#sunny I know I’m the one inflicting this on you but why are your brain monsters so fucked up ?

[dannybobany]

Another installment for that omori au! I like this one much more then Malice …. I think I might genuinely have to redraw malice because upon going back and looking at that I really just do not like it that much.

Anyway. Yay more omori au! Oh also I’m tagging these Omori!RecoveryAU from now on

#Omori!RecoveryAU #omori #omori au #this one’s phobia name would have to be … sonophobia #she screams <3 #sunny I know I’m the one inflicting this on you but why are your brain monsters so fucked up ? #Danny’sDrawings©️ #oh I forgot to mention #burden. as it’s name might suggest. represents Sunny’s fear that his grief is hurting others #anyway. this means rejection is next! uh oh! #just so y’all know rejection is my least favorite on the “is the creator scared of it” scale

[ashsd3ad]

# t. fushiguro — eighth world wonder.

word count: 0.8 k

tooth rotting fluff; thoughts about having a kid (toji); reader is referred to as sweet girl and it’s implied she’s mamagumi <3; this is so fucking sappy.

he thought he let it go

he was sure he had left it, everything, behind.

his pride, his feelings, they had been left to die in that wretched childhood house of his.

so why?

why was his heart racing in his chest as he laid beside her, unable to sleep?

—

lay beside me

let’s share the gloominess

hand in hand in the darkness

i feel like i’m holding my life in my fist

her face was smushed in his chest, limbs tangled in an endless knot, skin to skin. disheveled hair framed those angelic features of hers he had grown accustomed to staring at, long eyelashes gently laid on her cheeks in her apparently dreamless slumber.

her chest rose and fell steadily, soft breaths hitting his pecs, penetrating his skin and flesh, going straight to warm his battered heart.

these devils around my bed

are waiting for me to fall asleep

the room was swallowed by darkness, thoughts swirling around his tired mind. toji was never the one to ponder much about his feelings; he acted, he didn’t waste time thinking.

during some particularly silent nights though, he allowed his brain to wander, he allowed his heart to be ripped out of his chest by his own consciousness.

the reality of my nightmares scares me

a knife rips my chest apart

it’s an open heart surgery

he had promised himself to never let the muscle between his ribcage feel again, the mere thought too painful to handle. yet, here he was, cradling her body like it was made of the most precious and fragile porcelain, expertly crafted to look flawless. just for him.

with the door and windows closed

the light can’t get through

but if your caress me i can reopen my eyes

tears dry

every wound stitches itself back together

he had honestly forgotten what comfort felt like for a long time, his body and mind getting accostumed to constant stress, anxiety and loneliness, all self inflicted. but then.. she stepped into his life.

with her soft giggles, lighthearted jokes and sunny smile, and she messed everything up. every wall he’d worked so hard to put up crumbling helplessly under the weight of her gentle voice.

i promise you, i’ll learn

to not hate everything i have

both in good and bad

wether it’s rain or snow

for your name, i’ll kill.

his merciless hands had ended many lives, cold and heartless in the process, but it never came from something personal, at least that’s what he liked telling himself. he was the one who left it all behind, the small satisfaction that came with eliminating a gifted one was just a small figment of his imagination.

so why did his entire body shake in pure fury only imagining someone bringing harm to the little slice of heaven he held in his strong arms?

lay down beside me

let’s share the sun

me and you, hand in hand in the desert

but when you smile, suddenly it pours.

i know who you are

you’re splendid, like your name

such a sweet girl she was, and that’s what he always called her. his sweet girl. if toji had to be frank, it was only fitting.

saccharine voice pulling him out from far more nightmares than he liked to admit, dainty hands pulling him back to slumber, running through his unruly locks.

she was so sweet, the sweetest.

suddenly, he felt her stir in his arms, his eyes quickly darting to the digital clock on her nightstand. 3:45 am. fuck, did he wake her? were his thoughts that fucking loud?

“mhmm.. ‘ji, why aren’t you sleeping?” she said, nuzzling her face into his chest, voice still heavy with sleep.

us, a monster and a little girl

hand in hand, navigating the world

towards a new life, i’m ready

this is the ascent from rock bottom

“don’t worry your pretty lil’ head ‘bout that, sweet girl, go back to sleep” he replied, voice gruff and husky, while caressing her back in an attempt to lull her back to sleep.

“why don’t you join me, mh?” she readjusted her body, face now in the crook of his neck, trailing chaste kisses all the way up to his jawline.

“don’t wanna you bein’ all grumpy in the morning" she chuckled in a whisper.

my god, what are you?

the eighth world wonder

the gods’ daughter

you who made the impossible happen

gave me my will to live back.

god she was just so fucking perfect.

his hands trailed from her back down to her waist, pulling her into him more. he needed her impossibly close, bodies melting together, never wanting to let go.

that night toji realized he’d marry her, even give her a kid. maybe he could be selfish for once, and make another little blessing for them to share.

and if the world is too small for us

we’ll redefine space and time,

us.

“yeah.. sorry for wakin’ ya doll, let’s go back to sleep, ‘aight?” he squeezed her hips gently.

i love you.

☆

this was inspired by one of my favourite songs!

listen to it here !!

| @ASHSD3AD ‘S WORD, DO NOT COPY OR TRANSLATE |

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen #toji brainrot #toji fluff #fluff #jjk #jjk fluff #jujustsu kaisen x reader #i cried #HE DESERVES RHE WORLD

[randomingoftherandomness]

your juezhi fics are the only source of energy powering the metaphorical metropolitan city that is my brain, i hope u know that

for some reason we all like making yuanzhi hurt skdjslsl i think we should have a psychologist analyze the collective hivemind

if you’re in the mood!! a short gab writes for yuanzhi when he catches his ge staring into the distance or at a certain pot of white rhododendrons - how does he react?

A/N: I have finally emerged from my fog of ibuprofen and a double wisdom tooth extraction. If I have to deal with this pain, I’m inflicting it on you guys too. Emotionally, of course.

(ό‿ὸ)ﾉ

Also, what a compliment hahaha! Thank you Nonnie. This is definitely making my week feel a little less dim ❤️ Also to @rose-tinted-vision I know I said this was coming out a few days ago but it got... delayed :>

—

There’s a distance between them that sits and splits in an endless gulf of guilt and regrets. It isn’t a new bedfellow to Yuanzhi. This void is a familiar ghost in their bed, made even more tangible with every single bloom of pale flowers that seems to glow in the midday sun.

It mocks him. Taunts him with the surety that there is nothing he can do to take away the hollow look in Shangjue’s eyes when he catches sight of them.

The distance grows each time.

And so, Yuanzhi downs his scalding tea and lets the pain of it going down his throat anchor him to the ache in his chest. Takes in the way Shangjue grows absent by his side, even when he can physically feel him there — can feel the shape of him distorting the air, can hear him inhale and exhale, can almost taste the regret in the way his gaze stays on those white petals.

More than that, he buries the pain deep in his heart and doesn’t say a word of it out loud because saying it makes it real. Makes the fact that Yuanzhi is no longer the most important person to Shangjue, real.

It hurts. In ways Yuanzhi cannot express.

He swallows down the bile.

The ghost sits in the corner of this sunny room and laughs.

Yuanzhi has to turn away from Shangjue and quickly brush away his tears. Not that his Gege would notice. Mumbling a quick excuse about how he has work to do, he scurries out of Jue residence as fast as his feet can carry him. He thinks he hears someone calling his name but he just can’t talk right now. He cannot bring himself to care.

His own attendants know better than to come to him when he is in one of his moods. They leave him be to mope around his workshop, wishing he was by Gege’s side instead. It’s just mere days before Shangjue has to leave the valley again and usually, around this time, he’d be sticking to Shangjue’s side and not even leaving half a step between himself and his Gege’s shadow.

How childish.

Yuanzhi bites down on the inside of his cheek. It’s about time he grew out of wanting to be sole focus of Shangjue’s attentions. It’s not healthy. Yuanzhi knows that Shangjue is planning to look for Shangguan Qian, knows that he can’t compete with what she can give Shangjue.

It’ll be just a matter of time before Shangjue finds her, Yuanzhi knows it. He knows his Gege has made some inquiries in the jianghu that have paid off. Couple that with the way that their Zhiren himself has wordlessly sanctioned it -- hard not to when his own wife was from Wufeng -- there's really no excuse for him not to be on a horse heading out and bringing her back.

Shangjue hasn't said a word about Shangguan Qian since the day she left even if it is clear in his eyes that the phantom traces of her linger in every corner of Jue residence. She's there at the door when he's home. She waits by the flowers and sits at their table. She blots away the spaces he had spent years carving out for himself and Yuanzhi would hate her if he didn't understand why.

The pain that twists in his chest is unbearable.

Yuanzhi sighs shakily. Sniffling, he rubs his cheek to his shoulder. It doesn't matter. He's not stupid enough to believe that what he and Shangjue have could ever account to much. Not when it is pretty much a family priority to have as many children as possible.

Perhaps this is for the best. Perhaps it's time Yuanzhi lets go of the one person he has ever loved and let him live his life without having to have Yuanzhi be a factor in his decisions in life. He doesn't want to live his life as a ghost orbiting the happiness that will be Shangjue and Shangguan Qian's life together. He doesn't even know if he can even survive watching that up close.

"Didi?"

Unable to hide the way his body stiffens in surprise, he coughs, quickly hiding his face as it burns with shame. Shangjue, thankfully, doesn't come close.

"You... What are you doing here?" Yuanzhi manages in a croak, willing himself to be calm.

"You left so abruptly," Shangjue says. "I got worried."

The ghost in the corner of his heart snarls, 'At least you know how to still be worried about me'.

Yuanzhi bats it aside. Licking his lips, he lowers his gaze to his table top. Still not looking at Shangjue even as he slowly approaches.

"You were crying."

"It's nothing." Yuanzhi rises, making to keep some space between him and his Gege. He doesn't know if he can do this.

Someone in the pantheon of deities must hate him some, because Shangjue easily pins him in space. Holding him by the wrists, the pressure and weight of him forces Yuanzhi to meet his eyes.

"Were you crying because of me?"

Yuanzhi goes still at that and it's an answer enough. "Please don't ask questions, you don't want the answers to," he eventually says. Uncurling himself from Shangjue's touch, he straightens himself. "You should go."

"Yuanzhi, I--"

"Don't." He interrupts. "Don't, please. Don't try to justify yourself, don't try to give it a reason. Please. Do me this one thing. And just go."

Yuanzhi quickly busies himself with rolling back his sleeves and rearranging the shelves of herbs, ignoring the way Shangjue's eyes burn a hole into the back of his head.

"I'll come get you for dinner," Shangjue says in lieu of a goodbye. Yuanzhi doesn't reply. Doesn't get a chance to because Shangjue leaves.

And all that is left is the ghost who sits silently at Yuanzhi's feet watching him go.

#my journey to you #my journey to you fic #shangzhi #juezhi #gong shangjue x gong yuanzhi #gab writes stuff #ok the pain fog is apparently not done with me yet haha

[deliriumsdelight7]

Just so no one else gets to it first: 69

You and I share a brain cell, because that was exactly the number I gave to someone else.

Song is Heartlines by Florence and the Machine:

You didn’t ask for anything written, but this is giving me vibes for my Rumbelle kintsugi fic, so I’m inflicting a preview on you. Sorry not sorry.

The red smoke cleared, and Rumpelstiltskin found himself in a forest clearing not too far from Regina’s castle. The clearing was empty but for him, the Evil Queen herself… and a young woman in a tattered, royal blue dress. A woman with blue eyes and a tangle of burnished chestnut curls.

Belle.

She was here. She was alive.

And her heart was currently clenched in Regina’s fist, her dark nails pressing cruelly into the tender flesh.

“Rumpel!” Belle cried, trying to make her way toward him. But her feet stuck to the ground as if glued there. No doubt Regina had commanded her to stay where she was.

“Belle,” he rasped, reaching a hand out to her.

Regina’s fist tightened, sending Belle to her knees with a cry of pain.

“One step closer and I’ll crush your little maid’s pretty heart,” she sneered.

On her hands and knees, Belle looked beseechingly up at him. “I’m sorry, Rumpel. I tried to come back, I did, but Regina - “

“Quiet.” Regina’s order, channeled through the enchanted heart in her hand, forced Belle into silence.

Rumpelstiltskin’s hands clenched into fists. The bite of his claws sinking into his palms grounded him, kept him from lashing out rashly. But still, he trembled with rage. Belle was alive - which meant that Regina had lied to him that day in the Dark Castle. For two years, he’d blamed himself for Belle’s death at the hands of the clerics. For two years, she’d been Regina’s prisoner - and judging by the darkness around her eyes and the sharpness of her cheekbones, Belle had not been afforded the hospitality of a guest.

He couldn’t let this stand. He wouldn’t let this stand!

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” he snarled.

It was a bluff, of course. He needed Regina to cast his curse so he could finally, after centuries of machinations, be reunited with Baelfire. But she didn’t know that.

“Because if I die, she dies,” she retorted, giving Belle’s heart a merciless squeeze.

Rumpel watched in horror as Belle’s face went white as a sheet. All too easily, his mind conjured another face - dark-haired and blue-eyed, just like Belle. Conjured that same look of fear and agony that had been on Milah’s face the day Rumpelstiltskin squeezed the life out of her heart and let the dust fall from his hand.

No. He wouldn’t let that happen to Belle. Thinking quickly, he cast the first spell that came to mind. A spell he’d cast many times before, which allowed him to kill without making any pesky bloodstains on the carpet. But this time, the spell would keep Belle safe. “I told you, Regina,” he said with a titter, “you’re never going to beat me.”

Seeing the working of his magic, Regina cast caution to the wind. Adjusting her grip on the crimson glow of Belle’s unsullied heart, she squeezed with all her might.

On the forest floor between the Dark One and the Evil Queen, Belle reared up on her knees, one hand clutching her chest while the other reached out imploringly to Rumpelstiltskin.

Her face froze. All of her froze as Rumpelstiltskin’s spell took effect, changing soft, yielding flesh to cold, brittle porcelain. Where once she had been sunny and full of life, now she was a mere statue, a hollow imitation of herself.

In Regina’s hand, Belle’s heart hardened and cooled. No longer a living, beating thing to be crushed in one’s hand, Belle’s heart had become like her: a pale, lifeless thing of stone and clay.

But that was alright. The Living Statue curse was simple enough to break. Once he got Belle and her heart back, he could break the curse, return what was stolen from her, and then beg for her forgiveness.

Already plotting out how to do exactly that, he nearly missed the triumphant smirk that spread unpleasantly across Regina’s face.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” she sneered. And, raising her hand high…

…she dashed Belle’s heart to pieces on the rocky forest floor.

#Spotify wrapped ficlet game #rumbelle

[omori-brainrot]

The Only One Left

tws: suicide, emetophobia, self-harm, death, grief, alcohol mentions

After the worst neutral ending, Aubrey and Kel soon follow Mari, Basil, and Sunny. Hero is the only one left, and he’s struggling to live with that. But at least his college friends are there when he needs it most.

I’m so sorry but this barged into my brain and wouldn’t leave until it was written and posted.

When Hero goes back to school after the funeral, he hangs one of Kel’s old jerseys on the knob of his dorm-room closet. He needs something to remember his brother by, something to make him feel like he’s not alone. Of course, he’s not really alone. He’s still an underclassman, so he shares his room with Josh.

He’d gotten lucky with his roommate: they’d managed to reach the storybook ideal of not only getting along, but becoming friends. Still. He wished there was no one around to see him cry for hours over the jersey, to see him start favoring the snooze button over his morning classes, to see him sink deeper into himself until he was sure he’d never surface.

Josh had been good-natured about it, at least. He never pointed out the cutting classes when Hero despaired about his grades after the fact, and when Hero couldn’t bring himself to stop sobbing when Josh needed to study, he just put on headphones or went to the library without a single complaint or sign of annoyance.

Hero wonders if Josh knows how close he feels to dying too.

How everyday feels like tar is pulsing through his body, getting caught in his organs and weighing him down until it feels like he’ll never breathe again.

He tells himself that if he joined his old friends, he’d be inflicting the same pain he lived with everyday onto his college friends. That if he were gone, their lives would be shattered instead of his.

Get over yourself. They don’t care that much. They don’t even know you. You only met a year and a half ago. They were fine without you before then. And besides, you’re not the best company anyway. You weren’t there though to stop Mari from hanging herself. You couldn't see the signs. You weren’t there enough to stop Sunny and Basil from stabbing themselves the night before Sunny was supposed to get a new start. You should have reached out earlier. You weren’t there enough to keep Aubrey from getting into that stupid drunk accident. You knew she was drinking too much and too often in an attempt to make her world bearable, you should have done something. You couldn’t stop Kel from poisoning himself with all those chemicals in the bathroom. You knew how hard it was for him to open up about negative emotions without being prompted, and you knew he was so alone after everyone else left. You should have come back from college more often. Why would anyone still want to be friends with you? Why would anyone care if someone like you was gone?

When thinking about his new friends doesn’t work, he reminds himself of his parents. They’d already lost one child. They’d be devastated to lose another. He couldn’t do that to them.

It doesn’t matter. They’re disappointed in you anyway. They see your falling grades and talk about how you shouldn’t give up on your dreams just because of what happened to Kel. They don’t understand that your only dream now is to make this constant pain stop. Besides, what does it matter if this hurts them? They should have been there for Kel when you were gone. As soon as you think that, you feel terrible. Which only makes you want to hurt yourself more.

Still, something makes him want to keep trying for a little while longer. Whatever it takes.

Which is how he ends up sitting over the trash can, taking a flimsy plastic dining hall knife to his arms.

If he wants to hurt himself but doesn’t want to die, this is the best he can do. Besides, it’s a little past midnight after a Friday, so Josh is attending whatever gatherings a non-imploding person attends on a Friday night.

Hero supposes that he should feel worse that things have come to this. But with every sting he only feels relief, even when he presses hard enough for the knife to draw shallow lines of blood.

For once, he’s barely thinking about anything else. Even with the jersey casting a shadow at the corner of his eye. He could get used to this sense of mindless pain.

When the door swings open and the light flicks on at a much earlier time than expected, his first response is to flinch back. It’s a second too late when it occurs to him that she should be rolling his sleeves back down.

Josh runs over, gently grabbing his arms and keeping him from doing so. “Wait. Wait.” He inspects the wounds for a moment. Looking worried, yet relieved that the injuries aren’t serious, he locks eyes with Hero. “Are you okay?” Hero opens his mouth, searching for an answer, but Josh continues. “Wait, you don’t have to answer that. That was a dumb question. Of course you’re not.”

“Yeah.” Hero says under his breath. He averts his eyes to the side of Josh’s head. He should have been more careful. What kind of person gets caught their first time self-harming? No wonder he’s so useless.

“If you let me take the knife with me, I can get some wet paper towels from the bathroom to help you clean up.” Josh holds out his hand, eyebrows creased in concern but eyes wide with expectation. Hero hands the knife over, ignoring the pang of reluctance to stop.

Josh races out of the room, and Hero takes a moment to look at his own cuts. He’s surprised at how many there are. He’d stopped paying attention while he was doing it. However, none of them look very bad, with the worst only bleeding very lightly.

Josh comes back faster than Hero expected, and diligently gets to work pressing the paper towels to the bleeding cuts. Hero winces a little at the sting, but he doesn’t mind this. It reminds him of when he was a child and his mother would clean up his scrapes. He realizes with a jolt that he doesn’t want to go back to hurting himself tonight.

“I hope you don’t mind me prying, but does this have anything to do with what you were telling me a couple months ago?”

“About—” Hero swallows thickly. He can’t bring himself to clarify. Besides, what could Josh be referring to besides Kel’s death? “Yeah.” His voice comes out strained.

“I’m sorry.” They sit in silence for a moment. “Hey, would it make it better or worse if I got Michelle and Dennis? We could get ice cream and you could tell us about your brother. Dennis said that helped when his aunt died.”

He was sure he’d want to say no—heck, he couldn’t bring himself to go to his favorite classes easily. But ice cream sounded nice, and he’d never noticed it before, but he was aching for someone to talk to. There was only one issue.

“Isn’t it almost one a.m.?”

Josh waved a hand dismissively. “That’s no problem if you want to go. I know a great all-night diner.”

That’s how he ended up in a nearly empty Denny’s with a few casual friends.

“Of course he’d refer to Denny’s as ‘a great all-night diner’.” Michelle dips a fry in her chocolate milkshake. Hero smiles slightly at her, eating a spoonful of his hot fudge sundae. The coldness of the ice cream is soothing, and he feels just a little bit better.

“Yeah, Josh, did you think Hero’s never heard of Denny’s before?”

“Hey, you’re not one to criticize me here. We came here for ice cream and you got pancakes.” Josh’s voice is light with playful teasing.

“So? They’re dessert pancakes. And there’s a scoop of ice cream on them.” Dennis gestures to the scoop with a flourish. “What does that have to do with you treating Denny’s like some obscure local mystery, anyway?”

Hero laughs a little. It feels unfamiliar and distant, but at the same time, somehow… right. He’s glad to not be alone tonight. Josh smiles with him. His eyes are still tinged with worry, but he’d reassured Hero on the drive here that none of the others had been told about the self-harm.

“So, Josh said we’re here because you had something to get off your mind?” Michelle looks at him, her worry less intense but still noticeable, like the mechanical whirring of a fridge in the background.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, poking at his sundae. How could he even begin to say what was wrong? Hero figured he should just start with the part that had been hurting him the most in the past months. “I don’t know if you remember my brother’s funeral a while ago, but…”

“You miss him?” Her voice is soft, gentle.

He nods, tears burning in his eyes.

“What was he like?”

Hero takes a rattling breath. “He really liked basketball. He played it every day after school. I don’t think he was all that close with anyone on his team, but he liked playing it a lot.”

“Is the jersey on your closet his team jersey?” Josh glances at him.

He shakes his head. “No, he just bought that one at the store. Sports clothes were like his default uniform, whether he had practice or not.”

Dennis nods slightly. “I’ve known people like that. I think they just practice so much it’s not worth changing clothes.”

A small smile tugs at Hero’s lips. “Yep, that sounds like Kel. Always on the move.” He glances across the restaurant at another one of the late-night patrons, someone about his age drinking a cup of coffee. “Honestly, I bet part of it was all the caffeine .” Hero wrinkles his nose, a strange mixture of affection and loss nested in the hollowness of his chest. “He drank an unnatural amount of Orange Joe.”

“I didn’t know anyone actually drank that.” Michelle takes a long sip of her milkshake.

“Small base of loyal customers, I guess.” A memory drifts into Hero’s mind, and for once he doesn’t push it away. “I can’t believe he kept drinking it after that hot dog competition. He won, but he drank so much Orange Joe afterwards that he threw up before we left the fair. He always said it was worth it, though.”

Michelle shakes her head. “Siblings.”

For a moment, Hero is reminded of a dozen other conversations he’s had about Kel. He’d tell his grade school classmates about a recent squabble, or something funny Kel did, and that’s what they’d say.

Then the stark contrast of reality hits him. This isn’t a petty fight that will be resolved in a few hours, or a story where nothing serious is wrong. He’s up at one am having this conversation because Kel is gone, because Kel will never win another game, will never drink more unhealthy quantities of soda, will never even graduate high school. He’s here because Kel was found dead on the bathroom floor, next to an emptied bottle of cleaning fluid, and Hero hadn’t done enough to stop him.

He puts his spoon down and lays his head in his arms. Everything feels so heavy. “I should have been there.”

“It wasn’t your fault—” Josh starts, but Hero doesn’t let him finish.

“Yes, it was!” A few of the other late-night patrons glance at their table, and he realizes he said that much louder than he meant to. Taking a shuddering breath, he continues more quietly. “I should have been there. I could have taken more time off school, he was more important than a few stupid assignments. I…” he has to stop to take another uneven breath. His voice is shaky, and he’s not sure how much longer he can speak before he dissolves into sobs, so he talks faster. “I knew he was having a hard time, and I don’t think anyone else could tell because he just acted like he was fine. If I had been there…” He breaks. The crying he was holding back can’t be contained any longer. His shoulders shake and his throat burns. He doesn’t even care if the other people in the diner are staring. Through a blur of tears, he can see his friends looking at him with concern, waiting for him to get it all out.

When he catches his breath, he forces himself to keep talking. He feels like he has to get this out, no matter how much it hurts, no matter if he has to look away from his friends to bear to say it. “He killed himself. And I wasn’t there.”

Michelle is the first to speak. “I’m so sorry…”

Josh puts a hand over his. “That’s horrible… I’m sorry you have to live with that.” He pulls his hand back. “You must feel horribly guilty, but I really don’t think it was your fault.”

“You… don’t?” God, he imagines he looks so pathetic right now.

“Yeah, I mean, you’re just a person. There’s only so much you could have done. You clearly loved him a lot, and I’m sure that meant a lot to him.”

“But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t there enough.” Hero’s sure he sounds like a broken record, but it’s all he’s been able to think about in the months since Kel’s death.

“Dude, you can’t save everyone. You can’t hold yourself to that standard.” Dennis’s voice is gentle, encouraging.

Hero looks away again, fresh tears emerging. “If that was all it was, maybe I’d think you’re right. But it’s not the first time this has happened.” He picks up his spoon, smushing the unmelted parts of the ice cream as he speaks. “I looked it up and it’s called a suicide cluster, but everyone else in town just calls it a curse.” He wipes away the new tears. “It doesn’t matter what you call it, though. Everyone I’ve grown up with is gone.”

“Shit…” For once, Josh is at a loss for words.

Michelle shakes her head. “It’s still not your fault. The only person who’s life and mental health you’re personally responsible for is your own. The most any of us can do for anyone else is be there and hope that’s enough, but if it’s not, that’s not your fault.”

Josh seems to come back to himself. “Yeah, absolutely. I stand by what I said before, no matter how many people died, because the same logic applies each time.”

“Wow… thanks.” It hasn’t fully set in, and to be honest, he doesn’t fully believe it either, but hearing that someone else believes it makes him feel a little better. “I’m… I’m scared it will never stop. What if everyone I get close to just keeps dying?”

“I… don’t think that will happen.” Dennis shrugs. “I mean, no matter what your town says, you’re not cursed or anything. It won’t go on forever.”

“Yeah, I guess so. My brain just needs to catch up, I guess.”

“It will, eventually.”

Michelle tilts her head slightly to one side. “If you don’t mind me asking, who else did you lose? No pressure, don’t answer if it will make things worse.”

Hero shakes his head. “It’s fine, I came here to get things off my chest anyway.” He pauses for a moment. “Let’s see… first, there was my high school girlfriend. That was four years ago. Last summer, her younger brother and a boy we were friends with growing up died on the same night, and earlier this year, before what happened to Kel, another friend got into an accident.” He feels like he should be more emotional as he says it, but he just feels empty. Like he’ll never feel human again.

“That’s terrible… if you ever want to talk about any of them, I’d be glad to listen.”

“Thanks.” The missing emotion is already bubbling back up a bit, and he has to swallow back tears. “You know, I don’t think anyone’s really asked me about any of them before tonight.” He sighs. “I kind of wish they would, now. I really liked telling you guys about Kel.”

“He sounds like a great brother.”

Hero’s tears start falling again, but somehow it isn’t as bad as before. “Thanks, he was.”

#I'm so sorry Hero my brain said you had to suffer #but hey at least you get ice cream out of it huh #tw suicice #tw emetophobia #tw self-harm #tw s/h #tw self harm #tw death #tw food #tw grief #tw grieving #omori #omori hero #omori fanfic #omori neutral ending #omori post-ending #tw alcohol mention

[13thbaronzemo]

THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES: PART 4

Baron Helmut Zemo/F!Reader

Rated E (Explicit)

You are the Sokovian custodian of Castle Zemo, which now belongs to the dissolved nation’s neighbors, and the baron himself has ordered you to come vacation with him in Ibiza.

Disclaimer: This is a continuation of a fanfic written before FatWS: Ep4 aired and set up after his separation from the protagonists and while on the run from the law.

Baron Zemo’s beach villa was a glass house with windows as high as the ceiling and as low as the floor. The sun shone right through them and illuminated every brightly painted wall and every darkened corner. And, while you missed it on its way up, the sun didn’t miss you. It had been keeping your side of the bed warm as you slept, as well as the side the baron had woken up in.

It was only when the heat became too suffocating, and the thirst too unbearable, that you stirred. Sitting up on your hunches was a Herculean task, and opening your eyes in the morning light was a bad decision. The hangover had made your mouth sand-dry and had your head spinning. All you could remember was being put to sleep like a child because, after a day of travel and a night of drinking, you were far too weak to do it yourself.

The baron anticipated the bad morning you would be having. On the nightstand, he’d left you a note reclining against a tall glass of water and atop a folded tissue.

My Lady,

I know how much you needed a good night’s sleep, so I didn’t dare wake you up so early. I had to go into town this morning, but I’ll be back in time for lunch.

Be sure to drink plenty of water while I’m gone and, if your headache is too much to bear, I’ve left you two tablets of ibuprofen. There is a tray of food that you can stomach waiting for you on the kitchen counter. Do not go hungry waiting for me.

~ Your Lord

You emptied that glass so fast, you only discovered the two tablets folded in the tissue after you were out of water. Thankfully, your Lord had thought of everything: there was a whole six-pack of water bottles on the coffee table across the room just waiting for you to walk over to it. Wrapping the sheet you’ve slept in around your naked body, you crossed the sun-heated carpet and helped yourself to a few more sips of water and ibuprofen.

However, you couldn’t wait around for the pills to heal you, so you began walking off the hangover.

First, you freshened up in the bathroom with a shower. And, since you hadn’t bothered going back into the bedroom to bring your supplies into the cabin before closing it, you proceeded to use his products. But it’s not like you minded bathing in the strong scent that only his musk could overpower. As you scrubbed off your skin, you also traced over the bruises he bit into the side of your neck and the ones he dug into you with his nails. Your thighs were still tender and the memory of his fingers was still fresh in your flesh. And, before you knew it, your nails were digging, dragging themselves between your thighs.

When you couldn’t bear it anymore, when the thought of his tongue entered your mind like it had entered you last night, you slipped a finger inside. The sound you made was louder than the water, but it wasn’t enough to summon him by your side. Or behind. Or inside. All you had was yourself and your fingers to fuck yourself with as you drowned out the desperate sounds in the shower stream. So you slipped another one in and took care of your clitoris with your thumb. When you finally came, it was while calling out your Lord’s name.

Secondly, you had to pick yourself off the shower floor before the cabin flooded and the worries started winding the gears in your brain. You couldn’t let all the terrors he’s inflicted on the rest of the world take over your thoughts, so you sniffed the humid air and your wet skin in search of his scent. Sure enough, the memories took over and you were engrossed in the thought of all the gifts he has bestowed onto you.

Thirdly, you needed to dry and dress before heading downstairs for a late breakfast. He had ordered you to stay hydrated and fed while he was gone, after all. While brushing your teeth and combing your hair, you saw something purple peering back at you in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. It was peeking out from under the lid of the wicker laundry basket and, once you lifted it completely, you saw it was the sleeve of the same shirt Baron Zemo wore last night. Pulling it out, you put it right up against your nose, inhaling the rest of his scent, the traces of him that couldn’t be contained in a conditioner bottle. When you returned to yours and the baron’s room, you were wearing a smile, his button-up shirt, and nothing underneath.

Finally, after plucking your phone out of your purse, you ventured downstairs into the kitchen. The tray of food he’d promised you was preset there: toasted bread, honey, avocado spread, and boiled eggs. Next to it was another tall glass, but, this time, it was filled with blended bananas. From the mixer drying next to the sink, you were delighted to deduce that he made you the smoothie himself. Putting the phone in the shirt pocket, you placed the glass on the tray and made your way to the couch in the center of the open living area.

Sitting down, you took a sip of the smoothie before sliding your fingers on your phone’s home screen. You knew, before you even unlocked your phone, you had a slew of messages waiting for you. The group chat from work had been chatting about you. Well, they were complaining about a couple of Spanish tourists you weren’t there to talk to in their tongue. You chose to focus on the more recent messages, the good mornings. You sent one of your own and the interrogation began. You answered their questions about the weather, the food and the nightlife. Even back in the old country, you heard stories about Ibiza’s nightlife. All of Europe heard the stories about the nightlife. ‘Send photos,’ they insisted. ‘Pics pls,’ they spammed you. You had no such photos to send, but Heidi had your back. She had spammed you the selfies from the VIP area while you slept. You told them about this lost Sokovian sister who lived here and who you met in Eden.

As you were struggling to come up with a good story about how you ended up in the most expensive nightclubs in the world on your salary, you were saved by a low battery. 'Sorry, my phone's dying,' you told the truth. 'I'm off to buy a new charger,' you lied. 'I forgot mine on the plane. TTYL.' And you didn't wait for them to respond before you switched to airplane mode and turned off the Wi-Fi. Then, you hurried upstairs and dug through your suitcase for the charger that you totally left on the plane.

After setting up your phone to charge on the nightstand, you went back downstairs. You were feeling famished and you had the baron's breakfast to finish. The toast was cold and the smoothie was warm, but anything coming from your Lord was going to be devoured no matter what. So you ate the toast, sipped your drink, and looked longingly at the deserted driveway. It was almost noon, so he could've come back any minute. A minute passes. Then three. Then ten. Then your mind starts winding with worry again.

Where is he? Is he safe? Is he okay? Why didn't he give you his phone number? Why didn't he ask for yours? Did he already have it? Did he go through your phone? How can he trust you not to use that phone to call the authorities? Why don't you call the authorities? Why are you here? Why are you here?

In an attempt to distract yourself, you wash the dishes and leave them to dry. When that doesn't work, you take yourself on a tour around the open living area. You bury your nose in a red rose, drag a digit across the kitchen counter top, pass through a forest of potted plants and watch seagulls bathe in the sun through the blinds. When you returned to the sofa, you slid your hand across its smooth surface as you walked barefoot behind it. As you approached the end of your journey, you let your hand fall back at your side. There was more fabric to feel up, but you wouldn't dare. That was his armchair and you could tell.

On each side of it rest a table. On the one that stood between the armchair and the sofa lay a spread of Spanish magazines and a couple of remote controls. And on the other lay a closed chessboard, a glass ashtray, and a stack of paperbacks. They looked to you like they were loved, with bent book covers, dog ears and all. And Il Principe was by far his favorite.

Just as your palm presses down on the first page, you jolt and drop the open book on its back. The sound of a purring engine pulling up pierced your ears and heart. He was back? He was back! How could you mistake the convertible's color as anybody else's but Baron Zemo's? You picked up the copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince and placed it back on top of the stack before praying nothing else was out of place. Well, anything besides whatever had slipped out of those pages and under the chair.

There was no time, so you forsake your search before it even started. Pulling down on the hem of your purple shirt - his shirt - you counted the turns of the key in the lock. One. Two. Three.

"Lord Zemo," you perked up, your feet patting the floor on your way to the door. "Welcome back."

You surrendered to the shivers on a sunny day as his eyes were revealed behind his shades. Since you settled yourself in his direct line of sight, you couldn't exactly complain about being scrutinized.

"It's good to be back," he licked his lips, leering at you as he leaned back against the door and shoved it shut. "And it's even better with a warm welcome." Dropping the big bag of groceries to the ground, he gathered both your hands into his. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“Better,” you smiled and it must’ve been a silly sight because he snorted when you apprehensively added: “Now that you’re here.”

“Can’t go on a day without me, can you?” The baron brought both of your hands to his mouth and took turns kissing each one. “Can’t even dress yourself while I’m not here.” You reacted as if you just remembered you put on his purple button-up, stuttering to give a straight answer as he snickered. “There, there,” he tutted you, taking your face in the palms of his hands and pressing his lips against your frustrated frown. “There’s no need to pout, little girl. It suits you.”

He made you feel so meek, so small. You hated hearing yourself speak in his presence, seeing yourself quiver under his questioning eyes, yet you loved being at this powerful man’s mercy. Ever since you failed to evade him in the west wing hallway, you’ve been at his mercy. Ever since you surrendered yourself to him, you’ve been more than willing to obey him.

Even now, even as he asked you what you’d like to have for lunch, you didn’t dare demand anything. You let him decide while he swung that heavy bag atop the surface of the counter. Even when he asked what music you'd like to listen to, you echoed 'whatever you wish, my Lord,' like you're back to being his captive in Castle Zemo. And maybe you were.

However, as he hovered over his armchair and whatever secret slipped underneath it, unbuttoning his suit as he buttoned the remote, you begged him to go lay down and rest. Upstairs. On the second floor. Away from the chair and the contents below.

"The paella isn't going to prepare itself, my dear," he talked over timid trumpets. "Aren't you hungry?" He slid the suit jacket off of his shoulders and you scrambled to catch it. "Thank you."

"I've had a filling breakfast," you whispered, all the wind getting knocked out of your lungs as he turned to you with a half-clothed chest.

The fingers on his burgundy buttons froze when he saw your eyes savoring the sight. To the tune of the basset horns, the baron brought them over to the sleeves so that he could bunch them up to his elbows. "Not filling enough, it seems," he breathed, his fingers now at your buttons - his buttons. "Tell me," he craned his neck, hovering over the now uncovered half of your chest. "Have you tried filling yourself with two fingers or three?" When you gasped, he grabbed your naked neck and, while your windpipe was free to filter air, you had yet to breathe in any. "You can't even pleasure yourself without me, can you? You can barely take care of yourself."

"Please," you pleaded. It was a pathetic wheeze as it left your parted lips. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you welcomed the tightening grip around your throat.

"Please what?"

"Please, my Lord," you closed your eyes as he cupped your breast under the open button-up. Your nipple was at attention before he reached it, his thumb running over it, flicking it, teasing it. Torturing you. "Touch me."

"I am touching you, my dear" he chuckled cruelly, the thumb at your throat pressing down on the bruise as he would a button and snapping open your scrunched up eyes. "Now, look at me," he insisted, his brown eyes growing black. "Please what?"

"Please fuck me," you pushed your breast into his palm and ran your own up and down the arm. You were stroking it, stoking the fire that's been ignited behind his now on fire eyes as they burned in the background of Mozart's Requiem in D Minor.

“Good girl.” Then, as if all the tension was sucked out of the air by his hiss, your lord left you stranded, surrendering his hold on you and letting you balance yourself on the balls of your feet.

When you found your bearings, the baron was seating in his armchair, the throne you had previously pleaded for him to forsake for the bed. As you blinked back the tears you weren’t aware had been welling in your eyes, you saw him spread his legs wider and lean back further. After patting down both of his pockets only to search through a single one, he presented to you a small silver packet.

“Wasn’t it you who wanted me to sit back and relax?” He smirked, satisfied in all the ways he can make your knees go weak. “You have to be the one doing all the work then. Pick the jacket off the ground and get to work, my dear.”

You’d been so distracted by his dashing good looks and his tempting touch that you had dropped his suit jacket at your feet. After dusting it off and hanging it by the door, you returned to him for your ravishing.

Getting on your knees between his own, you followed his instructions to undo his fly. Then, when your trembling hands allowed for his gorgeous, glistening erection to escape, he slapped them away. You wanted nothing more than to trace the vein that pulses up from the base of his penis to the head of it, with either your hands or your tongue, so you whined when you were denied. When he tutted you, tearing the package in two, you excused yourself even as you drowned in your own drool.

Your Lord was so beautiful in the afternoon sun, a king with a glowing crown of beaded sweat on his forehead. The last time you saw both his cock and his chest beard before you it was in the silver light of the moon and he appeared a white marble god to you then. However, as he slipped the rubber sleeve on his shaft, his chest heaving under the heat of your gaze, you remembered that he was a man first and foremost. And, when he commanded you to climb in his lap, his voice another in the chorus of the Requiem, you remembered that you were a woman first and foremost.

“That’s it,” he groaned as you straddled his hips, your nails fixing themselves in the sleeves of his shirt. “Right there, baby,” he held you up by your hip while your cunt hung over his cock being held by his other hands. “My poor baby, so helpless without me,” he licked his lips when you winced against the feeling of him between your folds. “You’ll have to learn to put in some work, little girl,” he pushed you down on him, both hands on your hips now.  "I’ll lead you there, like a lord ought to," he groaned when you gasped, his cock head breaching the entrance. “But you’ll have to do it yourself,” his voice was strained as he slid in with a single snap of his hips. "You'll have to fuck yourself on my cock."

You fell forward, his face between your breasts and your hands holding it close by the back of his neck as he bottomed out inside you. You were finally full. "My Lord, I," you began babbling, trying to turn your brain on. You had to remember to get the slip of paper that sat just under this seat. You had to put everything back into its place. Oh, but his cock, crammed between the walls of your cunt, was right in its place. "I, I, I-"

"Come on, my lady," he breathed between your breasts, his mouth moving from one mound of flesh to the other. Now, as he flicked your nipples, he did it with the tip of his silver tongue. "Come on. Move."

With the baron's hands holding the back of your thighs in a tight grip, you moaned as you moved. With his encouragement, his ever contradicting endearments, his  'baby's and his 'lady's, as well as the long and wide reach of his erection, you began bouncing on his lap. When he suckled all the sweat off your breasts, he shoved your chest out of his face with a palm on your sternum. You had to steady yourself by sinking your nails into the chair's cushion armrests.

His hand slid up on the saliva he left behind on your skin and snatched you by the throat. "Did I tell you to stop?" he growled when you whined and winced, your cunt squeezing down on his cock in time with his hand around your neck. "That's it," he hissed when your hips hurried to comply and ride him again. "Right there, my Lady." His other hand, the one not tightening around your throat, undid the rest of the buttons on your shirt by sending them flying off of their stitches.

You moaned as the hand then moved down to where your bodies met, where your clitoris was growing as you ground against his groin hairs. "Please," you bit your bottom lip, looking at your baron with a vision deterred by suffocation and sexual overstimulation. "Oh, please."

"Please what? Let you come?" His hand was close and you could feel it smoothing down your stomach, then up again. Then down. Then up. "You think you deserve to come, baby? Because I don't think that you do. Only good girls get to come and you've been bad while I was gone."

Through the thick layer of tears and a tight throat, you begged again. And again. You bounced up and down on his lap. Fast. Faster. You squeezed his shaft so snug inside he rolled back his eyes and bucked up his hips. Tight. Tighter.

"Bad girl," he sneered, his eyes narrowing as they rolled back into his sockets. He lifted his hand off of your stomach only to bring it back with a slap to your side. "Didn't your mommy and daddy teach you not to take things that don't belong to you?"

"M-my Lord," your voice cracked, tears of shame and frustration streaming down your cheeks.

"No? Well, I'm both your mommy and your daddy now." He spanked you a second time, leaving searing skin behind. "Don't." Slap. "Touch." Slap. "What." Slap. "Isn't." Slap. "Yours."

Your cunt contracted around his cock after each slap. And, after each spoken word, you warbled out one of your own. It was the same one, over and over and over again. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry."

He chuckled over the chorus of the Dies Irae, his hand now coming down to caress your flaming flesh. "Baby," his voice dipped lower as his hand snuck back down your stomach. "Baby, look at me."

"Forgive me," you whimpered, your hands winding around the wrist of the arm traveling down south.

“I forgive you.” The baron took pity on you and proceeded with his palm ever further south. “I forgive you, my lady,” his voice was vicious as he barked out his order. “Now come for me! Come!”

The thumb turning your slick and swollen clitoris like a knob had opened the door to your release from the torturous luxury he’d trapped you in. There was a myriad of moans that he squeezed out of your throat and a wide array of words that made more sense while his cock twitched inside you and his thumb circled your clitoris. Words like ‘cum’ and ‘pussy’ and even ‘daddy’ to list a few. Whatever combination you had come up with, it worked like a charm on him as his orgasm followed yours, his face back between your breasts as you fell forward.

“Hold tight, my dear,” he heaved, his breath brushing your skin and his cheek scratching against your sternum. He’d lifted your hips and let himself slip out of you. “There we go,” he sighed, satiated and satisfied.

As you sagged against him, the baron brushed all the hair from your face only to find a sorry face. “I...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“You shouldn’t have,” he said, sinking his chin into his chest to kiss you on the crown of your weary head. “Don’t let me catch you doing it again.”

“You won’t, milord.”

“You’ll learn how to do it without my knowledge?” Combing your hair with one hand, he stretched the other hand towards the side table where your post-coitus eyes could now see what your heated gaze couldn’t before: The Prince had an off-white piece of paper sticking out from between its pages. Your mind was still marinating in the endorphins and was slow to recreate the scenario in which he managed to move it from under the chair and back into your book, all of it under your nose.

“Then you must know this: there is no better distraction than one's own desires.”

“Did Machiavelli write that?”

Baron Zemo laughed, his chest lifting up and down under you. “He wrote something like that,” he spoke over the string instruments playing Lacrimosa through the speakers and your spine shivered.

#Baron Zemo #Helmut Zemo #TFatWS #Baron Zemo x You #Baron Zemo x Reader

[korra-the-red-lion]

Unnatural Affairs. Chapter 23: And So It Went

Hey everyone, this is the last chapter of the first series! I do have plans for a sequel in the works, however! Thank you for anyone who has read it this far!

(Ally)

Surprisingly, I didn’t fail all my exams.

Actually, I did pretty well on most of them. I somehow passed Drama with a good mark. The sub who took over was pretty chill during the exam and let us bring all of our notes. My other exams weren’t too bad either. All and all, a pretty successful end to term.

I was just about finished with my packing when I got a text from Lyn. Sarah had already gone home, since her last exam had been two days ago. I took one last look around the room before heading out. I could finish packing later.

The weather outside actually wasn’t terrible today. It was a pleasant sunny day with barely any wind chill. I tucked my chin into the top of my coat as I walked across the campus to meet up with my girlfriend. A happy tingle went through my body as thought about that. It was a little silly to still get excited about the thought, but hey, why not be happy?

Lyn stood in the archway that connected Harper and the library together. She was leaning against the wall when I got there, scrolling through her phone. The bandage was off her face now, only faint lines to show where she had been cut. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and she gave me a quick kiss.

“Hey.”

“Hey to you,” I said back.

“Ready to go?”

I nodded. She held her arm out and I looped mine through it. Together we walked over to the big tree in the middle of campus, where Michael was waiting for us. His plane left tonight but he wanted to be here for it. He waved when he saw us, and he laughed when Lyn held her other arm out with a smirk. He wasted no time on grabbing a hold of it, Lyn laughing along with him as he did.

I knew Dahlia was intrigued by what we were doing as we walked together down the path to where the Swan Pond was. I waved to her with my free hand, and she ended up trailing after us, curiosity bright in her eyes.

When we got there, we all untangled from one another and got to work. Dahlia sat on the bridge nearby and watched as we cleaned away snow and ice from a spot under one of the trees that hung over the pond. After all the snow was gone, Lyn put down a bundle of flowers. Michael tucked a stone with a beautiful design cut into it in front of the roots, making sure it was secured. I hung one of our old amulets over the stone and gently nailed a wooden plaque onto the tree. We stepped away and admired our work.

Here Lies The Forgotten Students

We remember who you are, and what you did for us. We know that society failed you when they stopped asking questions. No one should have given up on any of you. To David, we know your story. To Amelia, we know your truth. To Jamieson, we know your tale. To Fiona, we know your reality. To Fredrik, we know your narrative. We’re sorry that it took this long before someone finally learned what happened to you all, but at least you can rest easy now, knowing that the person who did this to you has met his justice. All we can hope for you now is that your next chance at life is better than this one was.

With all our love,

Spook Searchers.

“We really need a better name,” muttered Lyn.

“Hey, we’ve been through too much for us to change it now,” said Michael with a waggle of his fingers. “That would be like, sacrilegious.”

“Besides, it’s a fun name. It hides away all the horrible truths and traumas that were inflicted on us,” I pointed out.

Lyn shrugged indifferently. “I just hope we never have to do something like this ever again. I need it scrubbed from my mind.” We both nodded in agreement.

Dahlia drifted over and knelt in front of our makeshift grave. I could see her mouthing the words as she read along. Her fingers ran over the names of the departed, her eyes sad. She dropped her hands and sat there quietly for several minutes without saying a word. When she looked back at me, she was smiling through her tears.

“This is quite lovely. I’m glad you all did something nice for them, they deserved it.”

I nodded at her. “Of course. And we intend to figure out who caused your death as well. We haven’t forgotten about you either.”

Dahlia’s eyes went wide before she looked away. I saw her brush away the tears from her face and nod slowly. “Thank you. It truly means a lot to me.”

We left her alone after that. I spared a look back as we left and saw her kneeling in front of the grave, her head down and hands clasped in prayer. We walked back to the library together and decided to get one last warm drink together. Lyn paid for all of us, even though we both argued against it. The lady behind the counter laughed as we both tried our best to push Lyn out of the way, which ended in absolutely failure.

“You can’t beat these gains,” Lyn said with a wink.

We sat down at the table in the back and looked out the window. I thought about what a crazy 3 months this has been. I couldn’t believe how so much had happened in such a short time. Not only solving all those murders but dealing with all the school crap on top of it all. I felt like I was the same person I was at the start, but more mature now. Someone who liked who she was, someone who liked that she wasn’t ordinary.

“You’re gonna have some crazy jetlag, you know,” Lyn said to Michael as she sipped her hot chocolate.

Michael sighed. “Yeah, probably for a day or so. It’s not like, a terrible flight but it’s bad enough. What are you doing for the holidays?”

I saw the twitch of Lyn’s eyes before she looked down at her drink. “I’m gonna stay with Olivia for the first bit of the break, but after Christmas I’m heading to Florida for training camp. I’ll be back like, 2 days before the new term. So, not the most relaxing break but it’ll be fun.”

Michael nodded as he looked at me. “What about you, Al?”

“Going home,” I said with a smile. “I’m going to sleep for the entire break. Maybe watch some movies and TV. But me and this brain deserve a big break.” I poked at my temple.

“Yes, it does!” Michael slapped his hand against the tabletop.

We chatted for a little while longer before Michael had to head back to grab his things. His buddy offered to drive him to the airport, but it was a bit before his flight. Still, better to wait in the airport than spend money on a taxi. Lyn gave him a hug and slap on the back. I gave him a big hug and kissed him on the cheek.

“Have a good flight, I’m going to miss you,” I said.

“It’s only for a few weeks,” he said with a smile. “Plus, you can always call me. You know where I am.”

I nodded as we embraced one last time. Michael waved to us as he walked backwards. I gasped when he tripped over his own feet and nearly landed on the casted arm. Luckily, he caught himself and shouted, “I’M OKAY!” before racing back to his room.

I chuckled to myself with a shake of my head. Michael was so chaotic at times. But that was something that I loved about him. He was authentic. I wasn’t lying when I said I would miss him. There was something calming about his presence. He was a good friend, and I was glad to have met him.

Lyn and I walked back to Lukas hand in hand. I noticed she was getting a bit of a far away look in her eyes again, so I squeezed her hand to bring her back. She blinked and looked down at me with a smile.

“Sorry,” she said with a shrug. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

Lyn worked her jaw as she chewed on her thoughts before answering. “Lots of stuff, I guess. Training camp, Christmas with Liv, shit in general. It’s gonna be nice to have a break from it all. Then we’ve got the big championship meet to worry about when I get back. Just tryna make sure I’m organized because there’s a lot to remember.”

“It’s going to be fine,” I said soothingly.

“I know, I just like to be on top of things, you know?”

I laughed. “Nope! I’m pretty sure I only passed some of my classes by sheer luck. I handed in something for Anthro a week late, but I think my prof forgot I was even in the class, so she didn’t take points off.”

“Jesus,” Lyn shook her head with a playful smirk. “I can’t imagine being that disorganized. How’d you get through this term, let alone solve a crazy case? You’re something else, honestly. Like Wonder Woman or Supergirl.”

I blushed deeply. Lyn was always saying these really nice things about me and well…I wasn’t really used to them. I pressed up against her and buried my face in her arm, causing my glasses to go askew. Oh well, it’s not like I could see all that well anyway. Cold weather plus warm breath equals foggy glasses. Also, being compared to one of my favourite superheroes? I’m slightly dying of happiness on the inside.

When we got back to Lukas, Lyn helped me pack the rest of my things. It probably took the same amount of time that it normally would have because we kept stopping to kiss, cuddle, and I even got Lyn to watch an episode of Stargirl with me. It was really peaceful. A much better date than nearly getting killed by an out-of-control spirit. Hours passed by like seconds, and the next thing I knew, we were in bed sleeping.

The room was nearly pitch black as I stared up at the ceiling. Lyn was sleeping beside me, her arm tossed over my waist, snoring softly. I had been sleeping, but it came in fits right now. After everything we’ve been through, especially with that horrible horror realm or whatever the hell that had been, I’ve been having more difficulty sleeping through the night. I mean, I was sort of used to it, but not to this extent. My therapist and I were going to have a field day when I saw her next.

I turned my head slightly to look into the face of my girlfriend. I just wondered how it was all going to turn out. By some strange twist of fate, we got together because of my moral compass and curiosity. Lyn stuck around because she wanted to figure out what happened to her friend. I sometimes wondered what would have happened if she didn’t believe me that day in the café. Would I have gone through with it anyway? Would Michael and I have done it alone? I lightly traced my fingers across the scars of her arm, the ones she got because she protected me. It probably would be a different story then, huh?

All I know is this is how it turned out, and I don’t think I would have done anything differently. We got hurt, we got physical and mental scars. But I really think it was worth it to help those people. They were crying out for so long, waiting for someone, anyone, to hear them. I feel lucky in a way that I was the one who answered.

Finally, I felt my drifting off again. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me away, hopefully to a dreamless land.

XXX

Lyn helped me shove my last bag into the trunk of my dad’s car. I told her she didn’t need to stick around and help, but she told me it was no big deal. My dad nodded his thanks at her, and she nodded back. I stood by the car, fidgeting with the bottom of my coat. Lyn glanced at my dad one last time before she gave me a massive bear hug.

“Have a great break, Ally. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

I squeezed back as tightly as I could. “You too. I hope everything goes well with your sister.”

Lyn nodded, her cheek brushing against the side of my face. “Me too.” And even though my dad was still there, she cupped my face between her hands and kissed me. I blushed from the intensity of the kiss, feeling all the unsaid words. When she pulled away, I could see the emotion shining brightly in her eyes, her cheeks and ears bright red.

I kissed her cheek one last time before we untangled ourselves. I got into the passenger seat and waved to Lyn as we pulled away. She waved widely back the whole time, never stopping until I was out of view.

My dad instantly started to tease me the minute we were on the highway. I moaned and made a big show of telling him off, but I was really happy. It felt good, talking to my dad like this. As long as the topic of ghosts wasn’t brought up, we were good.

I didn’t know what next term had in store for us, but I was looking forward to it. We had to solve Dahlia’s murder, but at least we could take our time with it. There was no time limit, and hopefully no creepy murderer. There was a lot about this university, heck, even this town that was hidden beneath the surface. I wanted to learn so much more about it all. Sure, it was bad this time, but usually the ghosts are just lonely people who want to share their stories. I had this special gift, and it was about time I used it, instead of being ashamed of it.

After this winter break, I wanted to see what the future had planned for us.

#unnatural affairs #ua #ally holland #lyn hart #michael yamamoto #dahlia cressman #paranormal #murder mysteries #romance #wlw romance #ghosts #sapphic lead #original story #orginal writing #writing #final chapter

[reynesofcastamere]

Thrown Gauntlet[Ω]

(A/N: Sooooo....I’ve decided to start another series of fics that I will be marking with [Ω] in the titles: To disinguish them from both the main series (which I am still working on) and the [β] drabbles (which are all over the place in terms of timeline, setting, universe, etc.). Essentially a very self-indulgent AU where Savage, Maul, and Feral all get adopted by Clan Wren. This installment takes place in 20 BBY, so Ahsoka is around 16 and Maul is about 34. However. I want to state outright that the dynamic is intended to be a verrrrry slow build and that nothing romantic and/or sexual will be occurring between Maul and Ahsoka until MUCH later. If what I’ve described does not sound like your personal cup of tea, then by all means, feel free to give this fic and/or series a pass. This is getting a bit long, so to sum up: No trigger warnings, Obi-Wan is an Incurable Flirt, Rex is Flustered, and Maul is about 100% Done With Everyone’s Nonsense. Unbeta’d)  The Jedi Temple is buzzing. Not literally, of course, but Ahsoka can feel a strange vibration in the Force. Excitement, or maybe irritation? There’s definitely quite a bit more whispering amongst her fellow Jedi and the clone troopers she passes on her path to the east hangar. Master Anakin had told her to pack for a long trip, which she can only assume means they’ve been assigned another mission and he’s withholding the details so as to ‘surprise’ her appropriately. Typical Skyguy.

She spots Rex near the door, sans helmet. “Good morning, Captain.” A proper salute, quickly returned, though her tone is light. “Morning, Commander. And-er, yes, it certainly is.” He actually seems to be fidgeting a bit, and his face- “Rex, are you...blushing?” “N-no. No. Just-ah...Finished up my workout routine. Took more out of me than I expected. You know how it is; One day you’re all shiny-new and the next you feel older than General Yoda.” “Reeeeexxxx....Come on, whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

“The Clawbirds arrived about an hour ago. Captain Wren’s refusing to do much of anything until he finishes repairs on General Skywalker’s ship.” Rex caves, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Master Anakin can’t be too happy about that.” Ahsoka observes, knowing just how...particular he is about his personal projects. “Should I be worried?” “Er...maybe? It’s kind of a toss-up. Depends on whether M-” He begins, before a subtler voice cuts in. “Captain, there you are. I was hoping to speak to you.” The speaker is a male Zabrak with soft golden-yellow eyes and skin, the latter of which is liberally patterned in brown markings. Unusual enough, but he’s also clad in full Mandalorian armor, helmet tucked under one arm and carrying what looks like field medic gear along with the standard jetpack and arsenal of weapons. And he’s glowing; a defined Force signature radiating Light and positive energy like a solar lamp. How-? “Medic Sergeant Wren. They are still getting along, right?” “Oh yes. He’s in a much better mood than last time. Apologies, am I interrupting?” “Thank the Maker. And no, um. Commander Tano, this is Medic Sergeant Feral Wren.” Rex looks like he’s in danger of heatstroke with how red he’s gotten. It’s not hard to see why, especially when Feral gives a smile that could melt half the ice on Bahryn. Rather than salute her, he stretches his right hand out so that they can clasp forearms briefly, a greeting from one warrior to another. “It’s a pleasure, Medic Sergeant.” She smiles back. Ahsoka can’t help it. He’s just...She’s fighting the urge to hug him like some kind of stuffed animal toy. Which is bizarre and will most definitely not be happening anytime soon. “Tano...Oh, you must be ‘Snips’. It’s almost a shame Savage volunteered to help the younglings train, we’ve both wanted to meet you for some time now.” Wait, what? “Tranyc’vod [Sunny(star-burned) brother] Anakin hasn’t been able to call as often, but he’s very proud of your accomplishments.” Feral remarks, genuinely pleased even as her head spins with the implications. Her Master has a lot of explaining to do. “Speaking of which, I’d better not keep him waiting much longer. I look forward to talking to you again, though. See you later, Captain. Maybe you should ask the Medic Sergeant about those stamina issues you’re having?” She can’t resist ribbing Rex as she departs, watching him splutter as Feral, like any good medic, starts making inquiries about his ‘condition’ while looking him over. And placing a hand on his chestplate, apparently. Huh. Maybe her friend’s obvious crush isn’t quite as one-sided as she’d thought. Ahsoka navigates her way through the semi-organized rows of ships. Even if Anakin’s presence in the Force wasn’t abnormally strong, she doesn’t need to focus to find him. Not when he’s talking loud enough to be heard across half the hangar. “-last time, it’s fine! You’re just being paranoid, as usual.” “Every ship I have been forced to borrow from you has either crashed, suffered a critical malfunction, or was confined to the scrap heap mere hours after landing. No one is setting a foot on this poorly-constructed death trap until I am absolutely certain it won’t spontaneously combust mid-flight.” And that must be Captain Wren. He sounds...irritated, to say the least.

“My ships run perfectly, thanks. Must hurt that Mando pride, knowing a Jedi is a better pilot and mechanic than you, Captain.” She’s not quite within visual range yet, but she knows her Master is smirking. “How sad that as a Jedi, you cannot recognize your own failings, General. Perhaps you should conduct a survey of your ‘victims’ instead of this poor attempt at distraction. Mir’osik adiik be’kyorla hut’uun![Dung for brains child of (a) rotten coward!]-” “Ouch. What, did one of your horns get caught in the hydraulics?” “Hilarious. Make yourself useful by grabbing a towel, or something from Kenobi’s closet. I’m coming out.” “Ah, Captain Wren. I thought the general ambience had improved. What were you saying about my clothing?” She hadn’t been aware of Master Kenobi’s presence before this. Either he’d used a secondary entrance or had been waiting for his chance to join the exchange while the captain was busy. “Kenobi.”

“Oh come now, surely you can muster a more polite greeting than that. You’ve been away so long I’ve had to listen to recordings just to remember the sound of your lovely voice.” “Perhaps I will address you with respect when you learn to stop leering at me, besom [ill-mannered lout].” “Busted. Again.” “You’re not helping, Anakin.” Ahsoka rounds a corner and-Oh. Wow. How far down do those-? She blinks a few times, just to be sure of what she’s seeing. Yep, there is a very shirtless Zabrak with the kind of muscle definition that would make scores of artists weep standing with his back to her and wiping his face off with a towel. She desperately hopes that her jaw is not hanging open as he turns his head to survey her with one vibrant yellow tourmaline eye. She honestly doesn’t know if she wants to draw closer or back away in that moment. His presence in the Force is not a benevolent, harmless light, but rather a controlled fire that sparks and issues dark threads of smoke. This...Ahsoka doesn’t understand what is going on, and it’s starting to make her uncomfortable. “The spy finally shows herself.” He remarks, assessing and dismissing her as a non-threat within the span of a few seconds, continuing to wipe off whatever type of mess had been spattered on him. “Don’t mind him, Snips. Someone shoved a shock baton up his ass years ago and the medics never found a way to pull it out. Tragic, really.” Anakin Skywalker grins, arms loosely folded across his chest and leaning against the outside of his ship. “Ahsoka, this is Maul. We’ll be working with him and his people for the forseeable future.” It clicks suddenly where she’s heard both his name and that of his group before: Captain Maul of Clan Wren and his company are the only Mandalorian supercommandos who will actually work with the Jedi Council. At least, when they’re not busy with bodyguard or mercenary jobs. Part of that involves what is referred to -with some awe and a lot of fear- as ‘running the gauntlet’, a mandatory training course for any Padawans or Knights posted to or intending to spend a considerable amount of time in the barely-civilized regions of space. It’s been suspended since the war started in earnest, but if they’re going to be sticking around for a while...Well, the implications are pretty serious. And Ahsoka has somehow managed to ogle one of the most infamous hardasses this side of the Mid Rim. Fantastic. Really. Maul disposes of the stained towel and turns to face her properly, Ahsoka’s gaze staying determinedly on his face as they grip each other’s right forearms. He doesn’t pull back after a few seconds as Feral had, hand locking in place as he seems to peer into her soul.  “I will say this once. We are not like our evaar’la vod’e[young brothers]. We are not subservient to you, and I do not accept excuses or blatant disrespect.” A pause and a slight increase in pressure, just below the threshold of inflicting pain. “Are you ready, Ahsoka Tano?” “Yes, Captain.” She answers with a certainty that she can feel in her very bones, and is rewarded with the hint of a wry smile when he lets go. Well that’s...something. Master Kenobi clears his throat pointedly. Right. Mission briefing first. Sort out her feelings later. Still, she can’t help but look forward to whatever comes next. (A/N: *cracks knuckles* Well, that’s the first installment. A little vague on the details, but I’m hoping to elaborate on what’s been hinted at here relatively soon. The name of the supercommando company comes from the Legends novel Maul:Lockdown by Joe Schreiber. And yes, for fellow Rebels fans who are reading this thing: In this AU, Sabine and Tristan get three badass Zabrak-hybrid uncles and a fair amount of adopted cousins. (Which is entirely Savage’s doing.) I do believe that Anakin is a gifted mechanic, but also couldn’t resist the running joke of ‘Skywalker’s ships/anything he tinkers with only work for him and Artoo’. Cheers!) 

#maulsoka #eventually #tbh this one is pretty gen aside from minor feral/rex and obi-wan failing his seduction roll #for like the hundredth time

[ohnohetaliasues]

Stones to Abbigale {Ch. 1}

(Kat)

This is going to be the worst thing I’ve ever read, isn’t it?

Am I going to actively want to die? Yes, most likely. But apparently, because I run a blog like this, I can endure suffering.

Flashbacks to Blood Raining Night.

Here we go. We will start with the introduction, written by the onion lord himself.

I want to be direct, my name is Greg. I go by “Onision” online.

Okay, I dunno what it is, but something feels off about this sentence.

This book is made up of events that occurred in my own life mixed with fiction from the made up life of James. James is essentially a better version of myself.

I can’t imagine how good that could be, seeing as the man who wrote this is a child predator and is just an overall piece of hot garbage.

His home, his school & his life all resemble my own at his age.

Don’t ever use a fucking ampersand instead of the word ‘and.’ It’s just bad grammar.

The people James analyzes and is surrounded by are not so unlike those I’ve known as well.

Analyzes?

Why?

I have experienced much of the loss James has however his happier moments are more often than not also mine.

Then write a memoir. Not this.

I want to share my story without it being purely non-fiction.

I mean, some people do this with books about their lives, but this feels... Odd?

I simply felt this approach would make for a far better book. At points I cried while writing this, at others I laughed.

Congratulations.

I don’t care.

Stones To Abbigale is not just a book I wrote, it is a piece of who I am.

That’s a given for all writers, but I still don’t care. 

I’m going to rip this book to shreds.

Okay here we go.

I was asleep until I met her, but when I woke, I learned the meaning of "perfect imperfection."

Is this Onion boy trying to be poetic?

It actually made me want to die.

I've always been the type of person to focus on stars as we spin beneath them, the cool breeze on a sunny day, scattered patches of grass under my feet, the world around me, often forgetting to even glance at the one within.

‘The one within.’

Okay so the way this is written makes those three things seem disconnected. I often do stuff like this when I write, but I’d write it like ‘as we spin beneath them, focus on the breeze on a sunny day, on the scattered patches of grass, etc.’

You couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to rewrite that garbage sentence. This is all very waxing poetic and not in a good well structured way.

I had remained emotionally unexplored for so much of my life.

That must’ve been boring, not experiencing human emotions like the rest of us.

You sociopath, you.

It's painful knowing some can go an entire lifetime without understanding their own heart, an internal lock waiting for the right key to change everything.

Yeah, whatever, shut the hell up, you whiny idiot.

This is like an introduction by a teenager who just opened a poetry book and was like ‘yup. I wanna write like that.’

Except you aren’t William Blake or Walt Whitman and you never will be.

Sorry, Onion boy.

Except I’m not.

Die mad about it, grease ball.

It was the first Monday of November. I opened my eyes, blinded by my recently painted wall-to-wall white room. Even my bed frame, constructed of purely metal, was painted white.

Okay, cool. I’m a descriptive writer and I take every chance I can get to mention details, but even I find this description awkward. It feels irrelevant in this situation.

It bounced off the walls causing my eyelids to desperately clamp together. Painting my room like this was a clear act of subtle self-inflicted psychological torture.

Then why in the sweet hell did you do it? Do you enjoy suffering?

Actually, he probably does.

Because this is edgy as hell.

I was going through another phase, from darkness to light, and repeat. Seemed like the story of my life.

This is so edgy I am in physical pain.

You know your symbolism is good when it’s so random that you have to point it out and explain it to your audience.

My mom could see the darker colors were depressing me, I felt comforted by them, but found there were good aspects of both extremes. I was happy to visit either side, they are both so simple. But right now the intense light bouncing from wall to wall felt like it was ripping my mind in two.

Am I an idiot or is that just... word salad?

My mom didn't wake me. My alarm clock sat on my dresser with no explanation for it's failure to function. The clock only illuminated a blank stare with 8:17 written all over it's face. While entirely robotic, I imagined the clock to have the dumbest possible expression, one complementing its failure to behave any way outside its random glitch-infested nature.

That was the worst way to write a personification ever, but okay.

In the reflection of it's plastic face I could see myself unconsciously making the dumb expression I was imaging the clock to have. I laughed in my casual dorky tone and began to get ready to leave home.

I’m not laughing, idiot.

Without breakfast, I left for school with a bogus note in hand to idealistically explain my tardiness.

You... You wrote a fake note?

Do you realize you could get in trouble for that?

You’re an idiot.

I think most of my teachers were too exhausted to worry about small variances in our appearance from time to time. With how low their pay likely was, I imagined there were very few rules most teachers cared about.

That isn’t true at all. Teachers have to pay attention to rules unless they want to get, I dunno, fired.

It was another cold day in Lakewood. The wind hit my eyes forcing tears to form in the corners as I sped along the sidewalk at a no-doubt unreasonable speed.

I cannot imagine any good imagery for this scene. I’m just imagining this gif:

I passed Lauren and Raymon walking the opposite direction, no doubt headed toward the nearby church where all the students go to smoke, make out and hide out till school ends.

Um okay. Does this guy know that if characters don’t have relivance to the story, if they have no reason to be named, than they don’t have to be?

No.

Because he’s a 34 year old man baby.

They seemed so childish as they held hands and smiled excitedly as if they had gotten away with some tremendous crime.

That sentence seems so robotic I genuinely can’t.

Mr. Hanson, my heavy-set, middle-aged history teacher, rolled his eyes as I walked into class. "James, talk to me after class" he said quickly, looking away from me as if I were an undervalued employee who was barely important enough to make eye contact with let alone deliver a full sentence to.

It bothers me so deeply that a new paragraph wasn’t started when this character talked.

"I have a note," I said. He ignored me, and continued his lecture on yet another topic that would not only be completely useless later in life, but wasn't even relevant for even a few seconds after the words left his mouth.

Why is this teacher acting like a petty teenager?

I’m deeply annoyed by this.

And yeah, it’s relevant. You have tests, you idiot. Take notes. And it’s also history, which is, again, relevant.

In conclusion, shut your mouth and stop bitching.

There was only 15 minutes left in the class, but I felt it would be more stimulating to integrate myself into the room to yet again study my classmates' behavior than to sit in a hall watching the rows of scum covered tiles inevitably slide off the decaying walls.

That’s a health code violation, friends.

Or Onion is an awful writer and he thinks describing a school like this is a good idea. My money is on that.

For as long as I remember I've enjoyed seeing how people move around and talk to each other, like they're all animals at the zoo.

Something is wrong with you, friend. Liking to people watch is one thing, but doing shit like this is something else entirely.

Uh, try sociopath-like?

Creepy as hell?

We’ll go with both.

I would try to deliver a more accurate analogy if I felt there was one

Bitch, there is. I can’t name one off the top of my head because reading this makes me feel like my brain is melting out of my ears, but I’m 100% sure there is a better analogy. Even though this feels more like a simile.

but so many of them seemed incredibly unaware of themselves, just living life as if it were some generic predefined routine.

Oh, and you’re so much better obviously, you pretentious bastard.

Sometimes I felt like an alien who had a VIP pass to submerge myself in primitive human culture just for entertainment.

Congratulations, that’s also what you sound like.

I sense everything I can take in around me. The seemingly limitless audible tones, tremors in the voices of growing children rang in my ears. In studying people, I found myself gradually learning to literally feel the various personality types I encountered.

Do you... Do you have psychic powers?

If not, shut your damn mouth.

I hyper analyzed every inconsistent smell, the seemingly random clothing styles, freckles, and assorted hairstyles filled my mind with questions. Trying to rationalize and understand what sequence of events led them to decide who they would become.

You are the most pretentious protagonist I have ever read. I’m half a chapter in and I already fucking hate you.

This character is so poorly written and immediately unlikable. i cannot relate to him at all and if someone does, I suggest you go get some help because how this asshole is behaving doesn’t sound human.

I took favor of categorizing most everyone around me. The socially inept know-it-all, the dumb attention-seeking drama kid

On behalf of all drama kids, go fuck yourself.

and the bleach blonde bimbo who gets overly defensive at the slightest hint of criticism.

Do you mean you?

Onion obviously didn’t let anyone edit this garbage.

Then there were the kids who just hoped no one noticed them at all. There was so much to be seen, to be considered and organized in my mind.

Mhm.

I don’t care.

Class had just ended so I walked over to Mr. Hanson's' desk &

And*

placed the tardy note down in passing. As I walked out with the rest of my class, he called after me. "James! We still need to talk!" I responded but continued to walk outside the room. "I have to be early to my next class! Let's talk tomorrow!"

You’re an asshole.

And I hate you.

I walked quickly down the hall towards my art class, which was awkwardly placed in a trailer outside my clearly poorly funded high school.

Um.

Okay.

On my way to the class a fight had already broken out between two jocks who, no doubt, both had controlling, iron-fisted fathers who brainwashed them into believing conflicts between men are best resolved with the bloodying of their fists.

That’s a bold thing to assume, dear Onion.

These kinds of men plagued my mind with wonder. I could not conceive a scenario in which they could justify their primitive & pointless mentalities yet they would always continue to perpetuate their self-destructive attitudes as if it offered the slightest legitimate benefit.

Oh, shut your pretentious mouth.

Most everyone nearby crowded around the fight. None of them likely cared who was winning, what it was about or how far it went. All they ever seemed to show concern for was their own amusement, always excited to see violence without having to pull out their wallets to pay for it.

Are you joking?

Where are the teachers?

This is complete bullshit.

This is high school, not a fucking fight club.

Does Onion even try to make this believable? Or is he just vomiting all over his keyboard and just accepting whatever nonsense that makes?

As the sounds of flesh collided fist to cheek & chest quickly followed the howls from the surrounding students. They would scream "Oooohhhh!" as if it were sincerely delightful to witness creatures like themselves suffer & fall apart before their eyes.

The use of ampersands is making me lose my goddamn mind.

Even if I had time to stop, I never really took pleasure in seeing strangers hurt each other. Most all fights seemed avoidable and were often initiated for a senseless reason.

Go choke on air. This protagonist annoys me more than any protagonist has. I’m not joking. Fuck this dickwad.

I know, you could say it's more complicated than that, I would like to think it were as well, but reality trumps the way I wish things would be. There's no sense in fighting it when doing so rarely helps anyone.

While this is true, this is worded in a way that’s so pretentious it’s painful and also in a way that paints this protagonist in such a white knight-y way that it makes me want to die.

As I approached my next class the image of Abbi's face illuminated the neon walls of my mind like a projector teasing a theatre screen with fleeting moments of depth & purpose.

That is complete and utter word salad. Stop immediately.

Ever since I met her, she had occupied a part of my consciousness; whenever I wasn't near her I missed her to an unrealistic extent. You could call my longing sad especially considering we had barely talked; she just had a strange effect on me, one no doubt similar to a willful addiction.

That’s called a crush, but the way that was just described is so creepy.

There are people in life which we pass by on a daily basis, barely aware of their existence, but on an exceptionally rare occasion you can find a person who fills an area inside your little world you didn't even realize needed filling.

While that’s technically not untrue, it feels like a lizard person is trying to tell me what having a crush on someone is like.

As I walked up the creaking stairs into my art class trailer I could see Abbi was sitting at her shared-desk, alone, same makeup, hairstyle & general appearance I had thought about repeatedly over the last couple days. She was drawing pictures on her blue-lined paper, distracting herself from the cold that filled the oddly glowing room.

This... This imagery is so fucking weird.

I smiled slightly trying not to be too obvious and sat down on my chilled metal chair positioned a few seats to the left in front of her. Glancing over, I could see she hadn't moved at all, I felt like she didn't even notice me come in.

You aren’t the center of her world, so yeah, she’s focused on something else. That’s just how it is, asshat.

I wanted to inspire some acknowledgment of my existence from Abbi so I opened my mouth to greet her when my fingers brushed up against freshly smeared gum under my desk. "Eeew!" I shouted out on impulse. She looked up at me with a blank expression.

I’ve accidentally touched gum on the bottom of my desk before, as I can imagine everyone has, but I’ve never shouted about it like a lunatic.

Bursting into the room came a group of boys. "Dude I think John's done bro!" one of the other boys laughed, saying "Won't see them for a week at least."

Nobody talks like this. Have you ever spoke to another human?

I looked back at Abbi to see she also didn't react to their outburst. Strangely knowing that her apathy was generalized and impersonal gave me comfort.

There needs to be a comma after ‘strangely,’ but whatever.

Her influence on how I felt was obviously dangerous but I didn't care as no matter how fond I was of the idea that I was not of the world, I knew my place and had no real interest in pretending otherwise.

Explain to me how in the hell that’s dangerous.

Jason, one of the boys energetically praising the fight they had just seen, sat in his seat next to Abbi. I smirked watching her shoulders shift away from him. Her body language sent a loud message that she had the same impression of Jason as I did. He was just another moron, placed on this Earth to live his life completely unexamined,

That word is not used properly in that sentence.

a pawn that had no awareness of its own role let alone that it was just another tiny component within a massive unstoppably twisted game.

Shut your pretentious mouth because that doesn’t make any goddamn fucking sense.

I know it sounds morbid and condescending but my attitude was just something that naturally developed the more I studied human behavior.

Bullshit.

I would be more optimistic but I find doing so would be like walking into a room with no windows and turning out the light. If you refuse to see the world around you for what it is you're just wasting your eyes.

Being optimistic means looking on the good side of things. You’ve heard the glass half empty or half full thing. it’s that. And as someone who jumps between optimism and pessimism, being optimistic isn’t like this at all.

Don’t try to be poetic or funny, Onion. Those are two things that you aren’t.

Art class was about to begin. My teacher, Mrs. Stanley, who looked like she should have retired a ridiculous thirty years ago, approached the front of the room talking about how art is sacred. She also discussed the random object she had us all draw the previous school day and ironically graded it by using her own narrow-minded definition of art.

That isn’t ironic.

I always wondered how teachers could even attempt objectively grading art. Is there any logic behind validating a form of self-expression using a cold black and white mathematical system?

It’s a class where you have to follow the curricula. Shut your damn mouth.

And this is coming from someone who hated her art teacher. But this art teacher was so utterly closed minded that she didn’t accept anyone else’s creative process. She basically told us that if we didn’t follow her process, we weren’t real artists.

"Today I'm going to place you with partners" Mrs. Stanley said as she pulled out sheets of paper outlining our activities to come. "To keep this simple, I'm going to partner you with the person you are currently assigned to share a desk with" she said. I sighed knowing I was bound to be paired up with Alex, a guy I had specifically asked to be seated away from ever since he peed in a jar literally right next to me under our desk, acting like he was so cool for publicly exposing himself while simultaneously urinating.

That... He expected to be treated like he was cool for this?

That’s fucking disgusting.

It happened weeks ago and I still can't figure out what kind of crazy it takes for you to, in the presence of people you barely know but have to see nearly on a daily basis, pee in a jar held in your hand just beneath your desk in the middle of a classroom.

At first when I read this, I thought that the wayit was worded made it sound like Alex forced James to hold the jar while he peed in it, but okay, whatever.

What then? You show it off like you will be praised and accepted as if it were an accomplishment? Alex, despite being borderline mental, was one of my least favorite people to study.

It is actually physically exhausting to read this shit. James is a pretentious asshole.

I couldn't help but feel there was some defect in his mind that invalidated the point of conducting a thorough analysis of him.

This just makes it seem like James has mind reading powers.

He was completely irrelevant when considering the realities of normal human behavior.

Behavior you don’t act according to, you lizard person sociopath.

As I was off on a tangent in my own mind I heard a familiar voice ring out, one that inspired the very same emotion you experience when a song you had forgotten you loved, randomly plays in the background of your daily life. "Can I be paired up with James?" her voice was just as I remembered.

Is this Abbi?

I have a friend who spells her name like this, so I really hate that there’s a character in this shitty book who shares a name with her.

Despite her having not spoken in class in some time, she hadn't changed a note. Abbi had interrupted the teacher just to partner with me, but I asked myself if was it really just to work with me or just to get away from Jason.

Um. Okay.

The teacher, looking irritated but understanding Abbi's discomfort with Jason responded "Alex and Jason, you'll be partners. James, switch seats with Jason" "Thank you!" Abbi said with a slight smile. With a cocky grin Jason stood up and in a comedic fashion smelled his armpit. "Wow, I didn't know I smelled that bad" Jason said as he walked over to sit by Alex.

That isn’t funny and Onion boy isn’t funny.

Approaching Abbi was no doubt a way scarier act in my mind than it was to everyone around me, I felt like my head was burning from the inside out.

That’s a little extreme.

Nevertheless I continued to remind myself that her public outcry to partner with me could have meant nothing. I sat down next to her and did all I could not to turn into a complete dork on her. She reached out and grabbed the project outline that was being passed out. Mrs. Stanley began to read the description of the assignment. "Today you will both be taking something meaningful, but expendable, from your own homes."

If something is meaningful it isn’t expendable. Stop.

Mrs. Stanley looked up and emphasized, "That you own!" then looked back down at her paper. "You will tear those items apart here in class. You will then take those items and, using the adhesives, staples and the strings available in class, find a way to create something new out of those possessions."

That’s actually kind of an interesting idea. But like. Maybe with a cup? I don’t wanna rip apart something I care about.

She looked up and said in a low voice sounding somewhat like Dracula "Two, will become one."

That is unnecessarily creepy. It reads like an innuendo.

Also, what in fresh hell does Dracula’s voice sound like?

Did she say it with a Transylvanian accent? I’m confused.

Jason raised his hand objecting, "All due respect Mrs. Stanley I'm not breaking something of mine for this class."

Jason has the right idea.

She replied putting her hands on her hips, "That's fine Jason. We'll supply you with a toilet paper rolls, we have plenty of extras around here." Jason suddenly looked disturbed and sarcastically spouted "Freaking great!"

Why???

That’s better than ripping apart a t-shirt.

Mrs. Stanley asked, "Are you sure? Your grade shouldn't suffer that much if you two just take Alex's piss jar and tape it to a toilet paper roll. You're already failing this class."

What in the literal fuck?!

You cannot say that to students. No, you can’t say that to anyone.

Jason couldn't believe what she had just said

Same.

and Alex maintained an awkward frozen facial expression with his mouth slightly open in his normal weirdo somewhat robotic fashion.

"Oh my god" Abbi whispered under her breath with a slight smirk. I grinned uncontrollably; just seeing her amused was amazing to me.

That wasn’t really funny, it was just shocking.

I could hear a scream in the back of my mind reminding me my dorkiness and borderline obsession was escaping through my face.

It's not that I couldn't help being in awe of Abbi and basically every little thing she did, I simply didn't want to change how I felt. In a way, she was like your favorite song or book, you could pretend not to like it and in time with the right mental coaching maybe you would sincerely dislike it, but life just felt so much better embracing your condition entirely, letting all your nerdy admiration flow freely.

This just reads like an obsession. I don’t have the energy to actually express how romantic feelings actually feel, but this is terrifying.

Mrs. Stanley continued, "If there's anyone else who has an issue, please take it up with my 1800 number which is?" She put her hand up to the air signaling the students to react but only a couple kids replied aloud with her catch phrase. "1-800-BOO-HOOO" they mumbled.

Sweet Jesus.

So this is what it feels like to lose my mind.

She continued, "Good, now for the rest of class please work with your partner on what you plan to bring and draw up a prototype sketch of what you feel your final piece of art will look like." Mrs. Stanley walked to the back of her room and sat down at her 1950's looking rust-infested desk.

Is this school just a giant health code violation? And what the hell do you mean by ‘1950′s desk?’ All I got when I googled that were pictures of wooden desks.

I would always laugh internally when I looked at the old thing. Maybe it was my way of coping with the fact I attended one of the most run down schools in the state.

I have nothing that isn’t full of curse words and fact checking to say here.

"What are you going to bring James?" Abbi asked.

This sentence is put so Abbi looks like she’s asking if James is going to bring himself without the comma after the word ‘bring.’ Did Onion really not edit his book at all? These are simple and fixable grammatical mistakes.

It was amazing hearing my name pass her lips but I had no time to think, if I didn't respond right away she would think I was totally awkward. "I... have no idea..." I responded. Smiling she said, "I'm going to bring my hamster cage", I asked, "Did he die or something?" she laughed, "No, I never got one, the cage was just a gift from my dad."

But you’re supposed to cut it up.

Hamster cages are made of metal.

Does Abbi just have superhuman strength? Is she going to bring a pair of bolt cutters?

"Your dad didn't get you a hamster... for the cage?" I asked.

My question exactly.

Sometimes you just...

You just gotta give your daughter a hamster cage but no hamster.

She paused and started to lose her smile.

Oh fabulous, she’s one of those characters.

At the first sign of her smile fading I felt a crushing pressure in my chest. "Hopefully you can find something that will work with that," she said. I couldn't help but feel like a total jerk despite not even knowing what I did wrong.

That interaction was so... Weird? Robotic? i don’t know. Something felt wrong about it.

I had the overwhelming urge to fix how she felt so I took a gamble, "Well, I could always bring that weird vibrating thing my mom hides in her drawers all wrapped up in a cloth" I said.

What is wrong with you?

I cannot fathom what made Onion think this joke was funny.

She busted out laughing hysterically as a huge grinned filled my face. I was so happy I could get her to smile again. "Eeew! James!" she continued to laugh as the extent of my grin began to stress my cheeks. I couldn't remember a time when I was this obvious about how I felt.

This... Something is wrong with just... all the dialogue.

And with the formatting. You make a new paragraph when someone starts talking. A 34 year old man should know this. He writes like me when I first started writing, and while this probably means he just started writing, I was 11 years old when I wrote like this.

He is a 34 year old adult. There is no excuse for how bad this formatting and how generally terribly written these interactions are.

Abbi's laughing trailed off and she paused. Turning to me she said, "You... you didn't actu- ally... your moms?"

*Pained groaning.*

I responded, "No, I wouldn't know about that, but I'm glad it made you laugh." She responded, returning to a soft laugh "You're more goofy than I thought James." I sat next to her looking at my fingers interlaced in front of me; my wide smile relaxed but still filled my cheeks with warmth.

This entire chapter, everything here, is so awkwardly written.

As class came to a close Abbi patted me on my arm. I turned and she handed me a note. Instinctively I put it in my pocket and said "See ya tomorrow", she just smiled and walked away.

????

On my way to my next class, I opened the note. I didn't understand why, but it read "NISEONE."

Not knowing what to make of it and with little time, I stuffed it back in my pocket to look over later.

Yeah, that’s cryptic as hell.

Not feeling like skating home,

Oh, we’re really getting into edgy 2000′s shit now.

I got on the bus to see all the normal rejects and misfits waiting. Davis, a short and scrawny kid who had been my best friend since middle school despite being one grade behind me excitedly waved me over.

Oh, good, more terrible characters.

"James! Nice to seeeee you!"

Oh, this bitch needs to die.

he said in seemingly the dorkiest way possible. I smiled as he stood up giving me the window seat, knowing very well by then that I preferred it.

Um. Okay.

As I sat down I began looking out the window, analyzing the little humans running left and right to get on their busses.

Buses*

And I am going to eventually kick your ass for this pretentious bullshit.

Something reached out and caught the corner of my eye. I immediately shifted my head to see what it was and quickly realized it was Abbi standing in the parking lot by some beat-up sedan.

"What'cha looking at James?" Davis asked. Without hesitation I began to respond, "Oh, it's Abbi, she's in my art..." my heart sank as I witnessed a boy I barely knew, named Seth, walk up and kiss Abbi on the lips.

Oh, boo fucking hoo. Get over the fact that she has a life outside of your crush on her.

"James?" Davis said, but by that point his voice was a faint echo in the darkness my mind instantaneously lost itself in. I felt like after a life of numbness I was finally about to truly feel warmth for the first time only to have it all taken away in an instant, leaving me hopeless in the shadows, alone once again.

Cry me a goddamn river.

You angsty pretentious idiot.

Don’t give me angsty word salad about how sad this makes you, I don’t actually care at all.

I looked down at my knees feeling as if I lost all muscle control in my neck.

That isn’t a thing that happens ever when someone is upset.

"Are... you ok?" Davis asked. I responded with hesitation "...I'm... just stupid."

You spoke to her once, you fucking dumbass.

"No you're not. You're one of the coolest guys I know!" Davis replied. I continued my silence as he offered words of encouragement. "Okie dokie, well, you're awesome and should be super happy so if you want to talk, I'm your buddy so... so I'm here to talk."

That’s uh, nice of him.

But the way he’s talking sounds like... almost mechanical? All he’s done since he was introduced has been compliment James.

I was too focused on the con- flict raging in my mind to hear anyone at that point. I couldn't think about anything but Seth kissing Abbi the entire trip home.

Oh, get the fuck over it.

That night my mom was literally just serving lentil beans she prepared on her crock-pot for the billionth time, a fair exaggeration but still, it was excessive to say the least. My sister was behaving as she usually did at the dinner table, talking about how stupid she thought school was and how she couldn't wait for college. "How was work mom?"

I mean, I’m also tired of high school. I’m really done with judge-y teenagers.

I asked trying to keep my mind off the haunting images looping in my mind.

YOU HAVE HAD ONE FUCKING CONVERSATION WITH HER. CRY ME A FUCKING RIVER, YOU BITCH.

Any normal person would express disappointment over the fact that a person they like has a boyfriend or girlfriend or partner in general, not go into a damn depression about it.

"Well, no one at work respects me or listens to me and I generally can't stand it, but you know, we still have food on the table" she said in a stern tone.

That

That is weirdly passive aggressive and mechanical.

My sister barked as food flew out of her mouth, "Well at least it's not high school. I'm learning how to be a successful person from a bunch of low-income losers."

Oh, I guess bitching runs in the family.

My mom replied "Whatever your teachers are, they have full-time jobs, which is more than a lot of people can say." My mom gave my sister Lisa a disap- pointed look. Lisa was well known for showing little respect for hard-working people. To her it didn't matter how much you gave back to society, it only mattered how much money you made.

That’s a very black and white way to look at things.

After the rerun of lentil soup I washed the dishes per my mom's orders and headed to the shower. I sat on the floor of the tub thinking about Abbi, barely feeling the water as it hit my chest.

Sat on the floor... while water hits your chest? Are you like sitting with your back arched so the water can hit your chest?

This imagery is so odd.

I was so consumed with what I had seen that I had completely forgotten the note until that moment. I quickly reached over to my pants resting on the toilette.

Why the fuck did you spell toilet like that?

That’s literally the word for ‘toilet’ but in French. It isn’t a spelling used in English. It just makes you sound even more pretentious.

Also, he reached over to the toilet to grab the note from his pants while he’s in the shower?

It’s gonna get wet, you idiot.

I had hoped I read it wrong the first time and that it would make sense with a second look only to see it read exactly what I gathered in my initial passing glance. "NISEONE"

I fucking hate you, Onion.

This literally looks like you scrambled your screen name up.

Die.

In a fire.

I mumbled to myself. I joked with the idea in my head that she handed me the wrong note but still assumed it wasn't a failed attempt to say "Nice one," which could be taken as a compliment if you were desperate enough.

That joke, while just a little funnier, is still fucking lame.

Seconds into looking at the note my eyes widened, having figured out what it meant, I jumped up slipping to my feet and screamed "YEAH!!!" I had cracked it, only to immediately after feel completely stupid for not having figured it out sooner.

I’m just done functioning.

My mom screamed through the door from her bedroom "WHAT?" I responded "Sorry! Nothing!" I hurried to finish showering.

I’d just assume he got really into jerking off.

I’ll see myself out.

Staring at my phone wearing only a towel, I smiled as I typed in "NISEONE" or "647-3663" into the number keys.

That is the most cryptic and strange way to give someone your phone number.

I assumed we shared the same area code otherwise she likely would have given me a longer sequence of letters and I was right. After two rings I got an answer.
"What do you want?" a disgruntled man's voice asked.

This... This girl gave this guy a home phone number?

I guess that’s fine since this is probably set in the early 2000′s, but it’s still odd.

Like a bad engine struggling to start in a monster movie I clumsily belted out a response "I... uh... I was looking for..." An unenthusiastic female voice in the background said, "Give me the phone." "Whatever" he said dropping phone in front of her.

James can apparently see through the phone, or he wouldn’t know that probably Abbi’s dad did this.

"Hello?" I could recognize the voice now it was Abbi.

Trying to hide my excitement by maintaining a normal tone I said, "This is James." Abbi excitedly screamed

Like how girls screamed in Disney Channel shows?

That’s ridiculous.

and responded "Oh my god you figured it out!" Hearing her optimistic tone I laughed saying, "So... why..." She interrupted. "I was hoping to find out if you figured out what you're bringing to art class."

Why the hell didn’t you just fucking ask? Or give him your regular phone number? This is just unnecessarily complicated.

I said "Oh!" and looked quickly around my room. I couldn't see anything immediately so I just said, "I'll... surprise you!" She then replied "Oh come on, tell me." My eyes locked on to a plausible item for the project. "How about my... bear... I'll bring my bear!"

You’re okay with destroying a teddy bear? Okay, I guess.

I said. She replied "Oh, ok, oh! I have an idea. Instead of the cage, I'll bring in a stuffed animal of mine and we'll make like, a zombie bear."

Sounds fine.

I don’t care.

You guys are fucking boring.

I laughed "Awesome" I said. "Ok, I'll see you tomorrow ok?" she replied happily. I answered "Ok, byeee."

I would appreciate it if you would fuck off.

I can’t believe this shit is on GoodReads.

Just before she hung up I could still hear her laughing, leaving me with a sense of accomplishment and a lasting smile as if it were painted across my face.

That’s the end of chapter one?

Oh god, okay.

That was.

Terrible.

The characters are bland and flavorless and I cannot get attached to any of them. I can already tell I’m going to completely despise this.

I’ll see you next time. I need to go think about my life.

~Kat

#self-insert #onision #i want to scream #mod kat #i'm dyin here #what is this #Why am I doing this to myself? #this is terrible #burn this #in a fire #end it #I like literally none of these garbage characters #mary sue #gary stu #huge self insert #like actually end my suffering now #i want to die #Mod Kat reviews stuff #Mod Kat reviews things #stones to abbigale #bad fanfiction #except it's a bad book #bad books

[lavender-hemlock]

All of them that don’t get asked, Bwhahaha! -fom K.V. Good luuuuuuuuck lol.

Mun Ask Prompt  + Challenge because of course you would

1: How tall or short do you wish you were?

I wish I was as tall as my attitude. 

2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not)

A German Shepherd named Bruno or Nasus. 

3: Do you have a favorite clothing style?

Casual/Classic. 

4: What was your favorite video game growing up?

Ratchet & Clank/Kingdom Hearts

5: What three things/people do you think of most each day:

Friends. Coffee. College. 

6: If you had a warning label, what would yours say?

Caution: Her words hurt. 

7: What is your opinion on [insert person/thing here]?

It’s Valentine’s this week so.. I think love is deserving for yourself before others. 

You’re worth that. 

8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic]

Melancholic. 

                        (Break inserted here for the sake of others.)

9: Are you ticklish?

Dreadfully.

10: Are you allergic to anything?

My skin gets irritated if wax rests on it. I wax my eyebrows. 

11: What’s your sexuality?

Pansexual. 

12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa?

All three? 

13: Are you a cat or dog person?

Dog, if I had to choose. 

14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson?

Vampire. I’m nocturnal enough. Sun already hates me. 

15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber?

Creamheroes. (It’s a youtube channel about an owner that has 7 cats.)

16: How tall are you?

5′0. 

17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to?

Claire. 

18: How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]

125 

19: Do you believe in ghosts/spirits?

Sometimes? 

20: Do you like space or the ocean more?

Ocean. 

21: Are you religious?

Yes! Christian. 

22: Pet peeves?

Hearing people eat, attention seeking. 

23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]?24: Favorite constellation?

Cygnus

25: Favorite star?

A registered one my best friends gave me for my birthday. It was named something stupid.. Like “cloud”. 

26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls?

No. 27: Any phobias or fears?

Height phobia. Fear of needles. 

28: Do you think global warming is real?

Yes/no. Effects are proven, but media/proof is watered down by subjectives. 

29: Do you believe in reincarnation?

Not really. 

30: Favorite movie?

Princess Bride. 

31: Do you get scared easily?

No, it varies on my energy. If I’m very awake, sure. If I’m dead tired, I’m not phased. 

32: How many pets have you owned in your lifetime?

Four. All have passed due to old age only, and I’m thankful for that. 

33: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.]

10/10 for your “extra” personality. @kazexvoss 

34: What is a color that calms you?

Cerulean. 

35: Where would you like to travel and/or live?

Travel to Italy, live somewhere cold. 

36: Where were you born?

Somewhere hot. 

37: What is your eye color?

Green.

38: Introvert or extrovert?

Both. 

39: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs?

I think they have coincidences and they are fun to read. 

40: Hugs or kisses?

Hugs.

41: Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now?

@palaceofthedeadmemes needs a hug before I beat him for not sleeping. 

42: Who is someone you love deeply?

My fiance. 

43: Any piercings you want?

Nope, fear of needles. 

44: Do you like tattoos and piercings?

Nope, fear of needles. I like looking at others who have either. 

45: Do you smoke or have you ever done so?

I do not smoke anymore. It was weed for awhile. 

46: Talk about your crush, if you have one!

My fiance is smart, patient, and fair. He’s able to stand his ground when I’m being stubborn, and knows when I just need caffeine. True love is when offers to make coffee just because of how I seem. 

47: What is a sound you really hate?

Chewing. Lip smacking. 

48: A sound you really love?

A violin singing. 

49: Can you do a backflip?

Maybe to break something. 

50: Can you do the splits?

Yeah! Probably really slowly. 

51: Favorite actor and/or actress?

Mark Hamil / Johnny Depp . 

52: Favorite movie?

53: How are you feeling right now?

Melancholy. I wish I was writing atm. 

54: What color would you like your hair to be right now?

Lavender. I would want to dye it if there was a lack of care for “professionalism” with my job. 

55: When did you feel happiest?

December 26th 

56: Something that calms you down?

Music, dogs, tea. 

57: Have any mental disorders? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]

Anxiety. 

58: What does your URL mean?

Lavender-Hemlock symbolizes the color of her infamous hair, and a poison that looks like a flower. 

59: What three words describe you the most?

Empathetic, analytical, passionate. 

60: Do you believe in evolution?

Of course. 

61: What makes you unfollow a blog?

I don’t do it often, but I’ve unfollowed when someone put their foot in their mouth on a topic they shouldn’t have spoken about. 

62: What makes you follow a blog?

When the content is similar, if I’ve seen them in my notes a good bit. It doesn’t take much. 

63: Favorite kind of person:

Someone who is just caring of others. Humans that are aware other people are human. 

64: Favorite animal(s):

Lions and tigers and bears- oh my! I tend to like owls too. 

65: Name three of your favorite blogs.

@palaceofthedeadmemes, @kazexvoss, @tiergan-vashir. 

66: Favorite emote:

:ok_hand:

67: Favorite meme:

Ugandan Knuckles. 

68: What is your MBTI personality type?

INFJ. 

69: What is your star sign?

Libra

70: Can your dog roll over on command, if you have a dog?

No, he only wants to play. 

71: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most?

My cardigan over a t-shirt with jeans.

73: Do you have platform shoes?

Nope. 

74: What is one random but interesting fact about yourself?

75: Can you do a front flip?

I couldn’t do a back flip- how could I do it forward? 

76: Do you like birds?

They are so loud.. 

77: Do you like to swim?

Yes!

78: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you?

Swimming is fun, and ice skating would be painful.

79: Something you wish didn’t exist:

Racists. 

80: Some thing you wish did exist:

Better healthcare. 

81: Piercings you have?

N o n e. 

82: Something you really enjoy doing:

Doing content on games. RP is fun- but sometimes I do just want to do roulettes or something with others. 

83: Favorite person to talk to (Pick someone you didn’t name):

@passage-of-arms 

84: What was your first impression of Tumblr?

Everyone devotes to the pool of creativity with tons of writing and different perspectives. 

85: How many followers do you have?

518

86: Can you run a mile within ten minutes?

Barely?

87: Do your socks always match?

Yes. Always. 

88: Can you touch your toes and keep your legs straight completely?

Yes!

89: What is your birthstone?

Opal

90: If you were an animal, which one would you be?

Caracal. 

91: If a flower could aesthetically represent you, what kind would it be?

Hydrangeas

92: A store you hate?

Claire’s. Like a rainbow of fake plastic sequins threw up. 

93: How many cups of coffee can you drink in one day?

Three. Though I am advised this is not good for your health. 

94: Would you rather be able to fly or read minds?

Read minds. Though it would probably be concerning to hear the things people don’t say.

95: Do you like to wear camo?

Not particularly. 

96: Winter or summer?

Winter. Snow. Cold. Ice. 

97: How long can you hold your breath for?

30ish seconds? 

98: Least favorite person?

I can only see this question as a target for a bullseye, so.. 

Someone who is extremely fake in their behaviors to negate any past actions of abuse they have inflicted on other people. The type of person that spends their time taking primarily lewd photographs to get attention without regards of decency for any amount.  

99: Someone you look up to:

Not sure. 

100: A store you love?

Yankee Candle. I love candles. 

101: Favorite type of shoes?

Boots

102: Where do you live?

USA. 

103: Are you a vegetarian or vegan? If so, why?

Nope!

104: What is your favorite mineral or gem?

Amethyst. 

105: Do you drink milk?

Yep!

106: Do you like bugs?

No. 

107: Do you like spiders?

NO!

108: Something you get paranoid about?

If I said something wrong. 

109: Can you draw:

I can! I just haven’t in awhile. 

110: Nosiest question you have ever been asked?

Probably about a name basis on something, like, “So who are ___?”

111: A question you hate being asked?

I don’t have one? 

112: Ever been bitten by a spider?

I can’t recall?

113: Do you like the sound of waves at the beach?

Absolutely. 

114: Do you prefer cloudy or sunny days?

Cloudy

115: Someone you’d like to kiss or cuddle right now:

Fiance. 

116: Favorite cloud type:

Storm clouds. 

117: What color do you wish the sky was?

Blue is fine!

118: Do you have freckles?

Yes, so many.

119: Favorite thing about a person:

Compassion. 

120: Fruits or vegetables?

Fruits!

121: Something you want to do right now:

Write

122: Is the ocean or sky prettier?

Depends on the time and weather. 

123: Sweet or sour foods?

Sweet!

124: Bright or dim lights?

Dim. 

125: Do you believe in a certain magical creature?

Sadly no. 

126: Something you hate about Tumblr:

Everyone is a critic, and some feel entitled to their opinion. 

127: Something you love about Tumblr:

The many views and varying content.

128: What do you think about the least?

Probably something I’m not thinking about right now. 

129: What would you want written on your tombstone?

“She was loved.”

130: Who would you like to punch in the face right now?

Uhh..

131: What is something you love but also hate about yourself?

My brain.

132: Do you smile with your teeth showing for pictures?

Sometimes. 

133: Computer or TV?

Computer. 

134: Do you like roller coasters?

Kinda..? I go on them, but I’m terrified. 

135: Do you get motion sickness or seasickness?

Motion sickness with a migraine. 

136: Are your ears lobed or attached?

Lobed. 

137: Do you believe in karma?

Yeah.

138: On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are?

7

139: What nicknames do you have/have had?

“Bean” for coffee bean. Starlight. 

140: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends?

Nope. 

141: Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink?

Nope. 

142: Would you say you are a good or bad influence to others?

I’d like to say good. I encourage others to speak freely and just be themselves- unless you’re just rude. 

143: Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help?

Giving. Receiving gives me anxiety lol. 

144: What makes you angry?

Ignorance. 

145: How many languages do you speak fluently?

1. 

146: Do you prefer boys, girls, and/or non-binaries?

I prefer boys. 

147: Are you androgynous?

Nope.

148: Favorite physical thing about yourself:

Eyes. 

149: Favorite thing about your personality:

150: Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person.

@aurorahawklight, @impure-ivory, @sangria-fangs

151: If you could go back into time and live in one era, which would you choose?

Renaissance   

152: Do you like BuzzFeed?

Too many ads. 

153: How did you meet your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner? [If you have one.]

I met them working a temporary retail job. He was working temporarily there with a bachelors. We had no business ever meeting or ever working there for all our experience- but we did. Its so special to have that coincidence to be in that right place and time. 

154: Do you like to kiss others’ foreheads or hands for platonic reasons?

Forehead kisses are so so endearing- but I don’t give affection freely. 

155: Do you like to play with others’ hair?

Yes.

156: What embarrasses you?

Falls in confidence that brings insecurity. 

157: Something that makes you nervous/anxious:

Crowds. 

158: Biggest lie you have ever told:

I’m fine. 

159: How many people are you following?

300- even. Wow. 

160: How many posts do you have on your blog(s)?

1,911 

161: How many drafts do you have on your blog(s)?

4

162: How many likes do you have on your blog(s)?

5, 817

163: Last time you cried and why:

Two days ago. Stress. 

164: Do you have long or short hair?

Long!

165: Longest your hair has ever been:

Mid-lower back.

166: Why do you like, dislike, or have neutral feelings about religion?

I like religion because it is the sacred beliefs that are worshiped or dedicated to. It’s a choice. 

But, I dislike religion because it brings all manners of people who disrespect other religions, or cause people to react hatefully. 

167: Do you really care how the universe and world was created?

Yeah. 

168: Do you like to wear makeup?

Just eyeliner. I just gotta wing it. 

Get it?

169: Can you stand on your hands or head for more than thirty seconds?

Maybe? 

170: Did you answer the questions you were asked truthfully?

Yeah!

@kazexvoss, another example that I am no coward from any challenge posed. 

However, I’m not going to lie, pretty sure I lost like 1/3 of my energy doing this. Thanks for the ask nerd.  

#mun prompt #TAPROMPTS #had to edit to add the line break because tumblr is stupid

[tzaya]

love note

shizuo/izaya // 1,347 words // part 1 out of 8 // death note but make it love ❤️

The weather was warm, streets resonating with the sounds of kids’ laughter while they made their way to elementary school. Mikado remembered when he was just as small; it made him a little nostalgic to think about. He parted his lips and sucked in a breath of fresh, morning air (as fresh as it could be, this much was to be expected when you reside in such buzzing city as Ikebukuro).

He smiled.

It was a good day.

“You’re slacking! Is this all you have?” The cunning laughter he swore he was familiar with zipped past him. He could only catch a blurry sight of a fur trimmed jacket before there was something flying in his direction. It had happened so fast that his brain could barely register it, but he must’ve dodged the object and fell, considering he was now on the ground.

He was adapting well to the occurrences in Ikebukuro.

It was a good day.

“Is it going to rain?” Mikado squinted.

Strange, the day seemed sunny a mere second ago, but now there were black spots forming on the sky, which he immediately chalked up as grey clouds.

“Excuse me, are you okay?” Someone, a girl – invaded his view of the sky. She appeared to be of around his age, and judging from the Raira uniform she donned, his deduction skills was probably spot-on. “You got hit by a bicycle.”

Mikado blinked once, twice, then turned to look at where she was pointing.

“Eh?!”

_

 “Come back here, Izaya!”

Shizuo’s hands were as busy as ever, darting out to grab whatever was within his reach, hoping that at least one of them would hit his target. It reminded him of attempting to spray a cockroach back in his home. These two fuckers were both slick.

He didn’t dare to take a glance at the trail of destruction they’ve caused behind them. Tom definitely won’t be happy with the aftermath of their fight. The damage was immense, surely. Oh, he’ll make his damnest sure that the flea bastard pay for it.

Shizuo was merely performing his duties to protect the city from Izaya.

“Sure!” Izaya spun around rather cheerfully, his jacket billowing in the air. Shizuo was already foreseeing himself receiving a cut or two the moment Izaya brandished his favorite knife.

Neither of them could’ve prepared for what happened instead.

Izaya’s movements stilled. The blade of his knife was pointed at Shizuo’s skin, ready to slash the monster across the cheek. He’d felt so certain that he’d see red dripping down Shizuo’s face, yet his trusty knife didn’t come close as to inflict even an ounce of damage.  His whole body froze, unmoving.

“W - What, did Shizu-chan put a spell on me?” Izaya exhaled a nervous chuckle. It was ridiculous to even suggest the possibility of Shizuo doing so, but he had to ask. Being friends with a dullahan must’ve had its perks.

“No, but now you’re at my mercy, so who cares.”

The frown that formerly marred Shizuo’s face was now replaced with a genuine grin, pleased to finally have his target cornered. Izaya striked him as a scared rat when helpless. Shizuo tucked his sunglasses in the front pocket of his vest and stepped closer. He could see the trembling no matter how much Izaya attempted to conceal it from him.

Was Izaya acting? There was no way that the flea couldn’t actually move.

Ah, well, it didn’t matter.

Shizuo slammed a hand on the glass window right next to Izaya’s head, his breath ghosting over the other’s face. The people inside of the bakery were dead-set on watching them, their shocked expressions he noticed from his peripherals.

“You’re so fucking – handsome!” Shizuo growled.

“What…?” Izaya mustered himself to say, breathless.

“Shi-zu-o! You’re finally coming around to Izaya. Good, good! Fighting bad, make up good!” Simon chimed in from the side (since when had he been here?), clearly overjoyed with the so-called improvement in their relationship, “Come to Russia Sushi later, give you discount!”

“The fuck?! I ha – love this cutie!” was what he wanted to say!

No, wait – what?

Izaya stared up at him in disbelief, cheeks flushed red.  Why was the flea blushing? No, screw that. The more gravely matter now was why the hell was he saying the opposite of what he meant? Shizuo clenched his jaw. He wanted so bad to announce his dissatisfaction of this situation, but the last thing he wanted was uttering more ridiculous things.

There was a sound then. The unsettling sound of from what he could gauge, hundreds of feet running towards them. And before he could even begin to question Izaya if this was his doing, the flea had already slipped away, approaching the people. The people who were dressed in fancy costumes – princes, to be exact. Did they just get back from a play?

“Orihara Izaya, be betrothed to me! Please, accept my love!” The one man in red and gold royal attire went down on his knee, displaying a box of ring in his open palms. Shizuo knew jack shit about rings, but even he could tell that it was expensive. Soon enough, another man joined in on the party, but with a more extravagant looking ring.

“No, be mine! I have majestic white horses back home for you to ride!”

Then another.

“What the hell…” Shizuo seethed.

There was a light tap on his shoulder, and he almost smacked the person until he recognized them to be his best friend. His anger melted with her presence.

“Celty.”

[ What is going on here? I was passing by and saw these people, so I followed them! ]

“Somehow it just turned out this way. Izaya probably hired all these guys.”

If there was something far more sinister brewing in the air, Shizu couldn’t sense it. How could he? As far as he was concerned, trouble followed Izaya wherever he went. He was trouble himself. The only thing Shizuo could smell was the bastard flea’s scent.

It must be his fault – all of this nonsense must be his fault. And the fact that Shizuo was rooting a stop sign from the ground must also be his fault.

What a nuisance.

[ SHIZUO?! ]

Celty couldn’t stop her best friend in time. Shizuo was out there by the time she even extended an arm towards him, flinging and fighting the ‘princes’ as if his life depended on it. She briefly contemplated using her shadow tendrils to restraint him, but decided against the thought. She trusted Shizuo to do the right thing.

So now, he should be going after Izaya, she mulled to herself as she watched him stomp over to Izaya.

?!

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

Her best friend was on one knee before his own nemesis.

“Izaya, you found me at my nadir –” Shizuo began to recite off of his phone, his free hand situated over his heart, “— when despair attained new heights. I was cold to you. Unfeeling. You drew me out. Made me feel. Nourished my soul. Made me love again.”

[ What is that poem even?! ]

Shizuo disregarded the PDA she blatantly shoved in his face.

“I’m sorry to everyone here! It’s not an unknown fact that I love humans so much. But I have to stick to my beloved! Therefore, I’ll choose to accept your love, Shizu-chan!”

[ What are you talking about?! ]

Izaya as well, paid no heed to her.

“Let’s go on a date tomorrow, Izaya.”

“I’ll have to check my schedule, but if it’s for Shizu-chan, I’m sure I can make some adjustments!”

They were hugging now.

Celty felt dizzy, like she needed to take a seat.

“Celty-san,” Mikado greeted her. He was holding an ice pack to his head, which was bandaged with blood seeping out of it.

[ Mikado! T - Tell me, is the world ending? And what happened to your head? ]

Mikado laughed softly; the laughter sounded fake to even his own ears.

“I’m not sure if I know Ikebukuro after all.”

a/n: shizuo’s poem is from here!

#durarara #drrr #shizaya #heijwajima shizuo #orihara izaya #w #this more like crack fic idk #love note

[mittensmorgul]

I wrote a post last night about the Monster of the Week in 14.15, Chip Harrington, and what made him monstrous:

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/183465650390/so-can-we-talk-about-this-monster-of-the-week-for

But I want to look at this from another direction, because Chip’s self-described origin story-- what drove him to monstrosity-- is fascinating and relevant to the larger narrative (and especially to those of Cas, and Jack).

I’d been considering waiting until the transcript posted, but I’m not that patient, so I transcribed it myself. I know this is a long scene, but there’s a lot of important details in here. Rather than transcribe it and then quote blocks of it again with my comments, I’m gonna put my comments in brackets between sections of dialogue here, but the actual quoted dialogue here is one continuous conversation, just for the record:

Cas: So you did this. Chip: What, did you think it was the milkshakes? [laughs]

(well, yeah, we did think it was the milkshakes, or the water, or the food in general, because Faerie Rules, and Sam ate and drank while Cas didn’t)

Cas: What are you?

(And isn’t that just the question of the season? What is your identity, who are you, please explain yourself...)

Chip: Well, I kinda like to think of myself as a Good Samaritan. You know, I’ve always been lucky. I’ve always had an intuition about what people were gonna do, or say. It made me the king of poker night. But then, the mill shut down. And this town, the town I love, it started to die. Then my sweet wife, she passed away. And the world kept getting worse, and they called it “modernization.” And no matter what I did, people would turn to drink or drugs, and move away. They just weren’t happy. Things kept getting worse, and I started to hear noises-- voices. And I screamed at these voices! I said, “Just make things better!” And you know what happened next?

(he began to hear VOICES. Like, his life-long sense of “intuition” was magnified after the loss of his wife and his growing dissatisfaction with the state of the world. This sounds very much like a spiral into bitterness and depression, probably magnified by the intuitive stuff he picked up from everyone around him. The thoughts he’d pick up from a thriving town full of happy people, and from his wife who loved him and was happy with him, and from happy customers at his soda shop, would’ve probably given him a lowkey life-long “high,” you know? And then when the town around him began to change after people lost their jobs, the entire energy of the town would shift, and his source of “secondhand happiness” that he’d come to think of as his OWN would’ve not only dried up, but would’ve been replaced by a constant stream of negative feelings and thoughts that he picked up just as subtly, not even realizing it was affecting his own mental state)

Cas: No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me. Chip: The very next day, I thought-- just thought-- “I wish there was more people in the soda shop.” And I came in here that day, and it was packed. And that’s when I figured it out. I can make people do whatever I want.

(it took him this long to realize that the “voices” went both ways, and that instead of the woes of everyone in town being inflicted on HIM through his psychic ability, he could turn it around and inflict HIS thoughts on THEM. Suddenly could force everyone else to be happy to feed his own subconscious addiction to that vast pool of human energy, so he crafted it to fit HIS needs instead.)

Cas: So you’re some kind of mind-control psychic? Chip: I re-made this town. I gave everybody new names, new lives. I made everybody happy. Well, most everybody. And the ones that fought it, well... Cas: You murdered them. Chip: I was just protecting my home!

(Protecting his home, i.e. protecting his own mental state, which was entirely dependent on his environs because of his psychic abilities that he just couldn’t turn off, because of what he is.)

Cas: [to Sunny]: And you-- you knew all about this. Chip: Well, she knew enough to play along, but uh... my tricks never worked on Sunny. She’s too much like me. Sunny: I am nothing like you.

(she might have his psychic abilities, but she is clearly miserable in her father’s idea of a psychic utopia. His idea of happiness is nothing like hers)

Chip: [to Cas] But you, why can’t I change you? Cas: Because I’m not human. Chip: Oh. [chuckles]

Is it all really that simple? I think there’s a lot more complexity going on here. After all, the way Chip describes the “voices” he heard growing more clear sounds an awful lot like Angel Radio in some respects. We know how that can sometimes affect Cas. I’ve always been under the impression that Angel Radio has always been like... background noise most of the time to angels. There’s always a low-level awareness of everything from angels deliberately communicating with one another to human prayers and, um... longing. But it’s always also seemed that Cas (and other angels) didn’t always focus on it. They could disregard it, or at least not devote their full attention to it all the time. There’s even the time during 8.08 where Cas said that he’d “turned it off” entirely.

But there’ve also been times when something came across the frequency so strongly that angels have been all but incapacitated by it:

in 12.08 when the news of Jack’s conception came across to him and he dropped the coffee cups

in 4.09 when Cas’s cry of DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED came through loud enough to switch on her dormant Angel Radio antenna

12.10 when Benjamin prayed to the rest of his flight and Ishim, Mirabel, and Cas all froze in place to listen

13.01 when Jack overheard angel radio for the first time and was all but paralyzed by it, driven to violence because of it

And that’s just off the top of my head. I included the one about Jack deliberately here... but more on that in a moment.

Of course Chip doesn’t know how to deal with this sort of psychic reception from all around him. He’d never given it much thought before it began to hurt him rather than help him. And the fact that he can turn around and inflict it onto others for his own comfort, and that he would inflict it on others and assume THEY were happy just because HE was happy, because that’s always how it worked before... is just horrifying.

I’d also like to throw in the reminder of Cas’s last meeting with a psychic who was unable to “read” him. In 10.17, after Oliver told Cas he couldn’t be an angel because he was an atheist, he shared this:

PRYCE: Was me. I don't do the psychic stuff no more. Being around people, it's kind of . . . Hell. All those brains yapping all the time drives a guy bananas. CASTIEL: Because you can hear everyone's thoughts. PRYCE: Well, not yours. All I'm getting from you is . . . colors. But the hippie over here? I'm seeing some creep-ass hobbit-lookin' fella, a prison cell?

Not only did he share the relatable tidbit about avoiding other people because of the effect of picking up all their thoughts, the only thing he picked up from Cas was “colors.” Nothing specific as far as thoughts go, but psychic wavelengths that he interpreted as color.

And through all the people in town that Chip controlled, he never really could get a read on Cas, either. He picked up Sam’s wavelength right away, just like Oliver Pryce did, but Cas remained a puzzle because like for Pryce, he was just entirely out of the realm of their experience. He didn’t fit in their preconceived box. Pryce expected “normal human thoughts,” and Chip expected “type of happiness I understand and can exploit for my own personal gain.”

Chip... could not conceive of how to make Cas “happy” by his own definition.

And this finally leads me back around to Jack, and his episode-long struggle to understand why Felix the Snake was “sad.” Why he wouldn’t eat and seemed lethargic and sluggish. Jack... had no true intuitive read on the snake’s feelings. Maybe it just hated the tiny plastic box Jack had it in. Maybe it was just too cold. Reptiles need outside warmth to be active, and won’t eat if it’s too cold to bring their body temperature up enough for digestion. But Jack was treating it as if it were a sad person instead of a snake with needs that he was clearly not meeting. Road trips may have cheered Jack up in the past, but snakes don’t generally like that sort of thing. Nor do they like crunch cookie crunch.

Felix was just as much a puzzle to Jack as Cas was to Chip. And like Chip, when Jack couldn’t make the snake be happy, he gave up and blew up its head disintegrated it, as if it was an act of mercy when it was anything but. Just like Chip insisted that killing the people that fought against his mind control was done to “protect his town,” when really it was to protect himself.

And now that we have that out there, I’m gonna skip over the fight scene to Sunny’s confrontation with her father (back to my previous format of commenting in parenthesis between the text):

Sunny: You killed Conrad! Chip: No! You told him the truth, and that’s why he ran. And that’s why I did what I had to do. You killed that boy, Sunny, not me.

(YIIIIIIKES. First off, my Worst Thing To Say Ever On Supernatural-- “I did what I had to do.” And second, he blamed his own daughter, who fell in love with someone in a way Chip didn’t approve of, and told him the Big Truth about what was happening in town, for her lover’s murder. If she’d only obeyed and kept the secret and followed his orders unquestioningly, everything would be just fine! How ironic is it that the ONE person in town who was immune to his powers and that he couldn’t “read” the way he did everyone else was the only miserable one in a five mile radius? And that she was the one person you’d think Chip had a vested interest in actually ensuring her happiness, because she was his child. But nope. He was so disconnected from reality that he couldn’t even relate to her aside from how she could serve him. And that’s just... a horrific glimpse of parent-child dynamics on this show.)

[meanwhile inside the soda shop, a donnybrook ensues, and eventually Cas talks Sam around, breaking Chip’s psychic hold over him, because Cas was unwilling to actually hurt Sam in order to stop the fight. He used his words... after they recover they run outside to see Sunny’s confrontation with her father]

Sunny: You’re sick. Chip: Well, but you stayed. You didn’t even try and stop me.

(YIIIIIIIIKES now he’s not just blaming her for her lover’s murder, but for everything else he’s done. As if it were her responsibility as his child to do so. As if this was a black and white choice, and that not stopping him was equivalent to her full complicity in his actions)

Sunny: I promised Mom that I wouldn’t leave you, but you’re a monster. [Chip grabs her arm and pulls her closer] Chip: No. No. In this town, I’m God.

(haaaaa, Sam runs out and shoves him away from Sunny. She’s got her father pegged now. It was a promise to her dead mother that kept her there, despite her father ruining her life and destroying the man she loved for his selfish pursuit of his personal idea of happiness. Because he’s really not god)

Sam: No, you’re not. Believe me. We’ve met God. Cas: God has a beard.

(YOU TELL HIM, CAS)

At this point, Chip breaks out a new set of psychic powers we didn’t know he had, and flings Cas across the sidewalk Angel Mojo Style. Only making the parallels to Angel Radio earlier seem even more apt. I mean, this also harks back to Sam’s own experiences with psychic power in 1.14-- and heck the pain caused by his visions seems also relevant to the more cataclysmic angel radio events I listed above-- but specifically the fact that when faced with enough of a threat, Sam moved that heavy piece of furniture blocking the doorway with his mind. And obviously we knew Chip was using his psychic powers to explode people’s noggins Scanners-style, but this makes him look... terrifyingly angelic. Kinda makes one wonder if this might be some sort of psychic gift that has passed down their family from... perhaps from a nephilim ancestor generations and generations ago, you know? Not that this is The Truth, but the powers are similar and it makes one wonder...

He then turns and attempts to use the power that wouldn’t work on Cas-- namely the head-exploding-- on Sam, but Sunny can’t stand by and watch him actively kill someone. She breaks out her own gift, that she’d apparently never used on someone else. She tells Chip to stop, and when he doesn’t do it of his own free will, she says it again, with power behind it. He may not have been able to use his psychic powers on her, but she was able to use hers on him.

This first reminded me of every other Crypt Scene we’ve ever seen, including Cain’s description of what made HIM stop killing originally and retire-- Colette asked him to stop.

But it also reminds me of another Psychic Children episode: 2.05. Andy Gallagher’s similar variety of mind control to Chip’s didn’t work on Sam, and his twin Ansem’s psychic influence didn’t work on Andy. But when push came to shove, Andy resorts to shooting his brother to stop him from killing Dean. But now Sunny is actually able to force her father to do her will instead. She proves she’s nothing like him, because instead of killing him, she locks him into a state of perpetual happiness inside her own mind. After she stops him, she’s horrified:

Chip: See? I told you! you’re just like me! Sunny: No. You hurt innocent people. You want to be happy? Then be happy. [she forces him to be happy]

Which is a callback to what Cas offered Fred Jones in 8.08:

FRED: You want to know what's the worst thing that can happen to a guy that's got a mind like I got? Losing it.

Because that’s kinda what happened with Chip. Not that he was suffering from a loss of control, but that all his filters had just... disappeared. Happy townspeople, thriving town, loving wife focusing that good feeling on him all the time. But Cas offered Fred a solution and explained what it would mean for him, which was kind of the opposite of the solution Sunny forced on her father:

FRED: Now I'm good. In a month, year... [sighs] Nobody gets sharper with age. I'm gonna lose control again, and somebody's gonna get hurt... again. [sighs] You got to make it stop. CASTIEL: There might be a way. The procedure will be painful, and... when it's over, I'm not sure how much of you will be left. FRED: [takes a deep breath and then speaks decisively] Well, what are you waiting for?

Rather than risk hurting anyone by accident because he was losing control of his powers, he eagerly allowed that part of himself to be removed so he could relax in the relative comfort of his own mind, knowing he was leaving the world better. He was... happy... even without his powers.

Sunny just... stopped Chip from using his power and locked him up in the vision he’d tried to create in reality, to remain unaffected by the people around him while they all go back to their normal lives-- happiness, misery, and everything in between.

And as Cas lays a hand on Chip’s head to answer Sam’s question that Sunny struggled to, because she didn’t know exactly what her power did to Chip, with an aside to mention that Cas was framed in the background behind Chip when she said, “Then be happy!” and thank heck her powers don’t work on him. But really, Cas is choosing to do the exact opposite for himself, because he can still make that choice for himself, which is an interesting flip here:

Cas: She made him happy. Your father is trapped inside his own mind. He’s in a world that... it’s a beautiful world, but it’s a place where he can never hurt anyone again. Sunny: Good.

There’s so much parent/child horror mixed up in this, with their current parental dramas surrounding Jack, and the vision of “paradise” that Jack gave Cas back in 12.19. That was also a “beautiful world” where there was no struggling, no war, no anger... but it was equally as unreal as this vision that Chip is now trapped in. But it sounds like it wasn’t even Cas’s idea of happiness, by the way he described it to Kelly in 12.23. He seemed more shaken by it, given his greater understanding of what Jack literally brought into the world with him-- ie the rift directly to The War World, and AU Michael and all the horrors that have resulted from that. And none of that was Jack’s conscious doing, but his birth brought that forth anyway.

Just as Michael’s narrative purpose has sort of... ended, now that he escaped Dean’s mind fridge, and just as Michael’s purpose in this universe was thwarted when the Apocalypse didn’t happen back in 5.22 and left our Michael catatonic and broken in the cage (according to Lucifer), and just like Lucifer became listless and bent on rage-fueled destruction without any other purpose after Chuck left the world again, Jack is facing that same sort of purposelessness and fundamental loss of identity in the wake of having achieved his purpose of defeating the evil his creation brought forth into the world. Defeating it changed him, and it remains to be seen if he’s any better equipped to deal with that change, and that loss of purpose, than Michael and Lucifer were.

And this also brings up all the questions of Cas, his identity, his abilities, his state of being, and his happiness, and what the consequences of him choosing that happiness might mean for all of that... and for his very existence if the Empty has anything to say in the matter.

And I got all this from the realization that Chip’s powers were a wee bit angel-y.

#spn s14 spoilers #spn 14.15 #spn 5.22 #spn 12.23 #spn 12.19 #spn 8.08 #spn 1.14 #spn 2.05 #spn 10.17 #jack nougat winchester #castiel winchester #you learned it from the goats #spn 12.08 #spn 4.09 #spn 12.10 #spn 13.01 #on the nature of angel grace #angels and souls

[1dffexchange]

Cut To The Feeling

To: Steph @harrysmeadow​

From: Zohra @gonebutstill​

Summary: Harry may be Rory’s co-worker, he may be better at taking care of animals than her; he may be the one everyone seems to love. But that doesn’t mean she has to like him as well.

a story about bonding over knocked-up dogs at the shelter and an ex’s wedding, field trips on Wednesdays and how  consequences of your action often came with knocks on the door.

Author’s Note: A/N: I hope you like reading it as much as i did while writing the little exchange. Enjoy!

October

It was weird seeing Josh after all that time.

The café buzzed with the electricity of a Sunday morning, the murmur of chatter serving as background music for their conversation. Rory's hands were clammy; there was awkwardness in the air. But Josh was sitting with an air of indifference, and maybe Rory did have a tendency to overcomplicate things.

"You look happy." It was the first thing that came to Rory's lips, and the only thing which was occupying her mind ever since she saw Josh walk in through the doors of Caffeinated Highs. He had grown, not only physically but mentally as well. The cheeks that used to be sunken in terribly were now glowing in an I'm-happy kind of way – the kind which made Rory wish he had smiled more while they were together because now she could spot small laugh-lines around the corner of his lips, something she never once thought she would see on him.

His smile deepened, so much that he had to chew on his bottom lip in an effort to not break into a full grin. His eyes were casted down. She followed where his eyes were. Josh was toying with something on his left hand – precisely, it was a silver band on his ring finger. Rory felt something heavy settle deep in her belly. Fearing his next words, pain originated from nowhere and spread all around in her stomach.

Josh might have felt Rory's eyes upon him because he looked up. His eyes changed colors, like they did with each of his emotions. The murky brown was now a shade just lighter than that of honey, and Rory guessed he was feeling sympathy.

"It's the reason I'm here," he spoke, but his voice was low. It was as if he hadn't spoken at all. But Rory saw his mouth moving, and words themselves registered in her brain despite her paying no attention to them at all. "We ended things at the wrong foot, I know, but it would really mean a lot to me and Lara if you came."

From inside his jacket, he pulled out a white envelope – a save-the-date card – and slid it across the table towards her. Rory eyed the card; her mind was still processing the information like a computer which had been in use for a long time. Anxiety was bubbling in her stomach.

The waiter came with the hot beverages they both had ordered. Rory realized Josh was waiting for an answer.

She slowly picked up the card and read the wedding date. December 23rd. Two and a half months from now. She smiled despite herself.

"A Christmas wedding?"

Josh's lips hitched. "Yeah, we figured everyone would be busy with their family on the twenty-fourth so our best option was the twenty-third. Besides you know Lara, and you know you can't say no to her when she says she wants to have a wedding around Christmas."

Lara was like that – always knowing how to have her own way – and it was probably why how their friendship survived. It worked because Rory was as indecisive as can be, and Lara was unwavering. Besides, for as long as Rory knew Lara, it was decided that both of them were going to have a Christmas wedding.

Half of that was going to be true, Rory thought. Lara was going to have a Christmas wedding.

"It's not going to be much," Josh stated, "a small ceremony and then a dinner afterwards."

Rory hadn't looked up from the card from the minute Josh put it forward. She didn't want him to know how much his consideration of inviting her to the wedding affected her.

She didn't want him to know that visions of them two together were hurting her still, and there, at that moment, the gaping hole they had left behind was deeper than the pain inflicted by their actions.

If Josh was getting annoyed at the duration of time she took to mumble just a simple "Okay", he didn't show it. Instead, relief took over his features as he sagged in his seat, for the first time showing how tense he really was.

His shoulders visibly relaxed and the lines over his forehead straightened.

"Okay? Does it mean you'll come?"

She didn't have the heart to tell him that her 'okay' meant something more on the lines of 'I'll think about it' because he was already thrusting the card and its supporting envelope in her hand.

"You need to RSVP it by the twentieth of November."

Rory couldn't ask him whether the invitation was both from him and Lara or just from him. And who she was going to come as; an ex- girlfriend, an ex-best-friend or just a friend, because he was sliding through the booth with his coat draped over his arm.

"It was nice seeing you after all that time Rory."

He left as soon as he had come, it seemed. As Rory sagged in the seat with her head in her hands, she wondered what she had gotten herself into. Agreeing to attend a wedding with no real intention of doing so was not going to end well.

Perhaps it was what which made her shiver, even though the temperature of the café was extremely warm. And suddenly she couldn't make a distinction between herself and the cold cup of tea she had ordered earlier.

.

.

The animal shelter wasn't as warm as Rory would have liked it to be.

She was a firm believer of not wasting food, so she had to drink the cold tea even though it tasted much like ash. The drizzle outside made it worse; she forgot to bring her umbrella and walking while cold and heavy water dripped over her head wasn't an ideal situation either. To top it all off, the heating system in the shelter was not working and she found Moby curled up in a ball and whimpering in the corner of her bed as Penny tended to her.

"What's wrong with her Penny?"

Penny walked with a first-aid box always clutched in her hand or packed in her bag. She specified in dealing with physical injuries – her nineteen years of fighting the universe trying to make her fall making her an expert in dealing with minor cuts and bruises. She was known to trip even over thin air, sort of a feature which made her eligible for the job. Rory was highly thankful for Penny (something she showed time and again by treating Penny to various things), seeing as without her she would have to see the features of the orangutan she had the displeasure of working with.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you much, Rory. She's vomited a couple of times. Something's wrong on the inside and I'm afraid I'm helpful unless it's something internally. But maybe you should ask Harry. He'll know what to do."

Rory paused, "Maybe you should ask him. I really don't have the energy in me to do so."

Penny looked at Rory through the corner of her eyes, giving her a look that read 'really?'. Rory hesitated, clutching her hands together and looking down at the curled up figure of Moby. "I've had a rough morning, that's all."

If Penny didn't believe her, she didn't show it. Truth was, seeing Harry – or worse, seeing him gloat that Rory asked him for help – was only going to put a damper on her mood than really helping her. Rory was still weighed down by the meeting she had had with Josh today, and Harry was only going to be certain to make her suffer more.

"He's with Beth at the moment. I'll ask him to look at Moby on my way out."

Rory thanked her and crouched down next to Moby. She was the first dog Rory got to take care of, so Moby was pretty close to her. Rory had just about adopted Moby. But between classes and work, couldn't do so properly.

She ran her hand through Moby's fur. Moby let out a bark which sounded more like a mixture of a cough and a groan. Rory sighed, "What happened to you, Moby?"

"She's knocked up."

At first, Rory thought maybe she had made up the voice but heavy footsteps later, a body settled itself by her on the floor. Harry's tall frame loomed over Moby's balled up body. He looked more pale than usual, something Rory guessed was the result of the non-sunny weather they were having since a couple of days. She turned her head towards Harry slowly. He was wearing one of his trademark, brightly coloured shirts and the same, brown coloured worn out shoes.

"W-What did you say?"

Harry was smiling for reasons unknown to Rory. She guessed it had to do with him knowing more about anatomy and morphology and whatever concerning biology more than her. It wasn't among Rory's strongest suits, neither was it a strong one; something Rory had made clear couple of times before. That's why they had Penny and Harry working at the shelter. But unfortunately, the latter was there as a pain in her arse than being of any assistance.

"Moby's pregnant," He spoke with such casualty which made Rory wonder the number of times this situation might have occurred with Harry to be so much relaxed about it. He didn't stop speaking, pointing his fingers towards the noticeable signs as he spoke, "How do I know that? Well, for one, her activity decreased substantially in the last week and you see her belly? It's quite early for us to see but there's a slight swelling if you notice carefully. And her nipples have enlarged as her milk glands are developing and –"

Rory gulped and with wide eyes swatted his hands away from Moby's – er - developing milk glands. "Stop touching them; it's hurting Moby."

Harry stopped talking, took in the horrified expression on Rory's face and smiled even brighter. "Ah, yes, I forgot. The nipples get tender and more sensitive during the onset of pregnancy, you see. It's because-"

Rory squeaked and slapped a hand on Harry's mouth whose eyes were alighted by her clear discomfort. "Please stop talking. I beg y- Ew!"

She removed her hand now covered with Harry's saliva and wiped it down on her jeans-clad legs. The smile was ever so present on his face. "You're disgusting, did you know that?"

He shrugged, re-focusing his attention on Moby who was watching him back. "But in all seriousness, you should take her to the vet for proper checkup, though. I'll talk to Beth and make arrangements."

He got up, patting Moby's fur as he did so. Rory sighed, adding 'pregnant Moby' to number second in the list of things weighing her down. She kissed Moby on the forehead just as Harry's forgotten voice rang out again.

"I forgot one more thing; Moby would be experiencing morning sickness so you better be prepared incase-"

Rory groaned loudly, imagining Harry's smirk breaking his face in two. He was insufferable, an orangutan who could be as intolerable as a toddler, someone who never failed to make her blood boil in annoyance. She turned around to see Harry's figure standing a few steps behind her, looking at her with an air of ingenuity. Rory huffed, covering Moby with a blanket and stood up to exit.

"You bother me to no end, Styles."

Harry chuckled as Rory passed him, eyes still alight, "I don't. I just have a penchant of taking pleasure in your distress."

How was that not the same thing? Rory wasn't sure.

//

Little Hope was established in early 1990s by Beth's father Murray, who was at that time a vet. He died shortly afterwards and Beth, still a teenager, took it upon herself to run the shelter. The building was sandwiched between an ice-cream parlour and a hair salon. Beth's eight year old twin daughters helped her paint it bright yellow (all they did was chose the colour) two years ago; which according to Beth suited the atmosphere of the shelter incredibly. Beth's daughters, Blue and Violet had deemed yellow a happy colour prior to leaving their marks - two little hands on the front door which had long since faded – and then proceeded to virtually adopt every animal in the shelter.

Maybe this was the reason (the ice-cream parlour also helped heaps) that the shelter always had influx of little children with waffle cones in their hands and ear-splitting grins as they walked through it accompanied by their parents. Most of the times, their aching teeth would be replaced by satisfied hearts when they'd walk out with adopted puppies in their arms.

This was the thing Rory liked most about volunteering at the animal shelter. This, and the fact that Rory got to look after and befriend animals that would have never come closer to her otherwise. She really had a penchant of scaring away animals when trying to pet them and babies would cry whenever someone would hand her theirs to hold.

She had tried her best to stay away from both but one accident involving a bicycle, a sixteen year old Rory's clumsiness and quick thinking – and perhaps luck as Little Hope was across the block – never-ending crying and hiccoughing after, she found herself looking after a litter of puppies, which, according to Beth, were a few hours old.

Among that litter was a runt, so small and visibly weaker than its siblings. It was pretty much enveloped by its mother, who seemed to be protecting it from its siblings.

Beth came back a few moments later.

"The pup's going to be fine," She told Rory, interrupting her stare-down with the runt, "You can leave if you want, but you're welcome to stay and look at the animals."

Rory was unsure, but decided follow Beth as she showed her around the shelter – Little Hope. She told Rory all about its history, about her father, about the first animal she rescued. She saved a puppy from rain and brought it to her father to take care. The puppy didn't survive, but it left a flicker burning in her to save other animals.

Now Beth ran the shelter and put up puppies for adoption.

"And the corgi back there? The runt of the litter just born? Is he going to be fine?"

Beth laughed, stopping their tour and looking at Rory with kind eyes, "He is actually a she."

Rory blushed, "I'm sorry. Biology is not my strongest suits. But is she going to be fine?"

Beth shrugged; sighing as the bell over the door rang, announcing an incoming customer, "Only time will tell."

But Rory didn't wait for time; coming time and again with things she thought would be helpful for the really young puppy. And they did help – or maybe it was the care she gave the little puppy – for the puppy survived, but her mother didn't.

And that's how after two weeks of coming to the shelter on a regular basis that Rory decided to – officially – volunteer at the shelter, a two-week old mother-less Moby the first dog she looked after.

//

The nightmare came in the shape of Harry accompanying Rory and Moby to the vet, despite of the number of times the former refused. The showers of yesterday resulted in a kind of wet weather and Rory could feel her sinuses taking the burn of that. Her eyes had started burning long before but her headache was only taking flight.

It also didn't help that Harry was aggravating it more.

"Really, Beth, Moby and I are fine by ourselves. You don't need to send Harry with us."

"Oh, but she does." It was Harry. Harry with his tall frame and evil grin (which only Rory could see), his boyish charm and orangutang-ly ways which had everyone under their control. No one could say no to him, he made sure of that.

"Please Beth. There's no need to bother Harry-"

"Oh, but it's not bothering me in any way. I want to go because what if the vet says some term you don't understand and end up making a fool out of yourself? Now, Roro, I really can't let that happen."

"Hey! What did we say about calling me Roro?"

"Let me check. Oh, you said to absolutely call you that whenever I want to bother you!"

"That wasn't-"

If Rory wanted to then she could have made fun of Harry's shoes which were on the verge of falling. But no, despite how much she hated those boots and his flashy shirts (they'd flash his nipples), she couldn't do that. Her tongue just wasn't ready to voice what she had been thinking for as long as he'd been causing her discomfort.

Beth was watching the two bicker back and forth. She, along with all the staff at the shelter, got used to their regular banter in the first month of Harry working at the shelter. It was childish, a usual dose of entertainment for everyone. But it could get annoying pretty quickly.

"That's enough, you two. Harry's going, and that's final."

Rory was quick to shut her mouth, while Harry shot her a dirty smirk. Beth turned her back towards them to grab a couple of things for Moby, giving Rory enough time to flip Harry off.

.

.

Rory would rather untwist her guts with a wrench than admit that Harry was right.

But it turned out he was right after all. Moby was, indeed, pregnant.

Four days pregnant.

Dr. Travis took Moby for some blood tests after examining her physically. He told the same things that Harry told Rory before, except they were less vivid but more detailed, if that made sense. Harry kept shooting Rory smug looks, the kinds which irritated Rory to no end. At one point, she picked up the flower pot with dead stems and almost threw at him. But the doctor turned towards her at the last moment.

Now with Moby gone for tests, Rory was seated alone with Harry in the waiting room. It was small and cozy, the chairs were warm and Rory was close to dozing off. The walls were a pretty blue colour, with paintings hung to give the room an added homey feeling.

Harry sat next to Rory, bouncing his legs up and down as he went through his phone.

"Moby's going to be a mother."

Rory could see his eyes still fixated on his phone. "I've worked that out, I think. I know what being pregnant means."

He chuckled, completely ignoring her comment, "Then does that make you a grandma?"

Rory's brows furrowed, "Whose grandma?"

Harry put his phone away in his pocket, completely focusing his attention on the girl sitting next to him. Rory had to admit; side-profile Harry was much better to look at than seeing him from front. Not only she could really measure the angle of his jaw line (not that this was what she had been spending her time doing) from the side but also this saved her from the heavy intense gaze he used which always made her feel like a little girl looking at a gorilla.

"The pups. You yourself said Moby was like a child to you, didn't you?"

Rory remembered the conversation as clear as a day. It was Harry's first day volunteering (which she didn't know at that time) and accused him of – er – shoplifting Moby from the shelter when in reality he was taking her to stitch up the leg she had just injured trying to jump from the top shelf to the floor. All it did was break her skin open when she landed on her leg, leading to Rory officially meeting the med student who had everyone under his charm the minute he arrived.

"That really does make me a grandma." Rory laughed, the absurdity of the situation kicking in. "If none of them get adopted then I'm going to keep them all."

Dr. Travis had guessed the litter to be composed of six puppies and estimated the expected date of delivery to be about fifty-eight to sixty-three days after. The date happened to clash around the date Josh and Lara were getting married, which reminded her she needed to RSVP to the invite.

"Hey, do you have any idea who the father is?"

Rory didn't. "No, I am actually clueless. Moby hadn't left the shelter in two weeks since Newt was sick with chicken pox and Lacey ended up contracting them too, which left you, me and Penny and all of us were fussing after Earl Grey and her broken legs. None of us took Moby out of the shelter which could only mean it was –"

"-Either Franklin or Turner?"

Rory hummed, "But Franklin was adopted two weeks ago and Moby hated Turner with a passion."

Harry smiles cheekily, and Rory wished he had kept his mouth shut. "Maybe it was not much of a hate than it was sexual tension?"

Rory groaned, getting up from the chair and heading towards the doctor's room. "You'll never learn, Peanuts. C'mon now; they must be done with the tests."

"Peanuts?' Harry's brows furrowed.

Rory nodded, beginning to leave. "Yes, peanuts. That's your name now. They bother me and you bother me. Giving you their name will only remind me why I hate them so much."

//

The flat was reeking of burnt pasta.

Rory didn't try to cook usually because she couldn't cook at all; her flat mate Francine used to do that job. Rory washed the dishes and did the laundry, while Francine cooked three meals for both of them daily. She was taking culinary classes so Rory's palate was the prey for all the experiments Francine would do.

Rory wasn't complaining. It kept her well-fed and healthy. But Francine moved in with her boyfriend a month ago and Rory was left alone to fend for herself.

All Rory could cook without burning were instant noodles, but she couldn't live on them forever. Money was pretty much tight so take-away food everyday wasn't an option. And she had everyone at home convinced that she was doing pretty good job living alone.

But now her dinner was burnt (despite her being so adamant about wasting food) and she hadn't eaten anything since the morning.

Sighing, she took out the frozen pizza stacked in the freezer for emergency (like now). Morning with Moby had tired her out, a really hyper dog was brought into the shelter and Rory kept fussing after him all afternoon because despite of being so active, the dog wouldn't eat a thing. Her own lunch was missed in this.

The evening class wasn't better at all; her professor assigned them some long essay on world affairs or something which she had to submit two days later.

Sitting on the counter, she started devouring the pizza. Almost instantly, her eyes shifted to the white envelope which was in the same position she had left. Looking at the card caused thousand memories to revive and cover Rory as shrouded darkness. Never in her wildest dreams would Rory have thought that Lara out of all people would end up marrying Josh. It was maybe because she knew Josh and she knew Lara and she knew how much opposite their personalities really were. If one was plain paper than the other was glimmering, wrap-up paper. If one was carbonated drink then the other was sparkling wine. One was her best friend and the other was her boyfriend.

They had nothing in common, as much as Rory knew.

But maybe, she didn't know both of them as well as she thought she did. Because her better judgment got the wrong of her and she ended up being pushed to the side. Literally.

The pizza was gone in a second, but the bitter taste left by the cold memories remained even after that. She went to bed with a heavy heart, and even the dreams of Moby cuddling with six small puppies could lighten her mind.

//

Wednesday was the worst day of the week,

It was one of the three days she volunteered at the shelter, the rest were Monday and Thursday. On Tuesday and Friday she had morning classes at the university, while on the other three days she took evening classes.

Beth had started a little something two years ago in which children from kindergarten would come for a field trip. It wasn't a bright idea to have a bunch of pre-schoolers surrounded by animals but the idea hit off almost immediately and every Wednesday once a month, the shelter would be surrounded by little kids who barely reached up to Rory's thigh.

Rory loved kids, but not the ones who came on Wednesday. They were wild and evidence of the theory that man evolved from animals. The kids were uncontrolled, and the animals at the shelter also got wild. The teachers accompanying them would always wander off to somewhere and every other worker in the shelter would leave their work and ran behind children hoping to God they didn't hurt themselves.

No such incident of an animal hurting anyone had yet happened but the incident of cancelling invitation for field trips at the shelter sure did happen which got instantly shut down because Beth was of the view that the field trips provided a speedy track for the animals to get adopted.

Wednesday also sucked because she was paired with Harry to assist the people which had come. Ten children and a teacher arrived at the shelter ten minutes ago. Harry, after drinking the tea Rory made for herself, strolled away fifteen minutes ago and wasn't back yet.

Rory was awkwardly leading the group of kindergartners, showing them the assortment of dogs they had. A small girl, Ava, had taken interest to Earl Grey.

"Does she run fast?"

Ava asked when Rory finished telling them how she broke her legs. She was running after a cat on the street and ended up getting hit by a car. Thankfully, only her legs were injured. She was brought to Beth after Dr. Travis plastered her legs. Lacey ended up giving her the name 'Earl Grey' because she reminded her of the tea.

"She does." It wasn't Rory who answered the question. It couldn't be Rory who answered the question because the voice was sure with confidence and Rory was never that confident about anything (except when she was throwing insults at Harry). It was the devil's incarnate himself.

Ava had gone wide eyed upon seeing him, and the rest of the nine kids busied themselves with the litter of puppies which were brought in yesterday. Lacey had led them away while I was telling Ava about Earl Grey, saying, "Be easy with them, kids."

Harry came closer to where Ava was standing next to Earl Grey's cot. The Border collie was soundly asleep, with her legs hanging from the side of the cot. She looked much like an infant. Earl Grey reminded Rory of the first pet she got when she was around eight. It was a baby sparrow whose mother had made a nest atop the roof of their home back in Yorkshire. Albeit it wasn't a real pet because the sparrows ended up flying like two days later and no one knew she had a pet but in those two days, she took care of the sparrow and gave it food and water daily.

Earl Grey shifted in the cot and moments later her eyelids opened to reveal black eyes. She took a moment before trying her best to sit up, but Harry went forward and adjusted her so she was directly staring at Ava and him.

"C'mon, love. Do you want to pat her?"

Ava nodded with such vigor you'd think someone had asked her to open her Christmas gift. Cautiously, she moved as Harry stepped backwards. Rory was standing to the side, and it felt like both Harry and Ava had forgotten her. She watched quietly as Ava softly patted Earl Grey on the forehead, the latter closing her eyes as she did so. Rory watched as a bright grin spread across Ava's face and lightened up her whole features.

Rory could here other kids' voices, happy squeals mixed with laughter but she was focused on Harry and Ava. The former was being so soft Rory was sure she was seeing an entirely different person trapped inside his body. Harry was smiling like never before. Don't get him wrong, he smiled plenty but his smiles always had an air of smugness and arrogance which always enveloped the genuineness of the action. His smiles never felt kind enough for Rory but now even with his eyes away from her, she could feel the warmth in them. Maybe because his smiles weren't directed at her that she now saw she was capable of being warm, like hot chocolate and blankets.

And Harry didn't look like the evil orangutang she so heartily compared him with. He just looked like a regular orangutang who was capable of smiling and being nice to people (which didn't include Rory).

Ava wasn't done playing with Earl Grey, but Harry stood up nonetheless. Rory quickly composed herself; getting caught in the act of blatant staring by Harry wasn't in her book as it would subject her to at least five years of jokes on her part.

Everything she did in front of Harry would end up giving Harry at least five years of jokes on her part.

She found Harry's eyes to come rest on her, the look in them specifying he forgot she was still there (that was just the effect she had on everyone, no worry). But surprisingly their warmth didn't vanish even though Harry had stopped smiling and now was blatantly staring.

"It's rude to stare," She mumbled offhandedly; she liked the attention, but not from Harry. It always ended in him making fun of her.

"Is what you said to yourself when you kept staring at me?"

Rory was caught off guard. "I didn't!"

Someone had squeezed her neck and was now using a hammer to puncture her chest. She didn't remember her heart beating with such vigour before.

"You didn't say that to yourself or you didn't stare?"

That was clever, really clever. Rory was now fully flustered under Harry's intense gaze, and her airways were having an asphyxiation. No sentence she was stringing in her was making any sense.

"I no stare. You a lie!"

What came out was low even for her. It was clear from Harry's face that he was having the time of his life. A small grin broke on his face. He wasn't mocking her.

"Really?"

Rory huffed, now noticing the environment around them silent. The kids have gone off to somewhere, and Ava was silently watching the two bicker back and forth. Her eyes were wide, but she was also smiling. She took a deep breath before calling for Ava.

"You bother me to no end, Styles. You really do. Now let's get Ava reunited with her folks before they decide to leave without her."

She turned around, without waiting for Harry or looking at his face, and started walking. Her airways were still blocked and her heart was still beating fast. But that didn't matter.

It was the knots in her stomach that weren't there before which worried her. Her stomach was in cramps, and it would take her more trips to the bathroom than she was wiling for to get rid of the pain.

.

.

The students were happy, the teachers were happy, and everyone else was also happy with Lacey (and on the borderline Harry and Ava). Beth was floating on a croissant because a teacher decided to adopt two puppies from the litter of seven puppies for her kids.

But Rory wasn't happy.

Instead of her spending time with Moby and looking after her, she now had small puppies who just pooped (all together) and now were whining. It wasn't all, Harry was playing with Moby, and made sure his voice was heard all the way across the room where Rory was with the puppies, even though both of them were in Rory's clear sight. So Harry knowing that there was no need for him to talk and laugh and even walk so loud was annoying Rory even more.

The puppies were two weeks old, and Rory feared for the moment Moby was going to have her own. Was it going to be exactly like this? Or were they going to be sensible enough to not pee or poop on anything they walk upon and have Rory clear up the mess?

It wasn't that Rory didn't like volunteering. She absolutely did. It was kind of like her thing (taking care of everyone) but Harry made it now hard for her to even enjoy doing that and made her hate every bit of it. He had been working at the shelter only for six months and there wasn't any moment with him around during that period which Rory could recall with a happy heart.

"Hey Roro! Did you know Moby could ___"

It had been like this for an hour. Harry would say something about Moby, some fact he'd just have discovered and Rory would roll her eyes and reply with, "Yes, I did know that, Harry."

When sometimes it would be the first time hearing that Moby can shake hands and sit when you ask her to. Rory didn't know who trained her, probably Beth, and it hurt her to know that Moby decided for Harry to be the first person to show her moves.

Lacey, Penny and Newt were huddled in a corner. Lacey had Earl Grey who was sleeping (again) and Penny and Newt had just gotten back from cleaning the mess the puppies had made in their cots.

"Are you free on Saturday, Rory?"

They were talking about going to the bar that had opened last week.

"The drinks will be on Newt."

Newt's uncle owned that bar, and Newt promised to provide free drinks.

Rory contemplated her options, and narrowed it down to staying at home, eating junk food and trying to set the invitation on fire through her gaze or she could go to the bar, get drunk on free drinks and then forget whatever would happen next.

"Sure, I'm in."

They cheered, and Rory allowed herself to feel happy, till Newt opened his garbage hole. "Great! Harry will pick you up."

Rory snapped her eyes towards Harry, who was busy watching Moby snore. "Okay."

Maybe he hadn't realized what was asked of him. Maybe he hadn't heard properly what Newt said. For he couldn't be as nonchalant as he was being right now.

"No, it's f-fine. I'll be okay by myself. It'd probably bother Harry."

She shot Newt a look, which meant to back her up. But all three of them were looking at her, amused. And Newt's eyebrows were doing a weird dance and it looked like something was in his eyes when he winked.

"Don't be silly! It wouldn't be a bother. Right Harry?"

He still hadn't looked up. "Right."

Rory kept her mouth shut, instead choosing to take the pups to their cots when their eyelids drooped. But picking up five pups at once was a problem.

"Here, let me help."

Harry was behind her in a moment and towered over Rory as he took three sleeping puppies from her. Rory suffered from the same laryngeal asphyxiation and her stomach cramped once again. Harry smelled like grapefruit and his breath was minty. It wafted around Rory and enveloped her. He was chewing bubblegum, probably mint, and Rory mentally slapped herself as her heart readied itself to beat out of her chest.

Harry started walking first, and Rory saw Newt's eyebrows had still not stopped dancing. Even Penny and Lacey had joined him in the process. Rory didn't know what was the deal with them, but she knew they were all in need of a lecture.

Rory quickened her pace, trying not to disturb the puppies in her arm. They hadn't been named, and no one was feeling up to it because they knew they'd soon get adopted. Beth once told them not to name the puppies for it always got hard trying to see them getting adopted. But they each ended up naming Moby, Earl Grey, Franklin and

Turner. But the adoption of Turner and Franklin brought them so much pain they decided to quit naming every animal which would be brought in.

Harry was standing by the pups' cot, and Rory set the ones she was holding down.

"Have you got your mind back on track?"

This was what Rory meant with doing anything and getting mocked. "Huh?"

"So you haven't. I forgot who I was asking."

Rory was getting annoyed. She turned towards him harshly, voice reduced to a hush because she knew the three people in the next room had their ears trained in on them. "Why do you like to bother me so much?"

Harry was feigning ignorance, eyes alight with mischief. "Me? Bothering you? Pssht! How stupid is that?"

Rory huffed. Explaining how stupid that really was would either end up in her crying out of anger (it had happened before) or bursting her vessel. She worried too much, became stressed out much too easily and surely took things to heart faster than they had settled in her brain.

Rory took a deep breath, ignoring Harry and deciding to calmly exit the room.

She could hear Harry calling after her, "But at least let me have your number! How am I going to call you to ask your address for Saturday?"

Rory didn't stop walking. "You're not having my number, Styles. Ask Newt for my address. I think his eyebrows will be glad."

//

Saturday came with a wind.

Just when Rory thought she had left cold weather and her allergies behind, they come surging through with Rory feeling worse for the wear. Her nose was stuffy and her eyes hurt whenever she tried to move them. Her throat was scratchy and she contemplated cancelling going out for one whole hour.

Before Lacey and Newt came barging through her door and demanded she took her anti-allergy pills. Lacey made her some weird looking solution type something to drink, and it helped a lot (she didn't tell Lacey that).

November was around the corner, just two days left. Rory was getting anxious by the second. To say she was procrastinating was the best way to describe her delaying RSVPing the card. Half of her wanted to go, while half of her was doing everything in its might to forget she even had an invitation.

Guess which half was winning.

Rory was absolutely dreading the wedding, and was of the view that maybe some drinks would cheer her up. There were many people on her People To Avoid At All Costs list she knew would be invited. At the top was the bride herself, Lara, and her bridesmaids (Rory was sure those girls would have received the position since she was out of the picture) tailed the next three to four positions. Josh was somewhere along the tenth or so position. (Some people had pissed Rory more than him, surprisingly. Because what could possibly top your ex marrying your ex-best friend?)

What surprised her was that Harry was number seventh, even before than Josh. But ironically, she saw the most of the person she was supposed to avoid at all costs.

But it didn't matter, for she wasn't done getting ready and her hair was a bird's nest due to the frizz and someone was ringing her doorbell like crazy.

Without wearing shoes, she walked the small distance from her room to the front door. The response for the person at the door came in the form of an eye roll and a huff.

"You're-" she craned her neck to look at the clock in the living room, "-ten minutes early, Styles."

Harry shrugged, lazily chewing gum and leaning his wait on the wall to his side. He looked cleaner, not He folded his arms over his chest. "I thought we could beat the traffic but if I knew you would be looking like Merida I would have thought otherwise."

Rory rolled her eyes again. "Well, now that you have seen that I need more time, can you please go back to your car and wait? I'll promise I'll be back in te-"

"Whoah, whoah. Hold on a sec." He quickly straightened up and Rory took a quick look at his attire. He'd changed out of his flamboyant shirts. Rory hated those, especially the flamingo one, and she was of the view he wore them especially to annoy her (even though she never voiced her distaste). He was wearing a black button down with skinny black jeans. Rory was insanely jealous of how his legs looked in them and - would you look at that? The same worn out boots were there.

"You're not inviting me in?"

Rory scoffed, "You're actually taking over Little Hope and I'd really like to keep my home a Styles-free zone." She was about to close the door, but his foot stopped her.

"Uh-uh. Look, it took me twenty minutes trying to locate your house and I know you didn't ask me to pick you up but please, I've digested whatever food I had even before leaving so now I'm hungry. I promise, I wouldn't leave my mark here. I just wanna see where you live."

Rory was somewhere lost in the rambling, "Has someone told you that you talk too much?"

Harry had gone silent, "I just.....I don't talk much. I uh- I ramble whenever I uh- ooh- want someone to agree with me." He flashed a full grin which showed all his teeth. If he were in tv, his teeth would have actually sparkled.

"Riight," Rory was suspicious of his motives, as she was with everything involving him. One time, he brought a cup of tea for her which actually ended up being cement dissolved in actual tea. Rory hadn't been able to trust him after that.

"Okay, Styles. I'll let you in not because I trust you but because you've actually costed me important time and I can't afford to waste more. So, c'mon in and don't snoop around, don't touch anything, and oh, don't sit on anything which is actually for sitting."

She left him standing at the door, not bothering to monitor him like she would have done if circumstances were different. It was the first time Harry had been to her home and while there were a thousand things that could go wrong with that, she didn't have the time to worry about them, the worst case scenario with Harry burning down her whole house.

Rory hurried in her room and quickly grabbed the shoes she was going to wear, deciding to leave her hair the way it was. Rory's hair was pretty short, and she loved how it looked. And she loved Merida more (she was a complete badass) and while she knew Harry was trying to make fun of how it looked, she left it with the frizz completely untamed. She was a completely independent woman who didn't need any man.

(Although she'd like the attention).

The comb had somewhat helped her hair, but when she saw Harry by her kitchen counter and eating a slice of frozen pizza which was microwaved, she imagined her hair standing up like static current was passing through them.

"I told you not to touch anything!"

Harry was going through the papers she'd stacked on the counter, but didn't look up from them. He mumbled, "Yeah, but you didn't tell me I couldn't eat anything."

Rory huffed, "Because that was implied! Eating means touching things with your hands and bringing them to your mouth. How is -"

"-your hair isn't like Merida anymore. I'm disappointed."

The complete change of the subject made Rory angrier than she was before. But now she had completely mastered the act of staying absolutely emotionless around Harry. She couldn't let him see he got to her too easily.

"Well, good. Then we should leave."

"We should, but you should check your mail. The water and electricity bills are two days overdue. Your mother has sent a letter which was titled 'the hot bachelor' and you have to RSVP to wedding of some Josh and Lar-"

"YOU WENT THROUGH MY MAIL?!" There went her plan of completely remaining emotionless. "What part of 'Don't touch anything' did you not understand?"

She skyrocketed all the way across the living room next to him, who was as laid back as usual. Her wild screech hadn't affected him at all, it seemed like a normal thing for him (which was, probably.) She snatched the mail off the table, acting much like a madman, and stuffed them all in the drawer of the kitchen cabinet behind her.

"We're already late, Styles. So I'd appreciate it if you actually did the thing you came here for, instead of snooping around."

"But I was looking for your baby pictures."

"And it's not snooping?"

"Whatever," He grumbled, "If we get stuck in traffic it's all your fault."

Rory didn't get to complain because Harry was already walking in front of her. His butt moved like a female's does when she was being seductive. "Are you done checking my butt? I'd really like to get a move on."

"I didn't-"

"'I no stare. You a lie!' Yeah yeah. Can we leave now?"

Rory could see his eyes brightly shining, it was weird. His evil grin was again plastered on his face. Rory sighed, deciding to reprimand him for later.

She had a night to spend with him.

.

.

The drive was quick, they didn't get stuck into traffic which Rory was thankful for but before she could thank God for having Harry keep his mouth shut the whole night, he spoke up when they reached the outside of the bar.

"Don't talk to strangers and don't absolutely take any drink from anyone and don't wander off to anywhere by yourself and don't even think of defil-"

"I'm twenty-one, Styles. I'm big enough to know what to do and what not."

Harry hummed,"You sure act like it."

"Look, Styles." She turned towards him. He was still looking in the mood to rile her up, but his eyes conveyed the seriousness his face was lacking. "I would really appreciate if you could maybe, possibly let me spend my time here without wanting to bang my head on the wall and give myself concussion? Please."

Harry was silent for a minute. "Okay."

It took Rory by surprise how easily he had given in to get request, but she didn't believe him completely. For all she knew, this could be one of his traps or something. "Okay?"

He nodded, "Okay."

There was some weird The Fault In Our Stars thing going on right now. Rory was confused, but Harry was happily smiling. "You mean, you'll stop bothering me to no end?"

"Yeah, Roro. I'll stop bothering you to no end."

Rory could feel something missing in his statement, a silent message he hadn't got around to say. "But?"

He turned towards her, looking proud, he exclaimed, "But, I'm gonna need your number first. There's this gif I really want you to see."

Oh, boy. Rory sighed, annoyed out of her mind. She was in for a long, long night.

.

.

The bar was full because of the weekend, and Newt was already drunk when Rory reached them. He seemed pretty happy with himself when Rory stated Harry drives them both, and seemed pretty accomplished with himself. He was hanging on Lacey's arm, who had taken to babysit him.

Harry was at her trail, complaining he didn't know anyone at the bar when in reality Rory had counted almost five people who greeted him since the moment they arrived. Rory was in the mood to get absolutely hammered without caring for anyone else, and having Harry got on her trial wasn't helping her case.

She wasn't afraid of embarrassing herself in front of Harry (that was a natural thing she couldn't stop from happening even if she tried). All she wanted was not to spill anything she wasn't supposed to and Harry wasn't supposed to hear (for example, the fact her ex was marrying her best-friend) which would later subject her to more jokes from him. She didn't want to reveal secrets which were better off kept hidden.

She was sat at the bar with Penny, while Lacey and Newt were drunkenly dancing in a spot which was clearly visible from where Rory was sitting. Penny was complaining about some guy she liked. He was a bartender at the same bar they were at right now. Penny had hoped he would be there so she could make a move, seeing the guy was beginning to look like a coward.

Harry had wandered off alone, not before telling not to do the same to Rory. As soon as Harry was out of sight, Rory ordered shots of gin and tonic.

"Are you sure you should be drinking that much?"

Penny had taken the role of monitoring her. She ignored her voice and hurriedly drank down three of the shots placed before her. "I came to get drunk on free drinks so I wouldn't remember what's happening in my life right now. Please, penny," She looked at her friend with the best puppy-eyes she could imitate, "Please let me have this."

Penny sighed before getting up,Okay, fine. But if anything happens it's on you."

Rory squealed as Penny's figure became enveloped by the crowd, drowning the remaining shots before another three glasses were presented before her. She looked up to find a bartender, who looked younger than her, smiling. "Overheard you and your friend. Experience says tequila makes you wild so if you're in for that, maybe you should stick to it."

Rory could feel the alcohol taking over her nervous system, Harry's advice to not take drinks from anyone somewhere drowned by the thumping beat of the bar. Without further thinking, she drowned the clear liquid before asking for a bottle.

She would deal with the consequences later.

//

November

Something was moving inside Rory's stomach.

It was probably blood, but even for someone who flunked biology in her school years knew blood wasn't supposed to make squishy sounds. Maybe her stomach was being squeezed and probably making that sound but it was highly impossible.

Or maybe her liver was probably expelled.

But the thing was round and squeezy, not wet at all and felt something like a ball. It was averaged size, from what Rory could feel.

Her head was pounding, but her whole body felt numb and tired all at once. One of her arms was covered in pins and needles and she realized she was sleeping on it. Her eyes were shut but something was irritating them. It was the sunlight.

Rory groaned when the round something got in her way as she rolled over the bed which was most definitely hers. It took all of her power to open her eyes. Sunlight poured in like fresh acid, making her groan and shut them again.

She was hungover, which meant last night was a success. She definitely didn't remember what happened the previous night.

Rory tried again. This time she was successful in keeping her eyes open for more than two seconds. She realized she was sleeping with a rubber ball the size of a football close to her, and was probably hugging and squeezing the life out of it.

Her phone was dead, so she couldn't check with anyone to find out what happened the previous night. Was she a total babe or embarrassed the hell out of herself? She strongly believed it was the latter but it didn't hurt to confirm.

She begrudgingly got out of the inviting bed and went straight to the kitchen to make herself a strong cup of tea to get rid of the headache. Her leg ached and there was a pretty big bruise running from her knee to the mid on the side of her leg. Her phone was put on charging, she needed to thank whoever cared enough for her to make sure she got home safe. It was probably Penny, since Lacey and Newt were wasted even before she got her first drink, that much she remembered.

The door bell rang minutes after the kettle sounded, announcing that the water had boiled. She practically dragged her feel across the tiled floor up to the front door. She knew she wasn't in any shape or form to open the door. Her hair was all over peeking from the haphazard pony tail someone had made out of it, probably dark circles guarded here eyes and her breath smelled heaps. But frankly she didn't care.

She had no idea who could be at the door. It was around twelve, so she couldn't say it was too early for any visitor. Her leg muscles were burning and as she opened the door, her eyes started burning too.

"The consequence....."

She trailed off as Harry's freshly showered and brightly smiling figure stood in the doorway in the same position she remembered seeing him when he came to pick her up. He looked way too happy to be hungover, and the chip in his step when Rory stepped aside to let him in proved her theory. He wasn't even close to being hungover.

"You look awful Roro."

He was leaning over the kitchen counter, the tea Rory poured for herself already in his hands.

"Do you really have no manners whatsoever? And were you never taught to not eat food lying around?"

Harry shrugged, eyes down, "Can't say."

Rory disregarded the answer, pouring herself another cup of tea. She didn't bother asking Harry what he was doing at her house, thinking it was another of his antics to annoy her.

"Here," He pulled out something from his pocket. When he set it down on the counter, Rory realized it was a key, her key. The key to her house. "I forgot to return it when I dropped you off yesterday. You were pretty much out of your mind so I had to search your purse for this."

Rory took some time so that Harry's words registered in her brain, "You dropped me home last night?"

He nodded, "It wasn't technically dropping off if you add me dragging you to your room and fighting with you to let go off the ball you dragged from God knows where and then treating myself to a cup of tea and the junk you've stored in your fridge. Which reminds me to tell you to eat nutritious food."

Rory scrunched up her nose, "What about Penny? Did she get home safe?"

"She ended up leaving with the bartender. Decent dude. I saw them leaving together so I went looking for you. Spotted you the moment your leg got caught in the leg of the chair and ended up falling face first to the floor."

That explained the bruise. Rory couldn't be annoyed at him because if it weren't for him, God knows what would have happened to her.

"I guess then thank you, Styles. For getting me home safe."

Harry didn't believe her half-hearted gratitude. "That wouldn't work. You owe me something."

That was what Rory wasn't willing to do; owing something to Harry when she knew how evil could his mind be. She didn't want to get stuck in his evil schemes for she knew all he was good at doing (besides taking care of animals better than her) was annoying her.

"What do I owe you?"

Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as she was thinking. Maybe all he'd say was some harmless thing that she'd have no trouble complying to and-

"Have lunch with me."

Forget that thought.

.

.

It was already two when Harry picked up his phone.

"Where the hell are you, Styles?! Was it just a plan of yours to have me standing outside the restaurant for fifteen minutes and not showing up yourself? Did you plan to stand me up so I'd make a fool out of myself?! Were you even serious about having lunch together or maybe I was just a fool to believe that you were?! I swear to God, Styles, if-"

"Hey, hey, hey."

The voice didn't come from the phone, it came from behind her. Harry was once again supporting his flamboyant shirts, this time it was a pink coloured one with white polka dots all over it. Truth be told, those shirts didn't look as hideous as Rory manipulated her mind to think. He looked good in those shirts, even better than she would look. But as always, she wasn't going to tell him that.

"I'm sorry. My car broke down and I had to walk- no, run all the way here. I'm really sorry Roro."

His chest was heaving up and down as he spoke and Rory could see beads of perspiration glistening on his forehead despite of the slight chill November had brought. He was looking at her intently, and he was looking as apologetic as they could get.

She shrugged, "Okay."

The restaurant they had chosen was a small Indian one. The owner knew Rory closely since she often went there. But it came a surprise to her when Harry practically engulfed Neha in his arms the moment he stepped in.

"It's so good to see you, Neha."

Neha was a small Indian lady who moved to England from Mumbai when she was ten years old. She had done her bachelors in cooking, and reminded Rory of Francine. Rory had babysat her kids on more occasions than one.

"It's so good to see you too Harry, Rory."

She greeted them both, Harry more enthusiastically. Rory wondered if he's shown such enthusiasm when they first met, things would have been entirely different now. They were led to a booth next to the windows, and Rory avoided talking to him at all.

He wasn't minding, it appeared, for he was vigorously going through his phone. That was how she wanted Harry to act around her; completely ignoring her. And now that he was doing it, she could feel the awkwardness getting palpable.

She took the initiative, "Was I really....wild last night?"

Harry looked surprised, probably because Rory always avoided making contact with him. But what was she supposed to do when he was sitting directly across from her and they were having lunch together.

"You weren't wild, as per se, but you did have your moments Roro."

"Like what?"

Harry pondered for a second, “Like doing a weird, spider-like dance in the middle of the bar, kneeing a guy when he got too close to you during that, making Newt set up a karaoke machine and then singing songs which seemed to have come from another language," Harry stopped talking, assessing her face for a moment, "It was really fun seeing you like that."

Rory wondered why he didn't bring it up sooner, was he having a change of heart?

"It was really that bad, huh?"

Harry shook his head,"I would have stopped you, but Penny said you needed to have that, whatever that means. So I didn't. But I enjoyed a lot."

It was true, she really needed that. She smiled despite herself. "Thank you for looking after me."

.

.

The lunch passed by smoothly, none of them talked after that. Harry insisted on walking her home, but she refused. She hated to say this, but seeing Harry so out of his element (not annoying her) made her confused. For it annoyed her (what?!) that he wasn't annoying her.

It hadn't registered in her mind till then that a teeny, tiny part of her was disappointed when Harry made civil talk with her, like it really wanted him to act like he normally did around her. It also didn't register in her mind till then that a tent, tiny part of her enjoyed when he did that.

She was confused.

Was she saying that she enjoyed when Harry made fun of her? No. Was she saying that it bothered her when he didn't make fun of her and acted like she was some stranger he hadn't spent the better part of six months trying to annoy? Absolutely.

Unknowingly, she had started liking Harry and his antics. Unknowingly, she had started observing him, how he'd a ruck up his nose and look absolutely cute and how he'd put on his best, adorable puppy eyes unconsciously so no one could say no to her and how even though he'd be making fun of Rory, it would be harmless, childish jokes and how, despite the times he'd said otherwise, he'd ramble whenever he got nervous.

Rory had observed it all. And around doing so, she developed a teeny tiny crush on Harry.

It was just a crush, nothing else. That was what she kept telling herself, but during the lunch, she realized something which could either save her or burn everything.

Harry was loudly munching on a piece of lettuce stolen from Rory's plate. (It wasn't stealing if you consider Rory had put it to the side). When he swallowed, his eyes lit up like fire.

"Hey Roro, do you know something?"

Rory hummed, mouth full of food. "What?"

Harry made a face as he saw that her mouth was filled to the brim, "I got your number."

Rory was surprised, and confused, and surprised. She remembered him asking for it last night. "From where?"

"I asked Newt like you said. You were right; his eyebrows were so glad they started dancing. Also because he was drunk."

She cursed Newt. If it weren't for him, Rory wouldn't have to deal with Harry's arse at all. When Harry got to the shelter the first time, Newt was the one responsible for showing Harry around and letting him get the hang of things. But the bastard got sick the third day and Rory had to replace him. And then cued in Harry and his penchant of annoying Rory out of her mind.

"Great," she drawled out, still slightly hungover and a lot more hungry. She couldn't eat because her stomach was feeling off, but the hunger was still present.

"I didn't get to send you the gif I was talking about, but here you go."

Moments later her phone rang as she got a text from Harry. This better be good, she thought as she clicked on the notification. A sigh involuntarily heaved out of her lips as Harry's laugh rang in the background. Harry had sent her a gif of cow screaming which he found undeniably amusing.

"Real mature, Styles."

She shook her head, not at all amused. Somewhere around that Harry had stopped laughing and now was staring wistfully at Rory.

"Why are you looking me like that?"

Harry shrugged. His eyes were really green, Rory noticed. It was like when grass glistened after the rain. Like that, they were twinkling. They must be a couple of feet apart but Rory saw his freckles, which looked undeniably cute.

"You just- um - you never call me by my name."

Rory's brow furrowed, "But I do! Isn't Styles your name?"

Harry shook his head. "No, what I mean is, you never call me Harry. It's always Styles."

He looked so much like a wounded puppy that Rory was moved to think about what he said. It was really true; she never called him by his actual name. "But you also call me Roro."

"That's different," he pursed his lips together, "When you call me Styles, it's always with an air of indifference. I get the feeling you're trying to push me away. And maybe you are, and maybe I'm really pushing boundaries here. But I don't like when you do that, Roro."

Rory was taken aback by his confession, his face reminded her of the time she got caught stealing a cookie and her mother was so much disappointed in her which she could never forget. The look on her mother's face paralleled that on Harry's face, both making her feel that she failed some test.

"I'm sorry, Sty- I mean, Harry," she muttered sheepishly, "It's just that, you never struck me as someone who'd be interested in befriending me, what with the pact you made since day one to bother me to no end. But," she put up her finger when Harry opened his mouth, "I'm willing to try to be friends if you are."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, the smile he had on his face almost breaking it in half, "I am. Let's start over, but first, there's something I want you to see."

He took out his phone and began typing.

"It's not another screaming cow gif, is it?"

But her phone rang once again. She clicked the notification, rolling her eyes when the text popped up.

"No," he replied, "It's a screaming sheep gif."

Rory, without thinking about anything, let herself smile for the first time around him as he giggled obnoxiously. She shook her head at his childish demeanours. Her heart started behaving as if she'd been on a run, and her stomach started cramping once again. There wasn't anything which could have caused it except for Harry, but Rory wasn't walking on the path.

Seeing Harry laughing genuinely with her and not at her, brought her to conclusion. If she was going to survive going to the wedding, she needed someone by her side to distract her, someone who'd make her laugh when it would get too real. Someone who'd make fun of all the other guests and even the bride and groom with her.

Someone like Harry.

//

The epiphany Rory had left her giddy with nervousness through all the time she was actually supposed to prepare for the wedding and look after Moby.

Her belly was getting bigger, and Rory remembered there were six puppies inside her. Her appetite had also grown to accommodate for six additional dogs and also, to Rory's horror, Moby was having the worst case of morning sickness, which wasn't as much of a morning since she kept puking throughout the day.

To Rory's surprise, Harry was super helpful and super caring with Moby. He made sure she was comfortable and happy all times and even refrained from unnecessary teasing Rory with things related with pregnancy as they made her queasy. She knew it was nature's most exciting phenomena and she'd also go through it someday but it wasn't her fault that she was born with the weakest of heart which trembled at the sight of blood and itself got ready to join the person she would see puking.

Before, Harry wouldn't have let go of the opportunity to gloat about Rory's weaknesses at the sight of blood but now when Moby was puking her guts out, Harry actually offered to look after her, making Rory sigh with relief when he didn't annoy her.

"Thanks for the offer, Harry, but I'd really like to be there for Moby."

Harry. Ever since she had reverted to calling Harry instead of Styles, things had taken a complete U-turn for both of them. Their fights decreased substantially, they laughed with each other (not at the other) quite often and Rory hadn't thought of banging her head on the wall after that.

But subsequently, she had started feeling giddy and nervous around him, probably because she was going to ask him to accompany her to the wedding of her ex. Harry might be more nice to her than before, but she knew because of his curiousness, she'd have to tell him whose wedding was she was talking about and everything. She still had not mustered up the courage to talk to him but she did RSVP to the wedding so now there was no backing up now.

Christmas was getting closer, and so was the wedding. She had a detailed call with her mother who was now somewhere around the other side of the world with her boyfriend Steve who was much like a husband now except for the whole wedding part. Rory's father passed away in an accident when she was two and after years of refusing, her mother decided to date Steve who looked after the both the same way her father would have.

Talking to her mother made Rory realize how much she wished she had her to talk to and get advice from. But her mother, being a social activist, was somewhere in Kenya building nutrition centres. It left her feeling a bit of relief as her mother wouldn't be home for Christmas so she wouldn't have to drive all the way back to her hometown.

Rory would have asked both Penny and Lacey for advice but she just didn't have that kind of relationship with either of them. Sure, she looked at them like an elder sister would but she was the detached kind of elder sister, the one who kept to herself and wasn't at all close to her siblings.

Rory had to do everything on her own.

And with Christmas getting closer, she had to shop for gifts as well. She had a bit of an idea about what she was getting everyone else (she had spent about three years of Christmas with them) but Harry was the worry here. She didn't know whether he'd be going home or not for Christmas or was he going to stay there.

With November halfway gone, Rory was getting fearful with each second which ticked by. There was the wedding, and then there was the confusing things she was beginning to feel about Harry. He made her giddy, he made her stomach cramp, he made her anxious. She had dated her fair share of boys (including Josh) and all of them made her feel some type of way almost similar to what Harry was doing, so she knew she couldn't ignore her feelings.

She didn't know what Harry felt about her, but she was going to get all of her answers soon enough.

.

.

Penny was leaving for her hometown in a week, so the others decided to have a little lunch in her honour.

She wasn't going away for good, she would be back after Christmas. But Newt and Lacey were always looking for excuses to party, and Penny leaving them to spend some quality time with her family gave them enough of an excuse.

With the exception of Moby who was getting close to her expected date of delivery (around Christmas), the shelter was running smoothly. So Beth gave all of them the remaining Wednesday noon off since no field trip was expected.

All day, she spent walking alongside Moby, who was getting lethargic by the day. She'd sit in a corner, and if feeling, would let Rory carry her outside whenever there was enough sunshine.

But with the progressing pregnancy, Moby preferred sitting inside all day. So there wasn't much to do in the shelter and with Harry deciding to get off her back, Rory had a lot of time in her hands to worry about the wedding.

With winter increasing in intensity, the temperature of Rory's home was cranked up and she had taken out her warm clothes. But none of them felt suitable to wear for the lunch which was scheduled for Wednesday at two at Lacey's house. It was across two blocks from Harry's, so Harry decided they would first go to Rory's, have a snack and Rory would change then they'd be going to Lacey's.

This provided Rory with an excellent opportunity to ask Harry to accompany her to the wedding. She even prepared a little speech about what she was going to say to Harry, with added notes on what do to when he showed certain facial expression and what note. It was basically garbage, but it helped her in sorting out her thoughts.

Harry drove both of them home, throwing in jokes here and there. He hadn't fully stopped bothering Rory, but he was on the way and now with Rory realizing she actually liked him doing that, she didn't want him to stop.

They reached her home in no time, and quickly shuffled inside as cold wind hit their bodies. Rory clearly remembered what had happened the last (and the only time) Harry had come to her home. He was filled with curiosity, so preparing ahead, Rory stashed away all pictures of her teen years and before that so Harry wouldn't find anything even if he snooped around.

Besides, she had more serious matters to tend to.

"I really like your home, Roro."

It wasn't much, a living area in centre with kitchen and two rooms on the opposite side. The other room used to belong to Francine, but she ended up moving out so now it remained empty. Rory's mother now paid half of the rent, so Rory didn't put up any ad for roommate.

Rory smiled, walking over to the kitchen counter. "Thank you, Harry." She shuffled around, but came up short of everything she could present before Harry without burning.

"Can you cook?"

Harry was busy flipping through the magazine Rory left on the table. He looked up, eyeing Rory with a peculiar look in his eyes, "You can't?"

Rory nodded, turning towards him and leaning over the kitchen counter, "I'm leaving off of frozen pizzas and instant noodles which is the only thing I can cook without burning so if you're into that, I can heat up some pizza for you."

Harry chuckled, abandoning the magazine and walking over to Rory. He was wearing his signature black jeans paired with a white shirt having black patterns all over it. He had taken off his brown boots which were now lying by the door. Rory decided she was going to get him similar boots for Christmas.

"Don't worry, I can't cook either. I mean, I can boil water but that's about it."

Rory was taken by surprise, feeling a smile curving on her lips, "So how do you get by?"

He shrugged, "My mum comes by once every week and cooks enough food to get me through the whole week. She's pretty keen on having me eat healthy when she knows I hate vegetables."

Rory was amused, "And here you were telling me just some days ago to 'eat nutritious'."

Harry laughed. His eyes were sparkling and Rory found her hands getting clammy. She knew she was about to over-think and probably blew up whatever was going on between them. That was her tendency; to over complicate by over thinking simple things.

"Hey Harry. I was th-"

But his phone rang, cutting her off.

"Yeah, we're at Ror- Oh, okay, cool. Yeah, we'll be there."

Rory was busy wiping her clammy hands off, her heart was beating really fast for someone who was merely standing. Harry ended the call after a few more affirmatives, looking at Rory as he proceeded to put away his phone.

"That was Lacey. Apparently, Lacey left Newt to look over the food while it cooked and he ended up burning it. So Lacey placed the order at some restaurant and we have to pick it up."

Rory sighed, agreeing to leave. One thing she found, it was much easier dealing with Harry by simply agreeing to what he had to say. And that meant agreeing when he called he made fun of her and dropped various jokes surrounding the things she did. It was much easier dealing with him now because Rory kept silent most of the times and let him do his thing.

She didn't know how that could be beneficial even for her but by doing so she discovered a lot of things about Harry that would have otherwise remained under the cover. For example now when she found out that Harry also didn't know how to cook or how his mother came periodically to check up on him.

He was peculiar, and so was she, that's why she was of the view that having Harry by her side would save her from the dread of going to the wedding.

.

.

Lacey was frantic when Rory and Harry reached her home.

She had Newt had gotten into some sort of disagreement after he burnt the lunch and now Newt was sulking in the backyard. Lacey said he was acting like a toddler so she was dealing with him in the same way by giving him timeout. He was actually mad at Lacey for calling him a nincompoop.

Harry laughed loudly when Newt finished explaining why he was angry. Harry explained nincompoop wasn't the worst thing to be called when he'd been called pretty bad things - particularly orangutang - several times. Rory blushed when he looked at her from the corner of his eyes while talking to Newt.

Penny arrived thirty minutes after that. Till then the argument between Lacey and Newt had subsided a bit and Newt was talking to Lacey again.

Lunch was filled with laughter and the voices of people talking over each other. Rory forced her mind to think about anything but the wedding and tried to have a good time. It was fun seeing everyone else around her talking and just mingling about. Occasionally, a loud laugh from Harry's lips would ring out when Newt would crack a joke or something.

Her mind filled with images of Josh and Lara together. They were as apart as day and night yet were getting married. Josh was four years older than her and Lara, despite being her best friend, was almost the same age as him. Lara and her had met at the animal shelter when she first starting volunteering and quickly hit it off, becoming best friends almost instantly. She met Josh a year and a half after that and was with him for the better part almost of two years. Till she found him and Lara, naked, together, in bed and a year and a half later got invited to their wedding.

They both just had a fight three hours before that. They would fight often, but would make up minutes later. However when three hours had passed and no call from Josh came, Rory realized the magnitude of the problem was bigger than what could be solved over the phone.

She was the bigger man who went to apologize but got slapped in the face with betrayal.

Lara sure was her best friend, but it was after she ended relations with either of them that she realized they were never that close. Sure, they talked and gossiped and shares secrets but Lara never gave Rory the sisterly vibe every best friend gave the other (brotherly, if it was a male).

And Rory thought to not go to the wedding at all, to back out. It would save her from feeling distressed now but the consequences might bite her in the arse later. She wasn't the person to run away from her problems. Even after the huge setback, she ended calling them both to settle matters on an even foot. Josh agreed, Lara and her ended up fighting when the former accused Rory of knowing she always liked Josh.

It didn't end well, but at least it made Josh (and perhaps, maybe, Lara) to invite her at their wedding.

Almost everyone at the animal shelter knew what went down between the three of them. Harry, despite of his curiosity and his power to make everyone confide in him, was unaware probably because everyone knew it was a sensitive matter. The rest excluding Rory weren't invited, and Rory guessed it had something to do with Newt, Lara's house on a Christmas night (Lara was away), and a lot of toilet paper.

Rory looked around her. Everyone had gotten cozy after eating and now we're watching The Lion King, much to Newt's demands. Rory was sat next to Harry, not paying attention to whatever was going on the tv. Harry felt warm and comfortable, his arm rubbed against Rory with every breath he took, and it was being impossible for Rory to not rest her head on his arm and close her eyes.

Newt's snores filled the room. He was lying with his head in Rory's lap as his feet dangled over the edge of the couch. His snores were drowned by Simba's 'Hakuna Matata'.

He slept soundly, almost like a baby, and Rory envied him for the ability.

.

.

It was getting close to eight when Rory decided it was time for her to leave.

Newt had already gone to bed, and by bed it meant hoarding the couch as drool dripped from the side of his mouth. Penny had already left, she had some things left to pack an while Lacey stayed up, Rory could see her drooping. It wasn't late, but Lacey had a lot to do today. She was ready to hit the bed and collapse.

As for Harry, Rory could see him rubbing his eyes and yawning. He seemed tired too, but he promised to drop Rory at her home.

"There's no need, Harry. It's not that late, I mean, I can get a bus."

"It might not be late, but it's getting cold. You wouldn't wanna get sick, would you?"

He was leading her to the place he parked his car in the garage. Rory was rubbing her arms, with November ending it indeed was getting cold.

"Hey, Roro?"

Harry asked once he was safely sat inside the car with his seat belt fastened. Rory looked over at him. His eyes were wide as he was trying to keep them open. The engine revved and Rory nodded her head, to indicate that she was listening.

"I was thinking that maybe you could stay over at mine? I mean, uh-" he rubbed his neck and looked away, and Rory could feel a nervous rant coming up, "-it's getting uh, late and I'm tired. And frankly, I don't feel like driving all the way to your home even though I promise I would but I'm tired and-"

Rory chuckled, watching him ramble nervously. Sometimes, she observed, he would rub his neck and run a hand through his hair while looking absolutely anywhere but at her. He'd bite his lips too, and often stutter.

Rory pondered over Harry's invite to stay the night at his house. If asked two months ago, Rory would have laughed in his face, or probably wouldn't believe him or waved it off as a prank. But things were different now, between them and with them. Rory knew he was being genuine, and staying over at his house wouldn't probably be worse than befriending him. He was already very tired, and she knew countering him would only tire him more. Besides, what did she have to lose?

She agreed, cutting his weird formation of sentences that made little to no sense. The look of relief that passed over his face was worth taking a picture, his hair were a mess and looked very inviting for Rory to just run a hand through them.

She wondered what it would feel like to do so, and for the first time, she wondered who actually got the chance to run their fingers through the mess on his head. She realized in the six months she had known Harry, he never brought a girl with him to any of their group meet-ups, and it wasn't as if she kept tabs on him, she never saw him leave with anyone when they'd hit a bar or something.

Take the night when they went out to the bar Newt's uncle owned, for example. He stayed looking after Rory, instead of enjoying himself.

It opened various different probabilities and uncertainties for Rory, the kinds of which made her stomach ache and heart beat much faster for someone at rest.

.

.

Harry's house, despite what his personality (mostly his attire) would suggest, was completely monochromatic.

Rory was surprised seeing only black and white wherever she looked. The house was much spacious than hers and smelled of lavender and a bit of oranges. It was warm and cozy and Rory instantly fell in love with it.

She followed Harry around by dragging her feet over the carpeted floor, feeling too tired to even lift her feet. Harry led her through a flight of stairs and down a small hallway which had three doors, over to a room on the left.

He turned towards her, "This room is mine, the only available one since the rest are a bit....messy."

Rory didn't want to question how much messy the other two rooms really were. She simply nodded and eyed him when he kept standing.

"You don't expect me to sleep on the couch, do you? I mean, I know that's what a gentleman would do but being tired and sleepy has extracted the gentleman out of me so the best and the only option for us is to share the bed. I hope it's alright with you."

Rory could only stare at him in surprise, "When were you a gentleman anyway?"

Harry eyed her, making a show of flipping his hair over his shoulder in a dramatic fashion. "I am a gentleman, thank you very much. I just never showed it around you."

Rory rolled her eyes, shaking her head and fighting a smile when Harry opened the door and bowed down, "Milady."

His room, contrary to his house, was an exact replica of the shirts he wore. While his house gave a sophisticated vibe, his room was more on the boyish side. It didn't look like it belonged to a medical student. His walls were painted a mulberry colour, while the floor was yellow. His bed sheet was blue and the dresser and various drawers he had were all brown. It was just a mesh of colours and photographs and various posters on the wall, and Rory got her answer when Harry opened his mouth.

"My mum decorated the rest of the house while giving me only this room to decorate so I did it to the best of my ability."

Truth be told, it looked exactly like the place Rory would have expected Harry to live in. Posters of Queen and Coldplay amongst various other bands were pasted over his walls, and Rory could see a picture of Harry in his adolescent years peeking from the bookshelf.

"I like it," she finally spoke, "It's so you."

"So me?"

"Yeah. It goes along with those shirts you wear."

Harry was rummaging through the drawers, and Rory invited herself to sit on the bed which was perfectly made. "It took a lot of begging to have mum let me colour the floor yellow. I think it brings out the colour of the walls."

Rory hummed as Harry turned around. He was holding folded clothes in his hands, looking really relaxed and sleepy, and cuddly too.

"Here, you can wear these to bed." He stifled a yawn and motioned towards a door to the right, "That's the bathroom and if you'd look on the first cabinet to the right, you'll find a spare toothbrush. I'll just use the one downstairs."

Rory nodded, thanking Harry when he handed her clothes and entered the bathroom. It was dimly lit. Rory went over to the sink to was her face and remove the makeup she was wearing. Searching for the toothbrush in the cabinet Harry mentioned, she found one and proceeded to brush her teeth. She changed into the clothes Harry lent her, she saw the shirt was actually a flamingo one she had seen him wearing countless times before. It reached her mid-thigh, and the shorts were well below her knees. She had to make do with them.

Harry was already settled under the blanket when Rory got out. He looked comfortable, and showed Rory the boundary he had made using pillows in the middle of the bed.

"I'm called the blanket hoarder, so you better be aware."

Rory wanted to retort back that during the sleepovers she'd have as a kid, none of her friends slept in the same space as her because she'd hoard all the space and the blanket and irritated everyone else. She slid under the blanket silently, facing away from Harry and closing her eyes after hearing the click of the lamp.

It was completely silent for a while, crickets chirped outside and owls hooted. Rory could hear Harry's steady breath and her own heartbeat. She could hear Harry shuffling and a minute later, she heard his voice.

"Roro, are you asleep?"

She sighed, turning towards him, "I'm definitely asleep."

There was a pillow boundary between them. Half of her was thankful for that, but half of her wasn't because her feet were really cold and she couldn't sleep with them being that cold nor she could earn them by herself.

"Isn't it surreal how two months ago, you could barely look at me without wanting to sever my head and now you're in the same bed as me?"

Rory shook her head, "I never wanted to sever your head. You just kept bothering me to no end and I didn't think you had any boundary."

From the little light that poured in through the window, Rory could see the silhouette of Harry's arm removing the pillows between them. She was greeted by his figure which she could just make out.

"I liked knowing I could get to you so quickly. I still do."

Rory took a pillow Harry just put next to his head and hit him with it. It reached his arm, and Harry snatched it from her grasp.

"See?"

Harry chuckled, making Rory groan. She turned her back towards him, taking the covers all the way over her head. Her mouth had gone dry, and her head was having jumbled thoughts.

"Hey Harry, what are you doing for Christmas?"

Her back was still towards Harry, and she could feel him shuffling closer. Hear radiated off of his body under the shares blanket.

"I'll probably be staying here. My mum will be visiting my sister in New York so I'm gonna be alone."

Rory swallowed, turning her back and facing Harry. She could see that his eyes were open and he was staring at her.

"Then there's a wedding on the twenty-third. Do you want to go with me?"

There. She had said it, now it was out in the open. Rory could feel her heart stopping for a moment as she anticipated his answer.

"Sure, I'll go with you."

That was easy, almost too easy. Rory could feel her breath coming back to her as she sighed with relief. She shuffled closer to Harry, him leaning forwards as she rested her head against his pillow.

"Thank you Harry."

He shook his head. Rory couldn't make out his eyes in the dark but guessed them to be twinkling. "Whose wedding is it, anyway?"

Rory was silent. He was going to find out one way or another. Or worse, he'd find out at the wedding himself. It wouldn't hurt telling him, it was simply two words. She asked him to go to the wedding, telling him the name of the person wouldn't hurt her more.

"My ex's."

Rory couldn't see his reaction, but she saw his silhouette moving in the dark as he got up and looked down at her by resting his arm on the bed to support himself. "What? Wh- Really?"

Rory nodded sheepishly, "Yeah."

Harry was silent, so was Rory. She could feel a thousand questions running through his mind, given his curious attitude. But what came out of his mouth made Rory facepalm.

"Then maybe you could introduce me as your boyfriend, yeah? I'm sure any ex of yours would totally be jealous of my body and my face and my body-"

"Go back to sleep Harry."

He obliged quickly, dropping his head on the pillow and closing his eyes. Maybe now, Rory could say she was actually looking forward to the wedding.

//

December

With the change in weather, changed the whole environment of the shelter.

Since winter provided the chance for more stray dogs likely to be brought to the shelter, Beth was getting more and more occupied by taking care of dogs. She'd have her husband drop her twin daughters Blue and Violet at the shelter and they'd help around the shelter.

Rory was getting increasingly busy with Moby. Her belly was increasing in size day by day. With enough help from Harry, mixed with his snide comments about her lack of knowledge regarding anatomy and morphology and what not, Rory did whatever she could to make it as comfortable for Moby as she could.

Rory, through a series of unfortunate events, found that no one in the shelter actually knew about Lara getting married. It happened on a Wednesday, when one of the field trips had arrived at the shelter. Harry was with Rory, looking after the puppies, of which now only three remained. They were getting bigger in size, and Harry, like always, was grilling Rory about her ex

"Maybe now that your ex is getting married, we can have him give you dating advice. Or maybe at the wedding, we can found some good-looking dude for y-"

"Josh is getting married? What, when, why?"

Newt was beside Harry in a second, eagerly looking between the two of them. His face resembled much like a puppy with his tongue out who had a ball dangling in front of him.

Harry looked at Rory for a second, as if silently asking for permission to tell him (or maybe asking about what to do). Rory found it cute he asked her first before saying anything. She moved her head to one side, asking him to stay silent. She wanted to break the news herself.

"Why do you want to know?" The look on Newt's face made her eyes widen in realization. She gasped, "Oh, you're not thinking about-"

"I took revenge on Lara last year but Josh got away-"

"Who's Lara?"

Rory might have avoided telling Harry who Josh was marrying on purpose. She didn't want him to think that her love life was pathetic.

"She is - or was- Rory's friend. Josh is probably marrying her."

Unlike Harry, Newt didn't have any concern for Rory's privacy. Rory bit her tongue and glared at Newt, avoiding looking at Harry. He seemed to have gone silent. Rory believed at least two good things came out of Newt's not having a control on his trap hole. One, he didn't mention Lara to be Rory's best friend. And two, he saved her from going through the torture of herself explaining the situation.

"Oh."

Yeah, oh. Rory looked at Harry. Thankful the didn't seem at all sympathetic. Instead, his eyes had a mischievous glint in them. Like the one which was always present whenever he made Rory bang her head against the wall.

"What were you going to say Newt?"

Rory started shaking his head at a rate she believed was fast enough to burst a vein. "Harry, Newt, if you're think-"

"I say we egg his car, or house would be even better. I'm sure he'll be having a bachelor-"

Rory got up before Newt could finish his sentence. "If you finish that sentence, I'll swear I'm going to tell Lacey about the crush you have on him."

That had him shutting his trap hole faster than the speed of light. Harry's loud laugh rang around her and the image of him genuinely being happy settled warmly in her stomach. Blood rush to her cheeks as Harry caught her staring. Not wanting a repeat of last time it happened, she quickly started walking, Harry being hot on her trail.

"Does he actually have a crush on Lacey?"

Rory shrugged, reaching Moby's cot and finding her sleeping snugly. "He denies it every time anyone brings that up but by the look in his eyes whenever she's around, I figured he liked her."

Harry hummed, settling beside Rory as she looked over sleeping Moby. "And was Lara actually your friend?"

Rory sighed, "She was my best friend, Harry. Till I found Josh and her in bed, together."

Rory didn't avoid looking at him. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were soft. "You know, Roro, the offer of me going as your boyfriend to the wedding still stands if you're up for it."

Rory shook her head, chuckling as he laughed. "You're never going to stop bothering me, do you?"

"To no end, Roro. To no end."

.

.

Moby's babies came with a bang.

The bang was actually Newt knocking over several boxes at once when he saw Moby sprawled over the nest in the box Beth made two weeks ago. Harry predicted Moby was getting close to the due date. Rory thought his prediction wasn't needed since Moby's belly which was carrying six pups was enough of an indication. Ever since then, Moby was feeling the need for seclusion and often moved with the nest to one corner of the room.

Rory helped set the nest by providing whatever blanket she could find for her. It was decided that neither Newt nor Rory needed to be present at the time of birth two weeks ago. Newt would probably faint while Rory had the chances of puking.

Moby's delivery kept the wedding and Harry accompanying her off of her mind completely during day but at night, anxiety would grip her and make sleep almost impossible. She would complete her required quota of sleep during her classes. The professors weren't much caring of what the students did.

And at the shelter, after taking care of the animals and looking after Moby who had started secluding herself, she'd come to think of Harry who was being exceptionally caring towards Moby. Being a med student, he was more aware of what was going on inside her body. He spent a great deal of his time at the shelter just making sure Moby wasn't having any complications.

And when Newt knocked over the boxes announcing the beginning of Moby's labour, Harry was the first to rush to her, followed by Beth and Lacey.

Rory and Newt cleaned out a room for this purpose, since both of them had enough energy to see what was happening. Lacey had laughed for hours at Newt, now calling him a chicken while Harry only smiled at Rory, choosing to not comment on anything. Rory thought he was only laying off her because of all the ex-marrying-best-friend drama, and she hated that.

It took three hours, all of which she spent with Newt biting her nails off in anxiety. Even though Harry and Dr. Travis both declared several times that dogs didn't generally have any complications during labour, she couldn't help but worry. Newt was starting to doze off, but compose himself.

"Hey, Rory?"

She heard his voice and hummed. Her mind was preoccupied, but she heard his words loud and clear.

"What's the deal with you and Harry?"

She stilled for a moment. What kind of question was that? What was it supposed to mean?

"What do you mean?"

He was sat across from her, so he had a clear look of her face just like she had of him. Rory knew avoiding looking at him wouldn't work.

"I mean, what's going on between you two?"

Rory was quick to answer, "There's nothing going on between us. Why would you even think that?"

"You let him call you Roro." He spoke as it was enough of an answer. She only let Harry call her that because he was pretty much persistent and stubborn. Despite her asking him to stop doing so, he didn't and kept calling her that.

"And why's that a big deal? It's just a nickname."

"A nickname you hated. You specifically told me to call me anything but that when you first arrived. I couldn't think of any nickname except that and you threatened to chop by balls and feed to Moby."

Rory thought over his words for a second. Some kid in pre-school spoiled the name 'Roro' for her as he would make fun of her name by calling her that. She grew up to hate that name. It was stupid and didn't make any sense.

But it didn't sound stupid coming from Harry's mouth.

"And besides the name, I've seen the way you two look at each other. It's like being trapped in some Nicholas Sparks book or something."

Rory could feel her ears heating up. "The way we look at each other? What about the way you look at Lacey?"

Newt was quick to turn red, "Let's not make this about me. And don't try to run-"

"So you can ask me about my feelings for Harry but I can't ask you about you and Lacey huh?"

Newt eyed her, and in the moment she realized he was actually acting like a younger, annoying brother. Rory thought if she had a brother, he would have behaved in the same way Newt was doing.

"So you agree you have feelings for him, huh?"

Rory was about to object, quickly going over the things she said to him that might have suggested that. There was nothing she could find, Newt's eyebrows were doing their weird dance and she was getting frustrated by the second.

She opened her mouth to object, but a voice stopped her from possibly telling Newt off.

"Rory, Newt! Come, take a look at the puppies!"

Rory was the first to jump over her feet and rush to the room Moby was in. She saw Harry by the box Moby was in and Beth was at the side. Rory rushed forward, feeling her heart beat with excitement and stomach in the knots she had grown accustomed to. In the box over folded blankets laid Moby, with six different but at the same time similar looking pups curled up around her. They were small, really small and really weak, and Rory could feel her throat clogging up as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Oh my God! They're so tiny."

A laugh broke through the tears as she sniffed. Harry was taking off the gloves he was wearing and Beth asked Rory is she'd like to hold the pups.

She agreed and took one in her hands. The pup was an exact replica of its mother, and Rory brought it towards her lips and kissed it above the eyes.

"I'm a grandma."

.

.

Harry decided he'd drive them to the wedding.

Rory was nervous. She hadn't seen Lara since the fight after the break up, and there were definitely a few people on her list of never seeing again whom she would have like to avoid. They came in Lara's circle of friends, and Rory didn't liked them nor they did Rory, as they made clear several times. But alas, the day was here and she couldn't back out last minute.

It had not snowed in but it was getting really cold. Christmas decorations were in full bloom and Rory had her house completely immersed in fairy lights. She bought a little tree for her house and since she knew no one would be available she handed everyone the presents she bought for them. Everyone except Harry.

In the end, Rory ended up buying him a shirt she saw instead of the shoes she had initially planned to buy for him. It was a Rolling Stones one, similar to one he already had but the few times Rory had seen him wearing it, she could spot holes in the fabric and often times, it would be held together with safety pins. The shirt was new, and she planned to give Harry that after the wedding.

Rory was dressed in a simple pale blue dress which her mother sent her as a Christmas gift, paired with heels that weren't too high. She had put on light makeup; a little eyeshadow which brought out her eyes and lipstick. Harry rang the bell of her home at the scheduled time, not a minute late or early.

She went down, feeling giddy and afraid all at once. A small part of her heart wanted to impress Harry, to get his approval while the remaining part didn't care what he thought of her. The small one was winning.

She opened the door and was surprised to see Harry dressed formally in a black tuxedo with white shirt an black bow tie. He was freshly shaved and hair combed back. His eyes were brightly lit and mouth curved into a smile at the sight of her.

"You cleaned up nice, Harry."

Rory chuckled when he flipped his hair over his shoulder. His brown shoes had been replaced, and Rory was surprised and sad all at one.

"So do you, Roro. You look amazing, really."

Rory couldn't help but blush. Just two months ago, they were at each other's throat but now both were complimenting how the other looked.

"Shall we?"

Rory took a deep breath and wrapped her arm around Harry's.

.

.

The wedding was small.

Not much people had come. Either Josh and Lara hadn't invited many people or it was because many would be spending time with their families. Rory strongly believed it was the former, since Josh always liked to keep his crowd small.

Rory had decided to bring the couple a present, a picture she found of the two together. It was even before Rory could expect anything of this sort to go down between the three of them, but it was a memory to cherish nonetheless.

They had taken a trip to Lara's beach house once summer. It was only a week long, but they made strong bonds. In the picture, Lara and Josh were sat on the sand as the sun set behind them. Rory had herself taken the picture, falling in love with it at once. She didn't put her name or anything on the wrapper, knowing Lara would know once she saw it.

Harry and her were seated in an adequate position in the church, not far away from the altar but not close enough either. Rory could spot Lara's mother and the relatives she had met and knew but didn't bother to greet them. She had told Harry she wasn't going to interact with anyone, and Harry after trying to tell her otherwise so many times agreed.

She was really thankful for Harry, because he could feel how stressed she really was and occasionally tried to lighten the weight over her shoulders without overstepping the line. He'd comment on various guests, making Rory laugh and while sometimes she'd completely ignore him, he would know she needed her space of mind.

And she did, because Josh was soon standing at the altar and Lara was walking down the aisle with her father by her side. Rory's mind went blank and she didn't hear a word the priest said. She could feel Harry's eyes on her throughout the ceremony, but she didn't care.

Before, seeing Josh and Lara together felt unnatural, like something was put out of place. It was like seeing a square trying to fit in a circle's place or the way your ears bled when you heard nails being scraped against a chalkboard. It felt like something surreal and completely out of space.

But now, as their lips locked together and shouts broke out from every direction and a smile so graceful appeared on Lara's lips, Rory knew they were meant to be together all alone.

.

.

Rory didn't interact with anyone after the wedding. Not even Harry.

He tried his best to give her all the space she needed, but he was a human after all. She could sense his patience dwindling away as she sat at some bar Josh had rented for his big night.

Harry had left to get Rory some water as she was slowly drinking away her sorrows. It was her number one talent; running away when things got tough and preferring to forget what was happening instead to stay and fight the battle and cut to the feeling.

But no.

Someone had spilled their drink on her, but she was too drunk to care.

Rory was alone. Alone with a few bottles of vodka and a dress which smelled strongly of champagne. Classy people.

Even Harry had left her and now she sat with the thumping bass of the bar which wasn't enough to drown the slow songs from the wedding which pounded in her ears. She was alone with tears streaming down her face and drunken giggles coming out of her dried lips.

She got up, making her way through the crowd of bodies which was better seen as one. She had found Harry’s slippers somehow lying in his car and forced him to let her wear those since her feet were ready to fall off even though her heels weren’t that large. She exited the bar, it was raining slightly and she was holding a bottle of tequila in her hand. Not fearing the cold, she laid down over the wet ground, feeling mud seep into her hair and probably her cheeks.

She was alone - no one was in sight - with tears stained on her cheeks and mouth dry despite all the drinks she had earlier.

Alone with subdued music and excited individuals burning with energy she had been drained of.

Alone with a bottle of tequila in her hand and mud on her cheeks which drips with the rain water she’s drenched in and slippers too big for her.

She was alone. But then she saw Harry, and the way he stressed over her. She saw the gentle way with which he touched her skin and made her tremble. She saw the way he bothered her to no end. She saw the way with rich his fingers moved over her cheeks and wiped away her tears. She saw how her heart sped up when he asked if she was alright.

Rory felt alone, and a boy partial to flamboyant shirts held together with safety pins and wearing worn boots and a penchant of getting under her skin might be the distraction she desperately needed.

.

.

Rory smelled lavender and oranges.

The scent was really strong, enough to overpower the sleep which was currently gripping her. Strong enough to overpower the headache which wanted her to sleep more. Strong enough to make her open her eyes and realize it wasn't her room she was sleeping in.

The roof was mulberry, so were the walls. She groaned as a wave of nausea hit her, making her quickly sit up as her headache worsened in protest. She brought her hands towards her head, realizing something she hadn't before.

She was naked.

Her heart starting beating fast, throat clogging up as she tried to recall the events of previous night but came up short. What was happening and how did she get in- holy crap - Harry's bed?

Her eyes widened in horror as she looked around the room. She was indeed in Harry's bed, naked, but he was nowhere to be found, nor were her clothes. Slowly she got up, forcing the headache aside and wrapping the blanket which smelled strongly of him around her naked body. She looked around her, still not in terms with whatever was happening. But a door creaking behind her make her snap her neck towards it.

Harry shrieked when he saw Rory standing in front of him. He had taken a shower, and Rory could see water droplets dripping down his hair and chest. A towel was wrapped around his waist. His whole body was in view for Rory, and she spotted all the tattoos that marked his body for the first time; the most noticeable being the butterfly on his tummy and the swallows just above where his waist dipped below.

Rory gulped.

She hadn't seen him like this before. And she was really confused about their situation. Harry was awkwardly staring at her face, his bare body standing just at the entrance of the bathroom.

Rory's mouth went completely dry. She was confused and probably scared of the unknown. "I was-uh, looking for my clothes."

Harry immediately looked down. Rory's heart started beating faster and she could feel her face getting warmer.

Harry nodded, avoiding looking at her, "They are uh- downstairs."

Downstairs. Holy crap. Rory's eyes fell out of her socket. "Did we really-?"

Harry's silence was all the answer she needed but still she saw her head move in a single nod. Whatever going through Rory's mind vanished like the wind and her heart dropped to her empty stomach. As if that wasn't enough, Harry avoiding looking at her made her feel worse. Even when he did spare her a glance for a fleeting moment, his eyes reminded her of brick walls and steel, so much that despite of the heat cranked up she shivered when he looked at her.

Grasping the fragments of her thoughts, she desperately tried to make sense of what she was feeling. Standing naked in front of Harry with a blanket wrapped around her body and with the intellectual part of her leaving her system, she was the most vulnerable she had been in front of him. She was hungover and her head was pounding like there was no tomorrow, and yet Harry was standing like his soul had left his body.

He looked up slowly, perhaps wanting to tell her that whatever happened between them was best regarded as a mistake, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Rory cut him off.

"We need to-"

"It was a mistake."

Rory could tell Harry was surprised, because his eyes widened and he took a step forward, "What?"

"We were drunk," Rory rambled, pacing the room as her stomach started aching, "and we probably didn't know what we were doing. We also didn't want this to happen and-"

"I did."

Rory stopped talking, halting in her tracks as Harry's mumble reached her, "What do you mean you did?"

Harry took a step forward as Rory tightened the sheets around her body. His eyes weren't wavering from her face but she still felt uncomfortable standing in nothing except a blanket in front of a boy she didn't even fully know, but still had sex with.

"I mean, I was drunk, but I was also tired of pretending that I couldn’t stop myself from kissing you whenever I saw you."

Rory, for the second time in a span of ten minutes, found her heart dropping to her stomach. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers and her breath hitched in her throat. "I don’t understand-”

"I wanted it to happen."

It came like a huge blow towards Rory as Harry stood in front of her with a few millimetres space between the both of them. Her mind was still comprehending the situation. Harry's eyes were soft but his face was set in a serious look. His hair was still wet, and Rory feared he'd get a cold or something but he still radiated warmness. It was like the night she stayed at his house and slept next to him, waking up in a bed which smelled like lavender.

But Harry smelled like oranges, not like the grapefruit she had smelled on him ages ago. He might have changed his body wash, and Rory didn't know whether she liked or love the smell.

"Don't you see it Roro? I wanted this to happen."

He gestured between the two of them, still not making any movement to touch her. He was standing really close to her, and she worried for the safety of her mind because Harry was overpowering all of her senses.

Rory took a deep breath, gazing into his eyes which reminded her of summer grass and green leaves. His confession had taken her by surprise, "You did?"

He nodded, searching her face for something which Rory didn't know, "I do."

"What about all the trouble you made me go through when you started volunteering? Did you want this-" she gestured between the two of them like Harry had done "-to happen even then?"

He stepped closer, diminishing the space between them till his bare feet touched Rory's. She felt his body warmth enveloping her and taking over all of her senses. The smell of oranges wafted around the air around her and made a warm home inside her. Her eyes didn't waver from his face, and his breath warmed her face.

"Truth is, I liked you from day one but you, Roro, were just too oblivious to see."

Truth was, when Rory first met Harry, she couldn't help but think how attractive he really was. Not only his face and attached physique but the way he interacted with his fellow workers and how he took care of wounded animals and just the idea of him in general real spoke out to her. But then she had to take care of a litter of puppies with him and came to a decision that he was put on earth just to spite her.

And he did, lots.

But now with the confession of his feelings came the fear which dating Josh had inflicted upon her. "But what if this doesn't work out?"

Harry was quick to speak, "It might but also may not happen. We can't predict that, but what I want to do is cut to the feeling, Roro, with you. Don't overthink it, we'll see where it goes. And also, you'll have to promise me reply to every gif I send you."

A smile crept up Rory's face, and she could feel the weight on her chest getting light. Cut to the feeling, that was what he said, "So you're saying you'll keep bothering me, Harry?"

He smiled, dipping his head down enough to have his lips ghosting over hers, but not touching still.

"To no end, Roro. To no end."

#1dff #exchanges

[thinkingagain]

“The real nature of human history is always a secret,” the Second-in-Command said, “and the heart of it is pain.”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book Two: Empire Chapter 40

The Madam listened to the scratchy, grating tone of the Second-in-Command talk at her through the bars of her cell.

He had handed her over to several female guards who had searched her, taken her clothes, and redressed her in a black robe and a black hood, no pockets. They had led her to the cell where she now was, locked underground in an area that had been thoroughly renovated for high tech security, behind several layers of security doors. They unshackled her hands just before they locked her away.

She didn’t expect the Second-in-Command and his torture specialists until night, when people were at their most vulnerable, but he came, alone, to her cell not long after she had been locked in.

Instead of trying to get information out of her, he began to talk.

He told her about his years working on interrogation teams for various military and clandestine government organizations in several countries. He didn’t care who he worked for as long as the pay was good. He told her what kinds of torture techniques he had learned and used, how the minds and bodies of those he had tortured had broken under the developed infliction of pain.

“Sometimes we received valuable information,” he said, “but often not, since the prisoner didn’t know as much as we expected. Of course, getting information isn’t the primary purpose of advanced torture techniques. The goal is to break people’s mental resistance. Prisoners become fully pliable to anything we ask of them. How are you feeling in there? Comfortable? It’s the last time you may ever be comfortable, you know that? Permanent pain is one of the common side effects of information extraction. Sometimes it’s only emotional pain.”

As the Madam listened, terror and disgust shooting through her body in sickening waves, she was also looking at the way he spoke. His jaw muscles moved roughly under his cheeks. His eyes were oddly bright. It wasn’t simply that he found his terror stories thrilling. It went further, as if the stories were opening seams in his forehead, like his personality was cracking. Maybe there was some way to crack it further. “I’m not sure you really like torturing people,” she said. “Maybe you’ve seen the pain you’re talking about too often and don’t want to do it anymore.”

The Second-in-Command’s body went rigid with hostility, his eyes scrunched and flashing. “What would you know about it?” He turned his face away. “Torture’s what the world runs on, sweetheart. Haven’t you figured that out yet? I’ve known it my whole life.”

“I don’t understand. What do you know?”

“From the moment I was big enough, my father used to flay my backside with a belt, sometimes just because he didn’t like the expression on my face. He knew how to keep people in line. I was only a few years old when I saw kids tie a rock to the tail of a cat and drown it. I saw plenty of things like that later, you can be sure. I saw all the fights, all the times three guys would jump one smaller guy just to let him know who’s in charge. I learned pretty fast how the world works. Living creatures torture each other.” His eyes flashed some incomprehensible mix of pleasure and pain.

“I’m sorry,” the Madam said. “It sounds like you’ve had a terrible life.”

The Second-in-Command blinked hard several times, as if his eyes hurt. “Why this fake sympathy? I know what human life is like. The first time I went to war, I really saw it in action. I picked up what I know today piece by piece. So don’t ask me whether I like torture, missy. There are two options. You can be in charge of the pain or put in pain.”

“And now you serve the Commandant,” the Madam said, “and exist entirely at his bidding. I guess that means you’re still being tortured. I wish I could help you.”

The Second-in-Command seemed to consider a moment, his face moving through several kinds of expressions, one of them almost sensitive and fragile. Then he lashed out. “Don’t think you’re going to play some mind game with me. I’ve seen every kind of counter-manipulation attempt. The Commandant thinks there’s something special about you. All I see is a pathetic little girl messing around in business far more serious than her little brain can comprehend. By the time tonight is over, whatever’s in that little brain is going to belong to me.”

“To your owner, you mean?” The Madam shook her head. “I’m sorry that I don’t know all that much that’s worth finding out. I wonder how you stand it, doing his work. No one knows who you are, while his face and name get to be everywhere.”

“The real nature of human history is always a secret,” the Second-in-Command said, “and the heart of it is pain. You seem awfully sure he’s in charge. Maybe you just believe the hype.”

“How’s that?” The Madam looked at him closely. “Do you really have more power than it seems? Maybe you could leave here, develop your own power on your own terms, instead of being dependent on his?”

The Second-in-Command glared in a way that that didn’t seem sane. “You’re going to find out what kind of power I have. You and your precious Commandant, both of you believe you can see right through me. You think everything that happens around here is ordered by him? He’d have to stop spinning theories long enough to take charge of a few details, assuming he was capable. Do you think he ordered me to interrogate you? Maybe he would have, if he’d thought of it. But he’s too busy trying to impress that ludicrous puffed up rabbit in its fancy little costume. And his stupid love for you isn’t exactly a secret. So don’t tell me who’s in charge.”

“The Commandant doesn’t know you’re doing this?”

“He’s capable of not knowing many things,” the Second-in-Command said. “I hope you realize that.”

“In other words,” the Madam nodded, “you’ve hauled me to this basement while he’s off pursuing his great dream and the fame and wealth that comes from it. You do the ugly work in ugly rooms. He gets to be a superstar out in the sunny day.”

“You really think this kind of obvious ploy is going to mess up the way things are working here?” The muscles in the Second-in-Command’s jaw rippled along his face. “Maybe I’m not the only person around here who has tortured people directly. Your Commandant lover isn’t really above all that much. He’s killed plenty of people, and a few so-called ‘magic’ animals in his day too. He enjoys it as much as I do.”

“I don’t believe it,” said the Madam, believing it. “What sorts of things do you think he’s done?”

“Think?” the Second-in-Command said. “I know. I’ve seen him shoot people, unarmed people, in the face. Or if it suits him, in the back. I’ve seen him hurt animals. At least I don’t lie about who I am. I know we’re doing an ugly job, and I don’t wrap it up in pretty language.”

He looked away from the Madam, towards a small window lighted with sun high up on the wall in the corridor beside him. “You can agree right now to do what I tell you, and the interrogation won’t last too long. I’ll have to reinforce it, but a little reinforcing is nothing in comparison with the full experience. I’m going to interrogate your animal friends too, the ones we’ve already jailed and the ones we haven’t found yet. You help me, maybe I help them.”

“So I do what you tell me, and you do what the Commandant tells you? At least it gives you a role in the system? Aren’t you fed up with doing anything other than what you want, the way you want?”

The Second-in-Command looked at the Madam curiously, as if seeing something he hadn’t expected. “Maybe you’re more like me than either of us realized. If that’s right, that makes what I’m going to hear from you later even more interesting. See you in a few hours.” He walked away down the corridor. The door at the end of the corridor, out of her sight, buzzed open and then clanged shut.

#bunny #rabbit #revolution #empire #satire #animals #animal rights #politics #adventure #theory #fantasy #science fiction #environmentalism #sir sleepy

[bffhreprise]

Entry 258

 “So sunlight isn’t a problem for vampires?” inquired my husband.  After Emma’s display, he was trying to re-educate himself about the world.

 “If I stay in the shade, I can be out on sunny days for a time, assuming I’ve fed enough recently.” she replied.

 “You really do burn in sunlight?”

 Nodding, she said, “In a manner of speaking.  Light causes a reaction that makes storing energy difficult, and I have to use far more than normal to fight it.  After a point, there wouldn’t be enough of me alive to heal even after arriving inside.  My body would just crumble to dust.”

 “I guess we should do all of our shopping while the sun’s up, dear.” I suggested, half-jokingly.

 Lady Pendreigh shrugged slightly as she told us “If a young vampire were after you, that could help, but older ones aren’t very constrained.”

 “You see, we get stronger as we age.” explained Cosette.

 Alma nodded her agreement.  Then she went on to say, “There are vampires who’ve seen millennia pass, and I assure you they can be out in the light for significant periods.”

 “Then how does one recognize a vampire?” questioned my husband.

 “You don’t.” replied Cosette flatly.  “Watch this.”  Her head moved oddly, contortorting and twisting in on itself.

 When the motion ceased, I was staring at myself.  Even my makeup was there, possibly better than I had done.  “That’s amazing.” I admitted, but then I pointed out “Something seems off though.”

 “Well, I didn’t assume your body.” suggested Cosette with my voice.

 “You’re accustomed to seeing a mirror image of your face, so seeing yourself in the flesh tends to look awkward.” explained Lady Pendreigh.

 Oh, of course.  In my startlement, I hadn’t considered that this wouldn’t be like a reflection of me.

 “Really!?” asked Ai and Mai in startling unison.

 As the twins smiled, amused at their own joke, Alma glared at them to no effect.

 “What else can you do?” questioned my husband.

 “I’m a fair dancer.” teased Cosette as she resumed her normal form.

 “She can heal wounds inflicted by demons.” asserted Lady Pendreigh.  “She also has some talent for using residual energy for spells.”

 Cosette nodded and said, “I don’t know if I’d go as far as to say ‘talent’, but I am learning.  Brenna’s still far ahead of me.”

 “Really?  I feel like you’re practically caught up.” argued Brenna.

 “You’re both doing well.” insisted James with his charming smile.

 “What about Portentia?  Was there more to her than I saw?” inquired my husband.

 “Not really.” replied James.

 Speaking right over him, Lady Pendreigh said, “She’s relentless.  James, you understate her.  Portentia doesn’t need to eat, drink, or sleep, so she might well wear down her foes even if they’re stronger or faster than she is.”

 He seemed amused about something but told us “I imagine Marco’s about done in the kitchen.  Why don’t we all go to the gym after dinner for some demonstrations?”

   “Wouldn’t you prefer demonstrating out back instead, James?  The sun will have set low enough that I’m sure Cosette would be fine, and I think your parents would enjoy seeing the forest after you and I spar a little.” encouraged Lady Pendreigh.

 “Where the fey are?  Didn’t you say they’re dangerous?” questioned my husband, sounding nervous.

 Lady Pendreigh smiled as she said, “They can be.  Just be careful around them.  We’ll all be there with you.”

 “They really are remarkable, but they can be a bit overwhelming.” warned James.

 “Yeah.  They all try talking at once, and your head gets a bit fuzzy.” blurted Brandon.

 “Ignore my brother.  It’s not that bad.” insisted Brenna.

 “I wasn’t saying it was bad… just… fuzzy.” he argued.

 “They have awesome fashion sense.” cooed Emma playfully as she wiggled Raine’s paws.

 James then told us “She means to say that they don’t wear anything at all.  The gown you see on my little fairy friend is composed of steam.  Alma is maintaining it.”

 “Don’t you worry.  I’ll make sure they all remain covered.” insisted Lady Pendreigh.

 I attempted to keep up with the conversation as we walked to the dining room, but the aromas wafting down the hall from the kitchen were incredible.

 “So does Marco use magic when he cooks?  Is that his secret?” I whispered, dying to know.

 “What!?” exclaimed one of the twins.

 “Definitely not.” proclaimed the other.  “We’ve assisted him several times now and can assure you that he’s simply that talented.”

 “He can’t even use magic.” insisted the first.

 “Save for my brief leave, I’ve watched everything Marco’s ever cooked here.  I too can attest to his skill.” added Mila.

 I was surprised by the extreme support.  Ai and Mai were both incredibly talented chefs as I saw when they cooked for me.  Mila’s observation was a bit unnerving, knowing she’d be watching my house as well.  Despite this, I felt I was the only one desperately wanting to look at what was on the food carts already in the room.  My mouth was watering.

 James happily explained “Marco’s well-traveled and extraordinarily talented in the kitchen, but he really can’t use magic.  He’ll gladly tell you where he picked up any given recipe that isn’t his own creation, but I can’t say his stories are always fit for polite company.”

 Nodding, Lady Pendreigh said, “I can easily see why you’d believe his food was magic.  The arrangements he makes for our meals are truly incredible, and I’ve yet to see him falter.”

 “There have been a few minor mishaps, but he is always a professional in regard to his cooking.” commented Mila.

 “Raine, won’t you join us as a person?” questioned Lady Pendreigh.

 “I think she’s still sleeping.” whispered Emma.

 Lady Pendreigh seemed dubious, saying, “I’m still not convinced she’s ever sleeping, at least not how you think.”

 “Oh?  Why do you say that?” I questioned.

 “Body temperatures usually drop when a person’s body gets ready to sleep.  Raine’s doesn’t.”

 “She does dream though.  She’s mentioned nightmares to me before.” claimed my son.

 My husband glanced at me, seeming as surprised by this discussion as I was.

 “Really?  I don’t see why her body would need sleep, at least not to such an extraordinary degree.” stated Lady Pendreigh as she considered what my son had said.

 “She could just be following feline instinct whether she needs sleep or not.” suggested Jarod.

 Lady Pendreigh nodded.  “I’ve considered this, but I haven’t found any information to corroborate the idea from what my family knows of therianthropes.”

 “Do you not need sleep?” questioned my husband.

 She assured him “Oh, I do sleep for a few hours here and there.”

 “As in a few hours every few days.  I’m actually following a similar pattern.” claimed James.

 “Actually, I believe you sleep even less than I do.” she argued.

 “He does.” stated Mila.  “The master’s been accomplishing a great deal more than he ever could before.”

 “I still don’t understand what happened to you, son.” admitted my husband.

 I was in the dark with him.  James had always been an incredible boy, but we had seen him struggle plenty of times as he grew.

 “I don’t know the specifics myself, but how magic worked in my body was altered to some degree.  I’ve been told on multiple occasions that I’m still human.  I can, however, hear Marco leaving the kitchen and coming toward us from here.”

 “You hear through walls?” I asked in surprise.

 “So do you, if they’re not overly insulated.  My hearing’s just a bit more acute than it was.” he suggested.

 “I wonder if I can hear better if I do this…” pondered Brandon as his ears enlarged.  “Nope.  Still can’t hear Marco.”

 “You probably could if you put a bit more thought into it.” encouraged Lady Pendreigh, seeming amused.

 Brenna quickly asserted “Whoa now.  Don’t encourage Brandon to think.  He might hurt himself.”  She laughed as Brandon frowned at her.

 “Sure, sis.  Try to make me look bad in front of the boss’ parents.” complained Brandon.

 She continued to grin.

 One of the twins then said, “Don’t worry, Brandon.”

 “You make yourself look bad plenty without her help.” teased the other.

 “Oh!  Raine!” called Emma as Raine jumped out from her arm and bolted for the door faster than I’d have expected from such a tiny cat.

 Lady Pendreigh told her “I think she’ll be back.  I believe she’s decided to join us for dinner.”

 “Will she be showing us what she can do now?” I asked, still curious about the strange abilities we were seeing.

 “Uh… no.” replied James.

 “That wouldn’t be too wise.” insisted Lady Pendreigh.

 “Raine’s incredible, but she’s too fast to really follow what she’s doing.  She’s a bit terrifying to behold, honestly.” admitted Jarod.

 “I-I’m s-sorry.” came a voice from the doorway.  Raine was there, half-hiding.

 “No!  Don’t be sorry!  You’re amazing.  Really.  I just doubt Mr. and Mrs. Somerset are quite prepared to see your other form.” insisted Jarod.

 “What precisely does she look like?” questioned my husband.

 “From what I gathered, she looked a little different to each of us.  Everything in her vicinity appears fluid and turbulent, making it difficult for your brain to process the visual input.  There also seems to be a type of magic emanating from her that triggers fright responses.” explained Lady Pendreigh.

 Still partly hiding, Raine said, “F-for m-me. I f-feel… icky.  There’s so much… ang-anger.  S-such sorrow.”

 “Really?  Your emotions change?” inquired Lady Pendreigh.

 Raine shook her head and told her “N-no...  I-I’m me, b-but... there’s also those… those f-feelings.”

 “Ah, well… Only feeling you need now is a… the full stomach after you eat!” exclaimed Marco as he rounded the corner with another cart.  “Buon appetito!”

#Best Friend For Hire Reprise #Best #Friend #For #Hire #Reprise #Jovial Times #Jovial #Times #Fantasy #Fiction #Story

[stylishanachronism]

1, 2, 12, 36, 45, 54!

1. Tell us about your WIP!

It’s... going. The LI hasn’t even shown up yet, it turns out I know pretty much nothing useful about marine biology as a science, which considering the conceit is... unfortunate, and the MC doesn’t know about the ghost yet either so that’s a thing. On the bright side, I’m almost at 5k, as far as exercises in small casts go it’s working pretty well, and I’m having a lot of fun with spooky shit re: Trisha not knowing about the ghost, so. And I’m looking forward to introducing Best (she’s the LI), she’s also going to be a lot of fun, even if I have no idea how she’s actually going to get from point A to point B, given the setting. (I mean, I’ve written her introduction. But like, I’m not actually at that point in the plot yet? And also how she shows up on an island in the middle of a storm is not clear, given I changed my mind about where the lighthouse was after I decided how I wanted her to show up.)

2. Where is your favorite place to write?

Currently? On the bus or at the till during slow periods. They’re contained enough timeframes I can keep focus, which is nice.

12. Which story of yours do you like best? why?

Can we roll with... none of them? I write horrible dreck 1000% of the time and I know it, so everything I write is pretty much equally incredibly indulgent, decadent bullshit, and I honestly can’t say what rubric you would judge them to get the best one? Like, it’s all terrible bullshit, terrible bullshit I have a lot of fun with, but I love my children equally.

36. Post a snippet

“Don't be ridiculous. There's a storm blowing up, you'll drown.”Edie drops a towel over the stranger's head, looking at the door like she can see right through it.“There was nothing on the weather report.” She's frowning, following Edie's gaze with some confusion as she pulls it away.“Well, unlike the weather report, I'm correct. In ten minutes what you just walked through will seem like a sunny day, mark my words.”There's a crack of thunder then, and Edie sighs.“You see? Trisha, seest to our guest? I've to set the flame.”“Sorry.” She feels tongue tied and awful, like her brain is leaking out her ears because she's just so pretty she can't function, but she can't just stare at the woman, and Edie won't be back for ages. “She's like that, and she's always right about the weather. I’m Trisha, by the way.”“Best.” She rolls her eyes when she blinks, because that’s a name, certainly, patting at her hair with the towel. “Elizabeth, but my nephew couldn’t manage Betsy.” 

45. First or third person?

Third, hands down. First person always feels really clumsy to me? (Alternately, it feels like weirdly melodramatic journalling, which is.. not great)

54. Favorite first line/opening you’ve written?

The nonexistent Deadfire themed sequel to the pillars fic that is literally never going to see the light of day (no seriously, the pillars fic is bad enough and I’m not honorbound to post this one so I’m not going to inflict it on anybody), but the opening line (...sort of) is a million word long runon sentence with a turn of phrase in the middle I liked a lot. That doesn’t make it good, that just makes it the one that currently delights me best.

#dreamerinsilico