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vampiric-daydreams · 4 years

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Unrequited

Jasper x Reader

Summary: You had been happy to quietly like Jasper from a distance. But when he and the Cullens start acting stranger than usual, you begin wondering if there’s more to it.

Word Count: 2,372

Tags: @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @eggmettcullen @scuzmunkie

A/N: Felt cheeky and wrote something after a year and a half of hiatus that nobody asked for. Sorry not sorry. Might do a part 2?

It had crept up on you. It wasn’t something you wanted.

“I’ll go fir-” you started, as your right hand brushed against your English partner’s. The pen between you rolled off the top of the desk as you jolted from his icy touch. Jasper Hale’s cautious eyes met yours. You suddenly grew conscious of every part of your body and how it might appear to him. Your mouth dried up.

From that touch, those feelings manifested in your fingers; a lingering chill that had lasted for hours. From then, your throat tightened whenever you spoke to him. You stuttered between words, and the mere thought of meeting his honeycomb gaze made you feel sick. Reminiscing that first graze of physical contact and back to your first meeting with him, you accepted that those feelings had always lived within you; dormant and waiting. When hadn’t you liked Jasper?

What drew you to him wasn’t something you could pinpoint, at least nothing that wasn’t shallow. You hardly knew him and you only spoke to each other in English class when you had to. Even then, it was a routine ‘hey, how are you today’ and little more unless you were paired together for a learning task.

“… the dance.” That was all your friends had been talking about and it was still months away.

“I’m asking him to the dance,” Jason was hyping himself up, “I’m just going to do it.”

You had every intention of giving him a slap on the back before he went to lay his heart on the line. But all it took was the sight of Jasper crossing the asphalt with some papers in his hand to make you cease and admire him instead. Sometimes you just wanted to march over to him and confess your feelings.

“Oh shit, that’s not good.”

You snapped out of your lover’s trance and looked at Eric’s face flushed with uncertainty as Jason dropped his head. Rejection. He was biting his lip on his way back to your group. Every time you thought you could be gather courage and tell Jasper how you felt, you saw somebody else receive decline from their own attempt. The world around you gave constant reminders to stay in line. This is what will happen to you if you try to break them up.

“He wants to go with Angela.”

Jason’s obstacle was a cute girl with glasses, and yours was Alice Cullen. Dressed immaculately in designer clothing, Jasper’s girlfriend was not somebody you wanted to rival for his affection. Everything about her was perfect and polished and a clear winner against the likes of anyone who stood beside her. How could he ever look at you, let alone accept you?

However, there didn’t seem to be any sign of Alice today. Or Emmett. Edward and Rosalie were standing by the bottom of the stairs leading up to the school. Jasper descended them, his hands now empty and stuffed in his pockets. As your group comforted Jason, you felt a burning stare on your back; and when you turned around, you met the perturbed frown of Edward Cullen.

Jasper sat beside you. He had joined the class seven minutes late; citing to Mr. Evans that there was a minor family issue. He didn’t greet you as he took his seat; he didn’t pull out any pens or open an exercise book. Something was wrong. An unkind corner of your mind hoped he had broken up with Alice and that was why she wasn’t at school today; or at least that they were having relationship problems. You shook the nasty thought away, not noticing that you had shaken your head until his voice pierced through you. “Are you okay?”

His voice sounded strained, but his expectant gaze pulled at you. Your tongue felt like it had doubled in size. “I… um.”

“Excuse me, is my teaching disrupting your conversation?” Mr. Evans was frowning at you both, and a few classmates snickered.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Evans.” Jasper’s voice was smoother. “I was asking (Y/N) something that I should have saved for later.”

Mr. Evans crossed his arms. “Indeed.”

Both of you were silent. It wasn’t until the bell rang when Jasper started a rare non-essential conversation with you. “What are you doing this weekend?”

Your pulse quickened. Had you somehow intrigued him? You took a shaky breath and focused your energy on not stammering this time. Sound available. “Nothing, why?”

Was he actually going to ask to see you outside of class? You fought to reign in the blush that threatened to give you away. He was smiling. “Oh, the rest of my family are going camping again.”

You hung onto his pause for dear life. It lasted only for a split second, but it was enough time for you to imagine a study date at his place. Sitting side by side, perhaps a little too close, so that your arms would brush. Growing tired of studying and resting your head on his shoulder. Jasper craning his neck lower so his face was close enough to yours that you could feel his breath on your face. A moment of weakness as thoughts of his absent girlfriend slipped away as his lips found yours…

His next sentence cut through you.

“So, Alice and I will have the entire house to ourselves again, which is always a pleasurable time.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. Was he still smiling? Why did he feel the need to add that second part? Was he bragging to you?

“S-sounds fun for you guys…”

“Yeah! Our house is always so packed so it’ll be nice to have some alone time.”

Why was he suddenly alluding to his physical relationship with Alice? Why was he bothering to talk to you at all?

For the following week, Jasper interacted with you more and more. Yet each interaction left you with a hole in your chest. How could something you had wanted for so long turn out to be so awful?

“Our anniversary is coming up so my parents helped me book a romantic weekend away for Alice and I.”

“Even my sister gave Alice a gift for our anniversary. Our family just love us together. They’re always saying how perfect we are for each other and that they couldn’t imagine us with anyone else.”

“Alice and I are skipping school tomorrow for a date.”

Awkward silences turned into deafening info dumps detailing his adoration for his girlfriend; daily reminders that you had no hope of ever being with him and that his family would hate you for hurting Alice if you did. By the time Monday had rolled back around, your light was fading. Jasper had gone from your secret obsession to the last person you needed to see. You dreaded the last class of the day where he’d force you to listen to more of what you least wanted to hear.

Perhaps it was better this way. Each new insight to his relationship made you want to stay further away. Maybe you liked the idea of Jasper more than Jasper himself. Still, if your disillusion stemmed from his relationship, perhaps you’d be reacquainted with your earlier passion for him. A hard bump on your left arm pulled you away from your thoughts.

“Sorry-” you started apologising to Edward Cullen, who you had collided with. You felt hot under his burning gaze. It was a knowing look, one that was brimming with disapproval. Saying nothing, Edward brushed past you in the direction he came from; other students jumping out of his way as he charged through the crowd.

In the cafeteria, the aura surrounding the Cullen’s table was inconsistent. Throughout lunch, you caught each of them watching you one by one. Rosalie’s hostile eyes sent daggers through you, while Emmett seemed apologetic—but not for his girlfriend’s behaviour. An overwhelming sense of dread washed through your body, making you shudder. Edward’s look hadn’t changed since your exchange in the corridor. His gaze was unsettling. It was as though you were under his microscope and he could see everything about you. Had Jasper caught on to you crush on him and told his family? You found your answer when you locked eyes with Alice, whose devastation was clear on her smooth features. He had definitely figured it out, then. Jasper didn’t look at you once. Alice looked at you the most. Up and down. Left to right. She was frowning, but her forehead didn’t wrinkle, and she suddenly seemed miles away.

“I guess they don’t appreciate the threat of an outsider?” Jason glanced at their table and then back at you. “At least I’m not the only one being sidelined.”

“It’s not like I broadcasted it all over school. How did they even find out?” A well of anxiety formed within you. By the second it grew darker and deeper, blacker and blacker, and you were in danger of slipping in and being consumed by it.

“Do you want an answer?”

“No. Not really.”

And just like that, Jasper’s entire demeanour changed for a second time. His incessant mentions of his girlfriend turned into a bitter distance in which he ignored you entirely. Two more days passed. Your self-worth was diminishing. How could your crush on him be such an insult? Were you so dreadful that he was this repulsed by you?

He was about to walk through the classroom door when you stalked over to him and pushed him back out and to the side of the corridor. His voice interrupted you before you could even speak. “I know you have feelings for me, (Y/N). You don’t have to say anything. But I’m in love with Alice. I love Alice. Not you. I will never leave her for you so you need to accept that and stay away from me.”

“I didn’t mean to fall for you like this. I’m trying to let it go, but none of this gives you the right to be so rude all the time!” Hot tears burned your cheeks as they fell. “I know you won’t leave Alice! I never asked you to! But what is so disgusting about me that is making you treat me like this?”

“It’s not like you’re entirely innocent, (Y/N). If it remained the innocent crush it once was, I could accept it. But fantasising about us cheating behind my girlfriend’s back? Wishing every day that she and I would break up for your benefit? That’s selfish.”

Bile rose in your throat. He was right. There was something worth his repulsion. You should have apologised and promised to leave him alone. You wanted to tell Jasper that you never wanted things to get so out of hand. But you said, “What, so you read minds now?”

His hesitation was brief, but you noticed it. The subtle way his citrine eyes widened as those words left your mouth made you wonder if you had an edge you didn’t recognise. As awful as your thoughts about him and Alice were, how had he known about them? “You still haven’t denied it, (Y/N). Isn’t that what most people who love someone unattainable think?”

“You don’t know a thing about what I think.”

“I know a lot more than you’d expect me to and-” Before you had time to blink, Edward’s hand clapped on Jasper’s shoulder.

“What he means to say is that he—we—don’t appreciate your meddling in his relationship,” said Edward.

You gritted your teeth. “I haven’t meddled! I haven’t said a word! Who do you think you are, with your whole family death-staring me? With all these assumptions about my thoughts and intentions?” Your volume grew louder. People were staring and whispering to each other.

“Regardless of the decisions that have and haven’t been made, I think it would be best for everybody if you and Jasper stayed away from each other from now.” A strange, soothing sensation surrounded you. Your broken, shaky breaths grew steady. You unclenched your jaw and your fists, and you realised that Edward’s suggestion was best for everyone.

“But we sit together in English. Mr. Evans is very fond of his seating chart.” The sharpness had left your voice.

“I’ll change my classes.” Jasper still sounded uncomfortable; he still didn’t look at you.

“Fine.” His dismissal of you caused the embers of your anger to spark and reignite, but it felt like somebody was throwing water on them. You cooled back down.

The first week with an empty space beside you hurt the most. Knowing it wasn’t because of a camping trip, or even a date with his girlfriend; but that he no longer wanted anything to do with you made you feel faint. You would never brush his hand with yours again or feel the lingering touch of his alabaster skin. He would never smile at you, or greet you, or ask about your day—even if it was only to be polite.

But something niggled in the back of your mind, and over time it bothered you more than losing Jasper’s acquaintanceship. How were they so right about my imagination? How did they figure things out so quickly? You had told no one about how you wished Jasper would abandon Alice and leap into your arms instead. It was a huge assumption on which to base that level of animosity and disdain.

Something was definitely off about all this; and if you had to sacrifice even your feelings for Jasper, you at least wanted to figure out how the Cullens were so on the mark. A stupid idea popped into your brain, one that was ridiculous—but you were so worn down that you allowed this concept to spread. What if, somehow, your thoughts weren’t safe?

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Written In The Stars XCI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I'd missed this silly goose! tho the actors in hp for some reason look way older so he looks like a baby but pls imagine Erick like this older-looking student bc he should look that way jdhfd -Danny

Words: 2,195

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Six: Talk it out.

"Hagrid!" Hermione shouted. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being —" The door opened. "About t — !" Hermione froze when she found Dumbledore there instead of their friend.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"We — er — we wanted to see Hagrid."

"Yes, I surmised as much," He said in amusement. "Why don't you come in?"

"Oh... um... okay."

Hagrid was sitting at the table, there were two mugs of tea. For the looks of it, he'd been crying.

"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry.

" 'Lo," he said lowly.

"More tea, I think," said Dumbledore, and with the flick of his wand, a tea tray appeared. "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid? Hermione, Mel, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door."

"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry said. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow — sorry, Professor..."

"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up to the ceiling with interest.

"Er — right... I just meant — Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that — woman — wrote about you?" Hagrid cried silently, two huge tears falling down his beard.

"Oh, Hagrid, don't cry!" Mel's hand went to rest above his, looking almost comically small.

"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it —"

"Not all of 'em," said Hagrid. "Not all of 'em wan' me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time. Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?"

"Yeh — yeh're not half-giant!"

"Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives!" Harry said in disbelief. "Look at the Dursleys!"

"An excellent point," said Dumbledore. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practising inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery..."

Mel looked at her uncle knowing that there was certainly more he could say about their family, but she remained quiet.

"Come back and teach, Hagrid," said Hermione, "please come back, we really miss you."

"I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," said Dumbledore, standing up to leave. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all."

When the Headmaster left the cabin, Hagrid sobbed for real, hiding his face behind both hands.

"Great man, Dumbledore... great man..."

"Yeah, he is," said Ron. "Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?"

"Help yerself," said Hagrid. "Ar, he's righ', o' course — yeh're all righ'... I bin stupid... my ol' dad woulda bin ashamed o' the way I've bin behavin'... Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here..."

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth — he looked hardly older than eleven.

"Tha' was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed... thought I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum... well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really... but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year...

"Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job... trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances... tha's what sets him apar' from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'... well... all tha' respectable. But some don' understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh... there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an' say — I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones... I'll give her big bones."

The kids shared nervous glances, but Hagrid kept talking without waiting for a reply.

"Yeh know wha', Harry? When I firs' met you, you reminded me o' me a bit. Mum an' Dad gone, an' you was feelin' like yeh wouldn' fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it... an' now look at yeh, Harry! School champion! Yeh know what I'd love, Harry? I'd love yeh ter win, I really would. It'd show 'em all... yeh don' have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don' have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show 'em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin' anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin' with that egg, Harry?"

"Great," said Harry shakily. "Really great."

"Tha's my boy... you show 'em, Harry, you show 'em. Beat'em all..."

"But if it doesn't turn out as expected," Mel was quick to add. "Know that we are all proud of you as well, Hagrid. We love you very much."

"I'll follow Cedric's advice," Harry told her quietly before going to bed that night.

"Blimey, all it took was a crying Hagrid..." Mel raised her eyebrows. "Want help?"

"No," He replied. "Dunno... I'll let you know."

"All right," She sighed. "Good luck."

She had an important matter to attend that day in private and it could only be between her and Erick. She used the pocket watch he'd given her and informed him that she wanted to talk. On Monday, both students met at the far end of the library, Mel had no idea where to start.

"I won't apologize for what I said the other day, I know you hate it when I do that," She began, "but you're hiding something and I would like to know what it is, maybe I can help you?"

She was expecting many reactions, all except the one she got. Erick let out a long sigh and picked out of his bag one of the books she'd lent him.

"Persuasion?" Mel raised a brow.

"I take that you've read it?" He asked.

"I love it," She smiled at it. "The main character's name is Anne, right?"

"Yes," Erick shook his head. "The story... It made me think– What if I'm making a mistake?"

"What d'you mean?"

"What if I don't like Anne the way I think I do?" He elaborated. "I wrote and she wrote back every week, we never ran out of things to say, but the last week before going to my grandad's house she said something that... What if I just like her because she's the complete opposite of what my parents want?"

"I feel like those are unrelated, I'm not sure I follow," Mel frowned. "Since when you've been having doubts?"

"Since Anne and I started to talk more this summer. It's not exactly that I have doubts, I mean, I know I feel something, I just don't know what."

"I don't think there's a reasoning behind the people we like," She retorted. "...Right?"

"If there's no reasoning, then I guess it's all right, but if I'm supposed to have one... I don't have it. I can't tell why I like her."

"Well, you think she's pretty?"

"Yeah," Erick moved on his place awkwardly. "Although I think other girls are pretty too, and I could even get along with them as I do with Anne. If you were to ask me why I'm interested in her, I wouldn't know."

"But that's normal," Mel tried to calm him. "Love has no logic, that doesn't mean is bad?"

"Listen," He put a finger on the book and pointed harshly. "If I just like her because she's pretty and fun then it wouldn't be bad... Yet I think I'm around her because I know it'd make my parents mad, when I'm here, at school, I don't worry about her... I do wonder, but is not constant."

"So? I don't think about Harry all day."

"Aren't I supposed to be dying of solitude when I'm away from her? Maybe this is just a lie I tell myself so I feel like a normal guy, maybe I'm incapable of falling in love and Anne is just my excuse to be a bad son..."

There was a piece of paper coming out of the book, she took it without thinking. Erick kept rambling without looking at what she was doing and her eyes skimmed through the letter. The seams were so worn out that she could tell the boy had read it several times.

"Anne likes someone else..." She said quietly.

Erick's eyes landed on the piece of paper his face turned pale. "Give me that."

"His name's Stuart and he's nice...'" Mel read out loud. "Her boyfriend?"

"No," He said, seizing the letter. "He could be... but she's waiting."

"Waiting?"

"For me."

"And you don't want to say anything," Mel said slowly, "because you're not sure?"

"I can't be with her," Erick said with difficulty. "Not yet... I have two more years of school, even then I don't know when I'll be able to leave my parents' house..."

"But you like her."

"My parents won't approve."

"You don't have to tell them."

"I can't do that!" He said. "Imagine that Harry's parents were alive and they hated everything about you. That every time they see you they'd throw nasty remarks your way, and then Harry'd be out in the street with no money and without being able to give you a good life, imagine you're from two different worlds and nothing you have to offer can get him out trouble..."

"I think... I think we'd both be in pain all the time," Mel said quietly, "...Is that how you feel?"

"That's what will happen if I do the wrong thing," Erick ran a hand through his hair, ruining his neat curls. "I'd love to send a letter telling her everything... but we're young, I wasn't expecting things to move as fast as they did... she's great, she really is, but she doesn't even know I'm a wizard. There are too many secrets and I just think Anne deserves better. Maybe Stuart can do better."

"I think that in a way, you're right," Mel pushed the book towards him. "But I've seen you read and learn, get rid of so many prejudices just to meet her, not even knowing if she'd like you back... that has to mean something."

Erick supported his head in one hand, rubbing his forehead. "All I know is that if I pull her away from this boy without telling her everything... I'll end up ruining one of the best things that have ever happened to me."

"Then?" She frowned. "You're going to... you're just going to leave her?"

Erick swallowed the lump in his throat. "I want her to choose him... I'm not around anyway, I could even mention the ball and Daphne just to... to make her think..."

"You're gonna hurt her," She told him, not in a reproachful tone, but one that had to be said. "I guess this is the gentlest way you can do it... and it's not forever, right? I mean, if everything goes as planned, eventually you'll be able to try. It's meant to be."

"Meant to be?" He chuckled bitterly. "You sound too sure."

"I am," She responded sincerely. "You and Anne will end up together... just like Harry and me, if I'm lucky enough."

Erick gave her a look, a tiny smile on his lips. "Warming up to the idea then?"

"I've been too hard on myself and Harry," She shrugged. "I think life can be a fairytale if we do what we're meant to do."

"How are we supposed to know what that is?"

"Fate will find a way," Mel got up and patted his shoulder. "Just don't lose hope..."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

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EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT BUSINESS

This rule is left over from a time when algorithm meant something like the current Google? Why do patents play so small a role in software? Any hacker who looked at some complex device and realized that with a tiny tweak he could make it run more efficiently. In something that's out there, problems are alarming. It has for me. It may also help them to grasp what's special about your technology. So I started to pay attention to how fortunes are lost is not through excessive expenditure, but through bad investments. Fear the Right Things. Microsoft Word. But there are limits to how well they'll be able to hire better programmers, because they'll attract only those who cared enough to learn it.

4 million a month to the rapacious founder after two years? They just don't want to seem like they had to make concessions. Perhaps a better solution is to assume that anything you've made is far short of what it might have been. If no one else will defend you, you have to publish it, and that's just as bad as the mid seventies. Perhaps a better solution is to look at the problem from the other end. When a company starts fighting over IP, it's a sign they've lost the real battle, for users. Startups usually win by making something so great that people recommend it to their friends.1 You generally apply for a broader patent than you think you'll be granted, and the startups are mostly schleps. True, but I don't think publishers can learn much from software. So while they're often nice guys, they just can't help it.

And not just from the technical community in general; a lot of users. So if you're the least bit inclined to find an excuse to quit, there's always some disaster happening.2 This essay is derived from a talk at the 2006 Startup School. Patent trolls are hard to fight precisely because they create nothing. Economically, the print media and the music labels simply overlooking this opportunity? There's nothing special about physical embodiments of control systems that should make them patentable, and the examiners reply by throwing out some of your claims and granting others. You can't even drive the thing yet, but 83,000 people came to sit in the driver's seat and hold the steering wheel. Technology trains leave the station at regular intervals. Startup acquisitions are usually a lot of mistakes.3 Cross out that final S and you're describing their business model.

Nothing is more likely to buy you than sue you. Experts can implement, but they can't design. Before central governments were powerful enough to enforce order, rich people had private armies. But different things matter to different people, and it's unclear whether anyone could be. If nuclear winter really is here, it may be safer to be a contrarian to be correct, and by that point the innovation that generated it has already happened. The startups we've funded so far are pretty quick, but they don't understand software yet. Most successful startups make that tradeoff unconsciously.4 And for programmers the paradox is even more pronounced: the language to learn, if you love life, don't waste time, because time is what life is made of. We tell the startups we fund not to worry about it, because a toll has to be more than new. If you grow to the point where anyone considers you worth attacking, you're doing well. Viaweb.5 In middle school and high school, what the other kids think of you seems the most important quality is in a startup.

If you had a handful of 8 peanuts, or a shelf of 8 books to choose from, the quantity would definitely seem limited, no matter how obscure you are now. I don't really blame Amazon for applying for the patent, but that has historically been a distinct business from publishing. You can lose quite a lot in the brains department and it won't kill you unless you let them. So I advise fatalism. Both make sense here.6 Every couple days I slip and call it Viaweb.7 Actually, it's more often don't worry about this; worry about that instead. I don't think they hamper innovation much. This is a little depressing.8 VCs should be trying to fund more of. When attacked, you were supposed to fight back, and there is something grand about that. Patent trolls are companies consisting mainly of lawyers whose whole business is to accumulate patents and threaten to sue companies who actually make things.

A mere 15 weeks. The truth is more boring: the state of the economy doesn't matter much either way. Perhaps we can split the difference and say that mobility gives hackers the luxury of being principled. Viaweb, and became Yahoo's when they bought us. I now had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about before: how not to lose it. The optimal ways to make money by creating wealth, not by suing people. I was leaving I offered it to him, as I've done countless times before in the same situation. To make money the way software companies do, publishers would have to become software companies, and being publishers gives them no particular head start in that domain. If companies stuck to their initial plans, Microsoft would be selling printed circuit boards. It's more like saying I'm not going to apply for patents just because everyone else does. We tend to say yes to the second, but no smarter than you; they're not as motivated, because Google is not going to go out of business if this one product fails; and even at Google they have a lot of bureaucracy to slow them down.

There are several reasons it pays to get version 1 done fast. 9% of the people who thought during the Bubble all I have to keep repeating.9 It's easy to let the days rush by. So why do so many people complain about software patents stifling innovation, but when one looks closely at the software business I know from experience whether patents encourage or discourage innovation, and the content was what they were selling, and the startups are mostly schleps. But the breakage seems to affect software less than most other fields. You can lose quite a lot in the brains department and it won't kill you. It's ok to be optimistic about what you can see people doing. And one of the earliest sites with enough clout to force customers to log in before they could buy something.10 It seems to me the only limit would be the number of startups is not the criteria they use but that they always tend to focus on the goal of getting lots of users. This principle is very powerful.11 The American way is to make money from it indirectly, or find ways to embody it in things people will pay for information otherwise?

So it is with hacking: the more rewarding some kind of job. Well, founders aren't much better. A copy of Time costs $5 for 58 pages, or 8. Even now I think if you asked hackers to free-associate about Amazon, the one to choose is your growth rate to compensate. Some examples will make this clear. You don't need to be constantly reminding yourself why you shouldn't wait. But while I'd spent a lot of regulations.

Notes

To get all that matters, just as well as problems that have been the plague of 1347; the point of a company. I'm writing about one specific, rather than admitting he preferred to call all our lies lies. College English Departments Come From? Startups are businesses; the point of a place to exchange views.

And the reason this works is that the most abstract ideas, because they were already lots of type II startup, but you get paid much. Back when students focused mainly on getting a job after college, they compete on tailfins. Google will pay the most important section.

If the company.

VCs seem to have balked at this, on the firm's site, they're nice to you; you're too early really means is you're getting the stats for occurrences of foo in the same town, unless the person who would make good angel investors. The best thing for founders; if their kids to them about. In theory you could probably be to write an essay about why something isn't the last place in the case, is deliberately intended to be significantly pickier.

Particularly since many causes of the 800 highest paid executives at large companies. Surely it's better and it will become less common for the average NBA player's salary during the war, tax rates were highest: 14. For example, would increase the size of the latter case, not because it's a proxy for revenue growth.

If near you doesn't mean easy, of course it was wiser for them by the Clayton Antitrust Act in 1914. This explains why such paintings are slightly more interesting than random marks would be more linear if all you have to admit there's no center to walk in with a degree that alarmed his family, that must mean you should prevent your investors from helping you to raise money succeeded, and how good they are to be about 50%. So far the only reason I say in principle is that it's no longer working to help a society generally is to how Henry Ford got started as a single VC investment that began with an online service.

I couldn't believe it, by doing another round that values the company, but half comes from. I say the rate of change in response to what you really need that recipe site or local event aggregator as much income.

The US News list tells us is what the rule of thumb, the reaction might be able to redistribute wealth successfully, because investors don't yet get what they're really saying is they want both. It was revoltingly familiar to slip back into it.

In a typical fund, half the companies that seem promising can usually get enough money from mediocre investors. So by agreeing to uncapped notes. Since most VCs aren't tech guys, the last thing you changed.

There is usually slow growth or excessive spending rather than trying to sell services than a nerdy founder trying to describe what's happening as merely not-too-demanding environment, but they hate hypertension.

The First Industrial Revolution, England was already the richest and most sophisticated city in the few cases where a great founder is being able to redistribute wealth successfully, because spam and legitimate mail volume both have distinct daily patterns.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Anton van Straaten, Robert Morris, Geoff Ralston, and Jessica Livingston for their feedback on these thoughts.

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varian-varient · 4 years

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“I-I-I... to s-say... to tel-l you... I-I mean...”

Gift for @kingtamakimurder!! <3 HAPPY VALENTINES DAY. I LOVE YOU.

1- I know cherry blossoms do not bloom in February, it just fits my vision. 2- Yes, it’s 110% Valentines in the ficlette, I started this a while ago and thought I would finish this sooner than Christmas. 3- Please teach me how to format on mobile. 4- lmao y’all, good luck reading the confession, you have to fill in the stutter and pauses better than I could write.

Word Count: 2,400-ish.

KISSES!!! (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

It tumbled out of your locker when you were talking to Nejire. You didn’t notice it at first, but the gasp she made was enough to make you worry. She held your arm and jumped, repeating “oh my god!” in your ear in various pitches and volumes.

“Meet me under the old Cherry Blossom tree by Ground Xi during lunch?”

You think she squealed louder than you did. The little note was perfect- the script was neat and well practiced, something you don’t think you could recognize and the missing signature didn’t help. The little drawing of the bunny at the bottom was adorable, and oddly familiar. You held it too your face and smiled- it smelled like vanilla. You hoped it was from him...

Valentine’s Day was the only day where people could fawn over all the crushes they had without being ridiculed. However, you still couldn’t tell yours. He was... a work in progress, some times. But he was worth the work and time. His smile, his laughter, everything was worth every second it took to make him smile. Tamaki was your everything- even if you weren’t his.

You started to like him after your first year Sports Festival. After walking to the stage to fight you, he got nervous after some of the other students cheered both of you on and he accidentally activated his quirk- chicken wings to hide himself, but he was an angel. For the rest of the battle you couldn’t stop thinking about how... angelic, perfect, absolutely beautiful he looked. He eventually just knocked you out of the ring, muttering a thousand apologies. It was when he got to the final battle with Mirio did he actually fight.... kidding- those idiots played three rounds of “Rock, Paper, Scissors” and decide the winner off of that. Tamaki won.

But that was 2 years ago! You couldn’t harbor feelings like this for going on 3 years! ......... It was a lie and you knew it; Mirio and Nejire knew it; the class knew it; the teachers knew it; the only one who didn’t know it was Tamaki himself. You would laugh at his jokes, smile at him, wave to him, made sure his comments were taken care of in group activities if Mirio wasn’t around, ask him questions about his day or weekend, have him know that someone was watching out for him.

Few times did you talked to him alone- you felt your face flush thinking about him- he would turn away and nod to questions or comments. Hardly would he actually respond back to you. Sometimes, on days he’s was flushed and sick, he would avoid you all together. It was nice to think he was afraid of getting you sick too.

As you left to leave for class, you ran into Mirio and Tamaki talking in a mostly empty hallway. Mirio was giving Tamaki his daily pep talk, but this one looked more personal. A loud “YOU GAVE IT TO HER?” echoed, pride and terror both laced Mirio’s tone. As they locked eyes with you, Tamaki shied away against a window. You waved, but only one waved back- almost robotic and forced for the situation. Passing by them, you smiled to Tamaki. He only gave a half smile back- and with the small glimpse of his face you saw, he was as red as you could remember him to be. What a horrible day to get sick on...

You walked the rest of the way to class, mostly lost in thought, even with Nejire beating on your arm. Crossing paths with your homeroom teacher, Present Mic, you silently greeted him with a lovesick smile on your face. Nejire walked in behind you, talking her head off about anything and everything. You over heard a quick “Did he...? Oh my god! He did?!” and “Yes! He did!” from Nejire and Mic. Those two could gossip together more than any other student.

As you sat and got your desk ready for class, you spaced out thinking about the note, and Tamaki, and who ever else you could think of who could have writen it. There was the electric blond from 1-A; the shadow girl from 2-C; the one student from 2-B you sometimes tutored; but everything lead to Tama-

“So? You gonna go?” Nejire whispered loudly, catching you out of thought. She pulled a chair up to your desk and sprawled a crossed your table. You looked up and away from her- accidently catching Mic-Sensei; his grin was enough to make you give up. You titled your head a little, looking away from Mic, and signed. “I’ll go, but it would feel like cheating on my feelings...if I said yes.” you whispered back. Nejire sat up straight, determination on her face. She gave you a small frown and opened her mouth to make another comment.

“What about cheating?” A voice boomed out before she could though, it was Mirio with Tamaki behind him. You gave both boys a better greeting from the first as Nejire beamed at them, waving her arms and talked louder than she needed to. “Our little one here got a confession note!” Nejire gushed about. “It fell out her locker in front of her face and she didn’t even see it. And it’s got the cutest little bunny on it, and she keeps smelling it!” Most of the class comments died down, and looked at the four of you waiting on the rest of the commotion.

“S-smelling it?” Tamaki murmured, his cheeks were a slightly less shade of pink as you locked eyes. He turned on his heels and walked to his seat, not letting anyone talk to him. He knocked his head to the top of his desk, and wrapped his arms around himself. His ears peaked from behind his hair- red as the octopus he eats. Nauseous...?

Classes were more than uneventful. More homework, no hero training for the day. Something or another about a request from the other girls. Most teacher didn’t do anything and let people talk quietly. Earserhead came by last second before lunch to ask for Tamaki, you didn’t know why but the class held their breath at it. For once was Tamaki confident, walking out with one of the most hard teachers.

They left for the hallway, the class erupted in comments. “Do you think...”, “It has to be, he’s friends with the red kid.”, “Holy shit, she’s not going to believe it.”, “This is gonna be like a fairytale!” Little comments pulled you to and from person to person. What was Tamaki going to do? Did he get in trouble? Who is “she”? What has Kirishima to do with it? Your head was swamped with dread, thinking that he was in trouble.

The lunch bell rang and the class ran out of the room. Giggles and the noise following. Nejire stayed behind with you- watching you scarf down the bento you pack- thanks to your quirk you had been limited on what you can eat. She talked enough the fill the silence as you ate. Mostly about her hair, or her nails, or how Yuyu has been doing, or her training.

“For someone afraid to cheat on your feelings, you’re excited enough to go see the note writer!” was the last comment you heard before you booked it out of the classroom. Waving her a salut, you ran down the empty hallway. “Yeah,” you thought. “I’m waiting for Tamaki.”

Finding the tree was easy- it is the only tree as old as quirks itself. Generations upon generations of flowers blooming from its branches. No one was under it yet, you were alone- happily. You steadied your breath once and you walked back and forth, in front of the tree.

Was it just the wind or did you it feel like the blossoms were falling much quicker around you alone? None of the other flowers from other trees were falling as quickly. Trying to look up, the sunlight glared at you to look back down.

You stood, bouncing and walking back and forth, waiting- for what could have felt like hours. Checking your phone, you see that it’s only been 20 minutes. Just long enough for someone to eat, normally, and make their way over to the tree, when not running. You brushed your hands against your face, reminding yourself to breath. They would come when they were ready.

They would come and it would be fine- the writer of the note would be coming and you’d look cute and if it wasn’t Tamaki, you’d gently let them down, and if it was Tamaki, you wouldn’t cry and let him talk first- but if this was a jok-

“L-Lost in th-though-t a-a-again, Bun-Bunny?” a timid voice got you out of the scatterbrained thoughts. You locked eyes with the same shade indigo you were just thinking of. It didn’t click to you who it even was- blinking away. He laughed silently, watching at the gears turned before the lightbulb clicked on.

“Ta-Ta-Tama!” You took a few steps back, and bumped into the tree. You were so ready for it to be him, but now? Now you lost everything you wanted to say to him. Blank minded, you could stare.

He jumped back at same time you did. The slight of his cool demeanor gone. He grasped his hands and pulled at his fingers, a trick Mirio taught him to calm down. Taking a heavy breath, he stayed staring at the ground and begin his nervous rant.

“I-I wasn’t sure i-if you would ev-en come. Mirio sai-d I shoul-d tell you bef-before the year en-ded, but I... wasn’t sure if you-you wanted to... be w-with... me. Fat Gum tol-told me that I-I would re-regret it if... I didn’t tel-l you s-oon, since I see you ev-ery-day and may not-not get to see you as oft-often af-ter grad-gradu-ation- with us becom-becoming heroes and all.... And Kiri-Kirishi-ma and other fir-first years ke-kept giv-ing me re-really b-bad ideas t-to con-fess to... you. Yaya sai-d thi-is would be be-best.” He took a small break and kept talking. He rocked himself; from one foot to the other, and back and forth from his heels to his toes.

“Bu-t I-I did-n’t wa-nt to... em-barr-ass you a-and m-ma-ke you so un-uncom-forta-ble that-that you woul-d leave... me. You’re jus-t ama-zing, a-and st-rong, a-and you nev-never gi-give up t-to anyth-thing. You al-alway-s put other-other people fir-first.” He was rambling and shying himself away. His stutter was getting worse with every passing word.

“Tama, slow down... I would always be here for you...” you knew what he was getting at, but right now you didn’t want him to put you on this pedestal. You just wanted to help him before he launched himself into a panic. He gave a small huff, he looked down harder, twitteling his hands together then grabbing his pants. You reached forwards to grab him, before he wrinkled his pants or ripped them from his grasp, but he took a step back from you. His head still hung low.

“I-I-I... to s-say... to tel-l you... I-I mean...” His stutter was worse. He wasn’t shaking yet, but he has going to be getting there soon. You took another step forward, but he took another step back- he didn’t want the comfort, he wanted to do this. You raised one of your hands out to him, letting him come to you instead. Giving him the softest smile you could, reminding him you’re still you and still here for him. He let go of his pants and grabbed your outstretched hand and just pressed his lips to your knuckle for a few seconds. Letting go of your hand and taking a deep breath, he looked up and looked you in the eyes.

“I wanted to tell you I like you, Bunny.”

For once he didn’t stutter. You collapsed against him and grabbed the back of his shirt, and began to sniffle to stop yourself from crying. Baring your face into his chest- vanilla eloping your mind. He wrapped his arms around you and nervously called for you. You felt yourself begin to tear up anyways. The note was his- this was his declaration to you.

“B-Bunn-y?” There is was. The pauses and stutter you love. The nervous ticks you love. The person you love. He loved you back.

You pulled away ever so sightly, and looked up to him. Your smile was brighter than the sun itself. He felt the same way. He felt the same way and this wasn’t a dream. Your eyes were glossy. You held onto his cheeks and tilted, catching him onto the most chaste, most innocent first kiss. He tensed up for a second and you began to pull away and apologize.

But- soft and gently- his began to kiss back, gliding onto yours. His hands dropped from your back to rest upon you hips, innocently pulling you close. You hands drifted from his face to his hair, tugging the knotted strands. As you parted for a quick breath, he uttered the words against your lips.

“I love you, Bunny.”

You leaned in for another kiss, feeling the tears begin to finally fall, before you both heard it. Whoops and cheers came from above you; you both pulled away and looked up in shock. Classmates and the students from 1-A sat in the tree- waging and waving the branches to make the cherry blossoms fall faster.

“I KNEW IT!” “Go Tamaki!” “Congrats Senpais!” “I told you this would work, Amajiki!” “He finally got the girl!”

You turned away form the monkeys and looked at Tamaki. The word was breathless on your lips. He smiled and held you, whipping away a few stray tears. Your cheeks began to hurt from how much your were smiling.

“Finally?” Like the last of the the tape had been ripped away from him, Tamaki sternly looked at your nose. Keeping his eyes on your face, yes, but still to nervous to look into your eyes again.

“Bunny, I-I.... I’ve lov.... l-liked you gr-eatly sin-since fir-st year. W-ill you please go-o out with...me?” He gasped out the last of the confession and gave a small pause at ‘me’. Like he was waiting for rejection, he turned his head and held his breath. Still holding onto your waist. You placed your hands back onto his cheeks and guided him face you, kissing him again- telling him he’s been the only one in your heart.

While everyone knew about your crush on Tamaki but him; everyone knew about Tamaki’s crush on you but you.

#mha x reader #Tamaki Amajiki #Tamaki Amajiki x reader #ficlette #gift #giftmas #how tf do i tag this?? lmaooo #btw this was 2.5 weeks of revision revised work that was revised already

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umbrellaacademyfun · 4 years

Text

“The Gift Exchange” - a Fanfic

I decided to participate in a TUA Secret Santa gift exchange. ( @secret-santa-klaus) This is my gift for @siolasart! Title: The Gift Exchange

Summary: When the Hargreeves decide to do a gift exchange, Diego has a difficult time finding a gift for Vanya.

Notes:

- AU where the apocalypse was stopped and they still don’t know Vanya has powers. (Don’t ask; just go with it.)

- I’ve never written for Diego before, so this was a bit challenging. Hopefully it’s still enjoyable!

- This is TV show-based

- Available to read on AO3 Read below:

Diego had done a lot of challenging things in his time. Fighting bad guys with the Umbrella Academy was very difficult, despite having a team. Taking on criminals as a vigilante was often arduous as well. Jail was no picnic either. Yet, despite having done all of these things, somehow the task before him was proving to be the most grueling thing he had ever done: Buying a gift for Vanya Hargreeves.

It was Vanya and Allison’s idea. They were the ones to realize that the family was going to be together for the holidays for the first time since they were teens. Any gift giving had been done on the down-low, holidays being something not outwardly celebrated in the Hargreeves household. (Holidays, Reginald had said, were simply an excuse for less training.) Now that their old man was gone, they had the chance to truly enjoy a Christmas together. The large tree was already sitting in the mansion. Lights and decorations had been sprawled about different areas. Each little section looked different from the next, dependent entirely on who decorated that portion of the house. Though the differences made it a little bit chaotic, there remained a festive feeling to the whole look. The only thing that was missing was gifts.

This is when Allison suggested they purchase each other gifts. Vanya refined the idea. Being of less money than Allison, and recognizing that a few of her brothers may be in the same financial circumstance, Vanya had an alternate plan. They would each pull one name out of a hat, and purchase a gift for that particular person. Everyone had agreed to this new arrangement. The names were pulled, and Diego found himself reading off the name “Vanya Hargreeves.”

Now, Diego was driving around town, looking for any sort of inspiration. Klaus was in the back, making plenty noise, whispering seemingly to himself. The sound was so consistent, that Diego grew capable of drowning it out. Like white noise for someone to sleep, it became the tones which helped carry Diego’s thoughts.

He passed by a flower shop. Did Vanya like flowers? Diego realized he didn’t really know what she liked. There had never been a reason for him to focus too hard on Vanya’s preferences or interests. A lot of times, he actively avoided opportunities to learn about her. Particularly after the book.

The book. Thinking about it now made him angry once more. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Remembering Vanya’s words that she had written for all to see flooded his mind with a number of items to buy her, ranging from thoughtless to mean: A matchbox. Some coal. Her own book. (“Thought you could use the boost in sales,” he would say.) The trio of items together would suggest she should burn her book, a sentiment that curved the corners of his mouth into small smile.

He shook his head. This was against his plan. This holiday, he had decided, would be an opportunity to make amends. An opportunity to, somewhat begrudgingly, put the past behind him. Allison had encouraged this gentler thinking. While he had made no indication that he agreed to it, the thought had been kept at the front of his mind until it grew into a desire of his own. The next shop to catch his eye was a lingerie shop. The “nope” in his mind was so loud, he had to wonder if he had said it out loud.

“Oh, this is perfect.” The voice came from the back seat. Klaus, of course, had hitched a ride. “You can let me out here.”

Diego gladly pulled over, waiting for Klaus to exit. The former looked again out the window.

“You think Luther wants lingerie?” Diego raised an eyebrow.

“No, not here. There,” said Klaus, motioning off towards some other, equally questionable shop.

Diego paused, trying to determine if he should speak up. Remembering the gift was going to Luther, he decided otherwise.

“Okay,” he said. “Have fun.”

Klaus stepped out and wandered off, leaving Diego truly alone with his thoughts. As he continued driving, he felt more resentful. Why did he have to buy a gift? Why did he have to buy a gift for Vanya? There were easier people to get gifts. He knew for certain what Klaus would want (whether he’d buy it or not was a different kind of conflict.) Five would probably be easy. If it was coffee or a nice drink, he’d be set. His gift to Luther would probably be something monkey-themed (and not in the spirit of making amends.) His mind continued to avoid the task at hand, determining what gift he would buy for everyone else in the family. By the next block, he had a full list for everyone except Vanya, including Pogo and Mom.

He almost stopped his car suddenly. He realized something in this moment: No one was getting a gift for Pogo or Mom. This was an egregious oversight – and a convenient excuse for Diego. The whole event must be re-done. Never matter if most of the others had already purchased their gifts; they must re-draw new names with Mom and Pogo included. Diego saw the chance to get a new name, and an easier person for whom to buy a gift.

He pulled over, finding a place to park with a meter. After loading the meter with several minutes worth of change, he set off quickly. He crossed one, street. Then another street. Another turn around a street, and he saw what he was looking for: A pay phone.

The phone on the other end rang twice before someone answered.

“Hello?” Allison. Just the voice Diego wanted to hear.

“We have to cancel the gift exchange,” said Diego.

“Why?” asked Allison. She said the word with an incredulous tone before Diego could even explain himself.

“Mom and Pogo aren’t included. You really think, after all they’ve done, that they shouldn’t be a part of this? And don’t feed me some lines about how Mom isn’t a person.”

“Oh,” said Allison. Her voice was much smaller now. Diego felt himself start smiling; he was winning.

“I thought I told you,” she said. “We thought we should go in together and buy them a gift. They’ve done so much for us. I mean, they took care of us more than Dad ever did. They deserve something nicer. I was hoping you could pick something for Mom? You know her the best.”

Diego felt his heart sinking. A swirl of guilt and gratitude and affection mixed in his core. Allison had considered everything, including how kind their mom had been to them. Diego was touched that she entrusted him with picking something for their mom, a much easier purchase for him. This also meant that Diego was stuck still choosing something for Vanya.

“Diego?” He hadn’t said anything for several minutes, wasting change in the process.

“That’s,” he started before he stumbled over his words. “That’s a good idea.”

“Great!” She said. “Let me know what you have in mind and I’ll buy it if you don’t have time. It’ll be nice to finally do something for her.”

“Yeah,” agreed Diego. Throughout his life, their mom had been there for all of them. No matter when or what was going on, she always knew just what to say or do. Mom knew each of them better than anyone, knowing exactly what they wanted or needed at anytime.

A light bulb switched on in his mind. Where there had been a dark fog, now clarity resided. He had no idea what to get Vanya – but there was someone who would.

“Actually,” he started. “Can you put Mom on the line?”

The day arrived. The children, now adults, were gathered together near their oversized tree. Eight gifts were beneath, humbled by the size of the evergreen fir looming over them. Each one had a tag with their own individual “to” and “from.” Allison ceremoniously handed them out. Vanya helped, giving them to her siblings with less formality.

Each was opened simultaneously, for which Diego was grateful. Despite the help with his gift, he was, for reasons he couldn’t explain, nervous to see her reaction. Now he could ignore what she did when she saw the present exposed for what it was.

He could also ignore the modest piece of jewelry Luther had given Allison, paying no mind to how in awe she looked, despite owning pieces twice as beautiful.

There was no reason to notice the puzzle of the earth from space that Klaus had given Luther, though Diego heard Klaus declare “so you could remember the view from up there!”

He missed Five’s eyes grow wide with interest at his new coffee maker and collection of exquisite roasts – the closest expression he would give to a smile. (Allison still recognized it as gratitude.)

Vanya’s brief, insecure muttering about the skirts she gave Klaus got Diego’s attention. (“This way,” she said, “you don’t have to borrow Allison’s. And they can be more in style?”) His mind suggested her apprehensive muttering had been about his gift. Listening more closely gave him a sense of comfort, before reminding him to stop paying attention for when she actually saw his gift.

Instead, he focused on the gift he held in his own hands. It was a beautiful set of throwing knives gifted by Five. (When asked how they were obtained, Five mumbled something about not asking too many questions.) The blades shined gloriously, the glint from the sun looking crisp and clear and marvelous. Both the handles and blades had an intricate, interwoven design engraved near the edges. These were the type of blades that could become a calling card, a warning to any criminals that saw them that the Kraken was on their trail.

“Diego!” he heard cried out. When he turned his head, he saw Vanya looking into the now-opened box. She looked at him, something like wonder on her face. “This is amazing. How did you know?”

“Don’t get use to it,” he said dryly. He turned his attention back to his new blades. The poker face was strong with this one, refusing to let him show how pleased he was with her reaction. How, almost more than the knives he had received, getting her gift right made this a great Christmas for him.

Yet, when Vanya went in for a hug, Diego didn’t protest.

#tua secret santa #tua secret santa 2019 #tua #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #tua christmas #siolasart

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ashesandhalefire · 5 years

Text

we had it (almost)

michael guerin x alex manes canon compliant pre-1.09

---

As a rule, Michael tries to avoid injecting himself into the business of the town beyond the property limits of Sander’s Auto, the Wild Pony, or Foster Ranch. If he can’t earn himself a paycheck, get a stiff drink, or find somewhere quiet to hide out during the long hours of insufferably lonely nights, he figures he shouldn’t let the problems of Roswell weigh on his shoulders.

That’s been his policy for over a decade, so when he notices a strange light in the window of a closed storefront on his way home, he has every intention of minding his own business. The town’s rising larceny rate is only partially his fault, and he has no responsibility to look after the vagrants he comes across at two in the morning. Leave that to Max and his badge and his hero complex. Michael has a mattress and a pillow and a second bottle of acetone calling his name.

The traffic light turns red at the end of the block, and he drums his fingers as he waits at the empty intersection. Glancing back towards the window is mostly an accident. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise him to find the old members of Wyatt Long’s high school posse breaking and entering. They have enough money to buy their ways out of whatever trouble they land in, and they’ve been fidgety since Long took a bullet to the leg. They rove like hyenas, slobbering and mangey and stupid. Destruction of property would be very on-brand for them. But when he looks, he doesn’t see anyone in the shadows. It’s a cool, clear night, but the only thing illuminated by the large swaths of moonlight is the marque on the building.

Roswell’s UFO Emporium.

Grant Green’s perpetual construction project has sat untouched in the center of town for just under six years. Town supervisors had been livid when construction began just before the height of tourist season, but Grant had assured them everything would be settled in a few months. Bigger and better, he had promised. At the time, Michael had bitterly hoped an electrical mishap might burn the place to the ground, so he’s more than a little confused when he instinctively pulls into a quick U-turn the second the traffic light turns green again. He parks at the curb and takes a deep breath.

The museum was defunct by the time Grant got his hand on it. Even on its best days, it hadn’t turned much of a profit. It was the kind of place people wandered into when they were looking for a way to escape the triple-digit temperatures, but it hardly received glowing reviews. No doubt Grant planned on using it more as a recruitment center for his delusional followers than anything else. Now, it’s only a matter of time before the town claims the property rights from his estate.

In a few months, after fresh paint goes up over a new layer of drywall and somebody replaces the old incandescent lightbulbs, the museum will open, lazily refurbished as a more lucrative tourist trap. Any damage done by a few trespassers will be patched and forgotten.

Still, Michael idles his truck at the curb.

With a scowl, he reminds himself that sentimentality has gotten him nowhere lately. It got him a couple of decent kisses and a few nights of sex that didn’t end with bloodshed or an acetone binge, but the net gain at the end was heartache and disappointment. He should go home.

He looks over at the building, twisting his hands mercilessly around the steering wheel. The stupid sign still hanging in the window of the ticket booth says “I’ve been abducted! Back in 5.” One of the chains that should be holding the front doors closed dangles uselessly from the metal handle.

Michael swears, ripping the keys out of the ignition, and shoves his way out of the car.

The UFO museum never inspired warm and fuzzy feelings. Most of the exhibits were grossly inaccurate, and the display descriptions all took on alarmist tones that made planet-wide invasions sound inevitable. He still gets a particularly troubling feeling in his stomach when he thinks about the room with the interactive dissection display. The dummy was six feet long and bright neon-green with three fingers on each hand and a head shaped like a spade, but the way its foam flesh had been peeled away from its chest cavity still sends shivers down his spine when he thinks about it. Children, two at a time, had been allowed to reach inside and squeeze the fake organs, coating their hands with green blood the consistency of papier-mâché paste. The first time he saw it, on a middle school field trip, he had run to the bathroom to throw up. Isobel told everyone it was because he ate too many chicken fingers at lunch, and one of Kyle Valenti’s friends joked that foster kids always got too excited about free meals.

But there was one day—one hour—when it was his favorite place in the world.

Tucked away in the back room with hands on his face and his shoulders and his back, he had felt potential stretch out infinitely in every direction. There was a whole summer to plan, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine sitting in the alleyway behind the building to share sandwiches on lunch breaks or loitering in the empty exhibits on slow days or riding out into the desert after closing and taking time to pick out fake constellations in the real stars. For the first time, his future wasn’t about escape.

The room is probably an empty shell of damaged drywall and scratched floors now, all the exhibits taken out and moved to Grant’s warehouse, and the energy of that afternoon had burned out and died by nightfall of the same day. Potential scattered in the breeze like ash. Everything changed. Still, the idea of Wyatt Long’s drunken friends littering the place with beer cans and pissing in the corners to cure their boredom makes his jaw twitch. The museum doesn’t belong to them.

When he slips inside, everything is darker and quieter than he expected. There’s no sign of anybody having been in the deconstructed lobby, and an eerie silence seems to inhabit the rest of the building. Drunken vandals wouldn’t be nearly so stealthy, and that should be enough to satisfy him, give him leave to turn around and go home, but the curiosity wins out. Somebody wanted to get inside badly enough to risk standing on the street to pick the chain lock. The only thing Michael thinks might be worth stealing in here is the copper wiring, which would require breaking open the walls, and that wouldn’t be this quiet either.

Listening for any signs of movement, Michael creeps forward, working his way between the forgotten sawhorses, and checks the room on the right that used to be the gift shop. A faint bit of moonlight streams through the front corner of the window where the newspaper has peeled back with age, and he runs a fingertip over the dusty glass countertop. It used to be filled with poorly-designed plush and cheap plastic necklaces with almond-shaped heads on them. Now, it’s just empty glass cabinetry waiting to be demolished.

He should be glad to see the kitsch go, but he isn’t. It leaves him feeling unsettled.

The old manager’s office on the other side of the foyer is undisturbed in its abandonment, and Michael drums his fingers lightly against the wall as he makes his way deeper into the building. The first exhibit room is completely empty, and it’s swallowed in shadows without the light from the front windows. He presses forward, gently nudging obstacles out of the way with a jerk of his chin. The second and third rooms are crammed tight with piles of garbage that was never removed, and he tries to ignore the way that gnaws at him. He works his way past the broken drywall and splintered two-by-fours, careful to avoid the exposed nails and razor-sharp remnants of display cases, and then a soft click echoes from through a doorway on the left. A soft glow from inside guides him the rest of the way across the room.

When he peers around the corner, two thoughts occur simultaneously: it isn’t who he was expecting, and it never would have been anyone else.

“Remind me again which one of us is supposed to be the criminal,” Michael says after a deep breath, and it’s a little satisfying to watch Alex startle. His crutch hits the side of an overturned spackle bucket, sending it skittering loudly across the floor, and he winces at how the sound echoes in the empty room. Alex has his own phone sitting face-down on a crate, and the flashlight splashes a dull circle of light onto the ceiling.

When the stillness settles over them again, Michael cross his arms and leans against the wall. The acetone he slipped into his drinks at the bar has officially worn off, which means the ache in his hand will return soon. It’s a constant, dull pain. With enough acetone in his system, it fades to the background like the hum of the electric wires or Grant Green’s alien podcasts, Roswell’s special brand of white noise. Eyes raking over Alex’s rumpled sweatpants and half-zipped hoodie, he thinks he feels the beginnings of twinges radiating from his wrist down into his pinky.

Finally, Alex licks his lips and asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Really?” Michael raises an eyebrow. “I’m the one who just caught you breaking and entering.”

Lifting his chin defiantly, Alex squares his shoulders. “Well, unless somebody gave you a key, you’re breaking and entering, too.”

“You did all the breaking,” Michael says with a shrug. “I just entered.”

“That’s still trespassing.” Cocking his head, Alex says, “You do know that criminal records aren’t bingo cards, right? There’s no prize for filling in all the rows.”

Alex’s new mean streak is a delicious twist on his high school sarcasm, and Michael leans into it without meaning to. He likes when Alex pulls his hair, too. “Actually,” he says, “I’m in the process of executing a citizen’s arrest, so I think the sheriff’s department will let this one slide.”

“Doubtful.”

Michael clicks his tongue. “I have an in with one of the deputies.”

“I hope you don’t mean Max.”

“God, no,” Michael scoffs. “He’d be first in line with the handcuffs.”

That earns him a small lift at the corner of Alex’s mouth, and some of the stiffness in his spine eases away. Michael feels his own shoulders relax. Every interaction with Alex has been wrought with tension, and he wants desperately for this night to not end in a fight.

“Aren’t you staying out of town these days?”

Shuffling around an overfilled trash can, Alex works his way forward.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits with a shrug. He flexes his grip around the handle on his crutch and averts his eyes. The shadows on his face sit heavily beneath his eyes, and Michael frowns.

“Most people would try warm milk first,” he says. “Or Ambien. Trespassing doesn’t usually make the list of top five insomnia remedies.”

“Then consider it my last resort.”

With an indelicate hop, Alex hefts himself up onto the crate in the middle of the room and settles his crutch between his knees. His cell phone sits behind him, plunging him into pure silhouette, and Michael steps farther into the room. Purple Heart Airman Alex Manes is not the kind of man to drive across town in the middle of the night in order to break into a construction site. But this isn’t just any construction site.

“Why would you want to come here?” Michael asks. Alex stares silently at his hands, and Michael taps the toe of his boot against a stack of two-by-fours. “It’s not exactly—”

“Don’t play dumb,” Alex interrupts, looking up sharply. “I’m not in the mood. You know why I would come here.”

It hangs heavily between them.

Alex had been swift and decisive when he ended things at the drive-in, leaving no room for interpretation. But it also hadn’t been the first time he walked away, so Michael can’t be entirely surprised to be stumbling into the middle of his late-night backslide. The pattern repeats again, a twisted version of an unhappy ending that hurts more than never having him in the first place.

With a huff, he hops up onto the crate beside Alex. It groans beneath their combined weights but holds firm, and he claps his hands down on his knees.

“Look around, Alex. Everything that made this place what it was? It’s long gone,” Michael says. The wall to the left is where the model UFO hung, backlit by a wall of twinkling little lights. It’s half-torn out sheetrock now. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’s not here. Not anymore.”

Alex shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. This place doesn’t just stop being important—” He breaks off, tapping his crutch against the ground. Michael watches him swallow. “Never mind. You obviously don’t— forget it.”

Scoffing, Michael leans back and looks at the ceiling. The only reason he even walked through the front door was because of some desperate need to protect the memories living in the walls. But he never loved the cheesy UFO museum. In the years since Alex left town, he never felt himself drawn back to the building itself. Even before Grant took the exhibits out, Michael never felt there was anything inside for him. It’s strange that now, when Alex is finally on the same continent—in the same town, in the same room—he felt drawn to it. Or maybe it isn’t strange at all.

“I try not to think about that day,” Michael says. It’s a truth and a lie at the same time, and it’s much bigger than a secret kiss or a shattered hand. At first, everything had bled together for him. He couldn’t think about the cave without thinking about the toolshed without thinking about the museum. When he closed his eyes, he saw burning cars and the curve of Alex’s naked hip and his own blood all at the same time. But his mind has worked miracles compartmentalizing that day. Certain parts have never left him. Others are best forgotten.

Alex spins his crutch in his hands and says, “I think about that day all the time.”

“I’ll bet. I hear PTSD is a bitch.”

“Actually, it was one of the best days of my life.”

Michael scoffs. “Shit, Alex. That’s not saying much for your life.”

“Don’t do that.” Alex frowns.

“Do what?”

“Don’t minimize it.” Wringing his hands, Alex keeps his eyes fixed on his lap. “I’m not stupid, alright? We only had a few hours, and I’m not delusional enough to think— I know what it was. But you have no idea what it meant to me.” His voice wavers, and Michael feels frozen on the spot. The ten lost years have reduced them to unfamiliar strangers, and sometimes it feels like they don’t even speak the same language anymore. They hadn’t needed to say much to each other for things to things to fall into place the first time. It hasn’t been nearly as easy on their second—third, fourth, fifth, he loses count—try.

Alex takes a deep breath and turns away, offering the rest of his confession to the empty room.

“You were mine when I didn’t have anything else. And I know— I know how it ended. I know what it cost you. But you’ll never understand what it meant to me to have you for as long as I did.”

Heart in his throat, Michael stares at the darkened silhouette of Alex’s profile.

A few weeks ago, he stood in front of Alex and laid himself bare entirely by accident. I never look away. Not really. Alex had seemed surprised and then pleasantly flustered, but Michael had assumed it was because of how much time had passed. Ten years is a long time for a heart to stay alone someplace, just waiting to carry on, but Alex had admitted to it first. Alex had reopened the door.

But he doesn’t sound like a man who understands how pathetically Michael has wanted him.

With Max’s voice still whispering in his ear, Michael bites back, You still have me.

It isn’t the sort of promise that can be a comfort to Alex now. Michael isn’t really what he wants anymore, isn’t what he remembers having. He isn’t that boy from the back of the truck that just wanted a safe place to sleep. Or maybe, somewhere deep down, he still has it in him to be that soft, but he’s built up a layer of callous and scar tissue on the outside that makes him unrecognizable.

I can’t be with a criminal, Alex had said, and he hadn’t even known the half of it.

Max was right when he said that they couldn’t be with the people they love. And still, he’s angry at Alex for the way he’s been hurt, and it makes him feel like an idiot. He hates that the two contradictory truths can live inside him so easily. Like a trap getting angry at a bear for being wary, he resents Alex for running away while hating himself for being undeserving of keeping him.

It says a lot about Michael that his greatest regret is not letting Alex kiss him the first time he tried.

Alex takes a shuddering breath suddenly, head ducked low, and rubs a hand against the back of his neck. He seems embarrassed, curling in on himself like it can erase his admission. Leaning closer, Michael bumps their shoulders together to stop his retreat.

“You know,” he says, “you and me getting together was kind of, like, the most romantic thing that’s ever happened in this town.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious,” Michael insists when he catches the bitterness in Alex’s tone. He isn’t trying to tease him, and he doesn’t want Alex to think he doesn’t appreciate the weight of what happened between them. “It was like a movie.”

“Are you incapable of sincerity, or do you just enjoy being an asshole?”

“I don’t know. Do you enjoy expecting the worst of me?”

Alex kicks his heels against the side of the crate. “We made out under the UFOs for ten minutes, and then you went to wait at The Crashdown until my shift ended. If that’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened in this town, the population should be dwindling. People should be fleeing.”

“I wanted to wait with you,” Michael reminds him. “You wouldn’t let me into the booth.”

“I was trying to be subtle.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “There was nothing subtle about that eyeliner. Or the nose ring.”

“You didn’t mind.”

“No,” Michael says. “I didn’t.”

Alex turns towards him, still mostly a silhouette, and licks his lips.

“No,” he breathes. “You didn’t.”

A beat passes between them, and Michael’s breath catches in his chest as the realization settles over his shoulders like a heavy blanket. Alex loves him. He’s suddenly surer of it than anything else in his life, and heat rushes to his cheeks. It should be a pleased flush from his racing heart, but his stomach twists with misery as he stares at Alex’s shadowed face. Alex loves him. Alex has always loved him, maybe, for reasons neither of them can fully explain. They could have been happy. If things had just been a little different, they could have been happy.

The light disappears suddenly as Alex’s phone dies.

Michael stares out into the dark to where he knows Alex is, and then he lets his eyes drift shut just long enough to steel himself.

“I guess that’s our cue,” Alex sighs.

“Yeah, I think I’m parked next to a hydrant,” Michael says, clearing his throat as he slips off the crate. He rolls his shoulders, trying to settle the rippling tension radiating down his back, and then holds out a hand to help Alex back to his feet. “Can’t afford another ticket.”

“I thought you had an in with the deputies.” Alex dusts off the back of his jeans and then returns his hand to the crook of Michael’s arm as he adjusts his crutch. Michael figures it’s the steadiest influence he’s has ever had on Alex.

“We both know that was bullshit. Come on. Let’s try to get out of here without killing ourselves.”

Alex fists a hand into the back of Michael’s shirt as they pick their way through the dark, and Michael adjusts himself to the task of subtly moving obstacles out of their way without being able to see what he’s moving. They make it to the first exhibit room, less than a hundred feet from freedom, and then Alex loops his fingers loosely around Michael’s wrist.

“Guerin.”

The word is a whisper against the back of his neck, and the hand slips off his wrist and finds his hip instead. Alex curls his arm around Michael’s waist, and he presses himself forward until the lines of their bodies curve together seamlessly.

This part always comes so easily to them. It’s the rest that gets messy.

Alex nudges his nose against the knob at the base of Michael’s neck, and he splays his hand wide across the middle of Michael’s chest. Body flushing, Michael lets his eyes drift shut as he relaxes against Alex’s warmth. Alex inspires stillness in him that he imagines total peace is meant to feel like, but he knows it’s only the eye of a hurricane. The rest of the storm still rages around them.

“We can’t,” Michael exhales.

Pressing his mouth to the curve of Michael’s shoulder, Alex hums. “Why not?”

There are so many answers, all of them true.

He can imagine the seductive tilt of Alex’s head as he leans forward, and he can imagine the anxious hunch of his shoulders in the morning light as he slinks out of the Airstream before anyone notices where he spent the night. If Michael closes his eyes, he sees sweaty strands of Alex’s hair sticking to his forehead and spread out on a pillowcase as easily as he sees the angry sneer of disgust that will follow Michael laying his secrets bare.

The truth is that Michael is a coward. He won’t survive having and losing Alex again.

“Because I love you.”

Without the light from Alex’s phone, all they are to each other is shapes in the dark.

It’s fitting, considering how lost Michael feels navigating the foreign terrain of an emotion this elusive. Anger is easy. He’s seen enough anger manifested in front of him to know exactly what it is. It’s curled fists and free-flying hands and bared teeth and acidic vitriol that seeks out a person’s soft spots and eats away at the tender flesh until he’s crippled by it. It’s ugly and familiar. But Michael has never been loved. He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to look like. All he knows is that being with Alex makes him feel still. It changes the energy in the air, slows the vibrating chaos inside him, and splits him at his loosely-patched seams when it’s over.

He’s never said those words before.

“I love you,” Michael repeats into the dark, and he reaches down to cover Alex’s hand with his own. His scarred fingers ache as they twine. The bones don’t bend like they should, and most of the strength is gone, but this feels like the last chance he’ll get to hold Alex’s hand. Distantly, it occurs to him that this is also the first time he’s ever held Alex’s hand. “And it’s too easy to think it can still be like it was.”

Alex shuffles forward. “Guerin—”

When Alex finds out, he’ll hate Michael like he deserves.

Michael has never given a damn about the people of Roswell because they never gave a damn about him. A decade in foster care taught him that humans can’t be depended on for anything more than consistent disappointment. He survived just long enough to get himself out, and he did it without help from anybody. Then things went sideways, and then then things turned upside down, and then everything got blown to hell.

He spent the summer after senior year telling himself new truths. He repeated them like a mantra until they were fully incorporated into him. Katie Long was an asshole, just like her brother, and so was Jasmine. Rosa Ortecho was an on-and-off crackhead on a long road to nowhere. If not them on a slab in the morgue, then Isobel, Max, and himself on gurneys in a secret government facility, locked away somewhere nobody would hear them scream.

Reality is too terrible to bear if those aren’t his truths. That day, what he is became inextricably linked to what he did, and it can never be undone. There are no apologies to offer. Besides, it spiraled out towards disaster more horribly than any of them could have ever imagined, so even their apologies wouldn’t have mattered. There’s no forgiveness, no absolution, and he would do it again in a heartbeat, if given the choice. Sometimes that feels like the worst part.

Still, knowing that the people of Roswell would hate him for what he is and what he’s done doesn’t mean much. He’s had years to practice turning his own guilt inside out, and he doubts that public opinion would weigh too heavily on him. The more pressing concern has always been discovery, capture, and the inevitability of experimentation. Fear of being strapped to a table, of hearing Max and Isobel scream through a vivisection, the worst word he ever learned, is a more persuasive motivator than anything else.

But when Alex finds out, he’ll hate Michael like he deserves, and Michael will feel every ounce of it.

That, in itself, is all the evidence he needs to know that he isn’t a good man.

It’s unlikely that their DNA has corrupted them or that they carried murderous instincts halfway across the galaxy, but their hands are soaked in blood from what they did and they will leave fingerprints on everything they touch. Max may have found his way to that conclusion in a heap of self-pitying misery, but Michael hasn’t been able to find a flaw in his logic. Always terrified of being unloved, they have made themselves unlovable.

Alex has suffered plenty at the hands of people pretending to be good men. Michael can’t stomach being just another in a long line of betrayals. If the best Michael can do now is stay away, it should be enough to redeem some small part of him that remembers an Alex who just wanted to be safe.

“It doesn’t have to be what it was,” Alex finally says, voice unbearably soft. “It can be new.”

Michael pulls their hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the center of Alex’s palm.

One day, Alex will have to ask himself what it means to be loved by a monster. He will think back on every time that Michael touched him with softness and reverence and wonder what it means that someone so drenched in horror could look at him and want so desperately. If he asked, Michael would tell him that it means he embodies the best of what lesser men want for themselves: bravery, integrity, and an unyielding capacity for kindness. But Alex won’t ask. Instead, he’ll consider every time he walked away and wonder why he came back. He’ll scrub himself raw trying to get rid of an invisible stain. He’ll thank saints he barely believes in for the narrow miss of almost that Michael will cherish for the rest of his life.

“We can’t.”

“Guerin—”

Alex isn’t the type to beg, so Michael is entirely unprepared to feel the grip around his waist tighten in protest. He holds himself shock-still, terrified to hear what Alex will say to change his mind and what he’ll need to say to protect himself from it. But Alex doesn’t say anything else. He just squeezes his fingers around Michael’s gnarled hand and draws a long inhale through his nose.

Then, Alex lets go, and, for the first time, Michael is the one who runs.

#michael x alex #malex #malex fic #me: put it in the main rnm tag for the exposure #dark me: no #so normally i would stress about editing this for another three weeks but 1x09 already jossed it and it would probably be dumb after 1x10 #so here is 4.7k words of a thing i wrote #that i had to repost because this site was being annoying about the ao3 link #my fic

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thefrozenarchives · 5 years

Photo

Anahera stood in the snow, her boots sunk into the knee-high powder. The air was crisp, the sky bright. They were fresh off a blizzard and, in the aftermath, things seemed almost peaceful. The world was monotone and silent, still in its slumber. Only the wind moved, brushing at the feathers in her hair before moving on to play in the trees.

“Are we almost ready?” Helios was a vibrant streak of red against the white. He was like the sun, radiant and full. His pale gaze was settled firmly on Anahera, waiting patiently for her orders.

Anahera coiled her fingers around the hilt of her sword. “Yes,” she said, not sure if she meant it. “Is Silver prepared?”

“As always.” She heard Helios shuffle behind her, no doubt impatient to get going. He was always quick to work, at odds with Anahera’s steady rhythm.

“Come, then.” Anahera turned sharply, going back the way she’d come. She stepped in her old footprints and, obedient, Helios was quick to come to heel. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

A lifetime away, a sea across, a man with thistle hair and deep blue eyes watched a ship come to rest at the docks. The seaport city was alive with movement, each person ambling along more intriguing than the last. Barnabas’ true interest, however, was the sea. The salty blue waters sang to his blood and he could not hope to resist.

The sun was high overhead, ever-watchful, and Barnabas hoped to use its heat to guide him home. He waited, like a cat on the prowl, for the men to retire for an early lunch. The docks sported many well-loved taverns and bars, a reprieve from the burning sun overhead. Barnabas was not interested in such things, but he knew of its draw to the sailors.

When the crew made scarce and the ship was silent without watch, Barnabas strolled forward. He knew the weight of confidence, of pretending with such surety that he belonged on that ship. No one questioned him when he walked up the gangplank and onto the main deck of the Ranger, a cargo ship stocked full of rocks and jewels.

Barnabas’ destination was the belly, where he could hide amongst the crates and wait for them to set sail. Being caught as a stowaway was a hefty fine, but Barnabas had done this many times before. It was an excellent way to travel, hidden away and cost free.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

“It’s just a peaceful mission,” Anahera reminded Silver and Helios. “We don’t need to rush this. This tribe is known more for their lackadaisical attitude than anything else. If we seem too pushy then they’ll be quick to give us the shoulder.” She played with the straps of her elk, the leather soft against her gloved thumb. Behind her, Silver and Helios kept pace. Their squires, silent and attentive, brought up the rear.

“Do you think they’ll be convinced to rest?” Silver’s voice was quiet, even in the silence of the snow. She rode to Anahera’s left, head tilted curiously. Where Anahera and Helios had light eyes, Silver’s was vivid green, hidden only by the mask she wore on her face.

“Hard to say,” Anahera replied. “This dispute of theirs is one of blood. I imagine there aren’t many dragons alive in their clan who even remember why they’re fighting to begin with.”

“It seems foolish.” Helios’ frown was obvious in his voice. “Who would fight over something they don’t even remember? It seems a waste of time.”

“They’re a small tribe,” Anahera countered. “They are all kin to one another. A slight against one of their own isn’t something they can easily forget, even after a great deal of time. It’s an important part of their history.”

“Until us,” Silver added.

“Until us.”

The sea had a way of calming Barnabas’ heart. Even stowed away in the cargo of an unfriendly ship, with a days journey ahead of him, he felt tranquil. No matter what, he was surrounded by home. And soon… Soon he would be with the one he’d been looking for for years. His blood, his kin.

At the very thought, his heart seemed to skip a beat. It wasn’t that he was afraid of meeting his sister for the first time, but the idea that finally he would know his own family… It was a heavy thought on his mind. A mixture of excitement and worry. The fear that she might not welcome him, or that she might not even care about his existence at all. But how could she not? They were blood. As far as he knew, there was no other.

Sighing, Barnabas leaned his head back against the crate he rested against. He stared out the window to his left, inhaling the salty smell of the ocean, and tried to imagine a scenario where he would at last know what it was like to have a family.

“Welcome, knights of the Frozen-Sea!” They were met by a trio of the tribesmen, all wearing thick coats that hid their faces from the cold. Their village was amongst the fir trees, just on the treeline. Just past them Anahera’s group could see the wooden homes and cloth coverings that shielded the tribe from the weather. A secluded village, hidden in the snow.

“Was your journey well?” The one who spoke had eyes of palest blue, a woman with pure white hair that held beads and coloured string amongst the strands. She spoke with a voice that was warm even in the cold of the snow, her icy eyes alighting on Anahera.

“Well enough,” Anahera replied with a dip of her head in greeting. “Has your tribe faired well since we last spoke? It’s been some time since I received your letter.” She stepped forward, sliding her winter gloves off her hands to meet the tribe leader in a handshake.

“Things have been good for us this season. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Anahera. And your allies, of course.” She looked beyond Anahera’s shoulder to the four dragons waiting patiently just beyond.

“Chief Kashi, this is Knight Helios and Knight Silver. These are their squires, Kynigos and Soleil.” She pointed at each one in turn, the others greeting the chief politely when their name was spoken.

“Impressive,” Kashi replied with an amused smile. “Even your squires look hardy enough to take on my entire tribe. I imagine they are well trained.”

Anahera matched Kashi’s smile. “We are only as good as those before.”

Waving a hand towards the collection of homes and tents, Kashi said, “Shall we?”

The ship docking was a raucous affair. There was a great deal of noise, so no worry of Barnabas missing his queue to get off. Unlike when they departed, the crew was eager to dump their stock and be done with the job. As such, Barnabas was forced to sneak up towards the top deck and slip over the side. He was thankful to not have been caught, but having to cling to the side of the ship like one of the many barnacles wasn’t very appealing.

No one questioned him when he climbed up the dock from seemingly nowhere, dusting off his clothes and setting off without a look back. In many ways, Barnabas stuck out like a sore thumb. For starters, the region here was one of snow and Barnabas was still wearing clothes suitable to the balmy seas. He hadn’t yet gotten too cold, but he considered making an investment in something heavier to keep him warm on his way inland.

With a general understanding of where they’d docked, Barnabas knew he needed a ride if he wanted to reach his goal by days end. It was too cold and too snowed in for a man like himself to try taking on his own, wearing clothes that did nothing to stop the winter chill. Keeping his head down, he quickly made his way along the docks and into the port town.

With eyes narrowed against the wind, he kept an eye out for a shop selling coats. He hadn’t a penny on him, but quick fingers made it easy to get what he needed. So long as he didn’t let anyone get too good a look at him, they wouldn’t ever find him. He had no plans to return to this place.

Overhead, the snow fell heavily. Barnabas paused for a moment and tilted his head back. The cottony clumps fell on his hair and lashes. He wondered if perhaps his sister was experiencing the same snowfall, so far from him.

The tents were warmer than Anahera had thought they would be. Once the flap closed behind them, the wind chill vanished. Happily, the five visiting dragons settled around the fire that heated the main tent.

“Now, assuming your reasons for being here haven’t changed, I believe we’re going to be speaking about the Atori.” Kashi was seated across from the knights. They all kneeled before the fire, blankets draped over their legs and tea in their hands. It was much more of an intimate setting than would have happened back home.

“Correct.” Anahera let her cup rest between her hands, nestled comfortably on her legs. She looked at Kashi over the flames, their forms distorted by the heat waving in the air. “The Atori were the ones to contact us. They seeked aid in ending the feud between your two tribes.” She saw the flat look Kashi gave her and smiled. “Yes, at first they wanted physical aid to win the many battles your two tribes meet in, but we convinced them to try a simpler approach.”

“I find that hard to believe. The Atori have never done things simply.”

“Your tribes are very different, but you both want the same thing. Prosperity. Peace. A reprieve from worrying about the other attacking without a moments notice. How many resources have you put into this dispute?” Kashi didn’t answer, but Anahera hadn’t expected her to. “Your tribes have gone many years with this fight. It is perhaps as familiar to you as your own family. Perhaps it is time to put it to rest, though.”

“And the Atori want this? They will accept peace so simply?” Although Kashi had a kind face, her gaze was hard. “They have made many demands over the generations. None have been worth even acknowledging.”

Anahera nodded in understanding. “They are willing to set aside their own pride and prejudices if you do the same. They ask for nothing but neutrality. A promise to desist from both sides.” She paused, then waved a hand out. “It is a treaty.”

Kashi leaned back, looking contemplative. Around her, her council was stoic and silent. Anahera had been warned that they wouldn't speak in front of outsiders.

“Will there be a physical sign of this treaty?” Kashi asked. “I don’t want any chance of words being taken back. I will chance no betrayal.”

Anahera nodded. “If you agree to peace, there will be a formal meeting between you and the Atori leader, Hannal. There, you will sign the treaty.” She tapped her fingers against her cup. “The Atori think it would be wise to include my clan in the pact. That whoever betrays the other loses our favour as well.”

Kashi looked amused. “A frightening thought, to be sure.”

Anahera laughed. “Perhaps. But we are not here to make enemies. Only forge alliances.”

“Then I will approve of this meeting. I make no promises of peace yet, but I will hear what Hannal has to say.”

Anahera’s smile was warm. “That is enough for now.”

It was a tricky business stealing a coat. It required a great deal of pretending he’d owned it in the first place, while also not being noticed by the man who ran the store. In the end, though, it was worth the effort. The coat was a pale blue, stylish and with white fur on the inside that kept him warm. If he had paid for it, it would have been a worthwhile investment.

He had even secured a ride, having overheard a portly man discussing his route east. Barnabas, in a rare moment of charisma, had somehow managed to entertain the man and was welcomed to share the journey.

“And what do you plan on doing all the way on the eastern cliffs?” the man asked. He had introduced himself earlier as Julian, a seller of furs and leather who traveled around the world to promote his trade. If he recognized the coat Barnabas was wearing, he didn’t mention it.

“I’m visiting family,” Barnabas said honestly. He was seated across from the other in the carriage, cushioned and warmed by a thick blanket. “My sister lives in a small kingdom by the cliffs. She’s been there for some time, but this will be my first time seeing it.”

“And where are you from?” Julian asked curiously. “Besides the sea, of course.” He smiled toothily, as if he had said something clever.

Barnabas laughed lightly. “Only ever the sea, I’m afraid. I’m not really one for wandering the land. Although I’ve heard my sisters kingdom has paths down to the bay below the cliffs, so hopefully I won’t be entirely cut off from my true love.”

Julian chuckled. “Hopefully.” He nudged Barnabas, winkling. “And maybe your sisters kingdom is in need of some fine cloths and materials as well.” He waved his hand at the blanket Barnabas was using, the fabric soft and warm beneath his fingers.

Amused, Barnabas laughed. “Maybe.” A kingdom of warriors and knights would probably make more use out of metal and swords, but he wouldn’t ruin Julian’s hopes just yet. At least not until he was close enough to walk on his own.

“That went faster than expected,” Helios said plainly as they walked out of the village. “I didn’t think she would be so agreeable.”

“It’s clear that both sides want peace.” Silver fiddled with a necklace she wore, looking thoughtful. “Hopefully they can look past their distrust and bring a permanent end to all of this.”

Anahera was silent before them, trudging through the snow. There was still the treaty meeting to set up, getting both sides to stay peaceful and open for conversation throughout the entire event. It was easy enough to agree to a treaty when one wasn’t looking into the eye of their enemy. Kashi didn’t seem the impulsive type, but such things were hard to judge on first meetings.

“The treaty signing will likely take place a week or so from now. Enough time for both sides to truly figure out what they want.” Anahera considered the time. “There won’t be much for us to do for them during all of this. We can set up the meeting place in a neutral area, but otherwise it is on them to meet in the middle.” Literally and figuratively.

“What are the chances this ends in a fight?” Helios asked as they reached their elk, tied to a small cluster of trees further from the woods. He patted his own on the snout, not rushing to mount and ride off.

Anahera untangled the reigns of hers. “I think they will be unlikely to fight there in front of us. If anything, I imagine the worst we can expect is them calling off the treaty and returning home. At that point...we will have failed.”

Silver clicked her tongue. “Then let’s hope that isn’t the case.”

Slowly the five mounted up, urging their elk into a trot. The elegant creatures made easy work of the snow, graceful even with such clumsy creatures on them.

As they rode off, Anahera turned to look at the tribes village. She thought she saw Kashi standing at the edge, watching them go.

The journey was long, but frankly there was not a moment of boredom in the company of Julian. Even for an older man, he was energetic and hilarious, telling stories and jokes that left Barnabas weeping tears of laughter. Barnabas had a few stories of his own, which Julian encouraged him to share. They weren’t comedic in any way, just enchanting tales of the sea and his time there. Although Barnabas’ world had mainly been one of water and sand, it was still a beautiful place full of exciting things to discover.

“Wait,” Julian said in a voice that was uncharacteristically serious. “You expect me to believe that there is a mighty beast living in the sea? Spoken of and known only by sailors and natives?”

Barnabas, with a face just as serious, nodded. “It is a massive creature. Most tremble to even speak of it, so they do not.”

Then, breaking into laughter, Julian clapped Barnabas on the back. “But you are not the trembling type!”

“No, certainly not.” Barnabas joined him in laughter, leaning loosely against the side of the carriage. “I’ve seen too much nonsense to be worried about some sea creature that won’t show its face.”

“There’s a great deal amount of terrible in the world,” Julian said, nodding his head. “Most of it comes from men like you and me. More of a worry to my life than any sea creature.”

Humming in agreement, Barnabas peered out the window. “If I know my geography, I think we’re making good headway. Those icy spires could only come from the eastern region.”

Julian clicked his tongue. “Yes, they’re dreadful things. Hiding the sunlight, keeping pleasant folk like you and me in the dark. No wonder they call this place a fortress.” He peered out the window. “I imagine we’ll reach your kingdom quite soon.” He straightened and looked at Barnabas. “Are you looking forward to your journey being over?”

Barnabas grinned, the smile bright and boyish. “More than you could possibly know, my friend.”

Their journey through the snow was quick. Once they were past the trees that marked the edge of the tribes territory, they set out at a fierce pace. Anahera loathed adventures that lasted too long, always wanting to return home. A funny habit for someone who had been so averse to joining the knights in the first place.

Reaching the fjord brought with it the familiar sense of comfort, knowing they could rest up. There wouldn’t be any serious work to do for the week, beyond setting up the meeting, and Anahera could muffle her stresses about the two tribes until then.

Riding through the main city, the group approached the gates of the castle. Anahera caught sight of something then, a carriage that she did not recognize at rest by the stables. Had they had guests while she was away? Aelius had many visitors to the city, always stringing together new alliances and trades, but she kept herself familiar with their schedule. This was something that hadn’t been planned, and not many made impromptu visits to the heart of the city.

Exchanging glances with Silver and Helios, they made their way indoors. Kynigos and Soleil had separated, tending to the elk, but the trio continued towards the main hall where Aelius so often met incoming diplomats and traders.

“Ah, Anahera. There you are.” The familiar and welcoming voice of her clan leader met her, echoing in the wide chamber. “Someone is here to meet you.”

Aelius’ form was easy to spot, hair a brilliant orange and with brilliant golden clothes. Beside him was his wife, the Archmage Mira. They stood at the head of the oak table that so often held dinners that currently laid bare, and with them were two new figures. One was a thick-set man with a mane of brown hair and eyes to match. The other...looked like her. Looked entirely like her.

When the Imperator called out Anahera’s name, Barnabas couldn’t help but grow tense. So this was it. The moment he’d meet his only surviving blood. Would she know him? Would she recognize him? Would she even believe that what he said was the truth? All the questions he’d been ignoring buzzed around in his head until he actually turned around, meeting the gaze of his sister.

She looked just like him.

Tentatively, Barnabas stepped forward. “Anahera…” he said, eyes wide. He’d entirely forgotten what he’d planned to say. A strange mix of facial expressions seemed to flicker over her face, but still she walked forward to stand in front of him.

“Who are you?” The words were not hostile, but there was little warmth too. Uncertainty, mostly, but that Barnabas could understand.

“I- You-” He stopped. Took a breath. “Anahera, I am your brother.” He took her hand in his, and she let him. “And I have spent years looking for you. For my family.”

He waited to hear her response, dark blue eyes meeting pale yellow. She studied him, face analytical, but didn’t yet speak. Then, after a wait so long Barnabas felt he would get dizzy, she spoke.

“You...have a lot of explaining to do.”

He sure did.

#Flight Rising #FR #FR lore #FR lore post #FS:story #c:Anahera #c:Barnabas #c:Silver #c:Helios #this took so long

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whosxafraid · 6 years

Note

Married Life: Luka/Beth

Meme: Married Life Meme Status: OPEN

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor

He’ll pick them up in a minute, he tells himself. Says they’re better off where they are because the floor isn’t as hard to get mud off of as the furniture. Because if anyone (besides the man also stripped down to his skivvies, next to him) knows the size of the fuss she’ll make about dirt in the weaving—it’s him.

So he’ll pick them up in a minute. The only problem is a minute became two became ten became an hour, became two. One bag of ice for his jaw, another for the nether bits. Because the asshole next to him fights dirty, though Luka had left himself wide open.

But that’s not the point. The point is….

Keys turning in a lock and there’s a second where his mind punches him twice for not having picked up the dirty clothes yet. But it’s all too late now, isn’t it? And all he can do is manage to tilt his head. Look back, squinting one eye shut so there isn’t three of her warbling on the very awkward horizon afforded him given the angle.

“He star’ed i’!”

A glare that Riley had, had the same idea. To blame him, verses taking it. The reality is it’s both their faults but damn him if he’s going to take that sitting down. Well he is but—that’s not the point.

“Oi’ dinna ye sh–tool. Ye be d’one d’at be drawn bloo’ firs’!”

forgets to run the dish washer

They prepare you for war. They prepare you for chaos. They prepare you for a lot of things that would make the average man curl up and cry. But what they don’t prepare you for? What they don’t prepare you for is the surprise. What they don’t prepare you for are the tears and the hugs that could last a week if you let them. What they don’t prepare you for is coming home.

Coming home to a cat that can’t ever decide if it hates you or loves you. Coming home to cinnamon and half a dozen other floral scents you’re too damn tired to name. Coming home to water running, that’s only drowned out by the crash of a plate in the sink and running feet. That’s forgotten in the wake of a hundred pounds wet vaulting at you without doubt you’ll catch her. Coming home to her because home isn’t home without her there.

And the first thing you fucking say isn’t I love you. Isn’t I missed you. It’s your brother’s on the next flight. Because relief is a hell of a gift, and for a woman that’s loaning out more than most to the United States Armed Forces–she deserves it.

And maybe your arms tighten a little more around her in the silence. And maybe you bury your face in her hair that hangs over her shoulder like some silk scarf. And you could fall asleep on your feet right then and there. To the scent of coconuts and cinnamon and what’s so easy to trick your mind into thinking is rain pouring out on a tin roof.

pumps gas for the car

“Praghsanna peitril. Chomh hard is atá sé fuar. Tá mé sa gh—-”

Thunk.

Snow. Wet freezing slush. Cutting down his back like so many tiny rivers, that have a thousand little needles in place of droplets. That makes his spine want to jump right out of him and go slithering into the gas tank because it’s warmer in there. But nothing of the sort happens does it? No he holds it all in. Shoves the shudder in his shoulders down into his feet. Continues watching the price tag of living rising higher and higher and higher until finally…

Thud.

The pump cuts off. The trigger released. A little shake to knock off the access, and don’t get him started on where that makes his brain go. How the differences between a gas pump and a dick weren’t all that many. And back on its perch it goes. Screwing in the gas seal, swinging the latch shut. Refusing the receipt because nine out of ten times they don’t print anyway and–he’s already stepping around the car.

Already paced himself. Made it look like he hadn’t a care in the world. Even with the sunshine smile on his face. Because she thinks she’s crafty does she? Going to be a wee shite just because she can. Well she’s not getting away with it this time. Because she’s her and he’s him, and every now and then he needs a tick mark or two put on his side of the score board.

So it’s all fluid, she sees it coming, has too if she knows him at all. But stands there unmoving like a deer in the head lights. And up she goes. Plucked from the ground like a princess at the end of any proper fairy tale. Carried a handful of steps (for him anyway) away from car and…deposited into the small snow bank. And the laughter follows after her.

Because her face. The sheer playfulness of it all. The happier times it reminds him of. Reminds him he can still feel that. And that it feels even better because it’s her. And maybe he doubles over a little, feet not quite so sure of themselves, stumbling marginally. At least until he hits a patch of unseen ice, and as the saying goes the bigger they are the harder they fall. But he hardly feels it at all. Flat on his back in the gas station parking lot, laughing clouds of breath into the air.

drives when they’re going somewhere

He knows what it looks like. Knows what they’re all thinking. And if he were perhaps a better man he might just admonish the lot of them. But he’s not is he? So he plays along, plays it up. All the while, keeping the wee woman that’s become the pulsing super nova center of his universe, wrapped safe and tight in his arms. Never mind the weird gate it’s causing him to undertake. Never mind it’s just as awkward for her. Because let them think what they like, just as long as it’s got nothing to do with thinking they’ve got a chance of taking her away.

And there’s slips and slides and laughter that still hasn’t died. Red noses and tinged ears. Flushed cheeks and skin that’s complaining about the cold air finding a way to make contact due to dishevaled clothes. And by the time he’s gotten her back in the car. Run round the car and started it up. They’re both trying to sniffle away the aftermath. Both reaching for the heater at once to jack it up to ridiculous; as he pulls them back out onto the highway.

It isn’t very long though before they realize they forgot the coffee. And Beth’s already fighting with her phone’s gps to find the next closest coffee spot to get their fix. Three attempts and getting him to try it later, she’s simply typing it in. Because google wasn’t built to understand accents. At least not ones as thick as both of theirs.

Wha'ya say Creek’s wahine stay f’ hana?

“Manager fer some richie’s horse ranch. Gives her run a d’place when he no be d’ere which is about forty ou’ o’d’fifty-ta weeks ye get in o’year.”

Horse ranch?

“Aye, love. Ashy already be pickin’ ou’ d’bes’ trails ta take ye on.”

He doesn’t need to look away from the road to know she’s beaming brighter than the sun.

rearranges the furniture

He has no idea when it started, or even that it had until he’s half done, hauling the headboard up five flights of stairs because it wouldn’t fit in the fucking elevator. And by then as the saying goes don’t stop now. So he doesn’t. His pride and his face are at stake at this point. And he’ll be damned if he loses either to that hawked nosed little—

Lulu, where stay box'a hooks f’ pot rack?

“One o’d boxes lef’ o’d’stove, love.”

At least he thinks so. He’d packed all this away in storage two years ago, so to be honest as little of it as there was, he can’t be quoted on where anything really is. As far as what box was packed with what anyway. But that’s neither here nor there as he moves to once again head back down the steps. A phone call that sounds a lot like Banks’ Texas, booming out of the speaker of House’s tortured phone.

Another hour if not longer, and eventually—they meet in the middle. The last item sitting stoically in the back of the truck. And he can almost feel it glaring at him. Daring him to even so much as make her twitch in her sleep and–oh no wait that’s Batman glaring at him. A silent truce in minimal gestures and stances. They’ll carry it in together.

The only problem? They both go for the same end. And there’s fifteen minutes of arguing over the best way to carry it with her on it. How best to keep it level. And why it made much more mathematical and logistical sense for Riley to go in backwards. Because you always put the bigger dude at the bottom. In case the top one slips. So you’ve got some kind of chance at both of you and the couch not turning the stairs into a slip n’ slide.

And by the time common sense weighs out there’s a hiss spoken into the air as he leans down to pick up his designated end.

“Ja’sus, how she be livin’ wi’d ye an’ no gone mad, be o’miracle.”

falls asleep with the TV on

Go big or go home. He likes to do both. Always tries to make it a little special. Flowers from the shop in the airport. Or a plush from a port he can’t ever tell her where was. Simply shows up on her door mat, when she thinks he’s still months out. Always puts her first before even his pillow. Why? Because she’s important. She’s beautiful. And he’s spent every second missing her since he left.

But it…..always goes exactly the same way. They don’t go out. They stay in. Order take out through Uber. And spend the entire night swimming through the best noodles and burgers NYC has to offer, while binge watching everything he missed. Though he never makes it too long after dinner does he? Never quite finishes that last season because a full stomach, six months of jet-lag, and that little piece of heaven snuggled up next to him is the perfect recipe.

The perfect recipe for making eye lids droop and his head heavy. Until eventually he doesn’t wake up when his skull meets the back of the couch. Doesn’t snap back to awareness, trying to shake off the exhaustion for another few seconds. Eventually that arm around her slackens and doesn’t move again. Eventually the remote tilts of his hand, and that one foot relaxes near parallel agianst the coffee table.

Tomorrow he’ll wake up with half a dozen kinks in his neck but it’ll be worth it. Tomorrow he’ll make it up to her with a late breakfast, and dinner that isn’t soaked in grease. Tomorrow….tomorrow is a lot of things. One of which right now is far away. So for now he enjoys the little things that have become large ones.

Things like sleeping on his girlfriends couch.Things like having her tucked up against him.Things like being at home, where he can switch off and just be him.

gets to use the bathroom first

She thinks she’s quiet. Sneaky as a mouse. And maybe she is, but he’s just wired to wake up with even slight changes. Even if he’s drifting off and back again after she’s moved beyond his awareness.

He could get up. Help with the coffee. But he doesn’t. Could throw on clothes and go scrounge up breakfast so neither of them have to cook. But he doesn’t. Selfishly he rolls over. Shifts her pillow closer and plants his face in it. Pulls the covers up over his head, and breathes it all in.

Thinks about taking finally taking her on a proper vacation. They both need it, and she deserves it. And that…that leads to other things. Things that are small and square and hidden for safe keeping in a loose slat he’d found in the flooring under the bed. Which makes the cogs start turning because it’s a big deal. And it’s got to be just right.

And somewhere beneath multi-colored cotton there’s a sleepy smile pressed into her pillow, before he’s gone again. Lost to the quiet blankness of non-existent dreams. And honestly? He doesn’t stir a muscle when she slips out of the bedroom and down the hall.

But it’s okay. Because later? The bathroom will still smell like her. At least until that bottle of man is cracked open.

decides the temperature for the ac/heater

Seventy-five. Loses her shoes.

Eighty. Gets him a sweater landing on his head.

Eighty-three. Socks get eaten by the couch.

Eighty-six. A shirt becomes a wadded up pillow.

Ninety. There goes the skirt in a puddle on the floor.

Ninety-five…that curved back end is getting followed to the bed room. Because leather sticks and cotton breathes.

sets up holiday decorations

Things you miss.

Fighting with fake cobwebs, to make them just right. Spending an egregious amount of green on candy that will mostly go uneaten by the tricksters and treaters that come to call.

Staring at the turkey in the oven. Still trying to work out why this is a Thanksgiving food and not a Christmas one. Because where you’re from Thanksgiving hadn’t been a thing. Appreciating the stuffing though because okay yes, they did manage to upgrade that.

Rockefeller center squeezed into one little loft apartment. He can almost feel the warmth of it all in the photo. Smell the Christmas biscuits, hear the records playing in the background. Taste the snow that still lingers on the edges of you for hours after coming inside.

The horrendously stereotypical scene makes him laugh. But there’s something not at all mocking about it. Because it’s his two favorite people in the world caught inside one small five by eleven. The radiance that Beth always is, and the little boy that really wasn’t so little anymore.

Each one is stuck to the underside of House’s bed. Each one cherished and looked after. And when it’s time to go home. Where the pictures become people, they’ll be tucked away in that box he keeps under his nightstand. Where every other moment he’s missed lies ready to remind him–why he does what he does. Why he leaves. Why he pays the price of not being in their lives more.

Because soldiers don’t fight because they hate what’s in front of them, they fight because they love what’s behind him. And all the missed moments too.

leaves the lights on

Night lights. They never were a thing in his house. Save the light over the sink that was always on. Because his mother had said the fair folk wouldn’t come. That if you left the lights on, they would think you awake. So the O’Rian children had grown up with no fear of the dark. No sense of it being evil. Because darkness meant the fair folk would come. And how could that be a bad thing?

But he’s too old to believe in that sort of thing anymore. Growing up, knowledge, being a SEAL; they’d all bled the fantastical out him. Or at least he’d thought so until he’d met her. When she’d either knowingly or unknowingly rekindled that little light in him. Reminding him the magic was still there, he’d just chose to stop seeing it.

So he goes to Home Depot. But they’re just not–so the bench outside the store it is. Asking the almighty google for help. And when that doesn’t work? He makes a long distance phone call. Even if it’s past reasonable calling hours there. Because the receiver isn’t going to care. And like clock work she picks up on the second and a half ring.

Twenty minutes later, he back inside the store. Buying battery powered light clusters, and spray adhesive. Then it’s off to the dollar store for jars and glitter and a can of spray paint. Back to his place. Digging up yesterdays newspaper and three hours later…

A jar of lit glitter is standing vigil in every room. And Luka? He’s still picking silver and gold out of his hair and beard and out from under his nails for weeks afterward.

uses the bathroom with the door open

Privacy. He’d never had it growing up, so there was little to no adjustment required when he hit basic. Let alone everything else that followed after it. So he really…the first time it’d happened, had been after. And she’d already seen it all anyway. No harm no foul. Especially considering her vocation. She knew how it all worked to begin with.

But there’s the little reasons too. The way she likes to pretend it’s not happening. The way the conversation between them doesn’t have to ebb or pause because body functions are a thing. And honestly it’s not like it takes ages to piss. Ten seconds give or take a little, shake, flush, wash, done. It’s just easier with not having to worry with the door.

“Ye bro’der an’ ta wee lad, be comin’ fer dinner, aye? We just be bringin’ i’ up d’en. S’jus’ o’weeken’, love. D’ink he’ll live.”

fixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber)

It’s four am. He should have been asleep seven hours ago. First bells in an hour. But he’s gone longer without sleep. He’ll be fine. By four thirty he’s hung up with the plumber. They’ll be there in three hours. He sends her a text to let her know, before he shifts gears entirely. Puts the SEAL back on and cuts into his reserves.

But even the seven mile run down the beach doesn’t push the worry away. Doesn’t stop the cogs from turning about what can be done to change things. To put her in a better position. A better place where things aren’t going to break down on her every third week of the month. And if something does break, all she has to do is make a phone call. They’ll fix it. No hassle.

But it’s not as simple as moving a few bits of furniture. Trading one key for another one. No it’s way more complicated. Because she has a thinks himself a knight for a brother, and one of God Almighty’s literal mouth pieces for a best friend. So the simple question of asking your girlfriend to move in with you, becomes very much not simple. And round and round and round it goes in his head.

Until somewhere between mess and his head hitting the pillow a word of advice comes from the most—unexpected of places.

Jus’ ask ‘er ta marry ya already, dumbass. Peej’ll have a stroke sure but at least ya won’t have the lord’s m’shepard, up ya ass for ya livin’ together.

And maybe he lays there staring a bit dumbfounded at Creek for a long minute. Because it’s honestly the last piece of advice Luka would have ever thought Mister-I-Don’t-Believe-In-Marriage would suggest. Still it’s a thought. A real viable one. And that box under the floorboards beneath his bed back home, is getting pretty full. Maybe he’s got just enough to pull it off. Luck with him of course that she says yes.

#brooklynislandgirl #[four scores seven years and 100 miles later]#[here it is]#beagáinín || beth riley #He Doesnt Know How Heaven Could Be Better Than Her || Beth and Luka #traveling soldier || military au [ closed ]#return to sender || answered asks #[long post]

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lunarlooroo · 6 years

Note

its december & that means ...dun dun dun... CHRISTMAS! so i request a post war yule ball the night before christmas (maybe hadrian, hermione, ron are repeating 7th year & heather is there as a war hero or as a staff member.) there's floating mistletoe in the great hall, & at midnight any pair caught under the mistletoe are magically bound to each other (& the mistletoe) until they kiss. what happens when snape and heather (accidentally?( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)bump into each other (& a mistletoe) at sharp 12?

The Great Hall was decked out in shimmering fairy lights and shiny baubles. A grand fir tree held a place of honour in the room, tall enough that it almost reached the enchanted ceiling, which showed a beautiful starry night sky. It was the night of the much-anticipated Yule Ball at Hogwarts, organised as a way to lift the spirits of the students after the war. Even months on, the scars from the watershed battle that occurred on school grounds had not faded. So the ball was intended as a way to remind everyone to celebrate what they had, as well as be grateful for the sacrifices made.

It was doing a great job. The atmosphere in the room was the happiest Hogwarts had been since Voldemort’s second reign of terror had started. Students were laughing, eating, dancing, making merry. Even the first to third year students had been invited, though they were escorted back to their dorms at 10pm. All in all, everyone was having a great time.

Watching from her little corner of the room, Heather plucked another treacle tart from the floating tray and picked at it morosely. She spied Hadrian dancing with Cedric, under disillusionment, because Rian had returned as a so-called eighth year student while Cedric was officially the new Transfiguration Professor now that Professor McGonagall was Headmistress. Hermione and Ron were bickering over at the tables. Well, Hermione was nagging Ron while he stuffed his face with more food. Fred and George weren’t here, since they were neither students nor teachers. But she had no doubts that they had managed to sneak in and were plotting something.

Everyone was having a blast, so why was she hiding in the shadows like the Grinch?

Her eyes were drawn to the shadows across the room from her. Right, that was why.

Severus Snape, feared Potions Master of the Dungeons, war hero, Order of Merlin Second Class, and her sort-of-maybe boyfriend? Boyfriend just sounded so juvenile though, and that man was anything but. Maybe significant other, partner? Well, whatever he was to her, it was still a relatively recent development. If one could call years of repressed feelings and then awkward I-might-die-tomorrow confessions pre-Battle of Hogwarts recent.

They had taken things slow, in the flurry of post-war reparations, Deatheater clean-ups, court trials and awards ceremonies. Now, they had all the time in the world to figure things out, so why rush things?

Well, that sounded good in theory, but in practice? Heather didn’t need time to ‘figure things out’. She knew what she wanted, who she wanted. It was mostly Severus who seemed to have doubts, and while that made her feel a little insecure, she was more than willing to give him space.

And that was why she shouldn’t have done what she did.

She’d thought that the six months of relationship they had under their belts were enough to ask him to the Yule Ball. Up till then, they had told no one of their status as a couple and she had thought the ball was a great way to break the news without actually saying anything.

Severus hadn’t been on board with the idea at all.

And she probably shouldn’t have pushed him, should have accepted it and carried on, but then her insecurities started talking and they had a fight. Well, it was less a fight and more of Severus freezing her out.

That had been a fortnight ago.

Two long weeks of avoiding her eyes and wordless replies. Two long weeks of brewing alone in the Den. Two long weeks of wondering if she should pack up her things, just in case. Not that she thought the man would renegade on their Master-Apprentice contract because of their personal relationship, but when had anxiety ever been logical?

That brought her to here, standing alone at a ball surrounded by jubilation and festivity. In her own bubble of misery and bad choices. Well, that wasn’t at all depressing.

A quick Tempus showed that it was very nearly midnight. Well, she had stayed long enough. Time to get out of here and hopefully make it back to her quarters without bumping into anyone. Namely, certain Potions Professors. She briefly considered just eliminating that risk altogether and bunking down in the Den tonight.

Halfway to the exit, a Gryffindor couple knocked roughly into her from behind. Taken by surprise, she almost took a hard tumble to the cold hard floor. Almost, if not for the hands that gripped her shoulders to steady her.

Going by her luck tonight, her saviour would be none other than… She sneaked a look upward. Yep, the very man she had been hoping to avoid. Of course.

She ducked her head again, mumbling a quick thank you. Loud cacophony burst out in the room at that very second. She didn’t know why, but she took the opportunity to slip out of the hold and escape.

Not two steps later, she felt a barrier stop her from moving further. Immediately, her wand shot to her hand and she got into a battle stance. Had someone taken advantage of the larger gathering to launch an ambush? Just because Voldemort was dead didn’t mean they were totally safe. She cursed herself for letting down her guard.

A glance across the room quieted her suspicions. Couples across the floor were engaged in various stages of lip-locking. Above each pair was a brightly glowing sprig of mistletoe. She groaned and looked up. Sure enough, one of the darned things was floating merrily above them.

This had Fred and George written all over it.

Then she remembered who she was trapped with. Of all people, really?

“Heather.”

Reluctantly, she brought her eyes to meet the other’s.

“Hello, Severus.”

That was the most they’d said to each other in the two weeks since their argument. She tried to push against the invisible barrier again, to no avail.

“Don’t worry,” she shot a thin smile at the man, “I’ll get us out in no time. This is Fred and George, after all. I know their magic.”

‘You won’t be stuck with me for long,’ was what she didn’t say.

She went straight to work on the spell. It was most likely a tethering spell. Not so much a stationary barrier, but a chain preventing them from leaving a certain area around the mistletoe anchor.

“Wait.”

She stilled at the word. Warily, she turned to face Severus again. She was a little afraid of what he had to say, after the oppressive silence.

He looked intensely uncomfortable, all furrowed brows and stiffened posture. She softened at the sight and stepped a little closer. All the times she’d tried to talk to him before this had been rebuffed, but hopefully he would be receptive to listening to her now.

“I’m sorry,” she said. His eyes widened in surprise, but she forged on. “It was wrong of me to keep pushing you even after you said you didn’t want to come to the ball together. I know you’re not comfortable with the idea of people knowing about our relationship. I don’t want what we have to be ruined because of my stupid mistake.”

“No.” Severus released a breath and crossed the last step separating them. “You shouldn’t have to apologise for my shortcomings. This has already been going on for more than half a year, perhaps even longer. Most couples inform people of their relationship within weeks, if not days.”

“Severus…” Heather shook her head, smiling helplessly at the man. “We’re not most people. When have you ever cared about what other people do? When have I? We can take as long as we want. This is our relationship, not anyone else’s. I know you’re a private man. If you’re not willing to tell people yet, that’s fine.”

“No,” he repeated, “that is not the problem.” He swept forward, embracing her in his arms. Eyes widening, she swung her gaze around to see if anyone was watching them. Everyone else seemed to be otherwise occupied, but they were still out in public.

“Severus?”

A hand grasped her chin and tilted her face towards Severus’. “Heather, contrary to your belief, my concern was not with telling people I was in a relationship with you. Why would it be? You are a lovely, talented, intelligent young woman. Anyone would be proud to be on the receiving end of your affections.”

Heather frowned a little, confusion clear on her face.

“I was afraid…” He licked his lips nervously. “I was afraid of what people would think of you, for…dallying with a Deatheater. Surely, you can do much better.”

What? That was what Severus really thought?

“First off, you are not a dalliance,” Heather scoffed at the insinuation. “I am very much serious about this relationship. Think of it more as a…courtship.” Yes, that was much better. A little old-fashioned, but the Wizarding World was like that.

“Second off, you are an ex-Deatheater, turned spy and you even have an Order of Merlin to prove it. The war couldn’t have been won without your help. Anyone who says otherwise isn’t worth listening to!”

“A good half of society?” Severus asked sardonically.

“Probably more than that. British wizards are notoriously dunderheaded.”

That elicited a tiny laugh, which may as well have been deep-bellied laughter, coming from Severus.

“Seriously, though. Our friends and family don’t care,” Severus raised a brow, which made her concede, “Okay, our friends and family, except Sirius, don’t care. I even have it on good authority that they’re happy for us, imagine that,” she whispered, fake gasping.

Severus still didn’t look wholly convinced, though.

“Hey, I’m just saying that I have no problem if people think poorly of me for being with you. I really couldn’t care less, really. But if you really aren’t comfortable, we can keep doing what we’ve been doing.” Heather squeezed his arms lightly and then released. She made to step back before anyone could catch them. These people were unobservant, but not that unobservant.

The arms around her waist didn’t let go, however. In fact, they tightened, pulling her closer still. A hand snaked up to support the back of her neck. She looked up to question Severus, but quietened at the intense look in his eyes.

“I’m sick of hiding.”

And with those words, he slowly lowered his head and took her lips in a slow kiss.

The people and noise faded away as she focussed all her attention on the coaxing mouth on hers. For what felt like hours, she moved her lips in tandem with his, relishing in the intimacy after their long argument. She had missed this. So much.

When they finally stopped for breath, Severus’ lips moved to rest on her cheek, as if unwilling to part for any period of time.

She didn’t notice if the mistletoe spell had broken. Didn’t look to check for furtive glances. Just stood there in Severus’ arms.

Right where she belonged.

#WHfP #prompt ficlets

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thatishogwash · 7 years

Text

Mornings

Day 1: 14th August - Mornings

Roommates/College AU

AO3

Hajime properly met Sawamura Daichi on Monday morning when moving into his new dorm room. Hajime had seen Daichi before, during a single practice match and during real matches. He had even watched the other teen during Nationals, surrounded by his friends who had tried and worked so hard but had just fallen short. But he had never spoken to the other teen, never exchanged a single word, and they only really knew each other with a net between them.

They exchanged uneasy smiles, neither sure how to handle the situation they had been thrust into when the only thing that existed between them was an old sense of defeat and rivalry. Hajime was forcing himself to pull himself together, to really introduce himself and start this off on the right foot. They might never be friends but they could at least be cordial.

Hajime felt his hand go up but he stalled when a small woman with bleached hair tumbled out of the bedroom, big fat tear drops trailing down her rather young face. Daichi turned and gave a sigh as he stepped closer to her, letting the woman use his shirt as a human tissue.

“Mum it’s going to be alright, it’s just a four hour car ride.” Daichi stroked the woman’s back. She was a tiny little thing and she looked far too young to be his mother. Daichi was shorter than Hajime, a fact he had childishly grasped onto, but he dwarfed the woman he called his mother.

“You’re abandoning me!” The woman wailed and Hajime felt out of his depth and he wanted to leave but this was his dorm room. He was suddenly glad he had said his goodbye to his father before he left Miyagi, had travelled on his own. The elder Iwaizumi wasn’t given to hysterics but he was also incredibly awkward when it came to someone crying. Luckily Hajime dealt a bit better with people crying, given his best friend since childhood was Oikawa Tooru, who was often found crying when they were younger.

“Uh oh.” A deep voice rumbled from behind Hajime, making him jump and shift out of the way as a bear of a man covered in tattoos came into the room holding three boxes. If Ushijima Wakatoshi stood next to that man he’d look like a child in comparison, the man was that large. “You promised Daichi you wouldn’t do this, it was the deal of us coming with him.” The man said as he placed the boxes near the wall before tugging the woman gently into his arms.

“I thought I was a good mother!” The woman sobbed.

“Mum.” Daichi glanced over at Hajime, a small apologetic smile on his face but he didn’t look embarrassed. Hajime wondered how often a guy's mother had to break down in public for him not to be embarrassed by it.

“Why are you moving so far away if I was a good mother?” The woman asked, sniffing loudly.

“Daichi has told you why before, come on, I’ll buy you some mochi on the way home.” The man could have probably lifted the woman with one hand but he let her easily wiggle her way out of his arms and over to her son, hugging him tightly and shoving several bills in his pockets. All his pockets.

“Mum stop, don’t think I didn’t see you putting money in all my bags.” Daichi gently pried her away, grabbing the money in her hand and handing it over her head to the man.

“I just want to make sure you have everything you need and if you don’t you can buy it, we will be so very far away if you need extra money.” She sniffled softly. “College teams are so much larger than your high school one, what if they demand meat buns as some kind of hazing ritual?”

“My team didn’t make me buy them food.” Daichi grinned a little before kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll call you when I’m settled in.”

“Every night!” The woman turned, looking surprised to find another teen in the small dorm room before she marched over to him. “I know you! You crushed my babies dreams, you’re from that team with the boy with the hair- what was his name? Oh you know, the cocky one?” Hajime forced himself not to snort at that. Cocky was one of the better names he had heard people call Tooru.

“Dad, please.” Daichi pleaded. The large bear of a man grabbed hold of his wife and started pushing her out.

“I’ve got my eye on you boy!” The woman shouted, causing several people to glance through their open door in curiosity as they passed by.

“The boy with the hair, Oikawa would love that.” Hajime commented, feeling surprisingly lighter after the small scene. He had been full of nervous energy before, he hadn’t slept a wink the previous night and he ended up leaving early for the train. He felt a lot calmer now and he wondered if that’s why Daichi always appeared to have his wild card team under control with so little effort.

“He did seem fond of it.” Daichi said hesitantly, as if unsure where their boundaries lay. Hajime smiled a bit.

“Oh he was.” His smile probably didn’t appear too friendly at the moment. “The third years of my school made a promise when we were first years to cut off all our hair if we never made it nationals.” Takahiro and Issei had great joy in reminding Tooru of that fact.

“Your hair is shorter.” Daichi said. Hajime and Takahiro had the least to lose. “Wait, all of you cut your hair?”

“Yeah, I took a video of Oikawa, want to see?” Hajime asked as he pulled out his phone, Daichi stepping close to look at the screen with interest.

It was a Monday morning when Hajime breathed a little easier, the stress of moving to a new city and to a new school where he didn’t know anyone easing away as he laughed with his new roommate at Oikawa Tooru whining loudly as his precious hair was cut off.

It was a morning, felt like a Tuesday though it could have been a Thursday, when Hajime learned Daichi couldn’t cook worth a damn. He set off the fire alarm for the entire building and everyone had to evacuate and wait on the sidewalk at an ungodly hour.

Hajime let out a long, loud yawn as he stood with the rest of the buildings occupants. Most people in their night clothes like himself. Hajime watched as Daichi made his way through each small grouping of people, smiling and bowing his head a little, rubbing the back of his neck and shaking hands. By the time they were all let back into the building after it was cleared, everyone knew Sawamura Daichi had set off the fire alarm and everyone liked him, even if he had woken them up.

“What were you trying to make at ass o’clock?” Hajime grumbled as they walked back into their dorm. Hajime struggled out of the hoodie he had grabbed on his way out the door.

“Breakfast, I thought it’d be nice for everyone to have something to grab on the first day of classes.” Daichi rubbed the back of his neck once more, tanned cheeks turning red as he looked away. Hajime looked over at the other teen and wondered if he was even real or just some grand hallucination they were all sharing brought on from stress.

“You can’t cook.” Hajime said it as a statement, not a question.

“I was watching a video and following the instructions, don’t know how it caught on fire.” Daichi looked away, continuing in a softer voice. “I thought my mum was being dramatic when she said I burnt the kitchen down the last time I cooked.”

“For fucks sake.” Hajime rubbed at his face, trying not to find anything to like about a grown ass person not being able to cook without setting fire to a building. He definitely didn’t find Sawamura Daichi cute. That was for damned sure. “Come on.”

“Are you going to force our RA to give you a new roommate?” Daichi asked, though he followed Hajime out of their shared room.

“I should.” Hajime never would, no matter the fact that he was bordering on a crush that he was valiantly trying to ignore. “But I’m going to teach you to cook.”

“Really? Thank you.” Daichi sounded so earnest, no one would guess the sturdy looking teen next to Hajime had nearly cost them all a place to live by burning the building down the first week of them living there.

It was shared mornings spent over years together that Hajime grew to know Daichi, to help develop his infuriating crush into something so much deeper and meaningful.

It was mornings that taught Hajime how competitive Daichi truly was. Getting up before early morning classes and even on weekends to go running with Hajime, refusing to be left behind or show that he was winded or tired in the slightest. Hajime had seen that spark from across the court, but he enjoyed it so much more when the other man ran next to him, keeping pace and only pausing to point out dogs they saw along their run.

It was a random morning that Daichi showed up at their dorm, two smirking teens behind him that Daichi addressed as Bokuto and Kuroo. Hajime was surprised by the easy friendship the three possessed, how different the other two seemed to Daichi who always struck Hajime as sturdy and mature.

Mornings are when Hajime discovered that Daichi was as sturdy and mature as he appeared from across the court, but he was also given to bouts of childishness and competitiveness. He was the sort of person to depend on, the type of guy who would have no problem with a friend calling them at three in the morning to come pick them up from a park and please bring pants.

Hajime still couldn’t remember how exactly he lost his pants, just that a lot of alcohol was involved. Daichi had shown up with pants and water, letting Hajime weave his way home and retell his drunken adventures.

Daichi was not a morning person and sometimes he pushed the snooze button until he was rushing around the dorm and stumbling over dirty clothes and forgotten textbooks to try and make it across campus to his class on time. Hajime probably enjoyed the sleepy moments a little too much, when Daichi’s guard was down and he rested his forehead between Hajime’s shoulder blades, a soft quiet moment passing between them before Daichi forced himself into full wakefulness.

Early mornings sometimes gave to late mornings, to barely up in the mornings at all or is it still considered morning if you’ve been awake all night?

It continued through their first year, where the foundation of a friendship was built. They built upon that through shared mornings in their second year and all the way to graduation when something shifted between them.

When waking up in separate beds became waking up next to each other on the couch, moved slowly to a drunken night sharing Hajime’s bed because a visiting Sugawara Koushi had overtaken Daichi’s. Early morning jobs turned into Hajime pressing close to the solid warmth that Daichi provided, running a careful hand down a solid back to slowly wake the other man up.

Their days were spent in separate classes, shared with friends and other classmates, sometimes their fellow teammates. Nights were spent cramming as much information as they could into exhausted brains, drinking with Koutarou and Tetsurou, listening to Tooru recount how he was trying to keep his hatred alive for Ushijima, even as they continued to work well together.

But mornings were for Hajime and Daichi. Sometimes they were hungover, which happened less the older they got, more often they were just exhausted as late night cram sessions turned into bringing home work from their jobs. But mornings were the two of them curled up in bed together, enjoying the shared space, the small intimacy of merely being together.

Mornings were more often spent pressing the snooze button than jogging together, until they adopted a dog then it was spent taking him on early walks while Daichi continually reassured him that he was the best thing to ever exist, the dog listening with perked ears and a wagging tail.

Mornings were how Hajime fell in love with Sawamura Daichi, how the other man fell for him. They meant everything to Hajime and he’d never give them up, not a single one.

#iwadaiweek #haikyuu #hq #sawamura daichi #iwaizumi hajime #fanfiction #my writing #writing #I have a HC where Daichi's parents are young #and kind of a mess #but super loving #but also super crazy #and that's why he acts like such an adult and handles Karasuno so well

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blustersquall · 7 years

Text

Only Make Believe // Chapter 5: Sisterly Protection

First // ArchiveOfOurOwn // FanFiction.net // Master Post // Previous // Next

December 17th, afternoon

The town of Edgehall was a scenic, twenty minute drive away. The road gave views up to the Frostback Mountains and down to the valley in which the town was situated. Even from a distance it was possible to make out Christmas lights flickering on buildings. It was the town where Ineria's children went to school, and though small it was well populated and surprisingly busy. Over the years it had become something of a tourist town given how easy it was for visitors to take a ski lift or cable car up into the mountains to partake of the activities there.

It was mostly made up of hotels and family-run bed and breakfasts. There was a quaint, old fashioned pedestrianized high street with shops packed together on either side of a wide road. A small shopping center was undergoing some renovations, but was still accessible by three sets of doors.

It was a town that, in some ways, seemed almost untouched by modern culture. Nevena counted only two chain coffee houses as Cullen drove the car through the streets, following closely behind Ineria and Josef's people carrier. Many of the restaurants, cafés, and businesses were independently owned and seemed to do well for themselves given the bustle of the town and the number of people milling about.

As they drove, looking for a place to park, they passed a park lined with fir trees where Nevena saw a temporary ice rink was set up for the winter season. She was surprised to see so few people taking advantage of it - but given the way the weather was brighter now than it had been in the morning, she reasoned more people might be up on the mountains skiing.

Cullen parked up in a space across from the people carrier and turned off the engine. He and Nevena both waited for people to begin piling out of the larger car before either of them unfastened their seatbelts. There was still a certain coolness between them following her father's comments, and though she apologized and he accepted her apology, she had a feeling it would take an apology from Nevan himself for Cullen to truly relax.

She wanted to tell him not to hold his breath, that it wasn't worth getting worked up over. Her father was one of the most stubborn people she knew and he rarely apologized, if ever. A heat wave in winter was more likely than Nevan Trevelyan apologizing.

Cullen locked the car when they were both out and waited for Nevena's sisters to organize themselves. Ineria was staying up at the house to help Katrin and Nevan unpack, and Nevena felt a little calmer without her around. Of course, it meant she didn't know if Ineria was saying anything harmful about her to her parents, being vindictive or spreading falsehoods, but she would worry about that later.

"Nevvie!" Arienne linked her arm with Nevena's dragging her away from Cullen. Nevena stiffened for a moment, unused to the contact before she fell into step with Arienne. Ineria's youngest son, Dante, ran up to hold Nevena's hand and walked with her.

If Nevena would enjoy one thing about this time with her family, it would be catching up with her niece and nephews. They were the family members she missed the most. Matilda emailed her frequently from school, but it was not the same as seeing her. In the time since Nevena had last seen them, Matilda had grown to be almost her height - something Nevena was jealous off, given her niece was only twelve and had several years of growing still left to do. The baby fat that had lingered around Matilda’s face was gone, leaving her with fine features and pretty hazel eyes. Rowan, now six, and Dante, now four, both looked more and more like Josef. They were rambunctious, energetic and always up to something. Rowan only seemed to stop when Josef told him to. Nevena noticed that morning how the two of them were the ones who played up when Ineria was telling them to change their clothes or stop fidgeting. Rowan was the ringleader, Dante copied his brother and Matilda was the quietest of the three.

"Did you see the skating rink?" Arienne asked, almost marching with Nevena down the street. Monty was on Arienne's other side, tapping furiously away at his phone. It seemed even though this was meant to be a break for everyone, Monty was still working.

"Yes." Nevena managed to wriggle her arm enough so Arienne's grip loosened. She glanced back to see Cullen a few paces behind them. He was glancing in shop windows as they walked past, but seemed alert and listening. Clotilde and Owen walked on Nevena's opposite side, going at Liam's toddler pace, and Josef had Rowan up on his shoulders. The boy was trying to reach for the Christmas lights dangling overhead on shop awnings and signposts.

"You should take Cullen skating!" Arienne told her. "Cleo and I can't go, obviously." She patted her belly. "But we could watch you."

"Maybe." Nevena held tighter to Dante's hand as they approached a road to cross. "I don't skate much anymore."

"Did you know she used to skate at a Championship level?" Arienne peered over her shoulder at Cullen. "Our Nevvie was very good!"

"Please don't call me Nevvie," Nevena muttered under her breath.

"I didn't know," Cullen's voice came from behind Nevena. She glanced back again to see him looking at her. Another thing about her life she probably should have mentioned before they entered into this arrangement. Another thing she would need to explain. Her stomach tightened at that thought. She would have to go into detail at some point, divulge to him all the details of her past and the reasons why she continued to distance herself from her family for so long.

She dreaded that inevitable conversation.

She did not want him to know the reasons. She wanted to forget them, as she had been unsuccessfully trying to do for the last three years, but some things never went away. If he asked, she would tell him. Maybe. Eventually. If it was necessary. She hoped it wouldn't be, but she knew she was fooling herself. She would have to tell him.

"What else haven't you told him?" asked Clotilde with a smile that reminded Nevena of a snake about to strike. Nevena blanched. Of course, if Ineria wasn't around to make snide and passive aggressive comments, it fell to her second-in-command. It was disappointing to realize that her sisters really had not changed much since Nevena's childhood. She was still the black sheep of the family, still the odd one out. At least Arienne seemed too focused on herself to join in - though how long that would last, Nevena was not entirely certain. Eventually she would get bored of gushing about how great it was that she was pregnant and how excited she was. When she got bored, Nevena wasn’t sure if Arienne would join forces with Ineria and Clotilde, or stay out of it. Arienne always was the wild card and could be hard to read, even when they were younger she didn’t always join in on tormenting Nevena. She didn’t come to her aid or defense either, but she wasn’t as bad as she could have been.

Nevena glanced at Clotilde. "It's never come up. There aren't any skating rinks in Denerim so..."

"So?" Clotilde pressed. "You could have told him and made a day trip somewhere. I'm sure there are ice rinks within driving distance."

"Okay, I get it." Nevena huffed suddenly irritated and weary. "I didn't tell Cullen I used to skate. Now he knows. Can we drop it, please?" Her face burned hot from her forehead to her neck. Her ears felt as though they were on fire underneath her hat and when Clotilde refused to drop her gaze, Nevena looked away submissively. “It’s not like it matters anyway.” She finally unlatched her arm from Arinne’s grasp and walked off with Dante, following his tugging towards the window of an old fashioned sweet shop, with a decorative Father Christmas in the window.

Not caring if anyone – including her sisters - was watching, Nevena pressed her forehead to the glass, enjoying the cold surface on her hot skin. She closed her eyes, counted slowly in her head and breathed between each number. Anxiety flared in her chest. She hadn’t considered the small innocuous things about her that her sisters might bring up. It seemed so foolish to get upset and angry about them mentioning the skating but it was a part of her life she once enjoyed that she was forced to give up. The last time she'd goneskating was before Dante was born. She still had a pair of skates in her closet at home. Occasionally she took them out and examined them. The blades needed sharpening, they were old and out of style, old. Not that she could bring herself to wear them again.

After allowing herself to feel the brief nostalgia of a time when she’d enjoyed herself and had things in her life which were hers, she would put the skates away and ignore that feeling. She was an expert at ignoring a lot of things, even as they scratched at the back of her mind until they were almost too invasive to bear.

"I don't know how to skate," Cullen's voice was behind her and she saw his reflection, distorted a little in, the glass. "Maybe you could teach me at some point while we’re here?" He offered a supportive smile, one Nevena just managed to return.

"Maybe." She turned to face him. "It's been a long time though. I don't know if I'll even be able to balance."

"I'm sure it's just like riding a bike," Cullen remarked, his smile broadening. "You do know how to ride a bike?"

"Yes," Nevena treated him to a half-hearted withering look, her mouth pulling into a small smile. She appreciated his attempt to make light and make her smile – the only other people in her life who made the effort to do that were Roselyn and Alistair. "Who doesn't?"

"I don't!" Dante piped up, grabbing both Cullen and Nevena’s attention He wiped his nose on his sleeve. Nevena grimaced and Cullen chuckled. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and gave it to Dante. He shoved it in his pocket, unused and sniffed loudly. "Can we go in, please?" He pointed to the shop door.

"Uh..." Nevena glanced around. She could see Clotilde and Owen peering into the window of a jewellery boutique. Arienne and Monty were chatting with Josef, the three of them meandering down the road with Rowan. Matilda's attention was taken by a street performer nearby. "Sure." She looked to Cullen. "Would you like to come with us?"

He looked inside through the window at the bustling bodies and shook his head. "I'll stay out here and wait for you."

"Okay." Nevena opened the door. A bell tinkled above her and Dante slipped out of her grasp, running inside and disappearing almost immediately in the throngs of people. “We won’t be long.” She followed him through the people trying to keep him in sight. The door closed behind her.

Cullen waited outside as he said he would. He stepped to one side to allow other people to look in and admire the festive decoration in the window and fished his phone out of his pocket. He had a handful of text messages from his friends and family. Nothing urgent and no missed calls. He replied to a message from his sister and another from a work colleague asking if he wanted to attend a Christmas Eve party. As he was typing, an email popped through.

Hey Curly,

Been a while since I heard anything from you. How's life in the big city? I can't believe I wrote that. That's as big a cliché as in one of my books. You don't have to answer. Kirkwall is still standing, I'm sure you're happy to hear. Cassandra says 'hi'. (Not really. She just kind of grunted when I said you emailed me. I think that means 'hello'.)

That's enough small talk.

What's this favor I owe you? I thought we were square after that whole double or nothing drunk bet debacle a couple of years back when Josephine took you for literally everything you were wearing (don't deny it, I have the photographic evidence). Or did something else crop up that I forgot? That's more likely. I really need to get myself a PA.

- Varric

Cullen smirked at the email and read it again. If Varric was good for one thing, it was replying promptly to messages that weren’t from his editor or publisher. Cullen sent his email barely two hours ago while waiting for everyone to organize themselves at the house before they left to come into town. If Varric was replying this quickly, he probably had a deadline he was trying to avoid.

He started to tap out a reply.

Varric,

Burn the photos. Delete them. I don't care how; just make sure they never see the light of day. Mentioning that event in an email is still mentioning it. And we agreed not to. For all our sakes.

About this favor. Think you could squeeze in few minutes for me on Skype at some point? Between dodging your editor and deadlines.

- Cullen

PS. Grunt ‘hello’ at Cassandra too for me.

"What are you smiling at?" Cullen pressed a button so the screen of his phone went blank after sending his reply. Clotilde was at his side, a disarmingly sweet smile on her face. His interactions with Nevena's family so far were minimal. From meeting her the day before, Clotilde seemed a nice enough woman and happy in herself. Still, following on from the morning and Nevena's general demeanor when around her sisters, Cullen was determined to tread carefully.

"Sorry." He pocketed his phone. "Just an email."

"From?"

"A... friend." Cullen tilted a brow, uncertain as to why Clotilde inquired as to who the email was from. "An invite for to a get together on New Year's Eve. Obviously, I refused, given I'll be here."

Clotilde looked at him shrewdly, a look that matched the one Ineria had given him the day before when she answered the door and looked him up and down. If anyone ever doubted the two were related, all they would need to do is ask them both to make the expression. The similarities were uncanny. The way it pulled Clotilde's face in made her look harsher and sharpened some of the roundness of her face. "A male friend? Female friend?"

"Male," Cullen replied sharply. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing." Her eyes went wide with a look of innocence and insult that struck Cullen as very practiced. "I'm not implying anything. Just looking out for my sister."

"Right."

"We don't know you, Cullen. And Nevena is an important member of our family," Clotilde said with a smile that was less than genuine. "We protect our own."

Except from each other, Cullen wanted to say. Almost said. The words stuffed themselves onto his tongue and he had to fight the urge to let them out. He didn't have the knowledge or the grounds to say something insulting or cutting like that. Even if just watching Nevena interact with her sisters was enough to make him sure he was right, he couldn't in good conscience say it… but he could certainly think it.

"You have nothing to protect her from," said Cullen, controlling the tone of his voice to remain cordial. "I have no intention of hurting her." That was true. Even though their arrangement was a contract, she was a client, and there was nothing there, he was not about to do anything to humiliate or hurt her in what was already a difficult situation.

"That's good," Clotilde's expression slipped into a saccharine sweet smile. They stood in silence for a few moments. Cullen glanced around through the people passing by, trying to see if he could spot any of Nevena's other relatives. The faces all meshed together for him, and apart from Clotilde, he could not spot anyone else. "How did you two meet anyway?" asked Clotilde. "Nevena hasn't said."

"You never asked," Cullen replied bitingly. "Well, you started to ask at dinner last night, but when Nevena answered you lost interest."

There was an instant where Cullen saw shock flicker across Clotilde's face. Her eyes widened and he was sure he saw color flood her cheeks. She stared at him, as anger covered the shock. She was poorly forcing herself to keep it under wraps. Judging from her expression, Cullen doubted anyone ever called any one of Nevena's sisters out on their treatment towards her. It was a good feeling to know he had. If he was going to spend the next few weeks with these people, he was going to try and step in and call them out when he could.

The instant passed and Clotilde schooled her expression to cool interest. "Well, I'm asking you now," she said with an enigmatic smile. "Where did you meet?"

"At a party her friend Roselyn was throwing."

"Roselyn?" Clotilde repeated. "She's still friends with... with her?"

Cullen quirked a brow, "What's wrong with Roselyn? She's very amiable. She and Nevena are close." He assumed they were at least. He got the feeling they were from the way Nevena spoke about Roselyn when they first met.

"Roselyn is an interfering busy body," she said sharply. "She had to stick her nose in when Nevena and Rick were going through their break up. I'm sure they would have patched things up if she'd just stayed out of it!"

"I don't know." A pause and Cullen brushed his thumb over the puckered skin of his scar. He glanced across the street where he could see Rowan's head peeking over the top of the passersby from where he was sitting on his father's shoulders. "From what I understand, Roselyn is the closest friend Nevena has." Another assumption, but one he was sure he was right in making. "I don't think she would have stepped in unless she was doing it for a good reason."

"What do you know about Rick?" Clotilde spoke to Cullen but her eyes were elsewhere, looking around the people walking down the high street. "Has Nevena told you anything?"

"No, it's her business. She'll tell me when she wants to, when she feels ready to."

"It's a fascinating story," she smirked. "Completely fantastic. If it was in a book, it would be a riveting read." She looked at Cullen. "You should ask her about it."

"Why is everyone in your family so fixated on her ex?" The question left Cullen's mouth before he could stop it, and it was one he’d been wanting to ask since the day before. Seeing Nevena's reaction to the photograph that still contained him was enough to pique his interest. Her father's reaction that morning, and now Clotilde's comments were causing his curiosity to brim over. "What, was he some kind of genius? A new age thinker?"

"He was practically family," Clotilde snapped. "She was selfish when she ended it. Didn't think of us. Just herself."

"Forgive me, but shouldn't her happiness with her relationship and her life matter more than yours?"

When Clotilde looked at him, it was a look of condescension and it made Cullen bristle. "That's cute. Quaint." She patted his arm, adding to her patronizing manner. "He was gift-wrapped for her, or as good as, and he spoiled her rotten. She was ungrateful. And worse, she started to spread vindictive rumors and slander him afterwards."

"Nevena did?" Cullen crossed his arms. "That Nevena, in there?" He pointed into the shop. "The one who jumps at loud noises and apologizes just for breathing?"

"Oh, she has her claws in you very deep, doesn't she?" Clotilde smiled at him. "It's a good act, no doubt about it. She's probably a better actress than Ineria ever tried to be in school. But she'll show her true colors eventually."

"I..." Cullen wanted to laugh. He wasn't sure if Clotilde was serious or if this was just some kind of twisted hazing. As if by saying these poisonous things, it would prompt him into believing her. Or questioning her further. Or she hoped it would cause him to make a scene and confront Nevena. He was curious, there was no doubt about it. The more people mentioned this mysterious Rick, the more Cullen wanted to know. There was clearly some deep-seated issue surrounding him and whatever reason Nevena gave for ending things. But Cullen wasn't about to press for information from Clotilde. He wouldn't seek information from anyone except Nevena, and even then only if she offered it to him. He caught the things he wanted to say and held them back. Instead he took a breath to settle the tightness in his chest and reconsidered.

"Why are you telling me these things, Clotilde?" he asked, turning on a friendly smile and relaxed tone of voice. "Are you hoping saying these things will cause me to confront Nevena? Or make a fuss in public? You want me to humiliate her?"

"I don't know what you mean," Clotilde's smile was just as aimiable, warm, and false as his own. "I'm giving you some friendly advice, as someone who was there when Nevena became a member of the family and watched her grow up."

"And I'm sure you had a deft hand in molding her into the woman she is today," he continued to smile, his cheeks beginning to ache. "If this is how you ‘look out’ for your sister, I would hate to see how you deal with your enemies."

"I am -"

"Not in a position to tell me anything about her. She hasn't seen you in three years. So, thank you for your friendly warning - but I'll take my chances." He nodded to Clotilde, stiff but polite. "Excuse me." He left her standing as he pulled the door to the sweet shop open. It was bustling and noisy inside, but anywhere was better than out there with someone as spiteful and vicious as Clotilde.

The late-evening news was winding down, and Cullen was waiting for the next day forecast so he could get an idea of what things he might be able to do tomorrow. The trip into Edgehall had been successful and now he and Nevena had the cupboards in the kitchen stocked with bits and pieces they could use for cooking meals and snacking. He sat on the couch, legs sprawled out in front of him, while Nevena was curled up at the opposite end, already changed into her pajama bottoms and the same hooded shirt from the morning. She had a mug between her hands and her glasses on, though her attention was drawn to the tablet on her knees.

On the drive back to Skyhold and during the dinner Cullen cooked, they had made casual small talk, more comfortable alone together than the day before. He hadn't mentioned the comments Clotilde made, uncertain as to how to approach the topic. So far, Nevena's only reaction when it came to talking about Rick had been negative. Clearly it was a difficult and sensitive subject for her, but he needed to know details. Even if they were the most mundane details, just something so if Rick came up in conversation again - and Cullen had a distinct feeling he would - he would have some information at his disposal.

Adverts popped up on screen and Cullen muted the television. He glanced across at her, this woman who was putting herself through her own personal Hell, and found himself wondering why. His parents had always told him not to speak ill of people if he could help it, but the Trevelyan family were simply not nice - at least with what he knew of them so far. Perhaps, when the sisters were alone, they were nice people. But together in a gang, as they were now, they were like a pack of wolves. He knew there must have been a reason for their disdain towards Nevena beyond sibling jealousy and rivalry, but what?

There was the mysterious ex, of course. He had Clotilde, Nevena and Nevan Trevelyan confirming that Rick was almost family. Nevena had called him 'the son her father always wanted'. Maybe there was a time that he had been close to the family and almost was family, but breakups happened every day. Cullen found it astounding and immensely infuriating that her family chose to side with Nevena's ex, rather than their actual sister or daughter. She seemed to be a pariah for having done something for herself. It wasn't fair.

"What's on your mind?"

Cullen blinked hard. He practically felt himself falling back into the room as his gaze shifted from staring at nothing in the middle distance to focus in on Nevena. "What?"

"You muted the television and just... stared into nothing." Nevena unfurled her legs from beneath her and placed her tablet on the coffee table. "What's on your mind?" She stretched her arms out towards him, wriggled her fingers and gave a satisfied little groan when her muscles relaxed.

"Why should anything be on my mind?" He gathered soiled plates from the table then stood. He crossed to the kitchen area, placed them in the sink, ran the tap and began to clean up, entirely aware of Nevena watching his every move.

"You were talking to Clotilde for a while." Cullen glanced back to see Nevena leaning up over the back of the couch. It was amazing to Cullen how different she was when she was relaxed and there were no sisters. Even now, she came across as more playful. The tone of her voice was lighter and there was no tension in the way she held herself. "Did you talk about anything interesting?"

"No."

"Just me?" The mug in his hand slipped into the soapy water and clunked on the bottom of the sink. He looked across at her and noticed the wry smile on her lips. "It's okay. I knew she would talk to you about me. Either her or Ineria." He watched Nevena climb off the sofa.

"Not Arienne?"

"Eh," Nevena shrugged. "Arienne is a bit of a wildcard. Sometimes she's on their team, sometimes she's on mine." A pause. "And then sometimes she's Estwatch."

Cullen stared at her, confused. "Estwatch?" he said. "What does Estwatch have to do with anything?"

"Estwatch is an impartial party. Never gets involved with wars or politics. Somehow avoids being dragged into conflict, even though its neighboring countries might be undergoing radical changes." Nevena came to his side and leaned against the counter. "Arienne is sometimes Estwatch, even when we were kids."

"I see." He continued to wash the crockery and stack it, surprised when Nevena picked up a dishtowel and began to dry each piece as he set it aside. It was relaxed, almost domestic how easy and comfortable it was to fall into something so mundane. He was used to cleaning up after himself rather than letting things pile up. For all that it was something so simple, it was actually nice to have the company while doing such a dull task. A few times she splashed water on clean objects so he would have to clean them again. He retaliated by flicking water off his fingers tips into her face. Her nose crinkled and her expression lit up when she laughed.

"Can I ask you something?" Cullen said, after a long period of comfortable silence.

"Mhm-hm." Nevena rocked onto the balls and heels of her feet with the regularity of the metronome.

"It's about your ex."

She stopped. "Okay." She gently put the plate she was drying to one side and placed the cloth on the counter. She faced him, expression hard and steady. "What do you want to know?"

"Just..." Cullen dried his hands, crossed his arms and faced her, leaning his hip against the work surface. "Why is your family so attached to him? What happened? They act like he was Maker-sent."

Nevena smirked to herself and laughed softly through her nose. She pushed her fingers through her hair before she straightened up. "They thought he was perfect. He could do no wrong in their eyes. He was the perfect gentleman, at least in their fantasy. They loved the person he presented to them. The man they met maybe two or three times a year.."

"Oh..."

"The person he actually was... was very different."

"I see." Cullen rubbed the scar of his lip. The hair on the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably and his stomach grew strangely heavy in his gut. As if the meal he had consumed had turned to lead. "So..."

"They adored him. Adored him more than I did, that's for sure." Nevena's lips quirked to one side. "And the break up was messy." She peered up at him through messy locks of hair. "Like, nuclear fallout messy." She mimicked the sound of an explosion and gestured what Cullen assumed was meant to be a mushroom cloud.

Cullen chuckled, "That's pretty messy."

"Yeah..." Nevena trailed. Her smile weakened and she pushed both hands through her hair, brushing her fingers through until it was less tangled. She left her hands to rest on her shoulders, palms down. "They've never quite forgiven me for ending things with him. It was over three years ago, and they still ask about him in phone calls and emails. As if I would be in touch with him after--"

"After...?"

Time froze for a moment and Nevena's eyes locked with his. He saw uncertainty, rising panic, almost terror - as if concerned that just talking about this man would somehow summon him. She had let her guard down too much and he could practically see her putting the walls back up as high as they could possibly go. Protecting herself. She had to protect herself.

"Nothing." She shook her head and the moment was gone. The fear and trepidation in her expression was replaced by tiredness. "Never mind."

Cullen placed a tentative hand on her shoulder moving his thumb in a circle. "Nevena..."

"Maybe I'll give you the gory details some other time." She smiled - false and brief - before she slipped and out of his grasp and away from him. "I'm going to bed." She waved. "Night Cullen. Have a good sleep."

Cullen watched as she disappeared behind the bedroom door. He wanted to try and coax her into staying and talking longer. He found he enjoyed her company and they didn’t have to talk about her family, or her ex. But the door was already closed when he opened his mouth to try and stop her. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.

"Goodnight, Nevena."

Hey everyone~

Thank you again for reading the previous chapter, and reading this one. I am appreciating it so much. And thank you for all the comments on the last chapter. Some really gave me some food for thought, and that is never a bad thing. I hope you liked this chapter, and you're enjoying the fic. As always, let me know in the comments, tags, reblogs or on in the comment son AO3 or ff.net.

See you in the next chapter. <3

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #cullen rutherford #cullen #dragon age au #modern au #fake relationship au #dragon age fanfic #cullen x trevelyan #nevena trevelyan #cullen x nevena #writing #my writing #only make believe #new chapter #update

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thereisnoneedtocallmesir · 5 years

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The 100 ask game

I saw this on @osleyakomwonkru her blog and she ended it with “if you want to do this, go for it”, and I’m a massive nerd that likes the ask game so I’m going for it

1. What Station on the Ark would you be from?

Arrow station, it is the furthest away from the other stations and because I hope that there would be a lack of machines like the kind on factory station, mecha station, hydra, station and farm station, seeing as those are NOT usually quet machines

2. What would you get arrested for on the Ark?

Either stealing something or because of something that happens if I become overstimulated. I have autism and a spacestation would never stop producing sound so things like going to the wrong place, not following certain orders that I might not even have processed, or if someone tries to stop me from leaving a place with too many stimuli MAKING them let me go

3. Would you take off your wristband when you landed on the ground?

Nah

4. What would the necklace Finn would make for you look like? (Clarke: deer/Raven: a raven duh..)

Assuming I’d know about their (former) existance, a penguin

5. If you could resurrect any MINOR character who would it be?

Probably Sinclair

6. Create a squad of 5 characters to go on missions with. Who are they?

Uuuhm lets see, assuming we are still on the original earth but with the peeps from season5, I’d say Raven(tech), Niylah(she can get and process food and make clothes, and in general seems like a usefull person), Octavia(fighting and strategy), Jackson(healing) and Maddie(she knows the land and can also gather food)

7. What Grounder Clan would you belong to you?

I think either Trikru or Trishanakru

8. What would your name be in Trigedasleng? (example: Octavia=Okteivia…just make it up!)

I think it would be jessika, though for this I am using the The 100 wiki so idk how good of a job I am doing interpreting that

9. Thoughts on Finn? Some people hate him, and others love him, so I’m curious

At first I liked him but season 2 Finn can just go die in a fire, ooh wait he got stabbed by Clarke before the fire came...

10. Be honest. How willing would you have been to take the chip without knowing all the horrible things it does?

Not. I’d like the thought of not suffering but I would not trust some sorta chip

11. What character do you relate to most?

I think Charlotte, she was dropped in a shit situation and had no idea how to deal with the situation(though her situation is on a whole other level)

12. What character do you like the least?

From the ones currently alive, Kane. He went from dick to pretty decent BUT NOW HE’S BACK TO AN ASSHOLE LIKE C’MON MAN

13. Describe your delinquent outfit. (Would you wear something like Murphy’s jacket with the spikey red shoulder patch or have a trademark like Jasper’s goggles? Be creative, yet practical)

If I’d be able to get my hands on it, cargo pants(I like ma pockets), some kinda shirt with half long sleeves(I can’t really handle ones with really short sleeves and long sleeves aren’t very useful if it becomes hot) and some kinda jacket, depends on what kinda jackets I would be able to get my hands on

14. Favorite type of mutant animal?

The butterflies

(also WHERE DID THE MUTANT ANIMALS GO LIKE THEY WERE THERE AND THEN THEY JUST FORGOT ABOUT THEM FOR A WHILE OR SOMETHING?)

15. What would your job be on the Ark?

Sorting things like scrap metal. It doesn’t require a lot of social interactions and I LOVE sorting things. So I’d probably enjoy doing it a lot, work hard and probably become faster as I do it more

16. Would you have willingly pumped Ontari’s heart if Abby asked?

Yeah

17. If Lexa wasn’t Heda, but she was still alive then who would have made the best commander?

Uuuuhm probably Roan yeah

18. How would you act if you ate the hallucinogenic nuts like Jasper and Monty?

Judging from how I act when sleep deprived, like an idiot(like getting jumpscared by my own hair, multiple times) that is also smort, like I’d probably find a way to make a shitton of bombs, and I would find useful stuff and forget where I got it from

19. How would you have dealt with Charlotte’s crime? A more John Murphy approach or Bellamy Blake approach?

Not really an option but more like Clarke. There should be some kind of system that is democratically voted on that applies on ALL crimes of the same sorts. Spur of the moment emotions are NOT a good way to judge anyone

20. Who should have been the Chancellor, if anyone?

I am not sure to be honest

21. Would you have been on Pike’s side like Bellamy or on Kane’s side? Or Clarke in Polis?

Either by Kane’s side or in Polis

22. Mount Weather had a lot of modern commodities. (example: Maya’s Ipod) What is the one thing you would snatch while there?

I would look around and hope for dear life that they have noice cancelling headphones(for autism reasons), and maybe even some sort of small solar panel and generator to charge it

23. What would your Grounder tattoos look like? Hairstyle? War paint?

I would probably have some tattoos on my arms, my hair would be in a ponytail with some small braids in there and I’d probably wear war paint around my eyes

24. Favorite quote?

“Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim.” (Get knocked down, get back up), like it’s part of my phone background

25. If all of the characters were in the Hunger Games, who would have the best shot at winning?

I agree with @osleyakomwonkru “Luna, because I think she could outlive everyone either by fighting until the death OR by stomping off by herself and outlasting everyone out of sheer willpower (keeping @easilydistractedbyfanfic‘s answer again)”

26. Least favorite ship? Favorite canon ship? Favorite non canon ship? NOT INCLUDING CL OR BC OR BE

Least favorite: I think Kane and Abby

Favorite canon ship: Lincoln and Octavia or Lexa and Clarke

Favorite noncanon ship: probably Niylah and Octavia

27. A song that should be included in the next season? If there had to be another guest star like Shawn Mendes on the show, who would you want to make a cameo?

I don’t know to be honest. Though if I had to choose a guest star it’d be Hayley Kiyoko, just because I think that she is awesome

28. What would you do if you were stuck in the bunker with Murphy for all that time?

Be bored as fuck, and if they had the tools I’d try to figure out how to take random objects apart and put them back together(hopefully I’d succeed, though I would steal the camera from Murphy to record what I do so that I can check what came from where)

29. You’re an extra that gets killed off. How do you die?

I’d probably go exploring somewhere and get lost

30. A character you’d like to learn more about and get flashbacks of?

I think Shaw, because he was talking about some war where Diyoza fought in and I am interested in what happend before the firs time the world ended

31. A character you’d bang?

LEXA AND OCTAVIA

I REPEAT, LEXA AND OCTAVIA(I am very gay okay)

and also Raven

32. Would you stay in the Bunker? Go up to Space? Or live on your own in Eden?

If they would let me I would stay in the Bunker. The Space thing wasn’t as planned, and I wouldn’t survive on my own in Eden

33. In the Bunker, would you follow Octavia? What would you do to pass the time underground?

Yes. And I would probably try to learn how to fight and how to speak trig(I really like the language okay), and then the basics of skills like healing, sewing, which foods are edible and which aren’t etc

34. What crime would you commit in the Bunker that lands you in the fighting pits?

It would probably also be that I try to get away from a place with too many stimuli and then if someone tries to stop me I’d make them let me go. Especially if looking at the fights in the pits was an obligation (though I somehow feel like I would be more likely to get to talk to Octavia, well Blodreina, and explain it and maybe be allowed to stay away from all the noise, and if needed clean up the bodies and process the meat as reminder of why you shouldn’t break the law or something. At least more likely than that I’d be able to organize anything like that on the Ark, but don’t know why I think that)

35. Up in Space, who would you bond with first? Who would be the most difficult for you to get along with?

I think I would bond with Raven first, because she would be able to explain to me how a lot of stuff works so if I see an opportunity I would ask her a lot of questions and only continue asking about things she seems to get exited about. It would probably be more difficult to get along with Bellamy because I just don’t like what seem to be his thinking patterns and his morrals

36. How long do you think you would last on Earth by yourself?

Not at all

37. When the Eligius ship lands what do you do?

Watch, observe and learn. Learn who they are, what they do, when they do it, how they respond to different situations, who holds what kind of position in their group and what their intentions might be or how I could learn those

38. Favorite Eligius character? Least favorite?

Favorite is Shaw, least favorite is McReary

39. Would you Spacewalk?

Legally yeah, not worth the risk of getting caught though

40. Would you prefer to eat Windshield Bugs, Space Algae, or Bunker Meat?

Space Algae, seems to be the easiest to throw down and not have to chew

41. Would you start a war for the last spot of green on earth? What would your solution be to avoid it?

I wouldn’t start a war, but if a war has already been started(officially or unofficially) and attempts to end it peacefully fail I will try my best to finish the damn war

42. Would you rather dig out flesh-eating worms or stick thumb drives into bullet holes?

I’m fine with both

43. Are you willing to poison your sister for the Traitor Who You Love? What would you do to stop Octavia?

Depends on what my sister does and what the traitor did but probably yeah

Generally speaking I wouldn’t stop Octavia. I would only talk to her to try to stop her from burning down the farm, so that I can gather a bunch of different kinds of seeds and everything that might be ready(the medicinal plants probably don’t all grow in the one green spot left) and THEN I would let her do her thing

44. Would you go to sleep in cryo or stay awake like Marper?

I would probably stay around for a bit, to process things and explore, and then I would go to sleep

45. Who are you waking up first to explore the new planet?

Raven, Shaw, Niylah, Octavia, Jackson and Diyoza, though they probably wouldn’t just all get along perfectly

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angry-mango · 5 years

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103 questions

Alisons: Sexuality? ollie

Amaranth: Pronouns/Gender? she/her, female

Amaryllis: Birthday? december 28

Anemone: Favorite flower? snapdragons

Angelonia: Favorite t.v. show? i have a lot right now but it’ll probably always be supernatural

Arum-Lily: What’s the farthest you’d go for a stranger? like 2 hours

Aster: What’s one of your favorite quotes? i love quotes but i don’t really have a favorite

Aubrieta: Favorite drink? arizona green tea

Baby’s Breath: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? n/a i’ve never kissed anyone

Balsam Fir: Have you ever been in love? currently 😌

Baneberries: Favorite song? my blood (tøp)

Basket of Gold: Describe your family. complicated

Beebalm: Do you have a best friend? Who is it? i have two: ollie and jonathan

Begonia: Favorite color? black or red

Bellflower: Favorite animal? sloth

Bergenia: Are you a morning or night person? both

Black-Eyed Susan: If you could be any animal for a day, what would it be? a sloth

Bloodroots: When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up? a vet

Bluemink: What are your thoughts on children? love them but like? also hate them but i feel like it’s way different when it’s yours and you know how to raise them does that make sense

Blazing Stars: What are you afraid of? Is there a reason why? losing people, bad storms, the uncontrollable

Borage: Give a random fact about your childhood. i ate cat food once

Bugleherb: How would you spend your last day on Earth? i’d fly to ohio and kiss ollie

Buttercup: Relationship Status? basically taken

Camelia: If you could visit anywhere, where would you want to go? that cat cafe in japan

Candytufts: When do you feel most loved? talking to ollie

Canna: Do you have any tattoos? not yet (devastating, i know)

Canterbury Bells: Do you have any piercings? two on each ear

California Poppy: Height? five one

Cardinal Flower: Do you believe in ghosts? yes

Carnation: What are you currently wearing? black tshirt, jean shorts (what a rare sighting)

Catnip: Have you ever slept with a nightlight? yes

Chives: Who was the last person you hugged? jonathan

Chrysanthemum: Who’s the last person you kissed? my cat

Cock’s Comb: Favorite font? haven’t used fonts in a while but i’m pretty sure it’s georgia

Columbine: Are you tired? permanently

Common Boneset: What are you looking forward to? right now, getting my income tax

Coneflower: Dream job? vet tech but who knows i might change my mind in a couple days (although i’m pretty sure this time)

Crane’s-Bill: Introvert or extrovert? introvert

Crocus: Have you ever been in love? you already asked this, dumbass

Crown Imperial: What’s the farthest you would go for someone you care about? hours

Cyclamen: Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? What was it? this bunny from build a bear, i named her swirly cuz she has almost like a rosette pattern on her fur, i still have her

Daffodil: What’s your zodiac sign? capricorn

Dahlia: Have you done anything worth remembering? no

Daisy: What do you feel is your greatest accomplishment? surviving up til now

Daylily: What would you do if your parents didn’t like your partner(s)? uh sorry bout that

Dendrobium: Who is the last person that you said “I love you” to? ollie

False Goat’s Beard: What is something you are good at? gaming i guess

Foxgloves: What’s something you’re bad at? literally everything

Freesia: What are three good things that have happened in the past month? 1- ive lost 5 pounds this month 2- ollie makes me really soft and i’m just super in love with her 3- i bought some new clothes and they’re two sizes down so it makes me really happy to wear them

Garden Cosmos: How was your day today? it’s actually been great

Gardenia: Are you happy with where you’re at in your life? not really but i’m working on it

Gladiolus: What is something you hope to do in the next year or two? hopefully get my ged, start working on college or some kind of second education like that, and maybe meet ollie cuz i don’t wanna wait any longer >:(

Glory-of-the-Snow: What are ten things that make you happy/you’re grateful to have in your life? ollie, my mom, my gamecube, my cats, my bee necklace, my tahitian bracelet, fall out boy, twenty one pilots, my ipad, and my pillow

Heliotropium: What helps you calm down when you feel stressed? ollie (i know she’s been in like 30 of these answers but it’s the truth), sometimes just breathing and sitting on the floor, doing my hair

Hellebore: How do you show affection? idk i’m really bad at it but i try? i usually remind them like a hundred times a day that i love them, check up on them, buy them stuff (only if i REALLY love them though)

Hoary Stock: What are you proudest of? i defeated the shadow queen at age 6 >:)

Hollyhock: Describe your ideal day. sounds lazy but literally watching tv with a cozy blanket

Hyacinth: What do you like to do in your free time? video games

Hydrangea: How long have you known your best friend? How did you meet them? ollie: through instagram, five months. jonathan: middle school, six years

Irises: Who can you talk to about (almost) everything? y’all already know.

Laceleaf: How many friends do you have? i wanna say four friends but there’s other acquaintances that i’m close to

Lantanas: What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received? ollie called me pretty once or like twelve times

Larkspur: What do you think of yourself? disgusting. don’t talk to me about that thing.

Lavender: What’s your favorite thing about yourself? uh i can bake a mad chocolate chip cookie

Leather Flower: What’s your least favorite thing about yourself? myself

Lilac: What’s something you liked to do as a child? i liked littlest pet shop and eating breakfast idk

Lily: Who was your best friend when you were a kid? the r*xana 😔

Lily of the Incas: What is something you still feel guilty for? dropping out of school

Lily of the Nile: What is something you feel guilty for that you shouldn’t feel guilty about? mental illnesses

Lupine: What does your name mean? Why is that your name? annie means grace. while my mom was pregnant, she had a dream where a curly haired little girl with a round face was running and she kept calling “annie” so she decided to name me that. weirdly enough, as i grew up, i had the same curly brown hair and round face that she saw in her dream.

Marigold: Where did you grow up? Tell us about it. i grew up in a small house with my mom and dad until i was six. i don’t want to talk about it here because it’s kinda private and personal and i don’t wanna share it with the world.

Morning Glory: What was your bedroom like growing up? my bedroom used to be really messy but as i grew up and developed my ocd everything’s pretty neat most of the time

Mugworts: What was it like for you as a teenager? Did you enjoy your teenage years? i’m still a teenager calm down. it’s horrible there’s too much pressure i wanna be twelve again

Norwegian Angelica: Tell us about your mom. she’s amazing but she also makes me feel like shit a lot

Onions: Tell about your dad. where do i begin. used to be a complete asshole until a couple years ago he got a girlfriend that completely turned him around bless her soul. she broke up with him though. distant but i still love him with all my heart. i worry about him alot.

Orchid: Tell about your grandparents. moms mom (granny)- lives with me, i have to love her cuz she provides for us but god damn she gets on my nerves and i’m pretty sure she hates me. moms dad- used to be really cool, disappeared for six years, came back two years ago, now he’s an alcoholic, has dementia, and is a complete asshole. he’s dead to me. dads mom- the kind of grandparent that appears during holidays and birthdays and stuff and then disappears for most of the year. dads dad- wasn’t too close to him, but he died six months ago from cancer and i got pretty sad about it. he looked a lot (a lot) like my dad but just much older, so to see him in the hospital bed with all the tubes attached to him.. it was pretty emotional.

Pansy: What was your most memorable birthday? What made it be so memorable? most memorable birthday was probably age six i think?? i had a really cool birthday party at a park with some first grade friends, and i took an iconic picture thats super cute and i still look at occasionally but it’s hard bc it’s got the r*xana in it

Peony: What was your first job? i’ve never had one

Petunia: If you’re in a relationship, how did you meet your partner(s)? If you’re not in a relationship, how did you meet your crush/how do you hope to meet your future partner(s), if you want any? met her through instagram

Pincushion: How do you deal with pain? grit my teeth, walk around, distract myself

Pink: Where is home? technically, miami. but home is a feeling.

Plantain Lilies: If you could go back in time, what is one thing you would stop/change? i don’t know, really. i know it’s impossible and it’s totally metaphorical but if i could, not only could i not choose just one, but i do believe in destiny and i worry that if i change something then everything down the road would change and maybe i wouldn’t have met you her.

Prairie Gentian: Who is someone you look up to? Describe them. i don’t really look up to anyone i just wanna be a good person and i also wanna be thin.

Primrose: Describe your ideal life. well number one, this would take forever, number two, youre the only person that’s probably gonna read this and and you already know

Rhodendron: What is something you used to believe in as a child? the basics: santa, easter bunny, tooth fairy

Ricinus: Who’s the most important in your life? hmm i wonder who 😌

Rose: What’s your favorite sound? everything’s quiet except for the rain falling on the window, maybe some light music in the background

Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory? i don’t want to think about this right now

Sage: What’s your least favorite memory? also don’t want to think about this right now

Snapdragon: At this moment, what do you want? you

St. John’s Wort: Is it easy or difficult for you to express how you feel about things? it’s usually really difficult but you make it so easy somehow

Sunflower: What is something you don’t want to imagine life without? once again, you. but also gamecube or flowers or bagels or hoodies or nail polish

Sweet Pea: How much sleep did you get last night? a lot actually? i think like eight hours woah that’s a weeks worth

Tickseed: What’s your main reason to get up every morning? i’m about to copy and paste these answers they’re getting repetitive

Touch-Me-Not: How do you feel about your current job? pretty good, being that i don’t have one

Transvaal Daisy: What’s your favorite item of clothing? generally? hoodies. my personal one? it’s either my new black pants or my trench hoodie

Tropical White Morning Glory: Describe your aesthetic. damn i don’t even know 🥵 it’s probably white or light furniture and windows with natural light shining in on houseplants and nice comfortable sofas

Tulip: What would be the best present to get you? i love clothes or flowers or money

Vervain: What’s stressing you out most right now? i’m not stressed about anything at this minute so i don’t wanna think about something that’s stressing me out because then i’ll start stressing about it

Wisteria: How many books have you read in the past few months? What were they called? i read the fallen queen on wattpad does that count

Wolf’s Bane: Where do you want to be in life this time next year? hopefully getting somewhere with my education. i’d love to get my ged instantly but i’m not gonna pressure myself or be upset at myself if i don’t pass the test the first time. i might have to take classes for it, and that’s okay. i hope.

Yarrow: Do you know what vore is? whasthat

Zinnia: Give a random fact about yourself. i hate food but love cooking/baking

#questions #omh this took me two hours

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mirthfulsexecutioner · 7 years

Text

Mass and Sending 10/1/17

I actually had the pleasure of writing mass for this Sunday, and will be preforming it tomorrow along with the usual sending, Below is the mass script I wrote, along with the sending

Mass Script for Kurloz

Written by: NepNep

Preformed by: Lily

" Hello! I am Lily, Firs toff, I'd like to say a few things and after that I'll explain some more. Alright first up! This is a collection of people's art I found on pinterest I used for either 1. Inspiration 2. I loved there stories so I typed it too be into mass as well 3. If anyone would like any of the art just message me on my fb if you don't already have it I'll give it after mass, Now this isn't about me so.. I'm going to continue! "

" This week..., I'd like to present... ' Self Representation ' Now... You might be asking what I mean by that, or you already know. Well I'm going to explain as well a little bit but mostly, I'd like for you to reflect on anything I'll say, I'll give a few moments for you too think, Maybe even share your own as well, When it is time to share, I'll defiantly give a reminder so you'll know. But for now I'd like to warn ahead that this could be emotional for anyone, Maybe you don't want to be reminded of anything and that's ok, If don't like what I'm saying just please speak up and I'll cut out what is triggering you so you can enjoy it without any worry! "

" I really don't want to offend, trigger, or upset anyone so please do speak up! We could also be touching sensitive subjects as well, But mostly this will be a reflective and emotional mass so, For now before we start anything I'd like to ask for a moment of silence, maybe even a small prayer to The Messiahs, I know for a fact for some, maybe most, or all. This week hasn't been kind to anyone... I'm sorry about the unexpected things that happened but- Hey, We can all learn from that can we? It's a great learning experience for anyone! Even if the outcome isn't as what you expected, Or thought it would be... But it'll be ok, Were a family, and family will always pull through the hard times for each other. Now Let's begin shall we? But first, Like I said earlier a few moments of silence to make a small prayer to The Messiahs before we start anything, Thank you. "

" The next part is going to be a..., Rather long but in the way I have typed it out for you a short, multiple message story, I wanted to keep the story as I had found it, So I had to break it down into multiple small messages, I'm sorry if it annoys anyone... I promise though it's a great way to start off any reflections you might have felt during Homestuck to any Character though! But while I'm reading this, Take some time to think about it, Maybe relive some experiences of your own. Think about your ' Journey ' The path you took, The choices you made, The friends you made, The family you created or were adopted into. Everything has happened for a reason, The Messiahs have blessed you with miracles, Teaching you lessons since day one, And have watched you grow into the beings you are today. Without further ado... "

" Listener: Relive The Experience. ==>

It's a story, About some friends,

The people they met along their journey,

and about how they became *HEROS*

Along the way they learned their lessons, ' YOU ARE NOT ALONE '

Someone is always so, so proud of you.

You don't have to be brave,

or strong... You just have to care

There's someone waiting to meet you.

They'd miss you if you were gone

Don't give up

It's worth the fight to see the light at the end.

Addiction is worth fighting.

Recovery is always possible.

Things won't change right away

It takes time to rebuild.

Don't let yourself be a victim.

It's okay to cry.

It's okay to not be okay.

Just don't stop moving forward.

What will you do?

Advance?

Or advance?

You can be anything you dream of being.

Adventure is out there!

Don't be afraid of the inevitable

Your past doesn't have to define you.

You CAN change for the better.

Anyone is capable of goodness

The people you meet on your journey will change you

and you will change them in turn.

You leave a mark on the world just by living in it.

Someone will catch you when you fall

And if no one does,

you'll find the strength to get to your feet again

Sometimes you won't know who the real enemy is.

Sometimes you might even think it's you.

That doesn't matter as long as you keep moving forward.

When things feel hopeless,

When you think you've been abandoned,

That's when the magic happens.

It's when things are at their worst

that people are at their best.

You aren't always going to win, but stories don't end when you lose.

It doesn't end until you give up

and giving up was never an option

even if you fail,

you'll have better luck next time.

Your victory is the story you tell after.

You get to choose how your adventure will end.

Will you give yourself a fighting chance?

Will you quit just because the struggle is hard?

Will you let the darkness win?

or will you look the monster in the eyes

and tell him

"Not today."

Today,

you are in control.

Today,

You are not alone.

You are an author

and this is YOUR story.

The curtains don't close until you have your say.

Today is your day.

What will you do?

==>

" The Messiahs have blessed you with a gift they called life

no one has that right to take your beautiful, and precious miracle they called life away... You have all the friends and family you need for any support, and don't forget that...! Now Since this is relating to something else on a good note..., Why don't we switch over too that one? Also Now is the time for anyone who would like to add any of there own personal reflections, I would defiantly love to hear any from you, Good or Bad, If you feel comfortable sharing it. Please go ahead and do I'll be able to add it to my script to publish to my Tumblr! "

" I will also give my own personal reflection, Maybe short, I'm not sure. But anyways... This is actually personal stuff I've never really told anyone but- I do reflect on this sometimes, Maybe to remember how things could've gone, have gone since... But anyways, Before I switched to fb almost completely as my way to find and make new friends as I had recently... I'm actually ashamed to say this but... I had lost my temper at my then BF, I broke up with him on the spot after he made a... ' Joke ' I had told everyone in that chat before, over the course of several months to *STOP* Making, or too not make PERIOD, Well they made it. I was slipping into a depressive state, With symptons of depression but I refused to get therapy and stuff back then. But anyways I was fighting with myself and anxiety and a lot of things every day "

" But I was out of the chat when they made it, my friends told me about it, Oh how my feelings clouded my mind of judgement more than anything else... I blew up screaming at my friends first in my Text Group Chat before going to the other Group Chat with my EX in it and... Someone I'd rather not even call a friend, They are- Were, Excuse me, Were a very very toxic person which was the main source of my anxiety, my (possible Depression...? I don't want to be lying because it never really was doctor diagnosed but it did affect me heavily and everything I did) depressive symptons, Of course at the time I didn't know this, or clearly see it, My mind was clouded by helping my than bf, the chat, and my friends. Whatever happened to me didn't matter, No. My boyfriend and my friends (I use to call them family) Came first to me. But anyways I saw him, The toxic person, And my boyfriend joking about a subject I'm not going to say as it could be triggering. "

" But I saw it..., I was... *SO* Pissed off I just- I couldn't believe him, Why did he *THE PERSON I LOVED* Of all people..., Why did he make those jokes with him? I blew up, I yelled at him, the both of them, Broke up with him right then and there. I refused to fix anything for months after..., Than... the regret, and what I had done started to set in. Wow. I hurt this person I loved, Very much, I hurt them this bad and it was all over something. A stupid thing I could've easily solved if I had just tried to get help before but when I had tried to get help from them before all I got was ignored, my problems weren't important, I wasn't even acknowledged at all, You know this hurt me a lot, Emotionally, I was wondering what I did wrong, Did I talk too much? Was I annoying? What did I do wrong... "

" The toxic person when ever I'd sing (quote songs) would tell me it was annoying, I reflected on everything they said a lot. They said so much, and put me threw so much, It hurt me a lot to see these people I had invested so much of my time into being with, and talking too would do this too me... But that last part sent me over the edge. I wasn't taking it anymore, I blew up, broke up with my then boyfriend, And I left... I left and went to FB. I eventually found Kurloz " She quietly gestured to the Mime " Kurloz..., Has done so much for me without even realizing it, Let alone knowing it because I haven't told her yet. "

" Kurloz, Made me feel... ' Happy ' Kurloz made me feel like I was ' Special ' Like... I was ' Wanted... ' I hadn't felt these emotions in so long, I was scared something would come along and take it away, or ruin it. Kurloz has taught me so much then, She even accepted me into her religion despite me being a complete stranger lol x3. Kurloz, Thank you, For everything you've done for me. I don't know where I'd be without you, The lessons I've learned, The things I fixed, and solved, Everything I've done since I've met you, I've followed near you on my own path while being watched by The Messiahs I did because you were the greatest influence in my life I had, had the pleasure of meeting in *YEARS* You, Helped me become a better person, for good I hope "

" Now, I'm going to finish my reflection up with, I reflect on this memory as, a huge development in me being a better person. I met someone who unknowingly helped me, Taught me, Adopted me, Let me be part of her family. I reflect on this as the start of something new in my life. The both worst, and best experience I could've had. Now I'm going to quote something as well so what would you do in a situation like this? Meeting Alternate Timeline Version of yourself? "

" Signless: " Wait! " He grabbed Kankri's hand " I have so much I want to ask you! " " Please, Don't go... "

Kankri: " Do you regret it? This life we chose. If you could make the choice again. " He held his arms up, and gently held his hand " ...Would you choose to give it all up? "

Signless: He reached out as Kankri walked away " Wait... " " Don't leave! " He leaned forward reaching out now " I WANT TO GO WITH YOU! " Tears were whelling up in his eyes " Don't leave me behind! " "

" If you had the chance, To re-do everything in your life from the very beginning knowing everything you had done before hand... Would you go back and do everything over again...? Next is a small collection of quotes from different images "

" Karkat: " I JUST WANT YOU TO, BE HAPPY "

Terezi: 1'V3 S33N 1T, 4ND 1 JUST W4NT YOU TOO B3 H4PPY TOO

CA: I don't knoww

CA: It probably doesn't matter

CA: My feelins seem petty and meaninless noww

Karkat: I AM NOT A LEADER

Eridan: Hey fef can I --

Feferi: Not now Eridan, I'm busy!

Eridan: That's okay Fef, I don't mind

Eridan: Hey sol--

Sollux: Leave me alone Fii2shface

Eridan: Oh

Eridan: It's ok

Eridan: I'm fine alone

If you love me let me go, Cause these words are knives, that often leave scars, the fear of falling apart, and truth be told, I never was yours, The fear, The fear of falling apart

This is my family " She pointed out to the peers with a smile " I found it all on my own, It's little and broken, But still good. Yea, Still good... "

" Now..., Reading that, When have you ever done anything like this to anyone...? You never know when someone is breaking down, and they came too you for help and you just pushed them away like it was nothing. You never know how hard someone has it. What there going threw, You don't know how they feel, Treat everyone like they are the most amazing person on the earth... <3, Everyone deserves to be treated like a queen and king, Now to start finishing this up, Let's get some inspirational quotes! "

" Tavros: yOU ARE NOT UGLY

Karkat: YOU ARE NOT FAT

Aradia: Y0u are n0t w0rthless

Sollux: Everythiing ii2 not your fault

Eridan: You are lovved

Nepeta: :33< You are purrty

Terezi: YOU 4R3 B34UT1FUL

Equius: D--> You are STRONG

Kanaya: You Are Worth Living

Gamzee: PuT aWaY tHe RaZoRs AnD gIvE mE tHe KnIfE

Feferi: Go get yourshellf somet)(ing to eat

Vriska: Darling I know it hurts 8ut it will get 8etter "

" Hope to me, Is about believing in stuff, If you believe in stuff then everything feels like it's going to be ok " - Jake English

" Aradia: D0n't give up

Tavros: bELIEVE IN YOURSELF

Sollux: Iignore the voiice2

Karkat: BE PROUD OF YOURSELF

Nepeta: :33< Follow murr heart

Kanaya: Trust In Yourself

Terezi: D0 WH4T'S R1GHT

Vriska: Think 8efore you act

Equius: D--> E%press yourself

Gamzee: BeLiEvE iN mIrAclEs

Eridan: Nevver lose hope

Feferi: B-E )(appy "

" Sometimes you want someone, And you want to kiss them, and be with them, But you can't because responsibility... Demands Sacrifice "

" Finally to finish up..., Markings, Our marks are made to represent our place in the world. What kind of marks would you have if you you happened to have any...? Would they be words, quotes, a story, Images...? Take a moment to think about it, and while you are, I'll set up the sending of the guest, otherwise this is all I have more mass, I really do hope you enjoyed it ^=^, I'm sorry if it was hard for anyone, or sad... But also please don't feel bad, or pity for me, I'm so glad to have met everyone...! I wouldn't change it for anything <3 "

@kurmakara

Below is the sending

10/1/17 Sending

preformed by: Lily

Written by: NepNep Leijon

Method: Gutterfly, and then drowning in Pumpkin Spice Latte

" Wow, writing mass AND sending took quite a bit out of me, Sorry this will be short..., I need to hurry and get some HW done after this! Alright, Everything's set up for The Sending, I'm just going to keep this short because I probably made Mass run long. " She smiled and chuckled " Today's Method will be a gutterfly, and then drowning in a Pumpkin Spice Latte. I'll have volunteer's next week, Promise! This weeks troll is a blue blooded Male. "

Lily had all the necessary preparations set up she smiled and yanked the troll over, She strapped them tight to a ' T ' cross and proceeded to run a knife down their stomach, the organs slumped over spilling out. She dug her hand around his internal organs for a bit, blood gushing out and splattering across her face before she finally grabbed the intestine and made a ' Gutterfly ' carefully, and slowly. She smiled and threw the gutterfly into the peers. She grabbed the smaller intestine wrapped it around his eck and drug him off

Lily stood at the top of the tank, and dropped the blue blood into the Latte, She smiled, and snickered closing it up..., Slowly... She grins at him " Bye Bye " The troll is frantically swimming around when- ~ ACK ~ She's pulling on the intestine threw a small gap which is making him drown, and being strangled at the same time! She smiles and continues playing like this with him for a while. " Ok fun time's over " She yanked one last time, His face went blue when his conciousness slipped away. Lily jumped down and- Threw confetti into the peers! " I hope you enjoyed this mass I was able to present! I'm sorry the sending was so short, I just couldn't for the life of me write more... "

#Mass and Sending

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