#is it just a way to fill in for the fact I haven’t drawn anything since last week

[its-all-stardust]

Sugar || 2

Masterlist || Part One || Part Three

Steven Grant/Sugar Mommy!Reader

Word count: 3.8k

Series Summary: You meet Steven in a museum gift shop and feel an instant connection. Before you walk out the door you decide, perhaps against your better judgment, that you need him to be your sugar baby. Now you just need him to let you treat him right.

You finish making your way through the rest of the museum with a little time to spare. Unfortunately, you barely remember a single thing you looked at. Your thoughts were consumed by one particular gift shop clerk.

When you’ve finished with the last exhibit, you find your feet taking you back to the Ancient Egyptian section.

When you left the shop earlier, you told yourself you wouldn’t be so impulsive. You know where Steven works. You can always clear an hour or two in your schedule and make your way back after running a proper background check. But you can’t stand the thought of waiting.

You’ve never been so impulsive, especially not when inviting people into your life. Not when it comes to letting them so close and paying them to do it.

But you’re drawn to this man—this stranger more than you’ve ever been drawn to anyone else. Part of you wonders if it’s because all the others in the game have specific goals in mind. For most, their personalities were akin to sharks hunting for blood, not looking for anything other than what you and others with wealth could give them.

Not all sugar babies are bad; the ones you were involved with weren’t. You preferred them not to act entitled to you or your money. You needed them to know that just because you could pay for anything they could dream of, it didn’t make them any better than someone else—or better than who they were before they started getting into these arrangements. You need people you actually enjoy being around, spending time with. A connection on some level. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Admittedly, you liked it when they were new to the game and had never had a mommy or daddy before. There’s nothing quite like taking someone and showing them all the good things they deserve. 

You have a feeling Steven will be like that, the light in his eyes shining brighter than any of your previous babies because of the mere random chance of it all and the disbelief that he could have such things.

As the gift shop comes into view, you pray Steven is still there. The museum’s closing in an hour. Depending on when he started his shift, he may already be gone for the day. You don’t think your pounding heart can take it if he isn’t behind the counter or sweeping up another mess.

Stepping inside, you deflate when you don’t see him. In fact, you don’t see anyone. The shop is empty. No Steven, no Donna, or even another employee to be found. Frustrated with yourself for being so disappointed about not finding a stranger, you turn to leave, already reprimanding yourself in your mind for acting like this.

“Oh, hello,” someone calls. You slowly turn back around, relief filling you.

“Hello,” you reply, facing Steven as you try to control your expression. You’re a professional; you should act like it.

“You again!” Then he cringes, face flushing. “Not that I mean that in a bad way. It’s just…usually, people only stop in here the one time, especially after I’ve scared them off.”

“You haven’t scared me off.” You walk up to him, stepping closer than he got to you earlier.

“No?” he asks, confused.

You shake your head. “I said I’d see you around.”

Steven shrugs. “People just say that. They don’t actually mean it.”

“I don’t lie, Steven. When I say something, I mean it.”

He appears flustered then, blinking rapidly in disbelief and looking around the shop like he doesn’t know what to do.

“You erm…” His eyes catch on something. “You didn’t buy anything earlier. Did you want one of the Horus figurines?” He rushes to the display, grabbing one of the birds to hold out to you.

You follow, stepping close. Without taking your eyes off Steven, you take the bird from his hand and put it back onto the display.

“I want to take you to dinner,” you say.

“You do?” Steven asks, a little breathless.

You nod. “When’s your next free evening?”

“Tomorrow,” he quickly answers. Good. You like that he’s not questioning you and is quick to answer.

Smiling, you name a restaurant, one of your favorites. It’s not the most expensive place, but it’s not one Steven would likely visit regularly and probably only on special occasions. You doubt working in a museum gift shop pays very much.

“You’ll be there at six.” You’re not asking, needing to see how well he’ll listen to you.

“I’ll be there at six,” Steven repeats.

“The reservation will be under my name.” You give it to him, which he softly repeats as well.

You take a step back, and Steven sucks in a breath as if it was his first since you decided to stand so close.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Steven.”

“Grant,” he hastily blurts when you turn to leave. “Steven Grant. My name.”

You smile at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Steven Grant.”

You walk into the restaurant precisely at six. Some would say you’re punctual to a fault, but you simply find it to be a common courtesy—though it really isn’t that common.

You don’t like your time being wasted and try not to waste others’. It’s rather disrespectful, in your eyes, to ignore set deadlines or meeting times. There’s a reason that time was chosen, after all.

And even though you’ve technically arrived on time, you consider yourself late. You like arriving at least a few minutes beforehand, but your last meeting of the day ran long. One of the department heads liked the sound of his own voice a little too much and couldn’t seem to get to the point. And that’s not going into how it annoyed you that it couldn’t happen earlier in the day due to so many schedule conflicts between you and all the heads.

You also wanted to be early to see Steven arrive. It would allow you to see what he’s like when he doesn’t know you’re looking. Your oft-requested table gives you an excellent view of the door without being directly in front of it, making whoever you’re eating with search for you and giving you time to examine them before they put on their mask—if they have one.

As you look toward your table, you see Steven already seated. He doesn’t see you, though. He’s too busy fidgeting with his askew tie. The collar of his dress shirt isn’t in any better condition, but despite his outfit, he was able to tame his curly hair fairly well.

You continue to stare as you’re led to the table, but Steven, so lost in his thoughts, doesn’t notice until you’re seated and handed menus.

“Oh!” he exclaims when the menu is put in front of his face. Then he finally looks up and sees you across from him. “You’re here.”

He looks a little stunned, and you smile.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, it’s just… You know.” Steven laughs awkwardly.

“No, I don’t know.” That could mean a hundred different things; you’d rather not guess and pick wrong.

He shifts in his chair, uncomfortable. “I… wasn’t quite sure if this was real, to be honest. Was wondering if I was going to show up just to find out you were having a laugh.” He laughs again, trying to play it off as a joke, but it’s obvious that was a genuine concern for him.

“Has someone done that to you before?” you ask casually, though underneath you silently seethe. It doesn’t make sense to you how someone could be that cruel. It especially irks you that it may have happened to Steven. You already feel protective of him even though he hasn’t even heard your proposition yet, let alone accepted it.

“Not exactly,” Steven says, though he doesn’t look you in the eye and takes a large gulp of water.

You don’t press the subject. “Do you believe me now when I say I don’t lie?”

He meets your eyes then and sets his water down.

“Yeah, I do,” he says softly.

“Good. Remember that.” You don’t want him to forget because you know how your offer will sound when you finally get around to it.

“So what’ll you be having?” you ask, changing your focus to the menu. You’re eyeing your favorite while wondering if you should try something different.

Steven fumbles his menu a little as he opens it. “Do they have anything vegan?”

The question makes your brain short-circuit.

“...I don’t know,” you say apologetically. “I’m sorry. I should have thought to ask—”

“That’s alright,” Steven quickly interrupts. “I can usually find something.

“I still should have been more considerate.” You get like that sometimes, so focused on what you want and how to get it that you…forget others aren’t like you. You don’t do it maliciously, and you try not to be like that at all.

You got excited about Steven. You met him, and in the span of a few minutes, you decided you wanted him. You almost berate yourself again for not doing this the proper way. If you had, you would have known something as basic as his dietary restrictions.

You make a mental note to do better next time.

“Normally, I try to mention it, but…I was a little overwhelmed,” Steven admits. His eyes aren’t downcast at the menu like you had expected. Instead, he meets your eyes easily.

He meant it to be reassuring like it was his fault, but you only end up feeling a twinge of shame.

“I did come on quite strong, didn’t I?” You’re not exactly sorry for it, but you know you’re too much for some people. You’re afraid you’re too much for Steven.

“I liked it.” Steven quickly says before his eyes widen, and his face flushes, embarrassed. You don’t know why; you appreciate the honesty, the words draining the tension from you. You haven’t scared him off yet.

Maybe…maybe he’s afraid he’s too much for you.

“You did?” you ask, needing to be sure Steven wasn’t just saying that. Similar to his assumption that you didn’t actually mean it when you said you wanted to see him again.

“Of course I did.” Steven’s cheeks are still flushed, but he doesn’t hesitate.

“That’s good,” you say, relieved. You smile at Steven, to which he happily returns.

The two of you manage to order dinner. Steven found a quite delicious-sounding pasta dish he could have while you stuck with your favorite, needing the comfort and familiarity of it.

While you wait for the food to arrive, you make small talk. You’re not exactly a fan of it most of the time. It’s tedious, and people tend to say a lot while saying nothing at all because they can’t stand sitting in silence. With Steven, though, it’s not terrible, not to mention necessary. 

The two of you know nothing about each other, and he needs to know where you’re coming from, what you can offer. You start out slowly, talking about your interests and hobbies before moving on to company. You talked about how you started it and how it grew. You don’t say anything about money, not yet. People can be funny when wealth is brought up. And you respect Steven enough to trust that he can figure it out for himself. The prices on the menu, while not the most expensive in the city, are higher than what the average person could comfortably afford on a regular basis. And then there are your clothes, sleek and stylish, quietly saying, ‘I paid money for these.’ There’s even the bag on your arm. If someone isn’t familiar with the brand, should they even make out the logo, they can tell the quality.

To your relief, he seems to take it all in stride. His eyes widened when he seemed to realize what all it meant, but the surprise didn’t linger, his expression didn’t turn predatory, and he didn’t ask the typical “So how much money do you make in a year?” while drooling over what it could mean to be with you.

Over the years, you’ve learned to tame yourself. Never talk too much about yourself all at once and ask questions about the other person at the right time—even if they interrupt you and you can’t finish your thought. Steven, however, never interrupted to talk more about himself, letting you talk as long as you wanted, even prompting you to talk more when you stalled. He even seems to lack your same sense of needing to hold back.

Once he got started on his book collection, his fish, Egypt, he didn’t stop. You let him go, struck by how much he was willing to share about his interests like he wasn’t afraid of what you would think. Or at least, that’s what you thought it was before he stumbled over his words and apologized for talking so much. You didn’t mind. You liked seeing his face light up when he spoke about things he genuinely cared about. It was much nicer than the dull, bored expression most people had when they didn’t know what to talk about.

Dinner hasn’t progressed very far—you’re only halfway through your meal and plan on getting dessert—but you’ve decided. You thought you already had when you couldn’t leave the museum without asking him to dinner, but the more you talk with him, the more you just know.

A part of you thinks you shouldn’t ask and let this be a proper, old-fashioned date. Let yourself have a proper partner.

But then you remember when you’ve tried that in the past. Remember how your heart broke when they all decided they didn’t love you. When they stopped pretending they cared when they weren’t getting what they wanted out of you. Eventually, that was your money once you far surpassed the bar of what would be considered successful for most people.

That was when you decided that if money was all someone wanted from you, that’s what you would give them. Then, they wouldn’t have to pretend to be in love with you, and your overwhelming desire to care for someone could be met. Plus, there was the added bonus of telling someone exactly what you wanted and expected from them, and they obeyed without question. It makes it easier than a regular romantic relationship would be.

You like Steven, but there’s no guarantee he won’t leave you heartbroken if you let him in that way. So no, he can’t be your boyfriend. 

But he can be your sugar baby.

It’s safer that way.

The conversation comes to a lull, and you decide to pounce.

“I have a proposition for you if you’d like to hear it,” you say, suddenly nervous. You’ve never asked a baby to be yours without knowing well in advance that they would say yes.

What will you do if Steven says no? There’s no taking an offer to be someone’s sugar mommy back, no way to laugh it off, and then ask him to be your boyfriend. You’re well aware this isn’t what ordinary people do, so ordinary people have a hard time truly talking about it.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Steven asks, brow furrowed slightly, though there’s a slight smile on his lips.

“I’d like to take care of you if you’d let me.” There, the words are out, and you were even able to look him in the eye when you said it. A small victory in itself for you.

Steven’s smile drops, confusion falling over his face. “Sorry? What do you mean exactly?”

You’ve never had to explain it to someone before. Even the brand-new babies you’ve had knew what they were signing up for when you connected with them.

“I don’t have children or family of any sort, but I like taking care of people. I have more money than I could ever spend in several lifetimes, and yes, while I do donate quite a bit, it’s not the same as giving one person everything they want when they couldn’t have it otherwise.” You pause, but Steven doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at his plate, stunned.

You decide to continue.

“I like you, Steven, and I don’t like very many people, not really. But with you, I know, and I would like to have your company. You would be compensated, obviously, and I could give you anything you’ve ever dreamed of. If you asked for the moon, I would find a way to pay for it if it made you happy.”

You aren’t usually so blatant about showering a new baby with money and gifts, practically begging them to accept what you can give. It mostly kept them from seeing you as a piggy bank and more as a person. But it’s different with Steven.

“That’s…that’s very…” Steven trails off. He keeps shifting nervously in his seat, unable to look at you.

You’ve made him uncomfortable, and your stomach drops. You drop your eyes to your plate, your favorite meal turning sour in your mouth. You wonder if you’ll be able to eat it again after this.

“Like a…like a sugar baby?” Steven whispers as he looks around the restaurant, afraid of being overheard. It makes you wince.

This was a mistake.

“That’s exactly what it is, yes.” There’s no point in trying to sugarcoat it.

Your eyes flick up to meet his before quickly dropping again. You push your food around on your plate, no longer hungry.

“Aren’t I a little old for that?” Steven laughs, sounding a little hysterical.

“Only if I were a pervert who wasn’t interested in anyone over twenty-five,” you say without thinking. You don’t usually speak like that unless you’re with close friends, especially since some of the other mand daddies you associate with do, indeed, only seek those in their twenties. Steven’s reaction has you so distressed you’re starting to lose your filter.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not that, then,” he laughs, sounding calmer. Surprised, you finally look up.

Steven looks hesitant, but not like he’s going to run for the hills. Not right now, anyway.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asks softly.

“Of course I am.” You don’t look away when you say it. You can’t.

Steven does, though, staring down at his plate and twirling his form in his hand.

“... I’ll need to think about it, obviously,” he says, and you’re shocked, to say the least.

While it’s not a yes, it definitely isn’t the ‘no’ you were starting to expect. Yet.

“You can take however long you need,” you tell him. He doesn’t need to answer you today. You weren’t expecting him to.

Steven nods. “Let’s finish dinner for now, yeah? Unless you want to leave?”

The words make you laugh, no doubt sounding a little hysterical yourself. “I’m surprised you don’t want to!”

“I’m willing to keep an open mind,” he says.

You nod. “That’s all I can ask for.”

The rest of dinner goes fairly smoothly, though there’s a lingering tension in the air, an expectation that had been set yet not met. You decide against dessert. What started as a fun dinner has left you feeling nauseous even though Steven hasn’t outright turned you down.

When the waiter arrives with the black leather booklet holding the check, he hands it directly to you like he knows. He probably does; you’ve brought babies here before. You don’t even think twice, only glancing at the bill that can’t even be considered a blip in your finances before placing a card inside and handing it back.

Steven is fumbling with his wallet all the while.

“I invited you. Dinner’s on me,” you say, figuring he’d take that better than trying to explain how you never intended for him to pay for anything tonight.

“Shouldn’t I…? I mean, I’m the—” Steven cuts himself off at your raised eyebrow. “You know what? Nevermind. Thank you,” he finished quickly, shoving his wallet back into his pocket.

“You’re welcome.”

You both go silent.

“You’re really going to consider it? Because it’s okay to say no right now.” You have to say it. You’d prefer Steven be upfront with you and decline now rather than ghost you, never to speak to you again.

“I don’t know if I want to say no,” Steven admits. “It really is a lot to think about, and it’s not like I know what I’m doing. And I really do like you, so I’m not going to tell you to bugger off just because I wasn’t expecting something like this to happen.”

“You’re not insulted?”

“Should I be? Isn’t the more appropriate response to be flattered?”

“And are you?” you can’t help but ask. 

Steven looks down shyly, his face flushing once again. “I am.”

A smile threatens to spread across your lips, but you try to tame it.

You turn away from him and grab your bag. Digging inside, you pull out the small notebook you keep for notes and a pen. You rip out a page from the notebook and write down your phone number.

“Take your time letting me know,” you say, sliding the paper across the table to Steven.

He stares at it for a moment, perhaps trying to memorize the number, before carefully slipping it into his pocket.

“Do you need a ride home?” you ask, standing, sliding your bag onto your arm.

“N-no, I’ll be alright, thanks,” Steven stammers, quickly standing and bumping the table.

You can’t tell if he’s trying to be polite or distance himself from you. Either way, you want to push the topic, so used to giving your babies everything, asking after their needs, but you don’t. Steven hasn’t agreed, and you don’t want to pressure him into a decision. It’s a choice he has to make for himself, or the relationship will never work.

But there is something else you can do to show him that you care.

“Do you mind if I…?” You gesture toward his tie.

“No?” he answers, clearly not understanding what you’re asking.

You don’t clarify. Instead, you step close and reach for his tie. Steven goes still, his breath catching, as you loosen his tie and fix the collar of his shirt. You straighten it, pulling it down from where Steven had it placed a little too high on his neck. Then you cinch the tie back up, making sure it lays straight, and smooth a hand down it—down his chest—before stepping back. The slight change makes all the difference, making him look more put together than he had just a moment ago.

You want to do that for him more often.

“There.” When you look up, Steven’s pupils are blown wide, his face flushed. “Shall we?”

“Mhmm,” Steven hums, making you smile.

Outside the restaurant, you spot your car, the driver having pulled up to the entrance to wait for you.

“I hope to hear from you, Steven,” you say softly. 

You’ve grown a little too attached, you think. You’ll be devastated if he says no. Even worse, perhaps, if he doesn’t respond at all.

“You will,” he promises with a firm nod.

Taglist: @multific

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfic #x reader #sugar series

[thedevilrisen]

Trust Me Mate

Jack Hughes x Y/N

Description: Based on the song 'Trust me mate' by Dean Lewis.

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Would be greatly appreciated if you could reblog. I love talking to people so say Hi if you want to. Feel Free to send in requests as well. I'm happy to write for most hockey players.

Warnings: Alcohol, Throwing up - I think that's it ( let me know if I missed more.)

-Sincerely thedevilrisen.

you’re pulling out your cigarette

you bring it up toward your lips

you breathe and push the smoke away just like you do with all your friends

I rapped my knuckles against the door three times, underneath the gold 126 plaque helping anyone unknown find this apartment. I wasn’t unknown though, I’ve been here hundreds of times, walked up the 13 flights of stairs for three months straight when the elevator broke to get here.  The dull thud of footsteps alerted me to the fact that you were coming to the door. The gentle click of the lock and opening of the door as far as the chain allowed me to get my first glimpse of her face in a month. 

“Can you let me in please.” I asked. She shut the door, I heard the slide of the chain bolt and then the door opened fully revealing her.

“Jack.  What are you doing here?” she whispered exasperated, moving to the side to let me into her dark apartment.

“I haven’t heard from you in a month Y/N.” I spoke examining her apartment as we walked further in, “I’ve been worried about you.”

“Well I’m fine Jack. Now if that’s all you’ve come to do, you can leave.” she concluded.  Crossing her arms across her chest. Why are you self-conscious around me, Y/N? I thought. 

“I left my good water bottle in your room the last time I was here. I’m just going to go get it.” I whispered, looking down as I made my way down the hallway to her room.

your room is messy and full of clothes

the curtains drawn, the Windows closed.

when did the person that i loved turn into someone i don't know

Stepping over clothes, and empty alcohol bottles strewn across the room I made my way to the wooden dresser where my water bottle is perched on the corner. All the photos that normally sit proudly on top of the dresser drawers were laid face down, draws half opened with clothes half falling out of some and an overflowing hamper basket that looks like it has a month's worth of laundry piled in it. Dust had piled on the window sills and the metal slats of the blinds. 

“Jack, stop snooping!” she shouted, voice wavering, tears brimming her eyes. “Get your water bottle and go!” 

“Y/N..” I mumbled

i say it's time we have to talk

“No Jack!” she shouted again, silent tears running down her cheek as she walked out of her room. “We don’t need to!”

you make a move towards the door and you deny there's anything to hide or answer for

you say, ‘I don't don't want you in my place just get the fuck out of my face’

“No Y/N! I’m not leaving you like this!” I yelled back, stepping back and running a hand down my face.

“Please Jack, just leave me be. I’m fine I promise.” she begged, hands clasped at her chest. 

“Fine.” I grit out through my teeth, reaching for the door. “Bye Y/N.”

“Bye!” she returned angrily.

but I won't give up so easy 'cause I know you'd do the same

DING. The elevator doors opened and I walked in, pressing the 13 and watching as the doors closed and the numbers on the screen above the panel changed,  counting as they went up, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13. The doors hummed as they opened letting me walk down the all too familiar hallway, patting my back pocket to make sure I brought the spare key I had to her apartment with me just in case she wouldn’t let me in, my other hand had the paper handles of a shopping bag filled with goodies dangling from my fingers. 

126, the gleaming numbers shone back at me, my left hand raising to the door and hitting my knuckles against the wood three times. Just like always. Waiting for a minute or so before knocking again. Anxiously waiting on a response as the minutes passed by, I continued staring at the gilded numbers. “Fuck this.” I mumbled, reaching around and pulling the silver key out of my back pocket and fumbling to slot it into the lock. CLICK. “Success!” I whispered, pushing the door open tentatively, taking a step inside the still darkened apartment. “Y/N?” I questioned into the eerie silence. “I know you didn’t want me here, but I can’t leave you like this. Y/N?” Moving toward her room and opening the door, light was coming from the bathroom along with sounds of gut-wrenching sobs and heaving. Dropping the bag I had clutched in my hand and rushing to the door, pushing it open and reclining at the sight before me. Y/N curled up on the cold tile floor of the shower, sobbing and dry heaving a bottle of whiskey knocked over and discarded to her right.

But trust me mate you've got this you always were the strongest but I'm not gonna promise that this won't hurt

you  were lying in the bathroom we almost thought we lost you

cause tryna numb the pain only makes it worse

I'm not giving up on you.

“J-Jack, I-i.. leave please.” she sobbed weakly. Heart breaking I moved to where she sat and slid down the wall to her height.

“I can’t do that Y/N.” I mumbled, bringing her shaking form into my arms. Hand rubbing soothingly up and down her back as she sniffled.

“Why Jack!” she cried sitting up, eyes red and puffy, pupils blown. 

“Because I love you Y/N.” I spoke calmly. 

“No, you don’t, you can’t love someone like me.” she wailed.

“Yes I can. I truly love and want to help you, but I need to know what’s wrong.”

“Can we just sit here for a bit?”

“We can do whatever you want.”

And if it gets worst

before it gets better

Don't be afraid to fall cause i won't let you

And if it gets worst

Before it gets better

Don't be afraid to fall

#risen rambles :d #jack hughes blurb #jamie drysdale x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes

[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 7) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Chapter 7

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. As you drive down your street on the way back from work, there’s more wrong with it than usual. You’re not the only one who sees it. Keigo leaves off bitching about the fact that you used his credit card to buy everybody’s lunch and sits bolt upright in his seat. “Shit,” he says. “What is he doing out?”

You could ask the same question. You probably should. There’s a man standing just in front of your fence, barely leaning over it, and something is quite obviously wrong with him. You’d know it was Dabi even without Keigo’s reaction – half of Dabi is alive and human, and the other half of him is made of swirling smoke, filling gaps in his torso, on his right arm, on the lower half of his face. It’s horrifying to look at, but you’re equally horrified by what’s happening on the other side of the fence. Tomura’s there, fully materialized and clearly pissed off. You’ve never seen him go that far out into the yard before.

“Park here,” Keigo says, even though you’re only a few feet from the driveway. He’s out of the car before you’ve stopped rolling, and you barely manage to turn the keys before scrambling out after him.

You’re both in a hurry, but you’re both too slow. You hear Dabi say something indistinct, hear him laugh – and then he yelps. “Hey, what the shit? Let go of me!”

He’s leaned too far over the fence, and Tomura’s grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “Oh, fuck,” Keigo says. He bolts, and so do you – you grabbing Tomura’s hands and trying to peel them off, and Keigo seizing Dabi around his semi-immaterial waist and hauling him backwards. “Come on, let him go! What are you even going to do with him if you drag him in there?”

“Whatever I want,” Tomura hisses. “He came to my house. He asked for it.”

“What did he do?”

Tomura’s face flushes instantly. Dabi cackles, which is a mistake, because Tomura renews his grip on Dabi’s shirt and drags him forward again. Keigo’s not going to be able to convince Tomura to let go. There’s only one person in the neighborhood who regularly succeeds in convincing Tomura of anything. “Hey,” you say, and he looks at you. “Is this going to take long? I’m tired and we need to talk.”

Tomura lets go of Dabi, and Dabi and Keigo tumble back into the street, Keigo on the bottom. He swears, and so does Dabi, and two seconds later they’re in the middle of what Hizashi would call a domestic. “What the hell are you doing out here?” Keigo demands. “Somebody could see you!”

“So what? I don’t care. I look good.”

“You came out here to pick a fight, didn’t you?” Keigo looks honestly pissed. You’ve lived here for a year, and you haven’t seen him get mad like this before. “You’re crazy. That guy could kill you. He could turn you to dust in two seconds flat and you came out here like an idiot to poke him through the fence with a stick!”

You’re pretty sure Keigo’s using a metaphor. Tomura doesn’t know how metaphors work. “He didn’t poke me with a stick,” he says. “He came over here and he wouldn’t shut up –”

“I was helping! He’s out here trying to get laid and he can’t even figure out where to put his –”

Suddenly you understand why Tomura looks so pissed and uncomfortable. Keigo gets it, too. “You’re out of your mind,” he explodes. He struggles out from underneath Dabi, grabs him by the shoulders, and shoves him down hard in the street. “I could tell them all kinds of stories about things you couldn’t figure out! Do you want me to go there? Really?”

“Go for it. Maybe he’d learn something!”

Three posts in your fence shatter, blasting outwards. You’re pretty sure Tomura can’t leave the property without demolishing the entire house, but Phantom’s in the yard, too, so you move to block the hole. “That’s enough,” you snap. “Dabi, it’s great to finally meet you. Stay the fuck away from my house.”

“You should be thanking me,” Dabi says. His mouth tilts in a leer that looks twenty kinds of wrong. “Seriously. I mean it. At least now you know for sure that he knows what his –”

Another few panels in your fence blow out. You can’t block both breaches at once, and as you’re trying to figure out what to do, the loudest voice you’ve ever heard blasts down the street. Keigo and Dabi quit fighting and clamp their hands over their ears, and the sound is loud enough to temporarily dematerialize Tomura. You cower, barely able to filter the words through the noise. “Just what do you clowns think you’re doing?”

It’s Hizashi. He’s loping down the street towards the four of you, smiling in a way that makes you want to run for your life. “This is cute,” he remarks. “Or it would be if you were a bunch of five-year-olds throwing a collective temper tantrum. As it is, it’s just sad.”

You’re still pretty much scared shitless, but you don’t like being talked down to. “Do you think anybody’s having fun over here?”

“You clearly aren’t. I feel a little bad for you,” Hizashi says. “Unfortunately, since this circus act contains your monkey, you’re involved, too. Want to tell me what you all are fighting about?”

No one says anything. Dabi’s dropped the I-was-helping act. He looks legitimately wary of Hizashi. “Here’s what I think happened,” Hizashi says. He takes a few steps closer, right into the middle of the mess on the sidewalk. “I think Dabi got jealous that somebody else is happy and came over here to start trouble. Then I think Tomura displayed his standard piss-poor self-control and rose to whatever pathetic bait Dabi offered, at which point you two got home –”

He points at you and Keigo. “And got right in the middle of it. Did I get all that right?”

“Not jealous.”

“You think we can’t all feel it?” Hizashi laughs. “The only people who can keep secrets on this street are the humans. I know the two of you aren’t too stupid to know that.”

“Call me stupid one more time and I’ll end you,” Tomura snarls. “I didn’t start this!”

“Do you think I give a shit who started it?” Hizashi’s voice rattles your bones. “I care about the exposure, and so should the two of you! You aren’t the ones who will suffer if we’re found.”

“Nobody’s going to find us.” Tomura dematerializes slightly, and for the first time, you feel his influence extend, dark and purposeful, spreading over the neighborhood and out into the wetlands that surround it. “Nobody can see past me.”

“No, but anybody driving by can see the scar wraith prancing around in the street.” Aizawa’s here now, too. When you look up the street to the purple house, you can see the front door hanging open, Shinsou and Eri peering out. “Did you find it?”

For a second you’re not sure who he’s talking to. Then you realize he’s looking directly at you, and that he and Hizashi are both standing between you and your car. If you can’t get the documents before they can, they’re not going to tell you and Keigo anything. You look at Keigo, panicked, and Keigo starts running interference. “Did you know her boss is a ghost? Big-time one.”

“I knew that,” Tomura snaps. “He snuck into my house.”

“You let a ghost in your house?”

“He’s so human he barely counts,” Tomura says dismissively. You and Tomura are going to have a talk later about the fact that he knew Mr. Yagi was a ghost and didn’t say anything, but right now, you’ve got a job to do. You inch carefully towards your car. “The weakest ghost I’ve ever seen. Even weaker than your kid.”

You add another item to the list of things you have to apologize to Aizawa for. “I’m less concerned with Eri’s strength as a ghost than with her happiness as a person,” Aizawa says coldly. You duck around him and pry open the trunk of your car. “I don’t expect you to understand something like that. I – what are you doing?”

You’ve just lifted the carton full of documents out of your car. “Book it,” Keigo shouts.

You duck around Aizawa again and lurch through one of the two holes in your fence, not stopping until you’re well into the yard. Hizashi tries to follow you, but Tomura’s influence blocks his way. You see him think about testing it, but then he takes a careful step back, baring his teeth in a feral grin. The grin is aimed at you. “You’re going to bring those out here,” he says. “You won’t understand them.”

“I understand enough,” you say. “You’ll get them when you tell us the rest.”

“You don’t get to keep us in the dark,” Keigo says. He’s finally picked himself up off the street. “You two aren’t the only ones who stand to lose something here. We’ll trade you. Everything we know for everything you do.”

“And where is this exchange supposed to take place?” Aizawa asks. He looks pointedly from one side of the street to the other. “Neither of your houses are particularly friendly territory.”

“My human’s not going to your house.” Tomura’s voice rasps painfully through the air. “Outside, where I can see. Here.”

“In the street,” Hizashi says skeptically.

“That’s what I said.”

“My human’s not going to your house, either,” Dabi says. He gestures with one half-materialized hand at your end of the street. “Here.”

“Fabulous! You two dimwits can actually agree on something!” Hizashi’s laughter is harsh. “Tonight, then. Neutral territory. In fact, invite everybody. We’ll call it a block party.”

He’s being sarcastic, but you decide to run with it. “Good idea. We’ll need to tell everybody anyway.”

You text the ghost friends chat standing on the porch, the box of documents sitting safely behind you. Phantom is investigating the holes in the fence, and Tomura keeps shooing her back into the yard. “Come on. Don’t make me hold you upside down. You know you don’t like that.” Phantom tries to nose around Tomura again, completely fails, and whines. “See? You’re not getting out. Go back.”

Phantom trudges back towards you, dejected. “You’d better apologize to your human,” Hizashi says to Tomura. “That fence won’t fix cheap.”

Tomura ignores him. You set the start time of the block party at 8pm – two hours from now. “Between now and then, everyone needs to calm down,” you say. “I don’t know everything, but I know enough to know it’s important. Let’s not mess around with it.”

“You’re the one suppressing the evidence, sweetheart.”

“Zashi,” Aizawa says, or warns. “I agree. We miscalculated initially. This concerns the neighborhood. The neighborhood should work together to address it.”

“Yep.” Keigo brushes dust off himself. Dabi extends one hand to help and Keigo swats it away. “See you at eight.”

“Eight,” you agree. You pick up the documents and bring them inside.

Once the street clears, you park your car in the driveway, retrieve your backpack, and spend a few minutes inspecting the damage to the fence. Unfortunately, Hizashi’s right. It’s not going to be a cheap fix, and until you can fix it, you can’t let Phantom into the front yard. It’s not the end of the world compared to everything else that’s just happened. You’re still not happy about it.

And you’re not the only one in the house who’s unhappy. Tomura’s unhappy, too. You’re not sensitive to his moods the way the ghosts are, but you’ve been living alongside him for the past year, and you’ve never picked up this feeling from him before. It’s something you want to deal with, but you’re not going to deal with it on the run. You change out of your work clothes, spend some time cuddling with Phantom on the floor, then sit down on the couch. “Tomura,” you say, “talk to me.”

“Was it because you’re scared?”

You blink. “What?”

“The guy from across the street.” Tomura’s materialized, sort of. He’s sitting in the corner of the room, one leg kicked out, elbow propped on his bent knee, chin propped on his hand. He’s not looking at you. “He says you did it because you were scared.”

Next time Dabi pokes his head out of Keigo’s house, you’re spraying him with the hose. “He thinks I made out with you in the kitchen because I was scared of you?”

“No. Because you were scared of what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Tomura’s never liked the idea that you’re scared of him, probably because there’s nothing he can do about it, and if he scares you too much, you’ll leave. You thought Dabi was just making fun of Tomura for his inexperience. You didn’t realize Dabi had gone for the throat, and your own throat tightens with nerves. You’re going to have to say this now, and you weren’t planning to say it ever. Maybe you should have been. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not scared of you,” you say again. Tomura rockets to his feet, visibly angry, but you don’t flinch. You don’t flinch when the lights flicker, when the couch lurches suddenly backwards across the floor. “I’m not scared of you, Tomura.”

“You were before! You said I couldn’t make you stop.”

“I was before,” you admit. “And you didn’t make me stop. I stopped on my own. If I was scared of you, I wouldn’t have kissed you.”

You don’t know where he is, but you know he’s in the room – and a moment later he’s in your lap, fully materialized. You were sitting cross-legged, and it must have looked like an invitation to him, because he settles in facing you with his legs hooked over your hips, his eyes intent on your face. “Prove it,” he says, almost desperately, and you kiss him first this time.

You hold his face in your hands, just like you did yesterday, and kiss him slowly, deeply. Slow is good. Deep is good. Neither of those things say that you’re rushing to get it over with, that you’re avoiding getting too involved. You’re not scared of kissing him. You weren’t scared when he blew the fence apart. When he was furious, when he was doing his level best to drag Dabi into the yard and kill him, you weren’t scared of him then, either. You tried to stop him. You didn’t feel even a flicker of fear that he might turn his anger on you.

Lots of things still scare you about the world of ghosts and conjurers. One of those things lives at the top of the street and is probably out for your blood. But you’re not scared of Tomura. Not anymore.

When you draw back, Tomura’s staring at you wide-eyed. His face is flushed again, a totally different flush than the angry one he wore at the fence, and he’s breathing hard. You can’t get over the breathing thing. “Why do you breathe when you don’t need to?”

“When I’m embodied. My body needs things. Like – that.” Tomura makes an awkward gesture, and you resign yourself to going over basic sex vocabulary with him in the near future. “And breathing. You’re not scared of me?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you say. “But I’m mad at you for blowing up my fence.”

“It’s my fence. I can blow it up if I want to.” Tomura sounds like an asshole, like he always does, but the look on his face is the total opposite. You’ve never seen him look like that. “If you’re not scared of me, what are you?”

You don’t really know. You know what you almost said to him when you were hanging up the phone, but that wasn’t right. It couldn’t have been right. “If I want to kiss you again, does it really matter?”

“No,” Tomura decides. He kisses you again. He’s a lot better at it already. Then again, you’ve given him a few chances to practice.

Even if he’s getting better at kissing, Tomura’s still hypersensitive, and it’s not long before he’s squirming in your lap. Last time you were fine with him grinding against you, but this time, you have something else in mind. “I want to help you,” you say. You shove at him until he tips out of your lap, then slide to the floor – at which point Phantom charges you, ready to play. You detour for a second to trap her in the office with a bone to chew on, then come back. Tomura is still sitting there, staring at you. “Is that okay?”

“Help me?” Tomura’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “How?”

You sink to the floor in front of him, nudge his legs apart. “I’m going to use my mouth.”

You wait to see if Tomura will protest. He doesn’t. When you reach up to unbutton his pants, he helps you, his cold hands scrabbling unsteadily at yours until his hard cock springs free. Looking at it, you have to wonder how much control ghosts have over what their bodies look like when they materialize. He’s – sizable. You’re not sure your mouth is up to the task.

Only one way to find out. You lean in for a few delicate licks, and almost instantly you have to bring your weight to bear against Tomura’s thighs to keep him from bucking upwards and giving you a nosebleed. He whines in protest, but you ignore it in favor of giving him something else to think about. You’re a bit out of practice with blowjobs, and this is Tomura’s first, ever. There’s nothing wrong with easing into it a bit, and ease into it you do, pressing messy, openmouthed kisses to the tip of his cock until he’s whimpering for more.

“Please,” he says. You don’t know how you wound up with such a needy ghost, but it’s hot – so much hotter than the men you’ve been with before, who kept it to a few brief grunts and hard, unasked-for pressure on the back of your head. “I need it. I need more. You – ah –”

You take him into your mouth slowly, trying not to gag. There’s no way you can take it all, so you supplement with your hand, trying to replicate the same pressure and warmth. You’ve still got Tomura’s thighs pinned, and you feel his muscles trembling, trying to hold himself still, trying to hold himself together. You glance sideways and see his fingernails digging furrows into the couch cushions. The thought occurs to you that you should take his hand, hold it, but that’s weird. You’re not that weird. You might be giving a blowjob to the ghost that lives in your house, but you’re definitely not that weird.

Another thought occurs to you, and you draw back, trying to ignore the agonized gasp that escapes Tomura’s mouth. “The others. Do they know how you’re feeling right now?”

“Trying to hide it.” Tomura speaks through gritted teeth. “I can from the younger ones. Not the adults. I can’t. Not all the way –”

“Don’t try,” you say. Tomura’s eyes widen. His pupils are so dilated that you can barely see his red irises. “Let them know. I’m not scared of you. This is how not-scared I am.”

By “them”, you mean Dabi, and Tomura knows it. A lopsided grin crosses his face. You hold his gaze and lower your mouth to his cock again, watching as the smile slips from his face, seeing how fast the desperation settles back in. This is the first time you’ve had anything approaching a decent view of him as he goes to pieces, and it’s incredible. Your own heart is racing, and the sheen of sweat beginning to coat your skin has nothing to do with the effort you’re expending to hold him down. Part of you is wondering when you got so submissive. But as Tomura moans and writhes beneath your mouth, you realize that it’s not submission – it’s power. You’re capable of doing this to him. All of this – the sounds, the shaking, the impotent jerks of his hips – is because of you, and it’s making you absurdly wet.

Most guys know to warn the person blowing them that they’re about to come, but you figure you can’t count on that for Tomura, and you’re right. He holds out longer than you’re expecting him to, probably in an effort to keep sticking it to Dabi as long as possible, but his resolve snaps with next to no warning. You try to take him as far down your throat as you can, to limit your initial exposure to ghost cum, and it sort of works. There’s texture to it, but no taste, just like there’s no taste when you kiss him.

You draw back, rubbing the corner of your jaw to work out the ache, and look him over. He’s sprawled out on the couch, shirt hiked up, pants undone, and fading rapidly. Part of you feels weird letting him dematerialize looking like such a mess, and even though the rest of you is way too proud of the mess you made of him, you duck back into button his pants again, straighten out his shirt. Then, as you’re pulling away, he grabs you, pulling you down into a kiss – which he vanishes in the middle of, leaving you to narrowly avoid a faceplant into the couch cushions. You collapse onto the couch sideways instead. “Asshole.”

Tomura laughs, low and raspy and breathless. “Stay down,” he says. “I’m not done with you.”

A jolt goes down your spine. “What –”

A pair of hands shove you over onto your back. Tomura’s not anywhere close to completely materialized, but you can feel the shadow of his weight on top of you, settling between your legs, forcing them apart. “I already told you,” he says. His hands materialize, pulling at the waistband of your pants. “I want this. You want it, too. That’s why you look like that.”

You think of the heat in your face, the racing of your heart. Your days of hiding behind a fever are over. “Wait,” you gasp, as Tomura yanks at your underwear. “Let me do it. You can watch. I’ll show you –”

“I don’t need to watch.” Tomura materializes just enough for you to see a smirk on his face. “I’ve been watching. I just didn’t know what it was for.”

For a moment you’re confused. Then you remember that you got off by yourself in your house plenty of times before you realized there was a ghost in it. Tomura seizes the opportunity left by your temporary confusion. His hand, ice-cold, slides down into the heat between your legs. You startle and so does he. “It’s wet.”

“Yeah.” Your face is miserably flushed. “That’s a good thing.”

His smirk shifts into a smile, but it turns feral at the same time, so it’s not much of a relief. His fingers dive back between your legs and you brace yourself. Most men don’t know how to finger properly. Porn doesn’t usually teach it well. Tomura is new at this. It’ll either be bad and you’ll have to fake, or mediocre and it’ll take forever. There’s no way –

But Tomura hasn’t been watching porn. He’s been watching you, and that means he knows everything – how you like to tease yourself, how long it takes you to wind yourself up, what you do when you’re done playing around. But you don’t need winding up after everything that’s already happened, and the novelty of someone else touching you makes everything more intense. Even the coldness of Tomura’s fingers sends an extra jolt of pleasure through your body. They’re the perfect length, just like you thought they’d be. The right angle and the right pressure and a flush of heat tears through your entire body.

Tomura’s watching you closely. Different parts of him keep materializing and fading, and you know he’s drained too much of the available life-force to hold his physical form together. But you can see his face. He looks proud of himself, almost gleeful, the expression growing clearer every time you gasp or moan or grab a fistful of the couch cushions to ground yourself. “Don’t look so smug,” you manage.

“Why not?” Tomura vanishes from view, but his hands are still moving between your legs – and a moment later, his voice rasps against your ear. “That’s what you do when you touch me.”

Is it? You find it in yourself to be embarrassed at the thought, only for it to be wiped away as Tomura pairs a crook of his fingers with a well-timed stroke of your clit. You squirm and cry out, and Tomura, asshole that he is, does it again. And again. You don’t have to see his face to know he’s grinning openly, way too pleased with himself. “Next time –”

“Don’t talk about next time,” you hiss. “There’s not going to be a next time unless you quit messing around and make me come.”

Tomura doesn’t materialize, but you can tell he’s alarmed at the prospect. He starts to finger you in earnest, fingers curling at the end of each push, his other hand brushing your clit. You feel the bottom drop out of your stomach, feel your entire body begin to tense, and grasp desperately for a way to hide your face. If your partner was human, physically present, you’d bury yourself in their shoulder. As it is, you find yourself hiding behind a throw pillow as Tomura makes you come for the first time.

His hands slip away, and you let your shaking legs fall closed. Tomura pries at the pillow over your face. “I want to see,” he complains. “Let me see.”

“Shouldn’t you be dematerialized by now?” You can’t stay with a pillow over your face forever. You know that. But just a few more minutes. Just until you don’t look like what just happened actually happened. “Let it go.”

“Why can’t I see?”

“If you see, everybody sees. Humans are the only ones who can keep secrets around here.”

“We can feel how each other feels. We can’t see what each other sees,” Tomura says, like what you just said is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “If I had to see whatever the bastard across the street is seeing, I’d go blind.”

He stops yanking at the pillow for a moment. His voices goes quieter. “Besides, even if they could see, I wouldn’t let them. This is mine. Nobody gets to see this but me. Let me see it.”

You lift the pillow away from your face at last and find Tomura looking intently at you. He’s visible but insubstantial, almost transparent, but his eyes are fixed on your face. You’d call that stare blank if you weren’t familiar with Tomura’s expressions by now. You know this one. He’s calm. He only looks like this when he’s looking at something he likes, and it makes you edgy. “Well?”

“I’m not sharing,” Tomura says. “You can’t leave until it wears off.”

“You really think I’d go out looking like this? No way.” You sit up, realizing that you’re a little lightheaded. You can’t tell if that’s the ghost sex or if it’s just been so long since you had regular human sex that you’ve forgotten how it goes. “Besides, I have a lot to do. These documents aren’t going to sort themselves.”

You wash your hands, wash your face, rinse your mouth to get rid of the last of the cum texture, then let Phantom out of the office. She’s done with her bone and mad at you, so you take her out to the backyard to play, noting as you do that while nothing in the yard is dead, there’s a whole swathe of plants missing from the wetlands. You thought Tomura could only drain things that were actually in the yard, but maybe you were wrong about that. Either way, he at least left your garden alone. Looking at the dead zone in the wetlands just confirms a conclusion you’ve been kicking around: The two of you are going to need to put a lid on the sex thing. There aren’t enough bugs in the neighborhood to let this happen regularly.

When you come back in, the documents are all over the kitchen table. Tomura is going through them, and you cringe when you remember what else his hands were doing. “Please tell me you washed your hands.”

Tomura ignores you. “I saw it,” he says. “It was here. It was just here –”

“What was?” You shoo him away from the table and start organizing the documents yourself. “Did you see something?”

“My name.” The cold deepens, quickly enough that you get a chill. “The old one.”

You stop sorting the documents and look at him – what little of him you can see. “You have more than one name?”

“I did. I thought I did.” His hands are all that’s visible, but you can see he’s scratching his neck. “I don’t know. My head hurts –”

You’ve never heard him say that before. It makes you worried, and all of the things you could do to help a human with a headache are things you can’t do for Tomura. “Don’t look at it anymore,” you say. “Go hang out with Phantom. She’ll help. She always helps me.”

The cold drapes itself over you, then slips around you, heading for the living room where Phantom is napping. You return your attention to the documents you brought home, splitting them up into multiple piles. You ended up printing off everything the database had on Chisaki and Akaguro as well as the other three. Hopefully, handing the Chisaki file off to Aizawa and Hizashi will rebuild the bridge you torched this afternoon.

Thinking about the whole scene on the sidewalk leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Sure, it’s Dabi’s fault for antagonizing Tomura on purpose, but Tomura didn’t exactly de-escalate the situation, and the fight Dabi and Keigo got in was painful to watch – and probably worse to be part of. And when Hizashi showed up, it was like he was trying to ratchet up the tension even higher. Tomura’s decently antisocial and you’re pretty sure Dabi is a sociopath, but Hizashi can function in society, maintain a relationship, and be a parent. He should have known better than to do what he did. Why didn’t he?

Because he’s scared. The answer clicks into place in your head, and it all starts to make sense. This conjurer thing, whatever it is, has a former ghost who still has some of his powers so spooked that he forgot how to do social skills and started throwing his weight around with the two most volatile people in the neighborhood. You withholding the documents even temporarily probably just iced the cake.

You might not have started the fight, but you didn’t handle it particularly well. You gather the information on Chisaki (deceased) and set it aside for a peace offering. Then you start in with the Garaki and Shigaraki files. Garaki and Shigaraki. They sound like a comedy duo.

The block party kicks off at 8pm sharp, and based on what you can hear from inside the house, everybody’s there. You can smell food cooking – somebody brought a grill, and food to put on it – and the sound of kids laughing, the raucous cackles of Jin’s younger siblings and Eri’s soft, squeaky giggles. This was your idea. You need to get out there. You stack the documents in the box again, in order, and speak up to the house at large. “I’m heading out. I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

“I can hear it. And I don’t care.” Tomura’s voice is flat. “The rest of them don’t matter. You and the dog. That’s what I care about.”

“Phantom loves the neighborhood,” you counter. “And I like it, too. It would be sad here if everyone was gone.”

Tomura makes an irritated sound. “Go, then. I don’t care.”

You put Phantom on her leash and make your way to the front door, pulling it open. “I’ll be back soon,” you say to Tomura. And then, because you’re stupid: “I wish you could come with me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says, just like you expected him to. You start down the front steps, Phantom trotting at your side.

He doesn’t speak until you’re at the gate, and when he does, it’s so quiet you can barely hear him. What he says chills your blood, makes you afraid again – not of him, but because of him, because of what it could mean. “Me, too.”

#lovhalloweenhorror #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #x reader #reader insert #shigaraki tomura #ghost story #loser nerd ghost boyfriend

[kissland69]

Le temps de l'amour

robin buckley x reader

*if there’s any typos, mistakes or errors please ignore, if you haven’t heard the podcast “rebel robin” you’re missing out -_-*

february 14th,1985. it’s a typical sunny day in hawkins, the sun slightly warming up the freckled girl who was walking to the place she dreaded most, being a teenager isn’t always easy but being a teenager during february was even worse, having to see the cringy couples giving each other gifts and gross kisses that robin couldn’t help but feel irritated about. the lanky teen kicked pebbles with her beat up converses while sighing “today’s gonna suck..” robin said out loud with rolling eyes. while robin made her way to the entrance of hawkins high she immediately seen the obnoxious couples with tooth rotting smiles painted on their lips. class after class robin had to sit through couples cuddling, kissing, laughing while she bitterly stared at them from her drawn on desk “you know, your face gives away how you’re feeling right now” said a voice behind her “y/n you aren’t helping..” sighed robin “hey, i’m just saying! looks like the valentines love isn’t getting to you” said y/n with a smirk “i can say the same for you” robin says playfully “well if it makes things a little better you look great like always” said y/n replied with a grin “o-oh, thanks y/n” robin said with rosy cheeks and a breathless laugh “y-you look great as well, i mean you always do” stuttered robin with a loose grin “thank you rob” y/n said softly nudging robin “she’s so pretty…it’s a bummer i couldn’t get anything for her..” robin thought to herself, a subtle frown appearing on her slightly chapped lips.

as class ended and lunch started students filled the halls, robin rushed to Mr. Hauser’s class since he was the only one who can listen to her rambles and actually care about what she’s talking about even if it was pure nonsense “well hello ms.buckley” said mr.hauser in a chipper tone “hi mr.hauser, how’s valentines going for you?” asked robin “well i’ve seen way too many kids kissing and having to stop them so it’s been a great day i might say” the male sarcastically said causing robin to laugh a little “well i had to stop three couples to stop making out in front of my locker so i would say it’s been horrible” robin said while breaking a cookie in half to share with her favorite teacher “well c'est le temps de l'amour” the teacher said with a smile “the time of love? more like the time to be miserable” robin said with rolling eyes “so how’s operation croissant going hmm?” asked hauser, papers with different hand writing being read over and graded by him “well..i think i might just go alone..tammy isn’t on the list anymore and everyone else is insufferable so bringing someone to europe might not happen” said robin while leaning into the squeaking school chair “are you sure? today in class you were talking to miss y/n l/n, she isn’t someone who you might bring?” asked mr.hauser “are you snooping again?” robin replied with a grin “no robin, you were talking during my class” mr.hauser said with an airy laugh “…well y/n is great and funny but she would never want to be friends with someone like me let alone want to travel to europe with me, you know i’m the weirdest girl in hawkins and y/n is a pretty girl who thinks i’m a weirdo too” said robin to the male in front of her “robin…we’ve been through this, being weird isn’t always a bad thing, have you spoken to her in other classes? if not then you can’t assume she finds you weird” said mr.hauser “well…no i haven’t but that doesn’t stop the fact that she might have thoughts about me that aren’t ideal” the lanky teen said with droopy eyes “see you’re assuming again buckley, you can’t expect yourself to find someone that’ll be the missing piece to your puzzled life if you don’t branch out or keep selling yourself short” said hauser with a sigh “well can you blame me? being in hawkins feels like being trapped in a small box you can’t fit in, the only thing you can do is assume and overthink the worse so you don’t end up getting hurt or shamed” said the freckled girl, this caused the room to fall quite for a second but the sound of a knock on the classroom door disturbed the silence “uh mr.hauser? do you think i can bother you for a sec- oh hey rob!” said y/n with a smile, voice echoing in the small classroom “i didn’t know this is were you stay during lunch, could’ve invited me you know” y/n teased while sitting next to the nervous teen “o-oh! well you’re always invited i don’t mind at all!” robin said with a red face and a wide smile “well that’s great to hear, you’ll definitely see me more, oh! before i forget here robin, i got it for you from the cafeteria since it’s valentines and all” y/n let out a laugh while handing the girl a hand written letter on an off white paper and a vanilla cupcake with heart shaped pink and red sprinkles on top “sorry if you don’t like vanilla, that’s all they had and this was kind of last minute” y/n said with a sis anxious smile “n-no it’s fine, i didn’t get anything for you and now i feel a little shitty…” robin said looking up to meet y/n’s eyes and back to the wrinkled paper “ladies, if you’ll excuse me i have to head down to the library, new books came in for the freshmen class” mr. hauser suddenly announced with a smile, he pulls from his desk and out of the classroom, robin’s eyes were still glued to the thin paper in her slim fingers she begin reading the letter with a toothy smile, not a care in the world other then the words written in a deep red color

“robin buckley you are a sight for sore eyes, i’ve always been infatuated by how beautiful you are, from your raspy voice to the way your eyes glow when the sun hits them, the way your honey colored hair effortlessly looks so pretty and shiny, the way your freckles cover your rosy cheeks, slim nose and red lips and the smell of chestnut and vanilla with a mixture of rosemary lingering every time you pass me in the halls. this may sound corny or weird but i can’t help falling for you more and more, everything about you makes me fall harder and i’m not sure if it’s terrifying or exciting but i honestly don’t mind as long as i get to be in your presence for as long as you’ll allow me. you’re the first girl that i’ve met who isn’t scared to share her thoughts on a specific song, book or movie and seeing the soft tint of red on your cheeks when you get embarrassed or too excited or when you aren’t afraid to seek for more outside of this shitty place people call “home”, i genuinely adore how open minded you are and how easily you can make my heartbeat quicken without even noticing. you, robin buckley are one of a kind and people shouldn’t even walk the same ground as you do.”

“y-y/n..no one has even written me something so… vulnerable before…god now i do feel shitty for not getting anything for you” robin says with tears blurring her light blue eyes “robin you don’t need to get me anything, looking at you is enough of a gift” y/n reply’s with a smile that starts hurting her cheeks, robin mindlessly cups y/n’s right cheek with her chipped painted fingers ,caressing the plumpness of it “how did you know i was a sucker for hand written letter huh?” robin says with a goofy smile “you’re robin buckley, of course you would love something like that and i’ll gladly give you as many hand written letters you desire” y/n says while pushing a piece of robin’s locs behind her ear “i’d be the happiest girl if you’d say yes to being my girlfriend..” y/n said, face feeling hot with the feeling of her heart hitting against her rib cage “of course, i’ll be an idiot if i don’t” robin said, an airy laugh escaping her swollen lips due to crying “you know what would have me over the moon?” asked y/n with a playful grin “what would have my sweet juliet over the moon?” robin playfully said, loving the idea of y/n being her juliet and being y/n’s romeo “a sweet kiss would have me feeling butterflies all week” y/n said while a hand fell on the nape of robin’s neck “anything for you darling…”

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #stranger things #robin buckley fanfic #stranger things s3 #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley imagine

[open-hearth-rpg]

Player-Facing: Great RPG Mechanics #RPGMechanics Week Five

I talked about letters and epistolary forms yesterday. They have a kind of immediacy to them– a direct communication from writer to reader, even if you aren’t the intended recipient. That feeling has made them a rich and useful tool in Good Society and in many solo rpgs.

The long time companion to the letter in ttrpgs has been the handout. These have been there since the earliest days– the first ones I recall came from early Call of Cthulhu modules and D&D tournament modules like The Hidden Shrine of Tamoachan. They offered in-universe objects for players to peruse– often hand drawn. These things came before Desktop Publishing and so everything had to be laid out and replicated.

I especially love objects which weren’t just summaries or images, but instead tried to look like real things from the world. Business cards, classified ads, maps, etc. It’s something of a lost art in a world of quicker online play where we can mock up battle maps and find pictures in an instant. I don’t think I’ll ever do anything quite as ambitious as my notebook for Changeling the Lost and that’s too bad in some ways.

But some games have taken the concept of player-facing materials and really delved into them. I have two old favorites in this category. The first is the classic City of Lies boxed set for the first edition of Legend of the Five Rings. This is a city campaign made up of several booklets. The basic premise is that the PCs are a new party of magistrates arriving in the city following the murder of the previous magistrate. The players are given a document which is assembled from various records and scandalous publications. It is an unreliable narrator with some things out of date and others hidden by alternate names. It’s a great companion to the campaign, even if it is a little overwhelming.

The gem of this is a smaller player-facing booklet, the testimony of the murdered magistrate. It offers more insights and clues. Importantly it is brief enough all the players can reasonably be expected to skim through it and find some direction. As a whole, City of Lies is hard to beat– and would be an amazing thing for someone to update to the latest version of the rules and setting.

The other book which sticks with me has a technique I haven’t yet seen adopted by anyone else. Robin Laws’ Players Guide to Kaiin presents a single city for The Dying Earth rpg. But it is not a GM guide. It is a player's guide filled with neighborhoods, characters, details, secrets, and rumors. It is funny, revolting, and compelling in a splendid mix– filled with folks who might help you but might just as easily strip your boots off when you pass out.

The conceit Player’s Guide to Kaiin is that the players look through and find something which catches their eye, fits with their plots, or looks worth exploring. They then tell the GM that’s what they wish to interact with and go to town, literally and figuratively. Like serious, it is great. I wish more city books existed which took this approach. Frankly it shocks me that we don’t have a guide like this for Eversink from Swords of the Serpentine.

I’m pretty sure you can draw a line from Kaiin to another Robin Laws’ masterpiece, The Armitage Files. That offers an improvisational campaign structure built around a series of ten documents. All of these seem to come from a messed up future, written by the PCs patron apparently. They tell of terrible things to come. They offer hooks, names, and incidents which the players can choose how they wish to explore them.

There are several brilliant aspects to this approach. They feel like old-school handouts with different formats, handwriting, and voice. There’s a sense of a chronology to the dissolution of the author. That’s wonderfully complicated by the fact that these letters can be presented in any order– with that basic choice shaping the play.

Importantly the letters are tight– one or two pages iirc– which means that every player can look at a copy and work through it. I love the latter player-facing full document innovation of Dracula Dossier, but that’s an overwhelming text for all the players to work through. It requires full buy-in from the group– otherwise you get the same quarterbacking problem that plagues co-op board games. Armitage also provides a plain-text version of each document which really helps at the table.

I think there’s lots of room for interesting, rich, player-facing stuff today. It doesn’t have to be massive– in fact I think these things being smaller and/or easily broken into chunks for players to work through. The trick is to make these things actionable: presented in such a way that players can immediately find cool things they want to do on any page, rather than having to read through the whole of a book.

#ttrpg #rpg #rpg mechanics

[hermit-called-he]

BOLD

You make me feel so goddamn bold

I don’t know where I got all of this confidence, truth be told 

Maybe the quarantine is really getting to my brain 

Oh there is so much to gain 

I can’t believe I asked you for dinner on Valentine’s Day

You haven’t texted back yet and that fills me with dismay 

I am such an anxious girl oh my god 

I don’t know why you don’t think me oh so very odd

I feel like the dumbest person alive right now 

And that feeling is really hitting me like the full force of a snow plow 

This is all illogical, I know 

But I can’t help it when my thoughts decide they want to go to and fro 

God this feels like a new low 

I am ashamed of how often you are on my mind

I talk about how much I adore you all the goddamn time 

I’m miserable right now just analyzing my behavior 

I feel like this crush is slowly absorbing all of my personality’s flavor 

I’m so tempted to take my offer back but I shouldn’t be a coward about something like this 

God I really do destroy myself 

I just wish I could be in a state of naive bliss 

Why do you have to occupy most of the room on my thought shelf? 

I feel like I’m shrinking slowly, maybe even becoming a little elf 

You might think me bold on the surface but I’m all nerves underneath 

My thoughts go round and round so much they could form a giant Christmas wreath 

What makes you so special that I just have to talk about you all the time? 

Is it your love of Trek? Our lovely discussions about Who? The fact that you think not giving everyone equality should be a crime? 

God I walk such a fragile line 

I don’t want to be that girl that is too obvious but how else would you know I’m so engrossed in every part of you? 

I live for your sarcastic repartee and all those little other texting things you like to do

You keep me on my feet and I dream, 

Dream so hard about what it would be like to love you for a long time 

Somehow that feels like a huge crime 

As I’m writing this, I feel moments away from crying

Waiting for you to answer makes me feel like I’m lowkey dying 

I know you’re making your way to my location right now 

But god do I wish you could be here somehow 

I feel like a failure in the flesh

The boldness might just make me plummet to my untimely death 

I really don’t want us to be put in the position where I force you to break my heart 

That seems like an unfair course of action to chart 

I promise I don’t think you’re anything more than human 

I know people are quick to say that people like us are incredible, that we’re superhuman 

We both know we have flaws and if I might be honest, sir 

Yours are only more endearing the more I learn about them 

I’m drawn to you like a fish to a lure 

And with my dislike of feeling, this all makes me feel so very grim 

You make me want to be bold

Not because you are, obviously, I know you better than to think that

But you inspire me to venture out a little into the cold 

I wish I didn’t overthink it so much since it makes me feel like complete crap 

I don’t want to feel this level of sad over things I can’t control 

I need to stop imagining that you are the guy I win when I reach the goal 

That sounds so fucked up ugh 

I should stop trying to make your heartstrings tug 

I’m such a useless person at finding people who would love me like that 

I have too many trust issues which causes me to push everyone away 

I’m as jumpy as a terrified cat 

I just want to stop being so terribly affected by everything that you say 

So yes, this is where being bold gets me 

It gives me so much anxiety that I want to scurry up and hide in the branches of a tree 

I know if you saw these you’d tell me all my worrying is useless 

But that’s probably because you don’t think I should see myself as loveless 

You try to paint my world full of optimistic colors 

That makes me feel so goddamn happy that you think I should be in love with myself before I turn to others 

I can’t bring myself to agree because I’m so paralyzed by the fact you even like me 

Is this what years of being told I shouldn’t toe the line gets me? 

I suppose it is, especially if I consider simply asking you to grab dinner with me to be particularly risky 

I don’t know what to feel now, perhaps I should stop rambling and make myself another form of busy

#the poem is there it's just hard to read #it's one of the longest ones I wrote #original art #a hermit called he #adobe illustrator #poetry #my art

[ofpolitics]

hey, hello, i’m popping onto here from @yunharlaquin because i just got my library card and the first thing i did was check out an audiobook of que.en’s shadow!  which i just finished.  some very light light spoilers are below but nothing major major to the plot.  also if some personal blog sees this, you’re welcome to like or reply but please, for the love of all that is holy, DO NOT REB.LOG THIS.

it’s fine. not horrible, but certainly not anywhere near great.  good things were: i appreciate that the author, may she never see this post, fleshes out locations and even some traditions, puts some thought into clothing and behavior. i liked the plot, i liked the subplots.  i usually liked the dialogue, and the characterization of pad.mé and her handmaidens felt more or less true to what we see of them in not book media (especially since the handmaidens haven’t been fleshed out at all since legends was ‘decanonized’).  unlike what i had heard from others, pad.mé is not portrayed as completely incompetent in the early days of the senate and most of it makes sense.  i did very much like pa.dmé and the handmaidens’ friendships, especially how s.abé’s choice to hunt down why pad.mé died is set up through their devotion to each other. sac.hé and ya.né are also ADORaBLE together. and the alde.raan visit was truly lovely.

what i didn’t like, and very much didn’t like at that: some of the phrases and slang thrown into inner and outer dialogue felt very here and now, not like anything really i’d expect out of s.tar wars, let alone nab.oo. pad.mé, and by extension, her handmaidens come off as very much the author’s BEST! GIRLS! EVER! at the expense of other characters.  the amount of it nearly borders on ridiculous at times, especially when certain things make no sense that in the greater context no one would have thought of or done before.  p.admé’s characterization does have flaws, not in the she can do wrong way, but in the that doesn’t make sense way, and i really do not like it.  with the sorta exception of organa, the way padm.é’s relationships with other major off na.boo players in her life, including pal.patine, often doesn’t make sense or feel like it glides into on screen canon either, and how that sometimes ties into the best girl issue i mentioned before, was highly irritating.  it bordered on pad.mé has to be the purest intentioned, to the point that no other character in politics could have even close, even orga.na and mot.hma.  oh, and yeah, i really actually hate that with the multiple legends aspects that seemed to be drawn over, that dar.ren was just completely erased from so.la’s life.  i understand the need for better rep, but it still could have been done in sol.a’s story and not erased that completely, especially because their relationship was such as important example of equality and culture on nab.oo.

so, overall, again, did not hate, but didn’t like either.  honestly, if i didn’t come in with such rock bottom expectations, i think i would have been extremely disappointed and hated a lot more.  basically none of it is useful to me, especially when it comes to p.admé’s relationships with others except for the handmaidens and bre.ha.  i might use some event points to fill out my concept of her timeline, reference the big political events which happen in threads, but that’s about it.  consider this source very much unlikely to be ‘canon’ in my interpretation of pa.dmé on this blog.  in fact, assume it just isn’t unless you see something otherwise.

#· ooc » entranced by navy burnout silk velvet #this ngl is probably only the second time i've had such a strong negative opinion of a sw book so yayyyyy

[hlvrfreakyfriday]

HLVRFF: Chapter 7

It’s been a few days since the switch first happened.

And thankfully, said days have been considerably calmer than that initial night and following day. No more accidental shape-shifting or skeleton summoning for Gordon, and Benry has been doing pretty well about being careful with Gordon’s body.

Benry also apparently made a blog. Seems he thought that telling strangers on the internet about his non-human status and current situation was a fantastic idea. Gordon was of course upset… but eventually joined in on the blog anyway. Like, fuck it, why not? And it turned out to not be that bad- answering questions from curious ‘anons’ gave Gordon something to do, filling in the time he’d usually be using for his Twitch streams (Gordon really doesn’t want to explain this shit to his viewers).

At least, the blog thing was nice while it lasted, anyway. Soon as the asks slowed down, Benry quickly lost interest in it, and Gordon wasn’t really sure what to do with the blog himself. So there goes that distraction. Guess people claiming to be cosmic beings from beyond the veil just isn’t that interesting to the internet.

God, he’s bored. That’s another thing that Gordon’s discovered he hates about this.

He can’t do his streams while looking and sounding like Benry, and he’s also afraid to go kill time away from the house, the risk of a body horror-inducing anxiety attack happening in public being one he doesn’t want to take. He could go visit Tommy or Coomer and Bubby, he supposes, but he doesn’t wanna bug them too much. That, and he still doesn’t want to leave Benry alone in his body.

With nothing much to do to keep him occupied, Gordon has been finding his thoughts wandering. Thinking about his youth again, but also wondering about Benry’s. He recently learned that the entity is not in fact ancient like Gordon always assumed, but a year younger than Gordon himself. What kind of childhood did he have? Benry pretty much never talks about his past- his explanation of his skeletons the other night being the first time Gordon’s ever heard anything about Benry’s life before he worked as a guard at Black Mesa.

Well. There was also the time Benry insisted that he and Gordon knew each other as children, but Gordon’s fairly certain he'd remember playing with a kid that looked as distinct as Benry. He may have taken a few knocks on the head as a child and can’t remember a lot from back then, but his memory isn’t THAT bad!

.....

Maybe he should shoot his mom an email sometime. See if she remembers what all friends and playmates he had as a kid.

In fact, he may as well do that right now. Not like he’s got much else to do. Gordon grabs his phone and opens up the email app.

~~~

From: Gordon Freeman To: Beverley Freeman (mom) Subject: childhood question

Hey, Ma.

Random question, but do you remember any of the kids I played with when I was little? Like, from six years and earlier. I got to thinking about it recently and it’s bugging me that I can’t remember.

Oh, and sorry I haven’t called much lately! Been busy between my streaming schedule and getting dragged into impromptu hang-outs with my friends.

~~~

Gordon hits send, and now plays the waiting game.

Not just for his mom’s reply, but also for Benry to get done washing Gordon’s hair, so he can then get started on lunch for the two of them. Benry had missed getting a shower last night, and like hell Gordon’s gonna let Benry ruin his hair care routine. Gordon works hard to keep his hair so nice, damn it.

While Benry’s taking this lunch time shower, Gordon is sprawled on the couch, browsing the ‘net on his phone for lack of anything better to do. His attention is drawn from the phone, however, when there’s a knock at the door. Did Benry order a package or something? Gordon ponders as he makes his way over to answer the knock. He opens the door and-

“Benny!”

“Oh, hey Benry. Is Gordon in?”

-Gordon immediately slams the door closed.

Which he instantly regrets, because that’s his ex-wife and son out there that he just closed the door on. Fuck.

What does he do? What CAN he do? Anna still doesn’t know that Gordon’s roommate for the past four months isn’t at all human, and he’s not sure if dropping that bombshell on her like this would be a good idea. He could try to pretend to be Benry… but he’s a bit shit at it, he’ll be honest. And Benry would probably be even worse at pretending to be him, too. Anna may not know Benry very well, but she knows Gordon too well to not notice something’s up. It’s not at all hard to imagine just how horribly that plan could backfire and bite them both in the ass.

God damn it. Bombshell it is, then.

Gordon slowly opens the door back up, and is greeted by the sight of a confused Joshua and annoyed Anna. He can’t help but wince at her judgmental stare.

“Uh… hi,” Gordon says awkwardly.

“Yeah. Hi. You wanna tell me what that was about, pal?” Anna says, irritation clear in her voice.

Gordon takes a deep breath. Hoo boy. “Yeah, I uh, have a lot to explain, actually. Come on in,” he says, stepping aside to allow the two entry. Once they’re all fully inside, Gordon kneels down to meet his son’s face. “Hey bud, could you go play in your room for a bit? Your mom and I have some grown-up stuff to talk about,” he says to the six-year-old boy. Joshua gives him a strange look, but nods his head, uttering a little ‘kay' before running off to the back of the house. Gordon then motions for Anna to follow him into the kitchen, and they both take a seat at the table.

“Okay. So, explain,” Anna prompts.

Gordon sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. “God. Okay, uh. Two things, one of which I probably should’ve told you about way sooner. It’s kind of connected to all the Black Mesa bullshit, so it’s gonna sound… a little crazy,” he says. Anna quirks a brow at him at the mention of Black Mesa, but says nothing, waiting for him to continue. He taps his borrowed claws on the table as he tries to figure out how to explain… all of this. Another deep breath, and he looks Anna in the eyes as he says, “I'm not Benry. It’s me, Gordon. I’m in Benry’s body, and he’s in mine.”

Anna blinks at him, and gives him a look. “Wow. That is… probably the weirdest and also shittiest excuse for slamming the door in my face you could’ve possibly made,” she says, wholly unimpressed.

Another sigh from Gordon. “Look, I know how it sounds,” he then says, “I wouldn’t believe me either, if I had never been through the- uh. The accident at Black Mesa, but you’ve gotta believe me.”

Anna crosses her arms as she leans back in her chair, still very much not believing what ‘Gordon’ is saying, but admittedly curious to see where he’s going with this.

Gordon drums his fingers on the table again as he considers how to convince Anna. “Okay, look. The other thing I was gonna tell you, that I probably should’ve told you about sooner? Is that Benry isn’t human. He’s the reason we’re stuck like this,” Gordon explains.

“Riiiiight,” Anna says, “'Benry' isn’t human. Y’know, all you had to really do is just apologize, instead of making up this wildass excuse that Gordon’s no doubt going to debunk, so you can stop with… the… uh…” she trails off when Gordon begins to sing out a sustained high note.

As well as several orbs of blue light.

The lights linger in the air after he stops singing. Anna reaches out to touch one, transfixed, and it bursts like a bubble upon contact, followed by strange sense of calm briefly washing over her.

She looks back to Benry… Gordon? And says, “What the actual hell?”

“Benry calls it his ‘Sweet Voice',” Gordon explains. “I have absolutely zero idea what it is exactly or how it works, or why it tastes like Jolly Ranchers of all things, but, yeah. Do you believe me now?”

Anna looks away, thinking. Does she believe him? That ‘Sweet Voice’ stuff seemed pretty solid evidence for the whole not human thing… But is he really Gordon?

…She has an idea for how to find out.

“I’ll believe you if you can answer this question right,” Anna starts. “How did you- assuming you are Gordon- and me first meet? What exactly happened?”

Oh, god. Gordon kinda wishes he couldn’t answer this question. It’s a mortifying memory he'd rather forget the exact details of… which Anna knows, and thus also knows Gordon would never tell anybody else about it. Perfect question for this, really.

Gordon buries his borrowed face in his hand and groans to himself for a moment, and then he begins. “It was a party at some guy named Mark's place. After meeting and chatting with each other for a bit, me and you somehow got roped into that ‘seven minutes in heaven’ thing and locked in the hall closet.” A pause. Here’s the fun part. “…We were in the middle of kissing when the beer I had there started mixing badly with those fucking gas station hotdogs I'd eaten just before the party- honestly I don’t know what I was thinking eating that shit. But, uh. Yeah. I very nearly threw up in your mouth. And then did throw up all over Mark’s clean linens,” Gordon says, grimacing at the memory.

“Unsurprisingly, I never got invited to any more parties at that guy’s place. But what did surprise me, was that you still wanted to see me again. You said you wanted to give me a second chance at a good first impression,” Gordon says with a fond smile. Anna returns the smile, but it quickly falls from her face as a sudden realization hits her.

“…Holy shit. It really is you,” Anna says, eyes wide. “How the hell did this happen? I mean, you said Benry did it, but, how? What IS Benry? I always thought his weird paleness was ‘cause he was anemic or something, not a- an alien or a monster- Oh god, is it safe for Joshua to be around him? Hell, is it safe for YOU to be around him!?”

Gordon raises his hands up in a gesture for Anna to slow it with so many questions. “Whoa, hey, gimme a chance to answer!” Anna settles down and utters a small ‘sorry' which Gordon handwaves away. “This happened because Benry was poking around in my dreams- ‘cause that’s just one of the many impossible things he can somehow do- but I was having a bad nightmare at the time. When it got abruptly ended, I got shoved out of my head and into his, while he was left in mine. Neither of us knows how to switch us back, but a friend of ours knows someone who does, so we’re just waiting on them.

“As for what Benry is… I’m not entirely sure? Some kind of... eldritch space god cosmic horror… But uh, despite that fact, he’s not dangerous,” Gordon says at first, before quickly correcting himself. “Well, okay, he can actually be extremely dangerous if he wants to be, but thankfully he cares more about video games than pulling any weird madness-inducing cthuloid shit… Plus, I’m pretty sure he'd take an entire firing squad for Joshie.”

“Joshua does like to go on about how cool and nice he thinks your roommate is,” Anna says with a small smile. “But, how did you end up rooming with this… guy, anyway? I’m guessing the thing about him being another former co-worker from Black Mesa was just a cover story?”

“It wasn’t, actually,” corrects Gordon. “He really did work as a security guard there. I have no idea how or why he ended up in that job, though.”

“You don’t?” Anna asks.

Gordon shrugs. “He doesn’t talk about himself much, and I don’t ask.”

Anna gives him the ‘I love you but are you fucking serious’ look. “I, ah, think that maybe you SHOULD ask, especially if you’re gonna be living with him indefinitely.”

Gordon rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, you see, when he first moved in here, I set up a bunch of ground rules for him to follow. He agreed, but only if I let him set some rules, too. One of his rules was to not ask him invasive questions,” Gordon explains.

“Asking your co-worker why he picked his job counts as ‘invasive'?” Anna asks, raising a brow.

“I mean, maybe? I don’t know!” says Gordon. “He’s a weird alien-thing, I never know how he’s gonna react to stuff.”

“Okay, okay… But still, why he’s living here with you? You’d said it was because he had no other place to stay after losing his old job. That still true, too?”

Gordon nods. “Apparently he just lived in the facility dorms before. And he’s here specifically with me because he had to live with a member of the Science Team, and I’m the only one on the team who had the space for him.”

“Why does he have to stay with one of you guys?”

“…For reasons I legally can’t talk about,” Gordon says simply.

Ah, he did say this Benry stuff was kind of Black Mesa related, didn’t he, Anna thinks… Wait.

“…He didn’t cause the accident at your old workplace, did he?”

Gordon shakes his head. “No, he… well, he was there when it happened, and him being there may've factored in… But he didn’t directly cause it,” he explains. He purposefully neglects to tell Anna that he’s the one who caused the accident. He’s not quite ready for that conversation yet.

He’s also not ready to tell her Benry’s one of the major causes of a lot of his PTSD, either. Or about all the people he killed for seemingly no reason. OR about how he turned into a giant fucked up monster and tried to kill Gordon and his friends… She, uh, would probably start to worry herself to death over Gordon and not let Joshie come over anymore if she knew about all that…

Speaking of Joshua, the six-year-old is all of a sudden dashing into the kitchen, b-lining for Gordon.

“Daddy! You can’t let Benny grow a beard when he’s him and you’re you again!”

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

If Benry had ever thought about maybe growing his hair out like Gordon’s before, those thoughts have all been completely discarded now.

Turns out that taking care of this much hair is a major pain in the ass. It is taking him so. Dang. LONG to wash all this shit. He can’t understand how Gordon puts up with this bs. The price humans must pay for beauty, he guesses.

When Benry’s finally done with washing Gordon’s mane of hair, he slips out of the shower and begins the next arduous step: drying it all. He tries seeing if he can get away with just towel drying it… but, nah, too much hair here for that. Time to break out the hair dryer.

…Benry has no idea where Gordon keeps his hair dryer.

Pulling on some sweatpants and draping a towel around his borrowed shoulders, Benry heads out of Gordon’s master bath and bedroom, with the intent of finding and asking him where he keeps the dryer. However, soon as he steps out into the hall, he’s greeted by someone else entirely.

“Daddy!” Joshua chimes.

oh shit, Benry thinks, before responding to the boy. “uh- heyyy there, joshie bro.”

The smile that was on Joshua's face falls, and his expression is replaced by a confused one. “Heeeey, YOU don’t call me bro, just Benny calls me that,” he says. “And Benny was talkin' like you at me, too. Why you guys doin’ that?”

aw damn, sussed out by a six-year-old. After a quick glance down the hall, Benry kneels down to get more face level with Joshua, and speaks in a hushed tone, “it’s because i'm not your dad and he’s not benry. i'm benry, and he’s your dad. we got body swapped, yo.”

The boy’s eyes go wide at that, and after doing an exaggerated gasp, he whispers back, “Did a mad scientist get ya?”

“nah, it was kinda my fault. but it’s all good, man. tommy's pops is gonna fix us up when he gets back from some trip he’s on,” Benry assures.

“Oh that’s good,” Joshua says. “I like you guys better when you’re you and dad’s dad. You’re not s'posed to have a beard.”

Benry snorts. “oh yeah? what if i decide i like having a beard, huh? maybe when i'm back in my body i'll grow me one.”

"No!"

“you could call me beardry.”

“Noooo!”

“oh i'm thinkin' yes. grow me uh, an epic wizard beard.”

“Nooooooo!” Joshua continues to protest, but with a smile plastered on his little face. Benry laughs at him, but then Joshua suddenly takes off down the hall, heading towards the kitchen.

“yo, hold up!” Benry calls after the boy as he gives chase. When he reaches the kitchen himself, he’s greeted by the sight of Joshua clinging to his father’s borrowed leg.

“Daddy! You can’t let Benny grow a beard when he’s him and you’re you again!” Joshua cries.

Gordon looks at his son, but then up to Benry when he notices the other in the entryway. Gordon’s ex is also sitting at the table, and she follows Gordon’s gaze to look at Benry, too.

“uhhhhh…” Benry mumbles, lightly chewing on his borrowed lip.

“Hey, relax,” says Anna. “Gordon already explained all this weirdness.”

“oh. ‘kay, cool,” Benry says, and does visibly relax.

“What’s this about you growing a beard?” Gordon speaks up.

“lil' mans said ‘m not allowed to have one ‘cause i'd look weird,” Benry explains.

“You would!” Joshua says. “Super weird! Like that time daddy didn’t have one!”

“Hey!” Gordon says with mock offense. “I didn’t look that weird!”

“Yeah, you just looked like a sixteen-year-old high schooler,” says Anna, which gets her a frown from Gordon.

Oh no, Benry’s picturing that now. It’s a little too easy to, honestly. “yooo, gordon got a case of baby face? ha ha, nice,” he says, laughing.

Gordon continues to get ribbed by his family and roommate about his ‘baby face’ for a good bit, before Anna checks the time and announces she and Joshua have to get going. Apparently, they just stopped by real quick to say hello while they happened to be on this side of town. As usual, Anna (and Joshie) both swear to secrecy in regards to the new info they just learned before they leave. As they head back to the car, Gordon steps out with them to see them off and give his son a hug. Benry watches from the living room window, and can’t help but feel a little… something. He’s not entirely sure what. But he always gets the feeling whenever he sees Gordon interacting with his family like this.

He’s never mentioned it to Gordon. Or anybody else.

It’s fine. It’s not important.

Gordon comes back in, and Benry finally asks him where the hair dryer is (turns out it was in the top left drawer under the sink. Why didn’t he think to look there???). After hair is dried and a shirt is put on, the rest of the day is significantly less eventful. Lunch is had, video games are played, YouTube is watched, Gordon keeps giving him weird looks when he notices Benry being way quieter than normal- oh. He should probably say something, huh.

“admiring yourself, freeman?” Benry says to the man at the other end of the couch. As predicted, Gordon’s expression scrunches up into an annoyed scowl. All according to plan.

The annoyed look leaves Gordon’s face pretty quickly, though, and he replies, “No, you’ve just been weirdly quiet ever since Joshie and Anna left. Is something up?”

aw fuck he was supposed to get distracted. “nah, just don’t feel like talking. your dumb human vocal chords feel weird.” nice save.

Or, well, it would be a nice save if Gordon wasn’t very clearly mentally pressing X to doubt right now.

…Theeeeen again, maybe it really WAS a nice save, as Gordon doesn’t press any further, instead changing the subject. “…Y’know, I’ve been wondering. How did you end up working at Black Mesa anyway?”

“'cause they gave me the job,” Benry answers simply.

“Okay, but WHY did they give you the job?”

“’cause i was good at it.”

Apparently, that wasn’t the answer Gordon was looking for, as he gives an exasperated sigh and turns his attention back to the T.V. screen.

Benry kind of has an idea about what kind of answer Gordon probably was looking for, but he doesn’t really… feel like telling him. Talking about the Not Good parts of his past would just bring up unnecessary drama and shit, and nobody wants that. Besides, it’s the past. Can’t change it. No use worrying about it.

It's not important.

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

Welp, Gordon can now tell Anna that he knows so little about Benry’s history not for lack of trying. He didn’t bother trying to get any better answers out of the entity, as he’d probably have better luck getting blood from a stone. Same reason he didn’t try asking again why the guy was being extra quiet.

Whatever. If Benry doesn’t want to talk about his feelings, that’s none of Gordon’s business.

It’s late at night now. Benry has since gone to bed, while Gordon’s still wide awake. And bored. God he is so fucking bored. Benry’s own usual go-to for keeping himself occupied at night is just more video games, but Gordon’s not really in the mood. He decides instead to open up the Tumblr app on his phone and see if there’s any new asks for the blog.

And of course, there aren’t.

Something does catch his eye, though. A conversation he had with one anonymous asker, about trying to get over his issue with Benry’s shape-shifting by voluntarily practicing it. Admittedly… it’s not exactly Gordon’s ideal way to pass the time, but he knows he really should get on it. Help ease his anxiety, and thus lower the chances of a repeat of that first night.

Gordon takes a deep breath to steel himself. Okay. Okay okay okay. Let’s do this shit.

…Uh. How exactly does he do it, again?

Every time he’s shape-shifted before, it was totally involuntary. Maybe… if he just thinks about doing it? Same way one would move their arm by just thinking about moving it. Yeah, let’s try that. Lifting his borrowed right arm, he focuses on the thought of it growing a little longer, like when he reached for that glass on the high shelf.

And much to Gordon’s surprise, that… actually fucking works. His borrowed right arm is now several inches longer than his left. And there wasn’t even any weird squirming in his insides or flesh-tearing feelings when it happened, either. He turns and twists the limb this way and that, taking in how, aside from the added length, it still looks like a totally normal arm (well, normal for Benry, anyway). Hell, it even FEELS normal. He was expecting it to feel weird and wrong, but it… really doesn’t. Changing shape is just that much of a normal, natural thing for Benry’s body, he supposes. He feels a little silly for putting this off for so long, now.

Gordon’s about to will it back to normal proportions, when he catches his reflection in his bedroom mirror. He gets a little chuckle out of the imagery of Benry with the mis-matched arms.

But then he also gets the strangest sense of deja vu.

Before he can dwell on that any further, though, his phone grabs his attention next, notifying him on receiving an email. Shortening his arm back (which also comes easy) and grabbing his phone, he sees it’s a response from his mom. Ever the night owl, his ma.

~~~

From: Beverly Freeman (mom) To: Gordon Freeman Subject: Re: childhood question

Hey there, honey! Good to hear from you again!

Childhood friends, hmm? You didn’t actually have any regular friends when you were that young, I don’t think. You mostly just played with your little brother. You DID have this one imaginary friend, though! I found an old drawing you did of him when you were little. I took a picture of it with my phone and attached the file (aren’t you proud of me?)

By the way, do you know if you’ll have Joshua this Thanksgiving? It’s been so long since we’ve had either of you over for turkey day, or since we’ve had both you and John in the same room!

Love Mom <3 (lol it’s a heart!)

[attached file: mybestfrend.jpeg]

~~~

Huh. Maybe that’s why he can’t remember any playmates he had as a kid. Because he didn’t have any. Makes sense, he guesses.

Gordon downloads the attached file, and then opens it up in his phone’s picture gallery.

[image description: An old child's drawing on wrinkled paper. It depicts a boy with green eyes and glasses standing next to a taller monster boy with sharp teeth, claws, and multiple eyes. They are both smiling. There is a brown mud puddle at their feet, and several pink and blue orbs floating around the monster boy's head. The words 'MY BEST FREND' are written at the bottom of the drawing. End description.]

  ...No fucking way.

#half life vr but it's freaky friday #fic repost

[teaveetamer]

Yes Alt! Alear is somehow Lumera's biological child as confirmed by the supports with Gregory and the twins. By the way, in the jpn dub the twins does admit having similar blood to Alear and Veyle unlike in the localization, but they seems to consider each other more like "belonging to the same specie" rather than being "half-sibilings" probably because Sombron only fills the bare minimum of a definition of a father which is "genitor". Or at least it depends since in their world, Alear's genitor is Lumera and Alt Sombron did not generated Alt!Alear nor our playable Alear.... anyway, I doubt the fandom is going to explode since the Engage shipping fandom is rather calm and inactive.

Thanks! I haven’t gotten around to getting the DLC character supports yet (other than the one Alfred gets… what an eager little dork lmao). I think my next run of the game is gonna be all under 18’s + maybe all DLC characters so I’ll see more then.

But yeah, even if the ship scene was more lively the DLC characters always draw less attention than the free characters just by virtue of being paywalled. IIRC the only 3H DLC ship that drew hubbub was Balthus/Lysithea because of the age gap which could be gleaned even if you didn’t play the DLC. But like I don’t remember Byleth/Yuri getting dragged into the ship wars between the Byleth ships or anything dumb like that, cuz by the time Yuri came out most people either didn’t care or were already comfortable with the lines they’d drawn in the sand.

Anyway I have bigger Engage things to worry about, like my budding hyperfixation on drawing lewd Alfred art or the fact that my ship of choice only has 13 fics…

[bookwyrminspiration]

free space for you to talk about literally anything you want! rant about something?? write out a thought that you haven’t had the time to translate into words?? post the song lyrics or poetry you scribbled on the back of a paper?? idk just whatever you want. you’re cool :)

Oh oh this is perfect!! Also thank you, being cool is such a lovely descriptor!! Anyway, all the searching through my camera roll for pet photos recently has taken me back very far

Far enough that I ended up seeing some of my old photos of art from an intro level art class I took back in spring 2021, and looking at it I went…this is kinda good! But the only person whose ever seen it is that professor, so I’ve been considering sharing some!! And now you’ve given me the perfect opportunity!!!

i haven't included any of the reference photos I used for the art, but if you'd want to see them I can share them as well. Moving forward, I’ll put everything under a cut to save space :)

(all IDs are in alt text)

Okay so this one's a negative space drawing of some plants! Fun fact the one on the far left is an onion that had sprouted because we hadn't eaten in in time, because at the time I didn't have a third houseplant I could use for the reference and I needed 3

This one is a line weight drawing of a glass jar filled with water, a wyvern figurine, and an ornament! The ornament shows up a lot because it was required

This was just some notebooks, cloth, an ornament, a jar, and a piece of folded paper. A random arrangement drawn in charcoal but I think it looks nice. the cloth in the back is actually a pillowcase because that's what I had on hand:

And then this is another random arrangement of things, but this time drawing with white on black paper instead of the other way around! And it's got a twilight book in it so :) very me

then this one was done on a scratchboard! essentially I used an exacto knife to scratch away the black and reveal the white to draw this owl:

this isn't everything I drew in that class, as some of it is mundane line exercises and such, and some of it just didn't turn out in a way I'm proud of.

like my final. ugh. the requirements for that one fucked me over because she wanted us to have a certain number of things in the piece, but in doing so I was just cramming things into the composition. The sketch was cool! But the inking...not so much. I might still have the sketch if you're interested

but yeah!! these are some of my realism art pieces/studies from that one art class I took to fill a credit over a year ago. that class actually turned out to be my most difficult and stressful one that semester due to executive dysfunction, but I learned a few helpful tricks :)

thank you for the opportunity to share them, Nonsie! I miss doing art more often, so I can't wait to explore it again when the wings au is finished

hope you enjoyed! i will now be taking compliments about how cool and awesome and talented I am (that's a joke you don't need to do that)

#quil's quill #quil's queries #nonsie #i have a habit of going 'what's the most interesting and relevant to my interests class I can take to fill this credit requirement' #instead of going 'what's the easiest class I can take to fill this credit requirement so I can spend my energy on the more difficult #classes that have to do with my majors' #so I end up taking harder filler classes than I need to #like this art class. and my anatomy class #there were so many much easier things I could've done #but I prioritized my interests #and I'm not sorry for it. but it's something to keep in mind about myself #neither is better than the other #i just gotta remember I won't take the easy way through so I gotta be gentle with me #you know? #anyway here's some of my art :) #i draw book characters a lot but am capable of other things

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Trials and Defibrillations (Intermission 2)

Prev

Marinette thought Adrien was a little strange.

He didn’t often look her in the eyes, for one. He seemed to focus on a space just above her head when talking to her. Which, she supposed, wasn’t entirely off putting – she had met people who did not like eye contact before, though they typically looked at the ground rather than up.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t paying attention, though. In fact, he was weirdly focused on her inane ramblings. Even the patients that should have been hanging onto her every word, because she was trying to make sure they didn’t die, didn’t listen to her like he did.

It wasn’t something she had realized at first, he wasn’t exactly the talkative sort, not now that he had already gotten the job. Unless outright prompted to speak he seemed more than happy to just… nod along to whatever she talked about to fill the time. She had assumed that he just liked that she would fill the silence, or maybe that he didn’t want to talk to her but didn’t want to actually confront her about it. Either way, there was no reason for her to assume that he was doing anything more than hearing her, certainly not listening.

But then. He would point out when stories she told him would conflict, knew her routine well enough that he would notice when she had tripped up sooner than even she would, remembered what cures she had already tried on patients with more accuracy than she did.

It was… nice. Flattering. No one had cared for her since her parents. She had missed it.

She didn’t quite trust him, though.

There was something off about him. He was a doctor from another town, but he didn’t care much about protocol. He forgot gloves and face masks more often than not. He didn’t bother to stop himself from touching his face, even though she knew that he knew not to do that, since he had warned his patients more than once. By all accounts, he should have fallen ill by now.

But he was still alive.

It was weird. She didn’t like nor understand it. And she was going to figure out why it was happening.

The plague had forced her to specialize in medicine but, at the end of the day, she was a scientist.

Marinette stepped into the clinic the next day in normal clothes. They had been dusty, sitting in the back of her closet, and the pants were closer to capris now with how much she had grown since the last time she’d worn them. But that would only help her, today.

Adrien was already there, as he always seemed to be. Really, it was like the guy didn’t sleep.

He glanced up at the sound of the bell above the door, and his eyes went wide upon seeing her without her usual gear.

“Uh?” he said, eloquently. And then he shook his head to himself, as if trying to kick his brain into gear. A smile made its way across his face, but his eyebrows were still drawn together in blatant confusion. “Forgetting something?”

“Nope!” she said, breezing her way inside.

He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He followed after her as she went about setting up for the day, a shadow, looking confused all the while.

“Aren’t you going to… get geared up?” he broke, eventually.

She had to fight to keep the smirk off of her face. She looked at him, frowning innocently. “Well, I mean, you don’t wear anything special most of the time, and you’re fine, so…”

A couple of emotions flitted across his face, each more complicated than the last, too quickly for her to get a read on any of them. Until he finally looked resigned. He leaned against the table, sighing. For a moment, his eyes flicked to the place above her head that it usually landed whenever he was ‘looking at her’, before they slid to the ceiling.

“Okay, you caught me, I haven’t been entirely honest,” he admitted, slowly, mulling his words over carefully. “I… am the reason this is all happening.” He gave a bitter kind of laugh at the way she backed up a half step. “I was visiting, and I happened to spread it, I guess. I can’t just leave this place to die out, you know?”

She nodded slowly. That… checked out. She bit her lip. “And your old town…?”

“Gone,” he confirmed. “This place won’t meet the same fate. There has to be a cure.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. She felt bad, now, for forcing him to talk about this before he was entirely ready. But she wouldn’t have been able to trust him had she not, and she needed to trust him. They were coworkers, after all.

“If you don’t know the cure, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you… live?” she asked.

He gave a wry kind of smile. “I don’t know. I guess a god just favors me.”

“What do you think are the chances one favors me, too?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Pretty high, I think. I mean, you’re so… you.”

She smiled a little at the attempt at comfort, but it quickly faded. Her eyes slid away from him, further into the shop. They should really start working soon, but she wasn’t sure she really wanted to, yet.

“So this is one of those miasmas where you either die to it or live on to never get it again,” she said, feeling utterly small. Because there had yet to be someone other than Adrien to survive it. And she wasn’t dumb, she knew that she was absolutely at risk. She needed for there to be a cure, because otherwise what hope did she have of surviving this?

“I could always pass it to you,” he said, leaning into her space, smirking widely. “I probably have a mild version of it right now. We could build up your immunity.”

Marinette gagged. “Don’t be gross. You’re, like, my older brother or something.”

Thankfully, he just laughed a little at the rejection. It hadn’t been much of an offer, anyway.

Still, he looked thoughtful. He smiled cheekily. “Your older brother, huh? Well, as your older brother, I must now make it my life’s goal to annoy you at every given opportunity.”

“Oh no! I’ve made a mistake!”

If only she had known how right she was.

Life seemed to be on an upswing for her for the next few months. Adrien chipped into conversations more, cracking jokes and telling her silly stories he had heard on his travels whenever the lack of progress she was making on the cure started to get her down. Though the ‘older brother’ thing had been more of a quip, something she had said because it was an easy way to reject someone without hurting their feelings too much, it started to become true.

(He still didn’t meet her eyes, but that was fine. She hadn’t expected that to change, anyway.)

It was nice.

Until he came in one day, acting strange. More fidgety, antsy. He kept looking around, like he was waiting for something. He had never been entirely still, she knew, but this was different. He seemed… scared.

She didn’t think she had ever seen him scared before.

Which was weird. Because they had known each other for almost six months, by that point, and logic dictates that he should have been scared before. It was only natural. And yet she wasn’t sure he was even capable of being scared.

Though, if she had survived a deadly miasma, she would feel invincible, too.

And yet.

There was no mistaking it. He was terrified.

“Hey,” she said. “How about we close for the day? Go have a picnic or something.”

Adrien’s eyes widened, briefly. “You… you want to close the shop for the day?”

She never closed up shop. People were relying on them. There weren’t enough people in town, anymore, for it to be worth going out, anyway.

“That’s what I said,” she joked, lightly. And then she sobered. “You don’t seem up to working today, anyway.”

He nodded slowly, realization dawning on his face. He sent her a gentle smile. “I know a neat place just outside of town, if you’re willing to grab some food for us.”

And so they did just that, and the picnic was… nice.

Marinette was exhausted, though. She hadn’t really realized how much she had been running herself ragged, but now that she was actually sitting on an impossibly soft blanket, watching clouds pass overhead, she felt torn between passing out and breaking down crying.

An arm, hesitantly, looped itself over her shoulders. She jumped just slightly. She… wasn’t used to touch anymore, she hadn’t touched anyone since the miasma had started spreading through town. It felt weird. Kind of like a burn. But she liked the feeling, strangely enough. She turned to Adrien. His eyes were, as usual, locked above her head, but now that she was this close… she took in the deep bags under his eyes and gauntness hanging in his cheeks. He had always looked sickly, but now he felt… older, somehow.

She hesitantly leaned into him, burying her face in his neck.

Some part of her screamed at the idea of touching him, even now. She could get sick. She could die. She shoved those thoughts down. There was no point in trying anymore, anyway. Might as well take the comfort.

“I failed,” she mumbled. She could count the remaining townsfolk still capable of walking around town on two hands nowadays. Even if a few of them managed to make it, somehow, chances were it wouldn’t be enough to make them all last more than a few generations. “I… failed.”

Adrien dragged her closer, wrapping his other arm around her, pulling her into his lap, until he was practically engulfing her. Like he was trying to hide her from the rest of the world.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She felt tears begin to spill over. She hugged him back, far more tightly than he was hugging her, probably enough to hurt. If Adrien minded, he didn’t let it on in the slightest.

“I wanted to – I was supposed to – fuck!” She pressed closer. She wasn’t sure if that was even possible, but damn would she try.  “I’m going to survive this, but what’s the point? I don’t want to be the only one to live! I – I was supposed to die, too!”

“You won’t be the only one to live,” he said. His tone was harsh, harsher than she had ever heard it. She fought not to flinch, but must not have hidden it as well as she hoped, because his voice softened immediately. “We’ll have each other.”

“I don’t want to be the last one,” she said. “I just want my parents.”

He squeezed her tighter. “It’ll work out, I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“God’s favor, remember?” he said, and she was pretty sure it was supposed to come across as a joke, but there was too much desperation leaking into his tone for it to be taken as such. “You’re not going to die. And you’re not going to be alone, either. I don’t care who I have to fight or what I have to do, I swear on my life that I will make sure of those two things.”

She felt like a little kid, being comforted by promises no human could ever possibly keep, but she nodded regardless.

She drew back just slightly, enough to send him a watery smile. “And here I thought we went on this picnic to cheer you up.”

He managed a little laugh. “I think we both just needed a little time away to rest and think things over.”

Lips pressed to her forehead. They were strangely cold.

Like a –.

“Sleep,” he mumbled.

Her eyes fluttered shut before she had even finished her thought.

She drifted into a dreamless sleep.

When she awoke again, her brain felt scrambled, for lack of a better word. Like she had accidentally ground it up in her mortar and pestle. Something was weird.

Slowly, she peeled her eyes open. Her vision was dim in that way it always was when you spend a long time outside. Her shoulders ached, though she wasn’t sure why. Her neck had a crick in it where she had been propped up against a tree. Adrien was nowhere to be found.

The smell of smoke met her nose, and she almost gagged on it. She lifted a hand to cover her mouth and nose, looking around frantically for the source. It had been light out, so they hadn’t bothered with candles or lamps. There hadn’t been many clouds in the sky, so a sudden storm or lightning strike was unlikely, too. It hadn’t been hot enough for dry kindling to catch. So what had caused…?

The smoke was coming from where they’d come.

She jumped to her feet, panic gripping her. The village was on fire and Adrien was gone and what was she supposed to do –?

Adrien came tearing through the trees, a kind of wildness dancing in his eyes. He only relaxed somewhat upon finding her, still safe and sound where he had left her.

“It’s beyond saving, trust me,” he said. Soot dotted his face and arms. He must have tried to help.

She didn’t move.

She couldn’t move.

He must have tried to help.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“What? That’s not –! I didn’t want you to get hurt, okay? Now let’s go! The fire is going to spread, we need to leave!”

She couldn’t bring herself to nod along.

Because… he had been acting weirdly frantic and scared this morning. And now there was a fire.

Regardless of whether or not he had started it, he had known it would happen.

He hadn't told anyone.

He hadn't told her.

He made a frustrated sound. “You – just – come on!”

He grabbed her by the arm, moving as if to pull her along with him.

She dug her heels into the dirt.

Her eyes didn’t want to leave the village, but she dragged them away regardless, meeting Adrien’s carefully.

He was looking directly at her for once.

There was something… wrong in his gaze. The panic he was trying to portray wasn’t there, he almost seemed pleased. But that wasn’t even what she was talking about. No, when looking directly at him, her skin started to crawl. Something other lurked behind his eyes.

He had run through the trees, and yet he was not in want for air.

Whatever he was, he was not human.

Marinette tried to pull away from him, but he was quick to hold on, his grip on her arm only a step above bruising.

“Marinette,” he said, more firm. “Come with me.”

“Did you… did you do this?” she asked.

He gave her a confused look. For a moment.

But then he seemed to realize that she wasn’t falling for it.

He smiled, his head tipping to the side just slightly. Dark red blood could be seen splattered across the top of one of his shoes – dark red, not brown, fresh.

“Of course I did.”

She had known, of course, but the admission still takes the breath from her lungs. When she takes a frantic gasp of air, all she gets is smoke. She feels lightheaded. She might pass out.

Adrien – if that was even his real name – looked concerned. It seemed genuine, but then he always did. “We should go, before the smoke inhalation gets to be too much,” he said. He tugged on her arm and, this time, she doesn’t have enough strength to fight like she should. She half-stumbled into him, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. It’s supposed to be a hug, but it only makes her feel trapped.

She felt weird, sick, wrong. Just touching him made her feel like she was going to shatter. She was not sure if this was in her head or not.

She pushed at his chest, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he maneuvered her into a carry, lifting her clean off the ground, and no amount of squirming in his arms can make him let go. She screamed, but no one came to help.

(Not a single soul was around to hear.)

And he had the gall to look hurt and confused as to why she was so upset.

“It’s not as if anyone there cares about you, anyway,” he said. His tone was flat and entirely too matter of fact when he said it, and somehow that only made it hurt more. “I care about you. They put you, a child, on the front lines. So, they had to go.”

As if it was that simple.

“They were people,” she stressed.

“I know.”

She realized, with startling clarity, that he didn’t get it. That he couldn’t get it. That, whatever he was, he just couldn’t understand why she was freaking out about the mass death. He was simply incapable.

Could she really be mad at him for that?

Perhaps so, but he was all she had, now.

So, she wrapped trembling arms around his neck to make carrying her easier, buried her face in his collarbone, and tried not to cry.

+++

Up next: Jonathan Crane struggles to blackmail someone who can't be killed in a way that matters See yall in like 4-12 months lmaooo

TBC

Trials and defibrillations masterlist

#trials and defibrillations #maribat #mlbxdc #mlbxdcu #mlxdc #mlxdcu

[percontaion-points]

Today’s review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 2

…and the floors are some type of soil-your-pants brown. I know this for a fact. Last week, a guard threatened a new guy with castration and all hell broke loose...just like his bowels. 

Imagine sitting at your computer to write, and the line that really wants to come out is this. 

And an editor lets you. 

Since public schools aren’t allowed to lean one way or the other, only private schools…

You’ve heard of private Catholic schools. Now get ready for… private Satanic schools. 

My aunt Lina is my dad’s crazy twin sister who, I’ve been told, suffers from polyfused disorder, meaning the older spirit (supposedly) Fused to hers is strong enough to gain control of her body. When she isn’t acting like a giggly ten-year-old who speaks in the past tense, she works for A Look Beyond, a tour company owned by Myriad. 

Sounds more like the people in this world are religious bigots who cover up people’s out of control mental illnesses by saying that they’re “possessed by an angel/devil”. 

I’ve often wondered why she’s singular to Vans. Is she sleeping with him?

 I’ve heard rumors about girls earning special privileges with their bodies. I’ve also heard about girls being threatened with harsher punishments if they refuse. Even the thought fills me with rage. 

Again, the author could have written literally anything. And she actively CHOSE to write about a juvenile asylum in which the girls are basically being raped or turned into whores. 

My dad is a senator in the House of Myriad, responsible for ensuring Myriad-friendly laws are passed and Troika-friendly laws aren’t. 

Again, you might as well call them “Republicans” and “Democrats”, and this story wouldn’t change at all. 

No matter what’s done to me in the future, I will hold out. I must. I’ll be released on my eighteenth birthday. Though my parents signed with Myriad before my conception, there was a special clause for the birth of a child. 

When I came along, their contracts had to be renegotiated. Now their benefits are dependent on my decision. An incentive to raise me the “right” way.

 If I haven’t signed with Myriad by the time I’m a legal adult, my parents will lose everything they love more than they ever loved me. Money, prestige. Homes. Cars. Boats. Not to mention the things they were promised in the Everlife.

That sounds like such an amazing deal. And also in no way like a combination cult and MLM. (Which, aren’t MLMs cults in their own way?)

TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide discussion

Suicide is expressly forbidden by both realms, and it can even render a contract null and void. 

Not like I’m pro-suicide in general, but this seems like the perfect escape from those shitty contracts. Don’t want to go to either realm? Simply nullify the contract by offing yourself!

“Laborers are sent to protect the chosen and then, when the human reaches the Age of Accountability, they negotiate covenant terms and guide the human through the rest of Firstlife. With us, though, covenants are voided if the signer is coerced.”

So this entire time, we’ve been shown these literal children being tortured, abused, raped, simply so that they could sign. But yet, Bow is telling her that children being forced to sign is literally illegal. 

MAKE UP YOUR GODDAMNED MINDS.

I would ask where the editor was, but I think we all know that there were none. 

For some reason, as happiness buzzes in my veins, my gaze is drawn to New Guy. 

He’s staring at me again.

Each of my pulse points leaps. Not knowing what else to do, I nod in acknowledgment

Oh look, it’s the love interest. 

His surprised laughter follows me out of the cafeteria.

Chapter 2 summary: Ten fumes about what happened, and kind of takes it out on Bow. Bow, for her effort, is not daunted by the first roadblock, despite Ten basically telling her to fuck off. 

The narration then pauses to meander through some more explanation about heaven and hell. (Until further notice, I refuse to call them the stupid names the author came up with.) It’s forbidden to talk about it in public schools, so the only information kids get is from their parents. Who are obviously biassed towards one end or the other. They have these “tours”, but they vary so wildly that the entire thing sounds like a joke. 

The book then meanders through a tedious scene where some of the boys are making fun of Bow, before Ten goes to her morning “therapy” group. (I’m reluctant to use any sort of actual medical terminology here since, again, none of this sounds remotely legal by our standards.) There, Sloan makes an off-hand comment that some more guards are going to try and kill Ten again tonight. Ten explains to the readers that she killed the last guard who tried that. 

Ten and Bow stay up that night, and end up fighting off four guards. This is mercifully glossed over. But after the fight, we have to endure more of what’s quickly becoming this book’s nonsensical conversation between Ten and whomever else is in the room with her. There’s probably a good reason why she’s in a mental hospital, NGL. 

Six days pass without incident, which begins to worry Ten that something big is coming for her. Then, a new boy shows up, and Bow randomly hates him. I know that he’s the other love interest, but at the same time… From Ten’s perspective, Bow hates him simply because he exists. It’s kind of weird. Ten then talks some about the “Humans Against Realm Turmoil” or HART group, who are trying to stop these wars. But Heaven and Hell don’t give a shit about what you think; they only want soldiers who are dumb enough to follow orders. 

Bow is still hung up over the unnamed guy, and asks for a distraction. She asks about Ten’s life from before. She mentions briefly that children are literally forced to sign when they turn 16. Instead of doing that, Ten stole her mom’s car and then got sent to the asylum the next day. 

This quickly morphs into a discussion about Bow’s steadfast belief in Heaven that has never once wavered. Ten is honestly impressed with this, but it’s hard to say if that awe is because of how fucking dumb the entire thing sounds. 

She then catches the new guy’s eye, and Bow asks if she’s interested in him. Ten gets angry, and rudely pushes the new guy over as she leaves the cafeteria. 

#Firstlife #Everlife series #chapter 02 #Tenley 'Ten' Lockwood #but why #I would ask where the editor was but I think we all know there was none #shitty society is shitty #what the hell is wrong with people #Killian Flynn #Bow (Everlife)

[alyjojo]

Love Reading 🫶🏾- October 2022 - Taurus

Singles:

Overall energy: Page of Cups

How you will meet: Ace of Cups

How they will treat you: 5 Swords

Long-term Potential: 7 Cups

I’m going to guess this is someone you’ve turned down in the past, their ego is on 1000, and they’re hellbent and determined to “let you know” they have other options. Do they know Taurus energy or…? It’s not a sign that tends to care. Bye then. Leo/Scorpio cares a lot though and those are the signs showing up in abundance. So the whole interaction between you is Page of Cups & Ace of Cups. There’s some butterflies, and some attraction, maybe some sweet messages or a date. It’s small, it’s new, and then it’s nothing, probably because of you. For some reason you’re opting to not take this person seriously and they’re plotting “revenge” on you. They’re probably giving you a piece of their mind before exiting, maybe dating someone else just to hurt you…if it even does. Long-term this person still fantasizes about revenge fantasies and other ways to get back at you. Wtf man, gross 😬 It all stems from you hurting their EGO, kindly keep walking your own path because from what I’m getting, you probably sensed this level of immaturity from this person in the first place. They aren’t used to losing, or the word “no”. The fact their messages say “not ready yet” are just…they sure think they’re important don’t they? 😆 Are you waiting for them? They think so 💯 I’m not getting that you’re even bothered nor care. They’re convinced you do, thus the pain of it. It’s possible at some point one of you apologizes for hurting the other one, probably you, because they can’t seem to let it go…even having other options…that they don’t enjoy? Good luck 🍀

Messages -

Their side:

- Not ready …yet

- You don’t know how much YOU hurt ME

Your side:

- Soothing Presence

- I can’t stay

Signs you may be dealing with:

Leo, Scorpio & Pisces

Couples:

Overall energy: The Fool

Current: The Hanged Man rev

Challenge: 7 Wands

Potential: The Emperor

Oh boy, an ex. Complicated dynamic…you’re fake af, with them, in the best way I’m sure, but how this person knows you isn’t the “real you”. Your messages come up as kinky, you’ve played a role for this person that isn’t authentic, which you realize. You’ve released this Devil energy, probably to focus more on your heart, loving yourself, finding what’s good for YOU. Not someone else. I’m guessing this person got thrown out with all of the Devil energy, probably being someone that encouraged this or you felt you had to wear a false face for. Or that’s what you need to realize and do. If you’re the one coming back around, you’re trying to put on a mask that no longer fits or applies. For most of you, it’s this person that’s coming back around, after you’ve healed whatever issues you had, after you’re happy, now they’re like hey let’s pick back up where we left off.

The challenge is whoever was left in the first place is extremely defensive at how this person hurt them, never called them, never gave a damn or made any moves towards them. This person sees you as a fantasy, you are a temptation they need to fill, and *you already know this*. Because you know this, you’ve drawn the line. Nope. Things are different. You’ve grown up, they haven’t. You’re not working anything out, you’re not mending a relationship, what’s done is done and you’re probably realizing some very heavy shit about yourself even being in contact with this person. Though it probably feels good to be that for someone, that’s a nice ego boost, just tuck that in your pocket and keep walking 💯

Side story: If you’re together & happy, you could be made to feel insecure by some other person, another pretty girl or something like that, and are pulling out all the kinky stops to prove to them you’re better? Something like that. I’m not sure that’s necessary, your person isn’t going anywhere…you’re bothered, they’re not, though they probably appreciate these things you’re doing anyway 😅

Messages -

Their side:

- I fantasize about you DAILY 😵‍💫

- Childish 💯

Your side:

- XXX

- Dirty as f**k

Oracles -

Their side: Being alone can help you know yourself - and even more important, love yourself.

Your side: Life is like a play on stage. Learn your part well, and remember that it’s only an illusion.

Signs you may be dealing with:

Libra, Aries, Capricorn & Leo

#taurus tarot reading #love reading #couples reading #singles reading #october 2022 #Taurus #tarot

[ayatai]

24 Hours, Part Two

No. 9 THE VERY NOISY NIGHT

Tossing and Turning 

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

Valanice took her husband's hand in hers. "Graham… I know how weary you are. The toll the past few months - the past few years - have put on you. But you've also never been one to give up easily. I need you to fight now. Fight to stay here with us. So you can continue to dance with Rosella on her birthday. To bring me flowers when I least expect them. To get to know your son."

She gave his hand a final squeeze and moved out of the way so Rosella could take it.

"Do you remember when I was a young girl, and Lord Henry's son put a frog in my hair? It jumped off, and you and the guards were running around the whole room, trying to catch it. I was laughing so much I forgot how much it had scared me. And when you finally caught it, and I remember thinking how brave and strong you were. Please… please be strong now."

Silence filled the room after Rosella finished, Valanice and Rosella giving Alexander a chance to speak. He said nothing, and Valanice didn't blame him in the least. Graham was a stranger to him.

"Al-" Valanice started to assure him that it was all right, but Rosella interrupted.

"It was supposed to be me this day, not him. I…" Unable to continue, Rosella stood and rushed out of the room.

Valanice watched her go, her heart heavy with sorrow. She hated to watch her daughter go through this, but she also knew Graham wouldn't have hesitated to be the one in danger.

She would have liked to chase after her, to give her whatever comfort she could, but her gaze fell on Alexander, and her attention turned to him.

Whatever must he think of all this, she wondered. She hadn't heard him speak at all other than that one name when the mirror had flashed.

He looked as uncertain as ever and weary, and she realized she had no idea if he was hurt or hungry or when he had slept last.

"I'm sorry, Alexander. With everything, I haven't even asked how you are. You're not injured at all, are you?" He had, after all, just faced a dragon. "Ren can take a look if need be, or I can have food brought up."

"I'm fine," he replied, his words soft as he spoke more to the floor than to her. "Though I wouldn't say no to a bit of water."

She could certainly do that. More than that. She stuck her head out into the hallway and asked one of the guards on duty to have food brought up, a bath drawn in one of the guest rooms, and for someone to find Matilda. She desperately wanted the company of her lady-in-waiting and oldest friend.

While they waited, Valanice had one more thing to ask, though she hated pressing her son for information so soon.

"I know you're tired and have been through a lot today. I won't ask you to tell your whole story right now if you don't wish to, but I need to know if there is any threat to Daventry. When the mirror flashed, you said a name?" 

"The wizard who... took me. I believe he disabled the mirror when he did so, and now that he's a cat, all his spells are failing. There shouldn't be any immediate danger to Daventry, though I don't know what he might do if he ever manages to become human again." 

A wizard. That explained how he was able to kidnap the young prince without a trace. But as to why - that she still had no idea. The fact that he was - apparently - incapacitated was undoubtedly a relief.

"Where was this?"

"Llewdor."

Llewdor. They had searched for so long, and in so many places, but had come up empty every time. The wizard had hid him well.

"Llewdor... and you said he's a... a cat?"

He nodded

"That really must be quite the story. I hope you can tell it to us both one day."

A knock sounded, and Valanice was relieved to see Matilda walk in.

"Oh, milady. I'm so sorry. How is he?"

Valanice her head and said, "No worse, but no better. Ren has gone to consult with Aleric. Matilda, would you sit down for me? Please, I've some news, and I can't have you collapsing as well." 

The day's events had yet to truly sink in; she'd been acting more out of habit than anything. But as she spoke the words out loud, she felt her composure breaking as she said, "He's back, Matilda. After so long, he's finally back."

Matilda stared blankly at Valanice for a moment. Then her eyes widened as her gaze shifted back and forth between Valanice and Alexander. "You're… Truly?… Last time I saw you, you were taking your first steps…" She made a noise that could have been either laughing, crying, or something in-between.

Valanice mentally recoiled at the memory. That day had been the last time any of them had seen Alexander, and she had spent so long trying to avoid dwelling on the days that had followed.  

"I think he's of a height with Lord Venna's son? Would you ask if he would much mind if we borrowed a set of clothes?" She asked. 

Matilda looked Alexander over and nodded. "Yes, that's the closes we'll get on such short notice."

"Oh, and Matilda, please don't mention the reason for this request. If you've no objections, Alexander, I think it might be best to hold off on announcing your return until Graham…" Valanice stopped, unable to continue.

"Until the king is well again," finished Matilda firmly.

"Of course," Alexander replied.

As Matilda exited, a guard took the door from her and held it open as she walked by. He knocked on the open door and said, "Your Majesty? Lord Bryant here to see you."

Valanice stood. "I'll be back shortly. I want to go and check on Rosella anyway."

Lord Bryant was waiting for her in the hall, his face drawn with worry. "We received word that the king had collapsed," he stated simply as they moved further down the hallway and out of earshot of the guards.

"Yes, trouble with his heart. He hasn't woken, but he's stable for now," she replied.

He nodded. "And the Princess?"

"Safe and well."

"Thank the Shining Stars for that, at least." He paused and shifted his weight before continuing. "There was also word of a young man who arrived with her. I hope he, too, was unharmed?"

"The young man who slayed the dragon. Daventry owes him much." Valanice pretended not to notice the unspoken request for more details. Rumors of her son's return would almost certainly be circulating already, but she didn't think she could handle the uproar confirming them would cause. 

Not right now, with her attention already being pulled in so many directions and her thoughts in complete disarray. Honestly, she felt as if she was barely keeping it together.

"Most assuredly. Here's hoping for a quick recovery for the King. If there's anything I can do, just let me know. I'll do my best to ensure you're left undisturbed."

"Thank you, Lord Bryant. That is much appreciated." She found herself relieved when he nodded and took his leave.

Valanice returned to the guards standing by her door to ask which way the Princess had headed.

She followed Rosella's trail this way to the throne room. But there, it ran cold. She had been seen entering the throne room and heard talking to someone, but no one had seen her since. Valanice swept through the room, looking for any sign of Rosella, but found none.

She stopped in front of the mirror and asked, "Was my daughter talking to you? Did you send her somewhere?"

The mirror had been dark for years, showing nothing, not even a reflection. Now Valanice saw her face staring back at her, but that was all.

"Is there anything that can be done for Graham?"

The mirror's surface remained unchanged, as useless as the day it had been cursed.

She hurried back and tilted her head at Alexander to indicate she wanted to speak to him in the outer room.

"I don't want to worry Graham if he can hear us, but Rosella's gone. A servant heard her talking with someone in the throne room. She's no longer there, but no one saw her leave, either. I think… I think she may have seen something in the mirror. It's helped us before."

They were interrupted by Matilda entering again. "The guest room is ready for you, Prince Alexander."

Alexander looked back to his mother, clearly reluctant to leave.

"I'll stay here with him. If anything changes, I'll let you know right away," Valanice tried to assure him. After the two had left, she returned to her husband's side. His condition remained unchanged.

***

Valanice looked up as Alexander returned to the bedroom. He'd bathed and donned the borrowed clothes. They hung loose on him, but at least they were clean and whole. 

Her breath almost caught in her throat, looking at him. With his face washed clear of dirt and ash and his hair pulled entirely back, the resemblance to his father was unmistakable. 

"The clothes suit you," she finally managed to say.

He glanced down at the outfit but only asked, "How is he?"

"Ren and Aleric both came by. Aleric tried a spell, but it's too soon to tell if it worked."

There was another knock on the door. "Captain Tamart, Your Majesty."

"The King?" Tamart asked once she stepped back into the outer room to speak with him.

"Stable. For now," Valanice said, her tone sharper than she meant it to be. She hated that she didn't have a better answer for him.

"I led several knights up to Cloudland myself, Your Majesty, to confirm your daughter's statements. The dragon is undoubtedly dead, thank the stars. It seems to have been struck by lightning; witnesses reported seeing a severe storm."

"Thank you, Captain. That, at least, is a relief to hear. Daventry is fortunate to have you in her service," she replied formally, dismissing him. Dealing with the ramifications of the dragon being gone was another issue she just didn't have the attention or energy for right now.

 Alexander had fallen asleep in his chair. Valanice considered waking him so he could move to a bed, but he had seemed so exhausted she decided to leave him be.

She found an unused blanket and tucked it in his lap before returning to her seat by Graham. Besides, selfishly, she didn't mind the chance to watch her son sleep. He looked much more peaceful now, not nearly so wary and anxious.

She couldn't help but wonder what kind of life he'd had with this… this wizard. The nervousness and reserved nature she'd noticed in him seemed to go beyond a young man meeting family and royalty for the first time, though she deeply hoped that's all it was. But she had a growing suspicion she had many things to be angry with this Manannan for.

The hours dragged on. She found herself half-dozing periodically but never getting any actual sleep. Ren and Aleric periodically checked in, and Valanice could tell by their expressions that neither was hopeful. Her husband's condition was slowly deteriorating, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her only hope was that Rosella was indeed on a quest to find something or someone that could save him. She clung desperately to that hope.

Alexander continued to sleep. He thrashed in his chair at one point, half mumbling something she couldn't make out. She wondered if she should wake him, but whatever dreams troubled him seemed to pass before she had made up her mind.

An hour later, he awoke on his own. Valanice watched as he blinked sleepily, recalling where he was and glancing over at the King.

"Ren was just here checking on him. He's doing everything he can, but ..." her voice trailed off as she looked at her husband, who was only doing worse than ever. "No word on Rosella yet either."

The guards had searched the entire castle but could find no sign of her. She couldn't bear the thought of her daughter missing just as her son returned home. Rosella would return home as well. She had to.

Changing the subject, she looked back over at her son. "You were asleep for quite some time. It's past dark now." He must have been truly exhausted to sleep so long in such a position.

"I didn't get a chance to sleep much last night."

"I'm glad you got some rest then," she said as she gestured to a small table by the fireplace loaded with covered plates. "I had dinner kept warm for you if you're hungry."

By the look of his gaze, he very much was. 

"Thank you," he said, but as he moved over, she saw him freeze as if something had suddenly occurred to him.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

He shook his head. "Not at all. I'm just a little… overwhelmed."

He certainly had reason to be. But she couldn't help but feel that there was more to it. She didn't want to overwhelm him even more, but she did want him to know that he had nothing to fear from them, that they were always available if something was bothering him.

She moved over to the second chair by the fireplace. She wanted to take her son's hand but stopped herself. Would that be too much too soon? She longed to hug him. To hold him and never let him go again.

"Alexander, I don't know what your plans are; if you plan on staying. I hope you are." Desperately so. "I want you to know that you always - always have a home here, and if there's ever anything you need, you just have to ask. I plan on requesting the room next to Rosella's be opened up. It's yours if you want it."

When they'd moved Rosella from the nursery into her own room, Valanice had insisted that the one next to it be set up as well. They had always kept a space ready for him, in both home and heart.

"Or any of the other rooms, if you'd rather have one of them. And I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. Listening - it's one of our duties as parents."

She hoped she was making any sort of sense; between the worry and the exhaustion, forming any words at all was challenging.

He sat, silent, as she talked, eyes staring down at his hands in his lap. Then, when he did speak, her heart soared.

 "I would like very much to stay. And… I do have one question," he continued, looking up at her. "If the King… and Rosella…"

"Oh." The same had occurred to her during those long hours while he slept. "Then, by our laws, the throne would pass down to you."

He certainly didn't look enthused by the idea. More panicked. "I would be here to help, don't worry. But Rosella - she's smart, and brave. And so much like her father. Wherever she is, I'm sure she'll do everything in her power to finish her quest and return home.

She - and you - come from a long line of adventurers. Graham was a knight before he was King, and his father before him."

Valanice spoke on, sharing with him the stories of Graham's adventures - and her own. The stories she had repeated to Rosella so many times that the words came easily, even in her current state.

Eventually, he slept again, and Valanice took a short walk around the corridors. To take a break from the oppressiveness of the room and to try and clear her head.

It didn't work. She passed by a windowed alcove, one out of sight of any servants or guards.

A few minutes later, Matilda found the Queen seated on the floor in the alcove, hugging her knees. Saying nothing, the older woman sat beside her and held her friend tight. 

The window behind them began to lighten with the approaching dawn. And down in the throne room, the mirror shimmered and started to brighten as well- not with sunlight, but magic.

#ayatai whumptober2022 #king's quest #this one got long sorry #but now we're done with the Gwydion pov switch and ready to move on to newer stuff #ayatai writes

[blushpinkpeonies]

Hey Goblins, uh

Did you know, that you can make an AWESOME journal for your adventures ALL ON YOUR OWN from a cereal box and paper/scraps that you likely have at home/can get from friends or family/you may find around your environment?

They’re called Junk Journals and they’re my entire life.

Im gonna do my best to walk you through how to make one! First, get you a mini cereal box! I use boxes from those cool multipacks of cereal that you can find at Walmart!

And then cut it out so it looks like this! (I already had one cut, so I’m gonna use that)

That “nutrition facts” side is gone become your spine!

Next, find some paper to use to decorate your cover! I was lucky enough to be gifted a bunch of scrapbooking paper, so I’m gonna use that, but you can also use newspaper, paper from books/magazines, junk mail, napkins, paper towels (excellent texture), etc!

Go ahead and glue that paper to your box (to cover the cereal logo) and cut it out! It’ll look like this;

Next you need to find your pages! Again these can be anything! Junk mail, envelopes, receipts, food wrappers, magazine/book pages, scrapbook paper, computer paper, construction paper, ANYTHING. Just grab a whole bunch!

You’re gonna want to fold them in half and cut them to the size of one of the covers of your box, and layer other pages inside of it to make your signatures, like this!

Each signature should be about 7-10 pages. You don’t want them too thick, otherwise the inner pages start sticking out when folded in half. You’re gonna have a LOT of these signatures, as you wanna fill the area in the spine as best as possible. For this one I’m using 7 page signatures. Here’s a pic to show just how much paper you’ll need

Each of these signatures are 7 pages, 6 signatures have only filled about half of the spine, so I’ll need probably 6 more.

Next you gotta figure out how you want them in your journal. Personally, I like to sew them into the spine, but you can also keep them in the spine with rubber bands, so you can have removable pages! (Be weary that rubber bands may break over time! So you may want to always keep extra bands near it to replace in case one snaps. This is why I prefer sewing them in) I find it best to look up on YouTube how to sew in signatures, just because having someone walk you through it where you can see what they’re doing is easiest. If you can’t access YouTube, there’s plenty of text tutorials on how to sew in signatures online, or you can message me! I’m not gonna go too into detail, but here’s the jist;

Okay so I’m a forgetful gob and I hecken forgot to take pictures as I was going along kahshshshsh

But essentially, I sewed in the pattern similar to the one I drew. The dots are where the needle goes all the way through to the back. I also like to use rubber band as an extra mode of support but you can do one or the other. I also like both cuz I can tuck stuff in em between the pages. Since I didn’t take more pictures; I’d really recommend looking up a how-to on YouTube or w/e if my badly drawn diagram isn’t clear enough (heh sorry about that)

Next, I glue fabric to the spine. It spruces it up quite a lot and holds the rubber bands in place, plus it give more support to the spine since there’s gonna be a lot of strain on it.

Only 10 photos per post, so I gotta post this and reblog it with the rest.

[the-apprentice-lia]

the main 6 with an mc who’s pushing themselves too hard/very stressed

i really need these headcanons now, especially so close to exam season :) so these are more of a personal style! hope you enjoy!!!

asra

• “hey, mc!! i’m home!” comes asra’s warm voice, echoing through the shop. it was closed, oddly, but they’ve let themself in. hey, maybe you just needed a break today! he’s been on another trip that’s taken him about a week, and he’s so excited to be home!! as he walks through the shop, he’s a little unnerved by the silence stifling the shop like a blanket. usually there would be music, some incense would be burning, or you’d be in the shop’s front yourself, but he’s noticed that everything seems… almost untouched since he’s been home? “it’s as if they haven’t even been at home,” he reflects with a confused glance around them.

• “uh… mc?” he calls, concern now lacing their voice as he strides through the shop, pulling off his scarves and dropping his bags as he looks for you. he can’t help it— he’s assumed the worst. losing you the first time was bad enough. how does he know there haven’t been some unforeseen complications with the spell? or maybe you did a spell wrong and you’re gravely injured? all the possibilities spiral through his mind incessantly, scrambling any rational thought as he runs through the shop.

• when they reach your room, he rests his hand on the doorknob. every bone feels heavy, as if it’s been cast in iron. he steps into the room as the door swings open, his eyes taking a minute to adjust to the dark room as he stumbles to the bed, searching with his hands, unable to wait. when they hit on a soft body, he exhales heavily through his teeth, relief coursing through him so profusely he feels a little light-headed, and he gasps softly with ease. you’re okay. he can hear the steady rise and fall of your breath, but as his eyes adjust he takes a moment to realise that it’s 2:00pm in the middle of the day, and you’re… asleep? when he can finally see, he sucks in a breath as he takes you in, biting their lip so hard it turns white between his teeth. oh, he’s been so stupid. why was he not here when you so clearly needed them? at first he thinks you’re sick. your face is unnaturally pale in the almost non-existent light, and your lips look colour-leeched, a dead-petal pink that is dry and cracked just like one. you’re wearing one of his shirts as a sleep-shirt, and he smiles despite himself at the fact that you wanted his scent on you— but it quickly falls again as he looks around the room, his gaze falling on the over-piled desk, papers falling off the sides. there are notes and books on the floor, scribbled annotations throughout the margins, next to a small horde of coffee-cups, and the curtains look like they haven’t been drawn in ages.

• “oh, mc,” he says softly, his voice cracking as he realises you really needed him this week. he probably waits for you to wake up. unable to sit still and take in how tired you look, he makes his way to the kitchen, pulling open the cupboards to find… nothing. there are a small army of ramen cups in the bin, and his eyes fracture even further as he thinks of you only creeping out of the bedroom to get a cup of noodles and more coffee and then sneaking back into your room. he runs out to the shop quickly, grabbing his scarves as he goes, and he’s back before you’re awake.

• when you wake up, it’s to the faint sound of sizzling and the smell of your favourite food, and you roll out of bed groggily, padding to the kitchen in a state of disorientation and exhaustion. your eyes fill with tears when you see asra, with their back turned to you, humming lightly as he stirs. you don’t even manage to get anything out before he senses your aura and turns to you, immediately enveloping you in a crushing hug. “oh, asra,” you choke out, your voice shaky with tears. “you’re home.” he hugs you even tighter, burying his head in your shoulder as you take in their familiar appearance. “i’m home,” comes his soft voice— and you can’t help it, you start to sob.

• you’re wetting his favourite travel shirt but they don’t care. “mc, i’m so sorry i haven’t been here for you,” comes their soft, sorrow-filled voice. “i’m so sorry.” you know he is, and you couldn’t care less at the moment. you just want to be in his arms. “i can’t keep up,” comes your quiet voice, muffled by the soft fabric of their shirt. “i can’t. it’s all so much.” you dissolve into quiet sobs again, and they hold you close. when you’ve finished, he makes you eat as he tidies up the room, opening the windows and airing out the thick, sharp smell of ink, parchment, and weeks of going without sunlight or happiness.

• maybe you’re studying for an exam/s, maybe you’ve got a performance of some sort, maybe you have research due. whatever it is, they ensure it’s put on hold. you’re the most important thing here. not some stupid, material thing. he can conjure a successful performance, can forge an exam. he can’t replace you. you’re everything to them, and they love you with all of them. how is he supposed to let you work yourself like this?

• all in all, when he says you need to rest, he means it. so, if you force his hand he’ll use a sleeping spell on you. just a soft touch to the forehead and you’re off, a peaceful look stealing over your features as your features relax since for the first time since he’s been home, and you sink into his arms. you need to sleep. so if you’re the type who keeps on working even when they’re mentally and physically drained, he’ll regret taking your choice away from you, but ultimately he’s willing to do it for your well-being. trust is so important to asra, but he can’t bear to see you like this… and so he uses the spell.

• when you come to, it’s bright outside and you feel… well rested, somehow. but you could have sworn that you were just eating dinner. you had just had another shot of espresso before that? how did you manage to— wait. no, he wouldn’t. (oh yes, they would. and they did.) you feel the calm haze of a calm, warm morning ebbing away as you throw the covers off, wrapping your nightgown around you as you leave your room, and come face to face with a very guilty pair of amethyst eyes.

• “my love…” they try to speak, but you cut them off. “don’t you ‘my love’ me!” your voice climbs higher as you take in the way his features twist painfully. “asra, how could you! i’ve lost… wait, how long have i been asleep?” your voice trails off as he speaks. “it’s been three years.” comes his solemn voice, and your eyes widen until you catch the playful spark dancing in his. “asra! that’s not funny at all.” you storm past him, but he catches your wrist and pulls you to him gently, wrapping an arm around your waist. you beat at his chest, but he holds you to him until you stop, and lay your head against his chest, finally. “i’m sorry.” they say, softly, and you know you’ve already forgiven them. stupid, traitorous heart. you sigh. “oh, asra. it’s alright. i know you only did it because you love me, but i would have taken a break eventually,” comes your small voice. you don’t even believe yourself, and when he arches a pale eyebrow, you drop your head, pressing your forehead against his chest. “fine, i wouldn’t have.” he smiles, pressing his lips to yours softly, and you feel the way the corner of their lips curves up slightly as he savours the fact that he’s won. “oh, shut up, you,” you mumble, and his deep laughter rings through the shop as you feel rather than hear the vibrations against his chest. for once, you’re not tired, and you thank him softly with another kiss as they pull you backwards back into your room.

• now that you’ve rested, he’ll help you as much as he can with whatever it was you were fretting so much over. if it’s studying? he’s there with a salve to help you focus more and remember better. performance? here’s a tonic for anxiety! research? well, he has a potion enabling you to read thrice as fast. whatever you need, he’ll help— even if it’s just a warm hug and a soft “you’re working hard and giving off as much of yourself as you can at the moment. you’re doing the best you can and i’m proud of you.”

• whatever it was you were worried about, you succeed fantastically at it, with asra by your side. they love you! they’ll help you in any way they can <3

nadia

• you don’t even know how long it’s been. nadia has been on a voyage to establish a foreign embassy in a distant land, and you’ve spiralled without her gentle voice telling you that you’ve worked enough. whether it’s studying, research, or performance, you’ve eaten, slept, and breathed it for the past week and a half. portia’s been worried, to say the least, and the frequent check-ins and worried asking after your (frankly non-existent) sleep schedule have helped a little… but not much. you haven’t opened the blinds in ages, not to mention eaten a proper meal. there’s been a revolving supply of coffee that you conjure from the kitchens, and the strong smell has completely overtaken your usual, calming scent. you stopped making yourself decent coffees ages ago, now you simply knock back shots of espresso now-and-again, sating the appetite subsequently evoked with little sandwiches that you pop in your mouth (also, to the chagrin of the chefs, conjured from the kitchens) in between absorbing knowledge or practicing. in short, you’re a mess, to say the least of your current state.

• you’re asleep at the desk that you and nadia both share when the door swings open, a shard of light stretching across the floor and leading a narrow path into the darkened room. nadia doesn’t know what to think, overwhelming worry swarming her every thought as she closes the door behind her, dropping her bags to the floor and summoning a flame to her hand (you’ve been helping her practice) as she moves softly, quickly, towards you. your soft hair has fallen over your face, and her eyes soften as she brushes it away, tracing your cheek gently. her eyes widen, worry, confusion, panic dancing in her eyes along with the flickering flame in the palm of her hand as she takes in the dark crescents that frame your closed eyes, the unusual pallor of your skin, the way you still clutch a writing instrument in your hand as you lay unconscious. it’s clear, you’re absolutely exhausted.

• “oh, mc…” comes her soft whisper, as she strokes your cheek gently. she pulls away, and sets to work. she sweeps you into her arms gently and lays you on the bed with a kiss to the forehead, and then it’s on to tackle the room. she organises whatever you’re working on in alphabetical order, cleans off the desk, burns clears away all the coffee cups, and airs out the room. evening finds her reading quietly on the balcony as you stir in… pyjamas? in bed? you look around you in confusion before you realise you’re still in your chambers, just that they’re not the way you left them.

• “portia?” you call out, slipping out of the covers as guilt colours your thoughts a deep violet, corroding and overtaking. “i’m really sorry for the way i left everything, you shouldn’t have cleared up for me— but thank you,” your voice softens as you take in the way she left flowers in a little vase beside your bed as you catch sight of the sundial and start. “what? how is it so late already, i should have started working hours ago!” you yelp, looking around the room for your books as you drop to your knees beside the ornately carved desk against the wall that you and nadia share.

• “hey, nadia, could you—” you cut yourself off abruptly as you whirl on your heel, taking in your lover with wide eyes as you run over to her, sinking into her arms and burying your face in her chest as she strokes your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “but— but i thought you weren’t coming back until next week?” comes your muffled voice.

• she draws back, pulling herself up to her full height as you swallow dryly. she looks furious. her eyebrows are drawn, her eyes narrowed and calculating as her lip curls in that way it only does when she’s particularly irate. as her ire takes your breath away. “portia sent her familiar to tell me what had been going on.” your eyes narrow before she grabs your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes.

• “no, don’t make her the target of your misplaced anger. she was simply worried about you— as she had every right to be.” she doesn’t let your chin go, her narrowed eyes darkening as they meet yours. “i didn’t realise the extent to which you were overworking yourself to, either, until i arrived at our chambers.”

• you grimace, looking away from her, but she turns you back to her, and to your surprise her eyes are glistening. “i don’t ever want to see you like that again.” is all she says before her lips meet yours and you wrap your arms around her shoulders, tangling your fingers in her hair as hers rest on your waist.

• when you pull away to rest your forehead against hers, your face is wet and you’re not sure whose tears they are. “i’m sorry,” you choke out as she presses another kiss to your temple.

• “i should have been here,” is all she whispers before you pull away, your brows furrowing. “don’t punish yourself for my own failings, my love. i won’t do it again.” you trail off at she softened set of her features as she pulls you into her arms again gently, stroking your hair as you breathe deeply. you’ve missed this.

• after this incident, she’s not going to leave you when she goes on a trip without someone she trusts wholeheartedly. most often, this is portia— but when portia can’t be there for you, she simply postpones her trip. she doesn’t mind. you’re her priority, and she won’t ever see you like that again.

• get ready for little reminders that you’re worth more than you can work and you deserve to take breaks and take care of yourself. the world isn’t going to stop if you don’t work right this second, or if you don’t work yourself to death now. please, prioritise yourself. when i say she means that you need to take breaks, she means it. at first, she’ll plead with you to take a break— but if need be, she can make you take one. if you take it too far, if you force her hand, she’ll mix a light sleeping draught into your food or drink. nothing too heavy, and nothing that will cause problems, but simply enough that you find the world becoming strangely hazy after your meal, drifting in and out of a shaky focus as you slip out of your chair and into nadia’s waiting arms. she’ll feel horrible about it, but she knows she’d rather feel horrible than have you in the state she saw you in that once.

• if when you come to you feel betrayed, she’ll understand, and give you some time with a soft, sad smile as she leaves your chambers for a while. but you quickly realise it was for your own good, and seek her out with a teary hug as she returns it just as fiercely, her amaranthine hair falling in soft, jasmine-fragranced waves around the both of you as she buries her face in your neck.

• altogether, she’s here for you. if you need help in your chosen field of study? she’ll help you to study, listen as you practice, or even just rub your back softly as you cry into her chest when the various stressors of the day have taken their toll on you. she won’t ever judge you for feeling overwhelmed— she’s all too familiar with the feeling. she’ll help you in any way she can— she’s always here for the love of her life :)

julian

• he’s only been gone for two days, on a medical conference in the next city over— but you’ve completely spiralled. without his caring voice telling you to take breaks, you’ve just… let yourself work until the point of exhaustion.

• you’re sprawled across the desk you share with him, face pressed up against the hardwood, your hand resting near one of many empty mugs of coffee strewn across your desk, notes sticking to your face when he sets his bag down near the door.

• he calls your name, pulling off his coat as he walks through the house, reasoning that you’re probably at the market or the palace— when he walks into the study and inhales sharply. “oh, mc…” his expression softens as he picks you up, walking back to your room with you cradled in his arms as he tucks you beneath the sheets. he clears up the workspace methodically (so unlike him) and places everything away in its correct place, (we’re going to ignore the sizeable stack of things-he-didn’t-know-where-to-put in the study cupboard) clearing away the coffee cups maybe breaking like two in the process because he tried to take all of them to the kitchen at once and dusting off the desk.

• “julian?” you call through the house as you stir, slapping your palm to your face as you remember you were supposed to pick him up, and he sticks his head around the bedroom door with a cup of cocoa in his hands. “oooooh coffee?” comes your voice, and you scowl as he shakes his head with a stern look. “no, not coffee. you know coffee is horrible for your sleep schedule and anxiety levels—”

• you cut him off by setting the mug to the side and pulling him into a hug, burying your head in his chest as he strokes your hair gently. “hey, i’m here for you,” comes his soft voice.

• he’s going to make you take breaks and eat properly, and drink all the water you need, and take vitamin supplements— in short, he’s going to take care of you. he knows you like the back of his hand and he can tell when you’re not taking care of yourself.

• soft whispers in your ear when you’ve worked too late into the night. “come to bed, love. it can wait until the morning.”

muriel

• he’s gone for a hike in the mountains with inanna. it’s only been a week, and he asked you if you wanted to come, but you had declined due to the amount of work you have to do.

• “mc?” his soft voice sounds as he opens the door. it’s dusk, and he’s just washed off, ready to get into bed. “i’m home.” he calls. no reply. he walks into the cabin, inanna on his heels as she immediately scampers over to where you are, putting her head on your lap with a soft whine. she knows something’s wrong. muriel’s immediately worried— he trusts the judgement of his familiar, and he takes in your appearance with wide eyes as he brushes your hair away from your face.

• you’re abnormally pale, your face pressed to the table and the notes surrounding you, a massive empty container of coffee near your head— but what worries him most are the dark crescents ringing the bottom of your eyes, making you look almost like a ghost as he picks you up and presses you to his chest, laying you down on the pile of furs gently as inanna curls up next to you with a little whimper, pressing her warm flank against your side and resting her snout on your stomach. she’ll protect her soft little defenceless human! she huffs, and muriel smiles slightly, giving her a little pat on the head as he goes to clear up.

• muriel’s cabin is a simple home, and everything has its place— so it only takes him a few moments to organise everything and file your notes away carefully. he tidies away the stationery strewn across the table, puts away throws away your coffee container, and overall cleans up the cabin as you rest with inanna.

• when you wake up, he’ll snuggle with you, explaining to you in soft tones that you shouldn’t overwork yourself, that he loves you, that he doesn’t want to see you not taking care of yourself again, and you cry a little when he rubs your back and pulls you into a hug. you feel so small, so safe in his arms, and you know he’ll take care of you.

• he’ll give you herbs to help you concentrate, even if he has no idea about the subject matter he’ll help to quiz you, he’ll give you little backrubs when you’re frustrated, and he’s always, always, there for you. whatever you need. he comes up with creative little things for you to do during your breaks— cooking sessions that end with both of you smeared in sauce, faces red from laughing as warm afternoon sunlight filters through the cabin windows, dappling muriel’s face and turning his eyes a warm, sea-glass green, quiet reading sessions that end with you both drifting off, you in his lap by the warmth of the fireplace on a cold night. inanna drags a blanket to the two of you, curling up on your lap. he takes you to the rolling meadows near the cabin, sprawling fields of twisting, twining, thoroughly wild fauna and fresh, crisp, air as he teaches you softly to recognise different herbs— herbs that heal, herbs that kill, a type of fern that allows you to drift off into a dreamless sleep and even a vivid yellow flower that makes you see in different colours. he’s there for you— he’s going to show you that you’re worth more than working yourself to the bone, that you’re worth more than that to him. you’re his world and he’ll do everything he can to show you that :)

portia

• she’s had to work double shifts at the palace for the past week and a half as there’s been a bit of a cold going around, so most of the palace staff are home-bound. but not portia! she’s proud to say her immune system is practically invulnerable, thank you very much. but… apparently yours isn’t.

• “hey, mc!” she calls, dropping her bags by the door and stretching her arms as she walks into the cottage, pulling off her shoes as she does. “i’m back!” her shifts have been so demanding that nadia simply offered her a room in the palace after the first two days, and she gladly accepted.

• there’s no answer. well, she reasons, you’re probably just at the market or something— and her train of thought is cut off as she takes in the sight waiting for her in your shared bedroom. “mc?” she whispers, her voice disbelieving as she takes in the appearance of your room. there are notes covering practically every surface, coffee mugs on every possible flat counter, and you’re slumped over the desk, your face pressed against the hardwood and your tangled hair thrown across your face. it looks as if you quite literally collapsed from exhaustion on the spot, and she manoeuvres around the notes on the floor until she’s next to you, kneeling next to you and putting a hand on your thigh. “hey, sweetheart?” she’s feeling especially bad now— she shouldn’t have left you alone to go through such a difficult time by yourself. she knew you were going to have to work hard this month, but she hadn’t thought it would be this… overwhelming.

• when she gently brushes your hair away from your face, her expression softens as she takes in how adorable you look with your face smooshed against the desk before she notices your sunken, bruised dark circles and unusual pallor, and her face falls as she bends, slides her arm beneath your knees and her other behind your back, and lifts you into her arms. she’s a lot stronger than she looks, and she has no problem carrying you to the bed and depositing you softly beneath the covers, dressing you in a robe so you’re not disturbed by your clothes.

• and now, spring cleaning. by now it’s well past dusk, so as quietly as she can, she throws open the windows and curtains. it’s nice to finally have a breeze in here and flush out the smell of coffee and despair. she gathers your notes into a neat little pile which she secures with a rose-quartz paperweight, tidies your stationery away, polishes the desk, and wipes down the desk chair— all in the span of an hour.

• “portia?” comes your soft voice as you wake up, looking around the room. there’s no way this is the same room… is it? your train of thought is quickly severed by portia barrelling into your arms, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her head in your shoulder as you stroke her hair, pressing a kiss to her sweet-smelling, rose-like ginger curls as she just sits there for a little while. you run your fingers through her hair, murmuring sweet nothings into her ear until she sits up… and the expression on her face is positively murderous. her cheeks are red and flushed, and her eyebrows are drawn low over her eyes in a way that makes you smile softly, kissing her cheek— but your brow furrows when you pull away and your lips are wet.

• “portia, love, why are you crying?” comes your soft prompt, and when you hear her mumbled reply you can’t help but let your expression fall. “is it… my fault? i should have been there. i’m really sorry,” she chokes out in-between barely-suppressed sobs, and you pull her into your arms again, sitting back as you let her rest her head against your chest, curling your arms around her tightly. “of course not. this is on me, okay? i don’t want to hear you blaming yourself, i’m the one with the terrible work-life balance, not you. okay?” she sniffles an “okay” back and you sit there with her until she’s stopped crying, pressing little kisses to her cheeks and forehead and mouth until her sobs morph into wet giggles, and you laugh with her as you hand her a tissue. you both fall asleep again as the world outside fades into a feathery lilac, amorphous patterns written in the clouds scrawling across the indigo sky as your eyes flutter shut.

• you’re roused by the faintest splashing of something against your cheek. something… wet? you spring out of bed as portia exclaims sleepily behind you to close the windows, sliding the french door that leads onto the meadow closed and tying your gown loosely around yourself as you run through the house, closing all the windows one by one so no rain gets into the house. you’re leaning up to close the window above the stove, standing on your toes as your nightgown rides up and arching your back as rain patters softly outside, filling the cottage with its calming melody.

• you’re sliding it shut as portia comes up behind you, sliding her arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to the back of your neck as you smile warmly, turning around to face her and pressing your lips to her soft, full ones. you sigh against her, breaking the kiss after a while to lay your face on her hair as her arms encircle you anew and she rubs your back. you stay like that for a while, until you pull away to go and make some tea while she pops a few cinnamon rolls in the oven. you put the tea to boil and you know she wants to talk when she takes your hand, pulling you closer to her so she can look you in the eyes.

• “i’m sorry.” you’re the first to speak, breaking the tentative silence between you as she lets you continue, her face open and unguarded. “i just… sometimes when there isn’t anyone there, i lose myself in things like studying, or practicing, or, well, just about anything that isn’t taking care of myself, really. i, um— used to think of self-care in terms of how much i could work. as in, if i can get this done by midday i can eat, and i just sometimes slip back into it, but—” you’re rambling now, the fact that the subject is particularly difficult to talk about not helped by her borderline horrified expression. she shushes you after a little while, simply opening her arms for you to sink into and rest your head against her chest.

• you sniffle. “and i didn’t ever get what i was aiming for and so it just periodically got worse.” your voice is muffled by her chest, and all she does is rub your back as you cry it out, whispering soft affirmations into your ear. “you’re worth more than you can give to other people, sweetheart.” comes one in particular that just sets you off more. you’re crying messily at this point, stifling sobs and choking into her, but she doesn’t pull away once, letting you collect yourself until you finally pull away. you cuddle on the patio with her as you share a cup of tea and some cinnamon rolls— neither of you need to speak. the silence is enough.

• she’ll have a soft discussion with you when you’re ready to talk about what she can do to help, and she’s there for you whatever you need. most importantly, she’s never going to leave you to spiral like this ever again. she loves you too much to ever be able to see you like that again. so even if she has to pull double shifts at the palace or overwork, she’ll send pepi to check on you and to make sure you’re taking care of yourself— (and pepi will literally sit on your notes and mewl until you eat something/shower/drink some water) failing which, she’ll simply explain to nadia quietly why she’s leaving, and will come back to make sure you’re okay.

• she loves you so much. she’s not going to let you do this to yourself :)

lucio

• coming back and seeing you in a state is… jarring, to say the least. no matter how disorganised you are, in a relationship with lucio, you’re going to be the responsible one. whether it’s just in terms of emotion, or in every aspect, you always have your stuff together, and so it’s quite terrifying to see you undone like this, to lucio.

• “hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he’s not good at feelings, to say the least, but he’ll do his best. little back rubs and temple kisses until you explain softly to him what the problem is. he’ll make you stop working, be it through the power of sheer irritation, or… other means. he’ll make you take a long, hot bath filled with rose petals or perfume or something just as cliched and “typically romantic,” and make you take a break. mercedes and melchior will help him, mercedes taking your notes and growling playfully when you come close, and melchior sitting on your lap until you roll away from the desk on your chair.

• you’re his mc! he can’t have you overworking yourself and he’s going to do his best to show you you’re worth more than that.

#angst #the arcana angst #angst headcanons #fluff #the arcana fluff #fluff headcanons #studying headcanons #overworking headcanons #nadia satrinava #asra alzanar #muriel of the kokhuri #lucio morgasson #portia devorak #julian devorak #countess nadia #count lucio #the arcana headcanons #magician asra