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kingexpl0sionmurder · 4 years

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Missed Connection - Shinsou Hitoshi

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Rating: NSFW 18+ Warnings: Unprotected sex, blowjobs, dirty talk, poking fun at fakes who shop at UO and wear band t-shirts for bands they don’t listen to, terrible poetry, Kaminari is a weirdo. Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi/F!Reader Words: 4,554 AN: This is for the bnharem server collab, the theme is pen pals! We were able to write basically anything as long as there was some kind of communication/writing/texting etc! This is the first time I’ve written for Shinsou and I head cannon him as a fucking closet goth so don’t at me. Collab Masterlist (Please go check out everyone else’s contributions!) My Masterlist Buy me a Ko-fi -- When his phone started ringing, Shinsou was tempted to throw it halfway across the room. Whoever thought it was okay to call him at - he turned to squint at the clock on his bedside table - 10 in the morning on his day off, better have a good excuse. He frowned at the screen once he’d found his phone, and sighed.

“The world better be on fire, Kaminari.” His palm rubbed over his face as he pressed the phone to his ear, his eyes closing again.

The blonde chuckled, full of energy as usual. “Aw, come on ‘Toshi! It’s not that early.”

A million ways he could kill his friend and make it look like an accident flashed through his mind. “You know I like to sleep late on my days off.” He left it at that, no further explanation needed. Kaminari knew he stayed up impossibly late on his off days, crawling under the covers only when the sun started to rise.

“You want to hear this, I promise. I wouldn’t call this early unless it was important.” Shinsou listened to the sound of a keyboard clicking through the phone, waiting impatiently for his friend to continue.

“So, you know how I sometimes like to fuck around on the internet?” This was a rhetorical question. Of course he did. “Well, occasionally I like to browse through Craigslist, and this morning I was in the missed connections section, and I found something interesting.”

“Why do you look through missed connections?” He didn’t really care, he just thought it was kind of...weird. But, then again, this was Denki, so he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Kaminari huffed. “Dude, sometimes it’s so sad to read how they saw someone and thought there was a connection. It makes me wonder if they ever find each other.” He was quiet for a moment like he was deep in thought. “But then sometimes, it’s like ‘You farted in the produce section and I’d still date you, let’s go out’ and it kind of loses the romantic appeal.”

“You’re a sap. Also, gross.” He found himself drifting off, bored with the conversation already. “Do you have a point?”

“God, you’re impatient! Listen, I was scrolling through the ads and I found this one, I think you should hear it.” Clearing his throat, he began to read.

“You were the sleepy purple-haired man in the cat cafe on Main, I was hiding behind an orange tabby by the window. I was staring, but I wasn’t trying to be creepy. You just looked kind of lost, and the black and white short hair on your lap seemed to have all your attention. Oh, I think his name is Socks. Isn’t that unoriginal? Anyway, I’ve seen you there a few times and I want to know more about you. If you see this, please respond.”

Shinsou sat up in his bed, ignoring the sharp pain of his muscles protesting at the sudden movement. “What the fuck?”

“This is about you, isn’t it?” Denki’s excitement was clear. “You’re the only sleepy guy with purple hair I know who frequents that cat cafe on Main Street.”

“How long ago was that posted?” Hitoshi felt strange, restless energy flowing through him. Someone had noticed him and decided that he was interesting enough to want to get to know? He wasn’t anything special, and he kept to himself mostly. What did this even mean?

“Last night! When did you go to the cafe?” He didn’t even wait for a response. “I’m forwarding this post to you, and you better send them an email! It’s been too long since you’ve dated someone, ‘Toshi, and I’m concerned.”

Unfortunately feeling more awake than he wanted to be, Shinsou shifted until his feet were on the floor. “Yesterday afternoon. And it hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been like a year, dude.” Kaminari sighed. “Okay, I sent it. Please write back to them. Let me live vicariously through you in this weird turn of events.”

Shinsou sighed and said goodbye, ending the call and staring off into space for a minute. He needed coffee before he could even think about reading it for himself and then maybe responding.

Uh, hello.

I can’t help but feel like this was about me? I’m not even really sure what to say. This feels weird. You could have come over and said hi, maybe. I don’t bite. I might have stared at you and made things awkward but I feel like it would have been a surefire way to talk to me instead of posting this on craigslist of all places and expecting me to see it.

You’re lucky I have a friend who likes to scour the dark recesses of the internet for entertainment purposes and happened upon this post.

-Shinsou

How do I know this is really the person I’m talking about? What were you wearing when you went to the cafe? That’s like the only way I can be sure you are who you say you are.

The only reason I didn’t come over and talk to you was that I had Oliver on my lap and he is a grump and didn’t want me to get up until he was good and ready. (That’s the orange tabby’s name, by the way.) By the time I was able to coax his fat ass off of me you had gone.

Honestly, I’d let those cats climb all over me like their own personal cat tree all day long and not complain about it, but I digress.

I didn’t expect you to find this or reply, it was kind of my way of convincing myself that I’d given it a shot, even though I really hadn’t done much.

-Y/N

I was wearing the following:

A Joy Division t-shirt depicting the cover of Unknown Pleasures, which is arguably the most cliche t-shirt I own. It’s become one of those shirts that people wear who have no idea who Joy Division is, they just like it for the aesthetic. (I’ll have you know I happen to know who they are and like their music very much.) This shirt was more than likely covered in cat hair.

Black jeans, which were probably covered in cat hair as well.

Black boots, a staple of mine.

I am a closet goth. I don’t know what else to say. I won’t deny it. I’ve learned to embrace who I am. I happen to know that Oliver is a grumpy shit, so I am not surprised he kept you pinned down for so long. That cat has been known to knock people over and purr loudly while “making biscuits” on their chests for hours at a time. I’m glad to know that you survived his assault.

So what are you going to tell me about yourself now? I have confessed to you about my goth status, so I demand something in return.

-Shinsou

Yeah, it was you.

I was hoping that you actually liked Joy Division and you weren’t one of those Urban Outfitters aesthetic people. I can now rest easy. I like them too, but I really like New Order more? I hope this isn’t the end of our budding friendship.

I will not say that I am a goth, though I have goth-like tendencies? Or I just appreciate the music. Whatever. I don’t have, like, a pet bat or anything. I own a pair of Doc’s, though.

I have been on the receiving end of one of Oliver’s attacks before, so you don’t have to tell me about them. I have experienced his pushy demeanor on more than one occasion.

So, something about me? I don’t know. I spend a lot of time in that cafe because I love cats, but that’s kind of a given, isn’t it? I usually bring my laptop and make an attempt to work on my homework, but it’s usually futile. I’d rather pet the cats.

Oh, I guess that counts as something right? I go to college. I’m an English major and taking a fuck ton of creative writing courses. What about you?

-Y/N

An English major? That sounds like fun. I think if I had a need to go to college I’d have liked to take something like that. I have a friend who writes ultra depressing Gothic poetry, that would be right up his ally as well.

I’m a pro hero, hence why I didn’t need college. Saving people is something I’ve always wanted to do, especially since I was always bullied about my quirk as a kid. It kind of made me more determined, I always wanted to prove those assholes wrong, you know? So, here I am.

I’m glad to know we can wear matching Doc’s together, and that you don’t keep a bat as a pet. As cute as their faces are, they’re not very easily domesticated.

New Order is fine. The real question is, The Smiths or The Cure? Your answer to this question will be what determines the longevity of our friendship.

-Shinsou

This is the worst question you could ever ask me. How could you do this? I could never choose between them. Both? The answer is both.

I hope your next email will not be your last.

Bats are cute but they always seem to dive bomb my head when they’re around. Not that I go places with bats often, but I used to go camping as a kid and they always did that. It was not a good time.

I think it’s amazing that you’re a pro hero! You’re really out here, fighting the bad guys and saving people and then coming into the cat cafe and petting kittens and drinking coffee like a normal person. I think it’s admirable how hard you worked to achieve your dream. I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m proud of you. Why were you bullied for your quirk? You don’t have to answer that if it makes you uncomfortable.

I wish I could write ultra depressy Gothic poetry. Here let me try:

The night is black like my soul Clove cigarettes burn slowly My life is Meaningless

How was that? Do I get a gold star? Or a black skull? Which is appropriate?

-Y/N

I’m printing that and sending it to Tokoyami. Thank you for making my entire existence with that poem. I’m breaking out the red wax candles and putting on “How Soon Is Now?” right now.

You get a star, but it’s a pentagram. We have to keep with the theme.

My quirk has to do with mind control, so I was always told I was meant to be a villain. You can imagine what that could do to a kid’s psyche, being told by peers and adults alike that you weren’t hero material, when that’s all you wanted. It’s okay though, I did what I wanted and they can eat my ass.

Sorry if that was too raunchy, but it’s how I feel.

If my earlier comment wasn’t proof enough, I prefer The Smiths, but I cannot deny the impact of Disintegration. Lullaby is a really great song.

That being said, this will not be my last email, so you can breathe easy.

On a semi serious note, I really enjoy talking with you. We have a similar sense of humor, and you like cats which makes you automatically better than most people. Would you like to get coffee sometime? I know a nice place that’s quiet and filled with fluffy kittens...

-Shinsou

—

I’m glad I haven’t lost your friendship due to my opinion. I know how important that feud can be to some people. People get very passionate about it. Kind of like with Blur versus Oasis, or Brand New versus Taking Back Sunday. I hate that these are the only examples I can think of.

It wasn’t too raunchy. Those people can most definitely eat your ass. I’m glad you have decided to use your powers for good. You’ll have to explain to me how your quirk works sometime.

I shall treasure my shiny pentagram sticker with my entire heart.

Isn’t Tokoyami the Jet Black Hero: Tsukuyomi? He looks like the type to write Gothic poetry. I am not even mildly surprised.

Even though the way we met was unconventional, I’d like to think I’d have gotten up the courage to speak to you the next time I saw you in the cafe. Somehow this is better, though. It makes for an interesting story, you know?

I’d love to get coffee. I think I know the place you’re talking about. Let me know when.

-Y/N

—

Shinsou was nervous. It was stupid really. He’d been exchanging emails back and forth with you for a few days, and even though you’d barely revealed much about each other, the easy banter through your messages was comforting. He felt like the two of you would be compatible. He just hoped that he was able to keep the conversation going in real life.

When he entered the cafe, he ordered his usual and picked his normal table towards the back. Socks, his favorite black and white companion, was at his side almost immediately. He let his hand drift down to scratch behind her ears, his gaze fixed on the door as he waited for you to arrive.

Out of habit he was a little early, but he figured it would be easier this way. He had no idea what you looked like, but you knew him, so he knew you’d come over when you got there, and it would make things less awkward.

A few minutes later he saw the door open, and he immediately knew it was you. Black Doc’s and thigh high stockings, a black skirt and an oversized deep red sweater adorned your body, a leather jacket over your shoulders and your hair tucked under a black beanie, cheeks pink from the chill of the autumn weather outside. You were pretty, and he felt his nerves increase tenfold when your eyes met his, a smile gracing your face.

He watched as you ordered a drink at the counter, the paper cup clutched in your hands as you made your way to his table. He stood up when you approached, letting himself appreciate you up close. “Y/N?”

“Hi, Shinsou.” You were so much shorter than he was, and he found himself having to gaze down at you when he was standing at his full height.

“It’s nice to put a face to all those emails.” The way you blushed under his attention made his heart flip. “Please, sit.”

You nodded, sliding into the seat across from him. He sat back down, his hands moving to grip his coffee cup.

“This is kind of weird, isn’t it?” You looked down when Oliver made his way over, rubbing himself against your boot. “I almost feel like I don’t know what to say.”

“I know what you mean. We could just sit here and email each other, if that would make you feel better.” Your laugh was like music to his ears. “I’d rather hear your voice though.”

Your face was red when you looked back up at him. “I have to agree.” You leaned your elbow on the table, your cheek cradled in your palm. “Tell me more about yourself, Shinsou.”

“It’s Hitoshi. You can call me Hitoshi.”

—

If anyone would have told him that the night would end this way, he’d have said they were insane, and should probably get themselves checked into the nearest institution.

But here he was, his face pressed into the spot where your neck and shoulder met, lips ghosting over soft skin, his calloused palms sliding underneath your sweater. You were purring, your head thrown back and your fists clenched in his t-shirt, your back pressed against the wall in the hallway that led to his bedroom.

“Fuck, ‘Toshi.” You mumbled, pressing yourself closer to him. “Bed?”

You didn’t have to ask twice, his hands sliding down to lift you up by the backs of your thighs, his cock hard and straining in his jeans as you rutted against him. He turned himself and began walking toward his room blindly, his eyes still shut as he sucked a mark into your neck.

He pulled back so he could peer over your shoulder and maneuver your bodies through the doorway without bumping into anything, laying you back on the bed.

The events of the night were a blur, your coffee date turned into him taking you out for ramen at the restaurant down the street, and then he asked you back to his apartment to show you his record collection.

It was mostly a ruse though. You’d been flirting back and forth, the both of you getting bolder as the night went on. He was only half surprised when you’d entered his apartment, barely removing shoes and coats and hats before you spun around on him, pressing him against the door and kissing him like your life depended on it.

He rested on his forearms, poised above you, looking over your flushed face and kiss bruised lips. Your legs wrapped around his waist and pulled his hips closer, making him groan. “Impatient?”

Your hands moved to cup his face, pulling him down toward you. “Very.”

He wasn’t expecting your strength, caught off guard when your lips crashed into his, your body pushing him over until he was on his back and you were straddling him, knees on either side of his hips. You ground down against him, moaning when his hips snapped up reflexively. He was happy to give you control for a while, especially when you sat up and grabbed the bottom of your sweater and pulled it over your head. The view was spectacular.

He let his hands wander, tracing along the lines of your thigh highs from under your skirt, and up to the lace at your hips. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the devilish glint in your eye was not lost on his as you shifted down his body, fingers swiftly working to unclasp his belt and undo the button on his jeans.

You slid off of him, and he lifted his hips to aid you in pulling his pants down his legs, his boxers following. His cock was achingly hard, the tip angry and red as it sprung free from it’s confines, nearly slapping his stomach. You eyed it greedily, and he was lost for words when you surged forward, delicate fingers wrapping around his length and stroking him, your tongue peeking out to taste him.

Amethyst eyes rolled back when you took the tip in your mouth, tongue swirling around the head, a low moan sounding from the back of your throat. The warmth and wetness that surrounded his cock when you closed your eyes and bobbed forward had him breathless, his hand threading through your hair, and his palm resting on the back of your head. He kept himself steady, fighting back the urge to buck his hips and push you down further on his length.

Shinsou bit down on his lower lip, his stomach muscles tensing as he tried to keep it together. Kaminari had been right, it had been a while since he’d been with someone, and he wanted this night to last as long as possible. The sweet and innocent look in your eyes as you looked up at him through your lashes, your mouth enveloping him all the way to base, was nearly too much for him to handle, his hand tugging at your hair gently to pull you off of him. “I’m not going to last if you keep that up, kitten.”

You visibly shivered at the pet name and he grinned, loving the feeling of being able to invoke that reaction from you. He scooted forward when you sat back on your knees between his spread legs, his arms circling your torso as he worked at the clasp on your bra, pulling the straps down your arms when he unclipped it. Strong hands gripped your waist and moved you to the side as he stood up, reaching under your skirt to tug your panties down your legs.

He took a moment to consider what he’d do next. He wanted to taste you, it was only right for him to return the favor, and he was almost certain you would taste as sweet as you looked. Another part of him wanted to hike up your legs around his waist and slam inside of you, desperate to hear you moan his name as he pounded you into the mattress. As he contemplated what to do, reached back and pulled his shirt over his head, and then let his hands wander up to the apex of your thighs, digits sliding through your folds. You gasped, falling back onto your elbows, back arching as he toyed with your clit, letting his long fingers slip inside your heat. “So wet. Just for me?” Eyebrows raised, he teased you.

“Fuck, Hitoshi, please.” Breathless and panting, you gazed up at him, biting your lip.

“Please what? Tell me what you want.” You would make the decision for him. “Would you like my mouth or my cock? I’ll let you choose.”

Huffing, your hips rutted against his hand impatiently. He kneeled on the bed between your legs, adjusting his arm and adding a second finger in with the first, his thumb finding your bundle of nerves again. He listened to your breath hitch, and your quiet mewls, pride filling his chest that he was the one coaxing those noises out of you. Finally, you breathed deep and answered him. “Fuck me, Hitoshi.”

Ignoring the protesting whine that left your lips when he removed his fingers, he brought them up to his mouth, maintaining eye contact with you as he sucked on them, tasting you. “You’re delicious, kitten. I’ll have to make sure to taste you properly later.”

Wasting no time, he lifted your legs up to rest your legs over his shoulders, one hand on his cock. He lined himself up with your entrance, grabbing at your hips and pushing himself inside you. If he thought your mouth was hot and wet and basically everything he thought was heaven, he was mistaken. This was it. This was everything. He wasn’t even inside you all the way and he was fighting back the need to cum again, cursing himself and breathing deeply. He leaned forward, forearms on either side of your head as his mouth crashed against yours, all lips and tongues and teeth, his need for you growing tenfold as you wiggled your hips in an attempt to feel more of him.

Groaning, he bucked forward, filling you up, the both of you sighing in relief at the feeling. He gave you a moment to adjust, lips moving down your jaw and tongue laving at the mark he’d left on your neck earlier. “You feel so good, kitten.”

“Toshi, you can move…” Your hands were gripping his biceps, nails leaving crescent shapes in his pale skin, breathing ragged as you clenched around him.

Hissing, he followed your instructions, hips pulling back until he was almost completely out, before sliding back in. Your arousal made the glide easy, your back arching underneath him. He started a steady rhythm, grunting quietly and letting the feeling of you pulsing around him keep him grounded. He let one of his hands wander, shifting his weight so he could ghost his palm over your side, fingers pinching your nipple and rolling the hardened bud between them. You keened, chanting his name like a prayer, the sound of blood pounding in his ears almost masking the sound.

It spurred him to move faster, his chest tight, sweat pooling at his temples and between his shoulder blades, purple locks sticking to his forehead. His gaze was locked on you, and it stole his breath. Your chest and neck were flushed, the most beautiful sounds spilling from your lips as he fucked into you. It became clear to him that he wasn’t going to last much longer, and neither were you.

“Hey, kitten. You gonna cum for me?” He shifted back to his knees and trailed the fingers on his left hand down your stomach, coming to rest between your parted legs. “I want to hear how pretty you sound when you come apart.” He kept a firm grip on your hip to keep you from sliding away, rolling his hips and rubbing tight circles on your clit.

“Fuck, Hitoshi!” The effect was almost immediate, your body and lungs seizing, eyes rolling back as you fell over the edge, your cunt clenching around him like a vice.

Falling back over you, his thrusts became sloppy as he chased his own release, barely able to move with how tight your pussy was gripping him, your orgasm still rolling through you. He felt your hands on his face, guiding him to kiss you again, fingers carding through his hair and down his back, your nails raking red trails down his back. He felt like he could barely breathe, lost in you. “Y/N…”

He felt his muscles tense, and moved to bury his face in your neck, his hips stilling as he came hard, filling you up with his release. You squeezed around him again, and he sighed into your skin, eyes closed as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Rolling over to the side, he hissed when he pulled out. You chuckled, and he turned to look at you, a lazy smile on his face. “What?”

“Is that what you call showing me your record collection?”

Snorting, he propped his head up on his palm, leaning on his elbow, his free hand reaching out to push a piece of hair away from your face. “You attacked me, remember?”

“I couldn’t help it!” Protesting, you blushed. “I wanted to kiss you from the moment I walked into the cafe.”

It was his turn to blush. “Yeah?”

Shrugging, you turned on your side to face him. “Mm. Can you do me a favor?”

His body was still buzzing, muscles loose and pliant as he shuffled closer to you. “Anything.”

“Can you thank your friend for being a weird internet troll and finding my post?”

Shinsou coughed a laugh, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Please, I can’t do that. It’s all he’d ever talk about for the rest of our lives if I did.”

You leaned up and kissed him, your fingers pushing back his hair.

He hummed against your lips, feeling content, shifting himself on the bed and wrapping his arms around your waist, tugging you into him. “Maybe I’ll send him a text later. For now, I have other plans.”

Kaminari’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he picked it up, eyes widening at the message that appeared on the screen.

Toshi: I owe you a crate full of Pokemon cards and my eternal gratitude for being a weirdo meme king who trolls the internet.

Denki: Oh, you’re in a good mood. Did you get laid?

Toshi: Fuck all the way off.

Denki: That’s a yes. You’re welcome.

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wisteria-lodge · 3 years

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snake primary (lion model?) + snake secondary (rapid fire bird model)

I am pretty sure I am a snake/snake sorting, with my primary (burned snake) as a rock solid certainty. I am not doing so well on figuring out how models work, and if I have them. It makes me doubt my secondary sometimes. Let me give you a few examples:

Last autumn, I was making a lot of soup from scratch. I started with recipes, but pretty soon I was just throwing things together.

Definitely sounds like an improvisational secondary.

(I'm a Badger secondary, and my baker friends make fun of me, because I treat recipes like spells I follow them so exactly. I only recently learned that the reason you put put in salt in water is to make it boil faster. I'd been doing it, but I might as well have been putting it in there to banish the bad spirits.)

But I always made sure I had some kind of home-made broth to hand, and some kind of soup magic stuff (heavy cream, milk, cream cheese, etc.)

This could be rapid-fire bird (or a rapid-fire bird model.) You feel comfortable improvising, but only because you already know a lot about soup.

I only went back to recipes when I wanted something new or specific. Then I went and posted a kind of improv instruction for soup making (take some meat, any meat, sear it and and pair with some veggies, any veggies, etc.).

So far, I'm agreeing with you. Improvisational secondary, maybe some kind of bird model to give extra structure and support.

I train new colleagues. When I start with a new group, I like to have all the prep-work done so I can concentrate on the social aspects and not get bogged down finding the right worksheets, or shit like that. I plan my first few words, and if there is no better opening, I use them and go from there. I have a general structure of what I want to teach them, what methods to use and in what order. It is adapted from experience, and the more rigid guidelines we are given by our client. I am constantly tweaking it when I'm not training. If I feel my group needs something different, I will abandon the plan, let them guide me on a detour, and bring them back when it feels right. Somehow, it still works out 95% of the time, especially now that I have found my confidence and know it works^^

This sounds exactly like how I teach. And for me, what is going on is the bird model prepwork making me comfortable enough to just vanish into my Courtier Badger. I've only recently been learning that I can... relax on the prep, a little. That sometimes too much prep gets me in my head, and sabotages me a little. Like I can just trust myself in the moment, and things work out just fine.

I have found the shc system a week ago, and I have been obsessed ever since. I got curious because a friend mentioned it. They were really into it, and I like sorting people if the system makes sense. I dug in, got hooked, and finally found words to describe everything I had figured out so painfully about myself in the last few years. Especially my snake primary was such a surprise and relief, let me tell you.

It's a good system. And it's... uniquely able to talk about certain kinds of things.

I am thinking there is at least some sort of bird model here, giving my improv some structure?

Took the words out of my mouth.

I was flirting with rapid fire bird as a secondary, but now I have put it into words, not a chance. I like my (contained) chaos too much^^

So far, I don't have too much to add. It's all very well laid out, and well understood. I do like the dramatic structure that happens when someone writes in convinced their a Lion and I start going into why they're actually a Snake but hey. This is nice. This is mellow.

Let's talk about badger secondary model instead. Just to get the elephant out of the room: I hate hard work, it feels slow, dull, and like there should be a better method somewhere. But I know that sometimes, you just have to do it if you want to build a reputation, or you know you need to rely on the goodwill of your community in the future.

This is so like... Rapid-fire bird processing Badger. Just the grudging respect of SURE badger secondary can be a useful tool I GUESS.

I feel awkward keeping shallow contact with my colleagues, I forget if they have kids, and I have been experimenting with discreetly taking notes on what they value.

This is so Bird.

It's not very successful because I can never remember them when it's necessary, so I nod and figure it out by asking "knowing seeming" questions, anyway.

This is so Snake.

What does resonate with me is the part of "becoming what they need" making myself into the tool I need, making myself seem reliable by being relatable. I mostly start a one-on-one conversation by mirroring the other person's mood.

Courtier Badger and Snake secondary can look very, very similar - especially from the outside. This right here could be a description of either.

It is only recently, and only with people I know well, that I have found the seductive power of railroading them instead. I can now cut short a friends whining by summarising what they're saying in a blunt and charming manner, and make them smile instead. Not always, but now I know it works, I use it more and more often.

... but this could only be Snake. Doing this sort of thing consciously and on purpose is so huge and so key. Courtier Badgers do have to believe it, and so they have a way of vanishing that Snake secondaries don't.

And I think I am exaggerating my "go and figure shc out, and be loud and open about it on tumblr" part, because it's what feels right at the moment, but also because the friend who got me into it is a burned lion secondary. They like me charging in, taking it for myself, and they admire anyone who can be honest and vulnerable in public.

Very Double Snake. Using a specific approach, specifically for your friend. Also you say your primary is burned... but I'm not getting burned primary from you. But you're also not really writing about your primary, so.

I guess I am making myself appealing, not just relatable like before.

What a perfect way of describing the difference between Snake and Badger secondaries.

Huh. Fading badger performance as snake gets confident? With another badger performance for work that I do grudgingly.

Performance is right. Just a shallow thing you wear over the top, that barely seems there anymore. You work like Bird, not a Badger.

Now lion. Well, lion is... difficult and easy at the same time? I have to take charge, be the boss, and make split-second, straightforward right-and-wrong decisions when I am leading my group: Call out anyone who doesn't play by the rules (though I usually don't care much if it is not annoying). Decide on, and hand out, the appropriate punishment for someone being late, again. Deal with brewing conflict in a head-on manner. But that is something I am still learning, and I am not very good at it.

Some of this is primary stuff - WHAT you do "be the boss, hand out punishments" versus HOW you do it. It's sounds to me like you're building a Lion primary model over your Snake primary, which is normal. Snakes with safe people almost always model something else. (And I already know you've got a friend that's a Lion primary... Snakes do like to match their People.)

It's possible that you're also building a Lion secondary model, or that one of your Snake secondary masks looks a little like a typical lion secondary, but my take is that most of this is coming from a primary model.

I tend to let conflicts slide, trusting they will work it out among themselves.

I feel that this speaks to the water-like nature of the Snake secondary, and a desire to always go around the problem.

or at least be professional about it and not bring it into the training. Definitely a lion performance here, and one I get frustrated with fast because I am not very good at it.

I have my lion moments, like I described with my way of being open and vulnerable about shc here on tumblr. But I wouldn't do it if it didn't feel right, or more specifically like something I need to heal and get better. I know I need to be vulnerable to heal, and it's relatively safe here, in the anonymity of my internet persona.

Hmm. Interesting. I'm not getting Lion from you... if this is a healing exercise, maybe you're practicing existing in your Neutral state?

I have to write it all out, and some of it just happen to come out as advice for other people's asks. It would be nice if I get some recognition for it in the community, and I love the fact that my friends reads it and tells me they like it.

My take on that sort of thing is going to be annoyingly Badger, so I apologize in advance. For me it's all about consistency. Lay a foundation and then build, one brick at a time.

Now that I have written it all out, I think it's probably the most snake way of arguing myself out of any secondary model I could come up with^^ I guess I don't have one, or if I do, I am dismantling it because I need things to be simple for a while. I am tempted to post this on my own blog, but I know it will get a bigger audience with you.

Yeah, no Lion secondary here.

and maybe help someone in a similar situation. So I will be patient, and I thank you for inviting us all to use you as a sounding board for our own shc issues. I have to stop going through your likes, I'm ruining my obsessive fangirl/shc vibes tumblr with beautiful rl-things and creative human interactions^^

I do what I can. I hope I help. :)

Thankyou, @sevilemar for the submission.

#sortinghatchats #sortme #double snake #snakepri #snakesec #rapid fire bird #lion primary model

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capri-ramblings · 4 years

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Can I request headcanons for yandere Riddle,Vil and Kalim with a witch princess s/o that was engaged to them like shes trying to escape them only to fall in love with them while in 'time out?'(isolation) and she becomes more loving toward them afterwards? you dont have to do this if you dont want to I've just had this scenario in my head for a while

I'm sorry this took very long to complete,poisy 💖 the idea was a heavy one to do but I loved doing it!

Please Refer to Pinned Post!

Riddle Rosehearts

- "You thought you could step a single foot out of my grounds and I wouldn't notice?"

- The collar clamped around your neck weighed heavily on your shoulders and despite the fumes of defiance running through your veins, your knees buckled and you fell.

- Right at the feet of a red tyrant.

- "What a silly,rabbit."

- Riddle looked down at you with a mixture of anger and pity. The way the two emotions in his eyes spiraled against one another made you recoil with fear.

- You knew better than to have tried your luck at escaping his grasp, but the opportunity seemed rare and oh so tempting.

- And you were never the obedient type

- Not even when your parents demanded you to marry Riddle.

- Your magic affinity and his would lead to a string of perfectly bred mages after all. You couldn't say you didn't understand their enthusiasm and desperation.

- But Riddle was suffocating. Every little detail meant something to him and if you thought your governess was strict, he's proven you wrong.

- Maybe as an outsider you would've seen him as appealing. He was good looking after all, prettier than most of the girls you've ever seen in the village really, and he had his wits about him along with that snobbish intelligence.

- The colour of his hair was unique. Red like roses and eyes as grey as a silver bullet. Sharp as one too, and like a rose,he of course had his thorns.

- You wouldn't know it until you came to hold the bouquet in your hands. The way the thinness of it seeped into your flesh and only ever drew blood once it was pulled out. One wouldn't realize the stinging pain until they had it all over their bodies.

- You couldn't stand him.

- "Look at me when I'm talking" Riddle jerked your chin up roughly, the sweetness of his floral scent wafting through your senses.

- "Why? Are you expecting eyes to have ears now?"

- He scowled at that. Brows knitted furiously together as his eyes narrowed and his grip tightened.

- Snarky. Riddle wouldn't admit it but that fiery spark of yours set not only his temper but his entire being on fire. He didn't know if it was from the desire to tame you into obedience or that if he adores that fighting spirit of yours.

- You weren't the type to let others drive you around your own life, and maybe Riddle preferred that over a meek,young wife.

- Still,you attempted to run away from him and now you're being sharp tongued.

- Of course he was livid. Anger practically fumed out of him then, but surprisingly enough he kept it on a rather strained hold. Was it because he knew you'd try and run from your engagement to him? Or did he started having a soft spot for you? Who knows.

- It only made sense to him that he kept you alive. Your punishment would be in the dungeons.

- You objected. Obviously. Did he think you were some kind of animal?

- Ah,but then he leaned down to your ears and cooed ever so softly that if you refused this punishment,the next one would be at the cost of your family's life.

- That did well to shut you up.

- The isolation was what surprised you. You thought Riddle would've at least sent down people to break you if he didn't do it himself, but instead you were shoved into the dark cells. Food came by everyday,three meals each. You were given a bed and a small closed corner to clean yourself.

- And that was it.

- Riddle never once went down to check on you,no one did really and you began to wonder whether it was because he had his hold on you and that it made him confident you wouldn't try to run again or people had simply forgotten you.

- You didn't care for long though. You didn't need anyone checking in on you, especially not Riddle himself.

- Or so you thought.

- The silent walls of your prison began to sound like static and half the time you swore you'd hear whispers. Your appetite slowly declined as well and sleeping became a reluctance.

- The guard who watched over you said nothing when you asked him if Riddle planned to keep you here forever or if he was going to show up at all.

- As if his lips had been sewn shut.

- It was maddening really,to hear yet not be heard. As if you existed only in your own mind.

- One time you almost wanted to slam your head against the concrete, anything to keep that damned static sound out from your head.

- But then, the door of your confinement rattled opened and Riddle stood in the doorway.

- You had never ran towards someone as quick you did then and even Riddle barely caught you in his arms, as he was forced back by your embrace and almost stumbled on his own feet.

- He felt so real. So very vivid your skin almost felt like burning from the warmth he had.

- "Please...Please... Please...Take me with you.!" You cried, vision blurred by the sudden tears welling up in your eyes. Your hands fumbled to grip on him. Thoughts puddled.

- Riddle bit back the smile on his lips, wrapping his arms around your shivering body as he pulled you closer to him.

- How pathetic.

- You looked like you'd been deserted on an island. Had isolation really tamed that wild spirit of yours?

- Riddle wanted to laugh, to sneer in your face and ask you why a method to break dogs worked on you.

- But then again, it was adorable as well. Seeing how you clung to him so desperately.

- Riddle always did wanted you to submit to him after all.

- "Hm? Take you where?" He asked,voice slick and cruel like a whip, but his hands were gentle and endearing when it came up to caress your cheek, and his natural floral scent sent shivers down your spine.

- "Home." You pleaded, "Please take me home with you. I promise I'll never leave your side again,Riddle. Please."

- His lips curled into a smile then.

- "Of course,my lovebug."

Kalim Al-Asim

- The poor boy is heartbroken.

- How could you have thought to run away from him? Was he not treating you well enough? Did he made you angry? Upset even?

- The questions swirling in his head makes him want to vomit.

- Kalim is quick to have every one of his servants search for you, and with the aid of Jamil, he does it fairly well, finding out your runaway path and dragging you back into his arms within mere hours.

- He doesn't seem angry though, and the way he wraps his arms around your trembling body tells you that he's more grief-stricken rather than angered but there's this hazy look in his eyes that causes an unsettling churn in your stomach.

- When you try to pull him away, to let your defiance spark it's colours, Kalim's grip on you tightens and the painful sensation of his nails digging into your skin makes you cry out.

- He doesn't apologizes, instead he buries his head into your chest.

- "Why did you run?" He asks, voice cracked and dejected as he lifts his gaze to meet yours.

- "Why are you always running?"

- You want to tell him, but the way Kalim stares at you with such a yearning blandness then causes you to flinch, rendering you speechless as you stare up at him.

- He lets out a laugh then, a sound that sends chills down your spine.

- "You look so scared...I wonder why?"

- You wince when Kalim raises one had to tap on your cheek gently,the pad of his thumb cold once it settled on the top half of your lips.

- "It's like you're looking at a monster."

- You were, weren't you? Isn't that why you decided to run away? It has to be.

- Your escape and almost succeeding in it causes a wire to snap in Kalim's mind. The last shred of sanity he held doused in a fire that sets his delusions aflame.

- You've finally brought out the worst in him, and even then he still loves you. Still wishes to keep you in his arms. You should be grateful because if he had grown stale towards you, Kalim would've had you beheaded.

- He still punishes you though, that's a given since you made him worry and caused such a fuss in his home, it was only right for you to amend for your wrong doings.

- The fact that Kalim himself dragged you to the dungeons was something you thought you'd never see, and though he held you by your wrists rather than your hair, this was definitely not the Kalim you knew.

- "It's going to be cold here at nights and there aren't any servants near by but I'll make sure someone comes down to feed you and bring you some clean clothes while you're here." He says this so casually, as if throwing your would be wife in a dungeon deep beneath his family's palace was a normal occurrence.

- But you didn't dare talk back to him. A part of you felt that if you did, a fate worst than this would be your only option.

- So, you stood there, stiff and uncertain as Kalim watched you, head tilted to the side before he extended his hand to run his fingers through your hair.

- "You're so pretty. I hope this helps you to love me...I wouldn't want to hurt you, after all."

- Kalim locked the doors to your cage, the sound of the keys turning in its lock so hollow it almost seemed unreal. Detached from reality.

- "Rest well,okay?"

- That was the last time you saw Kalim, and perhaps you were exaggerating it, but it's been almost two months since you've seen or heard from anyone at all with the exception of the servants who come to give you your meals and spare clothing. And even they don't talk to you, acting as if you were some sort of taboo subject to even spare a glance to.

- The lack of social attention and connection was as infuriating as it was depressing.

- You were never much a socialite to begin with, but you enjoyed a fair share of conversations from time to time. It was only normal,of course. What living creature could live without the presence of others anyway?

- It came to a single point where you actually started yearning for Kalim's bright smile, the way he seems to always want to dote and pamper you

- Though it's true that you never indulged him in it when he was openly offering them to you, now it was a whole other story.

- It was so lonely,cooped up in this dungeon where not even light came through. Food started tasting bland and hard like cardboard and your clothes felt suffocating.

- If only Kalim would come by and visit you....

- The way you sprung up on your feet when Kalim did come visit, had you almost seem like an eager puppy wagging its tail at the sight of its owner's return.

- Kalim seemed pleased to see you too, the bland look in his eyes gone and instead filled with the exact warmth you've craved for months.

- It was almost laughable, really. How easily you came to succumb to your weakness.

- "Sunshine! I've missed you a lot!" Once he came near to the bars of the dungeons, you mustered all your strength to grab at him from inside, your eyes filled with tears and body trembling.

- "I missed you too, Kalim! I'm sorry for trying to leave you...I won't do it again..so please..."

- The rest of your words are slurred and incoherent but all the while you sputter them out, Kalim looks at you with all the fondness in the world and he tells you that it's fine, that he forgives you and he's going to take you back.

- You're already muddied by your broken thoughts, your set of your logics stirred away from all sort of common sense.

- Kalim feels bad that he kept you in a dungeon hexed with a mind break spell but it's all worth it isn't it?

- Now, you'll finally be the loving wife he knows you can be.

Vil Schoenheit

- Vil isn't having any of this disobedience.

- How dare you go around taking advantage of his fondness for you and try to run away from your engagement.

- You were promised to him by your parents. Your dishonour to it is an insult to him, and anyone who dares insult Vil will feel his full wrath.

- The fact that he decided to keep you alive is already another sign of his affection towards you, though you still choose to be stubborn. Throwing your harsh remarks as if he's the villain when really, the one who caused this whole mess was you yourself.

- Vil doesn't get you even throughout the years of growing up with you as your betrothed. While others envied your fate of being bound to him, you acted like it was some kind of chore.

- As if you had no choice and that being married to Vil was a fate worst than death.

- He hated you for that. Who did you think you are? Do you think he liked the notion of being married to a simpleton like you? A witch with no special entitlement?

- You should be grateful.

- And if you refused to even be that, then perhaps you ought to be disciplined. Beaten into submission.

- Vil doesn't mind really. He's been waiting for years for a time when you'd slip on that damned attitude of yours to give him an excuse to act as the wounded husband.

- And it works of course. Your parents are devastated by your little stunt, apologizing to Vil and begging him to forgive you.

- He plays the kind, understanding gentleman part so well, that when he turns to look at you, you almost believe he'll let you off easily.

- But once the audience disperses, Vil's true colours show themselves and you're suddenly engulfed in this sick punishment of his.

- A dance of waltz that leaves you breathless and worn.

- He's always been so suffocating and controlling. Thinking he owns you like some sort of accessory. It was why you were repulsed at the thought of marrying him.

- So, when he came to tell you the consequences of your actions, you laughed.

- Isolation? Was that the best he could come up with?

- Vil smiles at your reaction,his eyes raking in your figure as his fingers twirled around his magic pen. A look of haughtiness etched into his expression.

- The next morning when you wake up, head dazed and limbs sluggish, you're surprised to see that Vil isn't there with you, and once you got dressed and headed down to the dining room, you halted at the door. There was no one here too.

- You let the silence settle in, the unusual emptiness enveloping you like a poorly fit glove.

- You call out,not for anyone in particular yet still for someone. When no answer came, you did it again. And again. And again. And again.

- Until you have to stop yourself from running down the third flight of stairs to the fifth hallway you've entered, and freeze in front of the giant french window overlooking the serene view outside.

- Is this what Vil meant? This was his doing, wasn't it? You didn't know anyone else who could be so twisted after all.

- The sun doesn't even set yet you're already worn and as if summoned by your state of exhaustion, you're back in your room. A chill runs down your spine, and you decide to slip into bed even if you stayed awake the whole time.

- The next day and the day after are all repeats of your first day. Round and round it drives you to a corner and you're wondering why you're even continuing this chase. This game of Maze you found it impossible to win.

- He'd trapped you in some sort of spell, keeping you in a loop until your mind's gone hazy and the frustration of running and screaming turns into a silent pleading.

- You wanted it all to stop. You couldn't think of running anymore, you couldn't actually think in general. The days rewound itself but your body still required rest and though food was never an issue, the way the bags under your eyes weighed down your vision told another sort of struggle.

- When was the last time you managed to sleep?

- What day was it?

- What were you doing?

- ....Where is everyone?

- Where was Vil?

- Shouldn't he be here already? The wedding ceremony was going to start anytime soon, right? It's not like him to be so late. He's always the first to arrive....

- The spell breaks the moment you sit up in bed and lose all track of time and logic.

- Vil ready at your side as you open your eyes and see him sitting on the chair beside your bed.

- He's smiling. You wonder why he's so happy.

- Didn't he hate you?

- "Good morning, Daffodil" Vil reaches out to tuck a few strands of loose hair behind your ear, his voice gentle and soft as he speaks.

- You open your mouth, but nothing really comes out but a weak sigh. God,your head felt dizzy.

- Luckily Vil was there, you felt warm in his presence, and when he brought a damp towel to wipe at your forehead, you leaned into his touch.

- "....Thank you. Happy...I'm happy...Vil is here"

- How cute. You couldn't even form proper sentences anymore.

- Vil would've laughed then but he enjoyed your new sense of submission to him, at least now you're acting a bit more grateful than before

- Yes, this was the right way after all. How things should be between you and him. No more stubborn attitude or ungratefulness. No more frustrations.

- If you continued like this, Vil might even consider teaching you how to talk again.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland fanfic #male yandere #twst wonderland yandere #riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle #twst riddle #yandere kalim #kalim al asim #twst kalim #vil schoenheit #yandere vil #twst vil

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sankyeom · 3 years

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Hello! Hope you are doing well! I have decided to write in Tumblr. Can you please give me some tips?

hi dear!! welcome to tumblr 👋

sorry this took a while, i wanted to save this until i had the time to give a proper response. here are some writing tips that work for me personally, and that are specific to tumblr:

use your tags wisely

this may be the most important thing to know if you’re new to tumblr

my personal experience says you have a maximum of about 15 tags before tumblr marks your posts as spam if it has pictures in it, and 20 tags if it’s just text.

don’t throw in 50 irrelevant tags to your writing. it’s tempting, but it will probably make tumblr think you’re a bot/spam account and will hide it from the tags. plus, it often means your writing isn’t reaching your target audience. even if you are writing for kpop, using #kpop imagines or #kpop fanfiction is probably too broad of a tag, and you should focus more on the group/people you write about. so maybe try #the boyz imagines or #the boyz fake texts instead of #kpop imagines.

find mutuals/blogs whose work you like

i say this almost every time someone asks me for advice but it’s so important! make some friends who like to write! it helps you to be motivated to write as well, and you can find writing that inspires and excites you. plus, figuring out what you like to read can sometimes help you figure out what you want to write.

and if it doesn’t inspire you (which i doubt), then at least you’ll have mutuals/friends who will make you feel more connected to the writing community here on tumblr. i’ll be your first mutual if you’d like! 💗

get really familiar with the format of tumblr

this is important so that you can make your writing stand out, like i’m going to discuss in the next point. understand what you need to do to add pictures to your posts, make text bigger/bolder/smaller/colourful, add paragraph breaks, tag other accounts, and anything else you might need.

make your stories stand out

make your titles interesting and eye-catching! use pretty banners or pictures to showcase the vibe of your story! make a collage, gif or visually appealing edit!

even though, as a writer i understand that visuals don’t depict how good or well-written a story is, it definitely catches my eye as a reader and determines whether i give something a read or not while scrolling through the endless amount of writing here on tumblr

so make it stand out visually and do something that captures people’s attention so that it doesn’t get lost in a sea of posts

join writing networks

i personally am not in any writing networks, but they exist for almost any fandom here on tumblr! especially for kpop, there are sometimes multiple networks for each group. a network is essentially a few admins who go through the tags of the group they are a network for and promote the members’ writing! some networks, like deobiwritersnet are so lovely and promote writers who aren’t in their network as well.

i think this would be a great way to get more exposure, and it could help with making mutuals since networks often have discord or other groups to chat with members

(edit: I have joined several writing networks since posting this and they are an absolute treasure!!! they support writers and boost our writing, you really can’t lose by joining)

write at your own pace

don’t make a writing schedule you can’t keep to if it means your writing suffers. i used to try to post fics on a schedule and it made my writing rushed and sloppy. stick to your own schedule, or don’t make a schedule at all! either way, don’t feel pressured to put out a lot of content because other people work faster or post more often than you

only post things that you're happy with

it’s not worth it to post something you don’t really like and then spend a lot of time thinking about how you don’t like it but it’s already up so you can’t change anything, or posting things you don’t think represent your skills/abilities just to have content. this kind of goes back to the previous point, but don’t be swayed by what other people are doing! if something takes a year before you think it’s ready to post, then take a year to post it! that way, you’ll be happy with it and proud when you post it

i hope any of this helped you! let me know if you need anything else x

#💌 : open me!#shrutiajit #belle’s babbles #advice #writing tips #tumblr tips

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jasperwhitcock · 3 years

Text

equinox | chapter 07 –– “a cruel god, a wrathful goddess”

here is chapter six of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag. but it seems 10/10 times my tag does not work, so that is a fun mystery for me to solve.

oof... sometimes u get distracted and then ur sister gets married and then u get unmotivated & d*pressed and forget to update ur fanfic for over three months... my bad y'all... sorry for the wait hehe. i hope it is worth it. again, i'm so thankful for the comments & i read them all. i get too shy to respond, but i WILL. i just need to talk myself up first. i love u. thank u. hehe. ♡♡♡ merry christmas/happy holidays if i fail u again before the 25th. i WANT to update more frequently. my catchphrase these days is "i'm trying my best," so... i'm trying my best.

this is for the sweet anons who slide into my ask box & ask me questions abt my fanfic. and for taryn, who consistently reminds me that there are people wanting to read this seeing as she is one of those people, kim, who i am so desperate to impress that i began working on a new chapter once she started to read my fanfic, and kae, because without her, this fanfic would never have existed in the first place. i love how i'm writing this as though it's the intro to an actual book when it's literally just chapter seven. ok, i will shut up now so u can read. love u. again.

07 A CRUEL GOD, A WRATHFUL GODDESS

In great contrast to the noisy ambience of the other students in the hallway, we were silent on our walk to our shared biology class. I wondered how conscious Edward was of the stares and whispers focused on our proximity to one another, but my guess was that he was very much conscious of it. I intentionally ignored glancing in any direction that I sensed one of my siblings’ presence, although I figured it was mostly paranoia driving me to feel as though we were about to cross paths. Holding my breath to more easily walk beside Edward left my senses impaired to the ability to pinpoint their location.

I was lucky that for the majority of my immortal life, I’d managed to escape unwanted attention. But now, it seemed that precious luck had finally run out. Maybe embarrassment had been creeping up on me, maliciously building itself up all these years, waiting until just the right moment to rear its ugly head and exact revenge that immorality had stolen its favorite object of humiliation to torment. But here it was, ensuring that I was finally catching up on feeling awkward and out of step, a feeling I experienced for what seemed like the entirety of my human life. I thought once I’d been changed, I’d never feel this way again, but becoming misaligned with my family made me feel bashful to parade my defiance in their faces. I had operated better under no scrutiny as a mortal and was surprised to realize that that still held true as an immortal as well. Because though there was now never a struggle of staying upright or a risk of tripping over my own feet, that didn’t prevent me from feeling self-conscious as I walked beside Edward. Although for different reasons –– it was too mortifying to consider what my family might make of what my actions suggested about my feelings towards Edward.

And yet still, I would put up with the ridicule and disapproval of my siblings if it meant I could listen to Edward speak his silly philosophical theology, his questioning of god and existence, for just a few more hours. If I were going to be teased over Alice’s visions regardless, I might as well find out what I can about this pretentious boy before I leave him alone forever. If only to understand why his moving to this small town threatened to warp my own future so much. In losing night and in losing death, there were so very little anomalies in the endless amount of time I’d been given. So what would it hurt to allow myself to fixate on this minuscule difference in my life for just awhile?

It could hurt Edward, a more selfless part of myself reminded me. If indulging myself was playing with fire, I was being justly punished with the way flames were efflorescing the inside of my dry, burning throat.

If a god did exist, why would it make sense for such a being to craft someone like Edward with his perceptivity, and send him off to this small town, home to a secret such as ours? If a god did exist, why it would be fair for such a being to craft someone like Edward, someone who tempted me both in bloodlust and in curiosity, and send him off to this small town, home to the very vampire who desperately wished to kill him most? If a god did exist, if our kind had fallen short of heaven, I could understand why sending Edward into our path –– and more specifically, my path –– could be some kind of punishment. But what I couldn’t understand is why a god would allow someone as innocent as Edward to be endangered for the sake of bringing a sinful, undead creature to justice. It seemed the only reasonable explanation would be that a god probably did not exist.

And how could there be? I was on the precipice of falling into temptation with every step further in the hallway and every question he asked and answered. I could never not be very much aware of the fact –– especially now with his body merely inches from my side and his sweet fragrance blooming both deliciously and relentlessly in the air. And even as I impossibly withstood the lure of his blood, how was I meant to ignore the irresistibility of his mind and how inexplicably concerned I was to understand it? It seemed like a very cruel experiment of free will and knowledge –– far too cruel to allow much room for the kind of god Edward hoped for.

I frowned as I realized that this experiment wasn’t that of a cruel god’s but that of a cruel vampire, and I felt very much like a vampire as the sound of his heartbeat was so appealing that it made my mouth water.

“Do the stares bother you?” Edward spoke quietly to me as we weaved throughout the hallway. Easily distracted, his question was able to pull the more civilized parts of myself together, though this was probably also in thanks to my choosing not to utilize my sense of smell. I found it funny that at least one of his thoughts had been in a similar vicinity. But of course, the rest of his thoughts were probably free of all consuming agony and struggle. For all his curiosity about morality, to inflict this existence upon him would probably devour him in misery. At least as a human, despite whatever conclusions he may come to, there was still some hope to be had for an afterlife. This thought should have been dark and depressing, but because it made Alice’s vision seem like a complete hoax, I almost found it funny. How would Edward ever end up like me?

“Oh, no,” I swallowed the venom in my mouth. “I live for attention.” I watched from the corner of my eyes as his gaze flickered over to me, the ever present half smile appearing on his face at my joke. My answer came out so comfortably as though I was used to this, when in reality, the student body for the most part had grown accustomed to ignoring me. And, of course, there was nothing comfortable about the demanding, aching dryness in my mouth or the burning in my nostrils. “How about you?”

“Likewise,” he joked, laughing. “This is interesting –– their fascination. I understood their interest on my first day because I’d guess a new addition to the student body in a town this small is something of a rarity, but today, walking by your side is garnering even more attention. Is it a once in a lifetime opportunity to have Bella Cullen walk you to class?”

“You’re just so observant, aren’t you?” I rolled my eyes, though the corners of my mouths pulled up despite myself. “And I’m not walking you to class. I’m walking to a class I just so happen to share with you, so don’t get the wrong idea. I think they’re just surprised because they’re probably under the impression that I don’t play nice with others.”

“And do you?”

“You tell me,” I replied, pausing to face him beside a wall of lockers next to the entrance of our biology classroom. As he stopped beside me, a gust of air from a passing student walking hastily down the hallway sent his scent reeling into me at an unfortunate moment where I’d chosen to breathe in. My muscles tensed to spring, and I desperately anchored myself to the floor as my mind fell into disarray.

“Nicely enough,” Edward winked naturally as though we’d been the best of friends since his first day. The demanding thirst was intruding on my awareness, and the desperation for something wet and hot and delicious in my desiccated throat was so dizzying that his voice sounded as though it were underwater. With an effort as though I were swimming through drying cement, I resurfaced, just barely proving my dominion over the desire. I focused on his voice so that it’d become clearer, forcing myself to take another excruciating breath in and exhale the fire out. “I will say I am honored to be the exception –– to be plucked from the masses by the renowned, reclusive Bella Cullen.”

With torturous effort, I snorted as though I wasn’t fighting everything within me to keep him alive. I breathed in again heavily, allowing my body to become a pyre so that I could speak. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop saying my name like that. And you’ve lost the privilege. I am never walking you to class again,” I rolled my eyes even though my joke could very much be the truth. The bunching of my muscles, the twitching of my hands, and the fierce pain in my throat reminded me of the fact. Before he could point out the contradiction of what I’d previously clarified, I sighed. “Let’s take this quiz.”

His pretty green eyes were alive with mischief and enlightened with what must be more answers to questions he hadn’t outright asked me as he turned to enter the classroom. I followed behind him towards our shared table.

Air from the vent rushed out, thrusting the scent of his blood wafting into my face again. I paused for an indistinguishable moment as I battled agony, murderousness, monstrosity. Holy fuck. What was I trying to prove! Was it really worth this? Swallowing hard, I sat beside him as though nothing happened. My suffering was so great that Emmett could have brutally ripped my arm off, he could have beat me with it, and I wouldn’t have noticed nor felt a thing. I could have been set on fire, and it’d feel like sinking into a cool pool of water on an even cooler day. I was already burning alive, my body acting as a furnace, and I was imprisoned inside it.

Without intending to, I sighed aloud, exhaling as though it would smother the flames. It was a stupid, attention seeking thing to do. Humans sighed to expel air or express some sadness or relief or exhaustion, so when my family emitted an audible breath, we did so as a means of blending in. But to breath out in a way to clue Edward into the fact something was plaguing me… it was a stupid invitation for more questions. And these were questions I had no intention of sharing the answers to. I felt his eyes on me, but before he could say anything, Mr. Molina began passing out quizzes face down on our lab tables as students continued to pile in from lunch.

“Alright, class. Today we have a pop quiz–– oh, come on, guys, don’t groan. You will have the opportunity to make corrections after these have been graded. This is just an assessment of what you’ve retained from this unit so far. You will have the entire period to complete–– thanks for joining us, Mr. Patterson, glad you could fit my class into your busy schedule. Why don’t you take your seat? –– You will have the entire period to complete your quiz. If you finish early, feel free to get a head start on this weekend’s homework! I’ve written the reading down on the board. Aw, I’m sure you’re all moaning because you’re disappointed at how light of an assignment it is because I just know how very excited you all are to continue your passionate pursuit of studying biology. Alright, now that everyone’s settled–– wait a minute––” Mr. Molina paused, raising his pointer finger in the air, his eyes squinted in anticipation. Three seconds later, the bell signaled the beginning of class. “Begin!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward reluctantly turn away from me. In an elegant script, he wrote his name at the top of the paper and began his quiz. I turned away from him to look at my own paper, preparing myself to uncomfortably hold my breath for the next hour. The difference this made in my thirst was almost insignificant, but enough so that it gave me a tiny more leverage in my control. I smoothed out the pucker on my forehead with the eraser from my pencil, accidentally snapping the rubber off against my face.

Absentmindedly, I began to breeze through the assessment, circling the correct answers, but my mind was more absorbed in the warmth of sitting beside Edward. Aside from the affliction of doing so, it was too pleasurable to have sat beside him so often and for so long today. I enjoyed the toastiness like a lizard basking in the sun. It made me recall the muddy human memory of laying out on a blanket in my backyard beneath my beloved blue Arizona sky, hiding beneath the small shade of a book. Not the blistering heat of a summertime Phoenix sun, but the warmth of the first day of spring. But the heat of Edward’s body alone was enough to fill my mouth with venom, so I tried to refocus my attention onto my quiz.

When I turned to the last page of questions, a motion beside me diverted my concentration once again. I peeked over, turning my head slightly in Edward’s direction to see what it was. As he thought over one of the questions, his right hand was moving peculiarly as he lifted and dropped down his long fingers almost as though he were impatiently tapping each digit one by one along the tabletop. Except the movement was more exact and calculatingly random. Engrossed, I watched as his his soft, fragile skin rippled over the muscle, the tendons appearing and disappearing with every bizarre movement. It took me a moment to make the connection between the large grand piano in his home and the motion of his hands. I realized he was miming piano movements while he thought through his answers. There was something both weird, funny, and endearing about this. I smiled to myself, not having the required oxygen to quietly laugh.

I felt his curious eyes flicker over to me and watched peripherally as he raised his eyebrows. I shook my head, biting down on my lip to unsuccessfully fight the smile, and returned to completing my quiz.

I finished a moment later and impatiently waited another ten minutes or so before I could turn in my work. I tried to ignore Edward for this small period of time at least, mentally reading myself the opening chapter to Wuthering Heights. Even though the words were committed to my memory, it was still never as good as actually reading from the book itself.

Once I’d decided an appropriate enough time had passed, I stood up to walk my quiz to the completed basket on Mr. Molina’s desk. Even having waited, I was still the first to finish the examination.

“Thank you,” the teacher whispered without breaking his focus away from the crossword puzzle he peered through his glasses at. I breathed in now that I’d placed some distance between myself and Edward, gladly facing the cool, fresh air from the vent.

“Neophyte,” I whispered back now that I’d replenished my oxygen supply.

“Excuse me?” He glanced up, his slightly aged face confused.

“Neophyte,” I repeated. “Eight across, two down.”

I took in one last clean breath and walked back to my seat as he tapped his pen across the squares of the space, mouthing his count of the letters to check if the word fit.

As soon as I took my place in my seat again, Edward stood up to walk his own quiz to the basket.

I wanted to watch him, but instead I forced myself to unzip my backpack and retrieve the biology textbook.

Busying myself with the assigned chapters, deciding to actually read them so as to not feed into my invasive Edward obsession, I couldn’t help but listen as Edward too placed his own textbook on the countertop.

I heard the scribble of pen on paper as he began to write what I imagined were notes until his large hand slid the paper over to me beneath the wall of my hair spilling over the desk. Well, I wouldn’t ignore him if he was the one deciding to bother me.

You know I’m pretty certain that cheating is a violation of the student handbook, but I’ll let you get away with it just this once.

I turned to glance at his face to see if he were serious. His eyes were warm and inviting, his mouth in the same crooked smile.

I took the piece of paper and looked around for my writing utensil that had gone missing somehow. My eyes zeroed in on a suspicious, tiny pile of wood dust on my side of the desk. When had I brutalized my pencil? He held his hand out to offer his own pen, and I accepted it, carefully plucking it from his fingers without making contact.

I wasn’t cheating. You were doing something funny. And what do you know about the student handbook? You’re new.

I slid the paper and pen back to him and watched as he combed a hand through his bronze hair, reading my response. The smile grew wider as he construed the biting tone of my note.

Can I be let in on the joke? Edward wrote, turning to look at me once he was done. Again I was prisoner, though this time not to my own body. I was momentarily held hostage by the beauty and warmth of his light green eyes. I was understanding more and more the attraction the other students had for him. If I had a soul, it was as though he were staring straight into it.

I recovered, placing my hand atop the desk and then wiggling my fingers as though I were weaving my way through a very complicated piano piece.

Oh, Edward mouthed, immediately understanding. He silently laughed and placed his left hand to his forehead briefly as if to hide his face in mock embarrassment. The ink from the pen spilled onto the paper as he began to write again.

In my defense, there’s research that supports classical music puts students in a heightened emotional state, making them more receptive to information and helping them focus.

That’s very nerdy of you. I scribbled back, the corners of my lips pulled upwards.

I know. As I read the words on the notebook paper, we both laughed a little too loudly for the quietness of the room.

“Please remain silent for your classmates still working,” Mr. Molina stage-whispered from his desk, his eyes still fixated on the crossword puzzle.

It’s a bad habit. Edward tacked on to his message. I beamed. I knew a thing or two about bad habits today. I was appreciative of this silent conversation on paper; it made it easier to be beside him without needing to breathe to speak aloud.

What were you playing? I scrawled.

Clair de Lune. Edward wrote back. His thick eyebrows raised as my eyes lit up, and he continued writing. You know Debussy?

My mother used to play a lot of classical music around the house. It was one of my favorites.

It’s one of my favorites, too. Edward’s eyes were a little sad and lost in thought, and he smiled softly.

I was shocked by the change in expression and weirdly desperate to return the brightness back to his eyes. The burn in my throat was almost forgettable in the face of my concern. Almost, but not quite. He turned his head down to write on the paper again.

You said Rosalie played piano. You never learned? He turned to look at me, his expression curious. I shook my head and shrugged, reaching for the pen.

I didn’t think I had the coordination for it. While this was true for the time I was human, it wasn’t true now. Still, even though my days stretched into endless nights, I hadn’t yet devoted time to any instrument as an immortal.

Edward read the paper, his long pointer finger tracing the line beneath the words as he did so. He held his large hand out, and I dropped the pen into it.

I’ll show you sometime. Edward half smiled at me, his eyes sweet and earnest.

Knowing I shouldn’t be allowing him to think making a plans with me was an option, I reached for the pen to tell him that it was alright, but I froze as he suddenly moved to drop the pen and take my hand. Though he should have been the one hesitant and cautious as though approaching a dangerous, wounded animal, I held perfectly still as though he were the danger, and I needed to play dead for protection. You can’t play dead if you are dead, I thought to myself.

My body tensed as my hand was enveloped in the heat of his much larger palm, uncertain as to what he was doing. My muscles screamed at me as I clenched my free hand into a tight fist, terrified of myself.

A shiver rippled through him as he felt the chill of my frozen fingers, and I twitched the hand in his possession, wanting to yank it away to protect him from the iciness but not wanting to alert him with the swiftness of the motion.

He smiled mysteriously at the spasm as though he somehow expected it. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking but didn’t want to risk breathing. My control could too easily be lost. Besides, I was scared that if I were to open my mouth, I’d end up screaming.

I felt him push slightly and realized he wished for me to curl my fingers, so with great concentration and the acute awareness of his fragility, I moved my stony hand into the shape he directed, my fingers curved slightly beneath his like a relaxed talon. I didn’t like the shape; it was odd and inhuman and made me think of the violence I could cause.

But it wasn’t a claw. Because once my hand was positioned the way he wanted, he began to slowly place pressure on my fingers, and I dipped and rose them accordingly to carefully move with his. I watched as the two of our hands together played what I imagined must be the opening chords to Clair de Lune.

The disconcerting emptiness in my chest soared at the bizarre pleasure of this touch, and a weird sensation tickled my scalp, moving swiftly down my spine to my entire body.

My muscles tightened violently and then relaxed, sending a shiver to ripple through me. It was too much pleasure and too much pain as my throat ached and I leaned into the warmth.

Embarrassed and not wanting to push my luck, I cautiously pulled my hand slowly away. He lifted his hand to allow me to escape as though I couldn’t just break his hand to do so, a half-smile pulling on his lips. I pretended not to notice the goosebumps on his arms.

See? he mouthed before deciding to whisper. “You could do it.”

I forced myself to smile and then turned away for the rest of the hour, trying to keep from doing anything stupid like looking at him or killing him. I’d completely forgotten where we were.

When the bell finally rung, I collected my things atop the desk hastily. Edward reached for my backpack and held it up for me.

“Thanks,” I murmured as I dumped my books into the bag. Before I could take it from him, he slid it onto his back and nodded his head once for me to go forward.

Feeling awkward, I turned and allowed him to follow me to the door. I was lucky to walk in front of him, taking the opportunity to breath again as the vent blew out in front of my face.

Exiting the classroom, I paused for a second when I saw Emmett waiting for me across the hallway rather than his typical spot beside the wall of lockers next to our shared Spanish classroom. Even though I was well aware of the fact I’d been dangling my irresponsibility in their faces all day, I still felt as though I was being caught in the act.

Emmett’s eyebrows raised as his golden eyes watched Edward follow behind me, carrying my backpack. I crossed the hallway reluctantly towards my big brother.

“Hello,” I greeted him, avoiding his eyes. I felt smaller than ever beside him with my head down, and yet not small enough as I wished to disappear.

“Hey, little sis,” Emmett began uncertainly, though I glanced up to see his full lips were beginning to stretch into a smile that I didn’t like. “Who’s that with you?”

“Uh…”

“I’m Edward Masen,” the lanky human boy introduced himself confidently as he stopped beside me. “And you must be––”

“Emmett,” my brother interrupted, grinning as though he always so comfortably interacted with humans. This was all too weird, but he looked to be enjoying it far too much. His desire to mess with me and his confidence in Alice’s visions seemed to override the abnormality of speaking to a student so amicably. I watched as he breathed in and shot me a meaningful look. I grimaced.

I opened my mouth to put an end to this torturously awkward interaction, but Emmett interrupted again.

“It’s nice to see you made a friend,” he began, an evil glint in his eyes as he watched my face. I was confused as to where he was going with this because our entire family would come across as misanthropic to the rest of the school, so why should it matter to him. He turned his attention to look at Edward who was closer in height to him. “You know, we worry about her––”

“Okay, let’s go to Spanish,” I cut him off quickly. “Edward, can I have my bag, please?”

Without looking at him, I reached for my backpack as he offered it and threw it over my shoulder, heading down the hallway. It was a massive relief to put some distance between myself and Edward. My thoughts were clearer, and I could breathe freely.

Emmett burst into laughter, his guffaws booming in the hallway. Several students paused in fear making me concerned about Edward’s reaction to my giant of a sibling, but I relaxed when I heard Edward chuckling along with him.

“Um, see you,” Emmett said to Edward before his steady, near silent footfall followed after me.

Even moving at a lethargic human pace, he caught up to me quickly.

“That wasn’t funny,” I grumbled.

“What the hell are you doing?” Emmett chuckled, ignoring my question.

“What the hell are you doing? What was that back there?”

“I don’t know. That was weird, but not as weird as you playing with your food.”

I hissed quietly.

“Damn, I’m kidding, Bells. But seriously, what are you doing? What happened to your high and noble speech about doing the right thing and staying away from the kid? I thought Esme was about to produce real tears. It even softened Rose.”

“Ugh, don’t talk to me about Rosalie right now. She’s been giving me dirty looks all day. It makes me feel awful. I already feel bad!”

“Well, I don’t really care what you do either way so––” I looked at him questionably. “I mean, sure, I want you to do the right thing, whatever that means. I don’t want you to feel miserable. But on one end, I didn’t really mind so much what happened to me.”

“Rosalie did,” I countered.

“Yeah, Rose did,” he acquiesced quietly.

“Anyways, I’m not having that conversation. I wasn’t talking to him today to test whether or not he’s worth it. That’s… unethical.”

“So what were you doing?”

“I don’t know,” I groaned in answer.

Emmett laughed.

“You’re weird these days, Bella.”

“You’re weird everyday,” I quipped back before sighing. “I don’t know. He’s weird, too. I guess… I’m not making any decisions, at all, but if Alice told you what she told me… wouldn’t you be curious?”

Emmett thought it over. “Yeah, I think so. But I also don’t think I’d have even made it to this point,” he admitted. I winced.

“It’s kind of unfair for me to care more about satiating my curiosity and dance with the devil this way, right?”

“Well…he may not know it, but isn’t it more so that Edward’s the one dancing with the devil?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, frowning as we walked into our Spanish class. “I guess it is.”

I made the decision to avoid thinking of Edward for the remaining hour of school. I paid very little attention in Spanish, returning to the familiar mind-numbing boredom that classes had been prior to the last few days. Now that it was in stark contrast to the sudden life breathed into my time at Forks High School by my fixation with Edward, the tedium was no longer something dealt with indifferently and sluggishly. Now, it left me feeling restless, and it almost pained me how laborious it was to sit through a life I wasn’t an active participant in. It was nowhere near the pain of dealing with the excruciating thirst I had around my bronze-haired lab partner, but it almost tampered with my thoughts more knowing I’d feel less miserable if I spent this time analyzing every word Edward shared with me, every fluctuation of his tone, every glint in his perceptive eyes, every expression on his pretty face… But I was becoming too obsessive. The same hunger for adventure that made me fall in love with reading must be what was leading me to so treacherously, so impetuously dive into exploring this insignificant and yet cataclysmic difference in my life.

As though it had a personal vendetta against me, time moved even more lethargically than it ever had before, but finally, the bell signaling the end of school rang. Emmett’s eyes shot a concerned look at me as I rose from my seat too quickly, and I immediately felt embarrassed again. The cautious reminder in his expression made me feel childish as Emmett was never one to care much about bending the rules.

“See you at home, I guess,” he shook his head, giving me one last look that seemed to suggest I’d lost it.

“See you,” I mumbled, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Leaving Emmett behind to wait for Rosalie, I weaved through the crowded hallway and out to the parking lot. Students were bundling together and squealing at the chilling air as tiny, fluffy snowflakes fluttered down from the overcast sky. The floor of the parking lot was almost as glassy as yesterday as the rain from this afternoon had melted into a thin layer of icy mush. Though there was hardly enough snow for a decent snowball fight, some of the rowdier students were bundling up a pitiful pile of snow to form pathetic snowballs in their fists.

I nearly skipped to the pearly white vehicle parked beside Rosalie’s overly conspicuous crimson car which was forming a small crowd of admirers. Leaning against the trunk of the car, I watched the front doors of the school to look for Edward.

The tangle of reddish-brown hair was easy to spot because of its strange metallic tint as he strolled out of the building with Naomi, the student who’d provided him with the information about my family on his first day. He had his coat folded over his arm, revealing how form fitting his light tan turtleneck was. He truly was a very attractive boy. It was odd that I hadn’t really paid much attention initially. With his dazzling face and tall, lean frame, Edward was pretty enough that for the vampires who searched for exquisitely beautiful humans to create into even more stunning immortals, he could probably be a contender for someone to collect.

Thinking of how Emmett questioned my motives today, I quickly banished the idea of Edward as an immortal from my mind, even if it was only a hypothetical inspired by my observation.

Edward paused, asking Naomi if she could hold on to his backpack for a moment. When she grabbed it, he pulled on his long black coat, and fiddled with the collar. Recollecting his backpack, he slid it onto one shoulder, then rubbed his hands together, blowing the warm air from his mouth to heat them up. Thinking of the sweetness of the smell of his breath made me remember to take in swallows of fresh air before he made his way over to me.

As he was distracted momentarily, I watched as a stray snowball flew towards Edward’s head. I was overcome with the urge to intercept it in the event it may hit him too harshly and knock him to the pavement, but flying across the parking lot inhumanly fast twice in one week was probably not the way to go about correcting my mistakes.

The soggy snowball crashed into Edward’s hair, exploding into shards of ice and water that slid down his prominent cheekbone. I laughed aloud at his shocked expression as the curtain bangs framing his face were immediately drenched, darkening his hair into a brown color. Once he’d realized what happened, his face broke into a good-humored smile.

“Holy shit! Sorry, Edward!” The classmate who had thrown the snowball with poor aim called out.

“No worries!” Edward called back. He shook his head, chuckling as he wiped the water from his face. As he laughed, his eyes found the space where I waited and brightened seeing that I, too, was enjoying the moment.

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told Naomi, who was too beside herself in tears of laughter to reply.

Edward sauntered over towards me, and I inhaled deeply as a fortuitous whisper of wind blew from the tree line. I held onto the notes of crisp eucalyptus, fresh snow, and cedar wood, trying to distract my mind from the offensively mouthwatering scents approaching me.

Edward was a coordinated human, but even he lost his footing on the icy pavement. His body slid forward for a moment, but I stepped towards him to close the space between us and caught him by the elbow.

He looked up from his boots against the frozen parking lot into my eyes, startled momentarily at the swiftness in which I had appeared. Then, his full lips lifted into a crooked smile that creased his astonishing green eyes into half moons. I let go immediately and took a big step back to ensure a safer distance between myself and the warmth of his fragile body. It had been a risky movement, but somehow in comparison to yesterday, it didn’t seem to matter as much. I figured our classmates were too involved in their gawking at the details of my sister’s car or their feeble, slushy snowball fight to notice, and oddly, I didn’t care that Edward had seen. It was beginning to feel too late to keep up certain pretenses.

Although, it wasn’t too late, and it shouldn’t feel that way. I reminded myself I still had every intention of leaving Edward alone once I’d figured out what was so compelling about our paths crossing that had Alice’s visions spiraling in a confusing jumble. I took another step back slowly.

“Thank you,” Edward said, his eyes humored with another secret he didn’t seem willing to share. “You keep saving me.”

“Well, let’s not make this damsel in distress thing habitual,” I snorted, turning so that he couldn’t see the smile forming on my face. I felt shy about showcasing any comfort or happiness in his presence now that I was reminded of how fleeting this experimental friendship was, but I wondered if subconsciously I wanted him to catch me in my misery and ask me to explain, though I wasn’t certain why I wanted to sabotage myself like that. I opened my door and turned to look at him again. “You coming?”

Before he could answer, I dipped into the driver’s seat, and breathed in one last time. Well, once this was all over, I could finally stop inhaling dramatically as though they were truly my last, dying breaths. The air was mostly clean of his scent, but I knew that regardless, the heat of his body would be enough to disrupt my comfort and control. As the thought crossed my mind, I painfully swallowed back the venom pooling beneath my tongue.

Edward swerved through the crowd obsessing over Rosalie’s car and opened the passenger door, sliding into his seat. As he placed his backpack on the floor and fiddled with his seatbelt, I made sure to adjust the air conditioning so that the heat could warm Edward from the frigid Forks air. Though for me, just being in his presence made the intimate interior of the car feel as though I were again sitting by his fireplace.

“That’s a beautiful car,” he murmured. “Is it an M8?”

“Uh, it’s a BMW?” I asked uncertainly as though he’d spoken another language.

Edward grinned as though he wanted to laugh but didn’t want to make me angry. Rosalie would have loved to answer all his questions if he too had an interest in cars. Would have loved to, if she wasn’t deeply offended by my actions or if I had any intention of Edward meeting any more of my family members.

“Ready?” I bit my lip as I forced out any inconsiderate plots of murder that threatened to distract me from being a defensive driver.

“Mhm,” Edward answered.

I reversed out of the parking slot slowly, but as I looked in the rearview once I’d straightened out, I saw the fleeting image of Rosalie’s exquisitely beautiful and exceptionally angry face. I quickly readjusted the mirror to remove my sister’s reflection and sped out of the parking lot in a way that could have taken out a few unlucky students if I didn’t have above average years of driving experience.

Peripherally, I watched as Edward’s thick eyebrows raised, but he decided not to question me. Once we’d reached the main road, I slowed my speed so as not to rush through this time, even though I knew for his safety and my sanity, I should. As I drove, his right hand moved in odd shapes again against the arm rest of the passenger side door as though he were playing piano once more.

I decided to bite and use up some of my limited air supply.

“What are you playing?”

“Clair de Lune again,” he replied. Then, he began to hum the melody aloud for me as he moved his hand.

I thought to offer to play the song for him through the speakers, but I decided against it as I listened to Edward’s soft, velvety voice hum beautifully through the song, breaking the silence.

The ugly, slush-like falling of snow transformed into a falling of rainwater, and Edward’s voice was orchestrated by a lovely symphony of raindrops.

Before his voice could weave into the more involved moments of the piece, Edward stopped.

I looked over at him, curious for the reason as to why. His face was turned away from me so that all I could see was his untidy bronze hair as he gazed out the window. I pulled in front of his driveway and parked against the curb.

Miraculously, I’d made it again. Carefully, I inhaled through my nose to experiment with my control. The sweet bouquet of the boy’s blood was potent and even more mouthwatering than usual from the snow turned rain that’d wet his hair. I hadn’t considered the possibility that he could smell better than before, and I kept myself from groaning aloud as I dug my nails into my own palms. The tingling sensation in my nose was as though I’d sniffed some powerful chemical, the burning sensation in my throat as though I’d taken a long drag of a cigarette. But more painful. More demanding. Desire, need flew from my core out towards my extremities, and the beating of his heart pumping the blood through his body drummed loudly in my ears. It seemed to move through me, my frigid body almost twitching with every pulse, ready to lunge forward and crush his neck to my lips.

“What was your mother like?” He asked me suddenly, his voice soft. Edward turned from the window to face me, and I was bewildered by the intensity of his expression. His eyes were light and beautiful against the gloomy grey of the sky, and they squinted slightly as though studying my face like this information was absolutely essential. But this was not what stunned me, as I’d already seen the severity of this expression before in our ephemeral time together. It was the unexpected vulnerability of his stunning face. The more time I spent looking at him, the more I realized how beautiful this human boy really was. And it seemed a great tragedy for this beautiful boy to harbor such devastation in his eyes.

Whereas previously in his presence, my thoughts had become incoherent due to a lapse in control, now my thoughts were incoherent in distress and desperation to understand what had gone wrong and how I could fix it. I was momentarily dumbfounded, but I pulled myself together after the soft sound of a few droplets of rain against the roof reminded me that he was waiting for an answer.

“Well, she looked a lot like me, but prettier,” I began stupidly. He raised his eyebrows. “Or at least, she used to look a lot like me, and I used to look a lot like her. I don’t so much anymore.” It’d been so long since I’d really spoken about my mom, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. I knew I should have made some comment about whether or not she looked like Esme or Emmett since our story made us siblings, but I didn’t want to taint the rarity of sharing who she was with a lie.

“She was more outgoing than I am,” I continued, thinking through the foggy memories I held onto from my human life.

“That’s difficult to believe,” Edward teased quietly, his lips curving into a half smile.

I laughed, listening to the melodic sound of it, thinking of how it symbolized how very much different I was now from the human girl my mother knew.

“I was always very shy,” I smiled, before speaking up again, caught in the echoes of my past. “She was brave and irresponsible and slightly eccentric. And she was a very unpredictable cook!”

I laughed aloud again thinking of some minor explosions in our tiny kitchen and some questionable dishes. Edward laughed too, but when our laughter faded into the falling of the rain, my smile faded.

“She wasn’t perfect,” I admitted. “I think I recognize now that she was very fallible. I worshipped her when I was younger, but when I think back, I do see how in some of the ways she raised me, I was done a disservice… I grew up too fast. When she died––“ I sighed, feeling insincere and guilty about perpetuating this lie when I really should have said when I died, “––Esme became more of a mother to me, and even Rosalie’s been more traditionally nurturing than my mom ever was… But still, she was my best friend.”

“You miss her,” he murmured simply. I met his gentle eyes.

“Yes,” I bit my lip.

“How old are you, Bella?” Edward asked. “And not the formulaic, theorized version where you were born in your thirties. How old are you really?”

I tensed, wondering if he was asking this again because he’d taken note of how I didn’t directly answer this question the last time he asked.

“Seventeen,” I answered automatically.

“You don’t seem seventeen,” he responded, reproachful.

The tension left my body at the tone of his voice. I smiled again easily.

“Sorry?” I asked, biting my lip to hide the smile, unsure of how to respond.

Edward chuckled and the subtle crinkles by his eyes lit up his face. “Well, I wish you’d been given a happier, normal childhood.”

“I’m fine,” I shrugged, brushing it off. “I hardly remember most of it, and what I do remember reminds me that I probably didn’t have much chance at a normal childhood to begin with. I was terribly shy, remember.

“I did do girl scouts, though….Oh, and ballet briefly,” I admitted, unsure as to why I was volunteering so much information about myself. Wasn’t the purpose of me sitting here to uncover information about him?

“Why does that make you… embarrassed?” Edward’s eyebrows pulled up.

For an odd moment, I felt betrayed by the flush of my cheeks before I realized there was no blood rushing to my face. I blinked, bewildered by the peculiarity of this long buried instinct to become frustrated with my easy blushes when I hadn’t blushed for years. I felt self conscious as I wondered what Edward saw reading my expression to so perfectly decipher my feelings.

“I was very uncoordinated,” I dismissed his question as I fought the urge for my hand to flutter to touch my cool cheek.

“Now that truly is difficult to believe,” Edward half-smiled. “I can’t imagine I’ve seen anyone as graceful as you.”

I laughed aloud at his compliment, though I didn’t doubt his sincerity. I knew this was true of myself. It was true of all of our kind to appear fluid and effortless, but still, no one had ever applied the word to me. My vampiric poise was irrelevant and unimpressive to my family, and the very few humans brave enough to overcome their nerves to compliment me typically found their words to fail them.

“You’re very odd,” I beamed.

“What do you mean?” The bronze-haired boy asked, again wanting to be let in on the secret. While I had an insatiable thirst, it seemed he had an insatiable curiosity.

“How old are you really? Your word choice is bizarre for someone your age, you know.”

“Oh,” he laughed easily. “Well, I’m actually not seventeen. I’m eighteen. But I’ll try to strictly adhere to a more teenage vernacular, so I can compliment you in a more acceptable way from now on.”

I looked out at the dim light of the brewing storm, my smile fading as I decided that I should probably allow him to escape me before I did something I’d regret. But I knew I wasn’t resolved enough to completely leave him alone. He made me monopolize too much of the conversation, and I wasn’t satisfied with what I knew about him yet.

I sighed aloud, and Edward, too, looked out at the rain darkened sky.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked hopefully, making the assumption that our conversation was coming to an end.

“Yes,” I promised reluctantly. My eyes flickered back over to his pretty face, studying the lines of his strong jaw, his chiseled cheekbones, his full lips, committing this inconsequential face to memory as I silently resolved that this should be –– and would be –– one of the last times I’d allow myself to be this close to him. Tomorrow may well be the very last.

Likewise, as though his thoughts were in the same vein, his beautiful green eyes studied my face as well, though he did so in that mysterious way of his where he looked at me as though hoping to read my mind.

He sighed, then collected his backpack. Edward opened the door, stepping out into the bitterly cold weather. A shiver ran through his lanky body, making my body tense with perverse excitement. I cringed away from the deadly instinct and swallowed against the dryness of my yearning throat.

Edward’s tall, lean frame leaned down to peek into the car.

“Goodnight, Bella,” he spoke softly.

“Goodnight, Edward,” I almost whispered, gazing into the beauty of his dazzling green eyes.

Edward smiled his half smile, and closed the door, escaping into the building torrent of rain.

I gasped in relief at his absence, then stiffened realizing how the cab of the car was still heavily perfumed with his scent. I took in another deep breath, forcing myself to confront the burning thirst again, willing myself to manage it. I sighed as I hit the gas, making Edward disappear behind me.

Both my control and the rain pour strengthened significantly as I turned onto the long drive leading to my house. I grimaced as I wondered how I’d face my family and explain the complete reversal of what I’d promised to do. I didn’t have time to consider for much longer as suddenly, a figure appeared instantaneously in the drive. I slammed my foot on the brake immediately in shock at its appearance, not wanting to total yet another car against one of my siblings.

I peered through the windshield, unable to see through the complete downpour that submerged my vehicle as though it were underwater. It was annoying for my perfect sight to be obstructed by anything, rainwater or even the transparent windshield because of my eyes’ desire to focus on the microscopic scratches.

The car violently screeched against the muddy pavement, and it looked as though we would have to bid this car goodbye until the figure hidden by the storm placed their hands out on the car roughly and forced it to a stop. The tires screamed in protest, and the metal groaned as it warped into the shape of the palms. I listened as it unnaturally bent again in a piercing moan as the figure fixed the indentions they’d created.

My windshield wipers swatted away a flood of water. Finally, I could make out my sister Rosalie, her hair dripping wet down her back like a supermodel who’d just emerged from a pool on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Her exquisite face was absolutely furious.

I gulped, feeling like a child who’d just been discovered sneaking home past curfew.

I felt uncertain as to what to do and why she’d chosen to stop me here. Surely she could wait for us to be under the cover of the garage before she chastised me. Not wanting to be drenched by the rain, I revved the engine to ask her to move aside, but the car didn’t inch forward against her strength. Beginning to feel annoyed, I revved the engine again loudly and for longer, but still, she didn’t move.

“Rose,” I hissed as I hit the brake again so that the car could roar viciously in the storm, only to be cut off by the voice of my adopted mother.

“Girls!” I couldn’t see Esme through the obscured glass behind the downpour, but even with the barrage of the rain, I could hear her lithe steps run furiously to the front porch. “Please!”

Rose’s head snapped up to look in Esme’s direction before turning to glance unhappily back at me. She stepped aside, and I sped into the garage, parking the car hastily.

I exited immediately and went to expect the damage to the front of the hood. It was only a minuscule bend from having been pushed and prodded back and forth, and I was positive Rosalie could make it look like new, though why it had been necessary to punish the car was beyond me. It wasn’t even mine.

I wheeled around once I’d heard the near-silent steps of her run, a wave of anger making me forget my guilt.

“Are you insane?!” I demanded.

“I could ask the same of you, Bella!” Now free from the obscurity of the rain, I could see in perfect detail the stunning fury of her glorious face. Her golden hair had been darkened by the rain, and it was slicked back effortlessly, like a glittering waterfall down to the middle of her back. She looked like a wrathful god, but I couldn’t find it in my stubbornness to care about how valid her anger may be.

“Okay, but did you have to take it out on the car? What did it ever do to you! You couldn’t have waited another twenty seconds to confront me? Well, you have my attention now, Rosalie, so say whatever it is you want to say!”

“You’re just unbelievable, Bella!”

“He’s not going to say anything, Rose! We already talked about this yesterday. You heard Alice! He’s not a threat to you and Emmett, so I don’t understand why you’re taking this so personally.”

“Exactly, Bella. I heard Alice. Which is precisely why I fail to understand as to why you wouldn’t understand why I’d take it so personally. After all these years of sisterhood, how can you not understand how I feel about this?”

I frowned, my forehead puckering, but still, I retained my anger. She huffed, continuing.

“If it was an inevitability, I’d understand. However, it hurts me deeply that you recognize the choice that you have. The choice that Edward has. And still, you’re willing to play with his mortality as though it were a game, when I never had that choice.”

I froze, the realization dawning on me that she was right. No matter the ways in which I tried to justify my actions or spin my intentions, she was right. Another part of my mind acknowledged that while I was aware of right and wrong, I wasn’t certain that what was right would be enough to keep me away anymore.

We stared each other down much like we had yesterday. Only today, rather than anger, her face was contorted in hurt, and mine was contorted in hopelessness.

“But… you found Emmett when he was still human…” I weakly protested, selfishly trying to highlight the irony, though I knew it was pointless as I wasn’t advocating for Edward to be changed either. That was too complicated a thought to wrap my mind around. But whatever may happen –– and I was still very much aware of the worst of possibilities –– I didn’t want my sister to hate me for it.

“He was dying, Bella,” Rosalie whispered. The anger on her face had completely faded, and in its place, pain marked her eyebrows, her full lips, her golden, sad eyes. In her sadness, she looked like a work of art, like one of those paintings of a weeping saint. “It’s not the same.”

I didn’t have a response to that, and I felt as though I was at an impasse, both with myself and with Rosalie. Because I knew the promises I’d made and broken, but I knew the promise I’d made to Edward today, and I had no willpower, no desire, and no intention to break that promise.

“You may not feel anything for him now,” Rosalie began, her eyes intently fierce as they bore into mine to warn me. Only this warning felt significantly more horrible than I’d imagined it may be, because it wasn’t made in anger, but in desperation and love. “But if Alice is right, you will. And it seems to me a horrible way to repay someone you love to steal their life, their future, their soul from them. You should leave him alone now while you still can, because once you love him… it’ll only hurt more one way or another. And you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your existence. I know I have.”

And with that, Rose turned, her face cold and sad, and she left the garage.

#equinoxjw #twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #twilight au #twilight fanfic #the twilight saga #twilight saga #twilight #edbella #edward cullen #bella swan #edbella fanfic

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haec-est-fides · 3 years

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Hi, can we discuss how -- however he was influenced by Gaea -- Octavian was likely very familiar with the Triumvirate? It’s subtle, but it shows up most clearly in the way he talks.

(Personally, I think Octavian might have been raised by one of the Imperial Households, but you could just read it as him being in contact with the Triumvirate for a significant amount of time.)

The most glaring red flag imo is that we learn from Rachel (in Hidden Oracle) that the Greek / Roman parley in House of Hades was held on property owned by Nero. This is more important than the fact that Octavian was merely funded by Triumvirate Holdings, because a) it makes an in-person meeting more likely and b) Luke was also funded by the Triumvirate and he doesn’t have the same connection that I’m seeing in Octavian.

Looking back to the parley scene, Octavian goes so far as to mock Rachel by saying, “You’re the Oracle of Delphi? Right. And I’m the Emperor Nero.” It may feel like a throwaway line, but it’s foreshadowing, plain and simple. In universe, I’m almost entirely certain that the reason Octavian says Nero and not Augustus (his namesake, as he loves reminding people) is that he’d recently talked to Nero and knows whose building they’re on. It’s like a Freudian slip -- and it’s just the tip of the iceberg, because Octavian slips up like that a lot.

Let’s start small: Octavian tends to speak in a rather dramatic, formal way. (He says “alas” in ordinary conversation, for instance.) He’s intentionally dramatic and somewhat sarcastic at times, sure, but I think it goes deeper than that. {I bring up one of my headcanons here, but it isn’t the crux of the whole argument. Bear with me.} I find it likely that Octavian learned Latin as his first language -- namely from the fact that his family has been sending kids to Camp Jupiter for over a century and his attachment to the idea of being a true / traditional Roman -- which would have an impact on how he speaks English. It would make sense, then, that his English speech patterns are similar to those of other native Latin speakers -- like the Triumvirate.

Trials of Apollo shows us that the triumvirs also tend to use more formal English, such as avoiding contractions and using what we might consider to be dated terms and phrasings (though this certainly isn’t a hard rule). Again, I don’t think it’s really conscious, but rather a byproduct of being native Latin speakers. In Hidden Oracle, for example, Nero says (to Apollo), “My own forefather does not recognize me?” I’d consider both his use of the word “forefather” and his avoidance of “doesn’t” to be a concise example of what I’m talking about.

It’s also true that few other characters use “alas” like Octavian does. In Heroes of Olympus, it’s only gods / titans / monsters who use the word “alas” (besides Octavian). In Trials of Apollo, it’s actually Apollo himself who uses that word the most (though remember, he’s also the narrator). He says “alas” 5 times in Hidden Oracle and ups it to 12 in Dark Prophecy. Do I need to keep counting? Beyond Apollo’s narration, Macro, Medea, and Caligula all say “alas” at least once in Burning Maze. All of these characters speak ancient languages, and half of them are native Latin speakers. I’ll admit that maybe it isn’t wholly a Latin thing, but there’s still a case for Octavian speaking in a way that could have been influenced by the emperors and their entourages.

Moving a step beyond nitpick, the connection between Octavian and the Triumvirate can also be seen in what Octavian says and the words he uses throughout Heroes of Olympus. We can split the analysis into 3 ideological themes, really: loyal Romans, immortality, and the future.

In Son of Neptune, Octavian calls himself a “loyal Roman” in a conversation with Percy. It’s rhetoric, a succinct yet subtle way to express Octavian’s ideology / self-conception / political striving, and that’s exactly the point. Later, in Blood of Olympus, Michael Kahale criticizes the people that Octavian is recruiting into the legion, calling them murderers, thieves, and traitors. Octavian, on the other hand, calls them “loyal demigods” -- again, fully aware of the rhetoric of that statement. Bryce Lawrence, one of said recruits, calls himself a “loyal Roman” too in order to appeal to Octavian and be permitted to rejoin the legion after his exile.

The reason this recurring “loyal Roman” motif strikes me is that it’s eerily similar ideology and phrasing to something Nero says in Hidden Oracle. Apollo asks, “The other two emperors. Who are they?” and Nero responds, “Good Romans -- men who, like me, have the willpower to do what is needed.” A line from Caligula’s speech before battle in Tyrant’s Tomb echoes the same sentiment: “It’s time to be true Romans!” In Tower of Nero, Nero also talks about bringing back “traditional Roman values”.

Apollo hits the nail on the head with his commentary: “The fact that Nero -- a man who had killed his own mother -- was talking about defending traditional Roman values...that was just about the most Roman thing I could imagine.” The whole point in all of these cases is that the men talking know that the modifiers they use are 100% oratorical, are dog whistles to those who think the same way and near gaslighting to those who don’t. These modifiers -- “loyal”, “good”, “true”, “traditional” -- mean something entirely different to the person saying them than they do to the heroes / average person! That’s a fascinating and complex parallel.

Immortality comes up in similarly echoed ways, showing that Octavian and the Triumvirate seem to be on the same page, coming from the same viewpoint, thinking alike. In Son of Neptune, what Octavian says to Mars is interesting especially in light of the Triumvirate. Mars, explaining the danger posed by the open Doors of Death, asks the gathered legion, “Can you imagine a world in which no one dies -- ever?” Octavian, despite his showy deference, interrupts the god, “But, ah, mighty all-powerful Lord Mars, if we can’t die, isn’t that a good thing? If we can stay alive indefinitely--” Octavian isn’t outright stupid, so I doubt he’s entirely thinking through what he says here. Of course it would be bad for one’s enemies to never die, but if you consider Octavian to be the type to be tempted by immortality? His interruption seems more in character and more likely if he has immortals or even aspirations to immortality in mind at the time.

In Blood of Olympus, Reyna’s vision of the Roman war-camp gives more weight to what I’ll call the immortality hypothesis. She notes Octavian’s “gilded chair that looked suspiciously like a throne”, how his new title of Pontifex Maximus elevates him “almost to the level of emperor”, and of course there’s the altar: “a marble altar....no doubt for the gods. But to Reyna it looked like an altar to Octavian himself.” In Hidden Oracle, it comes up several times -- even from Nero himself -- that the Triumvirate turned the ancient Imperial Cult into something powerful, something that could make them immortal. The Imperial Cult, at its simplest, looked a lot like what Octavian is doing in Reyna’s vision. Whether the Triumvirate told Octavian to do any of this, he got the idea from them, or he came up with it on his own, it’s another sign of similar thinking, at the very least.

Finally, the future -- which, of course, is bound to come up often where an augur is concerned, but I’m thinking of one line in particular. In Blood of Olympus, Octavian tells Michael about his plans, blatantly admitting that he’s aiming to declare himself “First Citizen” like his ancestor Augustus. (That title is princeps in Latin, and it’s an imperial title all three of the triumvirs use.) His Augustan lineage, which makes Octavian a legacy of Apollo from the same bloodline source that both Nero and Caligula get that status from, is another puzzle piece. Octavian is open about his heritage, his family is recognized as wealthy and powerful in New Rome and yet is never present there, and the Triumvirate seems unlikely to lose track of their relatives. Even so, what Octavian tells Michael next is a less speculative tie: “We will rule the future.” This is, specifically, the way Apollo frames the threat posed by the Triumvirate throughout Trials of Apollo once he becomes aware of their plan regarding Python and the oracles. A lot of that description comes after Apollo hears something Nero says to Python: “When we control all four Oracles, we will control fate itself!”

I suppose a facetious TL;DR might be that if you told me that Nero (canonically the best orator in the Greco-Roman Riordanverse) had been giving Octavian (canonically the best orator at Camp Jupiter) lessons in oratory or that Caligula had taken Octavian under his wing and every Tuesday they talked about world domination over coffee, I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.

Maybe this post is more of a Rorschach inkblot test for myself and how I read these books. Maybe I’m trying to read way too deeply. Whatever the case, I think that there’s something more to be said about Octavian and the Triumvirate than funding, and no one has been saying it.

#trials of apollo #toa #tower of nero spoilers #heroes of olympus #hoo #hoo octavian #triumvirate holdings #toa nero #toa caligula #toa apollo #I'm not tagging everyone #filodox!#basically this post is my attempt at writing out a vibe / something my intuition picked up on so idk if it really makes sense #or looks entirely crazy #you decide

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electricbluebutterflies · 3 years

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22 for Garcy?

This has been in the drafts for... years, probably, but here we are, I still love these two and I am emotionally messy enough to be writing them again. Usual ignore-the-ending / post-everything ‘verse, PG-ish, also on ao3.

“It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look.”

Technically speaking, Lucy has never had a domestic arrangement.

Sure, the years spent with the team have to count forsomething, but that was both involuntary and didn’t involve a consistent romanticelement until close to the end. Could’ve happened sooner, and she got to spendsix months trying to convince everyone else in her life that it wasn’t,but… even then, it was different. Doesn’t really count as living with a partnerif what you’re actually doing is hiding in their spaces and occasionallyaccepting affection.

But it’s over now, and they won, and now she gets to see ifthere are any actual skeletons in her mother’s house (there’s already speculationand possibly a betting pool in the group chat about what weird things she’sgoing to find), and she is not doing that alone.

There is a certain irony in this, in dragging home a partnerwho is almost everything she was probably taught to avoid but wasn’t perceptiveenough to be aware of. Flynn is older than her by just enough to matter even withher comfortably in her mid-thirties, has been through brutal hell and does notsee a point in pretending otherwise, only charming when he wants something, andthen there’s the whole physical structure of him to deal with. The man isdefinitely someone else’s nightmare come to life, and sometimes Lucy thinksthat might be part of the appeal, the romantic cliché of trying to tame thedangerous a little.

Not that she’s done any taming so much as made sure she’shis favorite person, but y’know. Details.

Point is, she needs to clean out the house and sell anythingof value before trying to get rid of the house itself – the curse of being theclosest surviving family member, and no she does not know how everything stayeduntouched for a year and a half but there are questions Lucy does not ask inthis life – and having the assistance of someone more physically capable thanshe is might be an asset for moving hundred-odd-year-old furniture. At least,that was how she phrased it when suggesting the idea last week when plans werebeing laid and it became apparent he had none. At the time, their hesitantromantic involvement wasn’t even worth mentioning as a reason he should go withher.

It’s not… it’s not like anything else she’s ever done, sheknows that. There have been really good kisses but not more than that becausethin walls and caution and uncertainty if her IUD has expired, and a warmprotectiveness to it, and she’s not sure where they go from there. She wasn’tsleeping alone once they came back here and he followed her upstairs withoutquestions, but they haven’t turned in new directions and if they end up justbeing rather tactile roommates she could live with that. She’s not going topush through that tangle of unresolved issues.

But right now, as she paces the formal dining room shethinks her mother may have used twice in her lifetime and her partnerleans against the wall and watches her, she wants more. And isn’t that alwayswhere it goes to hell. If there’s one thing Lucy has learned from the nearly-three-yeardetour her life took, it is that she should not want things because the momentshe realizes she does is the moment it goes horribly wrong. She should not wantthis other person, even with his near-feral sense of loyalty, to break her patterns.She should not want to keep him. It will end badly, she is sure.

“Would it make you feel better to break any of that?” Flynnasks, breaking silence and gesturing towards the decorative china cabinet.

“Worth too much,” Lucy shrugs. “Wouldn’t help anything.”

The problem with this whole cleanout project is there is noeasy place to start. Taking on the more public parts of the house first makessense because she’s less likely to find anything odd down here but thatdoesn’t mean she won’t, and that just builds a sense of dread as she works herway up the spiral. Today is the first day they’re even trying; the previousthree days have been an attempt at reacclimating to a quieter life, completewith a near-traumatic trip to a supermarket. Perhaps this self-isolation isn’ta great idea for their respective personalities, but…

“What about that statue? What is that?”

Lucy glances at said statue, and honestly hell if she knows.It looks vaguely Greek but probably isn’t, and she is reminded that she doesget her lack of consistent aesthetic sensibilities from that side of thefamily, and… screw it, might as well find out what it is. She takes a few stepsover and tries to lift the thing, and-

“Don’t… let me do that.”

Oh she should’ve known this would activate her partner’sinstincts. Damn him.

“It’s not heavy,” she points out. “I’m stronger than I look,and… I think this may have actually been intended as a lawn ornament.” And nota good quality one either, to the extent Lucy feels capable of judging suchthings. Suspiciously lightweight and might break if she dropped it, which shehas no plan to do but-

“Do we want to keep it?”

She sets the object down and looks at it as if she evencares. “Not really?”

“Is there anything in this room you do like?”

“No?” She feels scared to say that out loud, like she’s temptingghosts to come out of the walls. “I don’t… I don’t know what we even need. But allof this can go.”

“Alright.”

They’re both quiet for a few moments, standing there closebut not touching and uncertain. Being able to make so many choices in successionis honestly terrifying, Lucy is realizing, and she’s not sure she likesthe control. See, this is why she couldn’t do this project on her own, becausenothing would ever get done. Even with help she’s not sure they’ll getanywhere, but-

“There are boxes out in the front hallway, if you could getthose for me?”

And then she is alone, and she can’t remember the last timethat happened. Even if only for a minute, it feels wrong. She’s gottentoo used to living on top of other people, the chaos of it all, becoming somekind of family because that was the only way forward. Now she could go dayswithout seeing another human being, if she wanted. She gets to choose that too,and she’s not sure-

A hand on her shoulder brings her out of her spiral, tetheringher as always. She isn’t alone, not in any way that counts. The two damagedones clinging together like they did on the bad nights when she was in theworst of her unraveling and he was quiet and kind like she should’ve seenbefore she made her mistakes and-

“We don’t have to do this all at once,” he murmurs. “Or atany speed.”

“I have nothing else,” she counters. “And you’re…”

“Here with you,” he says before she can come up with somemore bitey phrase. “As long as you’ll let me be.”

She breaks.

See, the thing is, Lucy had always expected to do thisproject alone. When she’d been younger and oblivious to the amount of evilweirdness her bloodline was tangled up in, she’d assumed the timing would be alittle different, but she knew the score. She was the good responsible daughter,the one who would get the short straw when something happened. And as she’d gottenolder, and made consistently questionable romantic choices none of which lookedlike a future…

The reality of the situation as it has actually happened,the fact that she does have someone on her side, is too much to acceptright now.

She lets herself be held because words are not going tohappen right now, lets him pet her hair and be a comfort because she is notsure what else to do. How does one tell a partner, a potential-but-not-quitelover, that there was never any plan for this part? That she, prone toover-planning as an anxiety workaround, never thought she’d bring anyone hometo deal with this particular curse of eldest daughters? She’s not sure she can.She’s not sure she can avoid it either.

“I’ll deal with it,” he says after a while. “If that’seasier. Take everything to that antique dealer you were mentioning and-“

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking. I’m volunteering.”

Lucy takes a moment to envision how that would go down, Flynn’shistorically unpredictable people skills meeting the nightmarish world ofpretentious assholes who try to under-pay for antique furniture. It sounds likea disaster waiting to happen at best.

“I’ll let you maneuver everything into the truck,” shecounters. “But I’m doing the talking when we get there.”

“They’ll try to take advantage of you.”

“I’m not leaving you outside like a dog I’m just… notletting you threaten anyone you don’t have to.”

He hums low against her body, contemplating. “I can livewith that.”

“Good because I’m not giving you a choice here.”

He brushes his lips against her forehead, and for a momentshe can believe they’ll get through this intact. “Whatever you want.”

#ebf talks to anons #garcy #ebf writes fic

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gmariam19 · 3 years

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Hi, friends! I hit a follower milestone not too long ago - thank you thank you thank you! Like I did for some other milestones, I wanted to share some of my writing. So here is the first chapter of my big WIP, the one I laid out almost a year ago, the one where Big Things Happen to Poe and Finn Does Big Things, the one that got stuck several times but is now moving nicely thanks to NaNoWriMo. (I’ve added another 10k already - and it’s only halfway through November! Yay!) It’s not much--a long introduction, really. But there is so much going on in this story, I can’t wait to finish it and share it! So thank you - and enjoy! There is more below the break - and more to come! :) EDIT: This story is now posted! It is called Reclaim the Stars and can be found on AO3 HERE! Thank you for reading!

Chapter One

Poe Dameron is bored.

There are at least a dozen different things he should do, from reviewing the latest intelligence data to the briefing with Connix he keeps putting off; from going over the maintenance specs on the two Y-wings they'd found abandoned on Dantooine (and wouldn't he rather be working on ships instead of always reading about them) to the tactical, medical, and supply reports for their new base of operations. And that doesn't even include the constant stream of communication with the New Republic and various other planetary governments that Poe dislikes because he's terrible at it, lacking the patience and tact necessary for sensitive diplomatic discussions.

There is always something to do now that the war is over, and yet sometimes Poe wants nothing to do with it. It had been good at first, in the heady days after Exegol when they'd been so relieved to finally stop fighting, ready to move on and rebuild the galaxy they'd fought so hard to preserve. The galaxy had believed in them, had listened to them, because they'd destroyed an entire Sith Fleet, hadn't they? Leia Organa had been telling them for years that they were in danger; she'd been more right than anyone could have possibly imagined, and it was her Resistance that had saved them.

And yet, six months later, it's as if the galaxy has already forgotten the lessons of the past. After skirmishes with both the Resistance fleet and the New Republic, the First Order finally surrendered, and every day it seems a new treaty is being signed somewhere to ensure peace. In most parts of the galaxy, planets are rebuilding, and that peace seems to be slowly settling. Yet the one thing they need most now is the one thing no one will even consider. They don't need more diplomats, or treaties, or promises to sign more treaties with more diplomats; they need security, and no one will listen to him.

Poe isn't bored; he is frustrated.

The New Republic is still slow in pulling itself together, has been since the destruction of the Hosnian system. The fall of the First Order has splintered it even more as some systems call for a more central government to bring stability to the galaxy, while others maintain they will remain independent. It's the same argument, the same players; an endless cycle, it seems, of war and peace.

The galaxy doesn't need a central set of governing principles—recent history has proven the near impossibility of such a thing. Better to step back and let memories of oppression fade. Yet the discord between so many opposing philosophies after the fall of the Empire had allowed the First Order to settle in the Unknown Regions and slowly build its fleet, as well as its power. That can't be allowed to happen again.

Poe believes more than anything that now is the time to put in place new organizations to maintain security in the galaxy. He isn't calling for a governing military power; both the Empire and the First Order showed that military strength could be defeated. No, they need people in the Outer Rim, and the Unknown Territories, even Wild Space, guarding them against another Exegol, another Sith Fleet. It had been too easy for Palpatine to disappear into deep space and spend decades rebuilding. The New Republic needs to make sure it never happens again. Poe has been suggesting it for months, has volunteered to lead a division of the New Republic Navy devoted to patrolling the borders of deep space and gathering intelligence. Yet no one bothers to listen anymore, and they’ve found little support outside of a handful of allies who scraped together a few starfighters and a small cruiser for them.

It will happen again if there is no one to stop it. They know that something is happening out there already. They are rumors of entire villages being wiped out on distant worlds, and Poe had hoped that after Exegol, their word would be taken seriously. Apparently, that isn't the case; the New Republic is turning a blind eye yet again. Small villages on backwater planets apparently aren't worthy of concern.

It has been weeks since Poe has been up in his X-wing, and he misses it, wishes he was back in the cockpit making a difference, even if it's only recon and intelligence gathering. But more than that, he wishes the Senate would listen to him before another First Order springs up from the birthplace of the old.

Poe spends the morning helping set up more rooms in their new base, an impersonal prefab monstrosity some Senator had sent over as a thank-you gift to the freedom fighters who had saved the galaxy from a fleet of Sith Star Destroyers. Sure, they aren't sharing quarters in a cave any more, or sleeping in tents, but there is something about it that feels different, almost wrong. Maybe he isn't used to something so permanent, this symbol of victory— or of life moving on when he feels stuck.

Maybe it's too much like a consolation prize, a way to get them to stop talking about new threats when the galaxy wants to forget the old. The building reminds him of everything that needs to be done but isn't, everything that is happening and yet being ignored, and sometimes he is tempted to go back to the cave. He needs ships and people, not bricks and mortar.

After lunch Poe forces himself to find Connix and Kin and sit through the briefing. There is no news on Poe's latest appeal for funding the proposed Sentinel program. The criminal gangs that have grown in the vacuum of the First Order's sudden withdrawal are growing bolder and the Senate doesn't seem to be doing anything about them either. The New Republic is still a struggling morass of governments who can't agree on a damn thing, other than the Resistance is getting mouthy and needs to step back and let them handle it now. Some days it feels as hopeless as fighting the First Order. How had Leia done it, after the fall of the Empire?

Kin starts to go over his intelligence reports, but Poe stops listening and stares out the window, his leg bouncing restlessly. He tosses a speeder bolt from his pocket up in the air and resists the urge to spin around in his chair like a cadet. He thinks he hears something about another village attack, about Vi Moradi, about something going down on Nar Shadda, but he is too distracted.

Connix begins to go over the state of their new headquarters—it has only been a week since they moved in—and says something about a volcanic eruption on the other side of the moon that is threatening to rain down fire monkey piss. Poe frowns, wondering if he's heard her right. "What?" he asks. "Did you say fire monkey piss?"

"Yes, General," she replies.

"Is that a real thing?"

"Of course it is. From the volcano."

"What volcano?"

"There is no volcano," she tells him, shaking her head with a smile. "But it got your attention, didn't it?"

"Sorry," he says. "Kind of distracted, I guess."

Connix exchanges a look with Beaumont Kin, who shrugs and goes back to his datapad. She smiles, which Poe knows is her way of softening the coming blow. "Why don't you take a look at the Y-wings, sir? Commander Pava said she's making good progress. The Falcon should be back soon."

Damn, she knows him too well. He jumps up with a sheepish grin and leaves as fast as he can. Only to be kicked out of the landing area by Jess, then the maintenance area by Rose, and even the medical area by Dr. Khurana. So he finds BB-8 and goes for a walk, trying to work off the restless energy that is plaguing him that day. If he's honest, it’s been building for weeks, and it started not long after Finn left.

Finn is currently on his way back from an extended mission with Chewbacca, their official goal to search for other Stormtroopers who defected from the First Order after the surrender. In truth, they are the Resistance's unofficial eyes and ears at the borders, making contacts with every operative they can, gathering the intelligence they need to maintain the borders when the New Republic won't. They are the beginning of the proposed Sentinel program. Poe did the same thing before Finn had left, and Finn before him; they agreed to take turns, alternating their time away so that one of them is always around to deal with the New Republic.

Unfortunately, it also means they have barely seen one another for the last six weeks, and Poe misses Finn—going out on missions with him, leading with him. They make a good team, and in the weeks and months since Exegol, they've grown even closer. Not as close as Poe would like, but maybe someday. He thinks about it more and more, wonders if Finn feels the same. Of course, they’d have to be on the same planet at the same time. And one of them would have to work up the courage to say something to the other. Poe’s still too scared to lose what he does have, so it probably won’t be him.

At least Finn finally told Poe that he is Force sensitive. It makes so much sense—so many things had clicked into place—that Poe often wonders how he hadn't figured it out himself. Finn is a natural leader, a brilliant fighter, and so in touch with his sense of self that of course it is the Force guiding him. He will be a great Jedi—maybe not a warrior, as Finn seems less interested in fighting now, but he could be a teacher, a leader.

Rey is training him, to help him understand his powers and learn some basic techniques. He trains in addition to his duties with the Resistance, and Poe worries about him. He feels like sometimes Finn struggles to find a balance between the two and hopes Rey isn't pushing him too hard. She went with Finn and Chewie, to continue working with him.

The Falcon has been gone for two weeks. They ran into a few remnants of the First Order, but nothing major, and Poe isn't sure if they've gathered any important intel other than what they felt safe transmitting. They are returning several days early, and Poe is glad. He's missed them all, though if he admits it to himself, he's missed Finn more than anything, maybe even flying. He's grown so used to having Finn by his side over the past year, through the mission to Exegol, and as co-Generals, that he's felt almost incomplete the last six weeks.

And that’s the real problem: Poe is distracted. Finn is coming back, and Poe can't concentrate. It probably doesn't say a lot about his leadership skills, or his emotional state, but it's definitely the issue, and he continues around the lake again, talking with BB-8 about Finn and Rey and how much they have to catch up on when they return. If he complains about the New Republic and their lack of organization and support yet again, BB-8 has the good grace to listen and agree when he's already heard it a hundred times.

He goes around the entire lake a second time, ignoring the sun and the heat and the need for some water, and is about to start a third time when the little droid beeps excitedly and tells him that the Falcon has landed. Poe can't hold back a grin, and they hurry to the landing area as fast as they can.

The Falcon is in its usual place, and Chewbacca is coming down the ramp with some bags. Poe greets him warmly while BB-8 asks impatiently about Finn and Rey. Chewie tells them Finn's gone to find Poe.

"Only Connix said she kicked you out of your own briefing," says a voice behind them, and Poe turns to find Finn standing there, hands on his hips and a crooked grin on his face. "Because you couldn't concentrate."

Poe grins in response, closing the gap between them to pull Finn into a warm embrace. Maybe they aren't reuniting after a battle, but it has been a long time and Poe can't help it. He missed Finn and is relieved to see him—and Chewbacca, of course—unharmed when he knows anything could happen along the borders of unknown space. And he likes the feeling of Finn in his arms too much to resist holding him for a little longer than he probably should.

"Welcome back, buddy," he says, finally stepping back, but still holding onto Finn's arm.

"That's General Buddy," Finn laughs, and Poe rolls his eyes.

"That joke is getting old, you know," he tells him. "How are you? Where's Rey?" Apparently, that is the wrong thing to ask, because Finn's smile immediately disappears. Poe feels his stomach drop; has something happened to her? Why haven't they said anything?

"She's fine," Finn says, relaxing as he shakes his head. "You don't have to panic. She��well, she left. Went off on her own. Again."

Poe doesn't need the Force to know that Finn is upset about it, and in a way, he understands. Rey certainly does her fair share of running off by herself, headlong into danger, and often without saying anything. Having worked many solo missions himself, however, Poe can also understand why. Sometimes working alone is easier, with less responsibility, less chance of getting someone hurt or killed. Get in, get it done, get out.

And Rey had grown up alone, abandoned on Jakku for years, until Finn had appeared and quite literally dragged her out of her solitary existence. It makes sense that after so many years on her own, sometimes she needs to be by herself. And Poe understands that as well: though most people wouldn't believe it, he needs time alone almost as much as he needs to be with people. It is one reason why he's such a good pilot, because he likes spending time in the cockpit with his own thoughts. And BB-8, of course.

Finn, however, had grown up surrounded by other Stormtroopers, never having a minute to himself yet always alone in a system that discouraged individuality and attachment. Finn seems to crave contact and companionship, and though he understands when someone like Poe needs their space for a little while, Rey's stubborn desire to go off on her own without warning—or protection— is still something Finn finds frustrating even after all this time.

"I see," says Poe, though he doesn't know the first thing about it, other than Rey is gone, he hadn't got to say goodbye, and Finn is upset. "Well, I'm damn glad to see you, and I have all sorts of questions, but I won't bother you yet. Want to see your new room?"

Finn’s eyes light up and he smiles gratefully at Poe. "Yeah, I would. I'm sorry you had to handle the big move without me."

"It's not like we had a lot to move," Poe points out. "We were living in a cave, remember?"

Poe leads him down the path to the new building, set in a clearing not far from their expanded landing area. It is a large, three-story building, housing offices on the ground floor with crew quarters on the upper floors. Finn and Poe, as co-generals, have two of the larger rooms on the second floor. Poe guides him upstairs, shows him the code for the door, and motions him inside.

Finn stops a few steps into the room, gazing around with his mouth literally hanging open. They are in a large open area, with a sofa and chair along one wall, and a desk opposite. There is a small kitchenette tucked into the corner with table for eating, and a door leads to the single bedroom and private refresher. It is clean and new and bright, unlike any place they’ve ever lived. There is both wonder and gratitude in Finn’s eyes, and the look on his face right now is one Poe wishes he could see more.

“Are you serious?” Finn asks as he starts moving around, examining his new home. “This is all mine?”

“I’m not going to show you someone else’s room,” Poe laughs. “It’s all yours. it’s not much. It’s just a lot better than—”

“Living in a cave,” Finn finishes. “Or a ship. Or a tent. Poe, we’re in an actual building!”

“I know, buddy. It’s taken some getting used to, but it’s good.” He glances around and smiles. “And I’m right across the hall, if you ever need anything. Like a lesson how to use some of this stuff.” He gestures toward a small communications panel set into the desk.

“It’s perfect,” Finn says. “I can’t wait to get a good night’s sleep in here!”

Poe nods. “You’ll sleep like a baby—or you’ll miss the jungle so much you won’t sleep at all. I’ll let you get settled, maybe try out the fresher—it’s private, all yours.” Finn pumps his fist and Poe laughs again. “Think you’ll be up for a debrief later?”

Finn nods. “Yeah, give me an hour. Where should we meet?”

“Command center is on the ground floor, we either pull up chairs or move to the conference room. Is an hour enough?”

“More than enough,” Finn tells him. He turns and walks back to Poe, pulls him into another embrace. “Thank you,” he says quietly. Poe breathes him in, his heart skipping a beat at their closeness. It seems Finn being gone has definitely had an effect on Poe.

“You’re welcome,” he finally says. Finn steps back and Poe thinks the other man glances down at his lips before ducking his head with a smile. It’s probably wishful thinking, though. Poe has to deliberately look away from Finn’s mouth.

“It’s really good to see you,” Finn says.

“You too, buddy,” Poe says. “I’m glad you’re back. I’ll see you in an hour?”

Finn nods and Poe turns to leave. He really is glad to see Finn. He’s just not sure how to move forward now that Finn has returned.

#Finnpoe #Stormpilot #Finn #Poe dameron #My writing #WIP #Working title: Ruthless

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Meant To Meet

The Curator (The Dark Pictures Anthology) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Y/N and the Curator are enjoying an evening at the Repository, treating themselves to the many stories the place has to offer. But none of those books manages to capture Y/N’s attention quite like the person reading them. It’s about time she admitted it.

Requested by Anon. Hello! Sorry to be posting your request so late dear, I’ve been swamped with work and I really apologize for not being able to get to it sooner. Thank you for the request and for your incredible patience. Hope you enjoy the read. Love, Vy ❤

My mind is all over the place. I have a good reason to stay focused but I just can’t find it in me. This is the fifth story the Curator has attempted to read me today, but it’s been a struggle for me to memorize a single word let alone the plot and character names. Therefore, I can recall nothing from any of the passages read so far. I tried to blame it on the stories, but I’m starting to think I’m the problem. Who am I kidding, of course I am! But not entirely. What is a girl to do when she suddenly views someone she sees every day as something more than a friend. Sure, this would be a ridiculous thought if it were heard by anyone else. But not to me. I see perfect sense in it - he’s the only one that truly knows me. He notices the small details, understands how my brain works. He’s got insane insight on me that sometimes is quite scary.

He knows how to make the good moments memorable, the bad moments better, the sad endings into hope and good endings into excitement. He understands what it’s like to be stuck in one place. Literally and metaphorically.

Well, I met him while I was metaphorically stuck in this weird life of mine. I couldn’t figure out where I had come from or where I was going. All I knew was that I needed an escape, but I couldn’t find that either. I was the most hopeless I had ever been.

And then luck suddenly decided to move onto my side, flip a page I couldn’t. Get my life moving again.

I was heading to a job interview in a part of town I had never been in before. You can imagine I was not at all enthusiastic or even the tiniest bit hopeful. After going from one potential job to another, never hearing good news back and having to deal with the heavy heart of never being good enough, I was not looking forward to another rejection. It was a simple job I was going for - a personal assistant for a lawyer. Sure, it was a bit far from my apartment but it was a chance, and Lord knows I was gonna take each and all chances.

Walking down the empty, unfamiliar street, I kept looking at the signs, searching for the name of the lawyer I was supposed to meet with. I tried dialing the phone number I saw in the paper but no one picked up my call. I was already starting to deal with it, convincing myself this was better than a ‘Sorry, you’re not the fit we’re looking for, but we’ll stay in touch’.

I walked to the very end of the street, seeing nothing but signs of old-timey restaurants, barber and antique jewelry shops. It felt like I was in a different decade, not a different part of town. It felt so comfortable and homey and it would’ve been even more appealing if it wasn’t for the eerie vibe it gave off due to the lack of people walking around.

Eventually, I spotted them - two big wooden doors with small colorful windows on top of them. They were the fanciest element of the street, sticking out almost hypnotically. The temptation to invade the inside of the building behind them was eating away at me. One of the doors was even slightly open, like an invitation to walk in and explore what they hid.

No, this could end REALLY badly! Imagine if someone lives there!, I tried telling myself, tried to force my feet to move in any direction just away from the doors. However, they wouldn’t budge. I was stuck in place quite literally this time. Seeing my unmoving state as a sign and against my better judgement, I stepped forward, closing the distance between me and the two giant pieces of polished wood. Before I knew it, I had placed my hand on the golden handle of the slightly opened door and gave it that push that would result in it opening entirely, revealing a very faintly lit, ominous hallway at the end of which was another pair of wooden doors, these much more ordinary. I subconsciously walked in, my feet weighing down the wooden floorboards which were covered by a carpet.

I felt slightly more confident going in, seeing as how the place had no spirit to be a home. It was too dark, too creepy and definitely minimalistic. The walls framing the hallway did have a painting or two on them but even those paintings were rather off-putting, I couldn’t look at them for long. I expected the floorboards to creak with every step I took but they were surprisingly silent, not fulfilling the horror movie cliché I had in mind.

The other pair of doors wasn’t nearly as tempting to open, but I had run out of any hesitations at that point. Pushing them open I was met with a wonderland that seemed to have been created especially for me. Books, old books lining what looked to be an endless amount of shelves. I felt tiny surrounded by knowledge I was yet to discover. I felt a new sense of excitement bubbling up in my stomach, something I hadn’t felt in a while.

“Good afternoon.“ A male voice startled me, coming out of the blue. “How can I help you?“

I quickly turned around, looking for the voice’s owner. Then I saw it - a silhouette of a man sitting in an armchair by the unlit fireplace at the complete opposite end of the gigantic room. In his hands I could see the outline of a large book.

“Um, hello.“ I returned his greeting, making a few steps in his direction shyly, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to walk in like that I just...“

“Couldn’t help it?“ He cut me off, “Yes, this place does posses a strange power over the people that near it. Well...not all people. You must be quite special.“

I was taken aback by his words. Now at closer proximity, I could see his icy eyes. They were sending me a warm and friendly gaze despite how cold and empty they looked. He was clearly older than me, his attire and overall demeanor fitting in perfectly, not only with this place but with this entire part of town. His silver hair was slicked back, not a single piece of it out of place.

“Uh...thanks?“ I was well aware it sounded more like a question rather than an expression of gratitude to his questionable compliment, “I was actually in search of the office of Mr. Harper. A lawyer in the area. I’m going for a job interview. So, if you could point me in the right direction, I’d really appreciate it.“

The man nodded reluctantly, closing the book and placing it on the carpet with such caution as if it was fragile. He slowly got up, “I’m afraid you’re on the wrong street, Miss. And I’m sorry to inform you the spot you’d be applying for is already taken. Has been for a few days now, actually. Mr. Harper and I are good friends, he told me about it.” A small apologetic smile appeared on his face. “But, I’m not a bearer of bad news entirely. How about I give you a proposition?” He made a pause, scanning my face for a reaction. I raised an eyebrow at him as a signal for him to continue which he did after he got up from his chair, “You see, this place is too big to be kept by a single person. I could use a helping hand. We’ll discuss the paycheck, that won’t be a problem, I can assure you.”

A job. And I won’t even need an interview. Nor any special qualifications. Well-payed. Bonus is that I’ll get to spend my days in the company of so many books. So many stories. Sign. Me. Up!

You can bet I accepted the offer on the spot and I enjoyed every moment on the job since. The Curator, which is the man’s identity as I was soon to find out, was a pleasant, kind man who didn’t hold it against me when I’d drop my cleaning duties to sit on the floor and read a book that had distracted me. Hey, can anyone blame me? A bookworm like me being in the Repository is the equivalent of putting a kid in a toy store. Not to mention he’d read me stories while I was working or on break. What better job could I ask for?

Well....

Fast-forward to now - half a year later - a month ago, I found a far better paying job, a lot closer to home and one that’d allow for me to show my true skills, not just dusting shelves and organizing books and occasionally making tea. So, I was forced to quit, however, that didn’t stop me from coming back to the Repository.

To my dismay I only recently came to terms with the reasoning behind the magnetic energy this place possessed over me. The Curator was right about that pull this place had. For me it was different, though - it wasn’t the place pulling me back.

“Y/N you’re not listening again, are you?“ The Curator’s suddenly more authoritative voice shook my mind out of its wandering state, reminding me that there’s a present I should be living in.

I blink a few times as if awoken from a deep slumber. My eyes meet his and I feel my cheeks reddening under his caring gaze. “Of course I am!”

A smirk starts playing on his lips as if he has already proven his point, “Then tell me: what was Christopher’s dilemma?”

Well shoot, I should’ve expected a question to confirm my nonsense, too bad I didn’t hear a word he has read. “Um...how to end global warming?”

The Curator laughs, closing the book. “Alright, alright, I get that you’re not in the mood to be listening to stories today.” He sets it aside on his desk before leaning back in his chair, “Do not take this out of context, but why did you come today if you didn’t feel up for a read? Actually,” he straightens his posture yet again, “Why do you keep coming here altogether? Once again, don’t mistake this question for anything, I’m just curious. I know it’s far from your home and you either have to walk four miles or waste money on transport, either way, you’re wasting time...” He trails off, having run out of things to say. It probably has something to do with the blank stare I’m giving him unintentionally.

I snap out of it, shaking my head. “Um, isn’t it obvious?” Yeah, isn’t it? Like, whenever I’m around him I feel like I’m holding a big sign that says that I have fallen for my ex-boss - a man rather older than me, mind you. And on top of all that - a man that hasn’t nor will ever look at me with the same

His faint eyebrows raise the tiniest bit, “Obvious? Well, if it is, consider me ignorant.“ The usual smile returns, “Please, enlighten me.“

Am I really gonna do this right now? I mean, he never leaves this place so if I do end up making a fool of myself - which I’m most certainly will - all I have to do to avoid him is avoid coming here. How much do I have to lose? Only him. But then again, I’ve never had him to begin with,

“At first, it was all about the books and stories this place holds. It’s truly magical that way. Then it was the atmosphere, which is directly related to the books...and to you. And then it was only you.“ I pause before cringing and adding, “Please don’t make me elaborate. You can guess what I mean.“

He gives my outburst a slow, indecisive nod. “I see.” He mumbles, “Well, you can always find me here, Y/N. And while I do understand what you mean, I in no way encourage it. However,..” He makes a pause as if asking of me to look at him which I end up doing. Why is beyond me, but as I said, he has an effect on me I cannot describe, “I won’t discourage it either. Who am I to tell you how to feel or not to feel. We’re all human, after all. Except me, of course.” That has become an ongoing joke of him not being human, but I never pay much mind to it. “You deserve better than me, Y/N. Trust me, I know myself and I know you. I advise you let it go.”

The sympathetic look he’s giving me fills me with both shame and comfort. At last I got it off my chest. Sure, I made a fool of myself, but I now feel ten pounds lighter. “Then I’m inclined to listen to you. As of now...” I reach for the book he was reading me minutes ago, “You’ll be listening to me.”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair once again, “I have nothing against it.”

I feel at peace, reading a story that I was an idiot not to pay attention to the first time. I’m once again reminded that the more a mind wanders, the more frightening things seem. I am now determined to never take my focus off the present. Because that’s the only way to truly live life: In the moment, with a clear head and a chest with nothing to weigh atop it.

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farmhandler · 3 years

Text

for your sake

Fandom: Demon Slayer/Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Rengoku/Tanjiro

Rating: T

Chapter: 5/6

Word count: 5 K

Summary: Rengoku is dying, but Zenitsu has an unorthodox idea that might be just what they need.

Warnings: Omegaverse, alpha!Tanjiro, omega!Rengoku, Trope inversion/subversion

A/N: I have not kept up with posting on here! I don't know that any of you care but here you go!!!!!!!

Read on AO3

---

If Tanjiro couldn’t get through to Rengoku directly, there was another way to reach him. That very evening, with Zenitsu’s comment on his mind, he visited the kitchens.

“Excuse me, do you think you could give an extra serving of this to Rengoku?” he asked one of the cooks—the one who doted on him more than the others. “I’ll pay for it.”

The cook glanced at him and then smiled knowingly. “You don’t need to pay for that. Of course I can bring your mate an extra serving.” She winked. “I’ll tell him it’s from you.”

“Thank you very much!”

Tanjiro had considered trying his hand at cooking, but he didn’t trust himself to consistently make food that would appeal to Rengoku. And food was the only means he had available. He reasoned the best way to accomplish this new task was to offer his services doing anything the helpers and cooks needed—if they could do just a little extra work for him.

In the days that followed, Tanjiro made sure that something reached Rengoku that Tanjiro had touched. He usually left it at something small and easy to acquire like an extra serving or a snack. A few times, though, he made use of his leftover sweet potatoes and with help had the dish delivered to Rengoku around dinnertime.

He was ill at ease with the way things were, but this kept the worst of his worries at bay. Being able to provide for Rengoku—even if all he did was send food over—fulfilled him more than he’d thought. The constant, burning flames inside him felt more under his control.

After a few days, the helpers even began to expect his requests.

“Another serving, right?” Aoi asked, clearly amused. She was on kitchen duty and intercepted Tanjiro by the door. “Careful, we accidentally burned food in one of the pots. There’s still smoke. I’ll make sure Rengoku gets more than his fill.”

“And can you let me see it before it’s sent off?”

Aoi looked at him like she wanted to say something about that, but she ended up sighing and nodded.

“Sure. I’ll also let him know you’re still around, since things are like this.”

“Thank you, Aoi. You’re really kind.”

She sputtered, then turned and walked back into the kitchen. “Yes, yes. Stay out of the kitchens for once!”

The one thing Tanjiro didn’t do was ask after Rengoku, no matter how much he desperately wanted to. He knew that if he heard too much about him, he would be too tempted to go find him. The fatigue and sickness already ate at him enough; it was to the point that he had temporarily stopped training. Seeing how well Rengoku had been the last they spoke, he hoped that the worst consequences were something only Tanjiro was experiencing, being the one who had given him the bite.

Support, he thought, lifting a bowl of meat buns he was going to hand off to a helper. He rubbed his hands along the edges of the bowl, spreading his scent, and then he touched a few of them to do the same. Support Rengoku. You get to see him when you see him.

“You know, it’s sweet, what you’re doing,” Aoi told him, after watching him carefully spread his scent among the buns. “Rengoku still doesn’t seem to be doing as well as we’d hoped, but he always eats the food you send to him.”

She paused, and Tanjiro could sense the unasked question.

“Rengoku has made it clear he doesn’t want to see me,” Tanjiro admitted, after a beat. “Most likely, he’s considering the ramifications of my actions and he decided this is what he wants. But,” Tanjiro continued, lifting the bowl of buns with a smile, “I can still attune him to me slowly like this. As long as he enjoys the food, I don’t mind.”

“And what about you?” Aoi asked. “I know why you’ve been sick.”

Tanjiro looked down at the buns. “I’m the eldest son,” he said. “And I’m an alpha. This is easy!”

He lifted his head and smiled.

“Would you mind taking this to Rengoku for me? I’d appreciate it!”

Aoi sighed and reached out with one hand.

Although Tanjiro put on a face of cheer, every day left him feeling more despondent than the last. Rengoku may not have rejected the food Tanjiro had sent his way, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he was being rejected overall.

Tanjiro had heard about what it was like for mates to reject each other. The stories never ended well.

He swiped his palm across his forehead. As was usual for this time of year, it was relatively cool outside, but he felt overheated.

Sometimes it feels like if I lose focus, or I stop my Total Concentration, Constant breathing, I’ll fall right over.

A scraping sound echoed at his left. He turned to see Nezuko crawl out of her box and stand at her full height.

“Good morning, Nezuko,” Tanjiro greeted, as cheerfully as he could manage. Tanjiro was seated at the edge of her bed. She stepped away from the box and came over to greet him by sitting down and clasping his hands in hers.

Good morning, Tanjiro, he could imagine her saying. If she removed the bamboo from her mouth, she could have spoken, but since its placement, she had never taken it off. Tanjiro suspected it was as much for her own sake as it was others. It was a reminder of what she had become, and how careful she needed to be.

Tanjiro glanced at the window. Dusk had settled into dark.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

She nodded and brought her fingers to the front of her mouth, tapping on the bamboo twice.

Hungry.

Because of the bamboo, Nezuko couldn’t speak. Yet despite that handicap, she had found ways to signal her own needs.

“I bet you are,” Tanjiro said sympathetically. “Sorry, Nezuko. I doubt humans taste good, anyway.”

At that, she shrugged, the a curious glint in her eyes. They rarely joked about what had become of her, and what she technically needed to eat. Tanjiro didn’t know what possessed him to do it now. He always assumed it would be a tough subject for her to acknowledge.

“Hey, Nezuko, I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, changing topics.

She made an inquiring sound.

“Do you remember how the others in town would always try to court you whenever you came down with me?”

Nezuko raised a brow. She nodded slowly.

“I know, it’s probably strange of me to ask suddenly. It’s just—would you mind listening to me for a bit?”

Nezuko shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes as if to say, do I do anything else but listen?

“Sorry.” Tanjiro chuckled. “It’s just… it’s about Rengoku.”

Nezuko scooted closer to him on the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder. She jostled him gently, a silent command to go on.

“I told you about everything that happened. About what we did to save him.” A nod. Tanjiro swallowed and folded his hands in his lap. “He doesn’t want to see me right now. Probably, everything that happened is finally catching up with him. He seemed unusually well-adjusted at the beginning, but now…”

Tanjiro exhaled and ran his hands over his pants.

“I don’t regret what I did. Rengoku is alive because of it. But it keeps eating at me all the same. I’m not sure why, exactly.” He sighed again. “I’m so tired, Nezuko. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this tired.”

Nezuko’s eyes widened imperceptibly. She lifted herself off the bed and sat further back. Then she patted her lap and gestured for Tanjiro to lay there.

“Maybe not that tired. I’m not a kid anymore,” Tanjiro said. “And I’m older than you.”

A sound of frustration came from Nezuko. She yanked on his arm, and because she was much stronger than him physically, he fell into a heap directly over her lap.

Tanjiro moved to rise, but Nezuko’s hand pushed into the back of his head, forcing him to settle down into the soft weight of her kimono. She smoothed her hand down back of his head, and he could practically hear the words he said so often echoed back at him.

There there, Tanjiro.

For some reason, tears stung at the space behind his eyelids.

“You know, Nezuko,” he said, settling into place, “after everything I’ve done, I’m not surprised Rengoku is avoiding me.”

He hesitated then, and Nezuko made an encouraging sound.

“It’s just… throughout all this, I’m constantly reminded of the way I acted when they first brought Rengoku home. I… I tried to attack people helping us. I told you about that, didn’t I? I was so embarrassed afterwards. And ashamed. I’ve never done anything like that in my life. I didn’t even—there wasn’t even a question there. I just… acted.”

Tanjiro’s fingers curled into a fist over Nezuko’s knee. There was a stray thread sticking out of the edge of her kimono, and Tanjiro stared at it.

“When Rengoku is around me, I feel—” safe, happy, at peace “—dangerous. I did something dangerous. Something horrible. But it saved Rengoku. And I’m…” Tanjiro chuckled weakly. “I’m happy about that. Is that horrible of me? Is that it?”

Nezuko’s hand on his head never faltered. She didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“Sometimes I am ashamed, Nezuko,” Tanjiro admitted. “I like Rengoku. He’s kind, and strong, and he smells incredible. I’m ashamed because even though I feel like I’m a danger, I want to be around him. I have to be near him. And after everything that’s led up to this, with our family, and the train, and if—if I had just been there when our family was slaughtered, or when Rengoku—if I could have been stronger, and helped him more during his fight, he wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Tanjiro knew he sounded halfway incoherent. The words spilled from his mouth in a hurry, as though admitting them might finally make it all makes sense. He felt Nezuko’s hand stall at the top of his head. He didn’t expect her to know what to say as his little sister, and he hardly knew what he wanted to hear.

As the silence continued, he thought that would be the end of it, but then he heard her voice rise up from behind the bamboo.

She was humming.

Tanjiro instantly recognized the song. It was one of the songs their mother used to sing. If she was in middle of something, they might catch her humming it, the notes often fading into the background, yet irreplaceable in his memory.

Everything will be okay, their mother used to tell them. My children are strong.

The tears collecting behind Tanjiro's lids overflowed and trickled down his cheeks.

“Nezuko, if you keep doing that, I’m going to fall asleep,” he said, his voice wavering dangerously.

Nezuko kept humming, finishing the song and allowing Tanjiro to collect himself. Once he was no longer in danger of becoming a sobbing mess, he felt her hand squeeze his shoulder. Then her fingernails dug in, making him twist his body to look up at her, blinking away his tears.

He met her eyes as she stared at him. When she looked at him like this, with her fierce and unblinking gaze, it almost felt like he could hear her thoughts.

This isn’t like you.

“I guess I haven’t been feeling like myself,” Tanjiro said.

Nezuko huffed, gesturing for Tanjiro to give him both her hands. When he did, she flipped them so they were facing palm up. She took his right hand and drew a symbol with her fingers.

“…Past?”

Nezuko made a sound of agreement. She let go of that hand and did the same thing on his left hand.

“Future…?”

Drawing his gaze back to hers, Nezuko pushed down on his right hand and held up his left. She curled into a fist and shook it emphatically.

Future.

Tanjiro was suddenly thrown back in time. The words that Rengoku had spoken to him near death loudly rang through his head.

Go ahead and live with your head held high! No matter how devastated you may be by your own weakness or uselessness... set your heart ablaze. Grit your teeth and look straight ahead.

As long as you remain untethered by your past, you will succeed.

I’m an idiot, Tanjiro thought. How blind have I been that I’ve forgotten what Rengoku told me? Even if his death never came, those were his dying words. If he weren’t alive today I would be disrespecting his memory.

“Nezuko…” Tanjiro pushed himself up into a sitting position while Nezuko still held onto his fist. “You’re right. You’re right. What am I doing, lying here complaining about the past? This isn’t like me.”

He smiled at her. Nezuko’s eyes crinkled like she was smiling back.

“Thank you, Nezuko. Thank you for listening, and helping me remember.”

Tanjiro threw himself off the bed. The world tilted, but Tanjiro righted himself and lifted a triumphant fist into the air.

“Rengoku is alive! He’s my mate! Nothing we can do can change that now. I need to look forward.” He breathed in, imagining inhaling Rengoku’s scent.

“I need to see Rengoku.”

---

Nearly a full day passed after the conversation with Nezuko. Tanjiro intended to see Rengoku that very day, but shortly after spending most of his evening with Nezuko, he went to bed early after developing one of the fiercest migraines he’d ever experienced. It lasted all night and into the early morning, and Tanjiro only managed to get some sleep once one of the girls brought him a medicated solution.

The next thing he knew, Zenitsu was shaking him awake.

“Tanjiro! Tanjiro! Seriously, wake up! Do I need to slap you?!”

“Huh?” Tanjiro’s eyelids fluttered open; he immediately winced and squinted at the bright sunlight that seemed to find a way to beam directly into his brain. Thankfully, by that point his headache was mostly gone, but even though Zenitsu was jostling him, he felt like the thick fog that always hung over him had grown even thicker. His head lolled even as Zenitsu forced him into a sitting position. A glance at the window told him it was just past sunrise.

“Zenitsu, what are you… saying?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you! Rengoku collapsed!”

The words didn’t register at first.

“Rengoku? What about Rengoku?”

“He collapsed!” Zenitsu shrieked. “And what’s wrong with you? Does this have to do with your bond? Are you going to fall over? Because that’s what Rengoku did!”

“What?” The words finally made sense in his mind. He sat up straighter and gripped Zenitsu by his forearms. “Zenitsu, what did you just say?”

“Like I said, Rengoku collapsed. I was just passing by his room this morning. I could hear him talking to the helpers when all of a sudden I heard a thump, and they yelled out that he had fallen over.”

“What?”

Now wide awake, Tanjiro leapt out of bed with Zenitsu still clinging to his arm. It was a perfunctory attempt at comfort, and with the fog still hanging over him and the rush of panic at hearing Rengoku was unwell, Tanjiro reacted on instinct.

The growl that erupted out of him was a sound he hadn’t even known he was capable of making, not at a close friend.

In an instant, Zenitsu had let go of him and scrambled backwards, eyes saucer wide.

“I’m so sorry, Zenitsu!” Tanjiro hurried to say, ashamed. “I’m sorry. You came to wake me up and told me what was happening. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Zenitsu said. His voice shook, but he didn’t look overly upset. “I get it. You’re his mate, right? Of course you’re worried. I thought something like this would happen eventually. You both have been looking like such crap for a while now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I mean he’s been sick, too, right? Whenever I saw him I could tell. He’s been sick, just like you’ve been sick.”

Tanjiro went stiff. This was the first time he’d heard how Rengoku was doing. The scent that he could barely detect on Zenitsu was too insignificant to get a reading. It had been that way for a while now; Tanjiro hadn’t sought out Rengoku, giving him space he needed, and he thought he’d been doing the right thing. But if he felt bad enough that he had collapsed…

Tanjiro, you idiot. You realized what you needed to do a day too late.

“Zenitsu,” Tanjiro said. A strange sense of calm fell over him. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Tanjiro—“

Tanjiro didn’t wait to hear what he had to say, and he didn’t bother getting dressed. Still wearing his pajamas, and with the tail end of a throbbing headache, Tanjiro ran out of the room, nearly colliding with the door on his way out.

Out in the hallway, running became sprinting. Since it was still early morning, it was relatively quiet, but to avoid running into any people—and because he didn’t fully trust himself not to accidentally growl at someone when he was still somewhat out of it—Tanjiro moved sidelong into the engawa surrounding the outer parts of the mansion.

Rengoku.

Rengoku!

Tanjiro’s eyes burned. He was furious him with himself. Why couldn’t he do anything right? Rengoku didn’t want to see Tanjiro. Of course he didn’t. Tanjiro knew that. But even so, Tanjiro should’ve pushed more. He needed to push more.

If you’re going into this with halfhearted feelings and hopes of praise, it would have been better for him to die!

Tanjiro blinked away his upset and cut through one of the nearby rooms leading into the part of the building where Rengoku was. He knew he was close when Rengoku’s scent grew strong and thick.

He could smell the sickness in it.

Stupid stupid idiot Tanjiro.

He was panting by the time he made it there. He ignored the helpers standing outside speaking quietly and marched up to the door, throwing it wide open.

“Rengoku! I’m… I’m—” He was so out of breath he had to pause before speaking again. “I’m here to attune our bodies! I’m truly very sorry for this, but you don’t have any say in the matter!”

Tanjiro had squeezed his eyes shut against the weight of his own rude introduction. When there was no response, he opened his eyes and took in the scene before him.

Rengoku was asleep. His face was pale, and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. At the sound of his voice, Rengoku had rolled over, emitting a soft groan. Like a flower to the sun, his face tilted towards Tanjiro.

“Tanjiro,” one of the helpers greeted. Sumi, he recalled. “Thank goodness you’re here! The others were just looking for you. When Rengoku collapsed, we knew we couldn’t keep this going any longer…”

This close, the call to go to Rengoku’s side was intense. He fought against his every muscle in his body when he turned to look at Sumi.

“What you mean?” Tanjiro asked. His insides kept twisting, a sickening heat that built in his chest and stomach.

“It’s just… when we realized why Rengoku wasn’t getting better, Rengoku asked us not to mention anything to you about what was going on.”

“What…?” Tanjiro blinked. “Why? Why would he do that? Why would Rengoku…”

He trailed off. Hurt and anger swirled at the forefront of his mind. He was hurt because Rengoku felt the need to risk his health just to avoid Tanjiro. The anger was mostly with himself.

Tanjiro moved towards the foot of Rengoku’s bed. A force more powerful than any he’d ever felt urged him to move closer and sit at its edge, close enough that Tanjiro could touch him if he wanted to. He only held back because the girls were in the room with him.

“I think Rengoku didn’t want to burden you,” Sumi said eventually, her voice quiet.

“Burden?” Tanjiro echoed.

“Yes. You see, several Hashira came to visit.”

“I do remember that,” Tanjiro said. “What do the Hashira have to do with this?”

“It’s unusual because Hashira don’t usually visit each other after being injured. I think Rengoku was surprised they were doing that for him. They seemed interested in the bond that saved his life, and their attitudes weren’t, um, favorable towards you. I don’t know if that’s exactly what he was thinking, but that’s the sense I get.”

So that was why Tanjiro kept seeing and smelling the Hashiras. At this time he hadn’t given it much thought. The mansion was a common place for slayers to recover in.

“I see,” Tanjiro said. As she spoke, his anger had transformed, taking a different shape.

From the sounds of it, Hashira had exerted some kind of influence on the newly injured, newly bonded Rengoku. Rengoku wasn’t weak, neither of body nor mind, but he wasn’t usually this hurt and dealing with the consequences of being forcibly bound to another human being.

Tanjiro should have been there for him.

He always eats the food you send to him, Aoi had said.

Tanjiro grit his teeth. I’m so frustrated. Here I was, thinking I was doing something. I’m so naïve.

“Thank you for telling me, Sumi,” said. He smiled at her. “Would you mind leaving me with Rengoku? To help him heal, I need to be close with him, and I’d be a little embarrassed with an audience.”

“Oh!” Sumi’s cheeks went pink. “Right, of course! I’ll stand guard and turn away anyone who tries to come in.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

The moment she was gone, Tanjiro threw the covers off Rengoku and started stripping out of his pajamas. He left on his pants to save them both the inevitable embarrassment, and he didn’t undress Rengoku. Although he was about to scent him without permission, undressing him went too far—even if he thought he needed it.

Tanjiro didn’t know how he knew, but he knew this is what he needed to do. It was what they both needed.

Now bare chested, Tanjiro settled down in front of Rengoku lengthwise, scooting as close as he could. His mouth tingled at the thought of getting his lips and teeth on the bond mark. He held back, and working manually instead, Tanjiro rubbed his scent on the bond mark with his fingers. He did this several times, over and over, until he finally felt satisfied.

The whole time he did it, Tanjiro expected Rengoku to wake up. He had mentally prepared a speech in his mind, but other than snuffling in his sleep, he didn’t wake. It was somewhat worrying. If after all this Rengoku still wasn’t awake, Tanjiro would summon Lady Shinobu to examine him.

For now, he just hoped this was enough. That he was enough.

“Rengoku,” he whispered. He opened his mouth, inhaling, swallowing as much of his scent as he pleased. For once, no one was looking at him; no one could judge him for indulging.

Tanjiro inched closer, until he was able to sling one of his hands around Rengoku’s waist. Then he hooked one of his legs around the back of Rengoku’s. The closer they were, and the more skin he was able to touch, the better Tanjiro felt. The flames that burned on endlessly and the fog that had hung over him were slowly dissipating, bit by bit.

He pressed his nose into Rengoku’s collar, just above his nightshirt, and stayed there. Once he decided enough was enough, Tanjiro moved to Rengoku’s wrists. The scent glands there wafted invitingly at him. He lifted one on Rengoku’s hands and pressed his nose at the juncture of wrist and forearm, and then Tanjiro couldn’t help it; he pressed his mouth there, silently praying for forgiveness.

I just need to scent him like this. Just a little.

He breathed in, and breathed in, and breathed in, shivering in delight. After being deprived for so long, the urge to devour his scent was so overwhelming he thought he might cry. Tanjiro scraped his teeth overtop his scent gland, sending a fresh wave of Rengoku’s unique scent into his nose. A quiet moan left his mouth.

“What are you… doing?”

Rengoku’s voice broke Tanjiro out of his intense focus. He froze, realizing that while he had been scenting him, Rengoku had finally woken up.

“R-Rengoku,” Tanjiro stammered. Rengoku’s fascinating, brightly colored eye focused in on Tanjiro lazily. He looked exhausted, and he sounded tired, but he didn’t appear to be alarmed by what was happening. Other than give him space, Tanjiro didn’t completely pull away. “I’m sorry for waking you. You are probably very confused right now.”

“Yes, I am,” he slurred. A yawn broke through in the middle of his sentence. “What are you doing in my bed?”

“I’m… I’m scenting you. I’m very sorry about this, Rengoku. I didn’t want to do it this way, but you’ve been avoiding me. You collapsed!”

Rengoku’s eye slowly closed. “I suppose I have.”

“Why? Was it the Hashira? Did I do something to offend you?” he asked, his voice rising. “I know I’m just an alpha, but—”

A finger appeared in front of his lips, stopping him short. Rengoku’s brows were furrowed, the tense lines on his face deepening.

“Young Kamado, I have a terrible headache. Please keep your voice down.”

“I understand,” Tanjiro said, barely above a whisper. “Could you please answer my question?”

Rengoku sucked in a short breath and withdrew his hand. “Not exactly. Nothing you did was on purpose.”

Something like grief overcame Tanjiro. It was what he’d known all along, but it was the last thing he wanted to hear. He knew that being an alpha had caused others trouble throughout his life, but he’d always hoped that someday, when he found his mate, things would be different.

“I’m sorry,” Tanjiro said. “I’m very sorry. Rengoku, once we’re feeling better, we’ll find a way to fix this.”

“Tanjiro,” Rengoku said, and the sound of his given name was like a jolt of electricity laid into him from Zenitsu’s sword. “Who told you about the sweet potatoes?”

“Eh…ah, Lady Shinobu,” Tanjiro answered slowly.

“Kocho. I see. I see,” he repeated. Rengoku went silent after that, and Tanjiro realized shortly after he’d begun to doze.

“Rengoku?” Tanjiro inquired, prodding him with one finger. His eyes slid briefly open. He frowned in irritation, and a moment later he shivered and curled against Tanjiro’s chest. “R-Rengoku?”

Rengoku didn’t respond.

He really must have been exhausted, he thought. I’m sorry, Rengoku. How you must have suffered!

Gingerly, Tanjiro moved his arms out of the awkward position they’d been forced into, careful not to wake Rengoku again. He slid one arm around his waist and the other he brought up between them, pressing his palm against his heart.

Tanjiro closed his eyes and matched his breathing to Rengoku’s. In, out. In, out.

Rengoku wasn’t the only one exhausted. Tanjiro had been holding on as best he could, but lying there, warm, surrounded in the scent of his mate, he was lured into a similar state of half sleep. He let his eyes fall shut.

When he opened them again, the bond mark was in his line of sight, inches away. Its unique scent wafted enticingly over to Tanjiro. It hurt how it barely carried Tanjiro’s scent at all.

He swallowed as his mouth watered uncontrollably. Then he swallowed again.

His head moved forward on its own, and Tanjiro carried it to rest of the way. He pressed his nose into the space just below the bond mark. He moaned low in pure, blissful content. As he drifted over the marred skin, Rengoku’s scent began to gain in strength. That, or maybe it was just that Tanjiro kept breathing it in. He breathed in deep, deeper still, until his chest trembled and his scent became the center of his awareness.

His mouth drifted close to the edge of the bondmark. Eventually he brushed his lips overtop the skin there.

He let out another quiet, happy groan. His lips were tingling. Digging his fingers into the front of Rengoku’s nightshirt, Tanjiro tugged in a vain effort to pull Rengoku closer than he already was while he mouthed at the bondmark, spreading his scent with his lips and tongue until it was bathed in it.

Mine, he thought deliriously. Mine.

Realizing the direction his thoughts were taking, Tanjiro pulled away to try and breathe in the night air, but it was no use; Rengoku’s scent was all around him and inside him. He couldn’t escape it, and in all honesty—he didn’t want to.

Later Tanjiro could feel properly chastened. In that moment, all he wanted to do was be with his mate.

#a/b/o #omegaverse #demon slayer spoilers #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny spoilers #rentan #kyotan #rengoku #tanjiro #my fic #fic #tanjiro is 18

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apparitionism · 4 years

Text

Monday

I wrote the following brief scenes a while ago as part of a potential story that refused to coalesce. It may yet, someday, but for now this is merely a scrap of unfruited AU narrative; I’m posting only to prove to myself that I’m not completely incapable of doing writing-related things, even if it’s just tidying up generic, trope-y bits of dialogue. I intended Christina, about age seven, to be an important story lever in this, with this Myka and this single-mom Helena as coworkers of some sort (I was thinking insurance, possibly, because risk management has been on my mind). Such fuzziness was part of why the story as such never took off... in any event, it doesn’t matter. Here is what does matter: if you are a U.S. citizen who is able to vote, do it; choose Biden/Harris and every down-ballot Democrat. This HAS TO BE a landslide repudiation of that horrific, corrupt individual and the party that enables him.

Monday

Turning points arrive in their own time.

Myka and Helena were eating lunch together. That in itself was of course not unusual, for they were colleagues and friends. And as colleague-friends, they tended to eat lunch together.

“You seem upset,” Myka noted. Helena was picking at a salad, but differently than she usually picked at her salads. Usually she picked because she was picky and would eat only the most pleasing elements; today she was merely moving salad components from one region of the plate to another.

“I’m not upset.”

“But you seem upset.”

“Well... I have to break an engagement. It’s impolite.”

Being forced into incivility was indeed the kind of thing that would drive Helena to stab, lift, and re-place arugula. “Why do you have to break an engagement?”

“You know Mrs. Carter, the neighbor who usually sits with Christina. She was called out of town. An ill relative. This morning—but I had plans tonight.”

“Could your plans happen at your house instead? Without sitting?”

Helena wrinkled her brow. “It’s a first date. Far too soon to bring a new person into Christina’s life like that.”

A first date. The words punched Myka hard, leaving a queasy burning in their wake. Her analytical side leapt to make sense of this extreme response: It’s the first time you’ve heard Helena say anything about such a thing, so it surprised you. You’ve never liked surprises; ergo, you’re just reacting poorly to being surprised. Because of course Helena would go on a first date, because of course she would want to find someone, someone to be with, and Myka didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to her before, but she and Helena hadn’t really talked much about relationships, so maybe Helena went on a lot of first and other dates that she hadn’t bothered mentioning to Myka, and maybe that meant their friendship wasn’t as close as Myka had thought, because maybe they really were more colleagues than friends, and... Okay, just stop. Whatever this is, stop. She breathed her way through the aftermath of the punch and said, “I’ll do it, then. Babysit.”

“You will?”

“You were planning to go out. You should go out.”

“You haven’t asked me with whom.”

“That’s probably not my business,” Myka said, because it wasn’t, despite her unexpected, inappropriate impulse to claim it as entirely her business. Just stop.

“Claudia’s new manager in platform development. Claudia described her to me as, and I quote, ‘absolute fire.’ Which I presume is good.”

“So you asked her out.”

“No, she asked me. And I said yes, because... well, is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Was that intended as bait? But it couldn’t have been. Logicking it out again: Myka had never felt such a weird surge (no, a twitch, it was only a twitch) of possessiveness before; thus Helena couldn’t have identified it so quickly, and with such precision, that she would immediately challenge Myka on the point. Could she? “Of course not,” Myka said. “What time do you want me to show up?”

That evening, Myka kept her still-reeling gut at bay by concentrating on Christina, who was delighted to have Myka all to herself. “You and Mom talk about boring things,” she pronounced as soon as her mother left. “Tonight you don’t have to do that!”

No... all Myka had to do was imagine what sorts of non-boring things Helena was talking about with her date who was absolute fire. But she managed not to do too much of that imagining, at least while Christina was awake, while they were building with Legos and renaming her plastic and puffy animals and manipulating slime. This latter was a fad that had, according to Christina, faded some time ago, but she found the texture soothing; she asked Myka, very seriously—as if Myka’s verdict would be the final word on the subject—whether that meant it was okay not to give it up. Myka said that in her experience, truly calming things were few and far between, so she thought it was more than okay. Christina enjoyed the phrase “few and far between.”

Myka was tempted to let Christina stay up late, late and later, but she supposed it wasn’t fair to deprive a child of sleep just to rescue herself from herself.

She fell asleep on the sofa, and that was a blessing; she didn’t have to hear Absolute Fire’s car, didn’t have to think about anything that might be happening in that car. She awoke just as Helena was stepping inside and taking off her coat. Helena turned around and smiled, and Myka struggled to sit up and look alert, saying a sleep-hoarse “sorry” as she did.

“What for? Being asleep at ten at night? That seems reasonable. Ideally I’d have been asleep by now, if I’d been home.”

“It’s only ten?”

“Dinner was short. The fire may be absolute as far as Claudia is concerned, but there were no sparks that I could see. Or feel.”

Thank god, Myka thought, too fervently. Then, Just stop. Aloud, she tried for indifference: “Maybe Claudia should go out with her instead.”

“Maybe she should. Did my own small bit of fire behave herself?”

“She was great. I’m never going to fully appreciate the appeal of slime... but I can report that bath, story, and bed were peaceful. No conflagration.” This news would make Helena happy: meltdowns at bedtime were common. Christina was often fearful of some unspecified something that would happen overnight, and she was never clear on whether it would be a good something or a bad something, just something, of which she would be unaware.

Helena did, in fact, smile her relieved “Christina is fine for tonight” smile. “Did she wear you out completely? Or might you stay for a glass of wine?”

“Weird way for you to end your date. A drink with the babysitter?” Trying to sound normal. Like the friend she was.

“Better than the date. No, that’s too callous. It was fine. But it wasn’t anything.”

Myka had the drink. Just the one, slowly, as they sat and talked about what Christina would have deemed “boring things”... but Helena had two. And a half. She was eyeing the bottle like she might be inclined to head for it again, so Myka said, “I really should go.”

Helena said, “Should you?” Myka wanted (wanted so much) to make of that what she was pretending she didn’t want to make of it, but she determined instead to make nothing of it. No one should make anything of what anyone said when they’d had a couple of drinks at the end of a long week. And at the end of a failed date, she reminded herself, then cringed at the pleasure she took in knowing that it had failed. Whatever this is, stop.

Standing by the front door, Helena gave her a vaguely unsteady half-hug, a clasp of her left arm around Myka’s shoulders. Myka didn’t want to not reciprocate—trying now to act normal, like the friend she was—so she let herself move her own left arm fully around Helena’s waist, allowed herself to rest her hand for just the press of a second on Helena’s hip.

For that press of a second, Myka leaned close and inhaled against the sharp sweet angle of Helena’s cheekbone. For that press of a second, a slide to a kiss was a warm looming certainty; then the second passed, and it was a receding dream. Myka released Helena’s body and said, “I’ll see you Monday.”

NOTE: I’d say “TBC,” but since I don’t know whether this will ever function as part of a larger piece, I’ll leave it as a little misfit story-island. You know B&W will find their way to each other; they’re just not quite connecting, in that “this friendship means everything to me and I can’t stand the idea of blowing it” way, on both sides. Anyway I’m not sure who these characters really are, other than coworkers and friends (who clearly need to be something more); plus there’s a gaping hole where a plot should be. Why are these people here? What are they doing? Should any reader care? I have no idea. Again, here is what matters: vote vote vote for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris and Democratic Senate, House, and local candidates.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Monday #AU week #I wish narrative made sense to me right now #but my wife has progressed to walking with a cane #and if you had told me that would be the best news of 2020 by a mile...#well really who is surprised by 2020 anymore?

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thepetulantpen · 3 years

Text

(More danganronpa stuff! I meant to post this like two weeks ago, but school’s been rough. Another Kazuichi/Hajime fic based on something that’s been in my ideas folder for ages: Kazuichi makes Komaeda’s hand, post dr2. Enjoy!)

“I’m only doing this for you.”

Kazuichi glares, hoping it’ll make him look more serious, but Hajime only looks relieved. It hurts to know Hajime had been expecting him to say no, but he can’t blame him, given the circumstances.

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’ll owe me one.” This seems to have no effect, so Kazuichi adds, “I’m serious! I should be compensated for going anywhere near that creep.”

Hajime fidgets, hand coming up to fuss with hair that’s no longer there. It’s cut even shorter than it was in the simulation; apparently, he was a little hasty in getting rid of Izuru’s style. It was one of the first things he did when they woke up- Kazuichi remembers watching him, and seeing a bit of himself in the impulsivity.

These days, Hajime looks like he’s always towing the line, wanting to be supportive but afraid to be too defensive. Kazuichi knows he's starting to feel like something of a stranger, seeing their simulated friendships as inferior to the history the rest of them share. Not to mention the guilt at his role in… everything, but that's not exactly exclusive to Hajime.

His expression wavers, before Hajime visibly settles on, “He’s not so bad.”

It’s somehow both an understatement and overstatement- Nagito just is, a person difficult to quantify. Beyond crazy, that is.

Memory is unreliable nowadays, a jumbled mess of school friends, fellow supervillains, and bits of code on a computer simulated island. The lines feel blurred, relief at seeing his close friends alive bleeding into horror at what they’ve done. Their killing game, too, feels fresh. He can’t help but see Nagito’s body when he closes his eyes, or feel the flash of heat from the bomb. The anger, and the sadness, is irrational- which only makes it harder to process.

Kazuichi doesn’t comment on any of that, distracting himself by turning to his work table. It’s newly set up by the Foundation, not quite lived in yet. Not as messy as he likes it.

“I’ll need some measurements, but I can get started.” He grimaces at the thought, having not even considered it when he agreed to this. “You’ll get that, right?”

Hajime smiles, almost laughs at Kazuichi’s expression, but nods. “Yeah, I got it.”

The thought of Hajime holding Nagito’s hand, carefully measuring, crosses his mind and he has to shake his head to clear it. It’s a stupid thing to be jealous of- Nagito is missing a damn hand. Of all the gruesome truths they’ve uncovered, of course there’s one that’ll give Nagito and Hajime an opportunity to hold hands.

Hajime is still hovering in the doorway, something obviously on his mind aside from Nagito. Normally, this is Kazuichi’s place to prompt him, get him to spill whatever it is. As competent as Hajime likes to pretend he is- freaky Izuru powers or otherwise- he’s always been better at getting other people to talk.

It’s different now- they’ve got a lot on their plates, more than some repressed childhood trauma that’s appropriate to share on a beach. He’s drawing up schematics for his friend’s hand, and he’s not sure he can handle anything heavy on top of that.

He turns to Hajime, anyway. If something’s bothering him, it’s better if they can both share that weight. “What’s up? You in the market for more shoddy prosthetics?”

“I don’t think you could make anything shoddy if you tried.” He says it offhandedly, without thinking. The confidence in his voice is enough to make Kazuichi pause, but he’s spared having to react as Hajime continues, “Thank you, really. You’re… a good friend, Kazuichi.”

The unwitting rejection stings, but he raises his hand for a fist bump. “Of course, man. Whatever you need, alright?”

Hajime nods, a mirthless smirk on his face. It’s stretched too thin, like him. Kazuichi doesn’t know if he’s seen him sit down in the last week- always between righting one wrong and another. Chasing down the shadows of a person he never chose to be.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

It’s disproportionately serious, betraying Hajime’s exhaustion. Kazuichi gestures, silently, for him to sit in one of the extra chairs, an excuse and invitation to rest until someone comes to find him. He takes it, grateful, and scoots it to sit right beside Kazuichi.

Their shoulders brush and Hajime doesn’t flinch away.

Kazuichi tries to keep his eyes on the parts, tries not move too much as Hajime leans against him. He tries not to let it mean anything when Hajime starts reaching for tools before he can, passing him exactly what he needs. Certainly doesn’t think about what it means when Hajime starts to doze off- and focuses muttering his response, never mind that Hajime stopped talking an hour ago.

“Without my brilliance? I guess you’d be collectively short of one hand.”

…

A hand, compared to everything else he’s made, is not a complicated ask. It barely takes a week, and that’s only because he tries to make it perfect. He must spend hours in testing, fine-tuning movement and searching for flaws long after he knows there aren’t any.

Not because he cares or anything- only so he doesn’t have to deal with it again if it breaks.

The procedure to attach it is surprisingly simple; Mikan takes care of it, leaving Kazuichi to wait outside the room. Hajime’s supposed to be here, too, but he’s late- called away for a Foundation summons, which manages to be less appealing than what Kazuichi is doing now.

When it’s done, Mikan leaves, scurrying out with her head ducked down. She doesn’t address Kazuichi, which isn’t particularly abnormal. They’re all dealing with... this in different ways.

Inside, Nagito is sitting in a chair, watching, nearly transfixed, as the hand responds to him, twisting and flexing. Kazuichi is tempted to just leave now- skip this interaction that he’s been dreading for days- but he doesn’t. Weirdo or not, Nagito doesn’t deserve to be walked out on.

He settles in the chair beside Nagito, gesturing to the hand. “I’ve got to show you how to take care of it. Maintenance, or whatever.”

“Ah,” Nagito smiles- a normal smile, by his standards, “I’m honored.”

Good to see coming out of the simulation didn’t fuck him up too much- this is about par for the course. Kazuichi just nods and gets to work, glancing up to make sure Nagito understands what he’s saying, more or less. Nagito still apologizes too much, which becomes an obstacle every time Kazuichi has to correct him. It turns explaining the mechanics of the hand, which parts need adjusting and which need regular replacements, into a grueling process.

He really is an air-head, when you get right down to it. Past all of the hope stuff, past all of the luck, he’s a regular guy. He’s not even so painfully insecure, in his best moments.

It’s almost easy to see why Hajime likes him so much.

At times like this, it feels like it did in school, simple friendships with no despair-laced strings attached. Hajime not being a part of that equation is a strange inconsistency. The thought that he never properly met Hajime- just Hajime, not Izuru or a computer’s impression of him- makes his head hurt.

“It’s good to see you and Hajime are still getting along,” Nagito says, apropos of nothing, “You spent a lot of time together, on the island. I know he enjoys your company.”

He sounds oddly deliberate, not like the steady stream of nonsense that Kazuichi tends to filter out. It cuts through the haze of his half-concentration on the conversation. “Huh? Yeah, I mean, of course.”

Nagito stares at him, dull grey eyes unyielding, before he smiles, again. “This hand was a favor for Hajime, wasn’t it? I’m sure he appreciated that.”

He sounds almost nagging this time, like he’s trying to get at something in particular, but it’s the words that catch Kazuichi’s attention. Kazuichi looks up sharply from where he’d been checking the spare parts, now labeled and boxed up.

“It wasn’t just for Hajime, you know.” Kazuichi rubs the back of his neck, trying not to cringe. “I wouldn’t leave you without a hand.”

“I wasn’t doubting your goodwill.” He waves his hand- the real one- dismissively. “Truly, I look up to you. Your devotion to Hajime-”

“It’s not that,” Kazuichi talks quickly, as Nagito’s face starts to fall, “We’re friends. After everything we’ve been through- you think I wouldn’t help?”

Kazuichi bites his lip, half to keep himself from saying anything else. He’s not a perfect conversationalist, but he never imagined he’d outpace Nagito in making a conversation awkward. He shouldn’t have stuck around. Nagito could’ve figured out how to adjust the grip himself, couldn’t he?

“Oh,” Nagito pauses, genuinely surprised, and stops short of whatever else he was going to say, “in that case, I’m lucky to have such incredible friends.”

The word sounds strange coming from Nagito- too hesitant, like he’s only trying it out. It’s not the first time they’ve called each other friends, but it’s the first time after the world ended; which, even for Nagito, makes a significant difference.

“We’re all here for you. For each other.”

Kazuichi winces, but it has the desired effect of making Nagito smile. Though it doesn’t look like he entirely believes Kazuichi, the expression a little forced, he figures it’s the best they can hope for.

“Right,” Kazuichi stands, abruptly, and makes for the door, “I’d better get going.”

“Wait, Kazuichi-“

He yanks it open before Nagito can finish and finds, standing in the doorway with his hand half-raised to knock, Hajime. He’s got a knowing look on his face, barely concealing a smile.

“Making friends?”

Kazuichi scowls, trying to look as threatening as he can- which is to say, not very. “Not a word.”

Hajime brushes it off easily, switching places with Kazuichi to sit with Nagito. He relaxes when he does, tension disappearing from his shoulders as Nagito waves to him with his new hand, metal creaking softly.

“Sorry I was late. Makoto is finalizing some of the details and- it doesn’t matter. How are you feeling?”

“I’m great.” Nagito looks like he means it, lighting up at the sight of Hajime. “Kazuichi’s been great company. I see why you like him so much.”

Kazuichi steps back, getting the impression he’s no longer a part of this conversation. He keeps his head down and pretends not to notice as Hajime laughs at something Nagito says- too quiet to hear from the doorway. Hajime looks up as he leaves, but Kazuichi only gives a brief wave, leaving them to their own devices.

It feels vaguely like being left behind, even if he’s the one walking out.

…

It’s a few days later, on the beach, when he dares see either of them again.

He refuses to admit that he’s avoiding anyone- he only happens to not run into them. It just so happens that he spends the majority of his days locked in his lab, with a Do Not Disturb sign up, listening to the sound of disappointed footsteps approaching, pausing, and leaving.

And, just once, the click of Nagito’s heeled shoes and an extended moment of hesitation- the shadow remaining at his door for a minute, at least- before it, too, leaves.

It’s not jealously. It’s just... weird, being around people he calls friend. Even after all this time, he feels like he can’t quite get it right.

Especially with Hajime. For multiple reasons.

He’s here now, despite that, because if he doesn’t leave the lab, he thinks Hajime might send in rescue parties after him. It should be embarrassing that he’s partially hidden behind a palm tree, creepily watching Hajime and Nagito from a distance, but it’s not the weirdest thing he’s done, even excluding his time corrupted by despair- hell, even excluding all of their time in the killing game.

Kazuichi smiles softly as he watches them, Hajime’s grin bright and Nagito looking less miserable than usual. The shadows they all carry dissipate in the steady sunlight, the rock of waves suspending them in a limbo on this island, far from where the rest of the world can reach them.

Nagito says something Kazuichi doesn’t catch that makes Hajime frown, and he waves his hand- the new, metal one- in Hajime’s face, clearly teasing. “I know you do.”

“Nagito,” Hajime is laughing as he tries to catch Nagito’s hand, “Nagito, come on.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, but,” Nagito lowers his voice, so Kazuichi has to take a few steps closer to hear him, “subtlety isn’t one of your many talents.”

Hajime opens his mouth, like he’s going to argue, just as Kazuichi steps forward, intentionally scuffing his shoe against a rock- feeling, for the first time, guilty for eavesdropping. At his footsteps, Hajime whips around, something suspiciously like a blush on his face.

Hajime glares at Nagito, who pays him no mind in favor of greeting Kazuichi, cheerfully, with, “What great luck. Hajime was just looking for you.”

The beanie, a few minutes ago, had felt silly while on the beach, under the constant sun. Now, he’s grateful to have something to fidget with. He pulls it lower, as if that’ll hide him.

“You always know where to find me.”

Hajime raises his eyebrows, glancing once at Nagito- who, judging from his shrug, isn’t much help. “I wasn’t sure you wanted visitors.”

“I never mind seeing you.” It’s as if flashing neon signs reading AWKWARD blind him for a moment as he backpedals, “Uh, whenever you want to hang out, man. Never too busy for you.”

“We should,” Hajime interrupts, before Kazuichi can spiral deeper. “Hang out, I mean. Just me and you. If you have time.”

Kazuichi looks over to Nagito- or, the empty spot where Nagito was. There’s a footprint in the sand and, in the distance, he spots the flash of a coat as Nagito trips over rocks on his way to beat a hasty retreat. It’s hard to tell whether Nagito has been taking lessons from Peko, or if Kazuichi’s skills in observation are worse than he thought. He’s not sure whether he wants to thank him or curse him for leaving them- maybe he’ll decide based on how much a disaster this ends up being.

Hajime is watching him expectantly, not as surprised by Nagito’s escape act.

“Not a lot going on right now. Besides, you know, the apocalypse.” It’s hard not to be nervous, even if Kazuichi can’t pinpoint exactly why. He can feel a tangent coming on, forces himself to stop before he says something he’ll regret. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

Hajime shuffles a step closer and looks down, not meeting Kazuichi’s eyes. “I’ve missed you. I know that’s stupid, since we’re both on the same island, but-“

“I know what you mean,” he says, quietly, cutting him a break, “I think.” He hopes he knows what he means- hopes it means what it means to him.

Hajime looks up, mismatched eyes studying him. It’s not as disconcerting as he imagined it might be.

After a moment, Hajime glances away again, breaking eye contact. “Do you want to go now? There’s food in the kitchen. It’s nothing glamorous, but,” he shakes his head, smile a little sheepish, “I guess I’m not very good at this, even now.”

He’s clearly doing something right, but if Kazuichi could figure that out, he would have a lot easier time responding. He’d probably even say something more eloquent than, “Sounds great! Lead the way?”

It doesn’t make a difference. Hajime looks delighted, like Kazuichi had said anything else. It’s a warm feeling, to see Hajime smile even when he’s barely done anything to deserve it.

Hesitating just a step, Hajime turns back to Kazuichi and holds his hand out, offering an unsure smile and no words to the silent gesture. Kazuichi takes it before he can change his mind and lets himself be pulled along, nothing on his mind but this moment, the sun, the waves and Hajime.

They can make something new here- hands and hope and a life no longer broken into half-remembered pieces. It’s a new start, after the world and their lives have been burned away a few times over. A second or third chance. Best to stop counting, at this point.

It’s only fitting that they begin again on a beach. This time, he’ll be aiming a little higher than “soul friends”.

#danganronpa #hajime hinata #kazuichi souda #nagito komaeda #hajime x kazuichi #ehh i dont have enough practice writing these guys #but i think its good enough for now #should be on ao3 shortly

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