#(he didn’t become my gender envy until my twenties)

[beanie-twink]

Is beanie-twink meant to reference beanie bears? Because I think of these little guys whenever I see your url (positive)

WAIT THATS SO CUTE NO ITS NOT but now I need to edit a beanie baby with a beanie on it😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Me irl if you even care

#I don’t think I’ve ever told my url story oh wow #it’s not nearly as cute haha but it’s gender stuff #basically as a teenager I would wear beanies a lot when coping with dysphoria<3 #now it has an additional meaning w Mikey way as my gender envy #(he didn’t become my gender envy until my twenties) #I’m glad so many people are fond of my url I’ve always felt embarrassed when I give it out

[industrations]

Hi, may I ask you a question? I know this is probably kind of an unusual ask so feel free to ignore this! But you seem so nice and kind so I thought I might ask you about this...

So lately I keep thinking a lot about gender things. Oh and I am a girl (maybe (as in afab)) and until recently I was convinced that I am very comfortable in my gender. And the thing is, I did think about it. I knew about my sexuality since I was a teenager and I remember thinking about my gender on many occasions and always feeling so sure about it and so comfortable in my body. But also... I've always been kinda scrawny (my friends keep joking that oversized clothes make me look like a 14 year old boy) and then someone told me people go through second puberty and I might get bigger hips in the next years and I would hate that. And then I wondered why, is it just the change or would I genuinely be uncomfortable in a more feminine body?

And now I'm wondering, because why would that come up now?? I mean I am in my early twenties now and I've known about my sexuality for years. But I've also kind of ignored that after realizing it for a while whoops. So it might be happening again. Or maybe it's really just a bit of gender envy and not all that serious?

I think I'm just trying to ask you if you think it's possible that I realize some things late? I'm just so unsure lately and I feel like I can't really ask anyone about this...

So yeah, apologies for sending you that paragraph and I hope you have a nice day!!

Alright so first of I want to say that I am in no means an expert at this. I’m not a therapist and I can’t tell you what you are or what you aren’t feeling. But I can speak from my own experience that things like this are by no means tied to a specific period of time in your life. There’s people that are well into their adult years (and i’m talking 60-70) that are still discovering things about themselves

I’ve spend a long time around people who were telling me what I can and cannot be or what i should be. I was "comfortable" in my gender because I was thought that I should be. And until I actually started talking to people who were going through similar things, I didn’t quite understand that it was not the norm feeling this way about yourself.

Again speaking from my own experience because never let anyone tell you what’s right or wrong for you. There is certain things about being afab i embrace and appreciate even. Things i would miss was i born differently. I love having a softer voice, and more feminine features because those are things that make me me.

But then I have cis girl friends who tell me "oh I wish I had your chest" or "you should be grateful you don’t have as little as me" and I just rather die that having this part of my body be perceived at all. I have my top surgery very soon which i’m extremely excited for but why do I have to defend myself for wanting something that’ll make me happier just because people don’t understand the feeling.

Sorry this has become quite personal and rambly somehow but apparently i have many feelings about this and if they can help anyone in any way then that would he the best outcome. I guess what i’m trying to say is try to let go of whatever you think other people want you to be and be kind and gentle with yourself. You don’t HAVE to be anything the only thing you should be is comfortable in your own skin

#i hope this made sense at all #i’m not too good at words especially in english #mail box #again in no way shape or form am i in a position to actually give advise #so take this with a grain of salt

[seoracle]

DRIVERS LICENSE; i

Pairing: Bang Chan x Idol! Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Fake Dating! AU, Angst, Lovers to Enemies(?), Occasional Pining, Comedy, S for potential smut(??)

Summary: Y/N has become an overnight sensation with ‘Drivers License’, Breaking records left and right...But what if the press gets wind of the ill-matched lovers and their company decide it’s the perfect attention ploy?

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Swearing (a lot near the end), Drinking mention

A/N: this was meant to be a drabble... now it’s becoming a series...i’m sorry

“...and the winner of Inkigayo today is...Y/N with ‘Drivers License, Congratulations!”

You step towards the center of the stage and take the trophy and bouquet from a rookie idol, who flashes a bright smile at you, but you can see the envy in his eyes. You once had that same hunger and ambition that he seems to reek of, it’s a reminder of how far you’ve come.

Taking the mic, you begin to sing a more sultry and edgier vibe than usual, which seems to gather more screams from fans than usual. You remember what Seulgi taught you and gaze at the camera lens with a subtle pout, trying to capture the angst of the song in your gaze.

It feels ridiculous, feigning emotions you no longer feel, singing a song you begged the company not to put out in a corset fitted shirt that’ll leave your ribs sore and reddened. It’s pathetic and cliche, you quite literally sold your soul (well, heart) for fame. 

“Yeah, you said forever, now I drive alone past your street…”

Everyone behind you waves at the camera, signalling the show is ending. You leave last, taking several confetti bits for your scrapbook, which is the only thing keeping you from remembering this is all real. 

Backstage, Iris and San are waiting in your dressing room, they greet you with proud grins and slaps on the back. 

“Well, if it isn’t miss twelve...no, thirteen wins in two weeks.” San praises, enveloping you in a hug.

“Could be thirteen by tomorrow~” Hums Iris in a sing-song tone.

A groan leaves your lips, while slumping into an uncomfortable chair. You tune out their excited plans for your makeup and hair tomorrow, San says something about an end of year Award show.

All you want is to go home to your empty dormitory and sleep.

When you finally arrive to the ‘comfort’ of your ‘studio apartment’ (box room), it isn’t long before you strip down to your pyjamas and aggressively rub off the layers of makeup that seem to cling to every pore and fine line of your face. The cold air from the fan soothes the aching of your body from your strict workout routine. You stay awake until 4am, reading comments from netizens and replying to fans on your fancafe, it  was hard not to become obsessed with checking what people thought; whether they loved or loathed you.

[+184 -93] Y/N is talented, but they look devoid of emotion since last week...maybe singing a song so personal isn’t a good idea….what if the person it’s about hears it…..

User FYL**8 was right, it had become draining trying to convey emotions you’d long let go of. Your debut song was fresh and fun, it didn’t garner much attention but at least you hadn’t had to fake emotions and relive your first heartbreak.

Although the memories of the breakup didn’t hurt as much, the happiest ones were the most painful. The feeling of ignorance, thinking he meant forever and believing him completely...it was all so distant yet felt a fingertip away.

That night you slept with a heavy heart, remembering what it felt like when he’d hold you close and right and kiss you on the head to soothe your worries. Why did it have to end? Why like that? You try to drift into a nice sleep after another exhausting day but to no avail, thoughts of him are flooding every thought. Has he heard it? There was no way he hadn’t, he loved to check out every ranking song for inspiration or for another artist to add to his monthly playlist. 

Would he get angry? Sad? Laugh at your pathetic feelings? He was right in the end, when it came down to it you only shared your feelings when it was too late.

Stupid Christopher fucking Bang.

It wasn’t often you’d refer to him as Chan, you had met him when he only saw it as another name for himself that he hardly used. Back when his hair had been fluffed up curls that he couldn’t contain and his light freckles weren’t covered by BB Cream. When he didn’t belong to the world and only loved you.

After months of forcing yourself not to, you hastily search “Stray kids Bang Chan + Y/N”, Then “Stray Kids Y/N” and finally “Skz Y/N”. The results are minimal and far inbetween, mostly tweets from fans wishing for a collab and oddly enough one person making edited photos of you and them, which are so convincing you have to remind yourself you hadn’t met them.

Thoughts drift to his friends, the ones who didn’t know Chris was even seeing someone and had been for over a year. They tried to sugarcoat it, say they forgot, it’s hard to keep track when you’re training and all that. 

The sinking feeling you felt when Minho asked how long you’d been together, guessing a month at most. When you did reply, ears burning with embarrassment he coughed and muttered “Oh.’, That had stung.

Everything had seemed so perfect, until you opened your eyes and saw it for what it was.

You don’t end up sleeping much, two hours at most, Then it’s time to get ready and head to the Broadcast Studio for today’s event. All you know is it’s a show about giving advice, the reviews aren’t great but you aren’t allowed to turn anything down because fame is a double-edged sword that you can barely grasp as is.

Iris and San are already waiting for you when you get there, within minutes makeup is being patted into your skin and your outfit is laid out on the chair next to you.

“Sleep more, Y/N-ah, I had to use a double coverage concealer to hide your dark circles.” Iris said in a fretful tone.

“I try, it’s hard being famous.” You reply jokingly, flipping your hair the best you can. Iris smacks your hand away and frantically finds her hairspray.

Within twenty minutes you’re dressed and not one hair is out of place, San pulls you aside with an uncharacteristically stern face. 

“The company have specific goals for sending you here, they want you to delve into a story of heartbreak to comfort today’s victim, while keeping anonymity and remaining as vague as you can.” 

Of course, even a show about helping others is fictional.

You nod solemnly and prepare to go on air, sitting on a cushion next to a popular comedian who doesn’t bother to even look at you. A well-known Streamer is on your other side and you begin polite small talk, which seems to irritate the host.

“We’re on in 3,2….1!” A sharp click follows the director’s queue and the host bursts right into the introduction.

After you’re introduced it’s easy to tune out, you couldn’t give a shit about that stuck-up comedian and the actress to their right. Instead you think of how the fuck you’re supposed to conjure up an emotional performance with little to no time to prepare.

‘My ex-boyfriend hid me for almost two years’ no, not even worthy of a cheap gossip magazine. ‘I thought my boyfriend loved me, turns out he loved his career more’ Maybe...but you sound too needy. 

“Today’s guest is Lee Chaeun of Suwon! Tell us your story, please.” 

You turn to look at the guest who walks onto the set and sits at the head of the pillow mats. She’s clearly a young girl, her baby face is covered by face-framing layers of shiny black hair and her eyes are already glassy.

“Last year, I began dating my crush after years of admiring him from afar...Everything seemed so perfect until last week….He dumped me by text message saying he needed space and now he’s with someone new..” Chaeun bursts into tears and the host fakes a sympathetic face and passes her a box of tissues.

“Ah, you’re young...you don’t know anything yet. This is a normal phase for teenagers, men realise themselves and break girls down so they become beautiful women. It’s just a case of a little girl not wanting to grow up!” Chimes in the Comedian, who talks about his falsities as if they’re facts.

The audience erupts into laughter and the heartbroken teenager lowers her head in embarrassment. Which only makes you more enraged, Who told that guy he was funny?

“Chaeun has every right to be upset!” You exclaim, cutting through the laugher like a hot knife. “When a relationship ends when everything seems alright for one person, it's cruel. Being blindsided isn’t a joke. It hurts and she deserves closure, and to move on someday to a better person..What happened to her shouldn’t happen to anyone!”  You barely register a gentle hand on top of yours, far too surprised by the fact there are tears dripping down your face. Crying wasn’t an option, so you pull yourself together and apologise to Chaeun and the host you cannot stand.

“Y/N, You seemed personally moved by Chaeun’s story, have you experienced a painful breakup?” The host asks curiously.

“You could say that,” You begin with a wry smile. “I was with someone who lived a double life, they were completely different when they were with other people...Things ended when I was still planning for future dates...it made me realise how fake they were.”

The guests all nod and you squeeze Chaeun’s hand, she smiles at you seeming relieved that she isn’t the only one who has felt this kind of pain. 

Everything goes smoothly after that, other guests chime in and the actress that seemed snobby is openly discussing her ex vomiting all over her Valentinos. You can’t help but wonder if the company really suggested this, or if it was divine intervention (Choi San, your manager). 

You don’t feel so alone anymore, everyone is guaranteed several things, two being love and heartbreak of some kind. 

“Thanks to singer Y/N and actress Sojung, Chaeun was able to feel a little better...Thank you for joining us on ‘Help No Counsellor!’, Join us next week when…’

“Choi San, you sneaky bastard.”

He tries to act surprised but a shit-eating grin soon overtakes his acting, Iris shakes her head and zips her makeup bag closed. It isn’t long until you’re all at The Min’s enjoying red bean bread and warm tea.  “What does inept even mean? I’m assuming it’s a good thing because Wooyoung kissed me after saying it.” San mentions, his lips curving upwards at the fond memory.

“I’d have to agree with Woo, it fits you perfectly.” You reply, circling around his question while Iris tries not to choke on her food.

Fits of laughter die down when you spot a familiar face, Lee Mijoo. 

Her blonde hair flows down her back in loose curls and her soft eyes seem to enchant everyone, admittedly even you for a short time.Behind her is a slightly taller figure dressed in all black and your stomach drops.They don’t seem to notice your presence, so you decide to use this valuable time to hide behind a menu. 

San and Iris try to play along best they can, but it is quite distressing that all of this has happened so suddenly, with no prior warning. But he did bring you here, a lot. So it’s amusing to see his date ideas haven't changed. 

As he’s walking past you he pauses, and you want to shrivel into a hole and die, He’s clearly recognised you but can’t be 100% sure due to The Min’s menu covering your entire face. 

“Y/N?” 

Shit. You cannot hide from this.

Slowly taking the menu away and placing it down on the table you smile at him, maybe a little too forced but it’s the best you can do. His hair is blonde now, his curls are long gone but his smile is as genuine as ever. 

Stupid Christopher Bang and his stupid ‘I-totally-didn’t-break-your-heart’ attitude.

“Chan, nice to see you. Still obsessed with their double shots?” You humoured, he seemed grateful for that.

“Oh, absolutely...and I see you’re still not saving any bean bread for anyone else.” 

You laugh, it’s a bittersweet one at best but nevertheless it’s a laugh.

'Well it’s great to see you again, I’d love to exchange numbers if that’s alright?” 

Without thinking you nod and oblige him, much to your friend’s disappointment which is evident by their glares. Mijoo exchanges smiles with everyone, who could hate her? She was funny, kind hearted and beautiful in every aspect. 

When they finally leave to their outside seats you breathe a sigh of relief and sink into the chair.Iris strokes your hair and San grabs more snacks to go, the walk home isn’t peaceful. It’s awkward and silent, which only makes your head spin more. When you drop off Iris you know a lecture is coming, San hates doing it but you know he tells you what you need to hear, even if it hurts.

“Look, I’m happy you were able to brush off all the hurt today but earlier on you were crying about….this. Don’t give him the power to hurt you twice.”

“You’re right, thanks Sannie.” You reply, taking his arm and smiling at the warmth of his (Wooyoung’s) fuzzy coat. 

Once San leaves and you get inside, it’s a matter of minutes before you hop in the shower and get rid of all the hairspray and mascara that’s been making you itch all day. The warm water soothes away your nerves and the impending frostbite from being outside in the cold for far too long. 

Once you feel clean and somewhat scalded you step out onto warm fluffy towels (cheap warm fluffy towels with holes in them) and get situated for bed.

Just as you exit the bathroom your phone rings and you answer immediately, it’s probably Iris wanting you to play a new Among Us mod with her. 

“Iris?”

“Uh, no, Chris.” 

“Oh.” is your initial reply, why would he call you at midnight?

“Where you asleep? I’m sorry I’ll call back another ti-”

“No!” You interject, much too eagerly. “No...it’s fine. I’m not even in bed yet.”

“Oh” He sounds relieved, much the opposite of you.

“I just wanted to congratulate you...The song, it’s great. What’s it like actually singing one you wrote?”

“Great,” You admit with a smile he can't see, “It feels...genuine. I Couldn't stand the thought of giving the song away.”

“I can see why.” He replies in an unreadable tone.

“Did it make you uncomfortable? Me singing...about-”

“No, why would it?” He cuts in, he sounds slightly agitated.

“Look, Chan, I’m sorry. I should’ve texted you, well I did but you changed your number. But it’s my story too, okay? I needed to heal somehow.”

Minutes pass with no answer, as if he’s trying to think of exactly what to say without getting more irritated or to spare your feelings.

“When did I become Chan?” His voice comes out wavering,and it hurts you.

“That’s what everyone calls you now, you’re not just Chris the trainee anymore.” You reply in a gentle way, trying to ease the building tension.

“But to you, when did I stop being Chris?”

“Probably when you broke my heart,” You deadpan, before adding a ‘kidding’ and bullshit reason.

“You weren’t kidding, but you broke mine too. Don’t make me the bad guy.”

This had taken you aback, you had been in a perfectly happy relationship for almost two years and then he changed his mind, said he wasn’t happy and it wasn’t your fault. When the fuck did you break his heart?

“When exactly did that happen?” You query, “Before or after Mijoo?”

Chan lets out a dry laugh, “Don’t talk about what you don’t understand.”

“Well what does it matter? You never told me shit anyways.” You snapped.

“That’s because you wouldn’t fucking listen. Maybe to you it was all sunshine and roses but I was struggling, I changed and outgrew us. I didn’t want to but you were stuck in dreamland where we’d debut at the same time and live happily ever after. I realised it wasn’t going to happen and set you free so you wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” You bark,”Fucking embarrassed of what exaclty? I left that shithole you call your company by choice and worked my way up. I’m not embarrassed, but you should be. You’re a fucking sellout Christopher Bang.”

Before he can reply you end the call and throw your phone at the wall, it would’ve broken only for the forty dollar case the store assistant convinced you to buy. You burst into tears just like you had that night when it all came crashing down. He must’ve loved seeing you in pain, because he keeps doing it even now.

That night, you wish for everything to go back to a time before him and the heartbreak that followed.

It’s early on a Friday when you’re called into a board meeting with the CEO, Director and San, who looks like someone stepped on his clay masterpiece. You still haven’t been told anything and as the minutes pass by you wonder if they found out about you getting drunk at Club Suran several weeks back. What if someone saw San there too? What if–

Suddenly the doors open and in walks JYP’s CEO, followed by several others and finally Chris. He looks as confused as you, but you quickly look away before he spots you. Last night was still fresh in your mind and you didn’t need anymore reminders or conversations with him.

“Dispatch has sent us several photos of you two together, spanning several years.” Your CEO announces, an Executive pulling the photos up on the screen behind her. “Including one from yesterday.”

“That was a coincidence, we broke up a long time ago.” You admit, she seems satisfied with your answer and nods, which makes you remember that damned dating ban you have.

“Usually, we’d shoot down these rumours immediately...but this could be quite beneficial to both Stray Kids and Y/N.” JYP’s CEO adds, “Stock prices have shown a rise for both of your albums, and real time searches are at an all time high.” 

“I have a girlfriend.” Chan states, arms folded. “So that’s out of the question if you’re implying we fake a relationship.”

“Look Bang Chan,” Begins one of the Advisors, “It’s all for show, we’ll plan every detail and your girlfriend will keep her mouth shut if she knows what's good for her. Frankly, our sales aren't what they used to be and you need this, if you want complete musical and artistic control.”

Chan takes a while to think, you know this is all he’s wanted. Control over everything he and the boys put out there, with no censorship or edits by anyone else. Your CEO assures you you’ll also benefit from the agreement, including your debt fully cleared and money in your bank account as soon as you sign on the dotted line.

“How long does this last?” You ask, pen in hand.

“Twelve months, then you’re free again.” 

Chan looks to you for conformation and you ignore him, signing it and standing up to leave. You only stop to sign more formalities and then you and San head back to your local coffee shop. 

“Well, you sure have a funny way of moving on.”

#i'm sorry in advance #however thoughts are welcomed #skz chan #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #stray kids blurbs #stray kids scenarios #bang chan angst #stray kids imagines #skz blurbs #stray kids chan x reader #bang chan #bang chan imagines #bang chan blurbs #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic. chapter twelve: the desire to devour

word count: ~10.3k rating: m warnings: naughty language, .000002 seconds of spiciness (but not really), john goes "we were vibing, right? we had the vibes? right?" for like the entire last half. also mentions of self-harm and elliot's previous trauma. notes: hi friends! i hope you enjoy this chapter! this is going to be the last sort of in-between chapter before we really get into it, and from here it's going to go faaaaast. i had a lot of fun writing it and feeling out these different dynamics. not to mention john being a gigantic fuckhead (but like what is new, lmao). special thank you as always to my wifey and beta reader @starcrier for your impeccable eyeballs, and also to @vasiktomis and @shallow-gravy for lending their eyes as well because i did fuss a bit with this chap. i would be lost without y'all. thank you everyone for your love and support, esp with comments! it really fills my heart so so much to hear back from you, and i am always in the market for friends so do not be afraid to reach out to me <3

She is twenty-five.

She’s twenty-five, and it's her first full day of work. Or, it was; now, she's sitting in the Spread Eagle listening to Pratt talk about everything that's happened while she's been gone, because he'd said, c'mon, let me take you out tonight. He grins a boyish, toothy grin at her—the same kind that's mimicked in the multiple school dance photos her mother covets—and tries to sound nonchalant when he asks how she liked being in the city.

It's hard not to think about how this is the first place she had ever met John Seed, then-Duncan, and how it feels like it's spoiled the whole place for her.

Elliot redirects her attention as best as she can to what it is Pratt is saying. He's fishing for information. They've always been each other's safety net, the person they can fall back on when all else fails. School dances. Picking partners in class. Graduation walking buddies. He'd driven her to the airport when she left for the Academy, even. But even though she knows he's trying to figure out if she's still a safety net, Elliot can't disguise the way thinking about Mason makes her feel—disgusting—so she brings the beer bottle to her mouth and takes a swallow.

The result is her face scrunching up. Pratt laughs.

“Geez, Elli, slow down,” he says, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Bet money you're still a lightweight. When'd you start drinking beer, anyway?”

“I didn't,” she manages out around the taste, swallowing thickly. “I just won't let your money go to waste.”

He shrugs, as if to say, could, if you wanted, and swivels on the stool a little. He wants to press again—she can tell—but seems to have the good sense not to, instead busying his mouth with his own beer.

“Mama said Whitehorse let you right on,” Elliot says casually, trying to ignore the twinge of envy in her voice.

Pratt shrugs again. “He's known my dad a long time.”

“Known my mom too,” Elliot replies, dry.

“Yeah, well.” Pratt pauses, and sounds a little smug when he says, “Just because your mama likes me doesn’t mean I don’t know how she is to everyone else.”

“Likes you, does she?”

“Obviously,” the brunette replies confidently. “She still keeps all those photos of us. Remember senior year, she had all of her gal pals over when we were getting ready for prom—”

“Ugh.”

“—took us about 45 minutes before we were exactly where she wanted to take pictures—"

She rolls her eyes. Pratt grins, and then bumps his shoulder against hers. He says, “Aw, c’mon. Not so bad, is it? Having your mom like me?"

Elliot can feel the flush spreading under her cheeks. Not because she's embarrassed, or flustered, but because the beer sitting in her stomach feels rotten, and because Pratt's looking at her with the same kind of eyes he did before—always, always there's the before—and she doesn't know how to say I'm not her anymore, I'm not that girl, I'm different and changed and I don't know how to go back.

It doesn't matter. If Pratt can see it on her face, he doesn't let it show; just pats her shoulder and pretends he doesn't see the way she flinches from his hand swinging into her peripheral, pretends he doesn't notice the way she covers it up by swallowing another mouthful of beer she doesn't want to drink.

“Hudson’s really glad to have you back,” he says after a minute, when she doesn’t confirm nor deny that it’s not so bad knowing her mom thinks he’s a fine enough person. “Been talking about it nonstop.”

A smile creeps its way onto her face. “I’m glad to be back. With her, especially.”

“Yeah, you two always been thick, huh?”

She nods, swallows more beer, and Pratt rolls his eyes and snags the bottle out of her hand.

“Don’t keep drinking if you don’t like it,” he tells her, and then finishes it off himself, setting the empty bottle on the countertop with a grimace. “Can’t have people telling Whitehorse I bullied the probie into drinking.”

“‘Probie’,” she scoffs. “I could kick your ass.”

“Bullshit!”

“Could’ve done it before, Pratt.”

“Now that is lies and slander.”

Elliot only grins at him, the only time since coming back sans Joey getting her from the airport that it’s been a genuine thing; lopsided and a little sloppy but a grin nonetheless. Pratt finishes his own beer now, coughing a little into his fist before he blurts out, “I’m glad, too.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“That you’re back,” Pratt clarifies. “Y’know—nice to have my friend back. Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway.”

He doesn’t know. He can’t know, because her mother won’t talk about it and Joey would never divulge what it was that had brought about her speedy return—but even though he doesn’t know about the way she has to swallow back a flinch every time he waves his hand in her peripheral, or the way the smell of beer on a man’s breath makes her stomach clench with anxiety, or how her hands are so fucking cold all the time because her heart hammers in her chest, the way he says that (Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway) feels a little like vindication.

“S’okay,” she murmurs, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Came back in one piece, didn’t I?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The scent of roses wafted over her in waves. The sound of bathwater murmuring against the sides of the porcelain tub rippled each time she moved, each time she used the grip of her hands against the lip of the sides to sink herself under; her knuckles went cold with the ferocious grip, but when she went under she was submerged in quiet once more. Blissful, serene, quiet; just what she wanted.

Elliot pulled herself out of the water. Downstairs, she could hear her mother’s voice, spiking frantic even through the floors and the two closed doors that kept her separated.

“...years, Mr. Seed, I have lost years of my life agonizing over what she did to herself...”

She dipped below the water, closing her eyes. No sound; no shrill noise; just the heavy, bloated static that existed underneath the surface of the bath. Only her and the baby.

It occurred to her, absently, that she needed to start picking out names for the baby. Now that they had a guess at what the gender was, they’d have to decide about a name; not only a first, but a middle, too—the last name—

“...find it quite intriguing, actually, that the second she comes back to me after being involved with your kind that she’s got all this—this—”

Oh, don’t say it, Elliot thought tiredly, closing her eyes.

“—tear, just wretched wear and tear, Mr. Seed, don’t you? Don’t you find that intriguing?”

John was sitting down there, enduring a thorough verbal lashing, and she hadn’t even asked him to. She’d said, I don’t care if she thinks it was me, and he’d guided her upstairs and cupped her face and kissed her, long and open-mouthed, and swept his thumb over her cheek. Now, Elliot could hear the sound of his voice—calmer, empathetic, like just knowing that her mother was hysterical was giving him some kind of control over himself—but that he was speaking in a normal tone meant that his words didn’t come through quite so clearly.

She heard the sound of her mother saying, “I suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re not bothered in the least?” just before she dipped under the water again.

What was she going to name the baby? Did she even have an idea of what kinds of names she liked? Exhaustion pulled at the edges of her attention; she thought, I’m too tired to come up with a baby name, and gripped the edges of the bathtub harder. More fierce, more firm; grip and pull, maybe spill the entire bathtub over, tilt the clawed feet until it hit the tiled floor and the porcelain broke and the rose-scent water flooded the bathroom, her room, the hallway.

Then they’d have to leave. Then they couldn’t stay, surely, in a house flooded with rose water.

Fingers brushed over hers where they’d gone white at the edges of the tub. She pulled herself out of the water to find John sitting there, knelt at the side of the tub—not unlike the way he’d sat back at her mother’s house in Hope County, when she’d drank too much in the bathtub and said that he could mark her.

Because that’s what it had been. As much as she had wanted it, as much as she had enjoyed it, no matter what John said—he had been marking her as his. Like that Oscar Wilde poem.

The same sin binds us.

Elliot brushed the water from her eyes and settled her head back against the tub, regarding him. He looked less bothered than she thought he would, having sat through her mother’s grilling and interrogation—though he did look like he wanted to say something, like maybe it was sitting, burning into ash in his mouth, the way she could see the flex of his jaw and the way his free hand clenched and loosened.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he wanted to ask her what she’d been doing under the water, and the even more bothersome knowledge that she had, at some point, become painfully aware of his body language, Elliot said, “We have to think of a name.”

John blinked at her. Less than an hour ago, he’d been saying Of course I’d come for you, I love you, with or without the baby I love you, and she’d been sobbing into his arms and clinging to him.

He said, “And a middle name.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

A smile finally ticked the corner of his mouth, his fingers uncurling hers from the edge of the tub. Reluctantly, she let him.

“Your mother’s upset.” He paused. “She still wants you to play nice for her Christmas party, but she’s upset.”

“I know,” she replied sullenly. The despair of her shame, which had at once both overwhelmed her and hollowed her out, had dissipated in the wake of her indignation. What would she know, that vicious thing inside of her said, replaying the way her mother’s expression had crumpled. What would she know of our suffering? What would she know of our pain? ‘Wretched wear and tear’, like we haven’t been torn up for ages, like she didn’t throw us to the wolves and scoff in disgust when we came back bloodied and battered.

She wanted to be angry, really angry, but like most things that had to do with her mother, Elliot found herself more exhausted than anything. Scarlet had always found it impossible to comprehend the scars she’d given herself, had always claimed to feel disconnected to the ways Elliot had searched out meaning and comfort.

Absently, Elliot wet her lips and let her gaze flicker up to where John had perched himself beside the tub. He looked mighty pleased with himself, having finally gotten his words out. I love you, he’d said, palm flat against her window, I love you, with or without the baby.

And John, I want a home with you.

And John, Marriage is hard work, but I know you’re just the woman for the job.

And John, No way baby, I’m fucking it for you.

Blood rushed through her head, thunderous. John was saying something to her, but the words felt distant, and far away, and everything felt like it was underwater when she moved—not just the parts of her submerged in the bath, but all of it, the air too-thick and dragging on her skin and pulling her down slow as molasses. She blinked a few times as she disentangled their hands and reached for the towel, but John pulled it off of the hook first.

She watched him. She watched his mouth move, and his brows pull and furrow together at the center of his forehead, and the way his breath rose and fell in his chest, pushing and pulling the Sloth scar scratched across his sternum. Just like me, dream John had said, gripping her blood-covered hands, you’re just like me.

His voice, muffled and bogged down by the blood rushing through her ears, quirked up at the end. Elliot’s eyes darted back to his, and she asked, “Sorry, what?”

“The water’s cold,” he replied, waving the towel a bit. “Aren’t you getting out?”

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. She felt hollow. Her fingers itched. She wanted—

John caught her hand as she stepped out of the bathtub, steadying her while her free hand gathered the towel up against her front. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, the lukewarm temperature of the bath still lingering; his fingers interlaced with hers, and she used it to steady herself.

He was close. They were close. A part of her resented it—that she let him be so close to her, that she let him kiss her and fuck her but mostly that she let him hold her when she cried, miserably, that she wanted to go home. Because after everything, after all of it, Hope County still felt—

She closed her eyes. Of course it still felt like home. Joey was there; now she knew Pratt was, too.

And among all of that, if she waded through the weeds spreading in her mind, if she hacked and cut them away, there was John.

“What are you thinking about?” John murmured, his cologne washing over her, their noses brushing. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a little breath, that wanton little creature in her head chanting it over and over. There’s John, there’s always been John, nobody will love us with this much red in our ledger. No one but him.

“You,” she managed. Her head felt swimmy, the words coming out of her mouth sounding like a stranger’s—thick with want. John’s eyes flickered up to hers, having fixed on her mouth.

“If you want something, Ell,” he rumbled, the pressure of his fingertips against the back of her neck guiding her forward just a little but not all the way, “you only—”

Elliot leaned forward and kissed him, her hand lifting so that she could curl her fingers into his hair, the towel slipping to the floor. His body had tensed, like he wasn’t expecting it—like he was waiting for something else—and she thought about the way he’d kissed her with Kian’s blood in her mouth, the way he’d been just rampant with desire, the way the way the way—

Her teeth caught his lower lip, a little sharper than she’d intended, and his hand gripping her wrist tightened and he moaned, and she felt that same little thrill as before surge through her. It’s my magic, too, the itch in her fingers subsiding when she dug her nails in and pulled his hair a little, parting her lips against his; John leaned into her, crowding her up against the counter in front of the mirror, the hand at the nape of her neck threading into damp hair.

“Ell,” he said against her mouth, his voice rougher than before and hands planted on the counter on either side of her, “what are you doing?”

She murmured, “Stop talking,” and kissed him again, fingers clumsily working through the buttons on his shirt—her voice came out even but everything else about her felt wobbly, unsteady, craving craving craving the way it felt to have him begging her. Anything, to feel in control. Anything, to feel whole. Dig, and dig, and when you hit the bottom you keep digging some more, right?

What do we do with grief, right?

Burn and erase the image of her mother’s disgust and horror at seeing a part of her she might actually like, scrape it from her mind, dig her trenches deep deep deep and hunker down where she could feel safe, where she could feel strong; soon she would be home and—

And John’s teeth snagged her lower lip in retribution, sparking violent and red-hot behind her eyes with pleasure lighting her neurons on fire.

“Off,” she ground out against his mouth, pushing helplessly at the shirt she’d only halfway unbuttoned. The brunette grinned; his hands resumed her work, and she instead devoted her attention to the belt at his waist, yanking at it as John’s face dropped to her neck, hot breath fanning across her skin teeth dragging against her pulse point to pull a moan out of her.

There was a split second between John discarding his shirt on the floor and gripping her hips to lift her onto the countertop, his mouth seeking hers out again as she wound her arms around his neck. She had never been completely naked and felt not vulnerable at all, felt more in control—but she did, now, when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled and he moaned her name, a little frantic, Ell, Ell, hellcat, he said into their kiss, let me let me, greedy and wanting as he glided fingers up along the inside of her thigh.

He tensed, like he was going to drop to his knees, and she kept her hand in his hair and said, “Don’t.”

“Hm,” is what he replied, “pulling on my hair, ordering me to take my clothes off—”

“I’m about to tell you to shut up again.”

“—but won’t let me eat you out?” John grinned against her mouth, the scent of his cologne—expensive, stupid shit, but it never failed to feel like it was overwhelming her senses—washing over her. “What is it, baby? Want me to say please?”

Yes, something wicked inside of her said, John’s eyes lifting from her mouth to hers, narrowing playfully. Yes, I’d like that, I’d like to hear you say it like that.

“I know you,” he purred. He dug his nails into her hips, a sound—the wanting kind—trying to crawl its way up her throat. “Know exactly what you want from me. Yeah? So, Ell, won’t you please—”

There was a sharp knock at the door, a pause, and then: “Elliot?”

A near-silent laugh billowed out of John, stifled into her neck when her mother’s voice came through the door. Elliot’s eyes fluttered; her fingers, knotted in John’s hair, loosened and smoothed down the back of his neck, the intoxicating tension relaxing just a little. Heat had coiled in the hollow of her chest, spreading warm fingers at the same leisurely pace that John’s hand drifted up to her hip, his mouth finding the hollow of her jaw.

“I can’t believe her,” she muttered. “Yes?”

“Miss West is here, with her brother.” Scarlet’s voice was tight. “Returning your vehicle.”

Fuck. Elliot sighed, her eyes closing for a second while she tried to gather her thoughts. It was difficult to focus with John’s breath on her neck and his hands on her skin and that fucking cologne—and boy, did she not want to dwell on the fact that he’d shown up with barely anything but somehow also remembered to pack his stupid fucking cologne. But there was a different, special kind of warmth that spread through her when she realized that Sylvia was coming to check on her.

“Hair’s wet,” she called after a moment, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Fine.” There was another pause, and then her mother’s voice, scathing even through the door: “Ensure you are put together, Elliot.”

John murmured against her neck, “So no hickeys, then?” and she swatted his shoulder, rolling her eyes and sliding off of the counter. He seemed reluctant to let her disembark, thumb sweeping the slope of her hip before he dropped down—just far enough to plant a kiss on the gentle slope of her tummy. It was—sentimental, unseating her with incredible ease.

And then he ruined it by saying, “Your mommy won’t let me fuck her filthy, but I hear the second trimester throws a woman’s hormones through the roof, so we’ll see how long that lasts,” to her bump as he grabbed the towel from the floor to offer to her.

She snatched it from his hands, wrapping it around herself. “Don’t say that shit to the baby. You think I won’t end your life?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he offered, head cocked to the side. “Leaving the hickeys, anyway, I mean. Well, and the second part too. About sex. Not the murderous part. Actually, you know I find it—”

Choosing to ignore the latter statement, Elliot narrowed her eyes. “You’d risk Via’s opinion of you dropping so severely?”

“You know what they say.” John spread his hands, almost in a gesture of helplessness; though she knew he was far from it. “Old habits die hard.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“She’s killing all of my angels!”

Faith’s voice was sharp, piercing; Isolde’s fingers fluttered over the bridge of her nose to fend off an impending headache, pen held poised above the notepad where she’d been writing down her thoughts but had paused in time for the girl’s interjection. She couldn’t stand a messy page—ink smears, jarred letters. Unacceptable.

Two hours ago, she’d had Jacob drive her out to where the service was strongest. A flood of emails and texts from her family had been waiting to overload her phone. Her dad, things are looking poorly, where are you?, her sister, I’ve been trying to reach you for days.

“Jacob,” the blonde plunged on, interrupting her train of thought, “you have to do something. They’re being—gutted like fish!”

“You should have locked them down,” Jacob told her. “And you’re not the only one losing things.”

“I put—” Faith cut herself off, clearly taking a moment to compose herself before she pitched her voice low and said, “I put just as much work into them as you do into yours.”

The red head’s voice bloomed with annoyance when he said, “Oh, did you?”

“No fighting, please,” Joseph called from where he sat next to her. His voice was even, elbows rested on his legs and fingers interlaced in thought. “I know this is stressful. But you must keep your faith in God.”

“Santi told me that—whoever she is has been leaving their corpses all around!” Faith’s voice pitched high with distress, now, sweeping around Jacob to come to where they had sat, big doe eyes wide. “We have to do something. Please, Father—I don’t want our people to wonder if they’re going to be next.”

Joseph paused, looking pensive for a moment; Isolde thought he might have been trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase something, but before he could speak, Isolde looked at Jacob and said, “You were going to hunt her down anyway, weren’t you?”

The eldest Seed’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start with me too, Sol.”

“Get some fresh air,” she replied curtly, “go for a drive, clear your head. Eliminate a problem. You’ve been wearing a hole in the floors anyway; put that energy into being productive.”

“P—” Jacob’s voice spiked, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

He was agitated. She could tell—Pratt, and the phone call with the deputy in Georgia, and the Hunter on some kind of one-man rampage. But more importantly, Isolde thought, Jacob was agitated because there had not been a single conversation between him and Joseph since their argument.

Well, not even an argument. Just a lashing. A public one.

Isolde scooted her chair back from the table that had been set up at the front of the chapel, setting her pen down and stepping away. Her hand landed on the crook of Jacob’s elbow as she passed, and though he made a noise that implied disdain, he followed—not without shrugging her hand off by the time they got to the front doors of the chapel, leaving the other two to talk in low, murmured voices.

“You have got to stop letting this get to you,” she hissed.

“Nothing is ‘getting’—”

“Listen to me,” Isolde interjected. “I’ve been keeping as close an eye on the news as I have been on you. Things are—” She paused, mouth twisting around the words. “There is no room for you lot to be bloody fighting with each other. Do you understand me? This has moved far past needing to prepare PR and build a legal defense.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked suspicious. “So why are you still here then, Sol?” he asked.

The words burned insult in her chest. Why are you still here, stinging fresh and hot, because it was a fair question. It was the most fair question. Unlike any of these people, she had a family outside that she still loved. Her sister, and her parents. She should have told John and all of the Seeds to go fuck themselves, to enjoy the end of the world, while she went to be with her family.

But she wasn’t. She was here. Doing—this. Finding fresh new ways for Joseph to connect with his people to keep their morale high, keeping the infighting at bay to make sure they looked like a united front to everyone, second doomsday cult included.

“My parents will take care of Avery. You know they’re close with—government,” she replied after a minute, shaking off the unease. “And I told John that I would.”

He snorted. “John says jump, you ask how high?”

“No,” she bit out, “I say jump and you kiss the fucking ground I’m standing on because I cobbled together what the fuck is left of your congregation.” Before Jacob could say anything, Isolde added, “My hands are full, Jake. Do not add to my pile.”

Dark brows furrowed, his mouth thinning in disdain. He clearly wanted to say something. But true to his nature, Jacob straightened back and settled himself before he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he reiterated with his eyes narrowed. “I’m going to the Veteran’s Center.”

“That doesn’t sound like where we heard about the killings happening last,” Isolde protested, eyes narrowing.

“But she was there,” he replied. “Or someone was. Someone was there enough to steal my files.”

“Your—” Isolde snapped her mouth shut, sucking her teeth as she glanced back at Joseph and Faith; haloed in the dim lighting of the chapel, she could see them looking back at Jacob and herself expectantly. She wondered how much they could hear, from there.

Turning her attention back to Jacob and pitching her voice down in volume, Isolde hissed, “I don’t think prioritizing files is the best move right now.”

“Thank you,” Jacob idled, “for your input.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have fun,” he added, opening the door and letting in a waft of biting, cold air, before gesturing to the Book of Joseph on the table that she’d had her nose stuck in. All the better to make Joseph’s sermons hit home harder, after all. “You know—with your light reading.”

Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching him trudge down the steps for just a second before she said, “Jacob—”

“Yes, Isolde?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Don’t get shot.”

For a moment, he looked almost surprised at her words—but it was only a moment before he said, “Don’t worry, I’m taking Vidal. He makes a suitable meatshield.”

“God, he’s a talker.”

A tiny ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Jacob’s lips, before he said, “John and the deputy should be making their way here any day now.”

Isolde grimaced. “I was there for the phone call.”

“Are you going to leave?” Jacob pressed, expression stiffening again. “When he does?”

She paused, clearing her throat and shifting on her feet. I should, were the words that wanted to come out of her mouth. I should go. I only came down here because John wasn’t here. I should go, and get back to my life, and maybe get to my family and try to stay out of the crossfire and—

After a heartbeat, she said, “I don’t know.”

Jacob shrugged, as if to say, see? Told you, though to what he could be referring to, she had no idea; she only knew that she didn’t like the way he swung around and sauntered out of the chapel, leaving her alone in the tepid warmth with Joseph and Faith’s eyes on her in favor of the blistering cold outside. Snow had continued to dump throughout the day and night, and had only just let up recently; the members of Eden’s Gate—those who had survived the Family’s relentless assaults, and those that had been pulled from the bunkers—had been tirelessly shoving pathways, only to have their work tidily undone each night.

Fingers brushed the palm of her hand. Isolde startled; she glanced back just as fingers interlaced with hers to be met with sweet, bright eyes and Faith’s adoring attention planted on her.

“It means so much to me,” Faith murmured, “that you would help. Not just me, but all of us.”

Soli watched the blonde for a moment, trying to gauge. The physical closeness was not something she was accustomed to; carefully, she disentangled their fingers, skin prickling with unease. When she glanced up, Joseph’s eyes were on them, on Faith’s fingers falling from her hand but skimming the inside of her palm in a lingering touch of affection.

He was always doing that. Watching. Watching, and waiting, and pinning each movement and gesture and thought and word out perfectly like the wings of a butterfly, just the color he liked and just the shape.

“Don’t thank me,” Isolde replied, mustering a smile and brushing the hair from her face.

“It’s my job.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, Miss Honey, John!”

Wyatt’s cheerful voice broke through the late-afternoon chill; the sun setting early, people’s breath coming out in puffs of smoke. It all felt oddly normal, given the circumstances of the morning and the way she’d forgotten to call Sylvia once she got home, and that her friend had fished up a reason to come by the house and make sure she hadn’t—

Well.

Still, if there was any remnant of the morning in Sylvia’s heart, it didn’t show in her face, and it certainly didn’t show in Wyatt’s. Instead, both blondes beamed at her, radiant, the second she came out with fuzzy, fresh-from-the-blow-dryer hair and swaddled up to her chin in thick fabrics to fend off the cold.

And, truthfully, to hide the bump. John had reminded her of it, and even though the moment had been a...good one, it had also reminded her she hadn’t expressed this truth to Sylvia or Wyatt. As John closed the door behind her and jogged down the steps,

“Howdy,” Ell greeted, albeit a bit awkwardly thanks to her stuck-somewhere-nowhere-sort-of-accent. “You didn’t have to drive it back all the way out here, you know.”

“Sure we did.” Wyatt chirped. “Wouldn’t be very neighborly of us if we let it sit and the battery died out, now would it?”

“No,” John demurred after a moment even as Elliot’s cheeks went warm, “I suppose not.”

“You all recovered from this morning?” Via asked cheerfully, purposefully avoiding the actual question. Elliot shifted on her feet. John’s hand skimmed the small of her back, and even through the layers of fabric, it felt warm; she wondered if this was what it would have been like for them, had their life been normal. Had John been truthful with her from the get-go. Now, with everything laid out between them—the lies unearthed and only the brutal, unapologetic knowledge that they wanted each other, in one way or another—it felt like they might have been normal. Sometime, somewhere, someplace else.

It was still hard to swallow, all of it. The lies and the now-truths and the knowledge that she did, in fact, want.

“Oh, yeah,” Ell replied faintly. “Took a bath and...” She tried for a smile. “Decompressed.”

“That what smells so good?”

“Y’all get that tired from dress shoppin’?” Wyatt tsked, having pulled his coat out of the jeep and started to pull it on. He grinned at her and skillfully dodged a side-swipe from Sylvia; he had a good foot of height on her—and Elliot—so it wasn’t difficult. The siblings fussed for only a moment before Sylvia managed to fetch the Jeep’s keys from Wyatt’s coat pocket and held them out to Elliot, puffing.

She was in the middle of saying, “Your keys, madame,” when John’s head tilted and he muttered, “Now what is this?”, drawing her attention to the end of the drive. A police cruiser made its way slowly down the drive, carefully pulling up behind the Jeep.

Not beside it. Not further up toward the garage, not on the other side of the four of them chatting. Behind it. Blocked in.

Sheriff Pritchard stepped out, shuffling a little as he adjusted the black, fur-trimmed jacket on his shoulders and closed the driver side door. He’d come alone, which made Elliot certain he wasn’t here to arrest her—and what a ludicrous thought, that he might have considered it a possibility, because the mere mental image of Pritchard grabbing her arm and keeping his eyes in his head made a hysterical kind of laugh want to bubble out of her.

Not me, not me and not my baby, that thing inside of her said, lifting its hackles and baring its teeth when Pritchard began to saunter over. Not my baby.

“Afternoon, you two. And Wests,” Pritchard greeted as he drew closer. He’d earned himself a curious murmur from Sylvia. “Havin’ a little shindig out here, Miss Honeysett?” Elliot opened her mouth to respond, but he lifted his hands quickly in defense. “‘M sorry, forgot myself. Mrs. Seed.”

It caught her off-guard, sucked the air right out of her lungs. It was one thing to hear her mother say John is Elliot’s husband, to hear her say John is my son-in-law, but it was another entirely to hear herself referred to as Mrs. Seed. It had never, ever been that she was John’s wife, except out of his own mouth, but now—

John seemed eager to engage with Pritchard, because he said, “Something that you needed, sheriff?”

“Yes, actually. Believe it or not, I ain’t in the business of drivin’ out to the rich part of town just for shits and giggles,” Pritchard replied coolly. “Your mama home, Elli?”

“Probably resting,” Sylvia offered, smiling politely. “We just finished dress shoppin’ for her Christmas Party not but an hour ago.”

“Yeah,” Pritchard rumbled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Heard about your little trip to the boutique today.”

John asked irritably, “Do you need to smoke that right now?”

Elliot swallowed thickly. Her lashes fluttered, eyes desperate to close; the warmth that had flooded her face now felt like it verged on feverish, threatening to make her head swim again. This was bad. This was bad-bad, chop her hair off and run run run again bad, the kind of bad that made a girl change her name and burn her birth certificate and make sure that nobody would ever be able to find her again.

“I don’t,” she began, “think mama’s feeling up to visitors right now.”

Pritchard eyed her, taking a puff of his cigarette while completely glazing over John’s pointed question. “Imagine not. You know, you been a hot topic of conversation lately, Mrs. Seed. Gotten loads of questions about you. Lady from out of town, Federal Marshals. I don’t like folks sniffin’ around my town, you know, especially not the fuckin’ Feds, but it’s gotta make me wonder.” The smoke curled out from his nose, the smoke of a lazy, self-righteous dragon wafting around her.

“Sheriff,” John continued tightly, clearing his throat, “you’re going to need to put that out.”

“We’re outside, Mr. Seed. You ain’t ever seen someone smoke a cigarette outside?”

“Do you make a habit of smoking around pregnant women?” John snapped viciously, and oh, she thought, oh, I didn’t even think of that, because her brain was too busy kicking into overdrive and parse out the absolute confirmation that Federal Marshals were asking after her and strange women, too. Oh, I didn’t even think about the baby.

And then Sylvia said, eyes wide as saucers as she laughed, flustered, “Oh, John, that’s very kind of you, but I’m not—” and her eyes landed on Elliot, and she blinked rapidly.

Wyatt was looking at her, too. Big, big eyes, surely having not only learned that she and John were married but that she was also pregnant in the span of only a few minutes. At least, Elliot didn’t think Sylvia would have divulged that information, and if the shock he was clearly trying to cover up in his expression was any indication, that gut feeling was right.

No, she thought, no, this is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted at all. It wasn’t his to tell, it wasn’t his to tell, it was mine, my choice, mine alone.

Her gaze snapped to Pritchard. She said, “It’s time for you to leave.”

Pritchard lifted his eyebrows. “That so? Well, good for me I ain’t here to talk to you, missy.”

“Get. Off. My. Property,” she bit out through her teeth. “Scarlet isn’t taking visitors, and I’ll cut the decay out of my own teeth before she makes anything close to the time of day for you.”

Now, his eyes narrowed and the cigarette sat between his fingers, still burning amber at the end. “Excuse me?”

“And tell the fucking Feds whatever you want,” she snapped, fingers curled tightly around the keys until the metal edges dug into the nooks and crannies of her hand. “But whatever you do, get the fuck out of my driveway, sheriff.”

Something flickered in the corner of her vision. John started, “Ell,” and his hand went to her shoulder, but she jerked back from him before he could make much more than a brush of contact.

“Don’t,” Elliot snapped at him, her voice wobbling and the tears—shameful tears—welling up and burning, “touch me.”

“Alright, okay,” Sylvia murmured, “Elliot and I are gonna go inside, and John can—”

“Ain’t here to talk to Mr. Seed,” Pritchard drawled venomously.

“If you’re asking questions about Elliot,” Sylvia replied calmly, taking Elliot’s hand with a firm squeeze, “I can imagine there is no better person to ask than her husband, don’t you think so, Sheriff?”

Pritchard’s eyes were squinted into poisonous little slits, and he took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Mrs. Honeysett won’t be any type of cooperative if you get her up now,” Wyatt chimed in, eyes flickering nervously to Elliot—perhaps both because of the news and because of her outburst. But she didn’t have time to think much about it, because Sylvia was tugging her out of the cluster of folks, ginger and reassuring even as her brother plunged on, “I mean, sheriff, come on—you know how women can be when they’re gotten up too early, let alone they’ve been shoppin’ all day—”

And Pritchard said, “You want I should put my cigarette out now, Mr. Seed?” as Sylvia opened the door,

and John replied with a slick, charismatic kind of venom, “No reason to anymore, smoke to your heart’s content,”

and the door clicked shut behind her and Boomer scampered out from where he’d been snoozing under the dining table.

She had to leave.

She had to go.

She had to get out.

Federal Marshals and strange women asking after her, and now her only two friends in the whole fucking world—

(well, not entirely true, since we still have Pratt, isn’t that right? Isn’t that right, Elli?)

—had just seen her almost go fucking bananas on an officer of the law, had watched her demand he get the fuck out of her driveway for wanting to ask her mother about her, had seen her.

“Hey,” Sylvia said, “you’re alright.”

I’m not, she thought, dropping the keys into the crystal bowl by the door, smearing red against the glass. Her hand stung. She reached with the good, unmarked hand for Boomer absently. His cold, wet nose brushed against it, and he whined, feet tapping against the wood as he bumped her for her attention. I won’t go. I won’t fucking go. I won’t pay the price for what they did to me, what they made me into.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out abruptly, her voice coming out tight. “Sorry that I didn’t—um, tell you. About the—”

“It’s okay,” Sylvia told her quickly, “it’s alright, Elli, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Elli, she said, without knowing what the nickname meant. Elli, Sylvia said, it’s alright, and Joey, right now we need to leave, Elli, and Pratt, geez, Elli, slow down, an affectionate nickname saved only for folks who considered her their friend. Sans Pritchard. Fuck Pritchard.

“Lots of people wait to tell,” Via continued, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder and jarring her out of her thoughts, which were quickly and rapidly devolving back into the urge to march outside and ensure Pritchard was obeying her command. Out out out, something vicious inside of her demanded, we want him out we want him gone.

Elliot said, “Yeah, you’re right,” but she felt far away—not lost, not gone from herself, but thinking. She could pack fast. She could pack fast, and John had brought barely anything, and they could leave right now, her mother none the wiser. They could leave now and be gone and Cameron Burke would have to—

But are we sure it’s Burke? Are we sure it’s Burke and not someone else, come to haul your ass to a fucking psych ward, for what you did in Hope County?

For what you did?

No. She wasn’t sure. She could only hope it was one singular Federal Marshall on her tail, and not an actual piece of the government body. That was all.

But whoever it was that was asking after her—strangers, government officials—it didn’t matter. That old mantra had kicked in again; something has to be done, the same kind of calm before the storm that she’d felt when Joey had been killed, something has to be done.

Something has to be done and I’m going to have to be the one to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pritchard dropped the cigarette into the snow and stamped it out with his bootheel, his eyes fixed on John. Sylvia had rushed Elliot inside, but he didn’t think that had been purely necessary—only in the instance they had wanted to keep Pritchard out of a blood bath. Elliot hadn’t been checking out, trying to keep herself together; she had been angry, and he’d had half a mind to let her say and do exactly as she pleased to the man now standing in front of him in the cold.

“She always been that volatile, Mr. Seed?” the sheriff asked.

“Not undeservingly,” John replied tartly, his eyes narrowed. “Did you have specific questions, sheriff, or did you just come by to terrorize my pregnant wife with your theoretical judgment of her soul?”

“More your speed?” Pritchard replied, lifting a brow.

“Pardon?”

“Heard about you Seed boys,” he continued coolly, “and your...” He gestured with a calloused hand vaguely, looking for the right word.

John smiled, with teeth. “Before I grow old, if you don’t mind, sheriff.”

“Proclivities,” Pritchard elaborated, “for religion.”

Fucking Burke, he thought, with no absence of venom; fucking Burke can’t resist the urge to try and fuck up my life when he’d be better off trying to find a place to hunker down for the end of the world.

“We’re red-blooded Americans,” John idled coolly, “freedom of religion goes hand in hand with that.”

“Mr. Pritchard, you wanna get that car started?” Wyatt cut in abruptly, glancing around like he thought maybe the rest of the patrol might be rolling in any minute. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got any questions for Mr. Seed.”

“That’s sheriff to you, boy,” he snapped. And then, after a heartbeat, he fished his keys out of his pocket and said, “I s’pose I got all the information I needed, after all.”

“Mmhm.”

John had turned back to the house, spotting Elliot and Sylvia through the front window, when Pritchard announced, “You make sure Scarlet gives me a call when she’s recovered from your wife’s antics, Mr. Seed.”

His gaze returned to the sheriff, narrowed. “Certainly, Sheriff Pritchard.”

“But if I don’t hear from you, no worries,” the man continued, opening his car door, “I’ll make another special trip out here.”

“Goody.”

John flashed another grin when Pritchard’s eyes flickered over him. Wyatt said, “Have a safe drive,” and Pritchard slammed his door shut, his cruiser’s engine roaring to life before he began to slowly back out and make a u-turn to head down the long driveway again. There was a moment of silence, stretching between himself and Wyatt that he didn’t feel particularly inclined to break—after all, Wyatt had been taking liberties with Elliot that he shouldn’t have been—before the blonde finally broke the silence.

“Congrats,” Wyatt said after a minute. “About—uh, the baby, I mean. I didn’t know!”

Ah, he thought, feeling a strange little surge of pride at the way the man across from him shifted on his feet with discomfort, and that’s why Elliot’s mad I brought it up. Her friends didn’t know.

Well, it was better this way, after all. He wouldn’t have taken it back even if he’d gotten the chance, knowing what he did now.

“Thank you,” he replied amiably. “It’s certainly a blessing.”

Wyatt’s mouth twisted for a moment, looking like there was something he wanted to say specifically and didn’t know how to say it without foregoing social niceties, but the sound of the front door opening caught both of their attentions.

“Wyatt, you gonna stand out here like a lemming all afternoon or what?” Via called. “Get the car warmed up, you caveman.” She took a few steps down the front stairs and looked at John. “You’re wanted inside, Mr. Seed.”

A very polite way of telling him that Elliot, perhaps, was in the mood to throttle him with her bare hands. Though he didn’t really see the harm in spilling the news—perhaps with Via, sure, but Wyatt? The cowboy? Like that was ever going to be anything.

“Thanks for your help,” John said, clapping Wyatt on the shoulder before he made his way to the front steps. Via hadn’t moved. In fact, her normally polite expression was eerily cool—whatever amicable, feigned interest she had manicured for him in the past seemed to have evaporated in the wake of Elliot’s own fury.

As he neared, he said, “Something else you needed, Miss West?”

Via’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Wyatt, now inside the car, and then back to John. “You must think I’m mighty dumb, don’t you?”

John lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. “If you think I instigated that little outburst on purpose—”

“What I think,” Via replied, “is that you know exactly what she’s capable of handling. Just because you didn’t do it on purpose doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking of letting her physically assault a police officer.”

His easy-going expression flattened. Sylvia, and her seeing, the same kind of uncanny people-reading skills that Joseph had, too. Seeing his delight at knowing that Elliot would have taken on a man a foot taller than her, pregnant, if it meant keeping him away from the baby, if it meant keeping herself out of the grip of a greater power that wanted her in a psychiatric evaluation.

“I want to like you,” Via continued, taking the steps until she reached the bottom, “and I thought maybe you were here to make a real effort. But it seems like you’re the same person you were before, John Duncan.”

The name sent a jolt of red-hot anger flushing down his spine, filling him up suddenly with a sort of molten rage that only the reminder of his adoptive parents could have inspired in him. When Via went to move past him, he snatched her elbow, holding her in place.

“And where,” he ground out, “did you hear that name, Miss West?”

“It’s called a web browser, John,” Via replied coolly. “You ever heard of Google? Imagine how many John Seeds there are in Hope County, Montana. I don’t need to tell you that the articles regarding you and your brothers, though a bit old, are unflattering. And all I want you to know—” She paused, arm still in his grip. “—is that we’re aware of each other, and that I don’t want anything happening to Elliot.”

“Neither do I,” John replied tightly, “and I especially don’t want someone digging trenches where there’s not a war zone.”

Via regarded him with an even gaze for a moment, glancing back at the car where her brother sat, before she murmured idly, “Kindly take your hand off of my arm, John.”

“Ellliot’s already aware of the any of the information in those articles,” he continued lowly, “just so you know.”

“My point, John,” Via replied casually, “is that I know, and I can—and will—deal with it as I see fit. Now, you gonna take your fuckin’ hand off of my arm, or are we going to have a problem?”

He watched her for a moment—just long enough to consider the dopamine rush of killing her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her face into the top of the porch, doing something, anything to ensure that Sylvia West was not capable of messing up anything that he was doing—and then he planted a big smile on his face and dropped his hand from her arm.

“Careful,” he said, louder now so that Wyatt would hear, “it’s icy.”

The blonde didn’t respond. Instead, she brushed her hand absently where his had been, as though to brush herself free of his touch, and picked her way across the driveway and to the truck idling just on the other side of the jeep.

Well, that would be one less problem to deal with, in the end.

John made his way inside, closing the front door quietly behind himself and taking a moment to gauge. Just to see what was going on. The house itself was quiet, and Boomer’s little footfalls were nowhere to be heard, and Scarlet wasn’t sipping her vodka in the living room—so.

So.

So.

Taking a breath, he started up the stairs, turning into the hall to find Elliot’s bedroom door halfway ajar. He paused in the doorway; she was rifling through drawers, pulling sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and jeans and sweats out and dropping them into a duffel bag, furious little exhales occasionally coming out of her.

“I was told I was being summoned,” John said, Elliot’s attention razor-sharp and snapping to him immediately.

“Pack your shit,” she said briskly, “we’re leaving.”

He blinked. Taking a step inside, he glanced at Boomer—perched protectively between himself and Elliot—and said, “I thought we were waiting until after the Christmas party?”

“You’re not fucking deaf, John, you heard Pritchard,” she snapped. “The Feds have been asking about me. The only reason they don’t know exactly where to look—whoever it is—is because Pritchard’s a fucking asshole and likes to be as obstinate as possible.”

“And if we sprint out of here,” he replied, “you’re just going to draw their attention.”

“It’s what Pritchard wants.” Elliot zipped the duffel bag shut and then brushed past him into the bathroom, gathering up her toothbrush and toothpaste and the sleeping pills. “For me to be gone. He’ll piss off if I go. And there’s no way he’s going to put up a big fight to cozy up to the government.”

“Elliot.” John watched her furiously gathering things up, and then when she came by again he caught her with his hands. “Ell, just slow down—”

“Stop,” she bit out, “stop telling me what to fucking do, John, and—I told you not to touch me.”

He lifted his hands from her, but not far enough that she could duck past. “Are you that mad about Sylvia and Wyatt knowing you’re pregnant?” When she didn’t answer, and instead hauled the bag over from the other side of the bed to be close to her so that she could dump the collections from the bathroom into it, he sighed. “I didn’t know you hadn’t told them, but I don’t understand what all of the secrecy is about. The baby isn’t—”

“I felt normal!” Elliot replied sharply, her voice pitching a little higher now, and John heard the wet wobble in it too—the way the timbre of her voice thickened and rounded out with the threat of oncoming tears, her cheeks flushed with anger and maybe shame and pain, too. “Okay? I felt—I f-fucking felt normal, for once, and it was enough that Sylvia knew you and I had been—that we’re married, which I don’t even want to dig into right now, but it was another to be like—yes, the father of my fucking child, who I’m actually married to even though I didn’t want it, is here and oh, by the way? He’s part of a cult. Yeah, a fucking doomsday cult. I’m carrying the child of a doomsday cultist.”

“How was I supposed to know?” he demanded. “How was I supposed to know that you didn’t want Sylvia and her brother knowing you were pregnant? You never said. And what does it matter?” And then, feeling the petulance well up inside of him: “I know it probably felt nice, to have Wyatt giving you attention—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re really pulling that now? So, what—you dumped the news because you wanted to make sure my friend found me as off-limited as possible?”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I know this may come as a shock to you,” he said, feeling the tension peeling apart behind his eyelids, “I really didn’t want Pritchard smoking near my baby.”

“My baby.” Elliot jammed her finger into his chest, just above his heart, her words vicious. “It’s our baby, or it’s my baby, but there isn’t a single fucking universe where the only person this baby is beholden to is you.”

“He’s,” John corrected, tartly. “He’s our baby. And at the end of the day, whether you like it or not—”

“Have you ever,” she cut in over him, biting the words out between her teeth, “done anything for me that wasn’t for you too?”

Watching her, the words sat sticky in his chest. His instinct was to say, of course I have, but that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to pretend like it was, either—because he wasn’t ashamed that everything he had done had been for them, that if Elliot wasn’t his then there would be no point in it, that it was a zero sum game where he either had her or he had nothing.

He said, evenly, “No.”

Elliot looked unseated by his honesty. She swept her fingers across her forehead tiredly and turned back to her bag. “Then do me a favor and pack your shit so we can go.”

John sighed. “Don’t you think—”

“John,” she bit out, “I am making an executive decision.”

“Alright, Ell.”

“And—”

John had turned to the door to go gather what few of his belongings he’d had when Elliot cut herself off, drawing his eyes over his shoulder to her again. She looked unwell—stressed, feverish, her hands buried into the duffel bag maybe to hide the shaking and her face flushed and her brows furrowed together.

“Thank you,” she managed out after a minute, “for being honest. For once.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pratt brushed the snow from his hair, teeth chattering as he waded through knee-deep snow out towards the water. It had been three days, and Helmi had told him to meet her out there—how she was going to get past the compound’s security, Pratt didn’t know, but he also thought it probably was best not to dwell on the things that Helmi would do (and could do) to get where she needed to be.

Which is why he found himself less and less surprised to find her standing at the edge of the water, in the middle of the night, swathed up to her jaw in dark, heavy fabrics. The only part of her that wasn’t covered were her hands; the closer he got, he could see she was turning a smooth, dark rock over and over in her hands, passing it between them as she watched him come nearer.

“You remembered,” was how she greeted him, most of her face cast in shadow thanks to the high position of the moon behind her. Pratt shivered and jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

“Yeah, well, kinda hard to forget,” he replied. “Considering it’s been looming over me for the last few days.”

“Poor thing,” Helmi agreed, not sounding sympathetic at all. “Did you call her?”

Pratt paused, clearing his throat. There was something that didn’t quite sit right with him, knowing that he had called Elliot not out of a cry for her help—not really, anyway—but because this other cult wanted her. This cult, which had tore its way through Hope County splitting and gutting its residents, wanted her. And Helmi didn’t seem keen on telling him why.

“I did. They just got word that she and John are on the road now,” he said after a moment. “What, uh—do you want her for, anyway?”

Helmi quirked a brow at him, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards. “Shouldn’t you have asked that before making the phone call, if it was going to bother you?”

A little lick of shame and embarrassment crawled red-hot into his cheeks, and he scoffed, turning his face away. “Well, you said you wanted her alive. Can’t say the same for the Seeds.”

“She’s carrying John’s child,” Helmi pointed out. “You think they’d kill her still?”

Pratt grimaced. It was still hard to stomach—the idea that Elliot was with John. Or had been, at one point. It didn’t sound like things were going great, and he could only imagine why. Still—

Still, he thought there was a lesser of the two evils, and Helmi sounded like it. Maybe not the others, but Helmi.

“They don’t have a problem killing babies,” Pratt replied after a minute. “What are you going to do, once she gets here? They won’t let her leave, and they definitely won’t let you in.”

Now, the blonde grinned—pearly teeth in the dark of the night, surprisingly satisfied with herself. “Big one’s pissed at me, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Well, you know, Faith too. You've been killing her angels.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got a plan. You know exactly as much as you need to know right now. Are you eating?”

The question came so quickly that Pratt didn’t have time to register the oddness of it, replying on automatic the same way he had been with Arden’s consistent, gentle pestering: “Yeah, I mean—don’t have much of an appetite, but...”

His voice trailed off and he glanced back at the woman. Her head was cocked and her eyes were fixed on him expectantly. “What?”

“Eat,” she told him. “Take advantage of as much as you can. And most of all, listen. Any information you can get will be helpful.”

Pratt’s throat felt a little tight. He kept thinking about the way Jacob had grabbed his shoulder, laughing when he’d insulted the woman doing the heavy lifting for Joseph—grinning like a fucking wolf, like he was going to be dinner, next.

He managed out, “He’ll kill me. If he suspects. He’ll take—everything, from me.”

Helmi planted a hand on his shoulder. The gesture made him want to flinch, but he bit back the urge, and he thought maybe she’d seen but didn’t say.

“He already took everything from you,” she replied lightly, “and do you know what that means?”

The dark of her gaze was intense, piercing even in the late night; it made it hard to look away. Voices echoed back in the compound, and briefly, he thought maybe they’d noticed his absence—but he only shook his head.

“It means you have nothing to lose,” Helmi murmured, “and everything to take back from him.” Her hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, the pad of her thumb sweeping up to his pulsepoint pensively. “See? Your heart is beating, and hard. Your blood knows it’s what you want, even if you don’t yet.”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded his head once. Nothing to lose, and everything to take back. Could he? Could he get things back? Is that what Helmi had done? What Elliot had done?

“And don’t fuck it up,” she added, dropping her hand from his neck and zipping her coat up. Leaving so soon. She grinned. “Or I’ll gut you myself. And I guarantee, it won’t be an Återfödelse.”

A nervous, almost hysterical little laugh bubbled up out of him. Helmi shot him a look and then brushed past him, heading back into where the brush became the thickest, calling over her shoulder, “See you in a few days, Staci Pratt.”

A few days. A few days, Elliot would be back, and John Seed would be back, and Helmi would be seeing him. Seeing them. Maybe it would be better to make a break with Elliot, once she got in—but what if she didn’t want to? What if she was one of them?

Pratt let out a puff of hot breath, digging the heel of his palm into his eyesocket while the pain bloomed just there, turning and beginning to trudge back to the compound before anyone noticed his absence. Each scrape and puff of snow fell in line with his heartbeat, the mantra on and off again.

Nothing to lose.

Everything to take back.

#my writing #far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #john seed/female deputy #john seed x female deputy #fic: witching hour #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #ch: joseph seed #ch: isolde khan #ch: jacob seed #ch: staci pratt #ch: helmi #hrghrhgrgh #gang's almost all together #and then i won't be tagging them all lmao #filing cabinet can suffer #thank you thank you thank you to everyone who cheered me on #had a bit of a breakdown last week and came back with a fresh head #so i feel really pleased! #ch: faith seed

[albarivas]

ana de armas, cis female, she/her    —    whenever i see alba rivas meandering down agnes street la escalera by pablo alborán starts to play inside my head. maybe it is the vibe they give off. bullet journals, colorful dresses, hairstyles with bandanas ;   you know ? artistic impressions is what keeps them interested in agnes. i heard they are a thirty-three year old teacher at bright future. they look like the kind of person who would make you do a vision board. 

hi again, it’s ella again. okay so i had cameron (the lily james) but tbh she’s a new muse and right now i don’t have the brain to develop a muse from scratch but i still want to write and that’s why i decided to bring alba, one of my oldest muses. i’m so happy to give her a new home and i can’t wait for her to meet all of your characters.

basics

NAME: alba carolina rivas borges

NICKNAME: al, albie

GENDER: cis female

PLACE OF BIRTH: boca raton, florida

DATE OF BIRTH: april 19, 1988

AGE: thirty-thirty

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual

OCCUPATION: teacher at bright future

background

tw: illness, cheating

CHILDHOOD

her story starts between cuba and spain. her mother, carolina, fled from cuba and her father immigrated from spain with no friends or family and only with a few dollars. the two newcomers were matched by fate and just a year later they welcomed their daughter, alba.

two years later, a son completed the rivas family. they didn’t have much and often had to deal with homesickness and many times they considered moving to spain, but eventually they decided to stay.

it was a big change for both julián and carolina. he used to work as a lawyer back in spain and carolina had almost graduated from med school. now in the united states they both had to start from zero.

her mother traveled an hour from boca raton to palm spring every day where she worked cleaning those luxurious houses.  her father got his credentials to become a spanish teacher and taught in the local high school.

alba always knew she didn’t have much. she grew up going with her mom to those huge houses and from a young age she understood what wealth could buy. however, alba never envied those who had a lot more than her. in fact, her childhood best friend was the girl that lived in the house her mother cleaned. the two were inseparable.

ADOLESCENCE AND COLLEGE YEARS

alba excelled as a student. education was something her parents always deemed as important and so she made it her goal to make them proud. 

she earned a spot in a prestigious public high school. as a teenager, she was the model child. always listening to her parents, rarely giving them problems. she had an active social life, she went on a couple of dates and she was part of several groups.

these qualities eventually earned her a place at nyu. moving to new york was something she’d never considered. she liked florida, and her family were there but her parents convinced her that this would be a great opportunity and that she could comeback.

becoming a teacher was her ambition. she admired her father for doing it and she knew from a young age that she wanted to teach children. 

to make ends meet, she got a job as a waitress and she really didn’t have a social life as she worked and studied full time. there was no time for friendship and even less time for dating.

it was during one day at work that she met someone that changed her life. she met another student while she was working who asked her out but she refused, however, he came back and did the same thing every night until one day she finally accepted.

one date turned into two and then three until soon people couldn’t see one without the other. most people thought they wouldn’t last, their personalities and values were too different. he came from a wealthy family, the typical spoiled kid that was set to inherit his parents’ fortune someday, the one that always featured on page six with a different woman every night. meanwhile, alba came from a working-class family, daughter of immigrants who always had to work to get what she had in life. despite the skepticism, they proved everyone wrong.

at twenty-two, alba graduated with a degree in early childhood education and began working as a teacher.

ADULTHOOD

her relationship with this guy (i dont have a name for him lmao) was better than ever and after dating for three years, he proposed and alba said yes as she was convinced she’d found her other half.

however, not everything was perfect. his family didn’t like her and things only got worse after they got engaged. the couple married only a year later. they left new york and moved to florida where they bought one of those houses alba always had dreamed to have and the best part is that they were neighbors with her childhood best friend.

but all good things must come to an end, and soon her fairytale turned into a nightmare. the relationship with her in-laws was awful which eventually caused tension in their marriage. they began to fight more often and he started to spend more time at his office than at home. however, she was determined to make their marriage work, a love like theirs couldn’t end like this, she wouldn’t allow it.

tw cheating: one day, alba returned to their home early and what she saw was heartbreaking. there he was, in bed with none other but her childhood best friend. heartbroken, alba refused to accept any of his excuses and immediately filed for divorce, to the joy of her in-laws. end of tw.

after her divorce, alba moved to california where she started a year course at stanford. she planned to stay there but that when she received news from home.

tw illness: her father was very sick, and her parents had decided to move to islebury, rhode island. without anything holding her back, she packed up her stuff and moved here as well so she could help her mother with her dad. end of tw.

she’s been living here for three years now and works as a teacher at bright future.

personality

She has the ability to see the good in almost anyone or anything and tends to sympathize with even the most unfriendly person. She often hides the extreme depth of feelings from her, even from herself, until circumstances elicit a passionate response. 

She has a deep sense of idealism that comes from a strong personal sense of right and wrong. She sees the world as a place full of possibilities and potentials and is governed by her intuition. She is quite reserved and is not easily manipulated.

She is a good listener and considerate, they try to care for and understand others in a deep way. She can be very calm and intuitive with the people around her, being able to search for hidden meanings in the actions and words of others.

Of course, all of life is not rosy and Alba is not exempt from suffering the same disappointments and frustrations that are common to others. She tends to be a perfectionist and often strives for personal ideals that can be exhausting or very difficult to obtain.

headcanons

she’s a bookworm. her favorite book is the persuasion by jane austen

she speaks fluent spanish

alba has a beautiful white persian cat named nube

she loves wearing bandanas in her hair

claims she’s allergic to strawberries, she’s not. she just hates them and that’s easier than explaining why

connections

Younger brother: I’m gonna make a wanted connection because I love this dynamic. He is two years younger than her and she adores him. She tries to stay in touch with him and in general, they are close.

Ex-best friend: they met as children and grew up together, they knew everything about the other. alba’s mother worked as a housekeeper and she used to go with her sometimes, that’s how they met. this person came from a different background, she lived in one of those expensive houses alba could only dream to own. their friendship was so strong that they even applied to the same university (although her friend was not accepted). alba considered this person as the sister she never had, but then she did the worst thing in the world, she slept with alba’s husband. they haven’t spoken since she found out.

Ex-husband: They divorced two years ago, after alba found out he had been cheating on her with her best friend. they met while she was a student at NYU and were together for three years before getting engaged and married. he comes from a wealthy family, the typical perfect american family. their relationship was never approved by his parents. she hasn’t spoken to him since the divorce.

Best Friendish: Okay, so this is a tricky one because her actual best friend turned into Judas and slept with her husband, but maybe this person is the closest she has to a best friend. she trusts this person and since her divorce, this is the only person that she has been able to speak without limitations.

Bad influence: Alba has never been one to go to many parties or even to drink, but this person is the only one that can convince her to have a good time.

Co-workers/Parents: She works as a teacher at bright future, maybe your character works there or their kids go/went there.

Neighbor: self-explanatory

Unlikely friendship: The two have different personalities, but somehow, both have managed to get along and form a weird friendship.

Hook ups: She’s not really the relationship kind bc she’s always busy but once in a while she hooks up with people ghdghdhgd (open to everyone)

Flirtationship: they act like friends, but cannot help to throw flirty looks or comments at each other.

Unrequited: It could go either way, I’m fine to plot it out. I’m an angst hoe sooo

Bad tinder date: after her divorce, her friends tried to set her up with someone but it didn’t go well. There was nothing wrong about her date, but she wasn’t ready and in the end it was a very uncomfortable situation for them.

One night stand: she was drunk, he/she was drunk too. They didn’t plan it but happened and now whenever they see each other in town it’s a bit awkward.

#agnesfm.intro

[chibienvychan03]

My Fictional Secret Admirer - Part 1 of That Damned Pikashaw Series

Secret Santa gift for Sakurras on a MLQC Discord I’m a part of.

Pairing: Gavin x MC, side of Minor x Willow

 Warning: potty mouth/pervert Shaw, Sassy MC, little shit Zappy

 Summary: Argh a certain someone is moving slower than an ice berg on a cold day. You voice your frustration to your gal pals, but a certain brat happens to overhear. He somehow convinces (ropes) you into pranking Gavin big time.

After a long day, you and a few female employees decide to have a girl’s night out. Sorry, not sorry Minor. It’s been awhile since you’ve done something with only your gender, and you’re going to have fun, not worrying about the opposite gender especially a certain someone who moves slower than an ice berg on a cold day, and that’s his good day too.

 “And I’m not kissing him until he gets lessons.”

 WHAT?! This sends you crashing back to reality. 

 “Ouch. So mean to your boyfriend,” Kiki pouts as she plays with the straw in her drink, twirling it around and sometimes blowing bubbles just because she can.

 “And what about you? You haven’t kissed yours,” Willow points out as she’s stirring her drink. At least she can drink alcohol. Due to your low tolerance and Kiki turning the age where she can legally drink alcohol, you’re the designated safe person/driver.

 Kiki sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry. “We’re taking things slow. You’ve told me not to rush into things.”

 This statement Willow can’t refute. “For once, you actually listen to me.”

 “HEY! I listen to you, but that doesn’t mean I’m paying attention,” Kiki replies with a cheeky grin. “But at least we have boyfriends.”

 You want to say the two of them have boyfriends. On the other hand, you do not as someone is taking his sweet time and NOT asking you. You’re not even sure he wants to be with you on that level. Instead of responding, you flag down the bartender and ask for another soda, but this time with a few cherries in it. The bartender doesn’t give you a look this time as he knows you’re the designated driver, meaning you can’t become impaired. He doesn’t question it once he finds out.

 The two are looking at you. “What?”

 “You have a boyfriend, right?” Kiki pokes you.

 “Er… I’m too busy with work to consider having an intimate relationship.” In other words, you have no boyfriend even if you want one in the first place.

 “Aren’t you dating that handsome cop? Gavin.” Willow prods while waggling her brows. How she manages that move, you don’t know nor do you ask.

 In response, you turn a bright red, enough to make a tomato green (red) with envy. “He hasn’t asked.”

 “He what?!” Kiki shouts after she almost chokes on her drink. She hits her chest to clear her airway.

 “He didn’t ask her,” Willow reiterates your response, saving you the trouble of answering two times. She picks up her cherry by its stem before twirling it. “Then why don’t you ask him?”

 “I don’t know if he feels the same way I do, and he doesn’t give other women any thought,” you say after some hesitation. It’s not that you’re jealous of the other women. More like frustrated with him and how slow he’s moving. Sometimes you wonder if he’s even moving at all.

 Willow snorts upon your confession. “Girl, have you seen how he’s all over you? He’s crazy about you. And you’re crazy if you let him go.”

 “He’s worried about me,” you say, not wanting to admit it… just yet. “Being his junior from high school. You know?”

 This time Kiki snorts. “Oh it goes beyond worrying about junior classmates. You’re too blind to see it.”

 “What do you mean by that?” you huff and cross your arms over your chest while waiting for your soda to arrive so you can have something to play with.

 “Oh my gods, the two of you are painfully ignorant. It’s ridiculous.” Willow picks up her drink and starts sipping from what remains of it. “Woman up, ask him on a date. It’s the twenty first century. Unless he grows a pair of balls, it’s up to you.”

 “What do balls have anything to do with dating and boyfriends?” You glance between the two of them who in return are giving you looks of exasperation. What? “Aren’t they toys for kids and pets?” Last time you recall, balls are spherical objects mean to give joy to whoever played with them whether it be for sport or simply having for.

 “Even I know what that is, and I’m younger than you.”

 Like ouch. Does Kiki have to point that out? “Gavin does have a ball cactus.”

 As if on cue, both Kiki and Willow bang their heads on the bar like you see in the manga you’ve read where someone is exasperated at another person. What? Is it something you said? You’re left in the dark again. Maybe it’s time to do research on this kind of stuff… if you ever have the time. Between your work, taking care of yourself/home, and hanging out with friends, you don’t have time to do this research. Besides you do a lot of research for your work and sometimes you’re researched out!

 “His name is Thorny and is surviving.” Surviving from Gavin giving it too much love (more like water).

 “So is Gavin’s love for you,” Willow adds. “Don’t keep him waiting too long.”

 “Yeah, you don’t won’t to become that old cat lady.” Gee thanks Kiki.

 “HEY!” You huff. “It’s not my fault he’s moving slower than an ice berg on a good day.” Finally the bartender arrives with your soda, and he’s given you a little umbrella. Oh how sweet. It’s your favorite color too, pink.

 “This dance is never going to end,” Kiki sighs a long one. She knows something or maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but either way, you want to know.

 “Touche. It’s too painful to watch these lovebirds dance around each other.” Willow glances upward as if she’s asking some heavenly deity to do something about these two lovebirds.

 “Someone has to get it going,” Kiki says as if you’re not sitting right next to them at the bar.

 Willow nods her head. “Indeed. Dropping hints is useless since we all know how excruciatingly painfully oblivious both parties can be.”

 Ouch and double ouch. Are you really that ignorant? Scratch that, you don’t want to know. “You two are drunk.” Yeah, that has to be the case.

 Kiki bursts out in giggles. “You wish. I think I’m a bit tipsy, but I still can think! Unlike a certain someone we all know too well.”

 Great. Now Kiki’s roasting you too? It makes you wonder if she’s been secretly spending time with a certain CEO who has a penchant for roasting you on a regular basis. Nah, it couldn’t be, could it? Between her school work, work, her boyfriend, and close friends, you doubt she has much time to learn the fine art of roasting people.

 You smack her with your purse, not too hard since you need her to be able to work in a couple days.

 Her response? She starts giggling hysterically.

 “Ignore her. She’s drunk.” Willow waves her hand, the one not holding her drink. “But all things serious. Be direct and up front with Gavin. Dropping hints will get you nowhere.”

 “I don’t know. What am I supposed to do? Walk up to him and demand to know why he hasn’t asked me on a date?” Or kissed, but that happens after you start dating. It’s not like you’re complete strangers. You already have a long history with him even if a fair chunk of it is you misunderstanding him.

 “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You always have.”

 “Or you can pull him down by his tie and kiss kiss.” Kiki makes kissing sounds.

 The mere thought of doing what Kiki suggests causes you to turn bright red. “I don’t think he’s into PDA.” As for you, you don’t think your heart can take it even if you want it.

 “Oi vey. Of course he’ll want to stake his claim on you, but it’s only if you let him. Guys are like that. Trust me. He’d want to let the entire world know you’re his.”

 “Wow, I didn’t know Officer Gavin has a possessive side. Maybe Kiro would be a better choice.” Ah the Kiro fangirl emerges.

 Willow rolls her eyes. “Not that kind of claiming, more like being in an exclusive relationship, and you’re off the dating market.”

 “I’ll think about it.”

 Just not that night. All you want to do is go home and sleep.

 But first you need to make sure your drunk and slightly drunk friends make it home in one piece. After all, you’re the designated person… and a responsible boss.

 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin

 Unlike your so called friends, you wake up the next day hang over free, which puts you in a very, very good mood. Good enough to tease those two through texts about what a wonderful day it is. When they do not reply, you’re not surprised. They’re probably hiding underneath their blankets and covers, waiting for the world to stop spinning or for the loud noises to go away. You’re tempted to suggest getting noise cancelling headphones. Being an unfortunate traveler (for work sigh), you procured a pair of your very own. Plane and train terminals tend to be quite noisy. Sometimes you want to hear yourself think.

 When you unlock your phone, you notice you have a few messages. You start reading your messages. 

 Levi : When’s a good time to bring over my gifts for you?

 “Big brother spoils me,” you giggle. While you’re not officially related or by blood, he’s taken you under his wing. The last time someone tried coping a feel, well let’s just say he wound up in the hospital with two broken hands.

 You then remember him saying something about an overseas trip he’s taking back to the States, something about visiting his adopted family. He rarely mentions them and when he does, it’s bits and pieces. Since you respect his privacy, you try hard not to poke your nose into it and ask too many questions. If or when he’s ready, he’ll tell you. So far, you know he’s adopted and has one adopted brother but no sisters.

 MC: How about having lunch? It’s been a long time since we got together.

 Levi: Sounds like a plan. That new café? The one you mentioned in your moments post? :D

 Wow. Does he have his phone in his hand all the time? Or maybe you’re lucky and catch him when he’s actually looking at his phone?

 MC: That sounds great, and no we’re going double dutch. You’re NOT paying for mine.

 Levi: ): I’m catching up on all the years I haven’t spent with you.

 MC: I bet you bought me a ton of souvenirs. 

 Levi: XD Caught red handed. Okay, we’ll pay our own bill.

 Seeing those emojis, you can’t help but giggle again. It’s not that many, however, you don’t recall any male you keep in contact using them on a regular basis. You decide to not say anything about it especially since it appears he’s having fun.

 Anna: You forgot to text me when you arrive safely at home.

 Oh oops?

 MC: Sorry! D: I knew I forgot something, but I couldn’t remember. Next time I’ll write myself a reminder.

 Okay next text.

 Kiro: Miss Chips! Hear anything about Souvenir? QAQ They haven’t been opened lately, and I’ve been craving their food.

 Kiro: Forgot to tell you, I’ll be busy for the next 2 to 3 weeks. If they open, you have to let me know. K?

 MC: Are you planning on sneaking out if they’re open?

 Kiro: Please don’t tell Savin! I’m tired of the same old, same old food.

 MC: Fine. You owe me for keeping an eye on that restaurant.

 Kiro: Miss Chips is the best! Crap. Gotta get back to work. Chuu.

 You stare at your phone. Did he just? Nah, you’re probably reading too much into things like a certain couple of busybodies do on a regular basis. Since you don’t want Savin to catch him texting you, you decide to text him later with an update on his favorite restaurant.

 Gavin: I’m free today. Would you like to have lunch with me? My treat.

 Er… You already made plans to have lunch with your big bro. But the more the merrier, right?

 MC: You can join me and my big bro for lunch. He got back from his trip.

 Gavin: Since when do you have a big brother?

 MC: A few months ago. I meant to tell you then, but you were swamped with work and then it slipped my mind. Sorry! It wasn’t on purpose I swear.

 Gavin: He sounds kind of fishy if you ask me.

 MC: He’s not like that. Just wait until you meet him. 

 MC: For the record, he broke two hands of someone trying to touch me.

 Gavin: Why didn’t he beat the guy up?

 Unbelievable. You can’t believe Gavin would suggest such a thing.

 MC: It was crowded and we’re in public.

 Gavin: Give me his contact info. I can help him.

 Something tells you between the two of them if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’d be sent to the hospital with multiple broken bones, and that’s if they’re feeling generous enough to let the guy live. You’re having second thoughts about the two meeting, but then again, big bro has been pestering you about the guy you’re interested in.

 MC: Ask him at lunch.

 Gavin: Understood. 

 The next text you send is where and when to meet. You hope this won’t be your worst decision, letting these two get to know each other and having team up against anyone who bothers you. “I’ll worry about that later.” While you hope they get along, you hope they don’t get along to the point of being accomplices.

 The last few texts are spam. Didn’t you sign up for that thing about spam texts? These companies obviously aren’t letting that stop them. Whatever. You delete them.

 Thaw: Unlock your window. I know you’re awake.

 MC: Why are here this early?

 Thaw: Just open it!

 MC: It’s early for YOU! *suspicious eyes*

 Thaw: You want to know why I’m here or not?

 This guy. Although you’re tempted to leave him out there in the cold, your curiosity once again gets the better of you. Wait a second, Shaw never said which window, leaving you to look out of every window until you manage to find the one he’s crouched next to.

 “Took you long enough,” Shaw grumbles once you open the window and slips into the warm room. The way he’s dress, he resembles a punk snowman. It causes you to giggle and him to pretend he never heard or saw what you did.

 “If a certain someone told me which window he’s behind, I would have opened it five minutes earlier. Did you forget, I have a lot of windows?” You poke him on his chest, which he swats away your finger.

 “Whatever.” In his language, it means he admits his guilt without actually admitting it. “A little birdy told me something interesting yesterday.”

 “Pearly?”

 “What?”

 “Zappy?” 

 “What the hell?”

 “Fiery?”

 “You describing me or yourself?”

 “Icy?”

 “The fuck?”

 You’ve run out of birds you know, which is a total of four who belong to a certain Birdcop the one you want to move faster. Sheesh. Sometimes you wonder if he’s moving backwards in spite of him wanting to spend time with you.

 “Forget about the birdy. Don’t you want to know?”

 “Something tells me I don’t want to know.” You close the window as soon as you’re reminded you have yet to close it. No need to let perfectly good warm air outside or let the cold air into your warm home.

 Shaw pretty much laughs in your face, to which you’re tempted to slap him… using both hands. “My brother is an idiot.”

 “That’s not nice to say,” you pout. Sometimes you wish you had biological siblings, but you suppose your adopted big brother is better than nothing. His spoiling you has no part in your decision. How does he have all that money in the first place? His first job must be well paying though he never tells you nor do you think he will.

 “I could call him something much worse. You want to hear?” One shake of your head. Nope. “I admit he’s damn good at his job, but when it comes to his personal life, he’s very shitty.” While you don’t appreciate his language, you do agree with him.

 “What about it?” 

 “Grab your laptop or a pen and paper. We’re going to get my fucking moron of a brother to ask you on a date.” Did he just say what you think he said?

 “What are you waiting for? Chop, chop. Unless you want me to look for them myself.”

 On second thought, you’d rather find the items he requested than have him poking his nose or any other part of his body where it doesn’t belong. You grab both your laptop along with a pen and paper. Laptop for research and the pen/paper for keeping notes. Sure, you can use your electronics to keep your notes, but your older brother has told you many times that even if you delete it, that incriminating information can be pulled from the depths of the hard drive. You’d rather not take any chances.

 “Pen and paper? Old fart.”

 You scowl. “It’s called decreasing my paper trail. Did you know they still can find what you’ve deleted on your computer or laptop?”

 Shaw gives you that disbelieving stare. “You finally said something smart for a change. Who told you that? I know you couldn’t have figured that out.”

 Why you! Then again… “I also have a big brother. Want to meet him?” you tell him as you bat your eyes in a suggestive manner. More like you want his face to meet your big bro’s fist.

 “What the hell? You don’t have any siblings. Quit fucking messing with me.” As if he doesn’t do that to you on a regular basis.

 “Well I do now. A few months ago. Got a problem with it?”

 Shaw plops himself down on one of your plush chairs. Hey. Shoes! But he doesn’t seem to be too concerned with it. “As if I care about your family.”

 You tap your foot while crossing your arms over your chest. 

 “Next time have a pair of fucking slippers next to the window.”

 “Normal people enter through the front door.”

 “Have I ever been normal?”

 Point taken. You use his distraction to yank off his shoes, much to his surprise and bring it to where he’s supposed to place them. Since you never know when your older brother or Gavin will drop by, you have a few larger slippers waiting for them. You grab a pair and then throw it at him.

 “Feisty. No wonder my stupid brother is smitten.”

 “What?”

 Shaw pushes off the slippers until they fall onto the floor near him. “But he’s too much of a damned chicken to ask you.”

 “Ask me what?” Not that you’ve actually gone on a date with him or been together long enough for him to pop the question.

 Shaw sighs a long one. “You’re just as stupid as he is. No, it’s not marriage. You haven’t even kissed or gone on a date. So what do you think?”

 “If it’s not that, then… on a date?”

 “FINALLY! She gets it. Yeah, we need him to get his shit together and grow a pair of balls.”

 “We?” There’s that reference to balls. You’ll have to ask your big brother later.

 “Being the ‘loving’ little brother I am, I want him to be with the woman he’s heads over heels over.” Loving? Ha, yeah right. What’s his motive?

 “And how do you propose we do that? You plan on pranking him?”

 “Heh, maybe you’re not as stupid as you look.” Grrr….

 “Like whoopee cushions? Stink bombs? Switching the salt and sugar? Bucket of water on his head?”

 “I take that back. You’re fucking stupid.” Geee thanks, THAW!

 “Whatever you say, Thaw.”

 “You want my help or not?” He’s about to put his stinky feet on top of your nice and clean table. When you glare at him, he plops his feet on the chair nearest to him.

 “Is it illegal?”

 “Is it illegal to be this stupid? If things go according to plan, it shouldn’t.” How many times has he told you his fool proof plans only to have them spectacularly backfire in both of your faces?

 “Then what is it?”

 Your stomach interrupts him as it reminds you that you have yet to eat breakfast. Oops? Since you know the big brat of a mooch is on your chair, you might as well feed him before kicking him out of your apartment. 

 “Is that a stomach or a dragon?”

 “You want free breakfast or not? Yes, I do have Pepsi and Coke.”

 Shaw shrugs and follows you into the kitchen area where you have a table for everyday meals. “I like living on the edge. Why not? It’s free food.”

 What is that supposed to mean? It’s not like your cooking is hazardous to one’s health, not after all those lessons from the certified teachers and your mentor (big brother) and even rare, a certain Tsundere who happens to be a 5 star chef in the disguise of a CEO. You pull a can of Pepsi and Coke from your fridge before placing it in front of your so called guest. Next you set a large plastic cup in front of him.

 “Plastic? I’m not a kid.”

 “I’m not taking any chances.”

 Since you’re going to be discussing… plotting how to get Gavin to “grow some balls and ask you on a date,” it should be something that doesn’t require much concentration. You decide on egg scrambles. As to what you’re going to put in it… Your fridge is nicely stocked thanks to you having gone on your weekly grocery run. You’ll put in red bell pepper, spinach, onions, sausage, and a bit of cheese.

 “No complaining,” you say this as you’re about to start chopping the veggies, waving a large (and sharp) knife at him.

 “Gee. My brother is going to be so whipped when you two get hitched.” He holds hands up in a mock surrender. “Smitten kitten.”

 “So what is your big and glorious plan to get him to ask me on a date?” Thanks to your big brother, your knife skills have vastly improved to where you’re no longer cutting yourself… unless you’re surprised or startled. Since you pretty much live alone, there isn’t much to distract or startle you.

 Shaw props himself up on his hands, his arms on your table. “We are going to give you a secret admirer.”

 “Say what?!”

 Shaw winces and in an exaggerated manner tries to clear his ears. “Gods… I don’t think they heard you in Japan or Australia.”

 You ignore the comment on the volume of your shout. “What do you mean by giving me a secret admirer? Is that supposed to be you?”

 Once Shaw ceases his fake deafness, he becomes as serious as he can be, which compared to others isn’t that much. “No, it’s not me. Why would I want to be a secret admirer of an idiot?” Intense glaring. “We’re going to make up a secret admirer.”

 Of all the ludicrous plans of his, this takes the entire take and then some. “… Are you planning on hiring someone to give me gifts?”

 This time Shaw laughs, but stops when he sees your knife. “No, we’re going to do it ourselves. Mail takes too long. Borrow Zappy from my idiotic brother.”

 Eh? Does not compute. How does Zappy come into this? “Why Zappy?”

 “The little guy is like me. He’ll be more than happy to be a little shit to his owner.”

 “….”

 “And he’s easier to bribe. Hope you have canned mandarin oranges.” Recalling your most recent grocery run, you remember picking up more than a few cans of mandarin oranges. What? You like eating them out of the can when they’re stored in your fridge.

 After chopping your ingredients, you crack several eggs before you beat them in a bowl, imagining each yoke to be a certain annoying person’s face. It’s a productive way to get your frustration out. “Yeah, I have some cans.”

 “One less thing to take care of. Knowing you, you wonder what Zappy’s involvement in it is. Remember way back when, birds were used to deliver messages?” Nod. “Zappy is going to be our delivery bird.” Wait a moment, how would this cute little bird know where you are? Or carry anything? “Trust me on this. That little shit can find anyone when he wants to and I’ve seen him carrying several kilos in weight.”

 “But how would he get what needs to be delivered?” Now you’ve moved to your pan and heated up the oil. Your next move is to stir fry your onions, sausage, and veggies until they’re mostly cooked. If you put them in all at the same time, your eggs will end up burned before the veggies and meat finish cooking.

 That’s when he points to himself. “I’ll be holding onto Zappy until it’s time for delivery and you get back home. My idiotic brother doesn’t recognize my handwriting.”

 “Then how would you get the gifts to give me? I know you’re not fond of shopping for anything you’re not interested in.” Not to mention, he was a cheapskate… most of the time.

 “We’re going shopping today.”

 “I’m having lunch with my big bro and Gavin.”

 Shaw scowls at first but then brightens up. “You can ask your soon to be bf for Zappy.”

 “Won’t it be weird if I ask him?”

 “Heh. Must I explain everything to you. Never mind. I’ll go ahead and do it. You’d think the wrong things. Tell him you need Zappy for a project you’re working on. Technically you’re not lying to him. You have a project but it’s not for work.” Ah that smug smile whenever he comes up with a brilliant plan.

 Since you’re not lying, you decide to go along with it. What Gavin doesn’t know won’t hurt him in this case. “Logistics taken care of. What is my ‘secret admirer’ going to give me?” He gives you a blank stare. “You don’t have any idea.”

 “How am I supposed to know what you like? Remember the key is to make him jealous enough to ask you. That means your secret admirer knows your every preference.”

 That totally makes sense. “And I guess we’re going to be buying everything today?”

 “Most of the stuff. Your secret admirer will be buying you meals to be delivered to your work.”

 Once the scrambles finish cooking, you start toasting the bread. It’ll be done by the time you finish plating your creation. “I guess you’ll be making those calls?”

 “Correct. He can’t see or know you’re ordering them for yourself. Otherwise what’s the point in creating your secret admirer? He’d have to be blind and deaf.”

 You nod your head. “Minor tends to be a blabbermouth.”

 “Fuck… I knew I was forgetting something.” Eh? So Shaw does make mistakes. Good to know.

 “Um? He can tell Gavin what I receive?”

 “I was going to say post your gifts to your moments…”

 “Can’t I do both? It’s one thing to hear about it, but it’s another to see.” You slide over his share, toasted bread and fork included.

 “So you do have a brain. Why don’t you use it more?”

 You reach over to your used frying pan. “How about I start using this more?”

 “You’re perfect for each other.” What is that supposed to mean? “Since you have time, we’ll need to figure out what your secret admirer will be giving you. Minimum of three per day.”

 Monday.

1. Favorite tea

2. Favorite snack

3. Fine candy from overseas

 Tuesday

1. Bouquet of flowers

2. Lunch delivered from fast food restaurant

3. Cute cell phone case

 Wednesday

1. Tea set

2. Lunch delivered from fancy restaurant

3. Coupon for massage

 Thursday

1. Earrings

2. Bracelet

3. Necklace

 Friday

1. Lunch for employees

2. Candy making machine

3. Me in a naughty lingerie

 You make another list and group them according to where you’re buying them. Grocery, candy place, cell phone store, your fave tea place, jewelry shop, massage parlor, and that naughty ahem. Seven shops. Looks like you have your work cut out for you that afternoon.

 “Don’t take forever to eat lunch.”

 You roll your eyes at him. “Of course not, we have a full day of shopping and not a lot of time to do it.” The New Light mall should have everything you need except for that shop. For that, you’ll need to walk a block down, but that’s the last thing on your list as it’s open much later than the others. You guess it’s due to the cliental and emergency purchases.

 When Shaw starts talking about the naughty lingerie, you decide it’s time for him to leave so you can prepare for your lunch date. You kick out a hysterically laughing Shaw.

 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin

 When you arrive at the restaurant on time, you notice two things… or rather two people having a nice conversation with each other. Your big brother and Gavin. Seeing their phones out, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out they have exchanged contact info. You hope it won’t end up with either of them in the hospital as you care for them both in different ways. You race up to them.

 “I hope you haven’t been waiting for long.”

 “Nope. I’m excited to see my little sister.” That’s when you notice several bags near him. “These are all yours.” How are you supposed to carry them?

 “I’m too early, and I can give you a ride,” Gavin offers. 

 Speaking of which, you remember what Shaw has told you about your plan. “Er… mind if we swing by your place?”

 Gavin blinks several times in response.

 “Mind if I borrow Zappy? It’s for a project I’m working on. Please?”

 Gavin runs his hand through his hair. “Sure, but don’t expect him to cooperate. He can be… a pain to deal with.” That’s what he thinks. You know how to bribe this little birdy so it’s no problem. The three of them are smart and each have their own personalities.

 “I have my ways. So let’s grab a table?”

 “Why don’t we put this in my car?”

 Eh, car?

 This time Gavin blushes. “Bought one.”

 Oh. You recall you complaining about the rain and snow whenever he drives you anywhere. While he doesn’t mind it, you do. Not that he’s a horrible driver in inclement weather. You know you’ll arrive in one piece, but that doesn’t mean you’ll enjoy the ride there.

 When you carry your gift to Gavin’s car, you notice your big bro’s truck parked nearby. While it doesn’t stand out, you’ve ridden in it enough time to be able to recognize it even if it’s raining or snowing. Considering how much he’s given you, it makes sense for him to drive this beast of a vehicle. It seems your big bro and Gavin approve of each other so far.

 After you placing your order, an awkward silence ensues. You fidget in your seat as you’re unsure what to start talking about, and you notice your big bro is tired in spite of him trying not to show it. Also you have no clue as to what they’ve discussed in the time before your arrival. You want to know, but at the same time, you know both of them well enough to know they’d clam up before they tell you anything they don’t want you to know.

 “So how was your trip?”

 “Eh. It’s okay. My little brother wasn’t his usual pain in the rear self. My parents were their usual selves.”

 “You mean pestering you about getting a boyfriend and adopting a kid?”

 Your big brother chuckles as he scratches the back of his head. “Yeah. I haven’t found the one, you know?”

 You nod your head, glancing over at Gavin who has taken to playing with his drink as the two of you chat. “You can say that again.” You pause. “I found someone, but… I don’t know if I’m good enough.”

 “Pah. He should be grateful you’re interested in him. If anything, it’s he who isn’t good enough for my little sister. I mean you’re funny, friendly, caring, generous, talented, and hard working.” Just like your one, your brother says what he means and means what he says. So in short, he’s being his genuine self. “If he breaks your heart, let’s just say he’s going to need an ambulance.”

 “Er… that’s not necessary. He’s sweet and caring, but he’s kind of slow on the uptake.” You say while you keep watch of Gavin from the corner of your eye. It seems he doesn’t take a hint as his demeanor becomes sour. Maybe you should stop talking about this as you want him to be in a good mood. “So what are you looking for in a guy?”

 “Hm… Someone strong, honest, loyal, direct, caring, and has an open mind. It helps if he’s smart.” Oh wow, your big brother has really given thought to this. Your thoughts wander to the guys in your life. Two of them fit his description, but one of them happens to be the person you like and the other… well you’re not sure which way he swings. Hell you don’t know if he’s interested in a romantic relationship with anyone. “Not anyone would do.”

 You nod your head. “Agreed. You need to have that special connection.”

 “So who’s your one?” Your brother just had to ask that question. In spite of you two knowing each other for about a year, it feels like you know each other since you were kids. You know he can’t read minds nor see into any time. He so happens to be too smart for his own good.

 Seeing as Gavin is focused on his drink, you nudge your big brother with your foot and then point to Gavin from under the table. It takes him less than a second to get the hint. Could get any more awkward? You have the feeling the answer would be yes, it could. “It’s a secret,” you answer in a sing song way and then stick your tongue out at him.

 Your big brother chuckles before reaching over and ruffling your hair like a pet. By now, you’re used to this and actually don’t mind it. He’s your first sibling, and it gives you the warm feels. “All right, keep your secrets. When I find mine, I’m not telling you.” He glances over to the silent Gavin. “What about you? Have you found your one?”

 Gavin stops playing with his straw and profusely blushes. He attempts to say something, but it comes out as gibberish. Between you and your big brother, you have no clue what to make of it other than he’s completely embarrassed about who he likes. Part of you wants to poke him until he confesses, however, you want to respect his privacy just as he respects yours.

 Although a blushing Gavin looks incredibly adorable and you somehow manage to sneak in a short video of him playing with his straw, you decide to help him out of this. “What about kids? You said you’re going to adopt once you find the one.”

 “Probably two, one girl and one boy. Personally I could care less what their gender is so long as they’re healthy and happy, but I suppose that’s how most parents feel about their kids.” 

 Gavin’s mood goes down. You know bits and pieces about his past, but enough to know that his shit of a father never treated as a son, more like a useless tool. Hah. Useless. Just because someone doesn’t have an evol doesn’t make them useless. Sometimes having an evol is more dangerous than it’s worth.

 “Until I find that person, my kids have feathers and beaks.”

 “Birds?” You hope you can pet them or maybe birdsit them while your big brother is away.

 “I’m in the process of adopting three siblings.”

 “Three at once?”

 Your brother scratches the back of his head. “I’d rather not separate them. They’re close.”

 “Then what’s the delay?”

 “They’re not old enough to leave their parents.” That makes sense. Young birds need their parents just as humans need theirs. “I’ll let you know when I bring them home.”

 “Do you know their genders?” You plan on spoiling his babies, but you need to know their gender, not that they care about colors.

 “Won’t know until their first molt unless I get them tested.” Levi pauses. “I don’t plan on getting them tested. They’re all getting unisex names.” Before you can ask, he answers your question. “They’re normal grey cockatiels. My friend thought he was getting two guys. Turns out he has one guy and one gal. He never saw it coming.”

 “They’re going to a good home.” Between the two of you, they’re going to be so spoiled. Thinking about it, you notice Gavin has gone back to playing with his drink. “How’s Pearly, Fiery, Icy, and Zappy?”

 Gavin looks up. “They’re doing okay. Those three keep breaking out of their cage.”

 “No way. I lost count on how many locks you’ve tried.” It appears all three of them are master escape artists. Good thing they’re well behaved and don’t cause much damage. Before you can ask more questions, your food has arrived.

 You each ordered something different. Gavin has a burger with fries, your brother some pasta, and you have their house special salad. Your brother decides he also wants fries so he orders two. Why two? Because he knows you like them. Ah screw it. You need your carbs to keep you full longer. Plus since your salad is healthy, you can afford to eat the fries he ordered for you. Since he ordered it, he said he’d pay for it. You two squabble over it until you hear someone chuckling and look over to find it’s Gavin. It seems the two of you behave like siblings. You let him buy you the fries since they don’t cost a lot, but you’re not budging on the salad. However, when you go to pay for it, you discover someone already has paid for it. You round on your brother who shrugs and promises you he only paid for the fries. Additionally Gavin is acting strangely around you. It appears he paid for your salad. Your brother has kept his promise, however, you know Gavin made no such promises.

 Oh well. It frees up funds for your next project. After giving your big brother a few hugs and telling (warning) him to get some sleep, you join Gavin in his car and head to his place. He doesn’t ask you what or why you need that specific bird to which you’re thankful for. 

 At his door, you hear all four of them making a racket. You wonder if they know you’re there. Since the three birds keep clustering up in one cage every single night, Gavin sells two cages (reserves third for transport) and buys one large cage for the three of them. They’ve been content. Once he unlocks and opens the door, the three birds rush out to greet you, chirping happily. Meanwhile Gavin groans and covers his face with both hands.

 Once again, they’ve outsmarted him. Birds: a lot, Gavin: 0

 “Nice to see you too.” You give each of them scritches as you greet them.

 Gavin relieves you of Fiery and Icy who are annoyed they’re being taken away from you. Zappy cuddles against you, enjoying the attention you’re giving him.

 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin

 After acquiring your delivery bird and dropping him off at your apartment, you head over to the New Light Mall where you plan on meeting your partner in prank. Unfortunately, you’re not dealing with one little shit, but two of them. You feel something on top of your head and then comes that familiar chirping. 

 “Zappy, you’re really an escape artist.”

 Zappy happily replies as if to confirm your statement. They jump off your head down to your shoulder and snuggle against your neck. Since it’s more of a pain to go back home and put him in their cage, you let them be. More than likely, Zappy will escape again and again until you let them stay with you. They maneuver to underneath your hair. Silly bird.

 Your wait for Shaw is rather short.

 “I see you have that bird.” Shaw skateboards towards you. When he’s close, he hops off and does this weird trick where he flips his board so he can grab it.

 “He followed me,” you grumble. While you don’t mind them, you prefer they stay in their cage where you leave them. “Reminds me of you.”

 Shaw laughs. “You don’t say.” He reaches over to pet the bird who hesitantly accepts it. His expression is all too clear, the ‘I told you so’ one.

 “Let’s start from one end and work our way to the other,” you suggest. It means less walking, which your feet greatly appreciate.

 “Works for me.”

 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin <3 Gavin

 Once you’ve finished your errands at the mall, you’re more than ready to go home except you have one last store and the most important one according to Shaw. However, you’re completely embarrassed to even think about going there. You have a feeling you’re going to be resembling a tomato until tomorrow at this rate. Your little stowaway doesn’t care where you go. You don’t think they’d be embarrassed by anything.

 “You can’t chicken out on me. I don’t know your size, and you’re not willing to tell me.” Point taken.

 You pull your hood over your head, dislodging Zappy in the process. They squawk before poking you with their rather sharp beak (not enough to break skin) to voice their displeasure. When you get to see them, their feathers are fluffed up and they’re glaring at you. They wait until you finish adjusting your hood before they crawl into it and settle between your neck and your hood.

 At least you know where they are and don’t have to chase them like at the mall where you had to chase them more than a few times. It takes bribing them with mandarin oranges to get them back to you. Good thing there’s a supermarket in the mall. You buy extras even if it means carrying those heavy cans. Actually you make Shaw carry them since he’s usually the main reason why you have to chase after that bird. Shaw grumbles and makes threats against Zappy, but he sees the little guy as a bird version of him. In fact, you swear they can be siblings… if they’re the same species.

 “Fine, let’s get this done and over with.” You really want to go home before you die of embarrassment or are mortified (petrified) in place. 

 Zappy keeps your neck warm the entire walk there. They’re like a little heater though not effective unless you’re trying to warm your hands or in this case your neck. Every now and then they poke their head out to see what’s making that noise. What a very curious little imp you have there. It makes you wonder how Gavin manages to deal with all three of them. You recall him mentioning this little one is the ring leader whenever they’re up to their shenanigans.

 Once you reach the door, you hesitate until a certain someone shoves you into the store. It turns out Shaw predicted your hesitation and made you go in first so he could give you a little push when you stall at the entrance. You stumble a little inside, causing Zappy to fall off their perch, but you manage to catch them in spite of your bags. They climb back up your arm before snuggling against your neck and chirp in appreciating of you saving them from a harsh meeting with the hard, unforgiving ground.

 Shaw grabs your hand and drags you to where they display the lingerie most men would like to see their women dressed in. He scans the racks as they have quite a selection of them. Anything that catches his eye would be pushed in front of you as he determines whether or not it would look good. They end up back on the racks as he doesn’t think it suits your complexion and/or figure. How would he know what you’re figure is considering you’re wearing baggy clothes, thanks to the weather. At least by now, it’s dark outside. You hope it’s enough to make you less conspicuous. It would help if they place your purchase in a plain bag with no store logo on it. Somehow you have the feeling they would.

 “Are you planning on looking through the entire lingerie section?” you ask as you reach in your hood to pet Zappy, who is more than happy to receive this attention. They say petting animals can calm a person. Right now, you need that calm before you strangle your accomplice in this prank.

 “If you had a better figure, I wouldn’t have to.” Now you’re tempted to throw a bag at him, but since you paid for it, you’d rather not waste it.

 You look beside you to find a cute pink lingerie and pick it up to inspect it. When you hear Shaw snort, you lower it to see him giving that disappointed look. “What?”

 “You want it to contrast with your skin, not blend in. What are you not thinking?”

 “I’m thinking I want to get this done and over with,” you grumble as you place it back. So pink and skin tones are out of the question. That’s when you see something shoved behind the lingerie Shaw vetoed. Reaching over, you somehow extricate it. Oh, it happens to be your size.

 Shaw sighs and is about to tell you not that pink lingerie, but stops when he notices you’re holding a red one. He tilts his head and then grabs it to place it before you. “This will do.”

 As he’s inspecting the garment, you notice a certain STF uniform. You can’t see who it is, but you’d rather play it safe than sorry. They know who you are thanks to you knowing a certain someone and being friends with his friend. Gossip travels faster than Shaw to his favorite band playing in a concert. You shove an unsuspecting Shaw behind the taller racks, hoping that the person hasn’t seen you and that they’d go away soon.

 Shaw squawks, but at least he hasn’t dropped the lingerie. “What is it?”

 “STF.”

 “It isn’t illegal to be in this shop,” Shaw points out.

 You counter with, “But you forget a certain someone will find out when word gets around.”

 Instead of giving you a complement, Shaw peers in the direction you’re looking. You both watch as that STF officer talking with someone who you don’t even know is as they’re standing in the shadows. When are they going to leave?

 Minutes go by.

 At last! They leave. You two scramble to the cashier who doesn’t question you about your odd behavior. Maybe it’s normal for people to hide in there? It’s better you don’t mention it at all. You pay using cash. Good thing they have ATMs at the mall since you were running low. You try not to keep that much on you as you don’t want to be a walking target. Since you’re with two living stun guns, your safety is assured. Zappy wouldn’t let anything happen to you as you spoil them along with the other birds, and Shaw needs some entertainment in his life which unfortunately happens to be you.

 When you see the nondescript bag being used, you let out a sigh of relief. The cashier doesn’t bat an eye. They’re probably used to this kind of behavior from new people. However, they raise a brow when they see the two of you together.

 “Something you’re not telling me?”

 Shaw rolls his eyes. It seems the two know each other. “Not what you think. She isn’t my type. I prefer messing with her and my brother.”

 “So you’re her advisor?”

 “She’d be completely lost without me.” Shaw leans close to that person. “Trying to seduce my idiot of a brother.”

 “I thought you hated each other.”

 Shaw shrugs. “He’s okay. We tolerate each other now.” He glances over to you. “A certain someone played therapist.” Gee thanks, Pikashaw. “And I get to mess with him.”

 “Nice. Good luck on seducing Gavin.” Just great, they know.

 Leaning forward, Shaw whispers something in their ear and both have impish grins. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

 “We have your favorite flavor in stock.”

 “I’ll grab some later.”

 The person reaches below the counter and pulls it up. “I came prepared. How many you want?”

 “I’ll take them all.” Shaw then tells the guy a size and requests double his usual.

 When he’s finished, you try to see what he bought, but he keeps it above your head, and you’re not about to jump on him to find out.  You’re tired and you’d have one unhappy Zappy, one unhappy combo. Not to mention, by now the little bird is most likely full, thus, not as easy to bribe. Well outside of finding something shiny they’d be interested in. A glittery ball (one that doesn’t have glitter glued on) will suffice. Alas, you’re short one glittery ball.

 After you arrive at your place, you’re both dead tired on your feet. You order take out to be delivered, and oddly enough Shaw is willing to fork over the money this time. With the exception of lunch, you paid for everything including Zappy’s bribes. Good thing Shaw doesn’t like to move when he’s tired. You’d rather not have to explain to your neighbor, Lucien, why you have male company who isn’t him or one of your employees.

 As you’re digging into your Chinese take-out, you feel something brush up against you. You’re first instinct is to scream, but your mouth is full of egg roll. Oh, it’s just Zappy who’s stealing a noodle from you. HEY! You doubt you’re supposed to feed them that since it’s probably not healthy, but something tells you that they most likely snag some from Gavin when he’s not looking, It’s just one noodle.

 On the other side of the table, Shaw laughs at the sight of the bird pilfering one of your noodles. Why don’t they grab one of his noodles? Since he paid for dinner, you let it slide. After you finish eating and throw out the empty containers, you plan on kicking Shaw out, but when you’re back from getting ready for bed, you see him out cold on your couch. Perched on top of his chest is a sleeping Zappy.

 Just this time, you’ll let him stay. After all, you don’t want to wake up the cute little bird.

 Day 1 <3 Day 1 <3 Day 1 <3 Day 1 <3 Day 1

 When you wake up this morning, you find Shaw organizing your purchases and nearby him are materials to wrap the gifts from you “secret admirer.” Next to him is a playful Zappy. They’re rolling around with one of those shiny bows. You figure Shaw threw it at them or let them have it to keep them entertained while he worked on the prank.

 “Morning.”

 “Chirp!” Zappy’s on their back with their legs holding the bow up. What an odd position, but the bird seems fine and isn’t panicking.

 “Breakfast is on the table.”

 You glance over in the direction of your kitchen. Did he cook something? You’re not sure how good of a cook he is, but you definitely know your culinary skills are much better than his.

 As if reading your mind, “I woke up early and got breakfast.”

 “Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Shaw?”

 Shaw rolls his eyes. “I can wake up early if I have an incentive.”

 “And pray tell, what is the incentive?”

 “I get to mess with my brother.” Why doesn’t this surprise you?

 In addition to breakfast being on the table, you see he brewed a pot of coffee. You squash your giggles. The brothers are more alike than they care to admit. Breakfast is on the cold side, but it’s edible and tastes good. Coffee could use improvement on. At least he tried.

 Once you’ve changed in your room and grab what you need for work, you give Zappy some scritches which they want more of and leave a surprised Shaw a spare key to your apartment. You tell him it’ll be a pain if he keeps breaking in, and when he leaves to do whatever he does, you’d rather have your place secured. He can’t lock it from the outside.

 When you reach the spot, you find your ride nowhere in sight. You glance at your watch to find you’re actually early for a change, early by ten minutes. Normally you’re a patient person, but with this weather, you’d rather not be waiting outside. Three minutes after texting, your ride arrives.

 “Good morning, Gavin,” you greet him as he hands over the second helmet.

 “Morning,” Gavin replies. Something is bothering him like really bothering him. It’s not your place to poke your nose in his business. At the same time, you don’t like seeing him this way.

 The ride becomes awkwardly silent as neither of you know what to say other than your greetings. It’s as if you’ve gone back to square one. No matter, by the end of this week, he will definitely be happy. You’re sure of it.

 At your place, you hear your employees gossiping. Haven’t you given them enough work? Working and gossiping at the same time? Meh, you’ll deal with it. However, it’s the topic of their discussion that grabs your attention. A few of them move out of the way so you can get to your desk. On top of it, you see a very familiar package.

 “A gift? It isn’t my birthday,” you say pretending to be surprised.

 Kiki slides over to you and starts shaking you. “Open it. Open it!” She’s more excited than. Granted she has no idea about your plan.

 When you reach your desk, you notice the gift has been meticulously wrapped. Not a single crease or ribbon out of place though it’s a bit bent in a few areas due to delivery. You open the card first. In it, Shaw has written some sappy poem and signed it with Secret Admirer. Knowing your employees will not get any work done until you tell them, you read it out loud. A few catcalls and one shut up glare later, you’re tearing through the wrapping.

 “How did he know I’m running low on my favorite tea?” He doesn’t. You picked it yourself. Having received random gifts in the past, you take it in stride. The idea of it being poisoned doesn’t pop in your mind.

 “Oh wow, Boss,” Kiki whistles. “I bet it’s from Kiro. You two like the same stuff.”

 “I doubt it. He’s been too busy with work.” You decide to make yourself a cup. As you’re heading to the kitchen area, you realize the tea arrived before you did. Not to mention, Shaw was in the middle of getting it ready when you woke up.

 Oh right, messenger has wings so of course they’ll reach your work faster than you.

 When you return from making your tea, everyone scrambles to look busy. You know they’re very much curious about who your secret admirer is. Trying to ignore their stares is harder than it appears. How does Gavin do it?

 Time to enter the battlefield.

 Some time later, Willow calls for you. She doesn’t sound panic, more like confused.

 At the window, you find Zappy outside, tapping the window. No one has opened it. You open the window to let them in. They stay for a whole minute before high tailing it out of there. What they leave you is another package wrapped in a similar style as the tea.

 You pull out your phone to take a picture of it and then proceed to open it. As to why you hadn’t taken a picture of the previous present, it didn’t occur to you until now. After you read the cheesy romantic poem, you tear through the wrapping and reveal your favorite snack. Good timing too as it’s too early for lunch, but your stomach says it wants something. You (along with your employees) take a picture of it. As you’re nibbling on it, you make a post on moments and include the photo.

 By the end of the day (no need for OT yet), you’re gathering your belongings and ready to head home when you hear something run into a window. You (along with your employees) rush over to the window and find that same bird. Zappy appears to be fine, making you wonder if they purposely flew into the window.

 You open the window and go over the same process. This time it’s foreign chocolate. Wait a moment, this isn’t the one you picked up with Shaw. You wonder if the brat went out to buy something else. Nah, he’s too lazy to do it when there are acceptable options available to him.

 Now your entire office is buzzing. Perfect.

 Instead of Gavin coming to pick you up, it’s your big brother. “Lev! What’s up?”

 Levi crosses his arms over his chest. “Your last moments post.” Eh? “Those are the chocolates I bought you.”

 Aw crap, they looked familiar to you. “Ehehehehe. Funny you should mention that.” You break down and tell him your secret admirer plan.

 Instead of being angry or annoyed, Levi seems to be on board with this. He offers his help without being prompted or hinted. You hug him before you put on the helmet and hop onto his motorcycle.

 What’s up with guys and their motorcycles?

 Day 2 <3 Day 2 <3 Day 2 <3 Day 2 <3 Day 2

 Second day. Gotta hang in there and keep it a secret. When Shaw found out you told your other brother, he almost lost it, but you reassure him that your brother is on board with the plan. Now you have someone who can assist should you need it. Somehow you have the feeling you’ll need all the help you can get.

 An hour into work, a delivery person shows up with a bouquet of flowers. He asks for you since you’re the recipient. When you make yourself known, he hands over you the bouquet and an electronic device for you to sign it saying you’ve received the package.

 In this time, your employees gather around you, whispering and of course gossiping. They also pull out their cameras and are openly taking pictures of it. Are they paparazzi? You search for the card and read it out loud, the customary poem and signature. Thankfully you have the foresight to buy a vase to be delivered with it. After a moment arranging it on your desk, you take a picture for you moments post.

 Concentrating on your proposal, you forget you’re supposed to eat until another delivery person arrives. Instead of flowers, it’s your lunch. He hands you the bag and an envelope as if he does this on a regular basis. You tell him to wait a moment and tip him with a snack as you don’t have time to dig through your purse. Also, it looks like he could use something to eat. He thanks you for noticing it and heads on his way to his next delivery.

 By now everyone is crowded around you, you use your outdoor voice to tell them the latest poem except this time you leave out who sent it to you. They should know it’s from your secret admirer. After all, who has been giving gifts on a regular basis? Well yesterday.

 You, Kiki, and Willow have lunch together. It’s almost like a pot luck with the way you’re sharing your lunch. Both Kiki and Willow spend time trying to figure out who your secret admirer is. Kiki believe it’s Kiro while Willow says it’s from Gavin due to the poems. You remind them poetry is more of something Lucien would do. They have forgotten him.

 Close to the end of the day, you manage to have good timing when you look out the window and see that familiar yellow/black bird flying in your direction. You abruptly stand up, startling your employees and open the window. They stare at you until they too see that bird drop off your latest gift and leave.

 The same routine happens and you open your gift to find a cute cell phone case. “Oh wow, how does he know I have this model of phone?” you gasp in (what you hope) surprise.

 Willow frowns. “Your secret admirer knows a lot about you. You sure this person isn’t a stalker or something?”

 You wave her off. “I doubt a stalker would go through this.” Once you take a picture of the case, you replace your old one with it. Then you upload the picture onto moments.

 Day 3 <3 Day 3 <3 Day 3 <3 Day 3 <3 Day 3

 “Hey Boss,” Minor says hesitantly as if you’re going to attack him. Or maybe it’s Gavin.

 “Yes?”

 “Bro is upset. I mean really upset. Haven’t seen him this way since… high school.”

 “Which bro are you talking about?” Your question reminds him that you have a bro, and that he should specify which one when referring to them.

 “Gavin.”

 This worries you as it’s way too early. “He hasn’t done anything, has he?”

 Minor shakes his head. “I mean I like hanging out with him and all, but all he does is sulk or rant about your secret admirer.”

 “He’s not drinking?”

 “I offered him a can, but he refused. He takes his job seriously.” Minor sounds proud of Gavin as if they’re father and son instead of being high school friends.

 You lean closer to Minor. “Whatever you do. Do NOT give him alcohol unless you want your New Year’s bonus to disappear.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 “And no telling Gavin I told you this.”

 Minor gulps. “I’ll try.”

 When you return from making your morning tea, you find that tea set, sitting on your desk. How Zappy delivered it without breaking anything leaves you confounded. You scurry over to your desk and open your gift. The rustling draws the attention of your employees. After removing the last piece of wrapping, you hold it up as high as you dare to show everyone. Unlike the other gifts, the note is in the tea pot. You open it since you hadn’t seen any note. Where is Shaw getting all these poems? You don’t think he’s into poetry.

 Then it dawns on you… big bro is helping.

 Anna brings order to the office as she ushers everyone back to work. “How many presents have you received?”

 You start ticking off each one. “I think this is the seventh.”

 She shakes her head. “Don’t lead him on. If you’re not interested, tell him.”

 “Uh… how am I supposed to tell him when I have no clue who he is?” You’d give yourself a pat on the back for that superb performance if it wouldn’t look foolish as no one would have a clue as to why you’re congratulating yourself, and you’d rather not them questioning your sanity… what’s left of it once you and Shaw finish this plan.

 When you open your moments, you notice a number of replies. In fact, this is the highest number you’ve received ever since you started the account. It’s what you don’t see that starts worrying you. In all your posts, Gavin has yet to make a comment. You know that he knows, thanks to Minor blabbering to you.

 What sounded like a good idea at the time is now sounding like a horrible one. You don’t want to see Gavin this depressed or crushed. It’s almost the halfway point. You can do this. You just hope the other two birds can keep Gavin’s spirits from sinking way down. Sure, Pearly is cute and cuddly, but he doesn’t pick up on emotions like the other two do.

 You text your big brother asking him if this is the right thing and that you’re questioning yourself whether it’s a good idea or not. His quick response doesn’t surprise you by now. You’re used to it. He tells you it’s like going to get a shot at the doctors or pulling off a bandage. The thought of what’s to come is worse than the actual act. You thank your big brother. He always knows what to say to encourage and support you even if it’s something you regret much later on.

 Lunch is delivered and served from a fancy restaurant. The chef herself has put on a performance for you as she prepares your meal. Your coworkers look on in awe by the way she moves her cooking utensils and the food goes where it’s supposed to go, not flying all over the place. At the end of her performance, she hands you the card with the cheesy, romantic poem.

 Your female employees are gushing over how you have a very generous and thoughtful secret admirer as he’s giving the stuff you like. Not to mention, he isn’t cheap either and going all out for you. You laugh nervously, saying that one day you hope you can see who likes you enough to go out of his way. The girls swoon over the thought and their vision of what/who he is.

 The next delivery is a simple envelope via Zappy. When you show what you receive, they’re clearly disappointed and go back to working except for those two and Anna. You open it to reveal a coupon for a complete massage package at the trendy massage parlor. When Kiki squeals in excitement, your other employees snap their attention back to you and gather around you. This has become quite normal.

 “So what are you planning to do?” Kiki asks as if you’re planning to give it away, and she hopes you’d pick her.

 “Go after work. I haven’t been sleeping well.” Your thoughts drift over to Gavin and how he’s coping with all this.

 “Aww…”

 You chuckle before tapping her on her head with the envelope. “Last time I checked, it’s addressed to me.”

 “This secret admirer must want you badly.” Willow whistles. “They only have the highest quality service and equipment.”

 Anna gives you that look, but at the same time, you promised not to tell anyone else. “Kids these days.” She sighs and heads to wherever she is before your envelope arrived.

 Day 4 <3 Day 4 <3 Day 4 <3 Day 4 <3 Day 4

 That was one of your best night of sleep ever since you could remember. Ever since the first day, your big brother has been playing chauffeur. He doesn’t mind since he can arrange his work schedule around to fit yours and has assured you many times that you’re not a burden to him. In fact, he’d be quite troubled should you ask someone else to drive you to and from work.

 You hear bits and pieces of a conversation you’re not supposed to be a part of. It’s not that you’re trying to eavesdrop. More like, your entrance isn’t noisy so they don’t know you’re here. You frown when you piece together the info.

 When you appear, they cease their conversation and act as if nothing has happened. You decide to let them off with a warning this time.

 “There will be no gambling here so you can stop wagering on who is sending me these gifts.” Your employees groan and grumble, but they comply with your wishes or at least they appear to. You hadn’t thought this far ahead. As for Shaw, you’re not sure he has even considered this.

 When you reach your desk, you find a small jewelry box. Unlike the other gifts, it’s not nicely wrapped but placed in a see through bag for transport. You read off the poem. The first part of today’s gift is a pair of earrings.

 “Oh my, he is serious,” Anna says as she looks over your shoulder.

 “I’d answer only if I had someone to give that answer to.”

 Anna gives you a supportive smile. “I know. You’re not the type of person to play with someone’s emotions.” She heads to her desk.

 Hearing her say those words, you start feeling guilty. Are you playing with Gavin’s emotions? You’re not stringing him along as you’re trying to get him to ask you. The easiest way is to go up and tell him to his face, but as they say, easier said than done.

 Willow leans back in her chair. “Why are you moping around? You have a very generous and wealthy secret admirer.”

 You sigh a long one. “I just don’t want to be seen as taking advantage of his generosity.” Yeah right, you paid for all of these.

 “Then he should grow a pair and tell you how he feels.” You know Willow is on your side no matter what you do and that includes the amateur mistakes you made when you first started. Not to mention, Kiki and Anna feel the same way. As for Minor, you’d rather not have him choose between you and Gavin.

 “I hope he does soon. For my sanity.”

 “And for Bro’s too,” Minor chimes in the conversation.

 Everyday you’ve brought your own lunch even though you know you’re going to be receiving something from your secret admirer. If you brought your meals on the days you’re not going to have food delivered, then it would appear suspicious. As you’re about to tear into your sandwich, you hear a familiar chirping. You grab a mandarin orange, hiding it in your hand and head over to the window where an expectant Zappy is waiting with your gift. Positioning yourself between you and the bird, you use the hand with the orange to reach over and grab the parcel. However, you let Zappy grab the orange and let them take off.

 “What is it?”

 “Calm down, I’m opening it.” True to your word, you read the poem and open the jewelry box to reveal a matching bracelet. By now everyone knows the drill. They gather around you taking pictures. However, you decide not to post anything in moments as you know certain people are following you.

 “I bet you’re going to get a necklace,” Kiki giggles from her seat to which you roll your eyes.

 “We’ll see.”

 Hours later, that necklace arrives. Kiki gives the ‘I told you so’ look. You two tease each other for a few minutes. Now that you think about it, she’s like a sister you never had, a younger sister. Maybe this is how Levi feels towards you. It takes Willow pulling on her ear to get her back working until you all call it a day and head home.

 “Having second or third thoughts?” Your big brother asks when you approach him.

 “Yeah. I just wish he’d do something, but he hasn’t contacted once,” you grumble and take his place behind him on his bike. Of course, you wear a helmet.

 “Oh he’s been doing something all right,” Levi says though he doesn’t start his bike. “He’s been bothering me about who your secret admirer is. He believes you tell me everything.” Yeah, while you do tell him a lot, it’s not everything.

 “Did you tell him?”

 “I told him to ask you directly.”

 Phew.

 Day 5 <3 Day 5 <3 Day 5 <3 Day 5 <3 Day 5

 When nothing arrives for you in the morning, your employees are greatly disappointed. Don’t they have something like work to do? You suppose it has been their entertainment for this otherwise boring week, and they need something to help them get through it.

 “Everyone!” Anna yells over their chatter. After it becomes quiet, she continues. “Courtesy of our boss’ secret admirer, we have lunch!”

 Your employees cheer and anyone close to you thanks you for having such an awesome secret admirer. Some even tell you to keep this person. You’re relieved when they don’t ask any questions. Between you and Anna you organize how the lunch is to be distributed. There will be four different groups, going at staggered times to pick up their meals. When the current group is almost finished, you call for the next group to line up and begin. It’s like one of those buffets or pot lucks where people fall in line and then pick up what they want.

 Later that afternoon, you hear a thud and a squawk at the window. You rush over since you know who made that noise and find a very tired Zappy on top of a very large box. Poor little guy. You pick up the bird and take them in, leaving the box for now. Once they’re at your desk, you go back for the box. It’s heavier than you thought. No wonder why Zappy struggled to fly it over.

 “I knew it. That bird looks exactly like bro’s,” Minor announces to the entire office. He reaches over only to pull his hand back when the bird snaps at him. “Maybe not. Zappy’s nicer.”

 You keep the window open for when the delivery bird feels ready to make the trip back to your apartment where you know Shaw has been hanging out lately. He claims he doesn’t want to haul your gifts to his place and would rather crash at yours. You’re annoyed at first, but then realize, it’s more practical for him to stay there with you, the gifts, and the bird.

 “Boss, do you even know how to use it?” Kiki asks as she reads the side of the box. This isn’t wrapped, and instead of being in an envelope, your poem along with signature has been taped to one side.

 Your eye twitches. “That’s why they come with instruction manuals.”

 “How many instruction manuals have read and understood?” Trust those two to give you a hard time. They’re not doing it maliciously. It’s more on teasing in a good way. Like you’re three sisters.

 “Youtube.”

 They both sport this ‘oh’ look as if they practiced doing it in synch. You guess you’ve been around each other long enough that your small habits have rubbed off on each other.

 “And here I was going to share the candy with you.”

 The two become much more friendly and helpful. When you open it, they’ll help you use it… at your place on the weekend.

 Zappy is too tired to fly back, and you hide them until everyone has left. Then you call your big brother up to your company and have him carry down the candy making machine while you carry the little bird. On your way, you give a slight nod of your head to the security guards who do a double take when they see your little bundle. By now, they’re used to having your big brother come and go from your work place. It also helps he’s on friendly terms with them.

 Instead of his bike, Levi brings his truck along with Shaw and Zappy’s cage. You hand over the exhausted bird to Shaw before hoisting yourself into the front passenger seat. Then you notice the gift you’re supposed to be wearing and the other items to set the mood.

 Your next stop is Gavin’s place. It dawns on you that you don’t have a key to his apartment. How are you supposed to enter his apartment without one? You glance over to Shaw and then your big brother. It seems they have it planned out or so you hoped.

 When you reach Gavin’s apartment, Levi pulls out what looks to be a lock picking set. He gets to work on the door. A few seconds later, you hear the sound of a door being unlocked.  He gives you a cheeky grin. “Bet you didn’t know I could do this.”

 “You never told me.”

 “You never asked.”

 Levi apologizes for driving you there and running. He has an appointment with a client. You’re grateful he at least brings up Zappy’s cage. He tells you he’ll drop by your place after to deliver your candy making machine.

 Shaw shrugs. “He demanded I give him your spare key.”

 Right. You thank every deity Levi has taken things into his own hands and got your spare key back. Knowing the brat, you figure he’d give you a hard time for awhile and then let you have it. It occurs to you he may have created a duplicate. You’ll ask your landlord if you can change locks later at your expense. Your landlord can be a real piece of work, but if you’re offering to cover the expenses and the request is within reason, he’ll give it the green light.

 You place Zappy back into their cage with the other two who are very worried for their companion. The birds start chirping up a storm. You have no clue what they’re talking about and figure they’re catching up on whatever they missed. Not like Icy and Fiery have anything interesting to say except for how Gavin has been behaving lately.

 Shaw takes out your lingerie. “You get changed. I’ll set up here.”

 Since you’ve been there quite a few times, you know your way around even without any lights. You can walk around there in your sleep for crying out loud. “Thanks for everything.”

 Instead of replying with ‘You’re welcome,’ Shaw motions for you to get going and rifles through the bag for something.

 Once in the bathroom, you realize you’re not sure how to put on this lacy garment without accidentally ripping it. You were too embarrassed to ask the person who sold it to you, Shaw’s friend… acquaintance. Turning it around and around gives you no clue how to don it. As you become frustrated, you take a deep breath. What did you say about Youtube? Oh yes.

 Good thing you take your phone with you and start searching for instructions on how to put the thing on. You find something, but it’s not on the website you thought you’d find it. As you’re following it step by step, you see something off. Oh Shaw has removed all the tags. How thoughtful of him… when he wants to be. You swear he does most of the things on purpose to get a reaction of you.

 Since you’d rather not rip it before you have a chance to actually wear it, you go through the motions slowly and handle the lacy gently. With the tags removed, there goes any chance of returning or exchanging it. You swear it should come with a set of instructions on how to wear it.

 You look at yourself in the mirror and turn around to make sure you have everything where it needs to go, not that there’s much in the way of fabric or lace. This is for Gavin so it has to be perfect. He’s given so much to you and you want to show how much you appreciate him. You squash your rising feeling of guilt for what you’ve most likely him through these past… four and a half days. This day isn’t over so it doesn’t count as a full day.

 Seeing everything in order, you blush as you think about how Gavin would respond. Would he be a stuttering and blushing mess? Tripping over his words? Or would he be like a hungry wolf ready to pounce on his prey? It brings up memories of when you dressed as Little Red Riding Hood while he was the Big Bad wolf for your Halloween party. You’re not the only couple who came dressed as a set. Kiki and her boyfriend came as Cinderella and Prince Charming while Minor and Willow as Snow White and her Prince. Before the party, you decided to go with a fairytale theme.

 When you pick up your phone, you notice how much time has passed. You place your hand on the knob ready to exit, but… do you want Shaw to see you like this? Maybe you can cover yourself with your jacket until he leaves. No, that won’t work as he needs to help you arrange yourself on Gavin’s bed. That means he’ll have to eventually see you wearing it.

 “Here goes nothing.”

 As you open the door, you involuntarily hold your breath. Your body reminds you to breathe once you step out of it. “Shaw, we need to hurry up!” With your attention on carrying your clothes and cell phone, you miss seeing something important.

 That is until…

 “Shaw, what the hell are you doing with her?”

 This voice could only belong to… Gavin. You raise your head to see Gavin on the verge of strangling his own brother who was trying to fight back the tears… no, laughter.

 “This isn’t what it looks like!”

 Gavin’s eyes drop onto the bed where Shaw has laid thick ribbon, a bow, a flower, and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs. Then his gaze moves over to you and your huge blush.

 “SHAW! When did you get this?” You point to the fuzzy handcuffs. The ribbon, bow, and flower, you already know about it. But that adult toy is something you’ve never laid eyes upon until now.

 “You two are boring. I’m spicing things up between you two so sue me.” Shaw shrugs as if it’s an everyday occurrence to break into a brother’s place with someone who likes him and that kind of toy.

 Gavin frowns before he slams Shaw into the nearest wall. Good thing they’re not far away from it. “You…”

 Instead of being upset or angry, Shaw starts laughing hysterically as if he’s lost his mind. You stare at him as if he’s grown an extra appendage. On the other hand, Gavin is too furious to care.

 “Date. Date. Date. Date.” Since none of you are talking and no one else should be in the apartment, you and Gavin start scanning his room for the source. Meanwhile Shaw is laughing so hard he looks like he’s crying. If isn’t for his older brother, you swear he’d kiss the floor by now.

 As soon as the chanting resumes, you and Gavin stare in disbelief. Never in either of your wildest imaginations (and you have a very active one) did you think any of these birds can speak, but here they are chanting one word. Date.

 With Shaw out of the picture (laughing), Gavin turns to you for an explanation and when he really gets a good look at you, he too resembles a tomato. He averts his gaze to anywhere except you.

 After taking take a deep breath, you somehow manage to get your feet moving over to him. You place your hands on his arm as if reassuring him. “Nothing is going between us.” You point to Shaw and then to yourself. “Promise.”

 “Then why is he here and you’re wearing… that.”

 Shaw manages to calm himself down to where he can speak. “My idiot of a brother needed to grow a pair of balls.”

 “What did you say?” Gavin pushes him back into the wall.

 “Man up.”

 “….”

 “Isn’t it obvious why she’s doing this?”

 “…. No.”

 “She wants you to fuck her.”

 “SHAW!” You’re tempted to slap him, but with the way the two brothers are positioned, you’re not tall enough to reach over and give him a smack.

 “All right. All right. Since you’re too much of a coward, she needed to take drastic measures.”

 “You’re not the secret admirer?”

 Shaw snorts. “There never was one.”

 “Then how… what… those gifts.”

 “I bought them and Shaw helped me send them to myself,” you finally admit. “Are you mad at me?”

 Gavin exhales in relief, all that pent up anxiety and frustration released at once, now that he knows you never had a secret admirer. At the same time, he’s a little annoyed. “But why him?”

 “Err… he knows you better than I do.” You hope this will suffice. It does to a certain extent.

 “Now that you know, you can let go.”

 “Why should I?”

 “You plan on going on a date with her holding me like this?” Shaw motions to the two of them.

 “No. Why didn’t you tell me?”

 You puff up your cheeks. “For the same reasons why you didn’t ask me.”

 Conflicting emotions appeared in those amber eyes. “I see.”

 “Great, now that you two lovebirds have made up, you can release me.” Shaw pauses. “I left you a little surprise under the pillow.

 Curiosity gets the better of you and you reach over to yank the pillow off. What you reveal causes your blush to intensify, Gavin to become a stuttering mess, and Shaw to laugh hysterically again. You hastily shove the pillow back over the items, wanting them to disappear.

 “Gavin, I—”

 You notice Gavin on the move still holding a hysterically laughing Shaw. You follow him until he reaches the entrance and literally throws his brother out. He slams the door with a little too much force, causing the walls to rattle along with your nerves. You gulp.

 Man, you’re in big trouble.

 The loud pounding on the door diverts both your attention. “I forgot to mention. I left a book in the bag. You’ll need it for tonight.”

 “The bag” happens to be on a table close to Gavin. He reaches over to open it and then closes it immediately.

 All three birds wolf whistle and make suggestive chirps. At least they’re out here and not in the bedroom. You open your mouth to say something when you’re swept off your feet and carted off to his bed.

 Gavin uses his weight to pin you. “A little bunny has been very naughty.”

#mlqc #mlqc mc #mlqc gavin #mlqc bai qi #mlqc haku #mlqc shaw #pokemon #zapdos #Zappy #sibling complexes #brotherly love #little shit Shaw #naive MC

[isadcrajade]

💀 * [ barbie ferreira + cis female + she/her ] —— have you met isadora oliveira ? they are a twenty-one year old sophomore currently studying fashion design & merchandising. they live on keating house, and word around campus is that this aries is loyal + warm, as well as self-objectifying + obsequious. i wonder if they’ll make it out alive. chocolate covered strawberries, gothic platforms, lingerie under leather jackets.

hiii bbies it’s me (gabby) finally here again to post this finalized, messy version of isa’s intro! she’s a brand new never-been-played muse of mine so it’s def bound to be a bit more scattered & less developed than ezra’s, but also much shorter? so i mean there’s a bonus lmao alright here we go:

so isadora (also known by many nicknames such as isa, izzy, iz, & dora the explora if ur trying to piss her off vgbjhksjs) was definitely not brought up in a world of prestige and recognition like the one she’s become so accustomed to in attending holloway university

growing up in the small town of lisbon, maine the only reality isa knew during her childhood was that of living as the only child of a woman who was (TW) both a compulsive liar & and compulsive hoarder. their house was floor to ceiling with things her mom collected as well as garbage built up over time- her condition had already driven isa’s father out of the house when she was just three years old, and she never had a relationship with him as a result

she was still fairly young when she realized the true severity of her own situation, just how abnormal it was compared to that of her friends. she missed out on so many rights of passage during her upbringing like birthday parties, sleepovers, etc. for much of her life her own living space / bedroom were just as bad off as the rest of the house, given her mom’s inability to keep from passing her hoarding tendencies onto her daughter. isa simply didn’t know any better at the time. to her, that was normal.

not only was her mom a compulsive liar & hoarder but she was also extremely neglectful, often leaving isa to her own devices in the dangerous environment they called home. as a result of this she (TW ED) developed harmful coping mechanisms surrounding food, regularly overeating to combat negative feelings of loneliness, and this went on from the time she was just a little girl all the way until she was in high school

high school was rough in many ways- she suffered depression, anxiety, experienced bullying at the hands of the more popular kids for her weight & her mother’s financial situation, and was all around extremely isolated from her peers- the only person she really had to depend on was her cousin (WC) . she had so much respect and envy for her cousin, they had more of a sisterly dynamic than anything, she was just so gorgeous and everything she did just seemed so effortless, to the point isa couldn’t help but idolize her and consider her a best friend. 

like, remember when spongebob said he hoped that by being in squidward’s presence some of his artistic ability would rub off onto him? that was deadass isa & (WC) in high school jhbksnjs my girl was so sure if she just spent enough time with her she’d inherit some of her pretty & cool

high school was also where she reached a turning point when it came to her home environment, able to put a name to her mom’s condition after years of struggling with her strained and toxic relationship with her mom, and ultimately changed the rest of her life. she stayed the night at (WC’s) one night and after she fell asleep, isa stayed up watching TLC- it was there that she first discovered the TV show ‘hoarding: buried alive’ and realized there was a name for her mother’s infliction- but more importantly, learned that there was help available for her condition

when she went home to excitedly tell her mother that she’d basically discovered a cure, a means to change everything for them... she certainly hadn’t been expecting the reaction that came: her mom, who’d always been so indifferent toward her, so lethargic and uninterested in what she had to say, was suddenly listening very clearly- and she was not happy. isa had never heard her mom scream like that, had never really heard her express any heightened emotion, but it was in that moment at 17 years old, just a few weeks away from her 18th birthday, that she realized what she needed to do. she had no choice but to make plans to leave her mom behind.

the final weeks leading up to the big day she was counting on as a turning point consisted of her cleaning out her own space, little by little, enough that she had somewhere to set up her secondhand laptop and webcam. blowing out the candles on her 18th birthday cake came with wishing for a whole new life, and she was determined to make that for herself by any means necessary.

(TW SEX WORK) isa spent half her 18th year in her room working as a successful camgirl, showing everything but her face, & of course always being careful not to dox herself. she eventually earned enough money to start buying herself nicer clothes, but it didn’t take her long to realize she wanted more from life than just rotting away in her hometown. she bought herself a higher quality webcam to keep making money... and a nice sewing machine, something she’d always dreamed of owning. 

all her life she’d been drawing and sketching as a means of escapism, it’d always been therapeutic to her to be creative and conjure up unique designs for outfits in her mind, drawing models in all shapes and sizes to represent her fantasy outfits. but she never felt like a visionary, even though anyone with an eye for fashion who got a look at her work could see that she had the natural talent and potential to be. 

isa had been an a straight-A student her whole life despite having almost no support at home from her mother growing up, and with plenty of encouragement from (cousin WC), she plucked up the courage and applied for holloway university, with ivory falls being far enough from her hometown of lisbon, but still in the same state so that she could go and see her mother from time to time (bc although their relationship is quite strained now, she still loves and worries about her)

the next summer she received her acceptance letter at holloway u for the coming fall semester, and the fact that she’d been able to make it into such a prestigious school made her feel so proud of herself that she completely underwent a massive arc of character development; evolving into someone so much more confident. realizing that plenty of people found her desirable as she continued to earn money through cam shows had been part of that transformation, but realizing she was talented enough to get accepted into the fashion design and merchandising program at her dream school had a completely different effect on her. 

( TW BODY IMAGE ISSUES ) isa decided that as she entered college, she was no longer going to be the meek, insecure girl constantly playing the role of the doting, loyal fat best friend to the ‘prettier main characters’ she’d always been sidekick to- she told herself that she was the main fucking character in her life from here on, and has spent her entire college experience up to this point just,, navigating as she figures out what that really means to her

still has a terrible underlying tendency to be overly-loyal and a bit obsessive with girls she closely befriends, if she has any kind of jealousy towards them. but ! is a lot more confident than she used to be, and it shows in the way she dresses and carries herself, as well as in her long-term goals (to transfer to FIDM for her final years of university)

( TW ED MENTION ) as a young adult, she’s mostly she’s replaced the compulsion to deal with her body image issues by using food to cope that she had as a teenager... by using sex to cope instead, so she’s definitely a bit promiscuous but does her best to keep that Her Own business 

personality-wise she has a massive heart & is loyal to a fault but is also wild AF & loves a good time! never rly dabbled in drugs until she got to college but since then has acquired an interest in trying everything under the sun, even if it’s just one and done. mostly though she just likes to get really drunk & stupid. used to feel like she was constantly living in her cousin’s shadow, & in some ways she still does, but she’s trying hard to make herself believe that she’s reached a place where she won’t be playing second fiddle to anyone, ever again

i’m gonna shut the hell up now & stop pretending i know this character better than i do bc i deadass do not jbhnjss like she’s literally brand new so lemme go head & leave plenty of room for development!

same story as ezra i’ll have a full connections page posted for her soon but in the meantime some ideas i have are: friends, frienemies, ex friends, high school bullies, classmates, old high school friends, people she gets fuckt up with on the reg, people she hooks up with on the reg (any gender, she’s bisexual / biromantic), someone she had a crush on in high school / has pined for from afar maybe?? someone who used to watch her cam shows?? someone she almost kinda dated but Not? someone who she hooked up with while they were dating someone else?? idk that’s what i have for now but there’ll be more where that came from <3 xoxo like this or hmu !

#holloway.intro #this is a hot ass mess #but i'm rly excited to finally play her x

[priorireverte]

Congratulations Lizzie!

Your application for Ginny Weasley has been accepted. She certainly has a lot to grapple with, both old and new. On top of the general ‘becoming an adult in the world’ things of one’s twenties! I do not envy her, though I do look forward to seeing her struggles and triumphs.

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Lizzie, she/her

TIMEZONE: GMT

ACTIVITY LEVEL: The UK is currently in lockdown so I have a lot of free time. I am a part-time student but that is flexible so I know I have the time to dedicate to an rp. I do have health problems which sometimes take me out of commission but I normally can give advance warning for when this might happen and these episodes don’t last long.

ANYTHING ELSE: Suicide is a big trigger for me, as well as suffocation in any form. I’ve been in RPs since I was about 14 so I feel comfortable with the etiquette and what’s expected and I’m excited to find a new place to write and love.

 CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Ginevra “Ginny” Weasley.

BIRTHDATE: 11 August 1981

DEATHDATE: N/A

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Ginny identifies as a cis woman and is very comfortable in that identity and the associated she/her pronouns. Her sexuality is slightly more complicated; she identifies as bisexual, having come to the realisation through her teenage years. She’s never come out to anyone, but it’s not something she hides either. Her reasoning has always been that if people spend enough time with her then they’ll pick it up eventually. She’s always maintained that she would have realised her queerness earlier if it hadn’t been for her all encompassing crush on Harry which took up her first few years at Hogwarts. 

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

OCCUPATION: Reserve Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Not exactly where she wants to be, but she knows she needs to pay her dues and work her way up through the roster to make a name for herself as a Quidditch player.

FACECLAIM: Luca Hollestelle I think is probably the best fit

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

POSTBELLUM: 

Somewhat naively, which could be forgiven considering her age, Ginny had thought that once Voldemort was gone everything would be okay again. Of course, war is not so simple. Sometimes Ginny still feels like the war hasn’t ended because everything isn’t okay again. They lost Fred and the grief from that loss felt all-consuming for so long. They had struggled and fought and it still felt like they’d lost. People celebrated but Ginny just felt adrift. She hadn’t wanted to go back to Hogwarts, but she knew that it was important and so she returned. It felt like a living nightmare. No matter the work put into restoring the castle, Ginny saw bodies in every corner and when she came down for breakfast in the Great Hall she could still see the casualties laid out in rows. 

Quidditch became the best form of escape she had and she threw herself into it with a renewed passion, pushing herself as hard as she could. Quidditch has remained a form of therapy for her and it was a foregone conclusion that she followed it as a career after she finished Hogwarts. Years might have passed since the end of the war, but Ginny still relies on her job to get her out of bed each day and keep her a functioning member of society. 

She makes time each week to stop in on each of her family members, almost as if more time spent with them will fill the gap of never seeing Fred again. Of course she misses him still, and she thinks of her missing brother every day, but her life has found some sort of normality and wounds are beginning to heal. At least, they were until news of the Returned reached her. It feels like the unfairness of Fred’s death occurs again every time someone else comes back and it’s not him. Ginny can’t help but be angry; what cruel hand of fate would bring back Bellatrix Lestrange, who orchestrated so much misery, instead of reuniting a broken family?

PERSONALITY: 

Ginny is very good at hiding her sadness. Other emotions, not so much. Her mum has always told her that every anger and frustration is clear as day in her expression, even if Ginny manages to hold her tongue. Sadness, however, is easy to shut away to only be taken out in private. She knows she’s a strong person, she’s been through too much to not be, and that is the side of her she wants the world to see. She’d prefer to cover sadness with anger and quick wit, never letting anyone see into her heart unless she gives them permission. Of course, that means that she’s not the most emotionally intelligent and she struggles with the times when it’s important that she does share feelings that run deeper than sass and anger. Ginny is overly-combative and age hasn’t tempered that. She can still throw a mean bat-bogey hex but she can now follow it up with a mean right hook, and she’s more than likely to. She’s fiercely protective of her friends and family, and there’s a softness that she can express for certain people. At heart, she is a kind person, but she’s scared of letting too many people see that. 

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

The Weasley family is a family full of love. Of course there are flaws and arguments, just like any family, but there was no point in her childhood where Ginny ever doubted how much her family loved her and how much she loved them in return. They didn’t have a lot of money and there were many points during her childhood and particularly her teenagerdom where Ginny resented that, but she didn’t blame her parents. She was only thirteen when Voldemort returned, and that changed so many things so very quickly. Money and normal family squabbles just didn’t seem important any more, and the strongest value that Ginny picked up from her family was that it was important to fight for what she believed in. No matter what happened in the rest of the war, Ginny clung onto that ideal and it is the core of her personality.

HISTORY: 

Ginny has very few memories of a life not touched by Voldemort. Of course her early childhood was free of that fear, and she remembers playing Quidditch in the garden with her brothers and begging to go to Hogwarts with them every year. Those memories are not nearly as clear and sharp as her years at Hogwarts, and none are as clear as her second year. Her first year, despite being traumatic, is almost entirely lost to her having spent so much of it under the Diary’s spell. Her second year is unfailingly vivid, no matter how much she wishes it wasn’t. There were the nightmares, the creeping feeling like a cold hand on her spine that she would hear his voice in her head again. Then there were the looks of the other students. Ginny might not have been in control of herself when those terrible things happened, but she felt responsible and she felt the judgement in the stares of her peers. Ginny felt very lonely that whole year, but it was because of this feeling of ostracisation that she developed such a sense of confidence. 

She did her best to grow above the judgement of others and not to care what people thought or said and as a result her confidence blossomed. It was her confidence and her strong sense of justice which made her fast friends with those willing to give her a chance and by the end of her third year she felt as though the horrors of her experience with Voldemort could finally be put behind her and she would be able to have a normal teenagerhood. 

His return certainly put a halt to those ideas, but she still managed to be a normal teenage girl in between the difficulties of living in a world at war. Ginny’s skill as a witch and as a Quidditch player were only encouraged by the certainty of the times they were living in, and her ferocious commitment to justice went hand in hand with the desire to fight in the war rushing towards them all. She still hasn’t talked much with her family about what happened in the year that Snape and the Carrows took over Hogwarts, the only people she’s comfortable discussing it with being Neville and Luna because they were there for it. Part of her feels like she didn’t do enough to help Harry, and a large part of her feels guilty for having to leave Neville on his own after Easter. Regardless, everything that happened that year feels very much overshadowed by the terrible tragedy of the Battle itself, and her experiences really don’t seem that important.

OOC EXPLORATION:

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? One of my friends linked me to this rp and I was instantly fascinated. I feel like there have been so many HP rps that there are very few fresh ideas left and this plot just hooked me immediately. I love all the new dynamics that it opens up and honestly it just seems like an exciting place to write.

ANYTHING ELSE? So I have a pinterest board for Ginny here. Then I had ideas and feelings about the whole Harry/Ginny thing but I didn’t know where it best fit into the app so it’s here, sorry!

The Harry problem. When he left to do the good, right, and noble thing, Ginny expected that when he came back they would pick up where they left off, maybe he even expected the same thing. War changes people though, and she knew that the person he came back to was not the same person she had been when he had left. The Battle only further compounded that issue. He was her first love, and she knows that he will always mean a lot to her but it felt as though the world collapsed when the war ended and romance just wasn’t her priority. Of course she adores Harry, and his friendship means the world to her, but that spark she used to feel just never came back. 

#prioriacceptance #ginny weasley

[segenassefa]

2: On Consumerism, Fighting Demons, and Societies Inevitable Collapse

Quarantine has been lowkey surreal. My constant complaint of never having enough time to do all the things I want/should be doing has now left me bored in the house, bored in the house, bored with nothing but time to get said things done. However, it is a dual edged sword - with the collapse and subsequent reformation of civil society outside my doors, it leaves me wondering – as well as a lot of other people – in the words of Miss Juicy…what the hell we gone do now?

Nearing the end of the first leg of my university career, I should be thinking about getting ready to transition to the next logical stages of adulthood - saving for an apartment, applying for permanent residency, as well as graduate schools and part time jobs. Yet, I’m worried about if these things will even be a possibility within the next month, six months, or even the next year.

On top of ALL of that, the recent BLM protests and the way that people (read: white people, Latinxs, Black men, homo/transphobes, etc.) have shown their asses the past few months is beyond mortifying - especially regarding the treatment of black women and how our value as individuals as well as a collective to society is really perceived.* This is not to downplay the murder of numerous black men in society, BUT who the fuck is riding for black women aside from other black women? And not just the ones who find attractive, or are racially ambiguous, or the ones you feel as if you get “guilted” into supporting and demanding justice for, I mean each and every black woman. I’m just saying, it gets pretty disheartening to feel like the legwork of the revolution is on the back of one category of people, and that your value to society is measured by the amount of emotional labour you’re ready to do for others, or how fat your ass is (but I digress…).

I feel like most people have used material things as coping mechanisms instead of actually facing their feelings and dealing with the things that bother them. Just think of the number of packages that have arrived on your doorstep the past few months. Breaking the glossy seal of packing tape is similar to therapy, until all the boxes are open, and you start feeling like shit again. And now, more than ever, there’s a lot to be bothered about. Western society has dedicated phrases based on the phenomenon of substituting true self-work with figurative emotional bandages (Phrases like comfort eating and retail therapy come to mind).

It’s nice to think that we – the people entering their adolescent and young adult years – will be the one to change these things, but suddenly it’s 2 am, you have twenty different things in your Amazon cart, (who the fuck needs a metal straw cleaning kit?) and you’re trying to see how far you can stretch and grab your debit card before falling off of the bed.

The conflicting messages pushed by society don’t help all that much either. If you look up “Kondo method” or “decluttering my closet” on YouTube, the numbers of videos that come up is astounding. Pages and pages of sweaty-faced, smiling YouTubers monetizing from this kind of faux “minimalism” only to post haul videos a few days later because “I threw everything out and now I have to rebuild from scratch sksksk!”. Does this not just perpetuate a cycle of buying and throwing and buying? I am....confusion, to say the least. Still I watch them, because I’m a hypocrite, and am also easily amused.

I will be the first to admit I have always had a very unhealthy relationship with money, with self-image, and with measuring my self-worth in proximity with “stuff that stems from a complicated relationship with physical self. Follow along:

Growing up, I was a fat kid. We don’t even have to sugar coat it. Think Terrio, but better eyebrows and more hair. Except I was not killin’ em, just myself. I always envied my friends who were able to go shopping at regular stores – read: Hollister, Abercrombie, Urban Outfitters (yes my friends were white), meanwhile I was condemned to shopping in the women’s department.

So, to compensate, I would buy trinkets – things like nail polish, lip gloss, journals, you get the point. My proximity to worthiness was measured not by the things that I bought, but within the act of buying. Growing up with parents who were also financially frugal also altered my relationship with money and blessed me with crippling buyers’ remorse after every purchase, even on things that are important (read: groceries).  

But as a kid, buying “stuff” was fun for me – it gave me some sort of purpose, and the acquisition of things (even if they weren’t the same things my peers had) made me feel like, to some extent, I could compete on the same playing field. As I got older, and I started to have real expenses, I moved towards second-hand shopping. I would religiously find myself at Goodwill on weekend, after school, or with friends. I could literally feel an endorphin rush when I would find something that I would consider a “good deal”, and it made me feel (again) purposeful, to be spending money, even if I didn’t need whatever I was buying.

I should also add that the people in my immediate family does not believe in thrift stores (“Why am I working for you to wear other people’s clothing?”, I remember my dad asking me one day), so the act of second-hand shopping was also my form of rebellion.

I began to amass a collection of clothing that would put Kylie’s closet to shame. I began buying things for events and situations that were yet to happen, for other people, for when I lose ten pounds. It was a madness.

In freshman year of university, I had an unhealthy relationship with clubbing clothes. Did I have the figure for clubbing clothes? Absolutely not. The funnier part is, I couldn’t even go clubbing because I wasn’t 19 at the time. And yet I had drawers and drawers full of the stuff. Not to mention that clubbing clothes is incredibly similar to summer clothing and living between Minnesota and Canada meant that these things were barely seeing the light of day.

The moral of this was – I could never figure out my relationship with stuff, This quarantine has forced me to try and break down the compulsion behind my behaviour.  I felt like I was spiralling the six weeks that they closed thrift stores, and I knew myself well enough to not try and online shop with the same kind of frequency as that. But the crazy part was, I didn’t die. I didn’t go into withdrawal (ok, I did a little bit, but whatever), and I was able to take the time to go through the things I already owned and find some hidden gems that were routinely buried in the cracks and crevices of my closet. It was like the episode of Family Guy when Peter realizes he has a vestigial twin – alarming and cool at first, but then it’s just alarming and annoying.

Its more embarrassing to realize that some semblance of myself image is tied to the frequency with which I am able to spend money. I would never say that participating in capitalist society gives me some kind of purpose as a black woman because God forbid. Also, considering that a lot of big names companies are actually racist and fatphobic as hell creates a whole new dimension for analyzing the power of my black dollar, sometimes creating another spiral of guilt leading to you guessed it – more spending.

As much as it seems like it, however, this self-reflection was not in vain. In the past month, I’ve cut down my closet from +200 pieces of clothing and shoes to about 40. If you ever want a fun, humbling activity this quarantine, just clean out your closet and be honest with yourself about how often you wear certain things. It was revolting to see the number of shirts, dresses, pants, skirts that I had bought and convinced myself wholeheartedly I was going to wear, only to pull them out of my closet months later with the tags attached *insert Marge Simpson covering her face meme*.

But at the end of the whole ordeal, it felt really good to look at my space and not feel burden or guilt. It was somewhat philanthropic realizing that not only will these clothes make someone else happier (I donated pretty much everything because it’s not always about money), but that my quality of life was not dramatically impacted in owning (or not owning) certain things. The past few weeks, I’ve spent more money on going out and sharing experiences with friends, but still nowhere near the same amount of money I would have spent buying clothes and other material possession.

Youtuber Kelly Stamps has a video on how minimalism “cured” her depression**, and the whole thesis boils down to the idea that owning less things gives you less to compare yourself too, thus making you happier (in a sense) and allowing you to focus the energy and time that would have been centered around maintaining and building your collection of possessions other things.

This still doesn’t break down the root of the issue, but it’s a start. I think when you have traits or patterns that you’ve participated in for so long, it becomes hard to step back and be objective enough to realize that you – yes, you – are part of the problem. I can blame my habits on a lot of things but at the end of the day, it’s important to realize that certain cycles seem never-ending because I actively choose to participate in these kinds of behaviours (accountability is sexy, huh?). While I’m not ready to face all my demons quite yet, it’s easier to do it with a nice wardrobe and a streamlined sense of mind.

Notes

*When I say black women, I mean ALL black women. Not some limited, cis-gendered, heteronormative view of what a woman is. Over here we ride for all those who identify as women.

**She emphasizes that she doesn’t actually means that it cured anything, but rather helped with her anxiety, and in turn, helped with her depression.

Links

That Family Guy Episode

The Kelly Stamps video

#cms #selfhelp? #consumerism

[coe-lilium]

Fate’s Avenger Amakusa Masuda Shirou Tokisada from FGO EoR III. 

Shimosa just passed its 2nd Jp birthday, has finally debuted in NA and my pipe dream of getting him as playable Servant is still a pipe dream, so to hell with it,  I made him sprite and profile myself. 

Hopefully I’ve managed to get the tone of official FGO profiles right. 

Warning: there are some brief spoilers for Arc 2

PROFILE

A nearly 40 years old Amakusa who survived the siege of Hara and lost himself to grief and hate to the point of resembling a vengeful ghost long before his death.  

Discrete as a swordsman, but experienced and lethal as a mage; a jaded person who looks younger than his age but behaves like he’s older.

The years of his life between Hara and the events occurred in the Shimosa pseudo parallel world are shrouded in mystery.

Height/Weight: 180cm - 66kg                                                                    Source: Historical Fact / Alternative history                                                Region of Origin: Japan                                                                          Alignment: Chaotic Evil                                                                              Gender: Male    

A very different person to the Heroic Spirit previously summoned by Chaldea.

Bond 1

Up until he was 17 years old, his life went down exactly as his PanHuman history self.

However, as he was bleeding and about to die a man dressed in ridiculous clothing sprung from thin air, got rid of the shogunate soldiers and quietly offered him a clawed hand. 

After some time of feverish nightmares, Amakusa recovered enough from his injuries to witness Hara castle being razed from distance, too weak to stop it as he’d be to stop the mass executions that followed. His despair began turning into hate when heads were lined up by the thousands. 

Edo and the shogun’s family burned to ashes few years after 1639 thanks to his and Douman’s sorceries, dooming Amakusa original timeline to erasure and setting him on the travels that ended in Shimosa.                                                 

Upon his arrival in Chaldea and made to confront Ruler’s presence he renounced the Amakusa title and retook his family name of Masuda.   

Bond 2

«Amakusa Shirou» always possessed a decent number of magic circuits and the ability to wield any form of magecraft as long as he connected his circuits to a foundation, but usually his short life and the lack of magical education prevented him to become fully aware of his powers and reaching his potential as mage. 

As Masuda is an “Amakusa who got to live”, he also got the chance to hone that ability and learn to use many types of curses and offensive magics, in which he now specialise. Thanks to time, studies and the occasional guidance of Douman he became a cruel and skilled mage. 

Similar to his Ruler self, his arms have become a Noble Phantasm.      

Bond 3

The attempt at looking like Chaldea’s Amakusa employed in Shimosa discarded, Avenger now appears in his late twenties even if he was 37 years old at the time of his death. 

He learnt a technique or two for slowing the ageing process but as he refuse to look as if he didn’t survive 1638 or be confused with Ruler, he settled for a decade of difference from both. Outside the off-putting red sclera, his hair and skin color are those he was born with.  

His clothes are identical to Ruler’s but in colors and details, the main difference in their attire being Avenger’s armor. The one he wears was gifted to Yamada Emonsaku by the government in one of the first worlds Masuda and Douman visited. Avenger, who by then had mostly recovered and was furious, hunted down Emonsaku, killed him and took the traitor’s armor for himself. 

He could’ve washed the blood or scrubbed the crest away anytime but chose not to, for reasons he probably won’t be albe to fully explain.

Bond 4

The events of the pseudo parallel world of Shimosa were the culmination of twenty years of travels, machinations and despair that once again ended in failure thanks to Musashi, Senji Muramasa and the Master with which he has now begrudgingly formed a pact… let’s just say he’s far from having the warmest attitude or personality in Chaldea. 

Upon his death he was registered into the Throne as a distinct soul for obscure motives, perhaps even thanks to the machinations of a certain AlterEgo. 

Summoning this individual instead of the PanHuman history younger self when trying to call forth «Amakusa Shirou» would be near impossibile without Chaldea’s FATE system.

Bond 5

What all my nightmares are made of                                                          Rank: A                             Type: Anti-Army                                                                                           Range: 1~200 Maximum number of targets: 500 people Hell of Shimabara

A Reality Marble exclusive to this “Amakusa Shirou” alone. For a given time, reality is overwritten by the mental world of the caster. In Avenger’s case, the targets will find themselves in a hellish landscape were the terrain is made of ashes and dead bodies, the air a deadly poison filled with pained screams, fires rages and the burning, half-collapsed castle of Hara towers over its old and new victims.

Difficult to escape from, other than the obvious purpose of killing its targets it can serve as a momentary cage and torture device to those its owner knows able to survive it but wants delayed or trapped for any reason.

Tends to be more effective when employed against Heroes with Good alignment or receptive to the suffering of people.          

Right Arm, Path to Wickedness Left Arm, Foundation of Hell’s Curses Rank: C Type: Anti-Unit Range: 1 Maximum Targets: 1

His hands that have become Noble Phantasms. With them, he had caused ‘miracles’ to occur before the rebellion and with them he learned many ways to destroy his enemies after the siege. Able to connect to any magecraft foundation, they form a ‘key’ that allows him to wield any form of magecraft to various degrees, even those he has no understanding of. 

A rank higher than Ruler’s thanks to Avenger’s additional decades of magical education and training.

Miike Tenta Mitsuyo Rank: C+ Type: Anti-Unit Range: 1 Maximum Targets: 1

the sword Avenger carries, formerly of a "certain one-eyed master swordsman”. While a simple armament in the hands of PanHuman Amakusa, Masuda has spent years strengthening his own and embedding it with curses, which results in it current state of being surrounded by fire (that and the amusing reactions a blazing sword tends to have on a common soldier). 

Even if the powerful being who aided him in his revenge was never a devil, the blade gained some traits of genuine demonic swords thanks to its owner different conviction, a process not unlike the one that gave the Assyrian empress the Gardens even when she had no true connection with them.         

Not impressive as far as demonic swords go, but its wounds are poisoned and can pose a serious danger to saints or otherwise religious figures. 

CHARACTER

Personality

A calculating man who is no stranger to sudden fits of rage or detached silences and keeps to himself. Abrasive with allies as with enemies, he tries his best to actively push people away, not last because of familiarity with solitude and for finding crowds of people to be distressing. 

The smug but not malicious attitude of Chaldea’s Amakusa was probably part of Avenger’s personality too in the past, before it turned into the current viciousness and gratuitous cruelty in actions and remarks.

Glimpses of a empathic and thoughtful person buried under the rage can still be seen, albeit rarely, with young heroic spirits or those who have suffered a great deal unprepared. Like a Master freshly out their first destroyed, innocent alternative history.   

Not impossible to mellow out, but the process to gain anything more than detached tolerance would be a long one.

Motives and attitude

Aware of having being used as test for the Lostbelts plot by someone he thought an ally, he summoned himself to Chaldea out of spite and to return the betrayal with interests. He still resent the Master for what happened in Shimosa, but he posses intel Chaldea could use and he’ll provide it with glee. Somehow similar to the Count’s reasoning for appearing in the Time Temple, just less benign. 

Focused and effective in battle, it’s best not pair him with Servants who use firearms and cannons. The sound could bring his memories back to Hara and leave him in a state that could jeopardise the fight.        

The relationship with the Master is particularly sour and he’d rather spend his time holed up with Holmes and Sokaris sharing informations and discussing strategies and chances against the remaining Crypters than giving Guda some time or finding selected fellow Servants to relax with. 

Nonetheless, Guda persists.   

RELATIONS

Amakusa Shirou Tokisada (Ruler)

A nightmare for both.

Avenger is torn between resentment and envy for the boy with whom he shares family, people and the pain of seeing them slaughtered… and yet choose to protect humanity and -he believes- had it easier by not having to live with the guilt of being the sole survivor of the massacre.                                                   If one were to discuss Ruler’s plan for the Grail and how it’s hardly the wish a «not troubled» individual would make, Avenger would dismiss the attempt to have him see how alike they are saying «but he did not kill thousands, did he?». After some time, however, his resentment will mostly die down and he’ll be relieved to see how happier the kid seems to be in this strange new life.             

Ruler is horrified to face what could’ve become of him and tries not to see nor interact with Avenger in any way, up to avoid pointing out that by being incarnated for decades after a certain summon he knows all too well how it feels to live with survivor’s guilt. Nonetheless, after the initial shock has passed, he’ll sneak behind his older self back and asks for other Servants’ cooperation in not letting this mirror of his be alone.        

Ashiya Douman

The one who saved him from the siege and helped him bury his mother and sisters after the shogunate had them executed. An accomplice and manipulator at the same time, who nonetheless was the only familiar face and constant help he had in twenty years and his main teacher in magic. He doesn’t know if he wants to toss Douman into the sea for leaving him to die in Onriedo, leave him to other Servants tender mercies or…    Either way, he won’t push the AlterEgo away unless he’s in a terrible mood.  

After Douman joins Chaldea, half of Avenger’s time is spent keeping him from stirring trouble or from being murdered by the likes of Fuuma Kotaro or Asklepios and their roles of guardian-charge get inverted. A single action is completely forbidden to his old ally: going anywhere near Amakusa.  

Edmond Dantes

A strange man. What business could someone like him have with his Ruler self? And why would he pester him instead of leaving him alone or in Limbo’s company? Still, he doesn’t completely resent the attempts. They joined forces in physically throwing Douman away that time the AlterEgo had the disgraced idea to approach Ruler.        

Jeanne Alter Santa Lily

Much to Amakusa and the Jeanne sisters initial horror, Avenger has taken a liking to Lily, who reminds him of his younger sister Man. He tends to keep his distance but won’t send the young Lancer away if she were to approach first.     

Saint Martha

No matter how disillusioned with God Avenger has become, he has nothing but respect for the saint his mother was named after, especially after seeing that her moral fortitude and fighting prowess are paired with the personality of a punk brawler instead of the distant and composed lady he expected. When addressing her, he’ll use the most formal and respectful register.    

Japanese Heroic Spirits connected to the Tokugawa clan or government

For the well being of everyone in Chaldea, keep them separated. The same advise would apply to any eventual Dutch Heroic Spirit.  

Senji Muramasa and Shinmen Musashi

«Keep them the fuck away from me if you don’t want Chaldea to be covered in dead people’s ashes».  

Other Avengers

Initially fascinated by Angra Mainyu, he began keeping him at arms length once he learnt of Angra’s circumstances of innocent scapegoat on the grounds of «a victim shouldn’t be compared with a real mass murderer» and the frankly bizarre tendency of the boy to flirt with his younger self.                                        Displaying a detached tolerance for Jeanne Alter’s noisy personality, they once drew their weapons against each other the time Jeanne was worried for Lily but the matter was quickly settled and they were back to barely interacting.        He finds himself at ease in Gorgon and Hessian Lobo’s company and can be found napping in Lobo’s fur from time to time.  

Chaldea’s versions of Shimosa’s Swordmasters

No reaction except a smirk or a sad smile depending on the mood. Disappointed Chaldea’s Kojiro is a completely different person from the one he knew. Douman is fine, but sometimes more than one familiar face to hang out with wouldn’t hurt.

#fate grand order #fate series #fate og servant #kinda? #fan servant #for sure #avenger amakusa #coe does art #and writing

[divinesoldier]

                                                  “And so you wear their fear like a bridal veil”.

&&. ( sanem aydın ) was just spotted in amsterdam. rumor has it ( she ) is a ( 1,779 / appears 28 ) year old ( angel of light ) who resembles ( melisa pamuk ). ( she ) has been said to be ( devoted & intelligent ) but also quite ( ruthless & unrepentant ).with all the chaos surrounding the magical underworld, ( she ) has chosen to align with ( the angels of light ). ( she ) is currently serving as ( a warrior angel / soldier ). hopefully the city doesn’t devour them whole. 

Hey there, angels! It’s Jay, resident gay boi here with my daughter Sanem! As always you can pop into my dms here or on discord @ megan thee stallion’s right boot #3410 for plotting and being cute!

Name: Sanem Demir

Age: Twenty-eight (1,779 but who’s counting?)

Allegiance: Angels of Light

Sexuality: Homosexual

Occupation: Warrior Angel / Soldier

Gender: Cisgender woman

Theme song: I Am Shell I Am Bone - Gazelle Twin

                                                                      † In Depth.

She had been crafted by careful and capable hands, in the same divine cosmic energy that which made her invincible. She appeared in the fading gloss of eternity, a creature molded entirely from a vision within a mind beyond both mortal and immortal comprehension. In her ears came the sweet croonings of her blessed siblings, each of them rubbing soft circles onto the back of fledgling wings. You will be the bringer of peace, an agent of prosperity, a servant. It is in your care that the weak shall find solace. The poor, bewildered creature had been given an eternal task before even being given a name, though she would later come to know herself as Sanem. Let it be known that her role in eternity It isn’t something that should be taken lightly, and she definitely doesn’t take it lightly. Her creation may have been nothing of great importance, but she was destined to do great things for her maker, for her kind.

She thrived in the center of holy light, the glow of everlasting love and devotion carving sacred insignias into the depths of her mind, forever cementing her allegiance. Every challenge that presented itself before Sanem had been swiftly defeated; every opportunity for advancement, taken. She grew into her strength both mentally and physically until every new threat seemed more minute than the last. Sanem rapidly excelled beneath the trusted tutelage of her elders and bore her duties quietly as all servants of greater powers must. It was not in her nature to defy or to question the will of her maker, and so she didn’t, and she was praised for not doing so. Of course, Sanem was never a creature spoiled, as there is no room for divine favorites drunk on privilege in the empyrean, but in her isolation, she revelled in their endless admiration of her. And so every kind word that had been placed at her feet for her diamond wit or her immeasurable strength further fueled the raging flame of pride within her; a fatal flaw that should have been eradicated.

When the time came to choose two representatives to serve the Light on Earth, Sanem’s name was, painfully, regretfully, absent. Surely an angel as strong and accomplished as she would be the first candidate to serve the greatest of purposes on the Earth, and yet she had been forced to stand quietly on the side whilst Laurent and Melody were awarded titles and duties that should have been hers by right (a true test of her piety and a subtle way to dismantle her growing pride she was sure). They were but glass panes easily shattered next to her, impenetrable bedrock. After the decision was made, the almighty revealed that there was a plan in place for her. Sanem was to become a warrior.

See, Sanem had been beautiful, cunning, and ruthless in the same ways as Lucifer, but there was one defining difference between them. Where Lucifer’s pride overshadowed his duty to his maker, Sanem’s didn’t. The sole purpose of her birth was to serve and so when her new role had draped across her shoulders, she accepted it with steely grace even though the title she desired above all else had been granted to another. And It is here that Sanem became less of an angel and more of a sword; a weapon used to neutralize an enemy, a weapon that swung at the command of something greater than herself. Throughout several centuries, Sanem put down rebellions in the name of the Lord, punishing souls that dare to defy the word of the maker. Each victory is met with yet another task, and she bows to the maker’s demands quietly, willingly.

The perfect soldier, the warrior of Heaven in all of her ancient and sage wisdom knew very little of the concept of love. Yes, Sanem loved her maker and her cause, for it was her purpose that drove her to please. Though it was only when beside her only true friend, Melanie, that Sanem could ever feel anything remotely close to true love. The younger angel was all sugar spun curls, sweetness, and light. If Sanem was the cold, unrelenting gaze, then Melanie was the warm and reassuring smile that completed their very own masterpiece. But of course, her chance at love had also been cruelly snatched away from her the moment that Melanie bonded her soul to another. Once again, Sanem was forced to watch something that she could have sworn was rightfully hers be given to someone less than her, someone terribly weak and stupid. This time, she wouldn’t stand on the side in envy. This time, she would take what belonged to her.

Those who waver in their devotion are easy prey, Melanie’s mate being the easiest. Sanem watched him from afar, spending her time away from the war torn front lines observing him like any predator might do with their prey. Just as she suspected, Melanie’s mate could be easily distracted by a pretty face; a pretty human face at that. It took but a few tactical measures to situate them in the right place at the right time, and just like that, he fell into her trap. At the news of the falling of her dear friend’s mate, Sanem offered her shoulder and placed soft kisses atop Melanie’s cheek with a dangerous kind of satisfaction hidden beneath them. Never again would Sanem be denied her golden prize. Make no mistake, this… weakling’s decision to marry Melanie was taken as an act of war, and what a pretty little war trophy did Melanie make in the end.

When Laurent and Melody were slaughtered at the hands of lesser beings, Sanem felt nothing. Their end had been spelled out the very moment that they were given positions they were unfit to fill. Sanem had worked her way up to commanding armies, cutting down threat after threat with brutal and calculated methods, meanwhile Laurent and Melody ruled with the ideas that brave words would be enough to put an end to a rebellion. The Earth had been perverted by flawed humans, (creatures that need to be protected at all costs, even from themselves) vampires, and fallen angels who were high on demon blood and filled with silly, juvenile notions of independence. Sanem would put an end to them all, forever wiping the slate clean for future generations. She had been destined to bring about peace and she would do so through punishment.

                                                            † Summary

TL;DR: Gay angel takes her purpose in life very seriously and is willing to step on anyone to fulfill it lmao.

                                                           † Connections

TBA!

#* 𝑫 ✧ 𝑺 . ━━━ ◜ 𝑺𝑨𝑵𝑬𝑴 . → INTRO . #nhqsinto

[sureivy]

is that HALSEY? no, that’s just IVY CALDER. SHE is TWENTY-FOUR years old and is an EMPLOYEE AT DON’T FRET & PAWS 4 LOVE. rumor has it they’ve been in town for FOUR MONTHS / TEN YEARS. on a good day, they’re CREATIVE & VERSATILE. but watch out! they can also be IRRESPONSIBLE & VOLATILE. TRIGGER BANG BY LILY ALLEN (FT. GIGGS) plays in my head whenever i think of them. can’t wait to see them around springhill!

hello my pals ! i’m amy ( 20 // est // she/her ) and i am super excited to be here! we also over here bringing back a fairly old muse (i,, apparently,, play her during election years,,) with a couple of tweaks, so we love that for me! also! pls forgive me if this is lowkey disorganized, we’ve been in and out of airports all day! can’t wait to contract that sexy corona!

QUICK FACTS:

full name: ivy rose calder

date of birth: may 2, 1995

*does not perfectly reflect the below big three zodiac chart because that’s too much math

zodiac big three: taurus sun, pisces moon, aquarius rising

gender & pronouns: cis woman & she/her

sexual orientation: bisexual ( preference for women bc we luv that for her but we also luv leaving things open to chemistry )

education: high school diploma

enneagram: 7w8?

mbti: enfp

moral alignment: chaotic neutral

positive traits: creative, versatile, passionate, compassionate

negative traits: irresponsible, volatile, impressionable, hedonistic

BACKGROUND INFO:

triggers: brief implied sexual abuse, suicide, a lot of death talk?, drug abuse ( desoxyn ), overdose

ivy lived the first eight years of her life in newark, nj. she had a mere family of three – her mother, a model-turned-stay-at-home-mom, her father, a politician, and herself. she was much closer to her mother, but she and her father were close at night.

when her mother finally found out about this, she wasted no time in taking ivy’s father’s side. what a good mom! instead, ya girl was already getting in touch with cps herself... but wow... it was gonna ruin his career in politics :\

“Now, one thing I lerned from Storys is, when something big is about to okur, a riter will go: Then it hapened! This tells the reeder: Get Reddy. Here I go: Then it hapened!” - fox 8

then it happened!

humiliated, clearly never getting a platform back, and absolutely bitter, ivy’s father killed himself before being sent to prison. 

Very Tragique™

ok. so. to distance themselves from the poor memories, but to save money, ivy and her mother moved to springhill, temporarily sharing ivy’s aunt’s apartment while her mother began collecting enough money to buy an apartment of their own and keep it.

during this time, ivy was seeing a lot of people and she didn’t know why! they asked questions about her mental health, but she didn’t know why! i mean, totally not traumatic, right?

yes. instead of managing communication well, she became very fascinated by the concept of death. she had many questions about it, she, a youth, had some extended conversations with clergymen about it –– she never killed any animals, god forbid, but she was absolutely fascinated when she ran across them.

SO CLEARLY THAT WAS ALSO TRYING TO BE DEALT WITH.

ok, i’m gonna skip ahead a little. now in teen years and still fascinated by death, but in a healthier way!, and no longer in therapy because... like... that costs a lot of money!

she dealt with it the best she could. became enamored with music... because why wouldn’t she? some covers here and there, some originals here and there, living that youtube lyf, but not expecting anything to come of it. just liked validation! mood!

she also dealt with it the worst she could! became enamored with drugs! naturally, it started out small. some weed, some lsd, some molly –– you know, just drugs that you don’t typically think of as addictive. although her grades suffered, it was harmless enough...

upon graduating high school, she figured... no college. instead, with barely any money to her name, she was like “i... will go to new york... and i will become famous.”

and she did! she did go to new york! she found a few sketchy places that didn’t charge much for a few nights as she began networking - both socially and “i would like to be known for music” (i literally just forgot the word for networking like..... employment wise.... y’all i’m so dumb). when she’d made some friends, she began crashing on couches that were not quite as sketchy! 

but :\ she did meet these friends in sketchy places :\ and they were like “ok here r some new and more addictive drugs for u to try!”

what she wound up abusing using the most was desoxyn. it kept her awake, it kept her focused, it even shed a few pounds to create an excellent figure! what wasn’t to love! 

i mean it’s literally a prescription methamphetamine,,, when abused,,, literally almost exact same effects as meth,,, but when meth mouth, skin lesions, acne, etc aren’t occurring as a side effect? who was she to care!

20, she released an actual ep with the help of a super cool friend who made everyone call him puppy mills! wow! things were excellent! it wasn’t necessarily seeing mainstream traction, but there was a decent enough following! enough to release an album at 22!

perfect timing, btw! desoxyn was starting to become too expensive for puppy to afford and trying to fake having such a severe form of adhd that desoxyn would be prescribed as opposed to something like ritalin or adderal when it’s literally illegal to prescribe in some countries now?? too hard :\ but the money from the album helped her and puppy!

*olaf vc* puppy died. *end vc*

she was there for it too. she thought it was just a freak-out, took a LITTLE too much, but not OVERDOSE worthy... then he l i t e r a l l y died. and it was a painful death!

“oh wow! maybe prescription meth isn’t super cool after all! shucks!” but that was also an opening?? to visit death herself?? like... she didn’t necessarily want to die (sort of), but she wanted... an answer to the question that had plagued her her entire life... so she was like “ok hope i die then someone revives me but if i die then :\ i guess i die!”

did not die. but also did not get a satisfying answer to her question. the only way it would’ve been truly satisfying? if she had been dead for longer than a minute - then it would’ve given a definite answer! because the answer she received was just nothingness which, while peaceful... is it true?

she tried to detox alone, what because rehab is a business, and it... only... sort of worked. she would be clean for a few weeks, then fall back in, then clean for a few weeks, then fall back in. whenever she wasn’t just naturally focused and awake, or whenever what she was focused on was the past, she would fall back in.

i mean, a side effect is memory loss, so win/win!

she made the semi-wise decision to move back to springhill. wisest would’ve been to just move to a town/city she had absolutely no memories in, but better than moving back to newark!

so... without much to show, and with an unreliable streak, she knew she wouldn’t be able to start looking for much of an occupation – but she still needed money! so she began working at don’t fret out of a love for music, then began working at the animal shelter after completing training.

the main training was, of course, for putting animals to sleep.

FULL CIRCLE.

ah yes. how she pretends it’s healthy... even tho there are studies and statistics relating suicide to veterinarians and shelter workers who euthanize animals... ah yes.

has been back for four months now. love that. do not know how to finish this.

TL ; DR:

born in newark. moved to springhill at 8. childhood trauma that she is still carrying causes fascination with death. “i love music.” moved to ny at 18 because realistic. childhood trauma also causes dependency on desoxyn. releases an ep and an album. does not become famous, but they both have decent traction. moves back after an overdose. relapses... often. now sells records and puts animals to sleep. miss american dream since she was 17, amirite?

PERSONALITY / MISCELLANEOUS INFO:

one person one week, a totally different person the next.

wants to please people, but also wants to be her own person? it’s a whole deal!

in spite of her slight icarian incident, she still hopes to maybe one day become a real musician and performer. until then, we selling records and saying ‘goodbye’ to sweet animals!

can truly flip like a switch in interactions! does love ruining things for herself! almost always feels bad after bc :\ damn :\ alright :\

i’m very bad at these sections i really hate that i always include them!

is still avoiding healthy coping mechanisms. love that for her.

favorite movie is, unironically, the bee movie. favorite horror movie is cats.

SO GOOD at memorizing random lines or trivia. could probably recite literally all of who’s afraid of virginia woolf? other than that?? her memory is so bad. hate drugs for that :\

she uses her hair to express herself! (that sounds really boring.) ...she uses her hair to express herself!

but no. seriously. wears the black shag weave the most, followed by the blue/yellow combo ( we stan the badlands aesthetic ). occasionally forays into other colors and styles when money permits, but it’s usually gonna be one of those two!!

was an envy on the coast stan in high school which makes an inappropriate amount of sense.

will go out and steal the dumbest shit when she’s drunk. has a history of stealing chickens.

once again: hate that i always include these!! feel free 2 j consult the personality parts in the quick facts!!

CONNECTION IDEAS:

ok we gonna list some general ones for right now! all are open to multiple people unless there’s an asterisk by it!

close friends –– moonie, teagan,

ride or die

childhood friends –– moonie,

bad influence ( mutual or her on them ) –– veronica ( mutual ),

good influence ( them on her ) –– presley, hayden, gabrielle,

exes ( can be from high school or something like that if based in springhill, can be from 20s in new york if based in new york )

fwb –– trent,

will they, won’t they –– presley,

someone who knew her music ( can be neutral, a fan of it, or hate it afhkjsl ) –– presley, moonie, teagan, indiana, 

will also possibly be sending in some wanted connections for things that are! more specific!

truly anything!! also up to brainstorm and/or look at yours if you have them!!

UPDATE: i have created a wc page so we luv that for me.

OK. like this or hmu if you’d like to plot!

#springhillintro #DONT WORRY THERE'S A TL;DR I. DIDNT KNOW WHEN TO STOP. #also!! am gonna leave the ooc post up for a few so i have reference for who liked it bc i must!! #depart for about an hour and a half and i do not want!! to forget!! y'all idk what im doing today.

[artclusters]

just a trans essay i wrote in a dark time of my life i guess.

You are an Arab trans man in your twenties. You meet a young trans boy. He is pre-puberty. He still has relative freedom to express himself in terms of clothing and behavior, chalked up as “child’s phase”, and is confused yet oddly optimistic (or in denial) about the future. He keeps his feelings a secret, yet he has not yet learned to hate himself. He has not yet been battered by reality. Like you at his age, he does not have a map or an image for people like him in the near or far future. He is asking, waiting for you to help him, to tell him anything. He dreads becoming like his older sister, though he does not fully understand what that makes him. What should he do from here onward? When can he begin to live as himself? When can he feel safe?

You would have to tell him that there is no healthcare for youth like him here – not now, not later, not ever. You will not be able to take puberty blockers, or even meet someone who listens to you and understand. You will have to endure puberty for years, watch your body helplessly change day by day to something you don’t recognize. Into something that will make you utterly miserable. Everybody around you will change as well, treating you in relation to what you have and don’t have, what is visible and what is not. You will desperately try to regain a sense of control over your body. You might starve yourself in a stupid attempt to reduce the form of your curves, to curb their invasion. You might cut yourself, as a way to punish your body for not listening to your needs. Sometimes, you will be impressed by the terrible ways in which you can damage yourself. Your old clothes will stop fitting, and instead all you can see is a bulging, foreign chest and protruding hips. You will stretch them and tear them out in frustration. You will be embarrassed even by your own shadow. This is all but a prelude to the bleeding, the one that will brand you the most feminine of women, a symbol of no going back. Everybody will celebrate your dreaded fertility and supposed officiation into womanhood, while you think of wanting to die. You will have to learn to accommodate a bodily function that is all but useless to you. You will have to announce it to your family every month to explain why you’re not praying (with a suffocating izdal no less) or fasting or holding a Quran, because you are declared impure by their God. Maybe you will be forced to wear a hijab, to further keep you confined in your assigned gender boundary and emphasize the so-called inherent sexuality and sinfulness of bodies labelled as “female”, or maybe you will be one of the lucky ones who maintains little autonomy over your own appearance. Your growth will accelerate. You will be reprimanded for hunching your back, for not walking up straight, a futile attempt from you to conceal your hideous chest. You will put off wearing a bra, as if wearing one would be an admission and resignation of your chest’s existence and permanence. Your skin feels like sandpaper, only you can't peel it off. Your movements are robotic, running on the wrong batteries.Your parents will buy you feminine deodorant and underwear and you will hate them, yet you can’t request alternatives and you don’t have your own money yet. You will wear several layers of clothing in 40 degrees heat and refuse anything that shows even a hint of your bodily form. Your parents call you a picky nuisance for your clothing choices, and for any discomfort or gender-crossing behavior that you dare exhibit. Your parents won’t love you anymore. Your family won't love you anymore.

You will suddenly lose the ability to create or maintain friendships and relationships. You will not only be estranged yourself, but from everyone else as well. You will experience an astounding loss of intimacy; the word “connection” will no longer make sense to you – just an absurd notion. Dissonance and disconnection is where you will reside. You are in hell. You love girls, but you also hate them. They remind you too much of yourself. You don't want to be reminded. You don't want to exist. Boys your age are changing, changing into something beautiful, something beyond your reach. You love boys, but you also hate them. Being around them is enough to burn you. You don’t understand why you’re so in love with them, where to draw the line between consuming envy and invalidating attraction. Thin mustaches, cracking voices, excessive acne, awkward boners, terrible smells, visible veins, shoulders broadening, arms thickening, faces sharpening, apples forming, hair sprouting, patchy beards, low pitches, growing stronger, taller, leaner, flatter – you want it all. You want it all. You dream of it every day – it doesn’t matter if you’re awake or asleep. It is all you think about. You dream of running away. You dream of starting over. You dream of dying. Your grades drop. You don't play sports. You don't run. You don't laugh. You don't talk. You bargain with God. You plead with God. You beg to God. You cry to God. You still believe in him, until you can’t.

You will hear yourself being called a cursed imitator, a perverse deviant, a sign of judgement day, a harbinger of doom, a freak, too many things to name them all – even from people who claim to love and care about you. You are but a lonely child in the center of a relentless behemoth, a behemoth so daunting you can’t discern its beginning, middle or end, armored by immovable notions of what is true that poison every aspect of your life. Thus, you will come to understand it as a fact of life, drilled into the very essence of your being - hating yourself will be the only thing that you know, the only thing that you feel. You are unable to find the freeing word – that one word for who you are - underneath all this hate. You feel like a metal detector surrounded by nothing but plastic. You try to look. You are stumbling. Maybe you find it, or you find something pointing to it - but you lose it, no, you forsake it. You feel ashamed. You try to bury it, choke it, kill it - anything! You pretend you didn’t see. You pretend that nothing clicked. You stop looking…you don’t stop looking.

Perhaps the worst of all, is that through all of this, you will have to find the strength to keep going, and to stay sane. It is a demand that is too big to ask, I know. If you somehow manage not to be crushed under this ceaseless agony, that constant weight plaguing you with an indescribable heaviness, you will still have to spend the rest of your life unlearning and re-educating yourself and those around you, in a tremendous effort of healing, only to have the scabs on your wounds inevitably torn apart every day of your life.

In a kind world, you would not have to endure all of this- maybe even any of this. I am sorry. I wish I can tell you that it will get better, but I do not know. Even if it does get better, at what cost? The formative years of your youth (maybe even your adulthood) will be long gone, drenched in a relentless blur of depression, violence, and unfulfilled desires. Pathetic desires which mostly consisted of simply being able to wear a t-shirt - without feeling anything. Maybe you will learn to make peace with that, maybe it will always haunt you; sometimes you will feel so sorry for yourself it’s hard to breathe...just a gasping husk formed of everlasting regrets and longings and sorrow. You don't even know if you will ever be fit for a genuine human relationship anymore. It has taken too much out of you; you don't know if you lost more that you've gained, maybe you'll never know. How much of who you are now - who you were - is even here? Did anything matter? Does anything matter?

I can offer you a kindling of hope, perhaps you will be able to meet people like yourself, within our community, that share your despair and help keep you afloat amidst a society that will not spare you. People with whom you can experience fleeting, yet powerful moments of joy, respite and understanding, until you ultimately must leave this space and continue to take part in your facade over, and over, and over again. Well…until you don’t.

#mygd

[averagedoctor]

Hey, real quick, cos I'm just gonna keep coming back now, I've kinda consumed too much sugar. Could you do a fic with the reader getting a complete sugar high and ends up running about, like on the Tardis or on a planet. Like the Doctor has to follow her around, and he'd probably like it because he'd have someone acting as energetic as he always does. :) thx

It’s no problem! I honestly love getting all your asks, they’re fun to do and think about, so keep coming back my dude!!!! I’ve never written or had a sugar rush/crash before so hopefully this is an accurate representation of that!

***Note to anyone reading this: PLEASE if you have any sort of request for a fic (as long as like,, no romance or smut) I will probably love to do it!!! Don’t be afraid to submit something!!***

11th doctor x reader

Pronouns: gender neutral

Word count: 2,172 (ayy another longer one)

TWs: none

Summary: Turns out that alien foods have a lot more caffeine in them then you ever would have bargined for

Sugar rush

Great. You knew the Doctor said to cautious about what you ate on the planet you had just visited, but you didn’t think it would affect you like this. The two of you had gone back into the TARDIS, and you could feel your body already get that wired feeling. You hadn’t even eaten or drank that much, you just had some of the standard foods. Sure, you knew that there was probably going to be something up with them, but you wouldn’t have guessed that it would be the most insane sugar rush you had ever had. Knowing if you stood that it would just be all the more obvious, you opted for one of the seats by the railings, waving your hand dismissively at the Doctor when he shot you a look of concern. He began to talk about how great the planet had been and all these facts about the races you had run into, but your hearing began to buzz with static as you focused on your leg bouncing uncontrollably. You chastised your body in your head, trying to force it to stop with your thoughts. Obviously, that didn’t work. The Doctor was still talking to you and you were trying your best to follow along, but the sugar was becoming to reach a level too high to handle. It was like you could feel it seeping through your veins and saturating every part of your body, Each individual piece of you felt alive and buzzing with energy. Your leg is trying to run from you, your fingers won’t stop tapping a rhythm you don’t know against your hand, your body is shaking silently with the laughter that is not your own. You put on a strained smile when he looks at you, going around the console and looking at all the different types of charts or whatever he has up. Closing your eyes, you try and channel the energy away, not wanting him to have to deal with you like this. Too much sugar put you in a manic state, and sure it had been scientifically proven it wasn’t possible, obviously alien food blew past science standards. Plus, it was just weird, and you didn’t want the Doctor to have to worry about you dealing with sugar. As you contemplated all of this in your mind, your expression must have changed because now he’s looking quizzically at you. Oh no, you did not anticipate this happening. Now he’s walking over to you and you can see his mouth moving but no words coming out. In your hyper state, you focus in on the way the wrinkles and lines around his face interact when he talks. He doesn’t have much, but everyone’s face has some sort of creases in them. He takes one step more, and you take a deep breath, preparing to tell him what happened, but before you could blink suddenly your mouth is shooting off words from every direction. It’s bad, because even you can’t tell what you’re saying and he seems quite shocked. Your mind is starting to catch up to your mouth though, and you began to tell him about the sugar and how that’s a thing that happens and your hands are waving wildly in the air and you are SO animated. It’s a breathtaking and horrifying feeling at the same time. Finally, you pause to take a breath, and the Doctor strides up to you. He places his hands on your shoulders and tries to get you to look him in the eyes as you continue to ramble about sugar and the human body. It takes a full minute for you to slow down and to keep your eyes from darting away from him. You have to blink a couple of times for him to come into focus.

“Take a breath, alright? Please calm down.” Nodding, you suck in a deep breath and let it out but the jittery feeling remains. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing’s wrong, no, no, it’s just… sugar, It’s just sugar I don’t know it’s all kind of just there and uh uh uh….” You began to stutter, searching for the right words as he watched you closely. “Basically, lots of energy. Too much energy. I’m really hyper and it’s bad right now. I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine.” You nod to yourself and the Doctor just blinks at you before letting go. Your legs starts bouncing again and you get up out of the chair, pacing back and forth in a tight line. You need to get rid of this energy or it’s just going to eat you up. While thinking about the ways to solve this, the Doctor begins toying with buttons on the console and you don’t realize it, but he’s directed the TARDIS to move. In your mad ramblings, he hesitates before taking your arm. You stop pacing immediately, looking at him with wide eyes and going silently as he leads you outside.

To your absolute surprise and glee, he has landed on a planet that is solely wide open fields as far as you can see. You instantly bolt out of his grasp into the open expanse, letting out a squeal of happiness, before clapping a hand over your mouth and dissolving into giggles. The Doctor stands by the TARDIS doors, arms crossed, and a smile on his face. You run laps around him and the TARDIS, sometimes crisscrossing your path in squiggles and whooping the whole time. Letting out the energy this way was the best way you could have ever imagined to do it. Eventually, you got bored of running laps around him and jogged up to his lanky form.

“Doctor, follow me.” You pleaded, tugging at his sleeve with a grin. “Let’s race.”

He shook his head, looking at you with a sad smile. “Racing isn’t my thing. I’ll just watch you.”

“Come on, pleeeease?” You begged, jumping around him. “It’ll be fun I swear.”

Not giving in to his silence, you proceeded to bug him about it for the next ten minutes with the same type of energy. If he wouldn’t come willingly, maybe he would come out of annoyance. He just continued to stand in the same spot, smiling at your attempts to get him to join in. You were starting to feel wired again, and took measures to the next level. Grabbing his arm, you tugged him along with you, fast. He wasn’t expecting that and tumbled to his knees, but you just laughed and pulled him back up. At this point, he felt obligated to follow, and went with you out to about the middle of the field. Getting there, you started to pull at the edges of his jacket until he slid it off himself with a big sigh.

“Okay so, stand here.” You said, motioning to where he was standing, then running about 10 feet away. “We’ll end here!” You shouted, sliding your shoes off to mark the spot and jog back. “Got it?”‘

“Yeah.” You noticed that he kept looking longingly at his tweed jacket, which was strewn on the ground behind your starting line. Snapping him out of it, you get him to focus on the task at hand by waving a hand in front of  his face. He turns to face you and blinks, but you don’t give him time to say anything. Instead, you jump right in to getting the race done, and even if you wanted you couldn’t have focused. Your legs were itching for this and it felt like your heart was screaming to be used more.

“Okay, on 3…”

As soon as you finish the count down, he rushes ahead of you and you struggle to keep up. He’s so much faster than you thought he would be and you puff between each step. Breathless, you watched as he reached the end and turned back to you, triumphant.

“I… didn’t know… you… were so fast…” You pant out, gazing at him with admiration.

“it’s been a while.” He said, shuffling his feet in embarrassment.

“Two more times?”

“You’re on.” He said with a grin.

You and the Doctor repeat the same race two more times, and he beats you each time. You can feeling your sugar energy beginning to sap during the third race and watch with envy as he easily crossing the makeshift finish line.

“How are you so fast?” Sweat pooled on your body, and you were glad that the planet has a cooler, fall like temperature.

“I have a lot of practice.” He said with a grin and you rolled your eyes.

“All or nothing.” You said with a straight face, your body heaving as you tried to reign it back in from the last race.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at you with concern. He could see you were slowing down and tired, but in that moment you felt a sudden burst of energy.

“I am definitely sure.” You laughed, jogging in place next to him. “Let’s go, old man.”

“It’s on.”

You didn’t notice, but he deliberately slowed down in this race for you, knowing it would make you happy to win. Evidently, it did, and you let out a loud laugh as you crossed the finish line before him.

“At last!” You exclaimed with a grin, watching as he did a slow jog over to you. “I did it! I beat you!” Pumping your fist in the air, you danced around and grabbed him jacket. You tossed it to him as he dragged a hand through his hair that was now very messy from running back and forth. “See? That was fun, right?”

“It was fun, you’re right there.” He smiled at you as the two of you walked back to the TARDIS. You could feel the sugar crash lapping at the edges of your mind and body but shook it off. The ship was only twenty feet away, you would be just fine. You would be… just… fine… and before you knew it you were slipping to the ground in a collapsed heap. Groaning, you rubbed your head and tried to sit up. Your legs felt like lead and the Doctor was quickly looking over your slanted form.

“What happened? Are you okay?” He asked, frantically searching over your body for any outstanding harm.

“Just… a… sugar crash… I’m fine.” You said dismissively, started to get up. He immediately rushed to your aid when it was clear you couldn’t get up on your own and he slung an arm around your waist. “No, I’m fine.” You force out, and weakly push his arm off of you. Stumbling forward, your legs dragged behind you, but you forced yourself ahead. The TARDIS was so close, you couldn’t just quit now. At least, your pride didn’t want to quit, but your legs certainly did, and you went crashing to the ground. You don’t even try to get up, moaning as you lay there. The world is swimming in front of you and you can see the Doctor running towards you in a wavy pattern.

“Y/N!” He shouted, and the last thing you saw before blacking out was him peering at your face.

The Doctor was in a panic as he scanned your body. He didn’t realize that a sugar crash would induce this type of reaction. He should have guessed that much, but he didn’t. He looked back and forth between your unconscious body and the TARDIS, torn between what to do. Hesitating, he scooped you up off the ground and into his arms, bridal style, He struggled as he rushed back into the TARDIS, not used to having to carry a whole other human being as he ran. He was able to make it into the TARDIS unscathed, though, and stopped to catch his breath. You mumbled something in his arms and he froze, looking down at you.

“Y/N?” He asked softly. He got no response, but he did see your eyes open blearily for a moment before closing again. He hurried with you to your room, lagging more than he would like. He pushed your door open with ease, glad you hadn’t shut it completely earlier. Laying you down on your bed, he placed you as comfortably as he could and pulled a blanket over your body. He sat on the bed and smoothed down your hair, worrying with the strands close to your ears. You didn’t seem like you would be stirring any time soon, so he smoothed your hair one more time and stood up. Making his way to the door, he looked back once and saw you trying to form words. Walking back over, he leaned in close and could barely make out what you were saying. He shook you, and your volume rose minutely, but it was enough.

“Thank you.” You breathed in your sleep, before turning over and snuggling into your pillow. The Doctor smiled, satisfied that you were okay now, and left your room.

#doctor who #11th doctor #eleventh doctor #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor imagine

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Bret you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Peter Pettigrew!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

We were so happy to see your application in our inbox! Your application shone with your amazing writing and the thought that you’ve put into Peter. It’s been a joy to see him before -- and it’s going to be amazing seeing how you develop him further Your para sample was a joy to read -- especially how you delved into Peter’s mindset and how he views the world so differently from the rest of the Marauders -- and even starting with your reason for choosing him as a second character, it was clear that you had a handle on how tragic his story can be and how isolated Peter feels. 

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Bret, Twenty Five, EST. She/Her.

ACTIVITY

7/10. I plan on dividing my threads between days, so a few on each character depending on what amount of muse I have. I think I could do a lot between the two characters because of all of the time I’ve accumulated this summer. And even if my girlfriend has my computer for work, I’ve rebooted hers so I’ll just use this ole piece of dust.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Originally it was through a member, but I’ve been here for ages!

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Arabella Figg. Before this roleplay I was obsessed with her homely nature, and how willing she was to protect Harry. Plus, her love for kneazles definitely is equal to mine with kittens. But now that I play her, and I’ve fleshed her out, I’m realizing how much she truly is like me. Of course that comes with playing her, but it doesn’t matter. I identify with her so, so much.  

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nope!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Peter Pettigrew

FACE CLAIM

Dane DeHaan

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

Peter Pettigrew is an insanely under appreciated character that deserves to be explored.

Aside from his involvement with the Marauders, his defection from the Order during the first war, and his involvement in the second, we don’t know much about him. Introverted, clumsy, and not very clever - those are the few traits the books give him. But what draws me to his character is that there is much more to him beneath the surface that has yet to be touched. I don’t believe that Peter is as cowardly as people make him to be, but I also don’t believe he is incredibly intelligent. I think he’s a hoarder, he’s exhausted, and he’s not very friendly to strangers.

Hogwarts, in my opinion, was a difficult time for him and after graduation he was lost and grasping to find a niche he belonged to. That isolation is a small fragment of the reason that he joined the Death Eaters, though reluctantly. They didn’t accept him but they made him feel important. Enough so that he was willing to pretend his friends no longer mattered, though the three were always nagging at the corners of his brain. Peter is a character who needs people to guide him, comfort him, and make him feel special.

He’s a young boy in the midst of a war, barely out of school, and confused about his life path. The decisions he makes are rash and thoughtless, all because he’s just a teenager, and they all come to bite him later in life. I want to explore his descent into the Death Eaters and becoming a spy, his relationships, and his entire life now that the war is at a climax.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Peter/Chemistry. He/Him.

Peter is a closeted bisexual. He believes that homosexuality is immoral because that was what his father pressed whenever he asked about other boys. When he was younger he was envious of their looks and their nature, and sometimes he found envy turning to lust. But always he would remind himself that to be attracted to boys would make his father furious and suddenly Peter would throw himself at girls. And their rejection made him isolated and scared, and the cycle would begin again. Now that his father is dead and his mother hasn’t spoken to him, Peter is more liable to give in to temptation. But as of now the war matters more than sex or love, both of which he has never tasted.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Headcanons.

001. Honeydukes is the only place that Peter truly misses from his Hogsmeade trips. Lemon drops, peppermint sticks, chocolate frogs, and Bertie Botts. He remembers the trips through snow and falling leaves and warm cobblestone. His memory is flooded with laughter and giving and the gentle touch of a friend. Honeydukes was never just a shop of sweets and childhood happiness, it was the one place that had never been tainted by a bad Professor or embarrassing moment. He clings to it dearly even after others have forgotten.

002. After his father died, his mother stopped responding to his letters. It had come as a surprise for Peter to find his owls returned empty handed because he considered himself to have been rather close with his mom. Now he continues to write her in the hopes that she will come back to him, but in the meantime it has inspired him to find work and make a living. He wants to impress her should she find her way back into his life.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“Invisibility. I want to be a fly on the wall sometimes. Rats aren’t small enough to hide forever and my friends already know what I look like, y'know? I only want a potion that wears off after a few hours, but nothing disgusting. I bloody want one that tastes like peppermint, or coffee, or something sweet. And it would be smooth and work without pain. Just invisibility without any strings. I wouldn’t name it! Otherwise people would find out and they’d steal it from me. I’d never want that.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“I have to pick one person? Remus has always been the nicest towards me…as an individual. But I would like everyone there. Sirius and James, too, though they’d make jokes about me being a bloody coward. And I am, alright? I don’t want to go ink the Forbidden Forest at night. I never have. As for what I’d bring…whatever James needed me to. I could only imagine we’re going in there for one of his schemes, or Sirius’ pranks. I’d just have whatever they need.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“What to do, when to do it. I used to believe I was independent but I’ve never been, not really. I’ve always needed someone to guide me. I just bloody wish I was normal, like my mates. I can barely take care of myself and they’re having full lives.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I’m dumb. People always assume that because my marks were bad, that I’m stupid. Well, I am. But they’re not allowed to say it, right? I need to hold some dignity. Only my mates can say it because they’re just taking the piss. It’s normal. Other people saying it will make me…Merlin, I’m not bloody violent. Not really. I won’t do anything…I just don’t want them to say it.”

WRITING SAMPLE

The world was black, and white, and smelled of mud.

Peter felt the lasting tug of freedom as he scuttled down the corridor and felt the coolness of stone beneath his paw pads. The soft clack of long nails were the only sound invading the heavy silence of the air, but he was sure no human would think twice about it. Another old house settling into its foundation, creating creepy noises in its wake. He was just another sound to the people in that room, he was just another creature lost among the hundreds of things surviving in the towering building.

A sharp left and he found himself face to face with a slightly ajar door, the wood warped from years of deprivation and unable to close entirely. He could see the splinters that would catch in his amber fur and embed in the flesh of his back, but this was for the greater good and he would manage through the pain. It was nothing in comparison to what his mates had done previously on their own missions, or what he would be asked to do in the future.

Who would he be spying on next?

The thought stopped him, and Peter felt his heart thundering in his chest. The Order trusted him but they didn’t give him the incentive that he wanted. It wasn’t enough to fight for equality and justice, it wasn’t enough to get a pat on the back when he didn’t completely fuck something up. He wanted real pride, and danger, and the sweet taste of adrenaline. But the thought of his friends had him questioning what had gone wrong in his childhood to make him okay with betrayal. Would he ever truly be happy? What if it came down to murder, or a duel, or looking at James and telling him you were never meant to be good?

He forced himself to move and slid under the door, refraining from eliciting a noise as the splinters tore into his back. Later he would ask Remus to pluck them out and he would smile and pretend that the mission went beautifully. Later he would tell them that he hadn’t thought twice about eavesdropping on the Death Eaters.

Later he would lie and give them false information.

His human form was uncomfortable and awkward as he emerged from his rat body. The group would be in the next room, but he had chosen to come as an Animagus to avoid being seen until that moment. A silver mask was affixed to his face but it made breathing impossibly difficult and he ached to take it off. This wasn’t him, his head screamed. This was not Peter Pettigrew of the Order who followed his mates around every day.

This boy was nothing like that child, and he doubted he’d ever be allowed to go back.

#hp rp #lsrpg #harry potter rp #marauders era rp #literate rp #accepted app

[maangoes]

thank you for your fics they are good and Pure do you think you could write some for Lardo or Tango or any of the under appreciated characters really?

this took… so long my guy. so long. i am sorry. but have some somewhat related lardo snippets. i love her sm.

The first time Lardo sits down to write up the job posting for team manager, she spends nearly an hour dicking around on YouTube before actually opening the Word document. 

Looking for she types, then pauses, and thoughtfully sips at her horrible box wine, a babysitter.

But even though that makes her laugh (and it is mostly true, the boys have no idea how much of their annual budget goes to fruit snacks) it doesn’t quite…sit right. So she backspaces and tries again. 

Looking for she pauses again, because maybe the job defies titles, maybe she needs to go the adjective route, someone responsible, attentive, and patient.

And that’s also pretty fucking true, because boys? Boys are fucking terrible at communicating their needs. Lardo has had to become well-versed in the many ways and mannerisms of the Hockey Jock, has had to realize when a celly is not just a celly, when a chirp goes too far, when someone is in need of a picture of a fluffy duckling infinitely more than a Kegstand. And it’s - that’s essential. That’s the most important, making sure the team’s… alright. In the head.

But truthfully, she reads over the sentence again and it makes the position sound like its made for a square. Which it’s really not. If the boys are going to respect this new manager as an authority figure, they need to prove themselves. They’ve gotta be good at beer pong or be able to wear twenty snapbacks at once or have the capacity to take on any triple dog dare, no matter how repulsive. 

Lado does not want to write ‘must be willing to lick a jockstrap’ on this Word Document. She really, really does not. So she backspaces again.

Looking for a team player. Must be passionate, available, and a little metal. 

She hesitates, then quickly taps out but still very emotionally stable.

Because that hour she spent half painting Ransom’s nails and half just holding his hand after his sophomore year Orgo final? That took some pretty genuine introspection and reaching inside herself to find some well of empathy she’d slammed the lid on years ago. She had barely scraped that interaction with Ransom still in tact. She didn’t want the new manager to do any ‘barely scraping’.

So she backspaces again. And again. And again. And then her wine box is empty, and Shitty is saying come to bed I want to cuddle, and she’s got literally nothing to show for it. 

She’s lying in bed, Shitty snoring into the nape of her neck, wondering what the hell she’s gonna do.

-

She cuts together a lot of footage of her laughing, mostly with the boys but sometimes with Camilla or Farmer or her cousins or her profs or her pretentious art friends, and sets it to some mashup of a pop song and something soft with Nostalgia probably by Regina Spektor. 

It is not art. It actually looks suspiciously like one of the shitty Avatar The Last Airbender fan videos she used to watch when she was in middle school. She doodles Bitty as Aang on a napkin by her laptop. She watches the video again.

Right clicking on its title on her desktop, her hand hovers thoughtfully over the keyboard:

gross, she types.

gross.mov

It seems about right.

-

Lardo is not a crier.

She did it once, these past six months, when she visited Vietnam with her family and realized it would probably be the last time she hung out with her wrinkly little foul-mouthed grandmother, and even then no one but ba was there to see those ugly tears roll down her cheeks.

This time she does it in the fucking locker room. With three other boys. While the rest of the team is waiting on the bus to leave for their last away game. And it’s an absolute utter disaster. None of them know what to do, they’re just standing there staring at her, all looking maybe on the verge of tears themselves. 

“Shut up,” she tells them, even though they haven’t said anything. They nod.

Bitty takes her hand where it’s resting on the bench, her chipped black nail polish glinting in the fluorescent lights. It’s really a sign of the chaos that is her life these days. Walking around with half scraped off polish is just..not a thing Old Lardo did.

“You’ll visit us,” Ransom says, shutting his locker and coming to sit by her other side.

“Shut up,” she says again, but it sounds a little watery.

“You see Shitty all the time, and he’s all graduated and shit,” Holster offers.

“I don’t even like you guys.”

Lardo blows her nose in the handkerchief Bitty hands her. She likes that he carries around a handkerchief, like an old southern gentleman.

“You’d kill us if we didn’t call, Lards,” Holster brushes a kiss on her head. She’s seen him do the same to his baby sisters at more family’s weekends than she can count, and it only makes her want to cry more. 

“You’ve never smelt worse,” she tells him, fingers curling tight around the locker room bench as Ransom places a hand on her shoulder.

They sit in the locker room with her until she’s ready to scrub her face clean, redo her eyeliner, and head out towards the bus. Tango asks her what took so long, and she tells him Holster slipped and almost broke one of the shower heads because he’s too big for his own good. Nursey laughs, delighted at not being the clumsy one for once, and Holster does not dispute it.

I did not mean to love them so much, she thinks miserably, plopping down in the front seat where she used to sit with Shitty, I am a fucking idiot.

-

“I don’t know how you handled all this for two years.”

The new team manager’s name is Anusha, and Lardo is helping her paint all of the different Haus and Faber related keys different colors of nail polish so she’ll remember which is which. She had just done it from memory, but it takes a certain kind of intensity to know keys by the chips where her idiot friends have dropped and banged them up.

“Three,” Lardo corrects primly, brushing a thin layer of glittering red across the Haus switchbox key, “and it’s not that hard once you get used to it.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get to the same level as you,” Anusha admits, unfazed by her nitpicking.

Lardo thinks back to her first day on the job; predicting just how terrible it would be, how she was really only doing it for the money and because that guy in her Gender Roles class said he could guarantee her the spot, worrying about the way a bunch of white guys were going to take to a tiny Vietnamese girl bossing them around. She’d expected to be called bitch more times than she could count the first day, and had even compiled a list of things to say in response on her phone notes. She’d expected, frankly, to quit within the first week.

And now… Lardo looks at Anusha’s wide, intelligent brown eyes, and envies her more than she could ever know.

“You’ll be fine,” she says, giving her arm a reassuring pat, “You’ll be great, really.”

#Anonymous #larissa duan #lardo #omgcp #omgcp fic #i would die 4 u #mayawritesstuff