#there is obviously the epilogue which does wrap up it up all nicely which i do enjoy sometimes but i have truly read

[blamemma]

i know this is controversial to say, but i wish more fic had sad endings

[boochubsgeeks]

Taisho x Alice - Steam

We meet our heroine as she wakes up in a world without colour or sound. She does not remember who she is or even where she is. In an attempt to find an exit, she wanders around aimlessly, but she comes across a young boy with shining golden hair and piercing blue eyes. We discover that he as well is in a similar situation to our heroine, and he can only remember the name "Alice". Since she has no name, he calls her "Arisu" and they start looking for an exit together.

Their journey eventually takes them to a cave filled with crystal mirrors and figures reflected in them. Shortly thereafter, they decide to enter through the looking-glass. What awaits the "heroine" on the other side of the mirror world?

There is a lot of darkness and depth in this Otome. Despite its sweet plot lines, this isn't your average romance Otome. You should not play this game if you are unable to cope with its contents, which include mental disorders, illnesses, incest (in a sense), polygamy, monogamy, suicide, amnesia, control, submissiveness, and sexual content. 

The game starts out as a normal fairy tale, but once you delve deeper, it becomes confusing. My mind was constantly occupied with explanations and questions throughout the story. Obviously, all the puzzles were solved once I played Epilogue. 

For CGs, click here - Full of spoilers

Characters

Main Characters

She is the best protagonist ever. She is funny and have a mind of her own. She is firm and no one can stop her once she put her mind into it. She is strong-willed and very determined. She is always, always there to help you and always have a positive mind.

Cinderella is a self-centered, childish man whose family owns a local cafe. He is engaged to Yurika because their families are close. Snow White and Gretel, his younger brothers, live with him. Cinderella enjoys blowing money on frivolous items and throwing extravagant parties. He despises all forms of hard work. His hobby is glass-working. Walkthrough

Red is a serious police officer who comes to stay with Yurika after she receives all those threatening letters. He appears unflappable and cold at first, but it turns out he just seems to have Gynophobia and is actually a charming genuinely nice guy with a twisted mind. He is very fond of flowers. Walkthrough

At first sight, Kaguya falls in love with Yurika and asks her out. Since he is actually homeless and has lost all his memories, he moves in with Yurika at the cafe owned by Cinderella and Snow White. Having been through a lot in his past, he has a lot of scars on his body. As a moon dweller, he loves watching the moon and has always wished to go to the moon to end his suffering on Earth. The moon is all he remembers despite not remembering anything else. Walkthrough

Gretel is Yurika's younger brother and completely devoted to her. The two know they are not blood related and have developed feelings for each other despite their differences. The relationship between Gretel and his sister was always a priority to him, so he cannot risk having it tarnished. Despite not realizing it, Yurika adores wrapping Gretel's fingers around hers. Being brothers and sisters, they can stay together and do everything together without worrying about what others think. He fears losing this relationship - someone to be called home - as an orphan, he has only Yurika as his family. The best thing he enjoys is spending time with his older sister and making sweets. Walkthrough

Snow white is a soft-spoken young man who stays at home most of the time. He hates being referred to as girly, cute, or anything that describes girls. His favorite thing to do at night is to sit by the lake and read. He suffers from Dysgeusia, which causes his food to taste bad. Also, he has a very strong sense of self-consciousness and hates looking at his own appearance. He's a thinker and asks riddles as well as looking deeper into situations. Walkthrough

Mr Wizard is a mysterious detective at Black Cat Detective Agency. He is said to be a genius at deduction and tries to assist Yurika after she receives a threatening letter. He is always straight forward and rarely minces words. Walkthrough

Alice, as you all know, was also in the dark with Yurika. Most of the time, he can be annoying because he is extremely loud. In addition to not answering your questions, he will speak in an aggressive tone. It was probably to prevent Yurika from finding out who he is. Her first encounter with Alice in the darkness was not remembered until the Epilogue. Throughout the epilogue, he displays more concern for Yurika than he did at the beginning. In times of need or difficulty, he is always there for her. Although he maintains a distance from her, he keeps an eye on her.  Walkthrough

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: ii

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii (epilogue)

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @firein-thesky​​

word count: ~15.2k

Healing takes time, but it’s easier with someone else around who’s on the mend with you. 

(You and Keigo learn to start living again.)

warnings: codependency but make it sexc, injured reader, post-trauma symptoms, reader has abandonment issues, angst, ouchies <3

a/n: part 2 :’^) we made it!! soft hurt and very horny codependency that involves keigo’s immaculate d*ck. all that is left after this is part 3 which will be more of an epilogue :’^) 

enjoy loves <3

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

The doors to exit the hospital scare you.

How can they not?

They’re... automatic.

The glass panes are wide, sliding and slapping as folks come and go, the quiet ring of metal on metal and the slap of the plastic padding makes your heart race.

Get over it, get over it, get over it—

It’s just some doors, they’re normal.

You’ve walked through automatic doors so many times. Never before had you even taken conscious note of them. 

(But that was before you heard them let in that man who—)

Without thinking, you take a little, tentative step back from them. 

Consider you are leaving your own slice of healing hell; you are shakier and sweatier than you would’ve liked. Your clothes are like the ones... he used to wear, cheap garments obviously pulled from some industrial multipack that stank like plastic and rubbing alcohol.

You hate it.

But you didn’t have another choice. Your old articles were bloodied and disposed of long ago, and the hospital gowns you wore during your stay were far more uncomfortable than your scratchy, wide pants and crewneck long sleeve the same pale, lifeless blue as your old bed sheets. 

It would be enough.

You shift the crutch under your right arm and shuffle the backpack on your shoulders. It contains just enough to get you to the shelter, where they’d supposedly have a bed— a cot, more than likely. You had a toothbrush, some extra socks, and a prepaid card for a single, one-way train trip across the country and into the unknown.

Tears stung your eyes as you lingered by the doors.

It all feels so uncomfortably real. The world kept moving, and you’re reentering it far-more battered and perpetually bruised. 

And completely alone.

(The thought horrifies you to your core, but you try to ignore it.)

Despite the time you spent at the hospital, you were leaving without a hint of reverie. Everyone, nurses and doctors and anyone who has fucking eyes is too busy dealing with the casualties that had lasted months. 

It didn’t matter how long you stayed. You were just a body. A fucked up one too. 

You count yourself lucky to even have the backpack, as cheap and sterile as it smells.

It all unnerves you, but you didn’t have a choice. Numbness settles over you as you accept your future. 

There... is a little glimmer that he will show up.

(He won’t. Empty promises.)

(Everyone leaves.)

(Why’d you call him, anyway?)

(Because no one had spoken to you like a human in a month.)

Solitude makes people desperate and crazy.

You are a little crazy, you know. Maybe not in a bad way, but certainly in a way that is eating you up and out in ways you don’t understand. You don’t have the energy sort through it all. You just have to finally start moving forward. Or try to. 

Tentatively, you walk toward the doors, stepping out and onto the pavement. You lurch and you would’ve tripped if not for the crutch shoved under your arm. 

For the first time in a long time, you suck in fresh air and the trickling sunlight. It feels fresh, cleansing you with each little inhale as you face your cheeks to sky. You have your moment, basking before your journey.

Then someone whistles. You ignore it at first.

The person whistles again, calling out— 

“Your ride’s here, starshine!”

Your breath punches from your lungs. You whip your head to the sound. 

Though it’s overcast, you do see your morning sun.

Your steps stutter as you nearly trip over your feet.

He is standing, not far at all, leaning against a shiny black car, sleek and expensive and out of place. He’s all overgrown hair and lazy-expressions, one which stretches into a grin as he sees you.

And you see him.

(He really came?)

(Of course he did.)

Your crutch nearly clatters to the ground as you stumble toward him. The moment you waver, he’s running to catch you.

You meet each other halfway.

And without a goddamn lick of shame, the moment you near him, your arms lock around him. Your face buries into the hollow of his throw and you inhale. The scent of him, a bit spiced but mostly skin and sweat fills you. Not a hint of antiseptic. 

 And you shudder at how good it feels. 

He stabilizes the two of you, greedily wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing as if to give a much-needed greeting. 

There’s a moment of heat between you, familiar and blessed and so damned missed that you both share shuddering breaths. 

“It’s good to see you, starshine,” He soaks up any part of you he could get to. So casually, he touches like he wants to consume you.

You squeeze him just as hard.

“You came?” Your words muffled into his skin.

He simply nods, and the only confirmation you need to sink into him. Perhaps, there’s onlookers, but neither of you have the mind to care. All you care about is the shift of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the heat of him, his golden, pretty visage—

Like he had so many times, he tucks hair behind your ears and tension drains from him. 

So tenderly does he squeeze around your middle where he holds you up, “Let’s go home, starshine.”

You want nothing more.

...

The drive to your new home is long, but you don’t mind.

The world has changed in the months you’d been tucked away in the forest-hidden hospital. As disconnected as you were, you still heard of the unrest and upheaval across the country. The political clashes are marked by the... contrarian billboards lining the highway, new slogans battling each other every mile or so. 

The scenery slowly goes from flatlands, to wetlands, to rolling hills that are a lush green. From the safety of the car, you could see that the air even looked wet, and you could imagine the way it would stick in your throat and tacky the tips of your fingers. 

“Where do you live?” You finally ask, voice soft in the melancholy softness of the light mist that sprayed the car.

“In the mountains, high-up,” He squeezes your hand (the one he’s been holding the whole ride). Quietly, he adds. “I still couldn’t bear to be too close to the ground.”

He laughs, though it fades into the suddenly heavy air.

This is the world, isn’t it?

You blink, gulping at the face of your reality, and let your eyes go half-lidded as you trace the shapes of growing evergreen as your drive takes you higher and higher. 

...

Keigo had made up the guest room for you.

He doesn’t have much for extra sheets and softness, let alone decor, but he does what he can. The bed is made and pressed with clean lines, freshly washed. The curtains on the windows hang heavy, but warm up the room with their clement, tan fibers. It’s a start, with lots of space for you to add your own touches as well.

He’d spent the night prior on it, laboring, like he was preparing a nest as opposed to a simple bedroom.

(It is a nest, but he doesn’t need to accept that just yet.)

There wasn’t anything else to do for a while when he first escaped that fucking hell. He’d really given up. Keigo was uncomfortably content to rot away as he had dreamed of since he’d been burnt. The little, dusty corners of the cabin would’ve made perfect places to waste away in peace and alone. 

Except, he didn’t.

Keigo started to make the home better.

He isn’t sure if it was out of some need to just do something, and the outdated, worn cabin was his most available canvas. Part of him is convinced it’s some buried avian instinct, and without the Commission’s constant hovering, he has no reason to suppress those more animalistic urges. The need to nest somewhere cozy and safe took him over, and he had gotten to work.

The cabin is cleaned up incredibly well. New appliances, floors patched and polished. The furniture is mostly old, but it’s obviously been shined and tended to. The living area isn’t horribly large, but it’s more than enough space for the two of you. It has wide windows that looked down upon the slopes and peaks that your home is nestled in. The colors are warm oranges and tans that are easy on the eye. Nothing too red and nothing too blue.

Nothing too imposing.

(Nothing too reminiscent.)

He leads you from the car, gingerly helping you up the rickety stairs to the front door. 

The wound on your leg may be ‘healed’, but you don’t appear comfortable in the slightest. Your expression pinches with half of your steps, the bending of your scarred flesh undoubtedly painful. It makes something in his chest squeeze as he navigates you into his house, from the snow into somewhere warm. A place that he crafted all on his own. Shaped with his own hands. A real possession, all his own. 

When you enter, you don’t say anything, only tightening your grip on his hand.

“I like it,” You smile, soft and dreamy, worrying the strap of your backpack. “... Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay?”

“Of course,” Keigo assures you. Of course, it was okay for you to stay. “I’m happy to have you here, especially when the other option is one of the shelters.”

You wouldn’t have lasted a day with your bum leg and natural softness.

The thought has him gulping, the heat flaring in his chest as he tugs you closer, ghosting his lips over your temple.

With only a bit of stumbling, he shows you the rest of the home.

...

You’re quiet the rest of the day, curled up on the couch in the same clothes you left the hospital in. There’s clear exhaustion in your face, from the dark circles ringing your eyes and the tremble in your hand and leg. Keigo is content to cover you in a nice knit blanket he purchased down in the nearby town, and let you rest.

His own back burns when he catches glimpses of your scar. It ran down all the way to your ankle, even bleeding onto the top of your foot. The gnarled flesh brings back memories of screaming and metallic exam rooms.

And he, like you, stares at a wall for a while before making dinner.

 You can’t manage much.

The TV glows with some show you might’ve watched and been engrossed in it.  But the hollow feeling in your chest keeps you submerged in the static of your skull. It’s more comfortable than acknowledging how quickly the picture moves in front of you.

Your only motion is a ‘light’ scratching over the thin fabric of your pants.

‘Light’.

He enters sometime later, bearing food and an easy smile that falls all-too quickly. 

“Hey, starshine— oh fuck,” His voice clips as he enters, setting down steaming plates on the coffee table and pulling your hand from your thigh. The tips of your fingers are stained with enough blood to make your eyebrows shoot up. 

Your eyes shoot to your leg, where you’d apparently tore through the thin fabric of your pants and torn your skin up without even thinking. So close to the scar—

Heat flares between, light bouncing in your eyes as you cover the hole, “S-sorry, fuck, I didn’t even realize.”

“It’s okay, it happens,” Keigo assures you, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Let’s clean you up quick and then eat, okay?”

You nod, exhaling a weight from your chest as the light skitters out of your eyes. 

And the heat fades from the room. The absence of it chills Keigo, and the abruptness makes his nose scrunch. 

He patches you up quickly and with a precision that screams ‘yes, I have done this far too many times.’ The wound isn’t too severe, just a nasty-looking scratch. The dried blood on your finger is wiped away. 

You both settle onto the couch, eating in silence.

Something hangs in the air, thick and unsaid. Questions and paragraphs that have been ignored up until now. Not out of will, perhaps just tired negligence. 

But, Keigo has always been the blunt type, so he finally asks one of the many facets that needs to be broached. 

“What’s your quirk?”

A little surprised sound lodges in your throat with a bite of baked fish, “My quirk? I thought you figured it out already.”

Keigo raises a feathery eyebrow, “I’m a bit slow these days, starshine.”

The nickname makes something settle pleasantly under your ribs, and the light, little orbs of yellow and orange return to your eyes. 

And heat fills the room, like it had so many times before. Like those first nights in the common room, stargazing in the lamp and starlight. It’s warmth that bleeds between his bones and tendons, through and through.

Keigo puts it all together, jaw going slack and eyes going wide.

Had he never realized it?

It does make sense, in retrospect and without a sinfully heavy dose of painkillers swimming in his veins. The heat that permeated all of the nights you sat, eyeing the stars and each other.

The odd heat of it all. 

You’d been warming the two of you. Souls cold from the sterility of it all. 

“That’s your quirk?” Keigo leans in closer, inspecting the little specks of light in your irises. The tell. “This whole time?”

“U-um, yeah,” You worry a hangnail. “I don’t mean for it to be activating all over the place, but it has been since everything happened.”

“Why’s that?”

You chew the plump of your bottom lip, brows pinched.

Without thinking, Keigo bows to the will of the ever-present, needy feeling in his chest and presses a little kiss to your forehead, willing it to smooth away some of your worry. 

I’m not upset, the action says, but the cabin is quiet.

“... You know how cats purr?”

Keigo quirks an eyebrow, “I do.”

“Well, I think it’s kind of like that,” You met his eyes, the light returning and the fire-like warmth tickling the hair on your arms. “Cats purr when they feel good, but sometimes, they purr when they’re not doing well.”

“... ‘Not doing well’?”

“If they’re in pain, or if they’re really scared,” You go quiet, tracing a seam on Keigo’s jeans. “They’ll purr to comfort themselves. It’s like that.”

Comfort themselves.

No wonder all those nights you spent together, you felt so warm. It was your quirk— 

And you must’ve felt awful. 

Part of him feels betrayed, just for a moment, before it dissolves with the watery look you wear as your injured finger traces over his knuckles. 

And the heat of you flares. 

Your quirk is a part of you.

“I didn’t think to tell you.” Your voice wobbles, yet remains vacant. “‘M sorry.”

You don’t need to apologize.

If anything, the knowledge only strengthens Keigo’s resolve. 

...

The first weeks at the house are odd as you both settle into rhythms of living. There’s an orbit to how you choose to live, though it’s not predictable or reliable. It can’t be, there’s no way for it to be. You float around each other like little planets to a fickle sun, unstable and wavering, but elliptical, nonetheless. 

You’re both learning to be human again with your own rhythms.

Keigo’s biggest challenge is dragging himself from bed each morning. The lazy bones he thought the Commission had broken and beaten out of him still remain somehow. Now that he has no obligations to tend to at the break of dawn, he thoroughly enjoys lazing about in the sheets, even if he’s just staring at his wood-paneled ceiling wishing that Dabi had finished the job and burned him dead.

He’s doing great.

Despite his sluggishness, you move about on your own. 

You make coffee each morning, and curl up on the couch under the same knit blanket. A few patches of the multi-colored throw have been pulled apart by your restless hands. 

Neither of you comment on it.

Though Keigo takes longer to rise, you move far less during the day during those first weeks. You’re tethered to the cushion until the sun goes down.

It’s like the nylon straps at the hospital never left your wrists.

Your vacant nature scares him, if he’s honest. There’s an unspoken, massive wound you carry with you, both physically and mentally, and its manifestation is a little haunting. 

Keigo knows about trauma, knows about how the mind worked and how to, you know, deal with it. He is— was, a hero, for fuck’s sake. Trauma is in the job description and he’d had his fair share of bruises before he went undercover, before he killed Jin (REALLY don’t think about it—), and lost his wings. He’s stitched himself up by filling up his schedule with anything he could. Distractions. Things to occupy him, help him forget for a while. If that didn’t work, he always had a bottle or two of imported soju that he could nurse.

Again, coping.

The state you’re in is the opposite of coping, it’s being. Existing. The strain you carry from everything shows in you, and the way that it’s manifested terrifies him.

Keigo is smart enough to know to keep a few boundaries. He can’t fix you and he can’t get it in his head that he can. He’ll smother you; he knows he will. The solace he finds comes from being there when you need him, and always being close by. 

It’s all he can do to soothe what’s obviously an open wound. He has his own, that you tend to in your own way as well when you can. It’s all give-and-take, naturally and easily. 

You’ll find yourselves on the couch together, leaning and touching so naturally, but with no intent. Your little fingers trace shapes over his clothes, hearts and lettering he can’t catch. The heat of you will cling to him, whether your quirk activates or not.

He holds you, simply and truly. Tries to be a new, kinder being. 

...

You don’t have much that is solely yours. 

You’d been living in an odd combination of Keigo’s clothes and the single outfit you arrived with. It works, enough. Most garments are worn until they’re filthy, but it takes you a little too long to notice. 

Keigo notices.

One day, he sits down with you and his heavy, black credit card and helps you pick out... whatever you wanted. The guy is loaded and will be until he dies, and he’s smitten to help you pick out whatever you need. 

You’re more challenged by the task.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to do this,” you murmur into his collarbones, narrowing your eyes at the laptop screen. “I have enough.”

Keigo clicks his tongue, rubbing the fraying fabric of your shirt, the same, cheap scratchy fabric from the hospital. Your pants are soft cotton, old ones of Keigo’s that he should probably throw away. You adore them, and spend most of your time in them, too.

“You deserve some nice things that are yours, don’t you think?” He coaxes with some extra soft touches as you glare at the screen.

Perhaps, you think to yourself. Your jaw locks.

You deliberately avoided thinking about your lack of... things. The absence of all the bits of you that you had once carried tugs at something deep in your chest. Grief, probably. Loss at the very least. Your home has been torn apart and you have nothing. Not a single remnant of then except you. And you’re hardly a good cast of the existence you once lead. 

The world feels dimmer with the thought. 

...

The house gets cold at night.

It’s inevitable, with the chill of the snowy valleys and peaks slipping through drafty windows and cracks in the woodwork. It slunk into the house once the stars rose, sinking bone deep. It’s easier to ward off during the day. The little stray touches and the ambiance of shared presence helps. 

But, you slept separately. 

It’s cold— so fucking cold in your beds. Keigo hates it. Despises the way how it makes his eyes droop and his body heavier than it should be. Despite not having wings any longer, his other avian traits lingered, and torpor was definitely not in his top three faves. He can only be thankful that he thought to invest in an electric blanket for himself, for his nest.

Though it would be a lot better with you in it, the last thing he wants to do is push you. You’re fragile. Everything is fragile. Keigo has laid awake on more than one night, trying to make sense of all of it, everything and coming to the conclusion that sleeping in his too-big, too-cold bed would have to do.

Sometimes, there’s no way to swallow the state of things.

...

“Your packages are here.”

You look up, eyes wide and sweet.

Oh, yeah. Material goods.

Clothes.

Objects.

It takes a while, but the result of your shopping spree is a small horde of packages down at the town post office, all with your name attached. The idea of so much newness is daunting, but your few remaining garments are threadbare and practically falling apart. It’s necessary, you acknowledge, even if you’re terrified of not living in Keigo’s worn crewneck. 

(Change can be good, you remind yourself. The thought is quiet.) 

Keigo stands by the door, buttoning up his coat and lacing up his boots as you watch from your soft perch on the couch. The blanket has a new, wide hole picked in it, but you don’t notice. 

“Would you like to come with me and pick them up?” Keigo flicks his gaze to you with a careful, easy smile.

You hadn’t left the house since you’d arrived. 

The thought sends your stomach knotting and sweat gathering in your palms. You jerk your head side to side, sinking back down into the cushions.

Keigo doesn’t hold it against you. You can tell by the way his expression softens around his eyes. 

He leaves after kissing you on the forehead a few times, telling you he’ll be quick to return. It’s not often that he leaves, though he’s always timely on coming back. His excursions are never more than a trip to the town market, thankfully. An hour or two feels like a lot, but the too-still air and quiet of the floorboards without Keigo’s pacing unsettles you.

Not having him near unsettles you. The thought of having him gone for too long shoots something hot and needy in your chest.

(Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave—)

Thankfully, just like always, Keigo isn’t gone for long. And he returns bearing a few armloads of packages and some takeout curry. You take it all, and him, greedily. 

(Thank you, thank you, thank you.)

...

It’s a few days later when Keigo wakes to you knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning. 

It had been a... rougher day. You had been a bit livelier early on, joining him on the snowy patio for morning coffee and even taking a quick walk around the neighboring forest. With the snow so deep, you could only go so far though. The motion of it aggravated your injury, left your gasping and clawing at Keigo’s arm as the scar tissue pulled.

The scar is still dead, thank god, but the impact is just as present physically as it is mentally for you.

The rest of the day you spent curled up on the couch, taking little sips of water between short naps. That night, you hardly touched your dinner. Keigo was smart enough to cut up some fruit and lay it with a handful of crackers and offer it to you throughout the rest of the night. You nibbled at the bits, but hardly consumed much at all.

You went to bed early, giving him a hard hug before retiring to your lonely room.

Those days are the worse, the bad ones. They’re the ones where Keigo wants to break all the boundaries he still has. The little touches and kisses he gives you are one thing, but there’s much more he wants to do. Craves doing. But, pushing you too far or too hard would break you. He’s smart. He knows that. So, Keigo doesn’t wait. He satiates all those protective needs. 

He accepts circumstance, just as he always has. 

(He doesn’t understand how much you crave him, but that’ll come later.)

             That night, things begin to shift. 

His voice cracks with sleep as he calls for you to enter. You linger in the door frame, clutching a pillow to your chest, like a scared child who’s had a— 

“Nightmare?” He asks, sitting up and tugging a blanket with him to cover his bare chest. 

The cold air of the cabin hits his scars. He hisses under his breath, shoulders drawing tense. You must notice, eyes going a little wider as you recede from his room. The darkness of the hallway nearly dissolves you. His chest aches, hands tightening around the fabric in his fists. 

“Come back here, starshine, come on,” Keigo calls, praying you’ll heed him. “It’s alright. What’s wrong?” 

Keigo half-recognizes that that’s a very loaded question, but you’re both a bit sleep addled. Maybe it will slide. 

Your eyes alight in the pitch of the room, sputtering with little orbs of amber. Your atrophying arms squeeze the pillow, and you take a few more tentative steps closer. 

“... We’re safe, right?” 

The question surprises Keigo, enough to make his old wounds ache.

One loaded question answered for another.  

It’s reasonable to ask. It’s very reasonable to ponder. Keigo has wondered about it too. The townsfolk don’t know who he really was, and he was quite secretive about the initial move. The world hadn’t caught onto the fact that ‘Hawks’ had moved him and his new love to an isolated little cabin in the woods, and hopefully they never would. Society had a lot bigger problems, according to the over-processed news channel he tuned into on occasion. 

Keigo was old news at this point.

So many heroes had been called out for poor behavior. Scandal after scandal, coverup after coverup. Corruption, everywhere. It was an industry secret, all of the bullshit behind closed doors.  Keigo’s little double-agent schtick and you know, murder of a good man (for the love of god, do not fucking think about Jin) was still bad, but the public had a whole new slew of bullshit to torch people at the stake for.

Still. 

He’s glad no one knows about your little hideaway or you.

“We’re safe, starshine. Very safe.”’

It makes his answer easier to say, more honest. 

You inch closer from the doorway. There’s a tremble in your shoulders that runs to your hands. You’re only wearing a t-shirt and thin shorts, maybe just panties, he can’t tell. Your scar runs down your thigh and calf, gnarling and twisting the flesh it dared to mar. The seam of it is a shining black that Keigo had failed to notice before. 

It reminds him of why you’re so scared and the types of nightmares you must have. 

“... Promise?” You stop at the foot of the bed, throat bobbing with a thick gulp.

Keigo gives a sympathetic smile, patting the sheets next to him, “I promise. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

You look skeptical, but climb into bed with him all the same. 

Something stirs in Keigo’s chest as you do. As he watches you clamor over the sheets and blankets he... nests in, the heat of it fills him. A combination of yours and his own, spills through his ribs and down to his toes.

He shudders with it, something needy wriggling down from

You sit up on your knees, sinking into the mattress and holding the pillow tight to your chest. Watching, eyes still alight and wide.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keigo asks.

You don’t, you both know that, but breaking the silence is a start.

You push the pillow against the headboard, trading it to link your fingers with his, over his chest and pressed to the linens. 

You squeeze and let out a breath you’ve been holding. There’s a weight to it, like there’s something you’re actually carrying. There has been something you have been carrying, but only you are able to see it— feel it in its actuality.

But, that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder the burden alone, especially on darkened, lonely nights. 

He tugs you closer, mindful of your tenderness and the scars you both bear. The night is only lit by starlight, and the room is dark with the new moon. It makes it easier to be closer as you settled into the bedding next to him.

It’s uncomfortable for a few moments.

Despite how much contact you share, this feels different. The little touches, kisses and caresses you trade throughout the day are second nature. Comforting someone else who so obviously needs it. His person who needs it. 

(He wonders if you think of him as your ‘person’ too.)

You lay on your side, facing away from him as you fall into his nest, still tense, still on edge and unsure. It reminds him of those first days at the hospital, when you both had lost your tongues and yourselves and just enjoyed the stars together in oddly comforting silence and broken conversation. 

It’s a process, he reminds himself. 

Keigo slides closer, throwing an arm over waist and adjusting the blankets with his other. There’s plenty, piled on top of each other without much reason. Careful hands properly tuck you into it all, next to him, with him. He brings them up to your chin, pressing stray hairs back into place and laying a trailing kiss or two over the back of your neck. 

“... Is it okay if I stay?” Your voice sounds far-off, like the question is more for yourself than for him. 

He can feel the unease and fear still bound up in your shoulders. It’s always there, whether it’s a moonless night or a snow-glitteringly, sunny day. The tension he presses his thumbs into is held in all of the muscle of your back, in your hips, your hands— everywhere.

It makes part of him ache.

A few little coos, soft little rumbles, roll from the back of his throat. 

Normally, he’d be a bit embarrassed. But at the birdish chirps, you’re falling deeper in the sheets, the nest, and against his chest. 

“Please stay,” He assures you with a squeeze. A small comfort, one he’d keep giving. 

 The odd quiet returns, sans the little sounds in his chest. 

Slowly, tentatively, you turn in his arms. Your own lock over his waist, splayed low on his spine. The pads of your fingertips brush scars, the old ones and the new. It makes him writhe a bit in his own skin. It’s unfamiliar, compared to all of the cold prodding and meaningless pleasure he was used to.

It is the closest anyone of familiarity has been to the scars in a long time, and you, preciously, grace him with the softest touch. No expectation in it, just some much-needed, shared bits of love. Once again, precious. 

And you both relax into it all. The ambient thrum of the other's body, the shared breath and smells that mingle between you. There’s little pains and stings that never really go away, but with the other so close, neither of you mind. 

It’s hard to tell when your quirk settles, and the organic heat you create together fills the rooms and your lungs. 

All Keigo knows is that he falls asleep with your lips brushing the hollow of his throat, still and warm against his chest. The feeling of the living rhythm of your body with your breath lulls him off, content and hazy. 

...

You never sleep alone after that night.

Keigo pulls you into his room, or you pad in after brushing your teeth and pulling on your soft, soft sleep clothes. The bed feels a lot less big and lonely with the two of you wrapped up in each other, fully giving in.

It puts Keigo at a remarkable amount of ease. 

The urge in his chest to ‘keep you safe’ feels the most sated at night, when he can keep as close as you both can bear. Your hands always make their home at the base of his spine, or the fat and flesh between his lower back and his rear. The pads of your fingers rub away years of stored tension and weight, quietly and kindly before you fall asleep each night. 

During the day, you’re equally as needy, though you’re slowly becoming a bit more independent. You’re more lucid in general. Though the couch and worn blanket are your greatest comforts (other than him), you’re beginning to stray and poke around the house a bit more. 

The shelves have a few more familiar comforts, things Keigo had slowly accumulated to pass the time. There’s a video game console or two he’d never used, a few stacks of books he’d heard were good, and some tucked away art supplies if inspiration struck. 

As much as he urges you to take and use whatever you’d like, you’re still tentative. The first few times you pluck a crisp book from the shelf, Keigo’s back aches with how the old muscles that once controlled his wings tried to puff-up non-existent feathers. Despite how it tugs at all the wrong parts of him, he still glows at the progress.

You start to help him with dinner too. That’s some of your favorite time. 

There’s a rhythm to it, when you both start preparing meals together. Keigo can’t season food for shit, (though, he’s made leaps and strides with cooking that pats himself on the back for) but he’s quite skilled with a knife. Remnants of his training that have domestic applications. 

He doesn’t tell you that that’s why he’s so good at dicing vegetables and paring meat, he just chatters to fill the air. You tend more to the process of cooking, seasoning and watching and nodding along to his words. 

The more meals you share in creating, the more you start to speak up.  

It’s progress, even in something so small. 

...

But progress isn’t linear. 

It’s not even a goddamn line and it’s fucking infuriating. 

...

The depth of winter bears down on the hills, the house, and the two of you. You’re coping, both of you. But the momentum of it is fragile.

It scares you, secretly and privately. 

You feel fragile, and you have for a long time. Your scar remains tender, gnarled and ugly on your leg. You avoid looking at it at all cost, though Keigo has free reign to graze tender touch nearby it. 

That’s how you find yourselves, leaning on each other on the cushion of the couch and idly watching the glow of the television. Your cheek tucks over his shoulder and you watch with half-lidded eyes. You’re only half-there as Keigo changes the channel.

He hums after a few moments. 

“There’s a storm coming tonight,” Keigo tells you, lips just a touch dry against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to go to town and—”

 Oh wow.

You interrupt, fisting the front of his shirt, “Can I come?”

The question stuns both of you.

Your eyes are honest as you peer up, genuinely unsure if you can.

“Of course, starshine,” Keigo assures. You notice the way his eyes, his pretty eyes, look wide and bright. All for you. Wow. “Let’s get you out of the house, hm?”

Getting out.

Time has stretched out and you can’t remember the last time you left for anything more than a little stroll on the backroads, Keigo on your arm. Going to town and seeing people strikes something odd that has your stomach churning. 

You’re nervous when you finally pile into the car, both bundled up with hats, mittens and scarfs (Keigo wears a mask to better hide his identity, but he’s sure some of the townies have figured him out.) The tasks are simple. Stock up for the coming storm and make sure he pays to plow their little backroad out once the storm passes. Easy, things that wouldn’t take too long, but it still makes your palms sweat. 

Keigo massages your thigh as you drive into town. The comfort of the snowy hills and evergreens disappears, and it has you in goddamn knots. 

You squeeze his hand, locking your jaw. 

“I’m scared.” You break the silence as the small structures of the town come into view. “I don’t know if this was a good idea.”

You haven’t decided again. 

He kneads his thumb into the tension in your thighs with a little smile, “Let’s give it a try.”

“It’s scary, though.”

“I know.”

You pull at a hangnail with your teeth but say nothing else as you roll in and park at the small market.

The first thing you notice is the goddamn doors. Automatic doors.

When you see them, you want to climb back into the car, maybe the trunk for fuck’s sake, and hide like you’ve never hidden before. Go home and bury yourself in a snow pile with how your heart hammers in your chest and your breath catches.

Deep breaths.

You catch yourself, just a little. 

You keep walking, Keigo’s hand in yours and you enter the market like nothing feels as wrong as it is.  

The store is small, but there’s a decent selection, all things given. Keigo places a basket in your hands, tells you to ‘go nuts’ and ‘literally get whatever you want, especially if it’s salty or sweet’ and you heed him the best you can. He busies himself talking to the clerk, organizing with that honey-voice you crave. 

You take a few deep breaths and walk around the market like a normal person. 

(Even though, the last time you were in a situation close to this, you got that nasty, cute scar on your leg.)

(You suppress the thought for as long as you can.)

The basket gets filled quickly, but you stuff it to the brim. Keigo picked out plenty of good food, and had learned how to cook decently, but having some... agency felt nice, if not fucking terrifying.

You’ve got your back turned to the entrance of the store when the (automatic) doors suddenly swish open. 

A chill so cold and hard shoots down your spine and you freeze, hovering over a box of breadcrumbs.

One...

 How long was it between that sound and when he touched you?

 Two...

 This was a terrible idea.

 Three—

 It was four—

 Four—

Four seconds, you propose, as your heart beats out of your chest and you sweat under your arms. Four seconds from the door opening to pain. 

You wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Nothing.

Just more voices from the front of the store, a figure entering your aisle and then leaving.

You hate the way you're so rigid, tense enough in your shoulders for it to hurt. The ghost of the wound on your leg makes you want to fall to the ground and writhe, but you grab the box of breadcrumbs and try not to think. 

It works, and you land next to Keigo, presenting your filled basket to be rung up. 

You bury your face into his shoulder and take a deep inhale. Keigo keeps you close, tucked in your side with an arm around your waist. Your anxiety must’ve been quite visible, as he takes to quietly rubbing your shoulders over your sweater.

Things get hazy as you feel safer. Keigo laughs and sways the two of you as he speaks to the clerk. 

(Her sons are going to blow your little house out when the storm passes. The family cat recently got out and came back pregnant. Her husband has been reading some odd literature he found on the internet. Something about ‘the strong triumphant over the weak’. Her daughter might be able to return from her foreign university now that the travel restrictions had been lifted.)

Everything moves forward, even if it’s unpleasant.

It’s an awful reminder at an inopportune time. 

You watch your feet as you crunch your way back to the shotgun side of the car, only relaxing when you hear the doors lock and the engine thrum.

...

The storm comes, just as the faces on TV said it would.

You’re in the country, in the hills and mountains where the weather is already turbulent and changeable. All the same, the overcast skies dump snow over the land and blanket the world in quiet and cold.

Snow silence sucks the sounds from the air, sans the howl of angry wind. 

You’re tucked away and safe. It’s Keigo’s only solace.

After going into town, you keep more to yourself as the storm takes it sweet time rolling in. He recognizes the far off look in your eyes; it’s the one you wore stargazing, but there’s no kind smile on your face. Just a thoughtless frown as you go through the motions of your day.

It makes his chest ache.

(Part of him regrets bringing you with him to the market. It rots part of him, and he can only hope it sprouts again.) 

Finally, when the storm truly comes and the hills get heavy and crisp white, a bit more of you returns. Keigo wants to take the fragments you’re willing to give him and tuck them close, horde them and squeeze. The way he’s gotten abashedly greedy for you has him handsier and needier. 

He’ll take what he can get, and give what he can too.

It’s easiest to bear at night, probably out of habit. Maybe the time in the hospital fucked both of you up (yes, for sure, it did), but nighttime was the time where you were open and easy with each other.

The storm gives the perfect opportunity to all of your time shamelessly twisted together, only leaving for brief coffee breaks and light meals. Otherwise, you’re both nested. 

Pillows and blankets piled on the oversized mattress, all soft against your scars and old scratches. Keigo’s still fond of the color red, he can’t let that go, but he trades in the scarlet that was once his ‘brand’ for a deeper burgundy. All the sensations are rich and velvety, whether it’s the bedclothes you’re wrapped in or the touches you share.

It feels safe.

The feeling is something almost foreign to Keigo. He’s been getting used to it, even as the isolation weighs down on him. No one around means no reason to be so alert. The house isn’t bugged, there’s no villains or Suits watching his every move. He’s just a flightless bird, with no cage, but no captors either.

It feels amazing.

It feels even better that you’re always the heat against his side. That you and your perfect, sweet hands always know how and where to touch. Your words flow easier when you’re so close, so surrounded and so deliciously suffocated.

Keigo fills you up in all the best ways, and you’re finally able to breathe easier.

You tell him your secrets, little stargazing facts and facets of you that you’d held away and far from him before.

“Do you know what cosmic microwave background radiation is?” You ask, sweet as your lips nip at his jaw.

“No, not a clue,” He laughs, the giggle only you get to hear. 

You hum, shifting your thighs so it lies over his. Your hips grind, slow and unhurried as wind rattles the windows.

“It’s this ambient radiation that’s just everywhere, all the time, forever,” You tell him, voice going a little huskier despite the fact you’re talking about theoretical astrophysics. “It’s left over from the Big Bang. A little bit of the beginning that never stops.”

“And how do you know all this?” 

“A documentary, love.”

The questions fade as your lips slide together, lazy hands sliding into each other's hairs. You pull, only lightly, just to bring him closer. Keigo gets greedy, (again, always), licking into your mouth and tasting you. It’s all cheap coffee and the stale mint of toothpaste, and he drinks you down like the finest nectar. He sucks on your tongue, moaning at the way you keen and shift next to him.

It’s not enough. It never is, so he rolls to sit himself over your hips and grab your jaw in a tight grip. He can’t be too forceful, he can’t— his little birdbrain won’t let him do anything too rough to you, even if neither of you would mind it. He tilts your head just right.

You roll your hips up, breath mingling with his as it hitches and shudders from you. It’s so much, so much good, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

Keigo pulls away, eyes half-lidded to take in your own blown pupils. It makes something purr in his chest, to see your eyes already glassy and wide for him. Your neck is thoroughly covered in darkened splotches, already sucked and bitten while the storm sang. 

Little marks of him.

“You’re all mine, you know?” Keigo nearly moans at the way your expression goes gooey and sweetened. He tightens his grip on your jaw just a fraction, enough to make you gasp before he licks and nips below your ear. Just to make sure you hear him. “‘Everywhere, all the time, forever’, I’ve got you.”

“Y-you do,” you gasp as Keigo shifts your sleep shorts off, pushed away forgotten in the nest. The thin tank top you’re wearing is hardly covering anything, not that either of you care. The nearly-sheer fabric of it stretches over your collars and curves beautifully. It does nothing to hide the way your breaths heave or the sweat and heat gathering on your neck.

You’re bared to him.

And if Keigo’s being honest?

You own each other, in the most pleasantly fucked up way.

“Y-You’re so good,” The word holds weight, so much heaviness. Keigo groans, palming one of your breasts and rolling one of your nipples. It’s ambient, something to occupy himself as he resists your words. Just a little—

Your hand slips into the front of his sweats, bare beneath, and wraps around the velvet of him. Thick and hot, firm in your hand but not close enough.

You squeeze, almost in warning.

“You are good.” You gasp as Keigo pulls off you, leveling gazes with you, all pretty eyes reflecting the starshine and snow. He is good. There’s so much more to it than that, but your poor, fucked up little mind can’t synthesis it yet. Only that Keigo is good, warm, safe, and wholly yours. And you’re his. You stretch to ghost a kiss over his lips. “My good boy, always keeping me safe. You keep me so well.”

He stills, even as you slowly pump in his cock. It twitches in your hand, your thighs squeezing between his hips. 

Keigo’s mind races, in the best way.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He murmurs, head tilting and body sagging to drink down your kiss-bruised lips. More, more, more— “You just need to be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to,” You lie, huffing. 

Keigo raises an eyebrow, biting his lips as your grip floats down to his balls, massaging them in your soft grip. It’s tender, weirdly vulnerable, as the whole of you two are.

“Maybe you don’t need to, you’re very capable,” Maybe not right now, but he knows it’s in there. “But you want it.”

“I-I like it,” You scramble the wording, shoving down his sweats, huffing again and urging Keigo to kick them away. Your palm goes to his cheek and drags him closer. “I like you a lot, love you, you know. You make me feel... safe. It’s a good feeling.”

It’s the most honest you’ve been in a long time, and it sits in the air. Keigo remains silent for a moment, silent and trying to control the way his birdbrain wants to take you. Wants to fuck you up and ruin you for anyone else.

You’re his, aren’t you?

“Good girl,” Keigo breaks the tension, squeezing your hips to the point of bruises. His, his, his. “I keep you so good, don’t I?”

You nod, spitting out little affirmatives between kisses. They dot his cheeks and forehead, slipping to his nose and downward. You pull his bottom lip into his mouth, letting out a little half-sob as Keigo’s touch drifts to your cunt, to your clit that’s swollen and untouched. 

More, more, more—

“You keep me so good,” You gulp, whining and grinding into the heel of his hand. Slick coats your sex, sticky and hot. “So, so good—”

Keigo drops down the bed, ignoring the flare of his scar tissue, to seat himself between your thighs. They get thrown over his shoulders with a squeeze. His hands cup your ass, slipping a pillow beneath your hips before eating your cunt like he’d die if he didn’t.

It’s one of his favorite things. Stuffing you full of him until your belly swells is another, or seeing the way his cock opens and stretches you until you’re gasping for breath and begging for more, more, more—

Keigo slips a finger into you without resistance. He curls it, unyielding as he massages the little knot of nerves in you that makes you arch and beg for more, for him.

You choke on a sob when he adds another finger, and he hushes you so sweet, tears prick your eyes. 

“Starshine,” He coaxes, withdrawing only to give your clit, a few kitten licks and slow kisses. His gaze flickers towards yours, holding your wet eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod, the meat of your thighs squeezing around him. Keigo would be happy to die like this, you soft and opened for him, crying for him. Broken and cracking for him, by his tongue, by his touch, Him. His.

“Who takes care of you?” He curls his fingers, and you throw your head back into the nest of pillows. 

“Y-You,” Your voice breaks and you rub at your cheeks. 

“Who knows just how to keep you so well? How to make you feel so good?”

He presses a third finger in, tending to your clit as you cry above him. You’re molten around him, and he laps you up until the smell and taste of you is all he comprehends. 

This is what you both need, isn’t it?

Each other. All of each other.

Your cries turn sour quickly, and it has Keigo jolting up, fingers withdrawn and leaving you to feel empty. The little sobs turned into hiccupping cries, one's stifled with the back of your hand. 

Keigo rises over you, tugging you hand away to get at your cheeks, kissing them soft and sweet. 

It isn’t often that you cry, surprisingly. You probably should more often. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Keigo urges. Please, please, just tell him what the fuck is wrong. He knows, you know, the meat of it all. But please tell him something he can tend to. Something he can stitch up because god, he needs to be useful— “What’s making your cry sweetheart? Tell me.”

You paw at your forehead, “It’s silly.” 

You sniffle and look at him with the most unguarded expression he’s seen you worn. The vacancy is gone, the hollowness and pain has been pulled away in the safety of that perfect nest and all that’s left is—

“‘M scared,” You mumble. Your arms curl over your chest, covering what’s primitively most precious to you. “I’m scared.”

Your eyes grow bright and heat, hotter than anything he’s felt from you, explodes over the room.

He’s half-choking and he fucking loves it. 

Something in his chest snaps and he worries your hair, bringing his nose to yours, nuzzling and nudging your hands away. He nips you. His poor little birdbrain.

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave.”

Keigo stills.

He sits with your fear for a few beats.

“I’d never leave,” He says easily, truthfully and fully. He couldn’t.

Those long nights in the hospital and the warmth passed between you had so easily gotten you wormed his chest, right next to his second and third rib. He can feel it, always; you’re ever present. He grabs your arms and holds them to yours sides. You’re exposed, soft flesh and squirming a bit beneath him. He wants to mark you purple and near-bloody, so that no one would think of you as anything other than his.

His, his, his.

He shows you.

Worn hands, a bit chapped with the dry air, pull your high to rest on his shoulders. He massages your calves, kissing your ankles.

“I mean this real lovingly, starshine,” He breaths deep, fisting his cock with a few slow strokes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t get a chance to protest as he slides into you in one stroke. The stretch of him has you burning; he can tell by the way your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders as your little cries only get harder.

“Bear it, I know you can,” You had before, and you would many times more. The stretch feels amazing, even if it burns something in your core. You like it, how the pain pricks something that shoots into your toes. Only Keigo gets to fuck you up, gets to own you. “You’re always good f-for me— f-fuck, so fucking good—”

His, his, his.

There is, of course, the inverse.

You grab his jaw, your grip tight like his was earlier, and you meet his gaze. You blink away tears, sniffling, but expression set with determination.

“You’re mine too,” You squeeze around him, grinding down to the root of his cock. “‘M only good for you because you’re mine too, Keigo. All of you.”

Without thought, your hands ghost over his scars.

You have avoided them for so long. It was an untouched spot, something tender and from a time where Keigo was being that was entirely and wholly different from who he is now. It’s a piece of him that’s always been off-limits.

But you’re both so cracked open, you do it without thought.

And something in Keigo snaps.

He pushes you down by the backs of your thighs, folding your legs to your torso. And he fucks you.

His hips slam against yours, opening you up with pants and groans. You feel full, full of him in every and all ways, everywhere, always, and forever. 

You’re greedy with your touches, tugging him closer and uncaring of the way your nails scrap over his shoulders and arms. His body is yours and you’re his. It’s disgusting, it’s fucked up and perfect the way you slot together. It’s like little, scared pieces of existence slide together, and everything feels whole, yet open and uncracked.

Keigo fills you up with a sob, tears dripping down his cheeks as you pressed down on the burns and scars that rack down his back.

“Fill me up,” You demand, the heat of you swelling as his hand dips to your clit, circling and rolling with the little pleas falling from both your lips.

The world drips as his thrusts go harder, sloppier as you tip your head back and scream. Your voice breaks, hoarse from all your pleading and possession. 

Keigo stuffs you, tip of his cock pressed to the deepest parts of you. His cum, all him, leaks from around his cock as he gives a few more weakened grinds. He makes sure you’re full, content and sated and his.

He falls over you, coating your cheeks in kisses and praise. You sputter little sobs for him, begging for him to be closer, despite the way he still fills you even as he softens.

It never feels like enough, the closeness. But you’ll settle for all of him that you can get. 

...

The storm passes, and you spend your time much the same way. Fucking, feeling, and for a little, blessed while, forgetting.

Eventually, the snow stops falling. The wind that has been whipping the power into tree trucks and your windows falls still. It’s peaceful, then. Not that it wasn’t before, but without the weather bearing down on you, you’re both less hungry. Still greedy, just not starved.

You share the first morning after the storm outside, on the porch. Keigo had shoveled a little clear patch and you’d brushed off the two, brittle lawn chairs that had seen better days. You fixate on the task a bit too much, the steaming coffee you’re to share is forgotten. The straining plastic of the chairs is a yellowed-white and bright red. It felt strong enough under your fingers, cold fingers, as you cleared away the snow. 

It feels like a remnant

Whatever fixation you have on the object passes as Keigo runs a hand up your spine. His hand is wide and warm, still a bit warm from the toasty mugs.

You rearrange your chairs and yourselves to be close as can be, in your little patch of snowless porch, and sip at your coffee as the world begins to wake up. 

...

Oddly enough, the storm helps you make forward progress, at least a little. You take up making breakfasts on your own, occasionally carrying plates into the bedroom with a big, previously unseen grin

Keigo returns the smile so big, his cheeks burn for hours. 

You take to a few of the little crafts and things Keigo has been hoarding. Paper folding and little canvases with acrylic painting are your favorites. Sometimes, you paint your little strokes and press creases from the comfort of the couch. Other times, you make you place for the day at the kitchen island while Keigo makes his day-long meals. 

There’s a rhythm to it that’s so good.

It’s progress, and seeing it visibly start to the fill the walls feels good for both of you. Your little canvases get hung around the cabin, little portraits of the stars and their mother, all for you and Keigo to admire. ;;

 ...

             He gets the call exactly three weeks after the storm passes. 

Keigo awakes before you to the shrill ring of his cell. It vibrates against the bedside table, loud enough to wake the both of you. You both startle out of sleep, squeezing each other. 

He takes the call in the other room, after he sees the contact name.

[Suits] Calling...

 He paces as he listens to her drone on.

There’s no greeting, no “hey, how does it feel to be a flightless fucking failure?”. It’s business. Just business. It’s always been like that with her, and the lot of suits that treated him like a fixture until he got particularly cracked and unsightly.

“So, you come into Tokyo, we’ll do a small event—”

“The event you’re describing really doesn’t sound small,” Keigo tilts his head and gives an angry smile to his own reflection in the mirror. “It sounds like a circus that I really have no interest in being a part of.”

“It’s for the people, Hawks—”

It makes him snap.

“Stop fucking calling me that.” He growls into the receiver, grip tight enough to hurt. “Stop calling me, stop asking me, I am not coming back.”

The woman is silent on the line for a beat, before spitting, “What if I didn’t give you a choice?”

His blood runs cold before burning in his veins. And he laughs.

“You think you could?” He only feels a little hysterical. “You don’t have any power, not over me, not over anyone else as far as I’ve seen, Madam President!” 

“Hawks—”

Shut up, shut up, shut UP.

“The Commission is dead, the world is in chaos, and putting the corpse of a hero on the big screen isn’t going to convince anyone that this is all fixable,” Keigo chest gets tight, and he can’t tell if it’s from the uncomfortable laughter he’s spitting or the sobs that are locked in his chest. 

“So, you’d rather turn your back on the people you swore to protect?” Suits speaks with no emotion, not an ounce of feeling. “Selfish.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish. The word echoes in his mind, worms its way down his throat and suffocates him. 

“You’re really going to say that to me? Of all fucking people?” He feels his nails break skin where he’d been clenching his fist. “Me, selfish?”

“You left, didn’t you? Ran away?” The woman has the stones to fucking laugh. “Everyone’s lost something. You’re not special, and it doesn’t justify—”

“What the fuck are you getting out of this?” Keigo interrupts, burning, burning— “Did you call me to go to this little gala or did you call to dig into your perfect little hero? You told me I could be done. Should’ve known you were lying, you always lie—”

“You’re being childish.”

“Oh my GOD!” Keigo nearly screams and doesn’t notice how you’ve tip-toed from the bedroom. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear you screaming at me, the woman who practically raised you, like some petulant brat. Get a grip, Hawks.” 

He snaps.

“STOP FUCKING CALLING ME THAT!” He screams into the phone, vision going white and scarlet. “I am not Hawks! Hawks is DEAD! Why can’t you understand that? There’s no fucking hero to attend your little ‘healing’ gala, there’s just me. ‘Childish’, ‘selfish’, and wingless, babe. That’s what I’ve got, and this is what I am.”

Suits takes an audible sigh, and Keigo can almost see how she’s shaking her head at him, “You’re being ridiculous, Hawks. Take at least a goddamn ounce of responsibility for your actions that helped cause all... this.”

Ah, there it is. The thing Hawks has so properly compartmentalized, tucked so far back in his psyche that it’s almost impossible to reach.

How much of the dissolution of... everything is on him?

Something in him snaps, and it slips through his own fingers. 

  “I’m not going and this, Madam President? This is for me.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

He hears her unspoken words echoing in his skull as he hangs up, slamming the phone on the countertop.

Something hotter than rage and more poisonous than pain fills his blood, and it makes him want to both wretch and break his fingers in the same breath. He slams a fist onto the phone, cracking it against the countertop. He can buy a new one— 

“S-Sweetpea?”

Keigo freezes.

You’re at the mouth of the hallway, hardly out of the shadows, eyes wide and fearful. His chest somehow gets even tighter. 

Normally, he would’ve rushed to comfort you, calmed himself down to console you for seeing his little outburst.

But he doesn’t that day.

He breaths ragged with his lips slowly curling, panic’s ugly cousin turning his spit acrid behind his teeth.

“Here, let’s go back to bed, okay? We can—” You take a few steps closer, hand outstretched and eyes beginning to light.

Oh, and Keigo’s hit by fucking envy, and it’s over. 

“Don’t.” 

You freeze, “Pretty eyes—”

“Don’t, just don’t.”

You don’t move as Keigo trudges to the door, throws on his thick parka and snow boots, pocketing his keys and grumbles to you that there’s leftovers in the fridge.

It’s shitty and selfish.

And he just doesn’t care.

He can’t make himself care as the door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing off the trees and so quickly dampened by the snow. 

...

Keigo drives, white noise in his ear that echoes the wind in the treetops of the mountains he’s descending. He’s only half there as he leaves town. 

It’s still too much. 

...

You, on the other hand? 

You’re frozen, stuck-still, as you watch Keigo climb into the car and drive off. Maybe your mouth has gone a bit agape, you aren’t aware of your body. 

You panic. 

There’s no other word for it, not that you were able to think of as you were untrenched in it. 

There’s something thick and knotted that is rolling unraveling in your chest. The... thing is worse than a feeling and runs deeper and hotter than you can manage.

You tried to manage it.

While Keigo is god fucking knows where, you paced the house, always within eyeshot of a window. Hoping for a glimpse of his dark parka, or the tufts of his blonde sticking out in the snow, a return—

Fucking nothing.

He just left.

No return time, no destination, just a departure with no explanation. He’d obviously left the cabin before, you’d handled those times quite well, but he’d never stormed out. Never raised his voice and screamed and then just left. 

Is he okay? 

(You heard most of the call, at least his side of it. Is that awful Hero Commission he told you about calling him back? Or even worse, dragging him away.)

(He’d tell you, wouldn’t he?)

(Guess you’ll never know! Because he’s fucking gone.)

It made something seize in your chest, hot and awful as you walked your circuit, praying. Worry is damning. 

How could he just... leave?

You need him back.

You alone without him.

Your thoughts rot you, despite the winter’s cold outside. The chill of the cabin seeps into your bones, coats them and leaves you sticky and downright paranoid. The lack of... presence (his presence) was driving you up a wall. The air is too still, the floors quiet and without the telltale old creaks of movement that you’ve become accustomed to, and the cabin is silent other than your breathing and rabbit’s heart.

Beneath the anger was a thick layer of fear. 

You are alone.

The feeling rolled its way into you as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

What if he never comes back?

Of course he is, you remind yourself, hurriedly, worrying the scary on your leg and picking at the core of it. He wouldn’t leave.

Why wouldn’t he?

The thought gets your poor little heart racing faster, air choking in your lungs. Your head whips to the window to see the empty, snowy driveway.

“I-I’m alone,” You break the silence of the house, the walls answering with their pensive quiet and the wind shaking the fresh snow from thin branches just outside.

All alone.

All fucked up and broken and fucking alone.

“He wouldn’t leave,” You start talking to yourself, threading a hand in your hair, gripping. “He cares, he wouldn’t just leave.”

He cared about being a hero too and he left everyone else.

What if things changed? 

Insecurities, new ones and old ones, cloud your mind and vision and stuffed your lungs. The grip on your hair goes tighter. 

All alone in the mountains.

All.

Alone.

It scares you more than anything, how much you need him.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you tug at the roots of your hair. It hurts, but everything is starting to hurt very quickly, and a bit of hair pulling is child’s play to how it feels like your chest is being hollowed out.

You really have so little. It stuns you in the moment as you choke back a sob. The little house in the mountains, Keigo, and the starlight you still both enjoy— that’s fucking it. You’d never returned to your ‘apartment’, or rather the remnants of it. Any possessions you had were lost to destruction and unsalvageable. Your meager relationships and friendships had fallen away when you were bound to hospital for months.

He’s all you have.

“No, no, no,” You nearly trip in your pacing, dragging your feet as you accept your reality. “He can’t l-leave.”

The world responds with silence. The mountains are cold and lonely, just like you are. It’s cruel, it all hurts and after being in a daze so often, the reality of your situation hurts like a hot brand.

He’ll come back.

He cares.

You desperately try to convince yourself as you tug your parka on, throwing on your boots. You don’t bother to fasten or tie anything, you just stumble onto the deck blindly and scan the hill of the drive.

Not a single soul.

Something rotten curls up behind your teeth. Bile climbs the back of your throat and you have to swallow to keep from vomiting. Your chest is too tight, the world is too bright, and you’re terrified.

You’re not sure what to call the type of panic response you have; it doesn’t make any logical sense. Your heart runs in your chest, your breath is hot and tight, and you simply slip to the ground in the fresh snow.

And you wait.

...

Keigo drives until he’s nearly out of town, into some flatlands near the river that gurgles and churns nearby. The surrounding forest is the perfect place for a pensive walk. 

It’s the best place for him to just get it out.

It had been a long time since Keigo had just talked to himself. Audibly sorts himself as he walks along the bank of the almost-frozen river. He doesn’t keep his voice quiet, no, its full volume complaining. It’s anger that’s bundled up in his chest that’s finally being lit and the smoke of it nearly chokes him out. 

It’s not fair.

He does feel a bit childish, thinking about it like that. But hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t they told him that he’d done enough? He lost it all and was just starting to the plant the seeds for a new life to sprout. Couldn’t he just have that? He’s not the shiny thing he used to be he’s fucking worthless. And that’s fine. He’s made peace with it and can find worth outside of saving people.

He’s capable. Adaptable. And he’s doing it all at his trademark speed.

But the thing that makes his gut twist is facing everything he (ran away from) left behind. The only short statement he’d given after Dabi’s video was nearly as viral as the actual video of him killing Jin (don’t think about it, don’t think about it—) 

He’s not sure what possesses him to pull out his phone and pull up the video. It’s not hard to find. 

It hurts to watch, but he does it anyway. Fucking masochist. 

He’s standing beside Enji and Tsunagu, all of them in hastily tailored suits. They all had their visible injuries. Scars and brands that had just been carved and burned into skin. They look haggard, they look beaten. 

Because they were.

Keigo watches as he adjusts his microphone in the video and gives his statement. Stupidly simple and vague, all at the same time.

“The villain Dabi did not lie. I am the son of Takami, and I killed Twice of the League of Villains. It was all necessary. Please accept my apology for the upset I have caused.”

His voice doesn’t even sound like him. It’s manufactured and broken. He remembers how the smoke had charred his throat and lungs for the first few days, before he was transferred from Central to the big facility in the tall-tree-ed forest. 

He bows on the video and Enji begins his statement. Something solemn about the suffering he’s caused his family, how he wants to atone and how he is atoning. The public was too angry to listen and is too angry to listen. And the world Keigo ran from is the result. 

He lets himself cry.

Finally.

His shoulders shake as he hunches over himself. The tears slip down his chilled cheeks and make little divots where they fall into the snow beneath him. His little gasps turn into sobs, the kind that hurt your chest and give you a headache that lasts for days.

He repeats a little mantra between scratchy breaths—

“I’m still good.”

“I’m still good.”

“I’m still good.”

He falls against the thick bark of a tree and slides down to the ground. 

He let’s go.

It’s good for him, cleansing. Maybe it’s the rushing of the nearby river or the snow he's buried his hands in, but with each ragged breath he can feel some of that filth that’s clinging to him fall away. Not all of it, not by a long shot. 

But feeling the worst is the first step to feeling your best. 

So, when Keigo’s ready, he stands and moves forward. Trudges onward, albeit a bit slower. 

...

Keigo returns home just as the sky begins to change from red to indigo with the night. It paints the pines and evergreens an eerie, dark color, shadows long and deep against the fluffy snow.

His gut twists in knots as he gets closer to home. 

He’s tired. Exhausted. His eyes are still puffy from his tears, sore and aching. His body still feels tight, tense in his shoulders and arms as he grips the steering wheel. He needs rest. A good cup of tea and maybe a beer later. 

And you.

As weak as Keigo feels, he knows he fucked up... just a bit. 

It wasn’t fair to storm out. He isn’t dumb. All the same, if he stayed with you in the cabin, he probably would’ve said something he regretted. Or locked himself in the bedroom all day. It wouldn’t have been good or fair for you or him. 

(Coward.)

Probably, but he was also burned alive fairly recently, so he had to give himself a bit of credit. 

As he nears, his stomach drops. 

You’re on the porch. You sit on the steps, parka pooling around your waist as your head rests on your knees.

Something’s not right.

Some of his old, honed senses trill to life, seeing you. Something in his gut twists, the muscles in his back tense, the old ones that controlled his wings. 

You must be cold. 

Keigo leaves the car and slaps on a smile, “Waiting for me, starshine?” 

You twitch, curling over your body harder. 

Something is very wrong— 

He calls your name, your actual name, and you hardly stir. You all but twitch from where you sit, head tilting up just the slightest bit.  It’s not enough to ease any of the worry pulling his old muscles, if anything, it makes it worse.

He falls to his knees in front of you, ignoring the crack his bones make.

“How long have you been out here?” Too long, he knows the answer, but he still has to ask.

“... A while,” You murmur, barely audible. “You’re back.”

“I am,“ Keigo pushes you up by your shoulders, scanning your face as more fear curls in his gut. 

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“We need to get you inside, now,” He isn’t sure if he sounds scared or angry (probably both), and he can’t make himself care. 

You’re freezing.

Too cold, way too cold.

Keigo had to take plenty of survival courses during his training with the Commission and he had learned plenty about hypothermia. His avian anatomy made him more susceptible to the cold and knowing the symptoms for himself kept him from turning into a bird-adjacent popsicle more than once. He’d rescued his handful of civilians—

(Don’t think about being a hero right now or you’re gonna start crying again.)

You’re not some civilian, you’re you and you’re in front of him with darkened lips and dull eyes and full panic breaks his ribs.

...

You remember how pretty red the sky was.

You like sunsets. 

You should see if Keigo wants to watch the sunset sometime.

Keigo’s gone.

You could drive—

Keigo drove away. You’re alone.

You aren’t sure how long you sat in the chill, but it was comforting despite how your fingers and toes began to ache. Outside, there were plenty of sounds and sights to keep you company. The wind whistled through trees, and the sky echoed a few, far-off sounds from distant civilization. 

It was nice. Peaceful, at the very least.

...

“Inside, you need to be inside,” Keigo sputters, pulling you up under your arms. Your feet drag for a moment before going flat, and you sway in his arms. 

Getting you inside makes his body ache in new ways, your weight mostly on his side. Old pains crawled to the surface as he dragged you to the couch, setting you down on the cushion and assessing you better.

His hands run over your body, over curves and divots he knew and loved and the chill of you filled him with dread.

“Your pants are wet from the snow,” Keigo swallows, rising. “I’m going to grab you dry clothes.”

As soon as he tries to move away, you catch his wrist in a weak grip.

And finally, half-lucidly, you regard him with terror in your eyes.

“You l-left,” You spit, lips curling over your teeth. “You left, Keigo.”

You use his real name and he really wants to die a little. 

Sure, Suits used it on the phone with him and it made him see blood fucking red, but it’s you, and you saying the name he never really had, for the first time, so fucking angrily makes part of his secretly fragile heart break.

He freezes, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “Let me get you warm, then we can talk, okay?”

You don’t look convinced, tightening your grip on his wrist and pulling him closer.

Keigo gives in, so, so easily, dropping to his knees and pulling your icy hands into his. He rubs warmth into them, bringing them to his lips and breathing hot over your knuckles.

“Please, starshine. Let me get you warm.”

“I’m already warm,” Your voice slurs, entirely unconvincing.

“I say this very lovingly,” He says, somehow cracking a smile, “but you’re genuinely hypothermic. You can be as mad at me as you want, but you need to get warmed up.”

You chew your lip, cupping his cheeks with your freezing palms, “... You’re not leaving?”

Your voice drawls and Keigo makes a note to turn up the thermostat.

“No, god, no, I’m not,” He tries to assure you, shaking his head, but your grip only gets harsher. He placates you with a squeeze to your knee. “Please let me help.”

He can’t tell you how much he needs to. How hyper aware he is of your chill and of his own thumping heart. That protective urge in his chest wants to just pull you to his chest and wrap you up in him, in his heat, but that’s for later.

Your eyes' gaze goes softer, little specks of light bouncing between your irises. The room fills with blessed, familiar heat and Keigo can feel his shoulders slacken and some of the worry in his chest dissipate.

...

He returns with some of his own soft joggers, fleece-lined and well-loved. He grabbed a few layers, and an armful of blankets and pillows. Anything he could carry gets brought as his little, avian mind craves something he suppressed for years so well.

Nest, nest, nest.

Heat them first, then nest. 

He helps you slip into your new, dry clothes as your teeth begin to chatter. Thank fucking god. Keigo is smart enough to check your toes as he slips onto fuzzy, thermal socks, and they all look to be healthy and functioning. 

You’re quiet during the whole ordeal, save for soft breathing and snapping teeth. You occasionally grab his hand and hold it to whatever part of your skin was bared, mumbling something about how warm he is. 

Keigo eventually gets you settled and surrounded by blankets and pillows which you sink into, eyes hardly open. Only then does he feel like he can pull away enough to start the nearby fire.

It feels somewhat unnecessary, given you’re still heating the room. It’s probably somewhat for the atmosphere, considering the sky is nearly fully black. A bit of crackling flame and light would do you both good. 

(He rarely lights fire, but considering the flame is a kind red and not a fucking disgusting blue, he can bear it. Especially now.) 

When the fire is stoked, he turns back to you and deflates. 

“I’m sorry,” You say, all soft and half-lidded from the blankets. “That was... dumb.”

“It was.” 

Keigo can’t fight you on the obvious. 

There’s a goddamn list of questions he wants to ask you. ‘Why’s and ‘what’s, but he has a pretty good idea of why you were sitting outside and what you were thinking. 

He’s not sure you’d want to talk about it anyway. 

The couch creaks when he sits down a few feet from your little nest, running a tired hand over his face.

“... You know, this couch folds out,” You shift a little, slow and lethargic. Still cold. “We should sleep out here tonight.”

He turns to regards you, and it takes everything in him not to fucking break.

“Why?” His voice shakes and he knows you can tell.

You hum, leaning toward him, “Change of scenery. I think we could both use it.”

“Later.” Keigo agrees. The urge to wrap you up in his (wings) arms feels unbearable, the little avian tickings in his skull loud and needy. “Warm first. Futon later.”

You huff weakly, but lift the blankets to let Keigo slip behind you. His body curls around yours, finding the coldest parts of you and tending to them first. His hands clasp over yours and your feet get tucked between his calves. 

“Thanks,” You murmur, neutral and vacant.

Keigo doesn’t push you.

Instead, you stay tucked in his arms, still shivering, but significantly less cold. Your lips and cheeks look a far healthier color and they’re warm to the touch. He traces his fingertips over the curves of your face and neck, preening in the only way he can muster up.

You eventually break the silence, when the fire is all but embers.

“I heard some of that call…” Your voice trails off. “It sounded bad.”

“It was,” Keigo agrees with a little nod. He really doesn’t want to think about Suits and, you know, the rest of the world, but it feels necessary. “Very bad.”

“Who was it?”

“Old boss.”

“… And?”

Keigo sighs, squeezing you probably a little too tightly, “Why don’t we focus on warming you up from your hypothermic excursion and not my shitty life as a shitty hero—”

“You weren’t a shitty hero, Keigo,” He can hear the mourning in your voice and it makes him want to die, just a little. You cup his cheeks, eyes sad and soft around the edges. “You were a really good one.”

“Was I? News to me.” He laughs, the bitter sound tasting like bile. He hates it, the feel of it mixed with the heat and softness of you. It feels wrong. “I don’t want to talk about all that, starshine. Please just drop it.”

Your face hardens.

“No.”

“… No?”

“No, I’m not done,” You sigh, big and hard. “I think we’re more fucked up than we talk about, Keigo.”

He winces, but you keep going, and he doesn’t move to stop you.

“Probably.”

Your jaw sets like stone on stone. It makes him internally wince as your hands go to cup his cheeks.

“I’m fucked up, you’re fucked up, everything is fucked up. We can ignore it up here, quietly, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“Yeah.” He feels his gut roll, but he doesn’t stop you. His grip goes tighter on your hips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Can we just… Acknowledge it? Please.” You ask, beg, softly as you rub his cheeks with your thumbs. “Please, Keigo.”

He doesn’t know what to do at first. He really wants to lock up. Shut down. Lock all the nasty feelings in chest, behind his heart, so they can burrow into his spine and keep him moving forward.

He wraps his hands around your wrists.

Your eyes look glassy, tears sticking in your bottom eyelashes, but not daring to fall. Not yet.

“Keigo, I’m fucked up, I know that, and that’s okay,” You deflate a little. “I’m getting better. We’re getting better. I know we are.”

“We a-are.”

Keigo’s voice cracks, hoarse in his throat and tight as the uniform belt he used to wear. His lungs feel hot, too stuffed even as he tries to swallow the heat that’s welling up on the very back of his tongue.

“You are good, Keigo, I promise,” You lean in to give his forehead the lightest kiss and Keigo feels part of himself die in the best way. “Please, let’s just talk.”

And so, he does.

…

He tells you about Jin first.

You’d heard about him, the villain Hawks killed during the War. Published for the world to see, over and over, forever. The video was one you’d only seen once, during your early days at the hospital, but you could recall the footage on your grainy hospital television.

Your pretty eyes, pretty Keigo, cut him down. One of his old feathers, hardened into a stiff blade, struck Jin across the chest, arcing up to his neck and slicing a few important arteries  and veins. It was an imperfect job, one that probably made his death more painful and prolonged than it needed to be.

You don’t let go of Keigo’s cheeks as he tells you the story. You can’t, you’re too busy thumbing away the little tears that roll down his cheeks.

He speaks between sobs that break from his chest. Underused and much-needed.

“He was good, starshine,” Keigo curls in a little on himself, but you keep him mostly upright. “I had to, y-you know? I didn’t have a choice, if I didn’t—"

How many more people would be dead?

His body convulsed, the little tears turning fat as he collapsed into your chest and buried himself in you. Like he was hiding, and god, did you let him.

You hushed him, soothed him with little kisses, and listened.

“And then Dabi—”

You hate him, obviously. You only know his name and visage, and you hate him so much it hurts. Part of you wants to rub at his scars like he lets you, but you decide against it in Keigo’s fragility.

He tells you of the blue flames, how the boot felt against his back, how his throat burned for weeks from the heat and smoke. His grip on you goes so tight, you’re afraid he’s going to tear your shirt to shreds.

“He took them, starshine,” Keigo’s voice muffled into your shoulder, the sound of it rattling you. “He t-took them!”

And he slumps against you, well and truly, and can’t muster up another word. All you could do is hold him, rocking him from your little, shared spot on the couch and whisper to him little comforts. You’re crying a little too, breath tight and hazy as you let Keigo shatter in your arms.

He’s not ready to talk about his wings and that’s okay. More than okay.

So, you soothe him. He soothes you right back, rubbing at your sides, hips, thighs— whatever he can reach and touch and claim. You’re good, you’re the closest he’s going to get to permeance and he’ll be damned to let you go when you feel so good and he feels so fucking awful.

You fall back onto the chest, pulling Keigo with you so he can lay atop you. His ear presses to your chest, heart thumping in his ear while you lock your arms around him. Caged in and held, with the lightest pressure on the thick skin of his scars.

“I’ll never truly get it, I can’t,” You admit, quietly as you smooth back some of his tear-matted hair. “But I want to be here. I want to listen when you’re want to talk. Need to talk. You can dash off on your own, Keigo, that’s okay. Just know that I’ve got you to, okay?”

Keigo sniffled, peering up at you with wide eyes, “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I am now, aren’t I? Just a few hours out from nearly being a popsicle,” You hum and joke, glowing from the inside out when Keigo graces you with a little smile.

It takes a few more moments for him to cover, haul himself up to the crook of your neck and breathing hard and deep for a while. Like he’s trying to absorb you through scent alone.

“… Are you okay?” Keigo asks, squeezing you so tight it hurts. (And you want more of it.) “You’re not as cold anymore.”

“I’m feeling okay,” You paw at your face a bit, rubbing your cheeks like they’re still numb and not flushed with blood and sticky with drying tears. “I just freaked out a little.”

“… Because I left?”

You nod, chewing your lips.

“I don’t want to be alone, Keigo,” You whisper it, though he already knows your admission. “I’m terrified of you leaving.”

“When I left,” Keigo rises to meet your gaze, gooey and cobbled. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“… Maybe,” You shake your head, refusing to look at him. “You didn’t say anything about coming back, just about… leftovers.”

You both frown.

“I panicked.” You shake your heard.

“… That’s what happens when you panic?”

“I guess?” Your mouth feels too dry. “I don’t know. I got scared. I panicked. What else was I supposed to do?”

There’s an obvious answer or two, but it’s unspoken.

“I’m not leaving,” Keigo rubs at your cheeks. “You’re gonna have to try pretty hard to get me gone, starshine. I love you too much to go easily.”

It’s a declaration, a strong one, and god does it feel fucking good to hear.

“… Promise?” You ask him as his palms cup your cheeks and jaw.

“Promise.”

“I heard on the call—”

Keigo interrupts you with a kiss, hard and long that steals your breath and makes your head spin.

“Promise.” Keigo breaths, pretty eyes meeting your heat-filled ones. “Everywhere, all the time, forever. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a start, even if that insecurity is so deeply rooted. The adoration in his eyes, and the sweetness of his touch tempers it all. It’s there still, just like how there’s so much unspoken that needs to be sorted, chewed on, and digested.

But now?

The embers in the hearth need another log or two. The futon needs to be folded out and I’d be best if you shared a cup or two of tea. Preferably something with lavender that’ll scent the cabin with the smells of spring and herbs.

Now, you’re both more than enough.

…

thank you for reading!!💞keep an eye out for part 3! 👀

ko-fi

[alpacaparkaseok]

Book of Soulmates - OT7 Bonus

Hello everyone! Happy Valentine’s day! I know some of you are way ahead of my timezone and have already passed Valentine’s day, but I hope that you guys enjoy this regardless! 

@nochujeonjk​ requested a Yoongi hot & cold au, so I thought that I’d throw together this special little story to wrap up the soulmate aus nicely. hopefully this is alright!

Thank you all for reading, and you’re always welcome to drop in any time. I love hearing from you. Stay tuned for the epilogue to my series ‘Mine’ this week, as well as Jimin’s red string of fate series coming on February 22nd!

premise: how to boys would react with simple day-to-day tasks while managing their soulmate bonds, and how they meet their soulmates

Seokjin - barcode bond

honestly tries not to look at it too much

but there are days when it’s all he can look at

is quite curious about the technology used to scan the barcodes 

when he thinks nobody is watching, he’ll go down to the entrance of the Bighit building and scan his barcode over and over again

he’s a little jealous of the others’ bonds, which seem more personal

but he’s also terrified of the day when he’ll be notified that somebody with his same barcode entered the building

like, how is he supposed to talk to you?

these are usually what he thinks about during boring interviews

but then there’s a day when he’s biking to work

and he’s keeping his head down, just trying to keep out of sight

but he sees you

and he knows

which makes him realize that maybe his bond isn’t so impersonal after all, if he can recognize you without any help of a machine

so when you walk inside a shop and he notices that you do indeed have a barcode bond, which you scan as you walk in, he’s calling Namjoon and telling him he’s going to be a little late

and before he can even think it through, he’s throwing his bike in the bike rack and walking in after you, scanning his barcode

and watches as it declares a match

after that, he realizes he has no clue what he’s doing

but that just makes you smile

every once in a while, Jin will drag you down to the entrance of the Bighit building just to scan both of your barcodes and see them match up

it just never gets old

Yoongi - hot & cold bond

he’s grown up being fairly cold, so he’s used to it

but it’s not the most pleasant sensation

used to take really long, steaming hot showers

but now he just gets in and out as quickly as he can

because he knows that the warmth is only temporary

and he wants you

so when he wakes up one morning absolutely freezing, he can hardly get out of bed.

what he doesn’t know is that you’ve left the country for school, but find yourself in a similar cold situation

Bighit, worried for Yoongi’s health (mentally and physically), set out to find you

it’s pretty easy. a letter, phone call, and plane ticket later, you’re heading back to Seoul just to meet Yoongi and get your body temperatures normal so you can head back to school

Yoongi takes the longest, hottest shower of his life, trying to figure out what life at a warm temperature will be like

but it still does nothing to prepare him for the shock of you does to him

you’re...radiant. smiling from the second you want into the room where he’s waiting for you

and as his internal body temperature soars before settling down to an average level, he just stares at you with the widest eyes

what ensues is a long-distance relationship in which Yoongi claims that he’s cold when you’re gone

you both know that’s not true - after soulmates with this kind of bond meet they have a normal body temperature regardless of distance

but you still cave every once in a while and let him fly you back home to him

the man literally flies you thousands of miles just to cuddle with you for a few days before you have to leave

the boys tease him mercilessly for it

but he just pretends he has no idea what they’re talking about

Hoseok - timer bond

this man strives to be organized - for good reason

he feels like if he’s clean and organized, it’ll make this entire bond easier to manage

he doesn’t very often show how nervous it makes him feel, but there have been a few times that the boys have found him in the studio late at night, eyes closed with his timer covered

everyone is grateful that they don’t have that bond

but Hobi handles it like a champ

he’s smiling when there are only 60 minutes left, because finally, but then he realizes that he’s in the studio

and literally nobody that isn’t authorized is allowed inside

lol you’re totally not authorized

but you’ve also got a package to deliver, which is your part time job as a university student

so when you ask for where you can deliver a package that Hobi ordered online, an intern tells you that he’s in his studio

which leads to you wandering around the Bighit building

utterly lost

and realizing with more panic than you care to admit that you’ve literally only got thirty minutes left before you meet your soulmate

the only thought on both your and Hobi’s mind is how you have to get out

so you take the stairs, when you finally find them with just a few minutes left on your timer

still holding Hobi’s package when you stumble out the doors to find that you’re in a flipping parking garage

who on earth is going to be chilling is a parking garage when they’re about to meet their soulmate?!

Jung Hoseok, that’s who.

he’s debating between driving his car somewhere more central, or sticking around the building

but he’s a fool and dropped his keys

so naturally you pick them up right as he’s running back to grab them, heart pounding out of his chest

needless to say, you get to deliver him the package, his keys, and your heart

0:00

Namjoon - shared pain bond

he immediately apologizes to you in his mind every single time he breaks something an hurts himself

oh he totally knows that you’re gonna give him an earful when you meet

but he’s so excited

like, giddy schoolboy excited to someday meet you

there’s no rush, but he thinks about it a little too much

he’s learned that you must be a little clumsy like him, because it feels like you stub your toe all the time

but he really doesn’t mind

if the boys so much as begin to bring you up, he dies

like the awkward little bean he is

but he also stresses about how he’s supposed to find you

the boys invite him out with some other friends to get him to de-stress

you’re there

he’s there, obviously

and literally everyone else that’s there already is pretty sure that you two are soulmates

so they just watch you two as the night progresses, wondering if either of you will catch on

you literally get up to go to the bathroom and stub your toe on the way out, but Namjoon is so focused on the menu that he doesn’t make the connection. he just frowns a little before continuing asking Jimin what he’s getting to eat

Jimin can’t answer him because he’s laughing so hard

it isn’t until later that night, when you’re at your apartment that you begin to wonder

Namjoon thought you were really cool, and ends up FaceTiming you thanks to the boys dropping several hints

His hands are shaking a little when he pinches his skin, just enough for it to sting

you hiss a little, frowning at your arm before continuing with whatever you were talking about

Namjoon is pretty much out of commission from that point on

so this boy freaking courts you for a couple of weeks before you finally realize that HE’S YOUR SOULMATE AND HE’S KNOWN ALL ALONG

how do you find out?

he tries cooking for you one night and hurts himself consistently enough that you’re left reeling with both laughter and tears 

he’s embarrassed about hiding it from you, but admits that he just didn’t know how to tell you

you tell him that you don’t mind...but that you’re definitely going to use this against him in the future

Jimin - shared dreams bond

the sweetest soulmate ever

with one of the best bonds, everyone tells him

Jimin gets paranoid before he goes to sleep, and repeats “I love you, I love you, I love you” over and over again in hopes that it’ll somehow be translated into his dreams

gets super jealous and grumpy if you dream about guys, even if it’s purely platonic

but oh my lanta does he get so excited and giddy when you dream about beautiful things like soulmates

the other boys are so curious about his bond, so they ask him about it al the time

like, “what did she dream about last night, Jiminie?”

he’s positive that you know who he is, he’s sure he’s dreamt of him and the boys countless times

but he also knows that you probably won’t just show up at his dorm

so he’s dying to have something to go off of, to help him find you

that’s when you dream about your first day of university

he knows that campus

and he’s there the next day, mask on and hood up, flowers in hand

he has no clue what he’s doing

but he just hopes that somehow he’ll run into you

the first day he goes there, he comes home empty handed

instead of being all mopey and sad like the boys expected him to be, he’s even more determined than ever

he’s on campus with a new bouquet every day

on the fourth day, you come running over with your books in hand

he dreamt about this last night 

you’ve been scouring every inch of the campus for him, and heard from a friend that there was a mysterious guy chilling in front of the science building

of course the science building is clear on the other side of campus

so you’re out of breath and frazzled by the time you make it over there, but so happy

and Jimin practically throws the flowers at you, he’s suddenly so nervous

which makes you laugh

and your laugh makes him laugh

and that night you dream about each other

Taehyung - initials bond

ugh this is the worst bond

like, Tae will fight anyone on it, it’s hands down the worst

because he’s met countless people with your same initials!

but maybe fate understands that this bond sucks, because it’s also becoming more and more rare

it eventually just gets to a point where Tae decides to take matters into his own hands

he literally designs his own t-shirt with his initials on the back and yours on the front

fans think it’s adorable

you’re shocked when you see it selling out

soon almost every ARMY owns the shirt and begins the ‘initial project’

you don’t want to tell people that you’ve got KTH on your wrist, because what if it’s not him?

but where there a will ARMY, there’s a way

so tae tae finds out through the grapevine about you

and basically calls you out over vlive

it’s hilarious

staff wanna kill him but can’t do anything about it

but man he just wants to meet you

so with some assistance from ARMY, you guys meet

it’s at a flower festival in Ilsan

tae’s wearing his glasses

and all he can think about is that you look like you belong here, among all of these flowers

so he tells you that, with the shyest, sweetest smile

and you marvel that this is the same man that literally hunted you down using social media and his fan base

you’re still a little skeptical, so you ask him how he can be sure that it’s you when there are so many that share your initials

and he just smiles again

and asks if he can hold your hand while you guys walk around and enjoy the festival

so you agree, albeit a little hesitantly

and as you guys walk around, you realize that you know exactly what he’s talking about

hand in hand, smiling up at him and thinking that he belongs with the stars glittering above you, you realize that there’s no way he’s not your soulmate

he looks down at you and sees that you get it

but he wants to make sure you know it anyway

so he shuffles a little closer and squeezes your hand a little tighter

and from then on, you’re known as ARMY’s soulmate, since they helped you two find each other

Jungkook - drawing bond

obviously, Jungkook loves drawing

he’s very good at it, too

so nobody questions him when he’s off in the corner of the practice room scribbling something on his arm or leg

he jokes how about how you two complete each other because you rarely draw, you write

notes, grocery lists, titles to books, whatever

you write, and he draws.

so if you need to buy apples (they’re on sale!) Jungkook is grabbing a pen and doodling a bushel of apples on his knee

you love it

he mainly loves you

the boys tease him nonstop about it, because it’s so painfully obvious

he’s a goner, and you haven’t even met each other

but he’s so nervous to meet you

and there’s no rush, really

but when he sees Tae trying so hard to find his soulmate, he wonders if it’s time for him and you to finally meet

his bond is the easier by far

and there are so many night where he lays in bed with a pen in hand, wondering if he should just go for it. drop his number, an address, his name, anything

but he never does

he’s so afraid

and he’s so in love that he feels like you’ll freak out when you realize that he’s fallen in love with a person he’s never had any face-to-face contact with

but then there’s this night where all the boys are hanging out together and their soulmates are present (because they’ve all met by this point) and Jungkook realizes how happy he feels

like, he’s genuinely happy. for his hyungs, for himself. he’s lucky that he gets to have this strange little family.

and he realizes that you should get to have this, too. 

so that night he scrawls his phone number out on the back of his hand with a simple note

‘call if you feel comfortable with it’

you freak out

like, fist pumping while also wondering if this is gonna blow up in your face

by the time you’ve weighed all the pros and cons, it’s nearly three in the morning. but you’ve got to call him. now.

so you do, secretly praying that you get the voicemail

but kook is up. of course he is, he’s been waiting on the edge of his bed since eleven pm.

he answers and you realize as soon as he says hello that you’ve fallen in love with this man

which is terrifying, but if he was the one to give out his number, he must want to meet you, right? 

right.

when you do meet, everyone is there. all the boys, all of their soulmates. watching as Jungkook leaps off the park bench and runs to you, and he giggles.

giggles. it’s adorable.

and it’s cute and awkward and a little crowded with all 14 of you, but it’s better than you’d ever imagined.

Jungkook waits all of two hours before grabbing your hand and whispering, “I love you”

so you grab a pen from your bag and smile up at him as you write “I love you, too” into your skin

masterlist

aaaand that’s a wrap! overall, this was the 20th and final installment to the Book of Soulmates! This one was a bit different from the others, since the others are actual mini stories with one member at a time, but I hope you enjoyed!

Happy Valentine’s day!! Love you all! Stay tuned for the fun things coming up! Check my navigation tab to see what’s next!

[ssamie]

epilogue. “your girlfriend’s kinda hot”

kozume kenma x fem dazai!reader

(bsd x hq)

tw: mentions of suicide and suggestive themes + dirty jokes

masterlist.          suicide freak!

"hey uh, welcome to my stream i guess" he said as he spared the camera a quick glance "im not really playing tonight because an incident has recently occurred in this household" kenma said with a tired sigh 

nobody else knew it, but the said 'incident' was y/n accidentally setting half of their living room on fire 

the reason? apparently, she wanted to try burning herself to death in the furnace. obviously, it didn't work. and all that's left from that is more shit for kenma to clean up and a trip to yosano-san. 

kenma is stressed. and y/n is still alive. both of them are facing problems. 

"can you please wear a maid outfit- no."

kenma shook his head as he continued playing, glancing at the chat once in a while to read the veiwers' questions and comments

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: how about cat ears?! 

user: ^^ cATBOY CATBOY CATBOY 

user: u suck at this game wtf

kuroo.tetsu: hey kenma ;) 

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"first of all, i do not suck at minecraft thank you very much" kenma scoffed 

"second of all, go away kuroo. im still mad at you" 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: LMFAOOO kuroo what did u do?? 💀💀

user: he probably broke kenma's pc 

user: PLSS he's the one kenma’s throwing shade at on twitter 

kuroo.tetsu: STOP THE SLANDER 😔✋🏼

user: rooster head lookin ass 

user: ^^ NOT THE HAIR 

kuroo.testsu: 😃😃

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma sighed as he continued building a cute little cottage. he was currently vibing, just building y/n a cute cottage for her to probably burn later on. 

and he decided it would be nice to go on stream since his oh-so-lovely girlfriend was still out for work. 

ah yes, kenma has somehow kept y/n alive all those years. 

barely. 

hence why his phone was being bombarded with messages from her, all of which being blurry selfies. 

the photos had her sporting a huge grin while atsushi panicked in the background. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: ayo, ur phone's blowing up 

user: do you have a girlfriend? 

user: KODZUKEN LET ME SUCK UR TOES 😋😋🤩

user: ^ ayo chill 😃

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma simply ignored them and continued on with his task. all was going well until a loud slam was heard. his cat-like eyes widened as he heard a familiar voice singing from downstairs, it was undoubtedly y/n. 

kenma chuckled nervously and muted his mic. 

but of course, cute dumb catboy didn't actually mute his mic. haha <3

he ignored all the questions in the chat, all of them being  speculations that he has a girlfriend. which he does, but they simply did not need to know that <3

"kenma~" she yelled out "i have a surprise for you!!" she said, followed by menacing giggles. 

kenma glanced at the camera before hopping off his gaming chair and peeking his head out of the door. 

"y/n, im streaming!! stay down there!" he yelled out in panic 

"aw, you're playing hard to get aren't ya?" she chuckled 

kenma deadpanned as he saw her limping up the stairs, with her bandages torn and unravelled, same with her clothes. he didn't really think much of it since this is usually how she comes home. 

its most likely just due to work and/or another suicide attempt.

"so, kenma.. you'll never know what just happened to me today" she started off with a goofy grin 

"im streaming, atleast let me turn it off first-" 

she paid no mind to him as she peeled off her ruined coat and pointed to her poorly bandaged stomach

"i got stabbed!" 

"you got what?!"

kenma furrowed his brows as he immediately rushed over to his side, cradling her face and waist as he inspected her injuries

"are you okay, kitten?" he asked worriedly 

"yep, apparently it wasnt deep enough to be fatal" she sighed dejectedly 

"please don't be sad about that." kenma groaned "can you undress?" 

"ara ara~ whats this?" she cooed "you're getting real bold, kenma" she smirked at him 

she unbuttoned her shirt and started pulling down on her skirt "but since you asked so nicely-" 

kenma simply sighed and shook his head. "i was gonna prepare you a bath but now im considering leaving you here to die" 

"but the second option would've been better though" she smiled at him 

"oh my fucking god." 

kozume kenma. (22)

╰─▸ university student, stock trader, pro-gamer, youtuber, ceo of bouncing ball lpt. 

╰─▸ y/n's struggling boyfriend. definitely needs a pay after all he's been through.

╰─▸ currently panicking because his girlfriend got stabbed.

l/n y/n. (22)

╰─▸ operative/member of the armed detective agency. 

╰─▸ kenma's girlfriend. kinda dumb, very hot to compensate for it. still hasn't died yet. 

╰─▸ currently bleeding and wounded. also hoping for severe blood loss.

"kenma, did you know" she mused in a teasing tone "lack of sleep and too much stress could possibly lead to poor memory and lack of awareness" 

kenma looked up at her with a look of confusion. he was currently kneeled down before her while she was sat on the bed as he cleaned her wound up with a damp towel. 

"why are you telling me this?" he asked 

"i just thought it probably applied to you" she snickered 

"why? i didnt forget anything-" 

he cut himself off with a huge intake of air. he slowly turned his head to look at the screen which still had his stream going on. to make it worse, the camera was on and they were both clearly in the camera's field of view. 

to make things worse worse, his mic was on the whole time and the live chat was in shambles. 

"i hate it here" he sighed 

kenma laid his head on her lap as he continued on patching her up, honestly not caring that this whole scene was being recorded for thousands or millions of people to see. 

"well, atleast the internet could finally see my beauty before i die" she laughed 

she ran her fingers through kenma's hair as he grumbled under his breath. kenma was a pretty private person. he made sure not to overshare, given his current 'influencer' status. and he was planning on keeping his relationship a secret, though it seems he can't do that anymore. 

"might as well say hi" she shrugged 

so of course, she then decided to walk up to the camera looking utterly dishevelled and roughed up. 

for context, the newly wrapped bandages around her stomach was being stained already by a crimson red hue and it was only getting worse the more she moved, undoubtedly messing up her wound. 

"hi, im kenma's girlfriend and if i see you flirting with him i will make you regret it" she grinned 

"y/n!" kenma groaned from the bed "you're close to dying right now, turn the stream off" 

ignoring him, she proceeded to read the veiwers' comments, laughing at some of them while she joked around. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: heLLO?!?! 

user: GE HAS A GIRLFRIEND NOOO

user: bruh, did i just hear that right? were you fuckin stabbed? 

user: ur kinda hot tho

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma furrowed his brows as he reluctantly walked up behind her, reading the comments with varying reactions 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: well damn, hot bloody girl comes in and suddenly im lesbian

user: kenma looks so done

kuroo.tetsu: hi y/n ;) 

user: HER NAME IS Y/N

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"jesus christ shut up, kuroo" kenma grumbled out with a sigh 

"yup! yup! im y/n, and no, i am not a criminal. i swear." she shook her head 

"i got an injury from my job, that's all." she cleared up 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: tangina nyo sana ol

user: MSKAKAKKA

user: THIS IS LOWKEY ICONIC

user: time to scratch another gamer boy off my possible bf list 😔

user: girl wtf happened to u

user: that's wack bro 🚶‍♀️

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"great question, random person from the internet!" she beamed "see, what happened was.." 

"i went on a certain mission and got severely injured. though, when i called for help nobody responded" she said 

kenma furrowed his brows at her words. "why didn't anybody respond?" he asked. she sighed and fiddled with her torn bandages, pouting her lips as she does so. 

"well, when i told them that i was finally on death's door, all they said to me was 'congratulations!' and all that.." she said "what's your take on that, hm?" she asked kenma 

"im not surprised" he said 

she grinned at his words and leaned in for a kiss. "you're so mean to me, kenma~" she whined 

she licked her lips as she held his blushing face in her hands, she nuzzled their noses as she leaned in closer to him. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

kuroo.tetsu: oh shit 😳

user: we all know where this is heading ;) 

user: sana ol talaga punyemas 

user: AYO CHILL 

user: why we goin so fuckin fasstttt 😳

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma hastily turned the camera off as soon as y/n's lips touched his. 

"kitten, were still- hmph-" 

he was only silenced as she slipped her tongue in his mouth, smirking lightly as she ran her fingers through his hair 

"thanks babe." she said as she pulled away, giving him a soft peck on his cheek and a nod "anyways.." she hummed as she turned the camera on once again 

she looked through the chat while kenma slaps his face to get rid of his blush. 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: ur fuckin freaky 

kuroo.tetsu: oya oya 😼😼

user: MS MAAM I JUST MET U AND I LOVE U ALREADY WJABSJSJJS

user: not me blushing chiiilllleeeeee 🏃‍♀️

user: KENMA IS FLUSTERED

kuroo.tetsu: kenma, i didnt expect this from u 😼

user: im so fucking JEALOUS GRR😡

user: girl r u bleeding rn 😃

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

upon reading a certain comment, she subconsciously grazed her fingers against her bandaged wound. her eyes slightly widening as she felt a concerning amount of wetness seeping through

she glanced at kenma who was still calming himself down and inspected her wound 

"oh my.." she muttered, though she couldn't help but let a smile slip through 

so like any normal person would do, she simply ignored her bleeding wound and the fact that she was getting a bit lightheaded. haha <3

"anyways, let's answer some questions!" she beamed 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: what's ur full name

user: what's ur job miss girl 

user: are you possibly looking for a gf, because i am more 

than willing to take the spot 🚶‍♀️

user: how did you meet?? 

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"alright, those are all very nice questions" she chuckled. kenma, who's now calmed down, sat down beside her to look at the chat. 

"first, im l/n y/n" she mused "nice to meet ya" 

"second im a detective! mhm, im cooler than your fathers" 

"third, it depends, belladonna" she cooed as she sent the camera flirty smirk "are you perhaps willing to join me in a double suicide?" 

"oh god.." kenma grumbled. he pouted at her and shook his head in disapproval. "don't flirt with random girls" he whined 

"why not?" 

"uh- because i am your beloved boyfriend, is that not good enough of a reason??" 

"... anyways, we met at a cafe way back in high school" she said with a smile "also, i asked him to join me on a double suicide" she said 

she was smiling and nodding as if it was the most normal thing in the world, all while kenma nods along 

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: wtf are u okay 🗿

kuroo.tetsu: teenage romance 🤩

user: cute ❤️

user: im concerned ❤️

user: ur a detective?? cool

user: LMAOO I'LL GO ON A DOUBLE SEWER SLIDE 

WITH U MOMMY 😩😩😋

user: ^^ SAME 😩

user: CHOKE ME WITH THOSE BANDAGES MOMMAE 😩

user: u r still bleeding 🚶‍♀️        

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

kenma was simply glaring at the chat as more compliments and flirtatious comments came flowing in, all of which were directed to his girlfriend. 

"this is why i didn't wanna let people know about you.." kenma grumbled 

"aww, why not?" she asked with a playful pout 

"people are flirting with you." he sighed "also, stop asking for my girlfriend's onlyfans! she doesn't even have one!" he snarled

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮

user: LMAOO CATBOY IS ANGRY 😩

user: y/n-senpai spit on me 😡😡

user: drop the onlyfans 

user: chupapi munyanyo 😩

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

"anyways, i'd hate to ruin the mood" she chimed in with a sluggish giggle "but im so wet kenma" she whined out 

a menacing smirk was etched on her lips as kenma spluttered in response, a bright red hue covering his face almost instantly as he faced her with widened eyes 

"y-y/n! why would you say that?!" he whisper shouted 

"cuz i am" she whined out as she grabbed his hand and trailed it down her abdomen 

she faced the camera and gave them a shit-eating grin as kenma mumbled out incoherent words 

"y/n we should-" he cut himself off as he felt the concerning amount of blood drip down his whole arm 

kenma's face paled as he looked up to see her smiling like a kid in a candy store, completely unbothered. 

"y/n, you idiot! why didn't you tell me!" kenma exclaimed 

"um- my girlfriend is bleeding. excessively. so uh- bye i guess" it was all he said before hastily ending his stream and turning off his computer. 

"y/n, let's get you to a hospital" he said as he reached down to carry her away. though she simply slapped his hands off and closed her eyes. 

"nope. this is my time, kenma. don't ruin it for me" she said 

"you're fucking dying!!" 

"well, would you like to join me?" 

"no"

"damn." she muttered in response 

"so...wanna fuck?" she asked sheepishly 

"for the love of god-" 

this was so messy :/

[pillage-and-lute]

The Courting Ways of Wolves (Part 2)

It’s back! Dumb boys in love! Also Grandpa Vesemir gets some feels and Geralt does some math. Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue

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

Watching Winter at Kaer Morhen melt into early spring was always a beautiful process, but this year brought Geralt trepidation as well. Watching Ciri train had been wonderful, helping her learn the basics kept all the wolves on their toes, for the first time in many years actually thinking about motions that normally came from muscle memory. 

Yennefer had flourished into her role as “Aunty Yen,” not sweetly nurturing, the way one often thought about with children, but a clever tongue and tough love that Ciri, granddaughter of the Lioness, seemed completely at home with. 

Geralt was doing his best too. Ciri had started calling him dad about halfway through the winter, the first time happening at dinner and he’d very nearly choked on his ale. It sent something warm running through his veins every time, like good brandy that burned all the way down. 

He was trying, words still didn’t come naturally, but somehow Ciri always seemed to be able to see exactly what he meant. Maybe it was Destiny, maybe just a hurt, lost child clinging to whoever was consistent in her life, but Geralt hoped it was more. More than anything, he hoped Ciri truly understood how cared for she was, not just by himself, but all the wolves, Jaskier, and Yennefer.

Ciri had whispered to him one day, still panting after training, asking if he thought Yen would mind if she called her mom.

Geralt had replied that he didn’t think Yennefer would mind at all.

Yennefer came to him later, a tender look in her eyes. There was something, not fragile in her eyes, but Jaskier had pointed out in a marketplace once, a beautiful porcelain vase that had been broken and artfully repaired with gold. Yen’s expression reminded him of that. 

They sat for a while, then Yennefer said, “Will you be able to let go of her in the spring?” 

“Yes,” Geralt said, although he was less than sure that parting from Ciri would be so easy. “She needs you, and time away from me. And to be around women.”

Yennefer nodded, gave Geralt a pat on the shoulder, and left. Geralt stayed, cloak wrapped around him as he sat looking out over the walls. 

There was much that would happen in the spring, and his life, which had been pretty stagnant before, was changing more in these past few years than it ever had. He felt like Kaer Morhen itself, built to last and yet crumbling still, the weight of change and time and destiny tearing down walls. 

He watched the sun go down. 

Vesemir joined him, carrying two bowls of stew. Geralt took a bite of his and winced. It had been Eskel’s turn to cook. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vesemir’s mustache twitch with a hint of a smile. They ate the oversalted meal in silence.

“You know,” Vesemir said, and in the starlight the crags on his face looked carved in. “I come up here to think too.” 

Geralt knew, but Vesemir wasn’t interested in talking about the battlements, he could tell. 

“I think, most nights, about the ghosts within these walls. All of the little boys who died so that the School of the Wolf could be.” The wind picked up, howling like, with an excellent sense of the dramatic, a wolf. 

“The Trials haunt me, Geralt. More than anything in my life, and it has been a long life indeed.” 

“You saved me,” Geralt said. “Saved Eskel.” But he too remembered the still bodies carried out and buried in the night. How few boys remained. Remembered the screaming in the night, unsure how much of the sound was torn from his own throat, and what came from his brothers dying around him.

“I let them put you through it twice. That wasn’t salvation, lad.” Vesemir sighed. “I couldn’t have put a stop to the Trials, don’t know if I would have if it were possible, there have to be Trials to be witchers, and the world needs us, whatever it may believe. But maybe there was a better way. A kinder way. You were boys, little lads who went through so much pain.”

Geralt was startled to see a tear fall down the craggy face, burying in the moustache. Witchers could cry, but it happened rarely, tears could blur vision in a fight, and only very strong emotion, the sort they had been taught to suppress,  could override the mutations. 

And then Vesemir put an arm around Geralt’s shoulder and gave him an oddly nice hug. It could have cracked a boulder.

“Someone should have held you boys more,” Vesemir said, a touch abashedly. They looked out over the walls some more and Geralt wondered if the conversation was over, but Vesemir didn’t take the arm away.

“Ciri called me Grandpa today.”

Ah. That would explain a lot. Watching Vesemir interact with Ciri over the winter had been a delight and a surprise to the wolves. He’d even sat her on his knee and told her stories of when Lambert, Eskel, and Geralt were young like a, well, like a doting grandfather. Jaskier had been enthralled as well, naturally, but seeing Vesemir so soft, and sometimes looking a little sad, around Ciri, had been an education for the men who would always think of themselves as ‘Vesemir’s Little Lads’.

“She won’t be a witcher,” Vesemir said. “Couldn’t be even if we would want it, and I never would.”

“No,” Geralt said.

No,” agreed Vesemir. They looked out over the darkened landscape.

“I never wanted a family,” Vesemir said after a while where their breaths hung in the air before them. “‘O course, witchers aren’t supposed to, but you’ve built a nice little family for yourself, laddie. It’s not as may be, not like you’d find in villages or in your pet bard’s fancy songs. But you’ve a brave and rather headstrong daughter, and she has a mum, and a dad, and two already very protective uncles.”

“And a grandpa,” Geralt cut in.

“And a grandpa,” Vesemir agreed. “But a family needs a little more than that. There’s gotta be someone to teach the lass how to love.”

Geralt was about to protest that he’d seen plenty of loveless marriages, but then considered the results in the children. Jaskier was one, he knew. The sort of lost way Jaskier sucked up approval, when they’d first met, the way he’d drank up compliments like a man with water in the desert, whenever Geralt thought on it there was a sort of humming ache. He’d consulted with Eskel on the feeling, concerned it was illness. Apparently, it was just what happened when someone you loved was hurting and it wasn’t something you could kill or fix.

“It doesn’t need to be romantic love,” Vesemir said, obviously seeing Geralt’s face. “And she’ll know how to love family fine, and how to love friends, as you and Yennefer figure that out between the two of you. But your bard loves you, and the way you love him can teach her how to love others and herself. And if Ciri has another dad maybe you can worry less.”

Geralt chuckled. Ciri could have fifty parents, and Geralt would still lose sleep worrying. Vesemir smiled back at him, eyes crinkling and moustache lifting like a bristle brush that had learned to fly. Then he slapped Geralt on the back, and Geralt, the White Wolf of Rivia, Butcher of Blaviken, the witcher who had twice survived the Trials, felt his spine compress like a spring and he was sure he felt a rib creak.

“Love Jaskier, lad. Hold tight to him. We rarely get good things.”

Then Vesemir walked back inside and Geralt stared after him. There weren’t many old witchers, dangers of the job and all that, but Vesemir was proof that witchers, like oak wood, only solidified with age. 

Geralt followed him inside. 

The next days passed in a flurry of activity. Ciri had been let off of training with the wolves to pack for her journey with Yennefer, and to be quickly given the rundown of the basics of magic. The wolves were packing as well, preparing to leave Kaer Morhen. In between final preparations and weapon repair, Geralt checked over The List.

The List was supposed to help him court Jaskier. It was the combined brainchild of everyone (except Jaskier, of course) at Kaer Morhen. More importantly, his intention to court Jaskier met with Ciri’s approval. 

When the day arrived, Geralt felt a curious lump in his throat. He watched Ciri say goodbye to Eskel and Lambert, the latter picking her up and swinging her in an arc, letting her joyful whoop echo about the courtyard. Then she hugged Vesemir, and he crushed her very gently to him. And then she turned to him and Jaskier. 

He was thankful that Ciri bade Jaskier goodbye first, watching the bard wipe a surupticious tear away as he held the blonde girl. It was Geralt’s turn and he didn’t know what to do. He cleared his throat.

“Follow Yennefer’s instructions,” he said. That didn’t seem like enough. “And don’t talk to strangers,” he said. It still seemed insufficient but he was out of advice so he stuck out his hand to shake. Ciri laughed and leapt at him, throwing her arms around his neck.

He held her there, reveling in hugging his daughter, his child surprise, who was so full of surprises and he felt, for the first time in many years, the feeling of rather full tear ducts. He blinked them away. 

“Good luck,” Ciri whispered in his ear. Jaskier wouldn’t have heard, but the witchers with their enhanced hearing surely had. Geralt nodded and set her down.

He coughed awkwardly and pulled out a little packet wrapped in burlap and some rough twine. Ciri beamed and pulled at the string so that the packaging fell away. A long piece of metal, bent into a thin U shape lay in his palm, the ends were surprisingly sharp. Ciri picked it up and examined it, then looked up at him questioningly. 

“Hair pin,” Geralt said gruffly. “For your hair. And stabbing.” He mimed a clumsy, underhanded stab. “Eskel helped me silver plate it. For monsters. But also men, if they’re close enough.” He trailed off, knowing he sounded awkward. Who gave a self defense implement as a gift?

Ciri beamed at him again. “I love it,” she said, also miming a few stabs. He supposed that as a parent he shouldn’t be so proud of the light in his daughter’s eyes when she talked about stabbing, but he was almost certain that she got that trait from Jaskier, who tended to get...pointed about disagreements in pubs.

Yennefer stepped forward and carefully took the hair pin from their daughter, swooping her silver blonde hair back into a twist and sliding it in place. She placed a hand on Ciri’s shoulder and smiled at Geralt, and he was reminded again of that vase, stronger and more beautiful for the cracks in the facade. She then gave him a quick side hug and and even one for Jaskier, and opened a portal.

Geralt stared after his friend and his daughter long after the portal closed, until Jaskier, hand wrapped in a heavy mitten, gently took his wrist. They waved to the other wolves, and left, Roach walking obediently alongside. 

And then it was just the two of them. Again. Just like the last twenty years. That thought occupied him as they made it down the Killer. The path down from Kaer Morhen was deadly, but that year Geralt made it down without thinking, keeping half a thought to Jaskier’s ambling form as he went.

How old was Jaskier? 

He’d been eighteen or so when they met. Eighteen plus twenty-two was forty. Forty wasn’t that old for a human but Jaskier didn’t look too much different than he had at...Geralt did the math. Twenty-five? But there were signs. A few lines here and there, although Jaskier was insistent about his skincare. A line of silver, just a few hairs, probably unnoticable except to Geralt’s enhanced eyes. He was aging better than a human should.

Or perhaps not. Time was tricky for witchers, never staying in one place, never knowing people long enough to watch them age, he didn’t really know what to compare Jaskier to. 

He did know how long humans lived though. And at the base of the mountain he came to a resolution, felt it settle in to his bones as deep as his mutations, deeper, even. 

Twenty years, or nearly, where he hadn’t known Jaskier. Twenty more where he hadn’t admitted they were friends, or that he loved him. Eighty years in a human life span. And Geralt would love Jaskier, and make sure he knew he was loved, for the next four decades, give or take. He looked at his companion, paused as they were to give their feet and Roach a rest. The weak, watery sun of the early spring day fell on Jaskier’s face, dappled through the branches, which as of yet held no buds.

He pictured lines appearing, laugh lines, smile lines, crinkles carving themselves into the landscape of the familiar features. He pictured silver through the hair, more, in thicker streaks at the temples. Geralt saw a lifetime, Jaskier’s lifetime, in an instant. Silver covered warm brown, strong legs grew shakey, lines crowned a forehead and swept about clear eyes. 

What would happen, Geralt thought, when Jaskier could no longer keep up? But Geralt knew what would happen. He’d take Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, or go with him to Oxenfurt, and spend his days with him. It had been a few short months since he’d realized he was in love with Jaskier, but that was only because Geralt’s skill with emotions was roughly similar to Jaskier’s apparent self preservation. Why had he let the lad talk to him in a pub? Had he loved him then? He remembered the shock of not being feared, of looking into clear, bright eyes and seeing admiration, the fierce protectiveness that had flared when he woke and saw the fool tied to him in an elven lair. Had it been love? 

Watching Jaskier whisper softly to Roach as snow melted around him, Geralt was sure it had been. Destiny, Fate, the two bit tart who kept fucking him over, had given him his greatest blessing in a form that Geralt, up until that very second had considered a myth. Love at first sight. Love had brought him Jaskier, and Ciri, and a fast friendship with the most powerful mage on the Continent. Love had brought him a family in the form of a wayward bard with bread in his pants. And Geralt had forty more years to cherish him. 

Step One the list had said in Eskel’s clear writing. Kiss his hand. Being mindful of Step Two, to mind his manners, Geralt crossed the clearing to Jaskier and took the thick woolen mitten in his gloved hand. 

“May I?” he said. Jaskier gave him a baffled look, but nodded.

Geralt pressed chapped lips to a palm wrapped in knitted wool, and Jaskier smiled, albeit a little confusedly. It didn’t matter. Geralt wanted to spend the next forty years wrapped in that smile. 

Then Jaskier asked him if he was feeling well.

[alixcitement]

Goodbye beach air, palm trees and sunshine, Hello beach air, palm trees and slight cloudy weather!.. 4 and a half days later I have finally returned from my vaca in Hawaii! (Waikiki to be more precise)

I didn't bring souvenirs for any of you, BUT I do have a tale about the fun little adventures me and the family did while we were there.

LET'S LUAU!

Day 1

It was the dead of night when we arrived so all we did was unpack our things and ordered in some food🥡I had to share a bed with my middle sister and I gotta warn ya, she's a kicker... But still got a good nights rest nonetheless. The real vacation didn't start until early in the morning.

Day 2

Early in the morning we went out for breakfast at this little café a few blocks away from our hotel. They had sooo many pancake options that it hard to pick which one. So I just had your typical blueberry pancakes🥞(Can never go wrong with those P; ) Then we went sight seeing around the city we were staying at, and I thought our town a lotta palm trees🌴My feet were burning so I looked around the shops and found these 150$ sandals!👡👡I bought them anyway cause they were cute as Hell! >B0 We took a break from shopping I had the best damn shaved ice my taste buds have ever tasted!! It was the Taiwanese kind, the obviously superior kind of shaved ice🍨It was getting dark so we took a bus all the way in the mountains for a luau. We bought a few drinks and souvenirs before the show started. Apart from some TV shows that had luaus in them I never really seen a real one and it was 1000 times better then what television can provide! Anything to do with juggling fire will always gram my attention🔥Of course you can't have a show without dinner. It was a nice spread of traditional Hawaiian foods, though I'm not sure if store bought vanilla cake counts.. It all goes down one hole anyway🍰

Day 3

We've rented a car for a whole day, so the first thing we did was drove to a very popular bakery that sold these pastries called malasadas. (It's like a doughnut, but an Alolan variant🍩) Good thing we got there early cause the line for these things was about to get long, like wrapped around the whole street long!.. And just like any other doughnut they were AWESOME! Just so we can enjoy more peace and quite we drove to the countryside of Honolulu and had a small picnic at the beach. It was a every tropical place and there were chickens everywhere! Good thing we didn't brought any chicken sandwiches with us haha!🐔 Just across the street there was this trail that led all the way to a waterfall and we walked alllllll the way over there and had to walk alllllll the way back... (That's one way to burn off lunch pfft) The water fall was a bit tourist trapy, but it was a nice hike around the forest~ Walking back was the best part cause we found this trail that was both shady and had 0 people~!🌲🌳Just before it would close we went to the Dole factory for pineapple ice cream. We didn't get to do a lot there, but at least we bought a few pineappley things🍍It was getting late and we were still hungry so we drove back to the city and looked for a place to eat at. We settled for this one restaurant you need to use an elevator to get to. It was one of those restaurants where the chef does a few tricks with your food right in front of you. We had shrimp, lobster tails, and of course BEEF! Almost burned my face off, but it was worth the meat!🥩

Day 4

Before it would get crowded we headed to the beach in our city and went surfing!🌊I may not know a lot of surfing tricks, but I sat on that surf board like a pro! <BD As soon as I dried off on my beach towel I walked all the way to the nearest doughnut place and bought a bunch of fancy lookin' donuts for me and the family, but mostly for me. Got myself a passionfruit one to feel tropical. They were warm and crunchy and I wanted another one!🍩🍩Afterwards I did some shopping around the city until we took a break for some street pizza and then shopped some more🍕Later we booked a boat ride around the island just so we can take a few pics and enjoy the scenery .....Only to find out that we booked a party cruise instead... Luckily for me and my sisters we're natural born party goers! ...Not so much our parents though... We at least got a nice view of Waikiki, even with music ponding our eardrums🎶If you wanna enjoy a good boat ride I suggest going to the front of the boat since that's where most of the fun is, which me and my sisters spent a lot of our time at. It's interesting having a relaxing time on the front boat with the wind in your face while a party was going down right behind you. BP Even the sea life joined in on the fun as on the way back a bunch of these dolphins were racing our boat from all around! Who knew dolphins loved hip hop~🐬All that partying sure worked up an appetite and I've been craving sushi since we first got here. We had expensive sushi cause we wanted to eat like kings!👑(and cause it was the only place in walking distance..) Any sushi that doesn't need soy sauce to taste better is good in my book~🍣

Day 5 (The Season Finally!)

We only had a few hours left until we had to leave so we packed up everything in advanced and squeezed as much time as we had lift in the city. I did my own thing at the time, and to me a time eating food is a time well spent! ;U I went to the same doughnut place that I went to yesterday and got the tangerine flavor instead, and it was even better then the last one!!!🍩🍩🍩And just before the line got any longer I went to this little store that sold homemade spam musubis and bento boxes. I got an egg, eel musubi and a tempura shrimp roll, and they were a nice treat to snack on while walking to the beach🍙I took a few pics and collected some seashells by the seashore until it was almost time to leave🐚Since I still had a bit more time to kill I quickly bolted to the nearest café and bought a watermelon gelato on the way back to the hotel🍧(Gotta enjoy as much time as you have left on vaca ya know~) I made it back just as we were about to head to the airport. I got to take one last good look of the whole island as soon as the plane reached to skies✌️

Epilogue

All in all this trip was definitely a stoke and a half! Got to do a lot of new things with the family, like fly all the way to the stratosphere on a dinky old plane twice hehe... .^.

I wanna pick the next vacation this time!🌸

[midnightsnyx]

Consequences - Matthew Tkachuk: part 8

summary: you absolutely hate Matthew Tkachuk so it’s just your luck when you wind up pregnant with his child.

here is it! the last part! please let me know if its too corny lol. epilogue will be posted either this week or next.

couples notes: 1. i don’t know anything about childbirth aside from what google taught me so i apologize for any wrong info! 2. i’m sorry this story was pretty short lol ya girl is doing the best i can😅 3. i wanna throw a couple quick thanks now and then the rest when i post the epilogue. 

first of all i wanna send a thank you to @hannahmb​ who let me bounce ideas off her, gave me feedback, listened to me complain about not knowing where to go with the chapters and also, helped name baby tkachuk! so thank you hannah! you rock 🖤

i wanna thank @notanotherhockeyblog95​ for also listening to me whine about not knowing what to write 😂 also, for giving me loads of encouragement and letting me throw ideas at her! you’re the best!!🖤

anyways here’s part 8! i hope you guys like it and thanks again for reading<3

word count: 2.3k

warnings: none

Part 8

41 weeks

“Matty. Wake up.” You whisper, shaking his shoulder in attempt to wake him. He doesn’t budge so you pull the blankets off him in hopes that it might work but again, he doesn’t move. It’s quite disappointing considering you’re now five days past your due date and if you were in labor, he won’t wake. Luckily, Chantal is sleeping just down the hall. After many conversations, you and Matthew agreed that it was probably a good idea to have her stay with the two of you in case you were to go in labor while Matt was playing a game. Yes, you had friends around but it comforted you much more having Chantal here because she’s went through this before.

With one last look at Matt, you roll out of bed and waddle like a duck, because that’s what you looked like according to Matt and Brady, to the kitchen. You were trying to wake Matt up because you felt like a snack but you didn’t feel like getting out of bed.

You’re digging through the freezer for some ice-cream you’re sure Brady had bought when he last visited when you feel the first cramp. It’s a little uncomfortable but you’ve been having some braxton hicks contractions on and off over the past few weeks, some feeling real enough that you went to the hospital only to be sent home which was very embarrassing even though Chantal told you it happens all the time. It wasn’t exactly the fact that you got sent home that you felt embarrassed about, but that Matthew left practice because he thought you were in labor. You just thanked your lucky stars that it wasn’t while he was in the middle of a game because it would’ve been ten times worse.

So you brush it off, cheering silently when you find the tub of chocolate ice-cream, idly wondering if it’s weird to eat it in bed at three o’clock in the morning. You decide it’s not, walking back to the bedroom and crawling in bed. You sit up against the headboard and grab the PS4 controller so you can put Netflix on since you know you won’t be falling asleep any time soon.

Matt rolls over and throws and arm over your legs and nuzzling his face in your side halfway through an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. It’s gives your belly a weird feeling again, not pain this time but something else. Something a little unsettling because you haven’t felt this particular feeling in quite some time.

You’re pretty sure you’re in love with Matt which makes you equally frightened as it does happy. You’ve realized that your hatred for him stemmed from that one night when he did something to make you angry when your breakup with your ex was so fresh and you were emotionally vulnerable.

Just like Johnny had told Matt good things about you, he’s mentioned things about Matt to you, obviously in hopes that the two of you would hit it off. It gave you a little hope that despite what you had heard from some of the girls, he wasn’t that bad of a guy which you know is true now.

Your only problem now is that you have no idea how strong his feelings are for you. Part of you is afraid that what he does feel is only from seeing you carrying his child. You know what he told you at the baby shower, that he liked you since you met but you still can’t shake the feeling that maybe what he feels for you might just be temporary.

That one day he’s going to wake up and decide that he doesn’t want you the way he does now and it breaks your heart thinking about it.

“You’re crying.” Matt mumbles and you look down to see him now wide awake. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t realize that you were crying and you can’t wait for the day when everything doesn’t make you cry like a baby.

“I’m fine.” You say, swiping the tears away. “It’s the show.” This is a lie because you haven’t been paying attention to the show for about five minutes.

He looks at the TV and then looks back at you with an eyebrow raised. “It’s a sex scene. Something you been wanting to tell me?”

He has a tiny smirk on his face and it’s temping, it really is, but you shake your head and try to come up with some other excuse.

“My ice-cream melted.”

“Do you want more?” He frowns, sitting up and it drives you insane sometimes, how willing he is to do anything for you at any given time.

“No, I just -” you sigh, putting the tub on the night table. “I’m tired.”

You know it’s a lie and so does he but he doesn’t push like he normally would. You let him tug you down so you’re laying on your side and he’s wrapped around you, hand resting on your belly and face tucked in your neck.

“What about Jasper?” He whispers and you smile.

“I like it.” You tell him and he nods.

“We’ll put it on the list.”

. . .

It’s later that evening and you’ve been having what you’re telling yourself are braxton hicks contractions all day. You refuse to go back to the hospital already because you know you’ll just get sent home again. Besides, Matty has a game tonight and you’re determined to go because it’s the last game of the season. The Flames won’t make the playoff’s this year and you know Matt is upset about it but he said that what’s more important is that he’ll be here for when and after the baby is born.

His words made you fall in love with him a little more.

You and Chantal arrived at the arena early enough that you can go down to see Matt while she finds your seats. You text him when you’re outside the locker doors and he looks happy when he walks out to see you. You can see the hint of disappointment that tonight is the last game until next season but he smiles at you anyway.

“How’s Jasper?” He asks, resting a hand on your stomach.

“I don’t remember agreeing to that name.” You tease and he shrugs.

“Jasper Tkachuk. Has a nice ring to it.” He says, giving you a soft smile. He looks like he wants to say something else but somebody yells his name and you know he has to go.

He smiles apologetically. “I’ll come find you after the game.”

You nod, letting him kiss you before heading back to the locker room. You find your way to Chantal in the stands, trying to ignore the way the braxton hicks contractions won’t go away. There’s a small part of you that knows you shouldn’t be brushing them off but now really isn’t the time for you to go into labor.

You can’t hide the winces from Chantal though because halfway through the first period, she frowns.

“How long have you been having them?”

You wince when another one washes through you. It’s much closer to the last one.

“Since this morning?”

“Y/N.” She scolds gently but firmly.

“It’s his last game! I don’t want to miss it.”

“Honey, you’re in labor.”

When those words leave Chantal’s mouth, it feels like somebody smacked you because it’s suddenly so real.

“C’mon. Let’s get to the hospital.” She says, helping you out of your seat.

“Matt-”

“We’ll get a message to him.” she assures you. “he won’t miss it.”

. . .

As you watch the game from your hospital bed, Chantal paces around the room on her phone trying to talk to someone who can get a message to Matt.

Your water broke shortly after you and Chantal arrived at the hospital and you know how quickly things can progress so you’re terrified that he won’t make it in time. You know that it’s something that the two of you had talked about early on, in the case that he was on a road trip and wouldn’t be here but knowing that he is here but you can’t get a hold of him, is hard.

“I know it’s an unusual situation.” Chantal snaps. “Figure it out.”

When she ends the call, she sighs and presses a hand to her forehead. You know how stressed she is about the situation but when she turns to you, there’s a gentle smile on her face.

“He’ll be here.”

You admire her attempt at trying to reassure you but you know that you need to get yourself in a good mindset to be okay if he’s not here.

“Did you call Becca?” You ask, hoping for at least some good news.

“Yes, she’s on her way.”

A little bit of good news. Finally.

You start to ask if she’s called anyone else but a nurse comes in the room to check you. When she tells you it shouldn’t be much longer, your heart sinks, realizing that Matt’s probably not going to make it here in time.

“I just got word that Matthew Tkachuk will be out for the rest of the game.” you hear Elliotte Friedman say and your head snaps up. You forgot that the TV was still on and it’s now intermission. “I didn’t see him get injured during the game, Chris. Did you?”

“No, and he didn’t take any major penalties. Maybe we missed something.”

Your heart leaps when you realize that he’s probably left the game because someone got the message through to him and you’re proven right when your phone buzzes and his name appears on the screen.

“Matty.”

“Hey, baby.” he says in a rushed voice. “I’m on my way to the hospital, okay?”

“Yeah?” You sniffle, knowing you’re going to cry.

“Yeah.” He promises. “Fifteen minutes, okay?”

He stays on the phone with you until he reaches the hospital and even until he reaches your room.

He takes Chantal’s place on the chair next to your bed as soon as he walks in.

“Ready?” He asks, taking one of your hands in his and pressing his lips to it.

“Not really.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood because you’re scared out of your mind. Your entire life is about to change but when you look at Matt sitting next to you, eyes kind and warm and with the smile on his face, you know you can do just about anything with him by your side.

. . .

“I guess we need to pick a name now, huh?” Matt whispers, cradling the baby in his arms. He was natural from the moment he held him and it was like your heart exploded. If you thought you loved Matt before, you know that you love him now.

“What about Henry?” You ask, watching him walk around, bouncing the baby gently.

His mouth turns up in a tiny smile. “I love it.” Then he looks up at you and tilts his head a little as if he’s coming to a realization.

“What?”

He shrugs, looking back down at Henry before walking over and sitting on the bed next to you. He lets you take the baby out of his arms so you can nurse him.

“I just realized something.”

“And what’s that?” You ask, raising an eyebrow when he smiles.

“I love you.” He says easily and when your eyes start watering, he just laughs gently. “I love you so much it’s crazy.”

“Really?” You ask and he nods.

“Really.” He grins and you can’t help but laugh when he pulls his phone out of his pocket and waves it in the air.

“Now, shall we make this Instagram official?” He asks and you roll your eyes fondly.

“You’re such a dork.”

“But you love me.” He says and you smile, pulling him close enough so that you can kiss him.

“I really do.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Azirafeast - The Feast of Aziraphale

Yo I heard there was a thing and I wrote you all a fic...and then it kind of got out of hand...The first bit was the story I meant to tell, but for once I succumbed to the urge for a soft epilogue or two. Enjoy!

30 Days after Creation

Angels did not get time off, certainly not angels whose sole purpose on Earth was to guard the Gate to the Garden at the Heart of Creation.

Even if the Gate, strictly speaking, didn’t exist.

Keeping the flaming sword well back from anything that might burn, the Guardian pushed his free hand through the vines and ran it across the rough stone wall for what felt like the thousandth time. Still solid.

The Archangel had explained that it would remain so, that the Eastern Gate would only appear should something go wrong.

“What could go wrong?” the Guardian had asked, worried.

“Many things,” The Archangel had responded with an impressive wave of one of his wings. “But so long as our Guardian stays vigilant, Evil will never enter the Garden.”

“Right.” The Guardian had swelled with pride, clutching his sword. “Ah. Sorry. Is Evil entering the Garden one of the things that could go wrong, or would that be the cause of the things going wrong?”

“Well…”

“And if it’s the cause, doesn’t that mean evil doesn’t enter through the Gate, since it won’t be there yet?”

“I suppose…”

“But then, if Evil in the Garden is what creates the Gate, wouldn’t it be better for me to be, well, proactive? Patrol the Garden, see that nothing is out of place, that sort of thing? Certainly would be a better use of this sword, to hunt down Evil before it could cause trouble!” He had waved it a little in his excitement.

“That’s not—”

“Then again, is Evil a being or is it an action? In which case, the better thing to do would be to stay close to the humans and make sure they stayed out of trouble, wouldn’t it?”

The Archangel had pressed his lips together and narrowed a large number of violet eyes, looking far from happy. “That seems to be quite a lot of questions.”

“Ah.”

And so, The Guardian stood protecting a gate that didn’t exist to prevent Evil which may or may not be a physical presence from entering a Garden he couldn’t see much of.

But he was an angel. He was devoted to his task. He had no need for time off to explore the forest (even though there were no forests in Heaven), or to investigate the exciting smells that came from the flowers nearby (certainly no flowers in Heaven).

There was also, apparently, no need for him to become better acquainted with the humans, to find out what they spoke of and why they laughed so much. (Technically there was laughter in Heaven, but the human version sounded much nicer.)

And so, day by day, he stood, watching the few trees and bushes in his field of vision, checking to make sure the wall was still solid. Birds flew past, the occasional four-legged creature trotted by, some with more fur than others. They took no notice of him.

And the humans. They were always together, and often accompanied by other animals, birds sitting on their shoulders, wolves following at their heels. More than once he saw the Woman walk past with a large rabbit in her arms, running her fingers through its fur. Other times they carried fruits, nuts, sometimes tubers, eating as they walked.

The humans did notice him, nodding as they passed, but never spoke to him, any more than they would speak to a tree or to the wall itself. He was simply part of the Garden to them. They never questioned his presence. They never questioned anything.

Then, on the thirtieth day, something changed.

The Guardian had just shifted the sword to his left hand for a bit, to give the right a break, when he heard something shift in the bushes. He spun towards it, raising his weapon to strike the Evil creature – but it was only the Woman. She stood half behind a bush, hidden up to nearly her shoulders. No, hiding wasn’t quite the right word – her face was plainly visible – yet she didn’t step past it.

There was something different about her eyes that day. They seemed more focused, intent. She looked at him directly. “Why do you stand there?” she asked, head tilted to the side.

“I…” Was he supposed to answer? Was it allowed? “It is my duty. I’m the Guardian. I guard the Gate.”

“What’s a gate?”

“Well, it’s, ah…it’s an opening in a wall, that things can come through. Large and impressive usually,” he added. The Gates in Heaven were very nice indeed.

“Can I see it?” She stepped a little closer, eyes shining, then shrank back behind the bush again.

“Ah. Well. Now that you…” The Guardian glanced over his shoulder again. “It doesn’t actually…exist. It’s more…ah…metaphysical?”

“I see,” though she clearly did not.

He assumed that was it. She’d either wander off, knowing there was nothing to see, or she’d ask what metaphysical meant, and then she’d wander off while he inevitably failed to explain it to anyone’s satisfaction.

Except she didn’t. The Woman stood there for a while, tugging on the leaves that crossed in front of her. “What…what’s on the other side of the Wall?”

Not that this question was any easier. “I…the world, I suppose. Earth.”

“What’s it like?”

“It…” Another difficult one. “It’s like the Garden, only…more real.” He’d explored a little, while it was still under construction. “Not as nice, really. More dangerous. Not as much food. All the important things are in here.”

“Then why is it there?”

“That…” The Guardian shook his head. “That seems to be quite a lot of questions.”

“Are questions bad?”

He thought about that one a long time, rolling it around in his mind. “I don’t know.”

While he stood there thinking, the Man appeared, standing behind the Woman. His eyes were different, too.

“Why do you stand there?” the Man asked.

“He guards a gate that doesn’t exist and leads to the world, which isn’t as good as the Garden.”

“I see.” The Man nodded. “If it doesn’t exist, why do you need to guard it?”

“Well, I…”

“Obviously,” the Woman put in, “if he’s a Guardian, he must guard. It’s in his name.”

“That isn’t actually my name,” the Guardian finally managed, then went a little red as the two humans turned back to him. Something about their combined gaze made him uncomfortable. He moved the sword closer to his face, so he could pretend it was a result of the heat.

“Do you have a name?” the Man asked. “I was supposed to name all the creatures and plants in the Garden, but I didn’t think that included you.”

“No, I have a name,” the Guardian assured him. “It’s—”

The next sound he made couldn’t really be replicated by a human tongue, nor transcribed into any system of writing that would ever exist. It was more than a sound, it was a swirl of colors and emotions and scents that had to be experienced. Simply uttering it seemed to make the Garden a little brighter.

“I see,” the Man said. His eyes slid across to the flaming sword. “Why do you carry that?”

“Oh.” The Guardian had expected more of a reaction, really. “Well. God gave this to me. To, ah, to help with the guarding.”

“How does it help?” the Woman asked, one hand reaching partially over the bush towards it, though she still seemed unwilling to walk closer.

“It, ah…” Aziraphale studied the flames licking up the orichalcum blade. “So far, it really hasn’t. I accidentally set fire to the vines a few times,” he admitted, “but that is certainly not its purpose.”

“Is it hot?” the Man asked, at the same time that the Woman, eying the edge, asked, “Is it sharp?”

“Yes to both, actually.”

The Man and the Woman looked at each other.

“Could you…” the Woman smiled uncertainly. “Do you think you could help us with something?”

--

The three of the crouched in the grass, staring at the sword. The Guardian had needed to experiment a great deal until he worked out how to diffuse the flame so that the metal was hot, but not too hot. A handful of large brown nuts sat along the center of the blade.

“There!” The Woman pointed eagerly. “They’re splitting open! Quickly!”

“Right!” The Guardian plucked the nuts up, juggling them from one hand to the other. “Oh, are you sure? These are quite—”

“Yes! Quickly! Remember last time?”

“Yes, yes.” Before they could cool too much, The Guardian began peeling off the shells and the bitter inner skin, rubbing at the softened meat inside with his robe to remove any lingering sharp bits of shell. “Finished!” He held out his hand, four light brown chestnuts filling the air with an enticing smell.

The Woman took one, popped it into her mouth, chewing carefully. “Yes, we did it! It worked!”

Next the Man took one, clearly savoring the taste as he ate it. “You were right. They’re wonderful now, one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”

“I knew there had to be something good under all that bitterness.” She picked up another chestnut, waving it around without eating it.

“Do you think heat makes all the foods taste better?”

“It might! The only way to find out is to try.”

“What do we try next?” He was already climbing to his feet. “The grapes? The oranges?”

“Potatoes!” The Woman stood up, tapping her finger against the Man’s chest. “Just like these, good smell, but you can’t quite eat it. They probably just need heat, too.”

“Ah…” The Guardian still knelt in the grass, the last chestnut resting on his palm. He’d been waiting for the Man to take it. “I was quite happy to help you with this but…” They turned back to him, white teeth flashing in broad smiles. “…but perhaps in another day or two? I shouldn’t be away from my Gate too much.”

“Of course!” The Man helped him to his feet, and the Woman brushed down the back of his robe.

“Why do you wear this?” she wondered, once again moving to where he couldn’t quite see her.

“Ah…” the Guardian shrugged. “Well, in Heaven, angels usually wrap ourselves in our wings. I…suppose it’s just an earthly equivalent? Since I don’t have wings in this form.”

“This – this is what we need,” the Woman said abruptly. “We should make ourselves coverings!”

“Oh, no!” The Guardian held up his hands. “Please, don’t – it’s an angelic custom, not a human one! You have no need—”

“I think we do,” she said softly. “I’ve felt all day that…something was missing.” She shifted her arms a little, as if to hide behind them. “I don’t like it. Perhaps I’ll feel better?”

“I felt the same,” the Man said, stepping close behind her again, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It is…unpleasant. But we were able to forget it a little while just now, thanks to you.”

“Oh. Well. Um.” The Guardian picked up his sword. “Glad to help. Ah.” He held out the last chestnut, growing cool in his hand. “I suppose you should take this?”

But the Man held out his hand. “No, that one is for you, Aziraphale.”

“I…that’s not actually…”

It was almost his name. If you removed everything but the sound, if you simplified it for human tongue, it was almost how it should sound.

“Aziraphale…” the angel murmured to himself. It made him feel warm, this simplified version of his name. It made him feel…welcome. “You know…I think I rather like it.”

“Good!” The Man patted him on the shoulder with another smile. “Now, return to your Gate that isn’t a gate, and we shall see you in a few days with more foods to make hot!” He laughed, as did the Woman.

And, though he wasn’t quite sure why, Aziraphale joined in.

--

After the angel had left, the Man and the Woman walked back through the trees, searching for one of their customary sleeping spaces. The Woman paused, glancing into a darker part of the shadows.

“You could have joined us,” she said to a formless black presence. It hissed back. “I don’t see why not,” she insisted. Crouching down, she left the last chestnut on a stone. “That one’s for you.”

A blunt nose emerged from the pitch blackness beneath the trees, another shadow more solid than the rest, and nudged the tan nut. “Ssssserpentsss don’t eat thessssse.”

“Oh.” She glanced at the Man who shrugged. “What do you eat, then?”

Another hiss, but no other response.

“We’ll find something you do like,” she said, taking the Man’s hand and walking deeper into the trees.

Long after they’d left, the shadow shifted.

A pale hand with long, thin fingers snatched up the chestnut.

“Hmmm,” a grudging voice admitted. “This isn’t bad.”

--

Ante diem XI Kalendas Decembribus, DCCXCIII Ab Urbe Condita

(Eleven Days before the Kalends of December, 793rd Year After the Founding of the City)

“Where exactly is this restaurant?” Crowley demanded, wandering behind Aziraphale in that strange, swaying way of his.

“Well, I’m certain it’s…it’s certainly around here somewhere!” The Angel peered down yet another street. “No, that’s…Perhaps the other way?”

“Are you lost?”

“No! Angels don’t get lost.” He frowned, turning in a circle right in the center of the little crossroads. “It must be the restaurant that’s lost!”

“Because that makes sense.”

Aziraphale sighed, running his hands down the front of his toga. He was rapidly losing to Crowley’s bad mood, he could tell. Any moment, the demon would wander off to another tavern and lose himself in another bottle of foul-smelling alcohol.

He wasn’t certain why that bothered him, but it certainly did.

“Now there’s no need for either of us to panic.”

“No one’s panicking, Angel.” Crowley plucked the silver laurel wreath off his head, stared at it as if he’d never seen it before, and tossed it down one of the side streets like a discus. “Look, never mind all this, why don’t we—”

“Oh my word!” Aziraphale turned his head. “Do you smell that?” A rich, thick, slightly spicy aroma that seemed to bypass all his senses and strike him directly in the stomach. His eyes scanned across the shops lining the street. Three were food vendors of some description, and one of those had just pulled a hot pan out of the fire and was now filling a deep bowl set into the counter of his shop with freshly roasted chestnuts.

“What are you—”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the hand and dragged him up the street. “Quickly, my dear fellow! You simply must have them while they’re still hot!”

“I have eaten a chestnut before.”

“Have you?” Aziraphale waved to the proprietor and placed several coins on the counter, helping himself to a bowl full of steaming chestnuts. “I always seem to crave them this time of year. Not really sure why, but oh, these smell simply delightful!”

In a way, they would never be as good as that first one he’d eaten, walking back to his Gate, filled with the warmth of…of everything that had happened that night. Turning over the new name in his mind as he turned the new flavor over on his tongue. Nothing would ever compare to the way foods tasted in the Garden, so simple and pure.

Certainly, nothing had felt the same after he reached the Gate, horrified to see the large opening in the Wall, vines and trees parting to give a clear view through the stones to the desert beyond.

There had been much to worry about in those days. Was it somehow his fault, for abandoning his post for nearly half a day? Had giving the humans his sword been the right choice? Would the foods in the real world even be edible?

And yet, the humans had not only survived, they’d thrived. They’d found ways to combine different foods to create an art that no angel had ever imagined. The wonderful, buttery, spicy crunch in his mouth now was proof of that.

His eyes fluttered open to find Crowley was staring at him, jaw tight. “Oh, I’m being rude,” Aziraphale said, holding out the bowl. “Please, have some.”

Crowley’s hand reached towards the bowl slowly.

Somewhere down the street, a woman’s voice screamed. A man emerged from a side street, clutching a small basket, running directly towards them. The woman emerged behind him, clutching her arm painfully. “He stole my—”

Suddenly, the man’s feet shot out from under him, and he fell hard on his behind, rolling across a street suddenly filled with hard round chestnuts. When he pushed himself up at the mouth of another side street, something long, thin and silvery slithered out, wrapping around his arm. The man shouted and tried to pull away from the strange leaf-covered vine, but it held him, pulling him to lie flat.

The woman picked her way quickly across the chestnut-strewn ground to retrieve her lost property, giving the man a firm kick just to be sure.

Though it was all over in a few seconds, the commotion drew Crowley’s attention, and he started to turn away.

“Ah-ah.” Aziraphale caught Crowley’s chin with his finger, turning it back to face him. “Really, my dear, you must learn to focus your attention.”

“Yeah but – didn’t you hear…?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” A quick glance assured the angel that no other troublemakers would be wandering in their direction. “Here, try this one.” He selected one of the larger chestnuts and held it out to Crowley with a smile.

--

19 November, 2019

“And then I said to him, ‘This is a genuine first edition with the original author’s signature, marginalia, and tea stains, and if you think I would let it go for anything as petty as money—‘”

“Hold that thought.” They’d been wandering up and down the streets of London for hours, as they often did on weekends, holidays or, in this case, random Tuesdays. But Crowley had just spotted a little cart parked halfway along Westminster Bridge.

He walked a little faster, leaving Aziraphale to tut and huff behind him. Fortunately, they didn’t have far to go, and there was no line, as all the humans crowded around the cart suddenly remembered urgent appointments elsewhere.

Crowley handed over some coins, and by the time Aziraphale caught up he was met by a demon grinning broadly over a richly scented paper bag.

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “Chestnuts! You know, I was just thinking the other day, I really should get some.”

“Course you were.” Crowley took a few for himself and gave the rest of the bag to Aziraphale. “How else would you celebrate?”

“Oh? And what are we celebrating now?”

“S’a holiday.” Crowley nudged him with his elbow as they ambled across the Thames. “Most important holiday of the year.”

Aziraphale’s forehead furrowed. “World Toilet Day?”

“What? Is it?” He shook his head. “Humans really do have to go and make everything weird.”

“My dear fellow, the lack of proper sanitation in some parts of the world is no joking matter—”

“No, it’s not about—” Was there one day in the year the humans hadn’t made about them? “I’m declaring it my own holiday. The Feast of Aziraphale.”

“Oh.” The angel blinked, one chestnut halfway to his mouth. “Oh. But – you can’t just—”

“Course I can. And it’s really about time, too. Everything you do for the humans, you deserve your own Feast day. Lazy bastards shoulda taken care of it themselves ages ago, but here I am, cleaning up their mess as usual.”

“Actually, it’s more usual for them to—”

“And that’s why today, Nineteenth of November, is now the Feast of Aziraphale! I’ll make sure they start marking it on all the calendars.”

They walked in silence for a few steps, before the soft voice started exactly as Crowley had expected: “Now, really, my dear, it’s…it’s a nice sentiment, but I don’t deserve—”

“Yes.” Crowley slung his arm around Aziraphale’s waist and pulled him closer as they walked. “You do.”

He didn’t need to see Aziraphale’s face to know how he smiled, how he blinked his eyes, overwhelmed with emotion. Crowley certainly didn’t look. He already had the angel’s every expression committed to memory, and anyway, he deserved a little privacy.

“So, ah…” Aziraphale cleared his throat and stepped a little away, trying to fix his waistcoat one-handed. “How, precisely, does one celebrate this feast?”

“Well, traditionally, there’s the roasted chestnuts,” Crowley said, reaching into the bag for a few more. “Enjoyed with one’s closest friends.”

This time he did catch that smile, a little fleeting one of pure joy. “Already there. Anything else?”

“I thought, perhaps…” A toss of his head as Crowley made his voice casual. “Dinner at the Savoy? Followed by a couple bottles of wine?”

“That all sounds rather cozy,” Aziraphale admitted, now looking directly ahead. “But I should think there should be something a little more dramatic, to mark the occasion.”

“Such as?”

Aziraphale handed him back the bag of chestnuts, which Crowley took without thinking.

Then the angel grabbed him by the lapels, propelled him back against the bridge railing, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Crowley gasped, and Aziraphale took that opening to drink even deeper, pressing Crowley back until he needed to grip the green metal with his free hand.

It was only the third time they’d kissed, as they found their way towards a new normal. It was something Crowley could get used to, but at the same time hoped he never did.

Aziraphale finally stepped back, allowing him to catch his breath. “Yeah that…we can include…s’there more where that came from?”

“Hmmm. Dinner first.” Aziraphale paused, leaning over the railing to consider the city beyond. “And, I think, a toast.” He handed Crowley a flute of champagne, the second materializing in his hand right after.

“Does this pair with street vendor chestnuts?”

“Shut up, my dear.”

They raised their glasses. “What do we drink to? You, I assume.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “To us. To them.” He gestured to the mass of humanity, moving about their daily lives. “To a night spent with those we care about most. And, as always…”

Crowley brought the rim of his glass to meet Aziraphale’s. “To the world.”

--

A/N: Yes, 19 November is World Toilet Day, as well as International Men’s Day. I didn’t pick the date, but suspected the humans had rudely made it about themselves.

[adamarks]

If one more person says simon snow should lose his wings i’m gonna lose my goddamn mind: a meta

Alright you guys, I’ve had ENOUGH. Simon cannot lose his wings unless you want him to break up with Baz, and this is why.

Let’s start with Baz.

This analysis is obviously Simon-based, and yes i’ll get there, but first we need to look at the biggest key we’ve been given to what Simon’s wings could possibly mean subtextually and metaphorically for the story at large. That key is: Baz’s vampirism. 

Baz being a vampire is constantly compared to/mentioned in tandem with his queerness in Carry On. In his first chapters, what are the three most important traits that we learn about him? 

he’s a drama queen

he’s a vampire

he’s hopelessly in love with simon snow

If you boil his character down until he’s basically just a stick figure, that’s what he is: an over dramatic vampire in love with Simon Snow.

We’ve all read the books, we all know this, and we all know he’s much more than that. What of it?

What’s important is that Baz’s vampirism is treated almost the exact same as his homosexuality. 

Hiding it from everyone, being ashamed of it, knowing what you are but being terrified of it. His dad being “definitely more disappointed in my queerness than my undeadness.” 

I mean, holy shit, let’s look at this bit in Carry on from Chapter 51:

“I think if I got married, to a girl from a good family, my father wouldn’t even care that I’m queer. “

This scene really hits, because how many times have you wondered “What if I was straight? Maybe this thing wouldn’t be as bad?” “What if i was just a straight poc?” “What if I was only gay and not trans?” “What if I was only disabled and not gay on top of it?” What if, what if, what if. Would my life be easier? you wonder. Would I get hurt less? Would people treat me better?

If Carry On is about self-realization, then Wayward Son is about the struggle of self-acceptance. 

Baz going to Las Vegas and meeting Lamb probably seemed familiar for some of you people that are LGBT+. It’s how you feel when you’re from a small town and you go to a big city like New York or Orlando or LA for the first time and you see gay people all around you. Flamboyantly gay! Gay people holding hands! Gay people kissing! Trans people that don’t fit the gender norms! Older trans ladies just walking down the street!

It’s exciting, it’s exhilarating. Your baby-gay brain is so confused because no one’s giving them dirty looks. They don’t look nervous or ashamed. Is this allowed?

The party in the penthouse is glamorous and beautiful and alluring and none of the humans there are scared or look like they’re in real danger. It’s because they aren’t. None of those vampires are there to kill people. 

This is where Baz’s fear of his own nature comes in. Let’s hear it for all you homosexuals in the crowd that are/have been terrified of being predatory. Of turning the gender you’ve been told all of your life you’re not supposed to want into pieces of meat. You feel ashamed for wanting physical intimacy. You feel wrong for wanting emotional intimacy. 

Lamb is the older gay that you meet/learn about/watch on youtube or whatever that makes you learn that no, you’re not inherently evil. Lamb is the queer history, the queer movies, the queer people that you discover that make you learn that “no, i’m not bad. I’m not broken. I’m beautiful. I’m beautiful.” 

Baz thinking the sight of Lamb drinking that guy’s blood being alluring and beautiful is crucial to his arc. Baz needs to see that all of him is beautiful. 

So homosexuality = Baz being a vampire? How in the flying fuck does this have anything to do with Simon?

Remember, Baz is our key. His struggles have been happening since book one. Simon just gained his “creature” status at the end of Carry On. He’s new to this. Which means we’re new to the subtext. Which means: let’s dive on into the next big point.

Our Big Bisexual Boy

Whatever label you choose to use for Simon is up to you. As long as we all agree he likes more than one gender then it’s whatevs. I’m going to be using the word bisexual for this meta, though. 

We’re all well aware that Simon is Struggling with his bisexuality in this book. 

“I still haven’t sorted out whether I’m still attracted to women or whether I ever was, or whether I’m some kind of Baz-only-sexual. But the cleavage at this place is abundant, and I’m not mad about it.”

(taken from chapter 21) 

Like....... y’know. We know. It’s... we get it. 

The important part of that quote is that it’s at the Ren Faire. The Ren Faire is the first time Simon’s had his wings out in public since god-knows-when, if ever. This is also the first time he really considers kissing Baz in the book. Kissing Baz in Public.

Any of you that have been to Pride probably got a little bit of the warm fuzzies during this scene. The faire brought back such deep memories of my first pride it was a little bit emotional. I talked to random people, people ran around in rainbow outfits. There was body paint! Stupid hats! Weird dye jobs! The classic pride-flag-as-a-cape look! I talked to so many people and 

“Everyone here is so friendly.”

(also taken from chapter 21)

Everyone was so nice to me.

Baz feels right at home; Simon is all smiles. The only one not having a blast is Penny and she’s (I’m sorry, Penny) the token straight friend in these books. 

I don’t know how Rainbow did it, but she made me relive my first pride through Simon, and I’ll never not be grateful for that. 

“Today I’m someone else entirely. Today I’m just a bloke with fake red wings.”

The Pride/Ren Faire parallels were pretty obvious, but I wanna get a little further into the whole “wings = being bisexual” thing. 

We’ve established with Baz that being a magical creature or whatnot is Gay, but while Baz is fully magical, Simon’s “half-normal.” Kind of. It’s a weird situation there but half-normal works for the argument. 

“’Smells like dragon... but also smells like iron. Another abomination!’” 

(chapter 35)

Now the word “abomination” is really fucking unfortunate in this context, but biphobia exists so idk man. I’m gonna start talking in gay/straight terms and I absolutely know bisexuality isn’t half-gay half-straight but we’re talking in metaphors and i’ll tie it together at the end so just stick with me, okay?

He’s part dragon, part Normal (kind of). Simon’s not like Baz where he’s absolutely, 100% a vampire. He has traits of dragons and humans. This is why it’s so bad that he hates his wings half the time. They are part of him. They may not be “normal” and he may have to hide them, but he can’t just cut off the gay part. Our queerness doesn’t define us, but it’s a defining feature. 

Penny says she wouldn’t be her if she wasn’t a mage. Simon wouldn’t be Simon if he wasn’t bi. 

The mistake Simon and almost everyone else makes during this book is that they think of his wings as these separate entities. There is no gay part and straight part of Simon Snow. All of him is Simon. From the tips of his toes to the tops of his wings, all of him is Simon. He might’ve discovered this part of himself during a tragic point in his life, but that doesn’t mean it has to be something bad. It doesn’t have to be something tainted. 

Sometimes you discover things about yourself during the hardest moments of your life. When you’re already down in the dirt, beaten and bruised, sometimes a mirror is put in front of you and you realize something. You realize you’re trans. You realize you’re gay. And sometimes you resent those realizations because they came to you at the worst possible time. “This is just one more thing on my plate,” you think. 

This series is about reclaiming the things that where taken from you by the ones that hurt you. 

Simon’s going to have to learn to love his wings, because even though they remind him of something that hurts-- hurts more than anything-- they’re part of him. They are him, as much as the rest of his body is. Simon’s going to have to forgive himself, and learn to love himself for all that he is. 

Because all that he is is beautiful. 

We all know it; it’s time for him to understand that.

All right, bitches. Let’s get to the bit we all REALLY care about. this is the one that really fucks me up my dudes. Because it’s Brutal. But anyways here we go.

His wings are the Big Baz Love 

What are the two things that Simon’s  considering cutting off in this book?

“That’s what I’m going to say when I break up with Baz.”

“Dr. Wellbelove said he could remove the wings. And the tail. Whenever I’m ready.”

(Chapter 2, Epilogue)

Yikes!

My guys..... Simon and Baz don’t kiss unless Simon’s wings are out.

I truly do not understand how some of you are out here saying Simon’s gonna lose his wings I really don’t. It’s stressful. I’m stressed. Ms. Rainbow Rowell, you have me stressed. 

His Wings! Are! His Love!

On Love’s Light Wings!

Goatman dances his nasty little fingers all over the bridge that is Baz’s ass? Wings out, uses his tail to help kill the guy. Lamb is hitting on Baz too much? 

“’Spell my wings off.’”

(Chapter 45)

In the airport, when a lady is giving them the “don’t be gay” stink eye he immediately checks to make sure his tail is hidden. 

Baz can’t spell his wings off, guys. 

Baz can’t spell his wings away.

“’Snow needs you to cast your angel spell on him. I hid his wings for breakfast, but they’re still there.’“

(Chapter 19)

In Chapter 41, the biggest kiss scene we get, Simon wraps his wings around Baz to hold him. He’s embracing him in his love guys. Guys. 

Have you people noticed how i’m suddenly less articulate? It’s because i’m in crisis. Set me on fire I wouldn’t notice. I’ve been living with this terrible knowledge.

The first scene we finally see them kiss is after the scene at the Ren Faire when Simon’s wings are finally out and he finally got to fly.

“Simon catches up with me and traps me against the car. He’s kissing me before I see it coming.” 

Simon is so dtf in this scene Penny throws a water bottle at them, and it hits him in the wing. 

“’So hot,’ Simon Says. ‘Got to see you fight without picking a fight with you myself.’

Bunce throws a plastic bottle over my shoulder, and it smacks Simon in the wing.”

(Chapter 22)

She had to smack him right in the love for him to calm down, my dudes, my guys. Do you realize how hard it was for me to annotate this goddamn book with this knowledge? Every. Single. Time. Simon stretches a wing or flaps them around it’s about Baz. It gets to the point where you have to put the book down or you’re gonna explode. 

Simon’s wings are always out around Lamb. He’s jealous as hell and he hates that motherfucker’s guts. The only real injuries Simon sustains in this book are to his wings and they’re almost always when Baz gets hurt too. 

When did Simon get his wings? Only a day after he first kissed Baz.

Simon’s love for Baz is so big and so obnoxious he can’t hide it. His wings and tail have spikes, because that’s all Simon knows. He’s rough around the edges, he’s been hurt, he’s been used.

He’s never been in love before.

His love is spiky; it’s loud. It’s hotrod red and you can’t miss it when it’s out. Baz can’t see it, because Simon’s tucked it away. He hasn’t flown with it. He hasn’t wrapped it around Baz in so long. He doesn’t know how to handle a love this big, where to put it, when to unfurl it. 

Simon gets jealous. He gets scared. He’s insecure. He wants so dearly to finally give to someone instead of feeling like he’s just giving in. Like he’s still just taking from Baz.

What do you do with wings? 

How do you find somewhere safe to fly?

The Resolution.

I said earlier that if Carry On is a story of self-discovery, Wayward Son is a story of self-acceptance.

Simon has to love himself, and learn that his love for Baz is a good thing. As he accepts himself (and his dragon powers evolve go read my dragon simon meta it’s good.) he’s going to start to shine. 

This is a story being told to us with nothing but love. This is a story about a boy that’s his own worst enemy-- as all of us often are. It’s so scary to accept our wings. It’s so scary to accept our fangs. Especially when they’ve come out of such a hideous occurrence. 

We need to accept these dark times and acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, we were made more beautiful because of them. Maybe the light we give after we’ve been in darkness is more vibrant, because we know how scary the dark is. The things that happened to us were horrible, and hideous, and terrifying, but we aren’t. We’re different from how we were before, but we’re still beautiful. 

Simon Snow is going to accept himself.

Simon Snow is going to accept his past.

Simon Snow is going to finally, finally tell Baz he loves him.

And for the first time, Simon Snow is going to see that he’s beautiful.

If you’ve liked this meta you should also check out this one where i explain how they’re finally gonna get their relationship together. Also the one about the scarf

Special thank you to @singerofsimplesongs for listening to me howl and screech about this damn thing. 

Tagging some people that might be interested!

@neck-mole @watfordwallflower @carrybits @theflyingpeach @fight-surrender @shitty-posty-times @wisest-girl @slaying-fictional-dragons @gucciglitzy

[murasaki-murasame]

Thoughts on Higurashi Sotsu Ep1 and 2

After what’s felt like an eternity, we’re finally back to our good old fashioned anime about trauma and murder :)

Like with my posts about Gou, this will contain spoilers for all of the original series.

Anyway, thoughts under the cut.

Continuing on from how the second half of Gou went back in time to show Satoko’s descent into villainy, Sotsu is starting off by going back to Onidamashi and showing what was happening from Rena’s point of view, as a way of basically doing it’s own version of the answer arcs from the VN.

This isn’t 100% the same as either Onikakushi or Tsumihoroboshi, but effectively these two episodes were still almost entirely taken from material in the VN, which reminds me of how I still think that this show is more of a reboot than people would like to admit. Even if in practice it’s probably still better to just read the VN first and then watch all of this. I just feel like a lot of VN readers are going to end up kinda bored with this because of how much of it is just retreading stuff from the VN, like with the first half of Gou.

Anyway, I’m entirely on board with this being a new take on the answer arcs, and thus far I think the execution has been done really well. Rena ended up getting kinda sidelined in Gou, so I like how they’re really focusing on her perspective in this. It’s obviously not quite as in-depth as the VN, especially if this arc is just going to be one more episode long, but like with Gou I think they’re doing a great job of getting across the characterization and development without many internal monologues or anything.

Although this ended up basically playing out the same way as Rena killing Rina in Tsumihoroboshi, it turns out that this version of Rina has gone through the same sort of character development as Teppei did, and now she’s way more sympathetic than she was in the VN, with her wanting to cut ties with Rena’s father out of sympathy instead of just being out to extort all of his money no matter what. The way that this new series has been going about ‘redeeming’ it’s more evil characters has been kinda polarizing with people, but I think it worked out really well here. Partly because they don’t really spell out whether or not Rina has gone through the same process as Teppei with getting traumatized by nightmares of previous loops, and we just see her being a more sympathetic person instead. I think it also makes Rena’s actions here even more tragic, since in this timeline Rina would have left them alone if she’d done nothing, and by the time she found out about that she was already past the point of no return. It doesn’t exactly erase or make up for all of the shit that had already happened between Rina and Rena’s dad, though. It still makes sense why Rena ended up snapping like she did.

Which gets into the whole topic of Satoko injecting her with the syringe, which basically sealed the deal on Rena irreversibly going insane in this arc. In practice she ended up just going down the same path that she already did in Tsumihoroboshi without needing to be injected with anything, but it still raises the possibility that she might have been more willing to abandon her plans if she hadn’t been injected.

Sorta like how the VN was already about the inherent tragedy of how in a perfect world none of these things should have happened and nobody should have resorted to murder, this adds an extra layer of dramatic irony with how Satoko’s looping has caused a situation where the external forces triggering people’s insanity have been slowly going away, but because she’s so intent on keeping Rika in the village by mentally breaking her through continued tragedy, she’s having to go out of her way to force all these things to happen, when otherwise all of these loops might have ended up being ‘perfect’ if she’d just left it alone.

And just for the record, a lot of people seem confused by it, but I think Gou already made it clear enough why Satoko is trying to convince Rika to stay in the village by subjecting her to repeated torture. From a meta perspective, it’s all just about setting up the premise of Rika going through the original arcs again so we can have a part-sequel/part-reboot, but in general her whole plan with this seems to be to traumatize Rika enough that she’ll accept the idea that she’s being punished by Oyashiro-sama for wanting to leave the village. Obviously it’s a pretty extreme and convoluted way to try and convince her to stay, but Satokowashi went to great lengths to show how Satoko tried basically everything else she could think of to stop her without resorting to violence.

And yes, the point of ‘she should be able to just talk to Rika directly and work things out that way’ is an intentional part of the whole tragedy of the situation, lol. If this was a story where people were willing to calmly open up about all of their problems and achieve peaceful resolutions, basically none of this entire story would have happened. And honestly, at least on an abstract level, I can totally relate to that feeling of being willing to do literally anything instead of just talking to people openly, no matter how much extra time and effort it takes.

I also just don’t even think that ‘just talking about it’ would even be enough. Partly because Rika is really dead-set on leaving the village and would prefer to take Satoko with her instead of staying in the village just for her sake [which is the entire premise of what happened in Satokowashi], but also partly because in the long run this is more about Satoko’s personal trauma and her inability to accept leaving her childhood behind. No matter what she does, she’d have to eventually contend with the idea of her friends moving on in their lives, or the village itself changing.

She doesn’t just want Rika to stay with her, she wants to keep everything the same forever because this is where she feels safe and in control. And that’s just not something that you can actually achieve without, well, the ability to loop through time, lol. That’s also why I don’t really think it’s ‘unreasonable’ that Satoko was so willing to sit through Rika’s loops, and to enact her own loops. The looping isn’t just something she has to put up with to achieve her goal, it IS her goal. She isn’t exactly aware of it since she’s so focused on the point of keeping Rika with her forever, but what she wants is to keep repeating this time period forever, and that’s what she’s doing. 

Funnily enough I wasn’t really onboard with the idea of Satoko being the villain for most of Gou, but I guess by this point I’m a Satoko apologist, lmao. I just think her whole character arc makes a lot of sense, with her doing everything she can to cling onto the present and avoid the future, but obviously I also get why people think she’s irredeemable.

Either way, I’m kinda curious to see how the next episode goes, since it seems like there’s just going to be one more episode to this arc. It feels like there’s a lot still left to be covered, but maybe I’m over-estimating it. I think they still have to cover the flashbacks with Rena after she moved, her getting more paranoid about Keiichi until finally killing him, and then whatever happened with Rika and Satoko at the end of the arc, so hopefully that’ll fit nicely into one more episode.

I’m still curious to see what happens when we see Rena’s perspective on her fight with Keiichi, though, since there’s been so much speculation about it partly being a hallucination from Keiichi as he rapidly descended into L5 when Rena attacked him. There’s also still the possibility that they’ll reveal that this is an entirely separate timeline to Onidamashi, but I think that’d be a bit convoluted for no good reason. It’s be enough of a twist to just show that the fight scene went differently to how it was originally presented.

Other than that, I think that Rika probably ended up killing herself in despair at the end of this arc, and Satoko kills herself to jump to the next loop. I think that’ll all be pretty straightforward, but hopefully it’ll lead to an epilogue scene with Satoko and Eua.

After this, I guess the next three episodes will be the answer arc for Watadamashi, going by the Sotsu blu-rays being split into sets of 3, 3, 5, and 4 episodes. Unlike how this arc was very straightforward and predictable for people who’ve read the VN, I’m really excited to see what happens in the next arc, since Watadamashi was kinda confusing in a lot of ways, even after we found out about the Satoko stuff. But we’ll get to that when the time comes.

The third arc should then be an answer arc for Tataridamashi, but it’ll be interesting to see if they fit in Satoko’s perspective of Nekodamashi there as well, or if they push that to the final arc, or if the Nekodamashi arc will overlap both arcs. Either way, the fourth and final [unless they reveal more episodes or even another season later] arc will probably then continue on from the end of Nekodamashi and show however things manage to wrap up after that point. It’s really hard to tell how much time they’ll actually need after that to wrap things up, though, which is why I’m not sure if they’ll actually be able to finish things in these 15 episodes, or if we might get more later. Unless we get some major curve balls, I don’t really think it’d be that hard to wrap things up that quickly, but we’ll see.

Anyway, Sotsu is off to a great start, and I’m excited to see where it’s going to go, but mostly at the moment I’m just relieved that the last four months of my life are over now, and I can go back to live-blogging about anime where kids murder each other, lmao.

[tinyboxxtink]

Build Me Up Buttercup *Part 9*

Weeeee!!!! Here we go, getting close to the end guys. 

I’m glad so many people like it, it makes me happy. 

Okay okay enough sappiness, we’re not dead yet.

Oh and gotta tag: @wanniiieeee 

If you need to catch up:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Finale

Epilogue

“...Soooo, are we hoping he shows up, or not?” 

Once again, your BFF was there to hear the latest escapades of the saga unfolding. 

“Obviously NOT,” You scoffed, falling back onto the bed. It was stiff, almost…crusty. You tried desperately not to think about just what exactly went on in these rooms on a normal basis.

“Because….?”

“Because I don’t wanna just BANG IT OUT, that’s why!” you exclaimed, wondering why that wasn’t blatantly obvious.

“Yeah but didn’t you say that Barba said that he was still gonna care about you, even after sleeping with you?”

“Yeah…” you twirled your hair again.

“So then if he does come to you then you know he really does believe that, correct?” Your BFF pointed out.

“But what if he doesn’t?”

“Oh come on, you think that Barba would just have sex with you to prove a point to your sergeant?” 

“I mean, what if he doesn’t care about me after, y’know...we fuck,” You said blatantly.  

“Seriously?”

“Yes SERIOUSLY. Come on babe this has all happened SO fast, I mean it can’t be anything other than physical attraction,” 

“You don’t believe that,” 

“Of course I do! Look at me! Metaphorically. Guys don’t ‘date’ me, they wanna fuck me and leave me.  

“Yeah, that’s usually because you fuck them before you give them even so much as a name, and then kick them out in the morning. Nice try,” Your BFF shot down your attempts to self deprecate.

“...Whatever,” 

“Look, I love you. I know you’ve been through hell and back. But, at some point you have gotta let the past be the past, and realize that you’re not that girl anymore. You’re not 16, you’re a grown up. And a smart, beautiful one at that. A guy could easily fall in love with you,” they assured you.

“In less than 24 hours,” you rolled your eyes.

“Okay maybe not love, but certainly more than a dicking. I mean Christ Y/N if that’s all he was after he wouldn’t have defended you to Liv, he would’ve just begged her to let him have a day pass to fuck you and move on!” 

“But, we’re so-- and he’s-- and I’m-- I just can’t see how we’re gonna…” You tried expressing your thoughts but it just wasn’t coming.

“Look, get out of your head. Just, stop. Stop overthinking it,”

“Yeah okay,” you said sarcastically.

Suddenly, there was a knock at your door. 

“Y/N?” you heard Rafael’s muffled voice outside. 

“SHIT,” You hissed into the phone, jumping off the bed.

“Is that him? I TOLD YOU,” your BFF laughed triumphantly. 

“Shut up. I’ll call you later.” you tossed the phone on the bed, fluffed your hair as if that was going to help the situation, and opened the door.

“Hey, can I…?” He motioned inside, leaning into the doorway. 

“First, I need you to be honest with me,” You put your hand up to his chest.

“Okay…”

“How drunk are you?”

“Seriously? I may not drink straight shots of tequila all the time, but that doesn’t mean I’m some old man lightweight,” he scoffed, very offended.

“That’s not an answer,” 

“...Honestly? I think I’m more buzzed off that kiss earlier,” he smirked.

Damn he was smooth. 

 You rolled your eyes and opened the door, letting him walk in. You motioned for him to sit on the bed, to which he replied, “Yeahh….I don’t think I’ll be sleeping anywhere tonight. God knows what is on these,” 

“Really? So how pray tell do you think we’re going to ‘bang it out’?” his head whipped around at that sentence.

“Christ almighty, again Y/N?! Privacy, google it,” 

“Oh whatever, you two were practically screaming in the parking lot,” you scoffed.

“I swear to God, you are so--”

“So what? Stupid? Immature?”

“Infuriating!” 

“Hello, kettle,”

“Oh really? How am I the bad guy here? Olivia sat there and basically called you a piece of ass, and I defended you!”

“And yet, here you are. Ready to fuck,” you presented your hands as if you were a platter. 

Rafael put his hands over his face and paced the room.

“Ay dios mio, me voy a suicidar,” he muttered while pacing. 

“Oh really, you wanna kill yourself? That’s a tad dramatic, counselor,” You scoffed again.

Rafael’s eyes widened, “You understood that?” 

“I heard suicide,” 

“Right...ok look,” he stopped pacing and stood in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“I’m not-- I don’t...want to just, ‘bang it out’,” He rolled his eyes at the notion. 

“But, also-- I don’t not want to….y’know,” He gestured towards the bed with his head. 

“...So you do, but you don’t,” you continued with the sarcasm. 

“It’s not JUST what I want to do, carino,”  he put a hand up to your cheek. 

“Cards on the table, I would love nothing more than to rip that shirt off and ravish you right here, until we have to leave in….Jesus, 7 hours,” He shook his head, knowing he was never going to sleep tonight either way this went. 

“Just not on the bed,” you half laughed.

“...Y’know what? For you, I would risk the thousands of venereal diseases that are seeped into these sheets,” 

“....How romantic,”

“If you really knew me you’d know that is the peak of romance,”

“See that’s the thing Rafael-- I don’t really know you. Not really. And you don’t know me. We just...I don’t know, we had this little chemistry thing going all day, and then y’know you cleaned me up when I was crying, and then held my hand through my story, and I--”

“And that’s why you wanna sleep with me,” he dropped his hands and stepped back from you.

Your face fell, your eyes widened. It had never occurred to you that he would be the one doubting the sincerity of the situation.

“What? Seriously?”

“You just said I don’t really know you, you don’t really know anything about me, except that I helped you through a difficult situation and now you wanna ‘repay’ me, or you feel attracted to me because I made you feel good,” 

Your jaw was on the floor; was he actually saying this? Was he this insecure this whole time?

“That is so not--” you tried to interject but he kept on.

“Then how do you explain it? This, this little attraction coming out of nowhere--”

“It didn’t come from nowhere,” you cut him off without thinking. 

“Excuse me?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Are you a moron, counselor?” you asked, to which he just stared at you dumbfounded.

“You honestly think that just because you dried my tears in a bathroom and held my hand through a story, that I would just throw caution to the wind and make a very obvious, romantic grand gesture? In front of my BOSS? Olivia could’ve fired me at any point today for ‘fraternization” or “unprofessionalism”, or a million other things that have run through my mind. You think that I would just risk my career because I thought you were nice?!”

Now it was Rafael’s jaw on the floor, flabbergasted at your sudden admission. He shook it off quickly, walking back up to you and caressed your face once again.

“So...you do have an insane crush on me?” he smirked.

“I wouldn’t go far as to say ‘insane’....spirited, maybe,” you blushed, making him grin like a kid in a candy store.

“AND, really to be honest it’s only been a subconscious thing, I think. But this morning at the gas station, something just…”

“Clicked,” he finished your sentence.

“Ye-Yeah,” You whispered, now once again stunned.

“Yeah…” he smiled, rubbing your jaw with his thumb. 

“So….what are we doing here, counselor?” You tried to keep your voice from wavering, but his hands on your face and the smell of his cologne was driving you nuts.

“We’re standing here, detective,” he smirked.

“Oh fuck off don’t be cute about this,” you hit his hands away at his snarkiness.

“But I’m so good at it,” he pulled on your hands playfully. 

“Alright what are we going to do about….” you gestured between the two of you.

“Well, I told you what I want to do,” he smirked again, pulling your face close to kiss you, but stopped mere millimeters from your lips. 

“BUT, I also don’t want to do something just because Olivia tells me to,” he pulled back quickly, amused at the annoyance on your face.

“So what, you wanna make out like teenagers? Wouldn’t that just be proving her point?” You scoffed, trying to hide the fact that you wanted to do so much more than that.

“I just...I don’t want us to...and then you--” he made hand gestures left and right.

“And then I? And then you!” you hit him softly. 

“No, not me. You think you’re the only one with a subconscious?” He raised an eyebrow, indicating he had always felt the same about you.

“So...neither of us, wants either of us, to change our minds,” you pulled him in closer once again, your arms wrapped around each other’s necks. 

“But both of us, assume that we will,” you continued, moving a hand to play with his collar sans tie, so that it was showing the tiniest bit of his chest.

“SO-- I propose this,” You patted the chest window with both hands. Rafael took this chance to grab them and keep them there, anxious to hear your proposal.

“We….have some fun,” you wagged your eyebrows suggestively. 

“And since both of us already think that the other one is gonna bail, we’re not gonna expect tomorrow to be any different, right?” 

“Right…” he held onto your hands, forcing you to balance back and forth on your toes. 

“And, if we both still feel the same when we get home…” you clung tighter to the collar, pulling yourself closer to his face.

“Then we do this. For real,” you whispered, staring him straight into his gorgeous green eyes.

“...And what happens when one of us changes our mind when we get to the city?” He brushed hair away from your face.

“Well then, I’ll just transfer units so you can get over me,” You gave him a tongued smile.

“Oh, I think you’ll be transferring to get over me, carino,” he smirked.

“What does that mean, by the way? I hope it’s nothing bad, considering you’ve called me it all day,” you asked, and he laughed. 

“No no no, not bad-- never,” He kissed your forehead.

“It means like, ‘sweetie’ or ‘honey’, it just sounds prettier in spanish,”

“It really does. To be honest you could call me trash in spanish and I’d still think it was sexy as hell,” you admitted, making him laugh louder.

“I would never call you basura, carino, EVER,” he assured you, going in for another kiss; this time, he didn’t stop. 

You both began kissing each other furiously, the crescendo of your wants from the entire day came spilling out all at once like a broken dam. Without thinking you jumped up and wrapped your legs around his waist. Surprised, he momentarily stumbled back, but quickly adjusted your weight in his grasp, pulling you tighter into him. You could feel his growing member against your thigh, and you couldn’t help but smile knowing you were the reason for it. All of a sudden you felt yourself falling back onto the bed, Rafael continuing to kiss you.

“Oh yeah sure just let me get the jizz germs on me,” you giggled in between kisses. In response, he crawled on you and moved you up closer to the headboard, his entire body now on top of you.

“Alright there, my body is full of jizz now too, happy?” he panted. 

“Yeah I know it is, I can feel it,” you smirked, grabbing his belt and tugging on his erection. He moaned, his eyes widening in shock and excitement.

This was it, no going back now….

[delos-mio]

Death of a Bachelor - EPILOGUE

“Fuck, we’re so late!” you sighed as Charles pressed the elevator button for the 15th floor of the downtown high-rise. This photoshoot and interview had been on the books pretty much as soon as you and Logan got back from your honeymoon, so really, there was no good reason to be running this far behind. But, you’d been held up at the hotel putting out small fires that didn’t stop just because you were away from the office.

“Sorry! I know, I know. I don’t know why Cole can’t figure out how to convert anything to a fucking PDF.” Charles had been promoted to office manager and had been doing a spectacular job. You always knew he would be, but when it was finally time to add on those additional responsibilities, he took them on effortlessly. He did still enjoy moonlighting as your personal assistant, even though technically you had hired someone new to do that job. Now when he helped you out, it was as a devoted friend as opposed to paid employee.

“Just…just talk to him tomorrow, please?” you asked, the elevator pinging and doors opening.

“Don’t worry- you can consider it done.”

Your heels clicked on the tile floor as you made your way to the receptionist’s desk. The Forbes HQ was sleek and screamed “wealth”, which you were used to at this point. As you got closer, the curly haired woman stood up from her seat with a bright smile and rounded the desk to greet you.

“Mrs. Delos! We’re so excited to have you here!” She took your hand and gave it a shake.

“Thank you, happy to be here,” you replied, dropping her hand. “But, I actually kept my own last name,” you corrected gently. It was an honest mistake and one that happened often. You’d perfected the polite correction over the last couple months.

“I am SO sorry,” she said with genuine embarrassment. “Truly, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s really ok, dear. It happens all the time.” You waved her off quickly and reassured her it was just fine. “Besides, there are a lot worse things to be called than a Delos, right?” The smile finally returned to her face.

“You’re right about that,” she laughed and visibly let out a breath. “Here, follow me. The rest of your group is just through here.”

You followed her down a hall with double doors at the end. Just as she was about to usher you in, you heard your favorite laugh in the whole wide world. There Logan was, laughing at something Elliot had said, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. You loved it when he let go like that and just enjoyed himself and his company. He was handsome all the time, but he was absolutely breathtaking when he was happy. Logan must have heard the door shut behind you as he opened his eyes and turned to you, a grin plastered on his face. He held out his hand to you, which you were all too happy to take.

“Hey,” you whispered just to him.

“Hi,” Logan breathed back before placing his palm on the small of your back and kissing you with a smile still on his lips. “Glad you made it.”

“I was always going to make it,” you huffed, shoving his shoulder gently. “Sorry for being late.”

“I’m a patient man,” he shrugged.

“No, you’re not,” you laughed and he broke into a grin. “You look extra handsome.”

“Thank you, princess. You look entirely fuckable yourself,” he said in a low voice just for you, his hand wandering down your backside.

“Ugh, ok, enough,” Juliet said with a roll of her eyes. “Can we get this show on the road?”

With that, the photographer came over and started arranging everyone in front of the windows with the New York skyline in the background. Elliot and Emily were directed to stand together back toward the window, Charles placed just next to them. Juliet stood near the middle with John by her side. Finally, the photographer had you stand on Logan’s left side, the two of you front and center. Without prompting, Logan wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in close, kissing your temple.

“Can you…sorry. Forbes is looking for more…professional shots…” The photographer attempted to interrupt, but Logan kept his arm around you, only glancing in his direction.

“So, I’m not allowed to kiss my wife?” Wife. You still loved hearing the word fall from his lips.

“I…” the photographer drawled, clearly uncomfortable and unsure how to answer.

“I’m fucking with you. We can behave for an hour, can’t we?” Logan asked you, arching an eyebrow.

“I can. Jury’s still out on you,” you winked. You heard Logan groan that desperate little sound he liked to make in the back of his throat and ignored him, turning to the lens as the camera clicked.

The photo shoot was light and fun. You weren’t really sure what to expect since your experience being professionally photographed was extremely limited. But, Logan was a seasoned pro and never let you out of his grip, quietly encouraging you and fawning as picture after picture was snapped.

“Alright, I think we got what we need. You all did great,” the photographer smiled and set his camera down. “I think Carmen is set up in the other room whenever you’re ready.”

“Have you guys already talked to her?” you asked Emily.

“Yeah, she grabbed all of us before you and Chuck came. I think she’s doing his interview last.”

“Sounds good. How was it? Is she nice?” you asked, nervously thumbing the band on your ring finger, a new habit you’d picked up.

“She was pretty cool, actually,” Elliot shrugged.

“Mostly asked about you two,” John smirked. “Y’know, making sure you’re treating us good and all that.”

“Whatever,” Logan laughed. “You ready, babe?” You nodded and he draped his arm over your shoulder, ushering you into the small side room where a Forbes journalist sat.

“Mr. and Mrs. Delos! Very nice to meet you! I’m Carmen.” She introduced herself and shook your and your husband’s hands.

“Thank you for having us. However, my wife has kept her last name,” Logan said with a charming smile.

“Of course, of course. My apologies. A modern woman- I love it!” Carmen chirped before gesturing you both to take a seat. Logan waited for you to settle in, smooth down the top of your pencil skirt, before taking his seat next to you and placing his arm around you along the back of the couch.

“So, some congratulations are in order! First, congrats on Delos being named one of the Most Innovative Companies. That’s quite an accomplishment for your first year of ownership.”

“Thank you,” Logan said with a small nod.

“Second, congrats on your recent nuptials! Tech’s most eligible bachelor is officially off the market,” Carmen laughed. “Tell me a little bit about your wedding before we get into the meat and potatoes.”

“Well,” you started, “We started planning a kind of big wedding, something that we thought weddings usually looked like. But a couple months into making arrangements, we decided that it wasn’t for us and everything we’d been planning just wasn’t what we wanted. So, we rounded up everyone who was in that photoshoot with us and eloped in Fiji.”

“Wow, that’s quite a 180. And Fiji, that must have been beautiful!” Carmen beamed, clearly caught up in the whimsy of just fucking off impulsively to another country and getting married.

“They’re our family and at the end of the day, everyone else we planned on inviting was just decoration. It was nice just to have the people who mattered there with us,” Logan said, looking at you with a soft smile. “I only cared that my wife walked down to meet me at the end of that isle. Whatever else she did or didn’t want on that day was good with me.”

“That’s so sweet,” Carmen cooed. “Well, I’m very happy for you and marriage looks good on you both.” She took a moment to turn on the recording function on her phone and organize her notes. “So, once you got home, walk me through what happened at Delos. There has obviously been a lot of speculation between the change in ownership, the pivot to Virtual Reality, and the acquisition of other businesses.”

“As you know, John and I bought Delos last year from my father. In that last year, we more or less gutted the whole thing and started new. We kept on Juliet, obviously, and my secretary and that was it. Everyone else was let go. We made sure to bring in talent that was new and fresh and rallied around building Delos back up. My father liked people who said yes to him, and that led to a lot of stagnation both in new ideas and growth for the business. John and I didn’t want that. We wanted to make Delos our own.” Logan had that proud, serious look in his eyes that made you clamp your thighs together just a little bit tighter. “Our vision of the future of Delos required a clean house and staff who were excited and innovative.”

“That’s a bold move. What empowered you to take such a big leap?” Carmen asked.

“Is it corny if I say the woman sitting next to me?” Logan chuckled.

“Oh Christ, stop,” you laughed.

“I mean it though!” Logan looked over at you fondly, his gaze soft before turning back to Carmen. “She has pushed me since the first day we met. And she’s supported me unconditionally all this time. I don’t think I’d have the courage to do half of what we’ve accomplished if I didn’t know I had her behind me.”

“The thing about Logan is that he’s incredibly driven. If he wants to accomplish something, he puts his mind to it and he does it. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” You squeezed above his knee, feeling an incredible swell of pride in your chest. He really had some so far and worked so, so hard in the years you’d been together. It was hard not to feel proud and keep the tears from your eyes. Logan must have sensed what was going through your head because he leaned over to press a quick kiss to your temple, just something light to ground you, remind you he had your back too.

“Once John and I had cleared everyone out, that left us with four employees. Which wasn’t going to work, clearly. But lucky for me, my beautiful wife is also an entrepreneur,” Logan smiled.

“Yes. I’d owned my own marketing firm and really, it just made sense at that point kind of merge the two companies.” You nodded.

“We brought marketing in house and took on her staff and bought her business in exchange for ownership shares. Now, Delos is a three owner operation,” Logan grinned. It was important to both of you that you not work for Logan, but rather with him. “Her old assistant became our office manager and is now in charge of day-to-day operations. My sister and brother in law, Emily and Elliot, moved out to LA from Milwaukee and headed up talent management and recruiting. They helped us fill in the other vacancies left.”

“So, it really is a family affair, huh?” Carmen asked, looking between the two of you.

“I think we’ve both learned how important it is to keep a tight circle of people you can trust. These are people we’ve known our entire lives, that are the very best at what they do, and are unwaveringly loyal.” You looked at Logan, who nodded in agreement. “Saying ‘yes’ to everything and being loyal aren’t the same thing. And I think that’s something that previous ownership never understood.”

“Damn right,” Logan affirmed with a crooked smile, his eyes still trained on you.

“I think ‘power couple’ doesn’t even come close to describing you two! It’s been amazing as someone who watches the market and businesses to see Delos rise from the ashes into this juggernaut that it is today.” Carmen seemed genuinely impressed and a bit enamored by you and Logan.

“It was a lot of long nights and hard work. But we like to think it’s been worth it, right?” You asked Logan.

“It’s all been worth it. Everything.”

---

About a month later, you were curled up on the couch, totally zoning out as an episode of Real Housewives of Potomac played. Sleep was weighing heavy on your eyelids when the front door opened and shut again. Finally, Logan was home which meant you now had your favorite pillow to fall asleep on. You listened to him set down his keys, hang up his jacket in the closet, and grab himself a San Pellegrino before wandering into the living room.

“Happy you’re home,” you said with a sleepy smile, reaching out your arms to beckon him over.  

“Happy to be home,” Logan laughed and took his normal spot in the corner, legs sprawled out on the chaise, and quickly scooped you into his arms. You settled in his lap and gave him a kiss hello, an I missed you kiss, an I’m so happy to see you kiss. “Got a surprise for you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Yeah?” you asked, running your fingers through his dark hair. From over the side of the couch, he pulled out a copy of the newest Forbes magazine with a proud flourish. “Oh lord.”

“Page 71,” he directed, handing it over to you. And sure enough, there you two were, front and center, with every important member of your team, and family, behind you. There was something uncomfortable about seeing your own face on a glossy page, but the picture really was nice of the whole group. Logan radiated confidence and power, his arm securely around you in a way that said I wish you would try to fuck with us.

“It sure is…published,” you laughed.

“You look so fucking beautiful. I can’t wait to get this blown up and hang it in the lobby,” he mused, looking over your shoulder at the write up.

“For real?”

“I think it’s a great picture! It should be the first thing anyone sees when they come in the office, don’t you think?” Logan placed a tender kiss on your shoulder.

“I suppose.” You still weren’t entirely convinced, but it was also impossible for you to say no to Logan. You handed the open magazine back to him and let your head rest against his shoulder. “Read it to me?”

“Of course, princess,” he chuckled and raised the article into his line of sight, starting in on the story you knew and lived. Your eyes slipped shut as you let the sound of Logan’s voice and his heartbeat comfort you and lull you into a peaceful sleep.

TAGGED: @marvelcapsicle​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @something-tofightfor​ @songtoyou​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @abroadcastofthemind​ @gollyderek​ @dylanobrusso​ @marauderskeeper​

[xteenwolfwritingsx]

You Know Better - Part 36 - Recover

-gif source unkown-

Story Description: Peter and the reader develop a slow relationship.

Part Description: You wake up in the hospital.

Warnings/Labels: Medical mumbo jumbo. Tooth-decaying sweetness.  

Approx. Word Count:  

A/N: Final part before the epilogue (which I plan to have out this month!!) Again, not a medical professional. I know nothing of medical mumbo-jumbo and the only “research” I’ve done is watch House and Grey’s Anatomy. So bear with me.

Story Masterpost

Everything is hazy and bright when your eyes blink open. You’re staring at very bright, white lights covering an entire ceiling and laying on a firm, unforgiving mattress. The sheets are scratchy. Your throat is dry and there’s something shoved inside of it. You cough, trying to get it out, but it doesn’t work.

You start to panic, unable to breathe with this thing blocking your airway. You keep trying to cough, to breathe, as machines start beeping around you. You lift your hands to pull at whatever is in your mouth, but you find your wrists encased in restraints, only able to lift them a few inches. Tears fill your eyes at the fear and the sensation of having something scratching inside of your throat.

“She’s awake!” a man yells. “Someone get Melissa!” There’s a hand on your arm and your vision clears enough to see Derek leaning over you. “It’s okay. Calm down,” he tries to soothe. There’s a worry in his eyes that he tries to hide that only makes you panic even more in your haze.  

You ball your hands into fists and pull at your restraints as hard as your weakened body allows. They don’t budge though and every sound you attempt to make; words, screams, anything, is blocked by the tube in your mouth. Derek’s hand wraps around yours and squeezes.

Melissa runs in, hands immediately coming to your mouth. She unclips the device and starts to pull. The tube down your throat comes out too slowly for your liking and you cough violently, trying to simultaneously expel it and ease the scratchiness it leaves behind.

You’re still coughing, trying to catch your breath when Peter runs into the room, clear panic across his face. Derek releases your hand reluctantly and steps back, allowing Peter to sweep in, taking his place. His hands instantly go to work on the restraint around one of your wrists.

“Peter,” Melissa warns, pausing her motions of adjusting the machines next to your bed to make the frantic beeping stop. He gives her a short glare.

“She’s coherent this time,” he scolds, continuing to release the straps. Once finished, he takes hold of your hand in both of his and you find yourself clinging to him. “And I’ve got her.” His words are as firm as his grip and you finally start to feel yourself relax, let your heartrate come down. His eyes meet yours and they soften. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, warming the cold skin. “I’ve got her,” he repeats quietly, the words meant for you this time.  

“What,” you try to speak, but your voice croaks and your throat burns in pain. Derek’s already handing Peter a cup of water with a straw for you to drink from. Melissa presses a button on the bed and the head of it starts to rise, slowly sitting you up. When you’re at a fairly upright angle, Peter holds the cup in front of you.

The water tastes good, but feels both soothing and painful as you swallow it. It’s very clearly the first liquid you’ve had in days. Which means you’ve been knocked out for at least that long. As you drink, you look closely at everyone. Derek’s stubble has grown out a little. There’s three long, faded scratches along Melissa’s right cheek. Peter looks tired and his clothes look crumpled, worn. You rub your legs together and judging by their scratchiness, it’s been at least a week since you shaved last.

“You’re going to be a little weak,” Melissa tells you gently as she works on the restraints on your other wrist. “Just go slow.” You clear your throat just to test your voice and it still hurts, but not enough to stop you.

“What happened?” It’s hoarse and low, but understandable.

“You’ve been out for almost twelve days,” Melissa says. “The poison really did a number on you. You’ve been on a ventilator for a couple of days now.”

“You woke up last week,” Derek tells you, coming to stand at the foot of the bed so that he can see you clearly. “But you weren’t exactly…” he pauses and his eyes involuntarily dart to Melissa’s face. She looks down, allowing her hair to curtain over her cheek and the scratches.

“Did I do that?” Guilt floods you, but she smiles gently and gives your hand a friendly squeeze.

“It’s okay. You weren’t lucid.” Her voice is kind and honest, holds no trace of blame. The woman was too damn nice. You squeeze her hand back and are about to apologize anyways when Peter speaks.

“You’ve got one hell of a right hook too.” His voice is more jovial, even if it is a little forced. “Wonder who taught you that.” You never thought in a hundred years that his condescending smirk would bring you such comfort, but by god it does. He rubs his jaw in mock pain and throws you a subtle wink. “Think I can still feel the bruise.” You let go of him and smack the back of your hand against his stomach. The motion takes more energy than you expected, but everyone gives a little smile.

“You probably deserved it,” you tease, hating how scratchy your voice sounds. You clear your throat and readjust yourself on the bed, incidentally tugging at your IV and various life-monitoring devices that make you look like a puppet with all their wires. You give up with a sigh and contend to being uncomfortable.  

“We can go over all the details later, but you’re going to be okay.” Melissa moves some of wires for you and lifts your bed up a little more.  

“Everyone else?” Anyone not in this room could be dead, after all.  

“Everyone is okay.” Derek calms your fears quickly, easily seeing the worry rise up in your face. “Kayla is dead and we got the Cerberus back where it belongs.”  

“And how exactly would you know if everyone’s alright?” Melissa quips, a smile on her face. She turns her eyes to you. “Neither of them have left this hospital since they brought you in here. The entire world could be devolved into chaos and they wouldn’t have a clue.” Both Hales shoot her half-hearted glares.

“Someone would have called,” Peter joke dryly. You bite back a smile of your own and reach for his hand again, redirecting his attention to you. It felt good to touch him.

“Well why don’t you go find out?” She puts her hands on the bed railing and straightens out, shifting strictly into Mom/Nurse-Taking-No-Shit mode. “She needs her rest and we’re going to need to run some tests just to be safe. So out you go.” She nods towards the door, but as expected, neither of them move without looking to you first.

“It’s okay,” you assure them, shooing them with one of your hands. “Go take showers. You both stink,” you tease. You can tell they’re still reluctant, but Derek nods his head and files out first. Peter pauses, reaching out to gently stroke his hand along your jaw before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promises.  

After Peter leaves, Melissa turns to you, having previously turned away to give you some semblance of privacy. She smiles sweetly, but there’s a teasing glint in her eye. You raise your eyebrows at her, silently asking what it was.

“You know,” she starts slowly, jotting down some notes on your chart. “I went on a date with him once. Sort of.” Suddenly you feel a little embarrassed.

“I…forgot about that,” you admit. She laughs a little bit.

“Most people do. Even I forget sometimes.” Grabbing a blood pressure cuff off the wall, she motions for your arm. “He had this gentleman air around him. Like he was the type of guy to always get the door for you and ask permission before he kisses you.” You scoff a little and she gives you a knowing look. “That was all a façade obviously. He’s not that kind of guy at all.” The inherently negativity of the statement brings the instinct to defend his character onto the tip on your tongue, but she continues without giving you the chance. “He is, however, the kind of guy to carry a bloody, barely breathing woman into the hospital and sit in the waiting room, also bloody, for 32 hours before he can see her again. He’s the kind of guy to stay with said women at all hours of the day and hold her hand and talk to her, plead with her to be okay because he needs her, when he thinks no one can hear.” Her eyes are trained on the blood pressure gauge as the cuff squeezes your arm uncomfortably, but you’re sure she can still notice the blush that comes to your pale face. “May not be the chivalrous gentleman he pretended to be, but it’s pretty clear that man would do anything for someone he loves.” You’re very grateful it’s just your blood pressure she’s checking and not your pulse because the way your heart just skipped around in your chest would certainly raise some red medical flags.

“Oh I don’t think… I mean he’s just being…” you fumble for words, but nothing sounds right. The smile she gives you is endearing and she gives you a small wink as she un-velcros the cuff.

“It must be a Hale thing,” she teases. “Derek also happened to be staining a chair with blood in our waiting room for quite a while.”  

“They better pay for those chairs,” you tell her, causing her to laugh.

“Don’t worry about it.” She closes up your chart and gives your hand a pat. “I’ll have someone in to draw some blood in a minute, but after that, you should get some rest.” You had to admit, your body feels weak and your eyes want to do nothing more than close for a while.

“Thank you,” you tell her just before she leaves the room.

---

When your eyes blink open, you can tell it’s nighttime. All the lights are dimmed down in your room. The blinds over the windows you hadn’t noticed before are drawn, but it’s obvious there’s no sunlight trying to filter in behind them. Your bed is slightly reclined back, but all it takes is a lift of your head to see Peter sitting in a chair across the room, an open book in his hands. He’s got new clothes on, much less rumbled than before.

“Reading in the dark is bad for your eyes,” you manage to croak out. He looks up swiftly and smiles at you.

“So I’ve been told.” He snaps the book closed and leaves it on the chair behind him when he gets up, coming to stand next to you. He grabs the water off the table besides you and once again, holds it up for you to drink from the straw resting on the lip. “How are you feeling?” he asks gently after you manage to contain a sputter of a cough.  

“Sore. Groggy. Weak. But better than when I first woke up.” An honest answer. Lying wouldn’t do you any good with him.  

“You had us worried for a while there.” His hand comes to the top of your head, thumb stroking gently along your forehead. It’s comforting and almost makes you want to go back to sleep.

“You should have told me about the poison.” You can’t resist the urge to scold him lightly. “Locking me up with Argent of all people?” A look of regret briefly breaks through his features.

“I know.” The words surprise you. You hadn’t expected him to actually agree with you. “I didn’t have a better plan though and I just…” He sighs heavily, eyes looking away from you. “I was afraid,” he admits slowly. He doesn’t like saying it, even rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to… I couldn’t…”

“Come here,” you whisper, cutting him off and drawing his eyes back to you. You reach your hand out towards him and he only hesitates for a moment before leaning down close to you. You bring your hand to his cheek, his jawline prickling the bottom of your palm with too-long stubble. Your hold on his face is gentle and timid, but he leans into it, almost like he craved your touch. You brush your thumb over his cheekbone and he closes his eyes. “I can’t lose you either.”  

He doesn’t need to say it. You don’t expect him to. Words are an unneeded obligation after everything that’s happened. Romance. Connection. Love. People will call it, label it, whatever they see fit, but you don’t need to. In this moment, it’s clear you and Peter both know you’re on the same page, whatever that might be. That’s all that matters.

He leans down enough to press his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss. It’s not out of passion or lust, but of a need to be touching you, to be intimate on a deeper level and to feel you solidly, real and alive. You cling to him, one hand on his cheek and the other fisting the torso of his shirt. It lasts longer than it probably should and when he finally pulls away, you’re blinking away tears.  

Everything is okay.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For coming back for me.”  

“I’ll always come back for you,” he says softly, pulling away a little further. You wonder briefly, if the heart skipping thing will ever stop around him. His eyes brighten a little and his face lightens. “Don’t want to waste a good student.” You bite your lip to hold back a soft laugh while letting your hands come down from him, allowing him to straighten back up with a grin. “You should get your rest,” he tells you, offering you the water once more. “I’ll be here if you need me.”  

He gives your hand a squeeze before returning to his chair and opening up his book. You watch him for just a few moments, admiring everything about him and being simply amazed at how things have turned out. Your eyes drift shut and you slip into sleep with the lightest smile on your face.  

Everything is perfect.

[tomatograter]

do you have any thoughts on trans girl jake? i thought their narrative and character arc on being specialized by the others, and being comfortable about themself will wrap up nicely with them ending up as a transgirl!! it defies what people expects of them, and breaks them out of the traditional idealized reoccurring masculinity theme (which jake was obviously uncomfortable with)

(what follows is my personal thoughts, i’m not laying down the word of God, i just have Thots on Jake English ALSO THIS IS A PRETTY LONG POST? IM SORRY. i promise i will include pics.) 

Jake English is a gender mimic. He’s the ‘raised by wolves’ trope, except instead of literally being raised by dog like Grandpa Harley he had a few years with Jade and then mostly nothing but the monsters at lusii island and a crap-ton of escapist media. He’s used to having a full playing field where he can indulge in unquestioned fantasy, and that comes in the form of his Indiana + Croft sexy 2000′s hero persona that is comfortable for him (and its worthy of note how one is Peak masculinity and the other is Peak femme fatale) until he has to really interact with real people with Expectations and Biases. 

This is where i need to talk about the alphas. It’s nearly impossible to talk about Jake without talking about how he adapts around other people, specially the ones that he truly gives a shit about. Jake selectively picks the opinions that matter to him, and these are mostly what the other alphas think. (Compare to how he speaks over Erisol, jesters around Caliborn, and mostly pumps his own self pity with Tavrosprite for compliments- If you don’t want to count the epilogues scene he has with Davekat which mostly boils down to “you might have a point, but i’m loyal to jane, so you’ll have to really convince me of politics.”)

What holds him back from dating Dirk is Jane’s opinion, and What Jane Could Think (which is in no way jane’s fault, just his overthinking) because unlike dirk’s high octane masculinity, she’s the pillar of sitcom normalcy in his life. She lives in the real world, mostly removed from the bullshit the rest of the alphas are in, and she’s written to be the ideal generic romcom youth living a perfectly picture worthy life. The disastrous conversation where Jane denies her feelings is prompted by Jake finding confirmation she’s into him via Roxy- and he immediately grows nervous of that meaning she wouldn’t “approve” him going any other way, or that it’d be weird for a boy like him. And he needs to be sure before anything else- and also every step of the way, which will eventually exhaust her because its a load of bullshit and not her responsibility.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s more that he’s afraid what others will think if he wants.

But he’s never direct about it. He just brings things up and lets people get their own opinions from it- because he’s REALLY passive about conflict and he’d rather solve things with the least amount of struggle possible, always. He just needs confirmation. And then comes this bit:

I read this bit of text in 2 ways: 1) Jake realizing pretty soon that his attractions aren’t limited to gender. & 2) Jake realizing pretty soon that gender is just a big ole scam, and that he couldn’t care less if it weren’t for outside perception of him. It’s just another performance!

Jake’s ongoing theme is that he hates being perceived (be it sexually, mentally, personally, in the sense that he abhors judgement and objectification and is afraid of being known) just as much as he gets by freely by allowing others to project whatever they want onto him- and he’s not bound to complying unless it’s shit he enjoys. He’s an indulgence chamber. He doesn’t want to be bound by rules or expectations partly because he’s sort of a lukewarm coward and partly because he thrives in contradiction. And all that sounds pretty dandy, but it doesn’t means he’s exempt from anxiety of what others think of him every step of the way and what that means to his projected image. Brain Ghost Dirk is part dirk splinter, part jake constantly asking himself ‘what would dirk do?’ because he thinks he’s not capable on his own.

and its where we get my favorite line:

“i dont WANNA be a man and i dont WANNA punch her in the face!” Maybe 2000′s action heroes who shoot first and ask questions later are, generally, sort of pretty stupid? And his fantasy can only go so far before it becomes something all too real he doesn’t want to be a part of? THIS is the line. I’ve already written about this bit before, in how Jake’s sexuality and the denial of his agency over it are traditionally a feminine narrative applied to a character desperately trying to be the quirky male lead of an adventure story. He really wants to be both. He doesn’t want to be forced to choose or to subscribe to one extreme. He wants his cake and he’s going to fucking eat it, too.

The crockertier Jane/Jake scene encapsulates everything jake wants to project, Indiana & Croft, and spins it on its head: he would rather die than be the big man hero and hurt jane (and he does die for it, later) & becoming the femme fatale means giving up what little agency he has for other people’s eyecandy benefits. and maybe that really fucking sucks? He loves these concepts but he also really hates the reality of them? That’s the concept of Jake.

But despite all that, he’s generally comfortable with his masculinity to the point of neutrality unless somebody else brings up The Norms and how he’s betraying them by not being the definition of a cishet dude. All the alphas have a very tricky relationship with gender performance, and they rely on notions of eachother. ( https ://twitter. com/hulknaps/ status/1133205821024800769?s=20 ) But Jake relies on the alphas to define him based on the moment. He adapts to different people in different ways. he switches often, because the persona he’s constructed is not solidly him, just one of many detachable masks of convenience. the aspect of transformation or characters with chameleon features is all over his intro page too, even if it starts as a red herring that he might be lord english.

Just count how many references you can make to alter-egos, transformations, ‘avatars’, multiple personalities or forms in this one page. i’ll make some of them easy: Mystique, Ghost rider, Hulk, his beloved Avatar, all rely on the concept of having fluid forms. Two of them are also blue ladies! did you know there’s a blue hulk and he’s a goofy jock? i’m going offtopic, but you grasp the idea.

I’m utterly subscribed to the idea of Jake being GNC/nonbinary/genderfluid or simply slapping a big ‘agender’ on it. I give dirk shit for always running from the gay label out of fear, but jake sort of does this too, relying strongly on not being defined and doing whatever feels best at the moment. It also fits his aspect and denizen, but those are more abstract references.

and since i dont know how to better end this bit of meta, here’s a little section of Mystique, blue lady extraordinary and one of his beloved characters. make of it what you will.

[eleventhdoctorsangel]

It’s in his DNA

Summary: You would think that being the cousin to Jason and Cheryl Blossom I would love always being in the spotlight just like them right. But I really don’t. I rather not been in the spotlight. But nonetheless Jason and Cheryl are very protective of me. Jason always made sure non of the guys tried to take advantage of me. While Cheryl made sure no girl even breathed the wrong way in my direction. But since Jason is now dead everything is about to change.

Great it’s time for school to start. Every since Jason’s death Cheryl has had me attached to her hip. I’ve been at her house since it’s happened. Which I guess is a good thing for both of us. Since my parents are never home. Now it time to go back to school and time to go back to hell. I was currently back at my house getting ready and Cheryl would pick me up. polyvore.com/riverdale_story/set?id=234680053. I heard the honk of Cheryl horn. I grabbed my backpack and left my house and climbed into her car. “Black is still your color dear cousin but you obviously need a wardrobe update.” Cheryl said. “No thanks C I’m good.” I said. “Well I heard something about you from a certain guy.” Cheryl said. “Good or bad?” I asked. “Depends I heard that Reggie Mantle wants to ask you out.” Cheryl said. “Last year he wouldn’t even look at me. What’s changed his mind?” I asked. “Oh dear cousin just look at you. What guy wouldn’t want you.” Cheryl said. “Well maybe a guy who isn’t obviously wanting one thing.” I said. “Oh trust me he wouldn’t I already made sure of that.” Cheryl said. “So Reggie actually likes me?” I asked. Cheryl smiled at me and nodded.  “I better nodded regret this.” I said. “That’s my girl.” Cheryl said and drove off to the school. Once we got there of course Cheryl minions were waiting. “I’ll see you inside C.” I said. Cheryl nodded. I grabbed my backpack and with inside the school and went to my locker.

To only find Reggie standing there. “Hey Reggie.” I said walking up to him. “Hey Kelsee. I’m sure Cheryl told you.” Reggie said. “She did and my answer is yes.” I said. “Wait really?” Reggie asked. “Yes but you better not make me regret this.” I said. Reggie quickly put his leatherman jacket around me. So I guess it’s official now I’m Reggie girlfriend. "I'm going to go say hi to betty." I said. Reggie nodded and kissed my cheek. I walked away from reggie and went to go find betty. She was showing a new girl around. I soon found her with a girl with black hair. "Hey betty." I said as I walked up to the two. "Oh hey kelsee. Nice jacket." Betty said. "Thanks." I said. "Kelsee this is Veronica Lodge. Veronica Lodge this is Kelsee Blossom." Betty said. "Nice to meet you. Reggie huh? Who's that?" Veronica asked which caused betty to look at me. "Reggie as in reggie Mantle?" Betty asked. "Yes Reggie Mantle. We're dating now." I said. "Who's Reggie Mantle?" Veronica asked. "He's a football player." I said. "You go girl." Veronica said. "Let's continue. Riverdale High school firt opened its doors in 1941 and." Betty said before Veronica interrupted. "And hasn't been redecorated since apparently. Honestly I feel like I'm wandering through the lost epilogue of Our Town." Veronica said. "Uh-huh." Betty said as both of Veronica and I both giggled. "So what's the social scene like here? Any night clubs?" Veronica asked. "A strip club called the Ho Zone and a tragic gay bar called Innuendo. Friday nights football games and then tailgates parties at the Mallmart parking lot. Saturday nights movie night regardless of what's playing at the Bijou and you better get there early because we don't have reserved seating in riverdale. And sunday nights thank God for HBO" Kevin said as he came up behind us than putting his arms around betty and I. "Veronica Lodge Kevin Keller. Veronica's new here. Kevin is" Betty said before again Veronica interrupted her. "Gay thank god. Let's be best friend." Veronica said shaking kevin's hand. "Is it true what they say about your dad?" Kevin asked. Which made me and betty to look at him. "That he's the devil incarnate? I stand by my father. Does everyone here know?" Veronica asked. Betty amd kevin gave her this look. "Wonderful ten minutes in and I'm already the blue jasmine of riverdale high." Veronica said walking away. Betty glared at kevin before following her. "What?" Kevin asked as he watch betty leave. "Way to make the new girl feel weird there Kevin." I said. "Where did you get that jacket and why does it say reggie on it?" Kevin asked. "Yeah about that." I said. "Oh my god you're dating Reggie Mantle. He's so hot honestly how did you land a guy like him?" Kevin asked. "Meaning?" I asked. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean last year he wouldn’t even look at you. Now you're dating him." Kevin said. "I know. But could you not say anything right now even though it would be all over the school before the end of the day?" I asked him. "You're secret is safe with me." Kevin said. With that the bell rang. "See you later kevin." I said walking away to my first class which ironically I had with reggie.

There was a seat right beside him open. Which I'm guessing he made sure stay open for me.  "Saved you a seat." Reggie said. I smiled at him. "Thanks." I said taking the seat. Class started andd it was pretty much the usally first day stuff after saying what we wpuld be doing the school year we were allowed to have free time. I got up and went over to reggie's desk and sat on top of it which caused reggie to wrap his arms around my waist. Then I could here the whispers start. I knew what they were talking about. "Let them talk." Reggie said to me. I just smiled and put my hands in his hair. "So are you still going to be a vixien?" Reggie asked. "Of course I am." I said. "You think the dance will still be happening?" Reggie asked. "Honestly I don't know." I said. "I should be asking how you've been?" Reggie asked. "I've been surviving. I mean I am the black sheep of the Blossom family. Only Jason and Cheryl has cared about me." I said.  "What about your friends I'm sure they care about you." Reggie said. "Not the way Jason and Cheryl does." I said. Then were called out for the assembly about Jason. "You ready?" Reggie asked. "No." I said shaking my head which made hair fall in my face. "If you want to leave anytime we will." Reggie said brushing the hair out of my face than lifting me off of the desk and setting me to my feet than grabbing my hand. I gave him a small and as we started walking to the gym hand in hand. Once we got into the gym reggie found moose and Archie. "Woah.!" Moose said as reggie and I sat down beside him.  "Woah what dude?" Reggie asked. "When did you two become a thing?" Archie asked. "This morning." I said. Archie gave me this look which I meant he wanted to talk later. I felt reggie arms go around my waist and I saw Cheryl walk up to the podium. I took a deep breath. Here we go.