for sure that I'll burn. The first piece I want us to do, I'll burn the wood BEFORE he cuts it and see how that turns out. It'll be a little box (probably to hold bunny stuff) but I want to see if that does something unique or if it just is bad. If it's not something we like, hey I didn't waste weeks or months on something huge that ended up looking bad

We're probably going to make all the tables and dressers that go in our home. Maybe an entertainment center. I know we'll make my sister stuff just on the condition she pays for materials and getting it into her place. We'll probably make stuff for people who want it and I KNOW he's willing to take commissions. Closest family (parents, my sister, etc) will only have to pay for materials/shipping. Friends and other family will probably pay that and a little extra because friends and family discount. Everyone else is gonna have to pay retail value on top of materials and shipping because they'd get a unique piece you can't find anywhere else and it'd be worth it y'know?

But that's like way off sometime eventually probably

For now, I LOVE this new hobby. I can't wait to see what my stick is going to look like finished! I'm going to burn "support" on the bottom in kanji before the no slip grip goes on. Not really for any particular reason so much as like. Sentimental? I guess? Kind of like I'm burning a prayer for it to be sturdy and useful and good into it. I tried carving my wife's kanji on it (the first kanji of his middle name means dragon) but it didn't work out well so I'm gonna burn it onto the top and that'll be its name. Again, sentiment. There is also power in naming things and like. Just in case?

It has been such a very long time since I've been able to make something with my hands that I had the materials for and I'm just absolutely pink over it. I really super want people to see this stick and want some useful beauty for themselves that I can give. I love giving and making and seeing people smile over stuff I've made. It's been such a long time since something I've done has made someone smile and I just really want to bring that back y'know?

Anyway thank you for letting me gush. I just super love this and like yeah it's the butchest hobby like ever (according to Phoebe who has the most femme hobby ever of macrame) but it really fits me. It sparks joy in a way I haven't felt in a very very long time and I can't wait to see all the things I can do

#long post #text heavy #wood burning #tw burns mention #just in case :)#ask to tag

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teenuviel1227 · 6 years

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Post-It Notes: We Were Sitting On That Sofa

Okay, so. I know that I had initially intended on this series being something that came out after each fic, but when you upload as frequently as I do (I’m not bragging, sometimes I wish I could kind of stop myself, exercise some control) sometimes it gets really hard to keep track. Recently, someone left the sweetest comment saying that my notes for I Was Me, You Were You helped them get out of their writing slump and I remembered all of these notes that i still had in reserve, figured that it might be something fun to do for myself as well between these writing marathons I’ve been going on for the Day6 Ship Weeks that I’ve been running (it’s currently Dopil week btw). So let’s get crackalaking.

(If you haven’t read this fic yet, you can access it here. Fair warning: I’d suggest you read the fic before the notes because there are definitely spoilers.)

The Main Idea

I was inspired by this documentary that I watched a couple of years ago about people who got through the 2008 recession by being camboys/camgirls/camcouples. I found it so interesting that in an era where housing and real estate and training and business development were industries that were being deemed unprofitable or superfluous, something like camming (read: amateur porn) was still selling like hotcakes. I was also interested in the fact that camming isn’t always an invasive thing--sometimes it’s a strip tease, sometimes it’s just people talking. And then I watched Zach & Miri Make A Porno which is a really funny film about best friends who start producing porn parodies and eventually are forced to film a flick together and it’s awkward and sweet and they both realize that they’re in love.

The Married-But-Not Dynamic

So I just thought: why not write an AU about that? Except turn it up: I wanted this AU to not just be about the phenomenon of amateur porn or the hilarity of porn parodies or two people realizing that they’re in love. I also wanted it to be about co-dependence and the things that people are often afraid to say or talk about.

In this AU, my main prompt for Jae and Brian’s relationship was “being married but being too afraid to admit it”--I thought of all of the concrete things that you could share with someone, how far I could push it before they eventually had to talk about it. My list was:

1. Loans (It doesn’t get more solid than co-signing a bank loan, under legal liability.)

2. Space (I also thought about how Jae and Brian are roomies which kind of made it easier--except I upped the ante and made the situation so that they both actually each had a room, they just preferred cuddling, not that they’d ever admit that to each other.)

3. Friends (In this sense, I was also inspired by the best show to ever be cancelled, Happy Endings. That show is basically about college buddies who are still very much involved in one another’s lives. And I wanted their friends to be close-knit--enough so that they would agree to the porn parodies and also enough so that they would be frustrated enough to force Jae and Brian to eventually talk about their feelings. Also, the more common friends you have, literally, the harder it is to run away from each other.)

Nuances of Writing Porn-y Scenes vs. Explicit Love Scenes

This is a question that people ask me a lot on Curious Cat (or used to? I feel like since I went off on that one anon who kept on asking me why I love Brian so much people have gotten a bit scared of leaving me CCs hahaha) was how to write love scenes that were explicit but tasteful, not cringey. The premise of this AU really forced me to deal with that and in the end, it kind of boiled down to a couple of factors.

1. Dialogue

I’ve noticed that playing with dialogue has more to do with the overall aura or outcome of an explicit scene than whether you outright say c*ck or balls or use euphemisms. I find that the subtler the dialogue, the more connective the scene comes off--and more heavy-handed it is (”oh yeah, give it to me”), the more porn-y it turns out. So if you’re writing a love scene with the former in mind, but you’re drawing from porn-as-research mostly, I’d say tinker with the dialogue. Take it down a notch. And if you’re going for the latter and “working from previous experience” then just up the ante, turn up the volume, make them say things that you would never be caught dead saying but which you feel like you’ve heard somewhere before.

2. Psychic Distance

For those of you guys who may not know what psychic distance is, it’s how attached the narrator is to the character. So in first person, obviously, that’s super close. In third person omniscient, it’s super detached. I find that for more parody-like, pornier scenes, using huge psychic distance is key: the more far-out you zoom, the more ridiculous a sex scene seems. The more highlighted things like awkward movements and ridiculous shapes, smells, sounds are, the funnier things seem. And if you’re going for something more romantic, then internal dialogue is always the way to go--that way you highlight emotional things more. Not just what happens but how the characters feel about it.

The Big Question

This won the Twitter poll of which of the notes you guys would want to see first and I feel like the big, burning question on everyone’s minds when they voted for this was did you watch a porn parody to be able to write about this? The answer to that is both yes and no. Have I watched a porn parody before? Yes, but it was in 2009 and it was a Pirates of the Carribean one and it was so bad. Did I watch one specifically for this? Nope but I guess that’s where the imagination bit kicks in too: basically I took everything I loved (Star Trek, LOTR) and just cut out all subtlety. This was definitely the most fun part of writing this AU. It was so cringey but in the best way.

My Only Regret

I loved writing this AU for the most part and was pretty content with it until someone commented that they were worried about what Jae and Bri would do for income since they decided not to air that last special they filmed together because it wasn’t porn, it was something more intimate, more private. And this insightful reader said that they were concerned about 1. how that would affect their standing with the people who pre-paid for the Christmas Special and 2. how Jae and Bri would make their living now following the implied subsequent backlsah. That is one of the most brilliant comments I’ve ever received on a fic and it freaking haunts me to this day. Like. Dude. I wish I’d fleshed that out but for the record--I think they eventually move onto other things like indie short films and they only delay the special until Pil and Dowoonie recover from the flu enough to film it again. xD

#fanfiction #day6 fanfic

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calliopesquill · 6 years

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A Year in the Life: Chapter 5

Guess what! I decided to post before midnight tonight lol

You all are seriously amazing, you know that? The responses I have been getting for these last chapters have been incredible and I can't thank you enough.

Special thanks to all of you who left me such wonderful comments. It really makes my day every time I get one and there are a few these last couple weeks that almost made me cry. So really, thank you.

With that said, on to chapter 5!

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Chapter 5: La Familia Rivera

Nell needed to start setting alarms when she worked. She’d gotten so buried in her novel planning and concept sketches that it was three in the afternoon before she finally surfaced, and that only happened because her stomach had let out a growl loud enough to wake the dead. She pushed herself away from the table with a groan, letting out a muttered curse as she stretched, her back protesting at the hunched position she’d been in for the last three hours. It was definitely time for a break.

She shuffled across the kitchen to her fridge, only to find it almost totally empty. Right… I was supposed to go grocery shopping this morning.

She sighed, shutting the fridge again. Better to do that now, and maybe grab an early supper on the way. She was too hungry to cook. But first she should probably get dressed. Her style may be casual, but it definitely wasn’t “leave the house in pajamas” casual. Nell traded her pajamas for a pair of comfortable flower-printed shorts and a white tee shirt, twisting her hair up in a messy bun as she stepped into her pink ballet flats. After a quick double-check that both her keys and wallet were still in her purse, she was out the door.

As she walked, she went over what she’d come up with for her new novel so far. It would be narrated by the guitar itself, a twist that she would not be revealing until near the end. She didn’t have much for her protagonist yet, but was toying with the idea of him stealing the guitar for himself at first, so the story could be something of a redemption arc for him as well. There would be no familial connection between the hero and the guitar’s original owner, however. She wanted to tell her own story, not just re-tell something that had already happened.

She was contemplating the design of her main character when she was nearly knocked off her feet by a small, bony form. The dog continued on past her to dance around the feet of an old woman in a blue button-down dress.

“ ¡Oye! ” The woman protested, shifting the grocery bags she carried to one arm so she could shoo the dog away. “ ¡Abajo! Abajo, perro tonto. ¡No saltar! ”

The dog, completely ignoring her commands to get down, jumped at her again, knocking her bags from her hands in its attempts to smother her with affection. It only backed away when it saw her reaching for the sandal on her foot, electing instead to plop down next to her and begin chewing on its own leg.

Muttering to herself, the woman began to pick up her spilled groceries, letting out a muttered oath when she saw the strap on one of the bags had snapped. She looked up when she saw a second set of hands gathering up the spilled fruit and reached for her sandal again, prepared to fight off any tonto stupid enough to try to steal from her. But instead of running off they pulled a folded-up cloth bag from inside their purse and began putting the spilled food inside to make it easier to carry.

Nell stood, brushing off the road dust, and offered the woman a hand to help her up. “ ¿Estás bien? ” She asked, picking up the bag of groceries she’d helped pick up.

“ Si, gracias ,” the woman answered, then shot a fond but vaguely frustrated look towards the dog that still sat at their feet. “No thanks to you, silly dog.”

“Is he yours?”

“He thinks he is,” the woman shrugged. “He comes to the house sometimes, looking for food. He is very fond of my grandson.” Now that she could actually get a good look at the person who had helped her, she recognized the young woman who often sat in the plaza. “You are one of Coro’s tenants, si? The artist.”

“My name’s Nell,” she said with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. Did you want some help getting these back home?”

“Ah, I will be fine,” the woman said, waving her off. “As long as someone --” Here she shot another look at the dog, who gave her a harmless doggy smile. “--does not jump on me again.”

“Aw, you won’t jump again, will you?” Nell asked the dog, giving him a scratch behind the ears. The dog gave a small huff, leaning into her hand as his skinny tail beat a tattoo against the ground. “Cuz you are a good boy.”

The dog barked the affirmative.

“You are a nice girl,” the woman decided. “My grandson, he says very good things about you.”

“Your grandson?”

“ Si. My Miguelito. He talks to you sometimes when you draw at the plaza.”

“Oh, you’re Miguel’s abuelita !” Now it all made sense. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. And that must mean that this handsome boy here is Dante.”

Elena snorted. ‘Handsome’ was not exactly the word that she would have chosen. What he was was dumb as a bag of rocks, but he was sweet-natured and very dedicated to her grandson, and the rest of the family by extension, so she’d developed a soft spot for the silly thing. “You are very good with dogs,” she noted, seeing Dante roll over so Nell could scratch his belly.

“I always wanted one growing up,” Nell confessed as she gave in to his desire for pets. “But my dad was allergic to the hair. Couldn’t handle cats either, so I never had a chance to have a pet growing up. And then after I moved out on my own I couldn’t really afford one so… “ She shrugged.

“This one seems to like you,” Elena said with a small nod. “He is very foolish, but he knows good people. You will come for dinner.”

“Thank you. I -- wait, what? Oh, no, you don’t have to. That’s very generous but --”

But Elena overrode her protests. “Nonsense. You will come tonight and meet the family.”

“I --- okay.” What else could she say? “Is there anything you’d like me to bring? I could make dessert.”

“No, no. I have all that I need. You will come tonight for six and we will have a nice dinner.”

“Ah… Okay. Thank you.”

Despite protests, Nell insisted on escorting her home anyway, telling her to keep the cloth bag that the extra groceries had been carried in as Elena’s other one was broken. The moment the door had closed Nell dashed off down the street to the grocery store.

She ended up making chocolate chip cookies, though she’d had to borrow a pair of baking trays and a serving platter from Tia Caro. She had been told not to bring anything but she had been strictly mother-trained not to arrive empty-handed when it came to dinner invitations. As the cookies cooled, Nell traded her shorts and tee-shirt for a casual emerald green maxi dress topped with a candy pink knit bolero sweater. Mindful that she was visiting a family of shoemakers, she paired her outfit with a pretty pair of black and gold strappy sandals. Her hair she tied back in a low, looped ponytail that would keep the curls out of her face, but would not give her a headache as the night went on.

She walked carefully towards the Rivera home, praying that she wouldn’t trip and spill all of the cookies before she got there. It might have been early October but to Nell it still felt like mid-summer. The leaves would have just started to change color back home and the neighborhood kids would all be in a tizzy picking their Halloween costumes. She smiled fondly at the thought. Halloween had always been her favorite holiday, though more for the costumes and the candy than the spook-factor. Funny enough, Nell could not handle horror movies or haunted houses at all. Her friends had tricked her into watching A Haunting in Connecticut one night and she barely slept for a week.

She’d be missing Halloween this year, but would be trading it out for her first experience with Dia de los Muertos. Already people had begun decorating, draping colorful cut-paper banners between the buildings. There were areas of Santa Cecilia where the little flags were always present, but there were always more come fall. It was a little early for people to be putting out the elaborate calaveras figures that were also used to decorate, but Nell did spot one or two between her place and the Rivera’s.

Thankfully she made it to the house without incident and knocked on the front door at promptly five minutes to six.

The woman who answered the door was just shorter than she was, dressed in a cheerful yellow blouse and a bright pink skirt. Her hair was dark and straight, tied back in a low, loose braid. She had a youthful face, with smile lines just appearing around her eyes -- some of which, Nell guessed, could be attributed to the toddler at her hip.

She smiled when she saw her. “Ah, you must be Nell. Mama told us you would be joining us for dinner. Please, come in.” She nudged the door open with her foot, stepping back so Nell could follow her into the courtyard.

“ Gracias, Señora Rivera. ”

“Please, call me Luisa,” the woman insisted, resettling her daughter on her hip as she closed the gate. “And this one here is my youngest, Soccoro. Miguel has told us so much about you. He says you are an artist.”

Nell nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

“Miguel really likes your books. He wanted to bring them home from the library so he could show his prima Rosa but they did not have them, so he has been showing her on the computer during their lunch hour. She really likes your heroine.”

“I’m glad they’re enjoying it so far,” Nell smiled. “I had a lot of fun writing it.”

“It shows. Ah, but you must be tired of carrying that tray. Come, I will show you to the kitchen. Mama should be just about done with dinner.”

“She told me not to bring anything but I wanted to contribute somehow,” Nell admitted, following Luisa through the courtyard. “I’m better with desserts than actual meals, so I figured chocolate chip cookies would be a good option.”

Luisa chuckled. “We will have to hide those from Miguel until after dinner. And this one too,” she added as little Soccoro reached for the tray.

No sooner had she said that than Miguel burst from his room, still dressed in the white button-down shirt and navy pants of his school uniform. “Mama I’m done my -- hey! Nell! What are you doing here?”

“ Ay! Manners mijo. Your abuelita met your friend this afternoon and invited her over for dinner.”

Miguel cocked his head curiously. “How did you meet abuelita?

“A certain affectionate xolo decided that the best time to give her kisses was when she was carrying groceries,” Nell told him. “I just happened to be nearby and helped her pick them up.”

He laughed. “Dante is still working on his timing. Are those cookies for us?”

“After dinner, mijo ,” Luisa told him. “Your abuelita should be almost ready, so why don’t you get out of your school clothes and you can help set the table.”

“Okay Mama.”

Abuelita Elena was the undisputed head of the Rivera family. She was a life-long shoemaker but it was in the kitchen where she truly reigned supreme. Everything was timed to the minute on an internal clock born of practice and instinct. Nell, who could not put a perfectly-timed meal on the table if her life depended on it, wanted to applaud. Elena seemed to know everything that was going on in her kitchen at all times and even though her back was turned, she was instantly aware of other people entering her domain.

“Ah, Luisa! You are just in time,” she said, not even turning around as she plated up a tray of ribs in a spicy-smelling sauce. “And you have brought Penelope with you. Good. I like it when people are on time.”

“I’m obsessively prompt,” Nell smiled. “And please, call me Nell. I brought some dessert for later. Is there somewhere I can put it where little cookie-monsters won’t be able to help themselves before dinner?”

Elena gave a short snort of laughter. “Anyone in my house knows there will be no desserts until after their dinner. For now you can put them on top of the fridge.”

Not for the first time Nell was grateful for her height, as she barely had to stand on tiptoe to set the tray atop the fridge. As with many homes it was a local showcase of family achievements; well-graded assignments and art projects from the varying Rivera cousins covered the door, fixed with colorful magnets. As she turned away she could see Elena glancing at her sandals out of the corner of her eye.

“Your shoes. They are pretty, but they were not made for you. They are too flat. You move like a dancer, but in those things you walk like a duck.”

Nell let out a snort of laughter. “I was a dancer, from about the age of four. Quit after I finished university because I moved out and couldn’t pay for lessons anymore. Took three years as an adult to train myself out of that turn-out so I could walk with my feet parallel again.” She still caught herself standing in ballet-third when she wasn’t paying attention. “I have a hard time finding sandals a lot of the time because most of them come in four styles: cute but flat as cardboard so zero arch-support at all, cute but with massive heels and can only be worn for like an hour before you want to die, cute but eat your feet and leave raw patches and blisters, and comfortable but really ugly. There is no place for ugly shoes in my wardrobe.”

Elena nodded in approval of the sentiment. There was no place in the world for ugly shoes at all in her opinion. Cheap shoes were an insult to her craft. No Rivera would be seen wearing cheap, poorly-constructed shoes, and if she had her way then no friend of the Riveras would either. “Come, you take that plate there and help me set the table and we will talk about shoes that you can wear for the rest of your life.”

“I -- okay.” What else could she do? She didn’t want to come out and say that custom-made shoes were not a luxury that she could afford right now. Most of what she had had gone into this trip, and though her book sales and commissions were keeping her afloat, they didn’t leave much room for luxuries. She took the plate and followed Elena into the chaos that is the dining room.

Seeing the number of people gathered, Nell stopped short and stared. When Elena invited her to dinner she didn’t think it would be with the whole family. It looked like half of Santa Cecilia had managed to fit itself around the table.

“Come, come. Put that plate down right here. Si, right next to the tamales. Manny, Benny, stop teasing your prima Rosa and come sit down. Abel, you shuffle down and make room for our guest. Todos, esto es Penelope. Penelope, mi familia.”

“Ah...hi everyone.” Nell set the plate down and gave a shy wave. “Please, call me Nell.” Should she start wearing a sign? She really felt like she should start wearing a sign. Something simple like ‘ Please do not call me Penelope until I am over the age of 65. Thank you.’

A seat was left for her between Elena and a woman who introduced herself as Miguel’s Tia Gloria. She then introduced Nell to her twin boys, Benny and Manny, who were a couple of years into elementary school. They weren’t particularly interested in introductions, and were much more focused in which of them could stuff the most food in their mouth at one time.

Miguel’s father Enrique, a tall man with a dark moustache, passed a platter of food to his wife before turning to Nell. “So, Miguel says you’re an artist.”

The question was offered casually but Nell had the distinct impression that what she was being asked was actually something very different. “Yes, sir. I write graphic novels -- comic books -- but I take other commissions as well. I’m setting my next series in a place similar to Santa Cecilia so I’m living here for a few months as I work on it because I want to get an authentic feel for the culture and the lifestyle and the architecture. I spend a lot of time doing reference sketches in Mariachi Plaza. It’s got really great atmosphere and that’s something I really wanted to capture. Then that one over there --” She nodded at Miguel. “--got curious one day and decided he wanted to know who the weird turista was who kept writing everything down in a giant notebook.”

“You should see her sketchbook. It’s really good,” Miguel told them. “She was drawing the bell tower yesterday and it was just with pencils and it was perfect! It looked like one of those old-timey pictures.”

“We read your comic at lunch sometimes,” added Rosa, who sat a few seats down from her cousin. “We just got to the part where Polaris and Astra start working together.”

“Have you gotten to the mirror incident yet?” Nell asked.

Rosa shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Let me know when you get there. That was one of my favourite chapters in the whole series.”

The conversation flowed freely throughout dinner, catching up with the goings-on at school. Abel was taking some online CAD courses for the business, and there was some discussion between the other family members on designs and techniques that they were experimenting with. Miguel mentioned briefly how he’d started reading Dante’s Inferno , which had the entire family in stitches when Benny and Manny asked how the little doggy wrote a book. Nell also got a more in-depth history of the business itself.

“I think it’s really admirable what Imelda did,” Nell said honestly. “Running a business is really difficult, and at the time, being a female entrepreneur would have been that much more challenging. Never mind being a single parent on top of that. So that she created such a successful business that has stayed in the family for so long is really incredible. Add the complication of foreign investment and multinational companies with giant factories, it must be challenging sometimes to stay competitive.”

“ Si , it is sometimes,” Miguel’s father answered with a shrug. “Much of our business is local. Most people here, they would rather be able to see and feel the thing that they are buying, so that is a benefit to us.”

“We did get that magazine placement a couple of years ago,” Gloria added. “That telenovela star. What was her name? She mentioned us in an interview and wore a pair of our boots for a photo shoot.”

“There is always a market for quality custom work,” Elena nodded. “Work that lasts. That is a legacy worth protecting. Would you like some more tamales?”

Nell leaned back in her chair and shook her head. “No, gracias. They are delicious but I am stuffed.”

“No, no, there is plenty of room left. You are so skinny! Have another.”

“You know, I think I’ve heard that from everyone at Tia Caro’s building,” Nell laughed as she accepted one more tamale. “I think she might have decided to adopt me. Ten bucks says she must be half-way through the paperwork by now.”

Elena gave a nod of approval. “Caro is a good woman. She takes care of her familia. ” It didn’t matter if they were related by blood or simply lived in her building. All were considered family. And that, to Elena was the most important thing.

How anyone at that table had any room for cookies after that meal, Nell had no idea. But somehow they did, and managed to empty the tray in record time.

“Have you figured out the plot yet for your new comic?” Miguel asked as he and Rosa started clearing up the dishes.

“Part of it,” Nell answered. “I was working on some of the background and lore this morning. The story is going to center around a cursed guitar.”

Miguel paused, setting down the plates that he had been stacking, memories of her inquiries about is own guitar immediately springing to mind. “How did it get cursed?”

She hesitated for a moment. As much as she really wanted to be able to use this idea for her books, she worried it might hit a little too close for Miguel. She would leave it for him to decide if he was comfortable with her continuing, or if he wanted her to write something different. So she gave a cursory explanation of the concept of the tsukumogami and how the guitar had developed a spirit of its own. “And what the guitar wants is to finally see justice done for its murdered owner, and to be played again by someone who is worthy.”

“Cool!” Rosa declared. “Who killed him?”

“No spoilers,” Nell grinned at her. “But if you guys want I can show you some of the concept art I’ve got later.”

Miguel hesitated, not entirely sure how he felt about the idea. On the one hand, it was a little weird knowing that part of his family’s history, even a small part, was going to be used in a book. But if there was anyone that he trusted to do it respectfully, it was Nell. He’d caught the look she gave him when she explained her idea and knew that she would not proceed with it without his go-ahead. And aside from that… a graphic novel series about a sentient guitar would be really, really cool.

He flashed a crooked, one-dimpled smile and nodded. “Can’t wait!”

When Miguel met with Nell that night, he knew that he was right to trust her. What she had planned did briefly allude to the history of Hector and Ernesto, but not in any way that would be recognizable to anyone but him.

In her story, the guitar was a family heirloom. The father was a brilliant musician with a poet’s heart. He and his wife had two sons. The eldest son was bold and adventurous and loved music too, though more for the attention that his talent brought him than for the music itself. The younger brother was just like his father, who loved the music for its own sake. And when the father died, it was the younger son that he gave the guitar to. But the older brother was a jealous sort, always seeing himself as second place, even though he was the oldest. He was determined to be liked, and cultivated a fine and charming manner in order to endear himself to those around him, but he could never match the simple sincerity of his younger brother. They were both talented, but when they performed together it was easy to see whose heart was really in the music. They travelled together, performed together, and all that time the older brother’s jealousy festered within him. Until one night, after a particularly bad fight and a few too many drinks, he smothered his brother in his sleep.

The death was mourned as a tragedy, a sudden failure of the heart in a time where forensic evidence and investigation barely existed. Nobody even considered the possibility of murder.

The older brother inherited the guitar by default, and did become a fairly well renowned musician on his own. He would never admit that the guitar that had become his trademark never sang as beautifully for him as it did for his father and brother. He performed until his death in 1931, when an earthquake caused the roof of the theater he was rehearsing in to collapse on top of him, burying him alive.

The guitar was salvaged from the wreckage without a scratch on it and was held in private collections until the mid-1990’s, when it was installed as part of a music history exhibit in a local museum. Stories say that sometimes, late at night, you can still hear the sad melody it plays, mourning its lost musico.

“You gotta write that,” Miguel insisted after hearing what she’d planned. “What happens next? Is that it?”

Nell laughed. “Nah, that’s more of the backstory that sets up the main plot. The main character is a paranormal investigator who heard the stories of the ghostly music, so he breaks into the museum at night. Next thing he knows he’s seeing ghosts everywhere, and the guitar quite literally seems to have a mind of its own and won’t leave him be.”

Miguel snickered. This was going to be fun.

“For real, though. You’re okay with me writing this? If you’re not comfortable with it, you’ve got to tell me. There’s no time-limit so I have all the time in the world to think up something else.”

He shook his head. “No, I like it. It’s different. And I like the guitar being the narrator. That’s kinda cool.”

Nell sighed with relief. “Okay. Okay. Cool. But like, if you ever change your mind, let me know.”

“I will,” Miguel promised.

They walked for a while longer, taking in the quiet, their path taking them past the painted gate of the Rivera house. Dante trotted companionably at their side. They’d discovered when they met up that night that the little xolo could indeed see them when they were projecting, and after spending several minutes jumping all over them, he designated himself their official companion for the evening.

“So what did you and abuelita talk about when you were touring the shop?”

“Ah, not much. Got a little more on the history of the business. Some of the process. Your abuelita is really determined to get me into a decent pair of shoes.” Nell chuckled.

Miguel snickered. “Fifty pesos says you’re in a pair if Rivera shoes by Christmas.”

“You’re on. And I’ll put my winnings towards buying my pretty new Rivera shoes after New Years.”

“Hey!” He laughed. “That’s cheating.”

“You set the rules, not me.” She reminded him. For a moment she was silent, then she spoke again. “Your abuelita is really proud of you, you know. Your whole family is. You can see it in their faces when they hear you play. I’m glad I got to meet them tonight.”

“They really like you,” Miguel told her. “And Tia Gloria really wants your cookie recipe. Benny and Manny would have eaten all of them if they could have.”

Nell laughed. “I’m glad I passed inspection. They were definitely a little concerned about me at first, not that I blame them.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s one thing for their fourteen year old to have adult friends among the local musicians, but it’s a little different when he’s suddenly friends with a random tourist eleven years his senior.”

She had a point. And it wasn’t like either of them could explain the particular circumstances behind them becoming friends to begin with, not without earning themselves a happy little trip to the hospital in the city for a psych evaluation.

What Nell didn’t tell him was how worried his family had been for him over the past few months. They’d known he wasn’t sleeping well, but as he refused to tell them what was going on there was nothing they could do. He’d been doing so much better since summer ended. He no longer came to the breakfast table with tired eyes, dragging his feet -- or at least, no more than any other young teenager. A question had been left unspoken of whether he had told Nell about what had been bothering him, to which she’d had to claim complete ignorance.

“Side note: I don’t know how the hell you survived that music ban,” Nell confessed, shaking her head. “I’d have completely lost my mind.” Music had always in some way been on the periphery of her life. She couldn’t imagine being cut off from it.

“I felt like I was some days,” he laughed. “And I was raised into it. Mama had to give it up when she married Papa and I don’t know how she did it.”

“People will do a lot for love. If it meant being with your Dad, it was probably a sacrifice she was willing to make.”

Miguel nodded. He��d almost made the same one before Hector and Mama Imelda had sent him back. To be able to return home and have a chance to save Hector, he’d have given up music without a moment’s regret. “Could you do it?”

“Give up music for someone?” Nell asked. “Don’t know. There’s never been someone that mattered enough that I would consider it. If it was the right person, I think I could. But then if it was the right person, I wouldn’t have to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And there ends chapter 5! We met the Riveras, Nell finally got her plot sorted out, and we got to see Dante!

Next chapter will be the start of Dia de los Muertos, so buckle up buttercups because it's going to be a wild ride.

#coco #pixar coco #coco fanfiction #coco 2017 #miguel rivera #a year in the life

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sneks-n-bickles · 6 years

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Do you have any advice for a sad friend who has no reason to be sad, they just feel sad inside and it's dragging them down.

I relate to this very much my sad friend. The thing about being sad and having no reason, is that it can feel worse than if you had a reason. It’s one of the biggest factors as to why I have yet to get help, I have no real past trauma that would justify how I am. I feel like I’m not in control of my body, like something happened and I missed the memo. When you have no reason to be sad you have no clear path to feeling better. There’s no closure to be had, no experiences to process, no healing to be done. Sometimes I feel like I’m making it up, like my sadness is my own fault and there’s nothing really wrong with me.

My best advise, my sad friend, is that the first step to not being so sad is to fully understand and realise the possibility that the sadness you are feeling is not caused by anything in particular, and that it’s completely valid and is no better or worse to deal with than it is for someone with a traumatic past. Accepting your sadness as it is and not demanding a cause or reason is so hard to do, especially when this website seems to glorify trauma and mental illnesses.Not everyone had a terrible experience, not everyone has triggers that make sense, not everyone has a long and detailed sad story. Sadness is chemical.It’s like how some people develop illnesses because of their past lifestyle/ a past experience, and how some people are just born with them. Both are valid. You do not have it any easier or harder than others who deal with extreme sadness, and you are just as deserving of help.

Also, allow yourself to find happiness in the smallest of things.Isolate and steer yourself away from things that make you spiral into sadness/ things that trigger you and you will start to see the little things that push the sadness back a little, more often. Most importantly get help. It doesn’t have to be professional (I can’t even come close to affording that myself so I get it) but maybe it’s a friend you can trust, or a school counselor, or an internet support group you can feel OK talking freely to. If none of those are available to you, pick up an art or craft. Processing your sadness through visual expression can be a powerful tool to further understand your sadness better, like poetry, drawing, painting, or even things like jewelry making, knitting, and book making. You’d be surprised how much emotion you can put into a hand made book or a set of earrings and how much those things can help you understand your own mind more.

Lastly, try saying things outloud to yourself. Look yourself in the mirror and say outloud that you are sad and that it’s OK. When you spiral, think outloud or write down your thoughts as they come. Make your feelings solid and real. Sadness with no cause always seems so abstract, like something so very foreign and scary. Writing down/ speaking outloud about your sadness helps make it more tangeable and understandable to yourself.

Side note, a lot of this applies if you aren’t chronically sad, but just having an off/ sad day! Everyone has days where we are just sad for no reason (even those without mental illnesses) and it’s frustrating and annoying. All this stuff can be applied to people who just have ‘those days’ too! You don’t have to be chronically sad/ depressed in order to seek help! Sometimes we just need to have a sad day and process the mysterious grief for that day (like by talking to trusted friends, maybe doing some art to get it out of your system, or just sitting on the couch and accepting the sadness as it is). Not everyone has a bad day for a reason, sometimes we just have bad days.

I hope you the best anon and I’m sorry if none of this makes sense or if you can’t relate. My dms are always open.

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pickalilywrites · 7 years

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I was suddenly struck by the headcanon that Zophia liked Falco (who never noticed bc of Gabi), and after 101 i need warrior cadet feels. Feel free to put this off until you're less busy, btw, I know it's kinda a crack ship anyway

They’re cute but thinking about it makes me a bit sad >.

Catch

Zofia x Falco. Canonverse.

1539 words.

He plays catch with his older brother and War Chief Jaeger every morning before school starts. She notices that he’s not very good – he drops the ball more than he catches it – but there’s a fire in his eyes whenever he sees that it’s coming in his direction, already extending his mitt even though it’s far too early and he’s not reaching far enough.

Zofia stands rooted to the spot for longer than she knows she should, but it’s not like he’ll know if he finds her watching him.

He’ll just turn and smile like he’s doing now, raising his gloved hand to wave at her. “Hey, Zofia!” he yells like he does every morning when he sees her.

She’s never been the type to raise her voice, so she just gives him that tired, awkward smile she has before he turns back to his game and ignores her like she was never there at all.

She doesn’t blame him for not noticing her. She’s dull and has a strange expression on her face most times. She’s tried to smile more, but she’s just accepted that it’s just the way she is.

It makes sense that Falco is drawn to someone like Gabi. Gabi, who’s bright and vibrant like the sun. She’s the top of the class when it comes to combat, a clear choice for inheriting a Titan in the future. She overflows with confidence, constantly wearing a grin so wide that it would crack Zofia’s face if she tried to mimic it.

She watches him watch her in class, notices every quiver of his lip whenever he wants to speak up but can’t. At least he’s trying. She’s an even bigger coward than him, only observing him from a distance because she’s too scared to even extend her hand to touch him.

He never notices her watching, not really. The one time he does, he becomes flustered. “I wasn’t staring,” he tells her hastily even as his eyes glance quickly back at where Gabi is laughing with Udo.

“I know,” she says, turning away from him and looking instead at her notebook because she knows he wants to escape from this conversation as quickly as possible. She pretends to not care, drawing unintelligible symbols in the margin of her notes, but she watches as Falco releases a relieved sigh beside her.

She’s not sure if Falco has improved since the first time he picked up the mitt and began to train with his older brother Colt and Chief Jaeger, but he tries hard. She likes the determination on his face, brows knit together as he watches for where the ball will land next. He fumbles with the ball a lot, sometimes only able to have it brush the tips of his fingers, but there are a few instances when he does capture it. There’s always a look of surprise on his face, like he can’t imagine that it has actually happened even though the ball is clearly in the palm of his hands with his fingers curled tightly around it.

It’s rarely ever that he misses the ball entirely. Sometimes it’s because he reacts too soon or because he’s miscalculated where to throw up his arm to catch it. And, occasionally, it’s because his brother has pitched too far.

When the ball whizzes past him, Falco lets out a frustrated groan, angry that he’s let this ball fly past him without even touching a fingertip to it. “I’ll get it!” he says, already running towards it even though its barely just hit the ground.

“Don’t worry about that one!” Colt calls out to his brother. “It was my fault! I wasn’t aiming properly!”

The ball bounces on the ground a few times before rolling on the ground and stopping at Zofia’s foot. Should she throw it back?

Zofia looks up to find Falco still awhile away, but he’s stopped in his tracks. He’s looking at her, really looking at her now and not distracted by someone else. He holds his gloved hand towards her.

“Hey, Zofia!” he yells. “Throw it over here!”

Gingerly she picks up the ball, feeling the weight of it in her hands. It’s much heavier than she thought the small, spherical object would be, but she doesn’t think it’d be impossible to throw. She just has to do it like she’s watched them do it, doesn’t she? Just curve her arm back and swing it in that arc, releasing it at its height and have her hand follow through.

The ball soars through the air and Falco’s so surprised by how well Zofia’s thrown it that he nearly misses it. He just barely catches it but he doesn’t look as unhappy about it as he normally is. In fact, he looks thrilled and runs towards her instead of back to his brother.

“Zofia! You threw that? That was amazing!” Falco says excitedly. “You don’t practice, do you?”

She’s not used to him being so close to her, not used to him actually looking at her instead of past her and at someone else. She looks down at her feet and mumbles, “No, it’s just from watching you guys practice every morning. I was probably lucky just now.”

“Well, you’re really good!” Falco tells her. “Do you have a mitt or anything? Maybe you could practice with us too! It might be easier if we have four people instead of just three. I think Zeke told me he has an old baseball or something, so maybe we could use that and practice together while he practices with Colt.” Zofia can only shake her head. “I don’t really have those kinds of things,” Zofia replies. “It’s not really something I do…”

“Well, okay then,” Falco says, frowning. He’s already taking steps backward, probably hoping to get back to his brother and Zeke instead of wasting his time with her. “I’ll see you later then, Zofia.”

She should probably be thankful that he’s taken notice her even if it’s for a brief second but all she can think about is how pathetic she feels.

The next morning she walks along the same path but this time she promises herself not to glance over at Falco playing catch with Colt and Zeke. She doesn’t even know why she got up at her usual time when she knows they’ll be here. She probably could have stayed in bed a couple of extra minutes instead of being up so early.

“Hey, Zofia!” Falco calls like he does every morning.

Zofia lifts her hand to wave at him but when she looks up she finds that he’s running towards her instead of staying with Zeke and Colt. “What is it?” she asks, startled.

In a gloved hand he clasps a ball that’s more worn out than the one they had been throwing around yesterday. In his other hand he has an old glove that’s clearly seen better days but not totally unusable. He has a wide grin on his face and when he stops in front of her he stretches out the old, worn glove towards her. “This is for you!”

Confused, Zofia takes the glove carefully in her hands and turns it over. The material is a little thin now and it’s been stitched and re-stitched several times already, but he looks so happy to be giving it to her. She has to admit that she’s a little happy about it even though she doesn’t really know why he’s giving her a baseball mitt. “What’s it for?” she asks him.

“To practice!” he says as if it’s obvious. He tosses the ball from hand to hand as he continues to explain. “Because you’re really good. I told Zeke and Colt and they said if you could throw then you should practice. If you want, I mean. Zeke dug out this baseball and Colt gave me this new glove. He said he was going to give it to me anyway since my old one was a little worn.”

She does notice that the glove he now wears is brand new, much newer than the one he gave her. “Then is this one your old one?” she asks as she slides her hand inside the glove. It’s a little bit bigger than her hand, but she likes the way it fits her anyway.

“Er, yeah,” Falco says, looking a bit embarrassed. “Is that okay? It’s a little old. It used to be Colt’s before it was mine, but I’ll save up for a new one for you!”

“It’s fine!” Zofia says quickly. “I don’t mind it. It fits nicely anyway, so I don’t need a new one.”

Falco looks at her strangely, wondering why she’d turn down a new glove, but in the end he just shrugs. “If you’re happy with it then I guess it’s fine,” Falco says. He takes a few steps back, tossing the ball up and down. “Let’s see if you’re as good at catching as you are at throwing then!”

If it’s anything like catching him looking at the one he likes most, she’s probably better than him at catching too. That’s okay though. She’s fine with it just being like this anyway.

#falco x zofia #zofia #falco grice #snk #zalco #idk what to call it #asks #answered #anon #anonymous #requests

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