#why does this look nearly identical to the last house i lived in

[intheholler]

[satoruxx]

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader summary: toji being a grinch lmao, grumpy x sunshine again, fluff, bickering rheya’s note: man i bet toji pretends to hate decorating for christmas but does it anyway bc he can’t say no to you! UGH he makes me !! i couldn’t stop thinking about bf!toji so here’s this silly little drabble. merry christmas everyone <33

“you serious?”

“yup.”

toji crosses his arms with a scowl, and you mirror his stance with narrowed eyes.

“it’s stupid,” he grunts, reaching out to gently push his palm against your forehead—which earns him a dramatic groan.

“it is not.” you grab his bicep and he lets you drag him over to the tree you’ve set up in the living room. “don’t be an ass.”

he sighs as you place a floppy santa hat on his head and beam at his disgruntled expression. there’s an identical one on you—sliding off your head in all your excitement, and toji has to stop himself from fixing it for you.

you crouch down and throw open a few storage boxes before gesturing somewhat emphatically. “get to work!”

he grumbles, shaking his head even as he goes to pick up a few ornaments. “you’re ridiculous.”

“not very christmas-y of you, toji,” you comment, standing on your toes to hook an ornament. he snorts, eyeing the glitter sticking to his fingertips.

“oh no—i’m the spitting image of joy, can’t you tell?” he replies sarcastically, though his shoulders relax a little as he hears your unfiltered laughter.

toji glances at you, watching as you quietly hum some old christmas song under your breath while filling up the tree with colorful orbs. he’s not sure why you’re so intent on having him be a part of your yearly holiday traditions—he’s never been big on celebrating anyway.

but then he remembers what you had said last year.

“i don’t wanna celebrate anything if you’re not celebrating it with me.”

you’ve always been too good to him.

you scoot a little closer, decorating without a care in the world and toji lets out a quiet breath—decides to be a little annoying because it’s a surefire way to make you smile.

“you mind?” he frowns, huffing with a dramatic sneer. he pins you with a pointed glare before motioning to the tree. “you’re getting in my territory.”

you throw him an appalled look before moving your arm in his face childishly. “what are you gonna do about it?”

an evil smirk makes its way onto his face, and your expression immediately drops. “wait no—“

toji’s bicep curls around your throat, pulling you into a headlock as you squeal and slap at his arm. he spends the next few minutes playfully wrestling with you before finally letting you win and step into his space—stands behind you and watches your fingers gently place ornaments while his hand absentmindedly rubs over your hipbone.

“what do you want for christmas anyway?” you ask offhandedly. toji raises a brow, looking down at you—expressionless.

“thought it was obvious—“ he shrugs, reaching up to hang ornaments on the higher parts of the tree. “all you gotta do is sit under the tree for me and i’ll be happy. bonus points if there’s unwrapping involved.”

you make an expression that has no business looking that scandalized and toji smirks in amusement.

“psycho,” you mutter, shaking your head in mock disapproval—earning a muted chuckle in return. you go back to hanging up ornaments, once again humming to yourself, and toji takes it as a cue to continue decorating. the two of you work in relative silence—an occasional quip or jab the only disturbance. after a while, he crosses his arms.

“are we done yet?” he groans, eyeing the nearly full tree. “i’m tired as fuck.”

“weak,” you grin, though you reach out and pat his chest thankfully. “but you did participate and that’s all i wanted so, yeah, you can be done.”

toji almost laughs in relief, but then he sees you rummage through the boxes and pull out more decorations for the rest of the house, and he sighs.

“alright hand it over,” he grumbles, holding his palm out expectantly. you look at him—half confused and half surprised.

“i thought you were done?”

“yeah right,” he huffs, taking the tinsel from your hands and walking over to the staircase. “you’d end up tangled in this crap if i left you alone with it.”

“you’re so dramatic. and whiny,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes.

“am not.”

despite saying so he quietly huffs as he continues to help you decorate the house with stockings and tinsel and all that other festive stuff.

by the time the house is fully decorated, toji is close to banning the holiday season—grumpy, tired, and ready to move onto something else.

but then, the tiniest part of him is uncharacteristically giddy when you look up at him, holding the star in your hands. toji shakes his head, trying to bite back the amused grin tickling his scarred lips, before sighing and crossing his arms.

“can i help you?” he asks—teasing, though his expression betrays nothing.

you pout, holding the star up dramatically. “the star needs to be put up.”

a smirk graces his face and his tone becomes taunting, yet the affection is not lost on you. “yeah? need a boost, kid?”

even before you nod, toji is crouching in front of you, palms reaching out to guide your legs over his shoulders. you laugh as he stands back up, taking a few steps towards the tree.

he can’t help but chuckle as he watches you lean forward, palm smoothing over your thigh in attempts to stabilize you. “you got it?”

“almost.” he can hear the strain in your voice, can feel the way your fingers twitch against his jaw—but he waits patiently.

“okay got it!” your voice is triumphant, and toji grins to himself.

“attagirl.” his lips brush against your inner thigh—a sweet reward for a job well done. he hears your quiet giggle from above him as you gently push away his dark bangs.

“alright, put me down now,” you huff, and toji bites back a scoff.

“tsk.” he clicks his tongue, though he still lowers himself to let you hop off his shoulders before rising to his full height. “so ungrateful.”

“what do you want, a medal?”

you yelp as toji’s fingers pinch at your side in retaliation. “watch your mouth, kid.”

you flash him a grin full of mischief, though you don’t say anything else. instead you look up at the finished tree, marveling at your handiwork with pride.

“see—” you say with a pointed grin. “—isn’t it pretty?”

toji chuckles, wrapping a heavy bicep around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. “yeah,” he agrees, green eyes trained on your happy little smile. “it is.”

[lavenderbexlatte]

day 16 - hate sex

nct 1.9k words gender neutral reader insert Reader x Kim Doyoung NSFW

🖤 warnings: college au bc it’s my favorite, unabashed rudeness, arguing literally nonstop, mistaken identity, enemies to still enemies but they have sex, some mild d/s dynamics, one brutal handjob 🖤

kinktober masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

You had not meant for it to be him. Of all of them, of all twenty-odd of them, not him. Anyone else.

You'd wanted one specific one, the best one. You just didn't know his name at the time.

There are a lot of guys in their frat, and you know some of them. Taeyong, the sweetheart who sits behind you in Western Classics, reliably with a big pet store shopping bag full of something cute and unnecessary for his aquarium of fish. Yangyang, a freshman just out of pledging who works at the student cafe and always pours you a large even if you order a medium.

You don't know the pretty, pretty one who was sitting outside the frat house when you walked by the other day, the one with the shaggy black hair that nearly touches his shoulders, with the sculpted face and the piercings and the cropped t-shirt, sunning himself on the porch like a cat.

He's gorgeous, and you want him. You think you'll die if you can't have him.

Your first mistake, you think, was asking one of the other pledges you know if he could help you. Hendery is sweet, but he's new both to the school and to the frat, and when he'd suggested coming to a frat party so he could try and hook you up with your frat brother of choice, you'd agreed with some trepidation.

Attending a frat party is a small price to pay, you'd thought, if Hendery could get you access to that beautiful man with a belly button ring.

Hendery had met you in the foyer, brought you into the house. He left you against the wall in the open-plan living space with a view into the kitchen, as he approached a knot of his frat brothers (including That One) and spoke for a moment. All of the boys had looked over at you. And then Hendery returned, telling you to go have fun until he texted.

Perfect wingman.

When you got the text, nearly an hour later, you were sweaty, tipsy, and dusted in glitter from a sorority girl who'd insisted you dance with her. Head to the second bedroom on the second floor, the text read.

You followed the instructions dutifully, heart in your throat, and as you stood in the scrubbed-clean but cluttered room, you saw all the evidence you needed: that cropped t-shirt your mystery man was wearing the other day, hanging over the back of a garish red and black gaming chair.

The door opened. Someone slipped in.

Your second mistake was not stalking the guy online and getting his name. You'd only had a description for Hendery: height, build, hair color and style, general facial features. You'd assumed that even in a frat of a few dozen, it would be easy to tell. And hell, Hendery even talked to the guy, right in front of you.

Apparently, your luck does not run much farther than that.

And now here you are, in despair, staring at the guy Hendery set up with you. Your Sociology tablemate, your Speech & Debate partner from last semester, one of the most egotistical and insufferable people you've ever met.

Not the guy from the other day. Kim Doyoung.

"I thought Hendery was kidding," Doyoung says, wary, as he closes the door behind him.

You can't help the full-body reaction you have: pure bone-deep annoyance. "What are you doing here?"

"You asked me to be here."

"I absolutely did not."

His expression falters, not embarrassment but exasperation. "Yes, you did."

"I did not."

"You literally did, Hendery told me to come here and-"

"Not you!" you insist, looking skyward as if to ask why you're being punished like this.

"Then-"

"You think I would be asking for you when - when-" you falter, realizing you still don't know the guy's name.

Doyoung crosses his arms. "When?"

You grab the t-shirt, waving it at Doyoung. "Whose top is this?"

"Yuta," Doyoung says. "Me and Yuta share this room."

"Belly piercing? Super hot?"

"Yuta," he confirms.

"I wanted Yuta!" you explode. "Not...you."

"That's fucking rude," he says.

You shoot him a withering look. "I don't know why you even came. It's me."

"I was curious," he snipes back. "You were always such a holier-than-thou little pain in the ass in Debate, I wanted to see what changed. Obviously nothing."

"You wanna talk pain in the ass? You got me a C on the final project in Soc because you devil's advocated my partner to tears!" you jab.

Doyoung scoffs. "You're still mad that I'm smarter than you?"

"You're delusional."

"I'm delusional? You're trying to fuck my roommate, you're the delusional one!"

You pause. "Excuse me?"

"You and Yuta?" he smirks. "Come on."

"Let's see what kind of pussy you're pulling, then, jackass. Any dates, lately?"

"I've been busy-"

"I bet you ran up here like a kid on Christmas, thinking someone finally wanted to put up with your face and your personality for two and half minutes of mediocre sex."

"I'm not the one having pledges hunt down hookups for me," Doyoung snarls. "Don't trust that anyone would follow through if they had to actually talk to you first?"

That one hurts, a little, but you just look back at him evenly. "As much as I'd love to keep this going, if I'm not getting laid tonight, I'm going home."

"You still could."

Doyoung slaps a hand over his mouth as soon as the words leave it, and you can feel your face go slack in surprise.

"Excuse me?" you ask, again.

"I just mean-"

"Are you...into me?"

"No," he says, too quickly.

"You are," you say, dawning revelation and the slightest horror.

"I'm not. Why would I be?" he dismisses, but his face is animated with the utmost outrage, his tone too much.

You've been on the debate team with him for a few semesters now, and if there's one thing you've learned from that experience, it's his tells. He's lying. He's an awful liar.

"Oh, you're into me," you tease, "You were excited because it's me."

"Funny. Last time I checked, I fucking hated you."

"I hate you, too," you say, sweet as pie.

Suddenly, like he's been pushed, Doyoung sits down on the nearest of the two beds in this cramped little room, and crosses his legs pointedly. He could just be acting like a priss, but you suspect it's something else...

And as you watch, he has to ever so carefully adjust himself, playing it off like he's just pulling at the fabric of his jeans. And failing.

"You're getting off on this," you say dumbly. "You like that I hate you."

"That would be twisted," he replies, but it's a little strained.

You grin. "It would."

Well, this changes everything. You're not into him, objectively. He sucks. But if he's so determined to act like he's not attracted to you...now it's a game. And you win at games.

"I can just go home," you say, cavalier. "Hendery fucked up my chances for tonight, so I can just go home and-"

"Go, then. See if I care."

"I think you'll care."

"I don't care about you," he dismisses.

You take a step closer to him, and he leans back. "No. You hate me."

Despite himself, Doyoung relaxes as you walk nearer still, uncrossing his legs so that his struggle is apparent, plain as day.

"You hate me. Can't stand me. That's why you're hard right now," you say.

He adjusts himself again, probably realizing that any attempt at denying it is futile, now. He probably knows that you have all the fuel you need to make fun of him for the rest of his life.

Or maybe he's enjoying this, in the same creeping, uncertain way that you are.

"I thought you were going," he says.

You shrug. "I could stay, if you ask me to."

"Why would I?"

"I just think you would. Unless you're too scared."

You wander toward the door, fully intending to go if he doesn't say anything. You have no skin in the game, here; any embarrassment you might've felt at having your intentions misunderstood is completely overshadowed by Doyoung sitting there rock-hard in his skinny jeans.

Your hand is on the doorknob when he finally breaks.

"Don't go."

Rather than opening the door, you lock it.

"You have to tell me to stop, if you're actually not into it," you say.

He nods, just barely, eyes wide.

"If you really hate me," you add.

At that, the hard glint returns to his gaze, and you know that you've got him. That you're not just steamrollering him into anything.

"I do," Doyoung assures you.

"Would you hate it if I take off that horribly tacky shirt?" you ask.

He tugs at the collar of his navy button-up gently. "Fuck you, I like this."

"I don't."

He lets you unbutton the shirt and discard it, and he doesn't resist when you press him back onto the bed, his feet still firmly on the ground but his back meeting the mattress. You're undoing his belt, his jeans, when he fidgets under you.

"Aren't you gonna..." he gestures at your clothes, still firmly in place.

"Nah," you say. "You hate me so much, I would hate to make you look at-"

"Please?" His voice cracks over the syllables, and you marvel, since you haven't even done anything yet.

"No."

He's freed from his jeans and briefs in no time, and you waste no time setting a good pace on his desperately hard length, stroking him and simply leaning over his prone form. He jolts at the first contact, and then he melts.

"You hate me, so this should be all I give you," you muse. "Just let you use me to get off like this. Should be all you want, right?"

"If I - fuck - if I say I don't hate you, will you give me, shit, anything else? More?" Doyoung asks, through gritted teeth.

"This isn't good?"

"It is, but-"

"It'd be a shame to make you lie, like that," you say.

He's leaking precum, and you catch it as you circle the head to make the slide that much easier, slick rather than the hard friction of skin on skin, and he groans. His voice, despite all your disdain, is easy on the ears, and you twist your wrist to see if you can get that sound again. He doesn't disappoint, cracking through an octave.

"You're not gonna cum until you can thank me for giving you this much, even though you've been so rude to me," you tell him.

The amiable way he'd spoken in his hasty lust is gone, as he snaps, "Thank you? For what?"

"For being so nice, even though you hate me."

"You hate me, too."

"I do," you nod solemnly, "Imagine what you could be getting if I didn't."

Doyoung twitches in your grasp, and you have to hold down his narrow hips with your other hand, leaning on him more heavily to keep him in place.

"Might even let you fuck me, if you were nicer. Pity," you say.

"Shit - close, I'm-"

You let up, right on cue, slowing down your pace to something excruciating, and Doyoung's eyes that had been clamped shut against the onslaught fly open again.

"What-"

"You didn't thank me."

"I'm not fucking going to-"

"Then you don't cum."

Confident that he's backed down from his high, you start building him up again. He whines, honest-to-God whines out loud, in a higher pitch than you'd imagine he could reach. There's only so much edging that an egotistical brat like him can take before he cracks. He'll thank you before long.

"Shit," he moans.

"Any time, now."

"Fuckin' hate you."

[utilitycaster]

I'm Reading the Drizzt Novels and You Can't Stop Me: Exile

I DID knock a second book out, which means at this rate I will start reading books I haven't already read by May if we go by "two in a month" but by late March if we go by "one a week" I should probably speed this up.

Exile is much simpler plot wise and also, despite being the middle child of the Dark Elf trilogy, is the best, because it's Drizzt Depression Hours and also is our last long look at Menzoberranzan drama for a while.

So Drizzt and his lavender orbs ran away from Menzoberranzan at the end of Homeland, and Exile covers this period. Basically, being alone in the Underdark is soul-crushing, and he develops a dissociative identity he calls The Hunter who is focused on survival, but is at the risk of losing his personhood but for Guenhwyvar, who, as an astral plane summoned spirit of a panther, can only be around half a day every two days. He is fucking losing it and himself and is constantly having internal battles because he's so desperately lonely he risks being found by potentially hostile creatures but also The Hunter is like STOP WHAT ARE YOU DOING and generally he is utterly miserable. I enjoy this kind of shit in fiction, so this is great.

Back in Menzoberranzan, House Do'Urden, with help from Bregan D'aerthe (more on this in a second), wrecks but doesn't fully annihilate House Hun'ett but Head Matron Baenre is like "you shall absorb House Hun'ett and take your place on the ruling council of the eight top matrons" to Malice because Lolth wills it. Why does Lolth will it? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Anyway SiNaFay Hun'ett does NOT like this but goes along with it, pretending to be the eldest Do'Urden daughter. Briza Do'Urden, meanwhile, hates this.

Let's talk about Bregan Da'erthe because it's led by the greatest fucking guy ever: Jarlaxle. Jarlaxle is, undeniably, the most gay-coded character that has ever fucking existed. He is a bald drow man (in a matriarchal society) and exists outside the house structure, running a band of (male) rogues and mercenaries and assassins for hire and is basically making the most of his low status by being 100% only out for himself at all times. His outfit is rainbow colored in both the heat spectrum (this is how drow darkvision is explained, that they simply have infrared) AND the regular light spectrum. He owns what I think I described as boots of cuntiness which permit him to be soundless OR make sound, and canonically in a later book deliberately makes heel click sounds on a soft carpet in order to be Like That. He is generally at all times introduced as being one of a kind and out of the bounds of typical drow society and I love him.

The core of the plot actually kicks off when Malice sends Dinin and Briza (Drizzt's older brother and sister) to find him in the tunnels and kill him. They do find him, but fail to kill him, and Drizzt realizes "oh huh the highlight of my entire fucking year was my horrible siblings trying to murder me bc I'm so touch-starved that the lash of Briza's whip feels good, I should...do something about this." (He is also tormented bc he nearly breaks his vow to never kill another drow; as a paladin fan I love someone tormented by a nearly broken vow but like, babygirl they tried to kill you, you're being silly). What he does, because there's no therapy in the Underdark, is start stalking the svirfnebli, and eventually he sneaks into Blingdenstone, where they live. He turns himself in and basically gives himself over to their mercy on the grounds that he'd rather die among a relatively decent-seeming society than become more and more murderous in the tunnels. This will be echoed in a very unsubtle way by another character later.

Malice, realizing that Lolth is getting really mad that they can't seem to kill Drizzt, asks for a major boon which is inexplicably called Zin-carla, which basically lets her semi-puppet/semi-observe through the eyes of a reanimated Zaknafein, on the grounds that he is the only person who can probably kill Drizzt and also, well, it's real malicious. To do this, she sacrifices SiNaFay, which she and Briza think is just grand. Drizzt is at this time getting interrogated by gnomes who have silly names and talk a bit like Yoda, but eventually he asks about the gnome whom he spared during a patrol years ago. This gnome, named Belwar Dissengulp (this is not remotely the stupidest name in this series) vouches for him and also has sweet stone-working hands. He takes in the deeply traumatized Drizzt, who, after a brief but mercifully non-lethal Hunter outburst while hanging out with some gnome youths, starts to reacclimate to society and be like "wow so you're NOT all scheming against each other constantly? I must be in paradise." The gnomes begin to accept him as well and return his surrendered scimitars and panther, and all is very heartwarming until one day the Zakafein attacks.

This comes to the attention of the council of Blingdenstone because one of them, named Firble (also not the stupidest name in this series) is paying Jarlaxle for intel. This all travels up the line to King Schnicktick (still not the stupidest name in this series but we're getting up there) who's like Drizzt you gotta leave, and he does, but Belwar goes with him, so it's way less sad!

The rest of the book is their adventures running from Zaknafein and Drizzt being like "but my father is dead! but how" and I went long on the summary of the earlier stuff so the important things are:

They come across a pech (intelligent little rock creature) who has been polymorphed into a hook horror by an evil wizard and is losing himself and becoming the monster, in, yes, a very unsubtle and literal parallel to Drizzt. They call him Clacker and travel with him.

They run into the evil and deeply unhinged wizard who has a (written) accent I can best describe to TAZ fans as "Magic Brian" and best describe to D20 fans as "Romance Partner Baron from the Baronies." I am not an audiobook woman but I'm tempted to see how this is done in audio format.* Anyway Clacker loses himself to a rage and murders the wizard (Brister Fendlestick, not the stupidest name etc) and Drizzt is currently a fighter and Belwar has very limited abilities re: magic as well so they can't do anything about this. Also it's 2e right now so idk if you can just dispell or if you do need the original wizard.

The crew gets trapped by illithids who do their creepy-ass mind-control but as Zak is undead, he comes through like a sword tornado and unintentionally frees Drizzt, Belwar, and Clacker from their mind-slavery. Combat between our heroes, Zak, AND the illithids ensues and as Drizzt considers returning to Menzoberranzan to kidnap a wizard to help Clacker, Zak kills Clacker.

All of the above is interspersed with multiple cuts to Malice losing her shit as she focuses on controlling Zak from afar. Jarlaxle and Matron Baenre occasionally muse on the fate of House Do'Urden, which is truly up in the air as all this happens. House Baenre lends soldiers to help House Do'Urden defend itself while Malice is occupied; Dinin notices Bregan D'aerthe among them.

Drizzt and Zak have a final showdown in a cavern with ledges and also a giant pool of acid. Malice briefly loses control of Zak, who wrests control of his spirit and explains the situation to Drizzt and then jumps into the acid, ending his undeath. This is VERY bad for Malice, who is already as discussed falling apart (mostly figuratively but she has been rapidly aging as well).

Briza immediately stabs her mother to become the new Matron (Briza SUCKS but also this does make sense in that it's clear Malice has failed Lolth so it is the best chance for the house). However, House Baenre then launches its attack. Briza and Maya (who really has a very minor role in all this, Drizzt's unseen sister; fanfic writers this is some fertile ground for toxic yuri) are killed but Vierna is taken as essentially a spoil of war/powerful asset to be folded into the strength of Baenre. Dinin meanwhile is recruited by Jarlaxle, and seeing no other choice, takes it. (Fanfic writers this is some fertile ground for toxic yaoi).

Drizzt returns briefly to Blingdenstone with Belwar but is asked to leave as he did pose a threat by being there and, frankly, agrees. He decides to go to the surface with Guenhwyvar and see what happens next.

Anyway iirc book 3's most memorable things are 1. some sort of tragic event involving children who call Drizzt a "Drizzit" 2. Mooshie, who is not canonically Quebecois but is in vibes, taking Drizzt in. After that we jump to the wildly tonally different Crystal Shard (and Icewind Dale Trilogy) which I will attempt to summarize more briefly and with minimum grumbling about how much Wulfgar is a timesuck.

*apparently the guy who reads the Drizzt novels on audiobook is Victor Bevine, who is also CEO of some sort of Parkour-related foundation. However, Jason Charles Miller played Drizzt in a video game in 2013 which is very cool.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Ultima Ex Nobis | ch. V

-all rights reserved-

Nessian AU word count: ~2,5k words warnings: mentions of bad mental health summary: Six years into a global pandemic which was caused by a mass fungal infection that turns hosts into zombie-like creatures and makes the whole of Prythian collapse, the former army general Cassian Cadell is tasked with one very special mission – escorting Nesta Archeron, one of the few immune survivors, across a post-apocalyptic Prythian to a group of people of the name L. Their identity  is unknown but they can make an antidote.

The road —if you can call it road— is rough, bumpy and incalculable. It is overgrown with weeds and grass, large cracks stretching out along the street. The sun is high and bright in the sky, almost gleefully glowing down on them — pretending to be a warm summer day when the world around them is breaking apart. 

The rotting sidewalks are barely visible, the decaying buildings lining the street are evidence that that long ago people have lived here. Most of the windows in the houses are broken, just like in the city outside the fenced area they have left over a week ago. These houses remind Nesta a lot of the other ones — another abandoned city, a so-called ghost town.

Nesta keeps a straight stare that lacks warmth. All worry about Cassian has vanished and she falls back into her usual patterns of cool indifference. Her back is stiff, her shoulders squared, her chin held high. 

Cassian and Azriel chat lightly, talking about the Starfall and army related things. Earlier they discussed the Darkbringers that have control in most areas, having taken over the government. Nesta does not really pay attention, she also does not care what they are talking about. Her eyes are trained on the street, but her lids feel so damn heavy. Exhaustion and tiredness come over her in waves but she fights them. She does not want to sleep now, does not want to seem week again.

She keeps a closed body posture, her arms crossed in front of her chest and she from time to time softly pinches her wrist to stay awake. There is a distance between her and Cassian that hasn’t been there when they have been hiding together. It makes Cassian feel confused as he has no explanation for it. Nesta herself doesn’t even know why she acts like that again. It probably is mask, so no one can see how vulnerable and fragile she actually is underneath the shell. How much pain, how many emotions she is actually feeling, experiencing. How much is going on inside of her.

“You know, you can sleep, Nes,” Cassian offers, with warmth in his voice. “Place your head on my shoulder and try to nap a little until we are there.”

“I am not tired.” Nesta’s response once comes as quick as a shot. “The same bullshit like when you said you were not cold. I know your are tired. Come on, Nes, give it a try.”

Her mouth is pinched and there is a tightness in her eyes when she glances at Cassian. He almost chuckles at her sour expression and looks down on her to where she is wringing her hands in her lap. She is trying so hard to keep up the indifferent facade, it nearly makes Cassian laugh out loud. 

“I will try to sleep, but definitely not on your shoulder.”

“I thought you loved cuddling with me? We have done it for a week now, haven’t—“

Holding her hand up she stops the former general, and when a low chuckle escapes Azriel, he is rewarded with her death pan and quickly shuts up. 

Stiff as a poker, Nesta leans back and forces her burning eyes to close. Her whole body is sore, but she cannot let it show. What would that look like? Cassian is the one who is hurt, not her. Cassian has been shot and acts all tough and strong and she would complain over a few sore muscles and blisters on her feet? Only over her dead body. 

Even though the truck is not that comfortable, exhaustion settles over Nesta like a wave, the last thing she hears are some words of Cassian about how Az is feeling. 

“You know it never gets easy,” Cassian says and gives his brother a sidelong glance. “You can tell me if it has affected you.” “Cass, I just killed a dozen of people, of course it has affected me,” Azriel mumbles and gives his head a little shake. His hands grab the stirring wheel tighter, knuckles turning white, his eyes are trained on the street. He speeds up a little, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “But there is no use to talk about it now. It couldn’t have been avoided, it was what had to be done.”

The former army general slowly bows his head and averts his gaze from Az to look out of his window. His hand still presses down on his side, his hand now covered in the thick red liquid. Breathing is a little difficult now as every inhale burns like a vipers fangs in his chest, but still he tries to act like the strong army soldier he once used to be. He has to, showing weakness and pain now would be for nothing, it wouldn’t get them any further and it wouldn’t help anyone. And he really doesn’t need to be pitied by anyone either. 

“You get this checked immediately when we arrive, Cass!” There is no room for objection in Azriel’s statement and Cassian grumbles a yes, before giving his eyes a tiny roll — overbearing mother-hen. 

“How many are there in the camp?” Cassian then asks, hoping to change the topic for good. Azriel takes a turn and is now heading down a straight, almost endless seeming road. But Cassian can spot high fences in the very far distance, telling him that they are already close to the new Starfall camp. 

“Around twenty. A few that have sought refugee, but most of them we have rescued. Some are from Sangravah.”

Cassian nods in acknowledgment, wondering if Az has finally been able to find his partner. They have lost each other out of sight a few months ago during a mission. Azriel has claimed to be alright, saying it was anyway just a fling, but Cassian knew that deep down his brother’s heart is shattered and Azriel spends every free minute trying to find him because this man hasn’t just been a fling for him. They have a too long history for him to just be a fling. 

“Eris?”

“No.” The answer is tight, cold, fired like a shot and signals Cass that he really does not want to talk about it. Cassina accepts that, does not want to push his brother, knowing he will seek him out to talk when he is ready.  They bounce a little in the car when they drive of the bumpy and in pebbles covered path leading to a gate in the fenced area. Nesta stirs, shifting on the seat. She yawns a little, her hand wiping over her face. 

“How is she?” Azriel then asks, now the one who wants the topic for good.

“She iswonderful. She is out here with two men she barely knows and one of her companions just got shot and now she is taken only god knows where. So obviously, she is doing absolutely amazing.” Nesta sits straight up again, hating that they have talked about her while she slept. During the past six years everyone has always talked about her — she, the one who is immune, the one who survived, the one who got bitten, the one who got attacked, she who was so lucky. But was she really lucky? Is she lucky? Nesta doubts that. Maybe she wanted to die that night as well? Maybe she would have accepted it? Maybe she did not want to live on without knowing what has happened to Feyre? What was about to happen to Elain that night? But apperently the powers that be had different plans for her that night and now she was stuck here in this car. She knows Feyre is alive, but each and every days has to live with the thought of having absolutely no knowledge about Elain. 

“And she has bite, did Rhys tell you that?” Cassian chuckles, clutching his side tighter. 

“And she is about to bite you!” Nesta hisses through clenched teeth and shoots Cassian a glare. 

There is gleeful amusement on his slick with sweat face. His mouth forms a smirk, his tongue poking out to lick over his lower lip. “How did you know that I like that?” He bites down on his lip, watching awareness dawn on Nesta.

She swallows thickly at that comment, heat suddenly filling her from her cleavage up to the top of her head. She hasn’t expected that his implication would have such an affect on her and so she quickly averts her gaze, staring straight ahead. She ignores Azriel in the corner of her eye, trying so hard to fight back a grin. Good God, that is going to be a very long journey, Nesta thinks, but somehow she is no longer so opposed to it. It is and odd feeling, but something has changed.

∙ ∙ • ◦ • ◦ ∙ ∙

“We are here?”

Azriel inclines his head at Nesta, shutting his window after having talked to one guard at a gate. 

The fenced area looks similar to the one she has been in for six years, but then she has actually only seen the experiment room, her bedroom and the place where she was handed over to Cassian, so actually she can’t really tell if it is similar. 

Small flags, attached to the caravans and tents, are flying in the wind, showing the insignia of the Starfall. A feeling of comfort overcomes Nesta — there would be no Darkbringers here.  

Azriel brings the car to a prompt halt and kills off the engine before jumping out. He calls for someone of the name Madja and tells people to bring her here. Then he opens the door on Cassian’s side, helping his best friend out, supporting him and keeping him upright. The former general is quite pale around his nose, sweat building up on his skin and his knees are wobbly. Nesta leaves the car after him and moves to his other side to provide an extra support for him. Together with Azriel they manage to bring Cassian over into a small tent where they place him down on a field bed and just a moment later the woman of the name Madja appears. Nesta sits down on a stool next to the bed, not quite sure what to do, and is quite happy when Azriel does the talking for her.

“That is Nesta Archeron, you know the immune survivor. Cassian has received a graze shot, it is not bad but he has lost quite a lot of blood.”

Turning, Azriel salutes to Nesta and says, “Business is calling, I’ll be back for dinner.” And with that he leaves, strutting out of the tent. 

And so Nesta waits, sits and ponders whether she should help somehow or simply sit here and do nothing. She opts for the latter as she still feels terribly exhausted and drained of energy. Twirling her thumbs she tries to make the time pass quicker. She silently regards how Madja cares for Cassian, cleaning the wound and—

“Come here, girl! Wipe his chest clean while I mix together the paste for the wound.”

Wipe his chest clean? Somehow her breathing halts for a moment, her heart beating a little faster when her eyes land on Cassian’s exposed chest. Even lying down he looks so powerful and large. Swirls of dark ink graze his broad shoulders, his strong pecs — his chest is incredibly well-defined, all sculpted muscles, chiseled, hard and solid and—

Nesta closes her mouth, grabbing the cloth that has been offered to her and crouches down next to Cassian. She carefully begins to run the damp cloth over his chest, clearing it of all the blood.

“You have a very soft touch, Nes,” Cassian drawls and blinks one eye open to silently regard her. He loves how carefuls he is with him, her eyes focused on her hand holding the cloth. And he also likes what she looks like right now. Her cheeks are a little flushed, her hair is, in all honesty, one big mess, there is dirt on her face and her shirt is slightly torn. But she looks beautiful. Probably the most beautiful woman he has ever seen in his life. A dull feeling appears in his heart at this thought, remorse and regret colliding inside of him, has he once thought so about Tanwyn. 

Could it truly be that he has finally managed to move on? He had no time to think further about it when Madja appears in his vision and smiles. “I’ll put some cream on the wound, wrap a bandage around it and then you are good to go. You two should find something to eat!”

It is what they do once Cassian is fully patched up. They enter a large tent for food storage and are soon again met with Azriel — so it has to be evening already? He said he would join them for dinner, Nesta wonders. She has somehow lost sense of time and started to live just for the moment. 

“What do you want?” “Does it matter what I want?” The words leave her mouth before she can stop them. 

“Well, and with that we are back the grumpy, sour Nesta,” Cassian huffs, and takes a step forward to look into one big blue box. He winces slightly when he leans over it, his wound obviously still causing him pain, but he clamps down on the pain and bites the inside of his cheek.

“Cass,” Azriel cautions and hands Nesta small box with rice and some meat in it. “It is not easy. For none of us.”

Cassian slowly bows his head and digs into a larger box, fishing out a package of beef jerky. “Aha!” he cheers and rips it open. When Azriel has also found his meal they sit down together on plastic stools outside the foot tent, watching the sun lower on the horizon. 

“We can only stay here for a couple of days, then we continue,” Cassian informs, first looking at Nesta then at Azriel.

“I am joining you from here on,” Azriel says and takes a bite from the meal in his box. Nesta is avoiding direct eye-contact with either — she just wants to go unseen, does not want to participate in their conversation, simply does not want to talk or do anything. All she wants to do, is wash herself and then sleep. And this is what she is offered when she has finished her meal. 

Azriel brings them to a large tent with field beds and shows Nesta a separate one where which is filed with large bowels of water where she can wash herself. 

Sweet oblivion welcomes her the moment she falls into bed, and buries her head in the thin pillow. 

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

tags: @helhjertet @moonlightazriel@aayo-whatt @crushedcloudsx @brekkershadowsinger @girasoli-e-sorrisi @ignite-me@swifti-ed @cassiansbigwingspan @burningsnowleopard @headcanonheadcase. @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop

[thenixkat]

new issue for the current Blue Beetle run dropped

i mean yall landed in Texas… and only got like one brick through a window and Ted's sister on some supervillain shit cause her morality pet little brother hasnt been around enough to keep her xenophobia on the inside. Yer doing pretty well if that and some aliens go home shit is the only bigotry you've faced thus far. Granted wanting to dip is valid also the art on Oo'li's ass is weird. why does she have a thigh gap all the way into her ass cheeks?

also Yeah, I was right about the Horizon being a very very young/recent splinter faction of the Reach. Given how damn old the Reach is, only having been looking for centuries as opposed to the billions of years the Reach has been around if they're only slightly younger than the Oans broke ass superheroes in the house

yall kicked him out the house to start his life over in a new fucking city, why the fuck would he call?

just the fact that we're treating Jaime getting kicked out the house and forced to go live/work elsewhere as just something totally normal and expected is… If yall wanted him to start working you could have just had him start working at the garage that Mr. Reyes owns instead of making him go elsewhere when he was clearly going through some shit They popped up also b/c its Milagro's birthday and she wanted to see him/explore the big city Naomi? The 2016 run is canon to this? Really? That's…certainly a choice. I guess. Not one I would have made. …and certainly, one that makes things make even less sense

just. If the 2016 run is canon to this… I hope that the 2006 run isnt canon. Cause those are incompatible runs and the Reyes look less bad if the 2006 run isnt canon to this like they still look bad, just not nearly as bad as they'd look if the 2006 run was canon and they still decided to kick Jaime out of the house

huh I guess Jaime killing Blood Scarab and its host was not information published online

again I'm still pissed off at the writing choice to make Jaime kill Blood Scarab and its host and the choices in the lead up to it. I don't think well written Jaime would kill someone or entertain the thought of killing someone for more than a second, especially when he'd feel justified in doing so. Like , shit was already covered and the writer of the current run has not proven the chops to pull off a believable drastic turn in Jaime. Especially with the cop out at the last min of Khaji Da taking over to do the killing itself. Khaji Da wasn't able to do that back when it was more murder happy and it went through a lot of character development since. Like writer tried some shit but I dont buy it also whatever happened to Mr. Reyes' cane? ……--- why the absolute cluster fuck is Ted at a board meeting for the Kord company. In. his. superhero. costume. Does he not have a fucking secret identity in this continuity?

the fuck the absolute fuck

Ted… if you fire yer sister… who the fuck is going to run the company? Its not like you have time, otherwise why would the writer have her be in charge if nothing else for you to have the time to superhero

also yer fucking billionaires who gives a fuck if yer being protested? or getting bad press? Lex Corp is still fucking around with Lex in prison you arent doing worse than that rn. Make a public non-apology, do some charity publicity stunts, pay some folks to write nicer articles about you, and move the fuck on

i'm guessing the writers decided on if they're gonna make her go full villain. Given how much she was sniffling and apologizing to Ted last issue this is a bit jarring of a turn. and 11 issues in after a 6 issue miniseries run is a long time to waffle on a character's character

(like nice to see that they finally decided but they wiffled for way too fucking long and her attitude here is a jarring turn from the literal last issue)

bullshit someone called the police, in Texas, on a billionaire, and the police respond

bullshit. If Victoria dont throw some white woman tears and money around and actually gets fucking arrested for Brenda stealing from her, in Texas, and Victoria trying to reclaim her stolen property, in Texas. Man. The writer really expects me to just believe shit huh

to be honest I dont think having Victoria arrested is the smart move here. Especially if Ted's not protesting the arrest. Like, it just seems obvious that it would push her into more supervillain territory and its not like Ted, who helped kidnap and detain someone illegally for days, has any leg to stand on. Morally or legally.

If you've got someone supposedly supergenius smart dealing with someone else supergenius smart and knows that they are that person's morality pet and how the other supergenius thinks. Then tricking them into moving into away from the supervillain side towards a more neutral or heroic side would be a better play than abandoning/openly working against her.

Again, Ted's kidnapped someone in this comic run. Depending on what's canon to this run, Ted's killed people, on purpose and on accident b4. Not almost killed someone, straight up fucking murder on purpose. And not in a elseworld au type beat like Dark Multiverse Countdown.

yeah, what's a better show of intelligence? pushing someone further into a mindset by pushing all the wrong buttons or playing them like a fiddle to the tune you want to see out of them?

Brenda, be realistic, La Dama is very well off but the Kords are fucking billionaires. Yer not gonna get a settlement that even effects them, if it even gets to fucking court

wow, I'm trying to read this. but every other panel just have something that's wrong. Or at least the story isnt good enough to pull me in without nitpicking shit every couple of panels

Traci… the Blood Scarab was made by an Egyptian/whatever the fuck fake country that shit got retconned to magic user. Kha-ef-re has already come back from the dead at least once as a giant mummy. The scarab is a shout out to the god of rejuvenation, resurrection, and the morning sun. Yer a magic user know some magic shit damnit. Its more than likely that Blood Scarab could be back at any second

Madam Xanadu is gonna revive a fucker herself. Ma'am are you at least gonna free the host or are you letting him stay enslaved b/c it suits yer purposes?

huh Jaime uses they/them for Khaji Da

so yeah Oo'li is def supposed to be a love interest for Jaime. Which makes me hate how humanoid she is even more. The decision to make her human fuckable is ugh to me as a furry and an artist who draws critters

so Jaime has been talked into going to university. In the city he currently lives in. And his friends Brenda and Paco have also transferred there

yet another arc of this current Blue Beetle run closes and I still dont like it. There's so much that feels either wrong or I find hard to belive. I've yet to be drawn into this story

[elpisays]

hero finds a shelter at villain's house? (halloween maybe?)

It was the night of the dead and the wicked when Hero found himself knocking on the black-wooden doors of Villain's mansion. Rain-soaked clothes, he imagined himself looking rather dishevelled. He shot back to the last time he saw Villain, bloody shirt, perched lips, and Hero’s name on his lips. I’ll get you next time. 

The whole situation felt as real as the two seconds before waking up, when awareness of a dream being just that creeps in. Not once in his late-night fantasies was it him asking for help - always the Villain, crawling back like a stranded dog, with no other place to call home. 

A whistle of the wind brought him back to the present moment, goosebumps covering his exposed skin. The door creaked and for a fleeting second, he toyed with the thought of running away. Then he met Villain’s eyes. 

His ridiculously hypnotising eyes, dark as ash beneath the fire, giving him you-are-the-last-person-I'd-like-to-see gaze. 

Unbothered by the cold, Villain took his time to soak in the view of Hero and the raving lightning above them. He stepped back inside, doors left ajar. 

"I did not expect to ever see you here." 

His voice was coming from the living room. It was grand, probably too grand to even be called a living room, with enough space for Villain’s wealthy ancestors to host some balls. He gravitated towards the centre fireplace and dark sofas lighted up by candlelight. The smell of flowers in the storm and burned wood filled his nostrils.    

He sat in an armchair, identical to the one Villain had sat on, both facing the fire. Fire's warmth wrapped around Hero like a blanket.

"I would not bother you if it was not an emergency," he blurted out.  

"And what exactly is that emergency of yours?"

"I was in the woods when the storm...it was not safe."

Villain made the low muffled sound again and Hero could feel his confidence slip away. 

“Why were you in the woods, alone?”

It was too soon for that.

"I miscalculated my chances. You- You said once you owe me one." He swallowed, hard. "If you meant it, and you could spare me a room for a night or two - that'd be my one." 

It must have been a minute before Villain looked his way. "Follow me." 

---

"Clothes, any item you find here, you may use." 

Hero stopped him mid-door. 

"Does it not belong to-" Did the Villain live alone? "Someone?' 

Villain gave them a funny look. "It's a guest room." He said as if that was the most obvious thing. "Dinner will be served in twenty minutes." 

---

Dinner passed in an awkward silence. Afterwards, Villain went back to the armchair and buried himself in the book. Only as an afterthought did Hero realised the delicious food laid out so politely before him might have been poisoned. Villain glanced at him from his book.

"If you want to, there are books. It's going to be a rather long storm." 

"I do not like to read." 

That got his attention. Villain closed his book, startled. "What do you mean you do not-" 

"I get detached easily. Distracted. I don't like the act of reading, not- It is the knowledge I am interested in. This sort of knowledge I prefer someone to tell me." 

“If that’s your way of asking me to entertain you, the answer’s no.”

"I did not mean-"

The Villain raised his brews.

"Okay, maybe I did," Hero huffed. "I hadn't had a pleasant conversation in ages. Or any conversation for that matter."

He stood up, facing Hero.

"And what makes you think," Villain hummed. "That I'd be a good company?"

Hero could feel the cold wall pressing against his back. Their faces were still inches apart. "Gut?"

"If a gut is what you rely on, Hero," Villain's cold hand touched his throat, "then you would not have come here."

He could feel his pulse quicken. He l could tell Villain felt that too.

"What were you really doing in here?" His lips were nearly touching Hero's ear. "Don't tell me you did not know woods are on my land."

Hero closed his eyes.

"I was looking for you."

[xtruss]

Why Toilet Paper Keeps Getting Smaller And Smaller

There Us No End To America’s Most Egregious Case of Shrinkflation

— Mark Dent | August 17, 2024

Empty Toilet Paper Roll

Paranoia sets in when the package arrives at my door. Is that pest control van across the street filled with private investigators on a stakeout? Has that antenna always been on my neighbor’s roof?

A few weeks ago, I was just like you, taking a summer vacation to the beach, anxiously waiting for new episodes of “Presumed Innocent.” Then, after reading too many stories about fast furniture, Chipotle’s shrinking burritos, and other examples of corporations diluting the size and quality of their products, I fell down the wrong rabbit hole.

Next thing I knew, I was in touch with a secret source on a black market called eBay. She goes by MrsFreeThinker and frequents estate sales, where she’d found the contraband I needed. Somebody had kept this secret to the grave.

Inside my house, I draw the blinds and rip into a gray plastic bag. It’s everything I hoped for: a factory-sealed four-pack of regular Charmin Ultra toilet paper produced in 1992.

I look at the fine print and gasp…170 sheets per roll!

These days, a regular Charmin Ultra Soft roll, if you can find one, has 56 sheets. Even the roll they market as “Double” doesn’t have 170 sheets — it has 154. And the 1992 rolls are hardly the largest — the back of the package includes a note from parent company Procter & Gamble explaining these rolls have fewer sheets than a previous version.

Toilet paper is shrinkflation at its absolute worst. Imagine if Chipotle spent decades reducing the size of its burritos until they looked like tacos.

How far does the downsizing go? And why has the industry managed to make its products so small with barely any scrutiny?

The 650 Sheet Toilet Paper Roll

Once I’d purchased the toilet paper off eBay, I called Edgar Dworsky to help unroll the mystery of toilet paper shrinkage.

Dworsky, a Massachusetts-based consumer advocate who runs the consumer education websites Mouse Print* and Consumer World, is perhaps the only person in the US who reads the fine print, and he’s certainly the only one who’s consistently tracked changes to the sizes of products like cereal, snack chips, frozen pizza, and coffee mix, becoming the go-to shrinkflation source. As companies sought to avoid price hikes during the last couple of years and opted for shrinkflation, Dworsky’s decades-long work was profiled by the New York Times and praised by John Oliver.

Edgar Dworsky is the nation’s leading shrinkflation expert. Photograph: Joanne Rathe/The Boston Globe via Getty Images

When it comes to downsizing products, Dworsky tells me that toilet paper, along with paper towels, “probably come in first place.” And my 1992 toilet paper is just the tip of the iceberg.

He started collecting toilet paper around the 1970s. Back then, Charmin’s regular roll had 650 sheets of single ply toilet paper…650! By 1975, the roll shrunk to 500 and then to 400 in 1979.

Dworsky says that back in the ‘80s he had products that showed Charmin’s sordid shrinkage history — until he lent his toilet paper to a local reporter.

“She wound up taking them home and using them,” he says. “[I was] like, ‘You used my antique Charmin? The one-of-a kind stuff?’”

A Charmin ad from 1966 with 650 sheets per roll. Photograph: Raleigh Register via Newspapers.com

Charmin was far from done, anyway. By 1986, the sheet count had dropped to 380. On eBay, I found nearly identical 1988 Charmin packages — one contained 300 single ply sheets per roll and the other had 280.

Soon, Procter & Gamble would offer Charmin in a double-layered two ply — like my 1992 roll that contains 170 sheets — and has largely shifted away from single ply rolls.

It wasn’t the only brand to engage in shrinkage. Although Scott 1000 must keep 1k sheets per roll to live up to its name, Dworsky has tracked the toilet paper’s weight. Four rolls, he discovered, weighed about two pounds 10+ years ago. They now weigh barely over a pound.

The size of Scott’s sheets has also declined from 4.5 x 3.7 inches to 4.1 x 3.7 inches. Charmin’s sheets have gone from 4.5 x 4.5 inches to 3.92 x 4 inches.

“They know consumers are not net weight conscious. They know they’re price conscious,” Dworsky says. “So if they can try to avoid raising the price by giving the consumer less, that’s what they do.”

The Hustle

Procter & Gamble has claimed Charmin has become thicker, stronger, and more absorbent. (Procter & Gamble and Kimberly-Clark, the parent company of Scott 1000, didn’t respond to my interview requests.) The note from P&G on my 1992 toilet paper said Charmin Ultra had shrunk “because it is so thick we couldn't put as many sheets on and keep the rolls the same size.”

Uh-huh.

With the constant downsizing, Dworsky notes, “at some point the product gets obnoxiously small and that brings complaints to the forefront. They have to find some way to reintroduce a larger size.” Charmin, for instance, started selling “Double” rolls around the late ‘90s. These rolls had 2x more sheets than the ‘90s regular roll but far fewer than a 1970s regular roll.

The same strategy has played out in the ensuing years as the “Double” was heavily downsized, and shelves filled with “Mega” and “Super Mega,” neither of which are as large as regular rolls from the ‘70s or ‘80s.

These superlatives have helped conceal blatant shrinkflation.

A pack of 12 Charmin Ultra Soft “Double” rolls — now mostly unavailable in stores — were said to be the equivalent of 24 regular rolls. It contained 201 square feet of toilet paper.

Six Ultra Soft “Mega” rolls — introduced after the “Double”— are also supposedly the equivalent of 24 regular rolls and feature 70 more sheets per roll than the “Double.” Yet the package contains just 146 square feet of toilet paper. (Since 2022, the “Mega” sheet per roll count has fallen from 264 to 224.

The Hustle

Perhaps most confusing, Dworsky says, these products “do a comparison to a non-existent version.” That’s because regular-sized rolls have been virtually impossible to purchase for years — Dworsky might have one of the last.

He bought a pack of regular two ply Charmin rolls manufactured in 2013. The sheet count, which, again, totaled a mighty 650 a couple generations ago, had dwindled to 82.

He sent me a photo of the roll positioned next to a dollar bill standing upright. They were about the same width.

Wood Pulp Volatility

After talking with Dworsky and trawling through newspaper archives, I’d begun to absorb the sheer magnitude of toilet paper shrinkage. But I still needed to know why. Why did the toilet paper companies play this game?

I went as close to the source as possible, to Brian McClay and D'arcy Schnekenburger at TTOBMA. They track, analyze, and publish actual transaction-based net price indices for the single most important ingredient for toilet paper: wood pulp.

Toilet paper is typically made from two varieties of pulp: eucalyptus hardwood and northern softwood, which are sourced and produced in countries such as Canada, Brazil, Uruguay, Indonesia, and Finland.

Counterintuitively, hardwood pulp gives toilet paper its soft feel, and softwood pulp gives it strength and heft.

Until the 1980s — around the time Charmin kicked its shrinkage into overdrive — pulp prices were fairly consistent, says McClay, who started his career as a wood pulp statistician in 1978. But volatility has been the norm since then with increased globalization, climate change-driven supply shocks (caused by bugs and fires and droughts), and the entry of China as a huge buyer (and sometimes supplier) of pulp.

In early 2016, Northern Bleached Softwood Kraft pulp, a premium paper-sheet reinforcement pulp made from sawmill chips, sold in North America for ~$550 per metric ton. In 2022, the price topped $1k — before sliding to ~$600 last year and then climbing back up to ~$900 earlier this year and falling over the last few weeks.

The Hustle

Major toilet paper brands that need consistent supply have few protections from this volatility. Whereas many commodity markets have futures contracts that allow buyers to hedge against price fluctuations, toilet paper producers typically sign softwood pulp contracts tied to an index such as the TTO, paying a price from a negotiated starting point that moves with the TTO monthly index.

On top of that, many companies, especially in China, play “the inventory game,” McClay adds. They buy huge quantities of pulp on spot when prices are low — sending the price upward — and avoid buying at the higher rates, sending the price back down.

“It is material enough to move the global market,” McClay says. “Everybody’s a China watcher in our business.”

In China and South America, where there are fewer premium brands and more white label toilet paper products, toilet paper companies adjust to expensive softwood prices by changing their recipe, sometimes switching out softwood for cheaper bamboo pulp.

The composition of toilet paper in these markets is ~90% hardwood and ~10% softwood, according to Schnekenburger. Such a balance also helps toilet paper companies save money, as hardwood is consistently less expensive than softwood.

But North American toilet paper companies, particularly premium brands like Charmin, Cottonelle, and Quilted Northern, need the softwood. They typically have a ratio of ~70% hardwood and ~30% softwood, says Schnekenburger, to meet a “higher expectation for strength.”

“They won’t even change the supplier of their softwood if they can help it,” he adds. “For them consistency both in their operations and consistency of product are more important than anything else.”

Softwood is piled up at a pulp producer in Germany. Photograph: Klaus- Dietmar Gabbert/Picture Alliance via Getty Images

That thinking, according to Shelley Vinyard, a corporate campaign director for the National Resources Defense Council and leader of its Issue With Tissue reports, has also been brutal for forests where pulp is sourced. Many smaller North American brands, such as Who Gives A Crap and Seventh Generation, use bamboo or recycled paper instead of virgin pulp. But the report found legacy brands like Charmin, Scott 100, and Quilted Northern used few, if any, sustainable ingredients.

“What they’ll say is that they need this [wood pulp] fiber in order to provide the softness and strength that their consumers demand. But honestly I don’t buy it,” Vinyard says.

“If you look at the growth of the sustainable tissue market and if you think about the size of the R&D budgets of a company like P&G, you’d have to think they could shift their sourcing practices and develop technology to deliver the performance levels their consumers expect.”

Bamboo and recycled paper can often be purchased for less than virgin pulp. As of last year, Who Gives A Crap’s cost per sheet was a few cents lower than offerings from Charmin, Quilted Northern, and Cottonelle.

Still, that didn’t mean Who Gives a Crap had avoided all the worst instincts of the major players. On its website, I couldn’t find any regular rolls for sale. The company only sold the “double.”

No Legal Consequences

I understood the pressures faced by the toilet paper companies. They’ve faced volatile supply costs and believe too many of their consumers would react poorly to changes to their formulas. But why hadn’t anyone put pressure on their downsizing?

A long time ago somebody tried.

In 1975, when people noticed Charmin reduced its rolls from 650 sheets to 500 sheets, James Lack was incensed. A consumer affairs commissioner in Long Island, he considered Charmin’s justification — that “a new improved softness” led them to shrink the number of sheets lest the rolls not fit on toilet paper holders — “one of the worst examples of advertising hype I’ve ever seen.”

Charmin didn’t even seem to have its story straight. When journalists from Long Island’s Newsday questioned a Procter & Gamble spokesperson about the new toilet paper rolls, he said they had as much or more wood pulp as the prior version. But that response contradicted a note to investors that claimed the 500-sheet rolls used less wood pulp.

Lack vowed to investigate Procter & Gamble and requested investigations from the FTC and FCC over deceptive advertising. The story was published in dozens of newspapers. Maybe shrinkflation would be nipped in the bud!

But nothing happened.

The Hustle

Lack didn’t have much of a case, and neither has anyone else in the following decades. While it may seem deceptive to shrink toilet paper with little notice aside from the fine print — and to compare “Mega” and “Double” rolls to basically nonexistent products — it’s not against the law. Companies can shrink their product and charge the same amount, or more, while doing nothing to warn consumers aside from updating the fine print.

The new publicity around shrinkflation has at least caught the attention of legislators. Two new shrinkflation bills have been introduced this year. One would give the FTC power to punish shrinkflation and another would force companies to notify consumers when they shrink products while keeping the price the same. France enacted a similar law a few months ago.

Absent new protections, though, toilet paper will keep getting smaller and rebranded with deceptively larger names that actually contain less product. “There is no end,” Dworsky says.

He’s already spotted Charmin’s latest stunt: The company has swapped out “Super Mega” rolls for “Mega XL,” a rebrand with the same number of sheets. Dworsky suspects Charmin fears running out of descriptors and wants to save the mother of all superlatives, “Super Mega,” for the next time its shrinkage has gone too far.

“I mean, seriously, what can you do to Super Mega? Become Super Super Mega? Super Mega Plus?” he says.

The toilet paper companies will find a way. They always do.

[skye-cady]

Blog #15/Jan 19. Madrid & Barcelona are famously rival cities with different cultures and a complicated interwoven history. Browse this scholarly article (Rodriguez-Pose & Hardy 2020) and combine with your own observations to compare/contrast the two cities. - Shared a document: https://group.me/c6T5Lt8HMFN3u

The paper linked above details how Madrid has surpassed Barcelona in economic superiority, and lays out theories for why that has happened. Authors Rodriguez-Pose and Hardy believe that the ties of the well-established Barcelonian society became too strong, and fractured the city as it grew with the new democratic government. Madrid created its identity as it was growing, and thus those ties became dynamic and flexible. While I think this can be hard to see from the short time we spent in each city, I kind of get the picture. In Barcelona, we saw a number of sites which were beautiful and historical, but had not really become actors in the native scene of Barcelona. Casa Mila and Casa Batllo are probably the least notable here- they are venues for various functions, and the former is also housing. Strictly speaking, that still does not really make them a widely used cultural space for everyone. Similar to this is Parc Guell, which is overwhelmed with tourists. Last but not least is La Sagrada Familia, a privately funded Catholic church. It is conditionally open to the public, and has been the object of much criticism for being a financial drain and a threat to surrounding housing. Thus, much of the sites we saw in Barcelona don't integrate themselves with the everyday Barcelonian, they serve tourists and specific functions. This is going to strain the public's relationship with major points of Catalonian identity. Even Gaudi's style can be attributed to this, as it was particularly Catalonian. His housing projects were expensive to live in, and his cathedral nearly burned for eating up too much money. These cultural landmarks are associated with the rich, which is going to further divide Catalonians.

This can be contrasted with two of my favorite sites in Madrid, Rio Park and the Matadero Complex. Both of these locations are created by the city, for the people. They are widely available to the public, and either host cultural events, or provide a place for people to gather and do things together (which we might say is how culture is "made"). They look back at history by restoring what is already there, while moving forward and pushing the citizens of Madrid to create art and have fun together. While we did not discuss much about the economic states of either of these cities, I think the structures we saw make it kind of evident why Madrid has surpassed Barcelona. The latter is already crystallized in centuries of culture, which is available to some but not others. The former is dynamic, looking for ways to take their landmarks and make them a center for people who actually live there, and not just tourists and those with money to spend.

[kittydemon9000]

The Beginning of Heatstroke, aka Red's Villain Origin

* crashes down from the ceiling * I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED ONE OF MY 5+ CURRENT WRITING PROJECTS! BEHOLD, A WRITTEN VERSION OF THE 'Red's Villain Origin AU', also known as RVO / Heatstroke AU

To summarize the AU for SPBNR for those that don't now it: 

“Who'd be the biggest conspiracy theorist out of the M!Ninja? The one who drinks 5 hour energy at 3am and spits off the craziest theories and then actually gets it right but nobody gives the theory any merit because the rest of the theories are too crazy?”

The answer: Red / M!Kai

Red: Okay hear me out: Smith is actually an alternative version of one of us sent here from another dimension.

The other M!Ninja: You’re just saying that because Smith’s cool and you want him to be your counterpart

Based on the M!ninja making red cork boards trying to figure out ‘What Is Up With Smith’: Red gets increasingly accurate and nobody will believe him (all pre shogun reveal) and he eventually snaps and takes up a secret villain persona to fight Shogun like 'if they won't believe me I'll do it myself' and it gets awkward when he accidentally does too much damage and catches not only Shogun's attention like planned, but also the rest of the Ninjaforce, and now he has to keep his own identity a secret

So, without further ado, I present... Heatstroke

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

Red blamed the 5-hour energy coffee blend at 3:00am for this.

It was no surprise that between ‘Operation: What’s Going on with Smith’ & the sudden appearance of Shogun that the resident Bounty red-stringed ‘joke’ cork-board doubled in size and seriousness. It also was no surprise that Red had a corner all to himself and that his theories were… in the words of the others, ‘wildly inaccurate and implausible’.

But this time, he was sure he’d gotten it right.

Smith is Shogun sent here from another continent/planet/dimension with the goal of protecting Ninjago City.

The latest string of laughs and scoffs at his theory was the last straw. He’d show them. He’d prove it!

Which was why he was currently standing on the roof of a noodle house, awkwardly adjusting the spare motorcycle helmet he’d ‘borrowed’ from Nya and painted black and orangey-yellow (red had seemed too obvious). He’d exchanged his Ninjaforce outfit for a soot-burned cross between a bomber jacket and a leather jacket. Down his back jutted a row of flames like the spines of a monster, courtesy of one of Nya & Jay’s unfinished inventions Red had modified- surely nothing bad would come of that!

For tonight, the Red Ninja was off-duty. For tonight, it was Heatstroke’s turn.

He fiddled with one of the weapons he’d ‘lent out’ from Master Wu. It resembled a small arm canon, like a smaller version of the Ultimate Weapon. The plaque under its post had read ‘Elemental Focuser’, which, in cryptic Wu speak, probably translated to ‘you can use an elemental power like something out of Avatar: The Last Airbender’. So far he’d only figured out how to activate a focused jet of fire. Well, at least it was on brand. He hoped it would help him catch Shogun’s attention so he could unmask him.

He’d tried confronting Smith at school, of course. But there were only so many ways of saying ‘are you the new vigilante helping the ninjas’, and Smith has a genuine talent for dancing around the topic. Red could confront him with the name Shogun to get a proper reaction, but that would mean explaining how he knew the name and outing himself as the Red Ninja.

So fake villainy really was the only way.

His plan was to use the Elemental Focuser to cause some minor petty damage, just enough to attract the new vigilante. Perhaps set a trash can on fire, block an alleyway with rocks (if he figured out how to change the setting from fire to earth), small things that could easily be repaired.

Of course, plans were never actually stuck to. One way or another, something was always improvised.

Red’s improvisation just happened to involve him accidentally setting the entire alleyway on fire.

He’d only been aiming for one dumpster, honest! And maybe he’d spotted a couple fliers for a SoG meeting on the ground and happened to burn those too. And a newspaper article blaming Lloyd for the recent Garmadon attack, again. And an article about those ‘Damn Ninja Menaces’ by a S. Sonah Sameson. And-

Okay, so maybe Red had aimed the fire at a few small targets. But just a few! And with good reason and good care, but…

Well, fire liked to burn. Give it enough kindle and it’ll continue to grow, stretching like reaching branches towards each other to join in a massive bonfire. 

So now the entire alleyway was on fire, and Red was panicking. 

He’d luckily chosen an abandoned part of town near the beaches where Shogun sightings seemed most frequent, but with the stupid Elemental Focuser not switching from fire mode to water mode or ice mode or something that didn’t have the potential to burn Ninjago City to the ground, Red had no way of stopping the flames.

And more flames meant more destruction which meant a bigger audience.

Which was why his previously muted comm suddenly flared to life, the only warning Red had before Nya’s water strider mech slid around the corner.

Red scrambled onto a roof as the mech drove past, spraying water at the bonfire to dose it. His sigh of relief was just as quickly dosed as Lloyd’s voice came over the comms; “Status, Grey?”

“Flames are out,” Nya replied. “Pursing the joker that set it ablaze.”

Uh oh. Red took off across the roof, leaping from building to building. Tiles creaked, pebbled and dust scattering underfoot. The sounds of the mech’s engine roaring behind him echoed through alleyways below to create the illusion the mech was everywhere at once. 

As the chase grew on, more mechs started to join in. Red ducked into a narrow avenue to avoid Zane’s tank, then under a cafe overhang to throw off Jay and Lloyd. His heart hammered in his chest and he groaned, filling the inside of the motorcycle helmet with steam. Saying this was going ‘bad’ would be the understatement of the century. 

What had he been thinking? Oh wait: he hadn’t. Seriously? ‘Oh I’ll just pretend to be a villain real quick, that should get Shogun’s attention and not the attention of literally my entire team of fellow ninjas!’ Stupid, impulsive, this was why everyone was always calling the red ninja the ‘hothead’ when he really tried not to be- Lloyd’s voice over the comms snapped him from his thoughts. “I can’t catch them! It’s like they know our every move!”

Red winced as he climbed up a banister and leapt from balcony to balcony. Sorry, Lloyd. 

He didn’t miss how the others asked Nya where Red was. And how she made up excuses the others bought so easily- granted, he’d told those excuses to his sister before setting his plan into motion, but still, ouch. They acted like he was simply being at best too busy and at worst lazy and selfish.

He just wanted them to know the truth! Why couldn’t they at least try to believe him when-

Of course, that was when Shogun dropped out of the sky and tackled him.

Red shouted with surprise as he tumbled down from the second floor, slamming into a few softer bags of garbage to break his fall before rolling and slamming into the unforgiving concrete. A crack formed in his vision as the visor of his motorbike helmet smacked into the concrete ground. One of the fire jets on his back sputtered and sparked, sending a thin wisp of smoke into the air.

Shogun pinned his wrists to the ground and growled. “Who are you?”

Red tried to break free, agony turning his muscles and bones to fire with the movement after his fall, but the vigilante was too strong. Damn, how often did this guy train?

“Who am I?” Red said, a nervous tinge to his voice. He quickly smoothed it over with faked confidence. “Who are you? Who are all of us, really?”

Shogun narrowed his eyes behind his hood. “Did Garmadon send you? Or someone else?”

Red sputtered. Really, the nerve! Garmadon? The thought turned his insides to disgusting mud. “Nobody sent me!”

“Then why are you here?” Shogun spat.

“Why am I here?” Why was he here again? Oh right, the bright idea on how to reveal that Shogun was Smith. “It’s, uh… a valid reason! That I don’t have to tell you!” He tried for a villainous laugh. Stay in character, don’t blow your cover, you got this!

Shogun was unimpressed. “Nearly burning down my home was a valid reason?”

“Well, I wasn’t trying to set everything on- wait, WHAT?” Uh oh. “You LIVE here?”

Now it was Shogun’s turn to look uncomfortable, though the expression was quickly wiped from his face. “Nothing wrong with this district.” 

Red nodded. “‘Course not. Uh, sorry about that… wasn’t my intention, I swear.”

Shoot, he could hear Jay’s jet getting closer. He had to get out of here, but Shogun, annoyingly, didn’t seem to be in the mood to simply let him go. “Then what is your intention?”

“Well, for starters, it’s getting out of here. This really isn’t going to plan and I’d rather just be home right now, or even inventing a time machine like in that book ‘Hands of Time’ to slap my past self in the face for even thinking about this stupid idea in the first place-“

Jay wasn’t the only one that could ramble under pressure, it seemed.

Shogun leaned closer. “What idea?”

Red shrugged as best he could with how he was pinned to the ground. “Well, for starters, I just wanted to prove to my friends that you’re Smith, and things just kinda escalated from-”

The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he said. 

Shogun lurched back, letting go of him. His eyes betrayed a kaleidoscope of emotions; surprise, worry, suspicious, hurt, fear, realization. 

“…Kai?”

Well, f!ck.

“I-“

Red was about to badly attempt to bullsh!t his way out of his identity reveal before it suddenly dawned on him that Shogun had not denied his theory. 

Which meant Shogun was Smith.

And it also meant Smith instantly recognized him as Kai, which, considering his disguise, was aptly concerning. Sure, he was the first one in his group of friends people would think to do something this extreme but give him some credit! Zane was a regular detective, he’d do the same if it meant answers! Or, well, at least something similar. And Nya could be an adrenaline seeker. And Lloyd- well, maybe not Lloyd. Or Jay, either. Cole had his head just enough on his shoulders that he probably wouldn’t do this either.

But come on, instantly guessing it?

Well, at least Smith/Shogun didn’t know Kai was the Red Ninja. That would be a catastrophe.

Right. Back to the current catastrophe at hand.

Shogun- Smith- still had a look as if he’d been slapped, and Red hated it. He hadn’t meant to hurt his friend. Shogun… Shogun hadn’t wanted them to find out his identity. And then Red had gone and done it, just to prove that he could be the smart one, or a leader, or the protector so they didn’t get hurt, or literally anything but just the ‘hotheaded one’. 

…And he’d done it in the most hotheaded, impulsive way possible.

He really was an idiot.

The cracked helmet hid the look on his face, a twisted mess of distraught and shame. But it didn’t help hide how he took stumbled to his feet and away from Smith, nervous that any second he’d spill another mistake and mess up again, like how he always freaking messed up on everything. Don’t pick this fight, interject there instead, no, not there, idiot, there, FMS why are you so useless-

Focus, focus.

Lloyd’s voice, sharp in the intercom and full of static from his tumble, snapped him from his thoughts. “Anyone got eyes on the arsonist?”

Red caught Smith’s eye as he raised his hand to his own communicator. He was so screwed, so busted, so doomed… Smith would report it, and the others would know, and they’d think he was just messing around in an alleyway with some stolen devices and weapons out of curiosity or rage, - and-

“None yet, still looking.”

…What?

Smith stared at him, gaze searching. He looked shaken, more so than Red- who’d just taken a fall from a second story, mind you, it was a miracle he wasn’t more injured than a couple small scrapes and some future bruises-, yet everything from the set of his jaw to the softening of his furrowed brows suggested a change in emotions. Well, not quite change; more like repress and replace.

“You wanted to prove yourself, didn’t you.”

Red flushed, hand instinctually clamping into a tight fist at his side. The still-working fire jets on his back ignited without him pressing any buttons; faulty activation from the fall or something. 

Palms up and hands raised, Smith silently asked to defuse the situation. “Didn’t mean it as an insult. This wasn’t about venting some anger, was it.”

Red’s lack of response only confirmed it. Smith continued. “I won’t say anything about this if you don’t tell anyone my identity. Deal? I know finding it out was important to you, but-“

“Deal,” Red interrupted. Guilt ate away at his core, like a wave of water dousing a candle. “Smith, I-“ He swallowed hard and stared at the alley floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to…”

Smith’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder and he flinched before relaxing as Smith didn’t move further, nor did the grip tighten. “I’m a little hurt, you’re right. But I’m not mad. And I won’t tell the others, so you can relax. But you better get out of here and get yourself an alibi. We can talk at school or something.”

Wow, he was handling this rather calmly. Red was struck by the sudden memory of- what did Jay call the word? Right. Compartmentalizing. That… wasn’t healthy. But at the roar of Lloyd’s mech somewhere nearby, he didn’t comment further. Instead, he shot Smith a grateful nod and ran down the alley, sticking to the shadows and blind spots of the flying mechs and the tight alleyways where the land mechs couldn’t reach him. 

When he got home, miraculously without further incident (though Shogun leading the others on a wild goose chase over the comms certainly helped there), he ditched the outfit in a bag hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the shed. He’d return the weapon to Master Wu’s ship later, and… well, hope Nya never searched for the missing supplies. There wasn’t a way of fixing it without involving her or Jay, and neither was an option.

Heatstroke was back off duty, and so was the Red Ninja.

For now, he could just be Kai Smith. And there wasn’t any issue with that.

…

Right?

—————

yooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THIS IS AMAZING REHJJGFHDESFXJVZ

and ah yes, good ol trauma and compartmentalizing, we love to see it

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 17: Talking (Alt Prompt: The Talk)

AO3

First

Prev

Tim walks into the kitchen, blinking sleepily at his little sister. He glances over at the clock on the microwave, blinking again to make sure that he hadn’t misread the time. Five thirty in the morning, and she was baking cookies. He clears his throat, smiling apologetically as she jumps. 

“Sorry Mari. Early morning?” He asks, moving to get coffee and noting that the pot was already half empty. 

“More like, late night.” She corrects. Tim frowns. Her summer in Gotham was supposed to be relaxing for her. It was supposed to be a way for her to be a kid again. Instead she was making cookies by herself at five thirty in the morning after not sleeping. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he was determined to figure it out. There was no way he was going to make her deal with whatever this is by herself. She has backup now. 

“Did you want to talk about it?” He offers, leaning against the counter, drinking his coffee quickly to try and wake up more. 

“Not really. Kinda just wanted to stress bake.” She says quietly. He nods. Sometimes it was hard to talk about things. That’s okay, he can look into it later. 

“Well, I’ve gotta go work on some things in the cave. Did you want to come with?” He asks, refilling his coffee. She frowns, looking at the bowl in front of her. 

“Can you wait like, five minutes? I just need to get these ready to chill.” She says, gesturing to the bowl. He nods, watching as she zips around the kitchen as if she’d grown up in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure why she’d been up baking so early, but he was determined to help her. As much as he avoided sleep, he knew it wasn’t exactly healthy. Probably shouldn’t encourage his little sister to do the same thing. 

---

Bruce walks into the theatre room, frowning when he sees Dick and Jason, but no Marinette. That was odd. She hadn’t been in her room either. He decides to check the kitchen next, knowing his daughter enjoyed baking. Walking into the kitchen, he’s surprised to find it empty as well. Glancing at the coffee pot, he notices it’s nearly empty, but still on. Which meant Tim had been up to get coffee recently. Flipping the pot off, he turns and starts towards the Batcave. Perhaps Tim knew where Marinette was. Walking down his usual entrance, he’s unsurprised to see Tim working at the computer. What he hadn’t expected, however, was Marinette curled up in a chair next to Tim, sleeping. 

“Tim?” Bruce calls, catching his son’s attention.

“Oh, hey B.” Tim says, not looking away from the screen. 

“Is there a reason Marinette is sleeping in a chair instead of her bed?” He asks. He knew she had a nightmare last night, but he had assumed she’d fallen asleep with Jason and Dick in the theatre room. And if she hadn’t, he’d at least expected she’d return to her own room. Not the Batcave. While some of his sons preferred the cave to any of the other rooms in the manor, he’d hoped his daughter was different. That he had at least one child willing to live in the house instead of the cave. 

“I’m sure there is. And I’m going to find out.” Tim says, leaving Bruce with more questions than answers. 

“Okay. How long have the two of you been down here?” He asks. Tim stops typing, glancing down at his watch before looking back up to the screen. 

“Little under two hours.” He replies, jerking his head towards Marinette. “Think that’s also the only sleep she’s got all night, so probably best to leave her for a little longer.” Bruce frowns at this. Sure, he knew that she had a nightmare last night. He knew it was bad enough that she had sobbed into his arms. But had she really avoided sleep after that? Was it really that bad? She didn’t want to talk to him about it last night, but maybe she’d talk later today. He wouldn’t push her, lord knows that any child of his isn’t going to take well to that, but maybe she’d talk to 

him now. Hopefully the nightmare would now be far enough from her mind that she could talk. 

---

Marinette gasps, sitting up so quickly that she manages to flip the chair she’d fallen asleep in. She hisses in pain as her head bounces off the stone floor. So much for being the holder of the Miraculous of good luck. 

“Did you just fall out of your chair?” Tim asks. She glances up at her brother, who had apparently left for another cup of coffee. 

“No?” She says, smiling awkwardly from the floor, where her limbs are currently entangled with the chair. Tim shakes his head and snorts, sipping from his mug. 

“Whatever you say Mari.” He says, walking over and sitting back in his chair, going back to his work on the computer. 

“What time is it?” She asks, carefully untangling herself and getting off the ground. 

“Mmm, around nine.” He says, not looking away from the screen. 

“In the morning?” She asks, knowing it was completely possible for Tim to have worked nonstop in the cave.

“Yes.” He says, shaking his head. “B wants to talk to you, by the way.” He adds.

“Oh. Okay. Am I in trouble?” She asks, suddenly self conscious. It was the first time anyone in her family had had to deal with one of her nightmares. Usually, Tikki was the one to wake her up and calm her down before she attracted an akuma. 

“Of course not.” He reassures her. “He’s probably in his study.”

“Oh, good, okay. Well, I’m gonna go talk to him. Please take a break, Tim. I know you haven’t eaten anything today. You can’t run on coffee and spite, trust me, I’ve tried.” Marinette says, grinning at her brother before using the tunnel that connected straight to the study. She still hadn’t figured out the many rooms of the manor, but the maze-like setup of the Batcave was something that she’d figured out easily. Taking a breath, she knocks on her side of the Grandfather clock, waiting for a response. 

“Come in.” Her dad says. She walks in, grinning at the exasperated look on his face. 

“Hi dad!” She says cheekily, plopping down onto one of the couches. 

“Is there a reason you didn’t use the actual door?” He asks. She shrugs. 

“Why get lost in the manor when I can just use the secret tunnels from the cave?” She asks. He sighs. 

“I still don’t understand that, but alright. How are you feeling this morning?” He asks, his face turning serious. She smiles, but it’s forced now. She didn’t want to talk about this. She really didn’t want to talk about this with her dad, who would surely never give her permission to date Adrien if he knew. Not that she needed permission, but it would make it easier not having her dad against her. 

“I’m fine!” She says, keeping her plastered on smile.

“I talked to Tim this morning.” He says, instead of calling her out. Well crap. 

“Oh really?” She asks, silently cursing Tim. Or, wanting to anyway. But she wouldn’t because she knew he meant well. 

“He said that you hadn’t slept last night. I know you didn’t want to talk to me about your nightmare last night, but maybe now-”

“No. No, I’m fine. It’s fine.” She rambles, cutting him off. He frowns. 

“Marinette, I’m not going to be angry with you if that’s what you’re worried about. You had a nightmare, and it has clearly left you shaken.” He says. She huffs, running her fingers through her hair exasperatedly. 

“I just- I can’t tell you. If I tell you, you’re going to be mad at someone and I don’t want you to be mad at them.” She explains, wincing as his face darkens. 

“Did someone hurt you?” He asks, his voice the coldest she’s ever heard. 

“Dad-”

“Did someone hurt you?” He asks again, cutting her off as he stands up.  

“Not on purpose.” She insists, wringing her hands together. 

“It doesn’t matter if it was on purpose, Marinette! This person hurt you badly enough that you had a nightmare about it. Bad enough that you were sobbing, that you couldn’t go back to sleep. I don’t care if it was on purpose or not, Marinette, that person does not deserve to be anywhere near you.” Her dad says, his face and voice hard as stone. 

“But Dad, it really wasn’t his fault-”

“His?” 

“Yes, Dad, he was akumatized.” She says, watching as he unclenches his fist and collapses back into his chair. “So it wasn’t his fault.” She adds, frowning as he shakes his head. 

“Why didn’t-” He pauses, seemingly recollecting himself. “Why isn’t there a story on it?” He asks. She frowns. 

“Story on what?” She asks. 

“A story on Adrien being akumatized? Why isn’t there any record of it?” He asks. She jerks back like she was slapped. How did he- world’s greatest detective. Of course. 

“He doesn’t know.” She says softly. 

“How?”

“One of the Miraculous users is Bunnix. She holds the Miraculous of time, and is able to time travel. It was about a year ago, she came and grabbed me and took me to the future.” She explains, avoiding looking at him. She didn’t want to talk about this. It was the talk that she’d been avoiding, no matter how many times Tikki assured her she could talk to her dad about it. Or her brothers. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. But now she had to. 

“In the future, Adrien and I had been a couple. He found out my identity as Ladybug, and I’m not exactly sure how it came to it, but for some reason, Hawkmoth targeted us. He was able to akumatize Adrien while he was Chat Noir. He….he became Chat Blanc. The complete opposite of Chat Noir.” She says, watching her hands as they shake in her lap. He doesn’t say anything, so she continues. “He still had the power of destruction but with the help of the akuma...it was awful. His power became unlimited. He blew up the moon.” 

“The moon?” He asks. 

“Yes.” She says. “He also flooded Paris, destroyed the Eiffel tower, and killed both Hawkmoth and future me. That was why Bunnix needed me. I had to fix it. But she wasn’t able to stay with me, so I had to fight him alone. And I didn’t know that he was Adrien then, but he was still my partner and he kept calling me Marinette and he told me that it was our fault. That our love did it to the world. And it hurt, Dad. It hurt that my best friend destroyed the world because of me. Because of us.” She says, voice breaking as tears fall. 

“Marinette, honey, look at me.” He says softly. She looks up at him, surprised to see that he had moved to kneel in front of her. “That was not your fault. And you should not have had to go through that by yourself. That was wrong of Bunnix. It was not your fault.” He reassures her. She lets out a sigh of relief, throwing her arms around him and crying into his chest just like she did last night. 

“Father, have you seen- what did you do to Marinette?” Damian asks, barging into the room. Marinette snorts, her cries quickly becoming laughter as she catches a glimpse of her little brother’s face. His usual scowl had become full of anger before flickers of confusion flit across as she laughs. 

“I’m sorry, petit oiseau. I’m okay now. I just had a nightmare last night and Dad asked about it.” She explains, knowing that Damian hated being out of the loop.

“Tt. Very well. I was trying to find you to see if you would like to accompany me to the park with Titus. Alfred said that I cannot go alone, and you are the least annoying possible companion.” He says. Marinette smiles. Ever since she’d been hit by the de-aging akuma, Damian had wanted to spend time with her and Titus together. She assumed it was the best way he knew to bond with her without sparring (which her Dad had banned for the moment unless he or Dick were able to supervise, honestly you break one little display case). 

“I’d love to. Could we come back to this later?” She asks, glancing at her Dad who had moved to lean against his desk. He sighs, but nods. 

“Yes. Keep your phones on, both of you.” He instructs. She nods, grinning before pulling her brother after her. They couldn’t keep Titus waiting, after all.

Next

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[nugnthopkns]

if everything could ever feel this real forever

word count: 4.3k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, alcohol consumption, allusion to sexual content (nothing explicit but minors please be aware!)

recommended listening: everlong | foo fighters

a/n: broke down and wrote for ratty matty. alternalty titled four times matthew thinks you’re the one and one time he knows (4+1′s are fun to write, pls don’t fight me). also pls ignore the fact i don’t know how airports work, i’ve only ever flown domestically lmao

Matthew feels different when you’re around. 

You don’t turn him into a completely different person. He’s still himself – an absolute pest at times – but more genuine. With you he can feel everything deeply, say whatever’s on his mind without the fear of being judged. It’s the best kind of different, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. His teammates constantly ask him when he’s going to lock you down; put a ring on your finger and change your last name, but he needs to be sure before he makes such a big commitment. 

one

It’s the beginning of July, and you’re sweating buckets in the back of an Uber. The driver has the air cranked, but nothing seems to alleviate the heat. You know it will be worse in St. Louis so you do your best not to complain, but it’s hard. Taking two weeks off to visit your boyfriend in his hometown sounded like a great idea, but reading the weather forecast has you re-evaluating the trip. 

Your phone lights up in your lap, and you eagerly unlock it. It’s a text from Matthew. Have a safe flight. Text me when you land. Tayrn will be there to pick you up – Brady and I’s on-ice got extended. I’ll see you when I get home. Love you. 

Though you wish he could be the first person you see when you touch down, you understand that his job comes first. Besides, your re-unification will be more private this way. I get to see the best Tkachuk first, fuck yeah you reply, before following it up with Love you too Matty. See you soon. 

Soon after sending the text you arrive at the entrance of Calgary International Airport. With a polite thank you to your driver, you grab your suitcase and head inside. The working air conditioning answers your silent prayers and you feel your body slowly return to a normal temperature. Check in is fast, and before you know it you’re breezing through security. A slightly nervous traveller, you’re at the gate earlier than you need to be. The plane doesn’t take off for another two hours. You don’t mind the wait, listening to a couple of podcast episodes and grabbing a snack at the lounge before boarding. 

The five hour flight passes in the blink of an eye. St. Louis is busier than Calgary, and it takes you longer than you thought it would to get through customs. Once passed immigration and at the baggage carousel you let Matthew know you’re safely inside the city limits. You grab your obnoxious suitcase – a bright red thing with a giant Flames logo that Matthew thought would be funny to give you – and set out to find Tayrn. She’s easy to spot, waving a giant poster with your name on it. Abandoning nearly all airport etiquette, you rush through the crowd to see her. Over the years she’s become a little sister and close friend, and you really wish you could see her more frequently. 

“Y/N!” Taryn squeals as you wrap your arms around her. The pair of you embrace for another moment or two before making your way to her car. Neither of you can stop talking, so excited to be in each other’s presence.

“It’s so nice to be back,” you sigh. “I really do like St. Louis.” 

Tayrn giggles. “You’re just excited to see Matthew.” 

Though she isn’t wrong, you swat her bicep in faux annoyance. “What? Can a girl not enjoy a nice Midwestern city?” You push your sunglasses up onto the bridge of your nose before continuing. “Besides, I only came here to see you. I see enough of Matt at home.”

She rolls her eyes but extends her arm so you can fist bump her. With a quick look to make sure the way is clear, Taryn exits the parking spot and heads in the direction of your temporary home. The open sunroof allows the wind to whip through your hair and you struggle to tame it enough to put it in a ponytail. One Direction blasts from the stereo, and you join Taryn in screaming the lyrics until your lungs hurt. Being on vacation, even if it’s only to St. Louis, is so freeing. You don’t have to deal with work deadlines or friendship drama. All that matters is spending time with Matthew. 

When you pull into the Tkachuk’s driveway it’s empty. It’s Thursday afternoon; Chantal’s at work, Keith is golfing with friends, and the boys are at the rink. You take a few minutes to unpack, filling Matthew’s drawers with your clothes, before joining Taryn by the pool. St. Louis is just as hot as the city you left, and the travel has left you feeling below average. A quick swim is sure to be the perfect remedy. 

The water is the right kind of cool, and alleviates any stress you were possibly feeling. You’re properly in vacation mode now, lounging on pool floaties and gossiping with Taryn. An hour later when Matthew returns home you’re in basically the same position. Stepping out into the yard he sees you urging Taryn to turn around so you can place sunscreen onto the one spot she missed, laughing all the while at some ridiculous celebrity rumor she’s telling you. Seeing you get along so easy with his sister, and the rest of his family, makes his heart swell.

In the couple of months you’ve been separated, Matthew’s thought a lot about his future. Specifically about his future with you. When he closes his eyes he can see it clearly: the two of you married with children and a dog, living in a house in the mountains and loving life. It’s idyllic, and even though he knows you’d say yes if he asked you, Matthew still can’t bring himself to do it. There’s something in the back of his brain telling him to wait until he knows with absolute certainty that you’re it for him.

Not wanting to be separated from you for a minute more, he snaps out of his daze and scurries over. Wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and pressing a kiss to the base of neck, he relishes in how you mould to him immediately, not even questioning who it was. 

“Welcome back baby,” Matthew mumbles into your skin. 

With a chuckle you wriggle slightly in his grasp, allowing yourself to face him. You press a kiss to his lips and it feels like heaven. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, you suppose, because you could stand here kissing Matthew your the rest of your life and be happy. 

“Hi Matty,” you giggle against his lips, parting from him only to rest your forehead on his and twist a curl around your finger.

From somewhere inside the house you hear Brady yell,  “Jesus Christ, you two, get a room.”

Without taking his eyes off you, Matthew replies, “Fuck off Brady!”

two

The energy inside the Saddledome is electric. It’s the Flames’ first home game in nearly a week, doing an east coast road trip and sweeping every team they faced. Six games later the team is on a nine game winning streaking and are hoping to keep it going. You know how much it matters in this moment – the playoffs are fast approaching and all points they can tally up are needed. 

You had decided months ago to buy rinkside tickets for this game, planning to surprise Matthew. He loves when you sit in the regular crowd, cheering and spilling your beer like any old fan. It’s humbling for the both of you, and honestly you enjoy it. Though you love those in the Better Halves box, you were a hockey fan before dating Matthew and sometimes like to enjoy games by yourself. Plus, your friend was supposed to be in town and join you at the game, and you figured she’d like to experience how insane the area is firsthand.

So you do your best to quickly shimmy around those blocking your seat, beverage in hand. It was all you could do to get to the rink on time, sitting in the dense downtown traffic for nearly three quarters of an hour after rushing out of work. You wanted to make it before warmups started to make sure Matt knows you’re there supporting him. No one really bats an eye at you, which you’re thankful for. In no way are you notorious, but it wouldn’t take a die-hard fan long to recognize you. Sitting down and letting a soft sigh escape your lips, you carefully place your jacket over the seat beside you. At the last minute your friend had to cancel her trip to Calgary, leaving you solo. With a quick look at the clock you see that warm up will start in just under a minute. The players begin to step onto the ice as you sip your beer. Matthew is yet to notice you but you don’t take offence. He’s in the zone and most likely won’t realize you’re sitting right in front of him until halfway through the third period.

“Look daddy, it’s Matthew Tkachuk!” you hear a young boy shriek in excitement. “He’s so fast, I want to play just like him.”

You turn to look and see two rows above you there’s a father and son, who looks around eight. He’s wearing a jersey identical to yours, and from the sounds of his excited chattering it’s his first game. Seeing the young boy so happy to be here, to see your boyfriend, has your heart swelling. You want to make this a game he’ll never forget.

“Hi,” you smile at the father. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I know Matthew quite well. Would you like me to get his attention so your son could meet him?”

A shocked expression makes its way onto the dad’s face, but he doesn’t react negatively. “You’d do that?” he asks. “Riley loves Matthew. Wants to be just like him.” When you nod, he lets you approach the boy. 

“Hey there Riley, I’m Y/N,” you say, smiling and extending a hand to him. “I’m a special friend of Matthew’s. Would you like to meet him?”

The boy looks at his father tentatively, and only once he nods encouragingly does Riley respond to your question. “Yes please.”

“Why don’t you come down here with me and we’ll get his attention?”

With a little help from you, Riley climbs over the seats and plops unceremoniously beside you. You help him straighten out his jersey before beginning a conversation. He tells you he plays in a local youth league and wants to make it to the NHL one day. When prompted, you explain to him that you work a boring office job that you love even though it makes you angry sometimes. It’s all very formal, but after cracking a few jokes you get him to loosen up.

Matthew, still not having noticed you, begins to skate along the boards in your direction. “Watch this,” you whisper-yell to your newfound friend, “I bet he’ll jump super high.”

As soon as Matthew passes your spot you bang on the glass and scream his name. Sure enough, his skates lift a good three inches of the ice and he shrieks. Teammates around him laugh and the look on his face is priceless when he discovers you’re the culprit. 

“Babe!” 

You smile. “Matty, this is my new friend Riley. He wears number nineteen just like you!” A glance at the boy lets you know he’s starstruck, and your eyes lock with Matthew’s. 

He leans down and rests his hands on his knees, at eye level with the child. “Hi Riley,” he begins. “I’m Matt. I like your jersey.” 

After that, Riley’s a tap that won’t turn off. He details every bit of his day to Matt, and even though their voices are muffled a bit from the glass they get on like two peas in a pod. Matthew is great with children and doesn’t shy away from having legitimate conversations with them. He talks to them like they’re people, which is something you admire about him. The warmup time runs out, but before he heads back to the dressing room Matthew hoists his stick over the glass, giving it to Riley. The younger boy beams and waves goodbye. You blow Matthew a kiss, which he gladly returns, and turn your attention away from him as his figure retreats. 

“Is he your boyfriend?”The question makes you laugh.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask, to which Riley just shrugs. 

“He called you ‘babe’, and my mommy calls my dad that. That means you’re in love,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. 

Matthew cannot pay attention in the locker room for the life of him. He’s trying really hard to listen to everyone’s hype speeches, but his mind keeps wandering back to the interaction you shared during warm up. You looked so happy watching him interact with the boy you found god knows where within the arena. It’s then he realizes he wants to watch you act like that for the rest of his life. He wants to see you bring excited children to meet him because you have the power to make their nights. His suspicion is confirmed when he steps onto the ice and looks in your direction, finding you and Riley pressed up against the glass cheering loudly.

three

The Giordano’s are hosting an end-of-season barbeque before everyone scatters into the wind, and you’re going to be late. No matter how much you reminded Matthew of what time you had to leave he still started getting ready as you were finishing up. This typically wouldn’t be a big deal, but he has recently started taking care of his curls, and the routine eats up a lot more time than he anticipates. 

“Matty, are you almost ready? There’s going to be no parking!”

His footsteps echo off the hardwood floor as he comes towards you. “That’s what you’re worrying about, baby? Parking?” Matthew laughs, pulling you into his side and kissing the crown of your head. 

“Yeah Matt, I am. You know I have parking anxiety.”

“I’ll drive then,” he says sweetly. “Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve driven us. Have some fun tonight.”

The short drive across town is full of laughter. Neither of you are great singers, but it doesn’t stop you from belting out lyrics at the top of your lungs. At some point Matthew breaks out a rather terrible impression of Axl Rose and you just have to post it to your instagram story. Captioning with a simple microphone emoji, you slip your phone back into your sweater pocket. Though most certainly warm enough to spend the entire evening outside, Calgary currently has a bit of a proclivity for wind, and you’d rather be prepared. Outside of Mark and Lauren’s house Matthew finds a spot and parallel parks with ease.

“Shut up,” you mumble, poking your tongue out at him. 

Matthew ruffles your hair in retaliation before jumping out of the vehicle, booking it around to the other side so he can open your door. He isn’t slick about hiding his intentions, grabbing a handful off your ass before leaning down to kiss you. Though you’d much rather stand in the cul-de-sac and make out with your boyfriend, you both have appearances to keep up. You get him to stop being a pest kong enough that you can enter the party and pass him off to his teammates. 

You congregate with some of the other girls in the corner of the yard, and enjoy a drink while the sun sets. It’s fun to gossip with them, to catch up one final time before most of them leave. You’ll be staying in Calgary, job tying you down for the foreseeable future. The only thing that’s better than spending time with your friends is glancing at Matthew from across the space. 

He’s enjoying himself, glass of water in hand. When he offered to be the designated driver he was serious, and he took the shit the boys were giving him in stride. Though you’ve only had one gin and tonic and can’t feel the effects of the alcohol, you’re glad he’s staying true to his word. The heightened water intake makes his skin glow, and you’re having a hard time staying focussed on the story Lauren is telling. He catches you staring and shoots you a dazzling smile. Tired of keeping your distance, you excuse yourself from the conversation and saunter over to your boyfriend. 

“Hey Y/N,” Noah says breezily, raising his glass to you in mock salute. You wrap your arms tightly around Matthew’s waist.

“Hanifin,” you smile. “I’m really sorry to do this, but I need to pull Matt away for a quick second.”

No one in the group is the least bit surprised. The two of you have a reputation for being young and in love, sneaking off often and doing everything that entails. Once the two of you are alone you rest a hand on his chest, dangerously close to the button of his shirt. You then move kissing along the underside of his jaw, pressing your body closer to his to ensure he gets the point. 

“Needy baby?” Matthew tries to smirk, but his voice wavers when you reach the junction of his jawbone and earlobe. 

Declining to speak, you continue your actions until he’s just as desperate to get home as you. Though you try to be sneaky as you exit through the back gate, you won’t be surprised if you wake up to a few crude text messages. You’re too far gone to care, solely focussed on showing your boyfriend how much you love him. 

The entire ride home Matthew can barely focus on the road. Not because you’re doing anything particularly risqué, a few too many close calls have put you both off of initiating things in the car, but because he doesn’t ever want to stop sneaking away from events with you. It’s exhilarating in more ways than one, and he hopes the feeling never goes away. Being with you, his best friend, is something he wouldn’t trade for the entire world. So what if he gets chirped by the boys for having precariously placed marks on his back.

four

September brings a chill to Calgary, but you couldn’t feel warmer. Matthew is due home this afternoon after nearly four months of being away. Of course you visited him in St. Louis, and he even flew back to the city once, but the two of you were mostly separated. Your shared apartment felt cold and lonely without him to annoy you, so you had spent as much time away from it as possible. No longer do you have to fall asleep with Matt’s side of the bed stone cold. 

Though you know he likely won’t care, you’re nervous about the new decor. In an effort to make yourself feel better in Matthew’s absence, you completed some home renovations. Most are superficial, like a new sectional and an ungraded home speaker system, but you had redone the entire kitchen after scrolling through pinterest. The cabinets are a bright yellow, and the walls are a warm cream. Subway tile has also replaced the previous backsplash. You’re quite proud of the way it looks – doing pretty much all of it yourself and only calling your dad when you really needed help. 

You spend much of the morning not doing anything productive, pacing the hallway back and forth. It’s nerve wracking and exciting to have Matthew home. Things will go much smoother with his presence even if he can sometimes be the most annoying person on the planet. You force yourself to eat a small meal before continuing to wear holes into your floor. He’ll arrive in a matter of minutes, and you’re practically vibrating with how much your legs are shaking. 

A key twists in the lock, as though it’s a Pavlovian response, you bound towards the front door. Not even letting him step over the threshold you wrap yourself around him as tightly as possible. Matthew giggles sweetly, and you swear it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. Tears flow freely down your cheeks and soak through his shirt. In a very ungraceful waddle Matthew carries the both of you inside your home and shuts the door lightly. 

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” Matt asks, obviously concerned because this is more emotional than any homecoming you’ve ever had. 

Through hiccupping sobs, you stutter out, “I painted the kitchen cabinets yellow and you’re going to hate them. And then you’ll want to break up with me but I won’t be able to take them with me.”

“Woah woah woah, slow down baby,” he soothes, rubbing circles on your back. “Why am I going to hate it?”

When you can’t come up with a justifiable answer, he knows your anxiety just got the better of you. Repositioning you slightly so you’re tucked into his side, Matthew walks through the apartment to see the kitchen for himself. He’s blown away by its beauty, and he can see just how much work you put into it. The room is so much brighter and inviting – he can’t imagine having any other kitchen now. 

Once you ramble off an apology for being so dramatic that he won’t accept, the two of you settle into the couch and start a reality television marathon. It’s a tradition that both of you take very seriously, and though he’d never admit it to anyone but you, Matthew looks forward to watching the outlandish dramas. The night is quiet, with you getting through quite a few seasons of Desperate Housewives, and at some point you fall asleep on Matthew’s chest. He knows he should gently move you off of him, start to unpack his bags, but he can’t tear himself away.

He can’t help but stare as you snore softly. There’s nothing Matthew would like more than to spend the rest of his life relaxing after coming home to you. If he’s being completely honest, St. Louis doesn’t feel like home as much anymore, and he finds himself counting down the days until he can return to Calgary. Matt supposes you’re the defining factor, and even Antarctica would feel like home to him if you were there. He never wants to lose that feeling. 

+ one 

There’s ten seconds left on the clock. Ten seconds until the Calgary Flames will become Stanley Cup champions. You’re holding your breath – you know a lot could happen in such a short amount of time. The lead isn’t as wide as you’d like it to be, only one, and you squeeze Taryn’s hand tightly. Everyone in the friends and family box is just as amped up as you. If the choice had been yours, you’d be sitting in the stands of the Saddledome, but in event the Flames win you need to be with everyone else if you want to join the team on the ice. 

Matthew carries the puck up the ice, and you audibly gasp. At the last second, a Bruins defenseman is blocking his view of the net. Not letting the scoring opportunity go for his team, he snaps a pass backwards to Elias Lindholm. A nano-second later the puck is in the back of the net. You possibly scream the loudest of anyone in the box, jumping into Brady’s arms excitedly. 

“Holy shit, they’re going to do it,” you whisper, and Brady nods enthusiastically. The clock now only has two seconds, and there is virtually no way the Bruins can make a comeback. 

You untangle yourself from your boyfriend’s brother and approach his parents. “How exciting is this!” Chantal gushes. 

“So fucking exciting,” you say honestly. “Listen, I want to talk to you about something.”

The Bruins’ head coach is halfway through his timeout, so you have to talk fast. You explain that you want to hang back while the family celebrates with their son and brother. Keith and Chantal try to argue, but you insist. You want them to be the first people to greet him as a Stanley Cup champion. 

A horn signals the return to play, and you return your attention to the ice pad below you. Everything seems to move in slow motion; all you remember is the final whistle being blown and getting crushed in a group hug by everyone else in the room. Your voice goes hoarse from screaming, and tears stream freely down your face. 

The party continues for a short time in the box, but then you’re being led through the arena and out onto the ice. Nodding in the direction of Matthew, you urge the Tkachuks to greet him. You congratulate other members of the team, snapping candid pictures of everyone to share in the group chat later. So many families will treasure the photos that you can’t bring yourself to stop, trying your hardest to grab everyone. 

Once enough time has passed for Matthew to properly be congratulated by his family, you make your way towards him. Wasting no time, he skates over and lifts you off your feet. Your lips meet his in a passionate kiss, and if you weren’t so proud you’d have reservations about sticking your tongue down Matthew’s throat in a packed arena. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper against his lips. “My champion.”

Matthew blushes profusely at your words, and you can tell he likes them. “Couldn’t have done it without you supporting me,” he responds, leaning into your touch as you rake your fingers through his hair. 

While you celebrate with the rest of the team, holding babies and snapping pictures, Matthew realizes he can’t live without you. No one else will fit into his life as perfectly as you. There’s no one he wants besides you. Matthew makes a mental note to go through your jewelry box in the morning to get your ring size. His mom always said he’d know when someone was ‘the one’, and now he understands what she meant.  

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[crispyjenkins]

Can we get a fic where Jaster somehow gets sent to the future or something and him reacting to the clones? (Being pissed off that his ad would do something like this to these poor kids/ just reacting to them?)

(this one was so. fecking. hard. to write, i’ve been struggling with it for weeks, but i’m glad i did, because this is by far the best version i made of it. it’s interesting in how much my opinion of jango’s decision to be the template has changed since i first got this ask, and i was definitely coming at it with this post in mind for their characterisations here.

i love hondo. so you get hondo knowing jaster from pre-civil war days, and i don’t care if canon disagrees: hondo ohnaka has been terroising house mereel for three generations.

also i’ve already had a few people donate to my ko-fi and i’m completely floored by your kindness and generosity, and i sat down with this fill knowing i wanted to get it out as soon as possible. i sincerely love you all, i hope you’re all healthy and being as safe as possible.)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

  “Oh, Jango? We keep him here.” —Lama Su, AotC

-

  By some will of the Ka’ra, it’s Boba that finds him.

  The possibility of dying in his ad’s arms hadn’t exactly crossed Jaster’s mind until it happened, like a nightmare he had never even had. For the first time since the Fett farm burned, Jaster cursed the Ka’ra, and he curses them again when he wakes up not marching* to the stars, but standing knee-deep in the snows of Galidraan

  And the Ka’ra make sure he knows it’s Galidraan though he had never been there, just as he somehow knows Jango is long-since dead. That he is a dislocated bone in the universe, snapped out of time and place and thrown into a future where Jango’s face stares at him from a body that is not his.

  “Oh,” the teen with Jango’s nose says, the snow coming all the way up to their thighs, and they don't look dressed nearly warm enough for this biome. “Did Hondo send you?”

  Jaster blinks at them. “Did...? No, ad’ika, I have not spoken to Hondo in many years.” Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised Hondo is even still alive, Maker knows Jaster’s tried to kill him enough times himself, but if the number of years since his death on Korda Six is as many as he thinks it is, surely someone would have shot him by now.

  The teen doesn’t wear beskar’gam —it’s unlikely they’re even old enough to— but the style of the armor they do wear cannot be inspired by anything else, just reminiscent enough of evaar’gam that Jaster can’t help comparing every little detail about them with the faded image of Jango in his mind.

  “Then who the kriff are you?” They eye Jaster warily, left hand twitching towards the vibroblade at their hip.

  Promising to strangle every one of the Ka’ra when he can finally march away, and throwing the last of his caution down to the snow between them, Jaster simply says, “Jaster Mereel.”

  Impossibly, though maybe not entirely, not-Jango doesn’t laugh at him, or call him crazy, or even try to shoot him with the rifle slung over their shoulder. No, they straighten to their full height, and—

  And swear so colorfully in Huttese that Jaster knows this hell-child has absolutely been raised by Hondo Ohnaka.

-

  Boba takes him to the ruins of Kamino first, where the kriffing Sith Empire has destroyed another one of his people’s homes. 

  The growth labs were all blown into the ocean by imperial ilk soon after the formation of the empire, but the barracks and some of the training rooms still stand above the waves. In the ship he says belonged to Jango, Boba steers them to a dilapidated landing pad, controlling the Slave I (Maker, had Jaster really left Jango to that fate?) far too easily through the rubble for this to be his first time to return, and Jaster tries not to think about what that means.

  Walking the dark, grimy white halls, seeing the narrow bunks and bare req rooms, he then tries not to think about a child being raised in such a place, about hundreds of thousands of children being raised in such a place. How had Jango... chosen this for them?

  “I only have his stories,” Boba tells him quietly, when he shows Jaster the tiny apartment the Kaminoans had given them to “keep Jango close”. It’s bigger than most captain’s cabins, to be sure, but it is just as plain and white as the rest of the facility. “But he couldn’t even get one hundred Mandalorians to come and train the... clones.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably as Jaster looks into the cupboard-sized kitchen and tries not to break down at the package of Mandalorian chiles rotted away on the counter. “Everyone else was New Mandalorian or Death Watch.”

  “And the rest... they fell at the Battle of Galidraan?”

“Buir always called it a massacre,” he looks away. “Only a handful of the Cuy’val Dar even considered themselves True Mandalorians, buir was there when the Jedi killed the rest.”

  Jaster inhales deeply, takes a few moments to steady himself, and is sickeningly, horrifyingly relieved. By the Maker, but knowing Jango had had no one left before his Kamino contract, that not even Skirata followed the codex anymore, that Jango had only taken the job after forcing Tyranus to give him an unaltered clone, makes Jaster guilty for having doubted his foundling. It doesn’t excuse anything, of course, but knowing Jango had done it all for aliit, well, it does make it easier to swallow.

  Boba leads him back out of the apartment, he had already stripped it of anything important years ago, and they don’t stick around after reboarding the Slave I. Only after they’re out of atmosphere with hyperspace coordinates for Tatooine in the astronav system does Boba join Jaster in the tiny galley with a bottle of tihaar that Jaster should probably reprimand him for, but won’t.

  “He tried to pretend he didn’t care, about the others,” Boba says and doesn’t even bother to find them glasses, “I think some days he even believed it.”

  “He always was stubborn as a rancor.”

  Boba takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it across the table. “Tyranus scared the shit out of me back then, he was too... put together, too fancy. Buir didn’t like him, I don’t know why he even did the tryout for him, the pay wasn’t even that great?”

  Rubbing his left eye until he sees stars, Jaster stares down into the bottle until he can come up with a way to explain core Mandalorian beliefs to a child that had barely a decade of living as one before that, too, had been taken from him. “If Jang’ika took that job intending to come out on the other side, I’ll kiss whatever Vizsla is left.”

  Boba’s mouth twists and he kicks his heels against the floor, not waiting for Jaster to hand it to him to grab the tihaar back. “Buir was an idiot,” he says, like the solve to a simple math problem, and Jaster can’t but agree.

  He sighs. “Unfortunately, he probably got that from somewhere.”

  “I mean, at least Montross didn’t live long enough to end up as the template? Kriffing fuck, can you imagine if the Jedi had had to work with that shabuir’s clones?”

  “Maybe the war would have ended sooner,” he muses and accepts the bottle, “surely this Emperor would have tired of his face much sooner than Jango’s.”

  “Or the Coruscant Guard would have shivved Palpatine in his sleep and tried to take over the Republic; what’s one betrayal of your leader to another?”

  “Then I’d like to think Jango would put him, them, in their place for a third time.”

  Snorting, Boba pushes to his feet to, presumably, check on the autopilot. “If buir would have even let it get that far, then I’ll kiss Vizsla.”

-

  “Old friend!” Hondo shouts as soon as he sees them, and Jaster winces, nursing his first hangover since his twenties.

  “Ohnaka,” he returns, and pretends he doesn’t notice the subtle way Boba brightens as Hondo comes to clap them both on the shoulders.

  The old pirate just chuckles and starts to steer them both back across the hangar bay to his latest junk ship. “I heard you died, Mand’alor,” he says casually, like the title isn’t cursed to the ka’ra and back, like it hadn’t been three decades since anyone had dared call someone from his house such a thing so sincerely.

  “I did.”

  “I found him on Galidraan,” Boba offers. “Is that why you told me to go?”

  Hondo scoffs, and Jaster would say he was flustered if he didn’t know him better. “No, I told you to go because Aurra had a job for you, that you seem to have forgotten about in your haste to bring my long lost best friend back to me.”

  Boba scowls. “Aurra wasn’t at the meeting place, laandur, it was a kriffing mynock chase and you know it.”

  Jaster side eyes his old “friend”, and wonders again about his preternatural... luck in all things pirate-related, despite being a boisterous mess of a man most of the time. If this Aurra had even been on the planet when Boba got there, Jaster will kiss Vizsla twice. 

-

Mando’a: Ka'ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” ad — “child”, gender neutral 'ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends beskar'gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy evaar'gam — lit. “youth armour”, fan name for the interim armour/garb Mandalorians would have worn before building their kit of beskar’gam buir — “parent”, gender neutral  Cuy'val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones aliit — “clan”, “family” tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit shabuir —  an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity  laandur — used here as “weak”, “pathetic”, but is usually used as “delicate”, “fragile”

*in reference to the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”. 

[xxreader-writerxx]

Red Haired Boy

Word Count: 3.6k (sorry got carried away)

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of death (happy ending tho), panic attack, graphic violence at parts, mentions of blood, cursing (maybe?), tell me if I need to add anything

Y/N= Your Name L/N= Your Last Name Y/H= Your House Y/N/N= Your nickname

I get shoved sideways by a red haired boy and run into the wall. I let out a small gasp feeling my shoulder run into a sharp brick. I hold the cut with tears in my eyes. I see the boy turn around and run back worried. "Bloody hell! I'm so so sorry!" He tells me and I shake my head firmly. "It's alright." I mumble trying to make it seem like I'm not crying. "No it's not, you're bleeding!" He tells me and I see another boy run and stop seeing us. "Fred! He's on my tail!" He tells him tugging his arm. "Go on then! I need to handle something!" He tells him angrily getting his arm free. "Whatever..." The other boy mutters. "Does it hurt?" He asks and I shake my head shyly. "No... I'm fine. Really."

"WEASLEY!" I hear and see its our groundskeeper. "I'm going to enjoy this one..." He mutters to himself as he pulls the boy by his arm harshly. I look at him and he looks sad but smiles weakly at me. "AH MY ARM. OH IT HURTS!" I say not thinking. "What?!" He asks and I clutch my arm. "AH HELP HELP!" I yelp and he drops Fred, as soon as he's freed I silently tell him to run and he smiles at me. He runs and Filch is still distracted by my wailing. I stand straight and smile. "Its gone now. I think I just need to get patched up." I say calmly, walking to the infirmary.

"What do you mean?" I hear as I get wrapped up by Madam Pomfrey. "It was bloody amazing. She started screaming her arm hurt and let me run off!" A nearly identical voice replies. "Well good for her but karma must've came to bite you." The voice replies. "Yeah... But- No way! It's her!" He says and I look up to see the boy I helped earlier. "Hey- What happened!?" I ask seeing his eye covered in blood. "When he was running he was distracted and fell face first into a statue, cut his eyebrow pretty good." His identical brother tells me. "Oh no!" I say and he walks over and Madam Pomfrey groans.

"Sit there, I'll be back in a moment... Foolish boy..." She mutters and he hops up next to me. "Fred Weasley." He introduces and I smile shyly, shaking his hand. "Y/n, Y/n L/n..."

"I wanted to say thank you, for not only saving me but I also wanted to say thank you for saving me despite me hurting you." He tells me shyly and I smile. "My pleasure."

***

I wake up to my boyfriend kissing my shoulder as I sleepily wake up. "Hi baby..." I whisper groggily. "Hi darling..." He smiles at me and I notice he's kissing my scar from how we met. He places his cheek against mine as I wrap his arms around me. "Whatcha thinking about?" I ask and he sighs. "I never payed you back for saving me the day you got this..." He tells me and I laugh. "How bout..." I say pushing him lightly so I'm on top. "Five minutes, whenever I choose to use it, you have to do whatever I want." I whisper and he smiles cheekily. "Yes ma'am..." He tells me and I chuckles. "Yay that one day I will be doing no dishes." I tell him and he scoffs. "I was thinking something more sexual but ok." He tells me and I kiss his nose.

***

I look around frantically for my loved ones, happy I am a half witch so my family isn't here, blood related though. I look for the Weasley Family trying to see through the falling dust and rubble. I see a messy ginger hair and get excited. I limp over as quickly and see its not my Weasley but Percy. He's screaming for help. I ignore the pain coursing through me and run the best I can.

He's digging through rubble and I freeze in fear. "W-who is that?" I ask seeing a hand underneath it all. "JUST HELP!" He screams and I rush over moving each piece of rubble. I finally help drag the body out. I lay him on me to support his head and moves his hair from his eyes. "Freddie?" I ask softly and he looks at me smiling. "Hey..." He barely says and he gasps slightly for air. "Hey, stay awake for me... Percy get help, he's bleeding a lot..." I cry and he runs. I feel Fred's weak and cold hand wrap around mine. "I hoped you were in my last moments ya know?" He tells me smiling, tears brimming in his eyes.

"Well let that be another day. Freddie you are going to stay alive you idiot." I tell him chuckling through my worry, combing his hair lightly. "I want you to be happy. Don't wait for me to come back. Find someone who makes you happy. Alright?" He asks and I scoff. "I would if you were dying. But you aren't." I sob and he holds my hand. "You'll be ok..." He whispers closing his eyes but I grab his head shaking my own. "Hey remember the time we met?" I ask smiling at him and he nods smiling. "You cut my shoulder so deep and I saved you minutes later, remember that?"  I ask and he scoffs leaning his head back weakly. "Didn't think my last moments would be getting guilt tripped." He tells me and gasps at a pain in his side. "Well because of that you told me you would give me five minutes of anything I wanted. I want to have five minutes, after this war, dancing with you. You understand? I want to get married and dance for five minutes." I demand and he chuckles, then cringes at the pain.

Wizards swarm us and help him onto a stretcher as we finally let go of each other's hands. People help me up saying I need to heal my injuries. I keep my eyes on him scared..

***

Three months.

Three fucking months and nothing is better. They said it would be better by now. But I still miss him, miss my fiancé. He died shortly after I saw him. His dead body being the only thing on my mind every single day. Today I need to collect his belongings so I throw myself out of bed sadly. I walk out to the room to the empty, quiet, kitchen. I look for my mug and think George must have put it away when he was cleaning. The twin of my passed fiancé constantly stops by to help around the house, he says it helps pass the time.

I climb on the ladder and see he just put it far back in the shelf. I look right above it and look at it shocked. It's Fred's mug.

I hold it and tear up. "Why couldn't you stay? You promised you would stay! You promised! Wh-why did I have to loose you?!" I scream and fall to my knees feeling my heart crumble. "You promised..." I whisper against the mug. I put it down and feel the ground rumble from the nearby train. I ignore it until it makes my mug fall from the counter and drop on Fred's. "No... No no no no no..." I sob picking up the pieces.

George's POV:

I walk into the building to see Y/n yelling at the landlord angrily. "NO YOU CALM DOWN GARRETT! THAT BLOODY TRAIN BROKE MY FIANCE'S MUG! HE FOUGHT IN A WAR YOU WOULD NEVER IMAGINE! HIS MUG IS IRREPLACEABLE! HE FOUGHT DEATHEATERS! DID YOU FIGHT DEATHEATERS GARRETT?! NO! SO YOU WILL GET THAT BLOODY BLOODY TRAIN TO STOP OR PUT A DAMN SPELL ON THIS BUILDING SO I DON'T HAVE TO THINK I AM ON A CRUISE EVERYTIME IT PASSES!" She yells at him holding a bag to her chest, tears streaming down her face. I grab her arms holding them to her chest as she continues to yell at him. "Sorry mate its just a horrible day." I explain as I wrestle her into the lift. "Y/N!" I yell at her and she sobs clutching the bag. "All I had left George! I didn't even know I had it! And it was gone just like he's gone! It was practically a reenactment!" She cries and I hold her close. I kiss the top of her head knowingly.

"He's gone!" She sobs and I nod not wanting to add to it. As much as I miss Fred, she misses him more. She has had everyone in her life leave her and he was all she had besides our family but we weren't even close to him. She trusted him with her life and it was ripped away so quickly. Her love for him was more than a man could describe.

"Let's get you washed up..." I whisper and she nods silently.

***

Fred's POV:

I limp inside the home I once knew and look for my mother, brother, anyone. I can barely see through my bloody hair that has overgrown. I climb the stairs harshly noting the pain in my ribs. I open my room and everything is empty on my side. I walk over to George's bed and nothing. "Mum?" I barely croak. I keep searching ignoring the pain.

I hear a teacup fall and break behind me, I whip around to see my mother as pale as possible. "George? What's wrong?!" She asks and I try to smirk. "Mum wrong twin, but before I yell at you about that I need to find- well myself..." I say drawing my wand. "What? George are you alright? Please don't tell me my boy is gone too." She whimpers. "Mum, where have you last seen me, or well Fred?" I ask and she walks over, tears filling her eyes. "Georgie... Fred died. You remember don't you?" She whispers, combing my hair, I nearly relax at the sensation, haven't been able to see my mother in a year. Only being tortured.

"Mum? I died?" I ask and she sobs, holding me. "C'mon Georgie! Don't tell me we have to go back to St. Mungo's!" She sobs into my chest. "What?! George went to St. Mungo's?!" I ask getting worried. "Oh Godric... Georgie! Y/n! She snapped! Please stop this!" She cries and I freeze. "What do you mean mum?" I ask and she cries more. "You know what happened!" She clutches my shirt tightly. "Mum!" I say grabbing her wrists. "It. Is. Fred. I have been tortured for a year. I need to go find Georgie and Y/n. Where's my girl?" I ask getting worried. She places a hand on my cheek and looks at me carefully. "Freddie?" She asks and I nod, cupping her hand. "Yes mum. Freddie. Can you heal me up and show me where my girl and twin is? I haven't seen them in so long, I miss them." I ask and she smiles. "ARTHUR COME HERE!" She yells as she helps me to the den.

***

I walk into George's apartment with him and my parents slowly. "Why's she living here?" I ask and George sighs. "Please be calm alright?" He asks and I nod. He unlocks the door and looks around. "Y/n?" He calls and sighs. "Don't know why I try anymore..." He whispers mostly to himself. "Please show her slowly George. We can't have her getting worse." My mum tells him and he nods.

I walk into a room across from his and see her laying on her bed. "Hey Y/n! Got you a surprise..." George says and points to the corner. "Let me get her used to seein me first." He whispers and I look at him confused. She turns around and smiles at him silently. "Still no talking?" He asks and she tears up. "It's alright. Can you trust me real quick?" He asks and she nods confused. My heart breaks seeing her, she looks broken.

"C'mere Fred..." He tells me and she whips her head around. I walk over and she tears up. "No..." She whispers and I back away. "Hey Lovey..." I whisper. "You're dead." she tells me and I chuckle. "Turns out. A lot of people think that..." I joke and she walks over. She pokes my chest and I poke her shoulder playfully. "What was that for?" I ask joking and she says nothing but wrap her arm around me.

"Hey Y/n/n, want some tea and we can explain?" George asks and she nods. "Alright me and Fred-" He begins but she shakes her head, holding me tighter like a toddler with a teddy. "I want Fred to stay." She says and I kiss her head. "Y/n, you need to change." He tells her and she grips on my shirt. "I want Fred to stay." She repeats and he sighs. "George. She can just change while I'm turned around. I don't think she'll let me leave, right lovey?" I ask and she nods, nuzzling her face into my shirt. "He'll leave again." She states and I kneel. "Never again. I promise." I tell her and she starts to cry. "You said that." She tells me and my heart breaks. "I know, but this year was temporary. I promise." I tell her.

George finally leaves and she changes as quickly as possible and races back to hug me again. I pick her up and she stays hugging me. "Freddie..." She whispers and I nod. "I gotcha baby." I tell her and she shoves her head in the crook of my neck.

I sit down and George is tearing up. "You got her to talk." He tells me and I look at her confused. "What do you mean?" I ask and he wipes his face. "She was ok at first... Then she saw a Scrapbook of you guys. She realized that you were actually well- You know what I mean. And she stopped talking. We brought her to St. Mungo's in hope she'd start talking but after a month I just took her in here. Hoping one day she'd talk again. Then you came back. She talked for the first time today. Only because she saw you." He explains. "Your turn." She says and I nod, rubbing circles on her back.

"They thought us twins were the only two who were important enough to be in the army but slightly unimportant to kidnap one and try to get answers. They replaced me with a soldier using Polyjuice. Luckily... I had the memory of you guys keeping me strong." I explain kissing her neck. I feel tears on my shoulder and I move to see her face. "What's wrong lovey?" I ask and she hides in my neck again. "My fault." She cries into my neck. "Hey... What do you mean?" I ask and she nuzzles her face into my neck. "I didn't notice..." She cries and I kiss her neck up and down softly. "No baby, they took some of my memories so it would be impossible to not notice." I explain and she holds me tightly. "But I love you so much. I should've." She explains, taking breaks, every time trying to remember a word or at least how to say it. "I'm going to pack her things, I think your flat will be more comfortable." George says and I nod.

"I'm sorry." She mumbles and I kiss her again. "Me too..." I whisper.

***

"Good morning darling." I say as I sit on the couch next to Y/n. She smiles at me slightly and I grab the newspaper. "Want me to read for you?" I ask and she nods,  laying on my lap. I run my fingers through her hair as I read the news, showing her the cartoons. I'm smiling and laughing for her until she gets up and grabs a grape. She eats it and I pop up straight. "Sorry did you want that?" She asks and I smile at her. I kiss her all over her face and she giggles. I start kissing her even more causing more giggles. The sound I haven't heard in two years, right before the war.

"Freddie!" She giggles and I smile at her with the dopiest smile I can muster. "I love your laugh..." I sigh and she smiles at me. I get a call and answer it seeing its George.

"Hey could you come down to the shop? Ron set off fireworks after falling and there might be a hole near your office. We tried fixing it but your Magic Blocker is being a pain" He tells me and I sigh. "Alright coming. You two are very much interrupting the best day of my life." I say kissing the crown of Y/n's head. "Why? What happened?" He asks and I smile at the girl in my hold. "Y/n both ate and I heard that gorgeous giggle of hers." I say smiling proudly at Y/n. She blushes slightly and I kiss her nose.

I get up to change with Y/n following closely behind after hanging up and change in our shared room as she fiddles with the sensory knickknacks. With my ADHD and her PTSD we got them to keep our minds healthy. I laugh when she throws the dollar bill squishy at me playfully. I pick it up and she smirks at me. "Pass me my wallet." She tells me and I sigh knowing what I'm getting myself into. I toss her the wallet and she opens it looking for something.

I continue getting dressed when I feel a coin hit my back. "Hey! Dollar bills!" I say tossing the coin back. "I see no such rule." She replies and I smile. "How can you annoy the hell out of me but make me fall so much harder..." I mumble and she smiles. "Its cause I pay good." She quips, tossing a coin at me. I finally get my belt fixed and I walk over. I pick her up and drop her onto our bed. I kiss her neck and she giggles as I tickle her lightly. "I love you so much..." I whisper and she kisses my cheek. "Not as much as I love you." She whispers back.

I get fully dressed and I watch as she disappears into the closet and returns, first eyes searching for me quickly and when she finds me she walks over hugging me. "Ready to go?" I ask and she nods.

Y/n's POV:

I walk into the shop with Fred as we walk out into the streets of Diagon Alley. "Busy street today." He mutters worried and I nod, holding onto his hand tightly. "Don't worry. If we lose each other, meet me at the shop. You know the way." He tells me and I nod silently.

We set off and halfway I lose him in the crowd. I look around scared. My heart beats faster and faster as the seconds pass. "Fred?" I say loudly and get no response. My heart starts to go faster than I've ever felt. "Fred?" I say, tears forming in my eyes.

What if he gets kidnapped again?

What if he's hurt?

What if I get kidnapped?

What if Fred has to go through the same as I did?

What if-

I rush to the shop and go into the bathroom, locking the door as I fall to the ground crying. My heart beating faster than it should. I try to breath but no air is allowed down my throat. Tears fall from my eyes and I cry harder.

I need to go back and look for him.

Stop being a coward.

He could be hurt.

God I can't move.

What if me being a coward causes the last of the Deatheaters kidnap him again?

I can't lose him-

"Y/n? Darling?" I hear and I wipe my tears, quickly standing up shakily. I unlock the door and smile at a distressed Fred. "Hey I just had to fix my makeup." I say and his frown deepens. "C'mere." He says holding his arms open. I stop before hugging him and take a step back. "How do I know?" I ask and he sighs. "I got some Veritaserum in the back if you'd like that." He tells me and I run into his arms, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry." I cry softly into his chest and he kisses my head. "I'm here for you every step of the way. For better and worse." He whispers into my head softly.

"Now it's time to deal with my idiot brother's mistakes."

***

Fred comes into the apartment and smiles happily. "Lovey!!!" He says and I smile brightly at him. I hold up my now empty plate and he wraps his arms, one hand holding his briefcase, around me. "I made you some too!" I tell him and he looks at the coffee table. "I can't believe I was lucky enough to marry you..." He whispers in my ear and I smile. "I can agree." I tell him, kissing his nose. It's been two years since he got back and I finally got better. I started talking again, laughing, hugging, all because I had my loving husband next to me the whole time. I still have some issues with him leaving but not as bad as before.

"How was work?" I ask as he sits down, starting to eat. "Good. Missed you though." He tells me and I smile, laying on his lap as he devours his food. I unbutton his shirt and pull up the t-shirt underneath, I put my head under the cloth and kiss his scars lightly as he rubs my hair lightly. "I love you my crazy lady." He tells me and I pull my head away, smiling at him goofily. "I love you my red haired boy."

[avafriedrice]

doxxing her entirely under the cut

I have either outright stated or hinted at I think all of this at some point or another but 👉👈 I miss her and God knows how much of this will change for any other setting she worms her way to

Ava was supposed to be named Chava, after her aunt (Emir and Kerem's younger sister) who died young (probably also from CIP)— Deirdre changed if at the last minute.

Deirdre constantly pronounces her name wrong— but so does Kerem in the end, because he's still putting a ghost in her face.

(Ava is the spitting image of Chava— this bit was admittedly from writing backwards, but became a 'haha wouldn't it be fucked up if—' that worked so perfectly with everything else it quite literally wrote itself, same as people constantly telling her she looks familiar at the grocery store or whatever. Looking at her and seeing a ghost... it was fun to lean into!).

This is also ultimately why her parenting was so lax from baba and amca— in a way they had their baby sister again, and were ultimately convinced Ava would die young just as she had— so a lot of it was. "Well shower her in the love and care we regret not giving more of to Chava." In a fucked up way kinda a second chance. Is it obvious yet that I'm obsessed with replacement goldfish syndrome / people forcibly perpetuating cycles mashed together with severe identity issues. Like can you see it. Anyways.

Not believing in unconditional love etc etc blah blah we all know that bit.

Emir died when she was 14, the same year Kerem left to return to Turkey and her brother just started college; this led to a marked increase in Deirdre's need for control and made Ava's life hell for the last years she stayed. (Parental abuse cw: towards the end it was being stripped by Deirdre the second she walked through the door to be checked for injuries— any bruise or scrape was a sign she wasn't trying hard enough, you want them to take you away from me, you don't love me, you'll never understand the pain I'm in— none of this is New but when Deirdre felt so out of control with the rest of her life it got much much worse).

"Why did Kerem leave?" His brother was dead and he couldn't pretend everything was okay anymore. Ava became a reflection of both his lost siblings. Men will literally abandon their niece, guiltily bring their cut of their dead brother's life insurance policy back home to take care of the rest of their family, and live in guilt that they try desperately to ignore every single day instead of going to therapy.

"How did Emir die?" I've thrown around a couple ideas for this but ultimately the answer doesn't really matter as much as the fact it happened.

Ava ran away at 16 bounced around a few years different cities different jobs ended up falling in with Yamba surf co. (at that time just a bunch of idiot surfers without a co-op in Brisbane) when she had a brief stint in professional surfing, which is how her brother found her & confronted her & she ultimately beat the shit out of him. Salem wisely asked no questions and simply extended an offer for her to move down the coast with them to Yamba so he could take care of his grandmother. (The others joined them shortly after.)

What else. What else. I feel like that's about it. She settled in Yamba and taught tourists how to surf and volunteered at a dog kennel and ate dinner at Salem's grandmother's house every Sunday.

(Note: if you notice it switched from Salim to Salem that's because in my initial research I swear to fuck it said Salim was the more common Anglicization but then I saw Salem on our work schedule and when I checked again saw a consensus on 'Salem' instead so now I'm sticking with Salem ig).

Salem nearly killed her during a diving trip they went on together (forgot to switch one of her tanks while they were talking and she flustered him) which is when they first moved into her apartment to make sure she didn't die & found out about her CIP and then he simply never fucking left. They're both fucking fiends for HSPs.

[merci-bitch]

Her Lover

Alma LeFay Peregrine x fem!reader

Warnings: abuse, swearing, death, fluff, angst

Words: 5k

A/N: it’s been a while, hasn’t it. Lol. I’ve been having my exams and shit and I’ve been working on this for the longest time so I’m really sorry if there’s a word that’s not supposed to be there, I don’t really proof read. But hopefully more stuff shall be coming soon. Ta ta! Xx

Jake was surprised, it was all real. What his grandfather had told him, all those stories. They were real. It was unbelievable. At first, when he saw the boomed children's home he didn't really believe it. As that man said at the pub. 3 September 1943. No one survived, but then how come Miss Peregrine's letter had only come 2 years before to his grandfather. How was that even possible?

When we first entered the loop, he of course ran away and nearly got himself killed. Thankfully his new friends saved him from those angry Walsh people. The house looked so different from those ruins he saw. It was actually a very beautiful house. Big and tall and all those flowers growing up on the sides. Completely different.

Miss Peregrine wasn't anything like he'd expected. Not at all, despite from all the stories he'd got from his grandfather. Apparently she was the bird flying above him and his father when they first arrived to Cairnholm. Ever since Jake arrived, he'd notice that on the bird's right hand, her ring finger. There was a small ring with a single diamond. Jake knew it wasn't probably wasn't his thing to ask, but he didn't see anyone else then the people he'd already seen. His grandfather had never really mentioned anything or anyone else then the ones he'd already talked about.

He had helped Emma with the baby squirrel, it was a bit awkward wrapping the rope around her waist. He'd noticed Miss Peregrine's glare, it was uneasy. As if she felt some sort of jealousy? But that was ridiculous. Absurd. Jake had agreed to join them for supper. Emma was helping him in his grandfather's old room. He just couldn't but ask.

"Emma, could I ask you a question?"

"Jake, I told you that there are questions I can't answer." Emma said as she tied his tie.

"I know, but it's just. Does Miss Peregrine love you? Like, that way?"

Emma stilled. Almost uncomfortably.

"Jake. What's got you to even think of such disgusting things?!"

"I'm sorry! It's just, I saw her glare." Jake held his hands up in defeat.

Emma let out a sigh. Looked down before looking up again. "You must understand. Miss Peregrine, well all of us lost someone dear. It's taking her long time to actually get back to who she is. So please, stop asking questions." As she finished speaking the bell rang. They both walked down together and Jake almost sat down on Millard.

"Millard. Go and put some clothes on. Polite persons do not take their supper in the nude."

Jake almost felt sorry for him, he didn't mean to take his place really. He couldn't see him, obviously. He was, well he is invisible. During dinner, he couldn't help but stare at Miss Peregrine's right hand with that ring. Her long slim fingers with those long nails. The ring was silver. The small diamond was pretty. And shiny.

"Claire, why aren't you eating?" Miss Peregrine asked, looking with worry to Claire. Chewing on the piece of food.

"She's embarrassed in front of Jake." Hugh said, leaning over to Claire.

Jake shook his head. "Don't be. Please."

Claire looked over at Miss Peregrine with a small smile and Miss Peregrine sent Claire a wink before turning back to her own food. Claire grabbed the chicken leg and put it behind her head and a few seconds later she put the clean bone back on her plate.

"So Jake, what's your peculiarity?" Horace asked. Leaning over the table a bit to see Jake as he asked.

"Oh, I'm not peculiar." Jake stammered.

Enoch put down his fork and knife and said, "And that, my friends, is why he will not be staying with us. No matter how hard we try to persuade him."

Miss Peregrine spoke up again. Her voice light but firm. "We've spoken about this. Jake is just visiting."

Hugh opened his mouth, "He might want to say."

"Don't you want to stay, Jake?" Olive asked.

"Tonight? Or..-" Jake didn't get a chance to finish of his sentence before Claire irrupted him.

"Forever! You should stay forever." Her smile big.

"Why would he, if he doesn't have to? He can live out there, grow older, have a good time instead." Enoch said. Trying to make a clear point of why he didn't want Jake in the house. Jake could feel Emma slightly lift from her seat despite being strapped down. She was getting uncomfortable.

"He'll leave, just like his grandfather did." With that, Enoch started eating again and Emma got up and practically ran out of the room despite her heavy shoes. Miss Peregrine's call for Emma didn't stop her. As Emma left, a clothed Millard came into the room. Excusing himself. Sitting down and starting to eat his own food.

"Deep breathes Alma, you know how dear Enoch gets with new company."

Miss Peregrine closed her eyes at the voice inside her head. She was right. She slowly got up as the telephone rang. "I think you should all get ready for movie time while I answer that."

"But you always let us stay for it." Claire begged. Miss Peregrine turned around and gave the children a glare that almost scared Jake. She was a strange woman, yes she was. Miss Peregrine stepped out to the hallway, to the ringing telephone. This time, she nearly didn't answer it. Wishing the voice inside her head would come back. Missing the touch of that person with the voice nearly threw her off guard. She nearly kicked herself from going off schedule. Shaking her head, she answered the telephone and went on with the schedule.

The time went on, again. Horace's projected his dreams. One particular dream made Alma tense up. She couldn't watch it. She turned on the lights and heard all the groans from the children. It was almost re-set time. Olive asked Jake to stay and see the re-set. Enoch clearly didn't want him to. Alma felt herself chuckle softly. The arguments between Enoch and re-set. Alma stepped out in her raincoat and put on her gas mask after putting on the music. Run Rabbit Run. She would always sing along to the song-Alma kicked herself mentally again. She stopped her clock, she turned it 24 times to represent the 24 hours of the loop. She took of the gas mask and smiled towards her children.

She said her goodnight to the other children as Emma and Jake made their way out the door. Her smile faded as they disappeared from her view. She closed the door, knowing Emma would lock it. She slowly made her way up the stairs, to the end of the hallway, to her bedroom. She opened the door and walked in and closed the door again and locked it. Leaning against the door and closing her eyes.

"You know me better then I do. Can't seem to keep nothing from you. How you touch my soul from the outside. I still love you even though I'm scared. Learning to be grateful of myself. I wish I could love me like you did, how I wish I could trust myself like you did."

She moved from the door and towards her desk and sat down and started unpinning her hair. Brushing through her hair slowly. That black-blue hair. The little curls. She got undressed and dressed in her lacy nightgown and brushed her teeth and took off the makeup she'd been carrying during the day. She laid down in the cold bed, shivering slightly. Falling asleep after a few minutes.

***

"Clarice! Clarice come on. We have to get back. We can't stay in La Pari forever. We've been gone 7 years too long!" Claire let out a groan and stopped walking. "But Y/N! I love Paris!" Y/N shook her head. Her little sister was definitely a number. "Well, you wrote to Alma we'd be home, so let's go." Clarice didn't move. "I? I didn't write. She's your wife." Y/N felt herself tense up. Oh no. Y/N had forgotten to write, and she'd hopped her darling sister had written.

"When was the last time You wrote back home Clarice." Y/N looking over at her sister, with a glare almost identical to Alma's. Clarice bit her bottom lip. "5 years ago." Y/N felt her head spinning. She sat down and rubbed her forehead. Clarice started laughing. "What's so funny?!" Clarice threw her head back in laughter.

"Oh lord, the handful you will get when you get back. I mean Abe will definitely be in her side." Clarice said while patting her older sister's shoulder. "God. She'd kill me. I swear, I didn't mean to forget and I thought you'd been writing." Clarice shook her head. "But you're right. Let's go home."

***

"Jake, you're back. How wonderful." Miss Peregrine said as she held the Ymbryne tight to her.

"How's it doing?" Jake asked. "Emma said it was an Ymbryne."

"She. Not 'it'. Ymbrynes are always female." Miss Peregrine said as she looked up at Jake. "And Emma was quite correct. This is Miss Avocet." Miss Peregrine continued to give Miss Avocet the medicine.

"Her loop's in Blackpool, England." Jake said. Miss Peregrine slowly turned her head up towards him and saw him holding a piece of paper. "That was a private letter, Jake." She said as she put down the medication.

"Who is Mr. Barron?" Jake asked, slightly raising his voice.

Miss Peregrine's face expression turned blank and her right hand came almost protectively over Miss Avocet.

"Miss Peregrine, if my grandpa was involved with dangerous people. I need to tell the police." Miss Peregrine looked up at Jake again, her brows knitted with confusion.

"Police? Are you implying Abe died an unnatural death?" Her voice going quiet.

"I found him in the woods, with his eyes missing. I'd say that was pretty unnatural." Jake said as he watched Miss Peregrine raise from her chair. Miss Peregrine looked at Jake in disappointment, snatching the letter out of his hands.

"Unless essential, I don't discuss unpleasant matters. An Ymbryne's duty is to protect children, Jake." With that, she left the room, almost in a hurry.

"I'm not a child! He wanted you to tell me everything!" Jake shouted after her. Jake let out a sigh of frustration and walked down the hallway and was stopped when both Enoch and Olive came into his view.

"Oh. How frustrating for you. Between Miss Peregrine's rules and my housemates' little pact not to scare you off, it's like no one's telling you anything." Enoch was sarcastic. Olive stood quietly behind him. Jake leaned forward.

"Why don't you, then? It's not like you want me here."

This time, Olive spoke up.

"Enoch, you can't. You promised." Enoch looked back at Olive before answering.

"Olive's right. I do know someone who can get away with breaking rules though. Want to meet him?" Jake looked a bit uneasy at Enoch before following him up the stairs. Olive behind them.

"Enoch, don't do this. Please!" She grabbed his arm, begging him not to do whatever he was going to do.

"You want to spend time with me and Jake, we can all play together. That's what you said." Enoch said as they reached a door at the end of the hallway. Olive stood in front of them. Not letting them pass through the door.

"Well, here we all are." Enoch said. Olive looked up at him with a bit ready expression. "Move Olive."

"If you're going to be like that, then I don't want to be your friend." With that, Olive left. Sobbing quietly to herself while walking down the hallway.

"Enoch, leave Victor alone. It really upsets Bronwyn." Fiona said as she walked up to Enoch and Jake. Enoch put both his hands on Fiona's shoulders, "Stop fussing, Fiona. Don't you think Jake should meet everybody?" He said while looking over at Jake.

"He's trying to frighten you away, Jake. He's always jealous of Abe. And now he's jealous of you. Come and play with us instead."

Enoch crossed his arms and looked at Jake, waiting for an answer. Jake didn't really know what to say.

"I'd quite like to meet Victor." Jake said after some time. Enoch smiled and ruffed Fiona's hair. Enoch opened the door, letting Jake walk in. "After you."

In the middle of the room there was a bed, covered in thin layers of fabric, and Jake saw Victor, lying there. He slowly walked in, moving with small steps towards the bed.

"Hello, Victor. I'm Jake. I'm sorry to disturb.." Jake looked down at Victor. His eyes were missing.

"Yeah, he can't hear you." Enoch said. Enoch got on his knees and opened Victor's shirt and put the heart he held down into Victor's chest. Jake saw how Victor's chest started to heavy. Almost like a jump scare in movies, Victor sat up and looked over at Jake.

"Hello, Jake. I'm Victor. Do you want to know what killed me?" Almost like a puppet he was. It scared Jake and he ran out of the room, downstairs where Miss Peregrine and the rest of the children were waiting.

"Ah, there you are. Is Enoch with you? It'd time for our daily walk." Miss Peregrine said.

***

Alma walked into the room where Victor lay. Sighing once seeing Victor's covers down. She pulled them up, making sure they covered him and slowly sat down. Noticing the tear falling down his cheek. Softly wiping it away and pulling him up and held him against her chest.

One of the most disappointing things she'd ever done. How she couldn't be able to save Victor, how she'd let her poor child die. She never meant for him to die, she never meant for Bronwyn to lose her brother. Alma felt herself tear up.

"It's alright Alma, you did what you could and for that, Victor will forever be grateful."

She really wanted to believe those words. Oh, how hard life could be. She couldn't let herself to cry. She'd always say it was alright to cry, but Alma just couldn't. She slowly put Victor back in his place and looked at her watch. She had a few minutes before the children would be back, but she had to keep schedule.

Alma walked out of the room, closing the door. Walking down the hallway to the right and then further down that hallway and then into her own bedroom. Closing the door behind her, locking it. Just in case. She quickly walked over to the dressed against the wall, opened a drawer and pulled out a shirt that didn't belong to her.

Sticking her nose deep into the fabric, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar sent. Holding onto the shirt tightly. Alma felt her eyes sting.

Why did life have to be so cruel? Why couldn't just one person live a life and be happy. Is it only fairytales that get their happy endings and not people in the real world? Was the 'perfect' life all just a big lie that you were told on the television outisde loops? Why couldn't you just live yourself in your dreams? Wouldn't life be so much better if you could? It would save all troubles from people.

Alma slowly sat down on the bed. Still holding the shirt tightly to her. Breathing in the sent again. Letting her eyes roll back for just a second. Accidentally losing herself in the sent. Letting a soft moan escape her mouth which caused her to blush. Hand covering her mouth as she blushed even more.

"My shirt hm?"

Alma turned around with a gasp. No one was there, she let out a sigh. Alma got up again, checked her clock and put the shirt back in the drawer and walked downstairs. Waiting for the children to arrive back home.

***

"Clarice, where was the loop again?"

"You can't be serious. We lived with Alma for years, you're married to her for gods sake!" Clarice sat down in the damp grass, crossing her arms. Letting out a huff.

"Awh, stop acting like a bloody kid! Maybe help me instead of acting like such a bloody moron!" Y/N answered to her sister.

She let out a huff and sat down on a rock. Y/N felt bad. She'd been gone 7 years too long and Alma probably thought she was dead. Just because her little sister didn't write as she used to. Y/N reaches into her pocket and pulled out a few photos. Photos she took, before she left.

Most were of Alma. It was one of the only times she'd let her time be taken from her. She missed the bird.

"Could you stop sobbing and perhaps do something to help? You cant stare at th-hey. Y/N. Was that Abe?"

Y/N looked up and saw nothing. She turned to her sister and hit the back of her head.

"Very funny."

***

The children were packing after they're realisation that they couldn't stay. As Alma had finally gotten the suitcase to close, thanks to the twins, the doorbell rang. How odd. She hadn't expected anyone. Alma walked up towards the door and opened the door and felt her whole body tense.

"Miss Peregrine, what a pleasure to meet you at last!"

Mr. Barron was holding his hand shaped knife against Jake's neck. Alma felt her breathing stop for only a second. What on earth was happening?!

"May we come in?"

Alma took a few steps back, letting him inside the house. Her children standing on the stairs.

"Children! Would you make your way down the stairs, please?" Mr. Barron shouted.

Alma raised her voice. "I give the orders in this house, Mr. Barron." Looking at him sternly.

"Not today. You should know that Jake has served his purpose. If you value his life, I suggest everyone does as they're told. Children!"

Alma raised her finger and shushed him. "No one tells my children what to do!" Alma turned around, a split of disgust in her expression. "Children, come down here, please." Her voice was strong but soft.

The children made their way slowly down the stairs.

"Miss Peregrine-"

"I thought I told you to be quiet." Alma snapped back at him. Giving him one of her famous death glares. She slowly made her way around again to look at her beautiful children. Knowing she might never see them again.

"Children, for Jake's safety, we're going to do what Mr. Barron asks. He wishes to take me with him to his rendezvous in Blackpool. So, for his protection, he'd like me to assume bird form, preferably caged. And he'd like you to make your way into a lockable room, such as the parlour." Alma turned her frame towards the parlour then back to her children before turning around to look at Mr. Barron.

"As he won't release Jake if he fears an attack could be mounted upon him once he loses his leverage. Correct, Mr. Barron?" Alma raised her chin, showing how she awfully despised him. Mr. Barron was at loss of words.

"You're sacrificing yourself and all of us, for Jake?"

Came behind her, Alma turned around and looked at Enoch.

"Me. Barrons travels with a Hollow, Enoch. Once it arrives here, we're all dead." She could almost feels Mr. Barron's wicked grin behind her. Alma saw Horace lean in to whisper something to Enoch but didn't bother to listen. It took everything not to shed a tear. She'd lost everything now. The woman she loved the most, her dear children. Everything.

She moved towards the parlours door and said her goodbye to each child that passed her, ending with a hug from Emma and the twins which made her she'd a tear. Once every child was inside the parlour, she grabbed the door handle to each door and took a deep breath and looked over her children.

"It's been my privilege, to care for you all. Goodbye my children."

Alma closed the doors and turned the lock and turned to face Barron, showing her anger through her tear stained cheeks. Taking steps forward.

"Now let him go."

"Oh, but the fun's just begun Alma." Barron let out a low chuckle.

"How dare you speak my name, filthy bastard." Alma tightened her tone. Growing more impatient by each second that passed.

Barron let out another chuckle, this time of surprise.

"My my, what words those pretty lips let out. Tell me, how's dear old Y/N doing?"

Alma clenched her jaw. Feeling as she might explode.

"How dare you speak her name?! How dare you come here, act like you own everything I have. You took her from me! How dare you mention anything of her's. I know what you did to her family, how her parents practically coward before you. On their knees begging to not die. Letting their dear children's lives pay their depth."

As Alma continued, Barron only chuckled. Jake was confused. Who was Y/N? What did this woman mean to Miss Peregrine?

"Technically I wasn't the one who sold her, her mother was. Her dear parents are still loyal to me as ever. I'd never gotten a chance to meet dear Y/N. So tell me, where is she?"

This time, it was Alma's time to be confused.

"What do you mean by that. No tricks Mr. Barron. I want the honest truth."

As he let Jake go, letting out a groan. "Listen, lady. I'd never meet her. If I had, do you think I'd be asking you? So come now Miss Peregrine. Where is she. Her mommy and daddy just wanna say hello."

Alma felt herself start to tremble. Y/N hadn't been in Barron's possession.

She'd spoken to Jake. Begging him to care of her children before turning into bird form. Flying into the cage. Leaving with Mr. Barron. If her dearest was really alive, she'd never see her again. Nor her beloved children.

***

"Emma, I have a question. Look-I know you don't answer them but it's about something Miss Peregrine said before she turned into a bird. Who's Y/N?"

Emma went quiet for a moment, not really wanting to speak. Jake let out a sigh and continued to talk.

"Mr. Barron said he'd never meet Y/N before. What does this mean-who is she?" Jake looked t Emma who's eyes looked at his. A slight tone of happiness appearing on her face.

"So, that means she could still possibly be alive." Emma's smile got bigger.

"Who is she? Is she another peculiar?" Jake was growing impatient.

Emma sighed. "Alright, if I tell you. Will you stop asking?"

Jake nodded his head and sat down and waited for Emma to speak.

"Y/N came to our home years ago, before Miss Peregrine had made the loop. She came with her sister Clarice. When they came they were both pretty young. I think Clarice was 15 and Y/N perhaps 20. I heard Miss Peregrine talk with them about what had happened to them. It wasn't really, nice."

Emma sat down herself and took a deep breath.

"Mr. Barron came to their house, in the middle of the night and killed their brother, well took his eyes. He was around 8. She talked about how their parents had sold them to Barron for their own safety. But before Barron could touch them they'd ran away. They'd taken the boat and arrived here."

Jake listened as she explained more about Y/Nk's past. But there was just one question bothering him.

"What about the ring on Miss Peregrine's finger?" Jake asked.

"Y/N and Miss Peregrine kinda fell for each other. A few years after the loop was created, they got married. Then again a few years later, perhaps 7 years ago. Both of them left, Y/N and her sister. But after two years they stopped writing back home. We heard nothing from them and since Barron wanted to recreate the experiment Miss Peregrine told you about.”

Jake nodded, shocked. He had nothing against the LGBT community but he’d never thought Miss Peregrine was a lesbian. Perhaps she wasn’t, maybe just fell for the one person she trusted most.

They went on, the plan to save Miss Peregrine.

***

“Clarice, fix it. Please. Something has happened.”

Y/N was panicking. The loop was gone, not a child in sight. Alma wasn’t here either. Clarice had the peculiarity of restoring time, she restored the loop. Made everything go back to normal. The house looked itself again but no child was there. What the hell happened. How long has the house been like this? Clarice was too busy walking to her room.

Y/N looked around, saw suitcases. Were they leaving? But why, and where? It felt strange being back in the house, but with everyone gone. Y/N walked around, touching the walls and everything. Y/N walked upstairs and into the bedroom she once shared with Alma and closed the door behind her. Alma’s perfume hitting her like a smack in the face. The scent of smoke, flowers.

She pulled open the drawer and pulled out one of the dark blue lacy nightgowns and spelled. Alma. Y/N looked out the window. It was dark and it was raining. Y/N loved the rain. She walked over to the window and sat down by the window and opened it to listen to the rain and felt herself drift off into sleep.

***

Alma opened the door and walked in. How in the hell was the house still standing? She hadn’t reset the loop. She was wet and she was tired and drained. She quickly walked into the bathroom connected to her room and took a warm, long and hot shower. She wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out. Looking in the drawer for her nightgown but it wasn’t there. Alma turned her head to the figure she saw sitting by the window and nearly had a heart attack.

She grabbed her pillow and hit Y/N with it multiple times.

“You reckless little-“

“Alma, hey! Stop hitting me!”

“I have every right to be angry at you! I thought you were dead. For 7 years you’ve been gone and then you stop writing?!”

Y/N could see Alma’s cheeks turning red from anger. She stepped forward, grabbing the pillow out of Alma’s hands and kissed her knuckles. Which made Alma shut up.

“Why’d you do that to me, to the children.” Alma’s voice was on breaking point.

Y/N looked up, into those blue eyes. “I never meant to. I forgot to write-“ Alma cut her off with a snort.

“Of course you did.” Alma took the nightgown from Y/N and dropped her towel and put it on. Feeling Y/N’s eyes on her. It made her shiver. Then she felt arms wrapped around her waist and a soft kiss on her right shoulder. “I’ve missed you. Please don’t leave again.” She felt Y/N shake her head and turned around in her arms and kissed her lover on the lips softly. Nearly losing herself in her lover’s lips. Laughing softly after feeling Y/N’s hands tickle her sides.

“I hate you.”

“You love me birdy.”