#if there is no tangible difference why raise a fuss over it? why do you CHOOSE to make up a reason to hate something you'd like otherwise

[jdgo51]

Confidence in Your Calling

Today's inspiration comes from:

Collecting Confidence

by Kim Gravel

"Therefore, my brothers and sisters, make every effort to confirm your calling and election. For if you do these things, you will never stumble." — 2 Peter 1:10

"Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see." — Hebrews 11:1

"Are you stuck trying to turn yourself into a pretzel doing things that you think you should do and not what makes your heart sing? It’s time to take the most of what you have and make something of it...

What truly puts you in a happy place? Let’s gather up your stories and stitch them together until the real you becomes as evident as paisley on a plaid background. Quit giving yourself away! Quit giving your talents, energy, and time to things that matter the least. Quit giving your talents, energy, and time to things that don’t come naturally to you.

It’s time to draw water from the well of your life and take a long, satisfying drink. You don’t have to buy it, create it, look to someone else for it — your calling is already there inside of you. When you let go of all that busyness, you’ll feel relieved! When you figure it out, you’ll experience euphoria. These days we talk a great deal about not being able to remember things: Where did I put my keys? Why do I call my sons each other’s names when I’m fussing at them? How did I forget that fourth Zoom call of the day? But I’m asking you to focus now on remembering...

Again, and again we avoid the long thoughts. We cling to the present out of wariness of the past. And why not, after all? We get confused. We need to escape as often as we can. Unfortunately, the escape, while it lasts, is good but short lived. Soon, if we are not careful, we just live each day for the escape...

I’m asking you to reflect on how the moments of your life can inform your life going forward.

Your calling can be found in your youth, but it can be forgotten in the trauma of growing up. Your youth is when you dreamed with no limitation, no hesitation, but only with anticipation of what could be possible for your life. That’s when your calling was clear. Remember that?..

You’ve now collected the confidence to be who you are. Look around at the opportunities and then explore them. It’s not too late. You can do this right now. Just take one step. Then take another step.

God has been prompting you toward your calling your whole life. God is a God of dreams.

It’s not hard; we make it hard. You’ve been collecting confidence your whole life through the experiences you’ve lived. You’ve failed and gotten back up. Maybe you’ve been married twenty-plus years and you’re still together. Or you’re on the other side of the divorce you never thought you would get over. Maybe you’ve given birth and raised teenagers who are now the prodigal sons. Or you’ve been a caretaker of a family member who is dying of cancer, or maybe you’ve overcome cancer yourself.

You have the confidence inside of you, right now, to live the life of calling you were created for. It’s not something you do; it’s something you’ve already done. You’ve done it countless times when you were just doing the thing that came naturally.

As we get older, things tend to fade, not to mention sag, wrinkle, get blurry, and take a different shape altogether. It’s time to dream in the vivid colors we did when we were young.

God is a God of dreams. He is invested in your enjoyment. (Why else would He make puppies, Twinkies, the “Add to Cart” button, and facials?) Y’all, we are allowed to have joy!

God doesn’t give up on us or our calling. He doesn’t change His mind.

God created us to be just who we are. Don’t let the screams of the world or the whispers of your failures and shame, shape your outlook. It’s time to speak faith, the language of God. Remember what Hebrews 11:1 says:

Faith is the substance [the real physical matter of which a person or thing consists and which has a tangible, solid presence] of things hoped for. (my paraphrase)

What are the tangible things you are hoping for? When I was in the fifth grade, hope came to me easily...

But as the years have passed, sometimes it’s been harder to exist just on hope. Sometimes I have to keep reminding myself that there’s more to this daily life than just the grind. I have to honor that ten-year-old in the school cafeteria who is still dreaming, creating, and singing inside of me.

What makes your soul sing? Whatever it is, it may not pay a lot or be what the world says is prestigious. You may not win a trophy... for doing the thing that makes your soul sing. But when you get in tune with what makes you content and know, really know, who you are you’ll be filled with hope. Be open to seeing what this is for you."

Excerpted with permission from Collecting Confidence by Kim Gravel, copyright Kim Gravel.

[shelby-love]

STEFAN SALVATORE

Fatherly Joy of Letting Go

Requested: no

Prompts: “Aren’t you going to give me the ‘if you hurt my daughter, I’ll kill you’ talk?”; “Why? My daughter is perfectly capable of killing you herself, should the need arise.” 

Credits to @oopsprompts for the perfect prompts! You can find their post on my side-blog ( @fairy-archive ), I reblogged it!

Warning(s): none

Author’s note: I LOVE THIS (915 words wow!)

-

Tags(general): @fofisstilinski​​ @short-potato​​ @miranda0102​​  @httphiddlestan​​ @caromichaela​​ @xx-missunicorn-xx​​ @jemmakates​​ @lorenakaspersen​​ @scarletsoldierrr​​​ @theravenclawmarauder​​ @httphiddlestan​​ @tclaerh​​ @chefdoeuvre​​

NOTE: Because I closed requests for One Chicago, I will be opening new tag lists for other fandoms so people on my general tag lists don’t have to be tagged on my all posts. Makes sense? :) <3

Let me know if you want to be added to my TVD (The Vampire Diaries) and TO (The Originals) tag list!

-

Rebekah maneuvered the golden hairpins into your hair with what looked like actual struggle. "Could you stop moving for a second?"

"I'm trying." You mumbled through gritted teeth. Not only were the hairpins the sole reason your scalp was hurting, but they were also incredibly over the top. 

What kind of teenager wears gold encrusted hairpins from the 16th century to a first date in the 21st one. You, apparently.

They seemed extensive even with the fact that you were going out with a century old vampire.

Your lips twisted in distaste when you saw them glimmer under the light.

"These very pins were worn by Anne Knollys in the 16th century. A baroness. Gorgeous if you ask me." Your aunt spoke up, pinning another golden pin into your curls. "Here. All done."

You wanted to asked what the fuss was all about but then again... She probably knew the woman that had once owned the very hairpins that are stuck in your hair.

Rebekah had a way of making things extraordinary. Dressed in casual clothing - a t-shirt and a pair of jeans – it was your hairstyle that spoke volumes and told a story of who you were. Someone confident and naturally beautiful. "Wow."

"I know right?" She beamed, pulling you up with little to no effort. "Now the dress."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Pinch me."

She laughed, "I won't. Because you know it's real."

Getting into the dress was easier said than done. Rebekah was particularly keen on helping you in without moving a single hairpin. The flowy dress had a special shine to it. You looked great.

"You look gorgeous, my love." She mused with a small smile as she fixes the back of your dress.

"You really think so?"

"I bet he won't be able to take his eyes and hands off you tonight," Rebekah remarks, her eyes alight with excitement.

You grasp your dress in your hands and make your way down. Sure enough, light chatter makes its way into your ear as you descend the stairs.

Stefan Salvatore is standing in the grand foyer, talking quietly with your father and uncles. They all look tall and imposing, though Elijah, Kol and your father had a certain air around them. Older vampires, let alone the oldest ones, tended to have weight in their stares, as if the passing centuries had left a tangible heaviness behind their tale.

Stefan is standing in the middle of them with his back facing the staircase.

They cease talking as soon as the clicking of your heels enter their ears, and the smell of your perfume wafts through the air. Stefan turns around, and you feel as if all breath from your lungs was knocked out. You swallow shyly, still not quite unable to meet his stare.

His handsome looks don't deceive. The hero like hair is combed back and styled nicely in a way that made you sure he had help. Underneath the dark expensive suit, he's wearing a milky white dress shirt and a striped gray and deep red silk tie.

Stefan's eyes widen when he catches the sight of you. They rake you from top to bottom, from the golden pins to the tips of your black pointy heels, then back up again before settling to your eyes. Something flared in his eyes, exciting you for what's to come this evening.

He steps forward gracefully as you finish walking down the stairs. "You look beautiful, Y/N," he says before he brushes his warm lips on your knuckles.

"Have fun you two," says Elijah with a smile. Your eyes dart to the expensive bottle of wine he cradles in his arms. Very expensive.

No wonder he's letting you go just like that.

"Don't stay out late," reminds Kol, raising his index finger to Stefan.

"Do we have a curfew?" You ask him jokingly.

"Yes." He informs proudly. "Be back before midnight. I'll be here waiting with my shotgun."

Snickers and light laughs erupt within the groups.

Stefan Salvatore smirks, pulling you close to him. "Aren't you going to give me the 'if you hurt my daughter, I'll kill you' talk?"

He had directed his question at your real father. The one who really had the right to wait for you with his shotgun. Or fangs, in his case.

If it were any other man, he would have him dead before sunrise.

Unfortunately for him and fortunately for you – Stefan Salvatore wasn't just anyone.

Not even your dad could kill him thanks to the history the two shared long before you were in the picture.

"Brave as always, Stefan." Klaus mused with a smirk dancing on his lips.

"I try my best." Your date returned in the same matter with a gallant tilt of his head.

Your darling father walked toward you, only you, and took your hands in his like he had done countless of times when you were a child. Something felt different because he didn't want to let go. "You look dashing."

"Thank you, dad."

The kiss he pressed to your cheek was the seal of his approval.

"Why? My daughter is perfectly capable of killing you herself, should the need arise."

"Nik!"

"Relax Rebekah," He brushed her off. "This is me being approving of their relationship."

The air changed and you breathed in relief.

"Now," Your dad clapped. "Off you go. And like Kol said, we will be waiting."

His eyes glowed in yellow for effect.

Stefan only smiled tightly, gripped your waist, and maneuvered you to his flashy car.

"That went well." He muttered, once both of you settled inside and the leather scent of the car's interior seemed to overtake your senses.

"Stefan," you breathed, eyes glimmering under the moonlight. "It couldn't have gone better. Trust me."

MASTERLIST

#the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diaries stefan #the vampire diaries klaus #tvd imagine #tvd #tvd fanfiction #tvd x reader #Stefan Salvatore #stefan salvatore imagine #stefan salvatore x reader #stefan salvatore fanfiction #klaus mikaelson daughter #klaus mikaelson daughter imagine #klaus mikaelson daughter one shot #klaus mikaelson daughter fanfic

[yulje-fam]

Of Fears and Heartbeats.

Summary: In a quiet living room - under the light of the moon - Jun-wan comforts U-ju and tries to put his fears to rest.

Relationships: Kim Jun-wan & Lee U-ju [Uncle & Nephew Familial Relationship]

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Mentions of death (fear of death, death of a pet, etc.)

Disclaimer: I don’t own “Hospital Playlist”!

Ao3 Cross-Post: “Of Fears and Heartbeats.” by RandmWriter

It was a little past two in the morning when Jun-wan woke to the sound of crying.

It took him a second to shake off the last vestiges of sleep, and another to register where he was and what he was hearing.

Ah, right.

He was on Ik-jun’s couch. It wasn't the first time he’d been in this particular situation. After all, Ik-jun’s emergency surgeries didn't care about the time of day - and just like tonight, there were times when no one else was available to watch U-ju.

Wait, U-ju-

Jun-wan bolted upright so quickly his vision faltered for a moment, but that was hardly his primary concern. After all, he had finally realized just who it was the quiet sobs were coming from - and he practically willed his eyes to adjust to the darkness faster. His head swiveled quickly as he swung his legs over the side of the couch, but he didn't have to look very far to find who he was searching for.

Even in the sparse light of the moon filtering in through the window, Jun-wan could see U-ju's figure in his bedroom doorway - one hand clinging to the doorframe while the other rubbed futilely at the tears streaming from his eyes.

Something in Jun-wan both softened and ached at the sight.

"Uju-ah," he called out gently. It wasn't a tone he often used, but for his nephew, he'd gladly make an exception.

Jun-wan could hear U-ju's sharp intake of breath at the call of his name, but the young boy made no move to pry himself from the doorframe. Jun-wan tried again.

"Uri U-ju," he began, gesturing with one arm to beckon U-ju towards the couch. "It's alright. Come here."

And apparently that was all the convincing he needed.

U-ju relinquished his hold on his bedroom's doorframe and padded softly towards Jun-wan, who - for his part - tried to keep his expression as gentle and encouraging as possible. When his nephew was finally close enough, Jun-wan kneeled in front of the young boy - trying to be level with him as much as possible.

From his new vantage point, the older man could finally see the child's face. Immediately, Jun-wan felt sympathy lance through him at the sight.

U-ju, he knew, had never been a handful. The young boy was never one to throw tantrums or demand attention - and it appeared that even when scared to tears in the middle of the night, it still wasn't in his nature to make a fuss. U-ju cried quietly - sniffling and hiccuping every now and again, but not wailing or anything even remotely close to it. The tears on his cheeks shone silver in the moonlight, but before U-ju could move to wipe them away, his uncle beat him to it.

As gently as he could, Jun-wan reached out to wipe away his nephew's tears - smiling at the young boy with the same warmth that was reflected in his eyes. He knew he wasn’t the most comforting person in the world, but for U-ju, he would certainly try.

"Something scary must have woken you up," the surgeon whispered, his thumb brushing away what little moisture remained on his nephew's cheeks. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

U-ju debated the question for a moment, before nodding slowly.

"Daege samchon," the young boy began, and Jun-wan couldn't keep the small smile from his face at the nickname. It seemed his "Uncle Snow Crab" title was here to stay.

U-ju took a deep breath before finally asking,

"Will my heart always keep beating?"

To say that Jun-wan was startled would have a been a massive, massive understatement. Why in the world was U-ju worried about that? He knew his nephew was smart and perceptive, but an existential crisis was the last thing he expected from a boy of his age. He definitely had to clarify.

"What makes you ask that, U-ju?" Jun-wan queried - concern coloring his words and his expression.

U-ju worried his bottom lip for a few moments before taking a deep breath.

"Mo-ne's dog just died," the young boy whispered, gaze trained on the floor. "She asked her appa about what it means when something dies, and he told her that sometimes when dogs are really old, their heart stops beating and they die."

U-ju raised his gaze to meet his uncle's, and Jun-wan could have sworn that something inside him shattered when he saw the tears gathering in his nephew's eyes.

"Daege samchon-" U-ju choked out through the lump in this throat, his voice small and terrified. "What if my heart stops beating? I don't want that to happen, b-but I don't know how to c-control it!"

It seemed that voicing his fears was the final crack that broke the dam of his composure, because as soon as he finished, U-ju burst out into tears. The silent sobs of before were long gone - replaced by cries born of bone-rattling fear and confusion.

Jun-wan wasted no time in gathering U-ju in his arms, picking up the small boy and hushing his cries. He sat down on the sofa with his nephew in his lap - rubbing his back in an effort to offer as much comfort as he could. U-ju buried his face in his uncle's neck - sobbing and hiccuping and so, so vulnerable that Jun-wan hugged him all the closer.

Neither of them knew how long they stayed that way; but after quite some time - with Jun-wan never faltering in his efforts to soothe his young charge - the young boy's wailing cries quieted until all that was left was an occasional hitch in his breath.

Once he was certain that the child was calm enough to listen, Jun-wan began to speak.

"Uju-ah," he whispered. "Let's go get you a glass of water, alright?"

Minutely, the little boy nodded his assent from where his head was nestled in the crook of his uncle's neck.

With movements that spoke of practiced ease, Jun-wan hefted U-ju into one of his arms and stood - settling the child on his hip. U-ju didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around his guardian's neck, before settling his head on the older man's shoulder.

A trip to the kitchen and a glass of water later, Jun-wan returned to the sofa and settled his nephew back in his lap - but not before quickly grabbing something from his medical bag at the foot of the couch. The water, thankfully, helped get rid of the unpleasant hiccups, and helped settle U-ju's breathing.

A beat passed before the elder of the two spoke.

"Uju-ah," Jun-wan said, tone soft and gentle. He let the cadence of his voice settle lightly - letting his words flow, as if he were telling his nephew a story. "Did you know that I've spent so many years studying the heart?"

At his words, U-ju lifted his eyes to meet his uncle's, who quietly wiped away the tears on his cheeks. The sight of one of his favorite adults - bedraggled and rumpled as he was, haloed by the silver light of the moon with the kindest smile on his face - was enough to quiet the worst of U-ju's fears. Enough for him to be able to focus on his uncle's words, at least.

The young boy nodded minutely, so Jun-wan continued.

"It's my job to help people when their heart is having trouble - and one of the things I've learned and I've seen again and again, is that the heart-" he gently settled the tips of his fingers on U-ju's chest, and the little boy followed it with his gaze. Jun-wan smiled. "-the heart is stronger than you think, U-ju."

U-ju lifted his gaze to meet his uncle's, and Jun-wan could see the hope shining in his nephew's eyes. His own eyes softened, and he continued.

"You're young, U-ju - and I know your heart is in wonderful condition. As long as you take care of your heart - as long as you eat properly and exercise and avoid all of the bad things - then you can rely on your heart to be strong."

Ever so gently, Jun-wan took one of his nephew's hands and settled it on his chest, just over his own heart. U-ju was silent - enraptured - as he stared at his hand that was resting on the older man's chest. Not a second later, he felt his guardian's hand settle warmly over his own - pressing his fingers firmly into the fabric of his uncle's shirt.

It only took a moment before he felt it.

A heartbeat.

U-ju could feel it reverberate though his fingers - the steady thumping, strong and sure. It was here; it was real. Tangible, concrete, and indisputable proof of the heart's quiet strength.

U-ju couldn't help but sigh quietly in awe. Jun-wan's eyes softened.

"I'm much older than you are, U-ju," Jun-wan whispered, kind and gentle. "But my heart is still strong, isn't it? Can you feel it?"

U-ju nodded quietly.

Jun-wan smiled, before using his free hand to grab at what he had pulled from his medical bag when they had gotten U-ju his water. With practiced ease, Jun-wan settled his stethoscope into place - releasing his nephew's hand. U-ju's fingers found the stethoscope's diaphragm, and he inspected it with a quiet awe and curiosity. His uncle had shown him his stethoscope before - but it was only now that he began to realize the significance of the apparatus.

Jun-wan let his nephew examine the instrument for a few more moments before he spoke.

"U-ju-ah," he began. "If you're still worried and afraid about your heart, would you like me to check it for you?"

His offer was met by a ready nod from U-ju, who was more than glad to have another layer of reassurance.

U-ju watched as his guardian pressed the end of the stethoscope to his chest - listening intently. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of his uncle's visible focus; his appa had a similar 'doctor face' too.

He waited a few more moments as his guardian moved the stethoscope to different points on his body, before Jun-wan finally lowered the diaphragm and fixed U-ju with a smile.

"It sounds perfect, U-ju," he said - and before the little boy could blink, his uncle removed the stethoscope from his neck, and offered it to him.

His guardian's smile was as kind as his voice.

"Would you like to hear your heart for yourself, U-ju?"

It would not have been a stretch to say that U-ju was awed at the opportunity before him. Taking the stethoscope reverently in his hands, the young boy carefully positioned the tips of the instrument into his ears, and watched as Jun-wan pressed the diaphragm just above his heart.

In all his years on earth, U-ju had never heard something so extraordinary.

He hadn't expected the sound to be so strong. And oh, he could hear it; the lub-dub all of his children's books had talked about - now echoing in his own ears. He was wonderstruck; his fears fading in the face of his awe, leaving him infinitely lighter and calmer.

His uncle really did know just what to do to make everything less scary.

Gratitude filling him to the brim, U-ju moved his gaze from his chest to look at his guardian - and he was met with the softest expression he had ever seen on his uncle's face. There was so much affection - so much love that shone clearly in his eyes that U-ju suddenly found himself speechless at the enormity of it.

Jun-wan grinned at the wonder in the young boy's eyes, before raising an amused eyebrow in question.

"So what do you think, U-ju? Your heart sounds very strong, doesn't it?" he asked, to which his young charge nodded - the awe never fading from his eyes.

Jun-wan silently held his palm out, and U-ju - ever smart and perceptive - carefully removed the stethoscope from his ears and placed it in the doctor's waiting hand. The older man set the instrument aside, before fixing his gaze on his nephew - meeting the young boy's eyes.

He still had one last thing he wanted to say.

"Listen to me, alright, U-ju?" he began - his voice kind and warm, as it always was for his nephew. "There's no need to be scared. You can rely on your heart. As long as you take care of it, you can trust it to be strong. And no matter what happens, I will always be here to help."

With a quiet solemnity, he let the pads of his fingers rest on U-ju's chest.

"You can trust your heart, U-ju-"

He pressed his hand to his own chest; a promise.

"-And you can trust your daege samchon to protect it too."

For the third time that night, U-ju couldn't help the tears that rolled down his cheeks. But they were different tears now; the kind that felt like healing rather than hurt, and that washed the pain away with it.

And as he'd done countless times before, Jun-wan wiped the glittering tears from his nephew's face, with as much gentleness and affection as he could offer.

Once his uncle finished wiping the moisture from his cheeks, U-ju rushed forward to envelope the taller man in a hug - nestling his face in the crook of his neck. Jun-wan froze in surprise for a fraction of a second, before he heard a small voice whisper.

"Saranghaeyo daege samchon," U-ju said quietly, as he closed his eyes and hugged his uncle tighter.

Not a moment later, U-ju felt strong arms wrap gently around him - sheltering him in a warm embrace.

"Saranghaeyo uri U-ju."

And as a tranquil peace washed over the pair - each of their breaths coming easier than the last - U-ju allowed his uncle's steady heartbeat to lull him to sleep - quiet, safe, and secure.

—

If Ik-jun found the two of them asleep on the couch the next morning - Jun-wan hugging U-ju to his chest protectively as his son's tears finally dried on his cheeks - he certainly made no mention of it to his friend.

And if he refilled the snack drawer in Jun-wan's office after leaving him a bottle of his favorite coffee - well...

He certainly didn't mention that to him either.

—————

Author’s Note:

Hi everyone!! 😄

So this is my first contribution to the Hospital Playlist Fandom! 😄 This story was inspired by this tweet (https://bit.ly/3jHCJD2), and because U-ju and his Uncle Snow Crab deserve more moments together! ✨

This is my first time writing for any KDrama or KPop fandom, so I sincerely apologize if I got any of the terminologies wrong! Please feel free to point out any errors, and I’ll do my best to fix them! 😄 Also, I really apologize if any of the characters came off as OOC! I’m more than happy to hear any constructive criticism you might have (and I’d really appreciate it if you could phrase it as nicely as you can, if possible!) 😄

Lastly, all feedback is loved and appreciated! Please feel free to tell me which parts you liked, or how the writing can be improved!

That’s all! I hope you all have a wonderful day, and stay safe everyone! 😄✨

#hospital playlist #kim jun wan #lee uju #kim junwan #hospital playlist fanfic #fanfic #uncle snow crab #I hope the show gives us more Jun-wan and U-ju moments! #tw: mentions of death #tw: death of a pet #tw: fear of death #tw mentions of death #tw death of a pet #tw fear of death #trigger warning: mentions of death #trigger warning: death of a pet #trigger warning: fear of death #trigger warning mentions of death #trigger warning death of a pet #trigger warning fear of death #mentions of death trigger warning #death of a pet trigger warning #fear of death trigger warning #mentions of death tw #death of a pet tw #fear of death tw #tw #trigger warning #tws #trigger warnings

[shini--chan]

1p allies and axis react to that the reader gave birth to they're child. When they ask here she wants the hold the baby? , her answer is like "I don't want hold that thing!"

Alright. So, before I start off I need to give a fair warning that as to why it would even come to that point … let’s just say that it is pretty dark. Warning for implied non-con, manipulation & coercion. You’re reading this at your own risk.

Yandere Allies

America

“What do you mean you don’t want it?”, Alfred would ask, completely dumbfounded by your vindictive reaction to your very own child. Lovingly, he stared down at the bundle in his arms. The reddened face covered with wax was just too adorable to be true.

“We’re finally going to be a family; it is the most wonderful thing I can think off. And you have to react like this.”

The malice in those sky-blue eyes was clear as he took in your exhausted state.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? This is your child as well as mine and you have to go on and reject the best thing that has ever happened to you? Your lack of compassion is shocking. So, either put your big girl panties on and act like an adult or we’re going to have a serious talk!”

Let’s just say that Alfred wouldn’t take it well at all that you have such an aversion to your very own child. He would see it as grounds as to have a serious talk with you. If you’re lucky, it would be something akin to a psychotherapy section that he would do with you, only with a lot of condensation. Then, if he is in a very bad mood, it would be far more macabre.

Of course, the things he would do to you would be wrong, except in his mind where everyone of his actions would be justified. Through rejecting your child, you would have tarnished his image of you. Alfred would have thought that you had gotten used to idea of spending the rest of your days by his side. Those vile words of yours would have served to confirm the latter. And villainize you in his eyes.

You would have a lot of apologizing to do. Just keep in mind that if he would sense anything fake in your buttering up to him, the trust he would have established would crumble to ashes. And he is good at disconcerting true from false. However, if you’d hide any lies you’d have behind extreme emotions, then you could succeed.

Canada

“But, she/he is your child”, Matthew would protest. The way you’d firmly shake your head would make his heart drop to your gut.

“A child I never wanted”, you would whisper, sweat glistening on your brow and making it seem as through you were submerged in a fever dream. “Only you wanted a child, I didn’t. How can you be so blind to not see that?”, you would murmur, too lost to evade the hole you were digging yourself into.

Your captor’s lips would thin as he was reminded about the darker aspects of your relationship.

Talk about popping a balloon with a needle, there goes all that happiness and excitement, blown away by a few cruel realisations. Of course, due to your relationship not being of an overly violent nature the fall-out wouldn’t be harsh in the direct, tangible sense. Needless to say, Canada would be pissed that you just had to go on and ruin the whole show and his dreams of a saccharine future.

He’ll skilfully dismissed that you would have been coerced into bearing a child (if not by the worst way you can get pregnant) and tell everybody that would even catch wind that there was something sinister buried deep, that you were just hysterical because of all the residue hormones from the delivery and the exhaustion. That is, if he has too.  

China

A fine, pencil thin eyebrow would rise as he condescendingly regarded your disarrayed constitution. Calmly, he would turn to the midwife he had order and take the new-born expertly out of their arms while stating:

“We thank you sincerely for your services. Please, leave now that I may calm my wife down.”

They would nod and quickly scurry out of the room.

Snake-yellow eyes would stare fondly at the infant weakly kicking at the blankets and thin lips stretched to an endearing smile as a tiny, waxy hand was extended up to his face. Gently, he would shift his arms so one hand was free. The baby would snatch the outstretched index finger as soon as they would have the chance, clumsily stuffing it in their mouth and sucking.

Yao wouldn’t even glance your way as he would seat himself on the edge of the mattress, however, his scolding words said with such calmness would add a crude shadow to the picturesque image:

“All your tantrums are growing increasing petty. You should restrain your emotions before you go completely out of control.”

You wanted to gap at him, at his patronizing words. But more than anything else, you wanted to cry for help. Not that any would come. You were stationed in the guest room of his estate and the midwife that had been summoned was the only other person anywhere near you.

She wouldn’t aid you, not that she could. Your “lover” had a way with words – his violence wasn’t physical; it was an intangible knife that made wounds that would never heal.

Instead, you would stammer shakily: “But you said we would give it up for adoption.”

“I said I would consider it. There is a big difference there. Besides, you shouldn’t torture yourself by denying your own nature.”

At those words you would find yourself trembling. Rage would simmer like a pool of magma in your stomach and combined with exhaustion it would make you shake – a brittle leaf in the autumn wind. Your voice would crack as you seethed: “Do you have to start with this sexist nonsense out me being a woman…”

A glare would be enough to silence you.

“It is not because you’re a woman. It is because you’re a human and humans care for their kin.”

To China, it would be barbaric for you to so callously reject your very own child, the fruit of your womb, a testament of the love you two have for each other. To him, family is infinitely precious and for you to smash that vision there would be severe consequences. Whether you would like it or not, you’re going to keep the child and you’re going to love him/her. Although, you might do all that out of your own “volition”, as in China would manipulate you to extent that you’d think those thought would be yours.

England

“Shut up!”, would be his immediate response and the waspishness of his tone would be enough to make the nurse raise their eyebrows in suspicion. However, the rage upon porcelain feature and the harshly snapped instructions of “Leave” and “Not you bloody dare tell anybody about this” would be enough to make your only gate way to freedom vanish.

Money would also help seal the deal.

The baby would be in the cradle at the foot of your bed, luckily, because the expression of malevolent fury on his face told you that he would’ve broken anything in his hands in fit of rage. It was the expression of hot passion and chilled anger that one would normally attribute to a general.

Still you summoned your courage to make your case: “I never wanted this, not any of this so not give me that look. You knew I never wanted a baby, you knew that didn’t want to…“, you would yell and choke on those last words because of the memories they’d evoke.

And that window of opportunity would be what Arthur would use to crush your case to dust:

“It is funny, really, because half of the time you don’t know what you want from life”, he would say, voice dangerous soft as he approached you, the fairy fire in his green irises making your skin itch as if there was something contagious directly underneath the first few layers.

“But that doesn’t matter anyhow because your feelings are irrelevant.”

You would open your mouth to protest but only a croak your come out.

“No matter what you say, your emotions are not accurate assessments of reality. What is reality is that you don’t know what is best for you. I do, better than anybody else and that is why you need me. Face it, you’re nothing without me.

“So, except your new role of mother. I promise, you’ll grow to love it.”

As the man himself just now stated, your wants and desires are meaningless to him in the grand scheme of things, or at least, he’ll convince you of that. If you would believe that yourself, then thing would be much easier for him. Arthur would see it as another chance to degrade your identity while putting his on a pedestal.

However, if you wouldn’t fall soon for his manipulations, then he would let you feel his anger in controlled bursts. The spite would surface over your time of recovery and he would purposefully leave you alone with the child so that you would be forced to take care of them.  

France

“You will”, he’d state firmly.

Your jaw would hit the floor. Him not getting sentimental would shock you.

“It pains me to see you like this, to see you so cruel, so take those words back. What happened to my (y/n)? What happened that her morals decayed to this point? Where is her heart? Where is her compassion?”, he would sorrowfully lament, like a heart broken poet.

His touching little serenade would be enough to make the fussing baby fall silent, not to mention you.

Guilt would rise up in your gut, toxic and hot. Just what had come out of your mouth?

This would be one of the matters where he’d leave no room for his delusions, where he would even go as far as to revive all the memories of your countless grievances for the sole purpose of teaching you a lesson. It would be needed, and he would be lucid enough to recognize you as a potential threat to your own offspring.

To say the least, he would be weary of you during the next few years, least you try to get rid of the child somehow, be it through cold blooded murder or by giving them away for adoption. With the outburst you would have displayed, nothing would be off the plate in his eyes.

Russia

Violet-blue eyes would be harsh as the high north when they met yours, the warning glare enough to silence you and make something shrivel up in you. Defeated, you would press yourself back into the mattress hoping the accursed thing would swallow you whole because that would be better than all the damnation that the hardset features of your captor promised.

Therefore, it would be all the more petrifying when Russia would elect to ignore in order to turn his attention to the squirming infant in his arms, cooing lovingly and smiling.

Ivan wouldn’t take any nonsense on your part and if you hadn’t learned it at that point then you would be in double trouble. It might even descend into slaps. Although that would be a last resort, if he would feel his control slipping and resort to drastic measures in order to regain it.

He wouldn’t lose a word over your unforgivable behaviour, not the next day, not the next week, not the next year. If you would bring the topic up, then he would be quick to shut it down. However, just because he would verbalise the problem doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be any consequences for it. It would take for in the nuances of your life together – him not help you with the post-delivery recovery, often having a patronizing and degrading undertone in his voice when speaking with you, generally acting more spiteful towards you…

Those would just be a few examples. And he wouldn’t take written or spoken apologises either. Ivan wouldn’t care for lip-service, you would have to prove yourself to be a worthy and loving mother in order to get in his good books again.

#yandere allies #yandere hetalia #yandere America #yandere england #yandere china #yandere Russia #yandere canada #yandere france #yandere hetalia x reader #x reader

[m-oana-archive]

Monsters Among Us (Remus x Reader)

Summary: After a year of dating Remus, noticing he disappears every month, and only getting lies when you ask why, you begin to suspect he has been cheating on you.

Words: 2,432 | read on AO3 | Masterlist

It began as an odd reoccurrence, a pattern of leaving that was covered up by excuse after excuse. Ones you believed, like when James told you, “he’s feeling terrible, Y/N,” or Peter said, “there are some family issues that he has to attend to,” or when Sirius would wave his hand in the air and say, “you’re making a fuss over nothing”, because there was no reason to doubt them. Or, really, no reason to doubt Remus. Remus who drank hot chocolate and wore sweaters too big for his torso and smiled shyly and sweetly. Remus who had asked you out a year ago, a scalding red hue streaked across his freckled face, and was never late to a date or raised his voice around you or told any of the abundance of secrets you had shared with him. Remus, who you trusted with every bone in your body and every pound of your heartbeat ever since meeting him, and never did anything worthy enough to break it.

But maybe, the very parts of Remus that made him seem faithful could have spelled demise from the beginning. Because it had been another repetition of three days where Remus had just mysteriously disappeared, and after a year’s worth of excuses, the other three boys were running out of lies to tell you. Lies that you never knew were lies until, at breakfast one morning, they looked around at one another, mouths agape, waiting for each other to say where Remus was, but none of them actually answering.

You glanced at the three of them like they looked at one another. “What?” you asked, not bothering to smother your annoyance over with something sweeter. “It’s not a difficult question.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “Moony is, uh, requesting to be left alone in our dorm. A relative, a Great Uncle, if I’m correct, right guys”—you watched as Peter and James nodded their heads as unconvincingly as Sirius spoke— “passed away last night. He’s fairly torn up about it.”

A cold smile crawled up your lips. “A Great Uncle, really?” you inquired, causing Sirius to nod with a mouthful of Cornish pasty in his mouth. “This wouldn’t be the same Great Uncle that died, say, three months ago, when Remus went missing just like this?”

Suddenly, the bite of Cornish pasty flew out of Sirius’ mouth, landing in an unappealing splat on Sirius’ filled plate. “Listen… Y/N… you’ve got to understand…”

“Understand what?” you spat. “I’m his girlfriend, and for some reason, he keeps disappearing for a few days every month. You guys won’t tell me why, he won’t tell me why, so I suspect he’s up to something he wants to keep a secret from me. Another girl, perhaps?”

You didn’t mean to let it slip out of your mouth, the fear of someone else, though it had been plaguing your mind incessantly, keeping you from sleeping and eating and paying attention in lessons. Every thought you had somehow looped back to this mysterious mistress you had convinced yourself Remus had. In your mind, she had a voice like honey and hair of that same shade and a body that curved in all the right spots. In your mind, she was witty and well-read and knew how to speak in at least five languages. In your mind, Remus loved her more, loved her in a dangerously seductive kind of way that made your stomach lurch and your heart feel like someone set it on fire.

As soon as it came out, like a river that rushed through a broken dam, Sirius and James and Peter were all over you and one another’s sentences. They promised you it was an exaggeration, that Remus loved you far too much to ever cheat. But you shook your head at them. “I can’t be over exaggerating if it’s so bad none of you guys will tell me what’s going on. So I’ll be on my way to your dorm to disturb his,”—you put your hands up in air-quotes— “‘mourning’.”

Peter grabbed your wrist, pulling you back in so fast your head got foggy. “Please, no, Y/N. Let him be.”

“Sorry,” you chuckled, prying your hand away right before his other one flew by in an attempt to latch on. “But I’m done being lied to. I deserve more than this.”

You could feel their eyes stiff on you as you sprinted out of the Great Hall, never reaching a steady pace, only getting faster and faster as you got closer. So you paused, breathless, right at the dorm door. Behind your staggered exhales, you could hear the creaking of a bed, the sharp intake of breath from inside the room. In a moment of helplessness you fell, palms-first, against the hallway wall, reluctant to open the door and ruin the best relationship of your life. But was it the best if he had been cheating on you for an entire year? Was it the best if he convinced all of his friends to lie about it to your face? Was it the best if every sweet word he ever said, every tender moonlit kiss and brushing back of hair behind ears was done imagining, wishing, your face was someone else’s?

The door was open before you even realized you had moved, that your hand was on the knob. You didn’t mean it to slam, but the wood hit the plaster on the wall and Remus jumped up from his bed as a response. He was shirtless: a bad sign. His hair was awry: a bad sign. Fresh scars graced his skin, as if someone was scraping up and down his back while they were…

He was full of bad signs. It didn’t help when he grabbed a blanket from his bed, covering his torso with it.

“You have to leave right now,” he demanded. That only caused you to step into his room further.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, knowing, regardless of the darkness brought by the curtained windows, he could see it. He could feel it. “Why?” you asked. “So you can keep screwing the girl you’ve been cheating on me with?”

Remus’ eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, his lips pursing slightly. “What are you talking about? I’m not—”

“Really?” you interrupted while approaching his bed. “So, if I come over here, I won’t see a girl…” Your sentence trailed off because you didn’t see one. Even after searching under pillows and quilts and peeking your head to see beneath the bed. Rapidly, you turned to Remus, who had the audacity to be smirking. “What? You think it’s amusing that you’ve been treating me so badly I think you’re cheating on me?”

His face fell. “No.”

Like a wildfire you jumped over to him, blazing with red anger and incessant ferocity. “I mean, look at your skin, Remus. Your hair. Your lips. They’re swollen. Even if she’s not here, she was. And you let her touch you and kiss you and you did that back.” You shoved him backward, reveling in how he stumbled.

He held his hands out in front of his body, alongside the blanket, as if it were some force-field. “I swear I’m not cheating on you. Why the hell would I do that?”

“Beats me.” You were approaching his space again, backing him up across the carpet, and soon he’d be pinned against the wall. Your stomach dropped at the thought of him already having his back pressed against it early in a much different tone. The sadness didn’t echo in your voice, luckily, as you continued, “but unless you give me proof you aren’t, I’m breaking up with you, right here, right now.”

“Please don’t.” It was broken and vulnerable and manipulatively so, you decided. “I promise I’m not cheating on you.”

“Then why are you gone all the time? Then why, the one time I find you when you’re missing, do you look like this?”

Suddenly, Remus’ focus was on the ground, his voice as uncertain as his posture. “I… I can’t tell you.”

“You don’t have a choice, Remus. You tell me or I’m walking out of that door and never dating you again.” He was silent, still looking at the floor as if trying to act invisible, and it only spurred you on more. “For the love of God, Remus, say something!” you screamed. “Tell me what’s going on! I want an answer, goddamnit!”

Your hands were on his shoulders again, shaking them violently, when he looked up at you. There was a fire in his eyes, but not one belonging to a hearth, producing the kind of warm hominess Remus usually emitted. This was dark and amber and distant and caused your throat to choke up. “This is my business,” he grumbled. Though it was said quietly, there was a sternness in the delivery that made it so Remus’ sentence didn’t have to be a scream to cause a shiver to run up your spine. “What happens once a month only concerns me and, if you don’t trust me enough to shut up about it, maybe we should break up.”

The air was tense with silence. Unwillingness to move as you both stood there, considering one another, waiting for something. Anything. You couldn’t break up with Remus, leave his laughter, abandon his empathy, desert his devotion. But you couldn’t stay like this, trapped on some kind of mad carnival ride that shot you down to your demise once a month without warning.

“Do you really mean that?” you asked, looking up at him, hating yourself for wanting to rub a new scar off of his cheek with your thumb.

Remus faltered momentarily. “Do you?” There was a tenderness to it, so thick it was tangible, so earnest it made tears build up in your eyes and you nodded in response, afraid your mouth might say something too impulsive if you let it answer instead.

It took a breath, or two, or three, for you to feel settled enough to speak. “I can’t be with someone who keeps doing this to me. It’s not fair.”

Remus snickered. “Life isn’t fair. Get used to it.”

“Well, you know, there are a lot of things people can’t control that are unfair and they have to live with that and it sucks. But if the person I date goes missing for four days every month and comes back looking like they slept with someone else and won’t tell me why they ware missing, that’s a situation I can control, that I can get out of. In fact, that is a situation I am going to get out of.”

You stormed to the door harshly, as if trying to punch holes in the ground with your feet. It stung through your shoes but nothing compared to the slow shredding of your heart by Remus’ words, so you kept on, almost reaching the door before Remus grabbed your wrist and flipped you around.

“Want to talk about things people can’t control that are unfair and they have to live with?” he asked in a way that didn’t warrant a response. “I’m a werewolf. And I have been since I was five. I leave every month because that’s when I transform, and I can’t risk hurting anyone. Especially you. And I can’t do anything, because when I don’t tell people, they think I’m being a shitty human being. And when I do tell them, they treat me like some bomb about to explode. So I have the lads lie about it because they are the only three people who have stayed. And I had the lads lie to you about it because I was hoping you would want to stay, too. And maybe if you stayed long enough you would realize I’m not some monster. You wouldn’t be afraid.”

Somewhere along the line, the blanket had been forgotten about, either fallen out of hands or knowingly discarded from them. So, as you absorbed Remus’ words, you were simultaneously consumed with the scars and bruises and bumps that covered all over his torso and chest and neck, following the trail of them up to his eyes. “I’ve never been scared of you,” you promised. “Just scared of a made-up girl I thought you loved more than me.”

A laugh left Remus’ lips. It was airy and had a sugary-sweetness about it that began softening the air in the room, disassembling the tension it held. “I literally couldn’t love anyone more than I love you,” he said. And he was smiling; it shone like a gem in the dim daylight.

You weren’t sure how or when the repositioning occured, but suddenly you were facing Remus entirely, his hands in yours, yours in his, fingers sliding through one another’s lazily. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. That you had to tell me something so personal out of a threat to break up.” Your face fell at the admission of guilt.

“Hey,” Remus said, letting go of your hand for only a moment to lift your chin up with the calloused pads of his fingers. “I gave you the same threat and distrusted you the same amount. We both really screwed up. But we’re okay now, right?”

You looked at Remus. Remus who drank hot chocolate, was never late to a date or told any of the abundance of secrets you had shared with him. Remus, who you trusted with every bone in your body and every pound of your heartbeat ever since meeting him, and never did anything worthy enough to break it. Not even this.

“Of course,” you smiled, feeling your heart alongside the edges of your lips.

With his fingers still on your chin, Remus pulled your mouth onto his, gently, coaxing lips apart, leaving you feeling like flowers were growing through your ribs from the bottom of your stomach. The petals kept opening, tickling ribs, leaving a fluttering sensation behind.

Remus pulled back and then you pulled back further, stepping backwards just slightly. With great intention you looked up and down at his skin, letting your knuckles brush lightly against his scars, amazed and agonized at the stories they told. “You’re not a monster,” you reassured while brushing, brushing, brushing. “You’re just a guy with… with a small issue.”

His smile was so bright it radiated onto your skin. “The lads call it my ‘furry little problem’,” he said, and you both laughed, together, harmony and melody.

“Furry little problem,” you repeated. “I like that. I like it a lot.”

#hp fanfiction #HP fan fiction #reader x remus #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #reader x remus lupin

[hyper-super-clover]

Squeeze that bunny tail!

Part 2

Description: The RAD student council as well as the exchange students help out at a bar where, oops, the staff´s dress codes are those sweet bunny outfits that we all know and thirst for. The MCs, Violet and Clover, play a game of who can touch the most bunny tails over the evening without getting caught. Prepare for fluff, funny innuendos as well as my thirst over hot boys in bunny outfits.

The story is divided in several parts and will be updated every few days. Find Part 1 here.

Story continues below the cut, hope you enjoy!

Both, Violet and Clover, were fair players, so, as they weren't able to walk around in a pair the whole evening, Violet and Clover had to trust each other in counting their own points.

Their utmost priority, however, was still to help out at the bar, so they had to focus on that for most of the time. But whenever there was a chance tangible (in the most literal sense lol), their minds immediately switched back to their little competition.

Violet had already started with one point advantage, due to the squeeze she had given Beel's tail.

But the girl was up for the thrill, so it didn't take too long until she had found her next target.

Everyone's beloved angel man Simeon was on cooking duty with her and Barbatos.

While the butler was easily handling all of their tasks on his own, the other two were trying their best to actually help him instead of being in the way.

They were chopping down ingredients that Barbatos could throw into the hellfire hot pot he was preparing when it happened...

A cheeky little squeeze while Simeon was turning to grab another veggie, and Violet got her second point already.

The angel didn't seem to have noticed, as he kept talking with this precious smile on his lips.

The real danger, however, came through the door immediately after.

Glancing up from the pompom that Violet had just given a good squish, she locked eyes with Luke.

They stared at each other for a hot second, then Violet straightened up again, trying to remain composed while Luke looked like losing his shit any second.

"Ah, Luke!" Simeon interrupted his own narration. "Perfect timing!"

Violet gave a silent sarcastic laugh. No, not a perfect timing at all...

Luke was still trying to cope with the sin he had just witnessed, but now Barbatos approached him as well.

"Could I ask for your help with the special menu's 'halo donuts'?” Barbatos asked. “Simeon claimed it to be your specialty."

Now Luke was blushing at the compliment.

"U-uhm... Well, yes, I do make quite good donuts... Fine, I'll help!"

As he passed Violet, he threw her a last sceptical glance, but soon the girl could let out a relieved breath.

Getting Luke to fuss over reaching for Simeon's butt was certainly not something she needed, not so soon into the game...

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

Clover was trying to gather some safe points before risking anything.

Her main goal was to get at least ONE point, to be frank.

Looking at her options for low-risk points, her heart was beating for one particular target, but her blushy excitement made it impossible to approach that gluttonous teddy bear.

So she settled on probably the easiest target of all.

Belphie's first shift consisted of... Sleeping. Like, literally. The idea was to let him nap until his energy tanks were filled enough for him to actually be useful for proper work.

Huddled over the bar, the youngest of the demon brothers seemed so vulnerable that even Clover could bring up enough courage to go for that tail.

Couldn't be that hard, right?

Well, it could.

Just as she was about the stretch out her shaking hand, someone walked right into her way and startled her completely.

As the girl gave an awkward squeal, Mammon looked at her with almost as much fright in his eyes.

"Waah, human, what are ya screamin´ at?!"

"I-I didn't... See you there..." Clover mumbled.

"I literally just passed by..." He raised an eyebrow. But seeing how her cheeks were flushed all red, a little grin curled his face. "I didn't know you'd get so excited to see me, human. I mean, I can't blame ya for being flustered at my sight, but what's all the blushing for?"

"I-I'm not flustered..." she stammered, trying to calm down.

"Come on, you can be honest", Mammon continued to tease, his ego-boosting mode fully activated. "I look damn nice in those clothes after all."

Clover shot him a glance, mustering how his vest fit him perfectly, how his shirt was slightly unbuttoned, and that he looked prrretty dang fine in shoes with heels.

"You do" she agreed.

Now Mammon was the one to flinch.

"F-for real?!" he blushed, then cleared his throat immediately. "I-I mean, thanks, I guess."

Mammon went silent for a moment, trying to calm his heart rate over the unexpected compliment.

"Want me to pose for ya?", he seemed to joke.

Clover looked at him... and sensed her chance.

"Yes please, great Mammon!" she exclaimed.

His tanned skin flushed an even darker colour, but, being the model he was, he actually did some poses for her. Now Clover didn't complain at that -- Mammon WAS a snack after all.

But after a while, she prompted him to give her a proper view of his back as well.

He seemed confused, even more so as she told him to stand still, but in the end did not seem to have noticed how Clover quickly poked his bunny tail. And while he was busy bragging about something modelling-related, Clover also turned to do the same with Belphie's tail as he was still asleep next to her.

"Thanks, Mammon!" she cheered afterwards, having scored not one, but three points at once.

With a little hop, she tackled Mammon into a quick hug before running off in a giggle.

Clover nearly bumped into Solomon while running away.

"Oh, hello... Why in such a hurry?" The sorcerer dodged her perfectly, his eyes sparkling in amusement as he mustered the clumsy girl.

"Huh? Oh, Solomon, sorry. Didn't see you there."

He laughed. "Well, I did guess that, seeing as you were focused on Mammon so intensely. The only question is... What did you do to leave him as such a blushing mess?"

"... I hugged him" Clover said, shrugging.

But seeing Solomon's expression, she felt somewhat off. Was he waiting for a different answer...?

"Well then, time to get back to work" Solomon changed the topic. "We don't want to waste time, do we? The bar opens soon."

He turned, but had yet to get moving. Instead, Solomon was taking a look around, completely exposing his bunny tail to Clover.

Which was worth three points, after all...

And it seemed like just the perfect opportunity...

"Yep, see you", Clover replied, turning around herself, leaving.

As much as she liked Solomon, this man was emitting such shady vibes that there was no getting her to touch this particular bunny tail…

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

Clover had bragged to her friend about her point advantage soon after (and spoke of her concerns regarding Mr. Shady MCShady),

Which she'd later realise had been a pretty bad idea.

Maybe fueled by rivalry, maybe just because Violet had some weird kink for pompom-like things, she upped her game SO much after that. (A/N: Ok it's not a kink, I was prompted to make sure everyone knows that... (But also it's a kink believe me hehehe))

Within the next hour, Violet scored another four points.

"Asmo, Mammon, and Beel again?!" Clover cried out in disbelief when the girls found each other in the kitchen. "What's wrong with you?!"

"Hehe~" Violet laughed. "I just had some good opportunities."

Clover rolled her eyes as she was cleaning some dishes. "Yeah, great, and I've been running around with top tier difficulty peeps like Papa Luci or Solomon. Talk about unfair..."

"I meeaan... You COULD squish them..."

"Yeah, sure, and risk dying? No thanks."

"Solomon wouldn't kill you... probably."

"... I´m telling you something´s UP with that guy today, I wouldn´t be so sure of that…" Clover joked, although having shivers go down her spine.

Before they could continue this, the kitchen door flew open.

Levi was dragging a trolley full of dirty glasses along with him.

He seemed awfully pissed.

"Levi?" Violet called out. "Are you okay...?"

He threw her a glance.

"Do I think I'm okay? In a place with so many Normies?" He gave a sigh, then seemed to have remembered something. "Ah, Violet, Lucifer said he needed you in the dancing hall."

The girl gave a nod, quickly wanting to make a leave since only fools would let a person like Lucifer wait. She shot Clover a glance before leaving, gesturing her to go for Levi's tail while they were alone.

Clover instantly felt that awkward pressure back on her, but now that she got called out she had to do it.

As the demon began placing the dishes in the dishwasher, Clover slowly approached him.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"If you've got nothing better to do..." he mumbled, not looking up from his work. "Although, you'd probably do better to go out and have fun with the oth- AAAGH WHY ARE YOU SO CLOSE?!"

Clover gave an almost equal squeal as she backed away in an instant.

"I WanTeD To HeLp" she screamed.

"BUT WHY ARE SO CLOSE?!"

"DON'T SHOUT AT ME, I'M AWKWARD."

"I'M EVEN MORE AWKWARD THAN YOU ARE, IDIOT."

They stared at each other with red faces until Clover crouched down to sit on the floor, recovering from this incident.

"Wh-what are you doing there?" Levi asked.

"Sit. I like floors. It's where I belong."

The demon gave her a weird look before averted his gaze in a troubled expression.

After a little silence, he would speak up again.

"... You belong outside, not here on this stinky kitchen floor."

"Huh?"

He bit his lip sheepishly. "Serving the guests, or at the bar... Where everyone can see you."

"... Huh?" Clover seriously didn't understand what he was blushing about.

He was staring at her, searching for words, but then decided to simply poke her bunny ears.

"... Bunny maids are a clear 10/10, everyone knows that..." he mumbled.

The girl blinked, now realising he was trying to compliment her.

"Bunny butlers, too, though" she replied. "You look really good", she laughed, grabbing one flap of his jacket to play with it.

"Adasdhegagf...!!"

Yes, that is a thing Levi can say, while flushing red and bashfully covering his face.

Not able to take this compliment, he ended up on the floor as well.

"You can't just land a critical hit without a warning... I thought we were confidants...!"

"Rank six confidants", Clover nodded. "But that's only more the reason to tell you what a snack you are right now-"

"AAAAAHHH DON'T!!" he screeched, turning away from her to hide his embarrassment. "I can't deal with so much kindness..."

Clover blinked at the bunny tail right in front of her.

Target locked.

She gave it a careful squish, then snickered a little before standing up.

"But you deserve it. That's why... I'm calling a confident rank up!"

He turned his head. "R-really?! Rank seven already?!"

"Yup."

"Woah... to think I'd be such good friends with somebody one day... Thank you, Clover-chan...!"

"No, no... I have to thank you, Levia-tan."

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

"You want me to select songs for the people to dance to...?"

Violet looked at the three monitors behind the DJ's table in the dancing hall.

Lucifer gave a nod. "We already added songs from Devildom artists, but we could use a little of a cultural mix" he said.

Satan walked up to Violet and Lucifer, now looking at the list of songs all together.

"We also need to add more to make the playlist last until the local closes" Lucifer continued. "I doubt that anyone will leave sober enough to remember such details, but Lord Diavolo ordered no repetitions in the playlist, so please, just help us out..."

Violet gave it some thought, not really knowing much about typical party songs. “I highly doubt my taste in hard rock will be a good representation of humanities taste in music, but... Well, that´s all I can serve with, so…” She came up with some nice picks from her own likings.

While Violet was eventually coming up with some nice tracks, in the meantime, Satan activated his pissing-off-Lucifer mode.

"Lucifer, you talk as if you'd know what a real party looks like", he mocked, referring to Lucifer's comment from before. "Have you even been to a club before?"

The oldest brother gave a huff.

"Of course I have."

"Oh? I meant on occasions other that picking up a drunk Asmo from IN FRONT OF the club."

"The answer is still a yes, thank you for clarifying."

Satan raised an eyebrow.

"Interesting", he hummed. "I can't really imagine you at a club, though... Dancing in the crowd... downing shots... or being cool in general..."

The avatar of Pride gave an annoyed sigh.

"You don't seem like a party animal either, Satan" he countered.

"Well I choose to avoid crowded places for most of the time. However, I still think I'd do better at settling in a club's atmosphere than you could."

Violet could almost feel how Lucifer's frustration piled up, even though he tried staying calm.

"Do you, huh...?" Lucifer leisurely responded.

And his outward calmness made Satan angry as well.

"You don't believe me?" the blond huffed. “Do you really think I couldn´t beat an old man at clubbing?”

Meanwhile, being in the middle of what felt like a flippin´ dance battle about to break out any moment, Violet prayed for them to stop fighting soon.

... Which didn't happen.

They kept bickering, partly because Satan talked himself into a fury and partly because Lucifer's pride was too big to admit defeat or weakness in any way.

Just when Violet had finished the playlist, Satan threw a final tantrum, leaving them with an outraged "Whatever!!" as he stomped off into another section of the dancing hall.

Lucifer pressed out a sigh, cutting through the awkward silence that had spread amongst them.

"What a troublesome child..." he mumbled.

Violet watched Satan with a worried expression, before turning to Lucifer with the same look on her face.

"... Don't worry, that is normal behaviour between Satan and me..." the male assured her. "He will get over his anger soon enough."

"And... What about you...? I feel like you are quite tense right now, yourself…" Violet asked.

"I should go and see where my help is needed now", he claimed, dodging her question.

Lucifer was gone before Violet could respond anything coherent.

Thus, giving a sigh, she decided to at least check how Satan was doing.

The avatar of Wrath was lumbering around some speakers, seeming as if he checked if everything was working as it should (despite having no idea how they were working.)

When he noticed Violet approaching, he only shot her a quick glance.

"Satan...?" The girl softly called out. "Are you okay?"

No answer.

It almost felt as if he was going to ignore her completely.

"... I don't get it” he then suddenly pressed out.

"What do you mean?" Violet took a careful step closer.

"I hate him" Satan growled.

The girl flinched, but decided not to say anything. She felt a certain frustration in his voice, and indeed, as he continued, his tone changed a little.

"He really pisses me off every time. I get angry, over nothing at all!" He clenched his fists. "And it makes me angry, his stupid face, his cocky attitude...!"

Then his shoulders fell. "... Why can't I just ignore him? I get angry, and then I get angry over getting angry. It's so...!"

Violet listened to him patiently.

"... It's so frustrating..." He mumbled.

"I can fathom..." Violet claimed, shooting him an encouraging smile as he slowly turned towards her. "But... Don't you think it's already a big step that you don't actually want to be angry?"

"... But what good is that when I do get angry after all?"

"You can't accomplish everything immediately” her expression softened even more. “What's important though is that you at least try."

Satan seemed sceptical, but in the end gave a slight nod.

"I guess... I'm sorry for bothering you."

The girl shook her head in a smile. "You´re not a bother. I´m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me."

Shyly, she spread her arms, inviting him into a hug. A little awkward himself, he gave a little laugh before stepping close to embrace her.

"Everyone needs to vent out their anger sometimes" Violet reassured.

"... Thanks", he whispered.

As they parted, Satan turned to inspect the speakers again.

"Anyway... I think we checked through everything we needed in the dance hall. I will look over this here and then head out for my break."

"Mhm..." Violet muttered. "Sounds good..."

And there, she went for it.

A little touch - she didn't dare to do more than that.

But Satan's bunny tail had been successfully poked.

He continued to speak like nothing happened, so Violet dared to wish she had went for a whole squeeze instead.

"I should be going now", the girl said.

"Alright" Satan was still focused on inspecting the equipment, so Violet made her leave.

Unconsciously, she turned her head shortly before leaving the hall.

A shiver went down her spine, leaving her paralyzed for what felt like her last moments alive.

Satan's alarmed, slightly angered glare was cutting through the air, focussing her for a hot second before he decided to turn around again.

Hurrying out of the dance hall, dodging Solomon as he had nearly run into her, Violet quickly pulled out her phone as she had withdrawn from the scene of crime:

Violet: Clover I think Satan noticed me.

Clover: As in Senpai noticed me?

Violet: ...

Clover: :D

Violet: ... No, I squeezed his tail, but later on he was staring at me. Help.

Clover: ... So he's a three-pointer now?

Violet: I don't know but I feel like I nearly died so probably.

Clover: Lolol well that's what you get from messing with Satan. But I'll be kind and give you those two points. He did not confront you about it, after all.

"Hey, Violet!"

Violet flinched so heavily she nearly let go of her phone. Her first instinct had feared it was Satan calling her, but actually, she turned to look at somebody else.

"Lord Diavolo", she said. "Can I help you with anything?"

"I want to place the free snacks on the dining tables" he smiled. "Most of them are from the human world, so I want you to help me choose the best."

He was already going ahead, leaving Violet no room to explain that she's actually SO not a snacking person and had near to no idea how to help him.

Someone gave Diavolo keys for the storage room, and as they stepped inside, he turned on the lights.

"Woah...", Violet's mouth fell open. "That's... A lot of stuff."

"Fascinating, isn't it? You humans are so creative when it comes to food!"

He led her further inside where the snacks were stored.

Even though Violet liked him a lot, it still felt weird, being alone with the Prince of the whole flippin Devildom. You wouldn't have guessed it from Diavolo's carefree aura, but Violet was fairly overwhelmed, being able to walk alongside him so casually.

She tried her best at giving some advice as they looked through the huge collection together.

"We should go with a good mix of sweet and salty snacks" she explained. "Pretzels, chips or peanuts, together with something more delicate, gummies for example."

Diavolo beamed her a smile.

"I knew I could count on you!"

And he started grabbing things off the shelves.

Violet was helping, of course, but the storeroom was also tall as frick, so for lots of bags, she had to ask Diavolo to reach for it.

And that's when it hit her.

The currently vulnerable Diavolo, reaching for a bag of extra cheesy Tortilla chips, exposing his three-point worth bunny tail, only centimetres away from Violet's reach.

She literally only had to stretch out her hand a tiny bit.

And with the waterfall of words that Diavolo was talking, he wouldn't even notice.

It would be so easy.

But she couldn't do it.

She looked around. Between all the shelves, all the packages, back to the door they came from.

They were alone. She was sure of it.

But also, Violet had never felt more watched over than in this exact moment.

There was this presence lurking in the back of her neck, threatening her the more she tried to stretch out her arm.

Waiting for her to make one false decision...

"Extra DOUBLE cheesy?!"

Diavolo turned around, holding up a bag of Doritos. "Humans are so crazy!!"

Violet blinked at him, only now noticing that her whole body had tensed up so much it almost hurt.

"Y-yeah..."

As they walked out of the storeroom, arms full with all sorts of snacks, Violet gave a sigh. She had been so close... Only a little closer, and she…

"Should I take some of those from you?"

Violet did a little jump as she heard the voice next to her ear.

Barbatos was right beside her, smiling and tilting his head a little.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to scare you."

The way he mustered her, with his bunny ears and the bow tie around his neck, he looked so cute when he gently pulled most of the bags out of Violet's grip,

But sure as hell, today the girl learned to never pull any kind of prank on the Lord of the Devildom. Ever.

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

Violet was trying to catch a breath so she allowed herself a quick time-out in the bathroom. When she stepped outside again, she saw Solomon waving her over.

"I heard you and Lord Diavolo brought snacks to display? Would you mind helping me bring them to the tables?"

She gave a nod as an answer.

"Great. Then, let's divide them into the bowls first, and then go around with one of the trays."

And so they did. There wasn't much happening, really. Not much chatting, but nothing strange either.

Just one thing...

A bunch of perfect occasions to squeeze Solomon's bunny tail. Like, every few moments, he was focussing on something, leaving a perfect opening...

Violet left this situation without gaining any more points.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #obeyme #short story #obey me bunny event

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Excerpt from this fic that’s taking me 5 million years to write bc I’ve forgotten how to write Billy properly???  my fic More Than a Crush

desc: Steve’s parents want to meet Billy bc Steve won’t shut up about him so they tell Steve to bring him to the Country Club gathering, and Billy’s not too thrilled about having to wear Polo clothes.

(this is just a scene and it’s def still “under construction” but I need to post something or I’m gonna have a breakdown so! Here we are, dears.)

For my lovely friend @okayshitbird ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

------

Never in his life has Billy felt like this much of a dork.

Something about this feels like torture. Even though he knows he’s only surrounded by people who love him wholeheartedly, this still feels like a form of sadism. Billy thinks he might understand what those little toy poodles go through.

Because right now everyone is… cooing at him. Joyce has stood Billy in the hallway (where Jonathan said the lighting is probably best after she asked) and is currently attempting to work Jonathan’s camera to take pictures. Jonathan is right next to her, trying to show her the buttons to press and where to look when she wants to take a picture. Jim is standing behind them, deep chuckles clearly bubbling up in his chest and a smirk he can’t keep hidden smeared all over his face. Every now and then he makes eye contact with Billy and tries a little harder to keep his laughter down. Billy tries to find something to appreciate about it.

El is bouncing around in the back, giggling and pulling Will over to whisper to him. Will just shrugs, face red and laughter hidden in the corners of his smile. Billy knows he can’t get mad at them.

Jonathan though…

“Oh here, you just take it, honey.” Joyce concedes, handing the camera back over to her son with exasperation in her voice. Jonathan scrambles for the camera, hanging it around his neck before turning to Billy with a smirk on his face- a smirk that says: you’re never living this down. It’s in his raised eyebrow and all.

Billy’s gonna kill the boy.

“Say cheese.” Jonathan says with the smarmiest grin possible.

“I’ll kill you.” Billy says through gritted teeth, keeping his tone as sweet as possible. Jonathan laughs before taking the shot.

“Okay, okay, now I think we should get one over here! The wallpaper is nice over here.”

Jonathan is cackling now, mixing with the low rumbles of Hop’s laughter as they walk down the hallway. Will and El move out of the way, heading to the kitchen for something.

Billy’s teeth are still clenched tight.

“I’d really rather not.” Billy says with as little anger in his voice as he can muster.

“I know, I’m sorry, dear, just a few more pictures! It’s just, I have pictures of all the other kids all dressed up and you look so nice!” Joyce brings a hand up to replace a curl that’s slipped out of where Billy has attempted to grease them back. Everything she does is so maternal- it all has such a loving touch that it softens Billy instantly. “Just a couple more pictures? Is that okay, honey?”

It’s just them in the hallway now, the chatter of the other people in the house sounding distant enough that the irritation in Billy’s chest simmers down to just about nothing. It’s just him and this woman who somehow always makes him think about the good memories of his mother. Not even the tangible ones, but rather the fuzzy ones that crop up more as feelings than as pictures. It’s something he’s not sure he knows how to truly appreciate. It’s something he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to again. It’s warm. It makes this whole place seem a little more like home.

It also makes it a lot harder to say no.

Because there Joyce is, looking at him like he’s one of her children. Like he’s her son all dressed up for picture day. He’s not fully sure what to do with himself. Especially because she’s asking his permission. So few authority figures ever do that.

He sighs.

“Alright.” He says, giving her a tired smile when her eyes light up at his response.

He follows after her into the living room, exhausted just from existing in these stupid clothes, having to look at all of these stupid smiles laughing at him like he’s a clown. He feels like a clown.

They’d probably insist it’s out of love and care. He’d definitely beg to differ.

But he’s still standing there, chin tilted up and hands clasped behind his back, doing his best to puff his chest and broaden his shoulders to look as manly as possible… even though he’s dressed like a damn Easter egg.

“C’mon, son, give us a smile!” It’s Hop, humor dancing in his eyes. “Let us see those teeth!”

Billy’s teeth are still gritted, mirth and pain definitely visible in his eyes.

“I swear to God.” He mutters under his breath before allowing the corners of his mouth to tilt up into a smile.

“C’mon a little wider.” Jonathan says through a smirk.

“Just take the picture.” Billy says through his smile, followed by the click of the camera. 

Joyce fusses for a bit, moving over to the wall where all the kids have their pictures hung and trying to figure out the best place for Billy’s to go. Jonathan, still with that amused smirk on his face, wanders over to Billy.

“Hope you know how blackmail worthy these are.” Jonathan says with a glint in his eye. Billy makes sure to shoot daggers back.

“You better sleep with that camera under your pillow tonight, bud.” Billy says with sugar in his voice. He elbows Jonathan, who elbows him back, to which Billy responds with a harder hit.

The two are tussling about like a couple of kids before there’s a knock at the door.

Everyone stops at the sound, but when the bubble pops in the next second they’re all moving to answer it.

“I’ve got it!” Billy calls over the sound of them rushing to the door, taking long strides to push past them and get them away from the knob. “God, you’re a bunch of animals.” He chastises as he swings the door open.

On the other side of the door is Steve all dressed up in matching Easter colors. He’s looking down at his shoes, kicking a bit at the doorway in a nervous kind of gesture the second that Billy opens the door, and in the next he’s looking up with wide eyes.

He’s nervous why is he so nervous now I’m even more nervous oh God...

Billy squirms a bit where he stands.

Steve blinks hard. Billy doesn’t appreciate the silence, or the gathering of everyone behind his back that he can sense.

“Well? You got something to say, Bambi?” Billy’s foot is tapping incessantly. He can’t help it. He cracks all the knuckles on his left hand just by using his fingers. He’s nervous... and he swears he can feel everyone’s collective breath on his back.

Steve shakes himself out of his stupor.

“You look so good.” Steve nearly breathes it out. It kills Billy.

There are more than a few coos behind him, followed by a few amused chuckles. Billy’s face is currently burning red hot, but it’s not distracting enough to keep him from turning around and glaring at his family.

They’re all crowded together, doing their best to look at the scene in front of them without getting too close. They scatter.

Billy turns back to Steve, face still bright and hot. He absolutely hates the feeling, so much so that he can’t even think about wiping the scowl off his face.

“Yeah, whatever. You do too.” Billy feels sophomoric. Like a young girl who got asked to prom by a Senior guy. Like he’s waiting for his corsage or whatever. He feels so foolish

“Thanks.” Steve says, eyeing Billy up and down. “You slicked your hair back.”

Billy reaches up for it self-consciously. He feels that curl that fell out earlier and brushes it back.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Why?” Steve asks, a little smile on his lips.

Billy’s not sure why he’s so irritated by the question, but he wants to believe the red on his face that he’s deeply sure is out of nervousness is actually red out of anger.

“I tried to look presentable. This is about impressing your parents, isn’t it?”

Billy’s trying not to snap, but it’s hard not to after being so strung up all week. It’s all he’s been able to think about is standing out in a field of flowers with a bunch of stuffy rich people.

Steve nods. His eyes turn softer, even though Billy’s close to barking.

A tiny shoulder is pressing into Billy’s arm then, shoving him out of the way with surprising strength.

“Hi Steve!” El says cheerfully, beaming her little smile up at the boy.

“Hi kiddo.” Steve says, smiling back just as bright. Billy shifts in place.

“Steve!” Joyce calls from inside the house. Steve and El turn to look at her, but Billy is staring at the stupidly nice shoes on his feet.

Nervous nervous way too nervous why am I so nervous please don’t ask him in...

“Won’t you come inside? I’ve got lemonade!”

Pictures she wants pictures don’t ask for pictures...

“I’d love to get a good picture of you both, too-”

Billy cuts in. He doesn’t feel too bad about it.

“We’re running late, already.” Billy says, loudly, to try to send a hint to this room full of people who can never seem to take one.

Billy still has his back facing the house, so he can’t see Joyce’s face. He figures it’s better this way, otherwise they’d be dragged into another photo session and Billy really cannot handle that right now. Not when his heart is trying to pack it’s bags and run away to the fucking city. He just looks up at Steve, shooting the boy his biggest, cry for help, ”please-have-my-back-here-babe” face that he can.

Steve takes the hint and gives a little nod.

“Yeah, we really are kind of late. My parents don’t like me being late to this stuff.” Steve shrugs. There’s more words on his tongue, Billy can see it. Steve kind of word-vomits when he starts talking about his parents and all the ways he seems to think he disappoints them. It makes Billy’s chest hurt more often than not. It ends in Billy kissing the guilt away more often than not.

“Of course, I don’t want you two being late!” There’s not a lot of disappointment in Joyce’s voice. Billy lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He leans himself against the doorway, facing the other side of the threshold’s frame.

“You can’t drive us?” El asks, looking up with puppy dog eyes that could pull at anyone’s heart.

“Nah, can’t today, kiddo. We have to be somewhere.” Steve says. It makes Billy think something so stupid he wouldn’t even admit it to himself.

Kids kids kids kids…

He pushes the thought away to briefly wonder why Jonathan can’t take them. Figures it’s something with Nancy. He’s not dressed yet and the kids seem antsy to be somewhere. He’s fine with his mind on that, on anything away from where he’s about to be headed.

“It’s okay, El, we can just take my bike.” Will says, suddenly showing up at the side of them.

The four of them push through the door, giving their respective goodbyes before Billy and Steve climb into Steve’s car and El crowds Will on the back of his bike. They make the bike look a little small, but they’ve done this before. It still makes Billy laugh a bit. Seeing the two giggle a little when Will loses his balance for a second lightens Billy’s heart.

“Ready to go?” Steve asks, like they didn’t rush out to the car to get going. Like they aren’t really late and like Steve didn’t really mean what he said about his parents, even though Billy knows he did.

Billy nods.

“Yeah, let’s just… do it.”

Steve nods for a little too long. He can’t get the keys in the ignition without fumbling a bit. They drive and Billy can’t even think about how much he dislikes the song currently playing.

He’s fidgeting still.

Nervous nervous so nervous why am I so nervous what the fuck is wrong with me-

“You nervous?” Steve asks around a bubble in his throat. He clears it with a cough after he speaks.

Billy snorts unattractively and pushes back his hair, even though the curl isn’t loose anymore. He reaches for the top of his button down, unbuttoning and rebuttoning because he needs to do something.

“No.” he lies through his teeth.

Steve gives a little sigh.

“Yeah, me too.”

It confuses Billy for a second.

“What?”

“I’m nervous, too.” Steve says, voice a little shaky. Billy doesn’t know what to say. He feels appreciation bubble up inside of him that he tries to mask with irritation.

“I’m no-” His voice catches and immediately he’s mad about it. “I’m not.”

It sounds so stupid now that it’s out in the air. He looks out the window, like it’ll help the heat blooming on his face. He unbuttons the second button too.

Then there’s a hand taking hold of his left one. Billy looks at it, watches Steve’s thumb rub at the skin between his index and thumb. He looks up at Steve, who’s still got his eyes on the road.

“Thanks for… agreeing. I know it’s shit. Trust me, I don’t want to be going here either. But… it means a lot. And no matter what, I’m still your boyfriend, alright? I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Billy’s eyes prick with tears. He’s not even sure why they’re there, but he blames it on how high strung he’s been all week. How pulled taut he’s felt since Steve brought this whole thing up. He’s just boiling over, that’s all.

Steve looks over at him, eyes getting soft and worry resting in his brow.

“Billy?”

“Just drive, you idiot.” Billy mumbles, turning back to the window while grabbing firm hold of Steve’s hand.

#itsa sneak peek dudes! #^U^ #bc i'm TRASH and am not mentally functioning woOPS #steve harrington #billy hargrove #joyce byers #jim hopper #jonathan byers #will byers #el hopper #jane hopper #stranger things #harringrove #billy is a brat #what's NEW my dudes? #jonathan's a brat too though #also not new #I'M GONNA FINISH IT #i'm just stuck at steve's grandma #*shrugshrug* #long post #TOO LONG sorry i would put it under a cut but i have to run and do something #i'll figure out if i should put it under a cut later #♥ #love you #family #fluff #eleven

[rockandrollfool]

Stay Beautiful

When one considers representation and inclusion within the arts then it seems there is a huge omission in relation to people with a learning disability. Goddard (2014) argues that people have very little or indeed no say in the in the development of the inclusion agenda when considering the professional arts from a UK perspective. The lack of any real and meaningful engagement with the arts would undermine any notion of being taken seriously as a starting point. The field is highly competitive and success is often based on existing relationships. Menger (2006) asserts that any work or opportunity is generally 'piecemeal' this then links to reputation or standing within the immediate community or group. Accordingly this then serves to magnify the power of differences in talent and work opportunity to increase inequality.

When considering people with a learning disability as a "professional artist" then one could argue that identity and the ability to grow and understand self are the prerequisite within "creative learning" but if as Menger offers the field is limited then how are people going to access the chance to perform on their own terms and equally develop a sense of self value as an artist? Fundamentally if access is the issue then where are the spaces where people can access the arts and contribute on equitable terms? 

I was introduced to the “Nice n Sleazy” festival four years ago and it has been overwhelming watch it grow and develop. The festival is named after The Stranglers hit song from 1978 and has been part of the live music scene for fifteen years. I initially I thought it was a 'punk' festival though defining that term is virtually impossible. Tait Coles (2014) refers to punk as a state of mind" and attitudinal. Danny Baker writing in 1977 in the D.I.Y magazine 'Sniffing Glue' argued it is "something new" and furthermore that confusion is all part of the underlying philosophy of the movement and therefore "f*ck it, you go and figure it out" Baker (2104)

With this in mind then what has been created by the organisers is a music festival. The difference here however is that it is evident that the team have adopted an approach to support equality, diversity and inclusion through their own understanding and definition of punk. If ‘actions speak louder than words’ then one can see the huge push to creating a space that is safe for all. It equally provides opportunities for employment and performance and then sets the scene for four days of music and entertainment.

In 2019 the festival was awarded ‘Disability Confident’ status. The tangible reality of this is that people with learning disabilities both perform and work on site For the full duration of the event. The Disability Confident scheme claims to support employers "to make the most of the talents disabled people can bring to the workplace" (on-line 2020) Moreover the scheme is seen as a way of addressing how employers engage with people with a disability.

According to the web-site there are 8.1 million people in the UK that have some form of disability. Defining disability can be problematic however Shakespeare and Watson (2001) perceive the term as complex and assert that one cannot reduce a definition to just biological circumstances. Equally important are psychological and socio-political factors”. This seems to capture the idea that a disability could be a social construct, Hiranandani (2005) and here in is the overriding philosophy of the Festival. 

When viewed through this prism 'disability confident' argues that by adopting more inclusive strategies for support then an organisation can change behaviour and cultures within "businesses, networks and communities “on line (2020) The reach is measured way beyond the immediate employer. By embracing inclusivity and by people having a visible and valued presence the potency of the message is magnified. 

Running parallel with this is the notion that whilst exploring and having access to arts people with learning disability have a very real chance to "express themselves through different creative opportunities and media.  According to idonline.org (2020), people can "gain confidence" in terms of self-development. More importantly though is the idea of the person being seen and valued as an artist or performer in their own right. Creating our own selves through the arts reflects Stuart Hall’s concept of identity being understood as identification, that is an evolving process rather than a fixed identity that is often ascribed to us by society and particularly for people with a learning disability (Hall, 1990).

Whilst trying to steer clear of labels, Becker (1963) and being mindful of respecting how people may want to self-define it is noticeable that "Sleazy" has given a platform and equal standing to the following bands 

The Ec-Tix  https://en-gb.facebook.com/ECTIX/

The Positives  https://en-gb.facebook.com/pg/ThePositives3/about/

 The Dead Rejects  https://www.facebook.com/deadrejects/

Clan Of Anarchy  https://en-gb.facebook.com/officialclanofanarchy

It is easy to see why the bands sit well within the festival due to their own punk ethos. Aligned with this therefore one could argue that "Sleazy" is a world away from how other festivals organise and promote what they do. There is no fuss and no huge banner proclaiming and asserting inclusivity.This reflects Beresford and Croft’s ‘democratic / citizenship’ approach to inclusion that emphasises people’s rights as citizens (as artists) to create and set their own agenda and identities, rather than as ‘consumers’ or ‘service users’ to be consulted in an often reactive manner to ‘tick the box of inclusivity’ (Beresford & Croft, 2003).

This philosophy is captured perfectly by Pauline Murray lead singer of Penetration who when asked what is it like being a woman in rock offered she never considered her gender an issue. Murray explains "I just thought I was part of the band" in retrospect however "it seems quite revolutionary, the way women were behaving. Females in bands were breaking down stereotypes" PR Intern (2017) Could the same be said of the bands appearing at Sleazy?

If pushed it is doubtful the bands above would describe themselves as having a learning disability. The idea that a group of musicians would want to be categorised in this way seems wholly at odds with my understanding of the rock persona. Joe Strummer of The Clash in defining 'self-awareness suggested it has something to do with 'an ability to trust your own judgement' and more importantly "an ability think for yourself" as cited in Coles (2014)  The chances are the respective bands just want to be musicians, performers and artists and consequently this is how they see themselves.. Doubtless that is exactly how the promoters at "Sleazy" make sense of it all. One is left to ask therefore, is there any other way to see it? 

I wanted to do a piece here about inclusivity within the arts and I have focused on this festival as the yard stick by which others could measure their impact. In considering Sleazy I haven’t spoken about the broad range of opportunities it presents for people (with a learning disability) to work as sound engineers, stage managers, lighting technicians, stage runners and the wealth of talent it embraces to do this. 

I haven’t discussed how the festival supports and promotes the White Ribbon Campaign which was founded in 2005 and is "part of a global movement concerned with ending male violence against women. “Much of the work we do is concerned with engaging men and boys regarding attitudes and behaviours, raising awareness, influencing change and providing resources to make change happen in relation to domestic violence and abuse of women and girls" White Ribbon.org.uk (2020) 

I also would have wanted to raise the work that Sleazy have been doing since 2016 in promoting The Sophie Lancaster Foundation. As part of their developing agenda regarding equality and diversity the organisers have been instrumental in challenging ‘hate crime’. This has allowed a further opportunity to increase and raise awareness and address discrimination and prejudice on an individual basis. Sophie Lancaster was a young woman that was murdered and her death was treated as a Hate Crime by Judge Russell who sentenced the murderers accordingly. Under the current UK Hate Crime Legislation (Section 146), as the motivation behind the murder was hateful, he was able to use his discretion to class it as a "Hate Crime". The work the foundation does focuses on creating respect for and understanding of subcultures in our communities. Where better to do that than at a punk festival?

It is probably worth mentioning that the team also support Morecambe food bank. There is a donation point in the foyer at the festival where food can be left and once the weekend is over the donations are then transported to the charity. Again this evidences how “Nice n Sleazy” has an alternative perspective when considering how to promote and host a music festival.

The tangible reality of this is not only do people with learning disabilities perform and work on site during the weekend, there is a massive emphasis on inclusion, diversity and equality.  This is a world away from how other festivals organise and promote what they do, so in conclusion one could say “Nice and Sleazy does it every time” The Stranglers (1978)

The Rock And Roll Fool

#rocknroll #festivals #indy #punk #equality #rights

[orangetail-works]

A Phoenix and A Raven: Family Alphabet

Chapter: Family Alphabet

A/N: This one came from Tumblr.  I had put out that I needed some prompts or inspiration as I wanted some more writing to unblock my current writing block.  It's strange, but it works.  Anyway, this is kind of a continuation of the first Alphabet, now with more Selene and big sister Aurora as well.  Of course, there is still no fitting x word I could find, so again one that ended in x was chosen.  Thank you, @taradiddled!

Attachment

Diaval was an old bird by anyone's standards but now had a young fledgling of his own blood.  Something he thought he'd never have.  He believed his attachment to Aurora and Maleficent would be all he ever needed. It was true at the time, but little Selene was a blessing in many ways.  A complete surprise for her mother, a miracle to him and a welcomed sister to Aurora.  Never had he thought he would become so attached to so many that were not raven.  He believed that he would attach himself to only one other.  Now there were three.

Belong

Maleficent searched for a place to belong as there were no fairy like her in the Moors.  She thought she had found that place with Stefan as he was different from other humans.  Then the betrayal, and she was lost once again.  She thought maybe when she got her wings back, but there still wasn't that tangible feeling.  Then her and Diaval and Aurora became a little family, the feeling grew warm and comfortable.  Then on that evening that Selene came into the world, everything finally set into place.  Diaval's mate and mother of Aurora and Selene, she belonged completely.

Couple

“I have always wondered,” Aurora whispered to her parents as both Rose and Selene were down for a nap.

Diaval and Maleficent sat close together against the base of Rowen Tree as Diaval smoothed his fingers through Maleficent's feathers.

“I know those of the Moors do not marry like humans, so what title do you go by?”

“Mates,” Maleficent said casually, “As both of our kinds mate for life, we don't have to go any further than that.”

Diaval looked from his mate to his daughter, “I thought being a couple instead of a single was enough.”

Doll

Aurora doted on her baby sister every chance she had.  She let Rose babble with her grandparents during visits while she got to play with her sister.  Aurora dug into a saddle bag from her horse and pulled out a small plush doll that was sown together by one of her seamstresses. It wasn't anything fancy and even used more of the natural materials instead of silks and velvet.  Aurora took care to add feathers to the doll's back herself.

“For my dear little sister,” Aurora announced and let the toddler grab and shake the doll in excitement, “You're welcome.”

Eyebrow

As Selene and Rose both grew into childhood, they discovered the ins and outs of getting into and out of trouble.  Rose inherited her mother's curious nature and Selene had Maleficent's impishness.  The young girls jumped from rock to rock over the ponds and hid through the many forests.  Diaval kept an eye on them from above to keep them safe, but was a  push over when it came to their pouts when they found to be in trouble.  The girls had few fears, except when Maleficent caught wind of their wrong doings and an eyebrow would lift in question.

Father

The first time that Aurora had called Diaval 'father' was on a day like any other.  A small picnic shared all together with Phillip and Maleficent.

She offered him a plate, “My father, always the hungry one.”

The name warmed him from the inside out.  She was always his fledgling, but to know she saw him as her true father was a welcomed shock.

When Selene began to talk he had another blow while rocking her to sleep one night, his hands over her small wings.

“Love Papa,” she whispered as she drifted off.

“Papa loves you, too.”

Gown

Selene watched from the chaise as her sister and niece were fitted for their newest gowns.  There was a celebration in the Perceforest kingdom for the anniversary of Aurora's reign.

“Sister, why do humans have to wear such heavy cloth?” Selene asked as she pulled at Rose's skirts.

“It's tradition to wear finery on special occasions,” Aurora explained.

“Seems like a silly tradition,” Selene giggled.

“Mother, if everyone in the royal family should wear a gown, why not your sister?” Rose asked with her own smirk.

Minutes later Selene frowned on the pedestal next to Rose.

Horns

“Papa, why don't you have horns like mama and me?” Selene asked when she was four.

He looked to Maleficent for help and she only raised her brows in wonder of his answer.

“Well, fledgling, I'm a raven.  How silly would I look with horns?” he asked and tapped her nose.

“You're not like other ravens.  Who knows, maybe you would do well with horns.”

“I would look silly,” he argued.

“Do I look silly?” she asked and pulled at her horns.

“You and your mother look beautiful with your horns.  Never believe otherwise.”

Innocent

Selene never knew the evils of war and human greed.  She and Rose were innocents and if Maleficent had any say, they would never see war.  She took great care to shield her family from the ugliness of conflict. Aurora and Phillip strove to do the same.

“She will stay innocent,” Maleficent said as Selene slept.

“You can't keep her locked up.  You know as well as I do that she will see it one day.  The bad that comes with the good.”

“What do we do?”

“Prepare her for it.  That will keep her safe.”

Jewel

“Why do humans covet these trinkets so often?” Selene asked and rolled a jewel from the pools between her fingers.  She showed Rose and pushed it toward her face, “Do you feel drawn to it?”

“Father has many jewels in the treasury that are pretty enough.  I don't see the need for more,” Rose scoffed, “Return it to the pool, where it belongs.”

“Off you go back home,” Selene whispered to the jewel and dropped it into the water.

“I don't understand it either,” Rose sighed, “There are more precious things in this world.  Like family.”

Knee

At six, Selene's wings became heavy with full feathers instead of soft down.  Her wings would be able to carry her to the sky.  But now, she sat on the ground with her scrapped knee tight to her chest.

“Landing is not the easiest to do with larger wings trying to pull you back up,” Maleficent sighed and knelt over her daughter.  She put her hand over the injury and let her magic heal.

“I am mess.”

“I was too.  You truly are my daughter,” Maleficent glanced up to see the proud smile that graced Selene's face.

Leader

She knew that her sister was the Queen of the Moors, but Selene also understood that her mother was the leader of the Dark Fey.  Selene sat at the top of the hill that overlooked the meeting of the Dark Fey clans with her father sat at her side.  They watched as Maleficent kept the peace between the clans and the humans as well as command respect.

“Mother is a queen like 'Rora, huh Papa?”

“Not quite, little love. But close enough.  She will always be a queen to me.”

“Is that why you call her Mistress?”

Memory

Memories were a tricky thing, Diaval thought.  He could remember as far back as the moment that he emerged from his egg, he could remember the first time he took flight and he definitely remembered when he met his mate and the birth of their daughter.  All happy memories, each better than the last.  But for the life of him, he couldn't remember ever feeling as happy as he did in this single moment.  Both of his daughters stood on each side as Maleficent told all three of them that their family would be growing yet again.  Then he fainted.

Nursery

Diaval was hard at work on the nest to rest their newest addition. Aurora danced around the cliff side as she added touches that she had brought from the castle.  Maleficent smirked at the work that they were all fussing over for the new little one that was to come.

“I don't see why we just have them sleep with us as we did with Selene,” she offered from her seat.

“It was a shame too.  Any sibling of mine will have a proper nursery!” Aurora swore.

Rose and Selene shook their heads in wonder.  Adults were strange.

Overlook

Selene gulped as she looked down at the drop.  Her wings folded against her back in fear of the fall.  Diaval's hand rested against her back and knelt down to come eye to eye.

“You have nothing to fear.  Even if the wind doesn't catch you, your mother and I will,” he swore.  He gave her a grin, ran to the edge where he shifted into a raven and circled through the air.  He cawed at her gently.

“Follow your father,” Maleficent urged her.

She took a breath for courage and took the leap, her wings wide open.

Privacy

They knew that once they had a child, the life of privacy that they had grown accustomed to was over.  There would be less intensity with intimacy as there would always be a pair of eyes watching.  Actions that were thrilling would halt as there would be a smaller person underfoot and within hearing range.  That is the exact reason why Maleficent and Diaval were so thankful for Aurora.  Their daughters adored one another and for one day, every fortnight, their sought after privacy was restored.    But if ever needed, they would trade every form of privacy for their children.

Quiet

Maleficent rested along a thick branch that overlooked one of the many lakes as her daughter and granddaughter cooled themselves in the waters.  She leaned her head back against the branch as her hands laid softly over her now swelling belly.  She could feel herself falling into slumber in the quiet.

“It's too quiet,” she muttered and opened her eyes to find Selene over her, a hand full of water held overhead, “You think that wise?”

“I think it funny,” she opened her hands.

Maleficent's magic turned the water back at her daughter, “You're right.  It is funny.”

Related

“I understand why father doesn't have horns, but why don't you have wings?” Selene asked Aurora while they were in Ulstead's library.

Rose looked up from her book, “Why haven't you asked me that?”

“Phillip doesn't have any wings and I got Papa's wings, so I thought that's why.”

“I'm a human, Selene,” Aurora explained, “I won't have wings.”

“Papa's a raven and Mama's fairy, how are you human?”

“Mother and father raised me since I was a baby.”

“You're not my sister?”

“I am.  Never doubt that. Family is more than blood.”

Sister

Just as the sun crested the mountains that surrounded the Moors, Selene was woken by her mother groaning heavily and her father rustling the branches of the Rowen tree.  An hour later a babe was welcomed.

“Come meet your brother.”

Selene knelt next to her and looked at the babe.  Dark brown hair was broken by two swirls that would become horns.  One small black wing shifted over his shoulder as his eyes blinked slightly to look up at her.  His small hand wrapped around one of her fingers.

“This is Kieran.”

“Hello Kieran... I'm your sister.”

Teacher

After Keiran was born, he was never alone.  If one of his parents were not watching him than his sisters were.  But it was Selene who took the responsibility of teacher.  She told him all the stories that she had learned from the Moor Folk.  She told him about the Dark Fey and their once unknown culture.  And even though his flying wings would not come in for years, she told him all she knew of flying as she had just mastered landing.  He would need not question anything as she would already tell him all he needed to know.

Unfair

A year passed and Selene found an upsetting thing about having wings. Her beautiful flight feathers that she had been proud of were falling out and leaving gaps in her wingspan.

“It's a normal thing for wings with feathers, love,” Diaval reminded her as he bounced Kieran on his knee.

“This is so unfair!  Rose doesn't molt!” she pulled at the tip of her wing to see the newest gap had formed.  She tried to use her magic to grow her feathers faster, but it didn't help.

“Rose doesn't have wings,” Maleficent reminded her.

“So unfair!”

Visit

The next time that Aurora and Rose visited the Moors she had news to share with her family.  Selene met her and Rose at the boarder as usual.  This time as she approached her older sister, she noticed something different.  She was slightly bigger than before, just as her mother was when...

“You're going to have a baby!” Selene screamed out as she pointed at her sister's stomach.

“It's that obvious?” Aurora giggled and rubbed at her stomach.

“Don't be so loud, Selene,” Rose hushed her aunt and put her arm around hers, “Let's go tell grandmother.”

Wild

As daughter of the Guardian of the Moors, she was proud of her heritage.  One of the latest in line of the Phoenix, the living myth's blood flowed through her veins.  She soared over the many lakes and fields of the Moors easily on her wings as she called out hellos to many of the inhabitants.  She learned to dive and flip and bank in the air just as her parents.  She felt free and alive as she rode the winds.  The Moor Folk would laugh as they watched her.  She was just as wild as her mother once was.  

Fix

“Papa, can I be fixed?”

Diaval immediately stopped and turned to his daughter, “What about you would need to be fixed?”

“The human children never have to preen or worry of where they may hit their horns,” she muttered and looked out from their cliff home toward the Ulstead hamlet.

Diaval hugged her to his side, “Your wings may need to be preened, but they surpass any shiny thing the kids may wear.  Your horns are tall, but tell the story of how you've grown.  You don't need to be fixed.  You are perfect the way you are.”

Years

The years pass by too quickly for Maleficent.  She remembered when Aurora was nothing but a little beastie running through the fields of the forest glens outside the Moors.  Now she had two children of her own who were growing older and taller each time she saw them.  Then Selene, the babe she had birthed herself, was growing too fast and would be coming to her ninth birthday in the coming months.  Her brother turning three not too long after.  Soon they would also start their own families.  Oh, how she would stop the years from coming if she could.

Zeal

Maleficent watched her children play with the other Dark Fey at the Heart of the Moors.  They were never in need of assurance of peace, or known anything close to war with humans.  Their zeal for life only seemed to boost her own.  She still guarded the Moors with other Dark Fey, she still kept the peace with the humans with help of her oldest daughter and she still rode the winds in the early morning with Diaval at her side as he always would be.  The zeal was never truly gone, just re-sparked by the laughter of her children.

#maleval #Maleficent x Diaval #Orangtail-works #oneshot

[yehet-me-up]

Frozen North ~ Night Two

Pairing: Chanyeol x reader

Genre: Horror/Suspense/SPOOP in general/light romance (because who else would I be?)

Word Count: 1,927

Rating: PG13 (nothing gruesome, but knowing me there will be swearing)

Summary: You run a late night radio show dedicated to telling scary stories and urban legends, the creepier the better. Listeners call in and share their own, creating a small but loyal community of folks like you who love this sort of thing. One night, a man calls in with what sounds like an all-too-real story and before you know it, you’ll do anything to make sure he’s safe.

Frozen North Masterlist

Your dreams that night are full of howling wind, women with long white hair and red eyes, chasing you off a tree-lined path and onto a dark and haunting expanse of ice. You claw at the sheets, unable to pull yourself from the dream.

The sound of ice cracking, deep and earth shattering, snaps you from sleep and you gasp in the freezing air.

When you realize you’re safe in your bed you huff out a laugh and slump back into the pillows. The readout on your phone tells you it’s not even six in the morning, but you can’t fall back asleep. 

You want to call the number again. Logically you know it was a one-off. A prank or someone trying to be entertaining.

But something in your gut tells you that Chanyeol is in serious distress and you want to yell in frustration. What more can you do?

To stave off your unease you take a quick shower and review your essay for today’s class on the widespread cultural and psychological effects of contemporary mythology. 

The professor is a genius. Getting Dr. Paul Langford as your thesis advisor was a coup. Every class he’s taught during your combined MA and PhD in Mythology has been riveting, and this quarter’s is no exception.

When you’ve killed enough time you bundle up in your parka and thick boots. Before slipping your phone in your pocket you stare at it, willing Chanyeol to call again. To tell you it was a joke and that he’s fine.

You shake your head. ‘Ridiculous,’ you say to yourself. Why on earth would you care so strongly about someone you’ve never met?

The gnawing in your gut begs you to dig further, but you smother it. Shoving your phone in your pocket, you march out the door and begin the walk to class.

‘Today we’ll be talking about panic,’ Professor Langford says from the front of the class. ‘And, just to be wild, let’s start with my favorite widespread mass psychological panic - Koro.’

He clicks the button and a photo appears on screen, black and white and grainy, showing a cluster of men lying in hospital beds. Abjua, Nigeria 1981 reads the caption.

‘Koro is a delusional disorder in which someone believes their sex organs are disappearing, retracting, or have otherwise been stolen or taken. It has infected mass communities across Africa, Asia, and Europe at various points over the centuries.’

He clicks and a slide showing an illustration of men and women burning a witch appears. ‘An outbreak of this contagious belief struck Europe in the fifteenth century. Over a dozen women were burned for reportedly stealing men’s penises.’

The class stifles laughs and muttered jokes. 

‘Exactly,’ he says with amusement.

‘Obviously the incidents of women stealing men’s genitals in reality is very few. But what makes this belief that their genitals have been stolen so contagious? Why has it appeared at so many places at so many different times? That is what we’ll be discussing this week - the insidious and manipulative nature of myths and how they’ve been weaponized over history to eliminate certain groups.’

On your way out of class the professor calls out to you. ‘Great show last night, Roxy,’ he says with a wink at your stage name.

‘Really?’ you say, surprised. ‘I had no idea you listened to it.’

He straightens his tweed jacket. Though he’s older than you there’s a youth in his eyes and his manner. ‘I might be a teacher, but I promise I’m still hip with the underground scene.’

His lips twitch and you both laugh. ‘It was a pretty wild show. What did you make of that Alaska story someone called in with?’ he asks.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. ‘I don’t know if it was a story. It felt - it sounded - I don’t know. Like he was really in danger.’

He leans against the desk and folds his arms, considering you. ‘Really? What makes you so sure?’ There’s an intensity in his eyes you can’t understand.

To someone as intellectual and established as him it feels like unsteady ground to admit that you believe in something that might not be real. ‘I’m not sure it’s anything tangible. Just something in my gut.’

He nods, watching you closely. ‘Well, keep following it. If you find something it might be an interesting twist to your Phd.’

‘Yeah, we’ll see.’ You feel your phone in your pocket and suddenly a chill runs down your spine. 

You can’t explain it, but you need to be anywhere but in this room. ‘I should get going, I want to get in some library time before work. Thanks for a great class today.’

‘Thank you for your contributions, as always,’ he says with a wave. The odd sharpness has left his eyes and you breathe easier on your way out.

When you walk into the station later you’re surprised to still see Jennifer, the station manager, at her desk. She’s on the phone and waves to get your attention when you walk by.

‘Yep. Got it. Thanks,’ she says and hangs up the phone. ‘Hey lady, come on in, have a seat.’

Over the years you’ve sat in this office a handful of times. Once when you interviewed for the open spot. Once to review the format and logistics for your show. Ever few months since to check in about advertising plans, listener numbers, and other such things. She’s never been so animated before.

‘Great show last night!’ she says.

Your mouth drops. ‘Wait, you listened to The Long Night? I thought you hated this kind of ‘spooky stuff’?’ you ask, using your hands to make quotes in the air.

‘I normally do. I listened when I got in. Larry let me know that the streaming numbers for your show were through the roof this morning and I wanted to see what the fuss was about.’

‘Really? What kind of numbers are we talking about?’ You lean forward in your seat.

She turns the computer screen so you can see that chart on it. The blue line is steady and then at the point showing the last 24 hours the line curves upward sharply. ‘Triple. And growing by the hour.’

You gasp. ‘Why?’

She snorts. ‘That Alaska thing. It was compelling stuff. Your show is always good, Rox. But last night, I don’t know, it was chilling. People are interested. The blog for The Stranger even highlighted it. I think that’s what brought in a lot of the traffic.’

You sit back in your chair and toy with the phone in your pocket, torn. Everyone seems to think it’s just a stunt. Why does that feel so wrong?

‘Anyways, just wanted to say, keep up the good work,’ Jennifer says with a wink.

‘Thanks,’ you say absently, standing.

In the hallway you watch the street through the blinds. Night has already fallen, blanketing the Seattle neighborhood with darkness. You lean against the wall and pull out your phone, unlocking it and pulling up the call list again.

Chanyeol’s picture stares up at you. With your thumb hovering over the call button you debate with yourself. What if he’s just some guy? What if you call and he says you’re nuts for ringing him back?

After a minute, he makes that decision for you. Your phone buzzes and his face enlarges, filling the screen. 

CHANYEOL WOULD LIKE TO FACETIME reads the screen.

You’re so surprised you almost drop the phone. Quickly, you press accept.

This time, there’s only darkness. Silence. No howling wind or blowing snow. After a beat, you hear breathing.

‘Hello?’ you call into the phone. ‘Can you hear me… Chanyeol?’

Bumping and scuffling are heard and finally you can hear breathing. ‘Hello? Who’s this?’ comes his voice.

You sag in relief. ‘It’s… Roxy, from the radio show? You called last night? About the… white woman?’

Silence greets you and you wonder if you’ve lost him. But the call lingers on the screen. 

‘What… what day is it?’ he asks quietly.

You frown at the screen. ‘It’s Wednesday the twenty second. Why?’

He groans into the phone. ‘I can’t- I think I’m losing time here.’

You want to push to understand. ‘Is your name really Chanyeol?’

‘Yes, of course it is,’ he says and grunts, you hear something scraping as he moves. ‘Fuck, I - what happened to me?’

‘I don’t know. You called the station last night. You sounded like you were in danger.’ You hold the phone closer, trying to make out anything in the blackness.

‘I think I might be,’ he says. His voice sounds thin, haunted. The calls cuts in and out.

‘I can send help,’ you rush to say into the phone before you lose him. ‘You’re in Nome, right?’

‘Nome? Like in Alaska? Why-’ he says, confused, before the call drops.

Frantically, you hit the call button. The line rings and rings and you growl with frustration. No matter how many times you try you can’t get through and you run a hand through your hair and groan.

‘Hey, Rox. You ready?’

You turn to see Daniel leaning out of the booth, tapping his watch. The time on your phone says 7:55 and you jolt. 

‘Shit. Sorry. I’m coming.’

He ushers you into the booth and you hurry to take your coat off and pull out your notebook.

The show itself goes fine, even though the entire time you’re anxiously waiting for the show to be over so you can try to call him back. 

A writer who goes by Lisa the Forsaken calls in with a Slenderman-inspired story that gets a lot of good traction. Your bit on the connection between spiders and trickster myths is followed by a nice discussion.

Just before midnight, when you’re yawning and tapping your foot, preparing to wrap things up, a number pops up on the screen that makes your heart stop. 

1-907-613-2458 - UNLISTED NUMBER - NOME

You hit answer, cutting off the ad that’s playing.

‘Hello? Chanyeol?’ you ask frantically. ‘Are you alright?’

Behind the glass Daniel raises his brows at you. You wave at him and mouth ‘later.’

A whining sound is heard faintly through the line and you press your headphones closer to hear it. ‘Hello? Is... someone there?’

You smile with relief. ‘Yes, hi. It’s me. Are you okay? Do you remember talking to me earlier?’

At this Daniel gives you a surprised look.

‘No, not really I -’ the sound cuts out on a deep sigh. ‘I’m not sure where I am. I’m - oh god,’ he says, his voice going low and making your heart speed up.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘She’s back,’ he moans, closer to the phone. ‘Please. Please no. Help me-’

The line cuts out and a tone comes through. You and Daniel stare at each other. He looks just as shaken as you feel.

Reluctantly you hit the disconnect button and wonder what to do. The time reads 12:01 and you jump back on the line, swallowing to clear your throat of the fear that had taken root. 

‘I’m Roxy and this has been The Long Night. See you guys tomorrow… stay safe.’

Daniel hits play on the pre-set content and hits the button to speak into the booth. ‘Roxy, what the hell was that? What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know,’ you say as much to yourself as to him, staring at the number still on the screen. ‘But we have to do something.’

Tagging @itskindofafairything and @yeoldontknow <3

#DRABBLEPALOOZA #chanyeol x reader #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol au #exo au #exo fanfic #exo x reader

[samaraclegane]

how about a fic where arya is pregnant and hesitant about it because she doesn’t just want to be a baby machine and then she loses the baby and is surprised that she’s so upset and naturally gendry is there to comfort her!!

author’s note: thanks for this one, anon! super emotional. hope it’s alright for you/what you wanted. oh, also I think it needs a trigger warning? so TRIGGER WARNING: miscarriage, implied depression. i’m not great at these things, idk. thanks for the prompt anyway!

-at first, she’d been reluctant at best. 

-this was never the plan. she never wanted to have children: she’s seen so many ladies and regular women alike go down this path. one moment they’re overcome by lust and love and whatever else drives a person to do such things, then as soon as they’re pregnant their entire lives go down the drain.

-she thinks this is always how the story goes. she’s seen her mother - a bright woman, her worth extending far beyond her physical beauty - settle down and have children. while she now, looking back, respects her mother and her integrity, she can’t say she wants to follow in her footsteps.

-Arya thinks that, as soon as one baby is born, it’s only a matter of time before the next, then the next, and the next. the only viable way to stop having children is to die, which so often happens during childbirth. she’s seen that happen, too. intelligent, lovely women, dead on their beds, beside a screaming child, still attached to their insides.

-she’s terrified. she wants to turn back time and be more careful, or not do it at all. while she doesn’t exactly regret sleeping with Gendry, that is, speaking in terms of reality, what got her in this stick situation.

-he’d be a good father, she has no doubt. in fact, the more she thinks about it, isolating herself in her room, the only thing she’s truly worried about is herself, which is precisely why she doesn’t think she can handle this.

-what if it came between her and Gendry? what if it came down to saving herself or saving the child? or, even worse, saving Gendry or saving their child? she can’t stand the thought of herself having a child that despises her, because she has no idea how to look after it.

-the first person she seeks, led by pure instinct, is Gendry himself. he’s in the forge (of course he is, when is he not?) so it’s a fairly easy task.

-she breaks down crying to him. against every inch of her screaming at her that doing so would be breaking every code she’d learned, destroying every wall she’d ever built up to protect herself from ever being vulnerable again, she does.

-she lets him take her into her arms. he plants kisses on her forehead, and strokes her hair as he hums to her. she knows he doesn’t know it, but it’s exactly what her mother used to do whenever she’d scraped herself, or when she missed her father or Jon when they went on a particularly long hunting expedition.

-she’s soothed, as much as she can be. as soon as she can form words, she tells him what’s happening - what’s made her behave to erratically - and his face is caught between utmost joy and confusion. she’s grateful to see he doesn’t ever look disappointed, at the news or at her reaction, and she even begins to feel silly for having been to upset by it. 

-”Arya,” his voice is soft, all rounded at the edges and eternally calming, “whatever happens, we can make it through. together.”

-his words resonate within her, to the core of her bones, and she breaks into a smile, beaming up at him and wondering how on earth she got so lucky.

-since that moment, her fears have dissipated. there’s moments, from time to time, when she doubts herself. the reoccurring thought of her being a dreadful mother comes back to her, especially in her darkest nights, but now she’s started sharing Gendry’s bed, she doesn’t have to stay like that for long. as soon as he notices something wrong, or her writhing wakes him up, she’s back in his arms, and he’s reassuring her everything will be okay.

-it’s one night, though, where something different. she’s feeling ill, which is normal nowadays, even though she hates the sensation. this night, however, she feels like if she moves something bad will happen. she lays on her back, motionless, but then there’s a sudden feeling in her gut and she’s send straight up, hunching over, cradling her knees and crying hysterically.

-Gendry, right beside her, doesn’t miss a beat as he jumps to wrap himself around her. the slight swell of her stomach is tangible on her legs now, where she can feel the brush of raised skin as she breathes in and out. she doesn’t know if she’s in physical pain, but her emotions have run riot, and then when she looks down there’s a small pool of blood forming beneath her.

-some part of her just knows. she’s seen death, in its late stages, but something about this time breaks her into tiny, glittering pieces. maybe it’s the fact that the life isn’t only hers, but Gendry’s too. maybe it’s the fact that the life has barely had a chance to be alive, before it’s ripped from her. either way, she’s sobbing desperately, knowing what’s to come, but still letting Gendry seek help, shouting and making a fuss.

-she misses exactly how it all happens, but the next time she returns to herself she’s lying down in a room that’s fuller than it was before. now she’s not only with Gendry, but her sister is there too, and there’s a woman she doesn’t think she’s seen before giving her a look that tells her that her earlier suspicions are correct.

-”I’m sorry,” the woman tries to offer her, but she shakes her head, feeling empty, and silently warns her not to continue. the woman looks sheepishly at Gendry, then at Sansa, who nods and the woman leaves. 

-Sansa looks at her, and some part of her expression looks even more broken than Arya feels. she feels guilty when she sees this. she knows how much Sansa loves children - regardless of whose they are, her own or otherwise - but Arya, even being who she is, knows she loved her child more than she could ever fathom.

-it was strange, in the initial moments as well as afterwards, to ponder upon how she had loved a person she had never met. and, as she continued with this thought, would never get to meet; this was their beginning and their end. she would not be able to watch the child grow, to see whether it looked like her or Gendry, or an even mix of both. she could not teach them how to fight, nor admire Gendry’s perseverance as he tried to teach them how to forge. that future had been taken from them, and the hole in her stomach was a constant, aching reminder of that.

-the only continuous thing was the feeling of Gendry’s arms around her. even as her hollow gaze stared on at her sister, watched her solemnly bow her head and leave, she felt the strong warmth of his chest against her. she kissed her on her forehead, leaving a non-permanent, beautiful mark there, and whispered to her.

-”we’ll get through it,” he promised her quietly, as though hiding a secret from the gods themselves, “whatever happens, we can make it through together.”

-Arya knew it wouldn’t make any of it right. never again would she feel completely whole - if she had ever done in the first place - but knowing that she wasn’t alone made the thought just that little bit more bearable. 

she would still never have a baby to hold and love, at least not their first. they would never impart their wisdom onto them, nor grant them a safe passage into the world. she could never look the child in the eyes to scold them, nor to praise them. 

-even so, even despite all of this being acknowledged, she liked to believe that sooner or later, day by day, things would get more manageable. even if it would never be the same, she was willing to try, because she wasn’t as alone as she had made herself believe.

[epiitaphs]

thoughts on emotional displays aka thoughts and revelations on why seb is the way he is, told in the most opaque way possible. 

like actually. it’s ~1400 words and while there’s technically a theme, it’s a ramble. 

Sebastian’s not really a crier. It all ties into his very quiet form of grief that he tends to express. Importantly, it means that he’s very much not adept when people around him cry, especially if he doesn’t think he’d do the same in that situation. It’s been mentioned before, but a lot of this stems from childhood when he was told not to cry at one of his grandparent’s funerals. If it wasn’t right to express a lot of emotion then, well, he wasn’t about to express a lot of emotion at other times either. Sebastian’s been described as cold - and he is, with a long history of it. He gets the coldness from his mother, mostly, though undoubtedly it came from his father as well. They weren’t neglectful - they simply weren’t going to be found in any particularly touching emotional moments. Sebastian tends to seek out attention through either fairly concrete things or outbursts of anger. The anger may be covering something else, but that’s one thing he can express fairly well. Some of the actual lashing out developed when he was older and didn’t really know how to deal with some of the more impactful events in his life. As a teenager, he did things because he knew he could annoy his parents - mostly his father. He also did things because he resented the control his father had over him. Fighting was clearly the best way to deal with that. Anyway - back to crying. Sebastian didn’t have to deal with it and he was discouraged from doing it. Whatever the reasoning behind the funeral incident, it stuck with him for whatever reason, and he was very careful to conceal those sorts of emotions. That sort of scene wasn’t going to help him. So the next time - when his other grandparent died, Sebastian portrayed the right kind of quiet emotion that didn’t kick up a fuss and distract everyone else. 

First it was about being in the way or taking the attention away from the actual task at hand, but later it became about showing weakness. Sebastian was one kind of person in the army. It wasn’t necessarily an act - he was an asshole, but it hadn’t been his entire personality until he had a whole lot to lose. David’s death was a major contributing factor to his PTSD - which was never diagnosed and is something Sebastian personally refuses to acknowledge despite having some awareness. Importantly, he didn’t have time to mourn David in any form or fashion. This wasn’t just someone he worked with who’d been killed - this was Sebastian’s closest friend and a major mentor figure for him. If it was appropriate to cry at anything, it should have been this. But it wasn’t. Maybe he did, but it wasn’t for long, because Sebastian’s response to the incident was to immediately throw himself into work and force himself to move on. He never did - David’s death figures heavily in his nightmares, because that was back when he cared so there’s a deep emotional connection there. It’s doubtful that Sebastian’s issues with people leaving him started there and then on the spot, but if there was a turning point to where they became actual tangible issues that messed with his perception of relationships beyond what they’d been before, this was it. At this point, too, Sebastian hadn’t had a long-term relationship since he was a teenager. He was too focused on work to feel like maintaining something long distance, so when he was off on leave, he wasn’t ever looking for anything long term. This contributed heavily to his relationship issues. People leave, people are dicks, the relationship isn’t real - none of it’s tangible. It’ll all be over at the very latest when he leaves the city, if not much earlier. Anyone who says they love him is lying because this is never going to be something. It’s just shit people say. His parents showed they cared by making sure he had a home and food. And they made sure he knew that he was lucky - that they had both worked for this sort of thing. He shouldn’t assume an easy path through life, even if the other boys at school did. His parents showed their affection - didn’t necessarily say it. So Sebastian does to. If he actually cares, he’ll do things. He’ll make an effort, he’ll cook, he’ll open up from time to time. Verbally telling people he loves them isn’t that simple. 

Opening up isn’t easy either. He keeps secrets out of habit. That comes mostly after he gets out of the army, but him clinging to what could hurt him stems from earlier. His father should have known better than to argue with a teenager, but his father was also a whip. He made his living off of knowing exactly what pressure points people had. Any information given out was information to be used. Thomas didn’t necessarily set out to be cruel; if he used work tactics to argue with his teenage son, it was out of habit. Sebastian grew up understanding some of what his father did, lived with his father while he was at secondary school, attended events. He wasn’t raised as a spy and he wasn’t let in on secrets, but he picked up things along the way. Better to keep one’s cards to one’s chest because anyone who sees them may use them to play their own part in the game. 

So then what does crying imply? To him, it’s drawing attention, it’s showing weakness, and it’s displaying a high level of trust. His response is either to wonder if he can fix it or to get angry, because it’s not the proper way to do things. And it all ties back to how he sees himself. The most likely time for people to be crying around him is when he’s working for Moriarty - so when he’s at his most dangerous. There is no reason they should trust him, there is no reason that they should show weakness in front of him. They should know full well that he’s going to turn this on them, even if he’s shown them that he cares. Sebastian - for all that he may seem relaxed about certain things - does not open up easily or well, and he probably underestimates certain gestures. Sure, if they know where he actually lives, that’s a huge step forward and he knows it, but the fact that someone feels like they can just have emotion in front of him is wrong. The anger’s a defence, not only for him because he doesn’t know how to deal, but it’s supposed to teach them that they’re wrong about this, that they shouldn’t cry in front of him because he can and he will twist it the next time he needs to. He’s got no qualms about calling himself a monster - he’ll kill anyone, he’ll torture anyone, even his family. Maybe the blood shows up later, but he’s trained himself to move on quickly and efficiently. He’s been cold since he was young. It’s not something that requires a massive personality shift. He doesn’t see himself as a decent person, even if he might slip into the mask of one from time to time. Just because he’s relaxed doesn’t mean that other people should. Because he’s always been an observer. He’s always taking notes. He sees the times that he’s a decent person as a thin veneer covering the truth. Whether or not this is actually true is up to the observer, but it’s what he believes. He’s never going to be a better person. That’s really the heart of the matter about crying - if he was going to do so, he’d hide himself away and not mention it at all. He’s not an overly loud person, so if he gets just a little bit quieter for a while, it’s not that noticeable. It all fits together so that he can hide what he needs to hide. Sebastian doesn’t allow himself to be vulnerable around other people - he doesn’t give in to emotion, he doesn’t sleep, he does not reveal serious matters. He complains all the time about everything and anything. The gaps come when something actually matters. Deflection or simply not mentioning - both tactics work. For all that he somewhat paradoxically works for certain peoples’ attention, it’s important to remember just how long he’s worked on avoiding notice from others. The reasons have differed greatly, but they still exist. 

----- originally it ended here  -----

ugh, fuck, to add on something: there’s two times to watch sebastian - when he’s drawing attention and when he’s actively quieter than usual. The first time you don’t have a choice, which means that you probably won’t find out exactly what the issue is without some pushing and stubbornness, but you’ll definitely know that there is one as he’s turning all your insecurities and secrets against you. the second time, you have a choice because he’s actively hiding that something major is affecting him. you won’t know what’s up and that’s very dangerous. 

#when thy heart began to beat | sebastian headcanons

[arcanaaa]

[/puts flower crown on cana's head] c:

Spring sunlight filtered through the trees in their little patch of shade and warmed her tanned skin pleasantly. Her nap was undisturbed for the most part, other than the occasional chirp of a bird or chitter of a native animal that dwelled within the palace gardens. They didn’t seem disturbed by Cana’s presence and as long as she kept any unwanted eyes from her spot beneath the weeping branches, she was all but invisible. A Glamour Card also helped as added insurance so that no one stumbled upon her spot and disturb her. There was only one person who would see through her spell and she had other duties to attend to.

Thus, Cana lay comfortable beneath the shade of the tree in the royal gardens and waited for her companion’s return. The weather helped aid Cana to lull her into a tranquil state, no doubt that when found, she would see the veil of peace drape over her visage. 

It wasn’t quite warm enough where the jobs at the guild would keep her busy-- or more importantly, near Crocus, but no one noticed her fixation on taking missions that were close towards the capital of the Fiore Kingdom-- or if they did, no one said a word to her about it. For that, Cana was grateful for. But as the season changed for the celebration of fertility, growth and kindled beginnings, so did the people: and along with it, the pious maiden of the Fiorean Kingdom.

Spring would bring animals to heat, as instinct demanded by nature and thus driving them to mate; in a not-so-subtle nod to nature, the royal court at the palace in Crocus also conducted the same ritual, though it was dressed in a manner that was ‘civilized’ and pertaining to postering acts. In Cana’s opinion, the animals had a better idea of getting on with hooking up than the fops in the royal court-- but that was probably why Cana avoided attending to any parties at the palace. Politics were far more deadly and more than likely to get anyone killed, no matter if they were a lord or a wizard from the famous Fairy Tail guild. An act of flirting was just another warfare, one that Cana was ill-equipt to dealing with-- and had very little patience for the posterity of it all. The Lords and Ladies of the Crocus Toyal Court were on another playing field after all.

For Hisui, however, Cana would put on a harlequin suit and do a song & jig if she asked. Fortunately, the princess didn’t need to hire any clowns, though she knew several someones that fit the description (the haunting echo of Men...Men... elicited a shiver of disgust), so Cana was saved from filling in that particular job. She would be happy being her invited guest and friend, though there was also a danger in that as well. It worried Hisui, though she didn’t say it in words, but in her gestures and shift in body language, that bringing the card mage into the fold of the royal court would be akin to tossing a lamb to a denn of wolves. Fairies-- which Cana reminded Hisui, with much amusement-- had taken on much more dangerous enemies, that even lords and ladies with sharp smiles and sharper wiles would shirk from. That sort of logic won most arguments, but not all. 

Arranging the decorations for the Crocus Royal Spring Ball required Hisui’s presence-- Cana suspected leaving the arrangements to a hired designer was too much to hope for (and she got a look for offering the suggestion wryly) but Hisui, bound in her duty as she was, merely smiled and approached her and placed a kiss to her cheek. They were alone in her room and weren’t at risk of being disturbed. But they both knew there was always a danger of getting caught: both of them flirted with it, but evenutally their ‘friendly’ acquaintance wouldn’t be overlooked by the disinterested. Eventuallly people would become curious. Eventually, people would start to look closer-- and neither of them, moreso Hisui than Cana, could afford the discovery of their relationship. 

The imprint of her kiss said what words couldn’t. Both women learned to adapt to make their relationship work, which Cana rose to the challenge a lot faster than her gentle princess(and Cana tried to ignore the creeping feeling of possession when refering to Hisui as hers). Still, they adapted and made a game out of their situation.

Hisui looked at Cana and smiled.

Wait for me? 

She didn’t need to tell Cana where and Cana didn’t announce that she would wait for her. They both knew she would.

And she knew the place: it was there’s after all.

She didn’t sense her approach, which told the card mage a few things: that Hisui was trying very hard to be quiet and wanted to let Cana continue napping was the most likely outcome. It also let Cana know that her illusion worked and they would be virtually hidden from world-- until they called Hisui away, but Cana nor Hisui would voice this fact aloud.

Warmed by sunlight-- and by the presence of Hisui-- Cana pulled herself awake with a slow effort. Sleep for the lush was selfishly covetted, so the effort to pull her from the her dreams was immense. It helped that one of her dreams was already made a reality and something tangible for her to hold onto.

Something was placed on top of her head. 

That was another thing that helped wake her up though hearing Hisui coo and giggle certainly helped foster the tender affection that welled inside Cana. At that point, Cana was pretending to sleep and she lie waiting to see what the princess would do. Hisui seemed to fuss a little at her hair and the object placed on top. The tips of her digits lay a gentle sweep against her temple, taking along a wayward strand of hair. At the same time, Cana reacted-- eyes opened, a grin flashing wide and mischievious-- and arms encircled her waist and crushed her against her. 

Form to form, chest to chest, their limbs entangled askew, it was an unelegent position and definitely not something either of them would want to be caught envolved in. More pressingly because their position would likely lead to dangerous questions and a conclusion that would put lives at risk-- hers and Hisui’s specifically. But presently, protected in Hisui’s secret garden and by Cana’s clever glamour, their clumsy intimacy is their’s alone to know and enjoy. 

Both were caught in breathless laughter that they kept at hushed volumn and Cana carefully settled Hisui atop her lap. Her dress made the endeavor hindersome, but not unmanueverable and when the last tinkle of laughter faded, they stared at each other.

It was the fall of petals and the scent of flowers that helped deduce what Hisui had done, but Cana merely raised an eyebrow.

❝So...I take it I’m being made ‘Princess For A Day’?❞

Cana was teasing of course. She mainly hoped to inspire a playful retort or a blush-- or both, which knowing Hisui, the princess held a presdesposition to do both reactions. Both were welcome and adored, to which she listened to Hisui’s reaction with a matching expression of amusement and fondness.

The flower crown may have been an impulse. Or maybe, Hisui had become bespelled by Cana’s sleeping figure. It was hard for the fortune teller to say, when Cana could ready Hisui’s expression well-- her heart and thoughts were her own however, and Cana wouldn’t intrude upon those facets of her loves character. But the gesture of the flower crown was what mattered to Cana and it was what ended up being the activity that encompassed their time together. 

Teaching Cana to make a flower crown like the one Hisui made for her was only one of the many gifts the princess gave. And by the time Cana finished weaving the last stem into a circlet, Cana replaced Hisui’s crown-- an overbearing burden of cold metal --with a living wreath woven with flowers from the secret garden, made by love and trust. 

Cana watched Hisui fuss with her crown of flora. Without a word, Cana took Hisui’s hands gently and brought the back of each to her lips. Her kisses were more for ceremony, like a token parted upon by a suitor, a knight enlisting their service-- or a servant honoring their master. Cana was neither of these things and Hisui knew it. But the intent behind it was different. She placed her honor as a lover would to her own: an offering of devotion, the gift of her heart.

The card mage couldn’t offer Jewels (the currency or the boubles), titles or glory to Hisui any more than Hisui could off her crown and walk away from her duty-- her birthright-- in order to live the life she wanted. But Cana didn’t ask for that wich was impossible anymore than Hisui did, so they gave and accepted what was and could be given and accepted.

Cana’s fingers linked together with Hisui’s, intwining gently, giving the card mage little obsticle when she leaned forward and snared Hisui’s lips in a kiss. It was gentle as the temperament between them was, though that would very well change at either one’s beckoning. They certainly weren’t strangers to each other’s passions, though no doubt Cana would incite further flames between them. Nevertheless, Cana kept things tame between them until Hisui broke the kiss-- a little breathlessly, which Cana couldn’t help feeling smug about-- before the lush let go of her hands to wrap her arms around Hisui in a loose hug. She waited until the other woman settled against her form, heard her sigh with contentment. 

❝I love you Hisui.❞

She didn’t hear her acknowledgement and wasn’t hurt by her silence. The sound of her slow breathing told her that Hisui was exhauted and had fallen asleep the moment her head settled against Cana’s shoulder. She looked to the sky: the sun was still high, meaning Hisui’s people wouldn’t come calling for her for another hour or so. The glamour card would buy her the time to catch the sorely needed rest, but eventually a search part would come looking for Hisui: and her gardens were always the first place they searched.

Cana fought the war of what she wanted and settled for what she held; a quick flick of her wrist summoned a card from her sleeve (another card trick), the front baring an hour glass. A murmur and it glowed before the picture began to move: the sands started falling, signifying the count down of time that remained between them before Hisui was required to go back.

Without a word, Cana sighed. And finally, gave in to the lull of peace they created, just like their crown of flora, and fell asleep along side Hisui.

#DARLING I MISSED YOU!!!!!! <3 <3 <3 WELCOME BACK uwu #this deserves my best so I hope this is satisfactory #long post / #drabble tag #hisana tag #hisana / #canasui / #oof..... this got long ladjflaksdfj #I hope this is enjoyable to read as it was to write!! :3 #crocusblooms #█ ▌ ╰ ☾ ╮ ┆ 「ask.」

[nekkyousagi]

Tea and Whispers

Drabble by Nekkyo Usagi  - Matsunaga Hisahide and Lady Soma

"Oh no, this will not do at all." Lady Soma huffed to herself, as she sorted through her collection of tea ceremony implements. "It has to be just right!" The occasion fast approaching required nothing but the finest Soma clan had to offer. Of course, to the outside eye the plan was merely a small and private meeting, a simple tea ceremony between close associates. But to Lady Soma, it was more than that. Even the most subtle of meetings brought with it many areas of expertise one could communicate. Such was the way of strategy in these times. But unlike the not so hidden drama and subterfuge of the court scene, this meeting was different.

Of course, it would not be the first time she had kept company with Matsunaga Hisahide. They had often come together in discussions over tea ceremony, herbal remedies, tonics and antiquities from across the sea, political intrigue, stories from the shogun's court, and exchanging almost competitive remarks over their two respective sons.  

Lady Soma fussed and picked through her sets of chado, striving to select the perfect pieces for seasonality and appropriateness, in hopes to impress this man so versed in the arts. There was a level of caution to be aware of along the selection process. She did not wish to appear as if she were trying too hard to impress. That would be embarrassing. As the day waned, and late afternoon approached, Lady Soma was finally finished with the needed preparations and awaited the arrival of the Lord of Yamato province.

"My my, Lady Soma, you have really outdone yourself. These implements are exquisite. You flatter an old hermit."

Lady Soma smiled gently, breaking from her poise for a moment, as she mixed the fragrant tea power into a gentle froth. "Mere trinkets compared to your splendid collection, Lord Hisahide." Lady Soma replied, handing him the tea bowl. "I am honored by your compliments."

Matsunaga paused, examining the colors and unique glazing of the tea bowl, a sharp eyebrow raised slightly in interest. Though simple in its design and shape, the color of the vessel intrigued him, a soft cool green, so like the storm frothed seas of Soma's coastlines. It brought a sense of calm and reflection to the senses. "Unique," Matsunaga mused, as he sipped with reverence. "An unusual pattern. I am curious to know it's origin."

Lady Soma straightened, glowing with pride. "If I may be so bold, my lord, you will not find this style of chado anywhere but within Soma clan. It was made with the soils of our land and sculpted with the hands of our own artisans."

"Is that so?" The lord of Yamato glanced at the vessel once more with curiosity, before sipping the last of its contents. "A fine cup it makes, my lady. Though I must say, it is quite a bold move for your small clan to invest in such a craft."

"You underestimate Soma clan, my lord. It is true that we are well known for our fine horses. But we must keep with the changing times. Perhaps there are days ahead when men will make war with tea and words instead of spears and swords?"

Matsunaga chuckled at that. "The war of tea has been raging for a thousand years. You are wise to invest in it. Perhaps these vessels will serve as messengers to those after us, the beauty and struggles of this era captured for all time." Matsunaga admired the tea bowl once more before placing it down before Lady Soma. He smiled knowingly. "Though not born of the Soma, I do admire your pride in it."

"Of course, my dear son Yoshitane is my greatest pride. I wish for nothing more than his success as clan leader."

"No doubt."

The tea ritual having been completed, Lady Soma relaxed her shoulders, easing the slight tension put there by her concentration while performing the ceremony. Though she had done it many times, being under the heavy, dark gaze of Matsunaga Hisahide, a man who could rival Sen no Rikyu in his knowledge of tea ceremony, felt intimidating. She could feel his hawk gold eyes counting every move, every turn of the hand, but she was determined to impress. Assuming she had performed admirably, judging by his relaxed tone, Lady Soma eased into the more casual conversing she'd been hoping for. Though their relationship had been distant and professional for the most part, she truly did admire him and, when not under scrutiny over etiquette, found his company...familiar.

"I must say, your generously instructing my dear Yoshitane in the way of tea has been indispensable." Lady Soma's eyes softened at the thought of her son. "He has gained much respect because of it, and for this I am grateful to you, Lord Hisahide."

"He has proven to be a...dedicated pupil. Both of our sons still have much to learn." Matsunaga replied, a tired expression crossing his countenance for a moment.

"So it would seem," Lady Soma gently put the tea implements to the side, and slid across the floor closing the distance between them slightly, though they were already in close proximity within the walls of a modest tea room. Soma clan did not have the opulence of the courts nor of Matsunaga's own house, but it was beautiful in its simplicity, and suitable for private meetings. "You know, dear Hisamichi did come to visit with my son Yoshitane, the other day. They rode horses together, practiced calligraphy and engaged in some sparring. It was so refreshing to see them getting along so well!" "Indeed?" Matsunaga replied. "I am pleased as well that Hisamichi has found such an admirable companion as the Lord of Soma."

Lady Soma coyly hid her smile behind her sleeve as she spoke. "You should have seen them, the way they kept company! Why, you would almost think they were brothers! Oho! Should we not be good parents and...get along better, as well?"

Keeping her eyes low, Lady Soma spoke softly, a sweetness in her voice, as she eyed the Lord of Yamato closely, her flirtatious nature suddenly getting the better of her. Lady Soma's dark eyes followed the lines and folds of his dark silk kimono, the way the sleeves lay over the curve of his strong arms and broad shoulders, how the collar hugged greedily against his the back of his neck, the sheen in his black oiled hair. Lord Matsunaga was a sight to behold, she had to admit. And in this close setting, she could feel the heat rise up the back of her neck, and her heart fluttered. But no, this was merely a meeting. It could lead to closer ties with the Matsunaga clan, who were in good favor with the Shogun's court. Ties to the shogun could provide benevolence for the Soma. She had to think of her clan's future...her son's future...not her own.

Her wandering eyes had not gone unnoticed and she suddenly found herself captured within his gaze. Eyes like molten gold, Matsunaga Hisahide regarded her with amusement. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the color of them burning in the dark, not unlike beast or a dragon. But behind that glow, she could see the sadness of a man who had loved and lost in the past, who suffered in silence, hiding his sorrows behind gold and jewels, fire and smoke.

“Ho...“ He smiled, the flames in his eyes dancing. "...an interesting proposal, Lady Soma."

A hard thump in her chest shook her whole body at that word, and Lady Soma fumbled to compose herself. "O-oh! Yes, well, ah...I-It is pleasant to be in the company of one who understands the arts and civility as well as you do. So many these days are more concerned with waving a sword around, they forget the importance of tradition and good character. We must ensure that our children inherit these qualities...it is our duty as parents, don't you agree?"

"Why yes. Desirable qualities honed over a lifetime." Matsunaga noticed her trying to evade his gaze now that she had caught it. A fine game to play. He leaned closer, admiring the intricate patterns of her kimono and its intricate seasonal patterns, the smoothness of her soft coral hair draping over small shoulders. The scent of incense permeated from him, cedarwood and pine, and her heart thundered in her chest as his frame neared, almost touching shoulders, his shadow casting over her. "Dignity...astuteness...benevolence....such attractive virtues are rare and precious commodities. Their value is without measure."

"You are now a collector of virtues as well as tangible treasures, Lord Hisahide?"

Matsunaga grinned. "One can gather all the treasure in the world, and still possess no virtue. They are the most sought after riches of all."

"Noble words. You have changed for the better, Lord Hisahide."

"Ho...have I changed, Lady Soma?"

"You were once called a villain. Surely a man, now chasing after virtues rather than gold, has no need for such a title?"

Matsunaga leaned closer, bringing his hand up to her face, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. Lady Soma's heart leaped into her throat at the sudden closeness, and her fingers trembled. He looked into her eyes with a warmth she had never seen before, but the fire still lingered, smoldering like a candle in the dim light.

"Perhaps you should still be wary of this...villain. Who knows whether or not he may try to steal away your heart?"

Lady Soma fought for breath, and forced herself to shyly look away from the fire in his eyes. "M-my heart...?"

This was becoming absurd. A woman of her age and status should not even be having such a private meeting with the lord of another province. They were colleagues, simply acquaintances. Had her flirtatious words given him the wrong impression? "Oh no! What desire would there be for that? I am merely an old widow..."

"My dear Lady Soma," Matsunaga Hisahide chuckled low and sultry, a playful smokiness in his tone as he gently took her hand. "You already know how much I treasure...antiquity."

A flustered huff gave away Lady Soma's sudden loss of composure. Her face felt hot, flushed redder than winter Camilla flower, as she glanced toward the open windows and moved herself away from under his shadow.

"O-oh my, h-how late in the day it had become! Lord Hisahide, I dare say I have kept you in my company for far too long! Do forgive me." She busied herself with stacking the cups and tea utensils, trying to hide her nervousness with laughter.

Matsunaga smiled at her jittery voice as she fought to regain her poise. "Do not be so concerned, my lady. Only an empty castle full of trinkets await me."

"Have you forgotten dear Hisamichi? Surely, after all this time, would you not wish to take every opportunity to spend time with your dear son!"

"Oh, I have made much time for him. But if you insist, I shall take my leave" Matsunaga rose to his knees and gracefully bowed. "I thank you for your gracious hospitality."

Lady Soma bowed low in grateful reverence to the Lord of Yamato as he slid on his knees, crouched through the small tea house door, and exited the room. A wave of relief crashed over her, as she sat back onto her heels. Her heart still pounded loudly in her chest, and she smacked it with a hand to try and still it's thunder. The still fresh memory of those molten gold eyes permeated her thoughts. Not even her late lord husband had ever looked at her with such fire. Her breath fluttered like a young maiden. Unbelievable! Her habit of flirtatious and flattering speech had won her many strategic battles of words and wit but this time...How greatly she had miscalculated...

"Oh, Lady Soma...I seem to have forgotten one thing." Her body jolted as Matsunaga's voice echoed back into the tea house, though he remained outside. "That cosmetic serum you so graciously bequeathed to me, is simply marvelous. Your tonic, I dare say, it feels like a spark of youth has been returned to me. The bottle is quite close to becoming empty, I am afraid. Would you be so kind...?" "Oh, of course, Lord Hisahide. It would be my pleasure. I shall have another sent to you forthwith." "Most gracious. Though, I was hoping that you might deliver in person, Lady Soma. I do so enjoy our little talks." Another deep wash of red clothed her cheeks as Lady Soma bowed low within the secluded teahouse, her heart still thundering wildly, as Matsunaga Hisahide slowly walked away down the stone path.

A great yet...wonderful, miscalculation, indeed.

#usagi writes #matsunaga hisahide #lady soma #sengoku basara ocs #i tried #this was so fun to write

[septic-dr-schneep]

that fic with jackie and henrik gave me so many feeeeeels ;~; I somehow feel like jackie wouldn't care too much for his own safety after he hurt henrik so badly, and when he does get injured, he wouldn't want to face henrik unless he completed his mission. and I can't stop thinking about someone bringing him into henrik's hospital, unconscious and bleeding, and henrik feeling angry and guilty. (can you tell I'm a whump fan lmao)

Ooooh, boooy, you asked for this by sending me such a great whumpy scenario…

JSE Fanfiction - In Time Of Need (Part 3: Discord #2)

Summary: Jackieboy returns, but he’s not in any condition to make amends with the doctor he hurt so badly. Schneep has to save his life first. 

Schneep thought about him as soon as he pried his eyes open each day.There was a tangible emptiness when he stumbled out of bed, shrugged on hiscoat and made his way down the hall toward the lab, only to find that Jackie wasn’twaiting for him outside the locked door.

It wasn’t right. His throat always felt dry and tight when he rememberedthe terrible things he had said…the terrible things Jackie had said to him inreturn. Each morning, they made him pause with his hand on the handle, his keyin the lock, leaning his head against the doorframe and trying to remember howbreathing worked.

“I don’t haveluxury of running away! I have to watch Jack breathe through machines…”

“I know you,Henrik; you stay because you feel guilty!”

His hand shook, sweat causing his fingers to slip against the smoothmetal doorknob. He knew. He knew it was true, but that didn’t mean hearing thewords from Jackie of all people had hurt any less.

He should never have let him leave. He should have begged with him tostay; he had heard the shock and the regret in the hero’s voice as soon as he’drealized all of the hurtful things he’d said. If Schneep had asked him, he would have stayed just to make up forwounding him so badly. Instead, Schneep had told him to leave. He hadn’t beenable to stomach looking at him, muchless try to go about his day with him.

If Schneep hadn’t raised a fuss about him leaving in the first place,Jackie never would have said those things. He would have gotten a hug before heleft instead of a pathetic touch of the hand. He should have supported hisfriend. Jackie was trying to cope in the best way he knew. Search for Anti. Itwas his answer to everything. Schneep should have understood that.

Guilt burning bitterly against the back of his eyes, he did his best tocollect himself, slipping into the lab. As soon as he laid eyes on Jack,however, the tears took full shape, blurring his view until he hastily scrubbedthe back of his sleeve over his face and crossed the room.

“G—Good morning, Jack,” he whispered, laying a hand over his creator’s.He could almost imagine that Jack’s fingers twitched underneath his own, but heknew they hadn’t. For a long minute he simply stared at him, taking in his palefeatures. His cheeks were getting scruffier day by day. Schneep would need toshave him soon. Such a simple task, but he didn’t want to think about it. Hecleared his throat, lifting his voice a little more to fill the deep void ofsilence.

“I haven’t even had my coffee yet. You know I need that caffeine, but Itend to you first. Not very many people get Dr. Schneeple’s pre-coffeetreatment…You are special. You get spoiled,” he rambled softly as he changedthe IV bags. “I wonder if I were to put coffee in these IVs, if you would openthose eyes. You cannot resist good coffee. Or…heh. Banana milk. You wouldsurely wake up for that, wouldn’t you?” His voice broke as he attempted a weaklaugh and his faint smile faded. “…My Jack. You are something. You do like toplay with our little brains, don’t you? But this…th-this is…more than that. Iplayed with yours a-and I…I did it wrong.”

“You were theone who put Jack in this coma in the first place by failing him—like you alwaysdo!”

“I wish…none of this had happened. I wish I had never even touched you.If I hadn’t, you—you would be awake now. You could have done it yourself. Youwere stronger on your own, Jack…you…you never needed me.”

As soon as he said it, he couldn’t stand to look at Jack anymore,whirling around and making a beeline for the door. He knew Jack wouldn’t bealone for too long; Chase would be coming to watch over him within the hour,which gave him the excuse to escape.

Somehow, facing Jack wasn’t even as difficult as facing his coworkersevery day. They were making more and more comments about how haggard andexhausted he looked, but they couldn’t complain about his work. Schneep madesure that his work didn’t suffer because of his family. All he could do wasinternalize, internalize, internalize until he got in the taxi and could cry itout on the way home. The taxi driver had learned by now not to ask anyquestions.

Until then, however, he had to stay collected. The patients passed backand forth before his eyes, all blending together, none of them too extraordinaryor memorable. They weren’t who he was thinking of, but he forced himself totreat them nonetheless. They were important. He had to do his best for them,just as he would for his family.

“Are you okay, mister?” the little girl sitting on his examination tablequestioned cautiously as he fit her cast on her arm. It was pretty sad when hispatients noticed how grim he was.

“Don’t you worry,” he assured her with a weak smile. “Dr. Schneeplesteinjust hasn’t had his coffee today. I will be just fine.” Lies, lies, lies, lies. Everything was a lie.

The little girl didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t get a chance tokeep prying further; both she and Schneep were distracted by the small swarm ofdoctors making a commotion on the other side of the hall.

“…Male, mid to late twenties, medium build, multiple contusions and lacerations—He’staken a blow to the head—”

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Can you tell me who you are?”

“We all know who he is, Rena;this is Jackieboy Man!”

No. No.

Schneep’s heart surged up into his throat just as the pit of his stomachplunged, tools falling through his hands with a shattering clang as he boltedacross the hall with reckless abandon, shoving past the other startledphysicians and latching onto the edge of the gurney with clammy hands.

“Jackieboy?” he gasped out, his breath quickening in a race with hisheart and his stumbling skips to keep up as he was dragged down the hall. Themore his eyes widened, the more he could see the subtle difference between thered in Jackie’s suit and the bloodstains. There were too many. “Jackie, Jackie,what have you done?”

The hero shifted slightly at the sound of his name, prying half-lidded eyesopen to wander toward the lights overhead, though it wasn’t as much of a reliefas it should have been. Even with the shimmering rings of silver light aroundhis pupils, indicating he’d used his powers recently, his gaze was too glazed,too dilated, Schneep agonized. Sticky, half-dried blood was crusted over histemple, on his hood, in his hair—he had to have a concussion.

“I don’t—where is he? I’m not down yet, I’m not…lemme back…” the olderEgo murmured blearily, his hands twitching as if he were about to try pushinghimself upright. Schneep promptly snatched the closer one, squeezing ithelplessly.

“Stay still, stay! You’re in hospital, you’re hurt; you have to stay sowe can help you!” he implored, to which Jackieboy’s brows furrowed in minglingpain and confusion.

“H’spital…?” He tried to shake his head, hissing through his teeth as he earneda spike of pain for his troubles. “No-o-o,” he whined, letting his head fallback and blinking heavily. “No…no, not here…”

“What?”

“Get…get me outta here, I don’t want—H’nrik’s gonna kill me if he sees…Ifhe…sees…”

Fairly quivering with unspoken disbelief and a faint twinge of anger,Schneep clutched his hand all the tighter. “You’re not going anywhere! You’re goingto be okay; just stay with me.” He spoke too late. After his friend’s nextflickering blink, his eyes fell closed and didn’t reopen. “Jackie! No! Jackie, openyour eyes…Jackie! Stay with me here!”

“Schneeplestein, you need to step back,” one of the other doctors began,grabbing at his shoulder. “He needs to be—”

“No, shut up!” Schneep half-sobbed, half-screeched, wrenching out fromhis reach. “I’m going to save him!”Though it went against everything in him, he pried his grip away fromJackieboy’s limp fingers and ducked around the gurney so he could wildly pointthem in the direction of his preferred operating booth.

Though he performed the surgery (accepting very little help from thenurses along the way, never thinking to thank them where they did assist), Schneep wasn’t there to seeJackieboy transferred to a room. As soon as he was stabilized and Schneep couldbe certain that his lung wouldn’t collapse again, he promptly excused himselfto the nearest supply room, dumped several packages of gauze out of theirassigned bin and retched into it.

Nothing substantial came up, given that he hadn’t eaten anything todayand he’d only taken a few moments between patients for water, but he couldn’tstop. He wasn’t even sure why! He hadsucceeded. He had saved Jackie’s life; he was safe, so why did he still feel so chilled, so terrified?

It wasn’t that he wondered what could have happened if he hadn’t savedhim; he knew exactly what would have happened. A pneumothorax led to low bloodpressure, low blood pressure led to shock, and shock led to…He was all too wellaware of the “what ifs” and over the years he’d become a master of pushing themaway. Why was this different?

The nauseating sensation didn’t abate as he pushed the bin aside andstumbled back into the hall, waving vaguely in acknowledgement as one of thenurses read his mind and called Jackie’s room number out to him. When he foundthe proper door, he didn’t hesitate to go in, but as soon as he shouldered thedoor closed behind him and looked up, his breath hitched and he instinctivelyrecoiled, the door handle digging into his lower back as he pressed against it.

Jackie. It didn’t look anything like him; he was stripped of his mask andhis jumpsuit, leaving nothing but a bare, colorless face and a medical gown andbandages and blankets around his waist and an IV lead and a nasal cannula andhe—he was still unconscious.

Comatose.

Jack.

The fear became realization, the realization became dread, and the worldswerved out from under him. As soon as he hit the floor, the doctor curled intohimself, tucking his face between his knees and clutching his hands close tohis aching chest. This wasn’t Jack. This was Jackie, which only made it worse, because Schneep had put him there. Deep down, he knew thathe was to blame.

If you hadn’tfought with him, he wouldn’t have been distracted! You know he was thinking of you instead of how recklessly he was fighting! Youput him here, just like Jack! Just like J̡a̷ck. You failed the b̀o͜th of them.

It seemed his taxi driver wasn’t going to be seeing his tears today; theywere already spilling over and he was helpless to stop them. His only instinctwas to stifle the sobs by snatching at the hem of his coat and burying his facein it until he was near-suffocating.

A mere four feet away, unnoticed by the distraught younger Ego, his herostirred.

#youtube #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #youtube fanfiction #dr schneeplestein #jackieboy man #major character injury #whump #angst #feels for days #hurt comfort #jackistein #i live for queerplatonic jackieboy and schneep #i'm sorry #answered ask #Anonymous

[gettingitwrite]

Chimera: Chapter One (Full)

Chapter 2

Late

(Posting the full chapter to see if people prefer having the full chapter here, or having an excerpt and the full chapter on Wattpad)

Of all the days there could be a rally, it had to be the day Alice was running late.

They’d marched into the square from all directions, a crowd forming around Alice and trapping her before she’d even realised what was happening. Then she was stuck in the thronging mass of bodies, some holding signs, all of them shouting, chanting, yelling. Alice held tight to her bag, putting it in front of her like a shield as she tried to push through the crowd.

Of course it would happen today. Alice had already missed her bus and nearly twisted her ankle trying to run for it in her heels. Why would things start going her way now?

The entire square was jam packed with people shouting, waving signs, pushing forward towards the steps of the courthouse. That was what she thought, anyway, until she got closer. There was a girl, a thin, spotted tail curling from the base of her spine, screaming into a megaphone. A guy with spiked, bony growths running along his bald head, like some kind of weird mohawk, hoisted her into the air by her waist.

Not people. Chimeras.

Alice shook her head, mentally correcting herself. Chimeras were people, same as her and same as everyone else. They couldn’t help it if they had animal DNA mixed in with theirs.

And she felt bad for them, really she did. She knew their story as well as anyone—the descendants of human experiments created a century ago, genetically-engineered super soldiers created to fight in a war, only to be swept aside when it was won. Alice would be mad, too, but right now she was late. And late trumped her fear of crowds.

There must’ve been a few thousand packed into the square, a chaotic mass of bodies all pressing together as if to create a single, solid unit. Some were chanting, too loud and out of sync to make out the words; others were yelling and screaming. Signs and banners were being waved overhead, bearing too many different phrases and slogans to count. ‘Chimeras are NOT animals’—‘Treat us like HUMANS!’—’Uphold the Rights Act.’ As the darkness began to set in, many of them were holding lights, fake candles and phone torches alike, points of illumination dotting the crowd.

On any other day, Alice would’ve kept her head down and tried not to get trampled. But today…

Jay would kill her if she was late again. Shouldering her backpack and her anxiety, Alice began pushing through the crowd. She kept her head down, muttering the occasional ‘excuse me’ or ‘sorry’ when the motion of the people propelled her into yet another body.

Then it wasn’t the crowd pushing her, but a hand on her shoulder, sharp points of pain where long nails dug into her skin. She was spun round, pushed back, and then she was stumbling blindly.

She hit something semi-solid, and only realised it was another body when they both went down.

“Get lost, human.” The man who’d shoved Alice towered over her, flexing his hands into fists. He didn’t have long fingernails like she’d thought, but instead thin, sharp claws extending from his fingertips.

“I’m just trying to get to work,” Alice mumbled. She tried not to look at the twitching, fur-covered ears poking out from greasy ginger hair, but still she saw them. Orange with black stripes—a tiger?

With that attitude, it was a wonder he still had his claws.

He stared down at her for a moment longer before spitting on the pavement next to her, then walked away. Probably thought she wasn’t worth his time.

“You alright?”

The hand that helped Alice up did not have claws. The guy she’d collided with was already on his feet, and here she was still sprawled on the pavement, cowering. She accepted the hand, looking up to see bright amber eyes, then further up to see extra set of ears—pointed, covered in sand-coloured fur. A dog?

“I’m fine.” Alice stepped back. She could feel her heart pounding, and sweat gathering uncomfortably on her skin. She needed to get out of here.

The boy with the dog ears took a step towards her. “Did you need some help getting out of here?”

“I said I’m fine!” Alice’s voice rose in pitch, and she clutched at the straps of her backpack.

She pushed past him, no longer caring about being rude, just caring about getting away. Once she got going, people got the message, moving out of her path as she barrelled through the crowd. Alice hugged her arms around her bag, nails digging into her arms, trying to keep her breathing deep and even as she fought her way to the other side of the square.

The relief when she erupted from the crowd was tangible. Now out of the unbearable heat of a thousand bodies, Alice gulped in the chilly evening air. She wanted to lean against a building or tree, to catch her breath and calm herself down before she kept going, but there wasn’t time. With that little setback in the square, there was no doubt that she was well and truly late by now.

Alice groaned. She really was dead.

She ran the last three blocks to work, wobbling on her low heels the entire way. Her bus stop whizzed by, and a few minutes later she found herself outside the club.

The Rabbit Hole was one of the only openly chimera-friendly clubs outside the chimera district, and by far the largest. It looked like it was built half a century ago, and it was. Cursive, neon-lit letters spelled out its name above a grand entryway, the intricate, faux-marble façade a remnant of the building’s former life as a theatre.  Alice hurried up the steps, sparing a nod to the bouncer as she flew inside.

Jay was waiting for her, of course, before she even got a foot in the door.

“Well look who finally decided to show up!” His arms were folded, brow raised. Alice checked her phone, catching her breath from the run—still a few minutes to opening time. She wasn’t completely dead.

“There was another rally in the square,” Alice said, and then, for pity points, “some guy shoved me and I got caught up in the crowd.”

Jay’s expression softened. “Just get to the bar, Crystal’s waiting.”

“Thank you,” Alice said. “And I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, just hurry up.”

From the outside, The Rabbit Hole looked small, sandwiched between two neighbouring clubs and dwarfed by their height. But looks could be deceiving. Everything inside had been demolished when Jay bought the place, leaving a wide-open dancefloor sprawling across the ground level. There were steps at the back leading up to a mezzanine, and they looked like they could’ve been from the original interior, but Alice knew better.

And then there was the centrepiece, the thing separating The Rabbit Hole from every other club on the street—the real crystal chandelier, from the original building. When everything was in full swing, lasers illuminated each glass pendant to cast dancing patterns of light across the entire club.

Jay had built this place well, Alice would give him that. Its wild popularity with both humans and chimeras was probably the only reason it hadn’t been shut down yet—although not for lack of trying.

At the bar, Crystal was waiting.

“Hey Ally Cat,” she said, lifting the swing-top counter for her.

Even without standing a head taller than Alice, Crystal could be intimidating at the best of times. As the music in the club started up, two fur-covered ears jutting out from a scruffy black pixie cut twitched, and Crystal winced. Her claws dug into the top of the bar, adding to the scratch marks already there.

Alice ducked under her arm, emerging behind the bar.

“Hey,” she said, still out of breath, scrambling to get ready.

While Alice was rushing through the motions—stashing her bag, setting up her side of the bar, checking they were fully stocked—Crystal was leaning against the back counter, watching her. Heavily tattooed arms were folded across her chest, tan skin glowing under the club lights, and she smirked.

“You tried to cut through the square, didn’t you?” Crystal asked. Though the club was now officially open, nobody had wandered in yet for her to serve, so there was still time to talk. Still, Alice knew it wouldn’t be long before the place was packed.

“How’d you know?” Alice was fussing about the bar, trying to get everything set up the way she liked it. No matter how many times she got it just right, somebody always came and messed it up.

“Lucky guess, kid,” Crystal said. “You’re a mess. Come here, I’ll fix your hair.”

Alice obeyed, turning her back to Crystal pull her hair out. Her view was obscured by dirty blonde as Crystal flicked some of it forwards, combing the rest back with her fingers. It only took her a few seconds to pull it up, but even without looking Alice knew it was better than anything she could’ve done herself.

“There you go, now you’ll get all the tips,” Crystal said, spinning Alice back around to face her.

Alice scrunched up her nose. “Sure I will.”

Crystal rolled her eyes, but didn’t get a chance to respond as a group made up of chimeras and humans entered the club, making a beeline for the bar.

“Alright, play time’s over,” she said. “Here comes the crowd.”

*

The night fizzled out soon after last drinks were called, the arrival of 3am bringing an abrupt end to the party. The lights—the real ones—came on, and Alice threw an arm over her eyes with a groan. Her feet were killing her, her back was aching, and all she wanted to do was go home and sleep.

“Alright, I’m about ready to pass out,” she declared, groping blindly under the bar for her backpack.

Crystal snorted. “You and me both, kid. Let’s bounce.”

Alice finally managed to open her eyes, just in time to see Jay leaning across the bar.

“Not so fast, Crystal. You’re staying back to do inventory,” he said.

“That’s Mei’s job!” Crystal already had her bag over her shoulder, one hand on the swing-top counter.

Jay shrugged. “Mei got carted off in an ambulance two hours ago. Some drunk guy knocked her over and she hit her head. Sorry.”

Alice got the feeling he wasn’t sorry at all—as long as he wasn’t the one staying back, he couldn’t care less who did inventory.

When Crystal looked at Alice, she almost seemed afraid.

“Sorry. You mind waiting for me?” she asked.

Alice shook her head. “I’ve got a morning shift in a few hours—I need all the sleep I can get before then.”

“Come on, I always walk you,” Crystal said. “I won’t be long anyway.”

“Hey,” Jay said. “No half-assing it. Sort yourselves out and get on with it.”

As he left, Alice hauled her backpack on and gave Crystal a quick hug.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she said.

Crystal sighed, like she wanted to argue further, but nodded.

“See you tomorrow.”

Alice headed off, waving to the new girl that was on clean-up duty. She remembered being the new girl, after all. At the door she glanced back to the bar, but Crystal was staring at her phone and didn’t even look up to see Alice out.

It was a half hour walk back to her apartment. The bus would get her there in ten minutes, but it stopped at midnight. It was fine. Alice knew the way well, even if she’d never walked it alone in her six months at The Rabbit Hole. Crystal had always gotten her home safe, right from day one.

At least the crowd in the square was gone. The ground was littered with abandoned signs, covered in dirt and footprints, wet with rain that must’ve fallen while Alice was working. She wondered if the police had gotten involved again.

She tried not to think of her encounter in the square earlier. Okay, what was happening to the chimeras was awful, but Alice didn’t have time to worry about fighting a war that wasn’t her own. She had bills to pay, and not enough hours in the day to pay them. Besides, she hadn’t been wanted, that had been made very clear. Whatever. She couldn’t help her genetics any more than they could.

Alice had never understood why people were afraid of chimeras. Sure, she’d been scared in the square, when a guy with a tiger’s claws and sharp teeth had been looming over her, but those weren’t the details that had put fear into her.

It had been the rage behind his eyes, the disgust, the hatred. Alice knew for a fact these things didn’t come from the animal DNA. Those things were human.

Once she was out of the square and off the main road, the streetlights were too far apart. It was the kind of thing that never seemed important when Crystal was with her; Crystal had claws and fangs and strength to fight away the danger that lurked in darkness. Now Alice was acutely aware of the distance between the lights, of the way most of them flickered periodically, of the clicking of her heels breaking the silence.

Her eyes darted to every shadowy corner, every dim alleyway, as she walked. Even though she knew there was nothing to worry about, Alice couldn’t help but quicken her pace.

And as she did, for the briefest of seconds, she could’ve sworn she heard another set of footsteps. As if someone had been walking in sync with her, and been thrown off when she sped up.

Alice risked a glance over her shoulder. Behind her, there was nothing but empty street. She mentally chastised herself. Nobody was following her. She was alone out here, and nearly home. Her exhausted mind was playing tricks on her again, her imagination running wild.

Except every so often, as she walked faster and faster, she heard footsteps that weren’t her own, only getting closer. Each time she looked back, there was no one, just the flickering streetlights and plenty of places for somebody to hide.

Up ahead was her building. Somebody had left the lobby door open again, and rather than frustration Alice felt a rush of relief. The dirty glass door clicked shut behind her, but the lobby light was out again, the only illumination coming through the small window into the stairwell.

Alice ran for it, heaving the door open and slamming it shut behind her. She dared to peek out through the window, watching the street outside, waiting. Her breath fogged up the glass, but she saw no one in the streetlights. The road was empty, silent—it had all been in her head. She was sure of it.

That was, until Alice reached the third floor, and heard somebody running up the stairs after her. She caught a glimpse of a leather jacket as she glanced over the stairwell, and it was all the confirmation she needed. This was real. She was fumbling for her keys as she ran out for the hallway, crying out in pain as she slammed her shoulder into the door, throwing her weight against it to get the damn thing open.

And then Alice ran. She ignored the ache in her feet, turning to stabbing pain as she pushed herself faster. Outside her apartment the keys slipped from her trembling hands. She tried to breath, tried to keep her hands from shaking, sliding the key into the lock right as the heavy stairwell door slammed open.

Alice didn’t look. She didn’t stop, didn’t pause, just pushed the door open, yanked her key out, and slammed it shut behind her.

It was only as Alice turned to sink down against the door that she realised she wasn’t alone.

Standing in the middle of her living room was a woman. A chimera. Two dark, ribbed horns curled up out of her forward, twisting backwards. There was a gun in her hands, and it was aimed straight at Alice.

“Where is it?” she demanded, voice wavering. Alice went to take a step back, but her shoulders met the wood of the door.

Around her, Alice’s entire apartment had been turned upside down. Her mother’s law books lay scattered and open on the floorboards. Every cupboard in her kitchen was open, pots and pans and food strewn about. The drawers on her tiny desk had been ripped out and upended over the floor. Every photo had been removed from its frame.

The woman growled, waving the gun, and Alice stopped looking past her.

“Where is it?” the woman repeated, this time taking a threatening step forward.

Alice whimpered, trying to back up, willing herself to somehow magically melt through the door. And then she saw something that made her blood run cold.

As the woman got closer, Alice noticed a tattoo beneath her right eye. It was an upside-down triangle, inside of it a simple depiction of the horns of the girl’s head. It would’ve been innocuous, if it wasn’t the symbol for the Natural Order.

The chimera in Alice’s house was a terrorist.

“I don’t—what?” Alice couldn’t think. Her mind was racing a million miles an hour, her chest feeling so tight she didn’t know if she’d ever take another breath again. Her hands shook, her knees wobbled, and tears slipped down her cheeks. Was she going to die?

“I need it! There’s no time anymore, we have to stop them,” the woman said, but she wasn’t angry. She was scared. She was begging.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Alice sounded as frantic as the intruder.

She wished she’d waited for Crystal. She wished her mom or dad were still alive. She wished she wasn’t so terrified that she couldn’t even move.

“If it’s not here…” The woman’s gaze travelled to Alice’s bag. “You must have it on you!”

Alice didn’t even know what ‘it’ was, but as the woman grabbed her bag, Alice found herself being yanked forward with it. Somebody braver would’ve taken the opportunity to run, or to fight back, but not Alice. Scared, weak Alice. All she did was scream.

And for once, that might have been a good thing.

In the same instant Alice was pulled away from the door, the wood around the lock exploded in a shower of splinters. The remains of the door flew open, slamming against the wall, and now somebody was pulling Alice backwards, forcing her to stumble out into the hallway.

She opened her mouth to scream again, but never got the chance. Someone else ran past her, a flash of black hair and tan skin—Crystal?

The scream caught in her throat, barely able to see between being pulled away and the tears in her eyes, Alice was sure that was Crystal running straight at the armed chimera. Before the intruder could even comprehend what was happening, Crystal had flipped her onto her back, looming over her on all fours as they both grappled for the gun.

“Get her out of here!” Crystal yelled.

Alice finally looked back, to whoever it was that had dragged her away. Her eyes rose to meet a familiar face, the boy from the protest rally, the one with the dog ears. What was he doing here? There was a spark of recognition in his eyes, and he stopped trying to drag her away. Alice felt herself about to fall, but then his hands were on her arms, keeping her upright.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

A gunshot, impossibly loud, stopped Alice from replying.

She tried to spin around, but the boy was still holding her in place.

“You don’t want to look,” he warned.

“Crystal!” Alice screamed, and by now her neighbours were peeking out of their apartments. She twisted in the boy’s grip, craning her neck, and—oh God, the woman was dead.

Crystal had gotten hold of the gun, and shot her. She was still holding it now, shoulders heaving, hands as steady as if she were pouring drinks at the bar.

Throwing the gun down, Crystal refused to look at Alice as she came into the hall. Her shirt was black, but Alice could see wet spots shining under the hallway lights. Blood.

“Did you call the police?” The question was directed at the boy, Crystal still not looking at Alice.

“The moment I heard the scream.” He was still supporting Alice’s weight, when all she wanted to do was collapse in a heap. She could barely get a breath in, her chest aching with each attempt, and a moment later her knees gave out.

“Is she okay?” Now Crystal was worried about her, hands on her shoulders, checking her over for damage, but still not meeting her gaze.

“She’s having a panic attack,” the boy said.

Crystal sunk to the ground with her, and only then did she look Alice in the eyes. Alice didn’t like what she saw. It was like looking at a stranger.

“Did you…was that karate?” It wasn’t the question Alice should be asking. She should’ve been demanding to know why Crystal was here, what was going on, who the hell that woman was, but none of that was what came out when she opened her mouth.

Crystal let out a strangled sound, halfway between a laugh and a choked-back sob.

“Taekwondo,” she said, a watery smile on her face. “I’m a little rusty. I haven’t had much practice the last few years.”

“Oh.” All Alice could do was nod, because her eyes had slipped past Crystal, to the woman sprawled on the floor of her apartment.

The chimera’s eyes were glassy, dead, and staring straight at her. The only thought in Alice’s head was that the blood was going to be a bitch to get out of her carpet.

“Alice?” Crystal held Alice’s face in her hands, turning it away from the apartment. “Alice? Talk to me.”

Alice tried to focus on her voice, but it sounded wrong, distorted, like she was underwater. Somewhere in the distance, sirens were growing louder. Alice barely noticed any of it. Behind Crystal, she could still see the dead woman’s hand, reaching out towards her.

Chapter 2

#WIP #Chimera #my writing #long post #like really long #I'm sorry