#sometimes saying it aloud makes it easier for me to recall so

[spiritofjustice]

one of my friends was very gracious and bought me a copy of Ghost Trick and i keep forgetting i have it. maybe i should play it if i ever fuckin finish replaying Turnabout Reclaimed lol

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Gotta say your au mixed with the art style and such and amazing work in what we seen so far with the horror and some laughs it's just become a treat every time I saw new details (whenever you supplies them up, thanks for that)

I know you already disclosure that it's gonna be bad BAD TIMES for the puppets gang but does it have it's soft ad fluff times??

The shot were Frank ask Wally if they're dying will looking up for the ceiling hasn't leave my brain, such a raw emotional clear on them, I wonder when they were just the two of them for a while they cuddle or hold hands for comfort??

I just.i just want them to have small victories of comfort

of course it has fluff and comfort! a lot of it! having a nice blend of both makes the fluff feel sweeter & the hurt hit all the harder <3 i will now supply some (written (for now)) examples and tidbits. putting it under the cut cause it got kinda Long

Frank & Wally do become very affectionate with each other! ofc as soon as Frank woke Wally was like "ok im holding your hand everywhere we go, this is Non Negotiable". because its dark! he doesn't want Frank to stray too far or get lost! and it's easier to yank Frank outta harm's way if they're already holding hands. comfort factors into it later, when Frank starts initiating & Wally does it purely to make sure Frank is still there. but yeah they get Very comfortable with each other, to the point where when Eddie wakes up he asks Frank - misinterpreting the situation entirely - "if you'd rather have Wally than me, i understand." ofc Frank laughs his ass off bc uhhh no that is Not what their relationship is, Ed

~ similarly, (almost) everyone acclimates to Wally's need to be as close as possible at all feasible times. he's Very physically affectionate and has little to no regard for personal space or boundaries anymore. like, he'll listen when someone asks him to back off or somethn, but until then he does not give a fuck. and this rubs off on the others as they get used to it

and then there's OH WAIT IDK IF I'VE MENTIONED THIS YET but! Wally - during his main exploration phase - found the Welcome Home episode recordings! and he eventually figured out how to work a tv he found, so he added "watch an episode of me and my friends" into his Routine. when the others wake up, he includes them in this. is it horrifying for them at first? yeah. but they get used to it and find similar if not the same comfort and enjoyment in it that Wally does. like in This Scribble, Frank & Wally & Poppy & Howdy are all watching an episode, and are quoting the lines they've memorized. they all cuddle up on a couch together and watch their favorite show <3

& Wally also teaches them (as they wake up) how to repair and care for themselves / each other, sleeping or otherwise. picture a little sewing circle of Frank, Wally, and Poppy, with Poppy giving tips and guidance on how to improve. these sessions provide them with genuine smiles and sometimes even some laughs.

before Wally & Home's divorce, they'd pass much of the time with games! go-fish, charades, i spy, etc. one of their favorites was when Wally would toss a ball at Home's door, and Home would hit it back. additionally, whenever Wally discovered something new, he'd rush back to Home with it - either the information or the actual thing, if he could carry it. ex: when he'd find books or files, he'd bring them to Home and (quietly) read them aloud while resting against them

and just in general know that the Post Office is a place of safety. Wally has made sure it's secure. i like to imagine like... little craft sessions and impromptu dancing lessons and story sharing going on in there among the awake neighbors. they try to have fun despite it all

that's all i can recall for Act One's fluff tidbits rn, but trust me there is More. and also abundant angsty comfort. the downright painful stuff has to earn its existence yk yk this au is Not grimdark

[threenorth]

Vent warning,

So your probably expecting me to call at 11,and your probably twiddling your thumbs, I would of

Thought about calling you, it's now almost 1am (12:41) we're say 1 because by the time I will be done...

It's almost 6am for you,

I went to A&E while I waited for the nurse on the phone, for free to return my call, she said on the phone I should get this looked at, so I then went to A&E saw the nurse, then waited and about 3 hours later ...i told the doctor, I told him I've had predozine, 20mg x 3, friday, Saturday, Sunday (today) and now I'm beginning to weez, and I have hit my daily to asthma limit of asthma steroids for the day, and I'm worried about waking up In a nightmare state unable to use asthma meds, where he said it's past midnight so I'm aloud 6 emgercy doesages, he suggested I wake up fully from my sediated state from the quetipin, some how do my asthma 6 puffs and breath, then to try relax and have a have a nice cup of tea, to calm me down then hour to recall back asleep no matter the time ie 5am or 6am or whatever, where as depending how bad it is, I sometimes either wake up and csnt get back to sleep for 2 hours or lucky enough to fall back a sleep within the 15 minutes, but yesterday I had the same dream repeat 5 times in a row, side to side and I flipped over, turned my head side to side... and still didn't wake up so easily...

He seemed to think I should ask my psychtraist to increase my anti axeirty med, as he couldn't hear me weez, wouldn't surprise me if they have a good air system in the A&E post covid, where as this damp, mouldy house obuisly does not...

And I talked alot because it calms my stress levels... Sometimes, the spike you can see in red, is probably me venting to my mom at how terrible I felt, the way he basicly had to the audacity to hint my ptsd as I haven't asked it was from childhood truma to confirm what I alreday know,...

Anyway, he made me feel my symptoms are all in my head, and I'm a crazy wacko who needs more drugs, he didn't seem to understand my peakflow was at 500 when he put me on a nebuliser then dropped to 350 as he said it should last forever as far as I could understand, then had to wait 10 hours to be told here's an asthma med, Goodluck and the respotiry instuite isn't to till December, picked up this bug, the last A&E doctor gave me penosline and then last Friday my doctor wasn't happy with my lungs within two seconds, put me on steroids within two seconds.

This weez I haven't had in years, really scared me but might be a good thing to have my lungs maybe still kind of alive in some way, so I could make it back to mountain town.

I'm sorry it's 1257.

I'll text you have a great day, but I don't know maybe 730am/12 noon (for you) I'll be wake.

Tonight was awful, and I have to keep telling myself... (as it's now 25th September) 78 days to 11th December to see the lung/respority specialists...

My mental health is taking a hit, but not bad... Nothing I can't take but with meds makes it easier but with low breathing harder to get grounded in a constant state of...

I can't lie to you, you see right through me,

But I'm grateful to have you here... With me.. "kind of"

I'm going back to work today / as it's Monday.

I'm gonna work the satalite office up the road from me... Well time to go sleep.. *yawn*

--*text*

Maybe I should look at getting a double flask tea thermist with hot water on stand by before I go to bed, t2 had some cool ones I thought about getting you one, for that local loose tea place near the dikon?

Away, 105.

Xo

*blows a kiss east*

I sent you a text.

Good morning beautiful, have a great morning.

Thinking about you all the same.

Even my phone knows in the little we've talked how special you are.

It's great to see your name and quick tabs, pop up in my phone.

*yawn*

[thelampisaflashlight]

Surprise, surprise, I’m back with more headcanons, this time it’s whether or not the ghouls understand sign language... which I am not at all putting off studying, noo... it’s not like I somehow misplaced my flashcards, what gave you that idea?  Below the cut.

Aether: He knows a couple of signs, they’re the ones most people learn when they’re first starting out with sign language, but it’s better than nothing! He can pretty easily recall signs for colors, shapes, and animals, and knows a few for directional purposes if he needs to direct anything without disrupting a practice or performance by saying something aloud. 

He fumbles on some words, in that he’ll twitch his fingers to kind of “erase/delete” what he’s just said, and then follow it up with the proper sign or something close to what he’s trying to imply.

Dewdrop: He mostly uses sign for directing purposes, or conveying general feelings across the stage or studio when they’re in the middle of practice or recording. However, he also knows a lot of sign specific swears, “bullshit” for example is one of his preferred ones.

He can’t really hold a conversation, but he at least recognizes the basic ones. 

Multi/Swiss: Very, very basic understanding of signs beyond the classic “I love you” and basic pointing signs like “me” or “you”, though not for a lack of trying. He’s skilled with his hands, but something about the motions he needs to perform for certain signs doesn’t click. 

He tried practicing with Dew, but Dew felt too conflicted between teaching him properly and just teaching him swears.

Rain: He’s probably the easiest to hold a conversation with in terms of using sign, because he practiced a broader range of words and knows some signs that are considered more like “slang” or shortened sign. He knows how to hand spell out his name, but sometimes he just does the sign for “Rain” and that tends to work out just fine.

He’s tried helping Swiss practice a couple times, but he hasn’t managed to make anything really stick just yet. Repetition is key.

Mountain: He mainly understands the ones that convey specific emotions like “awkward” or “scared”, because it’s a good way to quietly convey if someone isn’t feeling safe or needs a moment. Like Rain, he can hand spell his name, but will sometimes just use the sign for “Mountain” because it’s easier.

If he can’t remember a sign, he does a bit of charades or just types out his message on his phone or writes it down.

Cumulus: She knows about as much as Rain, but she learned with a different system of sign language, so sometimes it doesn’t translate the same way. She mostly uses it to communicate across the stage, or to signal to the others if there’s some kind of situation that needs to be addressed subtly.

She spells out her name most of the time, because she can’t really default to “cloud”.

Cirrus: Her and Swiss are on team, “Good enough for government work”. She wants to understand more than she does, but she spent way too long laughing at the sign for “poop” when she was learning to focus properly.

Her goal is to know more signs than Swiss.

Sunshine: She’s starting lessons, and picking things up quickly, but she still has a long way to go. Aether is helping her practice since he has the basic signs down, and Dew is supplementing here and there, which means teaching her how to say obscene things.

She also practices with Cirrus from time to time.

Bonus Copia: He’s like Aether, he knows basic signs, and will use them to signal to the ghouls or venue staff/security when need be, but, like Cumulus, the system he learned isn’t the same as the others, so he will default to simple “universal” gestures and pointing to convey his meaning.

[lizamango]

Finding You (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 3/?

 A/N: Hey everyone, sorry this took so long!! This chapter was kinda hard to write, I felt like there wasn’t much that I could add but I did my best! I wanna get to Bucky as much as you all do! 😭😩

Summary: You’ve been one of SHIELD’s top spies for years but what happens when the organisation you’ve put your trust in crumbles and Captain America gives you a mission to help him find his best friend? The last thing you expected to happen was to fall in love with your assignment and become best friends with a witch.

Taglist ~ just comment if you wanna be added

@buckylokisimp​​, @white-wolf-buckaroo​​, @austynparksandpizza, @markandlexies​

Word Count: 2098

​Masterlist

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~

Warnings: none

Chapter Summary: You and Steve run from HYDRA

Chapter 3: TOMORROW ISN’T PROMISED TO ANYBODY

I enter a shopping mall where I buy a hoodie for myself and a jacket, glasses and a hat for Rogers using cash. I pass by JD sports and see some Supra Vaders I know the Captain will just love so I go in and grab a pair, and get a pair of Nike Dunk Sky His for myself. I leave and meet him where he waits, away from any crowds and we put on our simple yet effective disguises.

“First rule of going on the run, is don’t run. Walk,” I say, recalling my operations training.

“If I run in these shoes they’re gonna fall off.”

I smirk. “Sorry, thought you’d be bigger.”

Ignoring my innuendo, Steve huffs. “They’re ridiculous, why can’t I lace them up?”

“It’s a fashion statement.” I glance at a map as we pass by. “Apple store’s upstairs.” We ride the escalator and enter the store.

Finding an empty laptop, I get to work. “The drive has a Level 6 homing program so as soon as we boot up, SHIELD will know exactly where we are.”

“How much time will we have?” he asks, surveying the area not so subtly.

“About 9 minutes from…” I insert the drive. “now.” I enter the coding commands to unlock the intel but something inverts each one… now comes in my training from the Academy of Science and Technology. “Fury was right about that ship. Somebody’s trying to hide something.” As I look through the coding script my inputs are rewritten to counter the commands. “This drive is protected by some sort of AI.”

“Like Stark’s robot voice? Can you override it?”

I raise a brow as I type away. “The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me. Slightly. I’m gonna try running a tracer. This is a program that SHIELD developed to track hostile malware, so if we can’t read the file, maybe we can find out its origin.” The map tracks a location and pinpoints it as we are approached by a store employee.

“Can I help you guys with anything?”

I react quickly and give him my best charming smile. “Oh, no. My fiancé was just helping me with some honeymoon destinations,” I giggle, placing my hands on Rogers’ shoulders.

“Right,” he adds awkwardly. “We’re gettin’ married.”

“Congratulations! Where are you guys thinkin’ about goin’?”

I go back to the laptop and the state has been pinpointed.

“New Jersey,” the Captain reads aloud.

“Huh,” the employee lets out, surprised. “I have the exact same glasses,” he says after a pause.

“Wow, you two are practically twins,” I remark as I type away.

“Yeah, I wish!” he chuckles. “Specimen. Uh, if you guys need anything… I’ve been Aaron.”

“Thank you,” Rogers rushes out. “You said 9 minutes,” he checks his watch. “Come on.”

I shush him. “Relax… I’m working.” The screen reads Wheaton, New Jersey. “Done.” I look up at him and he has a frown on his face. “You know it?”

“I used to. Let’s go.” He pulls the hard drive out of the laptop and we walk out of the store. “Standard tac team. Two behind, two across,” he turns to face forward. “two comin’ straight at us. If they make us, I’ll engage, you hit the south escalator to the metro.”

As he speaks I roll my eyes, this guy was definitely not meant for the spy world. “Put your arm around me and laugh at something I said,” I say.

“What?” he sounds utterly confused.

“Do it.” I feel his arm rest on my shoulder and he gives the most awkward laugh I have ever heard come from a person. “See, Captain? No need to make such a scene.” We work our way to the escalator and I spot Rumlow on the escalator coming up. I turn to look up at Rogers. “Kiss me.”

“What?” he says again, flustered.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”

“Yes they do!” he whispers.

I put my hand to the back of his neck and push him towards me so our lips meet and I feel his hand fall on my waist. I open my eyes and pull away slowly after enough time has passed.

“You still uncomfortable?” I ask turning and walking down the escalator.

“That’s not exactly a word I would use,” he murmurs and quiets down as we get to the parking lot.

“We could get bus tickets to New Jersey, think I’ve got enough cash for the trip,” I suggest.

“Keep a look out,” he says approaching a truck as I frown but do as he says. In no time I hear the start of an engine and whirl to look at him. “Come on, we don’t have all day,” he says smugly.

I get into the passenger’s side and he starts to drive to the Garden State.

“Can’t believe Captain America can steal cars…” I say striking up a conversation.

He chuckles. “Kind of a necessary skill when you’re fighting a World War and you’re in enemy territory.”

I hum and he glances at me. “And it’s not stealing if we give it back so get your feet off the dash.”

“Bossy,” I remark but do as he says. “I like that,”

There’s a pink tint to his cheeks and his jaw clenches but he doesn’t say anything.

“So I have a question for you…” I start with a raised brow. “But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, although no answer is an answer in itself so-“

“Get to it, L/N,” he interrupts authoritatively.

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” I smirk.

“That bad, huh?”

“I didn’t say that!” I laugh.

“Well it kinda sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”

“I was just… wondering if you’ve had practice… since going… into the ice,” for a super secret agent, that answer lacked finesse. “It’s just, I don’t know how you did it in 1945 but guys normally move their mouths for a long kiss like that,” I shrug.

“I don’t need practice.”

“Everyone needs practice.”

“It was not my first kiss since 1945. I’m 95, not dead.”

“Oh?” I say, curiosity piqued. “Who’s been kissing Captain America then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Someone special?”

He chuckles. “It might come as a surprise to you but it’s hard to find someone with shared life experience,” he says sarcastically.

“That’s okay, you just make stuff up.”

“What, like you?” I know he doesn’t intend for it to sound mean so I shrug it off.

“Not everyone can handle the truth, can they? I wouldn’t mind a few white lies to keep something good going… and you don’t need shared life experience, right? Not really… there’s that whole opposites attract notion, after all.”

“But it’s good to have someone who understands what you’re going through, right?”

I shrug… sometimes not knowing is better. Safer. “Maybe. But in this occupation…” I sigh. “Well I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in love.”

“You’ve – you never had someone?” Looks like I threw him for a loop.

Shaking my head I turn to look out my window at the trees we pass by. “I don’t hate love or anything… it’s just dangerous to love someone like… us. Isn’t it? They’d either get hurt by people we go after or… ya know, if we don’t come back… it hurts them too.”

“But tomorrow isn’t promised to anybody,” he reasons. “So why deprive yourself of something as great as love on the off chance you die?”

“Because it’s easier.”

“For who?”

“Why the interest Rogers? You wanna fill that spot? Play a little house? Imagine we don’t have to save the world from domestic terrorists?”

He hums at my decision to not answer the question. “No, that’s not what I need right now.”

“And what do you need?”

“Just…” he sighs. “a friend.”

Of course. “Well, there’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers…”

“Maybe we could start with not calling each other our last names?” he offers.

I smile. “Maybe.”

We arrive at the location the tracer indicated as the sun is setting.

Camp Lehigh is on a sign but it seems to be long abandoned.

“The file came from these coordinates,” I say as I pick the lock on the chained fence.

“So did I…” Steve says looking up at the sign in nostalgia. “This camp is where I was trained.”

“Change much?”

“A little…”

I wonder around, scanning the area for any thing to indicate a power source. “This is a dead end. Zero heat signatures, zero waves. Not even radio. Whoever created the file must have used a router to throw people off.” I tuck the scanner in my back pocket and the Captain looks up at me then shifts his gaze to behind me, frowning. “What is it?”

He starts walking and I follow. “Army regulations forbid storing munitions within 500 yards of the barracks. This building’s in the wrong place.” He breaks the lock with his shield and we enter as it leads us underground.

I turn on the lights and it reveals the insignia painted on the wall. “This was SHIELD. The early days, after it evolved from the Strategic Scientific Reserve,” I say, recognizing the outdated logo.

We wander around, finding a wall of three portraits. “The three founders.” He looks at me. “What? The history is one of the things they teach at the academies. Colonel Philips, Howard Stark and Margaret Carter.”

“There are academies?”

“Three. Very tough admission.”

Rogers spots something and looks closer. “If you’re already working in a secret office…” he pushes the shelves apart. “Why do you need to hide the elevator?”

Using my SHIELD issued code breaking device I type in the code for the elevator which takes us down even further to a room of computers, monitors and servers.

“This can’t be right… this equipment is ancient how could it be used to make the files?”

There was one place that looked like it came from this century and I decide to take a risk and plug in the usb drive. The servers whir and more lights come on.

“Initiate system?” a computerized voice says.

Yes, I type. “Creepy.” As we wait for the system to boot up I smirk. “Shall we play a game?” I laugh at myself. “It’s from a movie that was really pop-“

“I know,” he interrupts. “I saw it.”

A camera moves to Rogers and a voice recites his name and year of birth. Then it turns to me and does the same.

“Is this the AI that was blocking my commands back at the mall?” I say looking closer.

“I may not be the man I was back when the Captain took me in 1945 but I am.” A photo appears on one of the other screens.

“You know this… thing?”

“Arnim Zola was a German Scientist who worked for the Red Skull.”

“He’s been dead for years,” I add, remember something of the history lessons.

“First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive.” The robot voice recounts his end of life story and how he uploaded his consciousness into databanks.

“How did you get here?”

“By invitation.”

“It was Operation Paperclip after World War II. SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic value. Always thought they shoulda just locked them all up… we probably wouldn’t be in this mess if they did.”

“HYDRA would have died with the Red Skull.”

“Cut off one head… two more shall take its place,” I recite their mantra aloud.

“When history did not cooperate… history was changed.” A flurry of photos of the Winter Soldier in the back ground of significant political events appear on the screens.

“That’s impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you,” I say, moving closer.

“Accidents would happen.” News of Howard and Maria Stark’s car accident shows up next.

Rogers punches the screen as Zola provokes him.

Does that mean…? I don’t finish the thought as the mad scientist explains what the drive contains.

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” I ask.

The doors begin to close as Steve is too late to throw his shield. A beeping comes from my communicator, detecting something. “Steve, we got a bogey. Short range ballistic 30 seconds tops.”

“Who fired it?”

“SHIELD.” I pull out the drive and Steve pulls a grate from the floor. I jump in and he follows, putting the shield up above us as rubble rains down on us. He strains against the weight of it all and the debris settles.

💖💖

Thank you for reading!

I'll be gone until Monday again but I'll try to write on my phone!! I have literally never been so busy throughout this summer until now!

Chapter 4

[holylulusworld]

Last kiss

Summary: One day he was just gone…

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: angst, language, unrequited love, abandonment, break-up, sadness, written in readers PoV, comforting, fluff

Words: 1,5k+

A/N: This is my entry for @msmarvelouswinchester​​‘s 500 follower celebration. I had the prompt: “The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I’m still in love with you.”

A/N2: Story got inspired by Taylor Swift’s song ‘Last kiss’; lyrics at the end taken from the song

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

I still remember the way he looked at me. It was like I was a one in a million to him. His green eyes sparkled, and I got lost in those mysterious orbs and his smile. God the smiles he gave me.

All gone now, just like him.

I still can’t believe he left without saying goodbye. How could he do this to me when he told me he loved me and held me in his arms, promising me forever.

Now all I got left are a few pictures and fading memories. I do recall how he picked me up from work, twirled me around, and kissed me. I feel him, feel his lips on mine every night only to wake alone. Cold and lonely.

Sometimes I feel his arms, those strong anchors grounding me when I was about to drift away in my too sad thoughts. Dean was the one getting me through all the pain and sorrows life sometimes throws at you.

But he’s gone now, and I’m lost without him.

At night, when there is no one to talk to I sit on the floor, wearing the clothes he forgot to take with him when he left me behind. All I can think about is to become the woman he would miss.

How can I be someone he will regret leaving behind? Maybe I could call him once again – there is still a chance he’ll answer his phone this time.

Honestly, I don’t know how it happened, but I lost my Dean. One day he kisses me so softly, pressing his body to mine to let me feel his heartbeat. – The next he was just gone as if we never existed.

Our love, all it was is, gone and forgotten. Dust in the wind. 

I sit once again on the cold ground, try to remember his smile but, I can’t see it anymore. My vision becomes blurry when I realize it’s been too long to remember how it felt to be his…

At least he gave me the perfect last kiss, one to remember. If I close my eyes and touch my lips I can still feel it. – Just like his name on my tongue. (If I allow myself to speak it aloud.)

So many memories well up tonight. Well, it’s not any night – it’s our anniversary or would be. I don’t know if it’s still an anniversary if one partner is missing. But love doesn’t go away that easily, even if it’s a whole year without him.

God, I wish he could see me now, the woman he turned me into. I used to be so lively, quirky, and annoyingly happy when he was still around.

Now that he’s gone, a shadow of myself lives at our house. No, not ours, mine. Dean never wanted the house; I know for sure. He rolled his eyes when I squealed and told him that this will become our home – in the end, it became an empty shell of our love.

My eyes drift toward one of the pictures on the floor and I smile for a moment, forgetting the man kissing me fiercely on the photo broke my heart.

Sam took the picture, I remember well. But just like Dean, he disappeared, left me behind. His declared family and friend.

I look at the next picture, hoping to find my peace when I do so but all it brings are more memories and tears. Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, smiling, but just now I see it doesn’t reach his eyes.

My heart aches at the memory as it’s the last picture I took, three days before he left me. I reach out for the picture to pick it up. I study Dean’s face, seeing the worry and something else in his eyes before I press it to my chest.

“I hope wherever you are, the sun shines for you, my love,” I choke the words out, not caring more tears run down my cheeks. “I’m wishing you well and hope she’s beautiful and all you ever wanted, Dean. Maybe one day something reminds you of me and you wished you came back to me…”

I close my eyes for a moment, recall the way he whispered my name or kissed me silly before I could argue with him. For a short time, Dean was my whole life and I had hoped I was his.

On nights like these, I wish he had stayed or at least said goodbye. I often wonder if it would have made a difference. Would I be less heartbroken? Could I move on easier knowing why he left me?

I get up slowly, cherish the memories one last time before I leave the bedroom I shared with Dean to sleep in my guest room. I don’t find it in me to sleep on the bed we shared.

My feet carry me toward the guest room, but a noise catches my attention. I frown, wondering why I hear footsteps before it’s too late.

Heart beating a mile in a minute I wonder if I can make it to the guest room to reach my phone but it’s too late. Rough hands grasp for me and then I’m suddenly in someone’s arms.

I fight his embrace, struggle against the man’s strength but I can’t give up. I don’t want to die or worse. I can smell the dirt, blood, and something rotten on him and know, he’ll kill me if he gets the chance.

“Sweetheart,” my body goes stiff when I look up to meet teary green eyes. “I made it back,” Dean whispers, looking at me as if I should be happy he left and came back a year later.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” those are not the words I wanted to say if I ever see Dean again. “You left me and now you come here and act as if nothing happened?”

“Y/N let me explain, please,” Dean tries but I push him off me, shaking my head. Tears slip down my cheeks and I stifle back a sob.

“You broke my heart, Dean. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?” I choke on my words. “I woke up alone and waited for you. Days passed, then weeks and after three months I knew you didn’t want me anymore.”

“God, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Please let me explain. Didn’t Sammy tell you what happened?” I shake my head, looking away as my friend, Dean’s brother let me down too.

“No. He disappeared, just like you. Do you know what’s the worst?” I meet Dean’s gaze, giving him a sad smile, and oddly, his eyes fill with tears. “The worst thing is, that even after all of that, I’m still in love with you.”

“Baby girl, I promise that I didn’t leave you,” Dean steps closer to bring me back in his arms, and I let him, to cry in his chest. “Do you remember the things I told you about the monsters stealing people’s faces?”

“Leviathans,” I whimper. “I thought you wanted to make fun of me or were drunk. You never mentioned them again, though.”

“Well, if you give me the chance, I’ll tell you everything. Let’s begin with that I’m not a mechanic. I’m a hunter, hunting monsters.”

“Like vampires?” I sniff, looking up at Dean. He nods before he pecks my forehead softly. “Werewolves?”

Dean clears his throat, looking at me before he presses his lips to mine. “I killed their boss, Dick Roman but, he took me with him. I was at Purgatory for a year. I fought monsters, slaughtered all of them to get back to you.”

“Purgatory? Like in the Bible?” dumbfounded I look at Dean, finally seeing the dirt and blood on his face. He looks like he went through hell and back. “This place exists?”

“Sam, he should’ve told you what happened. I don’t know why he didn’t come to you, but I swear, I would’ve never left you like this, Y/N,” he hides his face in the crook of my neck, inhales deeply. “I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart.”

“I’ve missed you too, Dean,” I feel my legs give in but Dean catches me just in time and I rest my head against his shoulder when he carries me toward our shared bedroom. “Missed you so much.”

“I need a shower,” I laugh at Dean’s words, nodding eagerly as he places me onto the bed. “When I’m done, I promise to tell you everything you want to know. Please, I need you to believe me.”

“I believe you,” sniffing I grasp Dean’s hand to hold it for a moment, to be sure this is not a dream.

“I’m here, Y/N and if you let me stay, I’ll never leave again,” I nod, getting back up from the bed to help Dean out of his dirty clothes. “Sweetheart,” he whispers when I press my lips to his cheek.

“I’ll never let you go again, promised,” I kiss his lips, hands cupping his face to not end it too soon. “Please don’t go.”

“I won’t,” closing my eyes I let Dean run his fingers through my hair. He kisses me again, mumbles promises against my lips as I pray – he will keep them this time…

Just like our last kiss

Forever the name on my lips

Forever the name on my lips

Just like our last...

Tags in reblog

[eastofthemoon]

Never thought I would write Lego Monkie King fic, but here we are.

Title: Did I Forget To Mention

Rating: G

Characters: Monkey King, MK and Pigsy

Summary: Monkey King was certain he knew all about MK. However, after a visit he suddenly realizes how little he does know his successor.

Archive of Our Own

Wukong flew across the sky in his bird form. He hadn’t planned on training the kid until tomorrow, but the weather was just too perfect to waste.

Besides, it was either that or house clean and he wasn’t in the mood for it. It could wait another week or two.

Wukong gave a small twirl in the air as he flapped his wings and soon landed on top of the sign.

He spotted MK walking out with Pigsy close behind. Wukong wanted to swoop down and surprise tackle the kid, but paused. MK wasn’t in his regular set of clothes. They were strangely a lot nicer than normal and he was even straightening a tie?

Wukong tilted his bird head in confusion. He didn’t even know the kid had nice clothes. Where was he going that he had to dress so formally?

Curious, Wukong stayed in his bird form and flew a little closer, but made certain to stay out of sight.

“I shouldn’t be long, Pigsy,” MK said as he put a bag in his delivery cart. “I’ll be back by the lunch rush-”

“Kid, it’s fine,” Pigsy said as he patted the kid’s shoulder. “Sandy says he got you covered, just try to be back by the dinner and we’re good.”

He’s oddly flexible today, Wukong thought. Pigsy always got so cranky when he was dragging MK off to do some training.

MK sighed, but gave a smile. “Okay, thanks, Pigsy.”

Pigsy waved a hand. “Don’t mention it.” He then rubbed his neck and passed MK a small box. “Oh and uh, here I made some egg tarts for your folks.”

Wukong frowned. Folks? Did he mean MK’s parents?

MK’s eyes widened happily. “Really? Wow, thanks, Pigsy! That saves me having to stop by the bakery.” The kid carefully tucked the box into the bag and climbed into the car. “Alright, I’ll see you later.”

“Stay safe,” Pigsy said with a wave before venturing inside his restaurant.

Wukong quietly watched MK drive away.

MK had never mentioned his parents to Wukong before. He talked about Mei, Sandy, Pigsy and Tang, and sometimes even mentioned an aunt of his, but never his parents. Wukong knew he lived by himself, but he never thought too hard about it. Granted it was odd the kid was making such a big fuss over seeing his parents.

Were they super strict or something? Was that why he didn’t leave with them?

Wukong probably should have gone back to the Flower Fruit Mountain, but he found himself flying after MK’s cart. The lack of information was going to nag him until he knew.

It didn’t take long for Wukong to get his answer when MK climbed out of the delivery car and ventured into a graveyard.

Wukong felt his heart stop as he watched MK carefully carry the bag and walked until he reached a pair of tombstones.

MK gave a small smile. “Hi Mom, hi Dad.”

Wukong landed on a nearby tree, but kept his distance.

MK silently cleaned the tombs. He then placed the flowers along with the egg tarts and burned some incense before kneeling.

“I bet you guys are worried about me,” he rubbed his neck. “It’s been a year, but don’t worry. I have a great mentor in the Monkey King and all of my friends got my back. I’ll be okay.”

He then folded his hands to pray and then rose up once he was finished. MK gave one more smile at the tombstones before picking up his now empty bag and left.

Wukong waited until MK got to his delivery car and drove away. He shifted back into his true form as he landed in front of the tombstone.

Quietly, he gave a bow and lingered for a moment before turning back to his bird form and flew away.

No training today. There was a lot he had to think about.

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

Wukong returned to Flower Fruit Mountain until it was close to evening. He took flight as a bird again and headed to Pigsy’s restaurant. He waited until the shop closed and Wukong watched MK and Tang head home.

He snuck through an opened window, reverted to his true form when he landed and entered the kitchen. Pigsy was in the middle of washing dishes.

Wukong cleared his throat. “Hey Pigsy, I-”

He briefly regretted it as Pigsy yelped, spun around with a wet frying pan in hand ready to attack. Wukong prepared to dodge, but Pigsy froze upon seeing him and blinked.

“MONKEY KING?!”! He cried and cursed before shaking the wet frying pan in his face. “Geez, didn’t anyone ever tell you to not sneak up on people?!”

“Sorry,” Wukong said as he held up his hands. “Didn’t realize this was how you greeted paterons?!”

“It is when people sneak in here after I locked up the place when it’s supposed to be empty,” Pigsy snapped.

Wukong raised an eyebrow and gestured to the window. “Not completely locked up. You missed a window.”

Pigsy frowned, glanced to where he pointed and grumbled. “The one time I forget-” He shook his head. “Wait, nevermind that! What do you want? I doubt it’s about testing my security.”

Wukong’s eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. “I needed to discuss something about MK and you seemed like the best person to ask.”

Pigsy’s eyes widened. “The kid? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Wukong said quickly and rubbed his neck. “But...I didn’t realize his parents were dead.”

The small panic left Pigsy’s face before the cook turned back to scrubbing his pan. “He told you?”

“Not exactly,” Wukong said. “I spotted him this morning and followed him.”

Pigsy raised an eyebrow at him. “So you saw him visiting his parents' graves?”

“Yeah,” Wukong said slowly. “When..did they die? Was it recent?”

“No, years ago,” Pigsy said as he rinsed the frying pan. “He was little at the time. MK admitted to me he doesn’t remember them much.”

“I see,” Wukong replied. “So, who raised him?”

“His aunt took him in,” Pigsy continued as he set the frying pan aside and tackled a bowl. “Known her for years, nice lady. Bit of an airhead sometimes, but she does love MK.”

“But he’s not living with her now, right?” Wukong asked. “I was under the impression he lived by himself.”

Wukong knew the laws enough to know that legally MK was just old enough to be living on his own. It wasn’t common, but it did happen. He never gave much thought as to why in MK’s case.

“He does,” Pigsy replied. “Not long ago MK’s aunt got offered her dream job that requires a lot of traveling. She was reluctant to take it because of how it might affect MK.”

Wukong raised an eyebrow. “So, she didn’t?”

“No, she did,” Pigsy said as he looked up. “She never told MK about the job offer, but he accidently found out about it. So he decided suddenly that he was old enough to move out and take care of himself.”

He huffed. “Although what he defines as ‘caring for himself’ is up for debate, but I digress. MK moved out and his aunt took the job while making sure to send MK rent money to help out. She sends him a postcard about twice a month.”

Wukong frowned. He did recall MK flashing a postcard in his face a few times, but Wukong would often try to redirect the kid towards their lesson for the day.

Pigsy glanced over his shoulder as he pointed a finger at Wukong. “Now, my question is, why are you asking me all of this and not MK?”

“How could I?” Wukong said as he said on the floor and leaned against the wall. “The kid never told me any of this. He must have had his reasons for not wanting me to know.”

It bothered him. Wukong wasn’t fully sure he understood why, but it did. He was MK’s mentor. This was stuff he felt like he should now, right?

“I thought we had a good relationship,” Wukong continued. “This is a big detail to not tell someone. How could-”

Suddenly, something hard struck the top of his head.

Wukong yelped as he looked up and saw the culprit was the frying pan in Pigsy’s hands.

“OW!” Wukong rubbed his head as he growled. “That hurt-”

“Oh, please,” Pigsy snapped. “I know it takes way more than a frying pan to actually hurt you.”

Wukong glared. That might be true, but it still stung. “But what was that for-”

���Because for someone who is immortal you’re not too bright!” Pigsy set down the frying pan. “MK never told you because he didn’t want you to know! The kid just never thought of it!”

Wukong blinked. “What?”

Pigsy sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, it’s hard to explain, but when someone you know dies after a while you just naturally forget who knows and who doesn’t.” He tossed his hands up in the air. “It probably just didn’t occur to him to bring it up.”

Wukong raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help, but wonder if Pigsy was speaking from personal experience.

The Monkey King gave a sigh as he rubbed his neck. “Okay, fine, but we’ve known each other for close to a year now? How could he not think of bringing it up?”

“How would he?” Pigsy retorted. “What do you expect him to do?” He gave a fake grin and waved. “Hiya Monkey King! How’s your day going? Oh, by the way my parents are dead!”

Wukong cringed and pointed back. “Okay, first of all, NEVER smile like that again it’s creepy and second,” he frowned, “I get what you’re saying but still…”

Pigsy’s eyes narrowed. “Let me put it this way, when the two of you have ‘talked’ has it been about MK himself or has it been all about you and his training?”

Wukon raised, but then dropped his arm in thought. MK did mention his friends, but it was usually just some side note before Wukong changed the subject or he recalled a detail from his own adventures.

Wukong didn’t reply, but the silence seemed to be more than enough of an answer for Pigsy.

“That’s what I thought,” Pigsy said as he returned to the dishes in the sink. “I’m just an outsider here, but it seems to me that MK knows a lot more about you than you do about him.”

Wukong’s tail twitched in thought. After a long moment he gave himself a deep sigh. “You’re right.” He shook his head. That was the downside of being immortal. It was a lot easier to forget the world doesn’t revolve around you.

“I need to fix this,” Wukong said aloud. He wasn’t sure if he was saying it to Pigsy or to himself.

Pigsy snorted. “First smart thing you said since you got here.”

Wukong gave a small smile. “Thanks, Pigsy.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Pigsy said as he glared. “Just try to avoid giving me any more future heart attacks.”

“No promises,” as Wukong turned to leave. “Unless you are willing to offer me free noodles?”

Pigsy picked up the frying pan. “Do you want another whack?”

Wukong held up his hands. “Nah, I’m good. See you around.”

He heard Pigsy give another disgruntled snort as he turned into a bird and flew off. As Wukong headed home, plans began to form in his head. He would find a way to fix this.

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

The next day, MK arrived at Flower Fruit Mountain. He was a bit earlier than Wukong expected, but it wouldn’t disrupt his plans.

“Heya, Bud,” Wukong greeted from his seat on his cloud. “Bit early today?”

MK huffed as he ran up. “Pigsy said I could have the morning off, so I thought it would be good if I came earlier.”

“Did he?” Wukong replied and gave a smirk. I wonder if he did that for me, but I won’t question it if he did.

MK swung his staff. “So, what are we focussing on today? Defence? Strike attacks? How to hang upside down without throwing up?”

“None,” Wukong said as he landed and brought out the book he’d been hiding. “Thought we try some of this?”

MK’s eyes lit up. “What is it? An ancient book of spells?! Secret techniques?!”

Wukong laughed as he tossed it to him. “Take a look.”

MK caught it, and suddenly the excitement on his face turned to confusion. “A...cookbook?”

Wukong crossed his arms as his tail twitched. “Yeah, I thought it was time to try something different. Never hurts to take it easy every once in a while, right?”

MK gave a thoughtful frown as he flipped through the pages.

Wukong rubbed his neck. “Something wrong, Bud?””

Did MK not like the idea?

“Oh, it’s nothing,” MK said hastily and laughed as he gave a nervous smile. “I just didn’t think that you cooked anything.”

Wukong raised an eyebrow. “What? Did you think I ate nothing but peaches and peach chips?”

“Um...kind of?” MK muttered with a sheepish grin.

Wukong raised a hand, but then lowered it. It was his favorite snack so he couldn’t blame the kid. He shook his head.

“Anyway,” Wukong said as he wrapped an arm around MK’s shoulder. “Why don’t we try one of these recipes?”

“I’m not a great cook,” MK said, but then gave a small laugh. “Although, I’m a lot better than my Aunt Ling.”

“Oh, yeah?” Wukong asked as they headed to his house.

MK laughed. “Yeah, she once tried to make dumplings and we nearly set the kitchen on the fire.” The boy laughed at the memory. “Granted, if she wasn’t such a bad cook I wouldn’t have met Mei.”

“Oh, really?” Wukong said as they entered the house. “Why don’t you tell me all about it while we cook.”

MK’s face brightened as he told the story and Wukong didn’t interrupt him. In the end, the food they made wasn’t great, but it was worth it for the stories MK shared. It was a small step, but it was one in the right direction.

[qobiin]

to live for us

pairing: gratsu (gray x natsu)

genre: angst, fluff | established relationship, canon-compliant

warnings: mentioned suicide attempt, post-galuna island arc, hurt/comfort, gray needs therapy

word count: 1684

summary: Natsu and Gray finally sit down and talk about Gray's Iced Shell attempt on Galuna Island.

“We need to talk.”

Natsu looks up from the drink Mirajane set down on the table before him a few minutes ago. Gray is standing in front of him, arms crossed against his chest in an attempt to stop his hands from subconsciously removing his clothes.

It never works, but Gray is of the mind that it makes him appear more intimidating than he actually is. Of course, Natsu isn’t sure he could ever find someone who wears underwear with hearts on them intimidating.

“Finally!” Natsu cheers, forcing a smile onto his face even when it’s the last thing he wishes to do. “Back home then?”

Gray nods even as he scowls, but he turns on his heel and immediately makes his way towards Fairy Tail’s doors anyway. Natsu jumps up from his seat and waves goodbye to Lucy who is sitting at the bar with Erza.

Happy looks up at him as he stands, but Natsu only has to wave wordlessly at him before the blue cat returns to focusing on his food. Gray is already halfway across the room, not one to wait or beat around the bush for important conversations like the one they are going to have. Natsu follows after him with his signature smile stuck in place, making sure to not have anything appear out of the ordinary about this situation.

He catches a few Fairy Tail members giving them odd glances, probably due to his and Gray’s lack of fighting and loud taunting. Natsu only waves pointedly at them before they avert their gazes and return back to what they were doing beforehand.

Natsu does not try to be subtle as he sniffs the air, taking in the familiar mix of scents in the guild. Everyone in the guild has known him long enough to know about the extent of the abilities he gained through the Dragon Slayer Magic that Igneel taught him as a child. There’s no need to be secretive around his hoard anyway.

Out in the streets, trailing after Gray as he leads them home, Natsu tones down on his sniffing as best as he can. If he garners a few strange or confused looks though, he doesn’t beat himself up about it. Most of these people will write off his behavior as a weird wizard thing and continue on with their day as they give him a wide berth. There is no need to worry.

His attention is drawn back to the moment when the scents start to signal his proximity to their home. Gray reaches the front door first and unlocks it, leaving it open for Natsu behind him.

The smell of home almost knocks him off his feet as he crosses the threshold. It’s just his, Happy, and Gray’s scents here, with hints of Erza scattered all around. Albeit, Gray’s scent is a bit stale considering the fact this is his first time returning home since they came back from Galuna Island.

They escaped punishment for breaking guild rules because the master wasn’t there but Natsu would like to not switch bodies with anyone ever again. It has been a few days at this point and still, Gray has not returned home. Natsu has been waiting patiently for this moment when they will sit down and discuss what is wrong.

Gray is sitting on their bed, shoes off and hands gripping the bottom of his shirt. Natsu reaches out and stops him from stripping, eyes on Gray’s face as the man focuses back in on the moment at present.

“Thanks,” Gray mumbles sullenly, his gaze downcast.

Natsu doesn’t say anything. He merely waits.

“I know you’re mad at me, but if you could tell me why you’re mad at me, it would make my apologizing to you much easier,” Gray scrambles to say after a moment of silence has passed between them.

Natsu tilts his head to the side and inhales, tasting the nerves and fright swirling around the edges of Gray’s scent. He exhales heavily, sitting down slowly on the bed beside Gray.

He leans back and lies down, keeping his eyes on the ceiling and not the man who should have been home with him these past few days. “I’m not mad.”

Gray twists at the waist to stare at him, his shoulders a stiff line that Natsu isn’t sure he has permission to soothe just yet. “Lying won’t help.”

“I’m not mad,” Natsu repeats, relaxing as their scents begin to blend together. “I’m worried about you. You scared me back there when you were going to sacrifice yourself to restrain Lyon. You knew by doing it your way you were going to end your life and yet you tried anyway.”

The silence that befalls them then is deafening. It goes on long enough that Natsu wonders if he should be angry after all. After a few seconds of contemplation though, he decides that anger would not help him right now and waits patiently for Gray to say something.

However, the longer the silence continues, the less likely Natsu believes that to be. Gray isn’t known for talking about feelings. Not just his own, but discussing feelings in general always gives his face a pinched quality that Natsu can’t help but laugh at sometimes.

He isn’t laughing now.

“You remember what I said when I asked you if we could find a place together, right?” Natsu asks once he is certain Gray won’t say anything without more prompting.

Natsu sees Gray’s nod in the corner of his eye and grins up at the ceiling as he thinks of the memory. Gray’s eyes had gone wide with surprise, his scent expanding with the force of it and appealing to Natsu so much he barely realized how close he had been getting until Gray pushed him back with a hand on his bare chest. Natsu had leaned in again to bury his nose in Gray’s neck anyway and gulp down lungfuls of his scent, smiling as Gray threaded his fingers through his hair and asked him why.

“I told you that you were the first in the guild to be added to my hoard when we were children. That I would want you near almost always and would despise every moment that we were apart,” Natsu recalls, his smile softer at the edges now. “I told you I fell in love with you when we were teenagers and that I would like to make you my mate in the future and you accepted.”

Natsu waits again, just to see if Gray will say anything at all before he uses his last-ditch effort. “How am I going to make you my mate if you’re not there for the future?”

Gray makes a sound as if Natsu has just kicked all the air out of his chest. They have fought and sparred enough times for Natsu to know what that actually sounds like so when Gray wheezes, he sits up quickly. He reaches out and takes Gray’s hands, biting his lip as the man who is his opposite in almost everything finally begins to cry.

Natsu moves closer until he can wrap his arms around Gray, tucking his head under Natsu’s chin as he shakes. His breath hitches but Natsu only clutches him tighter, holding him securely in his arms even as Gray somehow migrates to his lap. Natsu doesn’t mind that, he just holds on and waits.

Eventually, Gray’s sobs begin to make sense. Most of what he is saying is a mantra of “I’m sorry”s and half-aborted “I didn’t mean to do that”s, but Natsu gets the gist. He shushes and rocks Gray in his arms, focusing on their scents instead of the urge to cry with his mate.

When the worst of Gray’s tears have dried up, Natsu kisses the side of his head and pulls back far enough for their gazes to meet. Gray’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy but he isn’t avoiding Natsu’s gaze anymore and that’s definitely a start.

“I think what happened with Ur was only dragged back up at Galuna Island and you never really healed from it,” Natsu ponders aloud, tilting his head in silent question and continuing when Gray nods tiredly. “She raised you like Igneel raised me and we’ve never gotten over suddenly losing them. Have we?”

Gray has to clear his throat twice before he says, “I don’t think we’ll ever be over that.”

“No,” Natsu agrees. “We won’t.”

“I should talk to someone,” Gray murmurs, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement when Natsu raises an unimpressed brow at him. “A professional. Mirajane has been saying I should talk to the Good Doctor who helped Elfman after…”

Natsu smiles bitterly in response. Elfman was not the only one who had to talk to the Good Doctor after Lisanna died after all. Gray knows about this, of course, but Natsu had never strived to convince him of talking to the Good Doctor until now.

“I can let them know at my next session to expect an inquiry from you?” Natsu suggests.

Gray nods, leaning in quickly to press a kiss to Natsu’s cheek. “I’m still sorry. I just didn’t know how to fix things back on Galuna Island.”

Natsu nods but knows without seeing that his smile is not as bright anymore. “I think you just have to remember that you’re not alone anymore. Neither of us is and I’ll always have your back. We’re Fairy Tail members and you’re the one who I want to spend the rest of my life with. I want us both to have long futures ahead of us.”

Gray’s cheeks flush a light pink, his scent curling with both embarrassment and quiet joy. “It will be hard, but I’ll try. If not for me or for you, then for Ur. For the life she gave me by giving up her own.”

“For Ur and Igneel,” Natsu agrees. “May they look upon us and see us happy. Together.”

“Together,” Gray assures him before he leans in and their lips meet in a soft kiss.

a/n: i forgot to post this when i first posted it on ao3, but i hope you all like this! this was written for icewhisper as part of the secret snipers exchange 2020!

[halcyonstorm]

The Girl at the Library Chapter 1

Short Fic - Levihan

Themes: College AU, Library, Fluff, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Female Hange Zoe, Student!Levi

Word Count: 5730

Chapter: 1/3

Warning: Mild Language

Read on Ao3 - The Girl at the Library

Summary: Levi is a college student who needs help on his research paper. Luckily, Hange is a book worm and works at the library. 

Levi was stressed and annoyed, mainly because he was in college. Of course with college comes infinite amounts of homework assignments, 100-question exams with astronomical amounts of topics on them, unnecessary research papers, and staying in a dorm room with a kid that happens to have no problem inviting his friends over every night to hang out and party with no regards to his sullen roommate.

Levi had a paper coming up. He had to come up with a topic, find sources, and finish his paper by the end of the semester. With three weeks left to go, he decided he’d rather get it over with. He began his brainstorming in the study lounge at the center of his dormitory floor. He was starting to stress. He sat on the big yellow leather couch in the way-too-bright study lounge with his laptop in his lap. He tapped his pen against his head as he tried to think of an idea. 

“You have to write about a topic related to your major,” The professor explained. “This is the one and only paper you will have assigned this semester. I suggest you get it done as early as possible.”

If only it were that easy. He had the rubric pulled up in one tab, and a ton of “How to pick a research topic” websites in others. His major was pharmaceuticals, a field he was inspired to take on because of his mother. She was very ill when he was very young, so they were in and out of hospitals. He was sitting on the edge of his mother’s hospital bed when a nurse came in the room to administer her medications. 

“This is…” His memory was blurry. “This medication will help… and make you feel better.” And it did. 9 year old Levi was fascinated. This one little pill or bag of what looked like water helped his mother feel better. Within hours, his mother’s skin went from pallor to beige. Her hands were warmer. She looked more awake, more alive. She didn’t wince at Levi’s touch. She was in less pain. She got better, like the nurse predicted.

Since then, Levi always asked questions whenever they visited the hospitals again and again. “What kind of drug is that?” “What does it do?” “How long does it take to take effect?”

Levi recalled the memory with a deep sigh. He missed his mother. She was at home, not too far away. Levi never had the time to travel the hour through the big city to visit her. When he did have free time, he spent it studying or sleeping. He felt his heart twinge at this. She had sacrificed everything to help him attend college and to give him a good life.

Now with his head cloudy, he went to reach his water bottle in his backpack. He opened the lid and took a sip. At that moment, he could hear some obnoxiously loud students throwing tennis balls back and forth to each other. He recognized these kids too, they were some (of many) of the lovely visitors his roommate had over most nights. Suddenly in the blink of an eye, Levi’s water bottle spilled all over his laptop, a tennis ball on the floor next to him, and some worried voices approaching him. Within seconds, the laptop started to steam and the screen went black.

His laptop was fried, he determined. He felt heat start to rise inside of him. 

“Oh my god, man. I am so sorry,” One of the kids said, trying to hold back a laugh. 

“Yeah, man. We didn’t mean to.”

Levi took a deep breath and stood up. These kids… were gonna pay.

He closed his broken laptop and stood up. These kids were much taller than him, but looked to be easily intimidated by Levi’s presence. 

“Do you have the money to pay for this?” He sneered, getting very close to their faces. 

“Eh… no, but we have jobs! We can pay you back over time,” One of the kids trailed off. They seemed to be intimidated by the short man. “You live in 112 right?”

Levi nodded, his face heating up with anger. “This laptop cost me a lot of money.”

“We get it, man! We said we’re sorry,” the other kid explained. “We’ll pay you back or whatever.”

“Tch,” Levi clicked. He was extremely pissed. These kids should not be throwing balls at each other in the hallway. Also, they spilled his water which made a mess. “Which room are you both in?” They responded with 118. The one kid explained they get paid on the 15th and 30th of each month. Luckily, their pay day was 4 days away.

“I’ll stop by Tuesday, the 16th,” Levi decided, before gathering his things and heading to the stairs. He began to walk through the campus. Fuck, now where was he gonna go? How was he gonna find his topics? His computer was fucked. Putting it in rice wouldn’t have helped. He was so occupied having a debate with himself about where to research, he almost missed it. If he looked the other way or even blinked in that moment, he wouldn’t have seen it. It was the campus library. No, not the campus library, but a campus library. It blended into the surroundings, hidden from the passerbyers. There was a sign in the window “We’re Open!”. 

The library was small, to say the least. It was old fashioned, which contrasted the modern aesthetic of the university. It was a small, dark brown, wooden building with four-pane windows. The door was a lighter shade of brown. He decided it was easier to check out this little library instead of walking another 10 minutes to get to the main library. He didn’t have time to waste. He had to get started with his paper right away. He walked up to the door and opened it. When he did, a little bell rang at the doorway. 

“Just a minute!” A woman’s voice called from the back. Levi decided to wander around. There were many books crammed on the shelves. There were two computers on each side when he walked in. They looked out of place, considering they were very modern compared to the architecture of the library itself. The books were all shades of bright, vibrant colors. It was strange. From the outside, it seemed creepy and gloomy. Once he walked in, it was very cozy. The dark walls of the library contrasted the beautiful colors of the books.

Then, he saw the woman come out. She came up to the desk. He expected an elderly lady with her glasses on a chain, but he assumed this woman was a student. She was a young woman who wore thin oval glasses and her brown hair thrown up in a messy half-up-half-down ponytail. 

“Hi!” The woman said. “How can I help you?”

“I want to use a computer, please,” He announced. He glanced at her nametag which hung like a necklace around her neck. “Hange” was the name on the tag. It was strange and unordinary, but it had a nice ring to it. The name seemed to suit her.

“Sure! You are allowed up to two hours a day,” Hange explains. “You can choose whichever computer you’d like.”

The computers were unoccupied. In fact, the entire library seemed vacant except for him and the employee. 

“Does anyone actually come here?” Levi asked, setting his stuff down next to a desk, and looking her way. She looked like someone who would work at a library. 

The brunette chuckled. “You are my third visitor today!” She exclaimed proudly. It was already about 3pm. He remembered the sign in the front says “12pm-6pm weekdays”. 

Levi chuckled silently, air huffed out his nose. “How do you stay in business?”

“Well, the university thinks it’s good to have a small library in the outskirts of the campus so students have access to books and computers because the main campus library is in the center of the plaza. Sometimes we get about ten people a day, and sometimes they don’t even take anything out. Sometimes I wonder how…” She began to ramble now. She definitely has not had anyone else visit her today.

She was starting to get on his nerves. It’s been 20 minutes since he arrived, and she was still talking. He zoned out until she caught his attention.

“Hey,” She said. “What’s your name? I have to track whoever comes in to use the computers.” 

Why? No one else comes in. He noticed her clipboard with the sign-ins was blank.

“Levi Ackerman,” He announced. She scribbled his name down. “Okay, it’s 3:30 now, so you have till 5:30 if needed.” She pointed to the clock with her pen as she explained. He nodded and proceeded to walk towards the table with the computer he claimed. He sat down and began working.

-

He was an hour into his research when he finally threw his hands up in the air in frustration. He still couldn’t think of a topic. He groaned aloud.

Hange was leaning against the main desk, her nose stuck in a book. “How Trees Communicate” was the title. When she heard the young man groan, she looked up. 

“Is everything okay?” She asked, peering over her book at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” He mumbled. “Fine…”

Hange raised an eyebrow. She placed her bookmark at her spot, then strolled around the desk and walked over to him.

“What are you working on?” She asked, sitting in the seat next to him and put her hands on her knees, looking at him curiously. He scoffs. It was none of her business, he thought to himself. And it’s an invasion of privacy.

He was frustrated and desperate. Hoping for a miracle, he managed to tell her anyways.

 “I need a topic for my paper and I can’t think of any…” Levi began. “It needs to be based on pharmaceuticals, my major. It also needs scientific evidence to back up my research…”

She was fully absorbed in what he had to say. She was bored, so helping Levi would’ve been something to do at least. Besides, Levi was in luck. She was an avid reader, always reading about anything and everything. She was studying plants and botanicals, but she found herself frequently taking out books about cooking; religion; war; animals; and medical topics including surgery, pathophysiology, anatomy, and pharmaceuticals.

“What about how diuretics affect blood pressure?” Hange suggested. Levi was taken aback. His eyebrows furrowed, and he shook his head in confusion. “Or if anti-alzheimer drugs actually help slow the progression of Alzheimer’s? Why do you take different medications during certain stages of Alzheimer’s disease? Or how do anti-seizure medications work? That is something I ask myself all the time. You take this little pill and BOOM! You’ll be fine, no seizure! Oh, oh, oh! Or, how certain medications cause certain adverse effects? How come so many medications cause anxiety?” Her eyes started to light up as she talked. They were a dark brown, but when she started to talk, they seemed to morph to a captivating hazel. He felt he could see every color in her eyes. He saw brown and green and the little lines of her iris. Hange’s hands would move as she talked, and her smile grew wide. She couldn’t keep still. She was getting excited by coming up with all these ideas. She seemed so passionate and so willing to help; he was overwhelmed by her.

Levi was in shock. His day started off horrible. Now, he was almost glad his laptop was fucked. This woman was making his mind race with ideas. 

“Are you okay?” Hange asked for the second time within his visit there. Levi nodded slowly. “I am just… How do you know all that? Are you a med student?”

Hange chuckled and waved her hand at him. “No… I am a bookworm! Also, my mom is a nurse, so she used to teach me about nursing stuff all the time. Oh! You could write about the pathophysiology of anticholinergics! Or beta blockers! Or how the body reacts to the use of long-term steroids?”

Levi took a deep breath. He felt euphoric. He had been casually trying to think of topics since last week. All of a sudden, this woman can just ramble off hundreds of ideas? Levi smiled visibly.

“Actually… I really like the final topic you suggested. About steroids.” Levi admitted.

Hange smiled back at him. “Great! I can try to help you find some sources or books.” She directed him to open a new tab and to go to a certain database. “This is where you can find reliable sources. Over here,” She pointed to his screen at the left side. “You can add filters. You can change how old or new you’d like the sources to be, filter out certain words or phrases, et cetera.” She had been closer to him now; she scooted her chair closer so she could explain the database to him. It was hard not to look at her as she explained. She was captivating.

Levi began to type in words for his topic.

“Steroids”, “Long-term use”, “Cushing’s Disease”, “Addison’s Disease”, “Addisonian Crisis”, “Pathophysiology”.

He felt like he was finally getting somewhere. He was finally making progress.

-

As Levi was walking home, he couldn’t get his mind off that girl. He decided to brainstorm about his topic in his room once he got there. The thing was, though, he couldn’t think of any more ideas. He found it funny. Of course he was full of ideas and inspiration when he visited that library, but now he’s void of any.

-

Levi’s weekends were no different than the weekdays. He made it appoint to visit the library again the next day, Saturday. It was a sunny, cool Saturday morning. Levi had inspiration to write. He needed a computer and Hange’s ideas. When he arrived, it seemed busy. There were three other patrons at the library.  He recognized Hange right away, helping a tall blonde man with a big nose. He wondered if she was the only employee there. The man she was helping was taller than her, so she had to reach up on her toes to point to items. She was an average height, but this action made her seem shorter than she actually was.

Hange looked his way and greeted him with a toothy smile. Levi waved at her and started to head down one of the aisles of books. He was in the nonfiction section, but was lost. For now, he just casually browsed the section, but quickly got impatient. He needed Hange’s help to find books for this paper. He heard her laugh with the patron. Maybe he’s a friend, he thought to himself. Her laugh was airy and full of heart. It seemed genuine and passionate. Levi felt an urge to make her laugh, too.

She finally made her way over to him. Levi was looking down at a book when she caught his eye. “Hey, stranger!” She greeted him with a wave. “Whatcha looking for?” She placed her hands on her hips.

“I’m trying to find some sources for my paper. Steroids is the topic,” Levi explained.

“Oh, right. I remember! After you left last night, I tried to look for some books for your topic,” She said. She was trying to help me? Levi thought to himself.

She curled her finger in a “follow me” gesture and he did. She brought him to another aisle or two over from where they were. “These are the 600’s, where you’ll most likely find what you’re looking for. I found a book or two about Addison’s disease, but it’s more of a memoir. You can look around though if you’d like. Anything in the 610’s should be right up your alley.” She explained as if she was going to leave, but she didn’t. Hange looked for books with him. 

After a moment, she made a noise. “Look at this!” She exclaimed. She reached next to him to reach for a book. She was on her toes again. “Mmmm,” She moaned as she tried to reach. “Actually, I’m gonna get the step stool. I don’t think I can reach it.” Quickly, she left and came back with the stool. It looked unreliable, but Levi was sure he’d be able to prevent any accident from occurring. Hange placed it on the ground and stepped up on it, grabbing the book with ease. She stepped down with the book in her hand. This book had a white cover with a blue label and was titled “Coping with Prednisone”. Levi was surprised she even knew what prednisone was. 

“Here!” She reached it out for him to grab. He took it and looked at her face. She had that same look in her eyes. “Did you want to use the computer?” He nodded and she led him towards the front of the library. The library was small from the outside, but very deep inside. It reminded him of a forest. 

“I got your name, don’t worry,” She said, clicking her pen and writing his name down on the sheet. 

“Oops!” Hange made a quick grimace. “I added an ‘e’ at the end. I’ll just cross it out.” The statement sounded like it was addressed to herself rather than to anyone else. She crossed out the extra letter.

“Ackermane”. Levi was gonna attempt to make her laugh.

“If you thought I looked like a horse you could’ve just said so.” 

Mane, horse mane. Get it?

It felt like forever before Hange responded. She looked up at him, starting to laugh. It was a short but audible laugh. Her head nodded back and she smiled. Her cheeks turned pink and her eyes lit up for a moment. It made his heart skip a beat. It was a bad joke yet she still laughed. She chuckled. Giggled? No. Laughed lightly. Chortled? Maybe that’s the right word. Whatever it was, he wanted to do it more, maybe even more than that.

He followed her to the computers. The blonde guy she was helping earlier was on one computer. She led him to the two computers across from the other ones and sat down in the chair next to him.

“What are you doing?” Levi asked, placing the book she found for him on the table.

Her eyebrows raised, and after a moment she reacted. She waved her hands in front of her.

“I’m sorry! I thought you may have needed help. I should get back to work anyway. I gotta go through a new box of books that just came in.”

Levi looked up at her. Is she blushing? he asked himself.

“I’ll let you know if I need help.” Levi responded. She smiled at him before quickly walking away.

-

He started to find some evidence-based practice articles about how steroids can cause long-term side effects, especially if stopped abruptly. He made sure to keep the tabs available. He’d have to cite them later. Levi’s mind was racing with words and sentences and ideas. He had to get them down on paper. He opened Documents on the computer and started typing away.

The clicking of the keyboard soothed him. He was a pretty fast typer, he didn’t make many mistakes either. The library around him began to become quiet as his typing got louder and he got deeper in thought. Before he knew it, his two hours were up. He felt someone approach him from his right.

“Hey,” Hange said, gently tapping the table next to him. “It’s 2pm. I gotta close up.”

Levi snapped out of his focused trance with a quick head shake. “Right. Sorry.” He pulled out a flash drive from his backpack and plugged it into the computer. He transferred his document. “I got the first page done.”

Levi asked himself for a brief moment why he was sharing this information with someone he just met. Maybe since she helped him, he felt she should know.

“That’s great! It seemed like you were really focused,” Hange said, walking away to shut off some lights. Only then did he notice the white noise of the overhead lights quickly dissipate. The room buzzed with silence now. Levi and Hange were alone in the library. Suddenly, Levi felt nervous. He watched Hange walk around the room frantically, making sure to shut off all the lights and computers. She grabbed a bag. The bag was a fabric material with a patchwork design that had a long strap that hung on on her shoulder. Maybe she made it herself. She grabbed her big mess of keys and walked towards him.

“Ready?” She said. He nodded and walked outside, holding the door for her. She thanked him, locking the door behind her. They began to walk down the street slowly. 

“Want to grab lunch?” Hange asked, looking at him. Levi looked back at her. She looked pretty.

“Sure, I can eat.” Hange chuckled at that. He didn’t try, but it made her happy for a brief moment. He seemed nervous but she was too.

They decided to eat at a cute restaurant on campus called “Life in Paradis”. It was a small, dainty place with a green and yellow checkered awning. The building was made of yellow brick, and the door was bright green. There were flower pots outside on the windowsill. Again, this place seemed totally out of place in the modern aesthetic of the university. 

“This place is adorable!” Hange exclaimed. “I love the food here. You’ll love it too. They have all kinds of food here.” Levi felt a smile grow on his face. The way she talked made his heart flutter. She was always so passionate. They entered and got a table for two. This is not a date, Levi kept telling himself. Then why were his cheeks red?

They sat down and looked through a menu. Levi wasn’t extremely hungry even though he hadn’t had anything but tea this morning. He peered over his menu to look at the girl. Her hair was different today, he determined. Today all her hair was in a ponytail, and it was higher on her head. She wore a light yellow button-down with a long, light blue cardigan. Hange caught him staring at her and blushed.

“What would you two like to order?” The waitress asked him first.

“I’m gonna get a sandwich, I think,” He said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Turkey sub.” “I think I’m gonna get a chicken caesar salad,” Hange said. He nodded, grabbed the menus, and walked away.

Hange began to talk about how beautiful the flowers outside the restaurant were. They were all variants of pink, purple, yellow, and red. She described the petals and the leaves, the flowers’ origins, and all the meanings of the flowers. Levi wasn’t annoyed by her tangent this time. He actively listened to this girl talk about what fascinated her so much. He found it soothing. It made him wonder how her brain can contain all the information she was spewing at him. He enjoyed watching the way her eyes lit up when she talked. The beautiful green that blossomed at the bottom of her irises when the light hit her eyes at the right angle. The way her lips curled into a big smile when she talked to him. Her cheeks flush to a light pink when she describes the petals of the flowers or how flowers were used to express feelings when words cannot. It made his heart race. 

“Levi,” Hange said. Her affect was the opposite of earlier when she was rambling. She wore a frown on her face, feeling guilty.“I’ve been rambling… sorry. It’s such a bad habit of mine. I can talk for hours and hours.”

“Don’t apologize, four-eyes,” Levi replied, leaning his elbows and forearms on the table in a crossed position. Hange smiled at him. Levi meant it. She shouldn’t apologize for talking, especially if it’s about something she loves. The food had arrived at the table. They ate. Levi felt the need to open up to her about something. He already learned so much about her, and her presence made him feel like he can open up. 

“I like to run,” Levi said abruptly. Hange looked at him intently, chewing on a forkful of salad. “I don’t do it competitively or anything, but I enjoy running. I try to run once or twice a day.” Hange’s eyebrows raised and she nodded in agreement.

“That’s awesome!” She smiled again at him. “I like to run too. I’m really slow and get tired easily, but I enjoy feeling the wind in my hair and feeling my heart pound.” She took a bite of her meal again. Levi nodded and began to eat too. This sandwich was really good.

-

After talking some more about hobbies and school, they both finished their meal. The waiter brought over the check. Hange reached into her pocket for her wallet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Levi asked. Hange furrowed her brows.

“I invited you out to lunch. I will pay,” Hange determined, her wallet now in her hands.

“No,” Levi said too quickly. “I will pay. It’s the least I can do. You helped me with my paper after all.”

The bickering lasted a very long minute. Before she got to think of the idea, Levi grabbed the checkbook and shoved his card inside before handing it to the waiter. Hange looked surprised. She sighed, putting her wallet away.

“Thank you, Levi. But you really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

In all honesty, Hange didn’t have much money. She worked at that library four times a week, but the money she made went towards paying off her tuition. She really wanted to treat this man, her new friend. She wasn’t sure if he thought the same way about her. Did he consider her his friend? She felt slightly embarrassed. She did most of the talking and felt like she was annoying him. Maybe he just wanted to pay so she would lay off. 

But the truth is, Levi felt the opposite way of how she was thinking. He was interested to hear more from her. He was addicted to the way his heart raced when he saw her. 

-

Over the next couple of days, Levi would go to that library whenever he was available. He knew it was closed on Sunday, so he went Monday and Tuesday to the library. Fortunately, he got his first batch of money from the brats that fried his computer. He received $100. Of course it was not enough, but it was a start. Wednesday the 17th came around. This specific day was a wild card. The weather was unpredictable. Levi entered the library just in time; it had started to downpour. The little bell rang as he entered the library. To his surprise, Hange was not working that day. There was a boy behind the counter who was tall and had a brown bowl cut hairstyle.  He almost thought about turning around and leaving when he realized she wasn’t there. The rain charged towards the earth viciously, so he decided to seek shelter in the small library. It almost looked like a hurricane. He felt his mood change into a bad one. He didn’t remember to ask how often she worked. 

“Hi there!” The man said. His name tag read “Moblit”. That’s a dumb name.

“I wanna use a computer,” Levi muttered, walking up to the main desk.

“Okay. Name?” Moblit grabbed the clipboard and a pen.

“Levi Ackerman.”

“Oh, I see you’ve been here before. A lot, actually.” Levi scoffed and rolled his eyes at his comment. He turned around, picked a computer, and sat down. He felt really stupid to not ask her about her schedule.

The two hours he spent working on his paper was incredibly slow. He didn’t get much done that day. He had writer’s block. He was almost done, so he didn’t worry about it too much. He didn’t know Hange’s schedule. He knew she worked Friday, the day they met; Saturday; Monday, and Tuesday. Maybe she only worked four times a week? Before he knew it, he asked Moblit aloud. It was almost an accident.

“Uh, she’ll be in on Friday,” Moblit replied. He probably couldn’t give out that information to some creep who began visiting daily with an attitude. He muttered a “thanks” before finishing up and heading out. The weather was holding up for now, so he decided to make a run for it. He didn’t say goodbye to Moblit.

He didn’t have an umbrella. The sun was trying to shine through the dark, eerie clouds. It wasn’t trying hard enough. He heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

Levi realized that this girl was all he thought about the past few days. Something about her enticed him. Something about her eyes and her presence drew him towards her. His heart skipped a beat whenever she’d graze his hand on accident, or even when she just talked to him. She made him happy. He hadn’t had too many friends in college. Although they just met last week, he felt a deep connection with her. 

Suddenly, the sun poked through the clouds for a brief moment. The world lit up. It was at that moment he recognized a familiar face. Hange. She was walking towards him. She grinned when she saw him. She wore a fitted black t-shirt and baggy, light blue jeans. 

“Levi!” She exclaimed. “I forgot my jacket in the library, so I came down to get it.” 

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t working today.” Is all Levi said. Once he said it, he realized how creepy it must’ve sounded. A man she just met happens to go to this library to work on his project every day, who happens to come up with multiple reasons to interact with her. Maybe she thought he was a perv.

“Ehh!” She sighed. “I’m sorry! I thought I told you I was off today.” Levi shook his head. The comment itself may have sounded rude, but it wasn’t. She genuinely felt bad. “Walk with me.” Levi followed. Guess not.

“I don’t work Wednesday’s and Thursday’s. Well I’m not supposed to be,” Hange explained. “Mobilt, one of my co-workers, is always calling out sick. So I basically run the place.” They walked towards the library again and entered. 

“Hey, Moblit. How’s it going?” Hange said in a normal tone, heading towards the back of the library. Moblit responded briefly, following Hange. Levi decided to hang back, he figured it was a secure area. He looked around awkwardly.

“Hange, you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” Moblit said, following her towards the back. 

Hange chuckled nervously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said bluntly. “He’s just a friend.” Moblit scoffed, rolling his eyes. “If he’s not your boyfriend, how come his mood entirely changed once he saw you?”

Hange found her jacket, folding it over her forearm. “Huh?”

“He was, like, in a bad mood when he came in. He used the computer but he seemed to be pissed or something. Now that he’s with you, he seems… tolerable.”

Hange laughed, feeling her cheeks blush. “It’s nothing like that. People have bad days, you know.”

Hange rolled her eyes and smirked, then headed towards the front of the library. “Ready?” Levi nodded and turned around.

“See you Friday,” Moblit called out. “See ya.” Hange replied.

The two started walking down the street. The air smelt of rain, and the ground was wet from the rain earlier. “Which building is your dorm in?” Hange asked. He was a bit surprised she asked him that, and she was so direct about it.

“Saint Maria,” He replied. She smiled. “Me too! I can’t believe I haven’t seen you around!” The wind picked up and the sky turned darker than before. They both looked up. “If you can’t make it to the library, you can use my desktop in my dorm room,” Hange offered. Levi’s cheeks turned bright red. 

“Thanks, maybe tomorrow I can stop by,” Levi said. It was more of him thinking aloud than a statement. It was too late though, Hange already heard him. He could’ve sworn he didn’t say it aloud.

“That’s fine! I only have a class early tomorrow morning. Come by around 11, okay? My room number is 506.” Levi nodded. Thunder rolled and sounded closer now. They were almost at the dormitory building when it started to downpour. The rain was forcefully coming down on the two. Levi groaned in annoyance. He hated being in the rain. He hated being wet; he hated the wet socks and how gross he felt when it rained. He would’ve started to run to the building to seek cover, but he was taken aback by his new friend.

She was soaked and embracing it. She lifted her head up to face the sky and she laughed. It was loud, happy, genuine, and it took Levi’s breath away. Hange reached her hands out wide and spun around. He saw a strike of lightning light up the sky. He stared at her in awe. His heart swelled. Levi smiled big. After laughing, Hange looked at Levi and shared the look that he wore just a few moments ago. She loved his smile. She wished to make him smile more. She was also determined to make him laugh, too.

She grabbed his hand. “Let’s take cover!” And she pulled him into the dormitory hall. Saint Maria’s hall was beautiful. It had ceiling-to-floor glass pane windows that were always crystal clear. There was a big black modern chandelier that hung from the ceiling. It contained visible light bulbs. Hange secretly loved it. There were the same big, yellow, leather couches in the living room as there were in the study area on his floor. They both wiped their feet off on the big rug in the entryway. 

“I love the rain,” Hange deduced, turning her head to look at him. As if Levi couldn’t tell. Her hand was still holding his. Levi looked up at her. “I like it, too.”

[ladyfawkes]

Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order….yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

[queen-ofsunflowers]

Ms. Midnight’s Heart - One-Shot Preview

Yang's problem began that morning, when Midnight was late to class. She found it kind of weird because given her whole... everything, Midnight was never late for class. She always arrived by the start of the period, or even arrived early sometimes for a dramatic entrance. So, the fact that she was nowhere to be seen was both interesting and concerning all at the same time.

She stewed in her own thoughts for about five minutes before she found herself unable to stay quiet.

"So..." Yang broke the semi-silence in the classroom, turning to the friends that sat around her. "You think something happen?"

Weiss Schnee gave her a look. "Yang--"

"Everyone else is already talking, Weiss. Don't lecture me about this. But I'm serious. Midnight is like... never late."

"Maybe something came up," Blake Belladonna suggested, not looking up from the book she currently had open in her lap. "She is a Pro Hero, too. Maybe they needed her for something."

"Sub woulda shown up by now," Tamaki Amajiki pointed out, leaning forward on his desk. "Hopefully she's okay. If something bad happened..."

"We would know about it if it did. I think she's fine, just a little bit late," Neijre Hadou hummed, tapping her finger against her chin. "I wonder if it has anything to do with her date tomorrow... Hm? What?"

Yang was staring at Nejire. In fact, she was pretty sure that Weiss and Blake were, too. Tamaki sunk down into his seat, ready for what was about to happen.

"A what?" said the three girls in unison. Nejire proudly nodded.

"A date! Valkyrie and I overheard her talking about it yesterday after school! She sounded so excited! Valkyrie thinks its with someone special. We heard Midnight use all kinds of sweet nicknames for her partner, so we think that it might be someone she's been with for a while."

Yang blinked, leaning against her chair. Midnight was dating someone?

"I'm kinda surprised that she managed to land someone like that," she said absentmindedly. "I always thought Midnight... y'know. Didn't stick to one person."

"Nope!" Nejire said, popping the 'p'. "She sounded really excited for it, too. I wonder if it's a Valentine's date. Those are so romantic!" Yang only hummed in agreement. She could faintly recall how her parents would do the same thing, leaving her and her sister with their uncle for the night. They always came back looking so happy. Yang wanted to experience something like that for herself.

The closest thing she ever got to one was when she hung out with Blake last year while her parents went on theirs. And that was only because Blake didn't like being alone, as Yang learned last year as well after their internships.

"Good for Midnight," said Weiss, bringing Yang back to the present. Right, that was the topic of conversation. Midnight. "It's hard for Pro Heroes to maintain relationships."

"What kind of person is Midnight even into...?" Yang mused aloud as she tried to get back into the situation. "Any ideas, Nejire?" Much to Yang's disappointment, Nejire shook her head.

"She didn't say much," Nejire told her. "All I know is that they're another Pro Hero. She said that they would be meeting up after they got off of their patrol." Well, that must make dating a bit easier.

"Is that really all you know?" Yang's dismay grew worse when Nejire nodded. Seriously? She supposed it couldn't be helped. But if Midnight was dating someone... Midnight was someone Yang looked up to and admired. She didn't let anything hold her back.

Unlike Yang herself. She glanced over at Blake for a moment, wondering if Midnight was more like Yang than she realized.

...wait, was that even possible? Would Midnight find interest in someone opposite of her? They said that opposites tended to attract, so maybe...! And if they were making it work as well as it sounded like they were, then maybe...!

Tamaki let out a huff, leaning forward and lowering his voice so that only Yang would hear it. "You shouldn't poke your nose into our teachers' private lives, Yang."

"I know, but..." Yang whispered back as she blew a strand of hair out of her face. She glanced over at one of her friends in particular, who had gone back to reading. "I can't help but be curious. This is Midnight we're talking about."

"Who it is doesn't matter. She's our teacher."

"I know, but...!"

Before the conversation could continue, the door opened and Midnight had rushed in, apologizing for her lateness (apparently there had been some sort of rare fight in the hallway).

And that was the start of Yang Xiao Long's newest self-imposed mission.

The full one-shot will be up on Ao3 on February 14th!

[chestnut-b]

Himawari Chapter 13

“My thanks, Kakashi-san, for the recommendation. You might also be glad to know that Naruto finds great motivation in not just the promise of ramen, but the fact that he may one day finally, and I quote, “give Bakashi-sensei the beat down of a lifetime.”

I do not know what you did to deserve it, but a dream is surely a fine thing to have.

Chapter 13 of a Demon Slayer AU

“Hey, Iruka-nii?”

They were sitting under the tree in the courtyard, and Iruka had just finished recounting a story for the child plastered next to him. He’d been about ready to doze off, and his eyelids were still oddly heavy. 

Iruka-nii. 

The slayer found himself smiling. 

Naruto would never know how much it meant to hear that, every time. 

“Hmm?”

Even in the darkness, he could feel the weight of the boy’s gaze upon him. 

“What’s a Kyuubi?”

At those words, nothing could have stopped the rush of dread that sped through his veins. 

When Iruka’s eyes snapped open, he found himself no longer under the tree in the courtyard, but in his futon, staring into a pair of slit, molten glowing eyes across him. 

This again…

“Hey, Iruka-nii…” It was using Naruto’s mouth to speak, but the voice that resonated could only be described as unearthly, twisted and distorted.

“What’s a Kyuubi?”

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

Damn it.

Iruka had managed to suppress the scream, and now he sat, bowed over in his futon. He managed a few ragged breaths before the searing heat in his lungs forced several harsh coughs into his hand. 

“Iruka-nii?” 

He immediately turned to the source of the voice. Sitting up in his futon with his blanket around his shoulders, Iruka was met with a blue gaze, wide with worry. Slowly, he lowered the palm that he knew was stained red, and kept it clenched in his lap. 

“Naruto...what are you doing up?” It took every ounce of energy he had to smile.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Naruto answered meekly.

Iruka couldn’t help but be disturbed by the admission. He should have sensed Naruto’s movements, why hadn’t he?

“I heard you’ve been falling asleep more than usual during class. You’ve had trouble sleeping all this time?” 

Naruto looked hesitant to answer, but relented with a small nod. 

“How long?”

The boy squirmed under the blanket. Looking away, he murmured.

“Just a week, really.”

I should have paid more attention. Iruka chided himself. He wanted so badly to take the boy in his arms, but he couldn’t, not with the blood. So instead, he reached out with his clean hand, and placed it atop the child’s head.

“Is something bothering you?”

Naruto shook his head unconvincingly, causing Iruka to frown before flicking the boy on the forehead, eliciting a yelp.

“The truth, Naruto.”

The boy rubbed at his head guiltily. 

“Sometimes, I see a huge fox in my dreams…” he admitted. Seeing Iruka’s expression, he hurried to add, “Nothing really happens though, it just..walks around me.” 

He’s dreaming of the Kyuubi? I’ve never talked to him about it.

“Does it scare you?” 

Naruto shook his head. “It doesn’t do or say anything. It just looks at me. But each time I see it...it comes a bit closer.”

Iruka supposed he should have felt grateful, that these dreams of the Kyuubi weren’t anything like his. He would have asked for more details, but not wanting to alarm the boy, he diverted.

“I see...so if you aren’t scared, why can’t you sleep?”

The boy bit his lip. 

“Wisteria flowers. I keep smelling them in the air.”

So that’s what it is.

Iruka’s thought back to that first day in the wisteria grove; though he’d brought him back several times since, it never got any easier for Naruto to bear their presence. 

I figured this would happen eventually...but not this soon.

His gaze softened. With his free hand, he lifted the blanket from the boy’s shoulders.

“Naruto, I’ll be right back. Lie down and wait for me, I’ll tell you a story, that should help.” He motioned him back into his futon, and tucked him in with a few firm pats. Running his fingers through the blonde locks, he smiled as the eyelids beneath them fluttered closed. 

A short while later, when Iruka had returned with clean hands, he peeked into the room from the corridor. Sure enough, he heard the soft, familiar snores, accompanied by the gentle rise and fall of the blanket over the sleeping child. 

With a gentle push, Iruka shut the door. The autumn winds blowing through the corridors sent a chill through his body. He wrapped his haori just a bit tighter around himself as he took a seat on the floor. 

Hugging his knees to his chest, he looked up to a moon that was just a mere sliver in a cloudless sky. 

It brought to mind a single, smiling eye. 

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

“Eh? You mean we aren’t sharing a room anymore?” Naruto cried, tugging relentlessly on his sleeve.

Iruka sighed and shook his head while attempting to concentrate on the copy book before him. 

“Just while Jiraiya-sama is with us. You’ll be starting breath training soon.”

The explanation did nothing to deter the cries of protest. 

“Weren’t you the one asking for more of a challenge? The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll catch up to Kakashi-sensei.” 

“I knooow!” Naruto pouted. He placed his chin squarely on Iruka’s shoulder before wrapping his arms around his guardian’s neck. Flush against Iruka’s back, there was no way for him to see the smile that had made its way to the teacher’s lips. 

You’re always so warm, you know?

“Hey Iruka-nii…”

His smile faltered, he squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, bracing for the worst.

Please, don’t let this be another dream.

It took a while, but the pause was soon broken by an uncharacteristically soft voice.

“We’ll always be together...right?” 

With a small sigh of relief, Iruka set the book in his hands down carefully, and leaned to press closer to the cheek against his. 

“Naruto, I promised you when we came here, didn’t I?”

The boy nodded quietly against him.

“Do your best, and we’ll go for ramen the next time we’re in town. Extra pork.” 

The arms around his neck squeezed harder, but not to the point of discomfort. “Really?!”

Iruka nodded firmly in response, and the boy erupted into joyous cheers. He smiled hard enough to make sure Naruto could feel it and closed his eyes, basking in the warmth and laughter. 

For my sake, don’t ever change.

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

After two months on the road, Kakashi found himself in another quiet village, though not quite as far north since his last expedition. He’d arrived just after sunset, and was lucky enough to find shelter at a house with a Wisteria crest in good time. After a light meal and a well appreciated bath, he’d handed over his uniform and haori for a much needed cleaning. 

In the warm light of a paper lamp, he surveyed his belongings. Among the items he’d extracted from his clothes; recently delivered letters, and a sea-blue omamori. The exact shade of blue, he’d realised months ago, as Iruka’s haori. 

He chuckled, recalling the deep red the teacher had turned when he’d finally pointed that fact out.

“Not all of us get to decide our own salary, you know.” He’d muttered quietly, sipping at his tea.

Kakashi beamed, and made sure Iruka was looking before he placed it back into his shirt pocket.

“I’ll treasure it for life, sensei.” He said, with a hand over his heart.

Refusing to take the bait, the teacher replied, deadpan.

“You’re supposed to get rid of those after a year.”

“Only if they were blessed by a priest, which this certainly was not. So this will probably last way longer, won’t it?”

Iruka snorted. After a short pause, he lowered the cup in his hands, revealing a tiny, restrained smile. 

“I’m afraid a lifetime guarantee doesn’t mean much coming from me, Kakashi-san.”

It wasn’t often that the Hashira found reason to laugh aloud, but around Iruka, it had seemed to become less of a rare occurrence.

“That makes the two of us then. But if the luck is found wanting, I’m going to have to ask for a replacement.”

There it was, the deep, exasperated sigh. The smile in its wake though, was unmistakably lined with amusement.

“Do as you like.”

Kakashi placed the charm by the lamp before picking up the papers.

The letters that had returned with Akino, one penned by Jiraiya, the other by Iruka, both reported, in code, the start of Naruto’s breath training. While the retired Hashira’s letter had come with much needed information about recent sightings and incidences from the other territories, Iruka’s differed most notably in the footnotes.

My thanks, Kakashi-san, for the recommendation. You might also be glad to know that Naruto finds great motivation in not just the promise of ramen, but the fact that he may one day finally, and I quote, “give Bakashi-sensei the beat down of a lifetime.”

I do not know what you did to deserve it, but a dream is surely a fine thing to have.

My regards to the rest of your pack, and safe journeys ahead for you all.

Iruka

It didn’t take much effort to imagine the expression on the teacher’s face when he’d written that part. 

Putting out the light, he lay down in his futon, and allowed himself to settle into the first restful sleep he'd had in weeks. 

He dreamt; of a bright afternoon and the tinkle of a glass wind chime. Not a word was spoken, but he remembered the warmth of a back against his, the sounds of turning pages, a brush on paper, and the soft hum of a summer song. 

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

“Well, I’ll be off.” Slinging his pack over his shoulder, Jiraiya turned, regarding Iruka and Naruto with one more glance.  

“Thank you for everything, Jiraiya-sama.” Iruka bowed deeply, and with a hand on Naruto’s back, motioned for him to do the same.

“There’s no need to rush. Naruto, you’re making good progress. Keep at it, and you might just get the first part down by my next visit.”

“Ehh...I’m already doing my best over here!” The child by his side cried indignantly.

“The path is a long one, my boy. But you’ll get there eventually.”

 “I’m never gonna beat Bakashi-sensei at this rate…” Naruto grumbled.

Iruka would have liked to put his head in his hand, but not in front of the former Hashira.

Jiraiya snickered and ruffled the boy’s hair. 

“Tell ya what, if I hear good things from Iruka-kun over here, I’ll bring you a souvenir when I come back.”

“Riight. I’d rather have more training than a souvenir!” 

“Naruto, you’re being ungrateful.” Iruka sighed, before turning to bow to the departing elder. 

“Safe journeys, Jiraiya-sama.”

Jiraiya turned to leave, but only managed a few steps before pausing.

“Iruka, it’s not too late.” 

Head still bowed, Iruka bit his lower lip. 

“Thank you, but I made my decision long ago.”

“...I understand.” Jiraiya acknowledged sternly, and turned to regard Naruto with a serious look.

“Take care of each other, you hear?”

“Of course! I’m gonna protect Iruka-nii!” Came Naruto’s determined reply, and Iruka was silently proud and pained at the same time. 

They watched him slowly disappear into the wilderness. Iruka had allowed his attention to drift into the early morning fog before them, but was brought back to reality by a smaller, warm hand that had slipped into his, gripping tightly. 

Naruto’s been working hard. Iruka mused. This hand...soon it won’t be that of a child’s anymore. 

“Let’s go! We gotta get your stuff back into our room!”

Iruka looked down, into the pair of sky blue eyes he loved so dearly and smiled, squeezing the hand back in return.

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

Another winter, another fever.

But that’s what you get for sleeping outside like an idiot.

He’d felt it coming, and before the worst of it had hit, he’d instructed the older children to take charge of looking after the young ones, and thankfully, Lee and Naruto were more than happy to share their room at bed time. Most of the other slayers stationed at the compound had been called away on a sortie a few days ago, with Izumo and Kotetsu on alert at the gates. The long nights of winter were difficult on everyone, slayer and common folk alike.

Not far from his futon, lay a neatly folded letter, one that had arrived just over a month ago, in time for Naruto’s birthday.

A little something for the winter ahead, sensei. Take care. 

Also, the pack has requested that I tell you, in no uncertain terms, that they miss you very much. 

It had been delivered with two finely woven scarves, and a cake of dried herbs for brewing.

That autumn night, when Iruka had finished saying the prayer for his parents at the shrine, the warmth it had provided took the worst of the biting chill of loneliness he’d felt. Now, wrapped around his neck as he burrowed deeper under the covers, it seemed to serve the very same purpose.

He would have allowed himself to fall back into blissful unconsciousness, had he not heard the trample of panicked running, and felt the burst of cold night air as the doors were hastily pushed open.

“Iruka-sensei!”

Lee and Kotetsu. This couldn’t be good. 

With great effort, Iruka got up on his elbows in an attempt to sit up. Lee, ever the helpful soul, moved to assist him, but his expression was tense.

Kotetsu crouched before him. “Bad news. We can’t find Naruto.” 

Those words, stringed together, may as well have been a lighting strike.

“Lee?”

“I’m sorry sensei! I got up to use the bathroom, but when I returned, he was gone, and the doors were open!” He cried. 

Iruka looked through the gap in the doors, and felt his stomach lurch. Darkness, spotted white. With a determined breath, he willed all his strength into his legs, and with support from Lee, took to his feet. 

“Nobody saw where he went?” He asked Kotetsu. 

“If he’d gone anywhere near the gates, we would have seen him.”

Iruka bent to pick up his haori and nichirin blade, ignoring Kotetsu’s protest.

“Iruka, you’re crazy. The others should be returning soon, When the snow dies down I’ll send a crow.”

The teacher shook his head. Putting on his sandals proved more difficult than he liked. Tying the final knots, he turned to the distressed boy beside him.

“Lee, stay with the rest. If Naruto comes back, send word. I won’t return until I’ve found him.”

“Yes, sensei. Please come back safely!”

“Iruka!”

“Kotetsu, I’m leaving them to you.”

With that, he left the room, and leapt into the abyss of night. 

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

Snow. It’s supposed to be freezing.

But why do I feel so hot?

Naruto could feel his naked feet sinking into the powdery snow, but the cold sensation never lasted for long, for within seconds, the ice was melting beneath his feet. 

In his vision, he could see the puffs on his breath in the air. They should have been white, but they were tinted in red, just like everything else around him. 

He was moving through the forest in a seemingly endless dream, like a spectator in someone else’s body. 

Coming to a stop, he took in a deep, concentrated breath. 

A familiar stench. 

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

Breathe. Focus.

Iruka was moving on pure instinct. Passing through each barrier, he reached with his senses. Buffeted by wind and the snow, he only had his breath training to thank for keeping him on his feet. He was hyper aware of every drop of blood pumping in his veins, and every twig that crunched under his sandals.

He skidded to a halt, when he felt it; the flare of Naruto’s aura, or rather…

The Kyuubi.

There was no time for despair. Instead, his mind raced through the quickest route to his quarry. He fished out a paper seal from his sleeve, and through the cold sweat and trembling fingers, activated it, and stepped through. 

When he emerged on the other side, he cried as his knees buckled under his weight, forcing him into the snow.

Not now. Damnit. Not now.

He couldn’t tell if his lungs were burning or freezing. It didn’t matter. After a series of hacking coughs, the previously pure white beneath him was spotted red. Iruka felt his head spin and the red dots in his field of vision started to blur.

Breathe!

He filled his lungs, and let out a desperate scream.

“NARUTO! If you’re there, answer me!”

Silence. 

Instead, a frightening cold wrapped itself around his heart, and every sense in his being started to flare. 

Demon. 

There’s another demon, and it’s close!

Iruka removed his nichirin blade from his belt, and digging into the ground, used it to get back up on his feet. 

I have to find him.

Unsheathing his blade, he gripped it firmly in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. 

His surroundings faded into black, and there was the echo of a single drop of water. It bounced off the rocks, the trees, turning everything it touched into frosted glass. Then finally, the form of a young child, trudging through the snow materialised. 

What he didn’t expect to find, was another, third presence, approaching from a distance.

It was an adult, and in his hand was a nichirin blade.  

Iruka’s eyes snapped open. Forcing blood into his legs, he ran. 

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

When the familiar blonde hair and orange bed clothes came into view, Iruka wanted to cry in relief. But upon approaching, the sight that greeted him made his blood turn cold. 

The boy’s form was enveloped by a thin, orange-red aura. The snow on the ground and everything around him melted as soon as it made contact, and his entire form emanated steam. His hands, now clawed, were streaked in blood.

Who...whose blood?

“Naruto….NARUTO!”

The child fell to his knees with a groan, and Iruka ran towards him. He had no shoes on, and nothing besides his thin sleeping clothes. He took off his haori and scarf, intent on wrapping them around the boy’s shoulders. 

That is, until he saw the claws reaching for his throat. 

Iruka was tackled to the floor, and in the next instant, he found himself straddled at the waist. He held out his arms, grabbing the wrists that were slick with blood, before they found their mark. 

He looked up, already knowing what he’d see.

Glowing, slit orange eyes, staring at him like a beast would prey. 

“Get a hold of yourself, Naruto!”

There was no intelligible answer. The mouth that was usually pouting or stretched in a wide grin was now panting, lined with fanged teeth, drool running down his chin. To his rising horror, his chest was also marred, not just in blood, but deep slash wounds. 

He didn’t have the chance to grieve at his failures, for the pressure against his arms started to grow, and beneath his palms, a burning sensation. Past the pain, his mind raced.

Naruto’s injured, and he’s trying to find a way to heal. I have to get him back, before-

“Ohhh...what do we have here?”

Shit. 

Mizuki.

Sure enough, when Iruka turned his head, he saw the slayer’s approaching figure, blade unsheathed. 

“We were ordered to hunt down a runaway, but this is a complete surprise.” He said, almost flippantly. 

Ignoring his burning hands and lungs, Iruka struggled for a voice.

“Mizuki, don’t touch him. He’s -”

“I have no idea what happened while we were gone” he interjected, “but since it’s come to this, I’ll happily lend you a hand, Iruka.” 

“DON’T!”

Ignoring his pleas, the man stopped before them, poised to strike. 

Iruka didn’t even have to think on his next move.

There was a flash of steel.

When his vision finally cleared, he found himself looking down upon Naruto’s stunned face. His eyes were still a molten orange, but they were wide with shock.

Iruka smiled. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, there was only the taste of copper. 

Moments later, he registered the blossoming of pain and wetness across his back.

But even then, he was filled with relief.

Mother...is this how you felt?...

He was already on his knees, but willed strength into his arms to prevent him from collapsing on the boy under him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Mizuki hissed.

With an animalistic growl, Naruto attempted to lunge at the man behind him, but was caught in Iruka’s firm hold. The boy struggled against him, and Iruka grimaced as he felt claws dig into his right shoulder. At the back of his mind, he heard Sarutobi’s voice, and his final warning to him before they’d left his estate.

I can’t let him hurt a human. If he does, there’s no turning back.

With a hand, he pressed the boy’s head under his neck.

“Naruto, I’m sorry...I couldn’t find you sooner. But I promise...I’ll protect you...with everything I have.”

The child stiffened under his arms, and while the struggling ceased, the burning didn’t stop.

It’s ok. 

“If something happens, run.” He whispered.

Slowly, Iruka struggled to his feet, and turned to face the slayer behind him.

Breathe. Focus on stopping the bleeding. 

“Mizuki...the demon you’re after is still out there.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll slay the demon that’s right in front of me, and go after the other one. Get out of my way.”

In response, Iruka tightened the grip on his blade. Holding it up steady, he glared at the man across him.

You won’t be the first human I’ve cut. 

Forgive me, Father.

Mizuki’s eyes narrowed in disdain, 

“You’re breaking the code.”

“If you plan on touching a hair on his head, it’ll be over my dead body.”

“Suit yourself.”

The next instant, they were trading blows. Steel against steel rang out into the silence of the night. Iruka was better versed in technique, but he couldn’t match Mizuki’s physical strength. Soon, blood loss, exhaustion and fever began to take its toll on his form. He found himself being edged towards the trees, and with an upward swing, Iruka lost his grip on his sword. He heard it land in the distance, just before he was pinned to the tree behind him by a blade through his shoulder. 

It took every inch of willpower to suppress his cry, but when an enraged growl reached his ears, Iruka screamed.

“Stay where you are, Naruto!”

“You don’t have time to be looking elsewhere, Iruka.”

His vision went white, as he felt the bite of steel as the blade pushed further in. 

Breathe. Breathe!

“It’s a pity, I wouldn’t have minded playing around with you.” Mizuki seethed into his ear.

That was all he managed before snapping back, his expression suddenly soured. Iruka forced himself to look, and just beyond Mizuki’s shoulder, a fourth presence. 

Mizuki collapsed at his feet, and on his back, three deep slash wounds, just like the ones Naruto suffered. 

The newly arrived demon, with the stature of a child not much older than Naruto, stared at Iruka. He too, bore the injuries from a fierce battle, and he hungered for human flesh to recover. 

Bracing himself, Iruka gripped the steel that pinned him to the tree, and pulled. The release left him breathless, keening, and he leaned against the rough bark behind him. Tossing Mizuki’s blade aside, he reached for the kunai hidden under his shirt with his only functioning arm.

You can’t pass out now.

His mind raced, against blood loss, and his narrowing field of vision. 

The demon lunged for him, and he leapt, landing between it and Naruto. But his vision swam, and whatever strength that had been holding on left his legs, just as his opponent changed course.

Time seemed to slow, and he was ready to squeeze his eyes shut to brace for the blow, before a fiery blur dove past him.

He saw Naruto; clawed arm outstretched, grip the demon by forehead. It screamed as it was engulfed by the same aura that surrounded the boy.

But what sent Iruka’s mind reeling was not the flames, but the fact that as the seconds passed, the form which was once clearly demonic in nature, was slowly taking on a human appearance once again. 

By the gods... 

The small miracle was fleeing, for the demon’s blood seemed to fight the change, and struggled against it with an inhuman screech. Like many of its kin, it eventually started to crumble into a glowing, black ash, carried off by the freezing winds.

Gripping his arm, drenched in blood, Iruka dropped his kunai and called out to the boy.

“Naruto.”

The boy turned to him, and part of Iruka despaired, for the eyes were still slit. 

He collapsed. The blood seeping from his wounds started to bleed into the snow, and he watched, with cold detachment, the expanding sea of red.

Iruka thought, if he just closed his eyes, he could finally rest. But suddenly, his ears picked up the sounds of approach. Faster than anything he’d witnessed tonight, with a killing intent far greater than Mizuki’s had been.

He heard a hiss, and approaching Naruto; camouflaged by the snow and mud, was a snake with ruby red eyes. 

No more, there was nothing more he could do to protect Naruto. 

“Naruto, run.” he gasped.

As darkness overtook him, the last thing he heard was the shrill cry of a crow in the distance. 

Kakashi-san, I think...I understand a little better now.

With a rueful smile, he closed his eyes. 

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

“Oh dear! I’m so sorry about that!”

Kakashi was sitting at a roadside teahouse, and his fingers had just touched the edge of his tea cup before he heard a sharp crack. The next instant, the cup split, spilling tea over the seat beside him. The old lady serving him quickly moved to fuss over the mess. 

He didn’t give it much thought, though it was undoubtedly, a waste of good tea. 

A certain someone would have given him a good talking to for that crime. 

He would have chuckled at the thought, but the familiar beating of wings diverted his attention. 

The Hashira was faced with the beady red eyes of a messenger crow. 

Well, this can’t be good.

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

End of Chapter 13

Author’s Notes:

Wow. More action writing here than in my entire writing experience combined! Phew. Another tough chapter to write, thanks for waiting though! These chapters do take a while to find their footing. The art for this was done more than 2 months ago, and the sequence changed while I was writing the chapter, so if it confuses you, I apologise! 

I just want to say how much I appreciate all the comments you guys leave at the end of each chapter! They really do give me the strength and motivation to keep writing and drawing, as I’m sure they do for every other writer and artist out there. Thank you!! :D

Next chapter: The Hashira Appear!! 

[tsvestidiabolus]

the melody never changes

commission for @snurps

➵ my COMMISSIONS are open!

SUMMARY:  Robin's reflection on their newest crewmate, from Thriller Bark to Fishman Island, and Brook's growth from solitude to rockstar.

WORDCOUNT: 2529

CHARACTERS: Brook & Nico Robin

ALSO FOUND AT: ao3

Thank you for the commission!  I had a blast writing for Brook and Robin.  Theirs is a friendship that is immensely underrated.

To the charming skeleton gentleman,

First off, I’m afraid I must deny your inevitable request to see my panties.  I have self-respect, and I don’t think they would suit you.  Secondly, while we are not currently crewmates, our captain has declared you as part of the Straw Hats, and you’ll find him to be very persuasive.  Doubtless we’ll be spending more time together in the future.  In order to give you a warm welcome to the crew, I’ve decided to write a personal letter from me to you.  Partly because I know how it feels coming into this ship as a newcomer, and partly because I’m frankly interested in you.

As an archaeologist, of course.

We’ve recovered the three strongest of our crew, and those who were in the crew all the way back in the East Blue seemed to recognise the whale you mentioned.  It’s funny how life turns out that way - coincidences upon coincidences, friends meeting with friends again.  He’s called Laboon, right?  I certainly hope you’ll introduce me to him when we arrive at Twin Cape.

Nami is calling out to the crew - I believe she wants us to plan before we inevitably scrap any semblance of strategy and enter the main castle again - so I’ll have to cut this short.  If we somehow don’t survive and our mangled corpses rot on the island, which would be a shame, I’d have to hope this letter finds its way to you.

From,

Nico Robin

---

“Yohoho!”

Even now, despite all the hardships and suffering the crew had gone through in the past day, Brook laughed.  Such a melodic sound - one could almost mistake it for a song - yet it carried with it fifty years worth of promises.

The pirates were spread out across the castle of Thriller Bark, exhausted from their ordeal (yet at the moment that Luffy would shout it’s time for a party, they would be bouncing with energy) and taking their time to rest.  Some of them had been tending to their wounds with the help of Chopper, while others decided to help out those who’d been lost for years.  The Straw Hats in particular were fretting with worry over Zoro, even though they all were confident in his survival.

Brook practically danced past most of the Straw Hats, tipping his skull to those he passed by, before he settled right in front of the archaeologist of the crew, her nose stuck in a book.  Robin flipped to the next page of her novel, making no indication that she had noticed his arrival.  

“Ah, Miss Robin -”

“If you’re about to ask to see my panties, I’ll have to say no,” said Robin.  

Brook laughed. “Well, it was worth a shot!  But that’s not the reason I’m here.”

Her eyes never leaving the page, Robin arched a brow, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. “Oh?”  

“I wanted to give my thanks.  You’ve made me feel welcome to the ship already.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Robin said, smiling.

“Yohoho!  I’ve never felt so honoured to call someone so beautiful a friend!”

With a tip of his hat, and a blank eyeless stare for a brief moment (which Robin later found out was Brook attempting to wink), Brook danced away from her, his skeletal legs skittling across the ground.  It was almost inhumane, the amount of speed the man carried in his light body, but then again their crew was full of monsters.  A living skeleton was far from the most terrifying thing in their crew.

As for the most terrifying thing?

Brook was bound to discover, sooner or later. 

---

To Brook,

Music has no language; it cannot be misinterpreted.  One strum of a guitar can tell a thousand stories and a thousand promises.  One beat of the drum speaks of a hundred wars.  One note of a violin can sing a song of sorrow in the drifting seas of time.  It is the one universal truth.

I see you sometimes, when I’m on watch duty, humming a solo that sounds so… lonely, and so melancholic, that it takes all of my effort not to climb down the mast and join you.  But I am a coward, so I leave you alone to your own devices.  To that, I am sorry.

How lonely must you have been, drifting alone on those waters for fifty years.  Only with your thoughts and determination to keep you going.  I’m amazed you can still smile, despite that (at least, I assume you’re smiling. It would be pretty strange for you to laugh without smiling).  In fact, I admire you.  And while I’m sure my words would have a better effect for you if I said them aloud, as I said before - I’m a coward.  It’s easier for me to write this down in ink.

But yet, you were on the cusp of madness, and you persevered.  You lived.  Sort of.

And to that, I want to know more.

Please, tell me your story.

From your crewmate,

Nico Robin.

---

Quietly, as the eve turned to night and the night to the dead hour, Robin slipped down the ladder from the mast.  It was Zoro’s turn now to keep watch, and she knew the swordsman would be perceptive enough to protect them in the instance of danger, despite his injuries and constant napping.  But it was not yet time to sleep, for as usual their newly appointed musician was out by his lonesome in the night, a gentle lul of the violin playing a song that reminded her of Ohara.  The song was enough to drift the boys and Nami to sleep, and Robin would have dozed off to the melody had she not felt so lonely just from the strings alone.  But it was not her loneliness that made her feel this way - she had long since accepted she was part of this crew.  That she wasn’t alone anymore.

It was Brook’s.

So, once she was safely down on the lawn of the Sunny, she joined him by the railing, leaning against the wood while he continued his solo.  His skeletal hands played the tune delicately, and in time she hummed along to it.  The nostalgia washed over her like a wave.  She closed her eyes and imagined Ohara again.  She could only imagine what Brook was thinking of.

As the last notes of the melody rang out and the song stopped, Robin opened her eyes and smiled at Brook.  He bowed his head back, setting the violin down the grass.

“Is that song known outside the West Blue?” she asked. “I’ve only ever heard it there.”

“It’s a West Blue classic!” Brook exclaimed. “Well, I say it’s a classic.  It was written by yours truly!”

Robin blinked.

“I would’ve like to tweak it before I left, but sadly there was no time.  The original music sheet must be lost as well!  I must rely on my ears now to complete it - but alas, I have no ears!  Yohoho!  Skull jo-”

“You’re from the West Blue?”

It certainly came as a surprise - after all, a majority of their crew had come from the East or the Grand Line, and she had no idea there was someone else onboard the ship that hailed from the West.  Even if he was the most recent addition.  Robin felt her curiosity peak up the more Brook revealed about himself.  His past was becoming more and more of a mystery to her, a clash between his demeanor and his tragedy.

Brook nodded his head in response, his afro bouncing as he did. “I served a royal kingdom there for sometime before I decided piracy was a better career.  Of course, I was a musician as well!”

She imagined him flashing her a grin.

“But yes, West Blue, born and raised - ah!  Miss Robin, if I recall correctly, you were from the West too, no?” he asked.

“That’s correct.”

“May I ask which is-”

“Ohara.”

She definitely said that too quickly, with too much of a snap in her tongue, that Brook paused and gave her enough time to regret it.  Before she could utter an apology, Brook picked up the bow of his violin and held it out to her.  Naturally, she was confused.  

Brook bowed his head down.

“I understand if you do not wish to talk about it,” he says. “I can assume from personal experience a deep tragedy has occurred there.”

Still, he held out the bow. 

“But know that Ohara is wonderful, and that its legacy - whatever that may be - is you.”

Curious, Robin took the bow and inspected it.  It seemed ordinary enough.  She couldn’t understand what Brook was -

Prof. Clover

Without realising, her hand had begun trembling from the overwhelming everything coming over her, and she looked up to Brook with glistening eyes.  The musician panicked.

“Miss Robin, I - I’m dreadfully sorry!” he sputtered. “I didn’t mean to upset you!  I merely - I wanted to explain that tragedies don’t have to - I’m sorry!”

“You knew the professor?” She was surprised she could manage to get even that out. “You knew Ohara?”

A relieved sigh passed through his nonexistent lips. “I stayed there for a couple years, back when I was a young man.  This violin was a parting gift from my dear friend at the time.  He’d just gotten his doctorate, and I think he wanted to show off.  Yohoho!”

Robin chuckled, wiping away a tear. 

“Ah!  But of course, this explains why you know my song!” Brook exclaimed. “Miss Robin, I knew I felt a kinship for you when I boarded this ship.  Us both being from the West Blue gives me a sense of familiarity in the crew.  I’ve never been more grateful to be alive - ah!  But I’m not alive!  Yohoho, skull joke!”

Robin was amazed, not for the first time, that Brook could joke and even dare to imply that she was the one being welcoming, when here he was, passing on Robin wisdom that she took twenty years to even consider.  It was often easy to forget that Brook had thirty years of experience out on the sea before the tragedy of the Rumbar Pirates occurred, but it was clear that those years were enough to sharpen the man’s mind and strengthen his heart.  But his heart was not made of stone, nor iron - it was laid out bare to the world, soft and beating, and his gentle lullabies sung of sorrows from his past that he dare not speak of.

So, she leaned against the railing, a slight smile gracing her lips. “Please, tell me more stories.”

And so he did.

---

Be alive.

---

She’d written the message in the dirt of the prison, pleading with whatever divine powers existed to ensure that the rest of her crew had lived.

After all, Brook owed her a concert.  One that would declare to the World that he was alright despite all the pain he’d been through.  That humans were resilient.

He’d better keep that promise.\

---

To Brook,

I do not expect this message to reach you.  The Government is constantly attempting to interfere with letters from the RA, and no doubt they’ll be trying to decipher any clues about their plans in this message (good luck, cowards).

It’s been almost two years already.  No doubt we will meet each other again soon.  I’ve been looking forward to this immensely, as no doubt you have too.  I think - I understand you, a little more.  Now that I’ve been infected with the Straw Hats’ boundless enthusiasm and joy, I can understand how you lived in isolation for all that time.  Not just because of the promise you kept to Laboon, but because dying would be spitting on their smiles, right?

Can you hear the waves crash against the shore where you are?  Do you hear seagulls, do you smell the salt?

Can you see the moon?

One day we’ll meet again.  I look forward to that day.

From Robin.

P.S. I keep hearing about this new rockstar that some of the Revolutionaries are raving about.  You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?

---

It wasn’t a soft strum that the bony hand had passed over the strings, yet it was strangely nostalgic all the same.  No, it was a thunderous sound, booming across the concert hall and somehow could be heard over the screams of adoring fans.  It was unlike anything Robin had ever heard before.  No - she never felt anything like this before.  The vibrations shook her very body, making her suddenly aware of the blood rushing through her veins, of her heart pounding against her chest.  The feeling was exhilarating.

She stared from the back of the concert hall to the star of the show.  As always, his feathered boa and skeleton-figure was instantly recognisable, as was his laugh.

“Soul King Brook, hm?” she whispered under her breath.  She couldn’t hear herself over the sound of the music.

There was something different about his music now.  She would have to ask him if he changed his muse.  Later, perhaps.

Now, it was time to find the Sunny.

---

It wasn’t hard to find Brook after the battle at Fishman Island.  Where there were cheers and melodies, there was Brook.  Robin waited by an alley, listening to the sound of Brook’s guitar as he sang a victory song for the pirates.  The tune was new, unlike anything she had ever heard before.  But there was a certain gentleness to it, despite the upbeat and heart-pounding vibrations it made.  Like Brook was unleashing happiness to the world.

When the imprupto-concert was over, and Robin could finally approach Brook, he tipped his hat and stared blankly at her.  She assumed he was grinning.

“Miss Robin!  Did you enjoy the show?” he asked. “I wasn’t sure about this song, but it looks to be a hit with the crowd!  Yohoho!”

Robin smiled back. “It was happy,” she noted.

“Mmhm!” he said. “It was inspired by our captain.”

“Luffy?” 

Brook nodded. “I suppose that’s why you picked up on the feelings I was conveying.  It’s an honour to sail under his flag, don’t you think?”  His voice took on a melancholic tone. “I would’ve never expected to find such a crew years ago.”

Neither did she.

“Are you happy, Brook?” Robin asked.  The question had just slipped out, but she was curious to know the answer.  

Brook looked at her, tilting his head. “Of course I am, Miss Robin.  How could I create such a song if I weren’t?”

Robin paused for a moment, before nodding her head slowly.  It made sense.  Brook’s music reflected his feelings at the time.  And now, as part of the Straw Hats, his tune had become one much like their captain’s.

“Now, shall we return to the party?” Brook said. “I’m sure Luffy would want to hear this too.”

Not a thing could crush Brook’s spirit.  Not being alone, not despair, not even death.  

He was alive, and he was happy, and he would make sure the world knew.

Robin couldn’t be more proud to call him a crewmate.

[star-ting-over]

Fic: You were supposed to save me.

It was just him, Wrecker and Tech now.

First (1/2) possible ending to - You were supposed to love me.

Set 3 to 4 years after the end of that fic. READ THE WARNINGS

Read on AO3

Warnings - Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Child Death, Character Death, Blood and Injury, Corpses, Unreliable Narrator, Grief/Mourning

No matter what he did, Hunter always lost. One way or another, somehow the gods, the force, hell the damn universe itself would find a way to screw him over. There was a sort of morbid predictability to it now.

Hunter tells himself it's all the universes doing; it makes it easier for him to sleep at night. The idea that some cosmic force was out there pulling the strings, rolling the dice, stacking the deck made all the pain and hurt that he had felt and caused seem that little bit further away. But, unfortunately, it didn't do much to make the pain in his abdomen go away.

He hadn't spent much time considering how he would die. In battle, maybe, felled heroically in the face of some insurmountable foe. At the end of Crosshair's sniper rifle. Something poignant at the very least. On the wrong end of the dull knife, of a drunken oaf, on a seedy moon was not high on that list. Then again, the universe wasn't one for granting the mercy of a good death.

Omega certainly hadn't gotten one.

When they had been little, Hunter had thought there was nothing in the whole galaxy that Tech didn't know. The illusion had shattered years ago, but every now and then, Hunter had added something new to the list. Raising the dead had been added to the list. Tech might not know all there was to know, but Crosshair certainly never missed.

They buried Omega on a moon without a name.

Hunter thinks that the silence may be the worst part of it all. That wasn't true; the idea hurt less than the reality. The gunner's mount was stripped back to how it had always been; during the war, Lula resided as it always had at the end of Wreckers bunk and Crosshair's old comm had been stowed away with the rest of his gear in the hold until the whole lot was sold to pay for some repair or other, maybe it had been for fuel. Hunter couldn't recall.

All that remained was the little trooper doll, painted in their colours, to prove that she had ever existed at all. That the hole in their lives and in their hearts was real. It sat on the centre flight control console on the bridge to the Havoc Marauder, always visible out the corner of their eye. Sometimes, when they were deep in hyperspace, he would catch Tech staring at it from the pilot seat. The light from the streaking stars outside glinted off his goggles, obscuring his eyes, but Hunter didn't need to be able to see them know that they were full of tears.

Wrecker was uncharacteristically quiet these days like someone had drained the life out of him. The bond he had formed with Omega in such a short time was something to behold. It seemed he always knew what to say to her. It was funny; Hunter had spent his life helping Wrecker find the right words to say, to the regs, to the higher-ups, to Tech… to Crosshair. But with Omega, well, Hunter had been jealous of the ease with which their gentle giant had fitted their little sister into his life. It had seemed like every word that had left Hunter's mouth had been the wrong one, and he had no idea why.

"I guess kids aren't your area of expertise".

Crosshair was a spectre that haunted him mercilessly. In life, his voice had had a way of clinging to you that made even the most banal of remarks difficult to forget. Now that he was gone, Hunter felt like he was drowning in memories of his words. Even in death, his little brother had found a way to torment him.

Blood was starting to pool around him now, slumped in a forgotten ally way. It coated his hands, running up his wrist, over where his comm should have been if the low life that had stabbed hadn't taken it with him. Fear was beginning to claw his way up to his throat. The only hope he had was that one of the others would stumble upon him… before it was too late. He hoped they would still come back for him.

Crosshair had been left to rot in an abandoned warehouse.

Echo had gone back for his body, unable to retrieve it alone it before the rest of the Imperials had closed in. Hunter doesn't think Echo ever forgave the rest of the rest of them for leaving Crosshair; maybe forgive isn't quite right. On the other hand, maybe Echo realised something about the rest of them that day. Hunter can't bring himself to care.

Echo didn't stay long after that. He left to join Rex on his hopeless crusade to save the galaxy almost two years ago, with not a word since. Hunter sometimes wonders if he was dead too. Had he lost another brother, thousands of light-years away, without ever realising? Was that worse than the alternative, that Echo simple had nothing left to say to any of them?

Tech and Wrecker seemed to drift. The ridged orders of war, the focus born of being hunted, the need to protect, had gone, and its place had left a listlessness that seemed to be pulling them apart at the seams. In truth, Hunter blamed a lack of direction because it stung less than to consider the possibility that maybe something was missing. Tech and Wrecker had learned quickly that mentioning Crosshair's name aloud was not advised, not that either had shown any particular desire to discuss their late brother. They hadn't said a word as Hunter had systematically removed any trace of him from the Marauder, from existence. That last piece had been a spare scope attachment, but that disappeared around the same time as Echo.

It is getting harder for him to breathe now, and he feels cold in the bright sunshine. He's not so sure anymore if anyone will come for him. Hunter tells himself that he doesn't know where it all began to fall apart, but that's another lie.

"Every choice you have made since Kaller has been wrong".

[birdsaesthetic]

He wasn’t perfect, but he was so damn close

Note: This's a filler for what happens after the last scene in First impression, after that one crazy night Jeller had. I completed this fic a long time ago, true, but I loved it and I got some comments say that I should update, so I decided to dig deeper into the story by filing it with more scenes that still don't change how the ending went. And guys there’s fluff at the end I can’t wait for you t read. On Fanfiction

___

The morning after that crazy night, and for the next number of days, Kurt tried in every breath and every way to tell his wife that he was sorry, that it would never happen again; Jane, on the other hand, did all the things she'd always done on daily basis, except that she didn't look at him, and whenever he caught her eye, she intentionally looked away, as if his gaze were venom to be avoided.

Jane didn't bother to ask him what he did when he'd gotten off from work on that Thursday, or where he'd been. Though if it'd occurred to her that she wanted to do so and get the truth out of him, she could've done it. Easily so. But then again, she didn't bother, because the truth was there, blatant: he'd left her, and Peter, when they needed him the most…

She still asked him how his days were and made appropriate responses when he told her. Other than that, though, she always pretended to be busy with Peter so she wouldn't have to spend time with him.

He, during these dull days, watched her in earnest, in a desperate, longing way, while she was simply searching for something in their living room; or starching her neck in the morning; or peeling an apple with her knuckle guiding the blade; or massaging the small of Peter's back with her feather-like touches; or making their bed in her underwear to let the cream she'd rubbed all over her legs and arms soak in before dressing. He couldn't help the feeling of sudden panic hitting him at the chest that he'd almost not met her and married her and started a family with her if she, all these years ago, hadn't plotted her way into his life but had chosen someone else's life. He loved her way more than a human heart could, and loved the little one they'd created the same way. But did he deserve to be loved the same way? That was a doubt within himself these days…

If she would come over and yell at him about it, he'd be ashamed of himself—so damn ashamed—but he'd tell the her truth, that he what did on that day was really nothing, that he was basically just sitting alone at a quiet place, away from others, having a few drinks, because he was tired out, consumed to the fullest, and his entire being couldn't endure anything anymore, by all means.

You think that I'm not tired of it, too? she would cut through whatever he would've been saying afterward, yelling, though her voice would crack at the last few words, and here he'd look down and say nothing no more. He wouldn't know what to say then, and wouldn't know what do, either. He'd go silent, feeling the blood in his body boil, until his silence stretched so long that when he'd finally look up, to start begging her with his eyes to see how sorry be was—because that was all he was: sorry—he'd find her long gone from his surrounding.

____

"What can I do, Jane?" Kurt asked her the next Saturday morning, in the kitchen, grabbing her wrist to stop her from going over to Peter as he just started fussing. Instantly, her eyes flew to his, and if his grab hadn't indeed stopped her from moving, the plea she saw in his eyes would've done it.

"What do you want me to do, huh?"

She stared at him for a long minute, and he stared right back. He could see her thinking now. Behind those green eyes and pursed lips, he could see her thinking. But, by then, little Peter, alone in his room, was crying his heart out, and the sound got louder and louder by every passing second they wasted staring at one another.

"You know how much I hate such questions, Kurt," she told him, over the sound of Peter's screams, then yanked her wrist away and went straight to Peter. What her husband just asked her lacked profundity in it, she thought. He was basically asking her what he should do so she'd tell him to do this and that and he'd, of course, do this and that immediately. And then what? Then she was supposed to let whatever happened slide? That was way too easy on his side, and way too difficult on her side.

He sighed, as he watched her go before his eye. He was tired physically and emotionally. He'd been relying on two to three hours of sleep daily—and Jane's sleep was more or less like his, too. But aside from being unable to sleep at nights because of their baby's colic, she'd been consuming his thoughts, eating his brain, keeping him up at nights even when she didn't know it. Why did that have to happen to them? He could count the days when she'd slept angry at him—or the opposite—using his own fingers. The number was one digit. It was small, manageable. But now… Now they were only a few days apart from this number to become two digits.

On Saturday mornings they used to go on walks with Peter, but this Saturday Kurt sat alone in the kitchen, listening to Peter cry, and Jane shushing him. It was cloudy and dark outside today, and apparently the sadness of the day from outside snuck inside their place.

He sat, and thought.

He tried to think of the beginning of their marriage, their first year in the apartment in Colorado. The memories seemed almost too sweet to be real. Did they have arguments? They must've had, of course, but he couldn't recall any. They must have been short-lived. Silly, even. About food, most likely.

"Do you want Italian or Chinese for dinner?" Jane once asked him.

"I want what you want." Kurt shrugged lazily.

"Just tell me what it is that you want."

"I'm happy doing whatever."

"Now, this is so frustrating!"

"How is this frustrating? What's going on?"

"I'm asking something, but you're not putting the slightest effort into helping me!"

"How did you just make me not helping you here, Jane? Ugh, let's just get sushi. Is that okay?"

And that was that.

He wondered if they had fights back then, and smiled when he almost immediately could recall some of their fights and how ridiculous they were in comparison to now: It's-your-turn-to-turn-out-the-light fight—this had been a classic fight of theirs. There had been rare nights when the light switch flicked off without a fight. After all, who, of them, was sane enough to get out of bed while the other was lying naked in it? Kurt would refuse, always, and Jane would curse him aloud in another language, or maybe throw a punch or two at him. They would fight for a while, raise their voices during the late hour. But then, and in a heartbeat, they'd just make up for all of that and kiss and make love and completely forget about it the next morning.

It had been rather fun, having such arguments and fights back then, Kurt thought to himself. It wasn't about winning; it certainly wasn't about who was right and who was wrong. In fact, it was during those heated moments when they truly got to learn who the other person was, deeply, which ultimately made them stronger as a couple.

On this Saturday afternoon, however, they were trapped inside. They couldn't depart from their apartment due to the weather, nor could they have any fun inside. But they did spend a typical day at home anyway; they showered and cooked and cleaned and rushed around to go cuddle Peter when his stomach pain hit him. Though they did all these things from within glass walls, so when Kurt exchanged pleasantries with Jane, at dinner, he felt as if he were pushing his words through a chink in the glass.

On the following days, things between them become easier, somewhat—only because there was an effort, being made by the two of them to make things better. In the morning, she found him sharing a warm bath with Peter, because it was good for Peter; it made the pain in his belly easy off, if only slightly. And when he asked her to join them in the bath, she shook her head and said, "No. I'll let you guys have some quiet time together. Father and son. And I'll go have 'me' time. But before I go, do you need towels?"

At the end of the day, when she sat on the couch and tried to find something good on television, he came over and sat next to her and she allowed it, didn't mumble 'good night' and withdraw and call it a day like before. The first thing he did after getting off from work was come straight home, drop his things by the door and go have Peter for the remaining of the day—it was such a break for Jane, and it was so sweet to see father and son staring at each other over the bottle while he drank his milk.

She began looking at him again, sometimes just long enough to let him know that she knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't perfect, but he was so damn close.

____

In the dead of the night, while they were asleep, Peter started his usual crying. Kurt put a hand on Jane's hip and told her to keep sleeping, and then he picked up Peter and rocked him and offered a bottle and a song hummed low. It wasn't his fault that Peter didn't seem to settle until Jane came over and had him in her arms. Afterward, Kurt, standing there listless, made a joke at his lame situation, implying that, if he could get a wig resembling Jane's hair and have his entire body tattooed just like hers on the slim chance that perhaps Peter would mistake him for his mother and quiet down, he seriously would. Jane laughed. She laughed aloud at the joke he made, effortlessly so, even though it was dark, Peter was still wailing, and she was so tired.

After she laughed and he drank up the sound of her laughter to the last drop, he then added, "But… I know it's more than just our looks. I don't believe that Peter recognizes us by our looks at this early age. At least not mainly. But perhaps through our smells, body temperature and texture. Our voices."

She looked up at him, and offered the smallest of smiles. "You're right."

They went back to bed, after having made sure Peter was comfortable and asleep again. But half an hour passed by and they were yet to fall back asleep. They kept rolling from one side to another and sighing through the silence of their bedroom. For ten minutes straight he was staring at the dark mess of her hair from the back, then, for the next ten minutes or so, when he flipped to his side and she flipped to his side, too, she was staring at the bare of his upper back. Both wanted to reach out for the other and say something, but the thought of disturbing each other's sleep for the second time tonight was out of the question.

It wasn't until at one point they happened to face each other that Kurt placed a light hand on Jane's cheek and brushed his thumb there. Her eyes had been slightly open then, but now she had to close them and relish the moment at the soft of his touch.

"Jane, are we okay?" he asked, keeping his voice to whispers. "You and me?"

She opened her eyes again, and saw him looking so worried. She saw his own eyes and saw tears shimmering there. Crawling toward him, she placed a hand over his own, light yet somehow firm. "Yes, we're okay. Of course," she reassured him, and the worried look he'd been wearing just seconds ago, disappeared completely. He only needed to know this, only needed to hear this from her.

He brought her closer to him, kissed her forehead, nose, lips, cheekbones, and everywhere he could reach. When he drew back, he saw her grinning, her white teeth gleaming in the dark. "Do that all over again, please?" she whispered, her hand on his hair, and he did it all over again, though this time he seemed more confident, his kisses were relatively harder, his hands on her placed themselves in decent places: her neck, her back.

It felt so damn good to be kissed by him again, and it felt just as good to kiss him back. She hadn't been looking at him some days ago, let alone tolerate his touch. But now, she thought that she could spend a lifetime like this, letting him kiss her senselessly, and she'd be perfectly and entirely happy.

"Hey, Kurt," she called softly, framing his face with both hands. "It's a great idea actually! You get be me this next Halloween! And I can help you with that."

Kurt chuckled in disbelief, but she continued, "What? It's Peter's first Halloween ever. We have to make it fun for him."

He stole a kiss from her parted lips. "Sure, we have to make it fun for him. But we don't want to scare him! It's enough what he's going through."

"Of course we don't want to scare him! He's barely four months old by now. It's all gonna be light and fun and we'll get to snap so many photos of him while in a costume! I can't wait for it!"

"Think I'm not gonna look scary as hell while in your costume, fully-tattooed and a messy, dark wig over my head? I'm gonna look scary for certain, Jane. Just begin to imagine it."

"Did you just you mean that I look scary all the tim—"

"No, no, no. No. No. That's not what I meant here." He sniggered, burying his face deep in her neck. Then, shortly, he surfaced. "It's me who's gonna look scary in the tattoos and a wig! You've never ever looked scary in the tattoos."

"You won't look scary!"

"Yes, I will," he said, seeming certain and somehow sad. "And Peter is never gonna stop crying at the sight of me."

"I think you're gonna look sexy, honestly." She smirked, and he sighed as she continued, "And I think Peter's gonna like you, since he already likes me more than you now and I'm gonna make you look just like me!"

"Who are you gonna dress up as for Halloween, then?" he asked, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as his fingers began sneaking down to inappropriate places in her body, though he was totally entitled to do so.

"I'm not sure yet. But…" She couldn't continue until she stole a few kisses from him, randomly, everywhere she could reach. "But I'll be thinking about it. And I'll be thinking about Peter's costume, too, till then."

He was tearing off her t-shirt and got a little giddy at the sight of her nakedness when she concluded, "At least…now… Now, you're done. You should feel lucky that you're done, and not complain or worry anymore about your costume."

Feeling, indeed, so lucky, he was again atop of her now, and between his skin and hers, there was the smallest of spaces, barely enough for air, for the slick of sweat soon would be chilling. "I know, I won't complain nor worry. And, yes, I feel so, so damn lucky. Umm, you really think I'm gonna look sexy in your tattoos?"

"Shirtless? Yes, I really do," she whispered, then there was a hum slipping from her lips as he kissed her neck in a way that time seemed to stop.

They knew that they should be sleeping instead of talking about ridiculous Halloween costumes, and knew that sleep was probably better for them now than laughing and making noises and rocking the whole place. But then again, they didn't care. This was the most they'd talked in weeks, and this was the only sex they'd had in months.

"How are you gonna do it? The tattoos on me?" he asked her, some minutes after they calmed down and came back to earth. She slowly ran a hand over his chest as if examining it—already could visualize the fake  tattoos on him—before she replied, "Basically, I'm gonna draw them all over your body, with my magic marker!"

"Would that magic marker of yours wash off afterward?"

Giving him a mischievous look, she whispered, "let's hope so."

[samtheflamingomain]

25.21%

I've been sober for 3 months today. 92 days. 25.21% of 2021.

I could've posted more updates, more milestones (it took a LOT not to post on Day 69) but I wanted to kind of save it up for a Big Day. It was also a decent way to continue to incentivize my continued sobriety: a full pass to do a shameless, hardcore bragging sesh.

Anyway, this post comes in 2 parts: the TL;DR for those who only want the gist, then more in depth on my ability to stay sober, the lasting effects of rehab, etc.

I tried my damnedest to pare this absolute novel down, but it's long, so feel free to dip out if you just get bored. Onward!

TL;DR: I went to rehab the beginning of July for 3 weeks and haven't had a drop of alcohol since. I've lost weight, I'm more healthy, my daily anxiety level went from 8 to 2, I haven't had an anxiety attack in 3 months, and everything generally just seems... easier. My memory and concentration have improved. I've been productive and I've been meditating every day. I'm saving money, and while I sometimes fantasize about getting drunk, that's usually all it is.

Honestly, it's been much easier than I expected, but I think a lot of that is because for the first 3 weeks, the time in which I would usually break down and start drinking again when trying to get sober myself, was spent behind a locked door. So far I haven't had any days where I was close to giving in. I haven't had many days where I've been depressed about it, missing it or really tempted. Maybe 3-4. I've basically just gotten on with my life as if alcohol doesn't exist.

To wrap up the short version for those ready to peace out, I'll leave it with a bit of advice.

I don't feel qualified to give any specific advice, because my story feels very unique to me, and I honestly don't think what worked for me will work for MOST people. Sometimes people spend a year in rehab and still drive straight to the liquor store on their way home.

That said, there's one thing that I've found pretty universally true: you have to really want it. For a while, I floated about without much of a "reason" to stay sober. I don't have a spouse, kids or a job I've been fired from, so I didn't see the point.

It's taken me a while, but after not being "convinced" by a few superficial "reasons" like weight loss and saving money, I thought I needed something more... permanent? Consequential? I now realize that my "reason" for getting sober at a young age after only a few years of alcoholism is that I don't want it to get to a point where I'm hurting other people, drinking myself into multiple lasting health problems... I don't want it to become permanent or consequential.

Anyway, that's my two cents. If you do have something like kids or trouble keeping a job, definitely use that as your reason. But for anyone who's a pretty "functional" alcoholic like I was, "not letting it go on long enough to become disfunctional" is a good enough reason.

This is going to get stupid long, so feel free to walk away now, just glad you read this much and it really does mean the world when people listen to what I have to say.

Now some more things in depth. I'll go in chronological order: what made me get sober, what I took from rehab (and what I left), and how it's been the past few months.

I started drinking when I got kicked out, manic out of my mind and homeless unable to sleep. It took a while until I was able to sleep without alcohol, but by then the addict brain had taken over. I'd tried a few times to get sober myself, but I never made it more than a week without, and always got back to daily drinking after a few months maximum.

Some people need a "wake up call", a "last straw" or a "rock bottom". Something external to make them realize they can't go on as they are. For me, the catalyst was my health, which is more of an internal reason I suppose. I didn't have a heart attack or liver failure, but my anxiety was getting uncontrollable and I knew it was directly tied to my drinking.

My life had been starting to feel tolerable, and I was more financially secure than ever before. Things were looking up... except for the alcoholism. This is a weird analogy but the only one that makes sense to express why, if I was doing so well on paper, I decided to go to rehab: you have to sweep before you mop. If I hadn't been in the place I was, I don't think I would've been successful at rehab. I had to sweep up the cat turds from the floor of my life before I was able to mop up the shit stains with sobriety. I know, I'm a true wordsmith.

When I finally called the hotline that hooked me up with a bunch of different rehabs, I knew I was in for a wait. It was about 5 months from that call to checking in, which isn't too bad considering I've been on the waitlist for a neuropsychiatrist in ALL OF CANADA for 4 years.

That brings us to July 12th, Rehab Day One. I've gone in depth in multiple other posts but to touch on it briefly, if I had to describe my experience in a sentence I'd say "the place I went to got very lucky with me".

What this means is that, of the 5 people in my group, I think this exact program was only ever going to help me. At the same time, I didn't even know what I would need, but this exact program was 90% of it. I didn't think 3 weeks would be long enough, but for me it was. The hours-long, repetitive, basic-ass CBT groups held 5 times a day 7 days a week was absolute torture for everyone but myself. While it was a drag to spend an hour on defining what a cognitive distortion is, the routine and repetition, something I've never gotten out of any outpatient program, helped me to really absorb the information and let it rewire my brain.

I've always said that I'm someone who should be spending an hour a day with a therapist for the rest of my life, and while that's not even remotely feasible, this was as close as it's ever gotten, and it proved me right, because it worked. I've done biweekly therapy for a short time but even that didn't come close to the way my brain changed in those 3 short weeks.

This program required absolute commitment and open-mindedness. This isn't because it was hard work or difficult concepts, but quite the opposite. While I hate the entire concept of art therapy being used as a cure-all for mental illness, I willingly got out of my bed, went downstairs and tried doing a dot mandala for an hour because I'm willing to try anything to get better. A lot of people might think they are, but really aren't. To use the mandala as an example, one guy was really into it, I wasn't, but we both finished. The other 3 tried, messed up a few times, and then scrolled through their phones. When I say this program necessitates complete engagement, that's not a compliment. It shouldn't be a chore to engage with the program. It shouldn't take me actively saying "I know I've known this basic concept since 4th grade, but maybe hearing it again will help" to get something out of a rehab program. So again, in every way, I got lucky, and so did they.

Before I finish with the rehab section, having had a few months to reflect on the whole thing, I now have an endless list of things wrong with it. I arrived, greeted by the most jaded and disillusioned of staff, and quickly became disturbed and at points concerned with just how negligent the staff are.

Maybe it's because I've been on the psych ward where they won't even let you have shoelaces and shine a flashlight on your face every half hour through the night, but it could've been so incredibly easy to sneak in alcohol. I brought 2 full water bottles, fully expecting to have to dump them out upon arrival, but they said "nah it's fine". Is it though?

Then there were actual counsellors there who were... okay. I recall one, the one I thought was the smartest, reading a handout aloud and coming across the word "delve" as in "let's delve into..." and stumbled, then said she doesn't know that word. The room was silent. As she pulled up Google on the screen I said, "it means to dive into it". She Googled it anyway. Synonyms include "dive in". If that was the only example I wouldn't mention it, but this was the first of at least 10 words she had do Google, none past a 10th grade level, from HER OWN MATERIAL. From that point on it became clear that they had no fucking idea what they were doing.

We had one last one-on-one counselling session before we left and the counsellor just filled in boxes to questions on her computer, rephrasing everything I said to fit into the buzzwords and "lessons" we'd "learned". Example. Me: I do think I'm better able to catch myself thinking 'oh I can just have one drink' and say 'no I can't'." Her: "Okay, so would you say that you can recognize negative cognitive distortions like permission-giving thoughts and counter them with a more rational and less emotional mind?" Like girl, blink twice if your boss is holding your family hostage. She gave me some papers, detailing all the online courses they were signing me up for and options for more treatment they'd be sending me, a phone number to call and a phone appointment for the next Monday. I never got that call, the phone number is a hotline, I never got a single email from them, and given how shitty they really are at their jobs, I didn't feel the inclination to try and get those resources. If they even exist in the first place.

In summation, it was a place where it was physically impossible to get alcohol. That's really all I can say in its favor. Oh, and they let you have your cell phone.

Now on our timeline I'm back home. I want to kind of analyze why it's been easy for me.

I often said that my main goal of going to rehab was to lock me away from alcohol long enough for it to reset my brain. Most people thought that was naïve, but that's exactly what happened. But I'm well aware that my experience of "instantly became sober and literally hasn't had a single hard day in 3 months" is absurdly unusual.

I put this down to a few things. Firstly, I'm on seven different meds for my mental health. Almost all of them have their effects dulled or even eliminated when you drink. So when I noticed my mood, fatigue, memory, concentration etc all getting better at once - right about as I left rehab, I don't think it would be a stretch to say that all those meds started working properly.

Secondly, I've been keeping myself busy, but that's something I've always been good at. Now I specifically choose to undertake projects that will eat up a lot my time and put me in a state of flow. I recently made an entire card game from scratch, and let me tell you, I didn't think of alcohol for a week.

Thirdly, my other goals now get in the way of alcohol. I'm getting old and my body is deteriorating. But I've always wanted to do just one last season of gymnastics. Well, I need to lose weight for that to happen. I've already lost 35 pounds, and after another 20 I'll be ready to go. Also, I used to spend more on alcohol per month than rent. Even though I've done a few shopping sprees lately, I haven't come remotely close to how much I was spending before.

I want it more than anything. I want to be sober more than I want one night of "fun" that will more likely than not lead me back to where I was a year ago. I never want to need anything as much as I needed alcohol.

Lastly, just a few more random thoughts.

A lot of people, myself included, worried about the fact that I work at a bar as a cook, but honestly the entire time I'm there I'm thinking about food, not alcohol. If I'm hanging out with some regulars before/after, I can watch them drink and be perfectly fine with my coffee, because the coffee is $2, and I used to spend $20 after every work shift.

I also decided in rehab to start taking better care of myself as best I could. This started with getting my second vax which I'd been putting off, then an eye appointment, then new glasses, then a dentist appointment where I was informed I need to do $3000 worth of work on my implant that's erroding my bone matter, so that sucks, but I caught it early. I've also been meditating every day. In just 3 months, I've made pretty big improvements to my self-care and my daily routine.

One of my fears about sobriety was "missing out" on "having fun". A few days ago, all my housemates got together to play Mario Party, and it was kind of my first night doing something social while sober. It was a breath of fresh air - I wasn't constantly running to piss, I didn't worry about running out of alcohol, I didn't get sloppy and obnoxious as I can sometimes do. I even came very very close to winning my first game of MP. When I reflected on the night, I realized that, if I'd been getting drunk the whole time, I would've sucked at the minigames, been a hindrance to anyone unfortunate enough to be teamed with me, and likely would've stopped caring about the game itself after the first few turns.

Yesterday I was making my 4th pot of coffee of the day when I realized there was a full glass of wine just sitting on the counter. I had absolutely no idea where the hell it came from - nobody in my house drinks wine. I shrugged and poured that sweet sweet bean juice. It was only when I sat down and took a sip of coffee did I find myself thinking automatically, "this tastes so much better than wine". I only realized then that it had been rose wine, the only kind I've ever been able to tolerate. It was the ultimate moment of possible temptation, and the thought of just chugging that glass - as I may've done in the past - didn't even cross my mind.

I'm so glad to be where I am. I'm about to undergo some serious financial changes - i.e. going absolutely broke - but drinking isn't gonna help that, so I'm cautiously optimistic.

Stay Greater, Flamingos.